I.
Michele Bravo pushed Gus Keller away.
“Sorry, Keller,” she said. “Not in the middle of a job. When it’s over.”
“Sure,” he said shortly.
Damn, damn, damn thought Michele as she resumed her laps. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. She’d intended to teach Keller a lesson he’d never forget, not develop feelings for him!
He was a good kisser, she had to give him that.
But he was also a member of the Special Crimes Bureau, a rookie, and someone who thought he could capture her, her, Taran Tula, all by himself.
Well, that was not going to happen. After she finished this little scenario, debacle though it was turning out to be, she would dump him like a bad transmission.
He is a nice kisser, though, she thought as she swam her laps.
But there is no future in our relationship, she thought. He’s on the side of the angels. And while I’m on the side of the angels also, that fact must never become known. Taran Tula must die…Michele Bravo must die…so that I can be free.
II.
Women, thought Gus Keller, stroking through the water with some serious power to alleviate the sexual tension that was emanating from him. They’d been kissing, and it felt so good…and then she’d pulled away from him. She’d looked him in the eyes, and he could tell she wanted him, but she’d said, “Sorry, Keller. Not in the middle of a job. When it’s over.”
Why not in the middle of a job, that’s what he wanted to know. Why not?
Still…she’d left the door open…for after the job.
After…the murder.
If he wanted to make tender, passionate love to Marguerite Zelle, he was going to have to kill someone first.
Damn, thought Keller, as he powered through the water. There’s always something.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Michele Bravo Playing With Fire Chapter 27
Jan Janasz stood on the balcony above the Olympic-size swimming pool. He had been watching Marguerite Zelle and Mr. Largo swim through the blue water, and now he was watching them drownproofing, just the tops of their heads above water, while they were kissing.
Kissing underwater. Who’d’ve thought of it?
He wondered if they were about to shuck their bathing costumes and actually go at it in the water.
No…no…they were pulling apart….they were resuming their swim.
What a pity.
Janasz sighed. He was not a voyeur…he was a writer. He observed people, he couldn’t help himself. Even when he was having sex, half of his mind was describing his own actions, and those of his bedmate, in his heaad, so that he could write it down for possible use later in one of his plays, or hopefully, a book (of which he was in the process of writing one.)
And even now, as he watched Marguerite Zelle swimming with easy grace through the crystal clear water, admiring her beauty, he was writing it all down in his head…the white swimsuit contrasting against her bronze skin. She wouldn’t be wearing a one-piece, of course, in his story, but rather a bikini, so that he could describe the plunging neckline and her cleavage…and the small of her back..perhaps with the tattoo of a rose swelling up from ….
Janasz took a deep breath.
Get a grip, man, he told himself. You mustn’t think such things of the woman you’re working for. But after this job of work is over, all bets are off.
_________________
Note to my loyal readers: Most of the installments in this "romantic suspense-with-occasional-erotica serial fiction" have averaged 1,000 words or more. For the next week and a half or so, the story will progress in installments of between 200 - 500 words. I'm about to start a cross country road-trip with an elderly, infirm relative, and while I'm hoping it's not going to be the trip from hell...I know it will be. The story will be updated every day, never fear, it just won't progress as fast as usual. The 1000+ word installmetns will resume around October 1.
Thanks for reading, hope you're enjoying it.
And please send vibes my way that the trip goes well!
Kissing underwater. Who’d’ve thought of it?
He wondered if they were about to shuck their bathing costumes and actually go at it in the water.
No…no…they were pulling apart….they were resuming their swim.
What a pity.
Janasz sighed. He was not a voyeur…he was a writer. He observed people, he couldn’t help himself. Even when he was having sex, half of his mind was describing his own actions, and those of his bedmate, in his heaad, so that he could write it down for possible use later in one of his plays, or hopefully, a book (of which he was in the process of writing one.)
And even now, as he watched Marguerite Zelle swimming with easy grace through the crystal clear water, admiring her beauty, he was writing it all down in his head…the white swimsuit contrasting against her bronze skin. She wouldn’t be wearing a one-piece, of course, in his story, but rather a bikini, so that he could describe the plunging neckline and her cleavage…and the small of her back..perhaps with the tattoo of a rose swelling up from ….
Janasz took a deep breath.
Get a grip, man, he told himself. You mustn’t think such things of the woman you’re working for. But after this job of work is over, all bets are off.
_________________
Note to my loyal readers: Most of the installments in this "romantic suspense-with-occasional-erotica serial fiction" have averaged 1,000 words or more. For the next week and a half or so, the story will progress in installments of between 200 - 500 words. I'm about to start a cross country road-trip with an elderly, infirm relative, and while I'm hoping it's not going to be the trip from hell...I know it will be. The story will be updated every day, never fear, it just won't progress as fast as usual. The 1000+ word installmetns will resume around October 1.
Thanks for reading, hope you're enjoying it.
And please send vibes my way that the trip goes well!
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Michele Bravo Playing With Fire, Chapter 26
As Gus Keller swam in the pool, he was able to take in Michele Bravo’s beauty from many angles. She wore a white one piece that contrasted with her glowing tan, and showed off her long, toned legs with the sculpted thighs and calves of a bicyclist, flat stomach, high, small, perfectly formed breasts, and the sculpted biceps and triceps of a weight trainer.
As he swam beneath her, the image of her body, with the white suit outlined against the bright sun, reminded him of something. Not…Jaws…what….of course, The Creature from the Black Lagoon.
Jeez, thought Keller. How is it that I can remember movies…movies that I must have seen years ago…but I can’t remember my own name?
She was so beautiful…and so cold…talking about killing people as she did…and yet she’d saved his life, and taken care of him so tenderly.
He rose up to swim only a few feet beneath her, and she stared down at him as she swam. She grinned, and must have laughed out loud, because suddenly she stopped and started choking. He surfaced and held her while she coughed.
“Don’t do that to me,” she finally laughed at him as she recovered from her coughing fit.
He was very conscious of her hands resting on his shoulders.
And suddenly her laughter faded and she looked into his eyes. They floated there, gazing at each other….
As he swam beneath her, the image of her body, with the white suit outlined against the bright sun, reminded him of something. Not…Jaws…what….of course, The Creature from the Black Lagoon.
Jeez, thought Keller. How is it that I can remember movies…movies that I must have seen years ago…but I can’t remember my own name?
She was so beautiful…and so cold…talking about killing people as she did…and yet she’d saved his life, and taken care of him so tenderly.
He rose up to swim only a few feet beneath her, and she stared down at him as she swam. She grinned, and must have laughed out loud, because suddenly she stopped and started choking. He surfaced and held her while she coughed.
“Don’t do that to me,” she finally laughed at him as she recovered from her coughing fit.
He was very conscious of her hands resting on his shoulders.
And suddenly her laughter faded and she looked into his eyes. They floated there, gazing at each other….
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Michele Bravo Playing With Fire Chapter 25
1.
When Michele Bravo woke up the next morning, it was to feel Gus Keller cuddled against her back, and his arm was draped over hers. It felt very warm, very comfortable.
She couldn’t possibly be falling for Keller, could she?
No, of course not. She wasn’t responsible for her physical reactions first thing in the morning.
Very slowly, so as to avoid waking him if at all possible, Michele scooched over and got out of bed. She turned back to see if she had waked him, and his eyes were closed and he was breathing regularly.
She went into the bathroom and performed her ablutions. When she returned to the bedroom, she saw that Keller had awakened. Not only that, he was standing in front of the mirror, clad in his underwear, and his eyes were glistening.
Was he crying?
“Something wrong, Keller?” she asked.
“No,” Keller responded, pinching the moisture away from his eyes. “Just…the briefest of stabs of pain through my head when I got up…but it’s disappeared now, and I feel great.”
“Well, as long as it was only a brief stab,” Michele said. “If you’ll get dressed, we’ll go down to breakfast. Then we’ll have a chat with Janasz. He is getting anxious, I told him we’d take care of Pretorius before the week is out.”
“So soon?” said Keller.
“Yes. Problem? I thought you were getting impatient.”
“No problem. Just an observation.”
“Okay. Good. Well, like I said, we’re going to do it sometime this week. Time to get this show on the road.”
II.
When Michele and Keller arrived in the dining room, Janasz and Adams were already there. There was a sideboard lined with covered silver dishes, and the Americans helped themselves to scrambled eggs and toast.
Janasz cleared his throat. “You were quite a hit with Alain the other night, Marguerite,” he said. “He has invited you up to his spread at Lightning Ridge. He wants to show you the opal mines.”
“Very good,” said Michele. “I was hoping he would do so. You two are coming also?”
“Yes – he invited you and “your friend,” as he called Mr. Keller here, and Adams and I go up there frequently, anyway. So we invited ourselves along.”
“Good, this is shaping up nicely then. When can we get started?”
“It’s a long drive. If you’ll pack enough for a week. I’ve got some calls to meet. Shall we leave in two hours?”
“Ten o’clock? No problem.”
Michele and Keller packed up their bags. They did it quickly and efficiently, and after that they were at a loose end.
“Feel like a swim, Keller?” Michele asked.
“Sure.”
III.
Gus Keller had woken up that morning, feeling the warmth of a woman’s body next to his, and his arm draped familiarly over her hers. For a few seconds, he was lost in the pleasure of it. Then, she began to move, and he didn’t want her to know he was awake so he lay unresisting, his eyes closed, until he heard the sound of the bathroom door closing.
Then he opened his eyes and sat up. As he achieved the perpendicular there was a sudden lance of pain through his head, but it disappeared as soon as it came and he felt fine.
There was only one problem.
Keller strode over to the mirror and looked at himself. He still didn’t recognize himself. He still didn’t know who he was. A good night’s sleep hadn’t helped at all.
A wave of despair washed over him. What was he going to do?
“Something wrong, Keller?”
He twisted to look at Taran Tula – aka Marguerite Zelle.
“No,” he said quickly, pinching the moisture away from his eyes. Quick, he thought. Tough guys don’t cry. “Just…the briefest of stabs of pain through my head when I got up…but it’s disappeared now, and I feel great.”
“Well, as long as it was only a brief stab,” she said. “If you’ll get dressed, we’ll go down to breakfast. Then we’ll have a chat with Janasz. He is getting anxious, I told him we’d take care of Pretorius before the week is out.”
Keller’s heart sank. “So soon?” he said.
She stared at him and said briskly. “Yes. Problem? I thought you were getting impatient.”
“No problem,” he said with deliberate casualness. “ Just an observation.”
“Okay. Good,” she said, in her calm, deliberate, matter-of-fact way. “Well, like I said, we’re going to do it sometime this week. Time to get this show on the road.”
She said that last very briskly. Very….determinedly. He felt a little sick.
When they arrived in the dining room, Janasz and Adams were already there. There was a sideboard lined with covered silver dishes. Keller watched Marguerite lift each dish as she searched for suitable foodstuffs, and finally settled for scrambled eggs and toast. He followed her lead.
Janasz coughed. “You were quite a hit with Alain the other night, Marguerite,” he said. “He has invited you up to his spread at Lightning Ridge. He wants to show you the opal mines.”
Lightning Ridge. Where the hell was that?
But Marguerite Zelle said calmly, “Very good. I was hoping he would do so. You two are coming also?”
“Yes – he invited you and “your friend,” as he called Mr. Keller here, and Adams and I go up there frequently, anyway. So we invited ourselves along.”
Her friend. Her friend. Memory came flooding back. Not the memory of who he was, unfortunately, but the memory of what had gone on last night, before he’d had to ditch the party and go upstairs with a splitting headache. She…Zelle, had been practically climbing into Pretorius’ lap, and he had been enjoying it, as who wouldn’t?
But Marguerite was still talking.
“Good, this is shaping up nicely then. When can we get started?”
“It’s a long drive. If you’ll pack enough for a week. I’ve got some calls to meet. Shall we leave in two hours?”
“Ten o’clock? No problem.”
Keller followed Marguerite back up to their room. It didn’t take them long to pack at all.
Then, she turned to him. “Feel like a swim, Keller?” she asked.
Oh, yes. “Sure,” he said.
When Michele Bravo woke up the next morning, it was to feel Gus Keller cuddled against her back, and his arm was draped over hers. It felt very warm, very comfortable.
She couldn’t possibly be falling for Keller, could she?
No, of course not. She wasn’t responsible for her physical reactions first thing in the morning.
Very slowly, so as to avoid waking him if at all possible, Michele scooched over and got out of bed. She turned back to see if she had waked him, and his eyes were closed and he was breathing regularly.
She went into the bathroom and performed her ablutions. When she returned to the bedroom, she saw that Keller had awakened. Not only that, he was standing in front of the mirror, clad in his underwear, and his eyes were glistening.
Was he crying?
“Something wrong, Keller?” she asked.
“No,” Keller responded, pinching the moisture away from his eyes. “Just…the briefest of stabs of pain through my head when I got up…but it’s disappeared now, and I feel great.”
“Well, as long as it was only a brief stab,” Michele said. “If you’ll get dressed, we’ll go down to breakfast. Then we’ll have a chat with Janasz. He is getting anxious, I told him we’d take care of Pretorius before the week is out.”
“So soon?” said Keller.
“Yes. Problem? I thought you were getting impatient.”
“No problem. Just an observation.”
“Okay. Good. Well, like I said, we’re going to do it sometime this week. Time to get this show on the road.”
II.
When Michele and Keller arrived in the dining room, Janasz and Adams were already there. There was a sideboard lined with covered silver dishes, and the Americans helped themselves to scrambled eggs and toast.
Janasz cleared his throat. “You were quite a hit with Alain the other night, Marguerite,” he said. “He has invited you up to his spread at Lightning Ridge. He wants to show you the opal mines.”
“Very good,” said Michele. “I was hoping he would do so. You two are coming also?”
“Yes – he invited you and “your friend,” as he called Mr. Keller here, and Adams and I go up there frequently, anyway. So we invited ourselves along.”
“Good, this is shaping up nicely then. When can we get started?”
“It’s a long drive. If you’ll pack enough for a week. I’ve got some calls to meet. Shall we leave in two hours?”
“Ten o’clock? No problem.”
Michele and Keller packed up their bags. They did it quickly and efficiently, and after that they were at a loose end.
“Feel like a swim, Keller?” Michele asked.
“Sure.”
III.
Gus Keller had woken up that morning, feeling the warmth of a woman’s body next to his, and his arm draped familiarly over her hers. For a few seconds, he was lost in the pleasure of it. Then, she began to move, and he didn’t want her to know he was awake so he lay unresisting, his eyes closed, until he heard the sound of the bathroom door closing.
Then he opened his eyes and sat up. As he achieved the perpendicular there was a sudden lance of pain through his head, but it disappeared as soon as it came and he felt fine.
There was only one problem.
Keller strode over to the mirror and looked at himself. He still didn’t recognize himself. He still didn’t know who he was. A good night’s sleep hadn’t helped at all.
A wave of despair washed over him. What was he going to do?
“Something wrong, Keller?”
He twisted to look at Taran Tula – aka Marguerite Zelle.
“No,” he said quickly, pinching the moisture away from his eyes. Quick, he thought. Tough guys don’t cry. “Just…the briefest of stabs of pain through my head when I got up…but it’s disappeared now, and I feel great.”
“Well, as long as it was only a brief stab,” she said. “If you’ll get dressed, we’ll go down to breakfast. Then we’ll have a chat with Janasz. He is getting anxious, I told him we’d take care of Pretorius before the week is out.”
Keller’s heart sank. “So soon?” he said.
She stared at him and said briskly. “Yes. Problem? I thought you were getting impatient.”
“No problem,” he said with deliberate casualness. “ Just an observation.”
“Okay. Good,” she said, in her calm, deliberate, matter-of-fact way. “Well, like I said, we’re going to do it sometime this week. Time to get this show on the road.”
She said that last very briskly. Very….determinedly. He felt a little sick.
When they arrived in the dining room, Janasz and Adams were already there. There was a sideboard lined with covered silver dishes. Keller watched Marguerite lift each dish as she searched for suitable foodstuffs, and finally settled for scrambled eggs and toast. He followed her lead.
Janasz coughed. “You were quite a hit with Alain the other night, Marguerite,” he said. “He has invited you up to his spread at Lightning Ridge. He wants to show you the opal mines.”
Lightning Ridge. Where the hell was that?
But Marguerite Zelle said calmly, “Very good. I was hoping he would do so. You two are coming also?”
“Yes – he invited you and “your friend,” as he called Mr. Keller here, and Adams and I go up there frequently, anyway. So we invited ourselves along.”
Her friend. Her friend. Memory came flooding back. Not the memory of who he was, unfortunately, but the memory of what had gone on last night, before he’d had to ditch the party and go upstairs with a splitting headache. She…Zelle, had been practically climbing into Pretorius’ lap, and he had been enjoying it, as who wouldn’t?
But Marguerite was still talking.
“Good, this is shaping up nicely then. When can we get started?”
“It’s a long drive. If you’ll pack enough for a week. I’ve got some calls to meet. Shall we leave in two hours?”
“Ten o’clock? No problem.”
Keller followed Marguerite back up to their room. It didn’t take them long to pack at all.
Then, she turned to him. “Feel like a swim, Keller?” she asked.
Oh, yes. “Sure,” he said.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Erotica By Bravo: Dighton and Forrest Do Christmas
Michele Bravo had an erotica story to write for her readers, and for some reason, even though Christmas was a little over two months away, she decided to make it a Christmas story. Perhaps because she was sweltering in 90 degree heat and the news on the telly had been extremely depressing. She hoped that her readers would find that a little snow and Christmas cheer would not come amiss.
Happiness Is Whatever You Want it to Be
Large snowflakes floated down from the dark sky, falling onto the shoulders of Peter Dighton and Sasha Forrest as they walked down a sidewalk, holding hands.
The evening was warm, so much so that the snowflakes were melting on the sidewalk, but gathered in pristine whiteness on the lawns and on the grass strips that separated the sidewalk from the street.
It was December, and as was their tradition, they had attended a performance of A Christmas Carol at the Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Dighton and Forrest had first met in Minneapolis five years ago, when Sasha had been an ex-collegiate fencer turned actress, and Dighton had been the fight choreographer and lead actor in a play in which she had appeared [the story of their courtship can be found at: En Garde: Seduction (Erotica By Bravo)
]
They walked in silence along the sidewalk to their car, occasionally moving closer to each other to bump arms and exchange glances and smiles.
They reached their destination, the Garland Restaurant, and walked in. Although the Garland was a hit with the post-theatre crowd, it was large enough to be able to seat them all with no waiting. The restaurant specialized in world-wide cuisine, serving the signature meals of the Orient -- Japan, China, and Thailand; Europe – England, France and Spain, and the Americas – American and Mexican.
Dighton chose sweet and sour chicken served in Thai style, while Sasha elected to have Shepherd’s Pie. While they ate, they held hands…that was the joy of the dishes they’d chosen – only a fork was needed, leaving one hand free for caressing.
“I love this Shepherd’s Pie,” Sasha murmured. “Reminds me of the first time I was in England - London of course. I had this at the Heathrow Hotel, and loved it. My mom used to try to make it for me over the years, but she could never get the ingredients right. It was good, of course, her version, but it never had that je ne sais quois that you get from the kind made in England.”
“I loved London and the West End,” Peter said. “My tradition was Pizza Hut. My brother was stationed over there for some years, up at RAF Upper Heyford. So each year I’d visit him and we’d go down to London and catch some plays in the West End. And we’d always have a pizza at Pizza Hut, and Garlic cheese bread. It was our traditional pre-theatre meal.”
After they’d finished their meal, Peter and Sasha started the walk back to their car. The snow had stopped, and the full moon cast a silver glow on the snow.
Peter sang, in a pleasant baritone, just low enough so that only Sasha could hear:
“They say happiness is a thing you can't see
A thing you can't touch “
Sasha joined in:
“I disagree
Happiness is standing beside me
I can see him
He can see me
Happiness is whatever you want it to be
Happiness is a high hill
Will I find it?
Yes, I will
Happiness is a tall tree
Can I climb it?
Watch and see “
Peter leaned over and kissed her cheek. Then he continued the song:
“They say happiness is the folly of fools
Pity poor me
One of the fools
Happiness is smiling upon me
Walking my way
Sharing my day “
Then they both sang together:
“Happiness is whatever you want it to be “
Sasha sang out in her bell-like voice
“Happiness is a bright star
Are we happy? “
Peter smiled,
“Yes, we are “
Sasha hugged his arm tightly.
“Happiness is a clear sky “
Peter joined her in the rest of the verses”
“Give me wings and let me fly
Let me fly
For happiness is whatever you want it to be
Yes, happiness is whatever you want it to be “
“I loved that movie,” Sasha said. “Truth to tell, Scrooge is my favorite version of A Christmas Carol, and Albert Finney is my favorite Scrooge.”
“Kenneth More was the best Ghost of Christmas Present,” Peter agreed, “and Edith Evans was the best Ghost of Christmas Past.”
“I like his song, too,” said Sasha. “Shall we sing it?”
“Too late,” said Peter, “here’s the car. Well, we can serenade ourselves on the way to the hotel.”
And they did, singing the Ghost of Christmas Present’s song, “I like life,” at the top of their lungs.
After that, Peter put a CD of Mannheim Steamroller’s Christmas Carols in the CD player. They had time to listen to only a couple of tracks before they arrived at their hotel, where they were staying while carrying out their Christmas tradition.
Their hotel room had a mini-Fridge. Sasha went to it and pulled out a bottle of wine and two chilled wine glasses, and some chocolate truffles.
They left the TV off, this was their alone time, and being actors they recited sonnets and love poems to each other. The goal of the game was that Sasha – or as it might be, Peter – would quote one stanza of the poem or sonnet, and then Peter, or, as it might be, Sasha, would have to recite the next stanza, and so on. If one of them couldn’t deliver the correct stanza, he – or she – would take a drink of wine, and the other one would get to eat a truffle.
Finally, wine drunk and truffles devoured, they undressed and went to bed. They entwined together but didn’t make love, merely snuggling up to each other and feeling the warmth and the pleasure in each other’s company.
Happiness Is Whatever You Want it to Be
Large snowflakes floated down from the dark sky, falling onto the shoulders of Peter Dighton and Sasha Forrest as they walked down a sidewalk, holding hands.
The evening was warm, so much so that the snowflakes were melting on the sidewalk, but gathered in pristine whiteness on the lawns and on the grass strips that separated the sidewalk from the street.
It was December, and as was their tradition, they had attended a performance of A Christmas Carol at the Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Dighton and Forrest had first met in Minneapolis five years ago, when Sasha had been an ex-collegiate fencer turned actress, and Dighton had been the fight choreographer and lead actor in a play in which she had appeared [the story of their courtship can be found at: En Garde: Seduction (Erotica By Bravo)
]
They walked in silence along the sidewalk to their car, occasionally moving closer to each other to bump arms and exchange glances and smiles.
They reached their destination, the Garland Restaurant, and walked in. Although the Garland was a hit with the post-theatre crowd, it was large enough to be able to seat them all with no waiting. The restaurant specialized in world-wide cuisine, serving the signature meals of the Orient -- Japan, China, and Thailand; Europe – England, France and Spain, and the Americas – American and Mexican.
Dighton chose sweet and sour chicken served in Thai style, while Sasha elected to have Shepherd’s Pie. While they ate, they held hands…that was the joy of the dishes they’d chosen – only a fork was needed, leaving one hand free for caressing.
“I love this Shepherd’s Pie,” Sasha murmured. “Reminds me of the first time I was in England - London of course. I had this at the Heathrow Hotel, and loved it. My mom used to try to make it for me over the years, but she could never get the ingredients right. It was good, of course, her version, but it never had that je ne sais quois that you get from the kind made in England.”
“I loved London and the West End,” Peter said. “My tradition was Pizza Hut. My brother was stationed over there for some years, up at RAF Upper Heyford. So each year I’d visit him and we’d go down to London and catch some plays in the West End. And we’d always have a pizza at Pizza Hut, and Garlic cheese bread. It was our traditional pre-theatre meal.”
After they’d finished their meal, Peter and Sasha started the walk back to their car. The snow had stopped, and the full moon cast a silver glow on the snow.
Peter sang, in a pleasant baritone, just low enough so that only Sasha could hear:
“They say happiness is a thing you can't see
A thing you can't touch “
Sasha joined in:
“I disagree
Happiness is standing beside me
I can see him
He can see me
Happiness is whatever you want it to be
Happiness is a high hill
Will I find it?
Yes, I will
Happiness is a tall tree
Can I climb it?
Watch and see “
Peter leaned over and kissed her cheek. Then he continued the song:
“They say happiness is the folly of fools
Pity poor me
One of the fools
Happiness is smiling upon me
Walking my way
Sharing my day “
Then they both sang together:
“Happiness is whatever you want it to be “
Sasha sang out in her bell-like voice
“Happiness is a bright star
Are we happy? “
Peter smiled,
“Yes, we are “
Sasha hugged his arm tightly.
“Happiness is a clear sky “
Peter joined her in the rest of the verses”
“Give me wings and let me fly
Let me fly
For happiness is whatever you want it to be
Yes, happiness is whatever you want it to be “
“I loved that movie,” Sasha said. “Truth to tell, Scrooge is my favorite version of A Christmas Carol, and Albert Finney is my favorite Scrooge.”
“Kenneth More was the best Ghost of Christmas Present,” Peter agreed, “and Edith Evans was the best Ghost of Christmas Past.”
“I like his song, too,” said Sasha. “Shall we sing it?”
“Too late,” said Peter, “here’s the car. Well, we can serenade ourselves on the way to the hotel.”
And they did, singing the Ghost of Christmas Present’s song, “I like life,” at the top of their lungs.
After that, Peter put a CD of Mannheim Steamroller’s Christmas Carols in the CD player. They had time to listen to only a couple of tracks before they arrived at their hotel, where they were staying while carrying out their Christmas tradition.
Their hotel room had a mini-Fridge. Sasha went to it and pulled out a bottle of wine and two chilled wine glasses, and some chocolate truffles.
They left the TV off, this was their alone time, and being actors they recited sonnets and love poems to each other. The goal of the game was that Sasha – or as it might be, Peter – would quote one stanza of the poem or sonnet, and then Peter, or, as it might be, Sasha, would have to recite the next stanza, and so on. If one of them couldn’t deliver the correct stanza, he – or she – would take a drink of wine, and the other one would get to eat a truffle.
Finally, wine drunk and truffles devoured, they undressed and went to bed. They entwined together but didn’t make love, merely snuggling up to each other and feeling the warmth and the pleasure in each other’s company.
Monday, September 13, 2010
From Sexy Underwater Stories: Anton and the Mermaid
This is a guest story, to introduce Michele Bravo's new blog, Sexy Underwater Stories. Like Erotica by Bravo, it is a serial fiction blog, featuring three beatiful young sisters, scuba divers who travel the world having adventures, erotic and otherwise. In addition, one of them is an aspiring writer, and it is one of her stories that is shared below.
If you like this story, please subscribe to Sexy Underwater Stories
(If the link doesn't work, please visit the Amazon.com webpage, type in Sexy Underwater Stories, and subscribe from there.)
Anton and the Mermaid
If you like this story, please subscribe to Sexy Underwater Stories
(If the link doesn't work, please visit the Amazon.com webpage, type in Sexy Underwater Stories, and subscribe from there.)
Anton and the Mermaid
Anton Weaver stood on the prow of his ship, gazing out into the sapphire blue water. He was anchored just off the Bimini Road, an underwater rock formation that was thousands of years old and which many people thought was man-made, and proved that here…here at Bimini….Atlantis had once existed.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a silvery shape break the surface…it was a dolphin. He watched the creature playing exuberantly for a few minutes, and felt a pang at his heart.
Some people watched the birds and wished they could fly through the air, *sans wings, *he had watched mammals swimming throughout the depths, and wished he could do the same thing.
But no, he was doomed to always be separated by a thin sheet of neoprene, a face mask, and a heavy scuba tank on his back.
Not today, though. Today he’d be skin diving…and when he said skin diving he meant skin-diving. With only flippers, a knife strapped to his inner calf, and a pair of goggles over his eyes, with a snorkel attached to them, Anton stepped to the side of his boat and dove in.
He dove down, down, the fifteen feet to the ocean floor, and the huge rectangular rocks that comprised the Bimini Road.
As he had done many times before, he followed the rocks from their beginning to their ending, a distance of only about half a mile, surfacing only a couple of times.
Anton had been diving all his life, and had wonderful breath control. He could stay underwater, even exerting himself as he was, for over three minutes.
He swam close to the ocean floor, reaching down now and then to touch the algae-covered rocks, loving the feeling of the rough stone on his fingertips. He was touching history. He was touching an edifice that was thousands of years old.
Anton continued to swim along the Road. He’d swam along it dozens of times over the years, and knew when it was supposed to end.
This time…it wasn’t ending. He was still swimming…and now the rocks weren’t covered with algae but were unsullied, clean stone. How was this possible?
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a silver movement, and paused to take a look at the nearby dolphin.
Only…it wasn’t a dolphin.
It was a woman.
A woman who, like him, was skin-diving…in the nude.
Her hair curled around her beautiful face like a nimbus. Her pale skin positively glowed. Her breasts…her breasts were perfect, small, round globes that bobbed gently. Her belly was flat, then her hips flared out to long, long legs…and at the end of each foot…some weird kind of flipper…
Anton’s eyes had ran down the woman’s body, even as “something’s wrong here” resonated in him. He looked up again. She wasn’t wearing anything over her eyes, yet she seemed to be able to see him perfectly. And her lips…she was pursing her lips like she wanted to kiss him…and then unpursing them…as if she were breathing underwater…
She remained motionless, staring at him. Her arms were spread out to her sides, and she was making various gestures with her hands to maintain her position against the current.
Anton kicked his feet just a couple of times, so that he glided toward her slowly.
She waited for him.
He came right up to her, and she put out her hands to stop his forward progress, to bring him from a horizontal, swimming position to a vertical one. She stared deeply into his eyes.
Her eyes…a deep green, with a large pupil…eyes that you could get lost in.
And those lips…
Anton reached out and grasped her biceps, drawing him closer to her. He inclined his head forward, and placed his lips upon hers.
She kissed him back, and he opened his mouth to receive her tongue. But incredibly, instead of her tongue it was air that she breathed into him.
He pushed her away from him, feeling his throat working. He was choking…then suddenly…he wasn’t. He was breathing. *Breathing underwater.
She had been staring at him, and now nodded, as if he had just passed a test. She held out her hand to him. He swum forward and took it. She turned and pulled on his hand, placing it on her shoulder. He brought up his other hand to her other shoulder, and then suddenly she was swimming, faster than he would have thought possible.
Her body was undulating, like a dolphin’s, and he was riding on her back as she was cutting through the water at an incredible speed. And he was able to breathe…
And then suddenly she twisted underneath him, until suddenly she was swimming while *facing him, and her body was undulating and her belly was quite close to his cock, so close that if only he had some power of his own he could have entered her there and then. He found he wanted to, desperately.
She started slowing down, her body continuing to undulate, her firm breasts looking so lovely in the clear water, her belly, her legs, and that dark patch between her legs that indicated she was a woman ready for love…
Now…now…they had slowed down enough so that he was no longer feeling overpowered by the force of the water, he let his hands slide down from her shoulders to her waist and used them to steady her while he entered her.
Her body arced as she felt him enter her, and then she wrapped her legs around his waist.
They hovered there, neutrally buoyant, while Anton thrust himself into her again and again…meantime staring deep into those green eyes…eyes that seemed to have the wisdom of the world in them… and her face, her beautiful face, her lips continuing to purse and unpurse…he abandoned his grip on her waist and grasped her face, he so wanted to kiss her again.
He kissed her, and she kissed him back, and he could feel himself coming, and it was an incredible feeling, as the pleasure jolted through him…
Then he was spent, and he floated there, gazing at her, gazing into those fathomless eyes.
Then, suddenly, he was choking again, and she hooked a hand under his arm and raised him to the surface.
He bobbed there, sucking in deep breaths of air. Then, desperately, he began looking around for her. Where had she gone?
He jackknifed down into the water, and there she was. She came forward, kissed him once, gently, then she shoved him away, turned around and began swimming away from him with that undulating movement.
And all he could do was watch her swim out of his life…
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Michele Bravo Playing With Fire Chapter 24
I.
Gus Keller was dreaming. In his dream, he was standing in darkness in the bedroom. Taran Tula…the beautiful Taran Tula whom he didn’t remember but who must be his girl… walked into the bedroom, and stared at him.
He grabbed her by the biceps, and forced her backward onto the bed. She grasped his own arms, and exerted her strength to prevent him from forcing her backward, but she never said a word and she was smiling as she resisted him.
She lay flat on the bed, staring up at him, pressing against his chest with both her hands. He grasped her wrists, one in each of his hands, and forced them back over her head. She bucked her hips beneath him, but he merely leaned forward and kissed her, hard, upon the lips.
She resisted at first, then her lips parted and he stuck his tongue in her mouth, entwining it with her own tongue.
Still holding her by the wrists, Gus pulled her up further onto the bed, Leaning forward, he used his knees to spread her legs apart, and although at one point in this scenario they’d both been wearing clothes, now they were conveniently naked.
Tula bucked underneath him again, but he just pressed himself against her, keeping her down, as he entered her.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, so that he could get deeper into her, and he maneuvered his hips in long, deep thrusts into her.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Taran moaned…with pleasure.
Keller pressed his body down onto hers even further, at the same time biting gently on her neck, on her shoulders, on her breasts…
He was cumming, he was cumming…. Then, suddenly, Taran’s eyes opened wide and with a sudden burst of strength she shoved him off of her. Then she sat up, laughing at him.
II.
Keller sat up in bed, angry, for reasons that he didn’t know. Perhaps because his head was killing him, perhaps because he was feeling used and abused. Perhaps because he still couldn’t remember who he was, but his girl, his girl, had been downstairs flirting with some guy….and had now entered the room and stood there, sneering at him, laughing at him.
“Sorry,” she said, grinning. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“What time is it?” he asked. His mouth felt dry…he was dying for a drink.
“Just gone midnight. The party was a complete success.”
The party. Where she was practically in that guy’s pants. “I just bet,” he said, gruffly.
She looked at him, smirking. “I saw you came up early.” She said. “Need some aspirin?”
“No, I’m feeling fine. So, the party. You sure looked like you were enjoying yourself.”
She’d been all over that Alain Pretorius. All over him.
“Yes,” she said with a smirk. “Pretorious is a very charming man.”
Charming, she called it. “Sexy too, eh?” he said provocatively.
“Yes, very sexy,” she replied, laughing. Then, “Is there something you want to say, Keller?”
“I just didn’t like the way you were hanging all over him, that’s all,” he said, defiantly. “I’m surprised you ended up here instead of in his bedroom.”
She drew herself up to her full height. “He’s not staying in the house,” she said…regretfully.
Keller gritted his teeth.
But then she went on. “Look, Keller, I told you I was going to vamp Pretorius, and I did. It was all part of the job. But if it will make you feel any better, let’s proceed to the next part of the job. Shall we discuss how we’re going to kill him?”
He stared at her for several seconds, blinking, face expressionless.
Had she just said, so very calmly, “Shall we discuss how we’re going to kill him?”
They were going to kill Pretorius. He and she…cold blooded assassins.
“Well?” she demanded.
“My head is hurting,” Keller said fretfully. “Can I get a couple of aspirin?”
“Of course.” Keller watched her walk into the bathroom. She returned with a couple of pills and a glass of water.
He took them and downed them quickly.
He was a cold-blooded killer…and she hadn’t been cheating on him. He felt a little sick and a little elated at the same time.
“Sorry to have been such a bear,” he said. “I guess I woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”
“Not to worry.” She said, smiling her gorgeous smile at him. “Now, maybe you’d better take off those clothes and…”
Hope springs eternal. “Is that an invitation?” Keller asked.
“You are feeling better,” she laughed.
But he was doomed to disappointment.
“I want you to sleep, Keller. I need you at full strength tomorrow. So just take off your clothes and go back to bed.“
“It’s easier to sleep with a warm body next to mine,” he said, trying to put persuasion into his voice.
“I shall take a shower and change into my jimjams, and then I will come to bed. To sleep.”
Ooh, baby. “You’re the boss,” he said, beginning to unbutton his shirt.
She went into the bathroom, while he took off all his clothes. He hesitated…then slipped out of his underwear, too. Then he lay back in bed. The pills were starting to help….
He never knew when Taran Tula re-entered the room, and climbed into the bed beside him. He was out like a light.
Gus Keller was dreaming. In his dream, he was standing in darkness in the bedroom. Taran Tula…the beautiful Taran Tula whom he didn’t remember but who must be his girl… walked into the bedroom, and stared at him.
He grabbed her by the biceps, and forced her backward onto the bed. She grasped his own arms, and exerted her strength to prevent him from forcing her backward, but she never said a word and she was smiling as she resisted him.
She lay flat on the bed, staring up at him, pressing against his chest with both her hands. He grasped her wrists, one in each of his hands, and forced them back over her head. She bucked her hips beneath him, but he merely leaned forward and kissed her, hard, upon the lips.
She resisted at first, then her lips parted and he stuck his tongue in her mouth, entwining it with her own tongue.
Still holding her by the wrists, Gus pulled her up further onto the bed, Leaning forward, he used his knees to spread her legs apart, and although at one point in this scenario they’d both been wearing clothes, now they were conveniently naked.
Tula bucked underneath him again, but he just pressed himself against her, keeping her down, as he entered her.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, so that he could get deeper into her, and he maneuvered his hips in long, deep thrusts into her.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Taran moaned…with pleasure.
Keller pressed his body down onto hers even further, at the same time biting gently on her neck, on her shoulders, on her breasts…
He was cumming, he was cumming…. Then, suddenly, Taran’s eyes opened wide and with a sudden burst of strength she shoved him off of her. Then she sat up, laughing at him.
II.
Keller sat up in bed, angry, for reasons that he didn’t know. Perhaps because his head was killing him, perhaps because he was feeling used and abused. Perhaps because he still couldn’t remember who he was, but his girl, his girl, had been downstairs flirting with some guy….and had now entered the room and stood there, sneering at him, laughing at him.
“Sorry,” she said, grinning. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“What time is it?” he asked. His mouth felt dry…he was dying for a drink.
“Just gone midnight. The party was a complete success.”
The party. Where she was practically in that guy’s pants. “I just bet,” he said, gruffly.
She looked at him, smirking. “I saw you came up early.” She said. “Need some aspirin?”
“No, I’m feeling fine. So, the party. You sure looked like you were enjoying yourself.”
She’d been all over that Alain Pretorius. All over him.
“Yes,” she said with a smirk. “Pretorious is a very charming man.”
Charming, she called it. “Sexy too, eh?” he said provocatively.
“Yes, very sexy,” she replied, laughing. Then, “Is there something you want to say, Keller?”
“I just didn’t like the way you were hanging all over him, that’s all,” he said, defiantly. “I’m surprised you ended up here instead of in his bedroom.”
She drew herself up to her full height. “He’s not staying in the house,” she said…regretfully.
Keller gritted his teeth.
But then she went on. “Look, Keller, I told you I was going to vamp Pretorius, and I did. It was all part of the job. But if it will make you feel any better, let’s proceed to the next part of the job. Shall we discuss how we’re going to kill him?”
He stared at her for several seconds, blinking, face expressionless.
Had she just said, so very calmly, “Shall we discuss how we’re going to kill him?”
They were going to kill Pretorius. He and she…cold blooded assassins.
“Well?” she demanded.
“My head is hurting,” Keller said fretfully. “Can I get a couple of aspirin?”
“Of course.” Keller watched her walk into the bathroom. She returned with a couple of pills and a glass of water.
He took them and downed them quickly.
He was a cold-blooded killer…and she hadn’t been cheating on him. He felt a little sick and a little elated at the same time.
“Sorry to have been such a bear,” he said. “I guess I woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”
“Not to worry.” She said, smiling her gorgeous smile at him. “Now, maybe you’d better take off those clothes and…”
Hope springs eternal. “Is that an invitation?” Keller asked.
“You are feeling better,” she laughed.
But he was doomed to disappointment.
“I want you to sleep, Keller. I need you at full strength tomorrow. So just take off your clothes and go back to bed.“
“It’s easier to sleep with a warm body next to mine,” he said, trying to put persuasion into his voice.
“I shall take a shower and change into my jimjams, and then I will come to bed. To sleep.”
Ooh, baby. “You’re the boss,” he said, beginning to unbutton his shirt.
She went into the bathroom, while he took off all his clothes. He hesitated…then slipped out of his underwear, too. Then he lay back in bed. The pills were starting to help….
He never knew when Taran Tula re-entered the room, and climbed into the bed beside him. He was out like a light.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Michele Bravo Playing With Fire Chapter 23
I.
Michele Bravo tore herself from Tiny’s side. She had enjoyed the last three hours immensely. Tiny had been witty, charming, and extremely knowledgeable about all aspects of life in Australia.
He’d also been totally immersed in her, paying attention to no one else, making her feel as if she were the only woman in the world. She enjoyed the experience, even though she recognized the technique. He’d been doing his best to seduce her, and she’d played along with him, knowing that he knew that she knew what he was trying to do.
At one point he’d murmured, “Your chap’s gone upstairs.”
“Damn,” said Michele. “I knew he wasn’t feeling well. I should have postponed this party until tomorrow.”
“Shall we call it off?”
“No, no, Jan and I had discussed this earlier. The show goes on. Now, you were telling me about Lightning Ridge.”
And Tiny went back to telling her about Lightning Ridge.
II.
Michele entered her bedroom, flicking on the light. She stopped short – Gus Keller was lying face down on *her bed.
Damn. Well, she’d just go spend the night in * his room.
Before she could turn off the light, Keller had rolled over and opened his eyes. On seeing her, he sat up.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“What time is it?” he asked thickly.
“Just gone midnight. The party was a complete success.”
“I just bet,” said Keller, gruffly.
Michele stared at him. She didn’t like his tone. Well, she’d have to excuse him; his head must still hurt.
“I saw you came up early. Need some aspirin?”
“No, I’m feeling fine. So, the party. You sure looked like you were enjoying yourself.”
“Yes, Pretorious is a very charming man.”
“Sexy too, eh?”
“Yes, very sexy,” Michele snapped, growing more annoyed with his tone. What was going on here, what was he driving at?
“Is there something you want to say, Keller?” she demanded.
“I just didn’t like the way you were hanging all over him, that’s all,” he said. “I’m surprised you ended up here instead of in his bedroom.”
“He’s not staying in the house,” Michele retorted.
Jeez, if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was jealous. Which was ridiculous, on so many levels. But…kind of interesting, too.
“Look, Keller,” she said placatingly. “I told you I was going to vamp Pretorius, and I did. It was all part of the job. But if it will make you feel any better, let’s proceed to the next part of the job. Shall we discuss how we’re going to kill him?”
He stared at her for several seconds, blinking, face expresssionless.
“Well?” she demanded.
“My head is hurting,” he said fretfully. “Can I get a couple of aspirin?”
“Of course.” She walked into the bathroom and came out with a couple of pills and a glass of water.
Keller took them and downed them quickly.
“Sorry to have been such a bear,” he said. “ I guess I woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”
“Not to worry. Now, maybe you’d better take off those clothes and…”
“Is that an invitation?” Keller asked.
“You are feeling better,” Michele laughed. And you’re being much more forward than you’ve ever been before. That knock on the head seems to have changed your personality. I kind of like it…but not tonight.
“I want you to sleep, Keller. I need you at full strength tomorrow. So just take off your clothes and go back to bed.“
“It’s easier to sleep with a warm body next to mine.”
“I shall take a shower and change into my jimjams, and then I will come to bed. To sleep.”
“You’re the boss,” said Keller, beginning to unbutton his shirt.
Michele left him to his task while she went into the bathroom – locking the door behind her. She took a long, hot shower, then changed, as she had promised, into her pajamas – for she wore pajamas rather than nightgowns – and returned to the bedroom.
Keller was asleep once more.
Michele turned out the light, then joined him on the bed. She was very aware of the warmth of his body next to hers as she drifted off to sleep.
Michele Bravo tore herself from Tiny’s side. She had enjoyed the last three hours immensely. Tiny had been witty, charming, and extremely knowledgeable about all aspects of life in Australia.
He’d also been totally immersed in her, paying attention to no one else, making her feel as if she were the only woman in the world. She enjoyed the experience, even though she recognized the technique. He’d been doing his best to seduce her, and she’d played along with him, knowing that he knew that she knew what he was trying to do.
At one point he’d murmured, “Your chap’s gone upstairs.”
“Damn,” said Michele. “I knew he wasn’t feeling well. I should have postponed this party until tomorrow.”
“Shall we call it off?”
“No, no, Jan and I had discussed this earlier. The show goes on. Now, you were telling me about Lightning Ridge.”
And Tiny went back to telling her about Lightning Ridge.
II.
Michele entered her bedroom, flicking on the light. She stopped short – Gus Keller was lying face down on *her bed.
Damn. Well, she’d just go spend the night in * his room.
Before she could turn off the light, Keller had rolled over and opened his eyes. On seeing her, he sat up.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“What time is it?” he asked thickly.
“Just gone midnight. The party was a complete success.”
“I just bet,” said Keller, gruffly.
Michele stared at him. She didn’t like his tone. Well, she’d have to excuse him; his head must still hurt.
“I saw you came up early. Need some aspirin?”
“No, I’m feeling fine. So, the party. You sure looked like you were enjoying yourself.”
“Yes, Pretorious is a very charming man.”
“Sexy too, eh?”
“Yes, very sexy,” Michele snapped, growing more annoyed with his tone. What was going on here, what was he driving at?
“Is there something you want to say, Keller?” she demanded.
“I just didn’t like the way you were hanging all over him, that’s all,” he said. “I’m surprised you ended up here instead of in his bedroom.”
“He’s not staying in the house,” Michele retorted.
Jeez, if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was jealous. Which was ridiculous, on so many levels. But…kind of interesting, too.
“Look, Keller,” she said placatingly. “I told you I was going to vamp Pretorius, and I did. It was all part of the job. But if it will make you feel any better, let’s proceed to the next part of the job. Shall we discuss how we’re going to kill him?”
He stared at her for several seconds, blinking, face expresssionless.
“Well?” she demanded.
“My head is hurting,” he said fretfully. “Can I get a couple of aspirin?”
“Of course.” She walked into the bathroom and came out with a couple of pills and a glass of water.
Keller took them and downed them quickly.
“Sorry to have been such a bear,” he said. “ I guess I woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”
“Not to worry. Now, maybe you’d better take off those clothes and…”
“Is that an invitation?” Keller asked.
“You are feeling better,” Michele laughed. And you’re being much more forward than you’ve ever been before. That knock on the head seems to have changed your personality. I kind of like it…but not tonight.
“I want you to sleep, Keller. I need you at full strength tomorrow. So just take off your clothes and go back to bed.“
“It’s easier to sleep with a warm body next to mine.”
“I shall take a shower and change into my jimjams, and then I will come to bed. To sleep.”
“You’re the boss,” said Keller, beginning to unbutton his shirt.
Michele left him to his task while she went into the bathroom – locking the door behind her. She took a long, hot shower, then changed, as she had promised, into her pajamas – for she wore pajamas rather than nightgowns – and returned to the bedroom.
Keller was asleep once more.
Michele turned out the light, then joined him on the bed. She was very aware of the warmth of his body next to hers as she drifted off to sleep.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Michele Bravo Playing With Fire Chapter 22
Don't forget to read: En Garde: Seduction (Erotica By Bravo)
, by Michele Bravo. Tells you all you need to know about how her fictional characters, Dighton & Forrest, met.
I.
That evening, the company of Jan Janasz’s Actor’s Theatre gathered together at the house on the cliff.
This company consisted of some twenty individuals, consisting of costumiers, set designers and dressers, lighting men, sound men as well as a few actors, enjoyed themselves immensely, scarfing down the free food and wine.
They could – and did -- discuss anything they wanted amongst themselves. Their only job was, if spoken to by the woman, Marguerite Zelle or the American, Mr. Largo, to be able to give biographical details on “opal mining magnate” Alain Pretorius [aka Tiny], his partner Jan Janasz and Janasz’ right hand man Adams, and information on their mining business at Lightning Ridge.
As it happened, neither Marguerite Zelle nor Mr. Largo did spend much time intermingling with the company. After the initial introductions, Marguerite fastened herself to Alain Pretorius as soon as he arrived and they spent the rest of the party together, talking to each other in a dark corner, and Largo (aka Gus Keller), whose head was killing him, sat nursing a couple of whiskeys and glaring at them from another corner. Meantime Jan Janasz and Adams were also fascinated by the pas de deux between her and their associate Tiny, (aka Alain Pretorius).
II.
When preparing for the party that evening, Michele couldn’t face putting her fat suit on again.
And why bother? She thought to herself. There’s no point, now, that Keller’s seen the real me, not to mention Janasz and Adams. That advantage has now gone west.
So while Keller had been napping, and Janasz and Adams had been doing whatever it was they were doing, to prepare for the party, Michele had nipped out and purchased a simple, strapless black dress which showed off the long column of her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, her slender waist and her long, long legs.
When she’d knocked on the door to Keller’s room he’d opened the door promptly. He wore a black silk shirt and charcoal grey slacks.
“How are you feeling, Keller?” she asked.
“Fine,” Keller lied. He’d just swallowed three more aspirin in an attempt to blunt the headache that was just not going away. “You’re looking very lovely,” he said.
She grinned, “Why, thank you. Well, let’s go down, shall we? The guests should be arriving soon.”
III.
Keller had looked up..and up…into the face of Alain Pretorius. Pretorius had given him a firm handshake, then turned to “Marguerite Zelle” and his eyes had lit up.
And that had been all she wrote, Keller thought, as he gulped from the glass of whisky he’d demanded from a red-jacketed bartender and settled down into a chair from which he could watch them.
He could not believe what he was seeing.
It was not the fact that she was a hundred pounds lighter than she had been the day before, or that he noticed anything particular different in her persona. [Having lost his memory, all he knew of her was what he had seen of her in the last ten hours. He knew she had a fat suit, but he’d never seen her wearing it.]
She’d been so solicitous to him during the last few hours…saving his life, helping him to his room, checking out his head, kissing him…he’d gotten the impression that they were an “item.” A team.
And look at her now, with that six-foot-six behemoth…wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt that showed off his biceps. She was sitting so close to him she was almost in his lap. She was smiling, she was laughing. She was leaning forward and touching his arm as she talked to him, and sat relaxed and unmoving while he touched her arm. She was resting her chin in her hand and putting her pinky finger in her mouth to look as if she were pondering his words…
Bitch, though Keller, on this third whisky. Just because the guy’s taller than god and built like a brick house…and rich…
Jesus, his head hurt. He couldn’t take this, he had to go crash.
Keller finished off his third whisky, then walked – on steady feet – out of the living room where the party was being held and up to Marguerite Zelle’s room. There, he threw himself face down on the bed without bothering to get out of his clothes, and fell asleep immediately.
IV.
Jan Janasz didn’t notice Keller leaving…his attention was also focused on the persons of his employee, the 6-foot-6 actor known to all and sundry as Tiny, and the woman he knew as Marguerite Zelle.
Janasz also could not believe what he was seeing.
Prior to that morning, he’d spoken face to face with her many times via Skype (each time with Michele wearing her fat suit and having the camera situated such that her entire large form could be seen by Janasz, as opposed to just her face).
When she’d arrived in Sydney he’d seen her at the theater space, and then here at the house a couple of times. Each time he’d taken note of her behavior – she had been cool and professional in behavior, rarely smiling. She’d been wearing her fat suit, and covering that long, flowing outfits like the great Bea Arthur had worn in The Golden Girls, and he’d thought her gorgeous….but a little cold. And that coldness was part of her charm…you so wanted to get close to her, to thaw her…
But now, now, she was wearing a dress that revealed more of her skin than he’d ever seen before, from her tanned arms with sculpted biceps and triceps, to the shapely calves. It was more than the fact that the black dress revealed her small, pert breasts and her flat stomach. And this even though she’d told him earlier that day that she’d be wearing her fat suit that night.
And here she was, looking gorgeous in a black strapless dress, with all of her firm, tanned flesh a glorious bronze, unmarred by tattoos.
And her whole attitude, her whole persona, was changed.
She was loose, very feminine, very sexy, very seductive.
He caught his breath as she ran her fingers through her long, glorious hair, watched as she put a hand on his bicep and leaned closer to him, speaking intently.
Why had he never learned how to read lips, Janasz thought.
Which was the real Marguerite Zelle, he wondered. This woman, or the colder, more professional woman in the fat suit?
Whichever one...she was an excellent actress.
Had he but known, he would have given Tiny his role, and taken the role of the prospective victim, Alain Pretorius, himself.
And Tiny….damn Tiny…he was really enjoying himself…
V.
Adams fixed himself another drink.
The cliché about jealousy is that it’s a green-eyed monster.
If that were true, Adams’ eyes would have been emeralds shooting sparks.
He wasn’t sure whom he was the most jealous of…Tiny for what looked like him having the chance of bedding Marguerite Zelle that very night, or Marguerite Zelle for what looked like having the chance of bedding the delectable Tiny.
And here he was, with no one to bed at all.
Life was very hard.
, by Michele Bravo. Tells you all you need to know about how her fictional characters, Dighton & Forrest, met.
I.
That evening, the company of Jan Janasz’s Actor’s Theatre gathered together at the house on the cliff.
This company consisted of some twenty individuals, consisting of costumiers, set designers and dressers, lighting men, sound men as well as a few actors, enjoyed themselves immensely, scarfing down the free food and wine.
They could – and did -- discuss anything they wanted amongst themselves. Their only job was, if spoken to by the woman, Marguerite Zelle or the American, Mr. Largo, to be able to give biographical details on “opal mining magnate” Alain Pretorius [aka Tiny], his partner Jan Janasz and Janasz’ right hand man Adams, and information on their mining business at Lightning Ridge.
As it happened, neither Marguerite Zelle nor Mr. Largo did spend much time intermingling with the company. After the initial introductions, Marguerite fastened herself to Alain Pretorius as soon as he arrived and they spent the rest of the party together, talking to each other in a dark corner, and Largo (aka Gus Keller), whose head was killing him, sat nursing a couple of whiskeys and glaring at them from another corner. Meantime Jan Janasz and Adams were also fascinated by the pas de deux between her and their associate Tiny, (aka Alain Pretorius).
II.
When preparing for the party that evening, Michele couldn’t face putting her fat suit on again.
And why bother? She thought to herself. There’s no point, now, that Keller’s seen the real me, not to mention Janasz and Adams. That advantage has now gone west.
So while Keller had been napping, and Janasz and Adams had been doing whatever it was they were doing, to prepare for the party, Michele had nipped out and purchased a simple, strapless black dress which showed off the long column of her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, her slender waist and her long, long legs.
When she’d knocked on the door to Keller’s room he’d opened the door promptly. He wore a black silk shirt and charcoal grey slacks.
“How are you feeling, Keller?” she asked.
“Fine,” Keller lied. He’d just swallowed three more aspirin in an attempt to blunt the headache that was just not going away. “You’re looking very lovely,” he said.
She grinned, “Why, thank you. Well, let’s go down, shall we? The guests should be arriving soon.”
III.
Keller had looked up..and up…into the face of Alain Pretorius. Pretorius had given him a firm handshake, then turned to “Marguerite Zelle” and his eyes had lit up.
And that had been all she wrote, Keller thought, as he gulped from the glass of whisky he’d demanded from a red-jacketed bartender and settled down into a chair from which he could watch them.
He could not believe what he was seeing.
It was not the fact that she was a hundred pounds lighter than she had been the day before, or that he noticed anything particular different in her persona. [Having lost his memory, all he knew of her was what he had seen of her in the last ten hours. He knew she had a fat suit, but he’d never seen her wearing it.]
She’d been so solicitous to him during the last few hours…saving his life, helping him to his room, checking out his head, kissing him…he’d gotten the impression that they were an “item.” A team.
And look at her now, with that six-foot-six behemoth…wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt that showed off his biceps. She was sitting so close to him she was almost in his lap. She was smiling, she was laughing. She was leaning forward and touching his arm as she talked to him, and sat relaxed and unmoving while he touched her arm. She was resting her chin in her hand and putting her pinky finger in her mouth to look as if she were pondering his words…
Bitch, though Keller, on this third whisky. Just because the guy’s taller than god and built like a brick house…and rich…
Jesus, his head hurt. He couldn’t take this, he had to go crash.
Keller finished off his third whisky, then walked – on steady feet – out of the living room where the party was being held and up to Marguerite Zelle’s room. There, he threw himself face down on the bed without bothering to get out of his clothes, and fell asleep immediately.
IV.
Jan Janasz didn’t notice Keller leaving…his attention was also focused on the persons of his employee, the 6-foot-6 actor known to all and sundry as Tiny, and the woman he knew as Marguerite Zelle.
Janasz also could not believe what he was seeing.
Prior to that morning, he’d spoken face to face with her many times via Skype (each time with Michele wearing her fat suit and having the camera situated such that her entire large form could be seen by Janasz, as opposed to just her face).
When she’d arrived in Sydney he’d seen her at the theater space, and then here at the house a couple of times. Each time he’d taken note of her behavior – she had been cool and professional in behavior, rarely smiling. She’d been wearing her fat suit, and covering that long, flowing outfits like the great Bea Arthur had worn in The Golden Girls, and he’d thought her gorgeous….but a little cold. And that coldness was part of her charm…you so wanted to get close to her, to thaw her…
But now, now, she was wearing a dress that revealed more of her skin than he’d ever seen before, from her tanned arms with sculpted biceps and triceps, to the shapely calves. It was more than the fact that the black dress revealed her small, pert breasts and her flat stomach. And this even though she’d told him earlier that day that she’d be wearing her fat suit that night.
And here she was, looking gorgeous in a black strapless dress, with all of her firm, tanned flesh a glorious bronze, unmarred by tattoos.
And her whole attitude, her whole persona, was changed.
She was loose, very feminine, very sexy, very seductive.
He caught his breath as she ran her fingers through her long, glorious hair, watched as she put a hand on his bicep and leaned closer to him, speaking intently.
Why had he never learned how to read lips, Janasz thought.
Which was the real Marguerite Zelle, he wondered. This woman, or the colder, more professional woman in the fat suit?
Whichever one...she was an excellent actress.
Had he but known, he would have given Tiny his role, and taken the role of the prospective victim, Alain Pretorius, himself.
And Tiny….damn Tiny…he was really enjoying himself…
V.
Adams fixed himself another drink.
The cliché about jealousy is that it’s a green-eyed monster.
If that were true, Adams’ eyes would have been emeralds shooting sparks.
He wasn’t sure whom he was the most jealous of…Tiny for what looked like him having the chance of bedding Marguerite Zelle that very night, or Marguerite Zelle for what looked like having the chance of bedding the delectable Tiny.
And here he was, with no one to bed at all.
Life was very hard.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Michele Bravo Playing With Fire Chapter 21
I.
Jan Janasz and Adams were in the living room, relaxing with drinks. When Michele entered the room they rose.
“I hung up your fat suit to dry,” said Janasz, quickly. He couldn’t keep his eyes from glancing at her now…looking so different now that she had shed the appearance of over a hundred pounds. Her hair was still wet and lay closely against her skull, reveal a wonderful bone structure.
“Thank you,” said Michele, smiling.
“How is Mr. Largo?”
“He’s fine. I know first aid, I checked him out. He’s got a headache, nothing more.”
“I’m terribly sorry…”
Michele waved a hand. “Don’t even worry about it. It’s not a concern. Now, we’re on for the cocktail party tonight, right? You’ve invited your entire company?”
“Yes, and they’ve been briefed. But will Mr. Largo…?”
“He’ll be there, don’t worry. And if he decides to leave the party early because of his headache…well, the party will continue on, as arranged. Everyone will stay in character and do what they were supposed to be doing. They’ll play for my benefit, if nothing else. Either way, though, it will end at midnight, as per our script.”
Jan nodded. “Very well. You’re the boss.”
“Now, I’ll be back in character, in my fatsuit, tonight, and you’re not to discuss my lack of fatness to your company. Not that I would think the subject would ever come up, but if it does…I’m large and in charge, okay?”
Jan nodded. “Of course. The subject won’t even come up.”
“Thank you. Well, I’m going back up to tend to Mr. Largo. I’ll be back to retrieve the suit in a couple of hours.”
II.
Adams poured himself another drink, and looked at Janasz.
“Does anything strike you as unusual about this situation, Jan?” he asked.
Jan was still working on his first drink. He waved a hand. “Oh, unusual. They are Americans, after all. And she’s apparently as rich as Croesus…if she likes to walk around in a fat suit to stay in character…well, she’s just a dedicated actress.”
Adams shook his head. “Rich people…you really have to wonder…is it the money that makes them go all doolally, or what?”
“Something in the ink, I shouldn’t wonder,” said Jan.
III.
Michele returned to her bedroom. Gus Keller was lying on the bed, one arm behind his head, the other resting on his belly. His eyes were closed. He looked like a sleeping Adonis. Well…his face didn’t have quite the classical handsomeness of an Adonis, but his features weren’t that bad, and his body was nothing to sneeze at, either. His blue swimming trunks set off his tan nicely.
His eyes opened, even though she had closed the door quite quietly. He started to sit up. She strode quickly to the bed, leant over it and gently pressed him backward.
“No need to get up,” she said. “Rest for a couple of hours. I need you at your best tonight.”
She had kneeled on the bed as she’d pressed him back down, now he took her hand and stared into her eyes, searchingly.
She looked at him, puzzled. “What’s the matter?”
“You saved my life. I’m just wondering what you’d do if I kissed you.”
Michele stared at him, feeling rather surprised. But hell, why not? She bent down, and cupping his face with one hand, kissed him on the lips.
It felt good that she remained with her hand cupping his face, kissing him deeper and deeper.
Finally she broke away, laughing a little, surprised at how much she had enjoyed it.
“Okay, Keller, there was your kiss. Now, take a nap, please.”
“I won’t be able to nap if…”
“I’m leaving.”
Michele went to her suitcase, and from a secret pocket pulled out a swimsuit. Heck, she thought to herself as she headed down the stairs once more. She had two hours where she could be herself. She was going to go for a nice, long swim. Perhaps try her hand at the high diving board. Just let herself go.
Jan Janasz and Adams were in the living room, relaxing with drinks. When Michele entered the room they rose.
“I hung up your fat suit to dry,” said Janasz, quickly. He couldn’t keep his eyes from glancing at her now…looking so different now that she had shed the appearance of over a hundred pounds. Her hair was still wet and lay closely against her skull, reveal a wonderful bone structure.
“Thank you,” said Michele, smiling.
“How is Mr. Largo?”
“He’s fine. I know first aid, I checked him out. He’s got a headache, nothing more.”
“I’m terribly sorry…”
Michele waved a hand. “Don’t even worry about it. It’s not a concern. Now, we’re on for the cocktail party tonight, right? You’ve invited your entire company?”
“Yes, and they’ve been briefed. But will Mr. Largo…?”
“He’ll be there, don’t worry. And if he decides to leave the party early because of his headache…well, the party will continue on, as arranged. Everyone will stay in character and do what they were supposed to be doing. They’ll play for my benefit, if nothing else. Either way, though, it will end at midnight, as per our script.”
Jan nodded. “Very well. You’re the boss.”
“Now, I’ll be back in character, in my fatsuit, tonight, and you’re not to discuss my lack of fatness to your company. Not that I would think the subject would ever come up, but if it does…I’m large and in charge, okay?”
Jan nodded. “Of course. The subject won’t even come up.”
“Thank you. Well, I’m going back up to tend to Mr. Largo. I’ll be back to retrieve the suit in a couple of hours.”
II.
Adams poured himself another drink, and looked at Janasz.
“Does anything strike you as unusual about this situation, Jan?” he asked.
Jan was still working on his first drink. He waved a hand. “Oh, unusual. They are Americans, after all. And she’s apparently as rich as Croesus…if she likes to walk around in a fat suit to stay in character…well, she’s just a dedicated actress.”
Adams shook his head. “Rich people…you really have to wonder…is it the money that makes them go all doolally, or what?”
“Something in the ink, I shouldn’t wonder,” said Jan.
III.
Michele returned to her bedroom. Gus Keller was lying on the bed, one arm behind his head, the other resting on his belly. His eyes were closed. He looked like a sleeping Adonis. Well…his face didn’t have quite the classical handsomeness of an Adonis, but his features weren’t that bad, and his body was nothing to sneeze at, either. His blue swimming trunks set off his tan nicely.
His eyes opened, even though she had closed the door quite quietly. He started to sit up. She strode quickly to the bed, leant over it and gently pressed him backward.
“No need to get up,” she said. “Rest for a couple of hours. I need you at your best tonight.”
She had kneeled on the bed as she’d pressed him back down, now he took her hand and stared into her eyes, searchingly.
She looked at him, puzzled. “What’s the matter?”
“You saved my life. I’m just wondering what you’d do if I kissed you.”
Michele stared at him, feeling rather surprised. But hell, why not? She bent down, and cupping his face with one hand, kissed him on the lips.
It felt good that she remained with her hand cupping his face, kissing him deeper and deeper.
Finally she broke away, laughing a little, surprised at how much she had enjoyed it.
“Okay, Keller, there was your kiss. Now, take a nap, please.”
“I won’t be able to nap if…”
“I’m leaving.”
Michele went to her suitcase, and from a secret pocket pulled out a swimsuit. Heck, she thought to herself as she headed down the stairs once more. She had two hours where she could be herself. She was going to go for a nice, long swim. Perhaps try her hand at the high diving board. Just let herself go.
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