Asta's Mastas Ch 2

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They raised their cups.

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

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

They sipped their gin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sasha smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmmmmm,” murmured Sasha.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hall of the Mountain King ch 9

I.

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

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

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

“Night, Fitz.”

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

II.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

HELP SAVE OUR BATTLEFIELD! ran the headline.

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

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

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

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

“Sure,” said Fitz.

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

III.

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

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

And tomorrow…New Market and Endless Caverns.

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

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

Chapter #1 of 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, let’s just look around, okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Innocent sex?” Pete had laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hall of the Mountain King ch 8

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fitz grinned and they went inside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





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

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

Fitz nodded. “You’re the boss.”



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

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

Hall of the Mountain King Ch 7

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

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

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

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

“Feel like breakfast?” he asked her.

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

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

“You’ve got a good memory, Fitz.”

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, let’s head on out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fitz nodded again. “Sounds good.”

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

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

Michele chuckled.

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

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

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

Hall of the Mountain King ch 6

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

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

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

She shuddered in anticipatory pleasure.

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, God,” she moaned…

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

“Almost there,” murmured Michele.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hall of the Mountain King ch 5

I.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve often thought so.”

“May I join you?”

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

“I’d love to.”

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

II.

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

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

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

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

“What do mean?”

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

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

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

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

“I don’t recognize it.”

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

“Ah, oh.”

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

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

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

“Bummer,” said Fitz.

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

“Peter Lorre?”

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

“Well, yeah, but…”

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

“I should hope so.”

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

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

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