GGL-133 Honeymoon Traders by Viola James


Chapter 1


From the summit you could see Lake Tahoe far below - the entire expanse 
of it glistening sleepily in the sun, its color changing from dark 
green to blue, then to a lighter shade of blue. Hills walled it in, 
just as they walled in the broad meadows to the south and the teardrops 
of other tiny lakes to the west and east. To the north, and about 
midway between the summit and Lake Tahoe, sprawled the big stone 
building of Fredag Lodge. Fredag Lodge was two stories high, nestled 
back in the firs and pines with its collection of carpeted rooms and 
discreet servants. During the season, it boasted a three-piece combo in 
its cocktail lounge, and the young couples who enthusiastically filled 
the resort danced closely entwined until it was time for bed. Bedtime 
was singularly early, for Fredag Lodge was renowned as a "honeymoon" 
hotel - whether you were married or not.

Most of the young men and women who eagerly sought reservations here 
during the summer months were married, if only that morning in Reno, 
but there were also the romantics who considered themselves enough in 
love to pay the exorbitant rates. There were also the older couples who 
were tired of the glitter of Reno and Tahoe and wished to "get away 
from it all" for a while, though that often included getting away from 
respective husbands and wives as well. But however it was sliced, and 
whoever with, Fredag Lodge was for passion . . . for passion, love, and 
lust.

And if you wanted to escape from Fredag Lodge itself, there were the 
paths. The paths spread out behind the building like a spider's web 
net, meandering through the wind-bent trees and breeze-stirred 
shrubbery, winding up the silent, loamy hills to the summit. The summit 
. . . and the private cottages. The cottages were set apart from one 
another by brakes of forest and bush and sun-dappled grass; small, 
redwood-paneled cabins which looked out over the lodge and the lake 
through large picture windows, and were furnished right down to a small 
blaze burning in the field-stone fireplace when you first arrived. The 
clean tang of pine smoke sharpened the summer air coming from the lake, 
and seemed to revitalize the lovers who could pay forty dollars a day 
for a place to fuck.

The path connecting the cottages ran along the edge of the summit, and 
on this warm June evening, it was young Susan Halford who was thrilling 
to the panoramic view spread out before her. She walked languidly 
alongside her husband of a few hours, her arm tightly pressed to his, 
unable to stifle the blissful grin on her fresh, roundly pert and 
freckled face. The new Mrs. Halford was tall and lithe with natural 
blonde hair and luminescent green eyes with tiny yellow flecks in the 
irises. She wore a clinging blue shift which hugged and caressed her 
slender, high-breasted figure, and accentuated the easy, natural sway 
of her tight-mooned buttocks. She was twenty, in love with a perfect 
man, and married to him. What more could a woman ask? The diamond of 
her newly acquired wedding ring sparkled magically in the crimson rays 
of the setting sun, as if mirroring the radiant happiness that 
threatened to burst her heart.


End of Page 1. See ggl-133.txt for full story.