Thank you faithful readers

I've missed a lot of time during December thanks to family things going on. I'm grateful to see that most of my subscribers have remained with me. Things should be returning to normal after Jan 1.

New posting schedule

Now that I've got this new full-time job, I'll be posting in this blog twice a week - on Monday's and Wednesdays.

So the next post for this blog will be on Monday.

Thanks for your patience.

TechnoFish: Chapter 2

"Class," said Professor Phillip Droste, "Who among you has heard of the TechnoOcean corporation?"

Most of the students raised their hands.

Droste nodded. "I'm glad to see that. For the benefit of those of you who don't seem to know, TechnoOcean is the largest employer in Crystal Springs, Florida. They built research ships and underwater habitats. Some of you - if you maintain a 4.0 grade average - will probably be hired by TechnoOcean once you graduate."

Alex nodded. He knew all that - and that was his goal. To work for TechnoOcean - that was every oceanographer and engineer's dream

Droste continued. "This is the month when we'll be going out to TechnoOcean for a field trip. We've got over 500 folks in this class so we can't go all at once, of course. Every weekend, 100 of you will be going. On Saturday, 50 of you will go to their main facility - the one on Marlinspike Road, while the other fifty will go out on one of their research boats, and on Sunday, you'll reverse the process."

This is it! thought Alex excitedly. If he was in the same group as that girl...or could get into the same group - he could start an innocent conversation with her.

"Your schedule has been emailed to you," Droste finished. "Check your email after class, and it will give you the date and time when you're to show up here. You'll all be loaded onto buses and taken out to TechnoOcean.

Damn, thought Alex.

He'd hoped that Droste would have handed out a list of names, divided by the weekend on which their field trip was to occur. But privacy laws probably prevented that. Well...not to worry. He'd show up every Saturday, and if the girl was in line to get on one of the buses, he'd get on to!

Droste had started his lecture.

Alex turned his attention back to class.

TechnoFish: Chapter 1

Present Day: Florida Marine Science University

The professor looked like a performing seal, Alex McAlpine thought to himself as he gazed down from his vantage point.

There was a bit of jealousy at work there. Professor Droste was tall, well-built, and dressed all in black. He was one of the most popular professors at Marine Science University - all the girls swooned over him.

Except the girl Alex McAlpine wanted. Well...maybe.

Alex risked a sideways glance. The lecture hall seated 500 students. The professor spoke from a stage-like platform, addressing students seated in the tiered rows of seats that stretched high over his head.

Alex hadn't intended to choose a "nose-bleed" seat when the semester had first started. Indeed, he preferred to sit in the first row of seats for all his classes. He was ambitious and he knew that all of his professors at Marine Science University were experts in their field. If he made a good impression on them, they could help his future career tremendously.

But he'd been delayed in getting to his Marine Law class, on that first day, and had been shocked to find that all of the front row seats had been filled. There were a handful of seats a few rows further up, but as he'd scanned the rows he'd seen a woman seated in the very top row - in the nosebleeds seats. There were four rows between her and the next row that had any students at all.

Alex had found this odd. Oh - he understood all about students wanting to sit as far away from the professor as possible. They didn't want to draw attention to themselves. But by choosing a position all alone in an otherwise empty series of rows, that was exactly what this girl was doing.

More than that, Alex recognized her.

There was a Seaworld in town, and he'd visited it a week or so before classes had started - having moved to the coastal city of Crystal Beach, Florida just a few weeks earlier to attend Marine Science University. And he'd seen her - she was one of the trainers working with the dolphins. Not the presenter, who'd not only been beautiful and blonde but also smiling and cheerful. This girl was beautiful too...she'd had a cap of black hair over an ivory-white face, but she'd never smiled... well...she had smiled...but only at the dolphins.

Intrigued, Alex had climbed up to the nosebleed seats opposite her, so he could look at her across the room without her noticing him.

He'd never seen her smile, he thought now. Her head was bent over her notebook and she was taking notes, her face expressionless. Occasionally Professor Droste would make a joke, which would draw a chuckle from most of the students in the class. Even from Alex. But he'd glanced at her a few times during these chuckle-fests...and he'd never even seen her twitch her lips upward in the ghost of a smile.

Now, after a month, he wished he'd been smarter to start with. He'd like to sit next to her and talk to her...but if he did it now, it'd be soo conspicuous. But if he'd done it on that first day - sat next to her - it would have been natural. He could have made some joke about liking to watch performing seals from a great height, the better to take in their performance...something like that, anyway.

But he'd missed his opportunity and now all he could do was sit and glance at her occasionally from across the room.

But one day, he thought....one day...

New story...Technofish: Prologue

My theatre story is in abeyance for a while... this new one, which I promise you I will not abandon....has my creative juices flowing. (I've been watching a lot of Gerry Anderson's Stingray recently.) This story will have it all! 

October 21, 1961

I.

It was cold...trawling for fish in the North Sea.

But Kendrick Trench enjoyed breathing in the fresh air. He was warm enough in his thick white turtleneck sweater and the thermal underwear beneath his blue dungarees.

The squealing of the crane over his head attracted his attention - they were bringing up another load of fish.

He looked over the side of the ship as the water began to boil, then the net full of fish rose slowly into the air. It would pause for a second, before the derrick arm would rotate so that the net was hanging over the large hold, then the net would be open and the fish would fall into the depths...depths that were circumscribed by the steel skin of the Titanica, best - because it was the luckiest - fishing vessel in the North Sea.

Kendrick watched the net as it was hoisted into the air...all that silvery blueness as the fish within struggled to escape their sudden captivity - never knowing what had happened to them...

Kendrick started to bring a cigarette to his lips and then stopped.

Mother of god!

There was a human face in the net.

A human face...silver...alive....staring at him.

Not taking his eyes off that face, he yelled, "Stop! Stop! Don't drop the net!"

But the noise was too great. No one heard him. As Kendrick watched...as the humanoid figure in the net watched him! ... the net traveled on its path over the open hold...one end was released, and a thousand pounds of fish dropped into the hold.

Along with that silver man.

Kendrick dropped his cigarette and ran. As he passed a life preserver he grabbed it up. As he ran he shouted to one of his shipmates to turn off the machinery.

There was a catwalk that ran along the top of the hold...if he could throw the life preserver into that wiggling mass of fish...if the silver man could somehow "swim" to the top, he could grab the life preserver and Kendrick could pull him to safety.

Kendrick made it to the catwalk, looked down desperately into the mass of flapping bodies. The machinery had been turned off...there was no noise except for the flapping of helpless fish.

What was that?

It was the sound of screaming metal...the sound that might be made as if someone with extremely strong fingers were peeling back the metal of the hold...making a door for itself to get out from under the oppressive mass of fish...

Then there was a more distant sound of peeling metal...was that silver man making another door for itself...was it going to be able to bore through the entire ship and out the other side?

If it did so...ripping its way through so many water-tight bulkheads...the Titanica would no longer be water tight.

Kendrick ran to the bridge. "Captain, we've got to abandon ship," he snapped.

Captain Shore raised a hand. "Calm down, Kendrick. Tell me what's happening."

"There was a man...a humanoid...in the net. It's ripping through the bulkheads...it's destroying the ship."

Shore looked at him incredulously. With any other crewman he'd suspect a drug-induced hallucination, but Kendrick Trench was as straight as a die.

But it was too unbelievable.

"Come on, Kendrick. You've got to give me more to go on. What happened...you saw a body in the net? Probably just some poor sap who fell off a yacht or a cruise ship or something."

"No, sir. It was alive. It was looking at me. From the time I caught sight of it until the time it dropped into the hold, we were looking at each other. It blinked...it was moving...and then...when it dropped into the hold...I could hear sounds like the bulkheads being ripped apart....this ship is going to sink."

The captain reached for his microphone that broadcast into all areas of the ship.

"This is the Captain speaking. We may have a ... situation. Everyone who is not on duty go check out the watertight compartments. All of them."

 
II.

The lifeboats were filled with men. They were high-tech lifeboats, plenty of food and shelter from the cold of the black water beneath them...nevertheless none of the men were talking. They sat, alone with their thoughts. Everyone had got out, after a couple of men had reported that the water-tight compartments had been breached - going straight down - and the Titanic was rapidly filling up with water.

They were alone with their thoughts...but their thoughts were all the same. No "silver man" had done this thing. It had to have been Kendrick himself...dropping a bomb into the hold to sabotage the ship...that was the only possible explanatoin.

It was only because Kendrick sat next to Captain Shore that there was not a mass movement toward him to throw him overboard...

He was safe for now...but sooner or later...he'd be alone...


III.

 Kendrick lay in his hospital bed, arms folded behind his neck, staring at the ceiling. He was under arrest...he was allowed no visitors.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, then the sound of a key turning in the lock. The door opened and a man in a blue business suit came into the room. He sat down in the chair beside Kendrick's bed so he could face him.

"Mr. Trench," the man said, "I"m Special Investigator Tracy. I'd like you to tell me your story again, please."

"I've already told it twenty times. To twenty different sets of people. I'm not going over it again."

"Mr. Trench," said Tracy, "Let me explain this to you. You say that you saw a silver man in your fish net, and that he tore open your ship in order to get back to the ocean."

"Yes."

"Consider what would happen if we believed you, Mr. Trench."

"What do you mean?"

"Where there's one fish man, there's bound to be others. A whole race of these people...living under the sea. Well...the North Sea, anyway."

Kendrick sat up. "Yes," he said excitedly. "Yes!"

"So what do you think is going to happen? Do you think the world's super powers are going to send out peaceful expeditions to track these underwater people down? Of course not. They'll be captured, they'll be studied. Even if they prove to be intelligent, that would do them no good, just as it never did any good to any other indigent people on this planet. People who can breathe underwater, live underwater - at great pressure! Every super power in the world will be after them, and it won't be because they want to help them civilize enough to accept a seat at the UN."

"You mean..."

"They'll be enslaved, of course. Like highly intelligent dolphins sent out to hunt for magnetic mines, like we're trying to do now. Or worse, they'll all be dissected, so we can learn how they can live underwater. Whatever we do with them...they're doomed."

Kendrick stared at Tracy, his face white.

"It's your call, Mr. Trench," said Tracy. "Your story has actually made it to the newspapers - lots of your shipmates told the story.  They all scoff at you, but there are plenty of loons in John Q Public that will agitate that you be let loose. They'll want to go after these silver men to and our government will probably even help them do it. With a result that will not be happy for the fishmen. But it will save you... you'll be free."

"Or..." said Kendrick slowly.

"Confess to being a member of some anarchic group opposed to commercial fishing. There's one called SoS - Save Our Seas. They were formed last year, as a matter of fact. Tell the newspapers you lied...that you were just covering up the bombing of the ship. Tell 'em it was just a spur of the moment thing and you never expected anyone to take you seriously. That anyone who did take you seriously is an idiot. Kill entirely this idea that there are silver men living under the sea.

"And if I do...?" said Kendrick, still slowly.

Tracy shrugged. "You'll go to jail. But you'll be shown some leniency. After all, you could have let your entire crew die. Instead you warned them and everyone escaped with their lives. That counts for something."

Kendrick smiled wanly. "A couple of years off of a 20 year prison sentence?"

Tracy shrugged again. He stood up.  "It's up to you, Mr. Trench. I'll let the press in now."

And he went to the door and opened it. Dozens of men and women carrying huge cameras and large microphones streamed into the room, each talking over the other in an effort to ask him questions.

Kendrick swallowed hard...and said what he had to say.

I have not forgotten this story!

I just have had so much writing to do right now for clients, that when it comes to writing fiction, I can't get in the groove.

However, things are clearing up now. Hope to get started on this tomorrow.

Nice body 2

I'll get back to the story soon, never fear.

Until then, some eye candy

MIchelle Bravo's Seduction: Chapter 8

Anne gazed at herself in the full-length mirror. She wore black slacks, a black turtleneck sweater, and a black leather jacket. "Very Emma Peel-ish," Anne said in satisfaction. She ran her fingers through her short cut hair, nodded, and turned away from the mirror. She had called the Sweetwater Theatre a few days ago and offered to volunteer. The volunteer coordinator she'd talked to said that they always needed someone to run the lightboard, and that it was very easy. Anne had agreed to be at the theatre in a few days - today as a matter of fact - when someone would give her training in how to run the board. And now it was the day. Time to go. Anne took a deep breath, and walked out into the evening air.

Nice Body 1

MIchelle Bravo's Seduction: Chapter 7

After finishing the cast list, Anne decided that she needed to take a break.

She went outside, unlocked her bike from the railing where she kept it, and started out along the wide, empty streets. That was the nice thing about the town in which she lived...the streets were practically empty, practically all the time.

Now that she'd got this idea for her play, she'd have to run with it. Keep working on it while the enthusiasm was flowing within her.

Aided, of course, by frequent visits to the Sweetwater Little Theatre to see more productions - they put on one a month - and get more of a feel for the actors and their skills.

Anne smiled slightly. She'd have to talk to those actors. Eventually. But it would be better if she had her play well under way before she did so.

Or maybe not.

Maybe she should just bite the bullet. As a community theatre, the theatre depended a great deal on volunteers to come in and help out. She saw their ads all the time - for ushers, people to run the light board..whatever the heck that was...

"Hmmmm," thought Anne as she rode along. That might not be a bad idea. She didn't want to usher, but it would certainly help her to learn how things like light boards and sound boards were run. Maybe she had better volunteer, and the sooner the better.

Another nice body

Yes, the story resumes soon...but here's a nice body to look at in the meantime

Next chapter coming soon, I promise

I haven't forgotten this story and am anxious to get back to it....but dealing with family issues right now.

Soon...this week, promise!

Tim Tebow

MIchelle Bravo's Seduction: Chapter 6

Anne looked at her cast list with satisfaction.

Usher/Akhnaten       - Carl Lathom

Nadine Boynton/Nefertiti   - Geneva Madison

Hercule Poirot/Horemheb    - Philip Droste

Lennox Boynton/Meriptah    - Reggie McIntosh

Jefferson Cope/Nezzemut    - Brian Dexter

Mrs. Boynton/Tiy     - Alexandra “Sandy” McAlpine

Other members of the Sweetwater  Little Theatre Crew

Adrian Frost – Stagehand/Fencing Master (?)

Philip Droste – Director

Alice Blue – Understudy, Nefertiti

As she gave more attention to it, she wondered if it would be too confusing. But…that’s what was going to make it a hilarious farce, and show the acting skills of all the actors.

The actors were putting on Agatha Christie’s mystery play featuring Hercule Poirot, Appointment With Death, and at the same time putting on Akhnaten, Christie’s play regarding the life of the first monotheist, Akhnaten (the father of Tutankamun).

Each actor would also be playing himself, except in a fictional way, as they plotted and schemed to increase their stage time and role importance.

Philip Droste had been the Sweetwater Little Theatre actor who played Detective Sergeant Trotter, and Brian Dexter had played Christopher Wren.

Story resumes Sep 24

My mom, who is 75, wants to go up to teeny tiny town near Rapid City, to see her sister, who is 80. They live in a house in the boonies and have no internet.

I'll be back online on Monday the 24th and promise not to miss another day.

Please bear with me, your patience is appreciated!

MIchelle Bravo's Seduction: Chapter 5

Anne Greenstreet placed three heaping scoops of Chocolate Cashew Nut ice cream in a bowl, and took it and a spoon to her computer desk.

She had booted up her computer before making the kitchen run, and now she pulled up a word processing program.

She opened up the program for The Mousetrap and read the cast list. Then she opened up her copy of the Agatha Christie book Appointment with Death, and read the cast list for that.

Then she put them all together:

Members of the Delicious Death Society

The Rivals

Carl Lathom

Adrian Frost

Other Members

Gilbert (Can be either male or female)

Passer By  (Can be either male or female)

Members of the Theatre Cast

Cast  of Appointment With Death/Akhnaten

Usher/Akhnaten       - Carl Lathom

Nadine Boynton/Nefertiti   - Geneva Madison

Hercule Poirot/Horemheb    - Philip Droste

Lennox Boynton/Meriptah    - Reggie McIntosh

Jefferson Cope/Nezzemut    - Brian Dexter

Mrs. Boynton/Tiy     - Alexandra “Sandy” McAlpine

Other members of the Sweetwater Little Theatre Crew

Adrian Frost – Stagehand/Fencing Master (?)

Philip Droste – Director

Alice Blue – Understudy, Nefertiti

__________________
Note: Murder at the Insert-Name-Here Playhouse is an actual play, written by me! The idea and story are copyright!

Nice body #1

Jean-Claude Van Damme is apparently a jerk of the first water... but he does have a nice body...

Michelle Bravo's Seduction ch 4

The second act was as good as the first. There were lots of opportunities for Christopher Wren and Detective Sergeant Trotter to show their acting shops. The actor who played Major Metcalf wasn't too bad either, showing a dry humor.

When the house lights came up, the audience gave the cast a standing ovation.

Anne Greenstreet remained seated, although she applauded as enthusiastically as all the rest.

But her face was thoughtful.

As she'd sat watching the second act, an idea had occurred to her. An idea for a play. An idea for a mystery play, featuring the same actors who had played the roles in The Mousetrap.

Quickly she took a pen out of her purse and wrote her idea on the back of the program, so she wouldn't forget it.

Then she rose to her feet and joined the throng leaving the theater.

The actors were standing in a line in the lobby - still in costume - greeting their audience, shaking hands, saying "Thanks for coming, hope you enjoyed it."

Not all the audience members paused to say hello, and Anne went with them out of the theatre. It wasn't that she didn't want to talk to these actors - particularly the guys who had played Christopher Wren and Detective Sergeant Trotter - but if things went the way she intended, she'd  have plenty of reason to talk to them in future without coming across like a schoolgirl with a crush.

She was going to write a play - and this company of actors would be in it!

Story resumes Sat Sept 1

Taking tomorrow off to do some Labor Day preparton stuff for Monday...

Will get it all done on Friday, and Saturday will get back to posting this story.

So glad you all like it!

Michelle Bravo's Seduction ch 3

The lights came up on a set with two entrances stage left and right, a fireplace, a radio with a British voice broadcasting winter weather news, chairs and settees, and a window at the back which had snow falling behind it.

"A murder has been committed..." said the radio voice.

Anne Greenstreet smiled with joy as the characters gradually came on stage... the wife Molly, shivering with cold, annoyed to find her husband had mis-painted the sign for Monkswell Manor, the husband coming in with dark grey hat, dark scarf and a dark coat (as the radio announces that police in London wish to question a man wearing just such an ensemble), and then the guests who will occupy the guest-house for a snowed-in weekend of murder and suspense.

It was a local theatre group - an amateur theatre group - and Anne hadn't been sure what to expect. And it was true that their English accents varied widely - some did a good job, some were barely passable. But they were all good actors and believable in their characters.

The actor playing Christopher Wren played his part for all he was worth and, as usual, got all the laughs and all the sympathy from the audience.

The actor playing Detective Sergeant Trotter did not have as showy a part - indeed, no one did! - but he was quiet and in command and commanded the stage.

Anne had chosen her seat carefully - three rows back in the center. She would have preferred to have been in the first row, but certain actors had a tendency to spit as they projected their lines to the back row. Plus she didn't really want to catch an actor's eye and be noticed.

She was working seriously on a play and  had started going to see the same play over and over again, just to see the blocking and the stage craft, as well as the actors and how they performed the same part differently each night. She'd gotten some strange looks from the actors and had been afraid that they would think she was stalking them as a rabid fan, when all she was doing was stalking the play itself.

She'd treated herself to one night on the "floor" of the theatre, and, assuming she liked the play - and she found herself loving it - she would return the next night and watch it from the balcony.

The first act ended. Anne wasn't hungry or thirsty, but she wanted to support the theatre's efforts so she went out to the lobby and purchased a cup of pop and a chocolate chip cookie. The actors again were handling the lobby sales - all except Trotter and Wren, for which Emma was duly grateful. While they'd been mingling before the play, now that their roles had been established it would probably diminish Trotter's authority to see him handing out cookies, and Wren probably had to rest for the emotional second act.

Anne returned to her seat with pop and cookie and waited for the second act.

Michelle Bravo's Seduction Ch 2

After having seen the Mousetrap two years ago, Anne had returned to the United States with a new enthusiasm. She'd started reading all of Agatha Christie's mysteries in order, then moved on to Dorothy Sayers and the other Golden Age authors.

One particular thing she had done was to compare the novels the authors had written, to the plays produced from those novels - for it was her desire to become a playwright and write mystery plays good enough to run on Broadway.

After graduating from high school in Rogers she'd worked at a fast food restaurant for a year while writing her play...finally deciding that she'd been too over-confident and that she should go to college and get a degree in Theatre Arts which would help her on her way.

She had applied for a scholarship and worked for another year, saving up money so she could get a little apartment in Sweetwater instead of having to stay at a dorm at the college there which she was now attending.

Anne had brought a book with her - her favorite Lord Peter Wimsey book, Murder Must Advertise, and read through it desultorily as she waited for the play to begin. She was vaguely aware that the theatre was gradually filling up and this made her happy - how said it would be to put on a play and have nobody come.

In no time at all the house lights dimmed, signalling that the play was about to begin.

Anne closed her book and looked toward the stage in anticipation.

Michele Bravo's Seduction

The Sweetwater Little Theater was putting on a production of The Mousetrap - the famous play written by Agatha Christie over 60 years ago and still running in the West End. It was also a popular regional theater favorite, and high school drama clubs also staged it frequently as well.

Anne Greenstreet, who was new in the town of Sweetwater, had seen The Mousetrap in the West End just two years ago, when she and her Theater Club from high school had made the trip over to London to see several plays. They'd seen the highbrow ones - a couple of Shakespeare productions - Hamlet and King Henry V, and then a "popular" play - The Mousetrap. It had been The Mousetrap that Ann had loved, and that had spring-boarded both an interest in the theatre and an interest in mysteries.

Anne hadn't joined the Theatre Club because she'd been interested in theatre, but because she knew the Theatre Club got to go on a trip to England every year. The club had spent its time analyzing dry texts and watching plays on TV - she'd never seen an actual production until that London trip. 

Now, at age 20,  she was just starting college in Sweetwater - a town a hundred miles west of her tiny hometown Rogers, of and it seemed like an omen, that the city's - well, large town, really - sole theatre group was putting on a production of that same play.

Ann rode her bike from her dorm to the theater. Sweetwater was bike-friendly and there were bike racks everywhere - including in front of the Sweetwater Little Theatre.

After locking her bike into the bike rack, Anne entered the theater. A young, rather handsome man in costume and makeup - he was wearing a garish blue suit with a red tie - was taking tickets. Anne handed him hers. HE smiled at her brightly, tore the ticket in half and handed back the stub, and said, "Enjoy the show."

Anne returned the smile and continued on into the foyer. That had to be the actor playing Christopher Wren. He was kind of cute.

She looked around the foyer. Other costumed-and-makeup people were standing behind a counter selling drinks and chocolates, and others were handing out programs.

A small theatre indeed, thought Anne, when the actors had to do double-duty as spear-carriers. Or would these front-of-house people be referred to as myrmidons?

Anyway, she didn't see anyone who could be Detective Sergeant Trotter. When she'd seen the play in England, Trotter and Wren had been her two favorite characters.

Anne bought a can of cold Pepsi and took it with her into the auditorium. Then she settled down to wait for the play to start.



_______________
This story and its plot copyright 2012 by Caroline Miniscule

Okay, so it'll be the 20th

Catching up on some stuff, but a story is germinating in my head...expect it by Monday.

60 is the new 40

On August 10, 2012, the Cheyenne chapter of the AARP hosted a seminar called Gray Matters - which was free and provided a free lunch - unfortunately fish and cheesecake, blech - from 4 to 6 was a reception for all travelers who had come in for the AARP National Spelling Bee to be held on the 11th.

I attended that and it was a lot of fun. The emcee introduced a few folks, we talked about words, there was a "mock" spelling bee (which only consisted of about 20 people getting up and being questioned on one word...._ and so on. And there were finger foods there - Chinese food to be precise. Don't know where they got it from or if they cooked it on site (Little America is a hotel and resort where people come to play golf among other things) but it was delish.

The spelling bee started at the ungodly hour of 8:30 am (Well...8:30 is not so ungodly but I had to get up at the ungodly hour of 6:30 to get there in time for registration, etc.) It started with 4 rounds of 25 words each - which was a Written Test.

The first 25 words were extremely easy. They asked words like "Greetings" and "Navel" and "Mince." I suppose a few might have been considered difficult... "Animus" and "Lacuna."


The second 25 words were equally easy, but I did miss MUGWUMP.


I assume they did this just to help everyone settle the nerves and get new people used to what was going on. People had trouble hearing some of the words (hey, they were all over 50 and most over 60) and the Pronouncer  would come down and tell them the word face to face and have them say it back, etc. Indeed, the Pronouncer did an excellent job.


Third round was where they started asking the difficult words.


I missed:
QUESTIONARY INERCALATE
TUATARA
SKOSH
VIRIDITY
WIMBLE

The fourth round was the real killer. I only got 12 out of 25 right. I missed:

FELICIFIC
DOVEKIE
FLYTING
NAPERY
COTYLEDONARY
WELTSCHMERRZ
OPPUGNER
AECIOSPORE
SYNCYTIAL
KNUR
IRIDIUM
TUYERE
HYOSCYAMINE

I then stayed for the Oral rounds and was joined by one of my friends from my Scrabble Club. (I think an audience could have assembled for the Written rounds, too. There were chairs there and family were in them...but I think most people only wanted to come see the Oral rounds where you actually saw the speller's faces as opposed to their backs, etc.)

Two of the people I met last night at the reception made it to the Orals. One of them it was his first trip to the Bee and he was successful his first time out. Made it through about 10 rounds. (In the Orals, you miss two words and you're out.) Another one was an elderly woman from Minnesota who also got through about 10 rounds before being knocked out.

There were three sisters and a brother who had come as a sort of family reunion. The eldest sister made it to the Oral rounds but was bounced after only two rounds. This was too bad and it was because she was a bit unlucky - she got two 6-syllable words in a row while some of the others were getting much easier ones (but still, not ones I could have spelled). But she was disqualified along with several other people in the same round, so hopefully she didn't feel too bad.

The words in the Oral Rounds were extremely difficult. Several times more difficult than the toughest words in the final round of the Written.


But, had I studied for a year, I think I could have handled them.


And it is my intention to study for a year and  get into the Orals next year.


So, why is the title of this blog entry 60 is thenew 40?


Because it is.


People are living longer. You don't want to outlive your money and more importantly you don't want to outlive your sense of enjoyment of life. And learning new things every day is enjoyment and keeps the mind active.


The AARP Spelling Bee is held every year, and it gives you an excellent reason to travel to Cheyenne and see The Cowboy State. You'll meet lots of interesting people.


You do have to study.


I studied very desultorily for about a month...combine all the time I studied and it was about 10 hours. Not nearly enough, but then, I'm a good speller so the Written Rounds were relatively easy - except for that killer last round.


Why learn words that you'll never, ever say in real life?Well, because they're interesting. And the concepts of what you'll learn, you can apply in other areas. So it's a win win.


So start planning to live a long, healthy, active, intellectual life, and do it now, however old you might be!

New story starts August 12

That's the day after the Cheyenne Spelling Bee - prize $1,000  - that I've been studying for.

Hall of the Mountain King Chapters 12 and 13

I.

Michele and Fitz walked quietly through Endless Caverns, impressed by the sheer beauty of it. Michele hadn’t known what to expect, after the let-down of the Skyline Caverns, but the Endless Caverns lived up to their billing. It was just as impressive as Luray Caverns had been. Gigantic stalactites and stalagmites were on display here…hundreds of them. Michele regretted now that she hadn’t taken her Skyline Tour Guide aside and asked him what had happened to all the stalactites there…why there were only a handful. Was Skyline so much younger that only a few stalactites had formed, had they all been broken off for some reason…or were the conditions that produced the anthodites such that far fewer stalactites and stalagmites were formed? She’d have to do some research.

As they reached ground level once more…steps up from cavern level were steep…they went into the gift shop, as usual, and Michele picked up a ball cap and a couple of T-shirts. The t-shirts went into a bag, she put the ball cap on her head. It was extremely cool – a bat with a wing and body on the bill of the cap, the other wing rising up onto the face…and the colors were complimentary -- a brown bat on a dark blue cap.

As they walked out of the gift shop, Michele’s eyes wandered over the people waiting to enter the cave, and a cold chill suddenly ran through her. She recognized one of the men…it was the false Mr. Largo, who had precipitated her abandonment of her Taran Tula persona four weeks ago.

Her face remained expressionless as her eyes passed over him and both she and Fitz walked past. She knew that she looked 100 pounds thinner now – especially since she was wearing a t-shirt tucked into her cargo shorts, which showed off her flat stomach, and her face had a completely different shape without the cheek pads she’d worn to further give the illusion of overweight. Not to mention she was wearing a ball cap that hid her hair – which was a different shade and a different style, anyway. There was no way he could recognize her.

But what was he doing here?

Well…it had to be a coincidence. Even if he was searching for Taran Tula, and connected her to Michele Bravo – but how in hell could he have done that? – he wouldn’t have tried to track her down at this cave!

She glanced back, and saw his back heading into the entrance to the cave, along with several other people. Whatever he was doing there, he hadn’t recognized her.

Nevertheless…

“Something wrong?” asked Fitz, as they reached the car. “You look lost in thought.”

Michele grimaced. “I was just thinking…there’s a loose end…one of my projects…I won’t bore you with the details…but I was just thinking, maybe I’d better cut it off.”


II.

Gus Keller walked towards the entrance to the caverns, after purchasing his ticket. His eyes wandered over the people emerging from the gift shop. Jeez, the cavern operators must make a ton of money on their overpriced souvenirs….hey, that girl was wearing a pretty cool cap, with bats on it..he’d have to pick up one of those on the way out…

He walked into the cavern followed by several others, including several children. Everyone was duly impressed by the awe-inspiring rock formations.

Bat cap on head, Keller returned to his car and thence to his hotel room. So, okay, it had not been an entirely wasted trip. That cavern had been pretty impressive. But now was the time to utilize a little patience and common sense. He would stake out Michele Bravo’s home, and wait for her there….like a spider waiting for a fly.


III.

That evening, Fitz and Michele lay in bed, watching the Sci Fi Channel. Or SyFy channel, as it was now known. It was one of those SyFy channel-produced TV movies, with prehistoric creatures wreaking havoc on modern day campers, complete with bad CGI, bad actors except for the one “name” actor who hopefully had been paid a great deal to lend his name to the drek, bad dialog, and a ludicrous plot. They were watching it somewhat in disbelief, just to see how bad it could actually be.

When the commercials came on, Michele muted them with the remote.

“From TV drek to movie drek,” Michele murmured, as a commercial for the new hit movie Twilight – Eclipse, came on. “I’m really tired of this vampire craze…”

“What’s wrong with vampires?” asked Fitz. “I thought you liked that sort of thing.”

“Let me show you something,” Michele said, reaching for her laptop.

She went to YouTube, did a search on “Fright Night Club Scene,” and then played it.

“Now, that is a sexy vampire,” she said, indicating the sweat-shirt clad Chris Sarandon, portraying Jerry Dandridge, entering a smoky nightclub and seeking out his quarry, the movie hero’s girlfriend, Amy. He proceeded to seduce her by a dance.

“Whew,” said Fitz, after the six minute clip was over. “That was hot. Or hawt, as the kids today say.”

He got up on his knees and looked down at her recumbent form.

“We should learn to dance like that,” he said.

She grinned up at him. “I’d like that.”

“But for now….”

Fitz slipped out of his underwear, and Michele propped several pillows behind her head, so that she was laying down but her head and torso were slightly elevated. Fitz straddled her on his knees, and his erect cock rubbed against her face.

Michele licked her lips and then licked out at his cock. He pressed it forward, into her mouth, and she accepted it, relaxing, sealing her lips around it. She gazed up at him as he began, very gently, to thrust his cock into her mouth, as far into her mouth and throat as she cared to accept it. He looked down at her, smiling his appreciation, then as those little tendrils of pleasure began to coil in his thighs he licked his own lips, and his torso shuddered a bit.

Michele enjoyed the look of bliss on his face as she pleasured him, and when he came she swallowed his cum.

He unstraddled her and lay back. “Mmmmm, that was nice.”

“Now do me,” she commanded, handing him her vibrator.

He scooched closer to her, lying his body next to hers, turned the vibrator on and placed it between her legs. He knew exactly how she liked it – she’d shown him, long ago, and it was his turn to watch her face as she lay back, eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of the warm, cylindrical piece of metal on her clitoris. He rubbed it back and forth, up and down, in circular motions, always nice and slow.

Her eyes opened wide as she felt herself about to cum, and she tilted her chin upward and grimaced with the pleasure of it…again and again…

IV.

As she drifted asleep, Michele was doubly satisfied. She had intended her next erotic adventure for Dighton & Forrest to have been a recreation of Eve Marie Saint and Cary Grant’s North by Northwest action on Mount Rushmore…but there was no denying that the steaming heat of “Jerry Dandridge” and “Amy Peterson” was indeed so very, very hot…so hot that sometimes she actually watched that scene while pleasuring herself as a sort of mental stimulation -- better than porn any day ....perhaps she’d give her readers a dose of vampire sex next…

Michele Bravo pulled on her cargo shorts. They felt a bit tight, and she swore. This is what came of two weeks of travelling, with no biking or other exercise (so much for sex being a great form of exercise), and perhaps more egregiously, having hot chocolate sundaes for dessert after lunch as well as after dinner.

Well, she’d still been in the need for comfort food after the shock of the false Mr. Largo. And now he’d shown up again. By rights she should treat herself to a peanut buster parfait, but she’d have to resist. And tomorrow she’d have to buy a collapsible bike so she could get in some exercise during the rest of this trip. She was also a member of a health club chain that was supposed to have outlets everywhere…she’d better start looking for those, too, so she could get in a little swimming and a little weight training. She’d been allowing herself to slack off for too long.

Well, hell, she thought. She’d just got handed another shock – a worse one – the false Mr. Largo might know her identity – her real identity – as Michele Bravo. If that didn’t call for comfort food nothing would. She’d go have that buster bar parfait and give up on her desserts for lunch starting tomorrow.

“Feel like a Dairy Queen, Fitz?” she asked. “My treat.”

Fitz looked up from his computer. “No thanks. Are you having ice cream cravings?”

“Yes…I’ll be gone for half an hour or so.”

“Take your time. I’ve got to take notes on this documentary.”

“Okay. Later.”

Michele spent the time at the DQ savoring her parfait and trying to come up with a plan to discover what was going on with the false Mr. Largo.

She repeated to herself her belief that no secret agent bent on tracking down the “infamous Taran Tula” would just come to the Endless Caverns in the hopes of accidently seeing her. If he had been reading her blog…and he must have done so, he would have known she was going there, but not the time of day or anything like that. Why, if he knew Taran Tula was actually Michele Bravo, even go to the caverns at all? Why not stake out her apartment?

Michele took out a pocket notebook and made some notes. Their next stop was the Shenandoah Caverns. What if she were to mention that in her blog…and give the time of day – having some plausible reason for going into that much detail, of course – that she’d be there. Then, if she saw the false Mr. Largo again, she’d know that he had in actual fact been following her.

In one sense she hated to do it. If there was any kind of confrontation, she could hardly dispatch the false Mr. Largo with Fitz as a witness. And she didn’t know the terrain surrounding Shenandoah Caverns…if she needed to make a quick getaway she wouldn’t be able to do it…

No.

What she would do would be to post an entry that she’d been called home unexpectedly. So if the false Mr. Largo were following her, he’d go stake out her apartment to wait for her return. Meanwhile, she’d continue her cavernous adventures…her main writing was going into the magazine, anyway, not the blog…

But how to find out if the false Mr. Largo were staking out her apartment?

Easy. She was the head of Spindrift Security, after all. She’d put one of her operatives on her apartment, with instructions to find out if anyone else were watching it. And if anyone else was…find out – discreetly – who he was and who he worked for.

She’d draw up a likeness of the false Mr. Largo and send it along, to give her operative a heads up, but if the false Mr. Largo were working for the police or some other law enforcement agency, chances were they’d have half a dozen agents staked out around her place.

Finishing her peanut buster parfait and her plan at the same time, Michele sighed and got up. She’d make her sketch, then send an email later on tonight, setting things in motion. Then, there’d be nothing to do but wait.

Hall of the Mountain King Ch 11

I.

The Endless Caverns, just 3 miles south of New Market, Virginia, are so named because even now, 131 years after their discovery in 1879, it is not known how far underground the caverns extend. They have been mapped for over six miles, and periodically expeditions set out to try to find tunnels leading into other rooms.

Before taking the guided tour of the caverns, which they knew would not extend for the whole six miles (most show caves show only about 20% of the cavern system in question), Michele and Fitz walked around New Market.

New Market is a small town, of only a little over 2,000 people. Despite that, they have two baseball teams -- a collegiate summer league team called the Rebels, and a summer baseball league team called the Shockers.

Michele was more interested in its Civil War connections.

On May 15, 1864, the Battle of New Market took place, one of the battles in the Valley Campaigns of 1864 – General Grant’s campaigns to bring pressure on the Confederate armies in the Shenandoah Valley.

Confederate General John C. Breckinridge, desperate for men, summoned students from VMI (the Virginia Military Institute) to help. Over half of those who answered the call (257 men) were “rats,” first year students. They joined Breckinridge’s army of 4,500 veterans. Breckinridge had originally only intended to use them as a reserve, but when the situation became desperate he “sent the boys in,” and the cadets did as ordered, and were instrumental in chasing Union General Franz Sigel and his army out of the Shenandoah Valley.

Fitz and Michele walked through the Hall of Valor, then joined a guided tour of the battlefield, in particular the “field of lost shoes,” no longer muddy, but where, back in 1864, the rats had charged to set the Union soldiers to flight, and the cadet's shoes had been sucked off by the thick mud through which they had slogged onthat rainy day.

Five of the cadets died that day, five died within three months from wounds received during the battle, and forty-eight others were wounded…but the Confederacy survived for another day.

“Too bad I didn’t get this idea a month ago,” Michele mused, nodding at an old poster in the visitor’s center. Just a month earlier, in May, the Battle of New Market had been re-enacted.

“There’s re-enactments going on all the time,” said Fitz, “somewhere.”

Michele grinned at him. “What a very helpful comment, Fitz,” she said. “I’ll have to do some research when we get back to our B&B. The Gettysburg re-enactment, I know they do that one every year…”

Fitz stopped and stared at her.

“What,” she demanded.

“Oh, baby, I’m sorry to tell you, that’s already been, too. Just a couple of weeks ago. July 1st, 2nd and 3rd. That’s because…”

“I know, I know,” moaned Michele, clutching her head. “That’s when the actual battle took place, so of course they do it on those days. And it never even occurred to me. Damn, damn and day-um.”

“There’s always next year. Give you an excuse to come back.”

Michele grinned. “As if I needed an excuse.” He bent down and kissed her briefly.

Then she sighed. “Well, let’s go take a look at Endless Caverns, and after that, that farm, Cooper Farm.”

“Okay.”


II.

Gus Keller stood outside the entrance building to the Endless Caverns, cursing himself for a fool.

He really hadn’t thought this through, he thought to himself. He’d been so anxious to see Taran Tula again that he’d picked up sticks and come here….but to what end? Was he going to hover around the cavern entrance all day long? That’d be a waste of time. Should he check out the B&Bs around New Market, ask if there was a Michele Bravo staying there? But what a waste of time, if she’d decided to stay in a nearby town.

He didn’t even know if she was really in the town! Perhaps she was timeslipping her blog, publishing the daily entries a week or so late, so as to avoid any fans trying to meet her. So even though she was writing about her visits as if they were happening that very day, they might very well have actually happened a week…even two weeks in the past. Even travel bloggers might have groupies who need to be circumvented.

No, he hadn’t thought this through.

What he should have done, Keller thought, was just to get the address of this particular Michele Bravo, and then camp outside her house or her apartment, or whatever it might be. That was a place she’d be returning to eventually!

Keller took a deep drag on his cigarette and smiled ruefully. He’d just really, really wanted to meet her today, end the suspense quickly…he felt like a teenager with his first crush.

“Hell with it,” he murmured, carefully stubbing out his cigarette and then throwing it into a garbage can. “As long as I’m here, he thought, “I’ll go through the caverns. They might be interesting.”

Hall of the Mountain King ch 10

I.

Five days ago, Gus Keller, the Special Crimes Investigation Bureau (SCIB) investigator, had received a list of five women who might…or might not…match the partial thumbprint that he had rescued from the spoon Taran Tula had been using to eat a hot fudge sundae.

That list was as follows:

1. Michele Bravo – fingerprinted as a child as a military family member
2. Amanda Cooper – arrested for shoplifting
3. Rita Ellison – an employee of a defunct civilian military contractor. She’d been fingerprinted when she’d applied for a top secret clearance
4. Sophia Sanchez – a sergeant in the US Army
5. Debbie Morgan – an employee of a current civilian contractor to the military

He had elected to start with Michele Bravo.

He had begun his search on the web, conducting a search via Google. He knew the parameters – someone who had been a “military” brat, lived in Germany, and was 30 years old.

Interestingly, there were only a half dozen Michele Bravos to be found. One of them wrote erotica, another was a travel writer for an online webzine. Gus clicked on that link, and was brought to the website GhostGuns.com.

This was the woman’s profile page, complete with a brief biography and a photo. The photo was a three quarters shot of a woman, dressed in fencer’s garb. She was standing side on to the viewer, with her head turned to face front, in a pose Keller thought looked rather sexy. She had long blond hair, a narrow face with a pointy chin, and no breasts to speak of on a slender torso. She definitely wasn’t the Taran Tula he’d seen, even if she’d put on a hundred pounds.

He read her bio – she had indeed been a military brat…she was the Michele Bravo of the fingerprint….just not his Michele Bravo.

He passed on to the next woman on the list, Amanda Cooper. He found it difficult to believe that a woman of Taran Tula’s abilities would ever have been caught shoplifting, but one never knew…

II.

Three days later, Keller had completed the list, and none of the women looked even remotely like Taran Tula. He’d found photos of a couple of the women on the web, and he’d had to visit three of them, in person, tracking them down to their last known address.

Keller relaxed in his hotel room after his last failed trip.

It didn’t make sense. One of those five women had to be Taran Tula.

Keller rubbed his eyes, trying to think.

Then, he powered up his computer and returned to the website of his first choice, Michele Bravo. He stared once again at the photo. It was clearly a publicity photo, not something casual. What if…what if that photo wasn’t of Michele Bravo at all? He’d heard they did that sometimes, these internet writers. They used some headshot other than their own to maintain their anonymity.

So…he’d better go see this Michele Bravo in person, just to make sure.

He looked at the webpage with closer attention. There was a link on the page to a blog. He clicked on it.

The blog was being updated every day…the woman was visiting caverns in Northern Virginia. And she’d be going to the Endless Caverns the next day.

Keller looked at his watch, then pulled up directions on the computer. If he left now, he could drive to this New Market, Virginia place in just a few hours…he’d be there by noon, certainly.

Keller nodded sharply. He threw his clothes back into his suitcase, packed up his laptop, checked out of the hotel, and hit the road.

Asta's Mastas Ch 2

Pete Dighton stood in front of the full-length mirror. He wore nothing except white silk boxer shorts, but his trim, six-foot body was none the worse for it. He had broad shoulders, solid pecs, and a six-pack..a slimness born of symmetrical musculature rather than an underfed skinniness that seemed to pass for fitness these days. Sasha Forrest looked admiringly at her husband’s flat belly, leading down to his nether regions, currently obscured somewhat by the white fabric.

The trend these days for actors was to have a little pot belly. They of course were allowed to get away with a little embonpoint. But let an actress have a slight belly bump…unless she was pregnant – which would cause one kind of frenzy….the entire media would sneer about how overweight she was. Let her then lose the weight and regain her stick-like figure, and they’d immediately begin to gossip that she was anorexic.

Pete had died his blond hair black, and grown a moustache along his upper lip which he had also died black. Now he was busy combing his hair along a center part.

Sasha, clad in a white lace bra and panties, ran her hands along his biceps and kissed his cheek. “You look soooooo sexy,” she murmured.

“Thank you.”

Then she pushed him out of the way. “I need the mirror to put on my dress,” she told him.

Pete took his comb and went into his bathroom to finish his hair job. The full length mirror was located in their bedroom, just beside the walk-in closet that held Sasha’s wardrobe.

Sasha slipped the white silk evening gown from its padded hanger and stepped into it, pulling the cool strap across her neck. The dress was backless, and she felt an anticipatory shiver of Pete’s warm hand resting against her shoulder blades.

Sasha gazed at herself in the mirror. She filled the dress out nicely. Her golden tan set off the whiteness of the dress and vice versa. The swell of her breasts were just evident for those who cared to enjoy the sight, and the folds of the dress embraced her flat belly and then swirled about her ankles – it was an evening dress copied from the fashions of 1934, after all. Her arms were not pipe-stems, but rather firm with a demonstrable bicep – she was an avid swimmer and tennis player and she needed muscles.

Pete returned to her side, his own dressing complete. He wore black shoes, their uppers polished so well they shone like mirrors. His tuxedo was black, with a white cambric shirt and a white bow tie, and the white carnation in his boutonniere was fresh and standing at attention.



“Oh, baby,” he said, placing his hands on the smooth, firm skin of her shoulders and nuzzling her neck. “You look gorgeous. Do we really have to wait?”

“Just another couple of hours, my darling,” Sasha responded. “Now, where’s Asta?”

They took a cab to Penn Station. The driver had raised an eyebrow at their appearance, and true to the chatty nature of cab drivers he asked them where they were going and what they were doing dressed like movie stars out for a night on the town…at two o’clock in the afternoon.

They had told him they were going on a murder mystery train, and sad to say the driver couldn’t identify who they were supposed to be…they didn’t enlighten him.

They decanted at Penn Station. Their re-enactment of a scene from their favorite movie was further marred by the fact that there were no porters to be had…it was self service all the way. But they’d been aware that would happen, and Pete tipped his top-hat to a rakish tilt and then pushed their baggage-laden trolley ahead of him with a fine insouciance. Meantime, Sasha pulled her own little trolley on wheels on which a realistic wire-haired fox terrier toy-dog stood.

“This really destroys the ambiance we’re trying to create,” she grumbled. “No live dogs. No smoking. Afternoon instead of evening.”

“Now, dear,” spoke Pete, trying his best to do a William Powell accent, “We know that live dogs wouldn’t have been allowed in 1934, either. Remember in Song of the Thing Man they had to ride with Asta in the baggage car. Before that they probably just snuck him into their sleeper, and we can’t risk getting caught. It’ll put a crimp in our afternoon delight.”

“We should have risked it,” Sasha grumbled. “Add a little spice to this caper.”

“I’ll be adding a little spice to this caper in another hour or so,” Pete said meaningfully.

They acquired quite a few glances from people on the platform as they walked by to their own, first class car, but no one approached them. They handed their tickets to a conductor and he escorted them to their bedroom compartment.

The bedroom consisted of a huge picture window, through which they could gaze at the scenery passing by, upper and lower berths – the upper berth folded flat against the wall, ready to be lowered at the touch of a button, an armchair and sofa which could be converted to a lower berth, as well as a private toilet and shower.

They sat opposite each other across a table. From her suitcase, Sasha removed a tea service, placing cups and saucers on the table for herself and Pete. Into both cups she poured a measure of gin from a teapot.

They raised their cups.

“Here’s looking at you, kid,” said Pete, in a Bogart accent.

It was from the wrong movie, but Sasha didn’t correct him. “Here’s mud in your eye,” she responded.

They sipped their gin.

They were on the Lake Shore Limited (or Late Shore Limited, as it was affectionately known, owing to a propensity for it to always arrive at least an hour late at its ultimate destination, Chicago,)

And that’s where Pete and Sasha were going…ultimate destination, Mount Rushmore…but that would be a different train and a different movie.

The Lake Shore Limited did run on the same tracks that had once borne the famous 20th Century Limited, an express passenger train that had run from 1902 to 1967, once called the "Most Famous Train in the World".

The journey then had taken 16 hours, departing New York City westbound at 6:00 P.M. Eastern Time and arriving at Chicago's LaSalle St. Station the following morning at 9:00 A.M. Central Time., averaging 60 miles per hour.

The 20th Century had been famous for its style, "spectacularly understated ... suggesting exclusivity and sophistication" as the pundits had termed it.

“Here we go,” Sasha said, as there was a jerk, and the train began to move silently down the tracks and through the industrial portion of the city.

After finishing her gin, Sasha examined the plate glass window. It did have a louvered window treatment.

“What do you think, Pete?” she asked. “Should we louver out the rest of the world, or leave it open so we can gaze out at the scenery while we….”

“Once we get out of the city,” he said, “there’ll be no one to see. Let’s leave it open.”

Sasha smiled.

“Have some more gin,” suggested Pete. He lifted up the teapot.

“Just a little bit for me,” said Sasha. “I’m already feeling pretty loose and ready to go….”

Pete brought a CD boom box out of his suitcase and turned it on, and soft jazz by Duke Ellington bounced around the room.

Sasha sipped her gin and swayed her body to the music as Pete converted their lower berth to a bed, complete with white linen sheets.

He stood back and looked at it critically. “It’s going to be a narrow fit,” he said.

“Part of the charm,” said Sasha. “Come and undress me, darling.”

“I love this dress,” Pete murmured as he obliged. “It’s so easy to remove it.”

She stepped out of her dress and he laid it gently to one side. Then he took her and pushed her body – still clad in lace bra and panties, down onto the narrow bed.

He took off his own tuxedo jacket and slacks, and joined her on the bed clad only in his white tie and his white silk shorts.

For several minutes they simply lay side-by-side and kissed, lips only to start with, then deeper and deeper, until their tongues were dancing a gavotte with each other.

Pete grasped first one and then the other of Sasha’s wrists and pushed them up above her head, then held them there with one hand while he nibbled on the inner part of one arm.

“Mmmmmm,” murmured Sasha.

He raised a leg and moved over to straddle her, now kissing her eyes, her nose, her cheeks. He released her hands and raised her up slightly, so he could unclasp her bra and toss it aside. Then he began o suck on first one nipple and then the other.

“Ah, god,” murmured Sasha. She brought her hands down and wrapped her fingers in Pete’s hair, trying to push him down toward her aching crotch.

Pete reached down and grabbed her panties. She arced her back and lifted a leg and then the panties were gone. He continued to suck a nipple while he reached down and placed his other hand between her legs. The feeling of the wetness there excited him and he drove his ring finger deep inside her. Her back arced again, she pushed at his head, wanting him to go down further and work magic with his tongue.

Instead he continued to tease her. He reached up, seized her hand, and guided it down to his cock, poking out of the white silk. She began to rub it in time to his own timing of finger going in and out of her vagina. He abandoned her nipples and went up to kiss her, long deep kisses.

Soon the effect of her firm hand on his cock became unbearable. He reached down, removed her hand from his cock and guided it into her vagina…deep, deep. Then he began thrusting.

He raised up a bit so he could watch her face…her eyes were closed and her tongue was between her lips. She moved beneath him, thrusting her hips up against his. She ran her hands over his back, down to his hips…then up to his pecs.

Her eyes opened and she gazed up at him…. “Almost there,” she gritted. “Don’t stop..”

He continued to thrust himself deep within her, willing her to come quickly because he knew he was about to come…and then suddenly it happened and the wracking pleasure shook his legs and belly…

“Ummm,” he murmured, relaxing, remaining inside her, bearing most of his weight on his knees as he crouched on top of her.

The sound of the wheels along the rails…click…click…click, and the rhythmic motion of the train was an aphrodisiac…a few minutes later he had recovered enough to start thrusting again, while his very supple wife rested her legs on either of his shoulders as he went in deeper and deeper until he felt her shudder beneath him.

Then, he lowered her legs down, and lay beside her, and rested his head against hers, and slept.