7 comments/ 20092 views/ 7 favorites Island Love By: Egmont Grigor Set in New Zealand with NZ spellings and idioms. * CHAPTER 1 Roman Gulliver called himself a businessman. Some women with a penchant for straying knew him as an adulterer. His former wife who'd vowed never to say his name again described her 'ex' as a mean bastard who'd made her account for every dollar she spent. Cynthia his mother acted as if the sun shone out of his butt, but then he was an only child. It was mid-afternoon Friday. Roman changed out of his suit for a white short-sleeved shirt, grey linen shorts that stopped just on the knee and designer sandals built for hard walking that cost as much as the black Italian shoes he'd just shed. He switched off his mobile phone and placed that and his briefcase into a filing cabinet and locked it. Slinging his backpack over his left shoulder, he went into the outer office and kissed Paula-Jean, the married receptionist who occasionally strayed his way. She said, enviously, "Have fun in the sun gigolo." "Gigolo?" "Pick a rich one and get lucky. Mark plans to have me helping to scrape the keel of our cruiser this weekend." "Lucky Mark. Well you chose to marry a conservative accountant. Guys like me would be at sea on weekends like this attending to women like you. We'd scrape the keel in the rain and cold of winter." "Sure, sure. Off you go. You'll get to the ferry just in time." As soon as Roman stepped on to the passenger-only Quickcat ferry he felt free, the worries of the week with his investment clients crying on his shoulder, victims of the world economic recession, behind him. The worst hit ones were those who hadn't heeded his urgent warnings to take a light loss and reposition strategically. Not looking back at the receding Auckland City's skyline to avoid compromising that light-headed feeling of freedom, Roman waited for the rounding of North Head to see the shape of Waiheke Island through the greyish-blue distant haze of summer heat. It lay eleven miles away. The ferry was crowded. He found an aisle seat alongside an elderly couple. The woman, against the window, looked around her male companion at him and said, "American?" "No local." "Oh we're from the Waikato and are crossing to stay with my sister. Do you know her?" The guy said, "Give him her name you forgetful fool." Ah that would be the husband. "Mrs Marks." "Eve Marks of Surfdale Road?" "Yes, oh my goodness isn't New Zealand such a small place with almost everyone knowing someone no matter what part of they country they're in." Old grumpy said, "Providing names are exchanged." Roman had to smile at that. "Eve's husband Stanley and my father built a plywood fishing boat together around thirty years back. Stanley wrecked in on Great Barrier five years ago, the year after my father died." "Oh we heard about that. He clung to a rock on an inhospitable part of the coastline for thirteen hours before being rescued by a passing trawler. It was in all the papers and on TV." "I'm his godson." "But Stanley and Eve have no children." "True but they have me – Stanley was supposed to look after me if anything happened to dad, but that only applied until I became an adult. Tell them I'll drop in for a meal within a couple of days." The woman looked concerned. "Within a couple of days? Eve will need to know to have extra food in and to cook extra." "Nah. You just drop in for a feed. Islanders expect it to happen that way. Life for islanders runs on Waiheke time very casually." "Oh goodness, how primitive." "Yeah, great eh?" As they were getting off the ferry Roman said, "How are you folk getting to Eve's place?" "She said to get a taxi." "Well come with me." The farming couple from the Waikato whom Roman now knew as Owen and Thelma Greenfield watched Roman go up to a gorgeous blonde wearing two strips of material that with imagination could be called a top and shorts. The dark-hair guy and the blonde kissed and she handed Roman something and walked away, waving a hand down low without looking back as if knowing he'd be watching her. He was. "Jesus, that was some young woman," Owen said. "Yeah, I used to date her when we were young. She's working part-time for a car hire company and has just handed me the keys." "Oh, we must contribute towards the hire." "Like hell you will." "Young man, I do not like being addressed in that manner." "My apologies Thelma, I'm talking to you like a girlfriend." "Oh," said Thelma, patting her hair. With difficulty the elderly couple got into the low-slung red sports car with the hood down. Thelma was worried about her hair being messed by the wind but as she was sitting in the front Roman assured her she would not be caught in the slipstream. "What's that?" "Just ignore her son," Owen said. "Women know nothing. Outside the house they act as if they're in a foreign country." "Don't listen to him Roman. He can't even remember your name. Men are such smart-arses... er when they get older." Roman drove up the unsealed drive to the 1940s cottage that Roman knew for a fact only got an inside toilet in 1997 because he'd installed it. Their car was out in the open, because they had no garage, resting on a jack with the rear wheel on the ground. He grabbed a log of firewood drying out against the house and put it under the rear axel in case the jack failed. Eve came darting out, Stanley hobbling after her. "Oh darling, how wonderful to see you," Eve cried, bypassing her sister to hug and kiss Roman. She then turned and kissed her sister and brother and welcomed them formerly. Roman kicked the wheel. "What's up?" "Wheel bearing's gone," Stanley said. The mechanic comes Tuesday to fit the new bearing coming across Monday morning." Roman scratched under his chin. "Owen take my hire car till yours is fixed. I'll call Gloria and tell you to add your name as an authorized driver." "But this is a $70,000 vehicle." "Yeah but so what – when did you last have a car insurance claim?" "Mid 1970s." "There you go. Let me show you how it works." Everyone, including Roman marvelled the way the metal roof rose out of the trunk and clicked into place in seconds. Roman smiled, "You boys cruise along the road on the edge of Onetangi beach and you ought to be able to pull a couple of babes." "In your dreams," Thelma giggled almost hysterically, her sister joining her in a carefree hug. "See, the island charm has captured you already Thelma. The resident bitch in you will be gone by Monday." Grinning at Thelma bristling, Eve said, "Keep your cool darling; he's such a big tease but he's lovely." * * * Roman walked up the sealed driveway but veered short of the rambling stucco house with its magnificent views on both sides of the gulf and over the island. He took a left and walked down to what had been the gardener's cottage prior to the fairly recent development of mobile gardeners and lawn mowing contractors. He was climbing down off the top of the gas cylinders enclosure, reaching under the eaves where he kept the key when a cutting voice with an American accent said, "And exactly what are you doing?" Roman turned and smiled, brushing his hair back and turning his eyes on the woman in red. "G'day young lady. Blonde, six feet, great tits... I've been told about you. You're the daughter of Clyde Hamilton's new American wife Rosella." "Excuse me... you have no right speaking to me like that." "Oh yeah. I could point out that you're trespassing on my land?" "You mean your father's land. I heard a card sharp called Roman Gulliver won it off my stepfather in a high-stake poker game." "Sorry babe but if there's a card sharp around here it's your stepfather. I'm Roman Gulliver; my late father's name was Antonio." "B-but you're around my age." "True but you're better looking than I am and I really am a pal of your stepfather's." That made her look a little less certain. "May I come in an look around?" "Yes, I welcome that. I'm still working on modernizing the place. Are you any good at wielding a paint brush?" "Well I ought to be," she said brusquely. 'I have a master's in fine arts and produce work professionally as a portrait painter." "Oh ma'am, if I have insulted you by suggesting you are less than qualified with a paint brush I apologise." "It's miss and you have no reason to apologize for a simple misunderstanding. I'm Dora Dixon." "Okay Dora, what's up with the rig?" "What do you mean?" "You look dressed for a soiree. They are rare on this island, beer, wine and barbies being the norm." "The Duncans of Wairangi Vineyards are entertaining to invited guests this early evening. I was on my way out when I saw you." "Oh that will be a soiree with a string quartet flown in from the mainland plus a master chef. Well have a dickety lick and be off." "Excuse me?'' "Have a quick look around and go." "Oh, that is local idiom I take it?" "I wouldn't bet on it." They did the quick tour and Dora said, "I'm amazed, this workmanship is to the highest professional standards." "Well as some former virgins and their older sisters on this island will attest, I'm very good with my hands." "I wonder why I'm not surprised to hear that comment," Dora said stiffly. "Aw come on Dora, I was pulling your left tit." Roman was sure he detected the faintest of smiles. He'd showered and had just changed into black pants and a white shirt when he heard frantic knocking on the door. It was Dora, in a panic. Her car wouldn't start. "I-I think I left the headlights on all night. My car at home had auto power shutdown after six minutes of being left unattended." "Ah, you are in a former colony out here deep in the south Pacific Dora. Our motor vehicles tend to rely on driver intelligence." "What?" "It doesn't matter. Give me your mobile. Mine is left behind in my office in Auckland so I can relax." "Oh I didn't mean to unload my stress on to you." "It's fine darling." Roman made the call and Dora was unable to her the other side of the conversation. "Mrs Chelsea Duncan please. It's Roman calling Shona." While he was waiting Dora said, "You know Mrs Duncan's number?" "Appears so. I work with them a lot." "Oh hi Chelsea, I'm at the cottage with your young American guest Dora Dixon; She has just dropped in to tell me her woes with car problems; flat battery." "Oh that's the container of reserve energy that powers the vehicle to run on its own system via the alternator. But let's not confuse you. Could you send the chopper down for her?" "Oh great." "Well if you'd like to see me, yes of course. I'm only in pants and shirt – my tux and all my jackets are in Auckland." "Well if you do mind that's all it matters. How's that new granddaughter Jessie?" "Oh sweet. Have a great night; see you soon." Dora was looking at Roman in awe. "You mean she is sending a helicopter for me and has invited you as well?" "Yes. Just between you and me Chelsea and Frank owe much of their new wealth to me as their prime financial consultant. They were very wealthy after selling their Hawkes Bay sheep and cattle station but are now mega wealthy. I was the reason for the break up of their son's first marriage. It wasn't really my fault – she took to me like a mouse after cheese. Frank and Chelsea hated her and gave me a return air ticket to the UK for inadvertently leading to their daughter being divorced. The new one has tiny tits so no way am I interested. I think son Paul chose that mode of woman to ensure I didn't get my hands on his bed plaything." Dora said stiffly, "You have an irrelevancy about you that I find borders on being disgustingly refreshing." Roman said he trusted that was a compliment and said they better go up to the front lawn of the Big House because the chopper would arrive shortly as soon. It was carrying the last of the VIPs off the ferry to the booze up. "Booze up?" "Sorry, it's one of those wretched colloquialisms again. It means the guzzling of alcohol." * * * At the pale apology for a soiree, Roman watched Dora closely, aware she was glancing at him frequently, apparently surprised how he fitted in so well although being the only guest not formerly dressed. Chelsea had been all over him and after a more restrained greeting Frank had taken him off to meet some of the VIPs. When the quartet went to early dinner Chelsea announced to the thirty or so guests, "Our talented local personality Roman Gulliver will now play incidental music." Surprised at that announcement Dora had expected Chelsea, with obviously no expense spared elsewhere, to have hired a professional musician. Well to make allowances, Chelsea was a New Zealander. Dora watched with interest wondering would Mr All-Too-Much would sit at the keyboard or the drum set in place for the dance band to play later. She saw him pick up a guitar and expected to hear a poor imitation of someone like Eric Clapton. He played around tuning it to his satisfaction and then switched on the amplifier and shocked her, playing a rousing 'Rock Around the Clock'. People seemed to like it and she felt the mood of the party pick up. Roman then entered into a bracket of semi-classical pieces of increasing complexity and then played two heavy classical pieces that drew genuine applause. He then spoke into the mike. "Chelsea tells me her American guest her this evening, Miss Dora Dixon, Clyde's Hamilton's new wife's daughter, sings, although not professionally. What she does professionally is paint faces for big bucks. Most of you here will know Clyde is still on his honeymoon with that honey of a woman Rosella. So if there is sufficient support Dora will sing for you." Clapping and cheers encouraged Chelsea to come forward smiling but she was seething. The jerk should have asked her first. She hissed, "I was a soloist in a church choir. My repertoire is church music which is a little inappropriate for this occasion." "Oh really – do you know 'I'll Walk Beside You'." "Yes. How on earth..." He chuckled. "My mother used to sing it to her mother – I remember that from when I was very young. But after grandma died mom used to sing it to dad. We need one more and then the quartet will be back. I know another one of similar vintage but it's nostalgically romantic rather than religious 'Marble Hall'." "Yes I do," she said amazed. "When I'm in a melancholic mood that's probably my favourite song." "Shall we do it?" "Yes!" "Well we are ready to go," Roman announced. "You must understand Dora and I only met for the first time three hours ago so there have been no rehearsals but I guess keen musical people like us can smooth out bad patches. Thank you. Everyone, Miss Dora Dixon." Guests continued talking and laughing but as Dora worked into 'I'll Wake Beside You' everyone standing or sitting at tables on the huge paved outdoor area became silent. So many people love that song and when it finished guests applauded enthusiastically. But Dora and Roman stunned them with 'Marble Hall', the quality of Dora's pure notes piercing the area now gripped in twilight but the lighting not yet switched on. As the applause died and Roman stood up and placed the guitar on its stand Dora hugged and kissed him softly and said, "You were marvellous and worked so well with me and made me appear very good." "Ah Dora, we were good but not that good. It's amazing how alcohol can blur people's discriminatory perception." She laughed, hugged him and again and looked at him a little perplexed. Four locals in a five-seat car gave Dora a ride home and Roman was delivered home almost half an hour later on the back of a pick-up. He and Dora had not said good night and so he hoped Dora would come down to give him a goodnight kiss. Ten minutes later he looked out and saw the big house now in total darkness. He waited mildly thinking she might be on her way down but he went to bed empty-handed and surprised because he'd been so sure they'd be doing it that night. At dawn Roman arose and did his stretching exercises, finishing with a brief bout of shadow boxing and then showered. He went up to the house and found it locked. He was making coffee in the kitchen when Dora walked in brushing her hair, dressed in a top and shorts. He looked and the long legs and his thoughts began somersaulting. But Roman guessed restraint was required. Switching on his number two smile he said, "Good morning Dora." "I think you're in the wrong house. How the hell did you get in here? I locked all doors." "I'm used to wandering in and out of here. I used to act as caretaker when I worked on the island when Clyde was away overseas on business. By the time Rosella arrived to live here before their marriage I had opened my Auckland office. Clyde told me to drop my gypsy-like appearances at the house unannounced but called me later in the day and said your mom thought the custom was cute and wanted it reinstated. "How dare you have an affair with my mother! Before I left the party last night some drunken women were telling me about your Don Juan reputation and in the car coming home Pam Jones and Sarah McIntyre bubbled on how they thought they'd be snaring you as their son. They said openly you had been ploughing their daughters and that gave them their optimism." "Yes, Shea Jones and the McIntyre sisters Ruby and Regina but I've not placed a finger on your mother." Dora was unable to restrain her curiosity. "What Ruby and Regina together?" "Only sometimes." Roman watched her turn into one of those people he labelled, "Prudish Americans." Well if she sang solo in a church choir it was quite possible her label was devout Bible-banger. "How disgusting and to think of you ploughing through these women on the island, whether married or not, as if you were harvesting corn." Roman smiled thinking what a wonderfully apt description but the look on Dora's face dispatched that smile. He mumbled, not looking at her, "I take it I'm not welcome here while you are in residence alone Miss Dixon?" "Why aren't you calling me Dora? Are you THAT unreliable? Although I can't bear the thought of you seducing my mother you may stay. What do you want for breakfast?" "Dora?" "Yes, come on I haven't got all day." "Although this might seem odd to you, Clyde and I are friends, great friends, and a guy doesn't do the dirty on his best mates." "Ohmigod, you tick along on some sort of medieval code don't you – sodomize the peasant women but show allegiance to the squire and his lady?" "What are you talking about?" "Don't you dare play dumb with me Roman Gulliver. Sarah McIntyre told me last night it was a tragedy you have a great mind but choose to be a playboy and make your money using other people's money." "That's Sarah being sore because I didn't marry Regina who went bananas about me despite never once receiving matrimonial sweet talk or even a single oblique reference to marriage from me." "Then what about using other people's money to make money?" "I work as a financial investment consultant. If my clients lose money all I'll left with is the legitimate establishment fee; if they make money I get the agreed percentage margin for managing their accounts." "Sarah didn't describe it that way." "Well she was only giving her take on things, if you like her perception accept it over my explanation. Talk to Regina who's happily married now with a little daughter and ask her did I ever suggest marriage to her. She is likely to laugh and say no, that was only her distraught mother after seeing Betty Field all over me in a restaurant. But does it really matter?" "I suppose not. I find your explanations credible. What do you have for breakfast?" Island Love I relate this true account of a past encounter to get it out there and gauge your reactions. What might have happened next has been the source of a vast range of fantasies over the last 20 years of otherwise very happily straight and monogamous family life. I don't remember his name or much about him other than he was Australian, at least 10 years older than me, a DJ, had a moustache and a great tanned body. If it was you or you know who he is, I would love to say Hi and thanks. I left school after my A levels at 18, got all the grades I needed for my chosen university and took a year out to experience the big wide world. I worked a few months to get some cash and then bought a plane ticket to Australia. On a very cold morning in England I waved goodbye to my family and the steady girlfriend I'd lost my virginity to six months before. I arrived in hot humid summer in Sydney, wide eyed and innocent. I worked a few farm jobs for several months in New South Wales and then took a bus trip the Queensland coast, staying at youth hostels along the way. This brought me to Magnetic Island, a beautiful, scenic island with lots of interesting little coves and beaches. I had been away from home for several months at this stage and as a shy 18 year old boy was starting to miss close friendships. I wasn't at all outgoing and didn't meet anyone at the youth hostel that night to hang out with so the following warm sunny morning I headed down to a nearby beach with a towel and a plan of a lazy day of sunshine and snorkeling. Mid afternoon, having seen only a few people at a distance all day, a guy walked up to where I was lying basking in the sun on a warm flat rock. He asked if I minded him joining me, strange question, I thought - its a public beach after all. So I said 'sure' and he picked out another rock close to me. As he set down his stuff, he shed his shorts and lay down naked, turned to me and started chatting. He was a good looking confident man of probably 30, we talked off and on for probably an hour or so with me trying hard not to stare at his cock. I was no prude, I played a lot of sport and seeing other naked guys was not a big thing to me, neither was nudity or at least semi nudity on beaches as I had spent many summers on beaches in France with my family where girls often went topless. I was fascinated and drawn to any kind of female nude, loved the naked women in the pornography I hid in my room at home, loved seeing my girlfriend naked. What was new, though, was this kind friendly man with his very fit tanned masculine body laid out beside me. I had an hour of being beside him talking and chatting with him trying to keep my eyes away from his body but continually drawn back to his big thick cock. We talked for an hour and all I could remember afterwards was that he was a DJ and working locally and his cock, that big thick cock lying semi hard in a thick thatch of pubes. He was watching me looking at him, no doubt amused by the struggle I was having. He, on the other hand, made no attempt to hide his appraisal of my body. I was at that time a lean fit strong lad with a good tan lying in speedos on a sun-baked rock, with the benefit of hindsight I was a great piece of eye candy. Eventually, he said he was going to leave, felt like a drink and asked me if I would like to come along with him back to his hotel room. A little alarm bell went off in my head that more than a cup of coffee and light conversation were being suggested here, but I liked him and didn't like the thought of turning him down and so said yes. We got up, he threw on some clothes and we left in his rented Mini Moke (like a mini Jeep). We drove around the island a bit, it was thrilling, warm and sunny and an uncertainty inside me of what was about to happen. On his suggestion, I had come up from the beach still only in speedos walking beside him dressed now in shorts and t shirt because he said I looked good in them. I was feeling a thrill of being gently seduced by this great man but not really aware what it was that was happening. We got to his hotel and entered what was more of a ground floor suite in a motel than a hotel room. He gave me a drink, what it was I do not recall, probably a soft drink or coffee. He came around and stood behind me, placing the drink on the table in front of me then I felt his hands on my naked shoulders, felt them kneed and massage my shoulders, my neck, may arms. It felt good, he had strong hands, smooth but strong, every touch was thrilling, not even my girlfriend had touched me like this. He asked me if I liked it (how could I say anything but yes). He led me into the bedroom, telling me it would be far easier and better to be lying down for the massage. He had me lie face down on the bed, he uncapped a bottle of baby oil and with his warm hands, smoothed it into the skin of my back. He straddled my hips and rubbed more oil into my back, my neck, my shoulders my arms. Every stroke felt wonderful, every word he spoke was peaceful and kind and calming. My nervousness left me as he soothed me. He moved down and oiled my legs, stroking and massaging. He told me it would be easier without the speedos and I lifted my hips, allowing him to strip them down my legs as he stood up behind me. When he knelt back down, he spread my legs and knelt between them. He had more oil, massaged my feet my calves, the backs of my legs, my hips and then the cheeks of my butt. His massage turned more to a caress, his fingers delving and probing, the oil easing his progress as his fingers expertly explored the cleft between my buttocks and toyed with first my virgin hole and then the full sack of my scrotum. His soothing touch and his soothing words of appreciation of my young inexperienced body felt so new, so expert and so welcome to my young love starved body that any remaining misgivings I had had were fully dismissed. Then he rolled me over and leaned over me, his eyes taking in my willing body. Parting my lips for his kiss seemed the most natural thing in the world. His tongue invaded my mouth in such a strong commanding kiss that my mind was lost in the feel of it pushing and probing, his lips caressing mine, his tongue thrusting deep into my mouth, his wiry moustache a constant reminder of his masculinity. He broke the kiss and continued to massage and caress my body, this time my chest and thighs, my mind whirling as he pinched and pulled at my tight nipples and then his hand closed in on my very agitated hard young cock. He knelt between my legs and leaned forward and kissed me again as his hand encircled me. How I did not come right then I do not know, but his expert hand stroked me slowly as his tongue again dove between my willing lips. He continued his caresses as he knelt back up, spreading my legs as he looked into my eyes, he was enjoying me and wanted me to know it. His oil soaked hands caressing my cock then the tight sac of my scrotum and down into the cleft between my legs. Lifting my legs up onto his shoulders he kissed my calves and caressed the cheeks of my ass, his fingers repeatedly spreading my cheeks and slipping between them. He leant forward again, this time bending me almost double as his lips again found mine. His crotch was crushed against my ass as his strong body pinned me down in another hungry kiss. I could feel the length and breadth of this thick cock, now hard in his shorts as he ground down into my spread buttocks. His control over me was fabulous, I had no desire to do anything other than be his plaything. Always on top of me, he kissed me and caressed me and rolled me over and over, rubbing his strong manly body against mine as he brought me closer and closer to an amazing orgasm. He stroked me in his hand, lying half on top of me, kissing me, watching me, slowly tantalizing me with gentle strokes closing in on relief, letting me know that his hand and therefore his will controlled my pleasure. I reached up to kiss him, my hands now around his broad back and then he stroked me harder, faster holding me as my body exploded and released a torrent of cum onto my stomach and chest. My hips jerking hard up into his thigh as I writhed in the pleasure of the wildest orgasm I could imagine. I was spent, he laid with me, whispering to me as my breathing slowed, his hand still caressing my now shrinking cock. He cleaned me up with a hand towel and kissed me some more, his ardor still not slated. Then, no doubt remembering the grains of sand lingering from our day on the beach, he suggested a shower. He got up and left for the bathroom, saying he would get it warmed up. When he reappeared I was getting off the bed, naked and somewhat shell shocked from the experience. Not at all sure that I was ready for the next step, the pressure and desire released now leaving me all too aware that what I was doing was well outside the parameters of my previously entirely heterosexual life. He too was naked and he wrapped me up in his strong arms and leaned down, kissing me again. He was considerably taller than me and his moustache again raided my senses as we kissed, asserting his masculinity. I willingly accepted his tongue, kissing him back, our tongues dancing over each other. I kissed him eagerly as a welcome relief from heading back to the shower, nervous of what would happen there. I kissed his mouth, his lips, his cheek, his neck. I felt his cock hardening against me and I don't remember how I started the downward trail of my kisses but I willingly arrived at the heat of his groin and the thick long cock that jutted out of there. I found a rhythm that excited him and stayed with it, thrilling at being able to read his body and the urgency in him. I felt him harden further, his breath coming heavy, the thick shaft almost like steel between my lips as I eagerly fucked my mouth onto his cock. When he started to cum, his legs went rigid, his shaft convulsing between my lips, his cum spurting hard into the back of my mouth. I swallowed and swallowed, slowing my motions until he finally slipped from my lips, drained and cleaned of all cum. "You've done it" he said as he lifted me up and kissed me again before heading back to the shower. He probably remembers me as a shy but compliant and very inexperienced teenager. Part of me will always regret walking out of that room. I know now that my nervousness of entering the shower was less of what he would "Do to me" than what I would release inside me if I gave in. If he had taken my hand and led me to the shower or slapped my backside and commanded I went back there, I would not have resisted, and my gut tells me I would not have regretted it. He was a kind generous patient lover and I cannot imagine one better equipped to break me in gently. If you are reading this:- Thank you for the experience of a lifetime and I'm so sorry for leaving when I did. He and the scene we played out have been the source of innumerable fantasies since then. Over and over, I have relived the feeling of kneeling in front of him taking his cock, imagining everything that could have happened in the shower and after it. If this submission gets a positive response perhaps I'll write up one or two of the follow up fantasies as a thank you to all the authors who do such a great job of delighting my mind.