It was 6 p.m. on a recent Friday and Kelsey was at her executive desk in her big plush leather chair, her feet propped up on her vast desk as if to show off her new black patent leather pumps she'd had imported from a website in Spain. I told her I would kill to have a pair like that. Kelsey at "thirtyish" is still drop dead gorgeous, and when she walks around the halls of this company, of which she is the branch manager, you see looks of fear and loathing in the female employees and fear and lust in the faces of the males. Her legs are great when puttering around her kitchen in bare feet. Put some stockings and a pair of heels on them and they become absolutely hypnotic.

I was sitting with my ass on one of the front corners, having just licked her pussy so hard I thought I saw smoke coming out of her ears, so when she said, "Suppose we took Monday off to make it a long weekend?," I thought it sounded like a wonderful idea. Our branch's figures being the best in the company, Kelsey was given a pretty free hand. "If it ain't broke, don't fix it," as the saying goes. We could disappear for one or two work days and even if someone dropped a dime on us, their complaint was likely to fall on deaf ears. The next thing she said was, "Well...where should we go?"

I had recently seen a TV special on Barcelona and had become very curious about it, so I said, "How about Barcelona?" "Isn't it early Spring in Spain just like it is here?" she asked. "Right," I said. "Maybe something tropical, or in the Southern Hemisphere."

A few suggestions were bandied about, none of them really arousing much interest. Finally, I said "Let's call Gina!" "Great idea!" Kelsey said, perking up.

Luckily, I have an incredible resource in the form of my lifelong buddy, Gina, who (in case you haven't been following my adventures) is the concubine of a very rich (and very nice) man who owns a fleet of executive jets. As a result, if Gina feels like having a Chicago hot dog in Chicago or a shrimp étouffée in Shreveport, all she has to do is pick up the phone and call her contact at his company. As a consequence, she's been almost everywhere worth going.

Her phone rang three times before she answered, and I heard her laugh and give someone some parting words. Then she said, "Hi, Jill! What's up?" "Well, Kelsey and I have gotten tired of lake effect snow and driving on ice, so we've decided it's high time to take a long weekend and we're trying to think of places to go this time of the year. Somewhere fabulously beautiful where we can wear bikinis and generally go nuts for a few days."

It didn't take Gina long, so I'm sure she'd been thinking of it herself. "How about The Seychelles?" I told Kelsey and she said she'd heard of them but didn't know that much about them. I put Gina on speakerphone and told her to tell us about the Seychelles.

"They're a group of islands off the east coast of Africa in the Indian ocean. Their beaches are often referred to in travel guides as the most beautiful in the world. I imagine this is a great time of year to go. But also, come to think of it, it's halfway around the world, in four days we'd spend about half our time in transit." I was encouraged by her use of the word "we."

"How about Guyana? It's the only English speaking country in South America. It's got gorgeous beaches and jungles, friendly people, and it's not winter there. Also, Ray and I have friends there I'd love to visit. I'm sure they'd put us up for a weekend." Mysteriously, she added, "And there's a special reason why Kelsey will enjoy the trip. Let's do that!"

Kelsey was intrigued, of course, and nodded a definite yes. If Gina thought the trip would be fun, that was all she needed to hear. Besides, when you go with Gina, there generally are no travel expenses.

"Let's do it!" I said, and so arrangements were made to pick us up at a nearby small airport at 11 p.m. That gave us just enough time to eat some dinner, pack up, and head for the airport.

Kelsey picked me up and we fought our way to the airport in light snow. When we got there, we found Kelsey had been there for a little while already (she's always packed to go and the flight between Detroit and our little airport near Cleveland is quite a bit less than an hour in a jet).

She had had the plane parked in a hanger to keep it from icing up. Within minutes, we were airborne and flying well above the ice and snow. Gina, my oldest and best friend, and Kelsey, my best friend at home, are probably the two girls I'd rather be with anytime, and to be with both of them at the same time is an almost unbeatable treat. Add to that the fact that Gina, as the concubine of a very rich man, has access to enough cash to make almost anything possible, and that she loves to spend it with and on friends... Well, Kelsey and I had a lot to look forward to.

Kelsey had been along on a prior trip with Gina, of course, so no introductions were required, just some hugs and kisses. After some drinks and discussion of the events of the day as well as the foibles of some of the celebrities in the news, we folded down the queen-sized trundle bed and started fooling around.

Well, actually, it started out with giving each other massages, but we all knew where it would go. And it's not that we needed a pretext, either. We're pretty lusty girls and not one of us would hesitate to say, "Let's fuck!" In this case, though, there was no need to say it. It was understood.

We had all stripped down to our birthday suits. Gina was first to be massaged, and I'd say Kelsey and I spent a good 15 or 20 minutes rubbing, caressing, and pounding her as she moaned with pleasure. Kelsey was next, and then me, and it was at the end of my massage that somehow we turned into a writhing ball of flesh. Everyone's pussy got licked and sucked and fingered, everyone's asshole was rubbed and fingered. Tongue met writhing tongue, every sex taste imaginable was tasted: sweat, urine, the burning sensation that is the taste of the anus.

We made sure we all got our orgasms, as many of them as each of us could bear. Gina was first. She came loudly while I sucked on her tits and Kelsey sucked on her shaven twat. Kelsey came as I tongued her clit, my nose pressed into her landing strip, Gina giving her deep and passionate kisses. Finally, after another brief respite, I came with Kelsey sitting on my face, giving me a great view of her ample breasts while Gina tongue-fucked me, her wetted thumb well up into my asshole. When I came, I squirted, making Gina's face and chest all wet. Gina, in mock anger announced, "That does it: You're sleeping on the wet spot!" We all laughed, but I was happy to be sleeping between the two best girls in my life, even if I did have to sleep on the wet spot.

We arrived in midmorning after a refueling stop at Ray's Yucatán hacienda (Ray being Gina's man). There, the air had been warm for that time of day and there had been a pleasant orange glow at the horizon through the otherwise colorless sky.

The first impression of Guyana as we stepped out of the plane was that it was quite a bit like Florida. Lush and tropical and very humid. Sort of like living in someone's underwear. I could tell that when the sun got high and the air got into the 90's or 100's, life would have to slow down considerably. Mai-Tais and Piña Coladas would be drunk by the gallon.

We were met at the airport by a young man and woman in identical uniforms. On top, a crisply pressed cotton jungle tan shirt with brass buttons and bare epaulettes; on the bottom, bermuda shorts made of the same material. Both had dark skin that made us feel so very white and midwestern. I have freckly skin and simply don't tan. Gina is equally white, being of Celtic derivation. As for Kelsey, she could tan like crazy, but had stopped doing it years ago as she saw older women who had tanned much in their youths develop skin that looked like leather as they got older, not to mention that a few of them were dealing with skin cancer as well.

Ben, the boy, was an athletic guy of maybe 18 or 19. His dark brown hair was worn in a JFK or Bobby Kennedy "beach boy" style. His eyes were a very pleasant slate blue. The muscles in his calves were so pronounced they might have been used to illustrate a medical text. Marianne, the girl, was also athletic, but in a very feminine, fitness model kind of way. She had jet black hair and eyes so deeply brown they were very nearly black as well. Here skin was just naturally dark, not tanned, and while her English was letter perfect, her beauty was that of a South American girl of mixed race: Probably Spanish mixed with Native American and maybe some African as well. I think mixed race people are among the most beautiful people on Earth, and she provided ample evidence of this fact.

After our three-way of the night before, I'm sure the three of us were now thinking in terms of a possible five-way involving this handsome pair.

The two directed us to a kind of truck with a corrugated canopy on top of the bed, which had been fitted with pew-like benches. The benches had cushions covered with a leather-textured naugahyde-like synthetic material with an incongruous zebra pattern. Our two greeters saw that our bags made it into the rear compartment, made sure we were comfortable and that we used the provided seatbelts. They then hopped into the cab and off we went.

This wagon either had no springs or springs so stiff that they provided little cushion since we seemed to feel every bump and pothole as we rolled along. And the irregularities in the roadway increased steadily as we left town and headed out into a countryside that became more junglelike by the minute. Within about 30 minutes, we were beyond habitation and on a rough road with trees overhanging it, allowing very little direct sunlight to get through.

Now and then Marianne, who was riding shotgun, would look over her shoulder through the rear window of the cab, probably to make sure no one had fallen out. And each time she would give us a pleasant smile. I vowed that if I got to our destination without a serious back injury, I'd want to get to know her better.

Of course, we speculated on the relationship between the boy and girl. Were they a couple, merely friendly coworkers, or were they friends with benefits, like us?

Eventually, Kelsey asked where we were going, and Gina explained that we were visiting Mr. and Mrs. Hodgkins (not their real names of course). The Mrs. was "old money" from England. Mr. Hodgkins, a Guyanese, had built up a Louisiana importing business based largely on agricultural and cultural imports from Guyana Northeast South America. I asked what "cultural imports" might mean and Gina explained that this meant crafts from the native peoples and Guyanese colonizers, who were mostly the descendants of freed slaves who had found Guyana's climate and natural bounty to their liking.

We ascended a hill and now and then got a glimpse of a stone wall. When we finally got there we could see that there was a rather large gate with twin steel plates as doors. They swung open and we found ourselves in a large courtyard. There were several cars of the general Jeep or Land Rover type, another wagon like the one we were in, and in the center a modern sculpture made of rusting steel plates all bent around and with torn edges, though one could hardly imagine what would be powerful enough to bend a 3/4 inch thick steel plate, much less tear it like a sheet of paper.

As we pulled in, a tall and slender blonde appeared at the door accompanied by two skinny black men in uniforms matching the kids who had met us at the airport. Elegant and self-possessed, she more glided than walked out onto her porch. She was wearing white tights under a white dress which was diaphanous from the waist down. The top was opaque, but one could still see the impression of her perky nipples as they pushed against the fabric.

This was a very fit and beautiful lady.

Seeing Gina, she called out "Gina, my dear. So good to see you again. Gina smiled and waved back. "Good to be here!" she cried out in reply. Then I saw her point at Kelsey, which seemed strange at first, but the mystery didn't last long.

"K.C., is that you?," she asked, adding as she looked even harder, "Can it possibly be...?" Kelsey, who had been making sure all of her bags made it our of the wagon, turned around in genuine surprise. I knew that she was called "K.C." in some circles, but it was something only a very close friend would likely know or do, since it went back to her days as a fashion model in Europe.

I'm sure this is the moment Gina had been waiting for, because she was beaming.

"Rickie," screamed Kelsey, who trotted over to the porch to meet our blond hostess. They embraced tightly. It turned out that our hostess, Erika Hodgkins (aka, "Rickie") had known Kelsey during her modeling days. Erika owned an exclusive clothing shop and had used Kelsey as a catalog model on more than one occasion, and had even let Kelsey work in the shop between modeling gigs. They had palled around quite a bit back then, traveling to France several times, but more usually just having dinner and/or drinks together, or going dancing.

I thought Rickie would cry. I thought Kelsey might, too, as unimaginable as that might sound (for Kelsey's as emotionally "together" as they come and seldom responds to anything with characteristic female emotions). After this little reunion, which included a brief hug for me and a long, long hug for Gina, Rickie invited us all to come inside.

Rickie led us into a nearby dining room where we found bowls of regional foods: fruits and salads, spicy curry-like stews, jerked meats, ane several kinds of rice. All this was washed down with tropical punch very slightly laced with rum.

Over this meal, Kelsey and Rickie got caught up. Kelsey explained that she'd given up modeling because it was either that or get chest reduction surgery. You can't do much haute couture fashion modeling with much more than an A-cup, she explained. Rickie opined that she looked much better with jugs anyway, an opinion I must say I agree with wholeheartedly.

Rickie had been single when Kelsey knew her, but in the intervening ten years or so, had finally met the love of her life at an AIDS benefit in London. A well-educated but self-educated man who had risen from relative Guyanese poverty to become one of the richest men in Latin America, she described him in the most loving terms. We couldn't wait to meet him.

After dinner, the aforementioned skinny black men, named Hector and Jim as we learned, took us back to our room, for this house was only one story tall, but had many hallways, all paved with red brick, as were the floors in the bedrooms. The hallways frequently opened up into small courts with tropical plants and sometimes a little pond with some spotted koi swimming around. It was something of a maze.

We were given a room obviously originally designed to accommodate visiting families. It had three king-size beds, two commodious baths, a sitting area with a couch, two matching chairs, and a wrought iron, glass-topped coffee table. In one corner was a table with six chairs and a small bar and sink area with plenty of glasses. The bar was well-stocked, and on the two shelves over the sink were more than enough nuts and chips to last us for weeks. Here as elsewhere in the house, the furnishings were very modern but also quite comfortable. If Rickie was responsible for it all, she had very good taste!

Our room was a corner room with two walls consisting of large panels of glass. Large glass doors opened up onto a vast patio. The doors were, of course, fitted with screens to keep the jungle life outside where it belonged. Set in the center of the patio was a swimming pool big enough to do laps in. Beyond the patio, after about 15 feet of red brick sidewalk, was tropical jungle.

We decided to swim, and as there was no one else around, we didn't even bother donning our bikinis. In contrast to the comfortable indoors, outside it was well into the 90's and extremely humid, so we wasted no time getting into the water, which was just cool enough to be refreshing without being uncomfortably cold.

This gave me a chance to appreciate my two fuck buddies. Kelsey, with her classic hourglass figure and ample tits, her long dark brown hair all gathered and rolled behind her head. Gina equally attractive as the sexy little pixie, with her red pixie hairdo and bumps for boobs. Where Kelsey's ass is of the "two soccer balls squished together variety, Gina's is just plain cute. And despite her small size, she has a bit of an hourglass going, too.

That's when I realized they were taking me in as well. I pinched my nipples and winked at them.

It was Gina who finally said, "Well, I don't know about you girls, but I could go for a gangbang. Anybody game?"

Kelsey and I laughed, but before we could say anything, a stern female voice said, "There will be no gangbangs in my house!" It was Rickie. Then she added with a complete change in tone, "Unless I'm included."

Kelsey, who knew her best, played along with, "Your house; your rules."

Even fully dressed, Rickie was smokin' hot. Nude, she was nothing short of spectacular. In Kelsey's league. I could see that it was only her upper crusty heritage that had kept her from modeling as well. She got as close to that world as she could with her shop and lived the life of a model vicariously through Kelsey and the other models in her circle.

(Quite frankly, though, with her body, she would have made a much better Penthouse Pet than top runway model.)

And I use the word "nude" to describe her instead of "naked" because when you look that good with your clothes off, it's hard to really be naked. "Naked" is a word that implies being exposed and vulnerable. She had the natural armor that comes with beauty. When she took her clothes off, it wasn't like pulling an oyster out of its shell, it was more like opening up a box containing a perfect diamond.

And then I heard a little voice in my head saying, "It's happening. It's happening again." Another little voice in a sterner tone said, "Remember Belle?" I would have to resist becoming fascinated again. I'd wasted a lot of emotional capital on Belle and I didn't want to do that again. And besides, I really see myself as basically more heterosexual than not. Sex with women is often more convenient, friendly, and free of power games. But still, when I settle down, most likely it'll be with a guy, as I see it. If I'm going to get serious, it might as well be with someone I can ride off into the sunset with. So, I made a mental note to watch myself with Rickie.

Rickie, whose wavy blond hair was almost a replica of the Marilyn Monroe of the 1950's, was soon in the pool with us and we were having a lot of fun kissing and groping each other and sucking each other's tits.

Eventually, we began to pair off. Kelsey and Rickie probably for old times sake. That was okay, Gina and I are well-practiced lovers who know how to fuck each other's brains out. Not an adventure, perhaps, but a sure thing was a good trade-off.

I helped Gina get up and sit on the edge of the pool, her butt half on and half off, her legs open. She dropped back with stiff arms onto her hands and closed her eyes. She has very sensitive thighs, so licked her inner thighs and sucked on her clit alternately. With her, as with most people during oral sex, you can get an idea how you're doing by listening to their breathing and watching their face. When their breath becomes uneven and clearly relates to whatever you're doing, you can tell you're in control.

After a little while, I noticed that Kelsey and Rickie had gotten out of the pool and were going at it nearby. Rickie was on her elbows and knees and Kelsey, who I'd never known as much of a fan of anal linguistics, appeared to be seeing how far she could get her tongue up Rickie's asshole. I just hoped she wouldn't ruin her weekend with a bad case of colitis.

Gina's face was telling me she was getting close, and knowing she'd want the fun to last a little longer, I cooled things off briefly by telling her to get out of the pool and lay on her back, for I had an idea.

Kelsey had brought a cylindrical bottle of suntan lotion which had a round screw-on top that, when screwed on, was totally flush with the body of the bottle. In girth, it was about as far around as a large cock. I think product designers sometimes design things to subliminally stimulate you. Case in point: a bottle in the general shape of a cock. Quite possibly, that's the real reason she bought it. Certainly, equally effective suntan lotion came in less useful bottles! In fact, knowing Kelsey's sex drive and perverse nature, unless the bottle was brand new, I could almost guarantee she'd banged herself with it a few times.

Anyway, this bottle turned out to be a great dildo. It was almost too small for her. A little girl, Gina nevertheless has a jumbo-sized pussy. My recent boyfriend, Eric, who's quite experienced, told me that he had found there to be no relationship to speak of between the size of a girl and how much her pussy can accommodate. He'd done six footers who had pussies tighter than their assholes and tiny girls that, he said, had pussies like portholes."

I put myself next to Gina and started kissing her on the lips, meanwhile working the bottle into her vagina, where it was most definitely given a welcome. Her hand clutched mine and she helped me find the rhythm she wanted, and soon I was pumping away while her hips moved cooperatively. By this time, Rickie was on her back as well, with her knees up to her tits. Kelsey had formed her fingers into a tight bunch and was vigorously plunging her hand into Rickie's pussy. Only her upraised thumb kept her whole hand from going in.

From the noises Rickie made, there was no doubt at all that Kelsey was doing exactly the right thing.

This was quite a show, so Gina and I stopped our shenanigans and became spectators. This is when Kelsey changed her approach. Her thumb which, due to being out and separate from the fingers, had kept her whole hand from going in, was now in the cup of her palm, and so her whole hand disappeared into Rickie's twat. At lunch we had heard that she had a daughter, and so, I guess, her birth canal had been stretched. I can be fisted, too, but not quite that easily!

Soon, not only was Kelsey's arm in, but it was getting in ever more deeply. After a couple minutes, her arm was in halfway up the forearm, and Gina quipped, "Boy, you could almost give her heart massage through her pussy!"

We could only watch for so long before it just made Gina and me white hot. So we went back at it with renewed gusto and soon Gina was having one wild orgasm after another, letting out loud screeches intermixed with ear-shattering exclamations of "Fuck me, Jill," "Don't stop" and, my favorite, "Don't stop till I'm dead!," which had me laughing so hard I finally had to stop just to catch my breath.

Her face had become raspberry red, for she was really out of breath as well. While she relaxed, I laid on my tummy with both hands between my legs, finger fucking myself and twiddling my clit while my hips moved in sympathetic motion.

Presently, I felt Gina's hand in my hair. I opened my eyes and saw her angelic little pixie face gazing down at me. "Having fun?" she asked. "Yep, but I could be having more!" "Let me fix that." She rolled me onto my back, got down on her tummy between my legs and started giving my clit a vigorous tongue-lashing.

I don't know any girl (or guy, for that matter) who gives better head than Gina. And since we've been fucking each other since our mid-teens, she knows me about as well as anyone can. When she gives me head, she keeps her eyes fixed on my face and listens to every sound and notices every twitch and strain of my body. She's like a pilot who understands every control on a plane and can fly it anywhere it can go. I don't think I'll ever tire of being laid by Gina. She's about the best.

But then, just as my first orgasm was rising inside me, we all heard a loud throaty bark and Rickie, obviously concerned, was off like a shot, wrapping a towel around herself as she ran.

Gina and I looked at each other, then at Kelsey, who was equally puzzled, giving us the old "don't ask me!" look. It was frustrating, but the spell had been broken and I wouldn't be getting my first Guyanese orgasm just yet.

We went back in, got dressed, and found our way back to the main area where we were met by Hector and Jim, both of whom spoke great English with an accent that was somewhat British in tonality and somewhat not. Maybe it was a hint of Caribbean(?).

They helped us by playing barman and waiter. We prevailed upon Jim, the waiter, to tell us what had happened. Why had the bark of a dog sent the mistress of the house off in a panic. Barman Hector facing down as he sliced limes, nevertheless had his eyes sternly fixed on Jim. Jim looked at him and shrugged, as if to say "They'll find out anyway."

Now, native Guyanese speak English, but it's a creole version, and while I can't exactly remember how Jim spoke, I'll do my best. I'm not making fun (because the dialect is gorgeous and the men were very polite and gracious). So, here is what he said: "Little Missy Jenn, she have diabetes very bad. Big dog trained to smell when her sugar is off. The dog bark, then Mistress Hodgkins go and fix. That is all you hear."

Kelsey and Gina looked puzzled, but I, nature and science show addict that I am, explained that dogs have been found to be very sensitive to human chemistry. They are even able to detect cancer before very sensitive lab tests can. Recently, it's also been found that they can smell when a person's blood sugar is too as well.

The funny thing about diabetes, which most people don't understand, is that even though diabetes is a disease that results in having too much sugar in the blood, those ill effects are long-term. If a diabetic dies catastrophically, it's typically due to low blood sugar induced by the drugs used to control the condition. What irony!

So, we drank our cocktails and talked about how beautiful the house and its surroundings were. We watched some satellite television, too. After an hour or so, Rickie reappeared with a beautiful little girl of about five. A girl whose beautiful milk chocolate skin and jet black kinky hair betold the fact that while her mother might be of the British upper crust, her father most decidedly was not.

Next to little Jenn was the scariest dog I've ever seen. It was a female whose head looked like that of a boxer, only on mega-steroids. Rickie explained that she's a presa canario (see photo):

This is a Spanish fighting and guard breed about twice the size of a pit bull. Talk about a bitch! She looked like she could have pit bulls for lunch. Her orange eyes seemed to size us up as nothing to worry about, which, I don't know, is either comforting or scary, depending on how you look at it. To our relief, she seemed quite self-possessed and unaggressive.

An elegant dog with ears cropped quite short and black eyes to match her black brindled fur, she awaited permission from Rickie to introduce herself to us. When she was released, she came up to us one by one, sniffed us once or twice respectfully, recorded whatever information she'd gathered about us in her canine mind, and moved on to the next person. After so doing, she returned to Jenn's side and sat, easily a foot taller than the little girl.

Rickie sat down and asked Jenn to introduce herself, which she did with a perfectly executed curtsy. Then she ran to Rickie and climbed onto her lap. The dog followed, laying down at Rickie's feet, her jowls on her forepaws, her eyes sometimes open and sometimes closed, but her ears and sensitive nose ever active.

Naturally, the next topic for discussion was the dog. Little Jenn explained that her name was Cathy, a funny name for a truly terrifying dog, except when you consider she was named by a little girl much the way she might name one of her dolls. Cathy had been bought as a pup when Jenn was just two, so the dog had grown up around Jenn, who was one of the family, and thus the dog was very safe around her. To Jenn, she was like a big sister.

When they had heard about dogs being used as living blood glucose monitors, they flew in a specialist who trained the dog. It turns out that a dog is at least as sensitive as the finest blood monitoring equipment with several added advantages, mainly due to the fact that little Jenn can lead the life of a normal little girl without being hooked up to medical equipment or having to wear some sort of monitoring system. Gina asked, "But what about when Cathy sleeps?" Rickie laughed and explained, "She sleeps with Jenn, and if she smells trouble, she wakes up. She's never off the job. Dogs are basically wolves, and wolves can't afford to sleep the way people do. Anything odd, even in Jenn's breathing and she wakes up. She then tries to wake Jenn up. If Jenn won't wake up and take some sugar, she barks. If no one comes quickly, she goes to get someone. She's far better than any electronic gizmos. Besides, what sort of monitoring system would also be there to defend little Jenn from just about any threat imaginable? There are jaguars in the jungle!"

Rickie then recounted that on a recent trip to Georgetown, the Guyanese capital, she had let Jenn run ahead a bit in an area where there was little danger from cars. Instead, she ran into the unexpected danger of an aggressive dog, when before she knew it, a pit bull dashed out of an alley and trotted toward Jenn who did what any kid would do: she turned and ran toward her mommy. Unfortunately, what any kid would do was the wrong thing, because that turned her from an item of curiosity to a prey item. Like a bullet, the dog full on charged toward the child, who would never reach her mother in time. Not that Rickie could prevent a disaster anyway.

Of course, Rickie was running toward her baby in a vain attempt to stop what seemed inevitable. Just as Rickie realized it was hopeless, and that Jenn would be set upon by a vicious dog which might kill her in an instant, Cathy came out of nowhere and grabbed the pitbull by the neck, shaking it furiously as if it was a towel, breaking its spine and tossing it aside like a toy it was done with. Jenn, who had never been exposed even to TV violence, was horrified. Even so, she realized that Cathy had saved her from something very bad. If Jenn was impressed, she wasn't half as impressed as Rickie, who praised cathy and gave her the four pounds of tenderloin she had just bought from the butcher. She could buy more meat. No amount of money could get her another Jenn.

She got to talking about what she had learned about dogs. That they are pack animals and that dogs want and need a leader, or else they will take over the leadership. No longer would she have a dog that jumped all over her and her guests (me thinking: thank heavens for that with this dog!). So, she and Harry (her husband) had assumed the roles of alpha male and female of a pack that consisted of all of the members of the household, including its staff. They had established that Jenn, as the alpha couple's pup, had a special status and was to be defended at all costs. Cathy would die defending Jenn, if it came to that. But Cathy's most important role, other than that of being a living blood sugar monitor, was that of being Jenn's playmate and companion in a home that usually had no other children.

The subject then changed to Harry, her husband. It turned out he was simply inspecting one of his operations and would return in time for dinner. Having some business to attend to herself, she suggested we take a jet boat ride up the nearby river, for behind the house, not too far but obscured by the jungle, a river. A land of much rain is a land of many rivers. She asked Jim to fetch Ben and Marianne, who would be our tour guides.

Soon, the lovely couple was there and being instructed by Rickie to prepare the boat for a ride upstream. "Oh, mummy, can I go, too!" "Of course," was the reply. Gina, Kelsey and I decided to go back to our room and change from dresses into shorts. I'm not sure why. Probably just to kill a little time while Ben and Marianne got the boat ready, and because...changing clothes is what chicks do, isn't it?

Little Jenn came along with us, which meant that that huge black shadow came along with her as well. Wherever Cathy is, it's impossible to ignore her presence, but she was gradually becoming less an item of fear to us and more an item of curiosity.

Now, kids are delightful, and this little girl was special. Very bright and talkative (not in a bad way), but we were all lusting after Ben and Marianne, and the presence of Jenn pretty much put the kibosh on that.

So we all put on our happy faces and enjoyed the presence of little Jenn, who was full of questions about us and our clothes. Meanwhile, Cathy, who Jenn had told to lie down, did exactly as told. She lay there on the floor, physically relaxed, but her eyes and ears taking in everything that might affect the welfare of little Jenn.

I had thought that the breed's name sounded familiar, and while we were chit-chatting in the bedroom it came back to me. Two examples of this breed—their aggressive instincts no doubt brought to the fore to make them vicious—had attacked and killed a young San Francisco woman a few years ago. They had torn her up so badly that even seasoned police and emergency personnel, who had seen dreadful events aplenty, cried and vomited at the sight.

You can throw most people by asking them this question: "In terms of sheer numbers of deaths and injuries, what is the most dangerous large animal in North America (and probably the world)"? You'll hear people guess that it's bears, or wolves, alligators or cougars. In truth, it's canis familiaris, the domestic dog, and most of those they kill are small children.

Cathy had obviously been trained quite well and would never attack anyone once they had been accepted into "the pack." In fact, she would probably defend even me if it came down to it.

Soon we were in the boat simply flying upstream at, I'd guess, about 30 mph. Because of the heat and humidity, the rushing air was a welcome luxury. And Cathy, as any dog would be, was in Seventh Heaven, head hanging over the side of the boat, nose to the air sampling and processing every nuance of the jungle's ample supply of aromas.

Having recently seen a puma in Canada, I asked about our chances of seeing a jaguar. Marianne explained that there was virtually no chance at all. "Jaguars are probably the most reclusive of the large cats and their habitat here is relatively less infringed upon, which means they are less accustomed to us and would simply avoid us for not knowing what we are. Besides, Cathy would set up such an alarm before we even saw the animal that it would run away."

Ben jumped in: "The only larger big cats are the lions and tigers, but a jaguar is the most muscular of the lot and has by far the strongest bite force. Luckly, as Marianne said, they are shy, so attacks on humans are almost unheard of. In any case, most big cat attacks worldwide happen in areas where the wild habitat is shrinking and they are forced to accept the presence of humans. Then, man turns from being an unknown element to being a possible prey item."

Jenn feigned a shiver, saying "I wouldn't want to see a jaguar. They're mean." Marianne corrected her, "Not really, Jenn. They are simply great hunters, and the jungle needs its hunters. Without the hunters, the other animals would overpopulate and starve. It's part of Nature's plan to keep everything in balance." Ben nodded in agreement.

Now and then, we caught a glimpse of a distant waterfall. I asked if that was where we were going and Marianne nodded in the affirmative. In about five minutes we were at the base of this fall, which was about the height of a four story building, making it about 40 feet high. A beach near the base was about 100 feet long and 20 to 30 feet wide. Cathy hit the beach first, sniffing along the margin where the sand met the dense jungle underbrush, pissing here and there as she went.

Ben and Marianne broke out a few large beach towels. Then they and little Jenn disrobed. Jenn looked at us and said, "Come on guys. You aren't chicken are you?" I hardly heard her, for I was looking beyond her to behold two of the most beautiful human bodies I've ever seen. Without looking in any way overbuilt, Ben's musculature was well defined, and included the bulges of prominent veins in his arms and legs and most interestingly in his pelvic area. Thick veins even ran up and down his thick cock, which was a good eight inches long at rest.

She managed to have moderately-sized breasts on the one hand while showing a mild six-pack on the other. Typically, one's efforts to reduce body fat also result in a reduction in breast mass.

I mentioned earlier that she had a fitness model look about her and this was all the more confirmed now that I could see her nude. She was pleasantly curved all over and yet quite athletic looking. She had obviously led a very active life. In particular, her ass was the classic "two soccer balls scrunched together." Cheeks that looked perfectly round both from the side and from the back. I decided that she probably had a lot of African blood in her, for she had the classic black chick's ass. I had to check to make sure my pussy wasn't going to drool just looking at this young couple. I decided the trip wouldn't be complete without fucking them, one at a time or both at once.

When Marianne laid herself down on her towel, Jenn at her side, I got a better look at her breasts. Large B or small C cup size and with prominent nipples that looked like little fingers poking out of each quarter dollar-sized aureole. They were so firm that even on her back, they hardly changed shape at all.

And did I mention, she had a dense 2-inch wide "landing strip" of hair? Yes, she did. She was certainly one of the most beautiful girls I'd ever seen, and while I shave my own, if you know anything about me, you must know I have a very strong affinity for the hairy pussy. I love the feel of it on my lips and cheeks when I go down on some delicious pussy, and hers looked about as delicious as could be.

I could see that both Gina and Kelsey were focusing on Ben's prodigious cock. One of the thicker ones I've ever seen, it was about as far around as my wrist. From the vague smile on his face as he lay there, eyes closed under his sunglasses, I had a feeling he knew he was getting a lot of attention.

Gina turned her gaze from him to me and silently mouthed "Wow." Too bad: she was the one who could not have him, for she was faithful to her lover and provider, Ray who, remember, had made this trip possible in the first place. If anything happened involving Gina, it'd have to be with a female.

Next it was Kelsey who looked my way, then at the cock, then at me again with a Cheshire cat grin on her face. I licked my lips and winked at her with a greedy and lascivious leer on my face. The thought of my mouth stretched to the max, filling up with a big load of his cum was making me so wet, I decided it was time to cool off and give myself a reason to look wet.

I got up and walked out into the water, which was refreshingly cool. I swam over to the waterfall and enjoyed the spray and turbulence. Then I thought of something and swam back to the beach. I said, "Marianne, are there piranhas around here?" "Yes," she replied, "but not the type you need to worry about. The local piranhas are vegetarians. They eat fruit."

When I turned to go back into the water, she said, "But black caimans are another story." I said, "But caimans are like little tiny crocodiles, right?." Ben laughed and got up on an elbow, saying "You're thinking of speckled caimans, which is the ones you usually see on nature programs. Black caimans are basically crocodiles. Sixteen to twenty feet long. How tiny does that sound? They're the largest predator in South America and far too primitive and stupid to stay away from people the way a jaguars would." "Even so," said Marianne, "the water here is a bit fast moving for caimans, but I can't offer you any guarantees."

I got back into the water and swam, keeping my eyes open for any sign of one. As you can imagine, it wasn't the most comfortable swim I had ever had.

Late in the afternoon, we dressed, packed up, and jetted back to the house where we were met by Rickie and a very big man who, of course, was her husband, Harry Hodgkins. His skin was darker than the darkest dark chocolate, almost pure black. He was broad across the chest, almost as broad at the waist, and a bit short in the leg. Considered as a physical specimen, not much of a catch. I also was pretty sure Erika didn't need his money since she had a manor house waiting for her back in England.

Which leaves the Fun Guy Thing. Women just love guys who are fun, and they'll excuse an awful lot of baggage in exchange for some fun. So, while Harry was not a physical type I would normally be attracted to, I could see the appeal right away. You could tell he was fun and before he even said a word, I knew he had led an interesting life and had a thousand tales to tell. I looked forward to hearing a few.

After a sumptuous dinner worthy of a four star restaurant, Rickie put Jenn to bed. Then, over after dinner drinks, we heard his story. He had grown up in one of the Georgetown slums. After his father died of alcoholism, he became the provider for his family, selling handcrafts made by his mother and sister. At first, he was vulnerable to street thugs and gangs, but after befriending a cop, he learned some self-defense and fighting techniques. Between that and his large size, he gained the respect of the toughs and the harrassment stopped.

Soon, other street vendors were attracted to him for, honest and goodhearted as he was, he would not stand by while others were victimized. To be his friend was to be protected.

Then he met a US tourist who liked the goods that were being sold and offered to place an order for what seemed at the time a huge quantity. He paid half up front with the promise of half on delivery.

This turned into a fruitful venture, enriching Harry and his artisan suppliers and soon he had opened up his own exporting company. His partner, the aforementioned US citizen, was based in New Orleans. Actually, trading in crafts was a new thing for him. Most of his business was in agricultural imports.

He brought Harry in as a partner in the business because of Harry's obvious business savvy and his closer connection to South America. Harry didn't know Spanish, however, so he spent a few years in night courses learning to speak the predominant language of South America. Later on, he picked up Portuguese as well so as to be able to function in Brazil.

The man died of cancer, and because he had no family, Harry took care of him till the end. This is when the company became Harry's in its entirety. Harry built the company up year by year until it became one of the top employers in Guyana, with agricultural and mineral operations in various places there and in a few other countries as well.

Still, for Harry, his favorite and most pleasing part of the business was in the handicrafts. This gave him and the craftspeople a sense of pride and accomplishment that farming and mining couldn't give, for if you want to see the heart and soul of a country, you look to its crafts.

Guyana, like many Third World countries, is developing an HIV/AIDS problem exacerbated by the attitudes of the poor toward sex and the unavailability of affordable contraception. Erika was on a charitable committee which visited these countries, promoting education and helping to make condoms available, for the alternative, a program to make sex unpopular, was obviously not a viable solution. People will always want to have sex, and especially people with a lot of time on their hands. Guyana doesn't have anything like full employment.

This is when the story turned to how Rickie and Harry met.

It's one of those love stories that begins with "Shall we dance?" They had worked all day, driving to the slums, local pop stars drawing crowds with music. They had engaged in small talk all day long while the professionals (doctors and nurses from the local hospitals and clinics) made the pitch for using protection.

Harry had set up a bit of a party for the visitors that evening, and while Erika was quite tired and had considered simply returning to her hotel room, she couldn't resist the invitation from this jolly and intelligent example of Guyanese manhood.

After a small feast catered by the city's best chefs, a small orchestra with a Caribbean bent started playing. At first they talked about the day they had had together and Guyana's problems in general. This is when the black businessman stepped off the cliff (figuratively) to see if she would catch him before he hit the imaginary rocks below, by asking simply, "Shall we dance?" when the the band struck up a slow tune.

To his surprise (and hers as well, for his invitation was totally unexpected), she responded with an enthusiastic "Of course." There was a gulf of class and culture between them, but when you've found someone who could be The One, you take your chances, and it had paid off well for both of them. It took her family a while to accept Harry, for they were not quite royal, but were definitely nobility, and Erika was a duchess or baroness or something. Her father was actually in line for the crown, but was so far back in line that only a nuclear holocaust or tsunami or some other unimaginable calamity would ever give him a chance.

It was Gina who changed the topic. "What about Ben and Marianne? Who are they? Why are they here? They seem quite knowledgeable." "Oh," said Rickie, "They're both students interested in protecting the environment. Both of them came here on a program. Two years in a row. They're close, but they're not a pair in the usual sense." "Fuck buddies," said Kelsey. "Friends with benefits." This got a huge laugh out of everyone.

After the laughter had settled down, Harry said "But they are quite close. Really. A pair." Rickie said, "They'll be married someday, but they're very smart and practical. I'm sure it'll be when they're thirty or something. In the meantime, they're both available."

And with that...Rickie winked. I guessed we'd just have to find out what that meant.

Harry told some more stories, about deals he'd made that outsmarted competitors in the U.S. and Europe, and of those occasions when Rickie's feminine wiles or ability to win over someone's spouse had helped him seal a deal.

Harry is an "early to bed, early to rise" kind of guy, so he and Rickie excused themselves, but invited us to use the bar and entertainment center, which we did for another hour or so until we all agreed that we'd had a very full day and that between that and the inevitable exhaustion that comes from travel, we were all ready to hit the sack.

Our trek back to our room took us past the kitchen, where we saw Ben and Marianne, who had been putting down beers, as evidenced by the four bottles on the table. Ben smiled and Marianne gave a little wave. And with the wave, did I detect just a little longing? Without even thinking, I did the bent finger thing that means "Follow me," and then biting my lip for being so forward, I continued back to our room.

I was the last one in, but right on my heels was Marianne, followed by Ben, who was carrying a six pack of Guyanese beer and a bottle opener.

The presence of the two nubiles energized us and suddenly, we forgot how tired we were. Ben came from Virginia and was attending Washington State, majoring in biology toward a career in jungle biology.

Marianne was born to a family headed by a Guyanese diplomat. She had grown up in several countries and had spent considerable time in Great Britain, The U.S., and Canada. She had had Ben as a classmate in several of her classes, and before they knew it, they were part of the same clutch of students that went to concerts and drank together.

Neither mentioned that they were lovers as well, but the way they touched each other and finished each other's sentences spoke volumes. Her hand was on his leg frequently, something girls don't as a rule do, unless they are (or want to be) physically familiar with a guy. For his part, Ben would stroke her glossy black hair or curl it slowly and gently through his fingers.

Well, we had already had a few drinks and so had Ben and Marianne. They started kissing first, which put me and my two fuck buddies into an amorous mood, so soon we were rolling around on the bed, kissing and groping and reaching into each other's panties, which led to a period of enthusiastic tit and clit licking, finger fucking, and general lesbomania.

At some point, I looked up and saw that while Ben and Marianne were going at it, they were both looking at us longingly. Knowing how my two friends felt about the pair, I gave them a look that said, "What are you waiting for?"

Of course, by this time Gina, Kelsey, and I were naked, so Ben and Marianne stripped as well. Her nipples were more prominent than ever, his rock-hard cock in full erection. What a lucky guy, to be in a room with four attractive women all wanting some quality time with his dick.

Kelsey got him first. She just laid on her back with her legs apart in open invitation. She was so hot for sex he was in her like a hot knife into butter. He was up on stiff arms, looking down into her face as his hips drove his cock in and out of her like a piston on one of those old steam locomotives. He banged her so hard that she wailed in a low voice and you could hear the impact of his thrusts in her voice.

At last, I had Marianne's furry pussy in my mouth. She was on her back with her legs apart, her feet planted on the floor. I was kneeling down between her legs. Gina was alternately kissing her mouth and boobs.

I discovered that, aside from having a very delicious pussy, she also had quite a clit. I don't think I've ever licked such a hard clit. It was a fleshy little post that obviously gave her a lot of pleasure, judging by the enthusiastic sounds she made and the sympathetic motion of her hips.

I was already in Seventh Heaven when I realized that Ben had left Kelsey, who was rolled up into a steaming ball, obviously having come and come hard. He tried to mount Gina, who had to explain the situation: that she was in a relationship that allowed her to go outside of it only with girls. He politely accepted this reality, helped by the fact that while I was still providing Marianne with exceptional head, I had started rubbing his cock, using his precum as a lubricant.

Marianne pushed me away. The expression on her face didn't say "Go away" but rather that she was giving me to Ben. Or giving Ben to me. Who knows? At any rate, the look she gave definitely said, "Go...do it."

When I got out from between Marianne's legs, she scooted well up onto the bed, letting tiny little Gina lay on her half on, half off, Gina's knee slowly moving up and down on Marianne's sensitive clit. I saw the expression on Gina's face when she first felt the clit on her knee. A look that said "What the fuck!"

I went to town on Ben's penis, which was, as I've said, quite thick. Nearly as thick as my forearm, in fact. I could hardly get it in my mouth at first, having to stretch my mouth till it ached in order to deep throat him. At 10" or so, he was quite a throat full. Now, deep throat is a technique I don't do a whole lot. I really don't think it gives guys much additional pleasure, if any. Cocks are most sensitive at the glans. Deep throating is more a measure of the girl's enthusiasm, and I certainly wanted him to know that I liked that cock of his.

After a couple minutes of attention to his tool, I decided I wanted to see what kind of kisser he was, so switching from sucking his cock to jerking it, I moved up and planted my mouth on his...and his tongue met mine. A period of open-mouthed tongue-wrestling ensued. While not absolutely the best kisser, he was certainly good enough. Girls generally are better, but with guys you can have a stiff dick in your hand, which is a nice bonus you don't get with chicks.

I really wanted to give him a memorable orgasm, so I hopped off the bed and waved for him to follow. I got down into the lowest doggie position possible, the one where your ass is high and your cheek and tits are touching the floor. He clearly knew what I was offering, and so, wetting his finger, he fucked my ass with it. Then it was two fingers and then three. After a minute or so of this, I felt the blunt tip of his cock pressing against asshole, which, resisting at first, gradually gave way and let him enter.

Bracing himself on stiff arms (one on each side of my shoulders) and the balls of his feet, he went about rogering my butt. Meanwhile, I was stroking my clit and labia. My pussy was unbelievably wet, even for me. Pussy drool was running down my legs and puddling at my knees due to the overstimulation. I have strong bisexual inclinations. Most of the time, it's neither here nor there if a partner is male or female, but having a big cock in my ass is a sensation that simply can't be duplicated, and for me and my fantasy life, it's about as good as it gets.

When I came, I added to the existing mess on the floor by letting fly with a huge squirt. I think the orgasm-induced anal contractions triggered Ben's orgasm, since as I was cumming, I felt his hot jizz land on my back and hit the floor right in front of my nose.

His wad shot, he dropped off me and onto his back, breathing hard, his eyes fixed on some distant imaginary object.

When I regained my energy, I stood up to find Marianne on top of Gina, straddling her, her hand massaging Gina's pussy, her cheek gently against Gina's. I let my hands run all over Marianne's bottom, caressing her inner thighs and vulva. She just went "Mmmmm." Then I let my middle finger slip into her pussy, grabbed some of her natural lubricant, and rubbed her harder.

A couple minutes later, I lubed up several fingers the same way and, with Marianne's enthusiastic cooperation, I worked them into her ass. Soon she was masturbating as well, and it didn't take too long to bring her to a full orgasm.

This left Gina to me. My best friend, I've had sex with her a million times and we are totally comfortable with each other. For some reason, as sometimes happens to all of us, she was having a hard time cumming and had become tense. I knew that if I couldn't get her off, nobody could, unless it was Ray. But Ray wasn't here.

Gina's very susceptible to sweet nothings. I started giving her a slow hand job while, between kisses, I told her how lovely she was and how sexy she was and how much I loved her (which she knows I do). Gradually, she relaxed and I knew success was just around the corner.

I switched from using my fingers to using the butt of my palm and the underside of my wrist on her clit, rubbing and pressing it. I also continuing with my verbal efforts. Soon, she went from being relaxed to tensing up again, but not from frustration this time, and I knew that at last an orgasm was coiling up inside her, getting ready to strike. Just from her behavior, and my long experience with her as a partner, I knew that this one would happen suddenly and would be a good one.

Luckily, it took only about two minutes. I felt her legs grip my hand and wrist like a vise, she arched her back, let out a sound that was as much breath as voice, practically a whimper, and then she went limp except for her legs, which relaxed only very gradually. She only had energy to kiss my shoulder, because she could do that without lifting her head.

Very quietly, Ben and Marianne, who had been watching, dressed. They bade us good-bye until the morrow and left. Kelsey was already asleep naked on her bed. Gina was in my arms, drifting off, and that was fine with me. I'd held her in my arms more times than I could count, and it's one of the most comfortable feelings I know.

It was then that rain started to dance outside the screen of the patio door and I heard the low rumble of distant thunder mixed with the rustling of the trees in the wind, sounding for all the world like a billion starched petticoats rustling under a billion silk and satin wedding gowns.

I wonder if that's why I dreamed of a wedding that night. A wedding of whom to whom? I don't know. Their faces were obscured by a blinding glare, for it was a dream in shades of white. White gowns, white flowers, and, paradoxically, snow more white than white itself.

A color that only exists in dreams.

I'm bisexual and I really don't understand any girl who isn't. My view may be a little odd in that I don't regard bisexuality as being "half lesbian" or anything like that. I'm just a lusty chick who's also a sexual opportunist, and wow, wouldn't I like opportunity with either of these two beauties! But more seriously, I like girls because, much as I like cock (and boy, do I!) you just have to admit that when it comes to outright beauty in the fully aesthetic sense, it's chicks hands down.

The first time I saw this girl I knew I had a brand new masturbation fantasy. She is just so striking with her milky white skin and the photographer's expert control over color and composition. She's a real standout. I'd give anything to do this chick! I do wonder about one thing, though. Daisy Beach promotes itself as being devoted to California girls, but this girl poses like a Russian or Eastern European girl (which is where a lot of models come from nowadays) and with a name like Stoya (not Jennifer or Stephanie), I'm left wondering...

DOMAI, was founded as the "Dirty Old Men's Association International," although Eolake Stobblehouse, the Danish webmaster (now living in Scotland, I believe) was fully tongue-in-cheek as he named the site. It was probably the first major site in the quality nudes category it shares with such familiar names as Met-Art, Hegre, Galitsin and a few others. The girls are young, fresh, and delicious and frequently photographed outdoors in Nature, which I really like. Visit DOMAI and check it out. I'm sure you'll want to see what's on the inside because this site is just full of the most beautiful young bodies anywhere! Think I'm kidding? Well, photos like this are fairly typical of what's on the inside (click on the little ones, by the way, to see big ones):

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Okay, while I don't want this blog to be about how I look, I do get a lot of requests for photos, however, and so from time to time I put another one up. It's been a while, so here are two to keep you happy a little while longer: