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Smitten

By: daddy1950



I wrote this ten years ago, so it's long overdue for another outing. It's mostly a romance with only a smattering of sex, so if it's the latter you want, maybe try my stories in the Incest section. 

*****

Eyes closed, my nostrils wafted in long ago memories.

"Dad!"

I lifted my head from the bouquet, and glared at Tom. "OK son. There's no cause to shout, I'm not deaf."

"Sorry Dad," he hushed, "I forgot." The pretence of my deafness has existed for so many years that he forgets from time to time.

He gestured towards the florist. "Do you want to choose a card to go with the flowers?"

The woman behind the counter fanned a bundle of cards for Tom's attention. Clearly, based on his treatment of me, she'd decided I was an ancient imbecile, with him acting as my guardian.

I scowled at her and snatched the handful of cards. "I'm not stupid, young lady." 

My choice was immediate, one with an oil painting of a bluebell wood. Diane would appreciate my selection; it was appropriate, even though it was over forty years late.

I removed the Parker pen from my blazer pocket and wrote the message. There were so many more words I would have loved to write, but there was no point. Decades of regret had passed, never to be recovered.

While Tom scowled with characteristic impatience, I allowed far more time than was necessary for the ink to dry. 

"And the address, Mr Grantley?"

"The Parkway Hospital. I presume you have the details."

She ignored my sarcasm. "Yes, we deliver regularly. Who are they for?" 

Her name smoothed over my tongue. "Clarissa Cavendish."

Tom's head jerked around; by contrast, the florist didn't react. I assumed she was in the habit of delivering bouquets to celebrities at the region's most prestigious private hospital. 

During the time I wrote the cheque for the bouquet, I was conscious his attention was fixed on me. 

When I finished, I turned to him. "Ready, son?"

He hadn't shown so much interest in me since he was a youngster. "Yes, Dad. We'll be off then."

"Good Day, Madam," I said, as I tipped my hat. "Thank you for your assistance."

Her goodbye was uncertain as Tom held open the door for my exit.

I slid into the passenger seat of my Bentley. From the time I was diagnosed with a heart problem, my doctor will neither accept bribes nor coercion to allow me to drive. Blasted man! He's in far worse condition than me, yet he still runs around in his Jaguar.

Tom started the engine. "Home?"

Fatuous question. He would never consider taking me anywhere else. He can't be rid of my burden quick enough. I grunted my assent.

Tom pulled into the stream of High Street traffic and casually remarked, "Clarissa Cavendish?"

"Yes," I stabbed at him, "what of her?" 

"I wasn't aware you knew her." His voice was quiet, my pretend deafness ignored. For years, my supposed hearing problem allowed us to travel in silence, a situation we were both at ease with. 

"I know that, Tom. I never told you."

He gave me a sideways grimace. "Are you going to tell me now?"

"I doubt it would be of interest to you ... or anyone for that matter."

Tom smoothed the Bentley into the car park of The Greswolde Hotel. "We are both referring to the actress, aren't we?"

"You know perfectly well that we are. Her arrival at the hospital was on the evening news last night."

He parked and swivelled sideways so he all but faced me. "I am interested. Very!"

I shrugged.

"You want a drink, Dad?"

"Brandy?"

He smiled at me, which was a rarity. "Yes," he offered.

He knew my weakness is cognac, more so since my idiot doctor banned it.

I followed Tom into the hotel. Like me, he's a lanky beanpole except, since my retirement a year earlier, the inactivity caused me to add ten pounds.

In the lounge, we allowed our bodies to settle into the depths of the leather armchairs. 

"We can't drink on empty stomachs." He handed me a menu. "Lunch?"

"Thank you, Tom. That will be good."

While we perused the menus, an attractive waitress arrived. She appeared to be in her early twenties, all smiles and eager to please. 

"What would you like, Dad?"

"A sandwich will suit me." I attempted to gain the attention of the waitress who hadn't seemed to notice my existence. It was obvious her interest was in Tom's handsome features. I coughed loudly. "Miss!"

With a lack of enthusiasm, her gaze abandoned his Paul Newman blue eyes as she turned to me with a false smile.

"Tuna," I growled and added a reluctant, "please."

"I'll have the same," Tom added, as he sleeked a tanned hand through his premature grey hair. "And two Armagnacs ... make them large."

"Certainly, Sir." She gave him a final cherub smile and left.

He settled back into his seat and smirked. "Well Dad, you are the dark horse."

I grunted. "You can dispense with the wise cracks. Do you want me to tell you?"

"Naturally."

"Very well, except I must have your assurance you will not repeat a word of it."

His dark eyebrows raised and, although he was clearly intrigued, he kept his silence, except to provide me with a hesitant agreement.

"It happened just before the end of the war, in the spring of '44."

"Hmm, forty six years ago."

"Yes, almost exactly. It was in April ... the sixth."

"You recall the exact date of this ... event?" He studied my features. "Something momentous then?"

"It involved Diane. Clarissa is not her real name. You realise that?"

Tom smiled and nodded. "April 1944. That's when you met her?"

"No, we knew one another before." The initial excitement when I first saw her flooded back. "Well, that's not strictly correct. I knew her, but I doubt she ever noticed me. To be frank, I had a serious crush on her, even before that day. Not that I would have dared to tell her, for one thing, she was almost two years older."

"My guess is, she still is."

I ignored Tom's infantile humour. "The war was great for youngsters, but I'd grown into an adult. It was a week after my eighteenth birthday, but I was naive. Things were different back then, we were innocents. Today there's far too much sex. It's everywhere, even ..."

I tailed off as I looked up and saw his stone face.

"Yes, I know. I'm off on a tangent." 

Our lunch arrived and we sipped our brandies.

"You may not remember Bill's Wood. You were still a baby when we left Shirley and moved to Dorridge. Wartime, the wood was far larger. My best friend was Steve, Steve Potts. You wouldn't know him, we drifted apart many years ago."

Steve, dear chum. Why didn't we stay in touch? 

My eyes misted over. "I went to his funeral last November ... up in Nottingham."

Tom glared at me once more. 

"Sorry, son. I'm rambling."

"That day, Steve and I were in Bill's Wood. We frequented a pond, it wasn't very large, but big enough to swim five strokes from one end to the other. We used it because the kids preferred the larger one, half a mile away. Although early April, it was a warm day and we were swimming. Naked.

"We splashed about and laughed and, I presume it was our noise that meant we didn't see her." 

"Diane?"

"Yes." Oh, that name. Such melody. Diane, Diane.

"She wore a pale blue dress, a denim coloured cotton, buttoned at the front from top to bottom. She had sandals and ankle socks ... white. The dress was old, not tattered, but faded." She was so beautiful.

"She laughed at us, a teasing snigger. 'Where are your clothes, lads?'

"It was instinctive to look to the spot on the grass where we'd left two bundles of clothing. They'd gone.

"Steve was the first to respond, he waded through the water, but skidded in the thick mud on the bank. Despite that, he was soon back on his feet and after her. 

"I was out of the water in a search for our clothes. It took a minute before I located them, bundled behind a nearby oak. While I'd been in a rummage through the undergrowth, Steve had shouted for me. I pulled on my trousers - no pants, and followed his voice.

"I found them fifty yards down the trail. He had her pinned against a tree, although it was obvious he was about to lose her. Steve was short and she was a good four inches taller. We were all slim, there were few fat kids during wartime, but Diane was that bit stronger. However, against the two of us, she had no chance, and we soon frog marched her back to the pond.

'What should we do with her, Will?'

'How should I know?'

'Whatever you do, you mustn't mud bath me.' Her pale blue eyes stared into mine. I swear she blushed a little.

'Good idea,' agreed Steve, as he struggled to wrestle her to the ground.

"I helped him, while wondering why she'd suggested her own reprisal. It didn't make sense.

"Diane lay on the grass, her arms pinned down by Steve, while I part sat and part lay along her legs.

'Now what?' I queried. 'How do we get mud and stop her from escaping?'

"Steve stared at the pond, ten feet away. 'Will, can you hold her while I get the muck?'

'I suppose.' I shrugged. 'I'm bigger than you, so best for me to give it a try.' I leaned forward until my torso rested on hers. 'Go on, quick before she tries to escape.'

"While Steve scooped up a double handful of mud, I rested full length on Diane. I was amazed. She didn't struggle, but lay dormant as though afraid to move. My head rested beside hers and I could feel the warmth of her soft breath on my cheek.

"When Steve returned, I sat up and repositioned myself until I straddled her hips, my thighs acting as a gentle restraint. 

"He looked down at us, as mud drips splattered on the grass. 'What do we do now? Sprawl it over her?' His eyes pleaded with me. 'Will?'

"Diane twisted her head until she could see him. 'Steve Potts, if you ruin my dress, my mum will flay you alive.'

"Steve's eyes began to bat. Not only did they open and close in rapid succession, but his face scrunched up with each eye movement.

'Calm down, Steve. She's kidding you.'

"He looked ready to cry. 'What can we do, Will?'

'Suppose we pull off her dress.' As I uttered the words, I was nearly sick. I couldn't believe I'd dared to say them.

"Her face was impassive. Astounded by her indifference at my outrageous suggestion, I asked, 'Diane, is that OK?' It was a stupid question.

"There was no reply, yet I was sure I detected a faint smile which seemed to inform me she was in agreement. 

"Steve and I exchanged glances, undecided as to our next action.

"Diane began to unbutton her dress, while we stared in awe. Halfway down, with her hands mere inches from my crutch, she gazed up at me.

"From her expectant look, I guessed what she wanted and moved out of her way. I slid down and knelt astride her, with my lower limbs and her thighs in tender contact.

"She tugged up the light fabric, pulled it around her waist and released the remaining buttons. Without hesitation, she pulled the dress apart so the two halves lay on the grass. Diane stretched out on her dress, seemingly relaxed despite her exposure. Her bra and panties were white cotton, simple and basic - sexless by comparison with modern lingerie. To me, it was the most incredible sight I'd seen.

"I near fainted at what she did next. 

"She arched her body from the ground and her hands slipped behind her back. With a quick flick, she pulled the bra loose and tossed it onto the grass. 'My mum would kill me if you ruined it.' She winked at me and I sensed the burning of my face.

"My heart clambered into my mouth and I gazed in awe of her. I'd never seen breasts and hers were exquisite, with the palest of pink tips.

"Steve's eyes explored her body. They still batted open and shut, and a nervous twitch of his head added to his ludicrous appearance. He allowed the lumps of mud to fall from his grasp and they splattered onto her chest with the sound of gentle slaps. He grabbed her wrists and forced them to the ground. 'Go on then,' he gestured to me. 'Rub it in.'

'Why me?' I protested.

'Cause I'm holding her arms.'

"She lay motionless. It didn't appear she required any constraint. It was as though Diane was eager to get a mud bath. Nevertheless, I accepted his logic, swallowed deep and forced my hands towards her bosom.

"As much as possible, I avoided physical contact with her chest as I retrieved handfuls of mud. It was smeared over her, and beginning at her stomach, my strokes layered the sludge with firm pressure.

'Will, not so hard,' she hushed. 'Be gentle with me.'

"The reprimand was given in such a soft whisper, it excited me in a way I couldn't comprehend.

"With care, I smoothed the mud over her stomach and midriff until my hands were poised below her breasts. I examined her face. Was it a dare? She nodded her approval as though she could read my mind. I felt the need to form an additional barrier between my massage and her audacious breasts, and asked Steve for another helping from the bank.

"He returned and, that time, avoided her body as he deposited a massive load onto the grass. It splashed down and large gobs showered the girl and I. 

"Steve grabbed hold of her wrists and sat cross-legged.

"I scooped up a handful and smeared it over her breasts. I spread it into her skin and in a short while, the muck was no longer sticky. The more it smoothed over her, it became thinner, turning soft and silky like her skin. Within a short time, it was almost water and, through the thin film of dirty liquid, I sensed her nipples as they pressed against my palms. I continued to roll my hands over them, conscious of a curious sensation in my stomach.

"She groaned, a sound that resonated deep within her throat. Not only once, but over and over, like an animal in pain.

"Steve's eye batting had increased in intensity, but her moans changed that. Wide-eyed, unblinking, he looked at her. 

"In addition to the unusual sounds from her open mouth, Diane's eyes were half closed and her head lolled to the right. 

"It was too much for Steve, he abandoned his responsibility and forced himself up onto shaky legs.

'Hey,' I complained. 'You let her go.'

'What was that noise?' he whispered. 'Why did she do that?'

'How should I know?'

"He gathered his clothes and pulled them on while he continued to stare at her. 'I have to go,' he squealed. 'You coming?'

"My gaze lowered to Diane. Her eyes were glazed as they bore into mine. She shook her head from side to side as if to deny my absence. I didn't know why, but there was nothing on earth that could have persuaded me to leave her.

"Steve sat on the grass as he struggled to pull on his boots. 'OK,' he said. 'See you tomorrow?'

'Yes. Come round in the morning. Usual time.'

'What shall we do? Go to the pub or the pictures?'

"My mind couldn't cope with such trivia. 'Er, what?' I replied, while her eyes locked onto mine. 'Oh yes, I don't care what we do.'

"Steve rushed through the clearing, shirt tail trailing out of his trousers. When he reached the line of trees, he took a last look back over his shoulder and vanished along the pathway.

"I was never so glad to see him leave, though worried as to what I should do with Diane. Not for long!

"The girl took my hands, placed one on each breast and pushed them onto her flesh. Her eyes smiled into mine.

"Unsure of what I should do, my fingers remained where she'd left them.

"She took control, used her hands to guide mine over her bosom, manipulated my touch to pleasure herself. 

"Dad," Tom snapped. "I've heard enough."

I pulled back to reality to see his irritation aimed at me. "Yes, sorry. Sorry, Tom."

He rose to his feet and buttoned up his double-breasted jacket. "I should go. I forgot I have a client to see." He checked his watch. "There's time to drop you off."

My food was untouched. "No, Tom. You carry on. I'll finish my lunch."

"Here," he said, as he folded the napkin around the sandwich. "You can take it with you."

"No!"

Tom looked startled at my abruptness. "Fair enough. You'll get a taxi?"

"Of course. Bye."

He gave me a lengthy appraisal before he strode away.

I ordered another double and sat back to reminisce.

Diane's face was beautiful. Long strawberry blonde hair flowed haphazard in the grass, lips parted by the pinkness of her tongue, eye's closed against the world, as she lay in some secret place of her own. 

My hands trembled as she guided my fingers over the softness of her slim body. Her nipples grew, swelled into pencil rubbers, while she rolled them beneath my palms. The mud had all but gone as it slithered down the sides of her body, and collected into patches on her open dress.

"Will," she hushed.

I blushed at the look she gave me. "Yes," I stuttered.

"Hold my nipples." She pressed the right one between her finger and thumb. "Like this, Will." As I gazed in amazement, she rubbed herself.

My limbs were paralysed. 

Diane's hands captured mine and, with the most delicate touch, they led me to her breasts. Her eyes held me, and as my fingertips closed around her buds, she released a long sigh and her eyelids softly closed.

"That's the way, Will. Squeeze them gently as you pull on them." Her eyes opened for a brief moment before she groaned.

She asked me to cup them and press them together. "That's good. Your touch is so tender." She gave me a reassuring smile. "Yes," the dear girl sighed. "Keep doing it, don't stop."

While I petted her, a silence fell around us like a shield, isolating us. A stillness settled, broken only by her moans and my laboured breathing. The whole world centred upon this darling girl - woman.

"Will?"

"Yes."

"I want you to remove your trousers."

"Must I?"

"Yes," she giggled. "It's the only way. Do you want me to help you?"

"No, I can do it."

I stood, and with a struggle, finally controlled the tremble in my fingers and unbuttoned my flies. I turned my back on her and tugged the trousers down.

"Will," she laughed, "I'm over here."

With a supreme effort, I turned to face her.

Diane's gaze lowered to my middle and she smiled. "Come here, you darling boy. Kneel down. I won't hurt you."

I had no underpants, naked and vulnerable, I bowed before my goddess.

"Will you do something nice for me?" she lulled.

"Yes, anything."

"Remove my panties?"

"If you want," I said in a low voice, so quiet I scarcely heard it myself.

She raised her bottom from the ground, and I awkwardly grasped the elastic waistband.

As I lowered the flimsy material down her legs and exposed her, my heart pounded so loudly, I was sure she could hear. When the garment was finally discarded on the grass, I worshipped her nakedness.

I had never seen a naked female and, with no idea of what to expect, I was eager to explore her. 

Diane studied my face while she parted her legs. It was a languid, tender moment as she revealed herself, and nothing has ever surpassed the beauty of what I saw.

The fine hairs were light brown, a delicate covering. Amongst the tangle of curls, I could detect the faint trace of a parting.

"Diane ... may I touch you?"

"Let me see your hands."

I thrust the muddy hands in her direction.

"Will, they're filthy," she said in mock disgust, "go and wash them in the pond."

I rushed to the water, waded in and with my back to her, had a secret pee.

On my return, I held out my hands for inspection; turned over the palms to show the back and front, as though I was a child ready for dinnertime.

Diane grinned her approval, and I knelt between her open legs.

"Now you can touch me," she whispered.

I had no idea of what I should do.

Diane took my hand in hers as she helped me unfold her. The darling girl initiated me, showed me how I should fondle and, as I wondered at her splendour, a thrill travelled from the tip of my penis and engulfed my groin. 

I gazed at myself. I was erect; a fine dribble flowed onto the grass.


Smitten



"Will, lean forward and lie on top of me."

By accident, I prodded her as I obeyed. "Sorry," I stammered.

"Shush," she caressed, "you're doing well."

My upper chest pressed against hers, Diane's sweet face was inches from mine. So close, I was able to study the sprinkling of incendiary freckles across her cheeks and delicate nose. As I gazed at her beauty, soft fingers glided along my penis before they enveloped its base.

"Raise your bottom a little more," she whispered in a breathless voice. "That's good. Stay just as you are, Will."

Thrilled by the tender touch of her hand around my penis, I sensed her guidance. I waited and, after a few seconds, experienced for the first time ever, an approaching climax.

"Will," she murmured, "lower your bottom." Her voice was so soft. "Allow yourself to drift down. You must be slow as I guide you in."

With care, I did as I was told. As the constraint of her body gripped me, I lost control. My body erupted in a series of violent bursts, each one producing waves of ecstasy to pulse through my whole being. I entered, and as our bodies joined, I melted within her.

I lay in her arms, confessed that I loved her, and had always loved her. 

With delicate strokes, she smoothed her fingers through my still damp hair and, it was the first of many times, that she named me her 'darling William.'

---

It was early evening when I returned to my empty home. I pushed the button on my answer phone and, as I pulled the study curtains against the dusk, Tom's message informed me he wished me to phone.

"Good evening, Tom."

"Hello Dad, thanks for returning my call." He gave a nervous cough. "I've been thinking over our chat during lunch."

"Chat?"

"Well, it wasn't so much that as ... either way, let me ask you a question."

"Sure, I cannot guarantee an answer."

"Did you fall in love with Diane?"

"Yes."

"On that day in April?"

"No," I lied, "although that was the start. Tom, you ought to know that we met again some years later. In London."

"Before you married Mother?"

"Tom, is that what worried you all these years? That I had an affair?" I relaxed into my armchair. "Before you reply, let me assure you, I never cheated on Jean. Not with Diane or any other woman."

"She was convinced you did, often told me it was a fact."

"All this time, you've thought that of me?"

There was no response.

"Son, I never cheated." The old frustration returned, the desperation when someone for whom you care refuses to accept your word. "Tom, I was fond of Jean. Hell, I would never have done anything to hurt her."

"But you were so cold with her." His voice trembled and I sensed his anger. "She told me the first few months of marriage were good and then ... she said it was as though you began to drift away. Around the time I was born, she said that was when she lost you. Right up until she died, she swore you had a mistress."

"I know that, son. For the first two years, maybe three, I tried to convince her there was no-one else, but she wouldn't accept it."

"Then what was it? Why did ..."

"It was Diane."

"But you said ..."

"I didn't have an affair; in fact during my time with Diane, I didn't even know Jean. Yes, Diane and I lived together for nine months, shared a bed-sit near Battersea. Tom, that was before I met your mother." I took a deep breath as I fought against the despair that threatened. "I fell in love with Diane and ..." 

I choked on a flood of tears.

"Dad, are you alright?"

"Yes, just give me a minute." Slowly, I gained my composure. "I was so deeply in love with Diane, I was unable to love again. I didn't realise, had no idea of the effect she would have on me."

"So, why did you leave her? Dad, it doesn't make sense. Unless ... did Diane lose interest in you?"

"No, it wasn't like that. While I was in London with her, your granddad pestered me to return home and work in the business, join him and your uncle. Diane pleaded me to stay with her. At the time she was struggling, there was no likelihood of anyone giving her acting work. We were almost starving. Believe me, the notion of living on love is not as romantic as people think."

"That's why you left her? Decided to live the safe life?"

"Yes, and I've regretted my cowardice ever since." I ignored the tears that streamed down my cheeks. "By the time I realised my mistake, knew I couldn't exist without her, it was too late. She'd married."

"Dad, I owe you an apology."

"What for? What reason is there for you to be sorry, Tom? It's always been my fault."

"No, that's not true," he sighed. "I need to apologise for the way I treated you all those years. Mother had me convinced you were a cold, insensitive adulterer. I accepted what she said ... I should have talked to you years ago."

"What's changed?"

"For the first time, I have some understanding of you. Today, I see you in a different way, a man of passion, caring and sensitive.

"Dad, ... I suspect we have a lot of work ahead of us, let's call it ... building bridges. I think we can do it."

"Well, thank you, son. I never ..."

"I wonder. Would you be free for dinner this Friday?"

"Tom, I would love that. It's been a long time ..."

We made arrangements and I replaced the phone, settled into the seat and sighed with a deep contentment.

Almost immediately, the phone rang. "What!" I growled.

"William?" asked a lush voice.

I jumped up. "Diane!"

"Oh, I'm so glad it's you. I feared you would be ex-directory."

"Diane, I'm so sorry I shouted at you."

"Darling, don't worry," she sighed, "but tell me, how did you recognise my voice? It's been so many years."

I chuckled. "I've seen every one of your films - countless times. I've heard your voice almost every day for years."

"Oh, William, you are sweet to say that. Even if it's a fib, it makes me feel so good, gives me a warm feeling."

"It's not a lie."

"Thank you, darling. You still know how to charm me. I want to thank you for the bouquet. It's why I rang. How did you recall I adore wild flowers?"

"I remember everything you love." My voice faltered. "Once upon a time, that included me."

"And do you suppose that ever changed?"

"Diane, I ..."

"I love your card." She paused and her voice was unsteady. "The words made me cry."

"There was so much more I could have said." 

"You were always the great romantic."

"Huh," I groaned. "Tell my son that."

"Oh, what do our children know," she said, "I have four and not one of them understands me.

"When I read your card, it brought back such warm memories." Her voice softened. "That day in the woods, the sixth of April, it was wonderful, wasn't it? I often think back to that afternoon."

"Do you? Do you, really?"

"Of course, you darling man. Surely you knew that."

"No, I never forgot, but assumed with the excitement of your glamorous life, you had long ago ditched the memory."

"You should know me better than that. I never lusted after the glamour. It was always the work, and nothing's changed, I adore being an actor."

"It's wonderful to hear from you, Diane. I'm so pleased you phoned. But, how are you?"

"I'm fine. It's a minor operation. I'll be out by tomorrow afternoon. William, you know the main advantage of a private hospital?"

"I can think of a few," I said.

"Well, there's one in particular. It's the visiting hours, there aren't any. Visitors come and go as they please." I could imagine her demure eyes lowered, as they did every time she wanted me to please her. "Would you call on me?"

My heart raced. "I'd be happy to. When?"

"Now?"

"Will you be alone?"

"I could be." She giggled. "Is that what you want? You have only to ask."

"Will you ... please?"

"Of course, my darling. Are you on your way?"

"Yes, give me an hour."

"Why so long?" she purred. "Come as you are, William."

"You don't understand. It's the taxi firm I use. I give them a great deal of work, despite that, I can never rely on them. Damned idiots."

"William, you were never like this. You've grown into a grumpy old man." She laughed. "You know I'm teasing you, but you were always such a sweetie. So gentle, so patient - even with my unreasonable demands."

"I'm sorry. You're right though." I crossed my fingers tight as I dived in. "You could change all that, you know."

There was silence. I went further.

"Diane, you should know ..." My hands trembled with excitement and apprehension. "I never stopped ... I've always loved you."

"Did you know I'd remarried?"

"Yes," I replied gloomily, "I read it somewhere."

"George is such a dear. You'd like him."

"Diane, forget what I said. I spoke out of turn. I'm sorry."

"You really ought not to give up quite so easily."

"Do you mean ..."

"My darling William, hush now and hurry along. We have a lot of time to make up."



Smitten by Love



I had been emotionally disconnected and drifting since my divorce, drinking, dabbling in drugs, not looking for anything except the next party and my next lay. All were usually in abundance. I was attending Community College on the GI Bill and working summers for the county to pay for life. Even now, at twenty-five I was essentially without a clear goal in life. At least one thing was in my favor, I had only myself to care for...and, oh yeah, the child support payments for my son since my marriage breakup. I didn't mind paying for my son's needs, it was just when I saw his mother's picture on the front page of the local newspaper and how she was running with a Harley Davidson motorcycle gang, that I got a little pissed about giving her money that I had no control over. It always made me wonder "who was buying the beer for these pricks?" I would console myself with the knowledge that at least I didn't have to live with her anymore and she was getting just what she asked for, "treated like shit" by some asshole biker. Not that I hate all bikers since I own one myself. I just hate the egotistical ones that have an axe to grind against civilization and anyone that doesn't ride a Harley. 

I had always prided myself on being independent, and paying my own way. That way I'm not beholding to anyone. I lived mostly alone in a small one bedroom apartment that I called my own. It wasn't the Taj Mahal but it was comfortable and my friends admired my autonomy and my single lifestyle. At least, those that wore the old ball and chain or the few who still lived at home. There was always food and usually some beer in the fridge and the cupboards stocked. Not that I'm a chef or anything but I kept myself fed and could whip up a dinner for guests. My place was a few miles out-of-town and I hated to come home and find nothing to eat. It seemed there was always friends dropping by to party or get high so I needed to keep at least some 'munchies' available.

Tonight's party was at an acquaintance's house that I had never been to before. Off the main highway and nestled behind 20 acres of peach orchard, it was a perfect party house. The music thundered in one room and the kindred folks wandered about dancing, drinking, talking or cuddled in a corner making out. Although I knew many of the people here I felt oddly alone, as though I was on the outside looking in, detached. I guess I was just moody and feeling sorry for myself because I didn't have a love interest. Some days you're grateful to be single and some you just need to be close to someone even if it's just for the night.

AND THEN...I saw her face; it was the face of an angel, across the room UV light making star shine of her smile. I had not seen her before and was taken by her fresh beauty and persistent smile. I'm generally not the type to go up to any woman and start up a conversation but I told myself in this case I would make an exception. She was sitting on the couch, holding a beer and talking with another guy. I couldn't help staring at her. She had such a, wholesome, girl next door look and Oh, that radiant smile. I sat down across the room and feigned interest in some music album, all the while catching glimpses of her as she spoke animatedly with the man. I watched her hand movements, fluid and artful as she gestured frequently during the conversation, the broad smile never leaving her face.

I caught Danny's arm as he walked by and asked, "Who's the beauty on the couch?"

"Oh her? Her name's Judy. She came with Bill and Michele. I guess she's up from LA visiting." "Go for it man." he said with an evil grin as he hurried on his way.

The guy she was talking to got up and walked away leaving her alone. It was then our eyes met from across the room. She flashed that bright, angelic smile again as I struggled with myself trying to think of the right opening line to begin a conversation. Once again, I was at a loss for words but knew I had to act. I decided on the direct approach. I got up, holding eye contact with her and moved to sit beside her. 

"Hi, my name's Charlie. Do you mind if I sit here with you? I understand you come from LA," I said, trying to fight off the stupid Cheshire cat grin I had on my face since our eyes first met. 

"Yes, I am, the West Valley actually. Do you know Bill and Michelle?" I cocked my head and looked perplexed. 

"DO YOU KNOW BILL AND MICHELLE? CAN WE GO OUTSIDE FOR A MINUTE?" she raised her voice over the volume of music as a new song thundered to life.

I stood and offered my hand, I would go anywhere she wanted me to. She met my eyes, surprised with that 'nobody has ever done that for me before' look on her face. Her hand was warm and soft, just as I knew it would be. What I hadn't expected was that she was much taller than I thought. I would guess about five and a half feet. I let her lead the way since this was her idea and it gave me time to take in her other charms as I followed behind. Her snug-fitting jeans complemented her long legs as she negotiated a path between people and furniture to the front door.

The night was beautiful and warm, with a slight breeze and stars blazed brightly in the heavens as we talked our way down the long gravel drive. To my astonishment, I learned that we had met once before in Santa Monica when I was visiting friends. I couldn't remember her from that meeting and as I looked at her now I wondered why. But, she remembered me! I thought back to the night she and her sister and another girl wedged themselves into the backseat of my Volkswagen and we all headed off to the Topanga Canyon Mall. Maybe it was because I was with another woman at the time or because I had been meeting so many people that day. I just couldn't believe that I would not have taken notice.

She had medium brown hair that flowed gracefully well passed her shoulders and I would guess she was between 19 or 20 years old. Her eyes were hazel like mine, mostly green with flecks of gold that seemed to sparkle as the light caught them, so alive they were in the night. She filled out her tank top well and wore no bra. Her breasts firm and full beneath the thin T-shirt material, nipples threatening to become erect in the night air. 

At length, I asked if she would like to take a ride on my motorcycle. She was delighted and eagerly encouraged me to get the bike while she let her friends know where she was going.

She climbed on the back and we took to the road for a short cruise through town. There's a certain RPM that sets up a harmonic vibration through the seat that women seem to love. I call it the "Good Vibrations" spot. Often I try to induce the effect by holding that RPM just a little longer between shifts. It must have worked because every so often I could feel her squirm on the seat and her arms would tighten around me. 

Stopping at a Dairy Queen for a drink we sat and talked for over an hour about our lives, likes and dislikes, finding that we were very much alike. Returning to the party after a couple of hours we found the house nearly empty. Her friends had gone home, so I said I would take her home. We ended up stopping at my place, smoking a joint and snuggling. I think we both realized this was 'lust at first sight'. 

As we kissed, I couldn't help but feel her breasts press against my chest. My cock became firm and pressured her thigh. I moved my hand up her side brushing one of her breasts as I pushed an errant strand of hair from her face. She gave a small shudder so I continued with bolder advances. My kisses were more probing now, moving along her cheek to her earlobe and down her neck. We fell against the back of the sofa, lost in a swelling tide of passion. I wanted her to be as fascinated with me as I was with her. Even if it didn't lead to sex that night I was satisfied being with her, kissing her and taking my time. Knowing that we would see each other again tomorrow.

After many minutes of sweet caresses and hot kisses, I nuzzled my face between those lovely, soft mounds. She pushed me back, lifted her top over her head and threw it to the floor. 

Like an idiot I asked, "Are you getting too warm, I can open a window?"

Judy looked at me and we both laughed as I caught my blunder, "No silly, I want you to kiss me here." 

She pressed her breasts together offering them to me. Captivated, I was treated to the exquisite sight of those wonderful tits, unfettered. 

"Oh my god! You're absolutely edible," taking her strawberry nipple into my mouth. She giggled lightly, running her fingers through my hair, pulling me tighter to her breast.

"I love my breasts touched and my nipples sucked." 

I planted kisses and tender love bites all around them and over her chest. She was breathing hard now and squeezing the bulge in my pants, silently begging me to release it. I guess I lost the resolve to take my time.

I scooped her into my arms and carried her to the bedroom, locked in a deep kiss, I laid her softly on the bed, pulled away and began stripping off her remaining clothes. Inching her panties down I caught full view of her beautiful, lightly hair-covered, pussy. She glistened wet in the light from the adjoining room. I vowed again under my breath to take my time and give us both a night to remember. 

Standing back, I began taking off my own clothes, as seductively as I could without appearing too dramatic. It seemed to be working. Her hand found her own wetness and casually began to caress herself as she watched me continue my 'strip tease'. When I was naked I moved to the foot of the bed and kissed her feet. Gradually, I worked my kisses up her quivering legs, spreading them wider, until I reached her waiting pussy. She tried weakly to direct me away but her attempt was half-hearted at best. Later she would confide to me that she had never been kissed there before. I moved her hands and kissed her thighs and around her mound softly, working my way to her clit. My tongue danced long strokes up and down her slippery lips. Judy moaned with delight as I continued to alternately suck and lick at her hard, fleshy nub. I slid a finger into her warm wetness, searching for that illusive 'G' spot. She pushed hard against my hand and stiffened noticeably as my finger found a sensitive spot. Whether it was her 'G' spot or not, it brought from her moans of pleasure and a shortness in her breath. 

My own sex was throbbing hard and aching for fulfillment. I could feel wetness on the bed under me and I knew it was time. I just had to find out what her pussy was like. After a few minutes I asked if she would sit on me. With a broad smile she positioned herself over my erection, taking it in one hand, she pressed the head to her slit, moving it along the length of her own wetness. With one final push her inner lips spread wide, accepting the head of my cock. She winced and stopped for a moment, letting herself adjust to the violation. Ever so slowly, she engulfed the rest. I could feel her squeeze and caress every inch of me. 

With her now fully enveloping my shaft and lying on my chest, she started slowly rocking back and forth. "This girl is divine. She has promise." I thought to myself. 

I had to take it easy for fear I would come too soon. Letting her guide our motion, I would stop her now and then to quell my rising climax. It wouldn't do to have me come first, at least not this time.

Her firm breasts pressed hard against my chest, her hot pussy clamped around me like a velvet vise. I could feel her grip gradually loosen as we rocked to a shared beat. With one flowing move, I turned her over onto her back without separating our embrace and kissed her deeply, probing her mouth with my tongue. Cautiously, I increased the rhythm, allowing my cock to slide further out each time until I was fucking her with long, slow strokes. My cock head found her bottom with each deep stroke so I backed off for fear of hurting her but she just pulled me closer, delirious with pleasure. 

An orgasm churned within me, but, damn it, she was going to come before I did. With her hands grasping my ass cheeks, encouraging more speed from me like a race horse ridden to victory, she neared climax. Her breathing was fast and shallow, moaning quietly with each stroke. Without warning her breath caught in her throat, nails dug into me and she stiffened. I continued with the same tempo as a low-pitched groan welled up from deep within her throat, "I'm coming...Oh god...I'm coming!" Her words were lost as I too broke over the edge. Orgasmic bliss drowning out all other sensations. My cock felt rock hard and each convulsion sent a hot jet into her and an electric current through me. My head felt as though it would explode from the pulse pounding in my ears. We held each other tightly as the last of our simultaneous climax subsided and the afterglow stretched on. When we were able to breathe again, we softly praised and kissed one another. 

We fell asleep for half an hour or so before we awoke, got dressed and I drove her to our friend's house in my car. We parted reluctantly, vowing to see each other the next day. I felt like a teenager in love, I didn't want to say good bye even for a few hours but sanity prevailed and I finally let her out of my car and watched as she went inside. 

The stars were falling and the horizon turning a pastel salmon and azure blue in the east as I pulled in front of my apartment. I couldn't wait for the sun to chase the shadows away and I could again see my "new love". 



Smitten by the Playboy: Crush



His scent...I can still smell it in the coffee. I thought this was over. Done and finished with to be no more again. But these were his final words to me before I went far away from where he could follow me to. With a staid and heavily serious expression, he looked into my vigilant and alert damn eyes to tell me the harsh and cruel-like words themselves:

"You think you can succeed to get away from me. The honest truth is that you can barely triumph to do anything like that. I will be there with you wherever it is that you run to. I will haunt you always and without any fail. You will not live to see the joy and happiness of life itself. I swear on this. You will not ever!"

I am all alone. Everyone has already gone by now. I am still seated and fixed still here, typing and resolving out a few things that Turner will want to see finished and carried through by the dawn of the coming day, Thursday that is. Well, I should finish this up quickly and get on going my way. I probably and definitely should. I am not dragging any helplessly tired foot out of this office up till I am through and finished with the present task at hand.

It is cold and chilly outside here. Midtown Las Vegas. Damn it! I forgot to carry and bring my coat with me here for work. And now I will have to suffer and pay for that silly damn mistake of mine. Crap it straight into the bin. I have no alternative than to pull through the whole nasty and excruciating ordeal. As I make my way through the restless people, I wonder what it will be like if I were to meet Charles anew. He is the monster...he has always been the monster, who won't rest until he has devoured and consumed me up into nothingness. Oh God! Does it have to turn out like this again? Huh?

I expected to find some cabs here at the Trill Manor Junction Square. Rather, I see and sight absolutely nothing at all. What does this have to mean? I take a tramcar or maybe a public train straight damn to my apartment. Schroeder must be waiting. Hard; restless like a bee that has not yet come across that valuable and precious something. I wonder why she hasn't called me already...I only wonder...I call her up instead.

"Hey. You have expecting me to come there?"

"No. And I wouldn't miss you if you slept out there in the cold or whatever damn shack you feel like napping your head on."

"Sorry to disappoint you. I am actually on my way there."

"Alone?"

"Alone. I got from the office quite a little bit late. I thought you were supposed to process and read that on your own, or were not you, sweet babe?"

"No problem, Tori. I will be waiting though. Safe journey on your part!"

I make it late to the rail station. I am expecting that they have closed by now. I will have no choice but to get on a public bus. Three hours of walking? I can't bear it anymore. I have gone on foot enough already this early morning. It is now night, and somebody with a sick and wicked mind that you don't know might attack and assault you for no even sound reason. I have heard enough of such horror stories already. And I don't want to be on another episode of The Tragic Most Things That Might Happen To You with Brody Cooper interviewing and interrogating me through the whole painful memory memorial phase. Duh—huh!

It is twenty minutes now since I have been last walking on the street alone there. I am perched and stooled down at some Rail Depot—I forgot to call up and even swot up its name. This shouldn't be terrible though. What matters is that I get home—straight into Courtney's arms and tell her what the hell I've been through and for what purposes exactly. Yeah...yeah! Enough of this silly brain talk now.

The tramcar is moving slowly and bit by bit. I feel like I should kick and smash its windows up for eating and chewing up my time very slowly and annoyingly before my very face and eyes. Yeah! Even yell and shout at the driver like the hornet of a big, awful train itself. What is he thinking? Wait a second! Has not he been drinking too much liquor—huh? 

There is a couple seated right there in front of me, chatting and smiling and laughing to themselves. How do I know they are wed and jingled-the-bell-up. Well, the way the are postured and positioned in the face of the other...it is all so obvious and evident. If that's not truthfully so, maybe one of them is preferably married, possibly the man who looks very much older and senior than the poor girl my age. Hmnnnn. She is going out with grandpa, right? Bad choice! It is not that I envy and feel jealous for her. I don't. I just question if he really and to the fill makes her intensely and incredibly happy.

What about you yourself, Tori? My conscious asks and conjectures me. Me? I am happy and very much free with the way I am myself. Okay. This is my plan for now. First work hard and diligently in life. Then after that find someone worth your attention to marry and settle down with. Maybe I should do the actual opposite. Like throw myself into the big pool of love and then seek my life and goals and desires later on? No way. It would be torture to me, I swear. I just what to get what I want to nab first, and then nab and hold on to other things later on. 

Back in the Cape, so many people who knew me were every time wondering why I never became jealous at all if they happened to be paired into strings and groupings of two that romantic and affectionate way. My dreams come first just like my precious damn life itself. I don't want anything to get in my way. Unfortunately and very much sadly, a lot more way things than I thought possible have harassed and badgered me up. But that has not stopped me from fighting to be where I want to get myself to. Love careless sometimes can ruin up your entire building. Better keep it in watch and safeguard than regret it later on. Okay, I could have stayed with Charles or Sadie, made them both wildly happy and in seventh heaven...all at the expense of risking what I have long worked for and wanted to have in life? Hell no! I was faced with a choice. I had to choose between them and my coming self. And I went for the later. Like they say, no sacrifice comes without a cost. I had to suffer some things just to lose them and thereafter in the end score the ball into the goal post and triumph furiously. I hope I don't have to come to this scenario again. 

Finally, I am a few bearable steps away from home. As I walk in the breezing and fanning cold, I am thinking of what else I have to do with my coming spare time. Yes. I can be sort of a careless and unthinking alcoholic most frequently of the times. But then there are times that a thoroughly tired and to the inch beat exhausted lazy me do not do any sort of work. I am thinking. What better way than to fall in love. Yes, it would be wonderful and beautifully great indeed. I mean...I am good-looking and socially standard and average in character and deeds. It would be not be that much hard to find love here and any goodly shoulder that I can lean and brace myself on. Stop it, Tori. Don't think about love...it will just come to you on an unexpected moment, and you better just keep your heart open and highly willing to receive it. 

At times I do feel that I am left out and lagging behind in this love thing. But then I hardly and barely am not. My heart and instincts tell me so. If I die young and beautiful without ever deeply and heavily falling in love then that will be it. If I do, the excellent and better still. Dying young again? It can easily happen...it has taken place so many times with so many people after all.

When I push open the door, I see Courtney perched and seated down there on the mammoth brown couch where she is typing up and surfing something on the net on her laptop. What? A dating site? She is dating Gavin now and they both met on some dating website online. Of course! Things don't have to end online there. They have met and hanged out with each other a couple times now. 

"Chatting with Gavin?" I ask her coolly and steadily as I close the door behind me.

"Kind of," she replies calmly and sedately. "He is in some night club right now with his guy friends. I wonder what manners and mentalities they are etching up into him. I hope it doesn't affect and touch me, or will it, Tori?"

"You know how guys are like. You can't restrain them from what they want to be—or can you?"

"You are right there, sweet buddy." 

"Good. What is there to eat for supper if I may ask?"

"Am I your cook?" She gives me that go-find-out-in-the-kitchen-yourself look that is a bit impolite and bitter to some marginal extent. Fuck her for it! Jeez! This girl and her bossy behavior! It drives me nuts and crackers like I am going to choke and throttle her up on the throat. Seriously!

Our kitchen is sizeable but not so big again, neither is it that inconsiderably and helplessly small either. No, it is not. It is well and nicely kept. All so magically and beautifully clean. If you see it, you will be like, "This certainly has to be polished up for some perfect GO-SPOTLESS advert." Courtney and I always like it this trim and immaculate way.

What must I eat for tonight, huh? A cup of yoghurt will do, with boiled eggs and Italian Pane Siciliano bread and the Chinese Keanu Reaves chicken salads and a bit slice of Berwick—or is it Bacon sandwich? Whichever name is suitable. That is what I want to gobble and guzzle up for tonight. Seriously; dummy! 

Once in the living room, I seat and entrench myself right next to Courtney. She is there on her laptop, busy typing and scribbling up. "So what is going on here if I may ask—pardon me, girl, but I have to be snoopy and dowdy with you just this time around alone?" 

Her eyes wander to me and then stray back to her laptop screen. "It is just that...I am telling him not to misbehave and annoy me up. If he does, I won't forgive or let him off for it."

My god! This woman here with her long flowing red hair is extremely beautiful. I, on the contrary, have long cascading chestnut brown hair and dark goldish skin and sparkling amber-like eyes. Yes. I am from Western Cape in South Africa and my name is Tori Wolf. Before I moved my way here, I was back there in the tip and farthest south of Africa, trifling and messing around with Charles Berlusconi. The only thing I want right now is to have him kicked and booted mercilessly out of my heart and life itself. He has no rightful and deserving place here. Screw him for that!

"And you? You are still thinking about Charles Berlusconi right?"

My God! It is slightly a little bit painful to accept that I would devote my priceless and golden moments over just fantasizing and drooling about him. Well, this is not the actual and verifiable truth. I once loved him. So much indeed; but not anymore! I can't escape him now. He is part of my history and gone life itself. And I have to live with him in my heart without loving him up till the day that I breathe my last in this little small sick world of ours. It is the same on his part too. The guy is dazzlingly beautiful, you don't always get around to see his type anyhow, and he has lots and lots more of girls or even less or just one like he wants to. I have literature.com and Hollywood celeb gossip-up life myself. Yes. I am so much interested and absorbed in Hollywood and its glamorous celebrities. I do work for some Paparazzi agency here in Las Vegas part time. I lost Charles. He lost me. We both lost each other, but the truth is that I would never be more happier than I am now if I were with him. 

He has got another totally different life from mine. He wants to be a Pastor, I dare hear. He wants to be The Ladies' Best Man, I dare unravel. I want to embrace and love Hollywood. There is no way we can fit in together like this. I will want to write and write all latest celebrity articles, and he will be there, telling me I should rather stop and sing 'Amazing Grace' for him continually. I will want to fan and follow my favorite stars, and he will be looking upon them and their achievements to be nothing other than the works and master-crack-pieces and organizations of the Great Illuminati itself. I will be a wicked remediless devil before his very eyes and face. I just don't mean to say that I cannot be spiritual and very much godly focused. I can be! But will and shall evermore be very different in deeds and tastes. I want to eat the Bologna sandwich. He wants hell-names-what inexistent sandwich. 

"I am not thinking about Charles Berlusconi, Courtney. Or maybe you want me to start drooling and falling madly in love with him all over again?"

"No, Tori. I didn't say that."

"Then don't make me think about him another time. Or if you dare do, know that he is not the most important thing that matters to me in my life right now. You hear that, chocolate girl?"

"Sure, candy sexy Tori."

"Thanks by the way. Who told you I am hot damn sexy?"

"Don't talk as if I don't see you strutting about naked girl on your way to the Jacuzzi. You have a so hot body just like mine that you should let be enjoyed and relished in."

"Not for now, silly intelligent girl. Drop the act—please, I add kindly."

"Fine." She has almost given up on me. Wow! This neighborhood is the most perfect and to some dimension not roughly noiseless. I have lived in places before that were noisy and drumming incessantly like a rock musical concert that starts without any sure and distinct ending. At least everyone here seems to be minding their own business. Or if they are not, they are not all that overly snoopy doggy type so as to make a living out of spying on other people's lives and advancements and downfalls. I know what I am describing here. I have met and seen it with my own eyes before!

"So, girl, what do you think 'bout falling in love this time around again?" Courtney asks me noiselessly and gently calm. I am thinking...Tori falling in love again? It would be wonderfully cool. But whom does this has to be this time 'round? 

"I don't know. What about you?"

"You deserve to be in love, man! Go think it all over again."

I laugh out loud. "I have waited for this moment so long. To be twenty-five, free, and to fall so deep in love thoughtlessly and without any bit of worries about it."

"As in what people will say and talk about you?"

"I don't care about that. People unfailingly talk. I see no reason why they should stop talking about me being in love. They must carry on with their truth and lie blended dirty talk, but I do not care or give any slightest mite damn. I can be in love with whomever it is that I feel like. I cannot be in love if I don't want to. This is not a forcing matter; and this is not a people-shying and shrinking matter."

"It is good to learn that you have grown this fast already, freaky girl."

"Thank you—I really appreciate it."

"So can I bring him over?"

Holy shit! Who now? Who has been eyeing and thinking of hearts and roses about me? Who is this one? I always feel very much uncomfortable being looked and espied at like...crap! As a matter of fact, I am not able to look people in the eyes and face for that relatively long either. If I do, it will not be me but somebody else. That is just how I am. And some people find this to be seriously and terribly annoying of me. I don't just care. But I can be nagging and a pain in the ass most of the times. It is just I have to work hard at concealing it. But this one, considering that he has been looking at me without my attention and awareness, I am not bothered or stressed up by it at all. No—I am not shy. I am just very much conscious and overreacting at times. 

"Who is this WHO, Courtney?"

"I won't reveal his name to you, but I just want you to know that somebody has been observing and monitoring you seriously." Oooooh! I didn't know or expect that either. Who could he be? Do I know him or not? I can't tell this too soon. No way possible!

I have studied how I fall in love and came up with this discovery: If I fall in love with someone good and peacefully well at start, we will end up violently and dramatically and scandalously. But if I step into love with hatred and bitterness and non-peacefulness, then we will end up well and beautifully. This was so true with Charles himself. I started hating and despising him, and in the long run, we were both tender and affectionate and dearest and blah...blah...blah. But like they say, not every fairy tale is meant to last happily ever after. I could have been everything that he wanted me to be. I would have tallied and remained long in his presence so he can come and spend wonderful, glorious times with him. At first I was almost all this until it clicked in me that falling in love with him would change me and my gleeful visions and whole being and self into someone that I would not have wanted to be in the first place. And that's what made me become indifferent and negligent to him. I deeply want someone that I can relate to and share the same or if not harmonizing then corresponding world with. And that someone is not Charles Berlusconi either.

"So who is this one, Courtney?" I ask eagerly and patiently. I can't wait to hear that valuable name. Not that I am in love with him already. No way possible. I just want to know who it is. I mean is he worth the sacrifice and everything else. 

"You shall be meeting him on the rightful good time. That's all, Tori. Goodnight for now." And off she goes straight to her bedroom, leaving me wondering and thinking about everything that she has said. Someone interested in me? It must be a total joke. I was not looking forward to anything like this, or was I? No way.

In my bed, I can't sleep. I close my eyes and I see him there. Charles Berlusconi. Why won't he leave me alone? I don't want to think about him or even see him. But he is just there in my reality and imaginary world. Whenever I notice and realize that I am starting to fall for him deeper and deeper again, I do everything in my power and will to forget and erase him from my objections and heart. I can't go on like this...I have to be with someone else in order to forget him. Only then will he stop harassing and badgering me up as he will be fully aware that I am no longer his but part and whole parcel of someone else. I find myself thinking back to this particular day. I am at Kaapstad Church with Ally, walking outside when a Charles-Berlusconi age mate says out raucously as if asking someone else, "Hey you, where is my woman, huh? Where is she?" Oh, he is meaning Mirth. Tori's natural rival. I am also wondering where she is. Where are you, Mirth, please? Your guy man here wants you, dear!?

Before long, Charles appears from that other side. He is with his sibling brother, walking gracefully and assuredly. Then they stand still and begin to click-clack something on their phones. This is not the first time they are playing this kind of game on me! I don't know what their plans and intentions are, but whatever it is that they want from me, they are not going to get or win it. No way will I let that happen. I am determined to slip away from his trap and catch on the other hand too. It may be painful; but then it is not any bit painful at all. I have to get away from him. Fast; hurriedly; and assuredly too. Even if they growl and snarl at me like gone-mad-dogs at me for that. I have to do it. I have done it before after all—and I can do it well and excellently again.

Mirth is the most beautiful girl that I have ever met. She lives in me, Tori. She is part of me. We are both different in nature and behavior and characteristics. She is just there inside me—my helpful conscious, the voice that always speaks in my mind and tells me what to do and what not to. She is a being and person of her own, and I know that one soon coming day, she will manifest herself to me in her own full beauty and glory and attractiveness. For now, her beauty is of gentle quietness and as if it has never had being at all.




Smitten by the Playboy: Crush



Charles. That is the name that rings in my mind like a bell when I wake up. I can see him. Right there before me. I know what he is. I know what he does, which no one else does not really know and are even fully conscious of. Mirth made it all clear and apparent to me much to my own shock and mesmerism. Enough of this silly mentality now. Ah-ah! Life does not begin and end with him. I was born and raised up without him after all. I will die without him in the very end. 

No wonder I must be in love any sooner from now. I don't want Charles' name echoing and pealing in my nasty damn quiet mind and his handsomely face bothering and tormenting me up. Some other name must be ringing in my mind like sweet music. My heart and whole naked self must belong to someone else. I have to be in love sooner than possible so that I can forget and be over Charles. Yes! Very quickly indeed! Whew! What a relief it shall be for me only then!

Courtney is up early. Las Vegas is very busy town and place, I am aware. So preoccupied and active just like most towns here in the USA and the overall world itself. DUH-UH!

"Good morning, Tori," she whispers and hisses to me in between a seemingly crucial phone call. Of course! It is obvious that she is talking and shooting the breeze up with Garvin Wright. He is her man and protector after all. He has every right in the world to talk with his girl and learn what she is doing and what she is as well up to. And me myself? I have Hollywood to spare me the die with envy and jealousy phase. Fast to my online world. What's fresh and trending here in TINSELTOWN? Holy shit...some newly celebrity has gotten her first big ever role in a $95 million budget action horror movie about zombies and the undead and I have that opportunity and chance to interview her about it. Yes. I shall work my way into it early this afternoon.

Celebrities are cool, fashionable people. I know. They are human, and not THE ALL SUPREME AND SOVEREIGN GOD. For that we must not worship and idolize them. Too sad this is not the case. Many and so often a time, their fans revere and look up to them like they are really divine and worth the Godly statues. I wonder. Are such fans merely jocular and fooling around or are they serious and kill-dame-hater state devoted and attached to it. I can't truly tell. 

And I myself being a celebrity? Have I ever imagined that? Oh yes—we all have, in those relatively silly and unrealistic moments. But you know what? Reality always has a nasty little surprise for us, or does not it? Some of us come to be bigger or smaller celebrities themselves whether we like it or not, we plan it or not, we kill for it or not—and the rest of us will always have something valuably and far much important to do in our lives. That is just life. Don't envy a Hollywood star human, they are much the same just like you, only that they are more loaded in their pockets...and more importantly, famous. This—my most beautiful Mirth advices and counsels me frankly. 

I don't want to be star, mama! I am tempted to wish and dream to be like one every passing minute, but I know that I will not be either in this life or the one to come if opted for by me.

Work is the usual. Enjoyable and interesting in the early hours of the morning, and then tedious and unbearably exhausting as the sun goes on. I work at The Young's by morning. Not a full-time employee. I do part-time work. They haven't shifted and crossed me over into their full-time category yet. Only after they have seen how good or worse I work and how worthy or not I am for the consummate employee sort of office and assignment. We are into advertising and marketing here. And I handle all the receptionist duties and obligations. 

Mr. Logan Hamilton is my boss. I am under his charge and direction. His office is just a few breaths next to my small comfortable desk that has got a very expensive Mac computer and technological equipment displayed and accommodated on it. The building itself is all high and soaring and thirty-two floored up. But not so is my job title and wages scale itself. I make up to $35,000.00 per year, and I am very much happy and satisfied about it. When toiling in the afternoon at the Graham House of Paparazzi, I make a bit lot much more there depending on how successful and triumphant I have been in my endeavors and achievements. If I do well, I get paid well. If I do badly, even the pay and all the other allowances are bad as well. The highest thing I sold was about $15000.00, and I got a small tiny 1% of that. Seriously!

That is just life on my part, and I have come to learn to accept and embrace it. It be for better, for worse still: for richer, for poorer: for beautiful, for uglier still. I don't know how 'Great' or 'small' I will be in life. I just keep going and carrying on with everything that befalls me. I know that I do not have my life and destiny under my wish and control. If I did, I could be all the great-most things that I want to be in life. But then I am not. Neither am I horribly awful and poorly either. I am not high, but then again I am not any low. Thank God for it!

Courtney Schroeder. She comes from an agreeably wealthy and affluent background. Some rumors suppose that her father is a grand multimillionaire himself. On the phone, she is always liken, "Hey daddy, you know what? My five old month car just broke up. I really need a new one. Will you do me a favor of getting me it?

Momma, can you believe I saw this beautiful Gucci dress at some shopping mall. Even Tori here liked it. I want you to spoil your girl a little bit by buying her it. Will you please? It is just two thousand dollars, mother!

Cole. I need you to deposit XXXX dollars into my Barclays Bank account. That's an order from Dad and not me."

For all this, I do not envy or plot to kill her with my own two bloody hands. She is all rich because she is lucky. I wish her well even though I am not entitled to the very same privileges as her. Yeah!

Keyshawn Gibson is the freshest Hollywood big break trending now. Only time will prove how big she is to be. For now, she has appeared in over eight hit movies as a supporting cast and she is as of presently making her first ever film starring in 'Clawed' as Suey Eastwood, an Irish top most assassin who gets hired to kill the American president. She has never failed with her former targets, but will she this time around?

Regardless, I am going to interview Key Gib in person this very present day and I must prepare and do my beforehand and earlier-on Internet research and survey about her. Will you come join me?

I feel like my very own heart is bleeding—or is not it? I can't be late for this interview with Keyshawn. No way. This is something big and more important than I have ever done before. Of course! She is not the highest, top-most celebrity that I have ever interviewed. Not certainly! Whoops! I have to make my leave right now—right away, without any slight or tiny tad bit sort of delay. Yep-yuppy! 

It is dark and dreary-like outside here. The sky is all this limitless and boundless. I can feel the cold bite and chew into my flesh as I walk in the early night that is so packed and thronged with so many people huddling and bustling about. I feel kind of bored and very much ill at ease. Thus I fetch my iPod music player, then carefully plug in my earphones, and start playing on some slow but romantic track of music. In this life, can we ever live happily and blissfully without romance? Of course! Easily and painlessly still as a matter of fact. No wonder I have to enjoy being single for this little bit while before I start to belong and be hold in the tender and caring and affectionate arms of someone else. Yuwl!

I am supposed to walk and move faster than I already now am advancing. I hardly and barely don't know why I am going so slowly and unhurriedly. I guess that I am tired. I like my things done fast and brilliantly smart. Before now, I was a tediously slow and laggard person whom someone could hardly yell and snap at—pointing out at how much of a tortoise and less more of a leopard I actually was in getting things done. Oh my! These old, boring, but vigorously exciting memories of mine? I love and cherish them! 

It is more dark and dreary still on this narrow street and alley. I barely even notice it. Up till I look behind and think that I saw a cat meow and then rush down the street after me. I stop and peer at it more closely with due attention this time. And I discover that it is not any cat after all. But instead three darkly-seeming men with weird and scary-like looking hats on their heads and some things grasped and clutched in their hands. Shit! They are running and chasing after me. I have to speed my way quickly. I barely don't know what it is that they wielding in their hands and it might be knives or axes or anything that American Chainsaw crappy scary stuff. These things have happened before, and they can easily happen to me as well. Run, Tori, run—my conscious and instincts guide and steer me. I make haste here and straight away.

I am wearing high heels today. I didn't want to put them on. Courtney poked fun at me back at our apartment that I looked funny and silly in a knee-high blue skirt matched with a turquoise colored-like shirt that has lovely purple and green stripes marked and emblazoned all over it. I had first worn flat shoes with this. "Put on those clack-y, feisty, and taddy bit sort of Teddy Bear looking highs of yours, girl," she had snorted out at me while giggling and sniggering out to herself. I agreed with her, and I did like she told and instructed me to. 

I try my best to move as fast and charily as I can. I pass my way into the following street, and it is here that I gather and hastily pick up my speed all the more high and nippy. Yes. I must toil and endeavor my best until I leave those strange and frightening-looking men behind me. I quickly and instantaneously sneak my way into another quiet and desolate street. At least it is all quiet and calm here. It sure and definitely is. Once I am here—just so I don't attract the attention and awareness of those gruesome men following me behind, I quicken and step up my pace, gracefully mild and chaste-fully considerate on the other hand. What a relief this definitely must be for me! 

Just as I am about to head off into another street; a man, large and muscular-like looking, looms up straight into my view suddenly and abruptly to hit and crash me. I have not seen him or even suspected his presence and being here. What is he looking here at this early hour of the evening? I am thinking this when Mirth, my bothersome and snappy-doggy-sort-of spy-enjoying conscious steps in much to my discomfort and annoyance: What are you also looking for here yourself, Tori, at such an early awful hour of the evening? I don't want to answer her back—or else mine would be angry and disrespectful or even insulting words. I simply tell her: Shut up, you dirty Mirth! If you don't have anything to do, you better seal yourself up in that troubled brain of mine and seek something else better and significant to do. 

Honestly speaking, I am shocked. This man here—he is terribly and wonderfully handsome. He reminds me of Charles. Charles was one of the most wonderful and dazzling ever beautiful creations that I have ever met. And so is this man. Wait a minute...could he be his unquestionable and handsomely brother? I can't tell that for now.

I shrink away from the man. He is holding a small beautiful dog in his hand—a nicely growing up puppy I should rather say clear-cut—and the moment he notices me flinch and recoil away from him, he sets it down carefully and steadily slow so that he walk over to me with his hands thrown high and soaring up into the air. Is this a total surrender from him or what? 

"Sorry to frighten you, miss. I want you to know that I am a very trusted man and there is no hell way on earth I could be capable of injuring and hurting you."

All American psychos overuse that to lure in their victims. How so true are his words? I look and examine him again. Yes. He is neatly and impeccably dressed. In a neat and exquisite black suit even. Is he going for some function? With whom precisely? His girlfriend, of course, you silly girl! That must be Mirth. She better behave herself for he own good and benefit. Seriously! 

"Who are you?" I ask him quietly and with an icky-echoing tone. I gulp down my throat straight just after this. Has he made out already how nervous and fearful I am?

"I am Rhys Ty Jonas. I want you to know that you can always trust and have faith and confidence in me. I mean no any sort of harm to you—honestly speaking."

"I am Tori Wolf. I am just coming from work now, and I am going to take my leave straight off if you don't mind that."

"Wait...wait...please," he begs and entreats me. I stop and turn around to him. At this point in time, a chilly and icing-up breeze of wind gusts past me to hurl and toss away my long, cutely brown hair away from my face. Chestnut brown hair that is! Just so I am concise and spot-on with what I am saying and describing here. "Where are you going please? I would like to take you there personally."

"Don't bother. It isn't all that far even. I will be there in like less than an hour," I say this with an intensely glad and extremely happy smile. Hmmnnnn! That was quite a little bit kind and polite of him. Or should I say very highly generous and angel-hearted? Whatever term it is that you like any better—the man is agreeably kind and compassionate to me. 

"These streets have proved out to be dangerous time and again. I know why you were taking flight when I ran into you and you still have that piss-scared and terribly-awed look on your face."

He must be right. These streets are known to be part of the dreaded Bailey-Way Boulevard. They might be perilous and ticklish like that nearby notorious place itself. I might never know. Just two days ago, a teen aged somewhere between 13 and 15 had his expensive phone and thirty dollars cash snagged and grabbed away from him by violence and menacing threats. Following this, the gone-wild-and-satanic gang that thronged and grouped about him stabbed and jabbed him with a sharply knife to his excruciating death. He was discovered and found dead, with blood having depleted and emptied up from his entire body just by bleeding and oozing out helplessly. Shit! Would I like anything of this awful nature to also happen to me? Hell way no! I wonder if even the poor kid wished himself anything that dangerous and life-threatening. Of course, he possibly and truthfully did not.

"Fine," I tell the handsomely and good-looking man before my on-alert eyes. "I will let you take me where I am going." I wonder. Isn't he even afraid of handing over a lift in his vehicle to total strangers that he does not know? Mirth is quick to snap and bark at me for contemplating this. Better you be appreciative and very much thankful of what the good Samaritan here is doing to you, you thoughtless ingrate. Yeah—yeah! I have heard enough already, Mirth-y! Thank you for that sweet-most notification for your very own piece of information. 

Once settled and entrenched down inside the car, Rhys has me hold and catch his dog for him. I love dogs and animals, but not then all of them. Ever since I was five or six, I played and stayed with a lot of them such that my bond and attachment to them burgeoned so great and fiercely to describe and relate here. It still now is a tiny mite bit. Only that for the moment, I do not stay and dally about with a handful of pets and animals. Maybe when I am finally in my own house and dwelling, I will think twice about raising such up. Courtney? She detests and abhors the raising of any form of pets in our own apartment. And can you imagine what her horror-most class and variety of household pets are—stinking and freaking awful cockroaches. Whenever she is in the kitchen or toilet, and I hear her scream out so loud and alarming like she has actually been paid to do it for some nameless range of horror flick, say 'Scream With All Your Might and Get 10 Bucks For It', I easily and without much trouble or thinking know and even get convinced that she has in all reality and truth seen a freaking horrible and grisly-like cockroach. They are everywhere, I guess. Even in the White House? I don't expect so.

"So where is it that you work, Tori, huh?"

"The Young's! You have ever heard about us?"

"Of course! I stay and reside here in Las Vegas. I am a Software Developer with Qitera."

"Really? I could not have imagined and thought that all up on my own."

"I know The Young's. You are into advertising and marketing there, I presume."

"You presume or you are very confidently and much certain and positive about it? I mean that is what we are really and obviously into."

"Okay. So what do you do there at The Young's?"

"I am just an ordinary receptionist."

"Ordinary?" He laughs out load at that. Of course! Do you expect anyone to admire and envy your very small job title there at that shitty damn structure called a firm? People kill and bewitch each other for Company Managerial chairs and thrones in big, grand mammoth skyscrapers and here you are, Tori, comfortable and happy about being a Z-paid receptionist? Grow up, silly girl. Then he adds, "You are a professional receptionist, Tori, and not just any ordinary place worker there."

"If you think so," it is all I have to let out to him. Seriously! 

"And how do the guys there treat you?" He looks at me as he says this and then quickly glances away from me the instant I scowl and make an astonished face at him. What was that supposed to mean really? I am no V.I.P please...and I get no any special treatment for simply being myself. I enjoy doing my work for the sole love of it and then go back straight home and relax and play some celebrity interview tapes that I have recorded and taped on in a particular day. That is just my life. Boring, then exciting, then lonesome, then full of people and activity, then...then...then...

"Like a human being fellow worker is supposed to be treated and handled. Some people can be really mean and nasty. But they are not worth being on my V.I.P long list either."

"You mean no guy has ever proposed to you there at Young's?" 

Is that the way you talk to a stranger, Rhys? I want to shout and yowl out mad at him like I have gone bananas, but then Mirth is quick to act and restrain me from doing so. Damn her! Rhys here better be taught how to talk to a lady...I mean how to talk to a stranger lady that he doesn't even freaking hell know. If it were not for Mirth being present, I would have exploded and detonated badly fuming like a freaky scary tornado bomb.

"Absolutely; does that surprise you in any way?"

"No. But you are too beautiful to be single and left all on your own just like that. It is like all the men have no eyes to see and sight you. Well, if they don't, you probably have me then." The way he is talking all this to me, he is making it seem like he is merely being playful and jocular with me. I can't tell and decide for sure. Is he really being playful, or is he not being this? I don't know...I don't even wish to know...Right now what probably matters most of all things is that I get my way to Sugar Spray Inn and chat and have a word or two with Keyshawn Gibson. I have not more than an hour to spend and relax with her. After that, she will head off to her hotel and then fly off back to Los Angeles where she stays with her boyfriend and three cats. They must be a perfect and very magnificently wonderful family, I am guessing to myself—are they not? They sure and definitely are!

Rhys and I don't talk much either. We just fool around with our relationship status before he drops me off at Badin Way. The highway isn't all that busy and bustling up. There are a few cars speeding here and there, this direction and that opposite other. The traffic lights are all sparkling and blazing up blindingly and dazzlingly. The scene and spectacle itself is just wonderful and heaven-like to look and stare at. 




Smitten by the Playboy: Crush



I learn that Rhys is single in the long run. I don't know how true that is. If I were staying that long enough in his presence, I would have checked and verified it myself. Not so just I can become his date and truest love. I just want to know how far he would go on lying if I were with him and for what exact purposes and motives exactly. Duh! Men and their sweetie pie form of white lies! Even women and olden people lie too—are you not aware, Tori? It is Mirth, you are right. Always listening and paying attention to whatever thing it is that I am doing. 

Before I drop out of his car, Rhys gives me this long and absorbed-like look that I can't easily explain and tell up. It is just there. Exquisite, friendly, and desirous and deliriously-achy too on the other hand. I don't know what it is exactly...but I feel like there is more truth and aim to his words and moves. I don't really care. A celebrity is waiting somewhere, or is not she, huh? Keyshawn Gibson.

The way she seats on her chair in the packed and busy inn. It is almost like she is a princess of beauty and loveliness itself. No. She isn't that proud or pompous type. She is just amazingly and achingly beautiful. Ash! I wish I looked just like her. Huh—huh! I am not any serious with all of this stuff, guys. I love who I am and what I am, and I wouldn't change it for anything else in this world. What I mean to symbolize is that each person is lovely and magnificent in a way of their own that can relate well to the others, or badly worse still. That is just life. It is not all about similarity and distinctness alone. But also variance and indistinctness on the other face of the wide, broad mirror. 

I sit down before her and stretch out my hand to shake hers. I have sent her my picture and bio before. I trust that she remembers and knows me. Her hand is slightly warm but snugly comfortable to touch and stroke about. Eish! Her palms are enjoyably soft and smooth just like mine, meaning that we rarely do that very hard laborious but enjoyable grade of work. Work in any form is enjoyable—and I love, love, love it.

"What drink would you like to take?" Keyshawn asks me. 

I don't know which one to choose. There are so many wonderful and beautiful bottles to choose here. From the quietly and ever fizzing Glen Ellen type to the bubbly, sweetly-mantic Vendange, and also the darkly and roseate-like La Terre, to the loved and adored Stone Cellars and Ecco Domani and Chateau Ste. Michelle—I don't one which particular brand it is that I should opt for here. "I will take Blackstone," I finally and at long last mouth out to Key. She smiles kindly and gestures me to proceed ahead and serve myself. Even the small cup-cake scones served with chocolate and fried eggs are delicious and luscious to taste and gobble. Hmmnnnnnnn! I am not going to miss Courtney Schroeder's talkative kitchen tonight. Not in any way thinkable. 

"So tell me, Keyshawn, how did you get started here in Hollywood? You have grown this big and popular. Was working in the movies something that you have long wanted to do all your life? Or it was life and its unpredictable chain and series of events that got you tossed and started in this whole movie deal thing?"

"It is quite funny and unbelievable to look back and see how long I have come in all of this thing. As you are aware of, I am only 23. And I began acting in small TV serials and films as way back as 10 years far past. It was something I did because my mom and family thought that I had great acting talent. It turned out truthfully so. And following my first three years of specializing only in TV, I switched on to movies. That was not in fact how I planned it out to be. The TV company I acted for shut down and I had to look for other acting work somewhere. By this point in time, I was addicted and drugged on into acting. I didn't want spending a week not being captured and filmed on camera. If there is anything that I am heavily addicted to in this wide whole world of ours, it is the dearest camera itself."

"Fine then! I will fetch out mine so that I can relieve and loosen up your obsession and mania," I am saying this merely as a way of joking and we both snigger and laugh out madly at it. 

"The Paparazzi don't drag bags and bunches of cameras with them for movie filming, Tori. They only use them to do the snap-dap, snap-dip, and snap-captcha exclusive sort of thing. You should get a filming license. Only then will I authorize you to film me for this interview."

We laugh again and I add this time around, "Well heard and understood, Keyshawn. So how did you get to snub up this latest movie role of yours?"

"It was tough competition honestly speaking. There were about 13 well-known actresses contending for this Suey Eastwood role, and I kept on thinking each time, 'I am going to miss it...I am going to lose it.' I was totally shocked and horrified when the producer phoned me in person to tell me that I had been picked up to play nasty Miss Eastwood. At the 'Clawed' auditioning, there were about a hundred and thirty unknown aspiring actresses who all wanted to land this big role too, and a handful of them eventually snubbed roles in the movie as third and fourth class characters."

"What inspired you to especially go for this movie?"

She giggles out happily and excitedly, "I have never done an action movie blended with horror and science-fiction pieces before, and I was like, this is my perfect and most rightful opportunity to go for this. It turned out I had been stirred by that mentality right and appropriately."

"What else are you filming besides this?"

"Lilith: Bride of the Devil. In this one, I play Lilith, the demon queen of the Succubus. This is a horror movie releasing next month by Farrell Pictures. I have only just finished filming it along with 'Goose Camp' a cartoon movie done for some Baltimore-based television station. They are 'Kids' Fun' by name and title."

"How has been enormously famous in the last six years changed your whole life and acting career?"

"To be honest with you, I was not really that popular until about four years ago with the release of 'Queen on The King's Throne.' But my life hasn't changed that much frankly. Maybe only that I have not much time to hang out with my friends and family, and I don't get to kiss my boyfriend out in the public anymore. He only goes out with me on private dates and the like. He is allergic to fame and popularity, especially all those negatives things that can come from sleepless haters. I am all used to it now and I perfectly know how to handle it very well indeed."

"Last month, there was a rumor that you are secretly lesbian and that you had behind shut doors married fellow Lilith co-star, Jeanie Campbell. Well, those spreading the rumor mentioned that your being with your two-year boyfriend, Adrian, was to cover and conceal things up about your gay orientation. How did that affect you and your reputation and even your work much more importantly?"

"I was shocked and terrified at first to learn that it was what people were talking and preaching about. I was like, 'That is what everyone is thinking of me? Fine! I will take no notice of it and concentrate on tackling a few couple projects that I presently have at hand.' You know what? Those rumors are now dying all out of nowhere. I don't have to prove how true or false everything is that God-knows-exactly-wh-ch-exact-person brought and hatched up to do me and my influence bitter harm. I just leave rumors and without fail they sort themselves out with a brand new one. I have fans to cheer up and not let down, or have not I?"

"What was the best ever movie role in all your big screen career?"

"Playing a young beautiful Queen Elizabeth in the crisis-time 1900s in 'Queen on The King's Throne.' I love Queen Elizabeth and I really and deeply valued playing her. It was like the most beautiful thing ever."

"Are you expecting?" I question her whilst laughing and giggling out.

She first looks at me angrily and rudely first and then suddenly softens her expression to laugh and snigger out as well. "That is how rumors begin, Tori. I hope that you are not bent and intent on starting another newest one about me being pregnant. For goodness' sake, I am not expecting, Madame Wolf."

"I know...I know...this was merely a joke from me, for this night especially."

"Where do you see yourself five years from now if God gives you that blessing and privilege to live that long enough? Don't get me wrong here. It is not like I am saying that you are not meant to last that long on Earth either. We all know that we live by the will and power of God, right?"

"That's very true, Tori." At least she is not that tad bit provoked or angered by any of this statement. "In five years if I were to live more by God's grace and wish, I will probably be an actress-turned-mother of two or three who has for the time settled down to raise and look after her kids with her loving and adoring boyfriend. I hope we would have tied the knot by then. But I shall still be returning and appearing on the big silver screen. Only time is sacred and the accurate most seer to tell all that." 

"Are there any surefire signs that your man, Adrian Spencer, is as of late willing and very much eager to tie the knot with you? This is my final question for you."

"I should give him a little bit more of time for the moment, I think. My poor buddy is kind of stuck and spent up trying to complete his Art and Humanities course at Wotton University back there in our beloved Los Angeles city. Maybe after he has completed school we are going to marry and settle down. For the moment, he is occupied in entertaining his books and lecturers. For the nonce, I am playing and having great fun with my audience and the entirety of Tinsel-town at large."

Whew! This is a great relief and pleasure on my part. Following our meal and interview, I go on to take ten or eleven photos of Keyshawn here at the Sugar Spray Inn. She is wearing blue jeans, a pink top, a long furry white jacket that everyone seems to be admiring and ogling at. On her feet are black and sturdy-looking-like ankle-high boots. Her light blond hair, today dyed a lovely and precious black for Divinity-knows-what specific purpose, is curled and frizzled and twisted up nicely. Celebrities and their glamour!

As I step my way out of Sugar Spray Inn, I notice Rhys hovering outside there on his car as he waits and keeps looking out for me. Wait a second, Tori! Who told you that he is waiting for you here? He is probably in a patient wait for his most ever beautiful girlfriend. And not some cheeky, naughty, and Paparazzi sliced-time worker like you! Yah! Mirth is always good at cheering and annoying me at the same time—duh!

I wave at him kindly and then proceed to walk my way down the street. It will probably take me twenty minutes to reach the Four Pizzas Junction and then hire a cab there to take me to my apartment. While walking and strolling down the street quietly, I hear a vehicle humming and buzzing loud after me. I swerve around quickly just in time for the darkly window to wind down and Rhys himself to peek direct at me from the other farthest-off seat, from where he directs and bids me, "Get in quickly, will you?"

I do like he tells me to. It is enjoyable and comfortable inside here. I bet that it is high time I get a car of my own and stop bothering Courtney about how I have to go to some place all in the flattery and deceit of her own lavish car made to look in the eyes of the scrutinizing public like it is a very expensive automobile of my own ownership and possession. When I glance at Rhys, he at length last tells me: 

"You haven't let me know that you work for the Paparazzi?"

Oh. So he was spying and keeping a watchful eye on me right back there in the Sugar Spray Inn. I should have known. Alternatively, I tell him, "This is something that I do part-time and not on a full time basis, mind you. Are you really surprised and bothered by it?"

"I was stunned to see you with that celebrity—Keyshawn Gibson."

The windows all over Spray Sugar Inn are all made of clear and apparent glass. It is so obvious that Rhys had been monitoring my activity with Keyshawn all along. Hmmnnnnnn...who could have thoughtlessly foresaw or forethought that happen? Not I myself in any way thinkable!

"What time do you usually get home? I mean it is late already, and I will be responsible for it if you arrive home late. Do you want to get in trouble with your—"

"My what? My wife, you want to say?"

I am shocked, dead-faced even. "No. That is not what I was going to say to you."

"Then what word did you mean to place just there?"

"The poor dog! It hasn't eaten anything, and you have kept it locked and shut up in this automobile of yours for so many hours. I only feel sorry and pity for it. That is only what I wanted to say, and nothing about your whatever-her-name-is special wife."

He looks guilty and conscious-punched. I am not to blame for that, or am I? I AM NOT, TORI! That must be Mirth without denial. "I will take care of little Bruce, don't worry about him, Tori. He is such a nice and loving dog of mine. Only that he has gone missing and strayed for the last few days and I wasn't willing to chill out and take things easy without ever finding him. He means the entire world to me. If he were a woman, he would be the only wife that I would have in my possession."

How's that ever possible? I am wondering to myself...quietly and soundlessly still indeed. 

"He is the only family you have—is that what you are trying to mean?"

"Kind of. Animal family that is, and not my human one." We have already arrived at my place. Rhys stops the car and I look at him quietly to tell him finally, "Thank you for everything that you have done for me. I hope that you take the good most and best most ever care of your little Bruce. He deserves all things good and so much more to this."

"You are welcome, Tori Wolf." Rhys says with a very big and truly handsomely and hypnotizing smile.

"Good bye, Rhys. Journey well." I am out in the cold again. I hurry my way straight into the house and find Courtney already sleeping in her bed. I wish I could give her just a good night kiss, but then I will have to spare and reserve it for tomorrow. I love her. Sweet dreams, Schroeder! It is also my turn to fall asleep as well, right? Definitely so! I don't know what tomorrow will bring...I wonder...I only wonder what will come off next after all this...



Smitten Kitten



Looking up, I saw her in the companionway—blonde, young, tanned, grimy and scared, in bare midriff crop top and dirty white shorts--as she quavered, "well, where're we off to?"

- - - - -

Walking down the dock in July of 2001, I pulled the little two-wheeled fiberglass cart behind me, loaded with a generous 10 days worth of food and supplies, for an early summer cruise. A single-handed cruise, thank God, for once. No friends begging for a day on the yacht, expecting me to wait on them, and slurping booze, just to retch or whiz in the cockpit when the motion got to them. Just time to do some quiet, paying work on my wireless laptop and to catch up on back reading and snoozing.

Rounding the corner, I looked over my little prize, the Smitten Kitten. She (all boats are 'she') was a 22' long catboat. Not a catamaran, built for speed, spray and splash. She was built for comfort under sail, and was about as simple as a watercraft could get. One very large four-sided 'gaff' sail, spooked steering wheel, large rudder and big centerboard. She was 10' wide and 22' long, with a draft (depth in the water) of 2 ½' minimum. Common on the East Coast, near Boston and Massachusetts waters, she was as out of place in the sunny Southwestern seas as feet on a fish.

But she suited me just fine. I could go in shallow water, but keep to the sea, out of sight of land, as needed. One person could sail and maneuver her, yet she could seat eight to 10 people in the cockpit. Two couples could slow dance there, if they didn't make any tricky moves and were really good friends. I had a cabin with two berths, one for a single and one for a double (if they were intimately good friends, of course). Others could sleep in the cockpit, in good weather. There was a toilet up front, with a holding tank, and a curtain to close it off, a small stove and oven; table leaves over the centerboard case and an icebox. Crouching headroom for a man. I had auxiliary power from a small diesel engine, and electricity from alternator-charged batteries, with kerosene and candles as a backup.

Stepping aboard, I unlocked the padlock, which moved easily. I checked the fuel level (full) and water tank, which was near empty. That was odd, but a few minutes with the dockside hose took care of it. I'd keep an eye on the bilges for a freshwater leak.

I started and warmed up the engine, disconnected the electric lines from the dock, cast off from the dock cleats, and backed my boat out of the slip under power. I motored out of the yacht basin, and outside to just off Harbor Island. The breeze off Point Loma was still fresh, and I motored into the wind, while I raised sail. Just one sail, a four-sided gaff sail with plenty of area. Then I rounded off onto a beam reach, and headed down the bay, planning to round the lighthouse point and head out to sea, the wind on my starboard beam, with landfall (eventually) on Santa Catalina Island, probably at the Isthmus, in the shallow water section. But I planned to spend at least one night--maybe two or three nights—at sea, lying to a sea anchor, with lights and radar reflector raised for safety.

I'd made the turn around Point Loma, past the Coast Guard lighthouse, and was standing out to sea about half an hour, when I heard that unexpected voice. There was a young, blonde beach-bunny on my bachelor boat! I stared, open-mouthed. How the hell did she get on board?

Over-carefully she braced herself against the boat's roll and pitch, arching her back, pushing out her little breasts and cocking up one leg. Studied seduction, I thought, but not practiced. So probably not a hooker, yet. She wore the dirty white shorts and a bare-midriff top, also conspicuously dirty, that I first mentioned. There were probably panties and bra, but I wasn't checking from this distance. Bare feet, also dirty. Overall, a scruffy little girl. A stray kitten.

Gathering my wits, with difficulty, I answered her question plainly. "Catalina, eventually, but right now, west into the Pacific Ocean. But I can turn around and get you back to shore. You need to decide pretty quick, though."

"Oh," she said, adding, "then you're not coming back to town soon?"

"Hadn't planned to, no." 

She actually put her finger into her mouth and pretended to think hard, but I saw her look up quickly from under the rim of hair.

"OK, then, can I come along?" Her color was getting a little greenish, her jaw worked, and I saw her start gulping saliva. I started counting seconds to myself. I'd reached about 17, when she moaned, "Retchhhh. Ah, SHIT! Ulllp!" and bolted for the cockpit rail. I slipped the steering tackle onto the spokes of the wheel, and grabbed for the back of her shorts and top. Good thing, as the boat gave its expected lurch as she made it to the rail, and she would have slithered overboard. I held on, as she heaved up a little food and more mucous, took a breath, burped, and threw up some more. Then she quieted down to some miserable retching and coughing.

There are three stages to seasickness. First, you get terribly sick, and just have to throw up. That's pretty bad, but then you go to stage two, where you think you're gonna die. Some miserable time passes, and you slip into stage three ... where you imagine that you won't die, that this will go on and on and on, forever. Then you start to feel a little better. My stowaway companion had probably passed stage one in the cabin, and was well into stage two.

I reached into the cabin, and got her a bottle of water from my stores. She forced some down, and it came right back up again. I reached around to the end of the mainsail halyard (rope) and tied it around her waist, tightly. That way, if she puked herself off the deck and into the ocean, she'd be trolled like live bait for a few moments, but wouldn't part company with my boat or me.

I offered more water, and she weakly snarled, "fuck you ... uuurrrrllpp!"

I briefly, graphically and obscenely described the dry heaves, and that the water was to give her something to throw up, plus some hydration to replace what she was loosing every few minutes. Then I went down to the first-aid kit, and pulled out an alcohol prep pad and a motion-sickness patch. Coming back up on deck, I swabbed a distinctly dirty spot behind her ear, let it dry a moment, and applied the patch. Maybe I could short-circuit stage three.

I covered her with a blanket from the under-seat storage bin, and then moved back to my post at the boat's wheel, very obviously taking control of the boat's heading, and staring intently out to sea. No sense causing trouble, as someone in stage two or three is usually acutely aware that they are making grand fools of themselves, and—"Ah shit! Urrrrppp. Fuck you! Belch. Retch. Groan. Urrpp, slop, get the mop!"—are helplessly unable to do anything about it. Women in particular.

After a time, when the patch started working, the sounds of retching and choking decreased to heaving sobs, and then to crying, and then to little snores. I tied the wheel again, and made her comfortable on the other side of the cockpit, and tacked to keep that side in the shade of the sail. Rolled comfortably in the blanket, she snored into a deep sleep.

- - - - -

Meanwhile, I pondered on just how I got a traveling companion. A young female traveling companion. Was I boating alone with the seagoing version of San Quentin quail (underage runaway)? No way to tell. But I did know that she was going to wake up thirsty and ravenous.

Setting the boat on a broad reach, I tied the wheel again, and quickly checked out the cabin. Sure enough, my little minx had been living there, while I was gone on my last assignment. The emergency food was all gone (that explained the empty water tank), the blankets were used, no toilet paper in the head. Head holding tank full to overflowing. Ah, shit (no pun intended).

I checked for a purse, and found a pitiful little pouch of belongings. An empty lipstick, broken comb, a mostly used compact of birth-control pills, less than a dollar in change, and an equally pitiful little yellow polka-dot bikini (no joke), fraying at the edges. A couple of tampons. Plus one equally-frayed beach towel, and a pair of sandals, one with a broken strap. An old scrap of a card, indicating seating for a single parent at a Mission Bay High School graduation, this year. No ID or any other papers.

I gave a little prayer of thanks, as high school graduates were usually 18 or over. So she was probably not a minor. I wondered at the high school graduation day pass. And what was she doing on my boat, just out of high school, scavenging and living like a homeless person? How did she get through the padlock, anyway?

Back to the cockpit, I checked the sail and wheel. My boat steered herself with the wind on the beam, if there wasn't much of a sea: otherwise, I had to be by the wheel. I also check on my little stowaway. Pulling back the blanket, she didn't stir. I checked for body fat and found damned little. I could see her ribs, and her tummy was concave, but not from being in the gym. If she'd been living on my emergency supplies, she hadn't been eating well or much, for a while. No trace of makeup, or nail treatment, and her hair was raggedy and long. It had been some time since she'd been in a salon.

I could fix that, I chuckled. One pot meals a bachelor specialty, particularly at sea. 

I could fix a lot of other things, I thought with an evil leer. Two jerks on her top, one pull on her shorts, a little lube on my cock first and I could be banging into her body. No one would hear her if she screamed, or care, or believe her if she told. 

Luckily, that thought was fleeting. Rape isn't my thing, beyond the usual bachelor fantasies. Sex deprivation would just have to wait some more, until a girlfriend came along. Just no more wives. I'd rather continue regular gigs with Freddy Feel Good and his Funky Little Five-Piece Band, thank you very much.

A couple hours later, long out of sight of land, I looked toward her, when I heard a 'glugging' sound. A liter bottle of water was rapidly being emptied into a no-doubt parched young throat. This was followed by a wary inward look, as she tried to determine whether the liquid contents were going to be contributed to Father Neptune. The patch apparently worked, because stage three seasickness never arrived.

Her hair was blonde (naturally, because I saw no dark roots on my earlier inspection), but her eyes were black and piercing. She used that glance on me as her hand moved around under the blanket, apparently checking on the state of her body. Finding no violation or dried semen, she just looked at me and then out to sea to left and right, and behind.

So I said, as casually as I could, "with this wind, and with the boat going this direction, we make about four or five knots. That's about six to seven miles an hour. Seems slow, but moving air is free, last time I checked. It's been about three hours since we met, so San Diego is about 15 to 18 miles away. The wind is falling, and we won't make as good a time from now until tomorrow. I can sail at night, but I'd rather not, so we'll have to drop the sails down and drift much of the time. But I'm pretty tired right now. So how would you like a sailing lesson, so I can get us both some food and take a quick nap?"

Her eyes opened wide, as she gulped, and said, "Food? Yes! But me? Sail a boat? I don't know how. I never..."

Cutting her off to stem the rising panic, I announced, "Guess it's time you learned, then. Come on back here, and I'll do the first lessons. Maybe we can talk a little, start with names, and stuff like that."

I added, "My name is Jan Bryng, That's 'Jan' as in 'Yawn.' My dad was Swedish, and my mom wasn't. I know you've been living here on the boat a while. No place else to go, right?" I got a nod. "And you haven't been eating well or living safe. So you need to know that I'm not mad or anything like that. We've got food and I'm set to buy some more, when we get to the Island. When you get back, you can stay aboard if you want, or we can figure some other safe place for you to live. No conditions, no strings," I added, "I pick up little stray kittens, too. What's one more, hey?"

I got a sort of considering, sideways, eyes-lowered glance at that. Speaking in a low tone, she answered obliquely, "I'm Britt. Can we leave it like that for a while, huh?"

"Sure thing," I replied. So, I showed the compass, told her about the compass course I was mostly on, and told her to keep the sail full of wind, steering away from the course a little to do this if she needed. Biting her lip a bit, she took the wheel. A couple of minutes later, we went into 'irons,' the sail flapping uselessly. I talked her through the self-rescue procedure, and how to get back on course, and she tried again. She accidently tacked the boat through the wind, and I talked her through the procedure for getting back on course again, with a 2nd tack. Then I went 'below' to make up a couple of sandwiches and soft drinks.

I advised her to nibble slowly, and drink a lot, since she'd been starving for a while. I made sure to turn away before she could embarrass herself by saying, "yeah." Finished eating, I continued some simple lessons about sailing boats. Then, crossing my fingers out of her sight, I rolled up in her blanket and surprised myself by falling instantly asleep.

I came awake by late afternoon, to discover my new first mate was having considerable trouble keeping on course. The wind had dropped to a gentle breeze. I took the wheel, fixed up a new course, let out the sail, and we struggled on until near dusk. The breeze dropped still more, to near nothing, and I lowered sail, leaving the little catboat pretty much becalmed. I noted to her that this might be a good time for a swim, and set the boarding ladder over the transom (back end). She went into the cabin, and emerged a couple of minutes later in that yellow polka dot bikini.

Wow!

My eyes begged for permission to admire her, as I crossed my legs to try and hide a quickly growing erection. Her eyes gave me a tentative, arms-length consent. I saw a lithe, slender little person, about 5' 4" tall, and I couldn't tell weight, but not heavy. Tanned, but with definite bikini lines. Face that shape called 'elfin,' Slender waist, actually too slender, with definite outlines of her bones and ribs. She stood straight, letting me look. The she grinned, stuck her tongue out at me, and slowly turned around, letting me see a tight little butt, and delicious, somewhat contained boobettes.

I came back to no-touch reality after a minute or so.

Then she shocked me by saying, "OK, now it's your turn."

"Huh?"

"Come on, it's only fair. Now I get to have an eyeful. Stand up, get over here and let's see what you have."

Blushing furiously, I stood in the cockpit of my own boat, and slowly turned around. Ah, SHIIT, my cock chose this moment of all times to go rigid, right in my loose shorts, tenting them out. Hoping she wouldn't notice. No luck. She finished her inspection of my middle-aged body with her eyes fixed on the bulge in my shorts, and her mouth open a little. I heard a long, low whistle from her lips.

"Uh, little girl, it's not what you think, you're still ..." She cut me off, commenting with a giggle, "If you'd been in a raping mood, I'd be tied to the mast or something, and fucked until I bled. I wasn't, and you didn't. I know what you want. When things are right, I think I'll let you have it."

Then she turned and jumped off the transom into the sea. I watched her swim, and dive and sing a little. She demanded I come in with her, and was amused when I insisted that I have a line tied around my waist. I told her obscenely how easy it would be for a little breeze to move the boat away faster than we could swim. She relented, and then swam rings around me. Think of a personal watercraft swarming around an old barge.

Both of her hands went to the clasp of her bikini top, and pulled it off, quickly followed by a brief thrashing, as her suit bottom followed. She swam up to me, and more gently pulled off my shorts, throwing all the clothes over the rail and into the cockpit. My erection, deflating in the cold water, surged again, as she brushed up against me again and again. I felt her hands close over the stiff length, and do several slow strokes.

She shushed me with one finger when I started to speak, whispering in my ear, "It's almost time, just let me get ready. And no, I don't have to, you told me. And yes, I want to, pretty soon. Besides, I want to see it go in and out. Please don't say 'no' or lecture me. I like your penis and it's attached to a pretty good guy. I want to get to know both."

We climbed aboard, and I gestured to her to stand still, and not use her old beach towel. Then I got out a cake of my own salt-water soap, and I lathered her from forehead to toes, working quickly (Ok, so I lingered a bit on her nipples, pussy and ass). Then she did me (she lingered on my cock and balls; I almost shot off on her body). We both went over the side again, me still with my waist tied line on, to wash off the lather. Finally, I had a clean little kitten.

Back on board, I gestured again for her to stand, as I went forward to the mast to get the black seven-gallon tank of fresh water and the spray attachment. The water was almost hot from being in the sun all day. Taking a couple of minutes to pump up the tank, I gave her the shampoo, and rinsed the saltwater from her hair. Sighing with pleasure, she soaped up, twice, and rinsed twice. Her eyes opened wide when I handed her the hair conditioner. Then I rinsed down the rest of her nude body. Then she did me, just for a rinse. There was just enough water and sunlight for a final hair rinse, before the tank ran dry.

"I haven't had a proper shower, or soap, or anything for a month," she whispered.

"All that's over now. You're adopted, I suppose, whether it's official or not, so regular showers and meals are on the schedule. If I got, you got. Still no conditions or strings, you understand."

In the last of the twilight, I did some chores: tied up the sail, tied down the boom, and set the parachute sea anchor. At this last action, she raised her eyebrows. I explained, "If we just drifted, the wind would push us along, and we'd loose a lot of the distance we made today. So the sea anchor 'grabs' a big bite of water, like a parachute in air. The boat tries to drift, and pulls on the sea anchor rope. When it's set, we only go where the relatively slow current takes us, and the boat always points the bow (the pointed end) into the wind. Got it, little nude girl?"

"Got it, bare ass Skipper!" she answered.

"You get a baked turkey pie, some boiled potatoes, and something green to crunch on for dinner. To drink, there's water, soft drinks, beer and wine."

She looked at me, still nude and lovely. My erection, having gone up and down several times, raised its lusty head again. She answered, "Could I have wine? It makes me fuzzy and horny and wet. I want to be horny and awfully wet for you, tonight. Please?"

We ate, sitting naked, side-by-side in the cockpit of my drifting catboat, on a calm sea, only the slightest breeze ruffling the water, finishing the wine. At night, and at sea, all the stars were out and we could see forever. After a time, she looked out over the empty expanse of sea, and said, "I've got a pretty good buzz now, but I know what I'm doing. And I'm really horny. Here, let me show you." She stood and took my hand, pressing it into her delicately furred pussy. I fingered the cleft between her outer lips, and felt the liquid wetness saturating my probing finger. Slowly, I pressed the entire length of two fingers up into her body, and felt the heat flowing into my hand. She moaned, "Ahhhhhhh, that was so sweet, please, Skipper, keep it inside there." She rocked against my hand for a time, the opened her eyes and looked down at me, my naked cock straining up from my lap, jerking and twitching from my pulse and involuntarily-moving hips. "Ohhh, that's so nice. I've just got to do this, right now."




Smitten Kitten



Bending her legs at the knees in what could be described as an awkward crouch, she grasped my shaft and arrowed it into her opening, as I held her outer lips open. I let them close over my red, engorged cockhead. "It's time!" she growled, as she gently started to surge downward, impaling her slender body onto my 40+ aged cock. Her eyes closed, and her head was back. One hip push, then another, as my shaft disappeared into to body. I watched in awe as my penis slowly was engulfed by her willing body. She kept pressing until I was fully seated inside her, but then she rose up and down, up and down, a third and fourth time, until every millimeter of my shaft was coated in her liquid sex, and there was no more to insert.

"Ohhh, yeah. Thas' right. Oh, you fill me up. I want to be filled up. Let me get my legs around you," she said, suiting actions to words, locking her feet and heels behind my back. I looked into her blonde hair and elfin face, black eyed half closed in pleasure. Small, well-formed breasts, topped with passion-stiffened nipples, poked toward my chest. Belly quivering with short, sharp breaths and long, shuddering exhalations. And wonder of wonders, my stiff man meat plunged deep into her slippery girl cunt.

She looked at me, eyes mostly closed with pleasure, as she moved her hips lazily up and down, side to side, and from one side to another. "I don't have a daddy that I know of, and my mommy's gone with a boyfriend. I think she's gone for good. There's nobody else. Will you be my 'Daddy?' Please?"

"Little girl, I want to, but don't you think your Daddy might be in the wrong place, like with his cock inside his daughter's body?"

"Oh, yes you're in just the RIGHT place. You do like what I'm doing, I can tell. I want to call you 'Daddy,' and take this big cock into me all the time. Ohhhh, my mouth is drooling, just at the thought of kissing and sucking you for sex. Ahhh, I love sex, and now that you're in me, we can fuck and fuck. An' I can scream when I cum, and no one's around to hear me. Ohhh, I want to be your little girl cumer. Loud as I can be."

My hips were thrusting into her, as she spoke and murmured. I looked at her, cupped her breasts in my hands, twisting the nipple ends between my thumb and forefingers, saying, "let it all out, little daughter. Fuck your Daddy like you've always wanted to. Like you always fantasized about. Come on, little girl, give it up to me."

And she did. Her screams and squeals rang out over the sea, and were lost in the ocean. How did a girl of eighteen plus come to generate such obscene oral fantasies? And the sheer volume of her sound!

She wanted to fuck in every position, and have me in every hole and part of her body. She wanted me to come in her ears and hair. She wanted to pose for me, and put my special things (wrenches, brush handles, screwdriver handles) in her womanly opening and have me take pictures. She wanted me to use toys on her until she fainted from the fucking.

She wanted to see me fuck another woman, close enough to touch or tongue my shaft driving in and out of a vagina. She wanted to fuck another woman, and then take me, being watched and photographed. She wanted me to expose her body for sexy people to enjoy, looking, touching, and penetrating. She wanted me to give her to other men for sex, and then use her afterwards, exploding my lust into her sex sloppy body. Just so that I stayed near, to make sure I protected her and used myself up inside her, and made her cum until she passed out with pleasure.

And the best part, she wanted to sleep with me in my bed, and cuddle, and kiss me when we woke up.

I had to power-fuck her then, so I turned her over, and drove my raging hard penis into her body, so sloppy wet now that I felt like I was floating. I heard the slurp and suck of hot, willing, wanting woman responding to an invading male shaft and penile head. I could feel the cum sensation building up, as my length started to swell. She encouraged me, thrashing and screaming incoherently as I repeatedly slammed into her. Finally releasing my man spunk into her body, I screamed to, just fragments about 'sluts' and 'fucking teens,' and 'rape you, rape you." I lost count of the pulses of sperm that I released, but I surely went dry, but my cock didn't, as I orgasmed my pile-driving lust into her slender body. She took it all, and ejaculated her own liquid all over my groin and belly.

That little girl was a fucking artist, and I wanted all her art-media output for myself. 

We fell asleep in the open cockpit, wrapped in her blanket.

- - - - -

I was prodded awake by an excited young voice, urgently saying, "get up, lazybones, and look at the sunrise. It's beautiful." And it was, with concentric bands of brilliant reds and red-gold colored clouds on the horizon. She ooohed and ahhhhed while the sun climbed up to a full sunrise. Only then did she pick up on my mood of forbidding. Asking why, I recited the old sailors verse:

Red sky at night, sailor's delight:

Red sky in morning, sailor take warning!

"So that usually means that we've got a storm coming," she asked with a little shiver to her voice. "Pretty sure," I replied. 

"So what can we do? How far's the nearest motel?"

"The nearest motel is back on shore, and we're not gonna reach it in time. So we fix up the boat to take some bad weather, and we ride it out. Maybe we can reach Catalina before it hits. Maybe not. But first, let's try for breakfast."

Suiting action to words, I set up the camp stove in the cockpit (not wanting the cabin to be full of cooking smells, if we had to be cooped up there for a while). I served her an omelet, sausage, OJ, English muffins with butter and marmalade and coffee. She ate enough for three people, as I expected. After you starve, and get a little food in you, the next day there isn't enough food in the world. I prepared sandwiches for the expected mid-morning little girl snack, some fruit for in-between and a hefty lunch for two.

Putting the cooking stuff away, I checked around the horizon, and then did a dirty, nasty and completely illegal thing; I pumped the contents of my marine holding tank into the open ocean. My only excuse was that having a full holding tank on a small sail boat, sloshing around in bad weather, was a bad idea. I did use the large-diameter hose I had along to pump it 15 feet deep in the sea, as the boat drifted with the wind and current. I flushed the head until it was clean and sweet ... and empty.

Finally, I pulled in the sea anchor, and raised sail. There was just a slight breeze, moving us along at a knot or so, a slow walking pace on land. As the morning strengthened, the breeze picked up to a fair wind, and we started making good time. My new first mate and teen lover slurped and munched her way through the time. She already knew how to use the marine head (toilet) from her time stowing away on board. Lucky that I'd brought extra paper, 'cause she'd gone through it all before I arrived.

As I sailed, I told her how to stow things aboard, emphasizing that the drawers had to be locked in place and then lashed closed with light nylon line. Everything had to be fixed in place so that it couldn't be moved when the boat was slanted steeply to the left (port) or to the right (starboard), or tilted to the front (bow) or the back (stern).

The breeze started to get fresh, and I did something that very few pleasure sailors ever do these days; I "shortened" sail by "tying in a reef". In other words, I dropped the sail down, and tied about 10% of the bottom of the sail to the boom, and raised the sail again. The boat didn't move as fast, but she (the boat) didn't tilt over quite so far, and did move through the water more easily.

About another hour later, it was raining, and there were "whitecaps" (white foam) on the tops of the waves, kicked up by the increasing wind, and the sky was getting ominously black. I did the procedure all over again, with a second reef, cutting the exposed sail area by 25% overall. It was pretty obvious by now that we couldn't keep going much longer, but I wanted to sail for as long as we could. But the Smitten Kitten was being pushed down into the waves more and more often as the wind delivered up strong gusts, and it was getting cold. We'd both put on motion sickness patches earlier. My first mate was clutching a plastic bag around her.

I warned her to keep a good hold on to the boat, started the little engine, and gave her a fast lesson in handling the boat with the power on. Then I dropped sail, tied all the loose cloth down with nylon line, and tied down the boom to the boat. Then, with my little lover at the wheel and engine, I set out the sea anchor again, and motored slowly back until the entire line was paid out (released), and tied securely to the anchor cleat up front, and then again to the base of the mast, for double protection. I set up the anchor light, a strobe, and the radar reflector. We stowed the cockpit cushions under the seats, and tied them in place, and shut down the motor. 

Then, with everything done that could be done, we got into the cabin, toweled off pretty dry, and ate a light meal. I told the little girl (got to find out her last name, particularly since I came in her last night) that there was nothing much to do now but sit and wait it out. I showed her the chart of the Catalina area, and the surrounding water. I pointed out the symbols for the current and the direction the winds came from. Then I showed her the little, hand-held GPS (Global Position System) that gave latitude and longitude, to pinpoint where we were on the chart. 

She was surprised to find we were only about five miles away from the southern tip of the Island. "So why don't you just turn on the motor and run us into the shore?" I had to tell her the truth of the matter: that the little engine was OK for moving us around in a calm, and provided an 'iron breeze' when needed, but that the motor wasn't near enough powerful to cope with the waves throwing themselves against the bow. If it had to be done, I could run the engine for a night, easing the strain on the sea anchor, but I just couldn't carry enough fuel to do what she wanted.

Her eyes got really round with astonishment when she found that, in a calm, with no current, running the motor for a full hour meant the boat would only move about 2 or 3 miles forward. She'd been thinking about car speeds, where putting the pedal to the metal got you from San Diego to Los Angeles in the same amount of time. 

If you're not accustomed to sailing in small boats, it's hard to understand that you can get tired and achy just sitting around doing nothing. Your body is always bracing against the next lurch, and it can happen in any direction: sideways, front-to-back, diagonally, up-and-down, or any combination. My little teen lover started to yawn and nod off while sitting at the table beside me. Carefully putting the charts away, and listening briefly to the marine weather report, I bundled her in to the under cockpit berth, wrapped up in a blanket, and went back on deck to check the lines to the sea anchor.

"Chafe" or rubbing is the secret disaster maker on a boat tied to anything: sea anchor, dock, rigging or line to a sail. It can slowly wear away a rope's diameter, weakening it until it snaps. There didn't appear to be any damage when viewed under the Maglite's white beam, but I checked it anyway, then made it back into the cabin, toweled off again, snuffed out all but one candle, and slid down beside my little girl. Deciding that everything that could be done now was done, guess who nodded off almost immediately, too.

I woke up to dimness, to feel myself being clutched and slithered on by a warm but fearful companion. I re-fixed the blanket around her, but she needed holding and cuddling right then, and meaningless reassurances in her ear. Those I could do, since my ear and the boat's motion, although strong and fast, told me that nothing had "carried away" (been blown or washed off) and that the water coming aboard over the bow wasn't serious. A quick peek through the little port window looking out into the cockpit showed the "scuppers" (drain holes) handling the water that rained or blew into the foot area. We were a pretty tightly corked bottle.

But I was worried about Miss Stray Kitten, clutching me. Abruptly I realized that she was little Miss very-bare-and-horny Stray Kitten. I discovered this when my abruptly risen cock slid into her body, as she forced herself down on me, moaning and humming in pleasure. We both lazily thrust our respective sexes toward each other, and I saw, over her shoulder, her blanket covered ass humping up and down on my penetrating pecker.

Then she started to talk, interrupting herself numerous times with little gasps and hums of pleasure. "I never met my real dad. Mom kept some pictures, but they were of different guys. Then Mom was alone for a long time, and then she had a lot of boyfriends. I kinda went to school and took care of the house, and that was about it. I went to middle school and to Mission Beach High. I had some friends, but didn't go out much, 'cause I never knew what mood Mom'd be in when I got back. I had a couple of boyfriends, and the last one popped my cherry for me, after I got some birth control pills. Then something seemed to happen. Mom got kinda distant, and she kept her last boyfriend for a long time. He called me his niece. He got to be 'Uncle Chuck'. Then he started to come into my room and feel me up, and then he started to fuck me. All the time. I didn't know how to say no, cause Mom was watching him from the doorway, touching herself and grunting, while he banged me. Then he and Mom started going off on long 'vacations,' leaving me alone in the house. I'm pretty sure they both were into meth or crack. A couple of weeks before graduation, Mom and Chuck went on another vacation and didn't come back. The sheriff came to the house and evicted me the day after graduation; nobody'd paid the mortgage. We didn't have any other relatives or family friends. I got out with a suitcase, and some money, but my best girlfriend got it on with my boyfriend: they took my money, my stuff, most of my good clothes and split for Vegas. By a week past graduation, I was living on the beach.

She groaned louder, and told me to go in deeper. I did it, and she clung tighter, memories spilling out of her.

"I learned fast, but I still lost about all the rest of my clothes. Then I got smarter and remembered my first boyfriend, in middle school. His father (he's dead now) had a little key-duplicating stall in a shopping mall. Anyway, this guy learned how to pick locks from his dad, and he taught me. So I found some stiff wire and stuff from the trash, and tried out breaking into houses for food and stuff. But a lot of the houses had alarm systems, and here I was, running around at night dressed for the beach in that outfit I have. Then, when I was sitting out on Shelter Island about a month ago, eating half a hot dog that no one wanted, I saw all the boats tied up at the docks, with nobody on them."

"I knew that the docks were gated, but the guards, if there were any, didn't check out the inside of the boats. Next night, I got three black plastic sacks from the trash, put my stuff in one, tied it out, and put that into the second, and that into the third. Then I waded into the water, and swam out to the dock, with a fourth bag tied around my hair to keep it out of the dirty water, and to keep my yellow hair from showing.

I found a lot of boats that were just sitting there, almost never visited. Some had three or four business cards stuffed into the windows, one after the other, from some dork advertising SCUBA boat-bottom cleaning services, so I knew the owner's were almost never coming back. Then I had a protected place to sleep, and I could usually scrounge up something to eat somewhere. Pretty moldy and musty, but sure beats sleeping in an alley, with some horney guys looking for a little piece of tail to gang rape and cut up.

I found that if I got up early and was real casual coming out, through the gate, no one noticed or cared, just as long as I looked like I belonged there. I'd scrounge for food from the party people having picnics on the grass at Shelter and Treasure Islands, and worked on a tan."

"I never heard from Mom or Chuck again."

"A couple of weeks ago, I came across this boat. It was clean, and neat, and the padlock was simple. I had it open in a few minutes. The blankets were clean, there was canned food in the bin underneath us, and there was a radio and fresh water. And a toilet that worked, and paper, and a lot of stuff that I could use. I always kept the area as neat as I could, so no one would suspect that I was hiding out there. I kept myself looking like ... us, you know ... an airhead friend of a daughter of an owner. The food ran out yesterday, and I was about ready to pick some more locks. I was asleep in this bed when you pitched your stuff over into the cockpit, untied the ropes, and banged around on top of the cabin. I couldn't get out without you seeing me."

"By the time I got all my stuff packed up in the plastic bag, we were out of the dock and the motor was on, and we were moving. I looked out at you, and then I had to be brave and pretend that I was there to do, uh, you know ... and, well, I threw up and you were good and didn't fuck me, and then I wanted to, and you know ..."

We were still gently moving against each other, more urgently now. She put her lips against mine, to shut me up, and we made gentle but insistant love for a long time. Of course, she came insistently a couple of times—I said the girl was an artist—and I flooded her slender body with free, orgasmic jism, but gentle and slow. We slept again.

The Smitten Kitten (the boat, damnit!) was still thrashing around, when I awoke again. I checked for chafe, but found none. My companion-lover hovered gently half dozing, while I made more sandwiches, and we renewed our motion sickness patches.

Following on her revealing story, I told my deliciously nude fuck toy (my exact words, which got a big grin and a nod) that I remembered what she said when I first had her in the cockpit, a day and night ago, and that I didn't expect her to keep any of those prom ....

I got cut off by a delightful set of soft lips, a probing tongue and a lovely set of stiff-nippled breasts pushed into my chest and waiting hands. Then the lips and tongue pulled away (but not the breasts), as I heard, "This little fuck toy remembers everything she said, too, and she's gonna do EVERYTHING she said, an' then some, over and over. I love how you fit inside me. You don't force me. Everything you do is 'we' loving, instead of 'you' fucking. It's only been a couple of days, and you make me shiver and tingle. I've never had a Daddy, and now you're elected. I say so. You and that long pleasure pole I want so much, now."

I firmly affixed said pleasure pole in its designated socket, there to begin the long and slow (at first) loving that we had both come to like the best,

She added, questioning, "where do you live, when you're not sailing?"

"I've got a little house over in Ocean Beach. It's pretty small, but it can handle a new daughter. There my bedroom and office, and a spare bedroom for you, a living room and kitchen and bathroom. The usual, nothing special. But there's a hot tub and a little sauna in the back, and I'm pretty close to the beach. You might like it."

Despite having her face inches from mine, my hard cock in her pussy, and giving me lots of kissing, and having her chest supported by my two-handed grip on her boobs, she put her hands on her bare hips, and somehow managed to look indignant. No small task, considering her position, and the fact that I could look over her shoulder and see the curve of her back and butt, slowly rising and falling in the delicious rhythms of sex. An indignant naked little felt-out hoyden.




Smitten Kitten



"And just why do you think I want to stay in a spare bedroom? It's in your bedroom, in your bed, and with your cock in my little body, or no deal, and I go back to the boat. You got that!"

"Uh, I got it. OK! But you have to give me time to get some of the pictures off the wall and put the porn tapes away."

"Fuck that," she smilingly snarled, "you gotta let me see everything. I'll pose just like all your pictures. We'll watch all your tapes, and I'd do whatever the actresses on the screen are doing, only mine'll be wet, warm, and 'in your face'. And I wasn't kidding, I wanna see that golden pole inside some other bitch, while I watch the action and embarrass the hell outa of her. Man, I really wanna direct all the hot action, and squeal for her if she isn't a talker."

"Wow," I exclaimed, as we both increased our movement.

More soberly, I added, "little kitten, you do know that we can't fuck all the time. You might be able to, but I can't. I'm in my 40's, and I have to rest some time. I have to work, some of the time, and there's grocery shopping, you know, the mechanics of daily living. We'll have neighbors, and they'll talk and gossip, even in Ocean Beach. And we'll have disagreements and arguments, 'cause we're human, and you're a girl and I'm a guy. You might want to go back to school, or college, or something. Stuff like that."

She nodded soberly, saying, "Sure, I know all that. But nothing we can't handle. Remember, you're never gonna be grumpy from not having sex. And you're not gonna be bored, probably ever, 'cause I got a really good imagination. I love to show off, and you know it. You know, I like to dress up and I like to dance: think about it, you old perv. When you get older, so will I. We'll work things out. Remember, you have this boat, and if you need some space for a little while, you can come here ... or I can. The reunions after our fights are gonna be real fun."

She finished, " now shut up, and finish doing me. I got that thing in my 'thang' and I want it. Tha's right, push. Go, man, PUSH. Tha's right, no mercy, give it to me. Yes, yes, yes, ohhhhh, yesss, I can feel it in me, it's getting bigger. I want it, I. Want. It! Give. It. To. Me! Yes, yes, yes, I'm your little girl, sex me, Daddy, come on, sex me now, yes, yes, cumming, close, cummung, close ... close. YES, YES. SEX. ME. RIGHT. NOW!"

And then a series of screaming, "YEAH!" as I spurted into her, with another "YEAH!" for each spasm of my pulsing penis. Head thrown back, mouth open to scream the words, and fingers grasping her own boobs as though she wanted to pull them off. "YEAH!" as her body jerked with each powerful pulse of my penis, now dry but still jerking in my own orgasm.

Then a half-whispered, half-moan, "Yeah" as she slumped forward over to me, adding, "I love what you do to me, Daddy. It's so sweet. Ohhh, you're getting soft, I like that too, let me feel you getting soft. Yesssss, that's so nice, you're real soft now, you're gonna fall outta me now. Yeah, there it goes. Ummm, that's nice, too."

We waited a time, as she untangled herself from my arms and spent body, and took a long time to inspect my shriveled manhood. Then, delicately, she took the super-sensitive penile tip between her lips, and gently hummed her lips around it, as she worked my now-tiny organ between her lips, many times smiling up at me. I fell asleep watching my little stray kitten mouth and tongue my declined sex, as she tongue-worshipped the last end-game of my worn-out body. Smiling still!

- - - - -

We moored at the Isthamus at the northern end of Catalina Island, and took a bus into Avalon the next day. Clothes prices were horrible, but I decided my little stray kitten had to have things to wear. I got quite a surprise when she said 'no' to more than a new pair of sandals and new deck shoes, a new bikini, and an evening wrapper. She said, "If we're gonna get me clothes, we're gonna get good value for the best price, and that's not gonna be here in this tourist money pit. Besides, I want into that bikini."

Which was hard to describe, except to say that every surface was 'skimpy,' her nipples stood out at the least stimulation, it had a thong back, and rode low over her 'fur line'. I've never seen a bikini bottom ride so low: another half-inch and the top part of her vaginal cleft would have started to show. The brand ... hard to say ... something about a Weasel.

[ Not that she had any fur, by then. That disappeared just after we moored, shaved off with a couple of disposable blades while seated in the cockpit. I didn't know it was possible for a person—young or not--to spread their thighs and legs that wide or high, and still stay upright. Neither did the crews on the boats surrounding us, as she gestured me to stay down in the cabin, while she displayed her fur-removal sex play, appearing totally engrossed in the project. She was the center of attention for men and women around us, on power yachts and sailing craft. ]

We returned from out excursion to find a invitation note from the power trawler-type boat moored two boat widths away, named the CHISOLM TRAIL. The invitation stated, "just very casual clothes, for dinner aboard, at 7 P. M." The word 'very' was underlined about three times, and the note was accompanied by three Polaroid photos. One showed my little stray kitten, one leg straight up in the air, the other spread wide, back against the cabin wall, pretty face looking down, tongue-tip between her teeth, pussy exposed to the tender mercy of the shaving cream and second disposable blade, apparently totally engrossed in her effort. By now, I knew better. My little stray kitten was posing every second of the time, and knew exactly what she was doing.

The other illustrated a buxom babe, overflowing an inadequately short black party skirt outfit, complete with mesh hose, heel pumps, and bare back, and with a husband by her side. The third photo showed just the babe, in a sheer semi-transparent mesh bodysuit, obviously with an open crotch. Britt looked at me, and raised an eyebrow. I quivered, "whatever you want, little kitten."

The dinghy came over to us exactly at 7, and we boarded the power yacht a couple of minutes later. Our hosts were the Andertons, Paul and Sylvia. Paul was a thin, fairly hard-muscled man in his 40's, partially balding, wearing glasses, and looking for all the world like an accountant on a holiday. He certainly didn't look like a Hollywood special-purposes animal supplier and "cat wrangler." If you see a housecat in a film behaving, it's probably Paul Anderton's animal. He has the scratch marks and bites to prove it.

He was also the author of the popular computer game, 'Herding Cats,' which he laconically described as having derived from his work, being, "an entertaining, endlessly engrossing, un-winable, futile exercise in geometrically-increasing impossibilities." 

Sylvia, on the other hand, was a dead ringer for Jessica Rabbitt. Like from the now classic film, "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" You remember, the one who said, "I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way," while moving in all directions like Mae West. Sylvia flowed out the bottoms of her white boating shorts, and out the top of a leatherette bustier. She's the only woman I remember seeing in a half-dozen years who actually stood up and balanced in high-heel pumps on board a boat. Long brunette hair, deep brown, complimented her flowing figure.

Despite this, she was demure and even a little shy. She covertly stared at the much younger Britt, who'd chosen to attend the dinner invitation in her old bare-midriff top and recently-washed white shorts, with one of my light sweaters for evening chill, and who was barefoot. Despite looking like a charter member of Slut-Pussy, Inc., Sylvia tried to downplay her luscious looks, much to Paul's secret amusement, as he repeatedly caught my eye.

Dinner was steaks and grilled potatoes, with bell peppers and garlic bread, with a light white wine for openers. No one mentioned that Britt was probably too young to be legal for alcohol. The wine had its usual effect on everyone, allowing easy small talk, and turning on my stray little kitten.

But it was Paul who quietly handed my little Britt the Polaroid camera, and, looking her in the eyes, firmly said, "I took just that one picture of you, no others. My promise to you." Britt was startlingly mature, as she leaned back against the seat in the galley dining area, winked at Sylvia, pulled up one leg in the classic 'inviting' soft-porn pose, and said, "take another." Following the flash, and with Sylvia's fascinated gaze on her face and hands, Britt stood and pushed the front of her bikini bottom down, until the cleft of her sex was obviously about half exposed. "Another," she demanded, and then again, "Close-up, this time. Again!". Finally, she edged the top of her bikini up across her left breast, firmly grasping the nipple and barely shielding it with her thumb and forefinger, demanding, "last one." Paul snapped that last picture, waited for the camera to extrude it, and we gathered around to examine the suddenly displayed pictures. Britt pulled the cockpit, 'shaving' picture from my shirt's top pocket, and placing it at the end of the other pictures, simply said, "now it's a series. It's yours!" and pushed the pictures into Sylvia's hands. And she sat down on the cushion, looking like a kitten with a saucer-full of cream, next to me, while Paul and I gapped at her.

My stray kitten continued to amaze me, as she continued, "My daddy and I love each other. We've known each other a long time, about three days now. He's going to take me home and let me stay in his house, sleep in his bed, and make love to me as often as he can. As long as he's around, I feel really safe. The wine makes me hot and horny; can I have some more, please, Daddy? Sylvia, you're so beautiful, can I kiss you? Would you like the guys to watch, please, Sylvia?"

Suiting actions to words, Britt took the four steps over to where Sylvia sat, next to Paul, and knelt down with her knees on either side of Sylvia's thighs, settling her bottom on Sylvia's legs. She motioned to me, to sit on the other side of Sylvia, so that Paul and I were opposite each other, looking across his wife and my girlfriend. Britt slowly advanced her face and lips toward Sylvia's, and starting to extend her tongue as their lips met.

Sylvia started to struggle, but just for a moment, as she relaxed, closed her eyes, and succumbed to the sexy charms of my stray kitten. Their tongues started to play, as did their hands, around each other's necks, shoulders, waists, and started snaking up to their respective breasts. I was raging hard and erect by now, and I guessed that Paul was, too, as the girls started to moan and make little slurping noises. Sylvia broke loose, just for a moment, gasping, "I'm not even gay," to which Britt replied, "neither am I, but you look so sexy and generous, an' you're falling out of that little outfit, I just gotta ..."

My Britt caught me with her sideways glance, and deliberately wiggled her torso and hips. The message was pretty clear. Catching Paul's glance, I quirked an eyebrow. Grinning, we both reached over and pulled on the tie string holding up Britt's bikini bottoms. The tie loosened simultaneously, as the bottom of her suit was pulled off and dropped on the floor. Our hands went next to her top ties. Paul took the neck and I, the mid back tie. Two quick pulls and these went the way of the bottoms. Sylvia's eyes widened as a very bare, young kitten body snuggled up against hers.

Another quirk, and I gestured an exaggerated 'hands-off' posture, as Paul leaned toward his now moaning and hip-moving wife. Several quick motions and the bustier lay unzipped atop the bikini fabric on the deck. A few more pulls and tugs, and Sylvia's shorts joined the growing pile. The pace of deep kiss slurping and frantic girl-groping increased, eight limbs now thoroughly entwined and writhing.

Paul surprised me by whipping out his erect cock, and starting to stroke it. I quickly joined him. My God, the man was hung. I'm probably over average, but his cock must have been 10". Britt cried, "Daddy, let him do me, please, pretty-please?" I nodded, and in one smooth, slow, controlled thrust, Paul buried his monster manhood into my girl's pussy from behind, and began a slow, careful reaming rhythm, while his wife watched breathlessly, locked in a sensuous dance of entwined girl-girl sex play. Britt got her right thigh between Sylvia's legs, and slithered her now protruding pussy lips against Sylvia's lips, with Paul—still inserted into her pussy from behind—continued his measured male love-humping.

Britt ordered Sylvia, "come on, luscious girlfriend, bump my pussy, you can do it. Bounce your tits. The guys are loving it. Look over my shoulder, look and your man putting his meat to a little, barely legal teen. That's right, watch it go in and out. You love it going in and out. Yeah, that's it. You love to fuck, don' you. Bet you want your man to pump you deep. Come on, Paul, get in here and jam that big man meat inta your woman. Yeah. We're coming, come on girl, over the edge, RIGHT NOW!"

Both women groaned and thrashed, then stiffened. My Britt threw her head back and closed her eyes, but Sylvia literally squealed and her eyes rolled up in her head, looking like she was having a seizure. Her generous boobs quivered and shook, and her nipples fell and re-erected themselves. The evident orgasm went on for over a minute.

Paul continued to thrust in and out of my cumming girl. Then, in one swift penile motion, he pulled out from Britt, pulled her firmly away from Sylvia's legs, and jammed his monster meat into his wife, between her thighs, from the front. Sylvia's eyes went wide, and she started to shudder and shake again, entering a multi-orgasmic state, as her husband slammed into her in a steady rhythm. I watched her have a full-blown orgasm every half-minute, head jiggling on her shoulders, arms flopping, and body generally under the sole control of her lover's impaling manhood.

I pulled my quivering pole from my hand, and plunged it into my girl's sloppy pussy, where Paul had just been, between her thighs. I sank to her deepest depth with no effort, barely able to feel the slippery walls of her engorged womanhood, as I literally floated in slurpy female excitement. Britt put her hands behind her back, to grasp mine, and bent her head down to suck and slurp on Sylvia's massive breasts, working first one nipple and then the other. The effect on Sylvia was electric. She gave a strangled scream, arched her back, and appeared to slip into constant ongoing orgasmic seizure pattern. Paul speeded up his thrusting, as he grunted, his wife squealed, my stray kitten hummed and slurped loudly, and I gasped and groaned, feeling my orgasm approaching.

Yeah, that kind of thing only happens in porn films or in books, but the four of use reached orgasm about simultaneously. Paul roared and spurted, time after time, into his wife. That seemed to spark Britt, who jerked and bit down on the nipple in her mouth. The sexy pain of the nipple nip set off Sylvia, who flopped and jerked enough to cause Paul and Britt to collide. That set me off, as I screamed and shouted, dumping more hot sperm into my new girlfriend in spasms of orgasm.

Britt ordered us not to move, until our softening cocks fell out of their respective womanly caves. Sylvia watched dreamily as my little girl joyfully sucked and cleaned both our cocks, as they were presented to her in his wife's close view. 

Britt reclined in the cabin berth, while Paul and I carried his half-comatose wife to the stateroom berth, sponged off the spunk and girl-goo and into a deep sleep. She was still jerking and twitching, with mini-orgasms. Coming up from below, we found Britt now fast asleep. Quietly, Paul and I dressed, and got her sort-of stuffed into her outfit, bundled into the dinghy. And back to the Smitten Kitten. He and I looked at each other, wordlessly, and he pushed off, going back to his boat. I wondered if I'd ever see either one of them again.

I struggled Britt down below to the catboat's cabin, and into our berth. That girl was totally out! Then, starting to undress for the night, I prodded my conscience. No guilt! Damn, she was fine in my memory, with Paul's stiff cock sliding into and out of my girl. I remembered seeing her mouth around Paul's dick, as she slurped and cleaned his sperm and his wife's juices off the shaft and head, with her big eyes half turned to me, and a little grin playing around the corners of her lips. I also remembered her lips sucking on Sylvia's engorged breast and of the two of them, legs and body's locked, slithering over each other, groaning and moaning with girl-girl slut sex.

I realized, as I slid toward sleep, that I wanted to see my little girl do more of that.

- - - - -

I heard a muted 'thunk' of something landing in the cockpit, and more muted engine sounds, fading away. Sunlight splashed on my face through the small porthole and open hatch. I felt full of energy and zest. My sleeping companion, though, was still asleep. Completely out. I quietly fixed coffee from the thermos, made yesterday, and went on deck. It was the usual Southern California summer day: hot, dry, bright, with only a little wind.

The 'thunk' turned out to be a padded envelope, inside a waterproof baggie. Since Paul's powerboat was gone, I had to assume that he and Sylvia had pitched it into my boat's cockpit as they left. Opening the envelope, I smiled with good memories as page after page of digital printer photographs were revealed, showing over and over that Sylvia had, indeed, become much more like 'Jessica Rabbit,' and a lot more relaxed. My little girl was a good example for her.

I rigged the sunshade over the boom, and then the net hammock under it, and settled in for some reading, and just plain drifting off into space. Some hours later, I heard the toilet tank being pumped, and then my little girl kitten poked her head up from the cabin hatch. She looked around, bleary and squint-eyed. Did I see a little hangover?

She looked over at me, and distinctly said, "fuck you!" then winced at the sound of her own voice. She went back into the cabin, and I heard the sound of a gentle, girl type vomit into the head, some more pumping, and then some gurgling as she drank a bottle of water. Then I heard the delightful sound of my electric razor, as I guessed she was trimming off some beginning fur. When she started to emerge again, I reminded her, "you might want to put something on, little girl." I heard a distinct "Ah, fuck, I keep forgetting (giggle)." Some more banging, and a final emergence as she emerged, in the new barely-there bikini. She slipped into the hammock with me and stretched out, completely relaxed. I said, "Aspirin, water, something to eat a bit later. You'll be OK soon."

"I'm OK now. Yeouch. You and Paul were pretty hard on the Beaver. It's sensitive up in there. But I liked it, 'specially with Sylvia's body under me, all slippery and squirming."

She waited some long moments, looking inwards, as her face turned serious. "Uh, Skipper, you're not mad or anything, are you? Please don't be mad?"

"Why should I be mad, kitten?"

Well, uh, I kinda made out with another woman, and, uh, I kinda told another guy to stick it up me, and he really reamed me out. An' his dick was bigger than yours. An' you saw me take all of it. And I screamed and came. You know."

Ohhh, that was the problem. My little stray kitten was getting set for some guilt. I countered, "Britt, you were amazing. You posed, very sexy, for some people we'd just met. Then you slithered all over Sylvia, and invited her to have girl-girl sex while her husband and I watched. Then, when she was cumming, you invited Paul to take you. You were really awesome. Maybe I'm something of a pervert, but I really liked seeing you two girls make out. I really liked to see his cock disappearing into your pussy, and coming back out, shiny and slippery, over and over. I want to see you do all that, again."