Firefly
- 2 years ago
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Paul Carter looked across the driveways separating his – well, his parent’s – house from Brooke MacDonald’s house. He looked across a gulf as wide as his imagination, a chasm that had divided him from his impossible-to-endure one and only very-first-true-love. He had fallen in love with Brooke MacDonald the very first time he had laid eyes on her, which was, unfortunately, in third grade. Paul Carter could not remember one single day in grade school, junior high, or high school that he hadn’t thought of her. Hell, lusted for her. He had tried every trick in the book, too, in order to get Brooke MacDonald to pay even the slightest bit of attention to him. And he had failed. He was sure it had been a conspiracy. Had to be!
He had graduated from high school without ever knowing the pleasure of lying in Brooke MacDonald’s arms, of making love to her, of just loving her in the most complete way. The thought of here would always remain within a walled-off fantasy land, not exactly a tortured dreamscape, but a pain in the ass nonetheless.
Paul Carter had gone off to college, all the way across the country to California. It was a million miles away from New England in every way. The way kids did things in the Bay Area was spontaneous, original, and often outrageous. His Yankee world view had collided with new-age-hippidom, and the results had been predictable. He had shed his alter-identity in a heartbeat – well, more like a semester – and had met the first of many California Girls. Somewhere along the way, all thought of Brooke MacDonald had simply – vanished.
Paul had remained in California for medical school, and he quickly lost his attachment to undergraduate forays into the search for the ultimate sexual experience, or the ultimate drunkathon, or the ultimate weekend at Mammoth on the slopes (or the hot tub). Medical school had – so far – been the toughest experience of his life, until one afternoon in the closing days of his forth year when the telephone rang. His kid sister Melody was on the phone in hysterics. Between sobs and gulps for air he heard her squeezing out ‘plane crash’ and ‘mom and dad are gone’.
He had – in a state of suspended dysanimation – called the student affairs office and advised them of events, made a reservation to take the red-eye across the country to Boston, and gone to the airport as night fell. He sat in an aisle seat and thought of what life might have in store for his now suddenly diminished family, how his role would change in his sisters’ eyes now that their parents were gone. He felt the loss of his father with an acute ache that penetrated his soul, leaving an empty autumn feeling of leaden skies and barren trees in its hollow wake. He sipped a bumpy Coke and thought of his mother wafting around the kitchen in heels and apron, the perfect housewife, brownies in the oven out in time for the little boy and the covey of girls to devour before dinner. From thousands of miles away, he could smell the kitchen in his waking dream, smell his mother walking through the shadow of a heartbeat, hear the oven door open, the click of her heels on the slate floor, the early twilight of New England winters, dinner on the table, help with homework only a whisper away. He cried then for the first time in a long, long time.
As he walked off the plane and up the Jetway his little sister Melody hove into view, her face a wreck of red puffy tear-soaked eyes. He looked around for his other sister, Edith, and he saw her standing next to – ohmygosh – Brooke MacDonald. He made his way through the jumble of passenger greetings and plane changes to his sisters and flew into their open arms. They latched on to Paul Carter with all of the fear and uncertainty the events of yesterday could impart, their tears combined in spontaneous grief more poignant than any eulogy.
Paul looked across to Brooke who nodded her unspoken sympathy, squeezed his arm for a show of support. Her face was somehow the same – but different. Less attractive than he remembered, but the unmistakable pangs of the familiar. Something in the eyes, he thought, troubled, sad, dealing with her own grief in her own way, but still lovely. He felt connected to her in a way he couldn’t understand, let alone express, by memory and fantasy. She said she had driven the girls in on the Mass Pike, that she and her mother were going to be helping out at home until Paul could get things settled. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek she offered, and they headed for the parking garage.
Thirty miles westbound out the Pike and they were at the house of a thousand dreams. Winter had held on longer than usual, the maples and oaks were just now filling out in the pale sun-dappled greens of spring. The house looked as it always had, white clapboard siding, black trim on the shutters and gutters, the front door blazing red. Almost an acre of trees, a muddy-rocky creek running across the back of the property. Heather MacDonald, Brooke’s mother, stood in front of her house as Brooke pulled the old Mercury Sable up the long gravel drive, and came up quickly to hug Paul as he got out of the car. She held on a long time, he could feel her crying softly, gently on his chest, feel the warmth of her tears as they bled through his shirt.
Heather MacDonald had been her mother’s closest friend for as long as Paul could remember, they had gone to the same high school, though they were not in the same graduating class. While Paul’s dad had not been that close to Rod MacDonald, from what he knew, the two families had on many occasions spent time together at the Cape, sailed on dad’s boat together, even spent Christmas eve’s together. And as such, here the dreams of a young man had been born. For Paul Carter, the intertwined images of his mother and Heather MacDonald, of Brooke and his journeyman’s eternal love for her smile and her sinfully blue eyes, all emotions seemed to collide in memories of homework and football and cookies and a million sounds and smells that were the echos of growing up in a happy house.
As Paul Carter held Heather MacDonald in his arms he felt buffeted by gales of conflict, he was overwhelmed by the sudden loss of his parents, by the rush of unbroken memories that were flooding in, and by the sudden love he felt for Heather MacDonald, for the un-thanked role she had played in his life as a child. His tears came in sudden release, he held on to Heather just as surely as if he was holding onto the memories of his mother and father.
As Paul’s grip on his feelings returned, he held onto Heather for a moment longer, rubbed her shoulders with affection, and pushed himself away to look at her face. She stood perhaps a head shorter than he and looked up at him with concern and a warmth born of holding him in her lap when he had been an very small boy. She cupped her hand on his cheek, made a comment about him being all grown up, and turning, she put her arm around him and walked with him toward his parent’s house.
As he walked into the house wave after wave of memories flooded in, persistent echoes of a young boy’s footsteps running down the hall and up the stairs crashed into his consciousness, perhaps chased by a sister, a mother’s concerned scolding following in close pursuit. He sat in a breakfast room chair, took in his sisters as they busied themselves in the kitchen, there taking comfort in the opium of habit.
Food. All he could remember about funerals and families and friends was food.
Comfort food. Cakes. Roasts. Cookies.
All the better to embalm the living, smother their grief in nice round pie-shaped comfort.
He smiled and walked down to his parent’s room. Their smells still hung in the air, his father’s Old Spice, his mother’s Chanel No 5, all drifted in the parallel dimensions of the living and the dead. He walked to their closet, here the smells were more intense, more personal. They were in the room with him, consoling him. He closed his eyes and could hear their voices, the tinkling of her jewelry
as she dressed up for a dinner party. He looked out the window of their bedroom, out onto the view they shared with one another for oh so many years. He wondered what they had thought about as they looked out on the simple pastoral elegance of New England, on their shared hopes and dreams.
He was suddenly consumed with the fear they must have felt in their final moments, as the earth rushed up at them. Were they content with what they had accomplished, whom they had brought into this world. Would their lives have passed before their eyes in grief or terror, or in a loving embrace, with respect for one another and the moment of their passing. Aware he would never know, he let the thought die, afraid of where it might take him.
He was aware of another presence in the room, and turned to see Heather MacDonald. She shut the door to his parent’s bedroom and walked over to him, walked into his arms. She looked up at him with open eyes, took his face in her hands and kissed him. Not the kiss of sympathy and condolence he expected, she kissed him with a sudden passion that caught him off guard. She took off his tie, his coat, and laid him down on his parent’s bed. She took off his shoes, then her own, and lay next to him, her chest to his back, and she held him, stroked his head gently through her soft fingers.
The connection he felt to his memories and his childhood was instantaneous and direct, and was just as suddenly overwhelming. He felt exhausted and confused. He felt the world spinning out of control. He felt her arms around his body, and he moved to hold her arms in his as he felt the world drop off into sleep.
Paul woke up an hour or so later, alone in his parent’s bed, the noonday sun streaming in. He was being assaulted with the smells of honey-baked ham and brownies, with maybe a whiff of mac & cheese thrown in for good measure. He got up and took a leak in the familiar but off-limits bathroom, looked at his parent’s toiletries spread out on the counter-top in mild disarray. ‘So, this is the way it’ll be…everywhere I go, everyone I see…will remind me of them.’ He ran his father’s old sterling silver brush through his hair, tried to sort through his thoughts as he contemplated whether or not to dare use the Listerene by the sink to kill off the dragon-breath his nap had brought on.
Just as suddenly he thought of Heather MacDonald. Of her kiss. He felt somewhat at odds with himself…what was going on with her? These thoughts walked with him down the stairs, down by the whispering memories on the walls and in the very air of the house. He made his way through the combat zone the kitchen had turned into until he found Brooke, and he motioned her outside.
He told her he was sorry for not asking how she was when he had first arrived at Logan, that he had noticed she seemed sad in a way he had not expected. She seemed nervous and hesitant, unsure of Paul in some unsteady way, presently she seemed to shift gears, and she became talkative. She told Paul that her father had been acting a little middle-aged-crazy for some time, and had suddenly – a few months ago – left his office one afternoon and flown to Cancun, and that his very young and very attractive secretary had gone with him. When he had returned from Mexico, he had announced to one and all that he was going to divorce his wife of 27 years, that he had found love again, connected to his youth again, had felt old and stale and decaying in his life with Heather.
Brooke MacDonald had been crushed, this was very evident to Paul. He knew a little of her recent past. Her life had been, it seemed, like a slow motion train wreck. She had wanted to follow in her parent’s footsteps. Desperately so, it turned out, as she had married her first ‘real love’ right out of college. A more noble man there was, to be sure, for Brooke’s husband of two years had walked out on her when he found that she was incapable of having children.
The news about Rod MacDonald was information overload to Paul, who expressed surprise at her father’s fall from grace. He did his best to console her, but her response to him was as it always had been – flat, uninterested. Not wanting to be reminded of those feelings for her, and the central dilemma they posed, he walked back into the house with her. He ate some lunch, and talked with his sisters for the rest of the afternoon. They were interrupted frequently by lawyers from the airline calling to see if there was anything they could do, he could hear their entreaties between the lines to settle out of court. Paul said to them he wasn’t in the frame of mind necessary to talk to or with them, and they of course understood and offered the most sincere condolences. And would call again in an hour.
There were no bodies to deal with, the impact had been so severe, the fire so devastating, that only DNA testing would be able to determine whose remains were whose. This thought totally disgusted Paul, who, despite his training, could not place his parents death – and the circumstances of the death – into the compartment that allowed the detachment necessary to perform his duties as a physician. One newscaster at the scene of the impact likened the remains he had seen pulled from the impact crater to fried Spam. That had made a quite an impression on Paul. He simply could never understand man’s capacity to inflict pain on their fellow man.
Paul and Melody and Edith had talked about what they knew of their parent’s wishes for final disposition, about where to find their father’s will, about what they might do with the house and all of the million little odds and ends that represented the collected memories of a family.
As this confusing day faded into evening, Paul walked upstairs to his room. He showered, changed clothes. He sat at his childhood table and chair, sat looking across at the MacDonald house. He watched as Heather and Brooke walked over from their house to his parent’s, felt a wave of confusion as he thought of Heather’s kiss. Was she just expressing her sorrow, had he misjudged her intent? He had never thought of Heather MacDonald as being anyone other than Brooke’s mother, but now that he had aged a little himself he looked at her as she walked across the infinite gulf that separated the two houses and he was surprised at what he saw.
Side-by-side in the evening glow, Brooke and Heather MacDonald looked more like sisters. The passage of time had been brutal for Brooke, while fair winds had played at Heather’s back. They both had her Scots red hair, pale skin, and the lightly freckled nose that had always captivated him. Heather had longer, more shapely legs, a more ample bosom, a daring cleavage, and dressed with care, preserving her rather elegant form with classic attire. Brook , Paul thought as he looked her, now looked more like a Generican mall rat in her jeans and Reeboks. He could see Brooke’s shoulders hunched from the burdens she carried, the sorrow she exuded howled along side her like a warning. Heather too had her concerns, Paul was sure, but she kept them at bey.
They all sat together for dinner amidst the glow of candlelight, talked of ancient memories at the Cape, of growing up with each other. Melody and Edith were fairly subdued, though Brooke tried to lighten the tone of the evening by talking about Christmas memories. Heather MacDonald seemed to hold the daughters in check, kept them from falling into their grief, by getting them to talk about their feelings. She watched her own daughter flail about without grace or compassion, concerned, Heather felt, about her own comfort and sense of propriety by dwelling on so many personal memories.
In the smooth amber glow of the room, Paul looked at Brooke and Heather, at past and future, and tried to judge the propriety of his own thoughts. He’d found it hard to concentrate during dinner, hard to balance the competing interests of the living and the dead.
As the candles burned down, Heather asked the girls to clean off the table. She sat with Paul in the study, the s
mall alcove off of the living room with it’s three walls of many-paned windows. She lit a small oil lamp and flipped off the overhead light, and they sat in the warm flickering glow. She sat in quiet composure, asked Paul how he was doing after this very convulsive day.
Paul wasn’t sure how to respond. He asked her about this morning, about her kiss, and she replied that it had looked as though he needed to rest, and she had wanted to ease his mind. He told her that it had done anything but put him at ease, that he had thought of little else this afternoon.
Heather MacDonald smiled. ‘No small feat, then, wouldn’t you say?’ she said.
Paul nodded at her parry. ‘Well then, dear lady, I shall defer to your wisdom in all matters,’ he said to her, with almost a smile on his face.
‘That might not be too wise, Paul,’ she countered, with an equally demur smile. They heard the activity diminish in the kitchen, and the girls came in. Edith and Melody sat on little Shaker stools in the glowing room, looking at Heather MacDonald as if she was a life preserver. Brooke excused herself, saying she wanted to get to bed early, Heather said she was going to sit up with Paul for a bit longer. Edith stayed a while longer, but soon grew tired. Melody, who had always doted on Paul, sat beside him, holding onto his hand for a while, but was soon yawning and looking watery-eyed. She, too, went upstairs and to bed, leaving Paul and Heather in the little glowing cocoon.
She asked Paul about medical school, about his coming internship, what he wanted to specialize in. They made small talk for a while, looking out the window into the gathering darkness. The oil lamp cast faceted reflections from the window panes, light which danced on the walls and the faces in the room. Presently, Heather MacDonald sat up and looked off into the back yard.
‘Look! A firefly!’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s awfully early in the summer for them to grace us with their light. C’mon! Let’s go!’ Heather walked to the back door and let herself out, Paul followed a few steps behind.. They walked out into the yard, down the gentle slope toward the creek. She asked him to stop and stand quietly. She walked on a few more yards and stopped.
She began to hum. It was an old Shaker tune from summer days, from harvest nights. She began to sing slowly in a gently melodious tone.
‘Firefly, firefly, won’t you come see me,
‘Share your gentle light with me…’
It was a simple tune ripe with beauty, the words almost an incantation…
‘Share your gentle light with me…’ A single firefly appeared in the enchanted air, wafting through pregnant flows of expectation. It hovered before Heather MacDonald’s face, dancing to the variations in her voice, in the spell she was weaving in the summer evening air. The firefly’s light winked on and faded out in chemical lust. Heather MacDonald raised her hands out to her side. Her singing became louder, but only barely so.
Soon another firefly appeared, then another, and another. As Heather MacDonald continued singing, dozens of fireflies appeared, coming out of the woods, falling from the heavens. Within a minute there were perhaps a hundred fireflies drifting on the currents of her voice in hypnotic grace. As Paul stood transfixed on the miracle before him he was amazed to see Heather’s face glowing in the light of the drifting cloud that surrounded her. She waved her hands slowly, creating currents in the air around her body, and the glowing mist wavered in the air, shifted in the ebb and flow of her movements. With a hand, she motioned for Paul to join her, and he tip-toed to her side. Her serenade continued in gentle symbiotic rhythm, the cloud shifted again and surrounded Paul.
He took her hand in his, and said as gently as he dared, ‘This is so lovely. You are so lovely.’ He felt her hand tighten in his, saw her face as it turned towards his. He gently kissed her forehead. He could sense her face move, her lips seeking his. Their lips met and danced in the rhythm of the night, the fireflies moved closer to the two to share in the moment, or perhaps to guide the flow of time.
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I didn’t think any more escapades could befall me and my neighbour from across the hall. I had gone 10 days now without locking myself out, or flooding my kitchen. I finish work early on a Friday and came home about one, had a refreshing cuppa and then jumped in the shower. I had got the weekend to myself and thought about what I might do as I worked the knobs. I was still not used to the controls, normally either getting scolded or freezing half to death. Eventually I managed to get a pleasant...
As I finish up admiring my new body I leave the bathroom with a new found feeling that this isn't such a bad thing after all. I'm sure there are going to be times and situations where they are uncomfortable for me. But like Cypris said yesterday it could be much worse, I just hope Hades doesn't decide to come after me like he has Cypris. I spend the rest of the week going to my classes, working on class work, hanging out with Jade and of course having numerous repeats of my first night...
The PlumberHey gang, this is Babs for a change. I’m not a writer like Sean, but he urged me to write about my experience this morning so please bear with me.Thursday our garbage disposal started leaking and Sean asked if I would find a plumber to repair it. I searched the internet and found one that had good reviews so I called. They couldn’t get anyone out that same day but said they would send someone first thing Friday morning. Let me say that my normal attire at home ranges from nothing, to...
Gabriel Roarke had been a Hunter for over a decade, ever since he recovered after his family was attacked by a Vampire. To be more precise after that creature had killed his parents and then turned his sisters forcing Roarke to kill them if he wanted to live. He had spent six months in a hospital recovering from physical injuries he’d received from surviving that night and cleaning up the mess so that he didn’t go to jail for murder. He didn’t tell the police or the doctors, nurses and...
Stoned Sharon By Solon Plorry The man shouted at the attacker! He had beaten me so bloody and laid one last hard kick at my head before he went away to join his girlfriend, his soft shoes making a welcome squishy noise as he faded out. I lay in the fetal position, almost afraid to breathe. I had been beaten to within an inch of my life, I think, and all I could do was moan. My chest felt caved in, and pain flooded my senses. I wanted to die! A calloused hand was on my...
Realtor WendyWendy knew what she was doing, she had a craving to meet up with young guys, especially young black guys with their rampant sex drive and as she had found more often than not were blessed with big black cocks. Wendy had known for a long time that her husband wouldn't be able to satisfy her sexual desires and cravings.Wendy had managed to find a style which suited her perfectly as the woman who craved sexual encounters with young men. Most days she would wear a tight fitting vest...
It had been a hard five years for me and my daughter, Julia. Becky had died quite unexpectedly.... we only discovered she had cancer six months before she was gone. Hardly enough time to even get her to any kind of treatment, much less have it do any good. I tried to shield Julia from what her mother was going through as much as I could - an eight-year-old little girl shouldn't have to know how badly life can suck. But Julia was a smart kid, and I'm not sure even today how successful I was at...
OccupationsChapter One. Carol was not your typical Iowa high school girl. She was raised by what could only be called a dysfunctional family. Her parents paid very little time concerned with her happiness or comfort. Her father was a long-haul trucker who enjoyed the job because it kept him away from his obese wife who rarely left the house except to go the grocery or liquor store. So it was only natural that Carol would be attracted to any source of attention. She lived in rural Iowa...
Dusk had come by the time we landed in Erie. I landed on runway six and back-taxied to the general aviation terminal building. Erie airport was smaller than I expected. I taxied to North Coast Air, the dominant FBO at the airport, and was guided to a parking spot by a lineman that ran out from one of the buildings and directed me. We opened the doors, and I explained that I needed a refueling, a meal, and had to pick up a passenger. He told us there was one woman inside waiting for someone....
Dear ISS Readers, Mera name Garima hai. Mai 24 sal ki hun aur 2 sal pahle meri shadi hui hai. Hum log Indore me rehte hai and mere mummy-papa bhi Indore me hi rehte hai. Mere Sasural me mera husband Rakesh jo 26 ka hai, Devar Raju 23 ka hai and Sasur 50 ke and Sasuji 48 ki hai . Meri aek Nanand Vaishali 28 ki hai and 5 sal pahle unki shadi ho chuki hai wo Gwalior me rehti hai. Mere sasur ka transport ka bada business hai and dono bete bhi is me hi lage huve hai. Mere sasur mere papa ka purana...
The year is 2701, the beginning of the 28th century, the United Federation of Planets has never been more powerful, with old foes such as the Klingons and the Romulans having joined the Federation, and even the once universally feared Borg on the defensive. Trans-Warp technology has allowed for the creation of Star-Gates and other Transwarp technology which has allowed the Federation to travel through the entire Galaxy, and beyond, unimpaired. New leaps in science has even made immortality...
Submitted to literotica.com by the author. * Zoa let herself fall to her bunk. ‘I’m exhausted,’ she complained. ‘How did it go with the ropers?’ asked her room-mate and friend, who was now officially her temporarily assigned servant. Zoa turned her eyes to him, he was one of the veterans from the Altwar massacre. That’s what it had come to be called, the fight where the monster had slaughtered couriers. ‘They wasted hours pretending to be too stupid to carry out the exercises I told them...
She likes wearing saris and salwar suits, but on two conditions, as I have observed. Saris should be of silk or satin, and with a blouse that is always daring. Salwar suits must always have a tight-fitting kurta and a neckline that shows off a lot of her ample cleavage. This is the story of a holiday trip we had gone on. We arrived at Jaipur and checked into the five-star hotel that we had booked into. Asha was really in the mood, being away from the normal routine. We had barely checked...
“Satisfy people’s desire for the ridiculous and they will accept your idea of the sublime.” —Maurice Willson Disher, Clowns & Pantomimes 8 JULY 2020 We’ll be leaving shortly. The ‘time off’ has been limited. I’ve rehearsed the serious stuff with Cindy each day but not with the intrusion of our teachers. That’s something I’ve learned about musicians. We are expected to know our parts and be able to put them together with other musicians on demand. That’s a bit I might have...
In the morning, I chased down Francine. She was doing tea and toast. That had to suck, given her three pot a day coffee habit. Still, Francine was looking upbeat. I assumed the news on her movie was good, so I did not ask. I said, "You look better. The news on the movie must be good." She said, "It is, but the real news is that Sheila is feeling better. I don't know why, but I catch her morning sickness. You did not find me to inquire about my health or the movie. What's up?" I said,...
I had a bit of vacation time that the rest of the family couldn't join me, and our old friends from our hometown, Lori and George, invited me to come out and stay with them. They're a little bit younger than us and have no children. They're both tall, slim and good-looking. George is taller than I am; he's blonde, good looking and fit. Lori has the face of a model, is about 5'6", with short dark hair and small breasts that seem to be as firm as when I first met her over 20 years ago. I...
Tom rarely had any sexual thoughts about Jenna but now realized she had blossomed into a very attractive 17 year old teenager with a ripe body that is a visual feast. He marveled at how big her breasts looked and wondered what was the real size, since it seems more prominent on her five feet four inches slender frame. In another picture he noticed her small waist gives way to curvy hips that supported the magnificent bouncy ass cheeks. His eyes meandered on her fleshy thighs traveling up to...
I had met Peter at a local motor bike repair shop where a mate of mine owned the workshop and I was doing some computer improvements to get his computer running faster.He mentioned that he was having problems with his own computer that he had at home and used by him and his partner. I said I could come around and take a look and see if it was something that I could fix fairly easily. I said I would come just after I had finished here.I arrived and Peter and his partner Helen were there and was...
[Please read the original 'After Hours' first. The original story was inspired by a story I read with a more traditional power dynamic between a male boss and a female employee. After posting it, it occurred to me that some readers might enjoy a slightly different ending. - S.S.] The office clock ticks round to five o'clock, Friday afternoon again. The last of my colleagues heads towards the door, stopping for a quick comment before leaving. "Working late again? Just you and the...
Aboard the WSS Nebraska, Mars orbit September 5, 2146 Rear Admiral Mitchell Spears was the commander of all of the task force's F-22 space fighters. Each of the California Class superdreadnoughts housed a wing of ninety-six of these saucer-shaped craft for a total of 192 of them — or at least that was what they'd left Earth with, they were currently down to 147. Like most of the command rank officers involved in the conflict, Spears was somewhat upset and disillusioned by the losses and...
Author’s note: This has truly been a labour of love. It’s an adaptation of something I wrote for a different audience, long before I first posted anything on Lit. If you recognise it, you were in the same class as me! My thanks as ever to my partner and editor for her help, and to another friend for her help with the original version. And my thanks to my faithful readers for sticking with me through the vicissitudes of my writing explorations. I don’t seek to be popular, though it’s always...
A (((((Re-written))))) I thought that a brief break from writing my 20 Years of Infidelity series of stories would do me good. I've had an occasion lately to remember a man I spent time with who had a rather strange... Kink? An unusual request? A taste for something different? Describe it as you will after I relate my experience... I'm not going to give a history. I don't want in any way to ruin the ending to my above mentioned series of posts. Suffice it to say that at the time of this story I...
Answering the door late one evening, I found little fifteen year old Roxy Harris from next door standing their. She was looking lovely as usual. I thought she was looking unusually sexy in her school uniform, but then I had just been in the midle of watching a new porn video... "Hello Mr Nash" She said shyly, as she handed me a note, a little damp from being clutched in her little hot hands. The note was from her mother, and was asking whether I could look after her daughter for two or three...
It didn't happen the next night, as Dakota suggested, but Trent had to wait a week for his study date with his longtime crush. She'd pleaded a busy schedule and Trent sounded very understanding when she put him off, but inside he was dying. He couldn't wait to get Dakota alone so he could get her under the influence of the drug. He'd been beating off every night, and sometimes in the shower in the morning, just thinking about it. Trent was feeling so damned horny he couldn't think...
Opposites attract on Team LEE! Big-booty Assh and tight Asian Morgan make quite the pair of ball-handlers. After getting sweaty on the court, they’re not afraid to keep things hot with Manuel. A dream-team cum true when these filthy sluts tag-team one massive cock. Not only do these girls keep fit by fucking, but they know that in order to win, they have to go to the next level with their practice and that means opening up more than just their pretty mouths and tight pussies – both...
xmoviesforyouAs I have written in my previous episode, I am a 48 year old guy with just the one fantasy. I was lucky enough to have that fulfilled and made a reality one evening during a skype conversation with my wife who was living in Florida.The guy in question was my soon to boss, also married, and both of us enjoyed the taking of my virginity under the watchful eye of my beautiful wife, 3000 miles away accross the pond, who managed to bring herself to a series of mind blowing orgasms while Clive and I...
Bisexual“You got me drunk!” I heard from behind me. We were already in the bedroom and Liz’s voice sounded so serious I turned to defend myself. “You did!” she said, smiling at me. “You got me drunk and brought me to your bedroom and now you wanna fuck me. That was your plan all along.” “You caught me,” I said as I loosened my tie. Liz waited until my eyes looked downward before pushing me backward. The bed caught me at the knees and I tumbled. Liz giggled as she lifted the hem of her short dress...
The Radio Contest Author's Note: Many years ago this was an actual contest held by a radio station. I did not attend, but this is maybe how someone did get there. I was tired and sore. My back ached, my neck ached, my eyes ached. After sitting at the desk all day I was looking forward to getting home, eating some dinner and relaxing for a couple hours. I pulled into the driveway and extracted myself from the car with a groan. A forty-five minute drive in traffic is always so much...
Present – Jens, Ben and the others – Bad News Unfortunately our room wasn’t finished yet (Rats! I wanted to try out the mirrors on the ceiling) so we went back to the meeting room. The meeting was over but the main phone rings, Gretchen answers it and announces, “Jennifer it’s Samantha for you.” I figure it must be something about the report she did so I walk over to the phone and ask, “What’s going on Samantha?” Samantha shocks me when she instead says, “Jennifer, you’re not going to...
I've occasionally read pornography. I'm a healthy red-blooded American woman and I have internet access. Sometimes I'll wander on to the occasional porn site and read the stories. (I much prefer the stories to the pictures.) I have a fantasy life, and sometimes I use the stories to fuel that life. One of the common threads in pornographic writing seems to be the never-ending lust of the female protagonists. 'The ten guys that have been giving me this gangbang are pretty tired. I'll just...