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.

Hall of the Mountain King ch 9

I.

Pete nodded, and took her hand as they walked out of the store. “Okay.”

Michele Bravo finished typing the last sentence, then saved the file and closed her word processing program. She still had another chapter to go in the opening story of the new erotica series which she had just conceived, which she was cleverly calling Dighton & Forrest (Dighton & Forrest being the murderers in Shakespeare’s play, Richard III) but she was feeling tired and the creative muse was leaving her. Not to mention, she always felt horny after writing the climax portion of her erotic stories, and she wanted to save that for the next night, too!

She switched off her laptop and placed it on the night table.

“Night, Fitz.”

Fitz, still engrossed in Lace Making Through the Images, gave her a smile. Michele turned on her side and slithered down under the covers until she reached a comfortable spot. Seconds later she was asleep.

II.

The next day, Michele and Fitz bade Front Royal and its environs farewell and drove the 30 odd miles to Luray, where they found and checked into another Bed and Breakfast. Then they visited the Luray Caverns.

Unlike the Skyline Caverns, the tour of the Luray Caverns was self-directed – they were given headsets and little digital tape recorders and sent on their way.

“Wow…” said Michele as they walked along. “Just…wow.”

The Skyline Caverns had had hardly any stalactites and stalagmites…one or two. The Luray Caverns were full of them, as well as plenty of “draperies,” and a very large mirror lake…twice as large as the one at Skyline. The caverns were more impressive in every way. The only thing the Skyline Caverns had that Luray didn’t were the anthodites.

Fitz nodded. “Now, this is a cavern,” he pointed out.

But there was more. The cost of admission included entrance to the adjacent Car and Carriage Caravan Museum, with over two-dozen ancient cars, from a Model T to a Stanley Steamer to a Black Maria to a Franklin to a Bugatti. Fitz, a car lover, looked over each of the exhibits avidly. Michele, more interested in history, was fascinated by how the car designs changed over time, until she got to the Rolls Royce 1925 Silver Ghost town car, with which she fell in love. It had once belonged to Rudolph Valentino and had a faux-alligator paint job that looked absolutely gorgeous.

After they were through with the caverns, Fitz and Michele wandered around the town of Luray. Michele snapped photos, and they wandered into a few antique stores. In one of these antique stores, Michele’s eye was caught by a poster on a community message board by the front door.

HELP SAVE OUR BATTLEFIELD! ran the headline.

The gist of the poster was that the owners of Cooper Farm, in a town near New Market, were holding an ice cream social that weekend to raise money to fund their bid to save their land. A huge chain store wanted to buy their property to put up a store, and the local government was threatening to use eminent domain to seize it. A store would bring in more tax revenue than their farm…never mind the fact that the farm had been in the Cooper family since the early 1800s. But they had recently come across some Civil War artifacts – a few rifles, a cannon ball, and some bones, on their property, which led them to believe some battle…or more likely a skirmish, had taken place on their land. They were hoping that that historical significance might be enough to save their land, but they needed to conduct research and that was going to take time, more time than the town fathers were prepared to give them.

“Well, isn’t that just a kick in the butt,” said Michele. “I hate this eminent domain crap. That shouldn’t be allowed to happen in the US of A.”

Fitz shrugged. “They’re fighting a losing battle. When it comes to taxes, what the government wants the government gets.”

“Yes…well, since we’re not going to be here this weekend, let’s stop in there tomorrow on our way to the next cavern on our list, okay? I’ll interview them, give a little publicity to their plight…”

“Sure,” said Fitz.

“In the meantime…speaking of ice cream…wasn’t there an ice cream parlor across the street?”

III.

That evening, Fitz and Michele once more assumed their positions – sitting up in bed, laptops on bellies. Michele was again was watching The Thin Man – the sequel this time After the Thin Man, and working on the second chapter of her first Dighton & Forrest story.

Fitz had moved on from a documentary on lace making to one on the Mayan calendar.

And tomorrow…New Market and Endless Caverns.

Erotica By Bravo. Dighton & Forrest #1 - Asta's Mastas

Erotica By Bravo. Dighton & Forrest #1 - Asta's Mastas

Chapter #1 of 2

Although their last names were Dighton and Forrest, Pete and Sasha had been happily married for a couple of years. But Sasha Forrest had made her fame with her maiden name, and was loathe to give it up.

As Pete drove them toward the theater , where they were to attend the production of a play for which Sasha had designed the costumes, they passed by a sign…a black sign covered with hearts and in red lettering, Fun & Games.

Pete glanced over at his wife. “Hey, Sasha…we’ve got time. Want to go in there?”

“That’s an adult novelty shop!” she told him, with mock severity.

“Yeah…you mean to say you’ve never been in one?”

“I have visited one…not that particular one…to pick up a vibrator. And I don’t deny that I allowed my gaze to wander over the …novelties…on the racks…but I never felt the need to buy any of that stuff.”

“Well, let’s just look around, okay?”

Sasha frowned. She didn’t like where this was heading.

“Pete…you’re not getting…bored…with our sex life, are you?”

“No, not at all,” he said quickly, giving her shoulder a quick rub. “I just want to look around, that’s all.”

They entered the store. It was divided into two halves. One had “furniture,” such as swings, and clothing – sexy nighties. No bondage gear that Sasha could see and for which she was duly grateful. Ever since she and Pete had taken to watching CSI and its spin-offs she’d been introduced to more sexual perversions then she’d ever before known existed.

“Perversion?” Pete had protested, when she’d expressed her opinion of people who liked to dress up as horses and riders, although that had been an episode of Bones, she remembered, not CSI.

“Yes,” she had stated definitely. “Sex is about joy and pleasure. An activity where one party enjoys getting tortured or acting like an animal and the other party enjoys delivering that torture or being master to that animal…that’s not joy or pleasure. They need professional help!”

“It must be a really popular thing if they’re actually doing a whole Bones ep about it,” Pete had observed.

Sasha had shrugged. “What consenting adults do in the privacy of their own homes…or should I say stables?... is their own business, of course. But that…that’s a sad business. There can’t be anything joyful or…innocent..about it.”

“Innocent sex?” Pete had laughed.

“It might not be possible to have “innocent” sex,” said Sasha, struggling to put into words how she felt, “but it should be possible to make love in an “innocent” way. Having sex and making love are two different things, you know.”

Before they could continue that conversation the next episode of Bones had started (for it had been a marathon) and they’d fallen silent as the episode began, and never picked it up again.

Now she followed Pete into the other half of the store, the one that had the toys - vibrators of various shapes and sizes, dildos, anal beads, cock rings as well as lotions and unguents guaranteed to heighten and prolong orgasm. Every single one was in packaging that seemed to have a beautiful blond grinning out lasciviously..dare she say, salaciously, Sasha wondered? No joy there, either, she thought.

Pete picked up a couple of anal beads and looked at them curiously. “Well, what do you think?” he said.

“I think that if you get one of those things stuck up your ass, as I’ve heard can happen, you’ll have a very uncomfortable ride and a very embarrassing half hour with a proctologist.”

“Yeah,” said Pete, putting them back. His eyes fell on a huge dildo and he averted his gaze.

“Look, Pete, we don’t need this stuff. It’s like the diet industry. Companies are making millions selling drugs and stuff to people to lose weight, when all they have to do is practice portion control and ride a bike half an hour a day.”

“You’re saying if we ride a bike half an hour a day it will improve our sex life?”

She poked him with a grin. “No. I’m saying all this stuff to heighten orgasm. Bushwa. I think we can do it without any of this stuff. I’ve got an idea how we can add some spice to our sex life. Let’s talk about it after the play, okay?”

Pete nodded, and took her hand as they walked out of the store. “Okay.”

Hall of the Mountain King ch 8

“Jeez Louise,” said Fitz as he peered at a traffic sign that seemed to have every highway in the world displayed on it – 6 across and 6 down, with various arrows pointing in the directions in which they could be found – except the one they wanted.

“Where the hell’s 340?” he said. He had no choice, there were cars behind him. He accelerated and went through the now green light and continued down the road.

“I didn’t see it,” Michele acknowledged, “but the sign we saw just before that one said 340 was in this direction. Didn’t it?”

“I sure thought it did,” said Fitz. “Oh, lookie, now we’ve got construction.”

“Drive on as far as the construction goes,” Michelle suggested, “and if we don’t come across 340 by that time, let’s turn around. We’ll grab some lunch at that KFC we just passed and find out where the hell we are.”

Fitz nodded. They did not come across 340, or a sign for it, let a sign pointing them toward the Skyline Caverns, which they would have accepted as well, so he did a U-turn as soon as the one-lane traffic caused by construction – well, caused by cones, there were no construction people in sight – petered out, and retraced their steps.

“You sure you want KFC?” he asked. “I thought we were only going to eat at local restaurants and cafes on this trip.”

“Except if we go in search of a local restaurant we may get even further lost,” said Michele. “Anyway, this is an emergency.”

Fitz grinned and they went inside.

It had started out all right. They’d been following the directions Michele had printed from Mapquest, and were within a few miles of the Skyline Caverns according to those directions. The caverns were adjacent to the town of Front Royal. Then she’d seen a sign advertising Front Royal’s Visitor Center, and decided she wanted to visit that first, to stock up on brochures. Fitz had obliging turned the car to follow the arrow.

She’d expected the Visitor's Center to be within a block or two of the sign, the way they normally were, but they ended up driving all the way into the middle of town, several times thinking they must have driven past it, before seeing another sign with an arrow urging them ever onward.

The Visitor’s Center was a large building, with one room given over to showing antiques, the other lined floor-to-ceiling with brochure racks. Michele had stocked up happily.

They’d also picked up a map of the town, an 11 X 17 sheet of paper with the map of the town in the center and lists of attractions, accommodations and restaurants bordering it on either side. Fitz now poured over this they ate their KFC.

“There sure are a lot of vineyards in this area,” he commented. “Any interest in seeing them?”

“Not really. I picked up their brochures…I’ll mention them in my articles, but I don't want to dwell on them. Civil war stuff and caverns, that’s the main point of this exercise.”

“Well, there’s Belle Boyd’s Cottage, and the Warren Rifles Confederate Museum,” Fitz said. “And here’s the Caverns.” He placed an index finger on them. “Now, where the heck are we? Ah..this is the road we’re on. Now I’ve got it.”

After a relaxing lunch which allowed them to ease their frustration, they got back on the road again.

“Many years ago,” mused Michele, “I visited my sister in England – she was living in Oxford at the time – and we decided to drive into Wales to see castles. I had a list of castles and the roads they were supposed to be on, but we didn’t bother to do much preparation because we figured there’d be signs everywhere. So we drove into these towns, and there’d be like one sign at the very entrance of the town, saying “Castle this way,” or something, and then we’d drive and drive and drive and never see another sign, until we’d driven clean through the town. Then we’d turn around and all of a sudden there were signs galore. We always assumed that the signs were situated for the convenience of people coming from London – since that’s where most tourists probably come from – and we of course were driving in from Oxford, where the locals presumably lived.”

They found Skyline Caverns with no further difficulty. Michele unlimbered her camera and began photo-taking outside, starting with the large sign luring people in from the road. It flanked a historical marker which stated:

Near here Stonewall Jackson
Was met by the spy Belle Boyd
And informed of the position
Of the Union troops at Front
Royal, May 23, 1862. Jackson
Was advancing northward, at-
tempting to get between Banks’
army and Winchester





They took the guided tour through the cavern. The main attraction was a formation that was unique to this cave – anthocites. No other cave in the world had this delicate, spiky, beautiful formation. After finishing with the caverns they took the miniature train ride, and then went through the Mirror Maze, an attraction strictly for small children, Michele concluded.

“Let’s check into a B&B here for the night,” Michele said. “And explore the rest of the town and surrounding area. In particular Belle Boyd's Cottage and that Confederate Museum. Then we can go on to Luray tomorrow. So, one cavern, and one town, a day.”

Fitz nodded. “You’re the boss.”



"I am," said Michele, smirking in her best imitation of Steve Ihnat's Garth of Izar from Star Trek. "I certainly am."

Late that evening, after Michele had downloaded and formatted all her photos and written outlines of the articles she'd write about what she'd seen, she relaxed in bed with Fitz. They both had their laptops on their knees and headsets over their ears. Fitz was watching a documentary on lacemaking through the ages, while Michele was simultaneously watching one of her favorite movies, The Thin Man (starring William Powell and Myrna Loy) and working on her next erotic story…

Hall of the Mountain King Ch 7

Fredericksburg, Virginia is nestled along the Rappahannock River, with some beautiful views of the wilderness beyond, depending on where you lived. Fitz’s apartment was relatively small – a two bedroom, but it looked out over both the river and the historic district and cost him a pretty penny.

The city was located 50 miles south of Washington, D.C., and 58 miles north of Richmond, Virginia. A relatively small city – only about 20,000 people, it is a bedroom community – most of its inhabitants commute by car, bus or train to Arlington, Washington or Richmond.

Fitz was an archivist for the Smithsonian Institution, and he had asked a few favors in order to get the rest of the week off so he could travel with Michele through the limestone cavern country of Northern Virginia. He’d have his work cut out for him once he returned, but…. He rolled over in bed and looked at Michele’s sleeping form. It’d be worth it.

Fitz rolled out of bed and padded into the bathroom, where he took a shower, shaved, brushed his teeth, and felt ready to face the day. When he came out, he found Michele up, dressed in the sleeveless grey t-shirt and men’s grey pajama bottoms that were her sleeping attire. She was seated in front of her laptop, busily printing out driving directions.

“Feel like breakfast?” he asked her.

“Scrambled eggs and sausage would be great,” she said.

“Eggs mixed with cheese and onion, right, and maple syrup for your sausage.”

“You’ve got a good memory, Fitz.”

“Of course.”

After printing out the final set of instructions, Michele walked into the kitchen and watched while Fitz busied himself with frying pans.

“I love your cooking,” she told him, giving him an appreciative hug, from the back of course so it wouldn’t distract his attention from the food.

“Thank you,” he said, “I love that you love my cooking.”

After breakfast, Michele did her part, loading the dishwasher and getting it started.

“Do you want to wait until these are done, or are we ready to start now?” she asked.

“Sure, let’s head on out.”

Five minutes later, suitcases were stowed in the trunk of Michele’s car, and they set out for their first destination, Skyline Caverns, Virginia.

“Would you mind driving, Fitz? I want to be able to take notes and photograph all the scenery that we pass.”

Fitz, who commuted to the Smithsonian via train because he didn’t have a car, agreed with alacrity.

It was an hour and a half drive from Fredericksburg northwest to the Skyline Caverns in Front Royal. They traveled in relative silence….Fitz turned on a soft rock station that played music from the 60s through the 80s, and this helped while away the time while Michele concentrated on the scenery through which they passed and took photos of interesting signs.

“Why’d you take a picture of that?” he asked curiously, as out of the corner of his eye he saw her take a photo of one of the blue signs they passed. It had once informed travelers of what kind of food they could find on that exit, but now there were only four bright blue spots surrounded by faded blue.

Michele shrugged. “ I’ve passed quite a lot of these signs in the last few months, and it’s just so tragic. For decades travelers knew there’d be food there….some mom and pop restaurant, you know? Or some tourist stop…some museum or something…closed now because tourism is down…what, like 50%?”

“You’re the travel expert,” Fitz said.

“Yes, well, tourism is down 50%.” Michele said. “Who can afford to travel these days? Oh, the bigger attractions continue to get their visitors, but the sites on the way…the ones people would stop off at because of a whim…they are going under. It’s just sad.”

Fitz nodded grimly. “And probably going to get sadder still.”

“So I’m going to do what I can. Write a few articles about the places that have gone out of business, just to document that they once existed, and hopefully more articles about those that are still in business and deserve a visit.”

Fitz nodded again. “Sounds good.”

As he drove, Michele reflected that she was glad that she’d asked Fitz to accompany her. She was a loner by nature and enjoyed going places by herself, but when it came to collecting information for travel articles, someone to drive the car while she worked was invaluable. She’d never have been able to drive and take photos of things she’d been passing at the same time!

And although she enjoyed traveling alone, it was going to be nice to have someone with her to share the experiences they’d be having. To appreciate the beauty they’d be wandering through. And last but not least, there’d be some cuddling and kissing and probably at least one night of good sex.

Michele chuckled.

Fitz looked over at her. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. I’m just glad you’re with me.”

He smiled at her, then returned his attention to the road.

Hall of the Mountain King ch 6

After he’d finished talking Mason to her, they walked into the bathroom. While Michele turned on the water of the shower and adjusted the knobs to get just the right water temperature, Fitz stood close behind her, gently rolling up her T-shirt. “I wish you’d wear button up shirts,” he told her. “It’s so much nicer to unbutton your shirt one button at a time then to …” she lifted her arms and he skinned the T-shirt over her head…”have to do that all the time.”

“I like T-shirts,” she murmured, licking her lips as his hands clasped her breasts over her bra, then moved to her back and unhooked it. He tossed it aside and then moved his hands in front again, cupping her breasts, squeezing ever so gently, as he nibbled the back of her neck.

He released her left breast and ran his hand down to her shorts, slipping his hand beneath the waistband and the cool smoothness of her waist, extending his fingers far enough so that he could brush the very top of her pubic hair with his fingers.

She shuddered in anticipatory pleasure.

He raised his hand back up and undid the button on her shorts, then brought both hands down and slid her shorts off her hips, down to her feet. She placed a hand on his shoulder and stepped out of them. He stood up again, rested his left hand on her belly, fingers spread and rubbing through her pubic hair, the other cupping her right breast, as he continued to nibble her neck.

Then moving slowly – he knew she liked it slow – he turned her around, and she began to unbutton his shirt. As he shrugged out of it her hands went down to unzip his jeans, and then he stepped out of them. His cock bounced up and she wrapped one hand around its firmness. She reached up her other hand and he handed her a condom, which she unrolled over his rock hard penis. Then she smiled at him, and stepped into the tub. He joined her, and they stood pressed together underneath the pelting spray.

Michele stood facing away from Fitz, feeling his condom-wrapped cock pressing against her buttocks, his pectorals pressing against her back, as he took up a bar of soap and began lathering her neck and shoulders, then moving it around and massaging/lathering her breasts, her belly, between her legs. He put the soap away and wiped her down with his hands, as the shower continued to pelt on their shoulders, then he pressed her forward slightly and she braced her hands against the wall and tilted her butt up.

He entered her firmly, deeply, his hands on her hips. He took it slow, thrusting each time as deep as he could go but very slowly, and as slowly pulling out. He was aiming for her G-spot…he knew she’d let him know when he found it.

Thrusting, in and out, in and out. Michele stood with her eyes closed, breathing deeply, eyes closed, imagining a young James Mason pleasuring her. Fitz’s breath became heavier and slower too, as he gazed down at his cock, framed by her beautiful firm buttocks, sliding in and out. Her moans of pleasures aroused him even more, as she pressed her buttocks back against him, wanting him to go deeper still.

“Ah, God,” she moaned…

He began to thrust faster and faster, his gaze locked on the beautiful sight beneath him, cock sliding in and out between two perfect spheres,

“Almost there,” murmured Michele.

He pressed his fingers into the flesh of her hips, held her even closer to him, ramming into her and grunting hoarsely as he came.

Finally, gasping, he released his hold on her waist and reached out for her breasts, straightening her a bit so he could massage them while he continued to thrust himself languidly into her. She reached back with her hands and wrapped her fingers in his hair…

Fitz withdrew himself, turned and let the shower wash off the condom and his cock as he unpeeled it. Michele turned as well and rubbed his back, nibbling on his shoulder blades.

Fitz turned the shower off, stepped out of the tub and helped her out also. He took two towels one for her and one for him, and they began to rub each other dry, each passing a towel around the back of the other and pulling from side to side as they kissed.

“Whew,” said Fitz, finally. “That was great.”

“Really great,” agreed Michele. “You haven’t lost your touch.”

Toweled dry, they walked hand in hand back into the bedroom, and crawled into the bed. Michele lay her head against Fitz’s chest, and he put an arm around his shoulders, and they drifted off to sleep.

Hall of the Mountain King ch 5

I.

The next day, Michele returned to her hotel room after her driving tour of Gettysburg. She tossed backpack and camera onto the bed and went into the bathroom for a long, cold shower. She’d been spent the day driving hither and yon on the Gettysburg driving trail of the various locations around the battlefield, and although her car had excellent air conditioning she’d gotten out on several occasions to walk around the various sites she’d visited, and overall she was feeling hot and grubby.

Refreshed after her shower, she sat on her bed and fired up her laptop. Then she checked her email. She’d received a response from her friend in Fredericksburg. She opened it, and found that he was delighted to hear from her, and would be even more delighted if she made his home her base during her week’s stay in northern Maryland. And he’d be delighted to act as her guide to the caverns of northern Virginia.

It had been a couple of years since she’d visited Fitz (Alex Fitzhugh), and since she’d be coming to his apartment from a different angle she looked up driving directions on Mapquest, and printed those out on her portable printer.

She arrived in Fredericksburg the next day in the late afternoon, and since he’d specified he wouldn’t be home until after six pm, she spent a couple of hours at a Barnes & Noble, browsing among the books. At six, she headed for Fitz’s apartment.

“How was your drive?” he asked, taking her suitcase from her and carrying it into the bedroom.

“Great. But I’m longing for a hot bath.”

“You and your baths,” Fitz laughed. “You should have been a mermaid, you like water so much.”

“I’ve often thought so.”

“May I join you?”

Michele tapped his hard chest with a smile. “My first bath after a drive is always all about me. But I’ll be having another bath later on tonight, as you well know. And if you’d care to join me then…”

“I’d love to.”

“Well, then. I’ll be back in twenty minutes, and we can catch up on old times.”

II.

They ordered in Chinese food, and spent the evening talking about old times.

Then, because he knew she liked it, Fitz said in his best James Mason impersonation, “What’s your pleasure, my dear? North By Northwest or Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea?”

“Tough choice,” Michele mused. “Cary Grant and James Mason, or Kirk Douglas and James Mason…I’m in the mood for Twenty Thousand Leagues…”

“I love this movie,” Michele mused, as Kirk Douglas and Peter Lorre attempted to escape onto an island which, unbeknownst to them, was inhabited by cannibals, “But it also broke my heart.”

“What do mean?”

“Well, I saw it when I was very young, thirteen or so. Must have been one of the first full length, live action films I’d ever seen…graduating from the Disney animation classics, you know? And it ignited a love of oceans and underwater exploring….” She broke off to yell, “Run, you poor fools, run!”

After Douglas and Lorre were once more safely aboard the Nautilus, Michele continued. “And I also got my first crush, ever. My first crush on an actor and my first crush on a guy, ever. James Mason.”

Fitz nodded. “I can see it,” he said judiciously.

“I love his accent and his face and everything,” returned Michele with a grin. “But, remember, I was thirteen, and I had no idea that movies I saw on DVD were, you know, fifty years old. So I asked my mom if we could rent another movie starring James Mason, and the very next day she came back with one called 11 Harrowhouse.”

“I don’t recognize it.”

“Oh, it was about a lowly clerk in a diamond merchant company who decides to steal a million dollars worth of diamonds from his employer. Starred Candace Bergen and Charles Grodin. James Mason had a supporting role. And this movie was filmed – as I found out later, of course – in 1974. 20 years after he’d filmed 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

“Ah, oh.”

“Exactly. From one day to the next the man I’d intended to marry when I grew up had aged 20 years!”

She joined in with Fitz’s laughter, but she was telling the truth. At age 13, she’d had her eye on Captain Nemo, alright!

“Worse than that,” she continued, “he’d been 45 when he played Nemo and he was 65 in this movie. I was just…stunned, shattered! But that’s not the worst of it. I asked my mom how in the world this could happen, you know, that someone could be 45 one day and 65 the next, and that’s when she explained that movies lasted forever. And the final irony…Mom had one of those film encyclopedia books, and she looked him up…Mason had actually been dead since 1984. He died two years before I was born!”

“Bummer,” said Fitz.

“You got that right,” sighed Michele, dipping a fried cream-cheese filled wonton into sweet and sour sauce and then popping it into her mouth. “Of course after that I’d learned my lesson. Oh, I got crushes on actors… Cary Grant, Peter Lorre…”

“Peter Lorre?”

“Hey – when he was young he was in pretty good shape! You saw him as Joel Cairo in Maltese Falcon, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“And in his Mr. Moto movies, he could do ju jitsu like nobody’s business. Though I confess that once he gained sooo much weight I sort of lost interest…”

“I should hope so.”

“Don’t be mean. After all, he had some kind of medical problem that played havoc with his weight. But, anyway, I watched a lot of movies and TV after that, and had crushes on a lot of actors, but I’d learned to separate actors from their roles by that time. But James Mason will always remain my first love. And anyone who can do a James Mason impersonation….”

Fitz grinned. He leaned toward her, “You may call me…Captain Nemo,” he said, in an exact replica of Mason’s voice.

“Oh, baby,” Michele murmured, running her hand down one of his pecs. “Talk Mason to me.”

Hall of the Mountain King ch 4

It was 90 degrees in Gettysburg when Michele set out for the battlefield. She’d checked the weather on her laptop and so wore white cargo shorts that reached to mid-thigh, and a white Fifinella baseball cap and T-shirt, which she’d picked up a couple of years ago when she’d visited the WASP museum in Sweetwater Texas.

The motel offered free shuttle buses to the battlefield, and Michele decided she would take that route, rather than choose the independence of her car, since the main focus of her articles was supposed to be for the traveler on a budget.

The shuttle bus was two-thirds full when it arrived at the Gettysburg Museum and Visitor Center. Entrance to the battlefield grounds was free, but to go through the museum cost money, and she paid the fee that and then spent several hours wandering through all the exhibits.

She picked up a free Park Map and Guide, but also purchased a copy of David Petruzzi’s Complete Battlefield Guide, and a couple of CDs. One featuring Civil War songs from both sides, the other, dramatized readings for all the speeches made regarding the war.

She also fed several pennies and a couple of dollars into a stretched penny machine to add to her stretched penny collection, a ball cap and a battlefield T-shirt, for her ball cap and T-shirt collections. She stowed her acquisitions into the miniature backpack she’d brought with her, and slung that over her shoulders as she walked.

She’d intended to spend only one day at the battlefield but now realized that was not going to be enough time. To fully grasp the impact of this pivotal battle of the Civil War, she’d have to stay here for at least a couple of days, probably three or four, in order to see everything, absorb everything.

Michele checked battery status and memory free on her Canon Digital Rebel SLR camera, and found them good. She’d taken a lot of photos inside the museum. Now she circled the exterior of the museum, taking shots from various angles. Finally, she set off briskly on the long walk to the Soldier’s National Cemetery. She wanted to see that first of all, before she continued to explore the grounds.

As she walked, she paid a bit of attention to her fellow tourists – lots of family groups. Very young children looking interested, teenagers looking bored. Young men. Old men. More men than women, but she noticed several single women also walking about.

Michele brought out her digital recorder and began to record her thoughts. She’d already made several comments while walking through the Museum, noting down names and events that she’d want to research further. Now she mused about the appearance of the park and the ease of getting from one spot to another, how informative the signs were, and so on.

Just as the museum had put her into a somber mood, so did the National Cemetery. She walked along the white tablets, reading the inscriptions. Sometimes a man’s name, other times just unknown, occasionally a number of unknown soldiers had been laid to rest in the same plot.

Michele checked her watch, and decided it was time to catch the next shuttle bus to return to her motel. She retraced her steps back toward the Museum and Visitor Center.

As she sat on a bench waiting for the shuttle bus, a man in his mid forties sat next to her.

“Your first time at Gettysburg?” he asked with a smile.

“Yes. There’s so much to take in…I…”

But at that exact instant, her bus rolled up. “Well, here’s my bus,” said Michele. “Nice talking to you.”

He looked so disappointed, but he only waved. “Nice talking to you.”

Michele grinned wryly as she took a comfy seat right at the front. If he’d been cute, she probably would have stayed there and talked to him…but he’d been too skinny…

There was an Arby’s next to her motel. Michele purchased a couple of roast beef sandwiches and some French fries, and dined in her room, drinking milk that she’d previously purchased and kept in the room’s mini-fridge. She spent her time downloading photos, shrinking them to size and titling them appropriately. She knew well from past experience that if she fell behind on this project by even a day…she’d never get caught up. So she always made it a practice to get that kind of work out of the way each night.

Work done for the evening, Michele took a long, hot bath, then relaxed in bed, reading through the guide book she’d acquired earlier in the day. She decided she would do the driving tour, using her own car.

Then, depending on her mood, she’d either visit the battlefield sites for another day, or head down into Virginia to begin her quest for the caverns.

Before going to bed, Michele checked her email. Nothing of any interest...mostly spam.

However...Michele pursed her lips. If she was going to Virginia...why not look up an old friend? It had been over a year since she'd seen a friend she'd first in Germany while they'd both been attending high school in Germany, and remained friends - if of the long-distance variety - ever since. If she remembered right, he lived near Fredericksburg. Perhaps he'd have some time to drive over to Luray and go through the caverns with her.

Well, she'd send him an email invitation, and see what he'd have to say.

After sending the invite, Michele switched off her computer, rolled over, and fell asleep.


The Gettysburg Address

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

Hall of the Mountain King, ch 3

Gus Keller sat at his desk in the Special Crimes Investigation Bureau office building. Keller was the real name of the man who had attempted to pass himself off as Mr. Largo to Taran Tula. He had been a desk agent at the Washington office of the Special Crimes Investigation Bureau for two years, recruited right out of college because of his knowledge of European language, and had gradually become knowledgeable in the art theft field, from the missing art from World War II, to the Entartete Kunst, to the paintings and sculptures stolen on practically a monthly basis for the last several decades.

When the real Mr. Largo had been captured, with a sheet of paper which had told the SCIB of his plans to meet with the infamous art thief-cum-assassin Taran Tula, he had been the only one with the appropriate knowledge of German and art, and he had been yanked from his desk and sent out into the field…where he had failed.

Oh, his superiors hadn’t said that, but he knew that’s what they thought.

In front of him on his desk lay the fingerprint cards for five women.

There is something called the CSI effect. Because most people believe that the TV shows such as CSI, CSI Miami and CSI New York represent actual police procedure, they think DNA can be identified within minutes, and that a single partial fingerprint can be used to definitely identify a suspect.

Such is not the case.

In any study of fingerprints, there are “points of similarity” that are considered. Anything over six points of similarity are considered a match.

That’s what Keller had, the fingerprint cards of five women who had fingerprints with three points of similarity to the partial print that he had lifted off the spoon that Taran Tula had held while eating her ice cream, a month ago.

He intended to visit them, one by one, and see if he could recognize any of them as Taran Tula.

Their names were as follows, listed alphabetically:

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

Keller gazed at the five names….where to start….hell, why not alphabetically? He’d start with Michele Bravo.

Hall of the Mountain King, ch 2

They walked hand-in-hand along the beach. Michele glanced at the man at her side. He was tall, with silver hair and handsome features, and wore a white turtle neck sweater under a blue blazer. Banacek. He glanced at her and smiled his suave smile, and she smiled back.

The moon was full, and its light cast a silver gleam over the rocky beach, and the waves rolling in, pounding on the rocks on shore. Far ahead of them was a lighthouse on a rocky promontory, and every thirty seconds or so its silvery white beam would swing around and illuminate the entire landscape as bright as day.

They continued walking silently and holding hands, enjoying the roar of the ocean, the glorious power of the waves as they crashed against the rocks, the tang of the cool sea air. Far in the distance, Michele could see a galleon, with all sails set, silhouetted against the night sky, dipping into wave troughs and then rising up again.

Then they were at the foot of the cliff, atop which was the lighthouse. They began to climb an iron staircase that was set into the rock, and as they climbed the waves were coming closer and closer, spattering into foam at their feet as they rose higher and higher.

It was a long climb, but their breathing was easy as they went up step after step, side by side, until finally they reached the top of the cliff and stood looking out from that vantage point over the ocean.

Then they turned to look at the light house, which rose up over a hundred stories into the air, with that light as its centerpiece. It was painted white, with a black stripe running like a candy stripe in a circle up to its top.

They entered the lighthouse and in its center was another iron staircase, circular this time. And they began to climb that one as well, going round and round, round and round. At every second landing they stopped, leaning against each other, and gazed out a porthole into the night sky.

At last they reached the light room. Hand in hand, they went out onto the walkway, a six-foot wide parapet that surrounded the light room and allowed the lightkeeper to clean the windows from the outside. They stood there, watching the galleons sailing across the ocean, the occasional twelve-foot wing-spanned albatross soaring in air, and then they turned and looked into each other’s eyes.

They took off their clothes, and lay down on the cool stone parapet and began to make love….

Michele felt the sudden heat flooding into her loins as she woke up. She clenched the muscles in her thighs and felt the exquisite pleasure of an orgasm running through her…again…and again..and again…before it faded out, all too quickly.

Michele sighed as she lay there. Always too quick!

She had had such experiences before. When she hadn’t moved from a single spot for several hours – always when she was asleep, she would begin to have some kind of erotic dream, which would culminate with her waking up to an orgasm which she could bring to a peak of pleasure by tightening her thigh muscles. She had never been sure if the erotic dream brought on the orgasm, or the start of the physical orgasm was enough to influence her dreams…but they were always pleasurable while they were happening.

But making love to Banacek? She had the DVDs of the TV series, which she had discovered some years ago, even though it had been on TV in 1972, when she’d been just a baby. But Banacek, as played by George Peppard, had been so…so cool. So suave and sophisticated. So…uber-competent.

She hadn’t watched a Banacek episode in months, though, so, as she drifted back into a dreamless sleep, she wondered what had brought him to her mind now…

Mirror Image Iterations Ch 1

The first chapter in Michele's fan fiction story regarding the Big Bang characters went as follows:

The Mirror Image Iterations Chapter 1

Sheldon Cooper sat in front of his computer, reading an article entitled "Physics at the Air-Sea Interface" from the online webzine: Physical Oceanography Quarterly. Although his field of study in physics was concerned with string theory, he had recently become interested in physics as it related to the oceans. He was going to conduct his own research to discover, once and for all, if global warming were man-made, or simply unstoppable mother nature.

Dimly, as if it were the buzzing of a mosquito, he could hear a shrieking noise. Suddenly he blinked and looked up. Normally nothing could tear his attention away from a physics article or problem, but after three years of living across the hallway from Penny he had learned to leave a little bit of himself open to his surroundings. A hailing frequency, as it were. And shrieks were intruding upon it.

Sheldon jumped up, scurried out of the room and across the hall.

He knocked on the door, simultaneously calling "Penny." Before he could knock again, as was his custom, Penny jerked open the door.

Although tears were streaming down her face, her face was radiant. Before he could utter another word, she had clasped his face between both hands and kissed him on the mouth. Then she let go of his face and hugged him.

"Penny! Have you taken leave of your senses?" asked Sheldon.

She danced away from him. "Oh, Sheldon, Sheldon! I got the part! I got the part! I got the part!"

"You got the part? The part in your hair remains in exactly the same place….oh, you mean you received a part in a play?"

"No, Sheldon, not a play, a TV series. A series!" She raised her hands to grab his face again, but he skittered backwards.

"What kind of a TV series?" he said with stilted curiosity.

"It's going to be really cool! And it's really ironic. It's a situation comedy about four girl physicists. We're really smart, but socially awkward. You know – because we're smarter than every man we meet, and they're attracted to our beauty and scared at the same time."

Sheldon stared at her, his mouth opening and closing. "Penny….I….don't know what to say. Ironic isn't the word."

"I am so happy! Okay, go, go! I have to call my parents."

Penny shooed him out of her apartment and into the hallway. Sheldon stood in the hallway, frozen, feeling like a pillar of salt.

Leonard walked up the stairs at that moment. "Sheldon, what's the matter?"

"I've just been thinking about Lot and Lot's wife," Sheldon said. "Did you know that there's a school of thought that believes that God actually used an atom bomb to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah? And that Lot's wife wasn't so much turned into a pillar of salt but a pillar of ash?"

"No, I'd never heard of that."

"Well, said Sheldon, as he followed Leonard into their apartment, "Let me tell you that that is much more plausible than the news I have to tell you about Penny."

(Follow the complete story at Fanfiction.net: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6067580/1/The_Mirror_Image_Iterations

The Mirror Image Iterations, ch 1

Michele Bravo placed her suitcase on the floor and her laptop onto the bed, then stood and took stock of her surroundings. She had just checked into a Super 8 in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.

When Michele was on a “project,” as she had termed her work as international jewel thief and some-time assassin Taran Tula, she stayed in the most luxurious of hotels. The same held true when she was doing work for her security company – one always had to put up a prosperous appearance when meeting clients in different cities.

But when she was travelling on her own, she much preferred to stay in the least expensive hotels possible – which typically meant motels. As long as the motel was in a good neighborhood, she had no apprehension staying in a room with a door that opened up to the night air rather than to an interior hallway.

The rooms weren’t that luxurious, true, but what did that matter? They were to be used for sleeping, reading or watching TV – as long as the heater or air conditioning worked and the room was clean…

Such it was with this room. Before unpacking, Michele made her usual check. It was summer, and the air conditioner was turned on. The room was nice and cool and the air conditioner hummed, with no knocks or other disturbing news.

Then she went into the bathroom. The tub was disappointing – as with most hotel tubs the rear end had no slope, but rather went straight downward. Michele always suspected that they did this to prevent people who liked to read in the tub from getting comfortable, so they wouldn’t use up too much water. Nevertheless, the drain stopper worked and she had hot, warm and cold water so that was okay.

Returning to the room itself, she turned on the TV with the remote. Picture – crystal clear. There was also a list of channels and channel numbers which was very considerate.

Finally, Michele opened up her laptop and fired that up. She waited the few minutes for the computer to boot up, and then attempted to sign on to the internet. The signal she received was strong and clear, and the log on screen showed up immediately. Yes, it was, as promised, a fast internet connection.

Michele nodded, satisfied. The room would do.

She unpacked shorts and t-shirts and stowed them away. Then she looked around…something was missing. Ah. She went back out to her car – a 1998 silver Toyota Camry – and recovered a bag of Kentucky Fried Chicken original recipe all white meat chicken, mashed potatoes, coleslaw, and chocolate parfait.

As she dined, Michele watched the final episode of the third season of Big Bang Theory – “The Lunar Interactions”. The episode ended with the asexual, Asperger-syndrome-possessing anti-social genius Sheldon Cooper meeting an asexual woman, Amy Farah Fowler, presumably his intellectual equal. They hit it off and go to the bar have a beverage together. The episode ended with Raj and Howard looking at each other and Howard saying, “What have we done?”

Michele switched off the TV and shook her head. She hoped that the show’s writers were not going to make the mistake of giving Sheldon a regular girlfriend. Or at least, not one whom he’d get interested in sexually. That would ruin the character – Sheldon was complete within himself and to have him mooning and crying over unrequited love would be not only out of character but also completely annoying.

Michele chuckled…she was so in to these characters. And it had all started out so innocuously. She rarely watched first-run TV, and although she considered herself a science fiction geek she had not been the least interested in the Big Bang Theory when it had debuted in 2007….. 4 geeky guys and a dumb girl - so stereotypical, so annoying.



But three weeks ago, when she’d been spending her last evening at Vic Durant’s home, he had insisted on watching the show, and she’d found herself intrigued by the characters. Sheldon Cooper, played by Jim Parsons, was clearly the star of the show. He was tall and dark-haired, two of Michele’s prerequisites. But he was a beanpole – like Leonard Nimoy’s Spock, and she’d never cared for beanpoles. The other lead, Johnny Galecki’s Leonard Hofstadter, had a physique much more to her liking, for all that he was rather short. Raj, played by Kunal Nayyar, was also not bad looking, either facially or physically. Simon Helberg as Howard Wollowitz – worse than Parsons in the looks department, and an annoying character altogether.

Michele decided to check out fanfiction.net, a website where people published stories they’d written based on their favorite TV series. She had discovered it some years ago, when she’d found fan fiction on The Avengers (John Steed and Emma Peel) and Star Trek by a pretty good writer, who used the pseudonym Gale Force. The author had also turned out some pretty good NCIS alternate universe stories, as well…

“I know they’ll have stories for The Big Bang Theory,” she mused aloud, “and I wonder just what kind of stories they’ll be.”

Smiling with anticipation, she went to the website, and as she expected, found over 700 stories written by fans. And as she suspected, most of them were “Shenny” – romantic relationships between Sheldon and Jenny. There were several “slash” stories as well – featuring Sheldon and Leonard and Howard and Raj.

Michele was not a big fan of slash, although she had read some of it and found it good (the aforementioned Gale Force had contributed a few stories to the genre). But while Sheldon was certainly effete (not to be confused with effeminate), if he were going to break down and have sex, it’d probably be with a woman. Having said that, she didn’t think he would, unless he got really, really drunk.

“And that is such a rip-off,” she IM-ed sister, with whom she shared most (but certainly not all) of her thoughts. “Plus it gives a false and harmful view of getting drunk to the more impressionable kids in the audience. They see someone lose their inhibitions and have fun, and they think that’s how they’ll overcome their shyness as well. So they get drunk, have sex, don’t remember it the next day, and nine months later they’re confronting the result. Not good.”

“You’re such a pessimist,” her sister IM-ed her back. “Most people have more common sense than that, c’mon.”

“Well, we’ll have to agree to disagree,” typed in Michele. “You didn’t spend seven days on a cruise ship with a roommate who got drunk and puked her guts out every….single…. night…”

“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

“Never! ; )

“Well, let’s move swiftly on, then. ; ) How are you liking Gettysburg?”

“I haven’t been to see it yet. Got here a few hours ago, and I decided I’d relax with some supper and TV. I’ll go to the battlefield tomorrow.”

“Okay. Thanks a lot for helping me out like this, Michele.”

“No problem. Okay, I’ll let you go. I feel in the mood to do a little writing.”

“Have fun.”

Alice, Michele’s sister, ran a lucrative travel website which she had taken over from her mother. When Michele had written her an email telling her she was taking a month long sabbatical from her security firm (Alice knew nothing of her Taran Tula activities), Alice had suggested that she do some traveling around the US, documenting all the places lost to the traveler thanks to the rotten economy that had the country in its grip for over a year.

Michele, who was always more comfortable when she was traveling then when she was standing still, agreed.

“I’ve been thinking of visiting some Civil War sites,” she had said. “Would you believe I’ve never seen Gettysburg?”

“Start with Gettysburg, then.” Alice agreed.

And here she was in Gettysburg, having driven down from her home (as Michele Bravo) in New York.

Now, Michele signed off with her sister, and then pulled up a Word document.

The vast majority of TV series copyright owners had no objection to fans writing fan fiction, as long as they did not try to sell novels on Amazon, or something of that nature. Practically every TV series you could think of had some kind of presence at Fanfiction.net.

Michele didn’t write fan fiction as a matter of course – she expected to be paid for her writing. But what the hey, she would give a Sheldon – Penny story a try, just for the challenge of it. If it was any good, she’d post it on fanfiction.net.

Now…what should it be about…..?

Hall of the Mountain King ch 1

I.

Michele re-read the first chapter of her Big Bang Theory fan fiction and found it good. (Follow the complete story at Fanfiction.net: The Mirror Image Iterations)

The idea had come to her suddenly. Why not have aspiring actress Penny be cast in a sitcom about 4 socially awkward physicists? Only let the physicists be four beautiful women, who scared away all the men because they were so smart. And the actresses would want to spend a few days following around the people on whom they’d been modeled – Sheldon, Leonard, Howard and Raj. Naturally, hilarity would ensue.

Michele had an interested layperson’s knowledge in the sciences, but she couldn’t come close to replicating the complex physics-related dialog that the 4 main characters exchanged at least once per episode, let alone the scientific metaphors and similes with which the uber-smart Sheldon Cooper laced his conservation, but then no one would expect her to. As long as the dialog resembled what the characters would sound like, that was good enough. Where she hoped to succeed was with the plot and the interaction of the characters.

Michele stretched and decided it was time for a hot bath. She took her Kindle with her into the bathroom, and shortly settled down in the hot water for a long soak and read. The Kindle was an electronic reading device which would not react well if dropped in water. But Michele had been reading paperback books while relaxing in the tub for decades without losing one – she saw no reason to think that the Kindle would break that record of success.

After heating the water to the appropriate temperature and filling the tub to the appropriate depth, Michele slipped in, smiled with sybaritic pleasure, and began to read Nevada Barr’s Blind Descent. Although Barr had been writing her mysteries featuring National Park ranger Anna Pigeon for over ten years, Michele had only just discovered the author.

Blind Descent takes place, for the most part, in caverns underneath the earth, part of Carlsbad Caverns called Lechuguilla. In reading the descriptions of the actual getting into the cave – crawling through teeny tiny holes and inching along like a worm – Michele shook her head. She prided herself on her adventurous spirit but spelunking was one activity that she would never, ever try. But the descriptions of the actual caves themselves…the beautiful limestone formations of various kinds – draperies, lily pads, soda straws, cave pearls, stalagmites and stalagtites…she would like to see those.

Michele remembered that when she had checked into this motel, there had been a rack of brochures of various sites in the area, and she was sure she’d seen a brochure for some kind of cavern…. After she finished her bath she’d go take a look.

II.

Michele reclined in bed with a stack of sight-seeing brochures. She’d decided to make off with every single one the motel had to offer, and divide them into topics – sites she’d like to see and write about, and sites she didn’t…but which she’d at least mention so that her readers would at least know about them.

There had actually been a couple of brochures advertising caverns – all of them in northern Virginia. There were the Luray Caverns, which the brochure claimed were the most famous, but there were others within a few miles of each other – the Shenandoah Caverns, the Endless Caverns, the Skyline Caverns, and a few others.

She would go see them all.

Finally, her work for the day done, Michele decided to relax and watch something mindless. The motel had cable with dozens of channels…she didn’t want to watch any crime dramas – too grim, or any sitcoms – no intelligent ones on like the Big Bang Theory were on, only annoying ones with family units featuring precocious and annoying children, a bossy wife and a browbeaten husband…blah. As usual, the only biographies on the Biography channel were that of actors. The NASA channel featured direct video from the space station, but there was no sound, and in any event that wasn’t what she was in the mood for.

Finally she came across the Golf Channel. The 2010 Open at Pebble Beach was being repeated, the one where Irishman Graeme McDowell had won and American Dustin Johnson had had an historic collapse in the first four holes, with the Grand Slam of disasters, triple bogey, double bogey, bogey and par. Michele watched a few holes in aesthetic discontent. 99% of the golfers wore the standard baggy pants that seemed de rigeur on the golf course these days….only Dustin Johnson had worn a well-fitting pair of slacks – and white at that – that fit nicely over his crotch and allowed those who cared for such things to have a bit of eye candy. It was so unfair… the women had to wear the highest of high skirts to show off their legs to the crowd, but the guys, as in practically every other sport, walked around looking like they were in their pajamas. Discrimination, that’s what it was.

Michele sighed, and decided that rather than watch this eye-candy-less sport, she’d go to bed, and get an early start the next morning. She had much to do…and perhaps she’d have some pleasant dreams…

Classiest Movie Seduction Scene

Below are a series of screencaps from North By Northwest, featuring the very hot cigarette scene... The art of seduction lost a great "gimmick" when cigarettes were outlawed [as they in essence are].

Picture Cary Grant at the other end of that hand extending the lighted match...

Sole Remedy ch 9

Michele Bravo and the Sole Remedy Chapter 9

I.

After Michele Bravo and Vic Durant had made love, and then laid back and watched the stars overhead for a while, they retired to Durant’s bedroom and spent the rest of the night in a comfy bed.

In the morning, Michele opened her eyes to see Durant already awake, propped on one elbow, watching her. “Good morning,” he told her.

“Good morning,” she responded with a smile.

“I was about to make breakfast. Would you like some?”

Michele smiled. “In Rome, we have only croissant and coffee, but in America I always eat as the Americans do. Pancakes with lots of maple syrup would be bellisimo.”

“You have a sweet tooth.”

“I do indeed. I shall have a shower and then find my way to your kitchen.”

“Very good.” She watched him leave the room, enjoying the play of the muscles in his back. He was wearing pajama bottoms, but no top – she was wearing the top.

Michele rolled out of bed and padded into the bathroom. She preferred to take baths, but she also liked her pancakes warm and her maple syrup hot, so she could not dally. After five minutes, therefore, she turned off the water, toweled herself dry, put on panties, bra and pajama top, and headed into the kitchen.

Durant was just arranging stacks of pancakes on two plates. Butter was ready to be used as desired, and he had indeed, warmed the maple syrup – and it was real maple syrup. Michele was really beginning to regret that she’d never see this man again.

They ate in companionable silence, and when they were done, Michele said, “Well, Vic, I have had a lovely time.”

Vic put down his coffee cup. “That sounds like you’re planning on leaving.”

“You are right, I must go. I have a lot of packing to do.”

“Packing?”

“Yes. I leave for Mexico tomorrow.”

“Well, damn,” said Durant. “I’m sorry to hear that. I was hoping to take you out to dinner some time this week.”

“Yes, that would have been nice.”

“Well, it’s an open invitation. When are you coming back?”

“I’m not sure. I may be some time.”

“Ah,” said Durant. Inwardly he thought, Mexico…maybe she’s doing something in the drug war….or artifact smuggling…

Out loud he said, “Well, but what about your art gallery?”

“My manager already runs it better than I could.”

Durant sighed. “Well, I have to admit, I’m a bit disappointed. I really wanted to spend some more time with you.”

Michele nodded. “And to be frank, I would have liked to have spent more time with you.” (This was true enough.) But I have been planning this trip for some time, and I simply must go.”

“Well, surely it can’t take you all day to pack. You seem like the type of woman who’d already be packed, truth to tell.”

Michele grinned. “That is true, I do like to be prepared well in advance.”

“Luck favors the prepared,” quoted Durant.

“Exactly,” Michele said, delighted. “We are so simpatico.”

“In that case, how about we spend some more time together.”

“Well, the Bronx Zoo has a miniature golf course.”

“I know that one. It recreates the 18 toughest holes from golf courses all over the world.”

“I thought you would have heard of it. Shall we go have a match?”

“You’re on.”

II.

Michele placed her feet shoulder width apart, placed her putter to one side of the ball, and made a few practice swings. Then, she struck the ball with just enough force…

“No, no, no,” she said, “too fast, too fast.”

“It still has a chance,” murmured Durant. “It’s…it’s…”

“Argh,” groaned Michele. “That’s another dollar.”

Durant extended his hand, and Michele placed a dollar bill in it. They were playing a dollar a stroke, and although Michele had a natural talent for miniature golf, Durant had played for decades and was beating her mercilessly.

“So why Mexico?”Durant asked, as they waited for a couple of teenagers in front of them to stop giggling and get on with the game.

“Do you know what a Big Lister is?”

Durant placed his ball on the starting spot and addressed it, as he said, “That’s a bird watching term, isn’t it?”

“Yes. There are approximately 10,000 bird species in the world. And there are millions of bird watchers. And only about 20 of them have seen more than 7,000 of those species. Those are big listers. And I intend to become one. First stop, Mexico.”

“First stop, Mexico? How many species do you still have to go?”

Michele shrugged, as she moved to the starting point and placed her own ball on the ground. “I have a long way to go. I will be gone for at least a year.”

Durant nodded thoughtfully. If he hadn’t seen her hurdle a balustrade and drop 20 feet to the ground below without hesitation, he might just believe that she was a wealthy bird watcher going off on an innocuous quest. On the other hand, he thought, don’t be a snob. Bird watchers weren’t effete men and women sitting in a bush with binoculars waiting for birds to fly by. They climbed mountains, forded rivers….indeed, if he remembered correctly, one famous bird watcher – famous before his death and not because of the manner of it – had actually been eaten by a tiger.

“Are you going with a birding group?” he asked, after sinking his ball on his second attempt.

Michele concentrated on her own putting, with little success. After handing three dollars to Durant, she said, “I always travel alone.”

Ordinarily Durant would have admonished her to be careful, but he didn’t feel the need with this woman.

“Well,” he said, “I think I have proven my mastery of miniature golf.”

“You have, I cannot deny it. Lunch is going to have to be your treat.”

“My pleasure.”

III.

After lunch, they walked through the Botanical Gardens. Durant pointed out birds and Michele identified them.

“Does your expertise extend to plants and flowers?” asked Durant.

“Of course. And considering how much money you took from me through miniature golf, I should regale you with the names of every single plant and flower in these gardens 250 acres!”

Durant hugged her with a laugh.

IV.

Michele drove up to Durant’s home. They’d spent the entire day at the Bronx Park – which consisted of the Bronx Zoo and the Bronx Botanical Gardens as well as the park itself.

“There’s still a gallon of chocolate ice cream in the fridge,” Durant said.

Michele smiled. “You are such a tempter. I will come in for ice cream, but then I simply must go home.”

V.

Michele was true to her word. She and Durant sat on his couch – side by side – eating ice cream and watching The Big Bang Theory.

Finally, Durant escorted her to her car.

“If you run into any trouble, don’t hesitate to send for me,” he said.

Michele gazed into his eyes. “Really?” she asked. “Even if I’m in the wilds of Borneo?”

“Even if,” said Durant. “You saved the life of my boss, who also happens to be my friend. So I owe you for that. And then there’s the fact that I am really into you.”

Well, damn, thought Michele. You just had to use the Taran Tula identity for this little caper, didn’t you? Screwed everything up.

Out loud she said, “Very well, Vic. I…I’ll keep in touch.”

They kissed briefly, and then Michele drove away.

VI.

It was too late to go back now. The Taran Tula identity had to be dispensed with.

Michele had already made the arrangements. She’d given the manager of her art gallery – who already did all the work anyway, Michele had just put up the money to open the gallery and run it until it started to make a profit – a power of attorney, and placed her in charge in “Taran Tula’s” absence.

She’d never used an apartment as Taran Tula, so there was no need to do anything with that. And all bank accounts had been in the name of the art gallery.

So now, she would just drive into Mexico as Taran Tula, and drive out again as Michele Bravo. Diplomatic relations with Mexico were so strained that if someone came to them looking for her entrance papers, Mexico might not even share them…and if papers proving she’d left the country were never found, that would just be put down as the incompetence of the Mexican border patrol. She would have effectively disappeared.

Of course, she’d have to send post-cards with foreign stamps from various countries, now not only to her manager but to Vic as well, but that was easily arranged.

So, goodbye Taran Tula.

Michele sighed, more sorrowfully than she expected. “Goodbye, Vic Durant.”