Teen Dreams Book 1Chapter 4
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Teen Dreams Book 2Chapter 19 free porn video
It was just over three hours later when I was attacked at Munich airport. My attacker was a medium height, slim girl with red hair, who launched herself at me with a screech and wrapped her arms and legs around my neck and waist, covering my face with small kisses.
“I assume that means you’re pleased to see me,” I said quietly when she slackened off a little.
“Yes,” she agreed, “now are you going to kiss me, or do I have to strip naked, right here?”
Much as I enjoyed the sight of Cal in her birthday suit, I decided on the discretion side of the equation and kissed her.
“You are in so much trouble when we get to the hotel mister,” she whispered, “I hope you got plenty of sleep on the plane.”
“My body thinks it’s six am,” I replied, “and I got about two hours.”
“Then you can take a nap after lunch,” she said, before leading me out to the S-Bahn station and the S8 train to the Hauptbahnhof.
We were booked into the Ibis on Dachauerstrasse, and Cal had moved in the night before, mainly so that we didn’t have to wait until three pm to check-in. We walked the four hundred metres or so from the station to the hotel, and as soon as I dropped my bags she started to undress me.
“Cal,” I protested, “I at least need a shower first.”
“And are you going to get in the shower fully dressed?” she asked.
“No,” I answered.
“Well then, I’ll help you, I’ll wash your back as well.”
It took her less than three minutes to get me undressed, and another minute to render herself in the same condition. Then she led me through into the bathroom and turned the shower on. It was a walk-in and was more than big enough for the two of us.
Once the water had run warm, we stepped in and she squirted a huge glob of shower gel onto a washcloth and started to soap my body all over. Once she’d finished, she rinsed me off and then handed me the sponge and shower gel.
“Your turn,” she announced, before giving me a soft kiss, “then we’ll do hair.”
I lathered her all over, then rinsed her off.
“Maybe you’d better do that again,” she said softly, “just to make sure I’m really clean. Especially the bits with hair, you know, that’s where people sweat the most.”
Given that there was only one area of her body apart from her head that had hair, I got the impression that the suggestion had more to do with randiness than cleanliness.
It wasn’t until I squirted gel onto my hand and used it to clean the relevant part that I realised by how much the randiness outweighed the cleanliness.
My darling girlfriend was soaking wet down there, and it had nothing to do with the water cascading down from the showerhead. I slipped a finger inside and felt her sag against me.
“We’ll do our hair later,” she said, throatily, “right now I want you inside me.”
And me, inside her, is exactly what she got, twice.
Afterwards, lying cuddled together, I told her about the flight and Melissa.
She was impressed that I’d done that for the poor girl (her words not mine) and asked if there wasn’t anything that could be done for her. I told her about my call to Sam, and my asking him if there was anything his children’s charity could do for her.
“What did he say?” she asked.
“He asked me to leave it with him, and he’d get back to me by Monday.”
“What if he can’t or won’t?” she asked.
“Then she doesn’t have much chance,” I said, “unless someone else puts the money up.”
“And can we have a bet now on who that someone might be if Max doesn’t come through?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“David, you’re such a romantic old softy,” she said, “that I’d be willing to bet that if Max doesn’t you will.”
“OK,” I said, “what are the stakes?”
“If I win,” she said, “you have to be my slave for twenty-four hours and do anything and everything I want.”
“All right,” I agreed, “and if I win you have to do the same.”
We shook hands on the deal, then sealed it with a kiss.
It was Monday evening before Sam rang me, by which time, we’d had a very pleasant weekend visiting parks, museums, and we had a guided tour of the Opera House. I was fascinated by the technology they had. We did other things as well, in fact, we did other things a lot. Very nicely.
“Evening Sam,” I greeted him, when I recognised his number, “how are you?”
“Overworked and underpaid,” he replied, “how about you?”
“My Mum says, underworked and overpaid,” I replied, “but I think she’s wrong. Did you get a chance to look at my proposal?”
“I did,” he said, noncommittally, “it has merit.”
“So, what conclusion did you come to?” I asked.
“I think we may be able to do it,” he said.
“We?” I queried.
“The rules of my foundation say that we do match funding,” he said, “we can’t fund the whole thing, but we can match the total of other funding.”
I noticed a smug look on Cal’s face, I knew what she was expecting next.
“So if I could persuade someone else to put up half the cost, you could match it?” I asked.
“Could and would David, you just need to come up with the rest,” he confirmed.
I sat there, my face screwed up in concentration.
“Where are you taking me for dinner, David?” Cal asked.
“Let me think about that and get back to you,” I told Sam before we said goodbye and hung up.
That done, I turned to face my girlfriend.
“I need to find another donor,” I said.
“You could just admit I was right,” she replied, “pay half yourself and accept that you lost the bet.”
“Never,” I growled.
We shelved that and decided to go and get some lunch. There was a restaurant at the end of Dachaustrasse called Bufet, and we went in there. Their schnitzels were marvellous, but the chips left a lot to be desired. The scratty MacFries type rather than proper deep-fried potato sticks. But the great thing was we were allowed a beer with them. A post-lunch stroll through the nearby Old Botanical Garden was nice in the summer sunshine, and we sat on a bench and told each other how our time apart had been.
Cal told me about the course, and how this year’s end of the course production was to be a performance of The Magic Flute (Die Zauberfloete in German) at the Residenztheater on the final Friday evening, in which she’d be singing Papagena. And waxed lyrical about little Rudi. I wasn’t quite sure whether I’d been supplanted, or she was getting broody.
I related the story of my trip and a couple of run-ins with TV studio people that I’d had, and some of the things I’d done in between. She was fascinated by the CN tower, particularly the glass floor way up in the air.
“I’d love to go on that,” she said, “particularly if you were there.”
“Why?” I asked her.
“I know I’d be safe then,” she said, “you’d catch me if I fell.”
“Always,” I replied, and that earned me a kiss.
On Tuesday, I escorted Cal to the Hochschule for an eight-thirty start and then went off to find something to do, a pattern which was repeated all week.
I waited until four in the evening and called Max again.
“Hello David,” he greeted me when he answered, “what can I do for you?”
“Max,” I replied, “I have a problem.”
“What is it and how can I help?” he asked.
“I don’t know any other potential donors for Melissa’s fund,” I said, “I’m tempted to pay the rest myself, but I made a silly bet with Cal, do you know of anyone who might be willing to pitch in?”
“I think I can offer a solution,” he said, “if you’re willing to deal.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, suddenly suspicious.
“You know I’m keen to get you signed up for Star Academy two,” he said, “well, if you’ll agree to do it, I’ll put up the rest of the money personally, and in return, you take half a per cent less on the gross.”
“That sounds a lot,” I said.
“Only if the film’s a big hit,” he replied, “if it’s not, I stand the loss.”
I made a quick decision.
“All right, I’ll do it,” I said, gloating a little at pulling a fast one on Cal.
We chatted for a little while, then said our goodbyes, and I walked down to the Hochschule to meet Cal.
On Friday night we were picked up to spend the weekend with Jonas and his family.
We got out of the car at Jonas’s house, a farmhouse with lots of outbuildings and animals, and it didn’t take long to realise why Cal was so enamoured of little Rudi, he was a real charmer, as soon as he saw her his arms were raised in what appears to be the international standard ‘Pick me up’ gesture for children.
Jonas led us into the house where he introduced me to the two men who were seated on the sofa in his living room. The first was his brother Rudiger, the policeman. The second was Matteus Wiesenthal, from the State prosecutor’s office. They were here to discuss the case against Wolfgang and his gang.
Once we’d all exchanged greetings and handshakes, Matteus took out his briefcase and pulled a file out of it.
“I have some good news for you,” he announced, “we have arrested and charged eight members of the gang, seven of them have agreed to enter a guilty plea, when faced with the evidence against them, and are giving evidence against the ringleader, who wasn’t Wolfgang, by the way, he was more of a talent scout.”
“What does that mean for Cal?” I asked.
“She won’t be required to testify in court,” the prosecutor said, “and as a victim of a crime of violence, she can claim compensation, both from the perpetrators and the state.”
“Really?” she asked, “what would I have to do for that?”
“The court would award the compensation against the perpetrators as part of the judicial process, but it would mean that you would have to make a formal complaint against them We’d have to take a statement from you as to what happened.”
Miracle
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