Gidget Surfs Up At Bikini Beach
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Double Take Part 4: Surf's Up, Nose Down free porn video
Double Take
© 2003 by Nom de Plume
Episode Four: Surf's Up, Nose Down
Ashley played with Sandy's long blonde hair as he slept
uneasily beside her. Usually Sandy was dead to the world
after they finished making love, but tonight he seemed to
be plagued by new demons. As he tossed and turned in one of
her old nightgowns, she knew that he had carried through
somehow on his promise to eliminate the threat of Buster
Cruz. But what had he done?
Sandy had adamantly refused to tell her what went on while
she was away in New York. All she was able to get out of
him was that he had made a quick trip to Hawaii, and that
she didn't have anything more to worry about. However, if
by chance she were contacted by Lieutenant Goering of the
L.A.P.D. or Detective Halani of the Honolulu Police
Department, she should say nothing.
Who was this person she was sleeping with, Ashley wondered.
Sandy Lane had given up his manhood for her. Had he also
given up his soul? Could the beautiful girl in her
nightgown, who was really a boy, also be a murderer?
He cried out again, and she took him in her arms. Whatever
he might have done, he did it for her. Ashley Vaughn was
responsible for what Sandy Lane had become, and she was
determined to keep him this way for as long as she could.
She reached down and found his flaccid penis. Slowly,
tenderly, she stroked him back to life. When his eyes
opened, she whispered, "Whatever you did, it's okay.
Everything's going to be okay."
She lifted up his nightgown and lowered herself onto him,
easing herself up and down as if she was the man and he was
the woman. Their strange reality was a blessed escape from
his dreams. So they made love again and again, until the
studio wakeup service told them it was time to get up and
get dressed for work.
They were shooting on location at Lunada Bay on the Palos
Verdes Peninsula that week. Palos Verdes is a rugged, tree
covered paradise on the southern outskirts of greater Los
Angeles. At this hour, the usual freeway traffic was
nonexistent. It was an unseasonably warm morning, with hot
Santa Ana winds, and Sandy lowered the top of his
convertible as they began their descent from the Hollywood
Hills. The sun crept over the eastern horizon as they made
their way towards the coast.
* * *
A few hours later, Ashley and Sandy sat side by side in the
makeup trailer on the set of Wet Girls. The makeup team had
gotten Sandy's transformation into Ashley's double down to
a science, and they liked to work on both Pepper Reefs
simultaneously to make sure they had the same look. They
each had their blonde hair slicked back as if they had
already been in the water, and their identical wetsuits
were hot pink today.
This week's episode would involve a big confrontation
between Pepper Reef and a group of bad-ass local surfers
known as the Bay Boys. Although Palos Verdes is an upscale
Los Angeles suburb, Lunada Bay is notorious for run-ins
between visitors and the local surfers who claim it as
their turf. The real Bay Boys had been bought off by the
network for a few days, their places taken by walk-on
surfers who had auditioned for the parts. Toby Goodfin
would have loved this, Sandy thought sadly to himself as a
coat of gloss was applied to his pouting lips.
The day's shooting was over before noon, and the crew was
packing up to leave when Sandy walked over to the bluff
above Lunada Bay to check out the surf. It was going off
perfectly, twenty foot barrels rolling in from the north
without a surfer in sight. When would he ever see Lunada
Bay like this again?
At Sandy's insistence, the crew carried with them a huge
inventory of surfboards, so he would be able to perform his
stunts under a variety of conditions. Sandy grabbed a big
wave gun and started to make his way barefoot down the
steep path towards the rocky beach. Ashley decided to stay
behind and watch him, so she spread a blanket out for
herself on the grassy bluff and settled back while her man
did what he loved. With Catalina Island and the blue
Pacific in the background, she watched as a tiny pink
figure paddled steadily through the churning sea, out
towards a cluster of rocks at the mouth of the cove.
For almost two hours, Sandy lost himself in the surf. It
was a catharsis for him, as he duck-dived under the rough
breakers again and again to find an endless series of
perfect swells waiting to be ridden. His grief over the
death of his best friend, and his feelings of guilt for
avenging him, were finally washed away by the waves
crashing over him. It was almost as if Toby were there with
him in the water, telling Sandy that it was okay to let him
go. When he climbed back up the trail, all he wanted to do
was take Ashley to his bed and hold on to her forever.
* * *
With the elimination of Ashley Vaughn as a suspect in the
murder of Buster Cruz, the attention of the police remained
on the mystery woman who was seen with the victim at
Rosie's Caf? on the North Shore the day before his death. A
search of Buster's body had produced a business card and a
folded up copy of a contract, both of which turned out to
be bogus. No useful fingerprints were found on either of
them.
The murder scene yielded a few other clues: a brown wig, a
pair of brown contact lenses, a negligee, and an
untraceable Baretta automatic pistol. If they could
identify a suspect, the contact lenses might provide a DNA
match. But after weeks of interviews in Honolulu and on the
north shore, the police were getting nowhere. A hotel clerk
did remember a woman with long brown hair paying cash for
the suite at the Halekulani, but she used the same bogus
name printed on the business card found in Buster's pocket.
Detective Halani decided to widen the net. A review of
Buster's past criminal record showed a number of minor run-
ins with the law, mostly for disturbing the peace and
resisting arrest. However, there was one charge in
Huntington Beach involving assault and battery against a
competing surfer in a competition the previous year. The
charge was dismissed after the other surfer, Sandy Lane,
failed to show up and testify at a grand jury proceeding.
Detective Halani managed to get his hands on a video tape
of the incident, and once he saw it, he thought he might
have a possible motive. The police reports from Huntington
Beach indicated that Sandy Lane had been hospitalized with
a massive concussion and a severely broken nose, and he had
dropped out of sight after he was released from the
hospital. On a hunch, Halani asked for a print out of the
arrivals and departures from Honolulu International Airport
the day of the Cruz murder. Sure enough, Sandy Lane was
listed as a passenger on a United flight that left for Los
Angeles three hours after the estimated time of Buster's
death.
Detective Halani still wasn't convinced that Lane, who had
a spotless criminal record, was his suspect. But maybe he
could provide the police with information as to the
identity of the mystery woman. The detective called
Lieutenant Goering in Los Angeles and brought him into the
picture.
* * *
They decided to spend the week at Sandy's condo in Redondo
Beach, since it was a short drive from Lunada Bay. Sandy
hadn't been there since the day after Thanksgiving, so they
stopped at a supermarket to stock up on food, disguising
themselves from autograph-seekers with baseball caps and
sunglasses. They were each wearing jeans, flip-flops, and
baggy sweatshirts, and nobody gave them a second glance as
they made their way down the aisles.
Ashley had packed only an overnight bag, intending to
borrow some of Sandy's clothes if they decided to go out.
When Sandy hauled the groceries into his kitchen, he saw
that he had six phone messages.
The first was from his parents, wishing him a happy
Thanksgiving. He had called them already from Ashley's
house the next day. Sandy's parents had retired to Park
City, and he hadn't seen them in over a year. They had
finally reconciled themselves to his life as a vagabond
surfer, but they were still not happy about it, and their
occasional telephone conversations served to maintain an
uneasy peace.
The next four messages were from telemarketers, and Sandy
deleted them all. Ashley had gone into the bathroom, and
she did not hear the sixth message:
"Mr. Lane, this is Lieutenant Goering of the Los Angeles
Police Department. We have a few questions concerning an
ongoing investigation, and I would appreciate it if you
would give me a call as soon as you get this message." The
lieutenant left his number, and closed by instructing Sandy
to have him paged if he did not pick up.
Maybe it was the therapeutic effect of his afternoon in the
surf, but Sandy was remarkably cool and calm as he
calculated his position. The police must have come across
his name during their search for suspects with a possible
motive to do in Buster Cruz. That would include half the
surfers on the pro tour, but if they saw the video of
Buster decking Sandy at the Masters World, they would have
to talk to him. Okay, let's get this over with.
Sandy took the cordless phone out onto his lanai and called
the lieutenant's number. He found him at his desk.
"Homicide, Goering speaking."
"This is Sandy Lane returning your call."
"Yes sir, thank you for calling me back. I was wondering if
I might stop by and have a few words with you."
"Sure. What about?"
"I'd rather not say until we can discuss it in person.
Would tomorrow be convenient for you?"
"I'll be out most of the day. Is four o'clock too late for
you?"
"Four o'clock it is. Let me just make sure I have the
address right." The lieutenant did, and he hung up as
Ashley was opening the door to the lanai.
"Anything wrong?"
"Not a thing." No need drag Ashley into this. At the sight
of her, Sandy's bravado began to crumble. What if they had
something on him? What would they do to him? How long would
it be before he ever saw her again? Did Hawaii have the
death penalty?
"Something's wrong," she said gently. "Come on, tell me."
"Nothing. I just got a message from my folks." He hated to
lie to her, but technically that was true.
"Oh. Anything I can do."
"Yes. Let's do something special tonight."
"Aren't you tired? You hardly slept at all last night, and
you surfed like there was no tomorrow."
If she only knew. "I get stoked from a day like this.
Really, Ashley, let's do something fun, something
different. What have you always wanted to do?"
"Well...if I tell you, do you promise not to laugh?"
"Whatever."
"I mean, it's kinda kinky."
He shook is head in disbelief. "Look at us! I've turned
myself into your twin sister, and you're worried about
doing something kinky?"
"You promised not to laugh," she pouted.
"Come on, tell me. What's on your wicked mind?"
"I want to be the guy tonight."
"Huh?"
"I want to make myself over as a cute guy, and take you
out. We'll do a little shopping, and then have a nice
dinner someplace. Please?"
Why not? It might be their last night together. At least it
would be memorable. "I have some of my old threads in those
boxes," he said, pointing over to the stuff he had removed
from his storage locker before his trip to Hawaii. He was
intending to return them this weekend. As he watched her
rummaging through his old clothes, he had a flash of
inspiration. Just like that, he decided how he was going to
handle the L.A.P.D.
* * *
Sandy indulged in a bubble bath, and he put on a bra and
panties before he dried his hair for their big night out.
Ashley insisted on selecting what he was going to wear, and
he was curious to let her fantasy play out. He was
surprised to see the clothes she had laid out for him in
the bedroom: just a simple sweater and a short skirt,
nylons, and black skimmer flats. He was going to look like
a USC coed on Parents Weekend.
Meanwhile, Ashley had barricaded herself in the powder
room. Sandy has finished dressing and was fumbling through
his drawers for a simple gold necklace to wear when he
heard Ashley behind him. "Ahem," she said.
He turned around and smiled. Ashley Vaughn was dressed in a
bulky cotton sweater, baggy chinos, and a pair of Sandy's
old sneakers. She must have put on two or three pairs of
sox to make them fit. Her nails were stripped of polish,
her earrings were gone, and her hair was tucked up under an
English driving cap that Sandy had bought in New Zealand.
She was adorable.
"You make a very pretty boy," Sandy said.
"I know. Too pretty. I look like a fairy."
Sandy sat down on the edge of the bed, tugging his skirt
back down his thighs as he did so. "Tell me about it."
Ashley sat down on his lap, rubbing his legs through his
nylons as she studied his beautiful face. "Maybe we should
just stay home tonight."
He kissed her gently, then wiped his lipstick off her face
with a manicured finger. "I'll fix something special for
you," he said. "Why don't you open a bottle of wine?"
Sandy cooked dinner while Ashley read the paper and watched
the news on TV. He blushed when she complemented him on his
cooking, and she made sure his glass was always full of
wine. She offered to help with the dishes, but Sandy waved
her off, enjoying the simple pleasures of puttering around
the kitchen in his stocking feet while his lover waited in
anticipation for him.
After he was through, he joined her on the sofa, and they
started to neck like teenagers. Ashley slid one hand up
Sandy's skirt while her other hand fumbled with his bra.
Sandy was going out of his mind as she tugged his panties
and nylons down to his knees. When he was almost at the
point of no return, he pushed her off and rolled on top of
her, pulling her sweater over her head while Ashley
struggled to get out of her pants. Then she rolled back on
top again and straddled him, humping him faster and faster
until they both exploded in the most mind-blowing orgasms
of their lives.
When they went to bed, Ashley put on in a pair of Sandy's
old pajamas, and Sandy wore one of her castoff babydoll
nighties. It made her hot just looking at him, and it made
him hot just to wear it. Ashley found him a pair of
matching panties, but he never got the chance to wear them.
* * *
They finished shooting at noon the next day, and Sandy
suggested to Ashley that they spend the night at her place.
There were a few things he needed to do at home first ? he
had missed a car insurance and mortgage payment while he
was in Hawaii, and he needed to go to the bank ? so Ashley
caught a ride back to the hills with one of the other
actresses, and they agreed to go out for a late dinner,
both as girls this time.
After Ashley left, Sandy went back to the makeup trailer
and cornered one of the women who worked on him. "Grace, I
need a big favor."
Grace had a soft spot for Sandy, and she was only too happy
to help. For over an hour, she worked patiently while Sandy
sat back with his eyes closed, rehearsing again and again
his answers to the questions that the lieutenant might
throw at him. When Grace was finished, she shook her head
at the end result. "Are you sure you want to leave here
looking like that?" she said.
Sandy studied his face in Grace's mirror. "Yes. At least I
won't have to worry about getting picked up if I stop
someplace on the way home."
"Honey, anybody who picks you up is in for a world of
surprises."
* * *
Lieutenant Goering knocked on the door of Sandy's condo
promptly at four o'clock. Sandy opened it immediately to
let him in. The lieutenant handed him a card, trying not to
grimace as he looked away from Sandy's face.
Sandy offered him a beer, which the lieutenant declined.
"On duty," he explained. Sandy got one for himself, and
they went out onto the lanai and sat down in two sling
chairs next to a small glass-topped table. The lieutenant
took in the view of Palos Verdes while Sandy sipped on his
Pacifico Clara.
"I suppose you are wondering why I'm here," the lieutenant
said at length.
"I'm betting is has something to do with Buster Cruz."
"Oh? What makes you think so?"
"I saw on the web what happened to him. And I said to
myself, Buster had a lot of enemies. I hope they catch who
did it, because if they don't, sooner or later they're
probably going to turn up here."
"And why would you say that?"
"Shit. Look at me." The lieutenant studied his fingers.
"Look at me, goddammit! I'm a fucking monster because of
that asshole. Am I glad he's dead? Your goddam right!"
"Did you have anything to do with his death?"
"No way."
The lieutenant paused for a few seconds. Then he took a
small notebook out of his breast pocket and flipped through
it before he spoke. "Mr. Lane, when is the last time you
were in Hawaii?"
Now Sandy looked down at his fingers, which had been
stripped of their usual coat of polish. His hands were
remarkably calm. "Thanksgiving."
"Where did you stay?"
"The Royal Hawaiian."
"Pretty fancy digs for a surfer."
"I find that a place like that doesn't make a big deal
about my face," Sandy shot back. "When you're paying that
kind of money, they don't care what you look like."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Lane. It's just that, I didn't know surfers
made that kind of money."
"I was the Vans Triple Crown champion two years ago, and I
was ranked sixth in the world before I got knocked out of
the Masters World last year. It takes a while to blow
through all that prize money."
"Is that what you've been doing? None of your old friends
or sponsors have heard from you since your accident."
"It wasn't an accident. That son of a bitch attacked me."
"Did you kill him?"
"I told you already, no."
"Where have you been for the past year?"
"Traveling around the USA. I've been driving up and down
the coast, and I went to North Carolina and Florida for the
hurricane season."
The lieutenant had to smile. "People go there for the
hurricane season?'
"Surfers do."
"What were you doing in Hawaii?"
"I went up to Makaha, but it was blown out."
"Did you go up to the north shore?"
"No. Too many friends. Too many memories."
"I see. Did you see anybody at Makaha?"
"No. When you look like this, you keep to yourself."
"Where were you the evening of November 27th?"
"What day was that?"
"Thursday."
"Flying back to LA."
"I mean before then. At around seven o'clock."
"In my room at the Royal Hawaiian."
"Can you prove that?"
Sandy paused. "I guess not. But let me ask you. If you had
a face like this, wouldn't you stick to your room?"
The lieutenant stared at Sandy's hideously broken nose.
Surely someone would have remembered seeing a man who
looked like this if he were anywhere near the murder scene.
"Do you have any idea who might have killed Mr. Cruz?"
"Like I said, he had a lot of enemies, but I don't think
that any of the surfers I know would have it in them to
kill somebody. What happened to him, anyway?"
"He was shot twice. Once in the penis, and once in the
face."
"Ouch."
"We think his killer was a woman."
"Talk about a bad date."
The lieutenant tried to keep a straight face. "Do you know
any women who might have wanted to do this to him?"
"God, I hope not."
Lieutenant Goering closed his notebook. "One more question.
Why haven't you had your nose fixed?" This time the
lieutenant looked him square in the eyes.
Sandy shook his head sadly. "I was planning on suing
Buster, and the lawyers told me I'd get more out of a jury
if I came into the courtroom looking like this."
The lieutenant got up to leave. So much for Detective
Halani's motive. "Well, Mr. Lane, I want to thank you for
your cooperation. You've been most helpful."
Sandy got up and showed him back through his condo and out
the door. Most of the feminine do-dads that Ashley had
lovingly decorated his place with were buried in the box
with the rest of his old clothes. "Goodbye, Lieutenant."
"Goodbye, Mr. Lane."
Sandy went back into the living room and collapsed on the
sofa, utterly drained of emotion. He sat there for a long
time, thinking about Sandy Lane. Would God forgive him for
what he had become?
He carefully peeled off the prosthetic freak nose that
Grace had fashioned for him. As he walked into his bedroom,
he took off his cap, letting his long blonde hair tumble
down around his ears. It was a relief to take off the bulky
sweater, the baggy pants, and the itchy sox. It would feel
nice to put on a dress again.
To be continued...don't miss Part 5: Good Vibes, Big Apple.
By the author of The Jessica Project.
Madison
- 06.07.2020
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