A journal of wanton and wildly inappropriate sex.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
In Which My Trip Ends As It Began A Return To Portland, Pt. IV
NOTE: New posts go at the top, as in most blogs, but that means that in a story like this,
spread over several posts, you really need to find the first post in the series and read
them in order. So, that's what I suggest you do here.
Girls, there are some things you need to know about love. My cell phone awoke me the next morning. As I picked it up, I noticed the time was about half past 5 a.m. The Caller ID told me that it was by boss, friend, and fuck buddy Kelsey. I know that Kelsey, who has traveled a lot and does business all around the country (and sometimes the world), is quite aware of time zones, so...I knew right away that it was going to be bad news. "Sorry to wake you so early," she said, "but I knew you'd want to know: Alana killed herself last night." Then I said the stupidest thing: "You're kidding." And of course, as I said it, I knew how off that sounded. Of course, Kelsey wouldn't be calling me at 5:30 in the morning to pull off a horrifically distasteful joke about a mutual friend. "But..are you sure?" "Yes. I was driving past her place and saw the police and medical units out front, and I saw the police and paramedics going in and out. I parked and found an officer I knew. Remember the one we met last New Years Eve?" I remembered. "Yes, Jerry was it?" "Jerry. Anyway, he told me she was dead by her own hand. Hung herself." A lump was building in my throat. Alana had been a close childhood friend who became part of the gang I hung with in middle school. A lovely and slender girl of infinite grace and sensitivity. Perhaps she was too sensitive, because I could almost anticipate the next part. "Apparently Chuckie broke up with her a week ago and she's been despondent ever since." Chuckie had been her boyfriend all through middle and high school. They were inseparable. But Alana was as quiet and introverted as Chuckie was boisterous and extroverted. She was loving and loyal and planned on the New England-style cottage with a lawn, a dog and cat, 2 kids (one boy, one girl...or maybe two girls) all safe and secure behind a white picket fence. Oh, and of course she'd be standing there surveying it all with Chuckie at her side as her mate and protector. Chuckie wanted adventure and mobility and while he might have made a great dad someday, even I could tell it was not in his near-term plans. A whiz at sales and—having grown up in a household with a French mother and German father—he spoke three languages fluently and totally colloquially. He could be in a bar in Ohio, Frankfurt, or Lyons and no one would know from his banter that he wasn't a local. I always wondered how their relationship would work out. Apparently, as was now clear, it wouldn't work out well at all. Kelsy explained: "Chuckie met a girl in a graduate course at Case." (Case Western Reserve University is Cleveland's most prestigious university, with nationally-known schools of Law, Medicine, and Engineering.) "She's a Spaniard and apparently had been coaching him after class in Spanish. At first in the library, but then in a local bar, and finally at her place. One thing led to another and..." I finished her sentence: "...and before long it was more about cunnilingus than cunning linguistics." What a time to be witty, but humor is one way of dealing with grief. "Well," said Kelsey, "as we know, shit happens. He was honorable enough to tell her before it went much further, but you know Alana. He's the only guy she ever dated or wanted to date. She had a whole life planned with him. She was crushed." "This whole thing sucks," I said. "If she had just toughed it out, I'm sure she would have grown. She would have learned that disappointment is part of the game." "Apparently, she went into stalking mode after the break up and would follow him to work or wait around outside his apartment. It was all rather pathetic and sad, really." Kelsey said she had to go and had only called me so early because she would be preoccupied the better part of the day, going on a rafting trip where she'd promised solemnly to leave her cell phone behind. I understood and forgave her. I just stared at my reflection in the dead TV screen. After what must have been a good 5 minutes I simply said "Stupid, stupid girl." Knowing I'd never get back to sleep, I decided to find me a place to have breakfast. By now it was about six and it'd be another two hours or so before I'd meet up with Tim and Erin for one last day of adventure, though I wasn't sure I'd be up for much adventure that day. In the lobby, it was Mandy behind the desk along with a rather svelte and intelligent-looking young black man, probably gay from his manner. She said "Hi" and then looked more intently into my eyes. "What's wrong?" "Is it so obvious?" I replied with an edge of annoyance aimed mostly at myself. Being sensitive and empathetic is no crime, after all. "I'm sorry. I just got off the phone. A friend of mine has killed herself, rather stupidly, over a guy. And I'm so fucking pissed at her for how selfish it is." I broke down in tears as, for the first time, I remembered that she had a loving mother and father who had watched over me on occasion so that my parents could go to a movie or take a weekend trip. Her mom must know by now. And Alana was a real "Daddy's Little Girl," too. The apple of his eye, the love of his life. I knew she had just ruined his life, and all over a fucking love affair gone sour. There could be no more joy in their house, not today. Not ever again. I read somewhere that marriages—even very healthy ones—often end at the death of a child. The role of caretaker isn't compatible with that of lover, and instinctively a loving couple will take care of each other on the death of the child. Once no more care is needed or effective, it's often found that they can no longer view each other as objects of desire, and that instead they become reminders of what once was. And what of her younger brother and sister, both of whom loved and worshipped their big sister? How mystified and terrified they must be that their big sister and role model had decided to turn out the lights just because her boyfriend had dropped her. It was all too much to think about, and yet it was all could think about. I wished I could run into the proverbial light after her and snatch her back so that I could slap some sense into her. I wanted to say, "What makes you so fucking special? A break up is something everyone has to deal with from time to time. Yes, it's painful but you get over it. In fact, every relationship ends badly except the one you're in now which might be the one that lasts forever or might end up being just another failed relationship. When a relationship ends, you pick yourself up and go on." But no, not Alana. I suddenly realized that Mandy had been talking to her partner behind the desk. She turned and said, "Wes will watch the desk alone for the rest of the shift. It's almost over anyway. Let's go grab a bite somewhere." Mandy stepped out from behind the counter, so gorgeous in her smart hotel uniform. After a big hug, she proposed going to a nearby restaurant called Kelly's Olympian. Once out on the street, she took my hand and we walked hand-in-hand the rest of the way. I used to walk that way with Alana when we were kids. Kelly's has a biker theme and has old, classic motorcycles hanging from the ceiling. Its appearance was not some decorator's handiwork, it was for real. It had been serving drinkers beer, breakfast, and burgers since 1902. I ordered the classic "two eggs, bacon, and toast" breakfast. Mandy ordered hash and eggs. We both had a good old cuppa joe. No pretentious espresso here...it's not even on the menu. As we waited, Mandy sat across the table from me, holding my hands in her hands and looking deep into my eyes. In a whisper she said, "Cry. Let it out." And so I went about weeping. I'm a strong girl and almost everything I do is robust, be it fucking or crying, but here I was reduced to weeping, for here was something I could do nothing about and simply had to accept. I had to accept the unacceptable. The coffee arrived and the waitress said "What's wrong?" "A friend has killed herself," Mandy explained. The waitress put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed, saying "Oh, man...that really sucks," and she was right. It sucked. It sucked The Big One. "Talk to me about her," said Mandy. I began at the beginning... My family moved into a housing project when I was about two. I grew up there. Alana lived down the street and somehow my mom met her mom and before long we were visiting Alana's mom or her mom was visiting my mom, and so Alana and I became playmates. As we grew older our friendship became independent of our moms' relationship. Going over to play with Alana was the first thing I was allowed to do on my own outside the home and without my mother. I'm sure she watched me from behind the curtains where I couldn't see her to make sure I got there safely, but my first experiences of independence were with Alana. And Alana would come over to visit me on her own as well. She was my first real buddy. We were inseparable until we went to school, when different homerooms forced us apart. Thus, we learned to socialize with others. We developed our own somewhat overlapping circles of friends. Even so, we still sat next to each other on the school bus for years and years. Until, that is, she met Chuckie in middle school. He was a star on the football team and we were both cheerleaders. She gave up her virginity to him at 15 and from then on they were a "thing" and I became less important to her. Not that she totally dropped me or was ever rejectful or unfriendly. It was just that she was totally infatuated with him and the possibilities he represented to realize the life we had played at with our baby dolls and fake tea parties. Baby dolls became Barbie dolls and sun dresses gave way to tight jeans and tube tops and our lives tended to bump into each other rather than intersect or overlap. We'd get together over burgers or at a party to catch up, but we didn't double-date or sleep over anymore. Most of the time, though, she was with Chuckie who was not my kind of guy. I think she sensed that and perhaps that's why we didn't connect so much. I'm not into jocks who wear their baseball hats all day long, are super-interested in pro sports, or regularly watch wrestling. (Now, don't get the impression that Chuckie is an airhead. As I've indicated already, he's a pretty smart guy with real possibilities, and as for the wrestling, he's not one of those dopes who think it's for real. I'm sure he knows it's fake and enjoys it as a kind of theater or performance art. It's just not my kind of thing and a guy who is interested in that sort of thing is unlikely to be interested in what I find interesting: creative writing, art, good cinema, jazz, and so on.) As time went on, I became a lot more "alternative" and went through my gothic elf period, with eye makeup that made me look like a raccoon. No longer the cheerleader, I had discovered sex and despite my disdain for jocks, I had probably banged most of the guys on our teams at one time or another, either singly or in groups. I think I did this as much to spite the cheerleaders as to simply enjoy my body. Mandy is a good listener. Somewhere along the way she had put her hand on my knee and squeezed it from time to time to show her sympathy. The last time I saw Alana was at the annual Air Show on Cleveland's waterfront. I just bumped into her. I was there with my friend and boss Kelsey. She, naturally, was on the arm of Chuckie. She looked almost too beautiful, as though she'd stepped out of an ad simultaneously promoting Crest Toothpaste and Clairol hair products. We hugged and I even hugged Chuckie in a pro forma fashion. Ditto for Kelsey who had met them a couple times before. We exchanged a few pleasantries, but what with fighter jets doing maneuvers nearby, it was very difficult to do much more than make hand gestures over the overwhelming din of the planes' engines. One thing females have to accept is that love and marriage mean different things to men and women. Men do not sit around thinking of how wonderful life would be with a marriage and children and a nice place to live. As someone once put it to me: "The thickest magazine on the magazine rack is Bride, but search high and low to the ends of the earth and you'll never find a Groom magazine." That pretty much sums up the reality. After that sank in, I readjusted my own attitudes toward love and marriage to pretty much be in sync with a guy's. It's made me a much happier girl. I'm sure Chuckie knew how devastated Alana would be, and I'm sure he feels dreadful now. At the same time, it isn't his fault that Alana never matured emotionally and never came to take an adult attitude toward love. His life has a right to go on and her decision to end hers was her decision. One of the things I hate about the situation is that I'm sure she did it to spite Chuckie by having the last word. Sure, she was crushed and in despair, but I'm sure it was also her way passing some of the ruins of her emotional life along to him. Breakfast arrived (more promptly than all these words might imply) and as we ate, Mandy took it upon herself to talk about some of the tragedies in her life. An uncle who died of brain cancer. A cousin who was permanently crippled in an auto accident on prom night. A high school acquaintance (not a friend) who jumped off a bridge onto train tracks one dark night and was found the next day cut in half by an early morning train. I looked up at the bar's TV screen and noticed the time. I checked it against the time on my cell phone and told Mandy I had to meet Erin and Tim back in the hotel lobby. I was already 10 minutes late. She took my phone and called the hotel. Apparently Erin and Tim were waiting, the situation having been explained to them by Mandy's friend Wes. He relayed their message not to hurry breakfast, that they'd meet us at the Starbuck's on the square. So, now both quiet, we finished our food and then headed off to meet them. The couple gave me and Mandy some warm hugs and tried to comfort me, but as you know if you've ever been through something like this, just knowing that someone cares is about all that can be done for you. No words can ever really lift the sadness from your heart. "What do you feel like doing today?" asked Tim. "I don't know," I said quite honestly, for I hadn't given it one thought. Part of me wanted to rush back home, but arranging such a return would have been needlessly expensive and I was returning home the next morning anyway. Erin filled the resulting silence with, "How about some local sightseeing? It's a great day. There isn't a cloud in the sky. "Mandy: any ideas?" "Well, Portland has the country's largest forest park, how about some hiking in Forest Park?" Tim looked at Erin and they agreed it sounded like a good idea. Erin said to Mandy: "You're coming, too, I hope." "Sure," she replied, "but not dressed like this!" We all looked at her smart little hotel desk girl outfit and laughed. Tim said, "We'll run you by your place so you can change." Mandy lived near the Portland State campus in and old building facing the park that runs through Portland from a block shy of the Main Post Office at the north end through the Portland State University campus at the south end. She was back in the car within 10 minutes, sitting next to me behind Tim and Erin. She sat close to me and put her hand on my knee again, which was more comforting than any words. It wasn't a sexual gesture, it was a friendly one. Following Mandy's directions, we headed off into Portland's greener-than-green west hills. "Can I braid your hair?" Mandy asked. "Sure," I said. In the animal kingdom, grooming another creature is a bonding process, and so it felt to me. She could do little to alleviate my pain other than give me little attentions. Mandy was wise beyond her years. I burst into tears when a memory crowded into my mind: Alana's mom braiding my hair when I was sad because my parents had left me with her for the weekend. Mandy didn't even ask why I was crying, but just went about with her braiding. After driving up and up and up, then out into sparsely-populated areas, we found ourselves at a trailhead on a forest road. Mandy explained that it was one of the less-used trails, which I appreciated. It was not a day for rubbing shoulders with the masses. We walked a meandering trail at a slight incline for a good 15 or 20 minutes when we reached a rise with waist-high yellow grass flanking the path for a few feet on each side. We stopped to drink some of the bottled water Erin had packed for us and to take in a fantastic view of the north end of the city far below in the Willamette Valley. Tim, always the explorer, had gone off to look around and was signaling us to come to him. As it turned out, by walking about 20 feet into the nearby trees, there was a grassy clearing offering us some privacy. We all settled down and just sunbathed. There was a slight breeze so, despite the heat (it was certainly in the mid-80's by then) it was very comfortable. A little time went by with me just lying there with my eyes closed, watching the patterns forming inside my eyelids, just letting my mind wander. I heard a slight rustling and opened my eyes to find Mandy, her sunglasses perched up in her hair, looking down into my own eyes. She was a very caring person and someone I knew offered the prospect of lifelong friendship. She rubbed my upper arm with her fingertips and smiled at me. I took her hand and pressed it onto my breast to let her know how close I felt to her. "That's nice," she said. Unbuttoned the top two or three buttons of my shirt and helped her slide her hand in. On the same day I had lost a friend, it seemed I had gained one. Life goes on. Even Tim and Erin were just necking, not fucking. I guess they knew that this wasn't the time or place for that. And so we spent the afternoon. On the way back into town, Tim offered to buy us all dinner and asked Mandy for suggestions. After some discussion we all agreed to try a German restaurant called Gustav's, which might have been exotic for Mandy, but for the rest of us, living in Ohio and Pennsylvania, as we did, German food was almost everyday food to us. Even so, Gustav's had lots of German atmosphere, and it did remind more of some of the restaurants I'd been to on my trip to Bremen than most of the German eateries I knew from Ohio. Everybody wanted to go dancing afterward; and it even sounded good to me as a way to take my mind off my sadness. However, Mandy, at 18, couldn't go with us, so I told Erin and Tim to go ahead and dance. I would stay with Mandy. We said our good-byes because it was unlikely I'd be seeing them again before I flew home. We had already exchanged e-mail addresses and cell phone numbers. We'd be getting together again further on down the line. We took the MAX train, which had a stop nearby, and got off at the Convention Center stop, the second stop across the river. It was warm but not uncomfortable. Earlier explorations had told me that from there we could walk down to the river to a walkway giving a great view of Portland's skyline with a lovely reflection in the river. Mandy had been a great comfort, giving me lots of small attentions. I counted her a good friend and spending time with her was giving me a big emotional lift. We walked hand-in-hand a ways until we came to a bench. We sat down and talked, and as we talked she took out my braides and fluffed my hair. Then she gave me a kiss. A kiss on the lips, but not a sex kiss. A tender, loving kiss. We embraced and just hugged. "Hey, lesbos!" yelled some kid. Not at us, but for the benefit of his friends. They laughed, but kept walking. "Let's go back," I said. We walked further on and took the stairway up to Burnside, and from there we slowly made our way back to the hotel. We walked through the lobby. Mandy positioned herself to use me as cover. There was no need for the two desk clerks to know what wasn't their business. My room was on something like the 15th floor and the windows gave a great view of the city. It had a nice balcony as well with a chair, a small table, and a heavily-padded chaise lounge wide enough for two. Before I could even suggest we use it, I turned to find that Mandy was wearing nothing but her panties and a Mona Lisa smile. She waited for me to strip to my panties as well and then she took me by the hand out to the chaise, pulling me down until we were side-by-side and face-to-face. With a degree of uncharacteristic embarrassment I told her, "I don't think I'm good for a fuck tonight." She just smiled and said, "I wasn't expecting anything. I just thought we could hold each other." "I'm up for that." And so it was for maybe an hour. We talked about many things. Traded stories from high school, where she'd been a cheerleader as well. Admitted our most embarrassing situations. Our best and worst fucks. Our hopes and aspirations. Along the way, I'd gotten up to raid the room's well-stocked refrigerator and we'd both had a couple of those tiny bottles of liquor. My emotions had leveled out quite a bit, too. I was feeling closer than ever to this lovely and sensitive girl. I wasn't feeling extremely horny, but I wanted to give something back, so I pulled her on top of me and let her long brown hair drape my head. And as I did so, I put my lips against hers and sucked her lower lip into my mouth. Ever considerate, she asked, "Are you sure?" I pushed my knee between her legs and placed my thigh against her vulva. "Don't expect anything really wild," I cautioned her, "but, well, make yourself at home. Let's see what happens. Take off your panties." As she took hers off, I did the same. With that, she placed her head on my shoulder and slowly moved her pussy up and down my thigh. I held her tightly, rubbing my hands up and down her back from her shoulders to her ass. I slowly let one hand slip down between our tummies until I found her clit, which I rubbed in a circular motion with my finger tips. Her breathing and sighs and the movements of her body told me that this increased her enjoyment greatly. (Another clue was how wet my fingers and thigh were becoming.) By now, her head was off my shoulder and we were Frenching furiously. I wasn't into it as much as she was, but it was far from unpleasant...and let's face it: we've all given someone a Reward Fuck at one time or another, haven't we? A reward for help. A reward for a nice gift. A reward for just being a decent person. Whatever. Often the greatest pleasure is in the giving rather than the receiving. I slowly let my fingers slide into her vagina and found her G-spot. She went into a reverie, stopped kissing me, and started working with my hand. Then she stiffened, pushed at me, told me "No! Stop!" but I didn't (That "No always means no" thing is a lot of crap: I've said no when I meant yes and so, probably, have you.) I wanted to give her a squirting orgasm if she could have one and usually, to do that, you have to take your partner past a certain mental wall where the stimulation is almost too much to bear. If you don't know what I'm talking about, have you ever had someone eating your pussy or sucking your cock and then you orgasm but they don't stop? and finally you have to beg them to stop and/or push them away? It's like that. Well, I held her in a death grip and resisted all her protestations, and sure enough, she came with an ear-splitting cry and covered my lower leg with a blast of pussy juice, which also put a big oblong stain on the lower half of the chaise. "Wow!, I've never done that before," she said. "I'm glad I was there for your first time. Be sure to pass the knowledge along to your next lover." "I'm not sure I'd ever want another lover," she said. "Oops!" I thought. "What have I done?" After we'd cooled down a bit, I asked her when she had to be back at work. "Oh, shit!" she said. "Nine in the morning and my uniform is back in my apartment. I'd better grab a taxi." "Just as well," I told her, "I have to fly out tomorrow and a few hours of sleep wouldn't hurt." That was just to make sure she wouldn't be coming back for another snuggle. I got about five hours of sleep, showered and fixed myself up, gathered my things, packed, and headed down to catch the airport shuttle. Mandy was at the desk. I felt so cruel doing so, but instead of stopping by I just smiled and waved. She waved back a little sad and definitely mystified. On the way to the airport I called Alana's parents. Her dad picked up the phone. I told her I had heard and was so sad. I offered to come by as soon as I was back in Ohio. In a flat, tired voice he said that'd be nice. Between that and having to stiff-arm Mandy I was feeling like shit again. Just the way the trip had started.
Some new beauties from Hegre! Petter Hegre is one of the top photographers of female nudes in the world, and just to prove it, here are some sample shots and some links to some photos and video clips.
PHOTO GALLERIES
Caro—Daydreams in Paris
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Alena - Leather Dreams
MOVIE GALLERIES
Stripping for the World Cup
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Marketa Pumping
Monday, August 28, 2006
In Which There's An Assfuck At Flatrock A Return To Portland, Pt. III
NOTE: New posts go at the top, as in most blogs, but that means that in a story like this,
spread over several posts, you really need to find the first post in the series and read
them in order. So, that's what I suggest you do here.
Once again, I met Tim and Erin in the hotel lobby where they were chatting with Mandy, who smiled and waved cheerily as I approached. Tim said, "Mandy says one thing we can do to kill the day is to drive out to Mt. Hood. Erin and I have never been there before. Have you? I told them I had, but that was in Winter (that story is elsewhere in this blog). I added that it sounded like a great thing to do. The last time, I'd gone to the mountain via Rt. 26, so Mandy recommended a different route. So, before I knew it, we were on the Columbia River highway (Rt 84, I believe) and on into the famous Columbia River Gorge. I've traveled quite a bit, and I know from experience as well as common sense that rivers run in the river valleys, parallel with the mountain ridges. The Columbia is very unusual, if not unique, in terms of running perpendicular to the mountain ridges. I imagine this is the result of a gigantic earthquake opening up a fissure right across the Cascade mountain range. It may also be due in part to the great prehistoric flood that involved a number of states in the Northwestern region of the country. Tim and Erin were well-supplied with music CD's, so we listened to mostly Texas blues all the way. Lots of Johnny Winter, Albert Collins, Stevie Ray Vaughan, and Fabulous Thunderbirds. I was glad we'd decided to use the day for this trip. The Columbia Gorge is spectacularly beautiful, especially on a day as this one was, when the air is crystal clear and there isn't a cloud in the sky. The idea was to go to Hood River and thence take the Hood River Highway south to Rt 26, taking 26 back to Portland, a trip around the mountain that with a couple stops should take a good five or six hours, according to Mandy. As she had suggested, we stopped in Hood River, got some burgers & fries on take-out, and watched the surfboarders for about 30 minutes. Hood River is second only, perhaps, to Hawaii when it comes to a surfboarding Mecca. The Gorge acts as a kind of funnel, concentrating the wind in narrow spots and speeding it up. Hood River turned out to be the optimal place on the river, where the wind most frequently is strong and fast-moving. We watched expert windsurfers scoot across the water and fly through the air doing all kinds of tricks. I'll have to give it a try someday. Once we were on the highway, we drove through some of the top orchard country in the U.S. The Hood River Valley, through which the Hood River Highway runs, is famous for its apples, pears, and cherries, among other fruits. I do have to laugh, though, at Oregonians and other Western state people who seem to think that Ohio is a heavy industrial state with wall-to-wall steel mills and plants churning out heavy equipment. In actuality, as you discover if you drive through or fly over Ohio, except for Cleveland and a couple other large cities, Ohio is mostly farm country. In fact, because Ohio lacks any major mountain ranges and certainly has no desert country unsuitable for farming, a much higher percentage of its land is devoted to agriculture than in states like Oregon, Washington, Idaho, or California. That said, a lot of farm country you see in Oregon looks just like farm country in Ohio. There are parts of Oregon with rolling hills and farms that offer no hint as to where they are. To look at them in a photo, they might be in Ohio, Oregon, Maine, or Virginia. We stopped at an overlook and got some photos of Mt. Hood from the back (by which I mean you're seeing the side you can't see from Portland). Even in the dead of summer, there's snow on Mt. Hood and it's possible to ski on it year 'round, though not all ski slopes stay open all year and I imagine the skiing involves more and more rock dodging as the summer progresses. Mt. Hood is a gorgeous mountain, but strangely I find most people back home have never heard of it. It's not the tallest mountain in the lower 48, though it's one of the tallest. Mt. Rainier is much better known and seems to be thought by many or even perhaps most people to be the tallest mountain in the lower 48. Actually, that distinction is held by Mt. Whitney in California, another mountain most people don't know by name. It's just that Mt. Whitney is the tallest of several peaks in an area that's more devoted to hiking and backpacking than skiing. Mt. Hood and Mt. Rainier are much more accessible. We found a roadside area where we could dangle our feet in some stream water. YOW!...it was ice cold. Tim reminded us that this water had probably been ice just 20 or 30 minutes earlier. It was probably about 35F degrees. Needless to say, we didn't spend a lot of time doing the foot dangling thing. In fact, my feet remained a strange mix of numb and achy for a few minutes after pulling them out of the water. We wandered upstream from the parking area to where there was a pile of large rocks. By "large," I don't mean as big as pumpkins, I mean as big as cars, as big as rooms, as big as houses. We found a big one that was mostly flat on top with a couple divots big enough for some puddles to form. One puddle was luckily about the right temperature for foot soaking, so we gave that another try and this time with much less discomfort. The water was cool enough to be refreshing, but not so cold as to numb the flesh. Erin had been behind me and so I didn't realize at the time that she had stripped and was laying on the rock wearing nothing but sunglasses and a lascivious smile. Tim looked at her and then at me and said, "Wanna have some fun?" "Sure!" I said with enthusiasm. I had masturbated for a while after Mandy had left my room, but something involving some flesh (and especially a great big cock) sounded pretty good to me. Erin, now up on one elbow said, "You two have fun. I think I'll just watch." To Tim, who has a good foot and a half in height on me and easily weighs twice as much, I am but a toy, why not let him just take me? I could put up no effective resistance. Instead, I decided to play a different game, so as he came to me and tried to put his arms around me, I sternly pushed him away. At first, he looked at me puzzledly, but then he got the game: I was telling him this was one fuck he'd have to work for. Erin was onto it, too, and had already started chuckling. This rock was big enough for me to dodge and duck him for a while, but with his long stride and reach, of course, he was soon able to snag and then hold me. He held me to him, my upper tummy against the big bulge in his pants. I beat my fists against his chest in mock protest. He grinned and, grabbing my arms, got them folded behind my back. Because of his huge hands, he was able to hold both of my wrists together with just one of his hands. This done, he curled one leg behind my knees and stepped around me and forward with his other leg and we both tumbled down, with me on my back and with him on top of me facing me. Now I was helpless. He was able to free the hand that had held my wrists together, and my own body weight combined with the portion of his weight that was on me made it impossible for me to free my hands, the shoulder muscles required for doing so simply not strong enough. (My now ex Eric had once shown me how easily a man can do this, and he did exactly the same thing. He is not nearly as big a man as Tim, but he did it quite easily as well. I realized then that even men much closer to my size could probably do it, too, given the differences in the male and female body. Apparently, Mother Nature, in her wisdom—or God in His, if there is a God—places continuing the species above female consent, and reserves rape as a means of last resort for replicating the species. But, of course, this was "fake rape" or rough sex, whichever terminology seems best to you.) Keeping some of his weight on me, Tim unbuttoned the cotton shirt I was wearing button by button, while squirmed in an honest but futile attempt to free my arms. Erin was watching with a knowing grin. Obviously, she had been in my exact same predicament before. If I started to get and elbow out a bit, Tim would just push it back. After a couple such attempts, Tim slapped my cheek. Not hard enough to injure me, but definitely hard enough to hurt. After being so slapped several times, I decided to give up that tactic. Now, with my shirt open and my tits exposed, he slid down and sucked on my nipples. And I mean, keeping with the game, he was sucking hard. They say that, pound for pound, the tongue is the strongest muscle in the body, and Tim's was certainly plenty strong, whether it was caressing my nipples or simply pulling back in his mouth to suck a nipple in. He was giving me thrill shivers all over my shoulders and back. And that was before he started biting. Soon he was pinching my nips between his teeth, then by shifting his jaw from side to side, he would roll my nipple this way and that. I found this to be even more shiver inducing, despite the pain. This was definitely one of those "It hurts so good!" situations. By now, Erin was laying on her side, her hand clamped between her legs and, from the rhythmic tensing of the muscles in her forearm, I could tell she was masturbating. Next, Tim came up to face level again, applying his upper body's weight against my upper body, which allowed me to try lifting my hips. This just gave him an opportunity to pull my elastic-topped shorts and panties down to mid-thigh, and so soon his hand was working its way toward my vagina, despite my attempts to stop him by crossing my legs and turning my hips this way and that. It was hopeless because his hand made incremental gains and never lost ground, so after a few minutes, I was getting my clit massaged by one of his fingers. I loosened up my legs a bit and allowed him to continue doing this. However, I scored a couple points myself, because as he did this, I was able to get one of his ears between my teeth and clamp down hard enough on it so that he couldn't pull it out without injuring himself. As I did this, he let out a sharp "Ugh!!!" and thrust his hand down further, massaging the outer vagina (or "vulva" as some call it and "pussy area" as others call it). With my tongue, I massaged the large portion of his ear I held in my mouth. Then he had a finger in me, then two, then three. Then I let go of his ear, relaxed my legs, and let him finger fuck my dripping wet snatch for a while. At the same time we started kissing furiously. His huge tongue just about filled my mouth, and had it been any longer, I might have gagged on it, but instead his tongue gently caressed and massaged my tongue. But sometimes he'd just lick my lips, looking into my eyes with the steely and icy disinterest that befits a rough sex session. I was limp by this time. Tim got up, whipped off his T-shirt, stepped out of his shorts and briefs, and laid me across his lap, where he proceeded to spank me. These were hard individual slaps and not just play slaps. They were intended to hurt...and boy did they! But, as you are probably guessing, I responded to these in a sexual way and each one sent a thrill straight from my butt cheeks to my vagina, which was oozing like crazy. Tim's hand was wet and he now DP'ed me with his finger in my pussy and his thumb way up my asshole. I kind of rolled to one side (still laying across his lap) to make this easier for him. There was no longer the slightest pretense of resistance. In the words of a classic Bad Company tune of the '70's, I was "ready for love." By this time, Erin's legs were open wide and she was finger-fucking herself vigorously. She was obviously having a good time. "Come on guys," she called out to Tim and me, "let's have some real sex. You guys are boring as shit!" So, Tim stood up, his 14-incher straight out in front in full salute. I took off the rest of my clothes and got into a squat in front of him, my hands gripping the backs of his thighs for support. Just looking at the tip of his massive schlong was making my mouth water (how Pavlovian can one get?!!!). "That's better," Erin said, "now let's get going!" At first, I merely teased the underside of his dick with my upwardly-curled tongue. Then I ran it around the glans in a circular motion. When I finally took him into my mouth (for which I almost had to unhinge my jaw, like a snake) I could taste precum, which stimulated me so that I could feel pussy juice running down from my pussy to my ass cheeks where, presumably, a little puddle was forming under my butt. Now, there are a couple things one commonly sees in porn which I personally don't like, because I think they're silly and because I think they signify a dominant role for the male. One is that ridiculous tapping of the cock around the girl's face or pussy. Another is where the girl is blowing a guy and he uses her hair as handlebars so that he can just hump her head. Gee, why not just tell me I'm a Kleenex substitute? However, this was rough sex and I was playing the passive or "victim" role, so I didn't object when Tim took advantage of my double-ponytailed hair and used each ponytail as a handle. (And as an aside—I'll make this quick—this reminds me that my girlfriends and I disagree about what's a pigtail and what's a ponytail. To me, a ponytail is hair tied up close to the skull and relatively high up on the back of the skull so that it looks and hangs like a horse's tail does, but a pigtail is as far as I am concerned, always braided. I have friends who call just about any of it a "pigtail." What I'm talking about here is ponytails in my sense of the term. And now...back to the sex). Tim was humping my face and doing his best to gag me, which is what I'd expect from this sort of sex. Tears were running down my cheeks, not from crying but trying not to gag and then gagging. I guess it may be from squinting very forcefully, anyway my eyeliner and mascara were running down my cheeks and I could feel saliva mixed with precum dripping from my lips, down my chin, and neck, and chest, and finally down to my crotch. Erin was by now masturbating and laughing. "Wow...you're a mess" she said in a delighted tone. Next, Tim grabbed me at the armpits, lifted me up to a standing position, then somehow (don't ask me to describe the motion, it happened so fast) he picked me up, rotated me 180 degrees until I was upside-down and we were in a standing 69 position. I sucked his dick while he ate my pussy. I think I was as excited as I'd ever been. Well actually, I wasn't sucking him off as much as jacking him off with my tongue slithering around his glans. This pleased Erin quite a bit and I could tell that she was hovering near the brink of orgasm. She was probably holding it off until Tim's cumshot, which I didn't want to happen while I was upside down. I knew his loads were massive and that they'd come bursting out of my mouth, which I didn't want happening while in an upside down position. Getting semen in nose and eyes isn't my idea of a happy time, so I stopped blowing him long enough to say, "Wanna fuck my ass?" He didn't take any more convincing so he put me down and I got into the lowest doggy position with my shoulders and cheek against the cool rock and my ass hole presented in a very convenient position. He salivaed up his fingers and managed to get one, then two, and finally three fingers in, which was pretty much the girth of his tool. He slid right in and shivers went all through me, almost like someone had thrown a bucket of icewater on me. As is my way, I started masturbating, for while I have orgasmed from an assfuck alone, it's much better as a way of augmenting masturbation or toy play. Everyone knows the pleasure of taking a big dump, and I'm told that the rectum is more densely populated with nerve cells than the vagina, so it felt really good to have his big cock in there while I played with myself. He's so much bigger than me that he can crouch over me and hump my ass by just bending his knees and dropping forward onto his hands. There's no way to describe the sensation of taking a giant cock all the way in to where it's practically pressing against your diaphragm, but it's...unusual, to say the very least. Not an everyday experience. I was ready to cum at any time. I just needed something to tip me in that direction, and it came when Tim pulled back from deep in my lower bowel back into my sensitive rectum and came. His load felt like a warm enema and that was what I'd been waiting for because first it meant he was about through fucking me and just knowing I had semen in me gave me that "I'm a dirty girl" feeling. There are times when being bad is exciting, and I know that for many, anal sex is thought to be dirty and perverted. I came a few times, gathered my breath then got up into a low squat, letting Tim's spunk form a puddle about six inches across under my ass. I looked over and Erin had apparently come while watching us. Even so, Tim was gently and lovingly licking her pussy, giving her orgasmic aftertremors. What a guy! The rest of the afternoon was sexually uneventful. We did drive up to Timberline Lodge on the slopes of Mt. Hood, stayed for a walk around the lodge area, grabbed a quick snack, and headed on back to Portland uneventfully and in time for dinner at Todai, an incredible seafood buffet restaurant. Lots of sushi for those who like the stuff (not me!) but lots of other delicious food as well. Crab, shrimp, chicken, and even beef along with Asian salads, diced fruits, and desserts served up in finger food portions. All of this washed down with Kirin or Sapporo beer of course. From there it was back to the Blues Festival for the evening acts. After a few more beers, we were all ready for a rest. We agreed to go to bed early and meet in the lobby early to plan our next day's adventures.
Those Sapphic chicks are at it again!
What would I masturbate to without those perfect-looking SapphicErotica legal teen hotties kissing, licking, finger-fucking...and obviously enjoying it as much as I do when I'm doing that sort of thing. (But I like sexier lighting when I'm doing it...LOL!!!)
PICTURE GALLERIES
Wet tongues explore pussy and anus
MOVIE GALLERIES
Lesbian takes strapon in kitchen
Wednesday, August 16, 2006 In Which I Blame It On The Retsina A Return To Portland, Pt. II NOTE: New posts go at the top, as in most blogs, but that means that in a story like this, spread over several posts, you really need to find the first post in the series and read them in order. So, that's what I suggest you do here. After a long rest in our respective rooms, we went out for a late dinner. The Concierge was otherwise occupied, but the cute girl at the desk wasn't. While Tim and I waited, Erin asked her for a recommendation and after a minute or two she returned to see if we were up for Greek. "Food?" I asked. We all laughed at my potty humor and agreed that Greek sounded great The restaurant, named Alexis, is on Burnside, the main east-west, and is just two or three blocks from the river. The desk girl has said not to miss the Calamari, which she claimed was the best around. Other than that, she had told Erin, souvlaki is what most people go for. She had also told us we'd enjoy dining in the bar area, and that we did. We were served up some nice homemade bread with our choice of either butter or olive oil and balsamic vinegar. You know, it's become very "yuppie" to serve olive oil with bread but the restaurants forget that many of us really like butter on bread. They should at least offer their customers a choice. We all agreed: we wanted butter. A little after 9, guess what happened? The hotel counter girl showed up. Apparently, Erin had invited her to join us to thank her for her help (yeah, sure), and as her shift was ending at 9, she had agreed to join us. Her name was Mandy. By then, we'd ordered a bottle of Retsina (Greece's famous wood resin-flavored white wine). I'd never had it before, just the thought of woody wine sounding repulsive, but halfway through my first glass, I had become a full-fledged Retsina addict. That stuff is fabulous! We got Mandy a glass (before we knew she was too young and, after all, she had fake ID) and soon we discovered that she liked Retsina, too. At about the time we ordered our second of three bottles of Retsina, we placed our order for Calamari as an appetizer, to be served with Greek salad, and for dinner, we ordered lamb souvlaki all around. The food was just as good as the wine. Mandy became the center of attention. I had taken a good look at her when she walked into the bar. She had waist-length dark-brown hair, tied back. She was still wearing her black hotel blazer outfit which also included a white shirt and short gray skirt. I'm guessing that the length of skirt was the employee's option, because most middle-aged women would not really relish the idea of showing most of their thigh as Mandy was, and she showed even more when she sat. She turned out to be lots of fun, had a great sense of humor, and even joined in with some off-color comments and jokes when our banter took that turn. She had also just turned 18. I'm 22 and Erin might be a couple years older than me, 26 at most, I'd say. But at 18 Mandy was truly a youth. Perfectly clear skin, small boobs (from what I could see) so firm and high up on her chest that any higher and they'd be more shoulder pads than breasts. We all wanted to do her and as young as she was, she didn't seem to even sense our lust! She turned out to be a typical teen, whose musical interest seemed to center on pop tunes and dance music. We quizzed her a bit about the blues and it turned out she knew almost nothing. Tim and Erin told us stories about the blues artists they'd met and with whom they were in regular contact via e-mail and telephone. Naturally, we all wanted Mandy to get a taste of the blues, so we invited her and she accepted. By time we got there, there was only about an hour left but we were in for a treat. A great band with a light-skinned black girl singer was belting out agressive, heavy-duty song in a go-for-broke style much like Janis Joplin used to do. Finally, she stepped up to the microphone and said, "Now for a very special surprise. I have a friend who's a shy little gal, but she can really sing a certain kind of tune in a way almost nobody else can. Here's my buddy—who's not really a member of the band—singing in front of an audience for the very first time. Welcome, if you please, Serena! There was a round of polite applause as Serena walked up to join her friend at the microphone. She was palpably nervous. "Well, Serena, what will you be singing for us tonight?" This is one of those musical conventions that's used to introduce a guest singer's tune. I'm sure that everyone on the stage was not only well aware of what she'd be singing, but had spent some time rehearsing it as well. In a soft, willowy voice she replied, "Well, I thought I'd sing 'Confessin The Blues.'" "I love that tune," said the first singer. I was thinking to myself, "So do I!" It's such a plaintive song. We've all felt that way at one time, especially the first time we really wanted someone but they didn't want us. And then she started singing the opening lines, which are "Baby here I stand before you/With my heart in my hand/I put it to you baby/And I hope you'll understand/Oh, baby.../Please don't dog me 'round/I would rather love you baby/Than anyone else I know." (You don't need to tell me those aren't exactly the original lyrics, because first, it's pretty common in the blues for performers to make lyrics their own by adding slight variations, to sing what feels most comfortable to them instead of what the composer wrote. Secondly, this was a woman singing a song originally written for a man. At any rate, it didn't take long to determine that Mandy could get into the blues because when I looked at her face right after the lines I just recited for you, tears and mascara were running down her face. I elbowed Erin who had her purse with her and found a couple kleenexes. (I had just grabbed my driver's license, some money, and a couple credit cards, not wanting to carry my purse around with me.) I was pretty close to tears myself. This singer falls into a category I call "naive singers." These are good singers with untrained voices. Frequently they sound more "real" and are more evocative than trained singers. Astrud Gilberto singing Brazilian jazz comes to mind. One of my favorite 45's in the collection of my dad's that I saved from the trash is Barbara Mason singing "Yes I'm Ready." She really does sound in that song like a young, virginal girl who's ready for her introduction to the tumultuous world of sexual passion. This singer had that kind of sadness in a voice that while always on key was never sophisticated-sounding enough to remind you it was a performance. Her performance was every bit as good as Little Walter's, whose recording is the Gold Standard. "I'm sorry," said Mandy, apparently embarrassed. I said, "Don't worry about it; it's a sad song. You have feelings. What's to apologize for?" And with that I hugged her to me in a motherly fashion. Slowly her head settled onto my shoulder and we swayed together with the song that had a long series of guitar, piano, and saxophone solos. I was thinking: "Mandy likes her Retsina just a little too much." We stayed through the last act and decided to take a midnight stroll, so we continued walking the riverfront. There's a sidewalk that runs all along the river for quite a way. I felt lucky we were in a group since while most of the other people there looked okay, there was the occasional dodgy looking street person doing panhandling or glaring at us like people who could afford a place to sleep were somehow the enemy, and that their voluntary addiction to meth or heroin had nothing to do with their troubles. At some point I realized that Mandy and I had started walking along holding hands. After walking a bit beyond the Broadway Bridge (you see, by now I've been in Portland enough to know the major streets, bridges, and landmarks) we came to a large wooden deck facing the river and bounded by a steel railing. We stopped and enjoyed the reflections in the river and the view of the Broadway Bridge above us and to the right. That's when Mandy surprised me by grabbing my shoulder to make me face her and planting a Big Wet One on my mouth. When I felt her tongue against my lips, I opened my mouth and the magic dance of tongues began. Tim and Erin took the cue and soon they were getting all sloppy as well. "Let's find a place to lie down," Tim said. We all agreed that was a great idea, after about five minutes of cuddly walking occasionally interspersed with kisses, we found ourselves at Union Station, Portland's Amtrak station, and probably the most beautiful train station in the country. It has a large patch of grass where Mandy and I and Tim and Erin spent a goodly time necking. It was like high school days all over again. All that was missing was the hay ride and middle aged chaperones trying in vain to seem "hip" and "with it" while at the same time making sure nothing happened. It was clear we all wanted things to go further, but right out in the middle of the train station lawn seemed a bit too public, so we found our way over to Broadway and walked the 10 or so blocks back to our hotel. The middle-aged man was behind the desk and cast a disapproving glance our way, probably due to seeing Mandy fraternizing with guests. I feel sure an incident report was handed in to the hotel manager's office. We decided to all go to Ted and Erin's suite because the other option was to go to my room which was just that: a room, not all that big. Mandy was on me like white on rice as soon as the door closed. She dragged me over to the bed, put me flat on my back, squatted over my hips, tossed her blazer to the floor, and unbuttoned my shirt. Now, usually I'm the aggressor when I'm with another girl but I can just lay back and let things happen when the other person is eager, and so I just decided to let her have me. I rolled from side to side to help her get my shirt off and she went crazy on my tits, not just sucking on them but licking my sweaty skin. As she did so, I undid the clip holding her hair in a ponytail and combed my fingers through her hair. I looked over at Tim and Erin, who had settled in on the suite's huge couch. His pants were off and she was giving his massive cock the lovin' of a lifetime. Mandy kissed my lips again, and as she did so, I released a few buttons and was soon playing with her boobs. Her nipples were already rock hard and her breasts, just as I thought, were small and so firm that one could hardly describe them as "hanging," for they seemed to defy gravity. I could tell she wasn't very experienced. She needed a little training, but she made up for technique with attitude, and she was eager to please. I could push her head a little this way or that or say "No" or "Yeah...now you have it!" and she would get it right from then on. She had a rather long tongue for such small gal. She got it way inside my pussy, and twirled it around in a way that gave me goose bumps. I tapped her on the head to get her attention, and when her head bobbed up I said, "My turn, sweetie. Get up here and give me doggy. Oh, and take off the rest of your clothes." Her body was perfect. A small little hourglass. The aforementioned breasts about the size and shape of a large orange cut in half, but most definitely natural, and with light pink nipples about the size of a 5 cent piece. She even had a nice little "landing strip" of pubic hair about an inch wide, too. This chick belonged in magazines! After undressing, she got on her hands and knees next to me. I said, "No, give me the low doggy position." She dropped onto her elbows. I said, "Lower still. Let's see you put your cheek down on the mattress." She complied, and now her ass was way up in the air, her butt cheeks widely spread revealing an asshole that was virtually a work of art, it looked so beautiful. She had been in the tanning beds. I was amazed: didn't even have a single small freckle. Her skin was so continuous and consistent that you could have taken a patch of skin from almost anywhere on her body and put it anywhere else without noticing any difference. I was a little jealous along with my admiration. Look at me, the freckly and pale-faced half-Hispanic chick who got most of her complexion from the wrong side of the family...sigh. I started off by kissing first one of those perfect ass cheeks and then the other while rolling the finger knuckles of my fist slowly up and down between her labia caressing both the vagina and the clit in a way that pleased her immensely, judging by the "Mmmms" and "Ahhhs" emanating from her half-open mouth. Next, I used a wide, flat tongue on her pussy while enjoyed the slightly musky odor of her asshole, which, due to the position I was in, was right in front of my nose. Her head bobbed up and I could see that something had caught her interest. It was Tim and Erin. Mandy, saying more than asking, "What are they doing?" I looked. Tim had slumped way forward and Erin was astraddle his thighs facing him. I suppose my own tone was a bit ironic with an undertone of "What planet are you from?" as I explained, "She's giving him an assfuck." Mandy said nothing. Obviously that cute little brain of hers was processing some new and strange information. "You mean..." she started and then her voice trailed off. "Sweetie, you give your lover your mouth and your pussy. Why not your ass?" "Does it...?" "Feel good?" I finished her sentence for her. "It can, but you need to keep an open mind and learn how to enjoy it. Let me show you." She started to say "But," but I had already pulled her knees out from under her so that she was on her tummy. I positioned myself on my side facing her, my face against her face. She just looked into my eyes as I spent a couple minutes relaxing her through my face and by lovingly playing with her ass cheeks. "Are you ready," I asked, adding "I'll start off easy." She nodded an okay signal. I licked my middle finger and gently pressed my linger a tiny ways in. Probably about half a fingernail. Her eyes at first got wide but quickly became normal. I explained, "Your asshole has a sphincter that's a bit like the diaphragm muscle you breath with. In other words, left on its own, it works involuntarily, but you can also overcome its autopilot with your conscious mind. Right now, your sphincter is tense and tight and thinking 'I let things out; I don't let things in.' But you can tell it, 'You're right, but this time it's okay.'" I pressed harder, but still quite gently, until my finger was in as far as the second knuckled. "It's a weird feeling," I said, "but the weirdness of it is part of what makes it exciting." "It is weird," she said, "but it's not a sexual sensation." "It's an augmentor," I explained. "Now, put your hand down between your legs and masturbate." She did as instructed and I started to finger-fuck her ass. As she masturbated, her ass moved in harmony with my finger strokes. In about 60 seconds, I could see from the expression on her face that she was cumming. I guided her through about, I'd guess, a minute of pretty severe cumming. Her face had turned cherry red. At last, she clapped her hand over her gaping mouth and laughed into the palm of her hand. "That was...I don't know. Super!" I laughed, too. It's always great to five someone a first time, or even just to be there for their first time. "Wanna do it again, a little different this time?" She nodded a yes. By now, a smiling Tim and Erin were simply sitting on the couch watching us, big Cheshire Cat smiles on their faces. "Roll onto your back," I ordered. She complied Meanwhile, I had retrieved a bottle of Astroglide and I lubed up her ass and my hand. "Ready for a more intense experience?" I asked, and the sheer delight on her face was as good as a "Yes!" So this time, I pushed her knees up to her tits and went right in with two fingers. And this time there was almost no resistance from her little sphincter. In this position, I could massage her anus and also give her head, which is what I did, to her absolute and total delight. Two fingers became three and three became four and there was an apparent increase in her pleasure, as she rubbed and tapped her clit. With her other hand, she had grabbed my wrist and was helping me pump her ass with great force. Soon, she got experimental and was starting to try more than one finger in her pussy. I stopped briefly and told her to put Astrogline her hand adding, "With Astroglide, you could get a toaster in there if you had to. We all broke out in gales of laughter. Tim and Erin were enjoying this enough to be engaging in mutual masturbation as they watched. Poor little Mandy let out a gasp as I got my thumb into the cup of my hand and with a gentle push, got my whole hand into her rectum. I don't know what was bigger, her eyes or her gaping mouth, but obviously I waskl introducing her to brand new experiences. I told her, "I bet you can get your hand in, too...if you work at it." She already had four fingers in. I told her to cup her hand and fold her thumb in, which she did. She pumped and pushed and pumped and pushed and finally said, "It's because of my wrist." "Let me, then," I replied. She pulled her hand out of her pussy and I worked first my fingers, then my thumb in. At last, she said, "I don't think my pussy's big enough." "Nonsense, someday you'll be pushing a baby through there who'll be twice as big around. Just close your eyes and relax and let's see what happens." Sure enough, after about two minutes of alternating hand pumps, my hand popped right in. I pulled my one hand out of her ass and concentated on hand-fucking that little pussy of hers until she almost came. "Erin," I yelled, "can we borrow Tim a little while?" "Sure," she said, giving him a shove in our direction. I told Mandy, "Being over stimulated adds to the excitement, so I want you to blow Tim while I do you down here." Her eyes were half-closed with pleasure anyway, so when his stiffening dong tapped on her lips her little pink tongue came out and pranced around its helmet-like glans for a few seconds, probably savoring the mingled tastes of Erins pussy and asshole. Then, she hungrily sucked it into her mouth cavity and worked it so efficiently she could have been a $30 hooker. Tim surprised me because, even though I knew he had cum not fifteen minutes earlier, he started moaning in he way a man moans when he can feel the orgasm rising within him. And when he came, what spilled out of her mouth was so much it reminded me of back when I was a teen assisting in the breeding of horses. Most men ejaculate no more than two or three tablespoons at best, this was, I'm sure, somewhere between a half a cup and a cup. And after having shot his wad just little while before. What a guy! Now, I can't say for sure that Mandy had ever taken a load in the mouth. I've seen first timers either lose their last meal when it happens or just wipe their lips and swallow. I've known some who like the taste. I can't say I like it, but I don't mind it when it happens, as long as it's part of enjoyable sex. I guess it wasn't all that unpleasant for Mandy. She didn't barf, but just expelled it so it ran down her cheek and chin. I think it was the semen in her mouth that was the tipping point, though, because just after that happened she came and came hard, giving out a long series of loud yelps, until at the end she just lay there, in a steaming heap, breathing hard and looking blankly at the ceiling. She was perfectly still, except for one hand which was gently wrapped around Tim's cock, as if to say with what little flicker of energy was left, "I want more." At last I said to her, "Mandy, let's go. Tim and Erin need sleep, and so do you and I." And with that, I dressed and helped Mandy get dressed. I took her to my room where we showered together, helping each other wash, but not having any more sex. We were both all sexed out for one day. I invited her into my bed where she pushed herself against my body, putting us into that lovely spoon position that mixes two comforts, the body-against-body comfort and the foetal position comfort. After a night of pleasant dreams, I awoke to sounds in the bathroom. I found her partially dressed, brushing her teeth with her finger. She had brushed her hair and looked almost presentable for a girl who had had wayyyy to much Retsina and then had had every orifice probed, plumbed, and thoroughly fucked the night before. She had been, as they say, "screwed, blewed, and tattooed." After rinsing out her mouth, she hugged my waist and looked into my face. "Thanks, I had fun last night and...well...I learned a few things as well. I'm glad we met." I was glad we'd met, too. Someone to look up on a future visit to Portland. I asked her for her e-mail address and phone number, which she wrote down on a pad of hotel note paper for me. Then, she trotted toward the door and left, saying "I've got to be at the front desk in two minutes." Then, she blew me a kiss and was gone. The instant she was gone, I missed her. I'm glad these InFocus girls are...in focus!
An offshoot of SapphicErotica, InFocusGirls takes the same kind of wholesome and healthy legal-teen girl but has her playing on her lonesome (most of the time...not always). I like their lezzy stuff, but the solo girl photos and vids are awfully hot, too. I think you'll agree.
PICTURE GALLERIES
Tempting teen gets naked at bedtime
MOVIE GALLERIES
Teen slides dildo in from behind
Saturday, July 22, 2006 In Which I Get The Blues (And That's Good) A Return To Portland, Pt. I NOTE: New posts go at the top, as in most blogs, but that means that in a story like this, spread over several posts, you really need to find the first post in the series and read them in order. So, that's what I suggest you do here. Well, for those of you who've been following my adventures, you may have felt this was coming, but after a few years together, Erik and I have decided to live separate lives. It wasn't a real falling out, just that both of us felt things had run their course and it was time to move along. Erik is moving out this weekend and I'm writing this from Portland, my favorite city. I've got a long weekend due to July 4th falling on Tuesday this year, so I got a cheap seat on a Southwest jet, speaking of which, Southwest usually comes up with the lowest fare to most of the places I might want to go, and so I perpetually fly Southwest. For what I'm sure are logistical reasons calculated flawlessly by some Southwest corporate supercomputer, you can't seem to get anywhere (assuming it's a long trip and not a short hop) without doing a pretty severe dog leg. A flight to or from Cleveland and Portland may go through Nashville, Phoenix, Reno, Los Angeles, or Las Vegas. Look at a map: none of those cities are anywhere close to being on a direct line between the two cities. Go figure. Sometimes I think it might be worth it to pay $50 or $100 more to be able to take a direct flight, cutting an hour or two out of the trip. I'll make that a "note to self" for when I'm wealthy. For now, though, $50 to $100 saved will buy me a few nice books at Powell's Bookstore, the largest bookstore in the country, which is just a short stroll from my hotel. And so here I am, having just arrived at a hotel just a couple blocks from Portland's town square, Pioneer Square, which normally is the hub of most downtown activity. It's where the East-West light rail system, called "MAX," crosses the bus mall which runs North-South. Mostly, in my experience, you have to go outside the country to find a space like this where the square is the real heart of the city, where people just hang out to have a cool drink, to catch some rays, to watch pretty girls, attend a free outdoor rock or jazz concert, or whatever. And if you're tolerant of tattoos, piercings, and green hair (I am) Portland is chock full of pretty girls. Of course, there's a full complement of suntanned blonde babes and other pretties, too, but Portland has more than its share of punkers and goths. And with more stripper bars per capita than anywhere else in the country and most of the world, sexual attitudes are much more relaxed than they are most other places in the country. This weekend, however, the center of activity has shifted from Pioneer Square to the river where a park runs all along the river in the downtown area. Typically, this would be a fairly quiet place to sit in the grass and enjoy a breeze while reading a book or listening to whatever has made its way into your iPod. However, this weekend, from Friday night through the night of the Fourth of July, it's been turned into the Blues Capital of the United States, for it's the weekend of the Waterfront Blues Festival, and dozens of blues singers and blues bands will be belting it out beside the mighty Willamette River. And I do mean "mighty" in the literal sense. In the Cleveland area, our major river is the Cuyahoga, but the Willamette is easily twice as big and has water that perceptively moves toward the Columbia River, the second largest river in he United States, after the Mississippi. The Cuyahoga is also called a "the burning river" not because that was the Indian name ("Cuyahoga" actually means something like "Snake River" due to it's meandering course). It's called "The Burning River" because it burst into flames sometime in the 1960's due to pollution from the oil refineries in the industrial "Flats" area. That shamed the local government so much that they instituted anti-pollution standards. Now the Cuyahoga is much cleaner, though nothing like the Willamette. However, I understand it had a bout with pulp mill-related pollution in its day as well. Oregonians are so in love with their state that they do what they can to keep it wild, and what they can't keep wild, they try to keep clean and sanitary. I have learned during my several trips here that even conservative politicians here find it necessary to side with the environmentalists on issues with an environmental impact. Oh, and don't make the mistake of giving "Willamette" a French pronunciation. Locally, it's pronounced "will-AM-it" and don't you forget it, because locals are very touchy about how certain words are pronounced. Early on, I had to learn that Oregon is notpronounced synonymously with "hexagon," rather it's "OR-uh-gun" or "OR-y-gun" with the first syllable given the most emphasis. Other odd local pronunciations are of Glisan, a street name pronounced like the last name of Jackie Gleason, the comic who starred in The Honeymooners, which I've seen in reruns. Couch (another street name) is pronounced in a manner that rhymes with "pooch." Strange but true. Anyway, for the first time in several years I'm footloose and fancy-free as they say. I can fuck anyone I want, even a guy, and I can fuck him once, twice, or ten times a day until the end of time if I want to without being unfaithful to anyone. Even so, I'm a little blue over our parting of ways, and so coming here during the blues festival seemed like much the right and natural thing to do. So...let's see what happens. I'll pick this up later. Right now, I'm going out to find a place to eat and to do some after dinner wandering.
Well, I had to set the after dinner wandering plans aside. Here's what happened tonight instead: I stopped by the Concierge's desk to find a good place for dinner. I was in a mood for Italian, so she directed me to a restaurant that's on the way to the Festival. Named Alessandro's, it's the oldest downtown Italian restaurant, with prices that are steep but not stratospheric. It's not a meatballs-and-spaghetti Italian restaurant, but a place you go for dishes like Veal Marsala or Saltimbocca alla Romana. The owner/proprietor (an actual Italian with a thick Italian accent to prove it) was also hosting, and he politely ushered me to a window table where I could watch people walk by. I had delicious fresh-baked bread with some olive oil to dip it in. The olive oil was spiced up with, I think, fresh-grated garlic, a little pesto, and coarsely-ground black pepper. Delicious. Along with this, I ordered one of their less-expensive red wines, a Chianti. I was assured that if a wine weren't excellent, it simply wouldn't be on the list, and despite being significantly less expensive than the others, it was quite good indeed, and no I didn't catch the name. I ordered their version of one of my favorite dishes, Tournedos Rossini (which was sublime, by the way). Shortly after my bread and wine, my Caesar Salad arrived, and along with the salad came a lovely young couple who were seated at the next table. They were very talkative and friendly and I soon learned they were also out here for the Blues Festival. They were from Pittsburgh and attended several blues fests every year, and in fact knew many blues artists, with whom they kept in touch via e-mail. Their names were Tim and Erin. Tim was basketball player tall and was strikingly handsome in that pinhead way that goes along with the basketball player dimensions. (As people grow taller, and their bones get longer, the head grows at a slower rate, so one clue that you're looking at a short person in a photo is that their head seems somewhat large for their body, and likewise if a person's head seems a bit on the small side for their body, they are probably tall.) He had a full head of dark brown slightly wavy hair. Erin was, in appearance, about as Irish as could be and had bright red hair like mine. Unlike mine, though, she had it cut short and a bit on the "butch" side. However, nothing else about her was butch at all. She was bright and full of fun and about as "girly girl" as a girl can be. She also had the greatest little ass, like a pair of soccer balls pushed together. No droopy ass there! She was about 5'4" making her at least a foot shorter than Tim. They made an odd couple as far as looks, but you could tell they were made for each other in every other way. Their musical interests were about as wide-ranging as my own. They were among the few people I've ever met who knew who Baden Powell was. No, I don't mean the founder of the Boy Scouts, Lord Baden-Powell, but the incredibly talented Brazilian jazz guitarist named for him. He is more copied than heard in the U.S. Certainly, much of Charlie Byrd's Brazilian jazz from the Bossa Nova ("new beat") period of the 1960's is influenced by Baden Powell. Blending classical techniques with influences from Spanish flamenco, gypsy music, North American jazz, and native Brazilian folk music, he, like Pélé the soccer genius, was considered a Brazilian national treasure until his tragic early death from causes related to his alcoholism. While most of his music was instrumental, he sings in about one out of four or five tunes with a voice totally different from Nat King Cole's while being soft and soothing in much the same way as Cole's was. You might compare his voice with Chet Baker's for appeal based more on timbre and emotion than vocal technique. I like guitar music in general but especially when it's an electric guitar played by someone who has thoroughly mastered it, like Joe Satriani or Steve Vai, both of whom play at a level that really has no generic name. It's based on rock, but it borders on jazz without actually having much of the black (African) "feel" of jazz. All during dinner we chatted about music and determined that I'd join them at the Festival because going with someone is much more fun than going alone. They were in fact having pity on me. I had let slip a few words about the recent break-up, though I assure you, I wasn't trolling for pity. That first night of the festival was great! I may have to go every year. We drank a few beers, and between that and the normal tendency of musicians to get better as evening merges into night, the music seemed to get better and more exciting as time went by. Before long, my parting of ways with Erik was about the last thing on my mind. I was thinking a lot more about how much I'd like to see this pair with their clothes off. Erin's low-rise slacks showed off an incredibly sexy pair of hip bones, and it was obvious from the bulge in Tim's crotch that he had quite a wad going there. Me? Oh, I was wearing a short white cotton wrap skirt held together by a single Velcro tab and looking much like a tennis skirt. On top, and tucked into the skirt, was a floral print shirt Erik had brought back as a gift after one of his business trips to Hawaii. I had foregone undies just because it makes me feel sexier to be "instantly ready" like that. I was wearing short white socks in my running shoes. It turned out we were staying in the same hotel, so as the music came to an end, we started to walk back to the hotel. Tim and Erin, at first hand in hand, got pretty lovey-dovey along the way, and we actually had to stop from time to time for a little kissfest. The second or third time, as they were kissing Erin took my hand and pulled me close. It all ended in a big group hug, and thence we all three walked hand in hand. It was no longer a 2+1 situation. We were officially a threesome! We had been among the last to leave the festival, because we had continued to stay on the grass and talk about the music we had just heard. In fact, it was a nice police officer who asked us if we might leave so that the clean-up could begin. Because of our late departure, the streets had become fairly clear of pedestrians. As we passed a deeply-inset doorway Tim ducked in taking first Erin then me with him. They began kissing furiously. Erin's arm was tight around my shoulder. Then, she kissed me passionately, saying "We like you, Jill." I replied that I liked them, too. I didn't realize it at first, but Erin had retrieved Tim's cock from his pants. By the time I noticed this, she had given him a magnificent stiffy of at least a good twelve inches. He was certainly ready to rock-n-roll! Soon, she went into a squat and was sucking him hard, her long tongue going in and out of her mouth at the same time, massaging the sensitive underside of his organ as she did so. He bent down at the same time and we started kissing as well. Wow! What a kisser he was. In the meantime, Erin, who had at first held onto my leg apparently for stability, had started rubbing my thigh high enough to tease my pussy from time to time. Soon, I could feel juice running down my leg. Erin felt it, too, and in fact would stop blowing Tim from time to time in order to lap some of it off my thigh. Then, it was back to working his cock again. Tim was leaning against the door, but the goings on were making me rather weak in the knees, so I leaned back against one of the walls. Once or twice people walked by, and even stopped for a few seconds to watch. I can remember getting a thumbs-up from a small group of college boys. I'm not entirely sure when it happened, but at some point I realized that Erin had found my skirt's Velcro tab and that my skirt was draped over her shoulder. I think it must have been when she began kissing and licking and sucking on my clit. In order to make it easier for her, I arched my back to push my pelvis forward. Tim was enjoying himself, stroking his big cock as he watched his wife working away on my clit. A few minutes of near-ecstasy went by until she stopped and said to Tim, "Show her that thing you can do." At first he feigned ignorance, obviously more to tease her than to exhibit true ignorance of what she meant. Soon I found out what she meant as he lifted me up. Instinctively I wrapped my arms around his chest and then hooked my hands over his shoulders from behind. I also wrapped my legs around his hips. Then, he entered me and started ramming with a strength I'd never experienced before. Maybe it was the position, or maybe it was my mental image of what we must have looked like. Maybe it was just my first experience in a long time as a 100% free sexual being, but I just knew that a sheer massive Krakatoa-scale orgasm was on the way. I quickly realized that Erin was no bystander, and was definitely in on the fun, for we started kissing and it gave me a rush, the taste of Tim's cock still in her mouth. It was all I could do to keep from cumming right then. (I briefly let an image of Mt. Rushmore slip into my mind to fend it off, haha!) Next I knew, she had stopped kissing my lips, had dropped to her knees, and was tongue-probing my asshole, which due to my position, impaled as I was on Tim's cock, was very available indeed. After a bit, Tim somehow managed to turn me around without fully removing his cock from my cunt, so that now he was doing me from behind. He was so strong! I was like a toy to him, and from this position his thrusts affected my G-spot much more. They also made my pussy available to Erin, who was no slouch at cunnilingus, either. I was getting one major fuck and enjoying every second of it. I warned poor Erin that I'm a squirter when I knew The Big One would soon be happening, but she said "Okay" and kept at it, so when I finally exploded what didn't drench Tim's pant legs ended up on her neck and chest. Tim pulled out of me and continued to hold me as the cum-hungry Erin cleaned us both off Portland is a cool city and this seems to be reflected in their cops, who seem more tolerant of many things than other cities' cops are. As I opened my eyes for the first time in a couple minutes, and as Erin was lapping up Tim's semen, I noted that a police car was in the street in front of us. Seeing that I was looking right at him, a middle-aged gray-haired cop, who had a huge grin on his face, gave us a wink and a thumbs up. Then he answered his radio, and peeled out, turning his siren on as he did so. There are bad guys to catch, and that's a lot more important than hassling three people making love in a doorway, I guess. As we entered the hotel lobby, the two counterpeople, a young woman and middle-aged man, stared at us at first, the man finally saying, "Had a little accident at the festival, did we?" "Yep," said Tim. We got on the elevator and after the door closed on us, Erin said, "Why don't you come hiking with us tomorrow?" As I recalled, there was nothing in the afternoon portion of Saturday's festival I couldn't live without seeing, and they were certainly pleasant enough company, so I agreed.
*****
I woke up my first morning to the call I had arranged with the front desk before going to bed. I pulled back the blinds to discover a sunny, cloudless day. A perfect day for a hike. I schmeared sun block all over my body, put on some tight-fitting cutoff jean shorts and a fluorescent green tube top. I packed some necessities in a day pack, grabbed a cute little fishing hat-style sun hat and my sunglasses. I was in the lobby at 11 a.m. as arranged, and in no more than three or four minutes Tim and Erin stepped off the elevator, equally prepared for an afternoon in the woods. "Where are we going?" I asked. "A friend of ours has a cabin in the Columbia Gorge. It's inaccessible by car. We'll drive up to a certain point, park our car, and walk about two miles in. "The best thing," Erin said under her breath, "is that it has both a hot spring-fed tub and an icy cold waterfall. They had rented an Escalade, so our trip to the trailhead was very comfortable. I had brought along some homemade compendium CD's, and so we enjoyed a mix of Baden Powell, Deep Forest, Goldfrapp, and Buddy Guy as we went along. Also included was some Johnny Winter, who was a big hit with them. They had heard of him but somehow had never really listened before, but now understood why he was admired by so many guitarists, and wasn't famous just for the fact that he was an albino. Just as we were almost there, Tim, who was driving, asked if anyone was as hungry as he was. Erin gave me a look that told me if he was hungry we'd be eating anyway, so we both said, "Sure" in unison. We found a truck stop, nestled ourselves into a booth with them on one side and me on the other. A waitress descended on us immediately and took our order. It turned out to be burgers all the way around, with Tim opting for the double patty fancy-schmanzy burger that had bacon, cheddar, jalapeño, a fried egg, and raw onions on it. While waiting for the burgers, we sipped on our soft drinks and played footsie with each other. Oh, yes, we'd be having more fun this afternoon, that was for sure. And...out in the woods as well. I was making what little remained of the crotch area of my cutoffs damp just thinking about it! Well, Tim can certainly eat. His burger and fries were soon gone and he was looking around to see if Erin and I had more than we could handle. We both gave up with about half our burgers and fries consumed and about 10 minutes later, everyone's plate was clean. Tim did everything but lick them off! We paid and got back into the car and soon we were on the way. Ever thoughtful, Erin offered Tim a stick of gum and said, "Here you go Onion Breath." He chewed as they tried to feel their way back to the trailhead. We found it after a couple false starts. The thing is, in order to maintain his cabin's privacy, the trailhead doesn't open right up onto the road. You need to walk into the brush to find it, and he apparently recommends you not always come in the same way in order to keep it hidden from view. Once we found the trail, it was quite easy to follow. Obviously, someone came through periodically and cleared it off. Tim explained that the owner of the cabin, who also owned a small but very successful software company, had hired a small group of college boys to clear the trail once a month in season in exchange for being able to spend the night there once they had reached the cabin. They could bring in their girlfriends, sleeping gear, goodies to eat, a few six packs, etc., and have a little orgy. As long as they left the place in the condition they found it, they'd be welcome to do it again. The woods out here are so gorgeous. The trees are so much taller than in Ohio, though I laugh everytime I find Oregonians assuming we don't have evergreens in Ohio. Hell, there are evergreens in Florida and Arizona, just not nearly as many as they have in the Pacific Northwest, were evergreens predominate. In Ohio, it's mostly leafy trees, and they have them in Oregon, too, but whereas leafy trees predominate in Ohio, evergreens predominate in the Pacific Northwest. It was getting hot, but we were in the shade for the most part and there was a little breeze coming up the little valley the trail followed. About 10 minutes in, though, Erin, who had been walking ahead of me with Tim, took her top off to reveal the nicest little pair of boobs with bulbous pink puffies on them. I have a thing for puffy nips. I was sure going to want to introduce myself to "the twins" first chance I got. I followed suit, stuffing my tube top into my backpack. Exposing my breasts to the air felt good. I often feel that this "thing" most people have regarding nudity is a sickness. It sure felt good to be in a situation where I felt I had the license to dress as I pleased. Soon, I was walking along wearing nothing but a hat and sandals. When Erin looked over her shoulder and saw me she, too, was soon wearing nothing but her sun hat and sandals and, after a little teasing, even Tim got nude. Back to Nature, yeah! The cabin was made of rough-hewn wood similar to the rough-hewn fences you see in the country, only a bit larger. Something like mud or concrete had been stuffed in to close the gaps, held together by smaller twigs and branches. The roof was of shake material. It was off to one side of a clearing that was perhaps 20 feet in diameter, roughly a circle. On the other side was a hot tub with a cover on it, which was quickly removed. The tub had a tap at the bottom for flushing the water out, and two small hand pumps. One pumped hot water from the natural hot spring and the other sucked water out of the nearby creek. Tim worked the hot pump and Erin and I ganged up on the cold pump and after 15 or 20 sweaty minutes, it was full enough to use. Once we all agreed it was ready, we wasted no time jumping in. We didn't have to... We were naked! Erin and I got into a splash fight almost immediately and Tim just watched, wincing from time to time as spray hit his face. After a while he stood up and, using his huge hands and long arms, gave the two of us as good as we gave him. After a bit, Erin stopped and said under her breath (but loud enough for both Me and Tim to hear) "Look, Jill. He has a bit of a hard on." He did! We all laughed, and I said, "Are thinking about us? How nice! Erin, what do you think we should do to reward him?" She pretended to ponder this, finally saying, "I know! Let's take turns blowing him!" And so a little BJ competition started, both of us trying to be the one who would get him off. Now, some guys have ramrod-straight cocks, and some guys' cocks curve upward. A few even curve downward and most point a wee bit to the left or right (depending, I'm told, on which hand they jerk off with). Well, Tim's was of the upward-curving variety and...let's just say that he he must be masturbatorially ambidextrous. Did I mention how long it was? A good foot long and it was just as beautiful as it was long. It was so long that when I deep-throated him, there was still enough left outside for me to wrap my paw around with about two inches left over! Erin was stiff competition (pun intended) and, being more familiar with Tim's particular likes, obviously knew what really pleased him. But I'm a quick learner and soon I was getting the same moans and groans she was. I must say, he was a master of restraint because, after a good 15 or 20 minute workout from two highly able and experienced fellatio artists, he had managed to keep himself from ejaculating. "I think we're going to have to fuck him," said Erin. I agreed, adding "I think instead of taking turns, we're going to have to act as a team." She nodded in agreement, and as she did so, she got on her knees, her butt barely sticking out of the water, her tits laying on the deck, inviting him to do a doggy on her. Once he was in Erin, I crawled out of the water and got into a doggy position straddling her upper body. This allowed Tim to play with my asshole and pussy while fucking her. He was no sissy when it comes to analingus, his stiffened tongue was going in deep. It's always an odd sensation to feel a tongue going into your asshole. But...it's fun. I was starting to realize the I was having sex with the same man twice, which I couldn't have done while committed to Erik. I hoped Erik was having as much fun as I was having. I certainly bore him no ill will. Anyway, while Tim was tonguing me, I was playing with my pussy, feeling like I could be having a monster orgasm pretty soon. Just then Erin said, "Why not fuck Jill for a while? "Sure," said Tim with noticeable enthusiasm, but Erin didn't seem worried or jealous at his eagerness. I was pretty well lubricated by this time, of course, and so as soon as I got on my back and opened up my legs for him, Tim's cock slipped right in. He did some tease-fucking for a while, fucking me slowly, pulling it out, rubbing my lips and clit, sticking it back in, and so on. In the meantime, Erin kissed me while pinching my tits and rubbing my tummy. "You can fuck my ass," I said. I almost said "PLEASE fuck my ass!," but as I expected, he was happy to do it and didn't have to be begged. He knew what he was doing, slowly pressing his way in, not jamming it in in typical clunkheaded male fashion, and my sphincter soon agreed to relax. There's no way to adequately describe being fucked in the ass to someone who's never experienced it. And it's triply hard to give them a realistic idea what it's like when that cock is huge. It's kinda like feeling like you need to take a dump and kinda not. Anyway, I love the combination of being fucked in the ass and masturbating, so I was in Seventh Heaven. Gals, if you've ever got a guy who's stiff and just doesn't seem able to get his rocks off, give up your asshole. I've had guys humping me for a half hour until I was totally sore, but once he's in my ass he'll be laying by my side out of breath and mumbling something about that being the most fantastic sex he's ever had in minutes. So, all you chicks who don't like anal sex (or, more likely, don't like the idea of it and so have never given a go), it's something that needs to be in your arsenal ("arsenal"! I just noticed that arsenal has the words "arse" in it...how weirdly delightful!). Anyway, soon was making those noises like he would be cumming anytime, and that was how I felt as well, so went crazy on my pussy until a super orgasm washed all over me like a big bucket of ice water. Tim had pulled out enough so that he could use the grip of my sphincter on the tip of his cock, which I'm sure was deadly pleasurable, but as it turned out, there was another reason, for as he came, he came right in my anal opening. When that was done, he said, "Okay, honey, she's all yours," and with that Erin dropped down and licked her husband's jizz out of my bunghole. Clearly, they had done this before. After sex, we relaxed a short while drove back into Portland for the evening program at the blues festival. I'll tell you what happened that night in my next post.
More "Wow!!!" Girls From Errotica
Errotica is in some ways a "me to" site to Hegre and Met-Art, but you can't fault how hot the girls are. Click on the girls' photos to go to the main site or click on the links below the photos to view a whole bunch of galleries.
Gallery 1— Gallery 2— Gallery 3— Gallery 4— Gallery 5 Gallery 6— Gallery 7— Gallery 8— Gallery 9— Gallery 10— Gallery 11 Tuesday, June 27, 2006 Tall girl, shy girl. The weather has been nice enough lately that from time to time and weather permitting I've been going into the woods behind our office building and taking lunch there. Not many other employees know about it, and in fact I only found out about it when I went behind a utility box one day to pee and saw the vague hint of a path. Once I pushed myself past the initial scrub, the path became more distinct. I followed it and found a clearing with a mix of sun and shade, very handy for spreading out a blanket for lunch, a quick, nap and, time permitting, some masturbation. We have a new worker named Terry in the telephone sales office. Tall, slender, pretty, hair as red as a California sunset. She is also very quiet. After seeing her sitting alone in the lunch room for lunch or break time several days in a row, I sat down with her and introduced myself. I did most of the talking for a while until I stumbled on a mutual interest. Movies. Ever since I was an early teen, I've like art films. Terry likes art films, too, and so we had occasional conversations about whatever was currently playing at the Cedar-Lee Theater or on one of the many local college or university campuses. We had lengthy discussions on Buñuel, Antonioni, Herzog, and many others, and I really came to look forward to those times when we could connect for a break. After a while, I knew I wanted to share with her my little clearing in the woods. So, I broached the subject one day over lunch and she said she'd like to see my special place. The next day, the weather being suitable, we met behind the building in the parking lot and I showed her the head of the path behind the utility box. We walked in pushing past knee-high undergrowth and when we finally reached the spot, she looked around and I could tell she was pleased. I spread out the big picnic blanket and broke out my turkey and Swiss cheese baguette. She had a little Tupper tub of chicken salad and a baggie with a few broad lettuce leaves. She'd dump a big dollop of the chicken salad, roll it up in lettuce and eat it as a roll-up. We each had a diet cola to go with our lunch and as I had promised her, I brought two pieces of my homemade carrot cake. (I don't cook a lot, but I'm good at it thanks to a mom who believes that even a busy career girl needs some home front survival skills.) Of course, if you know me, you're wondering when the sex would start, and the answer is as soon as the carrot cake was gone. Well, not immediately. I started up a conversation about one of the new movies I wanted to see, and as we talked I slowly moved in. We had been sitting side-by-side, so it was easy to slide over to where I could plant the first tentative kiss, which I did very gently and gingerly between sentences. She looked surprised and perplexed and didn't return the favor. "What's wrong?" I asked. "I don't know," she replied, adding "I don't usually do it with girls." "Try it," I said. "It's fun! If you still don't like it, we can forget it ever happened." She thought briefly and said, "I'm hard to get close to. There's a lot about me you don't know." "Are you carrying a disease?" "No." "Are you married?" "No." "In that case, I'm not too worried." And with that I tried kissing again, but this time she gave in and kissed me back. For the next few weeks we would go to the clearing in the woods and have a smoocheroo, but it never seemed to progress beyond necking, though she was obviously into it. I was thinking, "Is it me? Is it her?" She wouldn't even let me play with her boobs while we kissed. She'd turn her shoulder and pull back. Was she ashamed of her small breasts? At last, after a few minutes of kissy frustration I said, "Okay, what is it, Terry? I know I'm getting hot. You seem to be hot, so why isn't anything going on below the chin? After a long thoughtful pause she said, "Like I told you in the beginning, there are lots of things you don't know about me. One fact in particular might change everything and change this from a situation I'm enjoying to one that could be hurtful and degrading to both of us." I asked again, "You're not carrying a disease?" "No, that's not it." "I'm puzzled, then. Aren't we friends?" "Mmm...Yes, but..." "Well, then trust me. If anything happens that might hurt or degrade me, I'm a grown-up and I really want to take the risk, because I like you and I want to be closer still." She closed her eyes and a bit of mascara tear ran down her cheek, which she wiped with the back of her hand. I found a paper tissue in my purse and gave it to her. She stared off into the distance, but as she did so she put her hand on my leg. Then, taking the initiative (which she had never done before), she kissed me slowly and deeply and more passionately than before. She went down onto her back, dragging me half on top of her in the process, and as she did so, I felt her hand slip up under my skirt. Her hand trembled as she did so, but she knew where to put her hand and what to do with it and soon I was getting a really good hand job. Her kissing was more passionate, too, and I was really glad I'd confronted the problem. But I wanted to give as well as receive, so my own hand reached up under her skirt. I love the feeling of stockings under my fingers, so I lingered on her inner thigh for a while, stroking her well-toned leg. I let my hand slide upward slowly until I felt panty material. I had expected to find a nice wet spot in the vaginal area, but didn't. I happened to glance at her face and the expression on it was that of someone steeling for disappointment or loss. Feeling around a bit, I discovered what she had been hiding. She was a stallion not a mare! She was clearly waiting for the hammer to drop. I know when this happens to guys, anything can happen from "Way cool!" (rare, I'm sure) to murder. I just played as I felt it, as a surprise. I gave her the raised eyebrow look and started playing with her wang. She was still giving me the old "deer in the headlights" look, so I said, "Relax: It's no big problem. I'm okay with it: I swing both ways. So, just lay back and enjoy yourself. It took Terry a little while to get over her nervousness, but I know what I'm doing when it comes to cocks, so it wasn't all that long before she had a nice little stiffy going that was drooling with precum. Next, I blew her slowly and gently. The sensation of having a cock in my mouth and my hand on a thigh-high was delightfully unfamiliar. At last I went to work in a major way, moving my mouth up and down on her cock. At the same time her noises told me she had finally gotten into it. Her arms were out to her sides alternately grasping and releasing the grass, her head rolling right and left with her eyes closed. As I tasted her cum filling my mouth, I kept going, only a bit slower, until I was sure she was done. Then, I swallowed what was in my mouth, licked her cock clean as it softened and, swallowing again, rolled onto my back to savor a blow job well done. She rolled onto her side next to me and propping her head on one arm, she said simply, "Thank you." "No need. I enjoyed doing it." "No...I mean thank you for not turning it into a 'situation.'" I said, "Well, now I understand your hesitation quite a bit better. It was a surprise, but not an unpleasant one. I just had to momentarily switch gears, that's all. Like I said, I swing both ways." She smiled, more relaxed than I'd ever seen her before. "Well," she said, "I generally don't swing both ways, but I would like to return the favor." And with that she reached up under my skirt and used her hand to caress my soft inner thigh skin. Then, she rubbed my clit and labia through my silken panties. I knew my vagina was already drooling like crazy, and so between that and the silk I was pretty wet and slippery down there. She pushed first my blouse and then my bra up above my boobs, and soon she was not only giving me a hand job, but alternating between kissing my lips and sucking on my nipples. I suggested we get my panties off, which we did, and soon she was two-fingering me. I was by this time ragingly excited. She then said, "I don't usually do this, but I feel like doing it today," and with that she laid herself down between my legs and started to give me pretty good oral sex, concentrating on my clit while she toyed with both holes with her fingers. Then, she sat herself between my legs and put one hand under each cheek, lifting. I lifted my but up to help her, and before I knew it I was arching, face up, my weight entirely borne by my feet and shoulders. This turned out to be a great position for getting an orgasm, but it wasn't such a lucky position for Terry, because I'm a world-class squirter, and I let her have it in the face, and of course I soaked her entire upper body as well. We both had a big laugh and I told her that she should probably run home and change and that I'd tell her boss she had a food accident at lunch and would be back a few minutes late, which I did. I've gone back there with her again from time to time. In case you're wondering how she figures in with my agreement with Erik to only have sex with a member of the opposite sex just once, when people of ambiguous sex and sexuality define themselves, I always respect that, which is why I referred to her as "she" even as I described giving her a blow job. It'd be hypocritical of me to treat her one way to her face and another way with respect to Erik.
SapphicErotica's hotties go solo
I've long enjoyed dreaming about playing with the red-hot SapphicErotica girls. I've also long wondered why they don't offer those girls solo as well. Apparently, they've been thinking the same thing, because now they are offering a site called InFocusGirls which is many of the same (or same kind of) girls going solo. (Well, okay, in a few cases there's a second girl, but most of these galleries are solo girls.)
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PHOTO GALLERIES
Horny cutie plays in the office
MOVIE GALLERIES
See pussy tremble as it is fisted
What happened to "A Vegas Weekend"? I decided to change the name to "It Didn't Stay In Vegas" because I realized a good deal of it (indeed most of it) wasn't actually in Vegas, so I changed the name to one that's more ironically true. I also came up with some chapter names which are cuter to my mind. I hope you agree. Or at least don't care.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
In Which I Blow It With NW. It Didn't Stay In Vegas, Pt VIII NOTE: New posts go at the top, as in most blogs, but that means that in a story like this, spread over several posts, you really need to find the first post in the series and read them in order. So, that's what I suggest you do here. It's early evening back at NW's estate and we're back in that dormitory-style room. Unlike the weather at his hacienda, it's typical sunny, dry early evening weather. The sun is starting to get low but there's no lessening of the heat. If anything, it feels like it's getting hotter by the minute. Of course, that's if you stick your head outside. Briefly, we girls tried to go out on the large patio behind the dining room for some drinks, but it was in direct sunlight and between the hot air, the direct sunlight, and the heat stored in the patio tiles, we lasted about five minutes, before surrendering and retiring to the dining room. Not even a Margarita cuts he heat like a good old g&t, so that's what we were all having. NW made them for us and the proportions were roughly 1/2 gin and 1/2 tonic. Instead of lime slices, we each had a half of a tiny bitter orange he cut off several small potted trees he kept for that purpose. An interesting variation I'll have to try at home if I can find the little orange trees. (My dear dad once said that when he was young, gin & tonic was a tall drink with a shot of gin, a few ice cubes, a slice of lime, and the glass was filled to the top with tonic. You could drink it like beer for, like beer, it was a great hot weather beverage. Today, he noted, the proportion of gin to tonic has crept up and it tends to be served in an old fashioned glass (by which I mean the size, not a style) which, additionally is so full of ice that there's hardly any room for gin or tonic.) Hilda and her helpers put up a feast for us: Tournedos Rossini with oven-baked halved new potatoes, asparagus lightly drizzled with butter, and a huge bowl of Caesar salad. Several different sorts of pie and cake were available for those with room for dessert. And of course, there was espresso and just plain old "cuppa joe" for those who wanted it the traditional American way. I had noted on our way to the evacuation plane that I no longer saw NW's horses and I asked him about it. "They were moved to safety as soon as I got word that a hurricane was on the way. Some workmen came and took them far inland to a friend's farm. They'll be as safe as can be. The storm won't be nearly as bad there and there will no chance of flooding." I told him how much I admired the horses. "Oh, you like horses still?" "Still?" I replied. He laughed, "All little girls love horses, I think. Then most develop interest in other things as they mature. So, you're one of the ones who still loves them?" "Yes! and all of yours looked so beautiful." "I grew up in (state name withheld to maintain NW's anonymity) and while my family lived in town, many of my friends had horses and actually lived where it was often easier to reach them by horse than by motorized vehicle, especially in Winter. So, I had a horse, too. He wasn't anything special. Nobody was sure what he was. I mean, was he a Morgan? He was a bit too small. But he didn't look like a Quarter Horse, either. Maybe he was a cross-breed. It doesn't matter: he was an even-tempered horse, virtually unflappable in any situation, and he was pretty quick. He beat a friend's thoroughbred in a fair race." "I wonder why girls like horses even more than boys," I asked. "Oh, my dear, maybe you're too close to the answer to see it. A horse is a gigantic penis on legs, but one that's sexually 'safe' at the same time!" I don't blush very easily, but I did because I knew in my heart that he was right. I had worked in a small stable two summers and for reasons that were now clear I was much more interested in the stallions than the mares or geldings, and more than once had I had a horse's cock in my 15 or 16 year old's hand, amazed at its size and firmness. I had even helped in breeding several times masturbating fiercely in my room when I got back home. "We can go riding tomorrow if you wish," he offered, adding with a friendly wink "Just you and me." I accepted immediately and without hesitation. I couldn't think of anything I wanted to do more, not just because I love horses but because the last time we had been alone had been so stimulating and pleasurable. It gave me something to worry about, though. Erik and I have the agreement that we can only have sex with a member of the opposite sex once, and I'm afraid the blow job on the plane counted as sex. I'm not one of those who don't count fellation or finger fucking as sex. Erik had discussed this and decided that if it's sexually stimulating and it involves the sex organ of one party or the other...it's sex. And yet, I wanted to fool around with NW pretty badly. I'm pretty sure the feeling was mutual, and perhaps that was the true motive behind his invitation. That night, we played poker with CNN on because they were running a lot of updates on the hurricane. Luckily it wasn't the strongest of hurricanes and it turned North, which limited the damage in the Yucatàn. I spent all night thinking about Erik and NW. Not just because NW is NW (a wealthy and famous person), but because much as I loved Erik, I was beginning to feel confined. This was unfair to Erik, because he never intended to confine me, was never jealous, never threw up guilt-trippy psychological roadblocks to anything I wanted to do, and totally didn't deserve any pain. At the same time, we weren't married and he could opt out anytime he wished. I'm sure that if he felt our relationship had run its course, he would find a way to end it. I had a lot to think about and it took me a while to get to sleep that night. I have a watch with a vibrating alarm function which I set when I went to bed. At 4:45 a.m. it awoke me and by 5 a.m., I was out behind the house. NW was waiting there with one of his golf carts, and off we went in the direction of the elephant pit, but we took a side trail and soon we were at a small stable. NW had some of the most beautiful horses I've ever seen. He saw me admiring a black Arabian. "You like Torquemada?" "Is that his name?" I laughed at the idea of a horse named after the most notorious and ruthless inquisitor of all time. You can ride him if you wish, but he can be a handful if you don't get his respect right off. I told him I'd give it a try. He brought out Torquemada and helped me get him ready to ride. I could see the horse sizing me up. Probably thinking "This one's small. I bet I can make her shit her pants." At first, he tried to back away from me, but I made it hard for him, and when he finally stopped, I mounted him. I got on in one go, which is good, had I fumbled the mounting he probably would have decided to give me a bad day. However, I rode him around a bit in as masterful a way as I could manage, and I guess I convinced him I was a real rider, not some weekender used to docile and groggy rental horses. When NW emerged with his horse, he looked at me approvingly. "Torquemada" has scared many a rider shitless before they even got on him. He must respect you. In fact, he's acting like a fairly normal horse. Good job! NW had picked out a chestnut Thoroughbred he called "Randy." "Randy is a funny name for a horse," I said. NW explained: "Not if you see him around the mares!" I got it and nearly peed my pants from laughing. Once he was all saddled up and ready to go, he said, "Well, how about a tour of my land? I agreed and for a the next two hours or so we wandered his property. Aside from the elephant pit and landing strip, were several other smaller dwellings allowing him to "rough it" without ever leaving his property. While Nevada is mostly rocks and lizards, NW had land with gorgeous rock formations and springs, most of which had been left in a pristine state. "I thought we'd ride out onto public land where there's a little stand of trees and a patch of shade with some grass. There's a spring, too, so we can water the horses there while we have the lunch I packed. "Cool!" I said. So, with NW in the lead, off we went. At first we crossed a few miles of fairly flat land with a couple shallow gullies on it. Then, we were on a steep hillside trail about 10 feet wide. Then another valley and down along a dry creek bed. I felt I was on a fairly speedy horse, and I wanted to break into a gallop, but of course it was already too hot for that, so we mostly walked and trotted along. Anyway, the ground was too rough and uneven to risk the horse falling or breaking a leg. Not to mention not wanting to risk my own life and limb! NW continued to be impressed with my ease on Torquemada. I told him I'd ridden dozens of horses in the stable where I'd worked. I'd started to work at dressage, too, but didn't like the discipline and had decided I wanted more all-around skills than those one learned for dressage, which has very little practical application. At last, we arrived at our destination, and it was an oasis, as described. We let the horses drink, then tied them up in the shade under a tree. We joined them 15 or 20 feet away in another shady patch. Even this early in the day (for it was still before Noon) it was oppressively hot, so the shade was well appreciated. We got into another one of our meandering discussions. He was certainly an interesting conversationalist, and he hung on every word I said, obviously finding me interesting and at times even challenging. It turned out that he, like me, wasn't particularly fond of sports, though he did follow world soccer. He had spent time in England and France and had picked up the "bug" there. We talked about those concepts we thought of as "either/or" which science had turned gray. For example, the sex of a creature. Flowering plants, of course, have both sexual organs, but can be cloned, and many of them send out root systems which eventually generate genetically identical "child" plants as well. It has been discovered that in the world of the "crocodilians," a baby's sex is indeterminate when the egg is laid, it's sex being determined by temperature, not chromosomal determinism. Some organisms can change sex when needed, so much for X and Y chromosomes! Some fish maintain body temperatures higher than their surroundings, not by moving in or out of warmer or cooler environs, but through internal regulation and by physical exertion which results in body heat. Tuna, for example. NW took off his shirt, because by now it was hot even in the shade. Was he merely hot, or was it a hint? or a test? Decisions, decisions. I decided to take my shirt off as well. After doing so, I dropped down onto one elbow. I could see NW was in a dilemma: to look or not to look. "I'll feel more comfortable if you just go ahead and look at them," I said. "It's not like we have no carnal knowledge of each other." He was obviously glad that I had given him permission. At the same time, I had to level with him, so I said, "I don't know if anyone has told you, but I have a guy back in Cleveland. A live-in boyfriend. We have a semi-open relationship. I'm free to fool around with girls and exercise my bisexual side. As for men, I get one sexual encounter only, and I'm afraid the blow job Kelsey and I gave you on the plane last night very much does count." His expression changed to one exhibiting a vague sense of loss. Was it the loss of a sexual opportunity or of something more deeply desired? I wanted to fuck him. I wanted it badly, but I also wanted to be able to look Erik in the eye when I returned. He looked me straight in the eye on returning from even fairly lengthy trips fraught, I'm sure, with opportunities to misbehave. I believed he had been fair and honest with me. It would be easy to give in to my desire and go back and put on an act, but that's no way to live. Even so, I felt I had to say something, because I sensed his pain. "If it's any consolation, I wish last night hadn't happened. If I could have looked ahead, I would have saved it for today." He smiled and gently put his hand on mine. Then I added, "I have to admit, I'm rethinking my relationship with my boyfriend, but until that rethinking is done, it wouldn't be right..." "I know," he said, "and respect your honest and ethics. They impress me." I was getting bummed, and I wanted to give him something. I stood up and took off first my shorts, then my undies and I started to do a sexy dance with my eyes closed. He looked at me with a pained expression. I said, "It's only a tease if you aren't gratified." He took the hint and stripped until he was totally nude. He was soon hard, and I was doing everything I knew men like to see to help him. Once he was super-stiff, I stopped dancing and simply assumed those poses you see in the men's magazines, all the while just keeping up a normal conversation with him. When at least he totally relaxed, laying his head down in grass and closing his eyes, I crawled over to position myself between his legs, being careful to breath on his fist as he stroked his cock. When he felt it, he quickly looked at me and smiled, saying, "Thanks." This went on for maybe five minutes. When he finally came, the cum was running down his finger like candle wax, and as soon as he let go of his cock I grabbed his wrist, brought his hand over to my mouth and cleaned his hand for him, taking his fingers and thumb into my mouth one by one. "You sure know how to give good Plan B," he said, and we both laughed. We dressed, and only when I had all my clothes back on did he give me a long, lingering bear hug. I hugged him back, rubbing my cheek into shoulder. The ride back was very quiet. We had reached that point in a relationship or friendship where the silences weren't uncomfortable. Dinner had been held up pending our return. The girls were all smiles. Ray, who was probably wondering if NW had gotten me to violate my arrangement with Erik, took NW aside and they talked under their breaths. I could tell from Ray's expression that NW had told him the truth: that we had not fucked. We munched on cheese and crackers and shrimp cocktail until dinner was served. The girls all pumped me for info and were disappointed to some degree that I didn't have a wild and wooly sex story to tell them. Belle indicated that had she been in a similar position (with someone other than Uncle NW...ewwww!!!) she probably would have gone ahead and done it, but I could tell that the other girls were admiring my principles. Belle just has some growing up to do. At her age, I probably would have felt the same way. Norita had been kidnapped into the kitchen and with the help of Hilda and NW's staff, had whipped up a huge buffet with fajitas, shredded meats, beans, tacos, rice, mole and various other sauces, so we all had do-it-yourself tacos or burritos. And of course iced tea, margaritas, soda, and other drinks were in limitless supply. After dinner, we watched The Weather Channel and were all glad that The Yucatàn had escaped the worst of this particular hurricane. Ray and NW had decided to take a night walk, and we all got up to go with them, but I grabbed Belle's wrist, stopping her. "Let's stay here," I said. She looked at me and instantly knew what I wanted. I had had a day that had been as frustrating as it was rewarding. I wanted what some people call The Angry Fuck. I was angry at the day for not allowing me what I had wanted with NW. I couldn't do anything about that, but I was also mad at Belle for not living up to my crush on her. For being what she couldn't help being: immature. Well, at least I could take advantage of her immaturity here, and she was obviously quite happy to make my day. I took her upstairs and into our little dormitory and I threw her down on the bed. She was all anticipation and sly smiles. I crawled on top of her and just about ripped her cotton button-up off. I could hear the buttons as they hit the tiles of the floor. The wild look in her eyes told me she was thrilled and happy about this fake rape. I took her perfect nipples in my hands, pinching them hard between my thumb and forefinger and her mouth opened as she took in a sudden breath. But she didn't complain. Rather, she looked more thrilled than ever. She helped me get my top off and soon was biting my nipples hard, rolling them in her front teeth, looking at me angrily. She wanted this to be an angry fuck, too. Soon, her hand had opened my shorts and was massaging clit and labia. At last, I felt her slip one, then two, then three fingers into my cunt. By this time we were furiously Frenching. I got her shorts and undies off and then it became my turn to finger fuck her. That was good for a while but I wanted a taste. I also wanted total control, so I went to my nearby suitcase and found two scarves and a pair of thigh-highs, and putting her on her tummy, I used them to tie her hands and feet to the bedposts. She complied without complaint. Once she was tied securely, I stuffed a couple pillows under her hips to raise her butt up. Then, I crawled in between her legs and tasted her pussy, my nose wedged between her ass cheeks. The musky smell from her ass increasing my pleasure greatly. Looking back at me, she played along by giving me angry and defiant looks. Totally bogus, of course, since she did everything she could to cooperate with me. At one point, she said to look in her bag. "What for?" "There's a leather belt in there. Use it on me." That sounded good. I found the belt. White patent leather. Holding it by the buckle end, I flogged her and she demanded I do it harder. That wasn't enough for her, so I flogged her harder still. At last, welts were starting to appear on her back and buttocks. I flogged until I could bear to do it no longer. Immature, perhaps, but tough! I went back to licking her pussy and when I made her cum, her eyes filled with tears at the same time. I untied her and she started to get to work on me, fingering me skillfully while kissing my breasts and mouth. After a while she slid down to my hips, put her thumb in my pussy and it felt like two fingers in my asshole. At the same time, she tongued my clit. I planted both hands on her head and held it firmly until my body was awash in orgasm after orgasm. When I became conscious of what was going on, I found my hands in my own hair, not hers. She had that "job well done" look on her face. We showered together and I got a close look at her welts, soaping them up gently as she bit her lip. Such a beautiful girl, and I had defiled her perfect body. Having done this before?and having had it done to me?I knew that they would heal without scars. I helped her dry off and get dressed, for she was sore. I dressed her first and she sat there while I dressed myself, obviously enjoying the view. When I was ready to go back downstairs she stood up and gave me a little hug. I started to return the gesture, but she stiffened and said with a bit of a laugh "Don't...touch...my...back...please!," so I just rubbed my cheek against hers. That would have to do for now. When the others returned, Belle and I were sitting in separate chairs watching TV. She got up and accepted hugs from both Ray and NW and I could see in her eyes that it hurt, but she just closed her eyes tried to block out the pain. Then, Ray, flanked by Kelsey and Gina, called me over. Kelsey said, "We can stay here one more day tomorrow, or we can go home." I said, "I've had a great time, but I'm ready to go home." I could see that Kelsey was ready, too. After an uneventful night, we breakfasted and were taken out to the landing strip. Belle was back in her sexy flight attendant outfit, but everyone was so exhausted that after a couple drinks, we slept most of the way back to Cleveland. That night I spent in my own bed next to Erik, though I didn't sleep well. Erik knew I had things on my mind I wasn't ready to talk about.
Monday, June 5, 2006
In Which Kelsey Is Left Hanging. It Didn't Stay In Vegas, Pt VII NOTE: New posts go at the top, as in most blogs, but that means that in a story like this, spread over several posts, you really need to find the first post in the series and read them in order. So, that's what I suggest you do here. The next morning I was awakened by activities going on around me in the hall and out on the veranda. Apparently I was about the last to wake up. However, I wasn't that far behind, because no one had even gone down for breakfast yet. Belle and Norita were out on the veranda totally in the buff, both of them. Their gorgeous asses on full display. The sun was high enough that even without looking at my watch, I knew it was fairly close to Noon, if not later. Kelsey, in panties only stepped halfway into the room, saying, "We're leaving shortly after lunch." "Are we in trouble for not being back at work?" She laughed and said, "No, I took care of that yesterday. I told them we were taking advantage of some unexpected opportunities and would want a couple more days. We're leaving because of the weather. It seems a hurricane is on the way. Ray's having the plane flown in from Merida for the evacuation." A hurricane...that's certainly reason enough to go. I almost wanted to stay to experience this force of nature, except that recent events in the news regarding New Orleans, and before that the horrific Tsunami of two winters ago, had convinced me that you could definitely have too much weather. She passed through the room and out onto the Veranda, presumably to inform Belle and Norita, and as she did so she said over her shoulder, "We're going back to NW's place. Pack your stuff, leave it by the front door, grab some lunch and be ready to leave no later than 2." I checked my watch, it was 12:25. I took a quick shower, did my hair and makeup and packed up and dropped my bags by the front door. Alexandro and Paulo had been charged with seeing that the luggage made it to the plane. Lunch was a rather spare and obviously hastily-prepared cold buffet, but all the basics were there: bolillos and butter, ham, cheese, bean salad, and a variety of diced fruits, plus orange juice and Tequila. It was obvious who was in charge. Even NW jumped when Ray, obviously used to directing others, barked an order. Everyone knew that time was of the essence and that this was a situation calling for a temporary dictatorship, no questions asked. So, when Kelsey and I were given kitchen duty, we didn't complain. We washed and dried the dishes and put them up in the cabinets. Belle and Gina were gathering up the bedding while NW and Ray hurriedly hauled the mattresses up to the top floor into interior rooms where they couldn't be soaked even by 120 mph winds or by the highest storm surge. Norita was taking down curtains and carrying them up to the mattress rooms. The reason for the open design and spare furnishings of NW's hacienda was becoming clear: With no windows or doors, the wind could just blow on through. All that was needed to prepare for a storm was to put anything that might be water-damaged away, then get the Hell out! By 1:45 Kelsey and I were sitting on the front steps. Everyone else came out within 5 or 10 minutes. Under Ray's direction, we'd stayed on schedule. Momentarily, Alexandro and Paulo returned in two Jeeps and off we all went to an airstrip I didn't even know was there. On the way, NW explained that after dropping us off, Alexandro and Paulo would be lent the Jeeps to go to their village, about an hour's drive away, to be with their families. Manpower would be needed after the storm because almost certainly some of the homes would need major repairs, and of course both men had children they'd want to keep safe. By the time we were taxiing down a runway carved out of the jungle, the sun was no more. Instead, the skies were gloomy and foreboding. A wall of clouds could be seen over the ocean, which by now was no longer the deep lapis lazuli blue it had been just the day before, but now was a turgid gray-green. Yep...a storm was most definitely on the way. As we cruised, Kelsey sat next to me, Norita sat with Belle, Gina sat on Ray's lap. NW was forward with the pilot, for he was learning to fly and hoped to have a plane of his own someday. Back in the passenger compartment, we all swapped jokes and anecdotes. At one point, Ray piped up with, "Kelsey, Gina tells me you have done high fashion modeling. What was that like?" "Well," she started, "it was the high point of my life but it was also Hell." We all looked at her expectantly, so she resigned herself to telling a tale. "I entered beauty contests when I was in high school. I won some and I lost some. I was Miss Petunia Festival and Miss Swiss Cheese and I never really thought I'd go anywhere with modeling, but it turned out an agent just happened to be attending a pageant, and though I wasn't the winner, he liked me. I was the only one who was really tall enough for runway modeling anyway, but he said I also had the kind of figure the designers were looking for for the big runway shows. "Before long, I was being groomed for the runway. I was taught a lot about how to do my hair and makeup, for sometimes you have professional stylists, but sometimes they're overwhelmed at a show and you need to fend for yourself as well. "Anyway, I was soon being hired to work in New York, London, Paris, Milan and even Tokyo. While I never became anything like a 'supermodel,' I was known throughout the small world that is high fashion modeling." "It all sounds so glamorous," said Gina. "Well, it's not as glamorous as it sounds. You are basically a mannequin to show off clothes. You aren't appreciated for your beauty so much as for how well clothes hang on you. To stay in demand, you have to be thin. I'm six feet tall, but when I was modeling, I weighed only 110. It takes a lot of self-denial or self abuse to stay that thin. While I was never compulsively bulimic, I stuck my finger down my throat after big meals more frequently than I'd care to remember. I'm fairly busty as you may have noticed, and when a designer suggested I get some breast reduction done, I finally had to ask myself, 'Am I going to modify my body to get a bit more work in a career that would only last perhaps five years?' My answer was no. I continued to get work, but I decided that what it would take to reach the top level was more than I was willing to do. "Also, making it in that world means making a lot of compromises. I like sex (as you all must realize by now), but I don't fuck people to gain business advantages. A lot of the top models 'date' business executives who are powerful and influential. While it's never framed as a quid pro quo, they then get work, get recommended, receive expensive gifts, all the while pretending it's real dating." Gina was squirming a bit and Kelsey realized she might be making her uncomfortable. "At least you, Gina, are up front about providing a service. Besides, we all know that you and Ray have become partners more or less." Now it was Ray who was squirming. "Tell them about the Italian director," I said. "She had an affair with a famous director." "Italian director? Which one?" was said almost in unison. Good, a change of subject. "I won't mention his name, but unless you've been living under a rock, you've heard of him. He was a contemporary of Fellini, though he was quite a bit weirder, and thus was relegated to more of an underground and 'cult' following. Like Fellini, he was hugely attractive to women, despite not being such a good looker and despite being overweight. When I say overweight, I don't mean grossly and morbidly obese, but he was a bit fat. "I never really understood the attraction until I met him. I took a side trip after a show in Milan to Rome with a couple models I got on well with. One of them knew someone who could get us into a party where a number of well-known actors, actresses, and producers would be in attendance. I had heard that Kubrick and de Palma would be there, along with Marcello Mastroianni and possibly Michael Douglas. "The funny thing is, once we got there we realized we were too early and that the big names wouldn't show their faces until probably well after 10 p.m. Here it was 7 p.m. and we were already getting shit-faced. They'd be carrying us out on stretchers before then, unless we all took the pledge and started drinking Pepsi. "Well, it was about then that one of the girls who had wandered off was seen in a small circle of people who were obviously having fun, so the rest of us went over to see what was going on. 'Who is he?' I asked someone and they told me who he was. I'd seen some of his movies and thought they were very creative but were almost opaquely avant-garde as well. I was never sure if he was being serious or if he was making fun of people who could take what he did seriously." She laughed... "And to this day I don't know for sure, but I suspect he was making fun of people who take art too seriously. "So, we joined the circle and listened to him. He was speaking in heavily and charmingly accented English, probably because the first person he had talked to was an English speaker. It didn't matter, while his accent was heavy, in every other way his command of English was superb. He told stories about actors and actresses he had worked with. Never anything that lowered your opinion of them, though many of the stories covered some of their human foibles. "I can't tell you what enjoyable company he was. Then the strangest thing happened: I started to understand the attraction. He was fun, warm, and kind-hearted. He was a tremendous raconteur, too, and was capable of just going on and on and on, and I think he'd never run out of anecdotes no matter how long you listened to him, and even if he told the same story again, I'm sure it'd be embellished with new details, for he seemed to notice everything. "From time to time, he'd turn things around and ask those around him about themselves, and this would just remind him of more things, and so the discussion would shoot off in a totally new direction. "After a while, I realized that more and more of his questions were to me. He was actually showing interest in me and I could see that the gals I'd come with were noticing this as well, giving me that 'You lucky devil' look, even though I wasn't really trying to get his attention. In fact, it was just about the furthest thing from my mind. "Finally, a well-known actress arrived and the gathering drifted one-by-one in her direction. In fact, I was almost ready to wander that way myself, when he asked to speak with me." "My dear," he said, "I wonder if you'd stay with me here tonight." "Why?" "So that I can be seen with a beautiful woman on my arm, of course!" I was very flattered and was glad to accept his invitation. "I ended up spending the entire evening there. I met a few celebrities, but about half the ones we had hoped for never showed. It didn't matter, meeting him was all I needed to make it a perfect night. "A bit after midnight, he said 'This is winding down. How about a late-night dinner?' Of course, I accepted. He had a taxi called for him and he took me to a little restaurant downtown Rome where we had a huge repast. Its walls were plastered with photos of famous film personalities both past and present. They wouldn't even let him pay!" (I should note that we had all been drinking while Kelsey told this story, and things were getting loose, including Kelsey's tongue.) She continued, "It seems that while he had a small Villa in the Lake Como area, he really spent little time there, spending most nights in hotels. It was understood that I'd be going to his hotel with him, so I soon found myself going up to a hotel room with this chubby man and actually looking forward to having some sex with him. "When we got into the room, which was well-appointed, clean and tidy, but not opulent, he fed me more wine and we sat down on his couch while he put on some American rock and roll that was current at the time, Hall and Oates, Duran Duran, Genesis and a few others. This set him off on some rock and roll stories and I snuggled up next to him. He put his arm around my neck and soon his hand was touching my breast, rubbing my nipple, and making me horny. "We started kissing and groping and before long I had his zipper down and his cock out and was giving him a slow hand job. This got him pretty excited. So much so that I was soon in bed with him sucking his cock. Mind you, he was still dressed in a suit and tie and somehow, I had become totally nude. "I think he was avoiding showing his body because, after all, let's face it: He was no Brad Pitt. But I didn't care, I talked him into letting me disrobe him, and before long we were going at it like wildcats. "He was actually a great lover. And he not only knew what to do, he knew what to say. I've often felt that of the many orgasms I had that night, most of them were due as much to what he said and the way he said it as to what he did with his cock and mouth and hands. "The biggest orgasm of the night, for me, came when he walked me into the bathroom and asked me if I'd ever had a golden shower. At that time, I didn't even know what a golden shower was, so he explained to me that he would piss on me or even into my mouth. I said that that didn't sound like much fun and he replied that 'It's fun if you make it fun.' I didn't know what he meant, but I liked him so much he was making me reckless and so I agreed. "Well, it was pretty weird at first, but feeling his warm pee running down my tits to my pussy and the slightly tunafish smell of his urine did get me excited, so I soon opened my mouth and was fully introduced to pee sex, which I love." "I slept beside him that night. When I awoke, I saw that he was out on the balcony taking in the morning air. I hadn't even realized the night before that the room even had a balcony. He looked so cute there, with his chubby body and hairy back (he seemed as much ape as man viewed from behind), so I went out and hugged him from behind. "This gave him a bit of a start, so he turned around laughing, saying "Oh, it's you. I thought it might be Antonioni (a better-known director) coming to stab me in the back! "With this, he turned us both around and set my butt up on the granite wall of the balcony and started kissing me again. I looked over my shoulder and realized we were five or six floors above street level, and that if I fell, I'd land on the spikes of the wrought iron fence below and close to the foundation of the building. "He saw my concern and said 'Just hang onto me. I'm heavy enough to be your anchor,' and with this, I felt his cock enter me. He fucked me hard, people on the street below seemingly oblivious to what was going on above them. "So, the next thing I knew he was banging so hard I thought he might knock some of my fillings out" (which got a big laugh from us all. At one point, he said, 'Let go, Kelsey, I won't let you fall. Just trust me.' My legs were wrapped around his body anyway, so I gradually unclasped my hands, which had been locked behind him for fear of falling. This wall was maybe a foot and a half wide, so there was room for me to just brace myself with my hands. "I think you can imagine that this was about as thrilling a fuck as I've ever had, but I liked him so much that I wanted to give him absolute trust. Letting my hands slowly slide out to each side until I was actually resting on my lower back, my upper body was actually dangling over the edge. All that kept me from falling was my clasped legs and his hands tightly grasping my waist. He was pounding me like a jackhammer, so I imagine my arms, with nothing to hold onto were flailing around loosely like the arm of a cowboy riding a bucking bronc." I looked over and Belle and Norita were each there, glassy eyed, with their hands in their shorts, slowly masturbating. I then realized where my own hand was. Ray and Gina who had been listening and watching broke out in gales of laughter. "Don't let us stop you!" said Gina. "Wait," I said, "She hasn't even gotten to the best part." For I had heard her recount this story once before. Kelsey smiled and continued, "So, there I am, getting the fuck of a lifetime, dangling over the edge of a balcony, where a fall would mean a certain and grisly death, and at one point I open up my eyes and look up (which dangling the way I was, was down) and I realized a crowd had formed on the street below to watch the crazy people fucking on the balcony. "Then I realized things were drifting by me, falling slowly like leaves. Red and pink things. I didn't stop to analyze at the moment for I was on the verge of cumming. I just gave in and let him finish me off. I had the most thrilling orgasm imaginable and as I went limp, a deafening round of cheering and applause filled the street. People were yelling 'Bravo!!!' and some were calling out the director's name. "As I came out of my orgasmic reveries and, with his help, righted myself, I realized that what had been falling around me were rose petals. A room full of college girls from Germany (as I found out) had been watching, and had been plucking and throwing rose petals on us as we fucked. "By now I was standing and laughing along with the director as he held me in his chubby arms, we waved at the girls and blew them kisses. Some of them flashed their tits (not for my appreciation, I'm sure, but for his. Even so, we both blew them kisses. One girl in particular seemed to know who he was, and brazenly threw down a room key, which fell at our feet. "He looked at me as if not knowing how to respond. I said, 'Pick it up. I'll be back in Milan tonight.' He gave me a long look, laughed and said, 'You're really something!' With that, he picked up the key, blew the girl a kiss, gave her a wink, and yelled in German with a strong Italian accent, 'I'm having dinner around the corner in the Ristorante Locarno at 7 tonight. I'll be by at 6:45.' "She replied, 'How about lunch?' He yelled back 'Okay, room service then at 1 o'clock' 'I'll be ready,' she replied. Gina asked, "Did you ever hook up with him again?" "No, in fact I read that he has since gotten married to a young German cinema student. I suspect that, in a way, I was the one who introduced them. Besides, as much fun as he was, it's just not me to want to be in someone's shadow. I have my own life to live, and from what I read, they seem quite happy together. It wouldn't be right to interfere." In this regard, Kelsey and I think much alike. When NW stepped out of the cockpit on his way to the head, he found Ray and Gina furiously necking, Norita and Belle (by now dressed only in panties and sandals) masturbating each other, and Kelsey and me just taking in the scene appreciatively. He said, "Did I miss something?" which caused an explosive round of laughter from everyone. Puzzled, he went on his way. On his way out after relieving himself, Kelsey nudged me and said, "Come on over. Jill and I have something for you. When he arrived, she pulled down his elastic-topped pants and his dick flopped out. Within a few seconds she had him fully erect. We took turns sucking him off and licking his nuts until he finally came, his cock in my mouth at the time. "Share!" ordered Kelsey in her most authoritative tone, and so, as NW pulled up his pants and rearranged himself, Kelsey planted a big kiss on my lips and made me give her a snowball. By now, everybody else was on their feet. In our state of erotic arousal, the three of us had missed the exhortation to sit down and buckle up. In fact, we had missed the entire landing. The plane was on the ground back in Vegas and we were holding up the show!
Monday, May 21, 2006
In Which I Name A Constellation. It Didn't Stay In Vegas, Pt VI NOTE: New posts go at the top, as in most blogs, but that means that in a story like this, spread over several posts, you really need to find the first post in the series and read them in order. So, that's what I suggest you do here. If you've never been along a tropical beach on a moonlit night, you can't understand quite how romantic it can be. Add into that equation the fact that I was walking along with a very bright and famous man who on top of it all seemed very nice, down-to-earth, and cheerful, and it had my mind in a spin. Yes, it had something to with the wine as well, I suppose. I realize I haven't described NW before, so here goes. About 5'11" or 6', perhaps in his mid-40's. Hair starting to go gray, but in a very attractive way. Well-toned and somewhat, but not overly muscular. He has perfect facial features. Maybe it's his build or maybe it's the quality of the clothing he buys, but everything looks great on him. His voice is soft and gentle and deeply resonant. He's a very attractive older man and, yes, when I say attractive I don't just mean aesthetically. I can understand why women have fallen for him many, many times. He started off by asking me the standard questions you ask a young woman about her life. "Where did you grow up?" "In a small town too far from Cleveland to be called a suburb, but close enough that my family would often drive in on the weekend to go shopping or to a live performance in Playhouse Square." "What about your education?" "I have a degree in Business Administration, but more and more I feel like Destiny has decided that I'm a writer." I told him about this blog and that this trip would most likely end up in it. He asked that he not be identified and I told him that the thought had never entered my mind. No one knew my actual identity and so it wouldn't be fair to reveal his. The questions became more personal. He asked if I had a boyfriend. I explained the situation with Eric, that we have a semi-open relationship. We can have sex with members of the opposite sex just once, but we are free within our own sex. I told him that I'm not entirely sure why Eric agreed to this arrangement, because I've never detected any hint that he's attracted to men. We've done three-ways with males, but Eric has only participated with me in those situations. He has no reasons to fear telling me, since I hide none of my exploits from him, and I'm pretty openly and actively bisexual. We have discussed the health aspects and both agree that playing it safe as far as STD's is important. (Of course, I never discuss precautions in my stories because—to my mind—it's a buzz kill. You're getting all hot and bothered reading about some sexual adventure and then all of a sudden you get jolted into thinking about a condom or foam or some such. Anyway... Of course the subject eventually turned to NW. He, too, had grown up in the midwest in a state on The Great Lakes. He and Ray had gone to a state college together, meeting through common friends. Their friendship had deepened as they helped each other's careers. NW had started up his business with a huge loan from a wealthy family friend and an investment bank this friend had done a lot of business with. NW chipped in and worked on the cheap for a few years while NW gradually paid the loan off and regained full control of the company. He helped by doing sales presentations, and several times saved Ray's company by charming investors into seeing that the company's vision would carry it to success. Once it became clear that the company was a go, NW left to pursue his own career in the entertainment business. This is when it was Ray's turn to help him. Making it in entertainment is hard work involving a lot of travel and having a friend who owed you a lot and owned an executive jet business cut down drastically on NW's travel expenses. Whenever a jet was deadheading and it was anywhere near NW, he could always catch a ride. Being able to get a free lift on a jet you could actually relax in was a big boost, allowing NW to have money to spend on self promotion and coaching to make him a better performer. Also, whenever NW was short a few bucks for rent, Ray was glad to help. So, they had been fast friends for more than 25 years now, and when you saw the ease and even love between them, you might take them for brothers, not just friends, such was the bond between them. Their wealth hadn't spoiled them, and they both knew how to enjoy life. That Ray, and presumably NW, paid for sex was perhaps an unfortunate consequence of their wealth and notoriety. As NW explained... "Jill, once a man has money and fame, women are all over him. They'll slip you their key if you're in a hotel. They'll slip you their phone number or a note that might say, 'I'll show you a good time' or even 'Let's fuck!' And all this in an environment where your every move may be observed by someone. It's easier to just pay for it. "Nancy, my first wife, was my college sweetheart. She stuck by me as I became more successful and for a while, it was good. But then once I became a recognizable public figure the tabloids would run made-up stories about me. If I was out to dinner with a beautiful actress or singer, they would concoct a romance out if it, even if we were totally just discussing business or ironing out how we'd work together. In show business, it's traditional to part with a hug or a kiss on the cheek, and Nancy knew that, because she'd seen it happen harmlessly so many times, but then to see it on the cover of a magazine in the check-out line or in a hotel gift shop with a lurid but fictitious headline and tale to go with it...it just wore on her. "Finally she wanted a divorce and I knew that it had to be. She needed a life of her own or she would probably slit her wrists. She was fighting a clinical depression and in my life there are lots of pharmaceutical but illegal solutions to such problems. I didn't want to see her go that way, so we settled and now she is happy. We do e-mail once or twice a month and we still love each other. She has even started up a little boutique in Detroit that I buy wardrobe from. I know Ray sends people there and a lot of the clothes you'll see Gina wearing come from there. "I tried one more time with a girl who's in entertainment. She's an up-and-coming jazz singer with aspirations as an actress. That one lasted only two years. Being apart so much with careers that too frequently took us in divergent directions took its toll. I heard through the grapevine that she and another singer had become very close, so it was no surprise when I got a letter telling me that by the time I got back home she'd be gone and that it was too bad, but clearly the marriage had been a mistake for both of us. I knew she was right, but still it hurt. I'm still in touch with her as well and I always get a backstage pass whenever our paths happen to cross. "So, I've pretty much given up on marriage. Ray's story is similar, except that he caught on before he got married, so he isn't saddled with payments the way I am. I admire his relationship with Gina. She's so cute and for all practical purposes she's his steady girlfriend. They treat each other with such respect and love." I offered my assessment that she had stopped being an escort and had become a kept woman. "Or concubine," he speculated. Yes, that was even better. I told him that Gina and I had been school chums and that she had always been a nice, sweet, honest girl, and while I was absolutely surprised to discover she'd gone into escorting, it came as no surprise to me that someone might like her. In fact, I could hardly imagine anyone disliking her, unless it was someone who couldn't compete with her virtues. By this time, we had walked a good half mile on the beach (and walking on sand is a kind of exercise in itself, in case you've never done it), so I was relieved when we arrived at a large jumble of rocks we had to wade out to in water that came up to our knees. We climbed up a few smoothed boulders to a big central rock with a flat top, where we sat down and had a rambling conversation about many things. He was quite the science buff, it turned out, and many a night in his hotel rooms had been spent on The Discover Channel, The Learning Channel, or The Science Channel. We got onto a discussion of atomic energy, the structure of physical reality, string theory, and so on, mostly with him leading the discussion, though he was impressed when I recounted a story I had heard a scientist tell to explain something most people find counterintuitive: that gravity is an extremely weak force compared to the electromagnetic force. The example I had heard went like this: The scientist held a ballpoint pen about two feet above his desk and dropped it. Then he said, "It takes a hunk of rock the size of the earth to make my pen do this, but give me a few AA batteries and some common materials and household tools and I can rig up a little gun that can shoot this pen right through the wallboard." NW laughed, saying "That's a very good example. I'll never forget it." And with that he gave me a nice little hug. I could tell from the hug that it wasn't a "prelude to sex" hug or even a "let's see how she responds hug." It was the "I really like you" hug, and to tell you the truth, that was the very best kind of hug for that moment. Nothing else would have rung true. I speculated that perhaps we should retreat from the rock to the beach for fear of being stranded by the tide, and he laughed, saying "For a girl who seems to know quite a bit about science, you're overlooking a very obvious fact." He pointed up and I realized that we were under a full moon, which meant that this was high tide. We both got a good laugh out of that one! NW dropped onto his back using the interlocked fingers of his hands as a pillow. I did likewise. We pointed out constellations to each other, even inventing some new ones with comical names. I came up with one I called "Gina," its two bright stars being the nipples on her very flat (but very lovable) chest. He laughed at the thought of a constellation consisting of only two stars. But NW argued that there should be a minimum number of stars to form a constellation, though he would have think about how many that should be. Obviously, he said, two stars always form a line and three always form a triangle, but once you get into four stars everything depends on their relations to each other. For example, with four stars you get a variety of quadrilaterals: the rectangle (the square being a subset), the rhombus, the parallelogram, the trapezoid, and the kite. After a brief silence he burst into gales of laughter. I smiled at him and said, "What's wrong?" Through intermittent laughter, and while holding his tummy, he replied, "Here we are on a romantic tropical beach under a full moon with the rustling of coconut palms in the air, and most of our conversation is about science and mathematics!" He laughed still more. "I don't mind," I replied, "I'm actually quite happy and I'm having fun." "Good," he said, "because I was almost starting to feel I might be insulting you by not making any moves. The fact is, to me you're by far the most attractive of the available girls." I found this odd and said, "But Kelsey is fashion model beautiful and Belle, well, what can I say about her body that isn't obvious? She's white hot!" By now NW had regained his composure. "Belle is practically family. I wouldn't risk my relationship with Ray by fucking her, and besides, I'm pretty much an uncle to her, so the whole thought is probably as incestuous for her as it would be to me. I know you think she's hot, but that she's still a teenager in many ways, and I agree. She's immature, and it's a great thing for her at this time in her life. She'll grow up one of these days, but right now I like her just as she is, and I think you do as well." I admitted that I did. He had summed her up completely. "And as for Kelsey, there's no doubt she's gorgeous and those boobs of hers...wow! But (and I really hate to admit this) like Ray I have an aversion to tall women. I'm sure I could get past that, but I bet you've never had a conversation with her about science or math, have you?" I laughed and said, "As bright as she is, no, she doesn't do science and math, unless it's math involving profit margins, inventory control, forecasting sales, etc. She's very practical and utilitarian in her interests, except for clothes. If you ever go clothes shopping, she's the one who can come up with the perfect combination. I'll hold up a skirt and top and ask 'What do you think?' and suddenly she'll run off to a rack and come back with a something she remembers seeing that's a much better match. "But she's a really great friend. While she can be very shallow with some people, especially men who want to fuck her or jealous women, she's my best friend. I would trust her to execute my will if it came to that." "Let's hope it doesn't come to that anytime soon!" he exclaimed. "Well, don't get me wrong," he said. "I don't dislike her, and if she wanted to have sex with me, I'd find it hard to turn her down." We both laughed at this. I know I had never turned her down. Then, speak of the devil, Kelsey had heard that we were taking a walk and, following our footprints, had found us. "Room for one more?" she asked. "Sure," I said, for she was really asking me, not NW. Many a girl wouldn't have asked but would have barged right in. And I'm a good friend, too. As she clambered up, I excused myself to NW and, dusting the sand off my ass, told them both I would see them back at the hotel. Kelsey looked at me as if to ask, "Did you get laid?" and I shook my head slightly to assure her that she wouldn't be spoiling anyone's afterglow. I walked back to the hotel to find Gina relaxing in the kitchen, her feet propped up on a table, a tall glass of orange juice cupped in her lap. "Where's Ray?" "He's beat. Between the traveling and a few too many shots of Tequila, he's totally slammmed." We both got a little chuckle out of this. I told her about how NW and I had wandered out and how nothing had happened, but that it was okay. "He's nice. Not at all what you think a person in his business would be like," she said, Then she looked at me wisely and said, "...but I sense a little frustration as well. Are you looking for a little tension relief?" "Yes!" I said. That was a great idea. I was led to the center vast living room where there was a big circular rug arrayed over the stone floor. She was dressed in a loose housedress of light blue satin, her tiny erect nipples poking at the fabric as she walked. She looked at me several times as we walked, smiling in anticipation. She hugged me tenderly, resting her cheek against my chest, for she's several inches shorter than me. Gina is the sweetest friend I have. While Kelsey is my "best friend," that's mostly because she's also nice, yes, but even more because she's around when I need someone. But Gina doesn't have a devious bone in her body. She'd give me a kidney if it came to that, even if it scarred her perfect little body. "Fuck me" I said under my breath. "I will" she said softly. We were being quiet out of respect for anyone who might be sleeping. It was a calm night and sound probably would carry fairly well up to the bedrooms. I let her untie my bikini bra and throw it away. She then unzipped my shorts, sticking her hands way down deep to grab my ass cheeks as she sucked on first one nipple, then the other, until both were rock hard. I know what she likes and I wanted to give it to her. Since she's so tiny she's used to being overwhelmed, but I discovered long ago that what she likes is to let her be the aggressor, so I let her push my shorts down until I was absolutely naked. In an instant, she was naked as well. She then turned into a savage little tigress, dragging me down to the floor, straddling me while she kissed my lips, my ears, my neck, my shoulders, slowly working her way down to my pussy. Soon she was giving me furious and angry head. She knows me like a book, after having fucked me many, many times, she knows how to do me. She knows how to bring me to the brink without taking me over it...so that she can bring me back again and again. And so it went for a good half hour. I just gave in to her. I feel so totally comfortable and safe with her. And I know she loves me, which makes fucking her extra good. Before I knew it, she was finger fucking me. One finger, two fingers, and then three, going crazy all over my fabulous "G." In the meantime, she went back to licking and sucking on my nipples, giving me alternating sensations of being in ice water then hot water then ice water again. I was sweating like crazy when I came, and all of a sudden it was llike a big rush of ice water...and then I relaxed into a post orgasm reverie. She giggled a bit rubbing the sweat on my tummy and saying, "You're such a messy girl." "I can't help sweating," I said with a quiet laugh, "you gave it to me pretty good...as usual!" "No," she replied, "I mean the mess you made on the floor. I don't know anyone else who squirts as profusely as you." The next thing I knew, it was her sweaty body on top of mine, both of her legs wrapped around one of mine, rubbing away and rubbing away, making her clit feel good. As she did so her cute little head was laying with a cheek against my sopping chest. She was clutching me like a monkey baby. Because of the sweat, we were like greased pigs. She was doing a slip-n-slide against my body, which felt really comfortable. She went at it for a while and seemed to be almost there several times. I had an idea what would take her the rest of the way. I stroked her head, running my fingers through her short red hair, saying, "I love you, sweetie pie" and she came almost instantly. "Sweetie pie"...such a lame expression. You only say it to someone you truly love because to anyone else it would be totally ridiculous. I could never say "sweetie pie" to Kelsey. In fact, I couldn't even say it to Erik, but to Gina...she really was my sweetie pie. We fell asleep in each other's arms, only waking up when Kelsey and NW returned. I saw NW give Kelsey an affectionate kiss on the cheek followed by a firm hug with his hands on her ass, and then he slipped upstairs. She saw us, smiled, blew me a kiss, and ascended the stairs herself. Gina and I followed shortly thereafter, she returning to Ray's room and I returning to mine to find Norita fast asleep, nude and on her tummy, that glorious ass of hers so tempting in the light from the veranda. By now, about 4:30 a.m., I was too tired to fool around. I settled into bed realizing with a start that we were due back at work the following morning. Obviously, that wasn't going to happen. Kelsey would have to deal with that in the morning.
Monday, May 15, 2006
In Which We Take A Road Trip. It Didn't Stay In Vegas, Pt V NOTE: New posts go at the top, as in most blogs, but that means that in a story like this, spread over several posts, you really need to find the first post in the series and read them in order. So, that's what I suggest you do here. We all had had only a couple hours of sleep on Ray's jet when we touched down at the Merida municipal airport. To Americans (as ignorant as we tend to be of geography and other cultures) it may come as a surprise to know that there are very distinct cultural divisions within Mexico. Merida is the capital of the Mexican state named Yucatan. While certainly not a bustling metropolis like Mexico City or New York, it is a lively little city that, strangely, reminded me of my favorite city, Portland, in some ways. Like Portland, Oregon, it's the home of several colleges and universities. So, like Portland, it has something of an intellectual college town atmosphere. And like Portland, it has a town square that actually functions as a town square, unlike Cleveland's square which really doesn't attract many people to sun themselves, watch people go by, or attend public concerts and gatherings. As the cars that had met us at the airport wound their way through the city's streets, Kelsey commented that the abject poverty and overall air of dirt and despair she had observed on an earlier trip to Mexico City was not evident in Merida. Here the air was clear and sweet, the people healthy-looking and energetic. While the narrow streets and old-fashioned adobe-style construction was similar in some ways to the construction in Northern cities such as Taxco, the city (at least in the core area) was clean and well-kept, much like a similarly-sized Dutch, Scandinavian, or German city. Or...Portland. The Yucatan Peninsula is the home of the Maya indians, whose many city and temple complexes are being excavated on an ongoing basis. One wonders what is going on today in that alternative universe where the Mayans fended off the Spanish and kept their culture alive and thriving. Would they, like their gringo neighbors to the North, be exploring space? Some of their technologies, particularly as regards astronomy, were far ahead of those of the Europeans at the time they were conquered. Strange for me, a girl of Spanish extraction, to consider that when the Spaniards invaded Mexico, in many ways we were the barbarians! While the sun was still quite low, we arrived at a rather strange hotel in the downtown area just three or four blocks from the square. I say it was strange because there was no sign and really no ground floor lobby, either. There was a glass door with only a number on it for identification. Behind the door was a steep flight of stairs. NW led us up the stairs into a luxurious hotel lobby that had adobe arches and ceramic tile folk designs in the walls. The floor was made of smooth red brick tiles with distinct wear patterns. The floor, at least, had been here for quite some time. Ray could see we were puzzled at a hotel without so much as a sign or marquee at its door, so he explained. "Someone like NW, whose face is widely known, finds it difficult to obtain privacy without paparazzi following him everywhere or people asking for or even demanding autographs. This is a hotel for people who don't want attention. It's almost unknown locally except its own staff and the vendors who supply it and who are sworn to secrecy." He went on, "It's not just entertainment personalities who use this place. Some very important negotiations have happened here in this hotel's conference room or dining hall. Very sensitive negotiations between the US and Mexico, or between antagonistic Latin American countries looking for neutral ground on which to settle their differences. You should feel privileged to be staying in a hotel almost no one knows about except for people in the public eye or people engaging in very important activities having major and widespread impacts." From Belle's knowing smile, I could see that none of this was new to her, and later on I confirmed that she had been here before on several occasions with her Uncle Ray. She knew the score. As you might expect, our room fees were all taken care of. We girls got a large room with a vast bed so high off the floor that there was a stool on each side of it! Looking out the window, we saw the busy street below with ordinary locals going about their daily business. A young mother walking her small children to where? ...a market? ...a park? A man pushing a wagon full of roof tiles. An old woman possibly out for her morning "constitutional"? A student riding an old fat-tired Schwinn, possibly on his way to a class or school function. In his day pack, I imagined college texts, an iPod, and a bolillo (Mexican bread roll) sliced and stuffed with jamon (ham). As had become customary, the three of us showered together and fooled around, sucking on each other's pussies and tits, and playing with each other's assholes. But basically, we were bushed and as horny as we were, we needed to rest, and so it was that after a little group kissing and hugging, we one by one drifted off. A sharp knock on the thick wooden door awoke us. It was Ray telling us "If you want to have the greatest lunch you've ever had in your life, meet us down in the lobby at 1:30." The clock on the wall told us it was about 1 now. The way Belle sprang out of bed told me he wasn't kidding about the food. Coincidentally, we all had white shorts with us, so by matching them with bikini tops, we were ready as soon as we had fixed up our hair and makeup. By the time Ray and NW showed up in the lobby, we had spent a good 10 minutes walking around examining the various specimens of Mexican folk art that were interspersed with Spanish artwork that all looked both very old and totally original. No replicas or reproductions. Technically, I guess it was "siesta" time but a few people were walking the streets. Just before opening the door out to the street, NW put on a Panama hat and a pair of very dark sunglasses. He could have been any man his age, so his privacy was secure. We walked through the sun-drenched square and beyond. Merida is no backwater, and he would be recognized as easily in Mexico as in Las Vegas or Los Angeles. Turning onto a side street, we found ourselves at a tiny little restaurant I'll call Restaurante Se?ora Reyes (not her real name or the name of her restaurant, of course). A small chubby Mexican woman got up from a stool behind the counter when we walked in, and gave NW and Ray each a big hug. Obviously, they had been here many times before. She led us to a courtyard behind the shop. A table was already set for us, and as we sat down a lovely dark-haired waitress appeared with a pitcher of icy lemon-limeade. Bottles of fine Tequila were already in place and we were free to have our fruit drink "as is" or spiked with Mexico's national intoxicator. As soon as the waitress spoke in nearly perfect English, I realized she was no uneducated native girl from some outlying area. She was most certainly a coed in one of Merida's many institutions of higher learning. Her name was Norita and she was wearing a dress so white that even in the shade you almost needed sunglasses to gaze on it. One thing Kelsey noted later on is that everywhere you looked in Maya country, Mexicans wore clothing that was almost impossibly white. She quipped, "You know, if you had the Clorox franchise for this area, you'd be obscenely rich!" The dress was made bouffant by fluffy, frilly petticoats that peaked out underneath just a bit. She also wore a red apron on which were embroidered intricate folk patterns. On her feet were flip-floppy sandals with woven straw straps. The neckline plunged just a bit and the most delicious boobs appeared poised to erupt at any provocation. Her black, wavy hair was in a classic coif that would have been at home on her own countrywoman, Rita Hayworth, back in the 40's. Her dark skin was perfect, free of any kind of blemish. Imagine a more slender and just a bit less busty version of Salma Hayek and you'll have the basic idea: She was gorgeous! There was no menu. Apparently a family-style lunch had been ordered in advance. A big bowl of fresh bolillos was already waiting for us, along with several bowls of unsalted butter. Shakers of variously flavored salts were on hand for those who liked their butter salted. I followed NW's and Ray's lead and tried several different flavored salts, each one delightful in its own way. Presently,plates of fruits and vegetables arrived with dips, followed by platters of warm ham and cold pork and beef. The cuisine of the Yucatan isn't based on hot chiles to the extent of the Northern Mexican dishes Americans are more familiar with. Mayan food depends more on subtlety and seduction than brute force. Particularly delicious was a soup based on seafood with some sort of fish, mussels, hunks of lobster tail, and shrimp along with some kind of sweetish shellfish I later learned was conch. It had been cooked, but was served cold. The broth was based on lime and tomato. By the time Norita brought out the desserts (various puddings and cakes, many of them so rich with chocolate that they were almost black), we were all rolling our eyes and holding our tummies. Hot Mexican coffee arrived at the same time, which helped us get the desserts down. We had learned quite a bit more about Norita during lunch. Indeed, she was attending one of the many Merida universities going for a graduate degree in political science. After this, she intended to study law and become rich enough to help the indigenous Mexicans wrest control away from the reining in the current European oligarchs and turn the country back over to the majority native population. It was then she went over to NW, who by now was without his hat and sunglasses, and kissed him on the forehead. As he smiled, she explained that he was a great benefactor of her university and especially of the law school she planned on attending. In a way, he had made her education possible, and if the political situation ever changed, certainly some of the credit would belong to him. It was turning out that NW was much more than merely a rich playboy entertainer. As you might guess, Norita was invited to tag along with us, acting as our translator and, to some extent, guide, though it was clear by now that NW spoke passable Spanish and had already been here many times before. I would soon find out why. We bade our hostess a heartfelt good-bye and this time we all got a nice chubby hug, along with an invitation to return whenever we were in town, with or without NW. Ray's pilot had turned into a concierge and had rented a van large enough for us all. It was waiting for us outside. We popped in and returned to the hotel just long enough to gather our things, for now we'd be on wheels rather than wings. Ray explained that the plane would fly ahead, but that the Yucatan countryside was much better enjoyed from a car than from an airplane. Once we were all in the car with Ray at the wheel, we sped off to the square where Norita was waiting for us. She was clad in a skirt that was simply a swatch of colorful cloth wrapped around her in such a way that it opened on one side showing a lot of leg, how much depending upon what she did. On top, she was wearing a white sleeveless cotton button-up-the-front that stopped just below her round breasts and probably would show some breast material if she had occasion to reach upward. Well, I thought, at least I have something to take my mind off Belle somewhat, for I was becoming frustrated by the strong feelings I was having for Belle, who liked sex a lot and liked having sex with me, too, but in no way was becoming attached. NW had explained earlier that the Yucatan Peninsula was flat and he was right. Roads went for many miles in a straight line virtually to the horizon, deviating more often to avoid a cenote (water-filled sinkhole) than to avoid any vertical obstruction. What humps or hills we did see as often as not might be the abandoned stoneworks of a temple or pyramid that had yet to be archaeologized. Norita knew her way around and although we had to make good time we did make one side trip to a jungle pyramid maybe 50 or 60 feet tall. Once we had all reached the top of this structure, I had a sensation I'm sure was shared by several of us. Never in my life had I been in a place where it was trees all the way to the horizon in every direction, not the slightest hint of anything man-made visible anywhere, and no noise at all save that of the wind and the occasional call of a bird. To someone who had grown up in Ohio, a state mostly devoted to either agriculture or industry, the thought of being in such a huge patch of nature was almost scary. We all sat there for about 15 minutes, just drinking it all in. Then Ray looked at his watch and said we had to go. Along the way, we passed through native villages where people lived in rude huts with walls made of sticks and roofs of thatch. Kelsey pointed out that even here, where all but the main roads were dirt and people walked around in bare feet, most of them were dressed head to toe in perfectly white whites much like the dress Norita had worn in the the restaurant. Norita fell asleep on my shoulder during the last long leg of our trip, and I fell asleep on Kelsey's and she fell asleep with her head propped against the window, for by now it was far too hot to drive even with the windows open. We all, including Norita, needed the air conditioning. I woke up as the car bumped up a rough drive at a very slow rate of speed. The forest had turned from deciduous to deciduous intermixed with coconut palms. Likewise, the ground was becoming more and more sandy as we went along. I've been around enough to know when I'm getting close to an ocean! I said, "I feel like we're in Bermuda. Where are we?" "The Mexican Caribbean," was NW's reply from the shotgun seat. This is my little hacienda. We passed a stable with a half dozen or so horses that looked like thoroughbreds, ranging in color from chestnut to mahogany. A little further on were some quarter horses in various colors at a feed trough. Nearer the house was a stable with a pair of the most gorgeous palomino-colored Arabians. NW had horses! I love horses! We went over a small rise and there stood before us a house of whitewashed adobe. Two stories tall with a veranda all the way around on both floors. By now both Kelsey and Norita, as well as Belle, who was sprawled out all by herself on the van's rear seat, had awakened, too. The van drew up to the stairs in front and two small Mayan men came out wearing big grins and calling out NW's name. Clearly, they didn't see him as a rich and powerful overlord, but as someone whose company they looked forward to. Alexandro and Paulo helped us take our things in. While the house wasn't air conditioned (indeed, it was very open in form and really couldn't be air conditioned), it was right on the ocean and a gentle breeze kept it cool and comfortable, even though the air temperature, while much cooler than in the jungle, was still certainly in the 80F's. NW and Ray went off in one direction, while Alexandro and Paulo took the four of us girls in another direction. We ended up getting two rooms, Kelsey and Belle in one and Norita and I in the other. Both rooms faced the ocean and opened up to the second floor veranda. The grounds, interspersed with sand, lawn, and palms, went on for about thirty or forty feet. After that, it was another thirty or forty feet of almost pure white sand followed by the bluest water I've ever seen in my life. Everyone felt like resting, so Norita and I crawled into the vast bed after stripping. It was too hot to get under the sheets, so we lay there on top of them, breathing in the fresh salt air as we drifted off for about two hours of nap time. When I woke up, Norita was looking into my eyes. I looked back and we made a connection. We both wanted the same thing. I pushed her onto her back and straddled her body as I kissed her lips and breasts. Reaching between my legs, I ran my fingers through her thick pussy hair. I reached over into my shoulder bag and after some fumbling retrieved my trusty little lipstick vibrator. I turned it on and applied it to her pussy, continuing to kiss her. I rolled her onto her belly and, after wetting it, slowly stuck my "fuck you!" finger up her asshole. I could feel her masturbating at the same time. She moaned, "Can you talk dirty to me?" and so I started speaking in the foulest way about what I wanted to do to her. After I said, "You little cunt. I want to lick your dirty little butthole and piss all over you." She said, "I would like that!" She pushed me off and went out on the veranda, kneeling on a bench facing the ocean. As she kneeled, those gorgeous brown cheeks of hers parted, exposing her delicious asshole. I stuck my tongue up her asshole so far that my tongue ached. If you've never done analingus, let me tell you it burns your tongue. It's almost like touching at hot chile pepper. The acids, I guess. Well, my tongue burned and burned good. When I was done, I pulled her off the bench onto the tile floor and I pissed all over her tits and into her mouth. Whenever her mouth filled, she would dump it off to the side and open wide again. And when I was out of piss, I kissed her on the mouth and tasted my own piss, meanwhile giving her a vigorous hand job. At last, she came, and as she did I noticed that Belle, sitting in a wicker chair, was getting major head from a kneeling Kelsey further on down the veranda. They were just barely visible in candlelight emanating from their room. A good time was had by all! By now, of course, it was quite dark, though a full moon illuminated the grounds in a dull blue-white light. Once again, we all showered, but the smells coming from downstairs made it a quickie with only a minimum of hanky-panky. I was craving cock, anyway. I was all pussied out for a while. Dinner was a simple affair involving some fish Alexandro and Paulo had caught along with some bolillos and cold salads, all washed down with Argentine white wine. We all kind of wandered off in different directions afterward, mostly exploring the house and grounds. I was sitting on the back steps with a glass of wine in my hand when NW walked down the steps, turned around to face me and said, "I'm taking a walk on the beach. Care to come with me?" To me it was a double-entendre. I'm not sure about him. At any rate, my answer was "Sure!"
 Sunday, May 7, 2006
In Which We Gang Up On Hernando. It Didn't Stay In Vegas, Pt IV NOTE: New posts go at the top, as in most blogs, but that means that in a story like this, spread over several posts, you really need to find the first post in the series and read them in order. So, that's what I suggest you do here. After our little nap, we dressed festively, for we expected a nice dinner. Belle had showed us that the house was well stocked with wardrobe. There was an entire room down the hall with rack upon rack of casual wear, swim suits, party wear, and evening dresses, along with lingerie, footwear, and accessories, most of it with the tags still on! Looking at the tags, I could see he hadn't been buying from T.J. Maxx! If there's anything girls like nearly as much as sex, it's trying on clothes! After a half hour or 45 minutes of trying on this and that, asking each other for opinions, and narrowing it down, we finally made some decisions. I got into a sheer strapless fleshtone bra with matching boyshorts and thigh-highs that gave my legs a bit of tan. All I needed after that (besides some makeup) was a classic "little black dress" and a pair of simple black pumps with 4" heels and just a hint of platform. With a clip to hold my hair back on one side, I was ready. Kelsey, who always has a fearsome tan (argghhh!!) just put on a white lacy thong and didn't bother with a bra, since her ample-but-firm boobs always make her look like she's wearing one anyway. She swears she's not enhanced, which shows that Mother Nature performs the occasional miracle. She topped it off with an ankle-length white satin evening dress that had a neckline that plunged almost to her belly button and 3" white heels. Belle settled on a just-above-the-knee red dress in a deep red color. It draped over one shoulder and had a neckline that slanted from that shoulder to waaayyy down the other side. If she bent over, she would definitely offer a pretty generous view of her small boobs, for she, too, was also not wearing a bra. Underneath this, she wore a black lace bikini with a matching garter belt that held up a pair of sheer black stockings. (And I really do mean stockings, not thigh-highs as you see many women wearing with garter belts today.) As we were finishing our preparations, Hilda popped her head in and said we should be sure to have our identification with us when we came downstairs. We speculated that this meant we'd be eating out and might have to prove our age. We did as requested, of course. The three of us descended to the main floor and thence to the dining room to find that Ray, NW, and Gina were there nursing Martinis. Gina was more beautiful than I've ever seen her, in a snug-fitting gold lamé evening dress with a full front and a bare back. It came to just above her knees showing off her fine legs. She's so cute with her reddish-brown pixie hairdo. And, of course, being just barely over 5' tall helps to enhance the pixie effect. One might expect a powerful and wealthy man like Ray to have a 6' tall supermodel on his arm, but no: he liked his tiny little pixie girl. (And, to be fair, at this point I don't think she's become more of a "kept woman" than an escort to him.) As we entered, they all finished off their drinks and headed out the back way and from there down to the golf carts with the three of us girls in hot pursuit. We knew better than to ask what was going on. We knew it was going to be good, whatever it was. This time we drove off in a different direction, and as we went over a rise, we saw one of Ray's jets waiting on a private airstrip down in a small valley. A uniformed pilot was sitting on the steps having a smoke, which he put out as soon as he saw us coming. He sprinted up the steps and disappeared inside, turning on the interior lighting as he did so. We settled into our seats and strapped in as the engines fired up and the door closed. Within minutes, we were speeding down the runway and lifting off into an evening that was slowly drifting into night. Once in the air, Ray and NW broke out wine, cheese, and crackers which we were told would tide us over until dinner. As we flew, it began to dawn on me that with the sun setting to our right and given the speed of the plane (about 520 mph, according to Ray) and the amount of time we'd already been flying, we were probably going to Mexico! I thought I'd keep this to myself and let it be a surprise to Kelsey, but after a while she whispered in my ear, "I think we're going to Mexico." Kelsey is nobody's fool. "Yes," I agreed, "the only question is where." It was dark when we descended into a patch of lights in a sea of blackness. As we landed, I could tell that that the area was hilly and that, in fact, the town was built on hills. When I saw the double spires of a cathedral I thought I recognized from travel books, I guessed we were landing in Taxco and, in fact, I think I blew NW's mind when I announced as much. What a smart girl was the look he gave me. Taxco is famous for its silversmiths but like any large Mexican City, it has many fine restaurants. I was sure that we would be having a very expensive dinner in a very exclusive restaurant. What happened was that three Jeeps met us at the airport. One of them was a customs officer who quickly glanced at our identification, wrote down our names, and then disappeared into the night. NW obviously knew one of the other drivers quite well, for they embraced and did the fake cheek kiss thing men do in Latin and Romance cultures. NW, Belle, and Kelsey were invited into the Jeep driven by NW's friend. Ray, Gina, and I hopped into the other one, driven by an athletic young man in a khaki outfit. He wore a pistol on his belt. Ray promised introductions once we arrived at our destination. Gina, who hadn't had much time to be with me so far on this trip sat between me and Ray, but it was against my shoulder that she rested her tiny head. She had one leg hooked over Ray's knee, as if to let him know he wasn't forgotten. We drove into the hills, ascending gradually in total darkness illuminated only by the Jeeps' headlamps and a small slice of Moon. The air was warm, probably in the mid-80's and so even though the moving air was making a mess of my hair, the sensation was quite pleasant and I didn't care. I would just have to fix my hair again later. After perhaps a half hour, lights appeared in the distance. As we approached, I could see it was a Hacienda or ranch estate. Like NW's place, it had a wall around it, but this one was adobe with a ragged rocky outcropping to make climbing over it more difficult. We were waved through by a machine-gun toting guard wearing a casual uniform much like our driver's. Next to him, was an alert German shepherd. The Hacienda's grand adobe house was right there when we passed through the gate. No long drive as on NW's estate. We parked and climbed out of our vehicles onto brick pavement. A woman in black slacks and a floral tube top came out on the porch and bade us enter. We left the darkness and found ourselves in a foyer lit by gas lamps. It was decorated with modern Mexican art and handicrafts intermixed with potted plants of every description. As soon as he could get our attention, NM said, "Let me introduce Señor Juan (once again?and for the same reasons as with NM?I can't use his name). "Just call me Juan," said the man in English with a small hint of Mexican Spanish. In turn, we were introduced to him and his wife. Juan was a short and somewhat squat man with a healthy, muscular build and strong-looking working man's hands. I'd guess his age at 40. His dark skin tone told me he was probably largely Native Mexican in extraction. His wife's name was Tia. She is a classic aristocratic Mexican beauty apparently of mostly Spanish extraction. Her English was letter perfect, though she spoke to her husband in what sounded like equally colloquial Mexican Spanish. Once in the house, it was clear Tia was in charge. She asked us to follow her. We did so and after walking down a main hall and turning to the right at the end, we found ourselves entering a long dining hall that could easily have accommodated 50. Running down its center was a wooden table that, despite having been designed to look rough and folksy, had exquisite patterns shallowly carved in it that must have been done by highly skilled artisans. It was set for eight. Ray whispered something in NW's ear. He in turn whispered in Juan's ear, and then Juan spoke softly to Tia who nodded. Juan then said, "If you don't mind, I think I'm going to ask Hernando to stay with us" as he nodded toward our driver, who had accompanied us into the dining room and was standing behind Juan, arms folded and attentive. Looking again at this young, handsome, athletic college-age boy, I certainly had no objections. It seemed NW was looking out for us! Soon, the table was set for nine and we were invited to sit. Two middle-aged maids got busy and things began to appear on the table. About 10 or 12 bottles of Tequila arrived and Juan poured small amounts into shot glasses, telling us about each one in turn. Once we had a good idea of the taste differences, we each got to drink our Tequila of choice "neat" out of Old Fashioned glasses. This was my introduction to Tequila not hidden in a Margarita. As we were doing this, the maids brought in some tortilla soup, which was a clear tomato broth with chopped tomato, onion, and avocado in it, as well as, of course, tortilla. While we were working on the soup, trays of fresh vegetables arrived with a variety of dressings and dips. The main course followed. A roast suckling pig with a variety of sauces on two lazy susans, one at each end of the pig. We each got our own bowl of refried beans and several plates with flour tortillas were handy at various places on the huge table. We were invited to put sliced pork with beans and our choice of vegetables and sauces in the tortillas. Juan was eating with his fingers and this constituted an invitation which we all followed. Hernando sat between me and Kelsey and across from Belle, and it was clear all three of us wanted pretty badly to have him before we left. It turned out that Hernando was a college buddy of Juan and Tia's son, Carlos, who was attending university in Merida. Hernando had taken a year off to work on the Hacienda so that he could build up some savings. His family was not rich. They were well enough off, as his father was high up in the Mexican military, but in terms of wealth, they were really much more middle class than aristocracy. He explained that he was destined for the military as well and had handled firearms since his early teens. He really knew how to use that pistol on his belt! This raised the question of why all the guns? Tia interjected that in Mexico, kidnappings for ransom were not uncommon and murders in case of non-payment were hardly unknown. A friend of theirs had lost a son this way. Even Carlos, away at university had two highly-trained plainclothes commando types shadowing him at all times, one or the other of whom would even stay in his apartment when he was at home. "Even if he has a lady friend over?" asked Belle. "Yes, my dear," sad a saddened Tia. "Even then." The beverages had changed from Tequila to beer once the food started arriving. Just as well, since it was still too early to be totally soused. The beer was an unlabeled home brew made at the Hacienda by a member of Juan's staff who had studied beermaking in a German university. It was a really refreshing lager which complemented the heavily seasoned, rich foods. During dinner, we learned that Juan had a number of enterprises, but that most of his income came from investments in mining and coffee. Mexico may not be as famous as Colombia, Sumatra, Hawaii, or Ethiopia, he informed us, but its best coffee takes a back seat to no one's. And he certainly proved it to me when we were each served a mug of coffee along with our dessert flan. Once dinner was over and the table cleard, NW said "We'll be taking off in a few hours, so why don't you guys go out and enjoy the night air. Walk around the grounds a bit. Just be back here by 2 a.m. It was clear he was referring to me and Kelsey and Belle, as well as young Hernando. Bless you, NW! Hernando spoke passable English with a heavy Mexican accent. He walked into the night with us, animatedly asking us questions about where we lived, what we did, what education we had, and so on. Under a sliver of moon set in a star-festoned black sky, Hernando subtly guided out behind the main house and into grounds consisting of grass and gardens and groves of trees. We had walked perhaps a quarter mile when we found ourselves emerging into a large open area of well-manicured lawn with a swimming pool in the center. Pool furniture of wicker and straw were strewn haphazardly around the perimeter of the pool. We all—all us girls—wanted the same thing and we were willing to share, but how to get things started with Hernando? Leave it to the child-like Belle to just step out of her dress and shoes and start running around. Hernando laughed at this, so Kelsey and I followed suit. Soon, we had formed a little fairy ring of half-naked nymphomaniacs, holding hands and skipping in a circle. Hernando watched us with a great degree of interest and wondering, I'm sure, what he should do. I helped him along by asking, "Aren't you going to join us?" I let go of Kelsey and Belle's hands and slipped out of my panties and bra. Kelsey and Belle were not to be outdone and soon none of us had our panties on. He had stripped to his underwear, a pair of plain white boxers with, by now, a nice bulge in the front. Kelsey said, "We know you've got a hard-on. You might as well take it all off!" And so he took off his shorts to reveal a rather handsome member, beautiful to behold if not huge. It was perhaps 7" or 8" long, but it looked delicious. Kelsey knocked him down so that his erect pecker was pointing skyward, and Belle beat me to it, starting to blow him almost before he hit the ground. Kelsey sat on his face. What did this leave me? Well, as Belle sucked, she was on her knees and one elbow with her ass up in the air. I got on my hands and knees behind her and licked her pussy. This put my nose right over her asshole which emitted the most delightfully musky smell. Her ass started moving along with my tongue and that made me happy. It told me I was adding to her enjoyment. After a little while, Belle stopped sucking long enough to ask, "Hey, want to come up here and help me?" With this I crawled past her and we assumed positions on each side of him. I took his delicious dick into my mouth and went to work while she stroked and scratched his balls. Then she took over again and I scratched and rubbed his balls myself. Soon, we were both working on his cock together, kind of half blowing him and half kissing each other at the same time. I signaled to Belle to let Kelsey in on the fun, so Kelsey, still on her knees, got into a 69 position and started giving Hernando pretty severe head. Of course, Belle and I were in no mood to just sit around and watch, and much as I liked Hernando, I very much lusted after Belle, so I was quite happy to start kissing her on the mouth while giving her a hand job. Being in her arms was all I needed to be happy. Presently, I could hear Kelsey making sounds that told me she was cumming. Belle stopped kissing and gave me a devilish look telling me we could have fun with Hernando again and still have fun with each other, so we crept over to him. Clearly, he hadn't cum himself because he was holding a fully erect cock. Belle assumed a position next to him on her back, legs widely spread, and pointed to her groin. He got the message and was soon licking pussy like his life depended on it. She urged him on with oohs and ahhs. Now, of course, he was on his knees. I crept up behind him and played with his cock, jacking him off gently. This went on for a while, and when it seemed Belle might be climaxing soon, I sucked on my middle finger, made it wet, and stuck it slowly up his ass so that I could massage his prostate. I continued to jack him off with the other hand. I had learned from Erik that this resulted in the most dazzling orgasms, and that is certainly what happened to Hernando! He and Belle came virtually simultaneously. We were all laying there under the stars when, bless her, Kelsey finally realized that one person hadn't orgasmed yet...ME! Before I knew it, she was cradling me in her arms, my face right up between her exquisite breasts, which I kissed gently. Much as I was infatuated with Belle, who by now was sucking furiously on my clit, Kelsey was my best friend. Someone I could count on no matter what, which made me feel all safe and comfy. It was a quiet but exquisite orgasm, in my best friend's arms with the person I was hottest for in the whole world between my legs. So, there we were, the three girls, in a heap, when Hernando got up and started heading for a nearby bush. "Hey, where do you think you're going?" said Kelsey. "I have to pee" was the response. "Well, don't waste it on a bush! Come over here and pee on us!" Belle started to protest, but Kelsey and I looked at her like she was being a party pooper, Kelsey and I got on our knees with Belle between us. Kelsey and I opened our mouths for him and Belle at first just took it on the face with her mouth closed and her eyes in a squint. However, when she realized how much Kelsey and I were enjoying ourselves, she finally opened her mouth and took the last mouthful of his piss as we clapped her on the back for her initiation into the Pee Drinkers Club. By this time, I was wearing nothing but my thigh-highs. I took them off and then, totally nude, made a dash for the swimming pool. The other three followed suit and we must have had fun in the pool for a half hour or so before Hernando took a look at his military watch and declared it was time to return to the Hacienda. Hernando got fully dressed and we girls just put on our dresses and carried the remaining clothes with us back to the house, where the rest of them were waiting. When they saw us, they broke out laughing. "We took a swim!" declared Hernando, but clearly they sensed much more had gone on. Gina actually looked at us with a bit of longing. In other days, she might have been in on the fun. NM looked at his watch and declared, "We gotta go, guys, if we're going to be in Yucatan for breakfast." So, we bade Juan and Tia and Hernando good-bye and trundled into the jeeps and back to the plane where, shortly after take-off, Ray showed us all how to put our seats into a full reclining position. One by one we went to sleep, waking up as the plane descended, basking in the orange glow of a Yucatan sunrise, into a landing strip not far from Cancun.
Complete List Of Stories
In The Order They Were Written
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Jill Hill
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