Part 4 of 4
1. The 7th Hole
“Those clouds are getting darker and darker,” Peter murmured as they walked up to the 7th hole.
“Yes, and the wind is really picking up,” agreed Sasha. “If my game goes any more to hell, it will be the wind’s fault.”
“I don’t think your game can get any worse,” said Peter. “Nevertheless, you’d better tee off first.”
Sasha shook her driver at him. “I’m going to get you for that, Peter,” she said.
But she teed off first, all the same.
“Ha!” she said, as the ball sailed straight and true. “Try to beat that, you!”
Peter waggled his driver a few times, then swung at his ball with all his might.
“No, no, no,” he yelled as the ball disappeared into the trees.
“Shall I help you look for it, Peter?” said Sasha sweetly.
“No, no,” said Peter, “I thank you, my darling, but I can find it myself.”
“Alright, if that’s the way you’re gonna be,” said Sasha. That was the problem with using a scene from a famous movie…or a famous book… as source material for one’s plan of seduction. Peter knew very well that she had some kind of a “ringer” ball in her pocket. If she’d managed to switch it, so that Peter would use it, he’d lose their 9-hole match, regardless of how much clothing she had left at the end of the 9th hole.
Sasha smiled to herself. She had no doubt that they’d play strip golf a couple of more times throughout the years…and sooner or later Peter would be off his guard…and then she would strike!
Time to concentrate on this bloody hole. She had to win one of them. Too shaming if she was totally shut out.
Therefore, she took her iron and approached her ball carefully. She hit the ball with three quarter speed, and it went sailing straight toward the green.
I’ve got the hang of this now, she thought.
Meantime, Peter had taken another dropped ball, and took his iron to it. The ball went back into the woods.
“Sonuvabitch,” he said.
With her next strike, she hit the ball onto the green and quite close to the pin.
Damn, she thought. I might have a chance at this one.
Peter blasted his ball out of the woods and back onto the fairway.
“Peter, look where I am,” she called.
“I see ya.”
“Hit your ball first, then you can watch me wield my putter.”
Peter took his turn, and this time managed to hit the ball relatively straight. It ended up in a bunker beside the green.
“Alright, Peter, watch this,” said Sasha, as Peter arrived.
She took her putter, assumed her stance, and putted. The ball trickled in.
“Yeah, baby!” shouted Sasha.
“Well done,” said Peter with a grin. “Now curtail your unseemly display until I finish up here.”
It took Peter two more attempts before he sank his own ball.
Sadly, Peter removed his porkpie hat as they walked back to the cart, and placed it behind his seat.
The 8th Hole
As Peter addressed the ball at the 8th tee, Sasha raised her arms high as she yawned broadly. Peter never could resist her perky bosoms.
But the bastard was too intent on addressing the ball and didn’t even notice. Damn this game!
And he hit it straight down the fairway, too.
Sasha approached her own ball on the tee a little petulantly. It was getting cold with that wind, and the clouds were overhead now.
She took several breaths to center herself, then approached the ball and swung with all her might. There was a sweet smacking sound and her own ball went sweet and true down the fairway. When it rolled to a halt it was only a few yards away from Peter’s.
“Yeah!”
Peter, concerned that he had been shanking his balls consistently to the right, approached his ball carefully. He double checked his stance, double checked his grip on the iron, and then attacked the ball.
“Hah!” he said as the ball rose into the air and dropped onto the green.
“Match that, my darling,” Peter said.
Sasha approached her ball as carefully, but her hit was less successful. The ball skittered a few yards short of the green.
It took Peter a couple of tries to get his ball into the cup, but it took Sasha three tries.
When they reached the cart, Sasha sat on the seat, then slipped off her shoe and ceremoniously stuffed it behind her seat. Peter stared at her incredulously.
“What the hell? Your shoe?”
“My shoe,” said Sasha smugly.
“We’ve only got one hole left,” pointed out Peter. “You can’t be taking off your shoes.”
“What we should have done,” said Sasha, “was agree to take 2 pieces of clothes off at a time. Too late now.”
“But you can’t take off your shoes.”
“Oh, all right, Peter, all right. If you can win this next hole, I won't take off my shoes.”
Wasn't quite the same thing, Peter griped to himself. Because she'd be taking off all her clothes at the end anyway. Not the same thing at all. The next time they played this game, if they ever did, they'd have to quantify the rules a bit better.
The 9th Hole
As they stood on the tee of the 9th hole, it began to drizzle.
Peter drove off quickly, and again hit it well. Sasha followed suit, and her ball was once again only a few yards away from Peter’s.
Peter swung hard…and the ball rose and fell after only 10 feet.
“What the hell was that?” he demanded of the gods of golf.
“Quiet, please,” said Sasha. “I need to be able to concentrate.”
Her ball went about 30 feet.
“What the hell was *that?” she demanded. She tested the rigidness of her golf club once more, but it refused to bend.
Peter’s next attempt was a bit more successful, and his Slazenger soared through the air and hit the green.
Sasha’s attempt was a bit more respectable as well, falling only just short.
The rain began to come down harder.
Peter putted toward the hole, but misjudged the ease with which the ball could roll over wet grass.
Sasha’s next attempt brought her up onto the green.
Peter attempted another putt, and his ball rolled toward the hole, rimmed it, and rolled a few feet away.
Sasha shook the water off her putter, then attempted her own shot. Her heart rose as it looked as if her ball was going to fall into the cup, but it also rimmed out.
“Bad luck, my dear,” said Peter. He knocked his ball into the hole.
“Winner, and still champion!” he cried, raising both hands in the air.
“Ye-es,” said Sasha. She wrung some water out of the bottom of her tube top.
They returned to the cart. Peter reached into the golf bag and pulled out a blanket, two champagne glasses, and a bottle of champagne.
“There’s a nice bunker over there,” said Peter. “Spread the blanket, have a glass, and then…”
A bolt of lightning shot through the black clouds…
A few seconds later, rumble thundered around them.
“Peter,” said Sasha, “Much as I’d love to make passionate love while the rain caresses our bodies…”
“Yes…?”
“And little as I know about golf, one thing I do know is that no one is supposed to be on a golf course when there’s lightning.”
“But having sex in the middle of a raging thunderstorm…it’ll be classic…”
“Well, let’s work up to that, shall we?” said Sasha. “Look…there’s an equipment shed over there. The perfect spot.”
Peter flinched as the rain came down like a solid sheet of water.
“Okay, you win,” he said. “Let’s get in that shed.”
They walked over to the shed, which was not locked, and entered. Sasha remained by the door while Peter spread out the blanket, rather wet as it was, and then concentrated on pouring champagne. When he turned around, he watched appreciatively as Sasha removed her tube top. Her breasts bobbed beautifully, glistening.
“You look beautiful, Sasha,” he said huskily.
He handed her the glass of champagne, intertwined his arm with hers, and they drank their champagne simultaneously.
Then Sasha set down her glass and began to unbutton Peter’s shirt. As he took off the unbuttoned shirt she then undid his belt and unzipped his slacks. He stepped out of them, and then he rolled up his clothes into a bundle and placed it on the blanket, laying down and resting his head upon it. Sasha straddled him and bent down to kiss him while her breasts brushed his chest.
They kissed long and deeply, while Peter cupped her breasts and rubbed them against his chest.
Sasha could feel him growing underneath her, and reached down and maneuvered around until his cock slid into her. Then, she clenched her thighs around his waist and began to rock her hips back and forth, meantime leaning down and kissing Peter’s neck, going down to his nipples and nibbling.
Peter rested his hands on her hips and lay with closed eyes, enjoying the feeling of her body on his, his cock being squeezed and massaged by her vagina, her lips nibbling and licking his face, his eyes, his nose, his lips, his neck.
Sasha enjoyed her own feeling of power, pleasuring herself at her own speed, enjoying the saltiness of his firm skin as she ran her tongue over every angle of his handsome face, rubbing her hands over his powerful musculature.
The rain pounded on the roof of the shed and thunder rumbled, a splendid soundtrack to their lovemaking.
Finally Sasha could feel the fluttering in her thighs that told her she was about to cum, and then a sudden flood of warmth. She clenched her legs even tighter, clenched her buttocks and rose up and down, up and down…
“Ah, god,” she said, as the pleasure hit her. She buried her fingers in Peter’s hair and buried her face in his neck as she felt the waves of pleasure ripple through her.
“Keep going,” gasped Peter.
Sasha resumed her attentions to him, and shortly afterward, Peter’s body was shuddering as well.
Afterwards, they lay there, relaxing, and kissing, as the rain continued to beat a counterpoint above their heads
Showing posts with label Dighton and Forrest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dighton and Forrest. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
Erotica By Bravo - Dighton & Forrest: A Game of Golf
Part 3 of 3
I. The 4th hole
“It’s so sexist of me to go first all the time,” Sasha said as they approached the 4th tee. “Why don’t you go first this time, Peter.”
“It’s not a question of sexism,” said Peter, loftily. “The person who is losing the contest should go first.”
Sasha waggled her driver at him. “Go first, Peter. I insist.”
Peter grinned and approached the tee. He swung his club back, but just as he started swinging forward, Sasha coughed loudly.
Peter mis-hit the ball and sent it skittering into the trees.
“Oh, Peter, I’m so sorry,” said Sasha, contritely. She coughed again. “Something in my throat.”
“Not to worry, darling,” said Peter, grimly.
Sasha went to her own tee, set up her ball, and addressed it. Taking a deep breath, she swung with all her might. She smacked the ball solidly and it sailed through the air further than any of her previous attempts.”
“Yeah, baby!” cried Sasha.
“You’re getting better,” said Peter grimly.
Sasha found her ball, and stood there while Peter rooted around for his. Eventually he gave up and fetched another ball from the bucket. He dropped it just outside the line of woods, and made a note on his scorecard of the extra stroke.
Full of confidence, Sasha took her iron and swung with all her might. The ball ricocheted off the club at practically a 90 degree angle and disappeared into the trees.
“Argh!” cried Sasha, shaking her golf club at the woods in rage, as Peter burst out laughing.
Peter won the hole, and as they returned to the cart Sasha removed her yellow vest and stuffed it behind her seat. She undid a couple more buttons on her white shirt and breathed deeply.
II. The 5th Hole
“After you, Peter,” Sasha said.
Peter grinned. “You don’t think you’re going to catch me out again, do you?” he asked.
Sasha looked hurt. “There was something in my throat!”
Peter teed up his ball, assumed his stance, closed his eyes and attempted to center his concentration, then swung the club smoothly and smacked the ball with authority. It sailed gracefully through the air and bounded forward several more yards once it hit the ground.
Sasha grimaced. “Very good,” she said.
She addressed her own ball. Just as she started swinging her club forward, Peter yelled, “Fore!”
Sasha’s ball shot sideways and into the woods once more.
As Sasha walked past Peter towards the trees she said out of the corner of her mouth, “You’re going to pay for this.”
Peter grinned.
As they walked back to the golf cart at the conclusion of the hole, Sasha undid the buckle and slipped her belt out of its loops. She stuffed it behind her seat as Peter drove blithely to the next tee.
III. The Sixth Hole
“The wind is picking up,” Peter noted, as they stood at the sixth tee. “And look at those clouds over there. Very dark.”
Sasha nodded. “We’re going to have some rain pretty soon.”
“Might be all for the best,” said Peter. “More privacy for us if its pouring down.”
“I don’t think so,” said Sasha. “From what I’ve heard, neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail shall keep a golfer from his appointed round.”
“Well, we’d better not dally then. Four holes to go. I assume you want me to tee off first.”
Sasha grinned. “You assume correctly.”
Peter teed off, while Sasha watched in silence. “You are getting better,” she said grudgingly. “Every time you tee off the ball goes further.”
“Except those times when they go into the trees,” Peter said cheerfully. “But I think I’ve got the knack of it now.”
“Yeah. Let’s see what I can do.”
Sasha also teed off in Peter’s silence. He nodded his approbation. “Not bad. Just a few yards shorter than mine. And right on the fairway.”
“Yeah, unlike Phil Mickelson who apparently can’t hit a fairway to save his life.” (Sasha spoke with some bitterness. She and Peter had spent the last four days watching the Bridgestone Open in order to get some visual training for their little golf game, and to make it interesting they’d had a side bet. Sasha had bet that Mickelson would be able to place 4th or better, and wrest the title of #1 golfer from Tiger Woods. But Mickelson had ended up playing the final round as poorly as had Tiger Woods, and from his 6th place start he had plummeted all the way down to finish in 46th. 46th! As a result, she’d had to bear the entire cost of this round of golf herself, and would have to treat Peter to dinner later on that night, as well. Maddening.)
After Sasha reached the green, she approached the ball with her putter confidently. Three putts later, she kicked the ball in the hole with her foot.
“How much did you pay for these clubs, Peter?” she asked as they headed back toward the golf cart. She held the putter at both ends, and tested its rigidity briefly.It refused to bend.
Once at the cart, Sasha peeled off her white shirt and stuffed it behind her seat.
Peter’s eyes took in her long neck, and her well tanned shoulders appreciatively, then descended downward, to see her perfect breasts not swelling out of her bra but rather filling out a white tube top rather nicely.
“What the hell?” said Peter. “Tube top??”
Sasha shrugged her perfect shoulders, and grinned wickedly. “I thought it best to be prepared for the worst…. And hell…my golf game…who would’ve thought putting would be the hardest thing about this stupid game?”
As Peter drove toward the next hole, Sasha rested her left arm across the back of his seat, while she held on to the top of the cart with her right hand. This gave Peter an excellent view of her toned arms and décolletage, had he not been forced to concentrate on his driving.
He smiled to himself. Three more holes to go. And then...
I. The 4th hole
“It’s so sexist of me to go first all the time,” Sasha said as they approached the 4th tee. “Why don’t you go first this time, Peter.”
“It’s not a question of sexism,” said Peter, loftily. “The person who is losing the contest should go first.”
Sasha waggled her driver at him. “Go first, Peter. I insist.”
Peter grinned and approached the tee. He swung his club back, but just as he started swinging forward, Sasha coughed loudly.
Peter mis-hit the ball and sent it skittering into the trees.
“Oh, Peter, I’m so sorry,” said Sasha, contritely. She coughed again. “Something in my throat.”
“Not to worry, darling,” said Peter, grimly.
Sasha went to her own tee, set up her ball, and addressed it. Taking a deep breath, she swung with all her might. She smacked the ball solidly and it sailed through the air further than any of her previous attempts.”
“Yeah, baby!” cried Sasha.
“You’re getting better,” said Peter grimly.
Sasha found her ball, and stood there while Peter rooted around for his. Eventually he gave up and fetched another ball from the bucket. He dropped it just outside the line of woods, and made a note on his scorecard of the extra stroke.
Full of confidence, Sasha took her iron and swung with all her might. The ball ricocheted off the club at practically a 90 degree angle and disappeared into the trees.
“Argh!” cried Sasha, shaking her golf club at the woods in rage, as Peter burst out laughing.
Peter won the hole, and as they returned to the cart Sasha removed her yellow vest and stuffed it behind her seat. She undid a couple more buttons on her white shirt and breathed deeply.
II. The 5th Hole
“After you, Peter,” Sasha said.
Peter grinned. “You don’t think you’re going to catch me out again, do you?” he asked.
Sasha looked hurt. “There was something in my throat!”
Peter teed up his ball, assumed his stance, closed his eyes and attempted to center his concentration, then swung the club smoothly and smacked the ball with authority. It sailed gracefully through the air and bounded forward several more yards once it hit the ground.
Sasha grimaced. “Very good,” she said.
She addressed her own ball. Just as she started swinging her club forward, Peter yelled, “Fore!”
Sasha’s ball shot sideways and into the woods once more.
As Sasha walked past Peter towards the trees she said out of the corner of her mouth, “You’re going to pay for this.”
Peter grinned.
As they walked back to the golf cart at the conclusion of the hole, Sasha undid the buckle and slipped her belt out of its loops. She stuffed it behind her seat as Peter drove blithely to the next tee.
III. The Sixth Hole
“The wind is picking up,” Peter noted, as they stood at the sixth tee. “And look at those clouds over there. Very dark.”
Sasha nodded. “We’re going to have some rain pretty soon.”
“Might be all for the best,” said Peter. “More privacy for us if its pouring down.”
“I don’t think so,” said Sasha. “From what I’ve heard, neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail shall keep a golfer from his appointed round.”
“Well, we’d better not dally then. Four holes to go. I assume you want me to tee off first.”
Sasha grinned. “You assume correctly.”
Peter teed off, while Sasha watched in silence. “You are getting better,” she said grudgingly. “Every time you tee off the ball goes further.”
“Except those times when they go into the trees,” Peter said cheerfully. “But I think I’ve got the knack of it now.”
“Yeah. Let’s see what I can do.”
Sasha also teed off in Peter’s silence. He nodded his approbation. “Not bad. Just a few yards shorter than mine. And right on the fairway.”
“Yeah, unlike Phil Mickelson who apparently can’t hit a fairway to save his life.” (Sasha spoke with some bitterness. She and Peter had spent the last four days watching the Bridgestone Open in order to get some visual training for their little golf game, and to make it interesting they’d had a side bet. Sasha had bet that Mickelson would be able to place 4th or better, and wrest the title of #1 golfer from Tiger Woods. But Mickelson had ended up playing the final round as poorly as had Tiger Woods, and from his 6th place start he had plummeted all the way down to finish in 46th. 46th! As a result, she’d had to bear the entire cost of this round of golf herself, and would have to treat Peter to dinner later on that night, as well. Maddening.)
After Sasha reached the green, she approached the ball with her putter confidently. Three putts later, she kicked the ball in the hole with her foot.
“How much did you pay for these clubs, Peter?” she asked as they headed back toward the golf cart. She held the putter at both ends, and tested its rigidity briefly.It refused to bend.
Once at the cart, Sasha peeled off her white shirt and stuffed it behind her seat.
Peter’s eyes took in her long neck, and her well tanned shoulders appreciatively, then descended downward, to see her perfect breasts not swelling out of her bra but rather filling out a white tube top rather nicely.
“What the hell?” said Peter. “Tube top??”
Sasha shrugged her perfect shoulders, and grinned wickedly. “I thought it best to be prepared for the worst…. And hell…my golf game…who would’ve thought putting would be the hardest thing about this stupid game?”
As Peter drove toward the next hole, Sasha rested her left arm across the back of his seat, while she held on to the top of the cart with her right hand. This gave Peter an excellent view of her toned arms and décolletage, had he not been forced to concentrate on his driving.
He smiled to himself. Three more holes to go. And then...
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Erotica By Bravo - Dighton & Forrest: A Game of Golf pt 2
Part 2 of 4
I.
Once again, Peter gestured for Sasha to tee off first. Sasha took a deep breath, addressed the ball, then swung back and forward. She hit the ball cleanly and watched in great delight as the ball sailed forward in a straight line for several yards, just as she had intended.
“Match that, then,” she said, joining Peter back at the man’s tee.
Peter smirked and teed his own ball. He smacked it with all his might, and saw it sail not in a straight line, but rather off to the right and straight into a scattered copse of wood that ran down the fairway. “Damn,” said Peter.
Peter drove the cart forward a few yards, then Sasha got out and went to her ball, while Peter went foraging in search of his own.
Sasha peered further down the fairway to see the pin in the hole on the green. She then addressed her ball and hit it with all her might. To her great satisfaction, the ball went straight and true.
“How’s it going, Peter?” she called.
Peter returned to the electric cart, and pulled another ball out of the bucket. “I’ll be taking a drop,” he said. He returned to the woods, dropped the ball just outside it, and hit it straight and true down to the green. He hit it so well that his confidence, which had crashed after he’d hit his first ball into the woods, returned.
Indeed, two more hits and his ball went into the hole.
Meantime, Sasha had made the green, and made her first putt. It rolled past the hole and down several feet on the other side. She tried again, it rimmed the hole and drifted a few inches away. Finally she was able to tap it in, but nevertheless it took her one more stroke than it had Peter.
Grimly, Sasha untied her tie and stowed it into the cap behind her seat, as they proceeded on to hole #3.
II.
This time, Sasha hit her ball with full power, and watched with satisfaction as it soared halfway down the fairway. Now she was getting the hang of this. Now all she had to do was master the intricacies of putting, and she’d be set.
Then Peter his ball and it soared far past hers.
Sasha calculated as she went hunting for her ball. Peter was playing with a Penfold #1. She had went out secretly and purchased a can of Penfold #2s, and had those three balls in her pocket. It looked like she was going to have to take desperate measures if she were going to pull out a win here.
After finding her ball, Sasha glanced around. Peter had already found his. She’d have to bide her time…wait until the next time Peter hit his ball into the trees, then help him look for it.
Sasha finally reached the green, and took another three putts to get the ball in the hole. It took Peter three putts also, but he hadn’t needed an extra couple of swipes to get his ball on the green in the first place.
Sasha removed her jacket as they walked back to the golf cart. “I wish we’d played a couple of games of miniature golf before we’d gotten started on this,” she said, flexing her tanned biceps, revealed by the short-sleeve white shirt she was wearing. She undid the collar of her shirt another couple of buttons.
“Are you trying to distract me, my darling?” Peter asked.
“Of course.”
I.
Once again, Peter gestured for Sasha to tee off first. Sasha took a deep breath, addressed the ball, then swung back and forward. She hit the ball cleanly and watched in great delight as the ball sailed forward in a straight line for several yards, just as she had intended.
“Match that, then,” she said, joining Peter back at the man’s tee.
Peter smirked and teed his own ball. He smacked it with all his might, and saw it sail not in a straight line, but rather off to the right and straight into a scattered copse of wood that ran down the fairway. “Damn,” said Peter.
Peter drove the cart forward a few yards, then Sasha got out and went to her ball, while Peter went foraging in search of his own.
Sasha peered further down the fairway to see the pin in the hole on the green. She then addressed her ball and hit it with all her might. To her great satisfaction, the ball went straight and true.
“How’s it going, Peter?” she called.
Peter returned to the electric cart, and pulled another ball out of the bucket. “I’ll be taking a drop,” he said. He returned to the woods, dropped the ball just outside it, and hit it straight and true down to the green. He hit it so well that his confidence, which had crashed after he’d hit his first ball into the woods, returned.
Indeed, two more hits and his ball went into the hole.
Meantime, Sasha had made the green, and made her first putt. It rolled past the hole and down several feet on the other side. She tried again, it rimmed the hole and drifted a few inches away. Finally she was able to tap it in, but nevertheless it took her one more stroke than it had Peter.
Grimly, Sasha untied her tie and stowed it into the cap behind her seat, as they proceeded on to hole #3.
II.
This time, Sasha hit her ball with full power, and watched with satisfaction as it soared halfway down the fairway. Now she was getting the hang of this. Now all she had to do was master the intricacies of putting, and she’d be set.
Then Peter his ball and it soared far past hers.
Sasha calculated as she went hunting for her ball. Peter was playing with a Penfold #1. She had went out secretly and purchased a can of Penfold #2s, and had those three balls in her pocket. It looked like she was going to have to take desperate measures if she were going to pull out a win here.
After finding her ball, Sasha glanced around. Peter had already found his. She’d have to bide her time…wait until the next time Peter hit his ball into the trees, then help him look for it.
Sasha finally reached the green, and took another three putts to get the ball in the hole. It took Peter three putts also, but he hadn’t needed an extra couple of swipes to get his ball on the green in the first place.
Sasha removed her jacket as they walked back to the golf cart. “I wish we’d played a couple of games of miniature golf before we’d gotten started on this,” she said, flexing her tanned biceps, revealed by the short-sleeve white shirt she was wearing. She undid the collar of her shirt another couple of buttons.
“Are you trying to distract me, my darling?” Peter asked.
“Of course.”
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Erotica By Bravo - Dighton & Forrest: A Game of Golf
(Part 1 of 4)
Peter Dighton drove the electric golf court slowly along the path until he spotted the tee box of the first green. He pulled the cart up to the tee box, turned it off, and got out.
Peter wore a porkpie hat, a brown sweater over an open-necked blue shirt, brown slacks, brown socks, and brown shoes. He lifted down the golf bag in which resided six clubs.
His wife, Sasha Forrest, tugged her soft brown cap more securely over her eyes, and climbed out of her side of the cart. She also wore brown… a brown tweed jacket over a yellow vest, which was over a white shirt and tie. She wore plus fours – slacks that ended just below her knees, where they were tucked into long grey socks which revealed her shapely calves. Her shoes were the same color as her plus fours, jacket and cap.
All that was missing was a Korean caddy with a rather deadly metallic fedora, but considering what was going to happen at the end of the game - a 9 - hole round of golf - they had decided to forego that piece of verisimilitude.
Peter tugged a sheaf of papers out of his pocket.
“Okay, “ he said. “We’ve each got three clubs. We’ve got a driver, which we use to hit the ball off the tee here. We’ve got an iron, which we use to hit the ball from wherever it lands, as many times as it takes to reach the green, where the hole is lo.cated And we’ve got the putter, which we use on the green, to putt the ball into the hole.”
Sasha nodded. “Sounds easy enough.”
Peter nodded. “I thought so. For our incredible skills, three clubs a piece are enough. Especially when I’m the one carrying the golf bag.”
“Pshaw,” said Sasha. “You should be carrying the golf bag, but since the rule is we’ve got to use this electric cart instead of walking around the course, you’re not carryin’ nuthin, are ya.”
“Well, since you put it like that…”
Peter walked around to the back of the golf cart where two buckets resided. They were each filled with golf balls. Peter’s were Penfolds, Sasha’s were Slazengers.
“Ladies first,” said Peter, handing Sasha a Slazenger and a tee.
There were two tee areas, one for men, where Peter remained, and one a few yards further down the fairway, from which women teed off. Sasha normally had no truck with such special accommodations for women, but considering this was her very first golf game ever, and considering that she had carte blanche to cheat during this particular game…
She teed up the ball, braced her feet on either side of it, waggled her golf club to get a good feel of it, then swung it back and forward with all her might.
She missed the ball completely.
“That was just a practice shot,” she called back to Peter.
“Of course, my darling.”
Sasha waggled her golf club again, then took a few practice swings. Then, she addressed the tee-ed up ball once more, and swung with all her might.
She missed again.
“Jee-zus.” She said softly.
“That was another practice shot,” she called out, “and I don’t want to hear any laughing from you!”
Peter merely smiled.
Okay, Sasha thought to herself. You’re not going to hit it if you’re trying to crush it….so just go at the damn thing softly…three quarter speed….
She swung her club back again, forward, and there was a satisfactory smack as golf head met golf ball. The ball rose only a few feet into the air, but it traveled several yards in the air and rolled several more. Sasha kept her eye on it to make sure she could find it again, then walked back to where Peter waited.
“Okay, hotshot,” she said, “Do your worst.”
Peter teed up his own ball, addressed it, did an Ed Norton act of addressing the ball, then backing off to stretch his shoulders, then addressing the ball again, while Sasha waited, striving to keep a grim expression on her face.
Finally Peter let fly. He hit the ball on his first try, a clean smack. It rose in the air and sailed down the fairway, passing Sasha’s ball by a few yards.
Peter drove the electric cart closer to their balls, then waited while Sasha took her iron and addressed her ball. Again she hit it only three quarters speed, again she smacked it cleanly and sent it skittering toward the green.
Peter took his own iron, and hit his ball as cleanly.
Another shot from each. Peter was on the green, a few yards from the hole, while Sasha was in the rough, several yards away. She hit her ball onto the green. Peter gestured toward the hole, and Sasha removed the pin from it. Peter took his putter, examined the lie carefully, and then putted. To his utter amazement the ball went into the cup. He did a fist pump.
They returned to the cart. Grim faced, Sasha removed her cap and stuffed it behind her seat. Then, Peter drove them to the next hole.
Continued tomorrow
Peter Dighton drove the electric golf court slowly along the path until he spotted the tee box of the first green. He pulled the cart up to the tee box, turned it off, and got out.
Peter wore a porkpie hat, a brown sweater over an open-necked blue shirt, brown slacks, brown socks, and brown shoes. He lifted down the golf bag in which resided six clubs.
His wife, Sasha Forrest, tugged her soft brown cap more securely over her eyes, and climbed out of her side of the cart. She also wore brown… a brown tweed jacket over a yellow vest, which was over a white shirt and tie. She wore plus fours – slacks that ended just below her knees, where they were tucked into long grey socks which revealed her shapely calves. Her shoes were the same color as her plus fours, jacket and cap.
All that was missing was a Korean caddy with a rather deadly metallic fedora, but considering what was going to happen at the end of the game - a 9 - hole round of golf - they had decided to forego that piece of verisimilitude.
Peter tugged a sheaf of papers out of his pocket.
“Okay, “ he said. “We’ve each got three clubs. We’ve got a driver, which we use to hit the ball off the tee here. We’ve got an iron, which we use to hit the ball from wherever it lands, as many times as it takes to reach the green, where the hole is lo.cated And we’ve got the putter, which we use on the green, to putt the ball into the hole.”
Sasha nodded. “Sounds easy enough.”
Peter nodded. “I thought so. For our incredible skills, three clubs a piece are enough. Especially when I’m the one carrying the golf bag.”
“Pshaw,” said Sasha. “You should be carrying the golf bag, but since the rule is we’ve got to use this electric cart instead of walking around the course, you’re not carryin’ nuthin, are ya.”
“Well, since you put it like that…”
Peter walked around to the back of the golf cart where two buckets resided. They were each filled with golf balls. Peter’s were Penfolds, Sasha’s were Slazengers.
“Ladies first,” said Peter, handing Sasha a Slazenger and a tee.
There were two tee areas, one for men, where Peter remained, and one a few yards further down the fairway, from which women teed off. Sasha normally had no truck with such special accommodations for women, but considering this was her very first golf game ever, and considering that she had carte blanche to cheat during this particular game…
She teed up the ball, braced her feet on either side of it, waggled her golf club to get a good feel of it, then swung it back and forward with all her might.
She missed the ball completely.
“That was just a practice shot,” she called back to Peter.
“Of course, my darling.”
Sasha waggled her golf club again, then took a few practice swings. Then, she addressed the tee-ed up ball once more, and swung with all her might.
She missed again.
“Jee-zus.” She said softly.
“That was another practice shot,” she called out, “and I don’t want to hear any laughing from you!”
Peter merely smiled.
Okay, Sasha thought to herself. You’re not going to hit it if you’re trying to crush it….so just go at the damn thing softly…three quarter speed….
She swung her club back again, forward, and there was a satisfactory smack as golf head met golf ball. The ball rose only a few feet into the air, but it traveled several yards in the air and rolled several more. Sasha kept her eye on it to make sure she could find it again, then walked back to where Peter waited.
“Okay, hotshot,” she said, “Do your worst.”
Peter teed up his own ball, addressed it, did an Ed Norton act of addressing the ball, then backing off to stretch his shoulders, then addressing the ball again, while Sasha waited, striving to keep a grim expression on her face.
Finally Peter let fly. He hit the ball on his first try, a clean smack. It rose in the air and sailed down the fairway, passing Sasha’s ball by a few yards.
Peter drove the electric cart closer to their balls, then waited while Sasha took her iron and addressed her ball. Again she hit it only three quarters speed, again she smacked it cleanly and sent it skittering toward the green.
Peter took his own iron, and hit his ball as cleanly.
Another shot from each. Peter was on the green, a few yards from the hole, while Sasha was in the rough, several yards away. She hit her ball onto the green. Peter gestured toward the hole, and Sasha removed the pin from it. Peter took his putter, examined the lie carefully, and then putted. To his utter amazement the ball went into the cup. He did a fist pump.
They returned to the cart. Grim faced, Sasha removed her cap and stuffed it behind her seat. Then, Peter drove them to the next hole.
Continued tomorrow
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Erotica By Bravo: Dighton & Forrest #5
I.
The train clattered on its way toward Keystone, South Dakota, the town at the foot of Mount Rushmore. (Sasha and Peter’s dialog of the previous day had been word for word from the movie, in which the train, the Twentieth Century Limited, had started out from Washington DC. But Sasha and Peter had been on the way to Chicago at the time, having first done their Thin Man re-enaction as their particular train had left New York.)
They were relaxing in the Observation Car, which consisted of large, comfy swivel chairs arranged in two rows, one on either side of the corridor, and curving glass windows that allowed people on either side of the car to gaze out at the scenery.
“This is the only way to travel,” mused Sasha, from her chair. Peter, from his chair, pursed his lips. They were holding hands, slouched in their comfy chairs, feet resting on the window sills.
“Too bad we don’t have our own private railway car,” he said. “So we could be sitting here with some appropriate music, enjoying the scenery, and doing a bit more than holding hands.”
Sasha grinned at him. “You’re an animal.”
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.
II.
Well, this is a bit of a bummair,” said Peter, a few hours later.
They were standing in the Mount Rushmore Visitor Center, where they’d just been informed that they could not climb up Mt. Rushmore, let alone down it, and there was security everywhere that would prevent them from attempting to do so clandestinely.
“This’ll teach us to do a bit of research on the web before we plan these little trips,” said Sasha disconsolately.
“Well, we should have known. Can you imagine the bad publicity they’d get, if five or six people a year fell off George Washington’s head?” said Peter.
“Yeah…well, as long as we’re here, we may as well see what we can see.”
III.
“The internet is wonderful,” said Sasha later on that night. She and Peter were lying in bed. Sasha had her laptop on her knees and was surfing the web while Peter was watching The Eiger Sanction on TMC.
“What have you found?” he asked.
“The Mount Rushmore that Hitchcock had Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint climb all over in the movie. It still exists.”
“You’re kidding me!”**
“Nope. Some wealthy oilman back in the 60s fell in love with the movie, visited Hitchcock, and learned that the Rushmore set was going to be destroyed. He bought it and plumped it down in the Arizona desert, in amongst all the Joshua trees. He’s dead now, but his family’s still there, and they let people climb it.”
“For a princely sum?” asked Peter.
“No, quite reasonable. As long as people are willing to sign a gazillion papers absolving them of all blame if they fall and kill themselves, they can climb all day for a reasonable sum.”
“How many people do they let climb at a time?” asked Peter, worriedly. While Cary and Saint had not made love on Mount Rushmore during the movie, that is what Peter and Sasha intended to do…take the exhilaration engendered by climbing around on one of the country’s icons and use it to have an absolutely spectacular sexual experience. But they were neither of them exhibitionists and if there was a chance someone could rappel down on their entwined bodies it would have a rather dampening effect on the libido.
“Only one group at a time. A group being a single person, a couple or a group. So…what do you think?”
Peter grinned at her. “I think we hop the next train to Texas.”
Sasha grinned back at him. “I like the way you think.”
________________________
**Sasha isn't kidding Peter, but I, the author, am kidding you. If you want to climb a replica of Mount Rushmore, you have to go all the way to Japan to do it.
The train clattered on its way toward Keystone, South Dakota, the town at the foot of Mount Rushmore. (Sasha and Peter’s dialog of the previous day had been word for word from the movie, in which the train, the Twentieth Century Limited, had started out from Washington DC. But Sasha and Peter had been on the way to Chicago at the time, having first done their Thin Man re-enaction as their particular train had left New York.)
They were relaxing in the Observation Car, which consisted of large, comfy swivel chairs arranged in two rows, one on either side of the corridor, and curving glass windows that allowed people on either side of the car to gaze out at the scenery.
“This is the only way to travel,” mused Sasha, from her chair. Peter, from his chair, pursed his lips. They were holding hands, slouched in their comfy chairs, feet resting on the window sills.
“Too bad we don’t have our own private railway car,” he said. “So we could be sitting here with some appropriate music, enjoying the scenery, and doing a bit more than holding hands.”
Sasha grinned at him. “You’re an animal.”
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.
II.
Well, this is a bit of a bummair,” said Peter, a few hours later.
They were standing in the Mount Rushmore Visitor Center, where they’d just been informed that they could not climb up Mt. Rushmore, let alone down it, and there was security everywhere that would prevent them from attempting to do so clandestinely.
“This’ll teach us to do a bit of research on the web before we plan these little trips,” said Sasha disconsolately.
“Well, we should have known. Can you imagine the bad publicity they’d get, if five or six people a year fell off George Washington’s head?” said Peter.
“Yeah…well, as long as we’re here, we may as well see what we can see.”
III.
“The internet is wonderful,” said Sasha later on that night. She and Peter were lying in bed. Sasha had her laptop on her knees and was surfing the web while Peter was watching The Eiger Sanction on TMC.
“What have you found?” he asked.
“The Mount Rushmore that Hitchcock had Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint climb all over in the movie. It still exists.”
“You’re kidding me!”**
“Nope. Some wealthy oilman back in the 60s fell in love with the movie, visited Hitchcock, and learned that the Rushmore set was going to be destroyed. He bought it and plumped it down in the Arizona desert, in amongst all the Joshua trees. He’s dead now, but his family’s still there, and they let people climb it.”
“For a princely sum?” asked Peter.
“No, quite reasonable. As long as people are willing to sign a gazillion papers absolving them of all blame if they fall and kill themselves, they can climb all day for a reasonable sum.”
“How many people do they let climb at a time?” asked Peter, worriedly. While Cary and Saint had not made love on Mount Rushmore during the movie, that is what Peter and Sasha intended to do…take the exhilaration engendered by climbing around on one of the country’s icons and use it to have an absolutely spectacular sexual experience. But they were neither of them exhibitionists and if there was a chance someone could rappel down on their entwined bodies it would have a rather dampening effect on the libido.
“Only one group at a time. A group being a single person, a couple or a group. So…what do you think?”
Peter grinned at her. “I think we hop the next train to Texas.”
Sasha grinned back at him. “I like the way you think.”
________________________
**Sasha isn't kidding Peter, but I, the author, am kidding you. If you want to climb a replica of Mount Rushmore, you have to go all the way to Japan to do it.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Erotica by Bravo, Dighton & Forrest #4
I.
Peter Dighton gazed at himself in the bathroom mirror at the train station. His brown hair was now a dark steely silver, which matched his blue suit and matching blue tie. The hair was also combed in Cary Grant’s style. Peter twisted this way and that. The suit fit his lithe body perfectly. The aroma of the Acqua Di Parma aftershave he wore was going to drive Sasha wild.
He came out of the bathroom and at that point saw his wife Sasha Forrest walking by. She wore a black linen jacket over a white silk scooped neck blouse that showed just the slightest décolletage, a green emerald cabochon necklace, and a severe black skirt that reached below her knees. Her platinum blond wig was shaped in a hairstyle from 1959…the same hairstyle Eva Marie Saint had worn in North by Northwest, to be precise.
Sasha walked down the train station platform to her first-class apartment alone. From his vantage point at the platform gates, Peter could see that she turned a lot of heads. Whether this was because she was so beautiful, or because she was wearing 1959-vintage clothing – with a great deal of panache- he wasn’t sure. Probably both.
After a few minutes, Peter put on a dark pair of horn-rimmed glasses, and then made his long walk down the platform. Turning no heads at all. He rubbed his cleft-less chin. Well, hell, maybe he was no Cary Grant, but he didn’t look that bad. He entered the train and settled down in the observation car, with its wide, comfy seats and curving glass windows that allowed people to see all of the scenery beyond the glass.
Originally, they’d planned to recreate this scenario exactly the way it had been done in the movie. Peter would have snuck aboard the train without a ticket, and they’d have hired a couple of actors dressed as cops to walk through the train after him. It would certainly have given the scenario a little zing. But then they’d decided they couldn’t risk it, in these terrorist-haunted times. Make the passengers nervous and they might call the real cops.
In the same vein, they’d intended to recreate the first meeting of “Roger Thornhill” and “Eve Kendall,” with him disappearing into a compartment for a few seconds and then re-emerging, but without the cops it would just be silly. So instead they were going to start with the scene in the first class dining room. Which meant he’d be occupying this observation car for another hour, before the first dinner service was announced.
II.
Peter checked his watch, then took a deep breath, rose, and headed for the first class dining car. A steward met him at the entrance. There was a slight grin on his face…Sasha must have primed him.
“Good evening, sir. One?”
“Yes, please.”
“This way.”
The steward led him to a table in the far back, where Sasha sat in solitary splendor, a cup of coffee on the snowy white linen tablecloth in front of her. The steward held out the corridor-side chair so that Peter could slip in to the window seat.
“Cocktail before dinner?” asked the steward stiltedly.
“Yes, please, a Gibson.”
“Right away.” The steward hurried away.
“Well, here we are again,” said Peter, a slight smile on his face, gazing at Sasha. She was gazing right back at him with a smirk on her lips.
“Yes,” she said in her low, husky voice.
He picked up the menu card, which one was to fill out and hand to the waiter. There were only four selections on it. “Recommend anything?” he asked.
“The brook trout. A little trouty, but quite good.”
“Sold. Brook tout.” He said this to himself while filling out his card. “There you are. Thank you.” The steward had returned with his Gibson, and then rushed away with the card. Sasha had paid him well to ensure that they wouldn’t have to wait very long for the trout to be served.
Peter picked up the martini glass – filled with cold water and garnished with a pearl onion, and sipped.
Peter looked behind him in a guilty fashion, then back at Sasha with her unnerving (or at least, it was supposed to be unnerving!) all-knowing smile.
“I know,” he said, touching his horn-rimmed glasses. “I look vaguely familiar.“
“Yes.”
“You feel you’ve seen me somewhere before.”
“Mm hm.”
“Funny how I have that effect on people. It’s something about my face.”
“It’s a nice face,” said Sasha, breathily.
Peter straightened somewhat in his chair, alertly, as if he’d just caught the scent of romance. “You think so?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”
“Oh, you’re that type,” said Peter.
“What type?” asked Sasha, raising one of her delightful eyebrows.
“Honest.”
Sasha smiled, a little forlornly. “Not really.”
“Good, because honest women frighten me.”
Sasha smiled again. “Why?”
“I don’t know. Somehow they seem to put me at a disadvantage.”
“Because you’re not honest with them?”
“Exactly.” Peter leaned forward, almost imperceptibly, gazing into her eyes, alert for her reaction. “The moment I meet an attractive woman, I have to start pretending I’ve no desire to make love to her.”
Her reaction was all that he could have desired. She was not offended at all, but rather asked calmly: “What makes you think you have to conceal it?”
“She might find the idea objectionable.”
Sasha smiled. “Then again she might not.”
Peter picked up his martini glass and sipped. He gave Sasha his most charming smile. “Think how lucky I am to have been seated here.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it,”said Sasha calmly.
“Fate?” asked Peter, with a slight uptilt of his chin.
“I tipped the steward five dollars to seat you here if you should come in.”
Peter’s eyes brightened…indeed, his whole face brightened. “Is that a proposition?” he asked.
“I never discuss love on an empty stomach.”
“You’ve already eaten,” said Peter, with a glance at her coffee cup.
“But you haven’t,” she said, and lifted her cup.
That was the steward’s cue. He appeared quickly, placed a plate of Brook trout in front of Peter with silent efficiency, and then vanished.
Peter took up knife and fork and began to debone the fish. He looked up from under his lowered face and said, “Don’t you think it’s time we were introduced.”
“I’m Eve Kendall. I’m 26 and unmarried. Now you know everything.“
“Tell me, what do you do besides lure men to their doom on the Twentieth Century Limited?”
“I’m an industrial designer.”
“Jack Philips. Western sales manager for Kingby Electronics.”
“No, you’re not.” Said Sasha with a slight smile. “You’re Roger Thornhill, of Madison Avenue. And you’re wanted for murder on every front page in America. Don’t be so modest.”
Peter’s tanned face hardened to teak. “Oops.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t say a word.”
“How come?” demanded Peter.
“I told you. It’s a nice face.”
Peter relaxed. “Is that the only reason?” he asked softly.
“It’s going to be a long night.”
“True.”
“I don’t particularly like the book I’ve started.”
“Ah.”
“You know what I mean?”
“Let me think….” Peter raised his eyes upward as if thinking, then grinned. “Yes, I know exactly what you mean.”
She took a cigarette pack out of her purse, pulled out a cigarette, placed it between her lips. [At this point the steward, Sasha’s $100 bill in his pocket, stood in front of the duo to block the view of the rest of the people in the dining room. Sasha had assured him that it was a fake cigarette and wouldn’t give off any smoke, so that was alright. But they'd prefer it if some irate passenger wouldn't make a fuss after seeing her light up.]
Peter pulled out a book of matches, lit one, and held it across the table to light her cigarette. She placed her hand on his while she lit her cigarette, then left it there. He started to take his hand away to blow out the match himself, but she put subtle pressure on his hand with her own, to bring it close to her own mouth, where she blew it with a long breath…sending her warm breath over his hand.
He gazed at her, while she stubbed out the fake cigarette. The steward, his favor completed, walked away again.
[They had to have that scene, thought Peter, even if it did cost them an extra $100 to bribe the steward. That was one sexy, sizzling hot romantic gesture, which people couldn’t do anymore thanks to this ridiculous ban on cigarettes in public places! Jeez, talk about sexy...he'd gotten hot just watching that scene.]
“I’d invite you to my bedroom if I had a bedroom,” Peter said.
“No roomette?”
“Nothing, not even a ticket. I’ve been playing hide and seek with the Pullman conductor ever since the train left New York.”
“How awkward for you,” said Sasha.
“Yes, isn’t it? No place to sleep.” Peter put a lot of pathos into that phrase.
“I have a large drawing room, all to myself.”
“Doesn’t seem quite fair, does it?” said Peter. Then he continued. “No luggage.”
“So?”
“Well, you wouldn’t happen to have an extra pair of pajamas, would you?”
“Wouldn’t I?”
Sasha rose to her feet, and headed down the corridor. Peter tossed a few bills on the table as an extra tip for the steward (the meal would be charged to Sasha’s drawing room) and headed after her.
Once in Sasha’s compartment, Sasha lowered the upper bunk, and Peter climbed into it. Once stretched out on top – just a little cramped because of his six foot length in a six foot space, he said, “Tell me, why are you so good to me?” In the movie, Grant had invested that line with some humor, because he'd been closed up in the bunk for several minutes while the police searched for him.
Sasha said, “Shall I climb up and tell you why?”
Peter grinned.
At this point, the movie faded out, and faded in with Thornhill and Kendall fully dressed again, standing up and embracing and caressing and kissing. The hour or so in between was only hinted at.
Sasha slipped out of her pumps, her skirt, her blouse, her bra and panties, and then climbed up into the top bunk, where Peter had divested himself of his clothes as well, with some impressive gymnastics to do so. Now they lay side by side, with the ceiling just a few inches above their heads.
Peter pushed Sasha over onto her back and then straddled on top of her, resting his chest against her breasts, his legs on either side of hers. He started by nibbling at her neck, first one side then the other, then moving on to her ears, then finally his lips sought her mouth.
Simultaneously, he moved his knees inside her legs and nudged them apart, as his cock was standing at attention. He entered her slowly, and she arced her back a little bit at the pleasure of it. Then she chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” he murmured.
“I’m just thinking that our source material has let us down,” Sasha murmured breathily. “Surely they would have been having their fun on the lower bunk. Helluva lot more room.”
“Oh,” murmured Peter, beginning to thrust himself into her with short, economical movements. “You don’t think I can bring you to climax in this little six foot long torpedo tube?”
“Mmmm?” said Sasha, lost in the enjoyment of what he was doing. She raised her hands to the nape of his neck and began to play with the hair there, winding it around her fingers, giving it two little tugs, then releasing it to start all over. Only the closer she got to climax, the faster the windings, the quicker the tugs.
Peter enjoyed the feeling of her body beneath his, the writhings of her hips and her knees and her ankles as she sought to get him deeper into her. She was breathing heavily now, and so was he. He could feel himself ready to pop, but he didn’t want to cum too soon. They didn’t often climax together, but he wanted this to be one of those times.
Only…it was…going to be.a little…difficult…if she didn’t..start…getting…
“I’m cumming,” he told her.
“I’m almost there,” she gasped. “C’mon, c’mon.”
He started thrusting deeper and quicker, grunting now, groaning, and then he was cumming but she was shuddering with pleasure herself.
“Ah, god,” he said a few seconds later, still lying on top of her, still within her.
“That was sweet,” murmured Sasha.
“Very sweet.”
Peter Dighton gazed at himself in the bathroom mirror at the train station. His brown hair was now a dark steely silver, which matched his blue suit and matching blue tie. The hair was also combed in Cary Grant’s style. Peter twisted this way and that. The suit fit his lithe body perfectly. The aroma of the Acqua Di Parma aftershave he wore was going to drive Sasha wild.
He came out of the bathroom and at that point saw his wife Sasha Forrest walking by. She wore a black linen jacket over a white silk scooped neck blouse that showed just the slightest décolletage, a green emerald cabochon necklace, and a severe black skirt that reached below her knees. Her platinum blond wig was shaped in a hairstyle from 1959…the same hairstyle Eva Marie Saint had worn in North by Northwest, to be precise.
Sasha walked down the train station platform to her first-class apartment alone. From his vantage point at the platform gates, Peter could see that she turned a lot of heads. Whether this was because she was so beautiful, or because she was wearing 1959-vintage clothing – with a great deal of panache- he wasn’t sure. Probably both.
After a few minutes, Peter put on a dark pair of horn-rimmed glasses, and then made his long walk down the platform. Turning no heads at all. He rubbed his cleft-less chin. Well, hell, maybe he was no Cary Grant, but he didn’t look that bad. He entered the train and settled down in the observation car, with its wide, comfy seats and curving glass windows that allowed people to see all of the scenery beyond the glass.
Originally, they’d planned to recreate this scenario exactly the way it had been done in the movie. Peter would have snuck aboard the train without a ticket, and they’d have hired a couple of actors dressed as cops to walk through the train after him. It would certainly have given the scenario a little zing. But then they’d decided they couldn’t risk it, in these terrorist-haunted times. Make the passengers nervous and they might call the real cops.
In the same vein, they’d intended to recreate the first meeting of “Roger Thornhill” and “Eve Kendall,” with him disappearing into a compartment for a few seconds and then re-emerging, but without the cops it would just be silly. So instead they were going to start with the scene in the first class dining room. Which meant he’d be occupying this observation car for another hour, before the first dinner service was announced.
II.
Peter checked his watch, then took a deep breath, rose, and headed for the first class dining car. A steward met him at the entrance. There was a slight grin on his face…Sasha must have primed him.
“Good evening, sir. One?”
“Yes, please.”
“This way.”
The steward led him to a table in the far back, where Sasha sat in solitary splendor, a cup of coffee on the snowy white linen tablecloth in front of her. The steward held out the corridor-side chair so that Peter could slip in to the window seat.
“Cocktail before dinner?” asked the steward stiltedly.
“Yes, please, a Gibson.”
“Right away.” The steward hurried away.
“Well, here we are again,” said Peter, a slight smile on his face, gazing at Sasha. She was gazing right back at him with a smirk on her lips.
“Yes,” she said in her low, husky voice.
He picked up the menu card, which one was to fill out and hand to the waiter. There were only four selections on it. “Recommend anything?” he asked.
“The brook trout. A little trouty, but quite good.”
“Sold. Brook tout.” He said this to himself while filling out his card. “There you are. Thank you.” The steward had returned with his Gibson, and then rushed away with the card. Sasha had paid him well to ensure that they wouldn’t have to wait very long for the trout to be served.
Peter picked up the martini glass – filled with cold water and garnished with a pearl onion, and sipped.
Peter looked behind him in a guilty fashion, then back at Sasha with her unnerving (or at least, it was supposed to be unnerving!) all-knowing smile.
“I know,” he said, touching his horn-rimmed glasses. “I look vaguely familiar.“
“Yes.”
“You feel you’ve seen me somewhere before.”
“Mm hm.”
“Funny how I have that effect on people. It’s something about my face.”
“It’s a nice face,” said Sasha, breathily.
Peter straightened somewhat in his chair, alertly, as if he’d just caught the scent of romance. “You think so?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”
“Oh, you’re that type,” said Peter.
“What type?” asked Sasha, raising one of her delightful eyebrows.
“Honest.”
Sasha smiled, a little forlornly. “Not really.”
“Good, because honest women frighten me.”
Sasha smiled again. “Why?”
“I don’t know. Somehow they seem to put me at a disadvantage.”
“Because you’re not honest with them?”
“Exactly.” Peter leaned forward, almost imperceptibly, gazing into her eyes, alert for her reaction. “The moment I meet an attractive woman, I have to start pretending I’ve no desire to make love to her.”
Her reaction was all that he could have desired. She was not offended at all, but rather asked calmly: “What makes you think you have to conceal it?”
“She might find the idea objectionable.”
Sasha smiled. “Then again she might not.”
Peter picked up his martini glass and sipped. He gave Sasha his most charming smile. “Think how lucky I am to have been seated here.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it,”said Sasha calmly.
“Fate?” asked Peter, with a slight uptilt of his chin.
“I tipped the steward five dollars to seat you here if you should come in.”
Peter’s eyes brightened…indeed, his whole face brightened. “Is that a proposition?” he asked.
“I never discuss love on an empty stomach.”
“You’ve already eaten,” said Peter, with a glance at her coffee cup.
“But you haven’t,” she said, and lifted her cup.
That was the steward’s cue. He appeared quickly, placed a plate of Brook trout in front of Peter with silent efficiency, and then vanished.
Peter took up knife and fork and began to debone the fish. He looked up from under his lowered face and said, “Don’t you think it’s time we were introduced.”
“I’m Eve Kendall. I’m 26 and unmarried. Now you know everything.“
“Tell me, what do you do besides lure men to their doom on the Twentieth Century Limited?”
“I’m an industrial designer.”
“Jack Philips. Western sales manager for Kingby Electronics.”
“No, you’re not.” Said Sasha with a slight smile. “You’re Roger Thornhill, of Madison Avenue. And you’re wanted for murder on every front page in America. Don’t be so modest.”
Peter’s tanned face hardened to teak. “Oops.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t say a word.”
“How come?” demanded Peter.
“I told you. It’s a nice face.”
Peter relaxed. “Is that the only reason?” he asked softly.
“It’s going to be a long night.”
“True.”
“I don’t particularly like the book I’ve started.”
“Ah.”
“You know what I mean?”
“Let me think….” Peter raised his eyes upward as if thinking, then grinned. “Yes, I know exactly what you mean.”
She took a cigarette pack out of her purse, pulled out a cigarette, placed it between her lips. [At this point the steward, Sasha’s $100 bill in his pocket, stood in front of the duo to block the view of the rest of the people in the dining room. Sasha had assured him that it was a fake cigarette and wouldn’t give off any smoke, so that was alright. But they'd prefer it if some irate passenger wouldn't make a fuss after seeing her light up.]
Peter pulled out a book of matches, lit one, and held it across the table to light her cigarette. She placed her hand on his while she lit her cigarette, then left it there. He started to take his hand away to blow out the match himself, but she put subtle pressure on his hand with her own, to bring it close to her own mouth, where she blew it with a long breath…sending her warm breath over his hand.
He gazed at her, while she stubbed out the fake cigarette. The steward, his favor completed, walked away again.
[They had to have that scene, thought Peter, even if it did cost them an extra $100 to bribe the steward. That was one sexy, sizzling hot romantic gesture, which people couldn’t do anymore thanks to this ridiculous ban on cigarettes in public places! Jeez, talk about sexy...he'd gotten hot just watching that scene.]
“I’d invite you to my bedroom if I had a bedroom,” Peter said.
“No roomette?”
“Nothing, not even a ticket. I’ve been playing hide and seek with the Pullman conductor ever since the train left New York.”
“How awkward for you,” said Sasha.
“Yes, isn’t it? No place to sleep.” Peter put a lot of pathos into that phrase.
“I have a large drawing room, all to myself.”
“Doesn’t seem quite fair, does it?” said Peter. Then he continued. “No luggage.”
“So?”
“Well, you wouldn’t happen to have an extra pair of pajamas, would you?”
“Wouldn’t I?”
Sasha rose to her feet, and headed down the corridor. Peter tossed a few bills on the table as an extra tip for the steward (the meal would be charged to Sasha’s drawing room) and headed after her.
Once in Sasha’s compartment, Sasha lowered the upper bunk, and Peter climbed into it. Once stretched out on top – just a little cramped because of his six foot length in a six foot space, he said, “Tell me, why are you so good to me?” In the movie, Grant had invested that line with some humor, because he'd been closed up in the bunk for several minutes while the police searched for him.
Sasha said, “Shall I climb up and tell you why?”
Peter grinned.
At this point, the movie faded out, and faded in with Thornhill and Kendall fully dressed again, standing up and embracing and caressing and kissing. The hour or so in between was only hinted at.
Sasha slipped out of her pumps, her skirt, her blouse, her bra and panties, and then climbed up into the top bunk, where Peter had divested himself of his clothes as well, with some impressive gymnastics to do so. Now they lay side by side, with the ceiling just a few inches above their heads.
Peter pushed Sasha over onto her back and then straddled on top of her, resting his chest against her breasts, his legs on either side of hers. He started by nibbling at her neck, first one side then the other, then moving on to her ears, then finally his lips sought her mouth.
Simultaneously, he moved his knees inside her legs and nudged them apart, as his cock was standing at attention. He entered her slowly, and she arced her back a little bit at the pleasure of it. Then she chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” he murmured.
“I’m just thinking that our source material has let us down,” Sasha murmured breathily. “Surely they would have been having their fun on the lower bunk. Helluva lot more room.”
“Oh,” murmured Peter, beginning to thrust himself into her with short, economical movements. “You don’t think I can bring you to climax in this little six foot long torpedo tube?”
“Mmmm?” said Sasha, lost in the enjoyment of what he was doing. She raised her hands to the nape of his neck and began to play with the hair there, winding it around her fingers, giving it two little tugs, then releasing it to start all over. Only the closer she got to climax, the faster the windings, the quicker the tugs.
Peter enjoyed the feeling of her body beneath his, the writhings of her hips and her knees and her ankles as she sought to get him deeper into her. She was breathing heavily now, and so was he. He could feel himself ready to pop, but he didn’t want to cum too soon. They didn’t often climax together, but he wanted this to be one of those times.
Only…it was…going to be.a little…difficult…if she didn’t..start…getting…
“I’m cumming,” he told her.
“I’m almost there,” she gasped. “C’mon, c’mon.”
He started thrusting deeper and quicker, grunting now, groaning, and then he was cumming but she was shuddering with pleasure herself.
“Ah, god,” he said a few seconds later, still lying on top of her, still within her.
“That was sweet,” murmured Sasha.
“Very sweet.”
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Erotica by Bravo: Dighton & Forrest #3: He's a Good Man
She stood alone at the far end of the nightclub. There were dozens of people on the dance floor, all immersed in themselves. She was surrounded by people yet she was totally alone. The atmosphere was smoky…smoking wasn’t allowed but there were smoke pots of dry ice everywhere to give that ethereal effect. And the music, drums pounding in a sensual rhythm...she was so frightened. Surely he couldn’t track her down here.
Her eyes ran desperately over the crowd, seeking the entrance at the far side. All these people…even if he came in here he could never find her. She began to breathe a little easier.
Then she saw him…and their eyes met across the room. A cold chill ran from her throat down to her belly.
“Inside…close quarters, night’s calling under blood red skies.”
He was tall, head if not shoulders taller than anyone else on the dance floor. And he was staring right at her.
"This madness, starts burning, a victim of a strange desire."
He began to move towards her. Obliquely, not getting in the way of the couples on the floor. She’d lose sight of him, then see him again, and always his eyes were on her, boring into hers.
"Mistaken, we follow, restless emotions take you down. Down, down, down. Round round round."
Her mouth was dry, and she was finding it hard to breathe.
"Unwilling, still hunger,"
Then, suddenly, she couldn’t see him any more.
Where had he…. And then he was there, right in front of her.
She stared up at him, like a rabbit hypnotized by a snake.
He stared down at her, not smiling, but his eyes were telling her he wanted her, bad.
"For lustful pleasures I have found
He's a good man in a bad time
He's a good man in a bad time"
Then he smiled at her. She licked her lips, feeling a fluttering between her thighs. He turned and began to walk away from her slowly. She followed him onto the dance floor.
"Soft voices, seduce you
A butterfly in a spider's web"
Then somehow she was in front of him, and still walking, half hoping that he had walked away, that he had left her. Then she felt his hand rest lightly…so lightly, on her shoulder. She stopped, staring forward, waiting.
He came up to her, pressed his whole body against her back. He placed his other hand on her other shoulder, and then simultaneously, very, very slowly, brought them down, past her biceps, to her forearms, and then his hands closed over hers. He brought them up, crossing her arms in front of her, gripping her hands firmly but tenderly.
"Infectious, behavior
You're damned to do it all again (and again and again and again...)"
Then he started swaying with her, and she swayed with him. She could feel his breath stirring the tendrils of the hair at the nape of her neck, could feel his cock growing larger and harder and rubbing against her butt, as the music rolled seductively on…she pressed her butt into him…
He's a good man in a bad time
He's a good man in a bad time"
Then, very slowly, he moved his head from one side of hers to the other. He reached out with one hand and grasped her other wrist, so that he was holding both of them in one hand. The other he brought down very slowly, pressing through her skirt against her belly, then down her inner thigh, then he picked up the material of her skirt and pulled it upwards
"Don't cry, darling
I'll be with you"
He reached inside her skirt and ran his hand over her inner thigh, then suddenly picked her up and twirled her around slowly. She reached up with one hand to run her fingers through his thick black hair.
"All night, darling
Deep within you"
Then, suddenly, he put her down and released her. She had been so relaxed, so comfortable in his strong arms that her legs suddenly collapsed like jelly and she sank to the floor. This brought her to her senses for a few seconds. She stood up, tried to walk away.
She only made it a few steps. Then she turned and saw that he had walked with her. He extended a hand. She reached out and took it. Their fingers interlaced. Their eyes were locked with each other. She licked her lips again, left her tongue protruding between her lips …
He pulled her close to him, with such strength, and bent down towards her, and they started swaying to the music again only this time it was his face…his lips…that were so close to her lips…
He took one of her hands, pressed it to his buttock and made her rub it up and down…he felt so solid…so sexy….
Then he released her hands and brought his own down to her buttocks, rubbing her, squeezing her, pressing her against him…meanwhile he smiled at her, breathing softly on her, as she gazed into his dark, liquid eyes.
She brought her own hands up and rested them around his neck. She wanted so badly for him to kiss her, she was burning for it.
Suddenly he took her, thrust her torso so that her head snapped, leaving her neck exposed. He bent down and gently kissed her neck, gently nibbled it.
Then he stopped, he backed up, not moving, just staring at her with desire.
He was waiting for her to make the next move? Well, she’d make it.
Her shirt had been buttoned up with just the top button loose, now she reached up, unbuttoned a few buttons and pulled her shirt apart to better reveal her décolletage, her mounds of soft breasts just waiting for him to possess them…
Then she came back to him, reached up to his face with her hands, caressing him…
He took her hands, and she began to kiss the hollow of his neck, moving down to his chest, moving down lower than that, staring at the bulge in his slacks that told her he wanted her so badly.….
He lifted her back up, grasped her hands, and they began to twirl around and around and around
Until suddenly they were naked on a bed, and he held her legs up and wide apart and was plowing into her in long, deep strokes, all the while gazing down at her and she up at him. Again and again and again, and again and again, until she began to cum and this time it lasted so long she could hardly stand it…she moaned and cried “Yes, yes, yes” and then he bent down and fastened his teeth on her neck, and it was a sweetness she’d never experienced before….
Her eyes ran desperately over the crowd, seeking the entrance at the far side. All these people…even if he came in here he could never find her. She began to breathe a little easier.
Then she saw him…and their eyes met across the room. A cold chill ran from her throat down to her belly.
“Inside…close quarters, night’s calling under blood red skies.”
He was tall, head if not shoulders taller than anyone else on the dance floor. And he was staring right at her.
"This madness, starts burning, a victim of a strange desire."
He began to move towards her. Obliquely, not getting in the way of the couples on the floor. She’d lose sight of him, then see him again, and always his eyes were on her, boring into hers.
"Mistaken, we follow, restless emotions take you down. Down, down, down. Round round round."
Her mouth was dry, and she was finding it hard to breathe.
"Unwilling, still hunger,"
Then, suddenly, she couldn’t see him any more.
Where had he…. And then he was there, right in front of her.
She stared up at him, like a rabbit hypnotized by a snake.
He stared down at her, not smiling, but his eyes were telling her he wanted her, bad.
"For lustful pleasures I have found
He's a good man in a bad time
He's a good man in a bad time"
Then he smiled at her. She licked her lips, feeling a fluttering between her thighs. He turned and began to walk away from her slowly. She followed him onto the dance floor.
"Soft voices, seduce you
A butterfly in a spider's web"
Then somehow she was in front of him, and still walking, half hoping that he had walked away, that he had left her. Then she felt his hand rest lightly…so lightly, on her shoulder. She stopped, staring forward, waiting.
He came up to her, pressed his whole body against her back. He placed his other hand on her other shoulder, and then simultaneously, very, very slowly, brought them down, past her biceps, to her forearms, and then his hands closed over hers. He brought them up, crossing her arms in front of her, gripping her hands firmly but tenderly.
"Infectious, behavior
You're damned to do it all again (and again and again and again...)"
Then he started swaying with her, and she swayed with him. She could feel his breath stirring the tendrils of the hair at the nape of her neck, could feel his cock growing larger and harder and rubbing against her butt, as the music rolled seductively on…she pressed her butt into him…
He's a good man in a bad time
He's a good man in a bad time"
Then, very slowly, he moved his head from one side of hers to the other. He reached out with one hand and grasped her other wrist, so that he was holding both of them in one hand. The other he brought down very slowly, pressing through her skirt against her belly, then down her inner thigh, then he picked up the material of her skirt and pulled it upwards
"Don't cry, darling
I'll be with you"
He reached inside her skirt and ran his hand over her inner thigh, then suddenly picked her up and twirled her around slowly. She reached up with one hand to run her fingers through his thick black hair.
"All night, darling
Deep within you"
Then, suddenly, he put her down and released her. She had been so relaxed, so comfortable in his strong arms that her legs suddenly collapsed like jelly and she sank to the floor. This brought her to her senses for a few seconds. She stood up, tried to walk away.
She only made it a few steps. Then she turned and saw that he had walked with her. He extended a hand. She reached out and took it. Their fingers interlaced. Their eyes were locked with each other. She licked her lips again, left her tongue protruding between her lips …
He pulled her close to him, with such strength, and bent down towards her, and they started swaying to the music again only this time it was his face…his lips…that were so close to her lips…
He took one of her hands, pressed it to his buttock and made her rub it up and down…he felt so solid…so sexy….
Then he released her hands and brought his own down to her buttocks, rubbing her, squeezing her, pressing her against him…meanwhile he smiled at her, breathing softly on her, as she gazed into his dark, liquid eyes.
She brought her own hands up and rested them around his neck. She wanted so badly for him to kiss her, she was burning for it.
Suddenly he took her, thrust her torso so that her head snapped, leaving her neck exposed. He bent down and gently kissed her neck, gently nibbled it.
Then he stopped, he backed up, not moving, just staring at her with desire.
He was waiting for her to make the next move? Well, she’d make it.
Her shirt had been buttoned up with just the top button loose, now she reached up, unbuttoned a few buttons and pulled her shirt apart to better reveal her décolletage, her mounds of soft breasts just waiting for him to possess them…
Then she came back to him, reached up to his face with her hands, caressing him…
He took her hands, and she began to kiss the hollow of his neck, moving down to his chest, moving down lower than that, staring at the bulge in his slacks that told her he wanted her so badly.….
He lifted her back up, grasped her hands, and they began to twirl around and around and around
Until suddenly they were naked on a bed, and he held her legs up and wide apart and was plowing into her in long, deep strokes, all the while gazing down at her and she up at him. Again and again and again, and again and again, until she began to cum and this time it lasted so long she could hardly stand it…she moaned and cried “Yes, yes, yes” and then he bent down and fastened his teeth on her neck, and it was a sweetness she’d never experienced before….
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Erotica by Bravo. Dighton & Forrest #2. Asta's Mastas Pt 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.
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.
Monday, July 5, 2010
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.”
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.”
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