Public Masturbation 007

I masturbate in public. Well, I don’t flash chicks or pull out my dick on the subway or anything…nope…I am a low key public wanker and I had to create a stealth system of custom made clothing so I could jack-off in public.

I have public jack-off pants. Yup, sweat pants with the pockets cut out, and a hole right between the legs.

You see, if I squat down, my cock fits right through the hole. I can lay my hand on my leg and stroke the sweet spot, and it is virtually impossible for anyone to see it. I discovered, once my dick is through the hole, all I need to do is stand up and it tucks itself right back inside. Put on my jack-off pants, record some porn on the cell phone, put in an ear bud, and I can pull off some pretty amazing whack-off feats.

Let me tell you about thirteen of my favorite moments that seemed to go together like the best day of my life.

I dropped my first public masturbation cum shot on the floor of Wal-Mart. I kept myself close to an orgasm for about two hours, suited up, and headed out. It’s quite thrilling to be walking through the store, watching people, hearing a girl screaming for cocks in all her holes softly in my ear. I had scouted out my spot a week earlier. So I wandered to the air guns, and laid a bb gun in a box on my lap, upside down and acted like I was reading it. What I was really doing was twiddling my dick’s sweet spot as it was hanging out the hole in my pants underneath the box. It was an amazing rush to feel the surge in my balls, and know I could blow some cum. Then as I made the decision to do it, time stood still. I could hear a woman laughing a few rows over, I saw a cart flash by the end of the aisle, I felt my cock bobbing up and down with each spurt that shot up the shaft and out onto the floor. It was an extremely intense orgasm that left a pile of goo right there on the floor. I couldn’t believe I had done it. I reached down and stirred the puddle with my finger and then tasted it to be sure. I stood up rubbed the cum around with my feet, and headed out, wondering if the night shift waxing the floors would wonder what happened.

I was addicted. I decided to try it at some restaurants, and realized picking the right seat would be crucial. I dropped my second public masturbation cum shot at a McDonalds. When sitting down, a little shuffling of the jack-off pants allows my dick to pop out the hole and flop down on the chair or booth. There is a little nook that I placed myself facing out, having tested it and knowing that anyone walking by would not be able to see my cock. The sounds of raw fucking in my ear, and a warm hotcake wrapped around my dick, and it wasn’t long before I felt the cum bubbling up. I leaned forward so I could shoot it right onto the floor. As I hit the point of no return a worked appeared a few feet in front of me to empty the trash can, and as they bent over to do their work they glanced in my direction. The spurts were already cumming, so I turned a little to the right and shut my legs a bit as the last few blasts splattered on the floor. I dropped a napkin on the floor, sipped my coffee, and wondered if they had seen the cum dribbles. I vowed to be careful in the future.

My third public masturbation cum shot was at a Starbucks. I was in a corner up against a wall, looking out at traffic. I pulled a chair in a cross the table so if someone in a passing car was looking they wouldn’t see. There was a dozen or so people in the restaurant, but no one could see what was happening. I was splayed out nicely, with my cock dangling off the edge of the chair. As I made the decision to let it rip, I noticed a police car daring by, and could hear the conversation of a young couple talking about their upcoming trip. I felt the familiar bobbing as I watched the world go by in front on me. As the last few dribbles shook lose from the head of my cock, I simply sat back and relaxed, enjoying the knowledge that I had once again blasted some cum on someone else’s floor. I left the cum on the floor for awhile before rubbing it in with my foot.

I dropped my forth public masturbation cum shot on the floor of Publix’s grocery, in the book aisle. I had to be careful as there was a security camera at the end of the aisle. I decided it was a safe place because I be blocking any view of what was happening and I’d use the same trick from Wal-Mart and have a book in my lap for extra cover. It took a little while to build up to the point where I was ready, which was okay as I was flipping through books. An old lady had entered the row and was looking at cards about 20 feet away. It was time to make the choice whether to cross over to the point of no return, or let it subside and try again another day. I wanted to feel the orgasmic rush and so I let go. It was one of those that kind of took over my whole body, and my legs were shaking and twitching, the book on my lap was flopping around, the old woman was deep into a card, and I was dropping a sizable pool of cum on the floor of Publix. As my orgasm slowed to it’s finish and I was able to get hold of myself, I realized I couldn’t just dash away and leave the old lady to slip in my goo. So I looked at a few more books there and really smeared the cum around with my feet until it was spread thinly enough to dry quickly. I wondered if anyone watching the security camera would understand what just happened.

I dropped my fifth public masturbation cum shot on the floor of Buffalo Wild Wings. I was facing the counter but had a half-wall in front on me. I could see everything that was happening at the counter but they could see nothing of what was happening with me below the mid-section. There were no other tables occupied near me. I decided to open it up a bit, since if was relatively safe. So I scooted my chair back away from the table so as to remove the cover a bit more. Then it was a full fist stroke this time, unlike the others that were more single finger on the sweet spot. I looked straight ahead at the girls at the counter as I shot ropes of thick cum out onto the carpet of Buffalo Wild Wings. I then finished my meal, and decided that cleaning my mess on carpet was much easier.

I dropped my sixth public masturbation cum shot in my pants. However, there was a woman standing only feet from me, and I just missed eye contact with a young hottie at the point of no return. I had been wanted to shoot a wad of jizz while placing my order at a restaurant or something like that. I wanted to experience an orgasm while close to a stranger. I had to make a bank deposit, and so went to the bank. Upon approaching the teller and making the deposit, I had my hand in the “pocket” of my jack-off pants. Luckily she took a bit longer than usual to finalize the transaction. I needed that time to make up my mind if I was going over the threshold or not. I caught the eyes of a beautiful young teller in the back, and decided to go over the edge. She turned back to her work as the first spurt of cum was rising. I could feel the cum running down my leg all the way to my ankle. The teller told me it’d be just a few seconds longer. The man next to me was talking. I felt the gooey wetness all down my thigh as the last spurts subsided as my transaction finished. I turned and walked out the door, wondering if anyone could notice the wet spots forming and wondering if that girl had any clue what was about to happen when she looked me in the eye.

My seventh public masturbation cum shot took forever to happen, as I wanted to try the “in the pants” version again, and it took a long time to cum to fruition. I finally blasted some in my pants while leaning up against the counter waiting for my food at Burger King. It took to much effort and wasn’t an incredible experience, and so I decided to return to dropping loads on floors.

I dropped my eight public masturbation cum shot on the floor of Arby’s. I had tried here several times before, but it just never felt right. I was committed to defiling the place with my cum. I was in a booth facing the counter, and no one in the restaurant could see me below the table. I was against the back of the booth, so when I blew, the cum would run over the seat edge and drip onto the floor. The lady was taking an order at the cash register when I decided to cross over. I felt the lurching of my shaft as the jizzum spilled out onto the booth. I could hear the music overhead, and the lady up front say “have a nice day”. I looked down and saw the last of the stream of cum drip over the side and onto the carpet of Arby’s. I had conquered another, and now it was time to double dip.

My ninth public masturbation cum shot once again landed on the floor of Wal-Mart. I had already scouted out my spot, and missed on two occasions due to people in the aisle. This time, a nice-looking young worker was at the end doing inventory. Her large cart blocked her view of my spot in the bike row. I squatted and popped my dick through the hole. I acted like I was looking for a bike inner tube. I few little diddles and I was ready. I looked around and decided to blow my load. Squirt after squirt shot out and landed on the floor. I could here each one as it hit the floor. I could see the girl on the other side of her cart working as I reeled in my ecstasy. I gave the perfunctory shakes of the cock to get the last few dribbles out, and I’m sure a big smile crossed my face as I stood up. I smeared ti around a bit so it would dry quicker, and walked down the aisle past the worker. A couple turned the corner at the same time heading down the aisle I was leaving. I wondered if they would notice the slippery spot down by the inner tubes.

For the 10th public masturbation cum shot I had stiff cock for over 2 hours, on the verge of orgasm for most of it, before I headed out to shoot a wad of jizz in public. After a few places that didn’t feel right, I finally ended up in McDonalds late in the afternoon. There were only a few customers. I’ve always wondered how it looks as my cock flexes as it spurts cum that drips off the edge of the booth on onto the floor. It felt right, and so I decided to try to capture it on film. Once I decided to go for it, I didn’t even need to touch my dick, it was ready to blow. I had the camera rolling on the chair across from me, as I felt the surge of jizz. As my last spurts were hitting he floor someone walked around the corner so I just closed up. Fantastic!

My 11th public masturbation cum shot ran down the booth and pooled on the floor of a Burger King. I was determined to get another one on video, and so I discovered that the fast food places are really slow late afternoon. After several tries, the place was pretty empty. There was a young couple 2 booths right in front of me, and workers behind the counter. I made the decision to shoot my load, and as my dick pulsed, i could feel my face go flush, and quite enjoyed the realization I was capturing on film, me blowing a load in a public place.

I christened a new place for my 12th public masturbation cum shot , Dairy Queen. I found a spot in the back facing the counter, there were only a few other people at seats in a nearby section. I felt comfortable enough to pull my balls through the hole, and it was quite wonderful feeling them on the chair. When i made the decision to blow, there was a worker emptying trash just on the other side of the wall, maybe 5 feet away. I got a bit of jack-off in first, and then let it rip. What a gooey mess! About 60 seconds after I shut the camera off the worker walked around the corner and I wondered if she could smell the cum that was pooled up on the floor.

I had discovered a new thrill with filming my orgasms, and so for my 13th public masturbation cum shot I returned to Arby’s. It was late afternoon, the restaurant was mostly empty, and so I pulled my cock out and enjoyed slapping it against the chair. It’s an act of defilement, like a girl who lets lots of guys fuck her, there is a pleasure in doing things against the social norm. I have grown to enjoy the knowledge that my cum has sullied a public establishment, and to watch it on film is a nasty display that turns me on. So, I felt my balls tighten up, heard the music playing, and let it cum. It pooled on the chair and dripped in long strings to the floor. I wondered if mine is the only cum to ever land on this floor.

Mary Enjoys Cyber Sex

Mary Nasi was a high-powered executive in a top marketing firm. She was in the top of her game until Michael Brown joined the company and basically stole her job. He got accepted into the boy’s club and several months later Mary was out the door.

They gave her a nice severance package and was sent on her way. Now Mary, had always had a nanny who cared for her house and the children. But, when she lost her job, her husband said she needed to lose the nanny. They weren’t hurting for money, but if Mary was going to be home now, she could certainly clean the house and care for the children.

At first, Mary really enjoyed doing all of her mundane chores. Their house was clean and organized and looked better than when the Nanny was there. She brushed up on her cooking skills and was delivering delicious gourmet meals. Her husband was delighted that his wife was settling into being a housewife.

This was how it went for about six months. Eventually, Mary grew bored of being the happy little housewife. Her kids were in school and went to afterschool activities and weren’t home until about four o’clock. Mary had a lot of time on her hands. She was tired of watching televison but needed something to fill up the time.

She started out with social media. She played games and joined forums. It was kind of interesting but became boring really fast. Mary was looking for something else to do. She didn’t want to leave her house. The internet was a big place with all kinds of interesting websites to visit. She would just have to find something that was more interesting to do.

Her husband was a bit of a control freak. He expected things his way. He wanted the house clean, his children put to bed, a nice meal with some wine and his wife in a sexy negligee ready to give him head and some nookie. He figured since she was home all day it was the least she could do for him.

Again, this was fun for a while, but Mary needed more excitement in her life. She started fiddling with the internet again and accidentally hit a wrong word and was directed to a porn site. The site seemed different than your usual porn site. It wasn’t a place with videos. It seemed interesting and worth taking a further look.

The website appeared to have chatting and it reminded her of another popular social media site. Mary found it interesting and made an account. If you were going to chat, you needed to be a member. Mary thought this was the perfect place for her. It was a place for men and women to have conversations with each other. It appeared to be harmless fun. She didn’t even need to leave her house and could meet interesting people. Mary knew this was going to be her new indulgence.

She was excited to make friends and have adult conversation. She hadn’t had any adult conversation since she left her job. She was eager to join the site. She couldn’t wait to get started. She would definitely keep this from her husband. She didn’t think he’d be happy with her having sexual conversations with people.

She created an account, so she’d be able to chat. She’d call herself “Sexy_Mary.” She was a bit nervous and very excited to get started. She’d cybered with boyfriends back in college and thought it would be something dirty and fun that she could do to pass time.

After her account was made, she entered a chat room. It was crowded and a bit confusing. She tried to see what people did while they were in the room. Most of the people were just having idle chit chat. It kind of felt like going to Starbucks. People were just shooting the breeze. Mary wasn’t sure what to do but did see that people were having cyber sex out in the open. Some were disgusted by it and told them to go into a private room. Mary wanted to find somebody to have a conversation with. She didn’t want to share any private information. She wanted to role-play with somebody.

“Sexy_Mary, that’s a really cool name. I bet you’re hot as hell.”

“Jim22, I’m blonde and blue-eyed.”

“You sound very sexy. Do you have nice tits?”

“I do. Do you have a big cock?”

“I do. Want to chat privately? I can make you cream your panties.”

“Sure. What do I need to do?”

“Just hit the private button and we can chat.”

“Okay.”

Mary did as Jim said to do and was routed to a different place. She was very excited to chat with him. Jim entered the room and immediately started to flirt with her.

“Hey gorgeous! I’m sitting here with a hard-on for you. Tell me what you really look like. I bet you have a wet pussy. I’m stroking hard for you baby.”

“I’m 5’7″ and have blond long hair. My breasts are double D.”

“Fuck! You sound gorgeous. Why don’t you take your clothes off and masturbate with me! I want you to tell me about your pussy. Do you have a hairy bush or are you nicely smooth?”

“I’m already naked and my fingers are rubbing my bare pussy. Does that make you hot?”

“Yes! Fuck baby that sounds sexy. I bet your shaved pussy is so fucking cute. Rub your clit baby. Make that bald pussy cream for me. Daddy has a big cock that he’s rubbing fast for his sexy slut!”

“I’m sliding my fingers into my wet pussy. My pussy is so juicy while I fuck myself with my index finger. My pussy is making all kinds of wet slushy noises while I fuck myself up to my knuckle.”

“Fuck! You’re so sexy Mary. Tell me how wet your pussy is? Make sure to fuck yourself hard with your fingers. Are you coming for me?”

“Would it be okay if I play with my vibrator instead? I really like to fuck myself hard. I have a nice vibrator that makes me come fast.”

“Yes! Fuck your pussy hard and fast. I want to come for you. My cock is seven inches long and my come is about to blow. Fuck that cunt harder and faster for me. Shit! I’m thinking of those big tits and your blonde hair. Could you take a picture of yourself and send it? I want to come while looking at your photo!”

Mary had a picture of herself fucking her pussy that she had previously taken. She didn’t show her face but did show her pussy sliding in and out of her pussy. Her breasts and shaved pussy were in the picture. It was a very sexy shot of herself. She knew that her friend Jim would find it sexy.

“Fuck! You’re hot! I’m coming! Thanks baby! That was so hot! I hope you came too. Add me as a friend and we could chat again. I got to go!”

Mary never took off her clothes. She wanted to elude to the fact that she did. She thought it would be fun to get Jim off, but she wanted to find somebody who she could have detailed cyber fun with. She had no intention of pleasuring herself while she chatted but would pleasure herself after the fact.

Jim signed off and Mary went back into the other room. She wanted to find somebody else to talk with. Mary was interested in detailed chatting. Several people said hello to her. They all seemed like they just wanted to jack off to her sexy words. She didn’t want to be somebody’s word whore for a cheap thrill.

“Sexy_Mary is a hot name! I bet you’re very sexy. My name is Robert and I’m thirty-two.”

“Nice to meet you Robert. I’m Mary and I’m thirty-five.”

“I see you’re new. You’ll really like it here.”

“It seems really cool. Do you want to do a role-play?”

“Sure. Would you like to go private?”

“Yes.”

“Great. You initiate the chat and I’ll meet you there.”

Mary hit the private button and waited for Robert to enter the private chatroom. She was hoping they could do a more involved roleplay. Just having him jack off wasn’t going to do it for her. She wanted to create a sexy scene.

“Mary, are you here?”

“Yes. Would you be interested in doing a detailed role-play?”

“Sure. That would be great. Most women just like for me to say sexy things while they masturbate. I’d be up for something more tantalizing.”

“Do you have a subject in mind?”

“Anything would be hot. Why don’t you surprise me! I’ll follow along.”

“Great. I’ll start then. Imagine that I’m a lady cop and I’m sitting in my squad car while you’re in your White SUV. You speed down the road where I’m sitting in my idling squad car. I put my cherry siren on and chase you down the country road. You pull over on the deserted road and wait for me to come to your window. You take out your license and registration and wait for me to address you.”

“Good afternoon Officer.”

“Do you know that you were forty miles over the speed limit?”

“I’m sorry officer. I didn’t think I was going that fast.”

“I’ll need your license and registration.”

“Here you go.”

The officer takes his license and registration and goes back to her squad car. She’s quite taken with how attractive he is. She has no plans on giving him a ticket but plans on having sex with him. She walks back over to his SUV and hands him back his information.

“I’ll give you a break if you want to do something nice for me.”

“What would you like officer?”

“I’d like to fuck you. I really had a bad day and you’re such a scrumptious morsel.”

“That’s really hot officer. Why don’t you take off your clothes and I’ll lick your pussy!”

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

The hot guy gets out of his vehicle and helps the officer off with her clothes. He opens the passenger side door and the officer climbs in. The officer spreads her legs and the hot man positions his head between the officer’s thighs. He kisses and licks her pussy.

The officer moans and groans and plays with her breasts. Her pussy is so wet while the hot man pleasures her. The officer is moaning in delight while he pleasures her with his tongue. He’s making slurping noises while he munches on her hot box.

“Fuck me with your tongue!”

“You got it honey.”

The hot man tongue fucks the officer until she creams on his tongue. Her pussy cream is thick and creamy and the officer is enjoying the hot man’s actions. She screams out to him.

“Fuck me now!”

The hot man stops orally pleasing her. He gets out of his vehicle and takes off his clothes. He sits down on the chair and the officer climbs onto his lap and positions her pussy in line with his cock. She eases down on his cock while rocking and moving over his dick. Her big breasts shake while she makes love to the hot man.

“Fucking hell! Mary that was so hot. I must go now! My boss needs to talk to me. I’d love to be your friend. Add me and we can chat again. Bye darling!”

“Bye.”

Mary was disappointed that her friend had to go. She turned off her computer and went upstairs to her bedroom. She took out a towel from her linen closet and put it onto her bedspread. She took off her clothes and opened the side drawer on her nightstand. She took out her favorite vibrator and opened her long legs.

She slipped the toy into her wet pussy. She found that all the sexy chatting made her pussy nice and moist. She thought of her sexy roleplay and fucked herself deep and hard with her vibrator. The vibrations felt amazing on her pussy. She rubbed her clitoris and jammed the vibrator in and out of her bald cunt.

“Oh God! Fucking hell!”

Mary thought about her sexy chatting and wondered if the two men had jerked their cocks off by her sexy words. She was really turned on while she fucked herself hard. She moaned while she orgasmed.

She cleaned up her pussy and washed off her vibrator. She got dressed and put her vibrator away. Her children would be home soon. Mary had a new indulgence that she’d do every day. She was excited and was looking forward to when her husband got home. He’d probably enjoy how horny she was.

 

In the Year Twenty Six Thirty Four

In view of the essentially unlimited technological power that existed in 2634 and beyond, I, Arcturus00347 am transmitting this story back in time to those of you in the early twenty first century, who we call E21s, using a language – English – that was common back then but that no longer exists.

First, my name; I am the 47th Arcturus born in District 3. In referencing others in my story I will only use their full name once and then – just like is done in 2634 in social situations – will refer to them only by their name without numerical modifiers.

In 2634 I was a historian at what you E21s would consider akin to a University, and one of few people skilled in both spoken and written English since it was deader to us in 2634 than Sanskrit is to you. Long ago Earth scientists developed institutional learning techniques so that people are born with the equivalent of what you E21s would consider an advanced college degree (including with our common language known as “Universal”) so what you knew of as Universities are very different. There are organizations still existing, which are no longer called Universities, where individuals specializing in certain areas of knowledge congregate, sometimes for amusement which is what much factual learning in our society is, or sometimes for advancement of some technical field or art.

While most of the changes that have occurred on Earth since the entire planet unified under one Technological Establishment – not really a government as you understand it – are probably not of interest to those of you E21s that are reading literotica, basic male-female relationships probably are of keen interest to you.

It was determined at the time of planet unification that what is called “marriage” by you E21s, in modified form but requiring monogamy, was a perfect social institution to insure proper procreation of the species and contentment, if not happiness. Proper procreation and child development are very important since colonization of other planets is what the prime objective was in 2634. Most children are conceived and raised to ultimately travel to and be part of the colonization of other worlds which is accomplished fairly simply with technology that in your E21s sci-fi jargon is roughly equivalent to “warp drive.”

While “marriage,” as I will call it for simplicity, still exists the concepts of romantic love and sexual lust are considered cute anachronisms. Male and female partners are matched together by computer algorithms that have been so refined over the years that they are virtually foolproof at establishing long-term relationships suitable for procreation and child development; and what are equivalent to your pharmaceuticals (although they are no longer ingested) exist to insure contentment even if initial marriage matches are not perfect. The equivalent of “divorce” is now as rare as Polyorchidism was in your day.

While homosexual marriages still exist they are also now rare in view of the societal emphasis on procreation and the controversial genetic engineering that took place at the time of planet unification which reduced genetic homosexuality to one in a million births.

As I earlier hinted at, my interest in history, and my “profession” as a historian, are much closer to what you E21s would consider the entertainment field rather than social science. I am closer to what an actor, singer, or magician would be to you E21s than I would be to an author of a college history textbook for E21s, and my name is one that most people on Earth would recognize.

As part of my interest in history, and my “profession” as a historian, I was more familiar than almost anyone else in 2634 with what you E21s knew as romantic love and sexual lust, which concepts were determined in ground breaking experiments at the end of the 21st century by MGNBI (magnetic gravitational nuclear-bond imaging) machines to be very closed linked. The term coined at that time was “romantic lust,” to me personally one of the most interesting terms in human history.

Marriage for almost all heterosexual earthlings over the age of 40 earth years (our lifespan is now roughly 250 earth years, and our fertile age from about 30-230 earth years) is mandatory without special dispensation from the Technological Establishment, with a commensurate responsibility to have at least three children during their fertile years. While procreation is still accomplished by penile penetration of a vagina and ejaculation of sperm into the cervix and then passage to the uterus and Fallopian tubes, the procreation act itself is no longer that which caused you E21s to author songs, stories, movies, or websites about. In fact a word or even thought comparable to the word “fuck” used so commonly and flagrantly by you E21s no longer exists in our Universal language. Intercourse is basically a sterile act, and certainly not a “fuck,” and there is no “mystique” associated with it. While most couples have a monthly “maintenance” session where impregnation is not the objective, some only have intercourse for the specific purpose of procreation.

That is not to say that people no longer discriminate as to whom they consider friends or want to associate with. There probably are still some deep-seated animal attractions that contribute to preferred social interactions between and among people, but the concept of “flirting” is also a cute anachronism.

Married couples do most activities together. The most notable exceptions are what are referred to as “lotto experiences.” Every time division (roughly equivalent to a month for E21s, so for simplicity I will call it a “month” hereafter) in each of the 350 districts on Earth a series of lotteries are conducted, with different prizes available for different lotteries. Sometimes multiple winners are specified for each prize, sometimes single winners; and sometimes the lottery prizes are different in different districts. Once having won a lottery a person cannot win another for ten earth years.

My wife Acamar00918 and I have a wide variety of friends and social acquaintances. This is at least in part due to the fact that I am in high demand as an entertainer at social gatherings because many people love to learn about outdated social mores, traditions, and civilizations, and because she has a heightened ability to provide an atmosphere conducive to conviviality.

This story revolves around Vega10233, a female who is married to Titus003693, a typical computer-matched heterosexual couple except of higher status than most. Titus is actually a “Grade 1 Manager” in the Technological Establishment of the district (District 003) that I live in. A Grade 1 Manager is very roughly equivalent to a combination of a governor of a state in the United States, a state senator, and a corporation CEO, to put it in terms E21s can relate to. Vega is a Grade 2 Manager in the same district.

Vega and I have a very strange relationship. We always seem to have heightened awareness of where the other is during a social gathering, and we have intellectual discussions often related to history, but the discussions are typically awkward because neither of us is particularly warm when interacting with the other. This is despite the fact that both my wife and I have warm interactions with Titus, and my wife Acamar has warm interactions with Vega.

Speaking for me my discomfort around Vega is due to a flushed feeling that permeates my extremities, my palms become moist, and my breathing becomes irregular, when I closely interact with her. I have consulted with renowned medical technicians (high level doctors to you E21s) who have given various unsatisfactory explanations.

Notwithstanding the inelegance of my interactions with Vega I probably have had more discussions with her about the romantic lust anachronism than with any other person, and she has virtually memorized the compilation (roughly equivalent to a digital book but delivered by ambient learning waves rather than the eye-to-brain connections associated with reading) on romantic lust that I authored and which is generally considered the most authoritative compilation on the subject throughout Earth, and particularly in District 003. In fact, Vega is the only person who I have come across willing to challenge some of my interpretations of factual or anecdotal historical information about romantic lust and has actually debated me on the subject in public forums.

In 2634 physical appearance also was not nearly as important as it was for E21s, although it played a very small part in computer matching. For example it was not appropriate to match someone seven feet (2.13 meters) tall with someone four feet eleven inches (1.5 meters) tall. However since physical appearance is important to you E21s I will briefly describe Vega and myself, Arcturus, in relationship to individuals well known to English speaking E21s.

In looks Vega most closely resembles a thirty year old Kate Middleton (first Duchess of Cambridge then later Queen consort, then later Queen consort mother). In looks I most closely resemble a thirty year old George Clooney. I am, based upon your E21s measuring systems, six inches (.15 meters) taller than Vega and we both have what E21s would consider athletic builds.

I, like almost the entire Earth population, always sign up for a lottery every month, but am normally indiscriminate as to what lottery I sign up for since my chances of winning are slim and there are few prizes that I covet – to the extent that any Earthling covets anything in 2634. However in the fourth month of 2634 a prize caught my eye. It was a near light speed nostalgia trip to a resort with a 21st century theme for the winner and anyone that he or she chose to travel with him or her, assuming that when interviewed the chosen person would agree to go. As a near light speed trip no significant amount of Earth time would pass during the trip; it would be perceived to last two weeks by the people on the trip, but only about four hours would pass on Earth.

Near light speed trips were rare for lottery prizes because of the expense. Nostalgia trips were not uncommon, however they were typically restricted to married couples, and I had never seen one purporting to be a 21st century one. This prize was also unusual in that the winners were confidential and it was possible to submit information about why one, as a participant, should be given a higher than statistical probability to win.

The first thought that came into my mind when I saw this lottery prize posting was the possibility of going on the trip with Vega. Why that popped into my head I really could not explain; nor could I explain the discomfort that I felt arising like it did when I closely interacted with Vega. Ignoring this reaction, I entered the lottery and submitted information about my knowledge of the 21st century in hopes that such a submission would raise my statistical probability to win.

My dreams over the next few days were disturbing. I would wake up in a sweat with Vega laughing or making eye contact only out of the corner of her eye, in all different types of environmental conditions. It got so that I started using a dream machine, something that I had not used since my youth.

The drawing for the 21st century nostalgia trip was eight days after it was advertised. I was informed at that time that I was one of two winners from District 003, the first time that I had ever won a lottery prize in my life. I was also informed that there were one or two winners from every district. It was necessary for me to make a list, in order of preference, of my companion for the nostalgia trip. I “wrote down” (not using E21 technology, but the equivalent) only two names; Vega first, then my wife Acamar.

I cursed myself after this submission, wondering why I listed Vega first – but I made no attempt to change the submission.

I was notified what date and time I should clear five hours from my schedule, four hours for the two week near light speed trip, and a half hour on either side of that for what E21s would consider akin to orientation and debriefing. Since on Earth local travel was essentially instantaneous, there was no need to allow additional time for that.

When I arrived at the appointed destination at the appointed time I was given typical E21 clothing, which I changed into, although I had a little difficulty with some of the fasteners since clothing in 2634 no longer had fasteners of any type. After changing I opened the door to the orientation room, using a doorknob, something that I had never actually used before, although of course I was familiar with them from my research.

The lottery official chuckled as both Vega and I walked into the orientation room through different entries but at the same time, Vega also dressed in typical E21 garments. Vega had a wry smile on her face; I immediately felt the disturbing physical manifestations that normally accompanied my interactions with Vega.

After nodding acknowledgment to Vega and greeting the lottery official he said “We’re ready to start orientation. Everything we say – and all your interactions – should be in the language most prevalent in E21 – English. You both do speak it, don’t you?”

We both nodded, but before our nods had run their course I blurted out “Excuse me, but aren’t there two more people from District 003. I was led to believe that there were two winners.”

“Oh there were,” he cackled. “You two are the winners, and you listed each other as your first choice for companion, something that has never happened before on a nostalgia trip. We at lottery central are pleased because that makes our job easier and reduces the costs.”

I wondered if Vega’s position as a Grade 2 Manager was the reason for this happy coincidence.

My extremities flushing, palm sweating, and labored breathing became more intense, and my mouth became dry to boot.

The only reason that the orientation took a half hour instead of the information being essentially instantly imparted by brain wave was because various physical devices had to be shown to and manipulated by us in order for there to be realism. I was dealing more with my physical manifestations than I was listening, but since I was an expert on the 21st century I was already familiar with all of what was being demonstrated except what the lottery official referred to as “adult toys.”

As Vega and I entered the “resort” to start our trip Vega exhibited body language that I had never seen before. Then she stopped, turned toward me, held my hand, looked me in the eye, and inquired “So, Arcturus, what is your explanation as to why you listed me first as your companion on this adventure?”

“Uh, well…,” I began to respond, wondering why I, who was never at a loss for words, was having trouble with articulation. “Uh…I honestly don’t know. Your name just inexplicably popped into my head. Why did you list me?”

“For someone preeminent in his field, you truly are naïve. You obviously haven’t figured out what I did ten Earth years ago, which was about five Earth years after I first met you; namely, that we have a romantic lust attraction to each other,” Vega smiled. “Either that or you’re suppressing it!”

“Uh…oh…no…that’s not possible,” I stammered, my neck suddenly feeling constricted even though nothing physical was restricting it. “No one has experienced romantic lust for at least two centuries.”

“Really – then why are you flushed and sweating, and why is your mouth dry and your neck bulging which are all – if you would understand your own compilation – anecdotal indications of romantic lust,” Vega snarled as much as said as she approached me and made frontal body contact. I felt her hand encircle my penis through my clothing as she sneered “And why is your penis hard despite the fact that no intercourse cream for a maintenance or procreation session has been applied to it?”

Then Vega pushed her lips into mine, something that resulted in an even more intense biological response from me, and when she removed her lips she said “It won’t be long, to use E21 jargon, before we’re fucking each other’s brains out Arcturus. If you can’t abide that thought then you better leave right now because we’re starting the trip in less than two minutes.”

My brain said “leave,” but for the first time that I could remember, certainly not since my youth, my body was not controlled by my brain. Instead of fleeing I pressed my lips against Vega’s. When we broke contact she smiled widely, took my arm, and walked toward the reception area of the resort.

The woman at the reception desked asked a wide variety of questions, about what activities we wanted to engage it, what entertainment devices we wanted to utilize, if we preferred having information transmitted to us using equipment that was period accurate instead of 2634 equipment-less technology, what food and beverages we preferred, and other things. Vega took the bull by the horns and answered all of the questions, a few times (such as her preference for period accurate equipment) turning to me with a smile and saying “Don’t you think that would be nice Arcturus?” Each time I simply nodded my assent.

Vega and I took the amusing bygone technologically simplistic device known as an “escalator” to you E21s up to our room on the second (and top) level of the “resort.” We held hands and smiled at each other as we did so. Our room had physical equipment that was quite accurate for what a hotel room would have had in E21. There was a king sized bed instead of the sleeping capsules that most people used in 2634, a shower stall instead of an instantaneous cleansing chamber that was common in 2634, and a television set connected to a DVD player rather than the ethereal video devices used in 2634. Dressers, a couch, a closet, and even a mini-bar, all with a suitably quaint “used” look to them, were provided.

Vega surprised me by her familiarity with the entire physical plant of our room. I was beginning to wonder whether she – even though she didn’t author compilations about it – wasn’t even more knowledgeable than I was about E21.

As she walked closely up to and faced me, while running a finger over my chest Vega said “Well, Arcturus, should we change into bathing suits and try out the water experience at the resort?” After she said that she flipped her long lustrous brown hair over her shoulder, and bit her lip. All of these were signs of the cute anachronism “flirting” that I had significantly dealt with in my latest compilation about E21 sexual behavior.

“Uh…sure…Vega,” I stammered in reply, obviously never having really experienced flirtatious behavior before, but noticing that I suddenly felt even warmer than just a few seconds before.

“We’ll need to shower to get clean, and since there are many places with water shortages in 2021,” apparently 2021 was the year Vega had decided we were in during our nostalgia tour, “we should shower together, don’t you think Arcturus?”

“Uh…sure…Vega,” was all that I could reply given my dry mouth, making me wonder if I could say anything but that in response to provocative comments and actions by and from her.

“I really wish you would help me remove these 2021 clothes, Arcturus,” Vega said while licking her lips. “I’m not sure how the fasteners work.”

“Uh…sure…Vega,” was my reply, although as soon as I said it I chastised myself by thinking “dream up something else to say Arcturus, you sound like an idiot repeating the same phrase over and over.”

I fumbled as I undid the buttons on Vega’s top, resulting in a diabolical grin crossing her face. I finally mastered the technique when I undid the last two and surprised myself by quickly pulling her top garment off of her shoulders and throwing it to the side. I had never worked a bra clasp before (in fact never had seen one like what Vega had on), but gaining confidence and motivation I quickly mastered it, and soon the bra joined the top on the floor.

Mammary glands were not worshipped in 2634; however it was apparent that my brain was quickly morphing into that of an E21’s mind. I was fascinated and excited by Vega’s mammary glands, which seemed to be flushed and have hard nipples. I was compelled to run my hands over them, even lightly twisting the nipples. Vega’s grin turned into a sigh, and then she closed her eyes and moaned as I suddenly took one nipple into my mouth and sucked on it. Her body even started shaking.

I don’t know how long it was before I snapped out of the trance that I was in and moved my hands and mouth off of Vega’s breasts. I hadn’t even noticed that we had shuffled a few feet away from our initial location so that Vega’s back was now against an interior wall.

When Vega opened her eyes I moved my hands down to her lower body garment, unzipped a zipper, helped her step out of the garment, and then put fingers of both hands on her panties. Vega half-closed her eyes and sighed as I moved her panties down to her ankles and then helped her step out of them.

What was considered “oral” and “foreplay” in 2021 was no longer accepted in 2634, and if it was practiced it was rare, and by few. The look and scent from Vega’s vagina became irresistible to me, however, and first I touched it gingerly, then licked it, then seemed to entirely engage my face and fingers in and around it. I had a brief sensation of Vega grabbing my hair, but it was a minor distraction. It was no longer minor, however, when Vega screamed and pulled on my hair hard as her entire pelvic area shook.

The pelvic shake caused me to disengage from her vagina and I stood up. Vega was flustered, her face a meld of pain, pleasure, and surprise. When I again placed my hands on her breasts she opened her eyes, sighed, and then moaned “I do believe, Arcturus, that you just gave me what E21s called an ‘orgasm,’ and if I’m not mistaken a powerful one it was.”

Then Vega became weak-kneed and seemingly was about to collapse. I lifted her up, carried her the few steps to the couch, and sat her down. I noticed that her vagina was glistening, and her nipples even more prominent and harder than before.

When Vega regained complete awareness she asked “How were you able to accomplish that Arcturus?”

“It was solely instinct,” I honestly responded, a feeling of great satisfaction arising within me as a result of her words and her recent orgasm.

We chatted and giggled – people in 2634 never giggle – for a few minutes. Then with great resolve and a big smile Vega proclaimed “Now I need to undress you – and we both need a shower.”

We both stood again. I looked into Vega’s eyes and kept my hands on her breasts as much as I could as she unbuttoned my shirt and discarded it, then unzipped my trousers, helped me step out of them, and then discarded them too. With a giggle she pulled down my boxer shorts and snickered “My, what have we here?” as my rock hard penis sprang out. She hadn’t even helped me step out of my boxers before she was licking the underside of my penis. I almost passed out from the sensation of her tongue, then lips, on my male member.

Vega actually had no idea what she was doing, likely never having had a penis in her mouth before, but she did engulf most of my penis in her mouth. Vega only sucked a few times before I spontaneously ejaculated seminal fluid, with such suddenness and intensity that I fell back onto the couch. This dislodged my penis from her mouth after only one squirt into it, the rest of the squirts flying all over the place including into Vega’s hair and onto her face.

After I slight pause Vega chirped “awesome.” [There is no equivalent word in our Universal language, but from my studies I was quite sure of the significance of that word.] “Now we really do need a shower, Arcturus,” she laughed.

On wobbly legs, with Vega mostly propping me up as we moved, we stumbled into the shower. When Vega turned on the water by manipulating a knob, we were both shocked by the cold temperature of the water. We chuckled as we got out of the way of the stream – fortunately the shower stall was large – until it warmed up. “Wow, this place is truly realistic,” I grinned as Vega picked up a bar of soap and started moving it over my skin.

Vega and I washed each other off completely, our hands lingering at particularly sensitive parts of each other’s bodies, with much giggling and what in 2634 would be considered highly inappropriate touching. Finally we turned the water off and used towels to dry each other. “That was the most pleasurable cleansing experience of my life,” I chuckled.

“No shit Sherlock,” Vega replied – then we both burst out laughing at her use of such an ancient colloquial expression, one that had no counterpart in our Universal language, and one that likely no more than a handful of people on Earth knew about, let alone used.

Finally we got into bathing suits. Vega’s was one that was referred to as a “bikini” in 2021; mine “board shorts.”

The water park was fun. We went on a slide and tubes, swam, dunked each other, and dove off a diving board. I laughed more in the first hour we were at the park than I had in the last two months. The most fun, however, was learning to ride a surfboard in the wave generating part of the water park. It took me six tries, carefully monitored by an instructor, before I lasted more than a minute without falling. Vega was quite proud of herself that by the time I was up for a minute, she had already been up for five – and she had no apprehension about “subtly” pointing that out to me.

Once we were tired and water-logged, we again dried off with towels (not nearly as efficient as the technology of 2634) and ambled up to our room. We hung our wet bathing suits up in the bathroom and then naked lay next to each other on the bed, ultimately my arms encircling Vega’s tight body, and her head lying on my shoulder. I obviously fell asleep, because when Vega’s body moved as she started to sit upright I looked at the “alarm clock” next to the bed and an hour had mysteriously passed.

“I’ve never fallen asleep before in the afternoon, let alone outside a sleep capsule,” Vega chortled.

“Did we really fall asleep?” I rhetorically asked.

“Unless we were doing impressions of stones, I’d say ‘yes,'” she snickered.

We got dressed in some nicer period clothes than we had worn in the orientation room, and then went to dinner. It was an unusual though pleasurable experience, with humans who called themselves “waitresses” actually soliciting our preference and then serving our food. The food itself looked nothing like what we ate in 2634 but I’m sure was the same type of foodstuff only shaped into unusual forms and with odd colors.

After dinner, we danced – again something in 2634 unusual outside of theater. The music playing we were assured was E21 popular music. Although our movements attempting to get “in rhythm” with the beat were awkward at first we did get the hang of it, and dancing became highly enjoyable. Especially pleasurable were the dances that required intimate body contact, since Vega essentially molded herself to my form. It was a little disconcerting that my penis seemed to become a flagpole during intimate body contact, but rather than minding it Vega seemed to enjoy it.

After more than an hour of dancing, during one of our bodies-molded-together dances, Vega whispered into my ear “Let’s go to our room – I have a surprise for you.”

We smiled at each other, and walked hand-in-hand to the escalator.

When we got into our room Vega tenderly kissed me on the lips and then with a big grin said “We 27th century people don’t know how to act on our romantic lust. Therefore I’ve gotten some ‘instructional videos’ in a quaint form called ‘DVD.'”

With that Vega broke away from me, somehow managed to turn on the TV and get the DVD player to operate, and soon the screen was filled with images of E21s in bizarre settings. We sat down next to each other on the couch. “This video is in a class called ‘pornography,'” she giggled, another term that has no counterpart in our Universal language.

We watched speechless and in awe as on the screen a man and a woman seemed to passionately devour each other. They did things that I didn’t even know were possible – I certainly had never imagined them. I felt my body temperature rising throughout the video, and my penis was so hard that it hurt. In addition to the action the language was fascinating. The words “fuck,” “pussy,” “cock,” “cunt,” “balls,” “tits,” “ass,” and “clitoris,” were used dozens of times each, seemingly spurring the participants onto greater orgasmic heights.

After about an hour of the video, using a “remote,” Vega turned off the machines. Her eyes were almost bulging out of her head, she had a slight film of sweat on her skin – which was hot to the touch – and she was running her hand over her vagina. She stuck her tongue into my ear then whispered “Let’s see if we can top the fucking that we saw on the screen; I need your cock in my pussy as soon as possible!”

There was no slow removal of clothing after we viewed the pornography. Ripped cloth littered the floor as we meandered toward the bed with our lips scorching each other’s. As soon as we hit the bed, with Vega on her back, she spread her legs wide just like the female characters in the video did. It took me only a nanosecond to put the head of my cock onto her pussy lips. It wasn’t much longer before she was screaming in pleasure as I buried my cock completely in her snug wet pussy.

Vega and I jackhammered each other while constantly using language like that in the videos. “Fuck me, Oh God, fuck me delirious,” seemed to be her favorite expression. I mostly grunted while occasionally mumbling “Oh fuck that feels good.” We didn’t last nearly as long as the people in the video. I was soon ejaculating a river of cum into Vega’s pulsating pussy as she screamed, and I groaned, in orgasm.

As I lay in a seemingly semi-conscious state, her magnificent thighs still wrapped around my torso but no longer squeezing me, and as my cock lethargically stroked in and out of her pussy, I felt better than at any other time in my life. When I finally rolled off of Vega and we made eye contact it was clear that her euphoria was equal to mine.

“So that’s romantic lust?” I grumbled as I gazed into her absinthe green eyes.

“It’s even better than I thought possible,” she replied with a big smile, “although I’m sure that it has to be with the right partner.”

“Do you think that I’m the right partner for you?” I asked.

“Based not only on our fuck, but on the fact that ever since I met you I get a tingling in my crotch whenever I see you, and my skin gets hot, I’d say ‘yes.’ In fact as an E21 would say, ‘fuck yeah!'”

We both chuckled. Then we softly chatted about our experience as Vega played with my balls and I played with her tits. Suddenly she got a big smile on her face, sat up, and said “I’ve got another surprise for you.”

With that she reached into the nightstand near the bed and pulled out two injectors, 2634 highly advanced and entirely painless versions of the hypodermic needles of E21. “I know that they had little blue pills that helped with sex in 2021, but they weren’t super effective, and there was nothing comparable for women. However, using 2634 technology I had some scientists made up a better material that can both allow almost endless repeats of intercourse and enhance the experience even more. Care to give it a try?” she cackled.

One injector said “hers,” the other “his” in the Universal language.

“Why not?” I grinned.

“These work best in the ass,” she grinned right back.

I turned and she touched my ass with the “his” injector. I returned the favor with the “hers” injector.

No more than ten minutes passed before I started panting, and my cock got rock hard, and Vega started sweating and pawing her own tits. We did a perfunctory simultaneous oral attack on each other’s sex organs (quaintly called a “69” in the video), and then I turned Vega on her hands and knees in what the porno film called “doggy.”

Soon my cock was reciprocating in and out of Vega’s pussy at 100 miles an hour, my balls were banging against her with each stroke, and she was swearing a blue streak and banging back with everything that she had. It seemed like I shot a liter’s worth of seminal fluid into her energetic pussy while she shook, screamed, vibrated, and then went limp.

We proceeded to fuck more than half the time until our antiquated alarm clock rang at about eight the next morning. With each fuck we seemed to get better; impossibly the pleasure level continued to increase; and we found out more about each other’s bodies than we ever could have imagined was possible.

Over the next twelve days of our nostalgia trip we had great fun with all of the resort activities. However, by far the most fun related to sex. We watched a few more pornographic videos, but they didn’t provide much more in the way of instruction, although they did ramp up our lust for each other. We fucked in virtually every possible comfortable position including cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, The Wheelbarrow, The Hotseat, The Waterfall, and The Face-Off, to name the most desirable, and of course doggy and missionary. My favorite was The Face-Off; Vega’s The Hotseat. Since the injected material that Vega had compounded was extremely effective we fucked more than any couple in 2021 ever did – usually a dozen times a day!

On the last night of our nostalgia trip we were melancholy after a missionary fuck. As we lay in bed facing each other with only low ambient light a tear formed in Vega’s eye. “I don’t want this to end, Arcturus, ever!”

“Nor do I, Vega,” I replied trying to hold back tears myself.

“It doesn’t have to,” she responded staring into my eyes with her almost shimmering green eyes.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“We can go to a new world together – one where romantic lust is a viable option.”

“How could that work?” I inquired, puzzled.

“In my position as a Grade 2 Manager I can arrange it.”

“Won’t Titus object?”

“There are reasons – and I am not at liberty to disclose them to you, or anyone else for that matter – why Titus will not object. Aramus may be distraught – I have no way of knowing that – but I think that we can overcome any objection she might have. Are you willing to look into this with me?” she asked.

I only needed to think about a second before I replied “Does the Pope poop in the woods?” This malappropriate colloquialism, which we both had just recently learned, got a belly laugh from Vega.

“OK, here’s the plan,” she cackled as she slapped my hand away from her tit and continued “no fondling, this is serious.”

An hour later I was clued in to her entire plan, obviously well thought out and likely to work.

We didn’t fuck again that night, but we did sleep with my seemingly always hard cock longitudinally parting her pussy lips.

I always knew that Vega was an intelligent woman; however even I was surprised by not only her intelligence, but her common sense and purposefulness. Over the next two months as we executed her plan we found time to fuck almost every day – without the need of the injectors that we used during our nostalgia trip. We were now as experienced and passionate as any couple with romantic lust from 2021. However, since monogamy was prized in 2634 our sexual sessions were anti-social and there could have been severe consequences if we had been caught. Because of Vega’s intelligence and our discretion, we never were.

Two months and eight days after we returned from our nostalgia trip, Vega and I boarded a spacecraft, our romantic lust burning more brightly than ever. We had a 100 year supply of “his” and “her” injectors, and little else – but that was all that we needed since all of the practical things that we needed were on the spacecraft.

We were travelling to a planet with a 25% oxygen, 72 % nitrogen, and a smattering of other non-toxic gases atmosphere that had a mass 94.75% that of Earth’s, and with a variety of ecosystems and temperature ranges similar to what we believe Earth had in the 18th century. We were, with our companions on the spacecraft, going to be the first settlers, and as such we could name the planet whatever we wanted to (although it would be given a strictly numerical official name). “Vega’s Vision” seemed appropriate!

Titus and Aramus – now married to each other, both of their marriages having been dissolved by special action of the Technological Establishment – actually waved good-bye.

As soon as the craft hit what you E21s would call “warp speed” we christened our dual sleeping capsule with an all-time doggy fuck!

Vega and I are now fifty years into our journey (it’s 2684), we’ve got a more than viable colony on Vega’s Vision, and one half of the adult couples are in romantic lust relationships. We’re not just content like we were on Earth; we are unequivocally happy!

 

The Vampire

The sun rose over the Somali nation, once the crown jewel of the Horn of Africa, bathing the dry, arid landscape in its eerie light. As was her custom, Hafiza Elmi rose with the dawn. After making her Fajr prayer, the first prayer of the day, Hafiza began to handle her duties. Even though she was not yet a mother, and her husband Rahman Elmi was traveling far away, Hafiza had much to do.

A six-foot-tall, statuesque Somali Muslim woman with caramel-hued skin, long black hair and golden brown eyes, clad in a traditional ankle-length Dirac dress, Hafiza Elmi cut an alluring figure as she grabbed a large camel-skin gourds, and got ready to make her way to the watering hole a few kilometers away. It was best to travel when the sky was still pink from the rays of dawn, before the scorching heat turned the desert into an approximation of Hell…

Hafiza’s house, located on the eastern edge of the Village of Madhibe, not far from the ravines of Abu Yaqub, was modest. A wooden structure with a thatched rooftop, with a small garden outback, a fitting dwelling for a couple which had yet to produce offspring. A solitary ebony-furred goat grazed in the garden, unaware that its owner intended to slaughter it this very evening as a welcome home present for her husband. Just another day in the Horn of Africa.

“Hafiza, why are you in such a hurry?” came a voice, and Hafiza turned to look at her friend and neighbor Aisha Osman, and paused. Short, round, dark-skinned and lively, with piercing brown eyes and a round, sensual mouth, Aisha Osman was the biggest gossip in the Village of Madhibe, ruled by the fierce Warsangali clan, which drove off the Madhibans who once ruled the area over a century ago.

“I want to greet my beloved Rahman when he comes home, he’s been gone for several days, and I want everything to be perfect for him,” Hafiza replied haughtily, and Aisha scoffed almost derisively. When Hafiza shot the other woman a questioning look, Aisha smiled sheepishly and managed to keep silent for a full minute, a record according to anyone from their village.

Hafiza and Aisha had known each other their whole lives, and were more like sisters than anything else. Hafiza was there when Aisha Osman married Ismail Kader, a tall, handsome young man from the Darod clan. There had been some controversy when the two married because Ismail was a half-caste, born of a Darod clanswoman and of a Warsangali clansman.

In the Madhibe village, as in the rest of Somali society, the people were ruled by Somali tribal law which was interwoven with Islamic law. A man’s tribe was his father’s tribe, not his mother’s. It took special convincing on the part of Hafiza’s father, Imam Abdullahi Elmi, for the wedding of Aisha Osman and Ismail Kader to occur. A year later, Hafiza helped Aisha deliver the couple’s son, Maher. To Hafiza, Aisha was like family…

“Hafiza, when a man comes home after days on the road, his woman should give him more than just a cooked meal and drink, if you know what I mean,” Aisha said, laughing, and Hafiza rolled her eyes. Grinning, the two women continued on the dirt road, careful to evade the stones and branches strewn about, leftovers from the sand storm which blasted the valley the night before.

Sand storms were a common plight in the desert, and as desert people, Hafiza and Aisha had little fear of such things. In ages past, the clan was wealthy, and its herdsmen had scores of cattle, camels and horses to look after. Indeed, there was a time when the Warsangali clan horsemen were legendary, carrying out raids upon other clans and even venturing into the distant land of Yemen, a stronghold of the Arabs. Sadly, those days were over.

The Warsangali clan had barely survived a long and costly war against the descendants of the House of Galluweger, which ruled all of Somalia in the bygone days of the Geledi Sultanate. The Galluweger had many fighters, and many allies among neighboring clans such as the Marehan clan and the Jidwaq clan. They meant to exterminate the men of the Warsangali clan, and take their women as concubines.

Unfortunately for them, among the Warsangali, both males and females received warrior training early in life. The defense of the Warsangali territory was the preoccupation of every Warsangali, male and female. During the last raid of the Galluweger clan upon the Warsangali villages and townships, Warsangali women armed with swords, spears, and crossbows fought alongside their men and helped repel the Galluweger invasion.

For this reason, the defeated Galluweger clansmen went home in shame, having been beaten in battle by parties which included warrior women. They declared the Warsangali women to be nothing but a collective of Qumayos, the Somali word for witch. No Somali man from another clan would take a Warsangali clan woman as wife, even as a peace offering, and that suited the Warsangali men just fine. Hafiza participated in that glorious campaign, for it was where she met her beloved Rahman.

“Hafiza, quit daydreaming and fetch me the cord,” Aisha said, snapping her fingers in front of her friend’s face. Hafiza blinked, snatched out of her little trip down memory lane by Aisha’s strident voice. Wallahi this woman can be so annoying, Hafiza thought, barely able to resist the urge to grab Aisha and shake the hell out of the little woman. Sighing, Hafiza handed Aisha the cord, which she then fixed to the gourd before throwing into the well.

“Aisha, you nosy woman, if you must know, I was thinking about the fights from three years ago, I miss riding my father’s old horse into battle,” Hafiza said with a grin, and Aisha laughed and stood there, hands on her hips. Aisha was not buying what Hafiza was selling, not even for a minute, and both women knew exactly what the other was thinking.

“Hafiza, the only thing you miss riding is your dear Rahman, you can do it tonight when he comes home, now don’t let me fall in while I’m pulling the cord,” Aisha said, laughing. Hafiza watched as Aisha planted her feet against the three-foot-high stone wall encircling the well and tugged on the cord, pulling the heavy gourd over the edge, and then catching it with one hand. Hafiza helped her friend with the heavy gourd, after a brief hesitation.

“Aisha, my sister, I wonder if there’s something wrong with me, Rahman and I make love all the time, but I am still not a mother,” Hafiza said, as she walked on the dirt road with two heavy gourds in each hand. Aisha gritted her teeth as she carried her own two gourds, and shot her friend a sympathetic look. Aisha thought of her son Maher who was being cared for by his grandmother Fatima at Aisha’s compound.

“Hafiza, patience, my sister, you are beautiful, and your husband is a good man, the Most High will bless you with plenty,” Aisha said, looking into Hafiza’s eyes. Hafiza smiled and nodded. In spite of all her relentless teasing and sassy mouth, Aisha was her best friend in all the world and Hafiza considered her the sister she never had. Hafiza began humming a song on their way home. Aisha listened to it for five minutes before reacting in a predictable fashion.

“Sharmutoo ( bitch ), shut up,” Aisha Osman said, laughing at Hafiza’s singing, which sounded atrocious to her ears. Hafiza smirked, and then, gently setting her gourds down on the dirt road, she lifted her right leg and kicked Aisha squarely on that big butt of hers. Aisha squealed in surprise, and almost spilled her gourds contents. Setting them down, Aisha confronted Hafiza.

“Shakshuuko garrey ( little slut ),” Hafiza laughed, and she was still laughing when Aisha pounced on her. The two women wrestled fiercely on the dirt road, rolling about in the early morning sun. Aisha found herself on top of Hafiza, and she had her small but strong hands on the other woman’s neck. Hafiza looked up at Aisha, and instead of fear or anger, her eyes reflected something else altogether.

“Hmm, you are so beautiful, you crazy sharmoto ( bitch),” Aisha said, and then she took Hafiza’s face into her hands and kissed her. The two young Somali Muslim women began making love like this, right on the road, not caring where they were or who might see them. As the sky turned pinkish blue then bright blue above them, Aisha and Hafiza explored one another.

“Aisha, I am not a Qanisad ( lesbian ) but I crave you more than I can say, sometimes,” Hafiza murmured, and Aisha nodded, then kissed her while caressing her breasts. Hafiza moaned softly as Aisha’s hand slipped under her traditional Dirac dress and her fingers slid into her vagina. The shorter woman’s knowing hands played sweet music with Hafiza’s womanhood, teasing her clitoris with those agile fingers and stimulating her core.

“Fota iga leefe abayo ( lick my ass sister ),” Aisha said, as she hiked up her skirt and sat on Hafiza’s face. Hafiza grinned and eagerly caressed Aisha’s thick round bottom and slid her fingers into her vagina. At the same time, Aisha pinched her own nipples, caressing them while riding Hafiza’s face. When Aisha felt Hafiza’s tongue in her ass, the short woman cried out in sheer joy and moaned softly, loving what her long-time friend and sometime lover was doing to her.

“Hmm, this is nice,” Hafiza said as Aisha sucked on her breast and worked three fingers into her vagina, driving her absolutely wild. Aisha smiled lovingly at Hafiza as the tall woman screamed loudly, her voluptuous body squirming as she was brought to a shuddering orgasm. Aisha kissed Hafiza, a gesture that served two purposes, silencing the other woman’s screams, and communicating her passion, of course.

Afterwards, the two young Somali Muslim women lay entwined in love, in the shade, under a frankincense tree. Hafiza Elmi and Aisha Osman, best friends for years, neighbors, and as close as can be, were actually closer than most people thought. The two women loved each other, and they loved their husbands. It was strange, wondrous and different, but nevertheless true. The heart wants what the heart wants…

From her early days, Hafiza Elmi found both females and males attractive, and in her good friend and neighbor Aisha Osman she found a woman with similar passions. They had to hide their passion from everyone, lest they be put to death for such haram feelings and deeds. In Somalia, ruled by Islamic law, men who love men and women who love women are put to death, no exceptions.

“Let’s go home, Hafiza, tonight, make love to your husband Rahman, but don’t forget me,” Aisha said, and Hafiza grinned and nodded. Hafiza couldn’t know it but it was the last time that she would hold her dear Aisha in her arms. When night fell, the women of the village awaited the arrival of their husbands, sons, brothers, nephews and fathers who had gone on a routine patrol. Much to their shock, a solitary man wandered into the village…

“Rahman, what happened to you, my love?” Hafiza said as her husband Rahman staggered into the village. The tall, broad-shouldered, dark-skinned and ruggedly handsome Somali warrior whom she was so proud to call her husband was a shadow of his former self. He had wounds all over, and there was one on his neck which looked particularly ghastly.

“Hafiza, my love, we were attacked, I barely got away,” Rahman managed to say before he collapsed in his wife’s arms. With help from the other women of the village, Hafiza got her husband home, and tended to his wounds. While he recovered, he was in and out of sleep, and when he spoke, he didn’t make much sense. Rahman kept mumbling about a great beast attacking him and the men one night while they were on patrol. Hafiza knew of no beast which could take on a large party of armed and mounted raiders. Lion, hyena, panther, jackal, elephant, buffalo, all had fallen before the might of African raiders in the past…

“Glad to see you feel better, Habibi,” Hafiza said to Rahman, the following night. Indeed, the young Somali warrior was looking better. His eyes seemed a bit red, but otherwise he had much vitality. Rahman smiled at Hafiza and looked at her, his eyes filled with desire. Hafiza looked at her husband, thanking her lucky stars that he made such a speedy recovery. Hafiza’s heart thundered in her chest when Rahman reached for her hand, and brought it to his lips.

“Hafiza, my dear Habibti, without you I am nothing,” Rahman said as he kissed her hand, and Hafiza blushed. Throwing herself into her husband’s arms, Hafiza kissed him passionately, and just like that, they began making love. Rahman disrobed, revealing his muscular, taunt physique. Hafiza’s eager hands explored his body, and soon found his manhood, which was long, thick and dark, and seemed even more virile than she remembered.

“Make love to me, Rahman, show me how much you’ve missed me,” Hafiza murmured, stroking her husband’s hard tool. Rahman grinned and kissed her, then caressed her breasts. Laying Hafiza on their bed, Rahman proceeded to shower her with kisses, his lips fastening themselves to the areolas of her breasts, which he suckled on. Hafiza gasped as Rahman slipped his hand between her thick thighs, and he began fingering her vagina.

“How I’ve missed you,” Rahman said, and he kissed Hafiza’s lips, and her neck, and then spread her thighs. Without another word, he buried his face between her legs and began eating her out. Hafiza squealed in delight as Rahman began pleasuring her like only he could. The Somali warrior flicked his tongue over his wife’s clitoris, and slid two fingers into her vagina. As he twisted his fingers inside her, Hafiza cried out, loving what Rahman was doing to her.

“Show me how much you need me,” Hafiza demanded as Rahman put her on all fours and caressed her thick brown bum. Hafiza gasped as Rahman slid his finger into her butt hole while kissing her big butt. This was deliciously naughty and forbidden, and she loved it. Rahman continued to finger Hafiza’s butt hole as he ate her pussy in this position.

When Rahman took some oil from a nearby jug and smeared it on her hole, Hafiza knew she was in for a treat. Without further ado, Rahman pressed his hard member against Hafiza’s butt hole and pushed it inside. The young Somali woman moaned softly as her husband worked his penis into her backdoor, and began fucking her with slow, deep strokes. Rahman truly missed me, Hafiza thought as she endured this delightful and oh-so wanted act of possession…

“You are even more beautiful than I remember, my sweet Hafiza,” Rahman said, much later, as an exhausted and pleasurably sore Hafiza rested her head against his chest, following a night of passionate lovemaking. Hafiza purred with contentment, thrilled after the ardent fucking Rahman just laid on her. She lay against his chest, and suddenly felt uneasy. Pressing her ear against Rahman’s chest, Hafiza suddenly realized she couldn’t hear his heartbeat…

“Rahman, why can’t I hear your heartbeat?” Hafiza asked, alarmed, and Rahman looked at her and smiled. That’s when his features changed. The handsome Somali warrior’s eyes turned bright red, and his teeth elongated and sharpened, becoming wicked-looking and bone-white fangs. Hafiza gasped, stunned by what she was beholding, her husband’s monstrous transformation into some kind of hell beast.

“Soon you will be like me, my love,” Rahman said as he grabbed Hafiza and sank his teeth into her neck. Hafiza struggled for a bit, but Rahman’s strength was incredible. The monster that Rahman had become simply overwhelmed Hafiza, even though she was a strong woman with warrior training that matched his. As Hafiza’s life drained away, Rahman infected her with the Vampire virus, which transformed her. Soon Hafiza rose as a blood-thirsty, superhumanly strong, Undead monster that lives by night, preying on the living…

“Hmm, Rahman, I feel so strong, thank you for this wonderful gift,” Hafiza said to her husband as they emerged from their house, as soon as dusk arrived, bathing the Horn of Africa landscape in darkness. Rahman smiled at Hafiza and nodded. Together, they descended upon their fellow villagers, and fed upon them. Half of them they slaughtered, and the rest they converted into bloodthirsty monsters. Rahman and Hafiza, along with Aisha and many others became a blight upon the African motherland, monsters which threatened all life…

As village after village fell to the monsters, and the Horn of Africa started to become a haven for their kind, the Somali people fought fiercely against this blight. They even allied themselves with the Ethiopian people, the Arabs of Yemen, and others. With inhuman monsters feeding upon their loved ones at night, they put aside their differences to fight back. In time, a massive horde of warriors from various nations hunted down the Vampires, and slaughtered them.

“I will be back and avenge myself upon not only you Somalis, Ethiopians and Yemenis, but all of Mankind someday,” Hafiza Elmi swore, on the night of the final battle between the legion of the Vampires and the hordes of human warriors which surrounded them. The haven of the Vampires was under attack from an alliance of humans hailing from all over the Horn of Africa. During that climactic final battle, Rahman, Hafiza’s beloved husband fell, as did her lover Aisha.

Mourning her loved ones, who should have been by her side for all eternity, Hafiza Elmi fled into the darkness. Hundreds of her fellow Vampires had been slain by the dreadful humans, and in spite of her ferocity, Hafiza could not defeat them. The humans numbered in the thousands, and they slaughtered her Undead followers, but she would one day return. One day, Hafiza would build another army of Vampires, and together with those ones, she would topple mankind from its position as the dominant species on the planet earth.

 

The Lady And The Carpenter

“Drink up,” Frank said. “Who knows? Tomorrow we could be dead.”

I wonder if Frank knew something. Later that night, Frank fell asleep while listening to the radio – as he often did after a good day’s work – and he never woke up again. The doctor said that his heart had just stopped. “It happens sometimes,” the doctor said. “Even with people like Frank. Even with people who seem to be perfectly fit and healthy. We don’t know why.”

“I should go up to Westmore Hall,” I told Nancy, Frank’s wife. “We haven’t finished the roof repairs, and there’s rain forecast for the weekend. The tilers are booked for tomorrow. Better if we can get it weather-tight.”

Nancy nodded. “Yes. I suppose so. Do you need anything? Do you need any help?”

“I think I should be all right,” I said. “I think that I can manage the purlins on my own. As you may have noticed, I’m a big lad. And, if I can’t manage – well, I’ll get our kid to give me a hand.”

“Joe? Your brother? Shouldn’t he be in school?”

I smiled. “Yeah. But he’ll jump at any excuse to wag off, our Joe.”

Fortunately, Frank and I had cut and notched the purlins before we had finished off the previous day. We had even hoisted them up to the roof and tied them, temporarily, to the rafters. All I had to do was to put them into position and fix them down, and then I could start laying on the roof boards.

It felt strange being up there, working on my own, without Frank’s constant stream of helpful advice. I’d been with Frank for just over five years – first as his apprentice, and then, more recently, as a journeyman carpenter. “Don’t worry, Frank,” I heard myself saying. “I’m going to get all of the purlins fixed before I start boarding. Just like you taught me.”

“Are you all right up there?” It was Jennifer Farringdon-Browne, Sir Robin’s daughter. She was standing at the foot of the ladder with her black Labrador, Rufus.

“Sorry, Miss. Just talking to myself.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” she said. “I just heard. Please accept my condolences. You and Mr Russell seemed to be an excellent team. I’m sure that we will all miss him. You especially. And, of course, his wife”

“He taught me a lot, Miss. Well, everything, I suppose – about building, that is.”

“Mrs Moffatt is going to make some tea,” Miss Jennifer said. “Will you join me?”

“I really should get this done, Miss,” I said. “The tilers are due tomorrow.”

“I’m sure that ten or 15 minutes will be neither here nor there,” she said. “Come and have some tea with me. I think Mrs Moffatt has made scones.”

When I got back to the yard that evening, Nancy was there with Donald McDonald, a local solicitor.

“How did you go?” Nancy asked.

“Yeah. Done. All set for the tilers,” I said.

“Thank you, Tom. You know Mr McDonald.”

I nodded. “Sort of.”

“We need your help,” Donald McDonald said. “It appears that Mr Russell hade not made a will. Not that this should present a problem. I’m reasonably sure that he would have wanted Mrs Russell to inherit all of his property anyway. Obviously, the estate will include the building business as a going concern. Until such time as we can ascertain the precise situation, we have a duty to preserve the integrity of the business – to ensure that it is, in fact, a going concern. Mrs Russell has suggested that you should assume the managership pro tempore.”

Pro tempore?”

“Well – until such time as we can arrive at a more permanent solution. Would that be acceptable? There will be a small fee in addition to your normal wages, of course. You know – for the additional responsibility.”

I awoke early the next morning and I was over at Westmore Hall at about seven. The tiler, Dan Parkin, and his boy arrived soon after.

“I’m sorry to hear about Frank,” Dan Parkin said. “I liked him. He was a good man.”

“He was, Mr Parkin.”

Dan Parkin shuffled his feet uneasily. “At a time like this, I hate to sound, well, mercenary, but are there arrangements?”

“For Frank’s funeral? No. Not yet. But I expect that it will be held on Monday or Tuesday.”

“Well, actually, I was thinking about arrangements for payment. Much as I’d like to, Tom, I can’t work for nothing. None of us can. Frank was always very good when it came to payment.”

“Oh. Right. I see what you mean. Well, you need have no fear, Mr Parkin.”

“Thank you. It’s just – well – you know.”

I’ll say this for Dan Parkin: he didn’t mess about. By just after three o’clock in the afternoon, the tiling was finished, the roof ridge capped, and the guttering repaired and replaced where necessary. In the morning, I could move inside and start on the repairs to the ceiling.

I was just standing on the small lawn beside the east wing, admiring the finished job – well, the external part of it, anyway – when something bunted me in the lower thigh. It was Rufus. And Miss Jennifer was just behind him.

“Gosh, that didn’t take you chaps long. Looks good. Looks very good.”

“There’s rain forecast for the weekend,” I said. “In fact, looking at that sky, we might even get some tomorrow.”

“What will happen to you – now that Mr Russell has died?”

“Not sure, Miss.”

Miss Jennifer nodded. “Well, I’m sure that Father can find a few jobs for a person with your skills. There are a number of things that need doing around here. The place is in danger of falling down.” And then, sort of out of nowhere, she said: “Do you have a girlfriend, Tom?”

“No, Miss.”

“Oh? I heard tell that you and Molly Middleton were an item.”

“An item?” I had to smile. “No, Miss. Molly’s seeing Mick Curran these days. I even heard tell that they are planning to marry. Of course, that may just be gossip. You know what it’s like, Miss.”

Miss Jennifer smiled and nodded again. “Oh, well – Rufus and I had better go and give George his oats. Do you ride, Tom?”

“Only a bicycle, Miss.”

“Pity,” she said. “Paladin could use some exercise. And he’s a bit boisterous for me. He’d be fine for a strong chap like you though.”

The following morning, when I was setting about repairing the parts of the ceiling that had been damaged when the old roof had leaked, I had a visit from Sir Robin himself.

“Just wanted to say how sorry I was to hear about Mr Russell. He was fine man and a fine craftsman. And I can see that he taught you well.”

“He did, Sir Robin.”

“Do you know what you will do now?”

I shook my head. “Not really, sir. I’m sure something will come along. It always seems to.”

“Well – I’m sure that the village wouldn’t like to lose you. Although, of course, you must do what’s best for you. But if you find that you need someone to talk to – I’m here. Well, I’m here when I’m not in London or somewhere else, anyway.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Oh, and when you get a moment, can you please have a look at these damned French doors. When the northeaster blows, there might just as well be a bloody hole in the wall.”

It seemed like the whole village – and a good few people from further afield – turned up for Frank’s send off. Frank was not a churchman, so he would have been happy that Nancy chose the village hall rather than St Oswald’s for the gathering.

“I was tempted,” Nancy said. “But, no, I couldn’t have done that to Frank. Just as I couldn’t have agreed for him to be buried in the churchyard. He would have turned in his grave.” And then, when she had had a moment or two to think about what she had just said, she laughed.

After we had celebrated Frank’s life in an appropriate way, with a number of people saying nice things about him, several of us retired to The George & Dragon where Murray, the landlord, announced that Sir Robin was shouting the first round. Some of the villagers thought that it was only right that Sir Robin should pick up the tab. “Rich bastard. Member of Parliament. He can afford it.” But I knew that it was more than just a token gesture.

Word travels fast in a village like Hackleford – even if the word is largely just speculation. By the time Frank’s send-off was over, pretty much everyone in the village seemed to know that Nancy was going to be keeping the business going and that I was going to be her “hands-on man”.

“Must get you to give us an estimate on a new stable block,” Sam Woburn said. “We’ve been putting it off and putting it off, but I think that the time has come. If we don’t start soon, it’ll be winter again. Don’t want that. I’ve already had an informal chat with the Parish Council. It shouldn’t be too hard to get a sign-off.”

And there were also another three or four similar “enquiries”.

The day after Frank’s send-off, the weather dawned fine and promised to stay that way for the next two or three days. It was the perfect opportunity to replace the porch on Dairy Cottage. Most of the slates and some of the stones were still in good condition. But the timberwork was well and truly past it. It needed to be taken apart piece by piece, and then built up again with new timbers and whatever reclaimed materials we could utilise. I say “we”, but, of course, for the moment, it was just me.

By 4:30, I had demolished the old porch, sorted what could be re-used from what would have to be skipped, and got the formwork in place for the new concrete footings.

“Somebody taught you well,” a voice behind me said. It was Miss Jennifer with her ever-present shadow, Rufus.

I laughed. “The funny thing is: I can hear Frank telling me what to do just as clearly as if he was standing here beside me.”

She smiled. “When will you finish? Today, I mean.”

“I’ve pretty much done what I can do for today, Miss,” I said.

“Good. I need your help. Back at the house.”

“Give me five minutes,” I said. “I just need to tidy up and get some of this dust off my hands and face.”

She smiled again. “Just – you know – when you’re ready.”

I went over to Westmore Hall and went around to the back door. It was wide open. “Hello?” I called out. Rufus appeared from nowhere and gave me a friendly head-butt. “Hello, boy. Where’s Miss Jennifer then?

“Upstairs.” A voice called out. “Come on up.”

I sat down on the step and removed my boots. And then I stepped into the kitchen.

“The main stairs,” Miss Jennifer called out.

Led by Rufus, I walked down the passageway to the main entrance hall.

“Oh, there you are,” Miss Jennifer said, leaning over the bannister.

“I was just taking off my boots.”

“You could take your shirt off, too, if you wanted to.”

“My shirt?”

Miss Jennifer smiled. “Oh, well. Up to you. For the moment anyway. Now – this painting – “

Leaning up against the wall was a large ornately-framed painting of a soldier on horseback. “A fine looking gentleman,” I said. “A general?”

“My great-great-grandfather. And he was only a lieutenant-colonel. Although, who knows, he might have gone on to become a general had he not succumbed to the Spanish flu. I gather he was quite talented in military matters.

“He’s been off with another branch of the family these past few years; but now they’ve decided that the old chap takes up too much room. And so he has come to live with us. And I think that he would look right at home hanging on this wall.”

I tested the weight of the painting. “We’ll need a study bracket,” I said. “I’ll get one from the ironmongers when I go into Hartwell tomorrow.”

Miss Jennifer smiled. “Been there. Done that,” she said. And she held up a bag branded “Harrisons the Ironmongers”. She had also somehow rustled up a hammer, an eggbeater drill, and a couple of screwdrivers.”

“Are you going into the building business?” I said.

Miss Jennifer just laughed.

Once we had finished, Miss Jennifer’s great-great-grandfather, the lieutenant-colonel who might have gone on to become a general, looked perfect against the deep-red wall at the top of the stairs.

“Is that it, Miss?”

“Just one more thing,” she said. And she stood up on tiptoes and kissed me. It was a bit of a surprise. In fact it was a lot of a surprise. But it felt very nice. And Miss Jennifer looked very pleased with herself.

“Well,” I said. (What else could I say?)

“Thank you. The painting looks very good,” she said. “Perfect, in fact. Now – there’s just one more thing that I’d like you to look at. Just along here.” And she took my arm and led me along the corridor to a bedroom.

After Sir Robin asking me to look at the French doors in the little sitting room, I was expecting another issue with a window frame. The windows on the north-eastern side of Westmore Hall had not been well maintained. But no. We were no sooner into the room than Miss Jennifer crossed her arms, grasped the hem of her T-shirt, and pulled it off over her head. And then she took her jeans off too.

It wasn’t the first time that a woman had stripped off in front of me. But it was the first time that a posh woman had.

“Come on,” Miss Jennifer said. “Are you going to take that shirt off? Or would you like me to do it for you?” I don’t think that she ever intended to wait for an answer. My shirt was coming off, and she was determined to be the one to take it off.

Then she reached up, pulled my face down to hers, and we kissed again. And while we kissed, Miss Jennifer took my hand and guided it down the front of her knickers. It wasn’t hard to know what she wanted to happen next.

Jimmy Williamson, who fancied himself as a bit of a ladies man, was always telling me: “You can tell the ones who really want your cock inside them, Tom. They’re as slippery as a piece of warm ice.” Personally, I had never known ice to be warm. But if there was such a thing then, yes, that’s how Miss Jennifer felt.

As we lay there afterwards, Miss Jennifer asked me what I was thinking.

“Who would have guessed?” I said.

She laughed. “Well, you should have. I’ve been dropping enough hints. I was beginning to think that you didn’t fancy me. Not good for a girl’s ego.”

And then there was the sound of a car, and the crunch of tyres on gravel.

“Ah. Mrs Moffatt’s back. Pity. I could have done that all over again. Oh, well – another time. Come and have supper with me. Tomorrow night. It’s Mrs Moffatt’s night off. She’ll be going off to her sister’s. And Father’s up in London.”

We got dressed and went down to the kitchen where Mrs Moffatt was unpacking groceries and putting them away in the pantry and fridge. “Ah, Tom,” Mrs Moffatt said, in a not-unkindly way. “How are you? I thought that was your van. Have we been breaking things again?”

“Tom has just helped me to put great-great-grandfather up on the wall at the back of the landing,” Miss Jennifer said. “Go and see what you think.”

As Mrs Moffatt headed for the stairs, Miss Jennifer steered me to a space out of sight behind the kitchen door and gave me one last, long, lingering kiss. “Until tomorrow,” she said softly.

 

Sex At The Swimming Pool

I was sitting in the pool area sipping on a bottle of water at one of the thousands of hotels in central Florida. I believe this one was a Hilton. The text I was waiting for arrived.

It read, “Light blue shirt, 40ish, thinning blonde hair headed out now, left front pocket.”

I glanced toward the door of the hotel just as a man fitting that description came through. I watched him long enough to pick up which direction he was headed and stood. I made my way around the other end of the pool and chose a new lounge chair to sit in, one that would be directly in my target’s line of sight.

As he sat in a chair a few yards away from me and began getting settled in I raised one of my knees and began to gently and slowly drip suntan oil on my leg. I kept my face straight ahead toward my legs but was watching him intently with my peripheral vision. I’m 26 and take excellent care of my body. I was a cheerleader in high school and college and keep in shape now out of habit. I run and work out practically every morning. I’m blonde and tan and can stand out when I want to. Some women look like me all over Florida, so I can also blend in when I so choose.

I have to blend in a lot. I go to a different hotel almost every day and want to be in the pool area but never actually get a room. Luckily ladies who look like me and are wearing swimsuits and a beach coverup and carrying a beach towel are rarely if ever questioned when heading to the pool. On the few occasions it does come up I come up with a story about meeting some friends. Sometimes I still get let in; other times I’m told I must wait for my buddies. When I’m told I have to hold on, I hang around a bit and then slip out. Once I’ve been noticed like that I believe it’s best to move on. To do what I do successfully, one really shouldn’t be noticed at this point. As I said, it very rarely happens.

Now was the time to stand out though. The coverup has been taken off and I’m on the lounge in a tasteful but revealing bikini. The oil on my legs and now arms has created a sleek, sexy look. And, boom, there it is. He has finally noticed me. I don’t look at him yet. He needs more of a show. I slowly go up and down my arms with the oil again, then my legs. He glanced around a bit when I was on my arms, but he didn’t move while my attention was on my legs.

“Got it,” I think to myself, “a leg man.”

Legs can really be the best tool in a seduction. It can be very difficult to use one’s tits without being obvious, but legs can be pretty much always on display and can be used seductively without being obvious.

He was watching me intently for long enough that I knew I had him. I was clearly out of his league, and he knew it. I was a fantasy for him. Guys like him didn’t get shots at girls who looked like me. He probably wouldn’t even have had a shot a dozen or so years ago when he was in his twenties.

After I finished oiling both legs I flipped suddenly to my side and locked my eyes into his. It happened too quickly for him to look away, and I saw panic about to set in, and his face began to turn red.

I gave a mischievous smile, stood, picked up my Keds, coverup, and towel and walked toward him.

Although the temperature was in the eighties I don’t believe he’d been sweating until now.

I took the lounge next to him, setting my items between our lounges, and said, “Hello there.”

“Uh, hi,” he stammered.

“Are you alone?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered suspiciously. “Why?”

“No reason, sweetie,” I smiled, “I just wonder if your wife would like you to be staring at me like that.”

“I wasn’t staring, and how do you know I’m married.” He replied.

Still smiling, I leaned closer to him and whispered for effect, “You were, honey, and you’re wearing a wedding ring.”

I laughed a sweet little laugh as he looked at his ring as though he was horrified.

I kept talking. “It’s ok; it’ll be our secret.”

He actually looked at me relieved as though he was grateful.

“So where is the little Mrs.?” I inquired.

“She’s at home in Cincinnati; I’m here for an accounting conference,” was his reply.

I leaned back in my lounge and poured a bit of tanning oil on my chest and said, “Too bad for both of you. You should have brought her. She probably would have enjoyed it and you could have watched her do this.”

I was using my fingertips to oil my chest, as he desperately and rather unsuccessfully, tried to maintain eye contact.

“It’s not the same when you’re married,” he muttered.

“What honey?” I asked even though I heard clearly.

“Um, I asked if you were married,” he replied trying to recover quickly.

“I was, I’m celebrating my divorce actually; I’m just down from Atlanta trying to have fun.” I casually answered. All lies of course.

Then I locked his eyes again, “You know, the “no strings attached” kind of fun,” I stated.

He paused as what I said sunk in and cautiously answered, “Sure, I guess.”

I turned onto my stomach and held the tanning oil out toward him, “You can do my back,” I said with a smile as I raised my eyebrows.

I learned this a while ago. Asking a guy to do this, particularly a married one, occasionally will be met with an objection or at least a question or two. By using the assumptive statement, especially with a little flirting, as though he’s getting away with something, I have never had any problems.

He poured some oil on my back and began to timidly rub. I reached my hand around and unhooked my top, letting it fall to the side. I could feel his hands pause, but I didn’t say anything, and soon enough they were back in motion.

An often overlooked step in the art of seduction is knowing when to stay quiet and still and simply let nature take its course.

He kept his hands on the middle of my back, as they all do, so I encouraged him along a little. “Please don’t miss the sides, sweetie, and my lower back.”

“But,” he began.

I cut him off, “It’s fine, I promise; you’re not doing anything I haven’t felt before.”

He began making bigger circles and added more oil.

“Mmmmm,” I uttered, “You’re making this feel soooo good.”

He looked at my face and I playfully bit my lip as though I was really turned on.

He didn’t say anything, but the pause in his movements told me he’d lost concentration.

“Go lower, please,” I encouraged.

As his hands made it to the small of my back I reached and pushed my suit down, exposing an inch or two of my ass.

“Don’t miss here,” I instructed.

This time there was no pause; he was fully compliant.

I guided him up and down my legs, back over my ass, with a return to my back. I had taken a few peeks along the way and knew that he was rock hard.

I learned the timing of his rubs and rolled over “accidentally” during one. Before he could react his hand had slid straight across one of my 34C tits.

He pulled back, terrified, and froze.

This was perfect. It completely assured me that he wouldn’t be thinking clearly.

“Now, I’ll do you,” I stated, completely ignoring that he had just gotten a handful of my tits.

He paused for a millisecond but predictably chose to go face down on his lounge rather than continue the awkward moment, and I began my gentle rub. My rubbing was more gentle, more sexual, and as I expected, he loved it.

After briefly doing his back, I did his neck and shoulders then gently massaged his ears.

I moved to his legs and started on his feet, then moved slowly up on a calf, pausing a bit on the area below the knee. That is a very sensitive area.

Now I needed him to talk a little.

“I love this pool area, don’t you?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

“My room is 330; I look out over it and each morning can’t wait to come down, what about you?” I continued.

I continued rubbing but was now on the back of his thighs. I was even going up into his shorts somewhat, not that he’d dare to complain.

“My room overlooks the golf course, not the pool,” he finally answered.

“Oh nice,” I replied.

This was it.

I moved my hands to his inner thighs and began gently teasing, just as close to his privates as I could get without touching. He literally let out a small moan, lol.

“I think the presidential suite overlooks the course. Room 800, I think. Is that yours?” I asked as the back of my hand brushed along his cock as lightly as a feather.

“Oh no, I’m in 412. Nothing special there.” He answered between gasps as he felt my hands.

“Let me help you get your whole back,” I said as I began a gentle tug on his swimsuit.

He raised up as his pants stuck, and I reached around and into his shorts. He was paralyzed as he thought I was reaching for his cock. But I stopped just short of it and pulled the drawstring untying his swimsuit so that I had better access.

“Let me get my towel, it’s pretty secluded here but I want a little more privacy,” I explained as I pulled my towel over his back and eased his shorts down.

I guided him as I turned him over so that he was now on his back with my towel over him.

I rolled his shirt up and placed it over his eyes. “That’ll keep the sun out of your eyes,” I explained. But I didn’t need to. He wasn’t going to move, and I knew it.

Under the towel I pulled his shorts down enough so that his cock popped free.

I poured some oil into my palm and wrapped it around his cock.

He was smiling as I began fingering around it.

With my right hand I began slowly stroking. I was very deliberate and very slow; I didn’t expect that he could last too long.

My left hand reached into the left pocket of the now loose suit and removed his hotel key card.

I placed the card inside one of my shoes which was on the ground right next to me.

Then I went back to stroking. “So big, honey, so hard,” I cooed as I sped up slightly.

“You’re amazing, does your wife do this for you?” I asked.

He paused, “No, she doesn’t,” he answered after a few seconds as I sped up the strokes.

Asking a guy about his wife in the middle like that usually is a good way to slow the event down as he loses focus for a few seconds.

Now that he was back focused I paid attention to him, “Too bad, honey. You deserve this. I’ll bet you work hard every day, don’t you. She should take care of you.”

As I spoke I slid my shoes out into the path directly in front of the lounge area where a lovely brunette woman quietly picked them up. She looked at me as she retrieved the key card and, with my free hand, I signaled “4 1 2.” She got the message, quietly set my shoes down and was gone.

“Yes,” he agreed.

“Well, I’m here now, baby, I’ll take care of you,” I said.

He nodded.

“Just tell me what you like,” I said as I gave a long full stroke up and down his shaft.

“This,” he said.

“Just this?” I teased as I gave another.

“Yes,” he managed to get out as I let my thumb slide along the lower side of his cock.

“Ok, baby, whatever you wish,” I answered.

I gently teased his cock for a few minutes, keeping him s hard as he could but not giving strokes as quickly as needed for relief.

A few minutes later and I could tell he was on the verge of moving from a state of arousal to a state of frustration.

I added some more oil, and I gave quicker fuller strokes while coaching him along. “That’s it, baby, cum for me, cum, baby, please cum, mmmmmm, yeah.”

He started shooting, “Oh, yes, mmmm, yeah, keep going, more, can’t you give me a little more?” I teased.

When I had completely milked him, I pulled the towel around him and kind of tucked him in. He looked so peaceful and content. I leaned in and gave him the most gentle kiss on his lips but pulled back when he tried to make it become more.

“Shhhh,” I said, “You just stay here and relax. I’m going to run get us a couple of drinks and an appetizer, ok?”

“I’ll go,” he said.

“No, sweetie,” I laughed, then whispered to him, “I kinda have a little mess to clean up on me, too.”

He smiled, knowing it was his mess.

“What would you like?” I asked, “I’m thinking daiquiris.”

“Sounds good,” he said. Although I have a feeling that anything I had said would’ve sounded good.

“Ok, and maybe a shrimp cocktail?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Alright, give me a few minutes, and I’ll be right back, ok?” I asked.

“Sure,” he confirmed.

“And you’ll watch my towel for me? I verified.

“Of course,” he agreed.

The towel is key. By asking him to watch a cheap towel it reinforces in his mind that I’ll be right back. He won’t think to question my return for a while.

“Be right back,” I said as I got up and slipped my shoes and coverup on and walked towards the hotel entrance.

The brunette from the pool area was sitting there waiting with a suitcase as I entered the lobby. We didn’t acknowledge each other, but we each left out the front door of the hotel a few seconds apart. I took a right and began walking down the sidewalk as she crossed the street to a parking lot.

A few minutes later and she had retrieved her car, put the suitcase in the back and driven the block or so down the road I had walked to pick me up.

As I got in she asked, “Are we in a hurry?”

“No, he’ll wait for quite a while. He wasn’t suspicious at all.” I answered.

“Anything good in his room?” I asked.

She grinned, “Better than most, Hiltons really are better, sis. He had a few hundred in cash, two computers, one Apple one even looked brand new, and some brand new jewelry, even had the receipt.”

“Probably bought that for his wife; I’ll take the jewelry.” I replied.

“You earned it,” she said, adding, “It’s a very nice suitcase too.”

“You keep it, I’ve got yesterday’s still.” I told her, and she nodded.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“About 3:00, you up for another?” she asked.

“With you at the pool and me in the lobby bar looking?” I asked for clarification.

“Sure, I can do that,” she agreed.

“Ok, but let’s go a couple of towns over and try a Marriott or Sheraton or something. We’ve been to too many Hiltons recently.” I insisted.

“Whatever you choose, sis, but we’re good; I left the note.” She told me as she kept driving down the highway.

The note she spoke of was a typed note outlining exactly what had been done to him. Namely that he had been burgled while getting a hand job. It instructed him to accept his losses and move on. That any reporting of it to either the hotel or the police would result in his wife receiving a complete account of his activities with another woman, complete with a few pictures. The note was left on his pillow, with his driver’s license that had been removed from his wallet, whether we acquired that at the pool or in the hotel room, it didn’t matter. That showed him that we knew his name and address. As far as we know, no one has ever complained. Turning in the letter would be introducing evidence of his hand job over to the authorities which could enable his wife to see it at some point down the road.

When the guy received this note, he had normally just spent an afternoon in the hot sun waiting for someone to return who hadn’t, then been frustrated by what he thought was losing his hotel key, so he had gone to the desk for another, then finally reached his room. So far these events plus the note had left the men so tired and exhausted that the last thing they wanted to do was explain what had happened to hotel employees, police, their wives, etc. Plus, he had no name and only a description that fit about half the women in the state.