Podcasts about erotic

MANET'S FINAL YEARS AND THE POSTHUMOUS HONOR OF MORISOT Colleague Sebastian Smee. Following the war, Manet painted a series of intimate portraits of Berthe Morisot, capturing her erotic restlessness and "black" mourning attire. Since they could not marry, Manet seemingly facilitated her marriage to his brother, Eugène, who became a supportive husband and advocate for her art. While Morisot struggled with melancholy, she defied Édouard's advice to stick to the Salon, instead exhibiting in almost all the independent Impressionist shows. After Édouard died a painful death from syphilis, and Berthe later passed away, her colleagues Renoir, Monet, and Degasorganized a posthumous exhibition in her honor. The depth of their respect was revealed in a passionate argument between Degas and the others over how best to hang her work to ensure the public understood her brilliance. NUMBER 7

Lost At Christmas: Part 2 A vulnerable confrontation with an old crush. Based on a post by Tx Tall Tales, in 2 parts. Listen to the Podcast at My First time. Christmas What had started out with the potential for so much disappointment, my first Christmas away from home, was actually quite wonderful. The family embraced me and treated me as one of their own. Dinner was scrumptious, a Christmas ham, with the full complement of side dishes. After dinner we chatted, drank a little too much spiked eggnog, and told stories of the last few years. I sat close to Sheri when I could, beside her at the dinner table, and next to her on the couch while we had our eggnog. I tried to engage her in some quiet conversation of our own, but the setting was all wrong for that, and I eventually abandoned those attempts. It was nice enough just to be near her. Tommy's step-father Dave, insisted I call Santiago, even though I knew the price would be outrageous, and I did. I gave my family my Christmas wishes, and told them how much I missed them and was looking forward to seeing them in a couple of days. Everyone in the room took a minute to say hello and share season's greetings. I had to spend a few minutes trying to get my Mom to stop crying at the far end, before we finally were able to hang-up. The small ones had to go to bed relatively early, and so we all got to open one gift the night before, as was their tradition. I gave Tommy his gift, and his mother opened the family gift and everyone acted pleased. In turn, they had bought me a present which I opened. It was two books for the trip, and they had a card for me. Inside was $50. I was completely in shock. "Dear Steve, Your short visit was a wonderful Christmas gift to us all. Thanks so much for choosing to spend this Christmas with us. Here's some mad money for the trip home. We all love you. Dave, June, Robert, Sheri, John and Jean" I was deeply touched by the gesture. I went over and gave Tommy's Mom a big hug, thanking her for the card and books. The kids jumped up with presents of their own, and I got two new drawings for my dorm room, as well as some mystery invention from John, which was supposed to be a spy tool to stop people from breaking into my room. I thanked them profusely, and they were put to bed shortly after. Dave, Tommy and I discussed the logistics of my morning bus ride back to Charleston. It left at 7:30 am, but was only about 15 minutes away, so we figured on getting a 7:00am start. We relaxed around the fire, ruminating on the poor souls who had the job of driving that bus all day Christmas day. There was a guitar in the corner, Greg's. I was surprised he hadn't taken it with him. I went over and grabbed it, and finding it miserably out of tune, I tuned it up. "Play something Christmassy", Tommy's Mom asked, and so I played a couple of tunes. I'm a fair guitarist; I was studying guitar at the Eastman School of Music since it was convenient, and ROTC was picking up the tab, and had improved quite a bit from the days of our first band. I got rave reviews from my small audience, and took requests for a while, before we broke it up. The parents still had some work to do for the kids, and Tommy and I wanted to hit the hay early, in order to catch that 7:30 bus. More hugs and kisses all around, with a firm handshake for Dave, and I retired to my room to finish my packing. I got ready for bed, dressed in boxers and a t-shirt, laid out my clothes for the morning, and completed my packing. I had one last thing I wanted to do before hitting the sack, so I went back into the bathroom, and knocked on the opposite door into Sheri's room. I heard a muffled "Come in" or something to that effect, and opened the door to find Sheri sitting up in bed, brushing her long blonde hair. She was dressed in a nearly see-through pale green nightie that took my breath away. "Hi." I felt incredibly awkward, like I was 16 all over again. She looked up at me, giving me a quizzically upraised eyebrow. "I had a gift for you, but I felt kind of silly giving it to you out there. I hope you don't mind that I waited until now." I handed her a small leather pouch. She took it, laying her brush to the side, and opened it, pulling out a small cross. She stretched out the cord, and looked at me in surprise. "But this is your mountain cross! You always wear this!" She said, looking at me with a strange look I couldn't quite fathom. The cross was one I had found mountain climbing several years earlier. I had been in a small accident. I'd fallen into a glacier fed stream on a mountain trip, while collecting firewood in a storm. I'd almost frozen before I'd made it back to the cabin. Literally. I thought I was going to die. I was staggering the last 20 feet to the building, in a daze, when a friend returning from the outhouse ran into me, and dragged me inside to warm up. The next morning I found a small ivory cross on a rotted leather lanyard at almost the very place I had climbed out of the stream, and I had worn it for years since then. Sheri knew the story. I had told her the whole thing one evening when I had been giving her driving lessons. I don't know what had motivated me to give it to her, but I had had this urge, and I've always been a pretty impetuous person. "I just want you to have it." I explained. She patted the bed beside her for me to sit down then she handed me the cross to put around her neck and turned her back to me. I passed my hands over the head, letting the cross dangle in the valley between her breasts, and she reached back and pulled her hair up and out of the way, so I could latch the necklace on her. When I was done she turned to me, and fingering the cross she thanked me. "I got the strangest call today." She told me. "Strange how?" I asked. "Kathryn called me. We haven't talked probably in over a year, but she called me out of the blue, and we talked about nothing but you for over an hour." She said with a teasing smile. I could feel my face burning from the blush. We were real quiet for a bit. Then she spoke up softly, not looking at me at all, just looking down at her hands. "Do you remember the skating party where you asked me to skate, like 5 times?" "Do I ever! My hand was so sweaty I was embarrassed to hold yours, but didn't know how to dry it off, and I wasn't good enough a skater to make a real dance out of it." I laughed. "I thought you liked me, and were going to ask me out, but you never did. Why not?" She asked. The memory was embarrassing, and I thought about it a bit before confessing. "I had skated with Kathryn earlier in the evening, and she asked me who I liked. I told her I would answer by the end of the evening. Later, just when I was trying to get the nerve up to skate with you again, and ask you to sit by me on the Pensacola bus trip, Jack found me and told me that I had better ask Kathryn to skate. She was waiting for me to tell her something. Well, I did ask her to skate, and she reminded me of our previous conversation. I admitted that I really liked two people, you and her. Then she asked me if I minded if she 'monopolized' me for a while. I went along. You know the rest. One out-of-town bus trip; one back-row of the movie; and me completely screwing everything up." She listened without showing too much surprise. "But how come you never tried anything after that?" "God! How could I? You knew everything that had happened. Don't you remember the time I stopped by when Net was over here spending the night. Every time I passed you guys, you seemed to be laughing at me. And then when you passed me in the hall and whispered, "Oooh, I Love You," teasing me with what I'd said to Kathryn before completely blowing her off, I was just devastated. I hadn't screwed up just the one chance, but you as well." Sheri had the grace to blush from embarrassment at that. "I really didn't know much of what was going on. Kathryn just told me to go up to you and say that. I'm sorry." "Not half as sorry as I was." I told her. "You had to know how much I liked you. I was always trying to be around you and do things with you." "I didn't know how much of that was just being Tommy's sister, or what. I kept waiting for you to try something, anything, but you never did." She looked at me intensely almost with anguish. I was 16 all over again. I was still embarrassed over my ineptness around women. I had screwed things up with Kathryn. I had screwed up with Teri. And I had screwed up with Sheri. Since then I'd had more than my share of success with the young women I'd known, but all of a sudden, it was like I was a clumsy, scared virgin all over again. Sheri looked at me for a long while, then finally sighed and looked away, picking up her brush and going back to brushing her hair. "Some things will never change, I guess," she muttered, ignoring me. I started to get up, to go to my room, knowing this was neither the time, nor the place to try to start something with Sheri, but I just couldn't leave things as they were. I reached out and took the brush from her, which she relinquished slowly. I then took her by the shoulders and turned her away from me, so I could brush her hair. I brushed her hair in silence for a bit, before speaking. "For at least a year after leaving here, I would dream about you all the time. You were the girl of my fantasies. We wrote so well for a while, and I kept all your letters, reading them over and over again, looking for hidden meaning in the words, wondering if I'd ever get a chance to be with you. I still have those letters." I confessed. Several long seconds later Sheri reached down to the bottom drawer of her chest, next to the bed and opened it. She reached under her sweaters, and pulled out a pile of letters held together with a rubber-band. I recognized my writing. She turned to look at me, and her eyes glistened. I dropped the brush, leaned over and nervously kissed her, hoping beyond hope she wouldn't throw me out of her room with a ruckus. Instead she turned, and returned my kiss with a depth and passion I could only have prayed for. When we broke apart, we just looked at each other. Suddenly I couldn't help but giggle. "What?" She asked, almost crossly. "Do you remember how you thought you'd get pregnant from French kissing?" I recalled. She blushed again. "I can't believe you still remember that, you beast. How did you find that out anyway?" "Kathryn told me on the bus trip. I think she was trying to make you seem naive to me, sort of solidify her hold on me." I told her. "That Bitch! She always denied it, but I couldn't think of anyone else who knew." We laughed a bit, and gradually fell back into kissing each other. At the next break in our kissing, Sheri nailed me again. "Tommy said you did it with Angela. Was she your first?" "No. I never did do it with her. And Colleen was my first." I admitted. "Colleen? From yearbook?" "Yeah. But not until a year later. She went to Mosley with me, and we hooked up at a party. It was weird and nothing much happened of it. Three weeks later I was headed to Chile." I told her. She just shook her head at me. "Since it's time for true confessions, who was your first?" I asked teasing. "Rich? Mike?" "Oh God, no!" she laughed. "Then who?" She never answered, just turned a bright red. "Come on, fair's fair. I told you." I urged her relentlessly. She mumbled something I couldn't make out. "I can't hear you, who was it?" I teased again. She looked up, almost fiercely. "Nobody, all right?" I was stunned, and the ensuing silence seemed endless. "You're kidding me." I finally said, hardly believing. Her answer was so soft I almost missed it. "At one time I thought you'd be my first." This time when we kissed, I allowed my hands to wander, throwing caution to the wind. I cupped her perfect young breast in my hand, letting my thumb brush across her nipple, getting it hard. We were both gasping when we broke apart. "Steve?" "Yes?" "Go close your door, and turn off your light, then turn off the light in the bathroom," she said softly. I did, and she had turned down the light in her room. She was lying in the bed, the covers folded down neatly, waiting for me. She was still in her nightie. I stood beside the bed and made my commitment. I removed my shirt, and then my shorts, sporting a huge hard-on, which she stared at in wonder. I climbed into her bed completely naked. She had been laying sideways, leaning on her elbow, but as I entered the bed, she rolled onto her back, lying down, waiting for me. She was achingly beautiful in the dim light, and I was afraid I was going to come on the spot if she even touched me. I leaned over her and kissed her, but this time the kiss never stopped. I lost my soul in that kiss. I lost all track of time and presence. Our mouths stayed connected as we explored and played with our tongues, and my hands embarked on their exploration of the wonders of her body. My hands touched her all over, before finally settling in the warm crease between her legs. She had panties on, and as my fingers rubbed up and down her hidden folds, I found a small wet spot, maybe the size of a dime slowly spreading. Once I was aggressively rubbing her, sliding the material up and down, half-an inch into her by this time, the wetness enveloped the entire area. I slid my hand less than a foot up her body, and let my finger tips creep under the band of her panties. My hand slid down, the soft down of her hair like a magical lure, the gentle pressure of her panties against the back of my hand trapping me. Our kiss finally broke, and from an inch away we looked into each other's eyes as I slowly slid my middle finger between those forbidden lips, and into her. The aroma of her need assaulted me, and the quiet squish of her wetness against my finger was the ultimate aphrodisiac. I was engulfed with desire. I started to crawl over her, placing my knee between hers when she stopped me. "Wait." Then she raised her hips, and scrunched down, raised her knees, moments later passing me a small, but incredibly erotic piece of plain, white material. I was beyond reason, and I climbed between her legs. She spread them for me, seeming as eager as I. I grabbed my throbbing rod in hand, and by feel, rubbed the head up and down her moistness, adding pressure bit by bit, until I felt it settle in at the mouth of her pussy. She gave a small gasp, as the head slid in just a bit, not quite in her yet, but knowing that I was one small push from being inside. "Be gentle," she said, and I could see a hint of nervousness and fear in her eyes. I leaned over and kissed her softly, and while our lips touched, I pushed, sinking into her. At least for a bit. About halfway in I hit a barrier. I was confused at first. I pulled back and pushed again, a little harder, thinking I was sticking, and she grunted a little as if in pain. It finally sunk in. I had been with plenty of women, and several who had claimed to be virgins, but none with their cherry intact. I wasn't sure what to do. I probed again, and this time elicited a small 'ow'. What was I to do? I lay on top of her, my cock buried four inches deep in the girls of my dreams, and I was at a complete loss. Sheri shifted a bit under me, wrapped her legs around mine, and pulled me close. She whispered into my ear. "Take me." It was the sexiest thing I'd ever heard. Nervously I pulled back until I was just at the opening and I drove down hard, feeling just a pinch before my pelvis was grinding into hers. I was completely inside her. I got up on my elbows and looked down at her. I could see a single wet trail that glistened from the side of her eye to her ear. "Are you ok?" I asked her, holding myself still, deep inside of her. "Wonderful," she said softly, tilting her chin up slightly for a kiss. I accepted the offer, and kissed her gently, while I experimented with moving my cock within her incredibly tight sheath. I felt I was only moments from coming, but I couldn't resist moving my hips just a bit, exploring the feeling of being inside her. I leaned down and whispered in her ear. "I always wanted you. You knew it. I knew it. But I was afraid. I was afraid of the ribbing from your brother. Afraid of being exposed for knowing nothing about what to do with a girl. Afraid of ruining our friendship. Afraid of striking out, and you telling all the other girls, and my being the laughingstock. Afraid of so many stupid things. I was an idiot." "You weren't afraid of Kathryn," she answered softly. "She initiated it all. She pushed forward, asking to monopolize me, holding my hand. I probably never would have made the move. If I could change one thing, it would be that skating party. I should have saved that last moonlight skate for you, and asked you out. I should have told Kathryn that you were the one girl I was interested in. Who knows how things might have worked out? Plus, it wasn't as big a deal. If things didn't work out, oh well. But if I ruined things with you, it would have killed all my dreams." She was hot beneath me, her skin almost burning to my touch, I was finally moving inside of her, but I quickly had to stop, again on the verge of coming, and embarrassed at my short trigger. "Make love to me Steve," she said breathlessly. I gave a few more strokes and had to stop again. "Don't stop," she pleaded. "I'm sorry, I'm so excited I'm on the verge of coming now. If I move I won't be able to stop," I finally confessed. "Do it. Pump me, take me, come deep inside me," she answered. Those words were too much, and with a gasp I drove my cock in hard, and exploded inside her. I pulled back and slammed into her a dozen times or so, making the bed creak alarmingly as I emptied myself inside her virgin moistness. As my heart hammer away in my chest, and my breathing gasped, she gave me a small joyous laugh. "Wow, I guess you were close!" Then she gave a big hug before she pushed me off of her. She climbed over me, her hand pressed between her legs and scrambled into the bathroom, waddling inelegantly but still incredibly arousing to me. I heard her tinkle, and then return to the bed with a facecloth with which she wiped my semi-hard cock clean. Then she climbed into bed, her head on my shoulder and talked. She recounted almost ever time that we'd been together alone, all the adventures we'd had, the summer we'd learned to play tennis together, and what she'd thought might happen. We laughed a little at my ineptness and her caution as well. Then I felt her hand creep down between my legs. "Do you think we could try that again?" she asked me hesitantly. "I'm dying to, but I was afraid I might have hurt you." I laughed my foolish insecure laugh. "So hurt me," she teased, giving a tug on my cock. This time I held out a little better. I climbed between her legs again, and made love to her, still gently, still nervous. But before long I was feeling that familiar rhythm of need, and my strokes became longer and more insistent. I had to have her. I had to take her. I had to fill her deeply, completely. I sat up in the bed, discarding the covers, and raised her legs, pushing them back, and screwing her powerfully, shaking her body, crashing into her with a burning need. She was still wearing her nightie, but it had ridden up above her belly button, just a couple of inches below her breasts. I stopped my motion and whispered to her, "Rise up on your elbows." She looked at me oddly but did, raising her head a few inches off the pillow. I leaned over and lifted her nightie up above her breast, allowing me to see the objects of my desire and fantasies. "God, I've pictured those in my mind for four years, and yet never came close to imagining how perfect and beautiful they are." I said, more to myself than to her. I resumed my fucking, for that was what I was doing now, fucking her. Fucking her hard. She had her bottom lip captured between her teeth, and now she was holding her nightie in her hands, almost to her chin, allowing me an uninterrupted view of her oh-so-perfect tits. The visuals were all too much and pushed me over the edge once again. The beautiful face, the long hair arrayed across the pillow, the full breasts, bouncing a counter-beat to my pounding, her flat stomach, hollowed, and the light fur of her hair parted to allow my pole to penetrate her again and again. With a moan I came for her again, collapsing beside her, sated, and in complete serenity and joy. "I guess you really do like me," she laughed, cuddling up to my side. Then she was asking me about my afternoon meeting with Kathryn. "What did she tell you?" I asked, a little nervous. "No, you tell me what happened. I don't trust her," she insisted. I told her the whole story, including the ending. In full short-but-sweet detail. "I knew it!" She laughed. "She said you tried to come on to her, and made her grab you there, but she turned you down." "If that's how she wants to tell it that's fine by me. I owe her one; let her have it however she wants." I said "When you went to the movies, what really happened there?" she asked, with her one-track mind. I wasn't sure what her preoccupation was but I finally told her the whole scene, everything I'd done, every liberty I'd taken. At the end I waited in judgment. "She's such a liar. She said you tried to reach inside her pants but she stopped you." "Hardly, I could smell her on my fingers for day afterwards." I laughed. Sheri was lost in thought pressed up against me. My hands were idling rubbing her back, the material of her nightie soft and silky against my fingertips. "I guess there's only one thing she's done with you that we haven't done," Sheri started, and then she slid under the covers and a moment later I felt the warm wetness of her mouth enveloping me. I could see the covers moving as she used her mouth to pleasure me, taking only a few moments to make me hard, and then sucking me like there was no tomorrow. Which, in a way I guess there wasn't. I wanted to see her, so I pulled the covers back and looked down at her. She continued a few more strokes, then shifted and faced me a little more, finally lifting her eyes to watch me, watching her, suck my cock. A few more deep strokes and she pulled off with a smile. "I can see that's one thing you like," she said with a grin. "Like is an understatement." I laughed. She gave me a couple more sucks, and then she straddled me, and rose up to take me inside of her again. I wanted her so bad I could almost scream. She got me positioned right, and then slowly lowered herself the full length of my staff with one long, smooth stroke. Then, settled on my hips, my turgid meat buried in her achingly tight recess, she lifted the bottom of her nightie and pulled it up and over her head. I'd been to several strip shows before that, but never in my life had I seen anything so beautiful or so erotic. I could feel my pulse in my cock, throbbing inside her. She opened her eyes wide, and looked down between her legs. "Wow, I could feel that. At least one part of you really likes to see the girls," she laughed, holding her breasts cupped in her hands, and jiggling them for me. "You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." I told her. "Right, and now I guess you're going to tell me you love me, just like Kathryn." She said it with a hint of bitterness I didn't understand. "The difference is back then it was the hormones of a 16 year old talking. You on the other hand, I've loved for three years. And you know it." I said, and only as I spoke the words did I realize to my very soul, just how true it was. Sheri didn't answer. She leaned forward and rocked back and forth on my hard cock, enjoying the feeling of controlling the penetration, the pace, the timing. She paced herself to my breathing and excitement. When I started to get really excited she'd slow down and hold me, letting me ease back from the edge. When I was strong and ready, she'd ride me hard. She let my hands explore her as she did the work, and I touched her everywhere I could reach, just wallowing in the sensations. I pulled her down within reach, and tasted her nipples, playing with those perfect globes. The feel of her breasts, that impossible soft pale skin under my lips, making way to the crinkled, tougher skin, peaking to a little nub seemingly designed for me to tease and taste. Finally, after what seemed an eternity of sensual, erotic play, she laid down on me, her breasts pressed against my chest, her mouth on my neck, while she slowly rocked her hips, fucking herself gently on my rod. "Come for me Steve," she said, almost as a command. I reached down and took her full, soft ass cheeks in my hands, grasping them tight, and I held her up a bit off of me, so I could us my hips to drive in and out of her channel more completely. I was able to get a good long stroke established, and I could feel the cool air brushing against my wet shaft each time I pulled outward. We had made love for what seemed ages before she issued that first command for me to come. Now she issued another one. "Tell me again." I couldn't hold back any longer, and didn't want to. I was fucking the prettiest girl I'd ever known; The first girl that I had really badly wanted; The sweet little virgin that I had fantasized about for so long; Whose pretty face had been the image I'd been picturing as I filled enough old gym socks with cum to fill a stadium. "I love you, Sheri. I've loved you as long as I've known you." And with that I pulled her down hard on my cock, coming inside my dream girl again, and absorbing the feeling, knowing I was leaving within hours, not knowing when I'd see her again. "I love you, Steve," she said, I could feel her tears rolling down the side of my face. I looked up to see the sky lightening with the coming dawn, and thought to myself, "That's another one you've got up on Kathryn." I disentangled myself from her limbs and kissed her. "I have to go. Tommy's going to be looking for me any minute." Somehow we had spent the entire night reminiscing, sharing and making love. It was so difficult, but I tore myself from her arms, tucked her in bed, and kissed her goodnight. "Get a couple of hours of sleep; I'll be able to sleep on the bus." I told her. She was still wearing the cross I'd given her. She held it now. "Thanks for the Christmas present." She said with a small sad smile. I kissed her again, and retreated to the bathroom for a quick shower and shave. Back in my room, I dressed, and found a present waiting for me on my suitcase. A 8 by 10 picture of Sheri, as beautiful as I'd ever seen her, with a small inscription on the back. "Merry Christmas. Don't forget about me. Love, Sheri" I had just finished putting it away when Tommy knocked on my door, dragging me out to breakfast, and then off to the bus. The rest of that trip was uneventful; I made it home OK, picked up some presents in Panama, saw some old friends, and made it back to college in one piece. But I'll always recall that first Christmas away from home, and the greatest Christmas present I ever received. Not my first erector set, or the 114 piece Lincoln Log tube. Not my first really Cool bicycle, a purple spider bike with banana seat, big handle bars and a three speed shifter on the bar. Not my first electric guitar, a Fender, and amp, which I think my parents had some second thoughts about. No, Sheri's was the nicest gift I ever received, and probably ever will receive, for Christmas. "Thanks" just doesn't seem to say enough. Based on a post by Tx Tall Tales, in 2 parts, for Literotica

Lost At Christmas: Part 2 A vulnerable confrontation with an old crush. Based on a post by Tx Tall Tales, in 2 parts. Listen to the Podcast at My First time. Christmas What had started out with the potential for so much disappointment, my first Christmas away from home, was actually quite wonderful. The family embraced me and treated me as one of their own. Dinner was scrumptious, a Christmas ham, with the full complement of side dishes. After dinner we chatted, drank a little too much spiked eggnog, and told stories of the last few years. I sat close to Sheri when I could, beside her at the dinner table, and next to her on the couch while we had our eggnog. I tried to engage her in some quiet conversation of our own, but the setting was all wrong for that, and I eventually abandoned those attempts. It was nice enough just to be near her. Tommy's step-father Dave, insisted I call Santiago, even though I knew the price would be outrageous, and I did. I gave my family my Christmas wishes, and told them how much I missed them and was looking forward to seeing them in a couple of days. Everyone in the room took a minute to say hello and share season's greetings. I had to spend a few minutes trying to get my Mom to stop crying at the far end, before we finally were able to hang-up. The small ones had to go to bed relatively early, and so we all got to open one gift the night before, as was their tradition. I gave Tommy his gift, and his mother opened the family gift and everyone acted pleased. In turn, they had bought me a present which I opened. It was two books for the trip, and they had a card for me. Inside was $50. I was completely in shock. "Dear Steve, Your short visit was a wonderful Christmas gift to us all. Thanks so much for choosing to spend this Christmas with us. Here's some mad money for the trip home. We all love you. Dave, June, Robert, Sheri, John and Jean" I was deeply touched by the gesture. I went over and gave Tommy's Mom a big hug, thanking her for the card and books. The kids jumped up with presents of their own, and I got two new drawings for my dorm room, as well as some mystery invention from John, which was supposed to be a spy tool to stop people from breaking into my room. I thanked them profusely, and they were put to bed shortly after. Dave, Tommy and I discussed the logistics of my morning bus ride back to Charleston. It left at 7:30 am, but was only about 15 minutes away, so we figured on getting a 7:00am start. We relaxed around the fire, ruminating on the poor souls who had the job of driving that bus all day Christmas day. There was a guitar in the corner, Greg's. I was surprised he hadn't taken it with him. I went over and grabbed it, and finding it miserably out of tune, I tuned it up. "Play something Christmassy", Tommy's Mom asked, and so I played a couple of tunes. I'm a fair guitarist; I was studying guitar at the Eastman School of Music since it was convenient, and ROTC was picking up the tab, and had improved quite a bit from the days of our first band. I got rave reviews from my small audience, and took requests for a while, before we broke it up. The parents still had some work to do for the kids, and Tommy and I wanted to hit the hay early, in order to catch that 7:30 bus. More hugs and kisses all around, with a firm handshake for Dave, and I retired to my room to finish my packing. I got ready for bed, dressed in boxers and a t-shirt, laid out my clothes for the morning, and completed my packing. I had one last thing I wanted to do before hitting the sack, so I went back into the bathroom, and knocked on the opposite door into Sheri's room. I heard a muffled "Come in" or something to that effect, and opened the door to find Sheri sitting up in bed, brushing her long blonde hair. She was dressed in a nearly see-through pale green nightie that took my breath away. "Hi." I felt incredibly awkward, like I was 16 all over again. She looked up at me, giving me a quizzically upraised eyebrow. "I had a gift for you, but I felt kind of silly giving it to you out there. I hope you don't mind that I waited until now." I handed her a small leather pouch. She took it, laying her brush to the side, and opened it, pulling out a small cross. She stretched out the cord, and looked at me in surprise. "But this is your mountain cross! You always wear this!" She said, looking at me with a strange look I couldn't quite fathom. The cross was one I had found mountain climbing several years earlier. I had been in a small accident. I'd fallen into a glacier fed stream on a mountain trip, while collecting firewood in a storm. I'd almost frozen before I'd made it back to the cabin. Literally. I thought I was going to die. I was staggering the last 20 feet to the building, in a daze, when a friend returning from the outhouse ran into me, and dragged me inside to warm up. The next morning I found a small ivory cross on a rotted leather lanyard at almost the very place I had climbed out of the stream, and I had worn it for years since then. Sheri knew the story. I had told her the whole thing one evening when I had been giving her driving lessons. I don't know what had motivated me to give it to her, but I had had this urge, and I've always been a pretty impetuous person. "I just want you to have it." I explained. She patted the bed beside her for me to sit down then she handed me the cross to put around her neck and turned her back to me. I passed my hands over the head, letting the cross dangle in the valley between her breasts, and she reached back and pulled her hair up and out of the way, so I could latch the necklace on her. When I was done she turned to me, and fingering the cross she thanked me. "I got the strangest call today." She told me. "Strange how?" I asked. "Kathryn called me. We haven't talked probably in over a year, but she called me out of the blue, and we talked about nothing but you for over an hour." She said with a teasing smile. I could feel my face burning from the blush. We were real quiet for a bit. Then she spoke up softly, not looking at me at all, just looking down at her hands. "Do you remember the skating party where you asked me to skate, like 5 times?" "Do I ever! My hand was so sweaty I was embarrassed to hold yours, but didn't know how to dry it off, and I wasn't good enough a skater to make a real dance out of it." I laughed. "I thought you liked me, and were going to ask me out, but you never did. Why not?" She asked. The memory was embarrassing, and I thought about it a bit before confessing. "I had skated with Kathryn earlier in the evening, and she asked me who I liked. I told her I would answer by the end of the evening. Later, just when I was trying to get the nerve up to skate with you again, and ask you to sit by me on the Pensacola bus trip, Jack found me and told me that I had better ask Kathryn to skate. She was waiting for me to tell her something. Well, I did ask her to skate, and she reminded me of our previous conversation. I admitted that I really liked two people, you and her. Then she asked me if I minded if she 'monopolized' me for a while. I went along. You know the rest. One out-of-town bus trip; one back-row of the movie; and me completely screwing everything up." She listened without showing too much surprise. "But how come you never tried anything after that?" "God! How could I? You knew everything that had happened. Don't you remember the time I stopped by when Net was over here spending the night. Every time I passed you guys, you seemed to be laughing at me. And then when you passed me in the hall and whispered, "Oooh, I Love You," teasing me with what I'd said to Kathryn before completely blowing her off, I was just devastated. I hadn't screwed up just the one chance, but you as well." Sheri had the grace to blush from embarrassment at that. "I really didn't know much of what was going on. Kathryn just told me to go up to you and say that. I'm sorry." "Not half as sorry as I was." I told her. "You had to know how much I liked you. I was always trying to be around you and do things with you." "I didn't know how much of that was just being Tommy's sister, or what. I kept waiting for you to try something, anything, but you never did." She looked at me intensely almost with anguish. I was 16 all over again. I was still embarrassed over my ineptness around women. I had screwed things up with Kathryn. I had screwed up with Teri. And I had screwed up with Sheri. Since then I'd had more than my share of success with the young women I'd known, but all of a sudden, it was like I was a clumsy, scared virgin all over again. Sheri looked at me for a long while, then finally sighed and looked away, picking up her brush and going back to brushing her hair. "Some things will never change, I guess," she muttered, ignoring me. I started to get up, to go to my room, knowing this was neither the time, nor the place to try to start something with Sheri, but I just couldn't leave things as they were. I reached out and took the brush from her, which she relinquished slowly. I then took her by the shoulders and turned her away from me, so I could brush her hair. I brushed her hair in silence for a bit, before speaking. "For at least a year after leaving here, I would dream about you all the time. You were the girl of my fantasies. We wrote so well for a while, and I kept all your letters, reading them over and over again, looking for hidden meaning in the words, wondering if I'd ever get a chance to be with you. I still have those letters." I confessed. Several long seconds later Sheri reached down to the bottom drawer of her chest, next to the bed and opened it. She reached under her sweaters, and pulled out a pile of letters held together with a rubber-band. I recognized my writing. She turned to look at me, and her eyes glistened. I dropped the brush, leaned over and nervously kissed her, hoping beyond hope she wouldn't throw me out of her room with a ruckus. Instead she turned, and returned my kiss with a depth and passion I could only have prayed for. When we broke apart, we just looked at each other. Suddenly I couldn't help but giggle. "What?" She asked, almost crossly. "Do you remember how you thought you'd get pregnant from French kissing?" I recalled. She blushed again. "I can't believe you still remember that, you beast. How did you find that out anyway?" "Kathryn told me on the bus trip. I think she was trying to make you seem naive to me, sort of solidify her hold on me." I told her. "That Bitch! She always denied it, but I couldn't think of anyone else who knew." We laughed a bit, and gradually fell back into kissing each other. At the next break in our kissing, Sheri nailed me again. "Tommy said you did it with Angela. Was she your first?" "No. I never did do it with her. And Colleen was my first." I admitted. "Colleen? From yearbook?" "Yeah. But not until a year later. She went to Mosley with me, and we hooked up at a party. It was weird and nothing much happened of it. Three weeks later I was headed to Chile." I told her. She just shook her head at me. "Since it's time for true confessions, who was your first?" I asked teasing. "Rich? Mike?" "Oh God, no!" she laughed. "Then who?" She never answered, just turned a bright red. "Come on, fair's fair. I told you." I urged her relentlessly. She mumbled something I couldn't make out. "I can't hear you, who was it?" I teased again. She looked up, almost fiercely. "Nobody, all right?" I was stunned, and the ensuing silence seemed endless. "You're kidding me." I finally said, hardly believing. Her answer was so soft I almost missed it. "At one time I thought you'd be my first." This time when we kissed, I allowed my hands to wander, throwing caution to the wind. I cupped her perfect young breast in my hand, letting my thumb brush across her nipple, getting it hard. We were both gasping when we broke apart. "Steve?" "Yes?" "Go close your door, and turn off your light, then turn off the light in the bathroom," she said softly. I did, and she had turned down the light in her room. She was lying in the bed, the covers folded down neatly, waiting for me. She was still in her nightie. I stood beside the bed and made my commitment. I removed my shirt, and then my shorts, sporting a huge hard-on, which she stared at in wonder. I climbed into her bed completely naked. She had been laying sideways, leaning on her elbow, but as I entered the bed, she rolled onto her back, lying down, waiting for me. She was achingly beautiful in the dim light, and I was afraid I was going to come on the spot if she even touched me. I leaned over her and kissed her, but this time the kiss never stopped. I lost my soul in that kiss. I lost all track of time and presence. Our mouths stayed connected as we explored and played with our tongues, and my hands embarked on their exploration of the wonders of her body. My hands touched her all over, before finally settling in the warm crease between her legs. She had panties on, and as my fingers rubbed up and down her hidden folds, I found a small wet spot, maybe the size of a dime slowly spreading. Once I was aggressively rubbing her, sliding the material up and down, half-an inch into her by this time, the wetness enveloped the entire area. I slid my hand less than a foot up her body, and let my finger tips creep under the band of her panties. My hand slid down, the soft down of her hair like a magical lure, the gentle pressure of her panties against the back of my hand trapping me. Our kiss finally broke, and from an inch away we looked into each other's eyes as I slowly slid my middle finger between those forbidden lips, and into her. The aroma of her need assaulted me, and the quiet squish of her wetness against my finger was the ultimate aphrodisiac. I was engulfed with desire. I started to crawl over her, placing my knee between hers when she stopped me. "Wait." Then she raised her hips, and scrunched down, raised her knees, moments later passing me a small, but incredibly erotic piece of plain, white material. I was beyond reason, and I climbed between her legs. She spread them for me, seeming as eager as I. I grabbed my throbbing rod in hand, and by feel, rubbed the head up and down her moistness, adding pressure bit by bit, until I felt it settle in at the mouth of her pussy. She gave a small gasp, as the head slid in just a bit, not quite in her yet, but knowing that I was one small push from being inside. "Be gentle," she said, and I could see a hint of nervousness and fear in her eyes. I leaned over and kissed her softly, and while our lips touched, I pushed, sinking into her. At least for a bit. About halfway in I hit a barrier. I was confused at first. I pulled back and pushed again, a little harder, thinking I was sticking, and she grunted a little as if in pain. It finally sunk in. I had been with plenty of women, and several who had claimed to be virgins, but none with their cherry intact. I wasn't sure what to do. I probed again, and this time elicited a small 'ow'. What was I to do? I lay on top of her, my cock buried four inches deep in the girls of my dreams, and I was at a complete loss. Sheri shifted a bit under me, wrapped her legs around mine, and pulled me close. She whispered into my ear. "Take me." It was the sexiest thing I'd ever heard. Nervously I pulled back until I was just at the opening and I drove down hard, feeling just a pinch before my pelvis was grinding into hers. I was completely inside her. I got up on my elbows and looked down at her. I could see a single wet trail that glistened from the side of her eye to her ear. "Are you ok?" I asked her, holding myself still, deep inside of her. "Wonderful," she said softly, tilting her chin up slightly for a kiss. I accepted the offer, and kissed her gently, while I experimented with moving my cock within her incredibly tight sheath. I felt I was only moments from coming, but I couldn't resist moving my hips just a bit, exploring the feeling of being inside her. I leaned down and whispered in her ear. "I always wanted you. You knew it. I knew it. But I was afraid. I was afraid of the ribbing from your brother. Afraid of being exposed for knowing nothing about what to do with a girl. Afraid of ruining our friendship. Afraid of striking out, and you telling all the other girls, and my being the laughingstock. Afraid of so many stupid things. I was an idiot." "You weren't afraid of Kathryn," she answered softly. "She initiated it all. She pushed forward, asking to monopolize me, holding my hand. I probably never would have made the move. If I could change one thing, it would be that skating party. I should have saved that last moonlight skate for you, and asked you out. I should have told Kathryn that you were the one girl I was interested in. Who knows how things might have worked out? Plus, it wasn't as big a deal. If things didn't work out, oh well. But if I ruined things with you, it would have killed all my dreams." She was hot beneath me, her skin almost burning to my touch, I was finally moving inside of her, but I quickly had to stop, again on the verge of coming, and embarrassed at my short trigger. "Make love to me Steve," she said breathlessly. I gave a few more strokes and had to stop again. "Don't stop," she pleaded. "I'm sorry, I'm so excited I'm on the verge of coming now. If I move I won't be able to stop," I finally confessed. "Do it. Pump me, take me, come deep inside me," she answered. Those words were too much, and with a gasp I drove my cock in hard, and exploded inside her. I pulled back and slammed into her a dozen times or so, making the bed creak alarmingly as I emptied myself inside her virgin moistness. As my heart hammer away in my chest, and my breathing gasped, she gave me a small joyous laugh. "Wow, I guess you were close!" Then she gave a big hug before she pushed me off of her. She climbed over me, her hand pressed between her legs and scrambled into the bathroom, waddling inelegantly but still incredibly arousing to me. I heard her tinkle, and then return to the bed with a facecloth with which she wiped my semi-hard cock clean. Then she climbed into bed, her head on my shoulder and talked. She recounted almost ever time that we'd been together alone, all the adventures we'd had, the summer we'd learned to play tennis together, and what she'd thought might happen. We laughed a little at my ineptness and her caution as well. Then I felt her hand creep down between my legs. "Do you think we could try that again?" she asked me hesitantly. "I'm dying to, but I was afraid I might have hurt you." I laughed my foolish insecure laugh. "So hurt me," she teased, giving a tug on my cock. This time I held out a little better. I climbed between her legs again, and made love to her, still gently, still nervous. But before long I was feeling that familiar rhythm of need, and my strokes became longer and more insistent. I had to have her. I had to take her. I had to fill her deeply, completely. I sat up in the bed, discarding the covers, and raised her legs, pushing them back, and screwing her powerfully, shaking her body, crashing into her with a burning need. She was still wearing her nightie, but it had ridden up above her belly button, just a couple of inches below her breasts. I stopped my motion and whispered to her, "Rise up on your elbows." She looked at me oddly but did, raising her head a few inches off the pillow. I leaned over and lifted her nightie up above her breast, allowing me to see the objects of my desire and fantasies. "God, I've pictured those in my mind for four years, and yet never came close to imagining how perfect and beautiful they are." I said, more to myself than to her. I resumed my fucking, for that was what I was doing now, fucking her. Fucking her hard. She had her bottom lip captured between her teeth, and now she was holding her nightie in her hands, almost to her chin, allowing me an uninterrupted view of her oh-so-perfect tits. The visuals were all too much and pushed me over the edge once again. The beautiful face, the long hair arrayed across the pillow, the full breasts, bouncing a counter-beat to my pounding, her flat stomach, hollowed, and the light fur of her hair parted to allow my pole to penetrate her again and again. With a moan I came for her again, collapsing beside her, sated, and in complete serenity and joy. "I guess you really do like me," she laughed, cuddling up to my side. Then she was asking me about my afternoon meeting with Kathryn. "What did she tell you?" I asked, a little nervous. "No, you tell me what happened. I don't trust her," she insisted. I told her the whole story, including the ending. In full short-but-sweet detail. "I knew it!" She laughed. "She said you tried to come on to her, and made her grab you there, but she turned you down." "If that's how she wants to tell it that's fine by me. I owe her one; let her have it however she wants." I said "When you went to the movies, what really happened there?" she asked, with her one-track mind. I wasn't sure what her preoccupation was but I finally told her the whole scene, everything I'd done, every liberty I'd taken. At the end I waited in judgment. "She's such a liar. She said you tried to reach inside her pants but she stopped you." "Hardly, I could smell her on my fingers for day afterwards." I laughed. Sheri was lost in thought pressed up against me. My hands were idling rubbing her back, the material of her nightie soft and silky against my fingertips. "I guess there's only one thing she's done with you that we haven't done," Sheri started, and then she slid under the covers and a moment later I felt the warm wetness of her mouth enveloping me. I could see the covers moving as she used her mouth to pleasure me, taking only a few moments to make me hard, and then sucking me like there was no tomorrow. Which, in a way I guess there wasn't. I wanted to see her, so I pulled the covers back and looked down at her. She continued a few more strokes, then shifted and faced me a little more, finally lifting her eyes to watch me, watching her, suck my cock. A few more deep strokes and she pulled off with a smile. "I can see that's one thing you like," she said with a grin. "Like is an understatement." I laughed. She gave me a couple more sucks, and then she straddled me, and rose up to take me inside of her again. I wanted her so bad I could almost scream. She got me positioned right, and then slowly lowered herself the full length of my staff with one long, smooth stroke. Then, settled on my hips, my turgid meat buried in her achingly tight recess, she lifted the bottom of her nightie and pulled it up and over her head. I'd been to several strip shows before that, but never in my life had I seen anything so beautiful or so erotic. I could feel my pulse in my cock, throbbing inside her. She opened her eyes wide, and looked down between her legs. "Wow, I could feel that. At least one part of you really likes to see the girls," she laughed, holding her breasts cupped in her hands, and jiggling them for me. "You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." I told her. "Right, and now I guess you're going to tell me you love me, just like Kathryn." She said it with a hint of bitterness I didn't understand. "The difference is back then it was the hormones of a 16 year old talking. You on the other hand, I've loved for three years. And you know it." I said, and only as I spoke the words did I realize to my very soul, just how true it was. Sheri didn't answer. She leaned forward and rocked back and forth on my hard cock, enjoying the feeling of controlling the penetration, the pace, the timing. She paced herself to my breathing and excitement. When I started to get really excited she'd slow down and hold me, letting me ease back from the edge. When I was strong and ready, she'd ride me hard. She let my hands explore her as she did the work, and I touched her everywhere I could reach, just wallowing in the sensations. I pulled her down within reach, and tasted her nipples, playing with those perfect globes. The feel of her breasts, that impossible soft pale skin under my lips, making way to the crinkled, tougher skin, peaking to a little nub seemingly designed for me to tease and taste. Finally, after what seemed an eternity of sensual, erotic play, she laid down on me, her breasts pressed against my chest, her mouth on my neck, while she slowly rocked her hips, fucking herself gently on my rod. "Come for me Steve," she said, almost as a command. I reached down and took her full, soft ass cheeks in my hands, grasping them tight, and I held her up a bit off of me, so I could us my hips to drive in and out of her channel more completely. I was able to get a good long stroke established, and I could feel the cool air brushing against my wet shaft each time I pulled outward. We had made love for what seemed ages before she issued that first command for me to come. Now she issued another one. "Tell me again." I couldn't hold back any longer, and didn't want to. I was fucking the prettiest girl I'd ever known; The first girl that I had really badly wanted; The sweet little virgin that I had fantasized about for so long; Whose pretty face had been the image I'd been picturing as I filled enough old gym socks with cum to fill a stadium. "I love you, Sheri. I've loved you as long as I've known you." And with that I pulled her down hard on my cock, coming inside my dream girl again, and absorbing the feeling, knowing I was leaving within hours, not knowing when I'd see her again. "I love you, Steve," she said, I could feel her tears rolling down the side of my face. I looked up to see the sky lightening with the coming dawn, and thought to myself, "That's another one you've got up on Kathryn." I disentangled myself from her limbs and kissed her. "I have to go. Tommy's going to be looking for me any minute." Somehow we had spent the entire night reminiscing, sharing and making love. It was so difficult, but I tore myself from her arms, tucked her in bed, and kissed her goodnight. "Get a couple of hours of sleep; I'll be able to sleep on the bus." I told her. She was still wearing the cross I'd given her. She held it now. "Thanks for the Christmas present." She said with a small sad smile. I kissed her again, and retreated to the bathroom for a quick shower and shave. Back in my room, I dressed, and found a present waiting for me on my suitcase. A 8 by 10 picture of Sheri, as beautiful as I'd ever seen her, with a small inscription on the back. "Merry Christmas. Don't forget about me. Love, Sheri" I had just finished putting it away when Tommy knocked on my door, dragging me out to breakfast, and then off to the bus. The rest of that trip was uneventful; I made it home OK, picked up some presents in Panama, saw some old friends, and made it back to college in one piece. But I'll always recall that first Christmas away from home, and the greatest Christmas present I ever received. Not my first erector set, or the 114 piece Lincoln Log tube. Not my first really Cool bicycle, a purple spider bike with banana seat, big handle bars and a three speed shifter on the bar. Not my first electric guitar, a Fender, and amp, which I think my parents had some second thoughts about. No, Sheri's was the nicest gift I ever received, and probably ever will receive, for Christmas. "Thanks" just doesn't seem to say enough. Based on a post by Tx Tall Tales, in 2 parts, for Literotica

Lost At Christmas: Part 1 His First Christmas away from home, & His best gift ever. Based on a post by Tx Tall Tales, in 2 parts. Listen to the Podcast at My First time. After my first semester in College, I was eager to go home for the holidays. I was going to school in Rochester, New York, and anybody who'd experienced the lake-effect winters on the Great Lakes would understand my desire to get to somewhere warmer. For me, that somewhere warmer was a long ways away. As a military brat, home was often a moving target, and that winter it was Santiago, Chile, where my father was stationed and where I'd graduated high-school. It was summer in Santiago, and I was looking forward to a pool-party with my old school mates for the Holidays. We didn't have a lot of money, but I was allowed to travel space available on a military flight as a Navy ROTC student. I had to get down to Charleston, South Carolina, and catch an international C1 41 flight that made a loop through Latin America. After finagling a ride to Virginia followed by a very long bus trip down the coast, I finally made it to Charleston AFB. ROTC travel orders in hand, I checked in at the desk, and verified I was on the standby list for the flight leaving on the 23rd. I wouldn't get home until Christmas Day, but better late than never. With pockets nearly empty, a hotel room was out of the question so I slept in the terminal and snacked on the cheapest eats I could get away with. There was a festive mood in the terminal, so many people rushing to get home for the holidays, and I was getting caught up in the feeling, eagerly looking forward to that very long plane ride, first to Panama, then Lima, and finally Santiago. After what seemed an interminable wait, we were an hour away from boarding when I got bumped off the flight by a group of Marines headed to Panama on Active Duty travel orders. I was devastated. The next flight left early the morning of the 26th. At least that one was a huge plane, and nearly empty so I was virtually guaranteed to get aboard, but what was I going to do for Christmas? Looking up at the outgoing flight schedules, I saw a flight listed for Tyndall AFB, Panama City, Florida. "When is the flight to Tyndall headed out?" I asked the airman behind the desk. "In an hour-and-a-half, and it's all but empty. You want on?" He asked, offering some recompense for my last minute bump. I'd lived in Panama City during 9th and 10th grade, and still had some close friends there, many I still kept in touch with. Maybe I could find someone to spend Christmas with there. It had to be better than sleeping in the terminal for 2 more days. "Please," I told him, "but hold my space for Santiago. I'll be back for that flight." I recalled there being a pretty big Greyhound station in Panama City, so I called Greyhound and checked on a bus being able to get me back in time for the flight. They had one, a 7:30 am bus on Christmas morning would get me back before midnight on Christmas. I could easily make the flight the next morning, even if it were delay a few hours. I bought a ticket, using the emergency Am Ex card my parents had given me when I headed off to college. I'd explain the $67.00 to my parents. I called my family in Santiago with the news. It had to be short call because of the expense, so I let them know I had been bumped but would be there on the 28th. I told them I was headed to Panama City, and would be taking a bus back in plenty of time for my flight. My mother cried, and my father told me to go ahead and use the credit card, but to try to keep the expenses reasonable. By the time I hung up I was pretty depressed, but at least I had a plan. Before I could try to contact anyone in Panama City, an announcement was made and suddenly I was on my way to Florida for Christmas, with no place lined up to stay, and practically broke. I was feeling a bit melancholy, but was determined to make the best of it. So there I was, at Tyndall Air Force Base, at 11:20 pm on December 23rd. I was debating who to try first. I had several close friends nearby and I expected they'd all be home for Christmas. After a short internal debate, I had narrowed it down to two. I had always gotten along well with their entire families, and I was still in pretty regular contact with both of them. Mike lived the nearest to me in the old days. He came from a big family, with 6 siblings, including Peggy, who'd been one of my first real deep infatuations. When I had been in 9th grade she'd been a senior, and was pretty and sophisticated. My yearning for her was unrequited, but I relished the idea of seeing her again after four years. She was a college senior, and would probably be home. I knew they'd welcome me, but I was concerned it would be an inconvenience. They did not have a large house, and it was bound to be crowded, particularly with three college kids home for the holiday. On top of that who knew if they had anyone else in tow? Tommy on the other hand came from a relatively well-off family who always lived well within their means. He had an older brother, who was working in Japan and unlikely to be home, a sister, Sheri, just a year behind us in school, and two much younger siblings, who I guessed would be around 9 and 10 by now. They had a spacious house, each kid had their own room, and I wouldn't be putting anybody out if I stayed there. I'd always had a crush on Sheri, but although I'd dated her best friend, I'd never gone out with her. Getting a chance to see her again would be an extra bonus. Feeling nervous and awkward, I dialed Tommy's number from memory, and luckily got him on the first call. If I'd gotten somebody else, I would have really felt uncomfortable. Tommy's answer was unmistakable. He had a funny way of saying hello when he answered the phone, and the sound of his voice took me straight back down memory lane. "Hee-ello," he answered. "Tommy! Guess who?" I asked. I guess my voice must have been similarly recognizable, since he didn't hesitate a second. "Steve-o! What are you up to? Where're you at?" He answered eagerly. It put a smile on my face. Nice to hear a happy, upbeat voice that seemed genuinely pleased to hear from me. "Funny you should ask. It's a long story, but I'm in a bit of a bind. I'm at Tyndall, and stuck here until Christmas Day." I told him. "What happened to Chile, and Rochester?" He asked. "I was on my way home to Chile, when I lost my seat on the plane in Charleston. I couldn't get out again until the 26th, so when I saw an empty plane headed this way, I just hopped on and hoped for the best." I explained. "That's Great!" He almost shouted. "Not great that you couldn't get home, but great that you're here. You want to stay with us? You can have Greg's room, he won't be here, and I'm sure Sheri and Mom would love to see you. The place is kind of 'down' with Greg canceling his trip home at the last minute. Having you here should cheer things up a bit." He did sound enthused, and I couldn't help grinning in reply. "Don't you think you should check?" I laughed. A scream in my ear was the answer, as I heard half of a shouted conversation. "Mom! Guess Who's In Town." "No, Not Greg." "No, Go Ahead Guess." "Guess Again." "Ok, Ok - Steve." "Yeah, Steve Pelland. He's Stuck Here In Town 'Til Christmas Day." "Of Course I Told Him He Should Come Here, I'll Go Get Him." "I Will." "Yes Mom; Yes; I Won't; I Will." I was holding the phone a little away from my head, and almost missed it when he came back on. "Where should I pick you up?" He asked. "The Main Terminal, you know where that is right?" I answered. "Sure - be there in about 30 minutes. Man, this is Great!" I hung up with a big smile on my face, feeling 100% better than I had just 10 minutes earlier. I stood outside waiting for him, and about 20 minutes later the strings of Christmas lights shut off one at a time, as the place closed up for the night. It was dark and quiet, and I started to get nervous again, wondering if this had been such a good idea. I was 500 miles from my flight home and completely at the mercy of old friends. But as far as friends go, I couldn't do much better than mine, and figured at the least I wouldn't be sleeping in a lonely terminal in Charleston for two days, slowly eating my way through my meager funds. When Bob pulled up around midnight, I could see he'd gotten rid of the VW Bug he'd inherited from his mother upon turning 16, and was now driving his brother's old Two-tone Cougar. We spent a minute saying hi, and loading my gear into the trunk, and then we headed back into town, catching each other up on history. When I had first moved to Santiago, I used to write about once every couple of months, as well as call a couple of times a year. In the beginning I'd written Sheri a lot as well. She was one of the most prolific writers among my old friends, and would typically write twice to me for every one I wrote to her. Over the years, that had degenerated into holiday cards and a surprise call maybe once a year. I knew he was attending Florida State, and that Greg had graduated from Georgetown, and had moved to Japan on business. That was about it. Tommy told me all about the old gang, who was in town, who was going to what schools, what people had been up to. I told him a lot more detail about what I'd been up to. "So," he asked, "Got a girl?" "Not now. Thought I had one after the ROTC Christmas ball, but that seems to have been my mistake." I admitted. "Hard to believe. You always had someone. Every letter, every phone-call, just seems like they didn't stay the same all that long." He teased. "I don't know. I had several relationships last pretty long. Two were more than 6 months long." I argued. "Oh! Six Months!" He laughed. "How about you then," I asked in defense. "Still Erin. Almost two years now." He asked. "Shit. What does she see in you? She could do so much better." I teased. "Oh really? Like how?" "Like me!" I laughed. "Right, like that would ever happen! Don't even think about it, or you'll be sleeping in the street." He was laughing as well. "Not if I called Erin I wouldn't," I shot back. I thought it was a great comeback, but it earned me a sock in the arm. We pulled up to his house, which still looked exactly the same, and things were pretty quiet. They used the same window lights, same roof lights, same bush trimmings year after year. It was just as I remembered. Who says you can't go back? "Mom's got to work tomorrow, so I'm sure she's in bed, and you know Dave crashes early, so we better keep it down. We've got lots to do tomorrow anyway." We entered quietly and put my bag in Greg's old room. Tommy stayed and chatted for a few minutes then bid me good night, telling me to sleep in as long as I wanted, as long as it wasn't past 9:00 am, and left me to get settled. Past 9:00? Now I remembered, they'd always been an early-bird household. For me 9:00 am Was the crack of dawn. Tommy and I had breakfast at about 9:30. He was already chiding me for sleeping in and missing the whole family. We had the house to ourselves. He'd been on the phone arranging our day, and once we'd finished the pancakes, we were off to see Mike and his family. Entering Mike's house was the same as it had ever been, but more-so. People everywhere, noise, laughter, roughhousing, it was all taken in stride by Mrs. Frey. We spent a few hours visiting, and getting fed again before we could leave. Mike's older sister Peggy still looked cute to me, but not the amazing creature my memory had somehow stored away. I had to tease her about the Christmas gift she'd given me three years earlier. She'd bought me a Richard Pryor tape, thinking it was Bill Cosby. When I played it for her in my car, she exploded, calling me names and accusing me of vile intent. At the time I had felt bad, confused, angry and a host of other feelings, now thankfully we could laugh at it. When I'd been 16 I'd been somewhat in awe of her, now things were comfortable. Mike's older brother was home as well, with his live-in girlfriend who seemed awfully ill-at-ease, and must have been at least 5 years older than Dan, maybe more. That was a story I'd have to hear more about. The biggest surprise was Alice. She'd been a few years younger than us. I wasn't sure if she was 16 or 17 now, but she was a bombshell. And she was coming on to me like gangbusters. I was really nervous, with her acting all touchy-feely with her mother and Peggy there. I was suddenly glad I had chosen to stay over with Tommy. With a pretty, stacked girl that seemed so infatuated with me around, I'm afraid I might have gotten into a whole lot more trouble than I needed. When we left there Mike joined us, and it was off to see Jack and Russ. They were a year apart in age. Russ had been in our class, and we'd been friendly with him, but Jack, although a year younger was our buddy. We played on the basketball team together, and when Tommy and I formed our first band, Jack was our bassist. At the Chambers house, we once again reminisced, and had to relive our first 'gig'. We had decided to play in the school talent show. With Tommy on piano and Jack on bass, I played guitar. We had a fourth guy on drums we'd all lost contact with. We had played Elton John, Deep Purple, The Eagles, and The Beatles. We had opened with the opening riff of "Smoke on the Water", and had been a hit. We were pretty lousy, but the audience was our friends, our parents and the parents of our friends, and at the end the parents even took up a collection for us. Pretty heady stuff. We'd called ourselves Bronze Myth, and had already designed our first three album covers before we had our first birthday party gig. Jack had been tall then, and had not stopped growing; he was now 6'7" and was attending University of Florida, playing basketball. He reminded me of the time when we went on our first dates together. I had gone with Kathryn Best, easily the most lusted after girl in the whole school, who was in Jack's class a year behind me. Jack, on the other hand, had gone out with our "Valentine's Day Queen", Anne, who was in my class and almost two full years older than Jack. He was always precocious. There had been a third couple with us, Dennis and Suzanne, and Jack broke the news that Suzanne had gotten knocked up, just before I left to go overseas, and she and Dennis had gotten married. There was a huge scandal, but they stuck together, and had the baby. They lived with Suzanne's parents. Dennis was doing alright, working for Suzanne's father. While we were visiting, several friends dropped in, including the aforementioned Kathryn who lived one street over. Kathryn, the stunning brunette who had the body of a 20 year old when she was 15, and had a beautiful face with features that just slayed me. Kathryn, the very first girl I had gotten to Third Base with. She was as pretty as I remembered, and I found out she was going to be attending Mt. Holyoke the following year, which was an odd coincidence since my girlfriend from High School was a sophomore there. Going out with Kathryn, a year younger than me had been a total fiasco. We'd sat together on an out-of-town bus trip and ranked high enough in the pecking order that we got the right hand seat second from the back. These trips were our biggest dates back then. Ours was a small parochial school, and on the bus trips, the athletes, cheerleaders and student fans all rode the same bug. The 30-90 minute trips were like pep rallies on the way out, and like the back of movie theatres on the way back. There were frequent "hand-checks" and the lights would come one as our coaches would walk the aisle, but it seemed like after our wins, the checks would be a little less frequent. Our win at Pensacola was my first real 'make-out' session, as we cuddled and kissed the whole trip home. I even got a chance to play with her breast through her sweater. Less than a week later I asked her to the movies, and we sat in the back with the two other couples, probably both scared spitless and nervous as goldfish in a blender. We'd started necking, which got more and more intense, and my hands boldly went where no hands had gone before. An hour into the movie I was almost out of control, and feverish with desire, and it seemed she was willing to let me do whatever I wanted. If I'd had a little more confidence, or a little more knowledge, who knows what might have happened? As it is, I went pretty far, probably too far, and I was scared to death afterwards. She was the first girl whose flesh I'd touched underneath her clothing. I didn't call her for several days, and even avoided her at school, not knowing what to say. In short I was a total jerk. Everyone thought we should be together, she was the pretty captain of the cheerleaders, with the big boobs, and I was the Big Jock, playing all the sports, while at the same time excelling in school. She was voted "Most Popular." I was "Most Likely to Succeed." However, in this case it turned out she was "Most Slighted", and I was definitely "Most Inept." After waiting several days, amazingly patient in retrospect, she had tasked her best friend Sheri, Tommy's sister, with letting me know that she thought we shouldn't go out. Next thing you know, she was going out with some geeky looking kid, and she dated him for the rest of the school year. I'd changed schools at the end of that year, and had seen her only infrequently the following year, before moving to Santiago. Outside in the backyard, Kathryn and I walked off together and finally had a few minutes alone. "You know Kat, I don't think I ever apologized for being such an idiot, after our first date. I really am sorry." She was quiet for a while. She had a sad little look. "You know, I waited by that phone night after night, crying myself to sleep. I saw you dodging me at school and it broke my heart." "I was young and stupid. I'd never done Anything with a girl before, and could hardly even believe I was with the hottest girl in school. After all the stuff I did, God, I was so embarrassed that I'd overstepped the boundaries, and I had no idea what to say." She sat down underneath the big tree in the backyard and I sat beside her on the circular bench around it. "You could have said something to Jack maybe, or Tommy, and let them tell me. At least let me know that you liked me, or had fun. Something." She looked on the verge of tears, even 3 years later, and I felt even worse. "I know. I kept kicking myself over it. I was so angry with myself and jealous when you went out with Ricky." I admitted. "He was nice to me when I needed it." "But it seemed such an odd fit. He was a nobody; the only thing he ever did noteworthy was date you." I told her. "He lived two houses down. We'd grown up together, and when my heart was broken he picked up the pieces. He could tell something was wrong, and really made me feel a lot better." She confessed. That brought on a short period of silence. It did let me think better of Ricky, who wasn't just lucky or an opportunist. "You know, that was one of the most memorable moments in my life. Touching a girl like that for the first time. I had no idea what I should do, or what I could do, but I kept looking down the row at Dennis and Suzanne, and figured I should be able to do that too. I was in heaven; you were so amazing to be with." I told her, reaching out and taking her hand in mine. Her palm was moist. "You're telling me? You were the big 9th grader with the learner's permit and motorcycle. Big Man on Campus. The guy every girl wanted. And you wanted me. I had no idea what we should or shouldn't do on a date. I was hoping you knew." We laughed at that, remembering the intensity of those feelings. "Given a chance to do it over, I'd have camped out on your doorstep and professed my undying, eternal love the moment you walked out the door." I told her, half serious. "As I recall, you professed your love for me that evening, just before opening the top of my pants." She said with a wicked grin. I'm sure I blushed mightily. "I can't really ask forgiveness, but I really am sorry. Sorry now and sorry then. I fantasized about you for years afterwards, thinking of what could have happened if I hadn't been such a jerk. You have no idea how many of my fantasies you starred in back then." "If only you'd have let me know. Ricky was my first. It could have been you. Given half a chance, it would have been you." She had moved close and was speaking softly. "And this is my punishment. Knowing how bad I fucked up. Seeing you here, as beautiful as in my dreams, and knowing I've screwed up any chance of being with you." I placed my hand behind her head, stroking her hair. "I wouldn't say you'd screwed up Any chance, but you certainly blew that one." We were looking deeply in each other's eyes, recalling strong, painful feelings. I wanted her now, as I'd wanted her then, with a deep burning need, and I leaned forward those last two inches, and captured her lips with mine. She slid forward and melted against me, kissing me with every emotion boiling to the surface. She took my hand and placed it on her incredible chest, and I squeezed her breast, my thumb reliving that first caress of her nipple from so many years earlier. We stayed like that for a couple of minutes, and then broke apart. Her eyes glistened. "I've got a boyfriend." She confessed. I nodded understanding. "If I didn't?" I reached forward pressing my index finger to her lips. "I know. I missed my chance. It's my loss." We just sat side by side a minute, in silence. "You know," she said softly, "what you did to me that night, that was part of the problem." "I know. I'm sorry if I stepped over the line." I said, even now embarrassed at the liberties I'd taken. "No, not anything wrong. What you did to me, how you made me feel. You made me cream my jeans more than once that night. It was the first time I'd ever come. I'd heard about it, but it was almost unreal. Your fingers just drove me wild. It was over a year before another guy was able to do the same." She put her hand between her legs, seemingly remembering that first night. "That makes two of us. I don't know if you knew, but I came in my pants too, and you never even touched me there. By the time I got home I was a terrible sticky mess. I snuck out and threw that underwear away before my mother could find them and ask uncomfortable questions." I told her, laughing. She gave me an odd little look, and then slid around the tree, placing its 3 foot wide trunk between us and the house. She reached out for me, and of course I followed. "Could I, I mean would you mind?" She seemed lost for words. "What? Just ask. I certainly owe you one." I told her. She didn't ask, she just started unbuckling my belt. "I always wondered, and never really had a chance to find out." With the belt open she unbuttoned and unzipped my pants. "I mean, that night, you got to find out pretty much ALL about me, but I didn't; " I lifted my hips and let her pull my pants down a short ways, and then she reached up and pulled my underwear down exposing my fully erect monument to her sexiness. "I knew it, you bastard. Look at that." I didn't have to look. I knew it pretty well. And it was certainly standing tall and making me proud. She took me in hand and stroked me up and down, which after all the discussion and reminiscing was almost enough to get me off. "I just knew it. This should have been my first." She slowly stroked me up and down, and then she leaned over and took me in her mouth for just a second, sucking me deep and then releasing me. That was it. It was too much for me, and I stood up and shot my wad a good two feet out from where we were sitting. She giggled, as she helped me through my release, then pulled my underwear up back over my still dripping cock, and wiped her hand on the front of my briefs, before helping me pull my jeans back up. "If I wasn't tied up, I'd have you paying reparations," she told me as we both stood, and she slapped my hands away from my belt and finished straightening me out herself. "Let's consider it a delayed payoff. If things don't work out for you, maybe we can try it again. Rochester isn't That far from Amherst." Little did I know what the future held in store for us, but that's a different story. We walked back to the house hand-in-hand, laughing at the folly of youth, from the wizened experience of our 18 and 19 years. She had to leave shortly after, as did we, and I kissed her goodbye at the door. Once the door was closed I heard an exclamation from behind me. I turned to Tommy who said, "Now I've seen everything." "Amen," said Jack. "What?" I asked. "After how you treated her after our first date, I was certain you were on her shit-list for life." Jack explained. "Absolutely." Tommy chimed in. "Sheri said that Kathryn fantasized about doing mean and nasty things to you for years. I mean, hell, you did use her pretty bad." "I was a dope. I did some things I'd never done before, and was so embarrassed I didn't know how to even face her. So I screwed up and avoided her. I just made my apologies and we worked things out. I think she understands that I didn't try to be mean; I was just young and stupid. I didn't know what I was doing, and regretted it for years." I told them. "Geez. I always wondered how you could pass on that, when she was so available to you. You really did fuck up, didn't you?" Tommy pointed out. "Yep, not the first time, and I'm certain not the last. But we've buried the hatchet it seems." I answered "I'm just astounded that hatchet isn't in your back." Jack added. We left just a short while after that. We had one last visit to make. Teri Branson was passing through town, and wanted to see us if she could. She was just there for the day, and none of us wanted to miss out on that chance. The summer before 10th grade, I'd practically lived at Teri's. It was football time, and we were doing twice-a-days. We'd have morning practice, then a break so we wouldn't be out all day in the noon-time Florida summer sun. After the break it was afternoon practice. Teri was at our school and I never really knew her until that summer. She lived only a block from Mike, and we had run into her one day out washing the family car. We struck up a conversation, and the rest was history. I spent every football break at her house that summer. Mike didn't play football, but I'd pick him up on the way over there, and we'd hang out. She had a pool table, and a private rec-room with a stand-up arcade game. Her mother would always bring us snacks and drinks. Teri had not been popular, and was new to the school as well. But in a period of just a few months she went from a boyish figured tom-boy, to a devastatingly beautiful teen. Her breasts seemed to almost explode outwards, and once we'd met her mom, we knew where she got it from. She lost some weight, traded glasses for contacts, grew tits, lost the braces, and suddenly this beauty was in our midst, and nobody even knew about her but us. She was our secret. Tommy was going to a different high-school from me and Mike, but we still hung together most of the summer, and we had to let him in on our secret. The closest we'd come to having anything happen was a bizarre game of spin-the-bottle underneath the pool table. Mike, Tommy, me and Teri. Just an excuse for us to take turns kissing her. Her father was being transferred again at the end of the summer. I told her I was going to have a birthday party, and that we were going to play spin-the-bottle, I had hoped she'd be there, but now she was leaving. We were all upset. Tommy suggested we play now, since she couldn't make it then, and we did. It was strange but wonderful. Two weeks later she was gone. We met Teri at the mall, our planned rendezvous. We couldn't miss her; she was the center of a lot of attention. And still gorgeous. We ran up to her and had hugs all around. "I can only stay about 20 minutes," she told us with a pout. "Damn," was all I could say. So the three of us toured the mall, observing all the changes. It had been brand new the year we had been together. We grabbed some drinks, and wandered back outside, our time almost up, and barely even caught up. "Teri, I have a confession." I told her. "I know we acted pretty much like friends, but I was crazy about you. That summer I went home every evening and dreamed of you." "Hell, we all did." Tommy admitted. "We were such idiots," she said. She reached up to my collar and pulled me down for a kiss. Teri stood maybe 5 foot 1, so I had at least a foot on her in height. Bent over I let her kiss me, and I returned it eagerly. Finally she released me. "I was so confused. One day I'd like you, and then the next day you," she said nodding around the group, "and then you. I kept wondering who was going to be my first real boyfriend. I just knew it was going to be one of you. And then it was all over." She looked up at me. "I Still dream about you sometimes." All we could do was laugh it off, and say we'd get together sometime. She was living in Phoenix now, finishing high school, and it looked like she'd be going to Stanford. It was going to be hard to ever make that commute work out, not that she didn't seem like it would be worth the effort. Then her parents drove up. We said hi to her mom (who had been a secret fantasy of mine back then) and then with a last set of hugs it was goodbye to Teri. It was getting late so we dropped Mike back off at his house, driving mostly in quiet. I imagine we were all lost in thought over the quirks of fate and what might have been. For me, it was thoughts of Kathryn and Teri, two incredible opportunities that any teen would kill for, and I'd let them slip through my fingers. We dropped Mike off, but didn't go inside. As it was we were running late, and knew that if we went in, it would be a while before we got out of there. From Mike's it was a 5 minute drive back to Tommy's, but we drove past Teri's old house, just for nostalgia's sake. At Tommy's we were running late. Dinner was going to be at 6:00 pm, and somehow we'd burned the whole day. It was 5:45 before we even walked in the door, and we both wanted to clean up before dinner. The kid's rooms were served by two separate bathrooms, one at the end of the hall, and one off of Greg's room. So I stripped down to my shorts, and went to take my shower. I hadn't expected the bathroom to be full. Sheri was in their, applying the last of her makeup. Fortunately (or unfortunately) she was dressed. When I walked in, she gave a squeal, and came over and gave me a big hug. "I can't believe you're here! You're looking good." She said, stepping back and giving me the once over. "Wow, Sheri, you look great!" was all I could say. She had always been pretty. But the difference between a 15 year old Sheri and this one was night and day. The more mature Sheri was a beautiful young woman. "Thanks," she said, "I'll be out of here in a second, and you can have the place to yourself. I'm dying to talk to you." "I'll be here all night." I joked, stepping back into the room I was using, before my underwear had to undergo any more strain. I sat on the bed waiting, and after just a minute or so she poked her head in and said "It's all yours." She left the door open and walked out the other side of the bathroom. So that was one change at least that I hadn't noticed. Back in the day, this was Greg's bathroom. But since then someone had taken out the linen closet, and the old closet door now opened into Sheri's room. In retrospect it should have been obvious. With Greg away, the bathroom had a lot of stuff in it, although very neat. If I'd opened a cabinet or drawer, I would have seen all the makeup and girl's things. I was using Sheri's bathroom. I rapidly cleaned up and dressed. I was in a bit of a hurry, wanting to still wrap a couple of small presents for my hosts. I had bought several music tapes for my sister as a Christmas present, and decided to gift Tommy with one of them. I also had a photo in a frame for my mom, and decided to make the frame a family gift. It was simple, hand-made by yours truly from apple-wood. After borrowing some paper, tape, and scissors, I was ready to join everyone else just a few minutes later. To be continued in part 2. Based on a post by Tx Tall Tales, in 2 parts, for Literotica

Lost At Christmas: Part 1 His First Christmas away from home, & His best gift ever. Based on a post by Tx Tall Tales, in 2 parts. Listen to the Podcast at My First time. After my first semester in College, I was eager to go home for the holidays. I was going to school in Rochester, New York, and anybody who'd experienced the lake-effect winters on the Great Lakes would understand my desire to get to somewhere warmer. For me, that somewhere warmer was a long ways away. As a military brat, home was often a moving target, and that winter it was Santiago, Chile, where my father was stationed and where I'd graduated high-school. It was summer in Santiago, and I was looking forward to a pool-party with my old school mates for the Holidays. We didn't have a lot of money, but I was allowed to travel space available on a military flight as a Navy ROTC student. I had to get down to Charleston, South Carolina, and catch an international C1 41 flight that made a loop through Latin America. After finagling a ride to Virginia followed by a very long bus trip down the coast, I finally made it to Charleston AFB. ROTC travel orders in hand, I checked in at the desk, and verified I was on the standby list for the flight leaving on the 23rd. I wouldn't get home until Christmas Day, but better late than never. With pockets nearly empty, a hotel room was out of the question so I slept in the terminal and snacked on the cheapest eats I could get away with. There was a festive mood in the terminal, so many people rushing to get home for the holidays, and I was getting caught up in the feeling, eagerly looking forward to that very long plane ride, first to Panama, then Lima, and finally Santiago. After what seemed an interminable wait, we were an hour away from boarding when I got bumped off the flight by a group of Marines headed to Panama on Active Duty travel orders. I was devastated. The next flight left early the morning of the 26th. At least that one was a huge plane, and nearly empty so I was virtually guaranteed to get aboard, but what was I going to do for Christmas? Looking up at the outgoing flight schedules, I saw a flight listed for Tyndall AFB, Panama City, Florida. "When is the flight to Tyndall headed out?" I asked the airman behind the desk. "In an hour-and-a-half, and it's all but empty. You want on?" He asked, offering some recompense for my last minute bump. I'd lived in Panama City during 9th and 10th grade, and still had some close friends there, many I still kept in touch with. Maybe I could find someone to spend Christmas with there. It had to be better than sleeping in the terminal for 2 more days. "Please," I told him, "but hold my space for Santiago. I'll be back for that flight." I recalled there being a pretty big Greyhound station in Panama City, so I called Greyhound and checked on a bus being able to get me back in time for the flight. They had one, a 7:30 am bus on Christmas morning would get me back before midnight on Christmas. I could easily make the flight the next morning, even if it were delay a few hours. I bought a ticket, using the emergency Am Ex card my parents had given me when I headed off to college. I'd explain the $67.00 to my parents. I called my family in Santiago with the news. It had to be short call because of the expense, so I let them know I had been bumped but would be there on the 28th. I told them I was headed to Panama City, and would be taking a bus back in plenty of time for my flight. My mother cried, and my father told me to go ahead and use the credit card, but to try to keep the expenses reasonable. By the time I hung up I was pretty depressed, but at least I had a plan. Before I could try to contact anyone in Panama City, an announcement was made and suddenly I was on my way to Florida for Christmas, with no place lined up to stay, and practically broke. I was feeling a bit melancholy, but was determined to make the best of it. So there I was, at Tyndall Air Force Base, at 11:20 pm on December 23rd. I was debating who to try first. I had several close friends nearby and I expected they'd all be home for Christmas. After a short internal debate, I had narrowed it down to two. I had always gotten along well with their entire families, and I was still in pretty regular contact with both of them. Mike lived the nearest to me in the old days. He came from a big family, with 6 siblings, including Peggy, who'd been one of my first real deep infatuations. When I had been in 9th grade she'd been a senior, and was pretty and sophisticated. My yearning for her was unrequited, but I relished the idea of seeing her again after four years. She was a college senior, and would probably be home. I knew they'd welcome me, but I was concerned it would be an inconvenience. They did not have a large house, and it was bound to be crowded, particularly with three college kids home for the holiday. On top of that who knew if they had anyone else in tow? Tommy on the other hand came from a relatively well-off family who always lived well within their means. He had an older brother, who was working in Japan and unlikely to be home, a sister, Sheri, just a year behind us in school, and two much younger siblings, who I guessed would be around 9 and 10 by now. They had a spacious house, each kid had their own room, and I wouldn't be putting anybody out if I stayed there. I'd always had a crush on Sheri, but although I'd dated her best friend, I'd never gone out with her. Getting a chance to see her again would be an extra bonus. Feeling nervous and awkward, I dialed Tommy's number from memory, and luckily got him on the first call. If I'd gotten somebody else, I would have really felt uncomfortable. Tommy's answer was unmistakable. He had a funny way of saying hello when he answered the phone, and the sound of his voice took me straight back down memory lane. "Hee-ello," he answered. "Tommy! Guess who?" I asked. I guess my voice must have been similarly recognizable, since he didn't hesitate a second. "Steve-o! What are you up to? Where're you at?" He answered eagerly. It put a smile on my face. Nice to hear a happy, upbeat voice that seemed genuinely pleased to hear from me. "Funny you should ask. It's a long story, but I'm in a bit of a bind. I'm at Tyndall, and stuck here until Christmas Day." I told him. "What happened to Chile, and Rochester?" He asked. "I was on my way home to Chile, when I lost my seat on the plane in Charleston. I couldn't get out again until the 26th, so when I saw an empty plane headed this way, I just hopped on and hoped for the best." I explained. "That's Great!" He almost shouted. "Not great that you couldn't get home, but great that you're here. You want to stay with us? You can have Greg's room, he won't be here, and I'm sure Sheri and Mom would love to see you. The place is kind of 'down' with Greg canceling his trip home at the last minute. Having you here should cheer things up a bit." He did sound enthused, and I couldn't help grinning in reply. "Don't you think you should check?" I laughed. A scream in my ear was the answer, as I heard half of a shouted conversation. "Mom! Guess Who's In Town." "No, Not Greg." "No, Go Ahead Guess." "Guess Again." "Ok, Ok - Steve." "Yeah, Steve Pelland. He's Stuck Here In Town 'Til Christmas Day." "Of Course I Told Him He Should Come Here, I'll Go Get Him." "I Will." "Yes Mom; Yes; I Won't; I Will." I was holding the phone a little away from my head, and almost missed it when he came back on. "Where should I pick you up?" He asked. "The Main Terminal, you know where that is right?" I answered. "Sure - be there in about 30 minutes. Man, this is Great!" I hung up with a big smile on my face, feeling 100% better than I had just 10 minutes earlier. I stood outside waiting for him, and about 20 minutes later the strings of Christmas lights shut off one at a time, as the place closed up for the night. It was dark and quiet, and I started to get nervous again, wondering if this had been such a good idea. I was 500 miles from my flight home and completely at the mercy of old friends. But as far as friends go, I couldn't do much better than mine, and figured at the least I wouldn't be sleeping in a lonely terminal in Charleston for two days, slowly eating my way through my meager funds. When Bob pulled up around midnight, I could see he'd gotten rid of the VW Bug he'd inherited from his mother upon turning 16, and was now driving his brother's old Two-tone Cougar. We spent a minute saying hi, and loading my gear into the trunk, and then we headed back into town, catching each other up on history. When I had first moved to Santiago, I used to write about once every couple of months, as well as call a couple of times a year. In the beginning I'd written Sheri a lot as well. She was one of the most prolific writers among my old friends, and would typically write twice to me for every one I wrote to her. Over the years, that had degenerated into holiday cards and a surprise call maybe once a year. I knew he was attending Florida State, and that Greg had graduated from Georgetown, and had moved to Japan on business. That was about it. Tommy told me all about the old gang, who was in town, who was going to what schools, what people had been up to. I told him a lot more detail about what I'd been up to. "So," he asked, "Got a girl?" "Not now. Thought I had one after the ROTC Christmas ball, but that seems to have been my mistake." I admitted. "Hard to believe. You always had someone. Every letter, every phone-call, just seems like they didn't stay the same all that long." He teased. "I don't know. I had several relationships last pretty long. Two were more than 6 months long." I argued. "Oh! Six Months!" He laughed. "How about you then," I asked in defense. "Still Erin. Almost two years now." He asked. "Shit. What does she see in you? She could do so much better." I teased. "Oh really? Like how?" "Like me!" I laughed. "Right, like that would ever happen! Don't even think about it, or you'll be sleeping in the street." He was laughing as well. "Not if I called Erin I wouldn't," I shot back. I thought it was a great comeback, but it earned me a sock in the arm. We pulled up to his house, which still looked exactly the same, and things were pretty quiet. They used the same window lights, same roof lights, same bush trimmings year after year. It was just as I remembered. Who says you can't go back? "Mom's got to work tomorrow, so I'm sure she's in bed, and you know Dave crashes early, so we better keep it down. We've got lots to do tomorrow anyway." We entered quietly and put my bag in Greg's old room. Tommy stayed and chatted for a few minutes then bid me good night, telling me to sleep in as long as I wanted, as long as it wasn't past 9:00 am, and left me to get settled. Past 9:00? Now I remembered, they'd always been an early-bird household. For me 9:00 am Was the crack of dawn. Tommy and I had breakfast at about 9:30. He was already chiding me for sleeping in and missing the whole family. We had the house to ourselves. He'd been on the phone arranging our day, and once we'd finished the pancakes, we were off to see Mike and his family. Entering Mike's house was the same as it had ever been, but more-so. People everywhere, noise, laughter, roughhousing, it was all taken in stride by Mrs. Frey. We spent a few hours visiting, and getting fed again before we could leave. Mike's older sister Peggy still looked cute to me, but not the amazing creature my memory had somehow stored away. I had to tease her about the Christmas gift she'd given me three years earlier. She'd bought me a Richard Pryor tape, thinking it was Bill Cosby. When I played it for her in my car, she exploded, calling me names and accusing me of vile intent. At the time I had felt bad, confused, angry and a host of other feelings, now thankfully we could laugh at it. When I'd been 16 I'd been somewhat in awe of her, now things were comfortable. Mike's older brother was home as well, with his live-in girlfriend who seemed awfully ill-at-ease, and must have been at least 5 years older than Dan, maybe more. That was a story I'd have to hear more about. The biggest surprise was Alice. She'd been a few years younger than us. I wasn't sure if she was 16 or 17 now, but she was a bombshell. And she was coming on to me like gangbusters. I was really nervous, with her acting all touchy-feely with her mother and Peggy there. I was suddenly glad I had chosen to stay over with Tommy. With a pretty, stacked girl that seemed so infatuated with me around, I'm afraid I might have gotten into a whole lot more trouble than I needed. When we left there Mike joined us, and it was off to see Jack and Russ. They were a year apart in age. Russ had been in our class, and we'd been friendly with him, but Jack, although a year younger was our buddy. We played on the basketball team together, and when Tommy and I formed our first band, Jack was our bassist. At the Chambers house, we once again reminisced, and had to relive our first 'gig'. We had decided to play in the school talent show. With Tommy on piano and Jack on bass, I played guitar. We had a fourth guy on drums we'd all lost contact with. We had played Elton John, Deep Purple, The Eagles, and The Beatles. We had opened with the opening riff of "Smoke on the Water", and had been a hit. We were pretty lousy, but the audience was our friends, our parents and the parents of our friends, and at the end the parents even took up a collection for us. Pretty heady stuff. We'd called ourselves Bronze Myth, and had already designed our first three album covers before we had our first birthday party gig. Jack had been tall then, and had not stopped growing; he was now 6'7" and was attending University of Florida, playing basketball. He reminded me of the time when we went on our first dates together. I had gone with Kathryn Best, easily the most lusted after girl in the whole school, who was in Jack's class a year behind me. Jack, on the other hand, had gone out with our "Valentine's Day Queen", Anne, who was in my class and almost two full years older than Jack. He was always precocious. There had been a third couple with us, Dennis and Suzanne, and Jack broke the news that Suzanne had gotten knocked up, just before I left to go overseas, and she and Dennis had gotten married. There was a huge scandal, but they stuck together, and had the baby. They lived with Suzanne's parents. Dennis was doing alright, working for Suzanne's father. While we were visiting, several friends dropped in, including the aforementioned Kathryn who lived one street over. Kathryn, the stunning brunette who had the body of a 20 year old when she was 15, and had a beautiful face with features that just slayed me. Kathryn, the very first girl I had gotten to Third Base with. She was as pretty as I remembered, and I found out she was going to be attending Mt. Holyoke the following year, which was an odd coincidence since my girlfriend from High School was a sophomore there. Going out with Kathryn, a year younger than me had been a total fiasco. We'd sat together on an out-of-town bus trip and ranked high enough in the pecking order that we got the right hand seat second from the back. These trips were our biggest dates back then. Ours was a small parochial school, and on the bus trips, the athletes, cheerleaders and student fans all rode the same bug. The 30-90 minute trips were like pep rallies on the way out, and like the back of movie theatres on the way back. There were frequent "hand-checks" and the lights would come one as our coaches would walk the aisle, but it seemed like after our wins, the checks would be a little less frequent. Our win at Pensacola was my first real 'make-out' session, as we cuddled and kissed the whole trip home. I even got a chance to play with her breast through her sweater. Less than a week later I asked her to the movies, and we sat in the back with the two other couples, probably both scared spitless and nervous as goldfish in a blender. We'd started necking, which got more and more intense, and my hands boldly went where no hands had gone before. An hour into the movie I was almost out of control, and feverish with desire, and it seemed she was willing to let me do whatever I wanted. If I'd had a little more confidence, or a little more knowledge, who knows what might have happened? As it is, I went pretty far, probably too far, and I was scared to death afterwards. She was the first girl whose flesh I'd touched underneath her clothing. I didn't call her for several days, and even avoided her at school, not knowing what to say. In short I was a total jerk. Everyone thought we should be together, she was the pretty captain of the cheerleaders, with the big boobs, and I was the Big Jock, playing all the sports, while at the same time excelling in school. She was voted "Most Popular." I was "Most Likely to Succeed." However, in this case it turned out she was "Most Slighted", and I was definitely "Most Inept." After waiting several days, amazingly patient in retrospect, she had tasked her best friend Sheri, Tommy's sister, with letting me know that she thought we shouldn't go out. Next thing you know, she was going out with some geeky looking kid, and she dated him for the rest of the school year. I'd changed schools at the end of that year, and had seen her only infrequently the following year, before moving to Santiago. Outside in the backyard, Kathryn and I walked off together and finally had a few minutes alone. "You know Kat, I don't think I ever apologized for being such an idiot, after our first date. I really am sorry." She was quiet for a while. She had a sad little look. "You know, I waited by that phone night after night, crying myself to sleep. I saw you dodging me at school and it broke my heart." "I was young and stupid. I'd never done Anything with a girl before, and could hardly even believe I was with the hottest girl in school. After all the stuff I did, God, I was so embarrassed that I'd overstepped the boundaries, and I had no idea what to say." She sat down underneath the big tree in the backyard and I sat beside her on the circular bench around it. "You could have said something to Jack maybe, or Tommy, and let them tell me. At least let me know that you liked me, or had fun. Something." She looked on the verge of tears, even 3 years later, and I felt even worse. "I know. I kept kicking myself over it. I was so angry with myself and jealous when you went out with Ricky." I admitted. "He was nice to me when I needed it." "But it seemed such an odd fit. He was a nobody; the only thing he ever did noteworthy was date you." I told her. "He lived two houses down. We'd grown up together, and when my heart was broken he picked up the pieces. He could tell something was wrong, and really made me feel a lot better." She confessed. That brought on a short period of silence. It did let me think better of Ricky, who wasn't just lucky or an opportunist. "You know, that was one of the most memorable moments in my life. Touching a girl like that for the first time. I had no idea what I should do, or what I could do, but I kept looking down the row at Dennis and Suzanne, and figured I should be able to do that too. I was in heaven; you were so amazing to be with." I told her, reaching out and taking her hand in mine. Her palm was moist. "You're telling me? You were the big 9th grader with the learner's permit and motorcycle. Big Man on Campus. The guy every girl wanted. And you wanted me. I had no idea what we should or shouldn't do on a date. I was hoping you knew." We laughed at that, remembering the intensity of those feelings. "Given a chance to do it over, I'd have camped out on your doorstep and professed my undying, eternal love the moment you walked out the door." I told her, half serious. "As I recall, you professed your love for me that evening, just before opening the top of my pants." She said with a wicked grin. I'm sure I blushed mightily. "I can't really ask forgiveness, but I really am sorry. Sorry now and sorry then. I fantasized about you for years afterwards, thinking of what could have happened if I hadn't been such a jerk. You have no idea how many of my fantasies you starred in back then." "If only you'd have let me know. Ricky was my first. It could have been you. Given half a chance, it would have been you." She had moved close and was speaking softly. "And this is my punishment. Knowing how bad I fucked up. Seeing you here, as beautiful as in my dreams, and knowing I've screwed up any chance of being with you." I placed my hand behind her head, stroking her hair. "I wouldn't say you'd screwed up Any chance, but you certainly blew that one." We were looking deeply in each other's eyes, recalling strong, painful feelings. I wanted her now, as I'd wanted her then, with a deep burning need, and I leaned forward those last two inches, and captured her lips with mine. She slid forward and melted against me, kissing me with every emotion boiling to the surface. She took my hand and placed it on her incredible chest, and I squeezed her breast, my thumb reliving that first caress of her nipple from so many years earlier. We stayed like that for a couple of minutes, and then broke apart. Her eyes glistened. "I've got a boyfriend." She confessed. I nodded understanding. "If I didn't?" I reached forward pressing my index finger to her lips. "I know. I missed my chance. It's my loss." We just sat side by side a minute, in silence. "You know," she said softly, "what you did to me that night, that was part of the problem." "I know. I'm sorry if I stepped over the line." I said, even now embarrassed at the liberties I'd taken. "No, not anything wrong. What you did to me, how you made me feel. You made me cream my jeans more than once that night. It was the first time I'd ever come. I'd heard about it, but it was almost unreal. Your fingers just drove me wild. It was over a year before another guy was able to do the same." She put her hand between her legs, seemingly remembering that first night. "That makes two of us. I don't know if you knew, but I came in my pants too, and you never even touched me there. By the time I got home I was a terrible sticky mess. I snuck out and threw that underwear away before my mother could find them and ask uncomfortable questions." I told her, laughing. She gave me an odd little look, and then slid around the tree, placing its 3 foot wide trunk between us and the house. She reached out for me, and of course I followed. "Could I, I mean would you mind?" She seemed lost for words. "What? Just ask. I certainly owe you one." I told her. She didn't ask, she just started unbuckling my belt. "I always wondered, and never really had a chance to find out." With the belt open she unbuttoned and unzipped my pants. "I mean, that night, you got to find out pretty much ALL about me, but I didn't; " I lifted my hips and let her pull my pants down a short ways, and then she reached up and pulled my underwear down exposing my fully erect monument to her sexiness. "I knew it, you bastard. Look at that." I didn't have to look. I knew it pretty well. And it was certainly standing tall and making me proud. She took me in hand and stroked me up and down, which after all the discussion and reminiscing was almost enough to get me off. "I just knew it. This should have been my first." She slowly stroked me up and down, and then she leaned over and took me in her mouth for just a second, sucking me deep and then releasing me. That was it. It was too much for me, and I stood up and shot my wad a good two feet out from where we were sitting. She giggled, as she helped me through my release, then pulled my underwear up back over my still dripping cock, and wiped her hand on the front of my briefs, before helping me pull my jeans back up. "If I wasn't tied up, I'd have you paying reparations," she told me as we both stood, and she slapped my hands away from my belt and finished straightening me out herself. "Let's consider it a delayed payoff. If things don't work out for you, maybe we can try it again. Rochester isn't That far from Amherst." Little did I know what the future held in store for us, but that's a different story. We walked back to the house hand-in-hand, laughing at the folly of youth, from the wizened experience of our 18 and 19 years. She had to leave shortly after, as did we, and I kissed her goodbye at the door. Once the door was closed I heard an exclamation from behind me. I turned to Tommy who said, "Now I've seen everything." "Amen," said Jack. "What?" I asked. "After how you treated her after our first date, I was certain you were on her shit-list for life." Jack explained. "Absolutely." Tommy chimed in. "Sheri said that Kathryn fantasized about doing mean and nasty things to you for years. I mean, hell, you did use her pretty bad." "I was a dope. I did some things I'd never done before, and was so embarrassed I didn't know how to even face her. So I screwed up and avoided her. I just made my apologies and we worked things out. I think she understands that I didn't try to be mean; I was just young and stupid. I didn't know what I was doing, and regretted it for years." I told them. "Geez. I always wondered how you could pass on that, when she was so available to you. You really did fuck up, didn't you?" Tommy pointed out. "Yep, not the first time, and I'm certain not the last. But we've buried the hatchet it seems." I answered "I'm just astounded that hatchet isn't in your back." Jack added. We left just a short while after that. We had one last visit to make. Teri Branson was passing through town, and wanted to see us if she could. She was just there for the day, and none of us wanted to miss out on that chance. The summer before 10th grade, I'd practically lived at Teri's. It was football time, and we were doing twice-a-days. We'd have morning practice, then a break so we wouldn't be out all day in the noon-time Florida summer sun. After the break it was afternoon practice. Teri was at our school and I never really knew her until that summer. She lived only a block from Mike, and we had run into her one day out washing the family car. We struck up a conversation, and the rest was history. I spent every football break at her house that summer. Mike didn't play football, but I'd pick him up on the way over there, and we'd hang out. She had a pool table, and a private rec-room with a stand-up arcade game. Her mother would always bring us snacks and drinks. Teri had not been popular, and was new to the school as well. But in a period of just a few months she went from a boyish figured tom-boy, to a devastatingly beautiful teen. Her breasts seemed to almost explode outwards, and once we'd met her mom, we knew where she got it from. She lost some weight, traded glasses for contacts, grew tits, lost the braces, and suddenly this beauty was in our midst, and nobody even knew about her but us. She was our secret. Tommy was going to a different high-school from me and Mike, but we still hung together most of the summer, and we had to let him in on our secret. The closest we'd come to having anything happen was a bizarre game of spin-the-bottle underneath the pool table. Mike, Tommy, me and Teri. Just an excuse for us to take turns kissing her. Her father was being transferred again at the end of the summer. I told her I was going to have a birthday party, and that we were going to play spin-the-bottle, I had hoped she'd be there, but now she was leaving. We were all upset. Tommy suggested we play now, since she couldn't make it then, and we did. It was strange but wonderful. Two weeks later she was gone. We met Teri at the mall, our planned rendezvous. We couldn't miss her; she was the center of a lot of attention. And still gorgeous. We ran up to her and had hugs all around. "I can only stay about 20 minutes," she told us with a pout. "Damn," was all I could say. So the three of us toured the mall, observing all the changes. It had been brand new the year we had been together. We grabbed some drinks, and wandered back outside, our time almost up, and barely even caught up. "Teri, I have a confession." I told her. "I know we acted pretty much like friends, but I was crazy about you. That summer I went home every evening and dreamed of you." "Hell, we all did." Tommy admitted. "We were such idiots," she said. She reached up to my collar and pulled me down for a kiss. Teri stood maybe 5 foot 1, so I had at least a foot on her in height. Bent over I let her kiss me, and I returned it eagerly. Finally she released me. "I was so confused. One day I'd like you, and then the next day you," she said nodding around the group, "and then you. I kept wondering who was going to be my first real boyfriend. I just knew it was going to be one of you. And then it was all over." She looked up at me. "I Still dream about you sometimes." All we could do was laugh it off, and say we'd get together sometime. She was living in Phoenix now, finishing high school, and it looked like she'd be going to Stanford. It was going to be hard to ever make that commute work out, not that she didn't seem like it would be worth the effort. Then her parents drove up. We said hi to her mom (who had been a secret fantasy of mine back then) and then with a last set of hugs it was goodbye to Teri. It was getting late so we dropped Mike back off at his house, driving mostly in quiet. I imagine we were all lost in thought over the quirks of fate and what might have been. For me, it was thoughts of Kathryn and Teri, two incredible opportunities that any teen would kill for, and I'd let them slip through my fingers. We dropped Mike off, but didn't go inside. As it was we were running late, and knew that if we went in, it would be a while before we got out of there. From Mike's it was a 5 minute drive back to Tommy's, but we drove past Teri's old house, just for nostalgia's sake. At Tommy's we were running late. Dinner was going to be at 6:00 pm, and somehow we'd burned the whole day. It was 5:45 before we even walked in the door, and we both wanted to clean up before dinner. The kid's rooms were served by two separate bathrooms, one at the end of the hall, and one off of Greg's room. So I stripped down to my shorts, and went to take my shower. I hadn't expected the bathroom to be full. Sheri was in their, applying the last of her makeup. Fortunately (or unfortunately) she was dressed. When I walked in, she gave a squeal, and came over and gave me a big hug. "I can't believe you're here! You're looking good." She said, stepping back and giving me the once over. "Wow, Sheri, you look great!" was all I could say. She had always been pretty. But the difference between a 15 year old Sheri and this one was night and day. The more mature Sheri was a beautiful young woman. "Thanks," she said, "I'll be out of here in a second, and you can have the place to yourself. I'm dying to talk to you." "I'll be here all night." I joked, stepping back into the room I was using, before my underwear had to undergo any more strain. I sat on the bed waiting, and after just a minute or so she poked her head in and said "It's all yours." She left the door open and walked out the other side of the bathroom. So that was one change at least that I hadn't noticed. Back in the day, this was Greg's bathroom. But since then someone had taken out the linen closet, and the old closet door now opened into Sheri's room. In retrospect it should have been obvious. With Greg away, the bathroom had a lot of stuff in it, although very neat. If I'd opened a cabinet or drawer, I would have seen all the makeup and girl's things. I was using Sheri's bathroom. I rapidly cleaned up and dressed. I was in a bit of a hurry, wanting to still wrap a couple of small presents for my hosts. I had bought several music tapes for my sister as a Christmas present, and decided to gift Tommy with one of them. I also had a photo in a frame for my mom, and decided to make the frame a family gift. It was simple, hand-made by yours truly from apple-wood. After borrowing some paper, tape, and scissors, I was ready to join everyone else just a few minutes later. To be continued in part 2. Based on a post by Tx Tall Tales, in 2 parts, for Literotica

You can enjoy exclusive and intense erotic audio by grabbing your copy of the Sensual Awakenings App on the Apple Store, or downloading the very unofficial and unapproved Android version from WyldeInBed.com In the quiet town where the sea kisses the shore, Tess finds herself haunted by the last words she exchanged with Finn before he vanished beneath the waves. Regret clings to her like sea salt, and as she stands on the beach, her heart breaks for the love she lost. Yet, as the tide ebbs and flows, so does her longing—transforming into tantalizing erotic fantasies that dance like shadows on the sand.But the ocean holds secrets deeper than Tess ever imagined. As she plunges into the supernatural depths of her desires, she uncovers a world where passion knows no bounds and the boundaries between life and death blur. Finn's spirit calls to her, weaving a tale of love intertwined with BDSM and longing that transcends the physical realm.In a journey filled with tearjerking revelations and tantalizing encounters, Tess must confront the truth of Finn's demise and the powerful connection that binds them—one that could either set her free or drown her in desire forever. Join Tess as she navigates the stormy waters of love, loss, and the supernatural, discovering that some ties can never be severed, and the heart's deepest yearnings can lead to the most unexpected places. Will she find closure, or will she drown in the depths of her desire?

Mars MenFor a limited time, our listeners get 60% off for life AND 3 Free Gifts when you use EROTIC at Mengotomars.com Our sponsor, FLESHLIGHT, can help you reach new heights with your self-pleasure. FLESHLIGHT is the #1 selling male sex toy in the world.Looking for your next pocket pal? Save 10% on your next fleshlight with Promo Code: 10EROTIC at fleshlight.com fleshlight.comfleshlight.comPlease support our show and get discounts on our favorite brands by using our sponsors' links here!EroticStoriesPodcast.comAdvertising/Collabs/Stories: sensualroleplayasmr@gmail.comIf you enjoy this podcast, remember to leave a review on your favourite listening platform.See you next week.Mia xErotic Stories: Where you can Immerse yourself in sensual storytelling, intimate roleplay, and immersive soundscapes. From whispers to wild fantasies, each episode is designed to ignite your imagination and heighten your senses. #Erotica #EroticStories #SexyStories #AdultStories #AudioErotica #EroticPodcast #EroticFiction #SpicyStories #SensualStories #NSFW #Podcasts #Storytelling #RomancePodcast #SexyAudio #SpicyAudio #EroticASMR #ASMRRoleplay #RoleplayPodcast #AudioRoleplay #WhisperAudio #ASMRCommunity #SoundFX #AudioDrama #ImmersiveAudio #FantasyAudio #SexyWhispers #EroticRoleplay #IntimateAudio

Mars MenFor a limited time, our listeners get 60% off for life AND 3 Free Gifts when you use EROTIC at Mengotomars.com Our sponsor, FLESHLIGHT, can help you reach new heights with your self-pleasure. FLESHLIGHT is the #1 selling male sex toy in the world.Looking for your next pocket pal? Save 10% on your next fleshlight with Promo Code: 10EROTIC at fleshlight.com fleshlight.comfleshlight.comPlease support our show and get discounts on our favorite brands by using our sponsors' links here!EroticStoriesPodcast.comAdvertising/Collabs/Stories: sensualroleplayasmr@gmail.comIf you enjoy this podcast, remember to leave a review on your favourite listening platform.See you next week.Mia xErotic Stories: Where you can Immerse yourself in sensual storytelling, intimate roleplay, and immersive soundscapes. From whispers to wild fantasies, each episode is designed to ignite your imagination and heighten your senses. #Erotica #EroticStories #SexyStories #AdultStories #AudioErotica #EroticPodcast #EroticFiction #SpicyStories #SensualStories #NSFW #Podcasts #Storytelling #RomancePodcast #SexyAudio #SpicyAudio #EroticASMR #ASMRRoleplay #RoleplayPodcast #AudioRoleplay #WhisperAudio #ASMRCommunity #SoundFX #AudioDrama #ImmersiveAudio #FantasyAudio #SexyWhispers #EroticRoleplay #IntimateAudio

Twas a Perv Christmas. Christmas eve with your favorite, kinky, perverted family. (2 poems) Based on a post by Sancho Hardbottle. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Twas the night before Christmas,and all through the dwelling. Not a creature was stirring,'cept my cock, which was swelling; From walls hung portraits,setting the mood, Above the mantel hung Grandma,She posed fullly nude; Down the hall, on her bed,Coed stepsister did sit, A vibrating dildo,rubbed on her hard clit; Stepmom in panties,and I in the nude. Had just readied our loins,before getting screwed. When from outside the window,there arose such a cry, My head darted up,from stepmom’s wet thigh; Jen's eyes got so wide,as we both turned to see, Just what sort of Christmas,the visit might be; The moonbeams bounced off,the snow all so white, I blinked as I tried to,make sure of my sight, What did I see,that gave me such pause? It was the round, jolly face,of old Santa Clause! Framed in the window, red cheeks and a beard, When in through the doorway,Buxy Susan appeared; I opened the window,we pulled him within, Jenny glanced at her daughter,then said with a grin: “Santa! We're busy,You're spying, You creep! I’m riding my stepson,and you try to peep! That’s awfully spotty,for man such as you! I wonder what naughty,kinky perversions you do! Now please come on in,and join the fun, We’ll be on the nice list,when finally done!” Quick as the devil,Jen's down on her knees, Tugging his Pants off,as fast as she please, The Sled Musher looked down,his eyes wide with shock, When out of his britches,popped his massive cock, She started to suck him,with skills of a pro, And Santa exclaimed,“Sue, Your Mom's a Ho!” My stepsister laughed,as she fell to Jen’s side, She opened her mouth,took both ball's inside, Her tongue lapped and writhed,his scrotum with care, As Jen bobbed on his shaft,and came up for air, She said, “I’ve taught her well,don’t you think St. Nick? Watching her lick you,gets my pussy all slick.” They sprung to their feet,and got back in bed, “Why don’t you fuck her,while Billy gives me head?” Susan then beamed,and she squealed with delight, then spread her legs and cried,“hurry down my chimney tonight!” And taking my cue,I crawled to Jen’s bits, my tongue, ran up through it,from the crack to the slit, Santa rushed forward,his hard swollen tip, And rubbed it on Susan's,soft, shaven lips; As he pushed it inside,Susan’s ass gave a leap, He was all the way in her,rigid hard and balls deep; Watching her daughter,Jen gave a moan, My tongue pushed down firmly,her clit hard as a bone; Susan writhed on the mattress,her feet in the air, While Santa Clause thrusted,Jen gripped on my hair; At once her back arched,and her toes they did curl, My sister shouted, “Don't stop! I'm Cumming!”while I sucked Jenny's Pearl; Jen pushed my face up,my chin wet with juice, And she said, “My turn! Santa,put my twat to good use!” Her lips stuck out,from under her ass, Santa slid out of Susan,said, “Awe! There’s a good lass!” He went behind Jenny,and in her he plowed, His log hit her g-spot,she cried out aloud; Still horny myself,”Stepsis, want some more?” Got on her knees and said,“Billy, make me a whore!” Sue knelt before Jenny,I poked in her cunt, Jen groaned as I panted,and I heard Santa grunt; He pulled on Jen's hair,Mom’s face all a glow, I pounded up, Susan’s,tits bounced too and fro; She cooed as I fucked her,I smiled at her mother, “Sue, you get along well,with your stepBrother.” We're all moving faster,the bed rocked and squeaked, There's magic in the air,as we all reached our peak; Then Jen started first,a long, bellow scream, Susan came next,as I filled her with cream; With eyes all a twinkle,Saint Nick shot his load, It was a Miracle,Mom didn’t explode! I pulled out of Sue,Nick pulled out of Jen, They fell to the sheets,cunts full to the brim; They both were in giggles,together they squirmed, then straddling each other,they sucked out the sperm; Sue looked up at Nick,her eyes had a glint, Licking her lips, said,“Yum! tastes like mint.” Nick stumbled backwards,and pulled up his drawers, His face was beat red,sweat flowed from his pours; He got to the Window,about to slip out, But paused and he turned,and said with a shout: “You people are lovely,That much I will say! But tonight you're naughty,since Harold's away!” Based on a post by Sancho Hardbottle, for Lush Stories. How The Inch Stole Xmas. From The Fucks down in Fucksville. Based on a post by Sancho Hardbottle. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Every Fuck down in Fucksville liked Xmas a lot; But the Inch, who lived just north of Fucksville, did not! The Inch hated Xmas! The whole Xmas season! Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason. It could be that his testicles were hung up far too high. It could be, perhaps, that his bladder was shy. But I think that the most likely reason of all, May have been that his cock was two sizes too small. But who cares why? The guy was a schmuck, He stood there on Xmas Eve, hating the Fucks, Staring down from his lair with swollen, blue balls, At the radiantly lit windows below in their halls. For he knew that every Fuck down where he gazed, Was busy now, having their pubic hair shaved. "And they're trying on their nighties!" he snarled with a sneer, "Tomorrow is Xmas! It's practically here!" Then he growled, with his Inch fingers nervously drumming, "I must find some way to stop all those Fuckers from cumming!" For tomorrow, he knew, all the lusty studs and sluts, Would wake nice and horny. They'd all start to rut! And then! Oh, the moans! Oh, the moans! Moans! Moans! Moans! That's one thing he hated! The moans! Moans! Moans! Moans! Then the Fucks, barely legal and mature, would hump. And they'd hump! And they'd hump! And they'd hump! Hump! Hump! Hump! They would hump in their pussies, and tight little rumps. Which was something that put the Inch down in the dumps! And then the thing that he hated most would begin! Every Fuck down in Fucksville, the fat and the thin, Would lay close together, with their vibrators humming. They'd lay side-by-side. And the Fucks would start cumming! They'd cum! And they'd cum! And they'd cum! Cum! Cum! Cum! And the more the Inch thought of this Fuckville wide climax, The more he thought, "I must stop this whole thing in its tracks!" "Why, for sixty-nine years I've put up with it now!" "I must stop this Xmas from coming! But how?" Then he got an idea! A nasty idea! The Inch got a wonderful, nasty idea! "I know just what to do!" The Inch laughed in his throat. And he made a quick wide brimmed hat and a coat. And he chuckled, and clucked, "I am such a devilish Imp!" "With this coat and this hat, I look just like a Pimp!" "All I need is a hooker." The Inch looked around. But, since the Inch had no Hos, there was none to be found. Did that stop the old bastard? No! The Inch simply said, "If I can't find a woman, I'll make one instead!" So he gathered some straw, and he formed it into shape, And he planted a red wig on its head with some tape. Then he grabbed the straw woman and a few old rucksacks, And then jumped behind the wheel of his rusty old Cadillac. Then the Inch said, "Let’s go!" And the jalopy started down, Toward the homes where the Fucks lay asnooze in their town. All their windows were dark. Soft groans filled the air. The Fucks were all dreaming wet dreams without care. When he came to the first flophouse on the square. "This place will work for a start," the old Inchy Pimp hissed, And he jumped into the window, empty bags in his fist. Then he crept into the living room, on the tips of his toes, past the discarded condoms and piles of clothes. And into the parlor, the Inch gleefully strolled. In the middle of the room was a polished stripper pole. Laid out beneath it were wondrous sex toys galore. "They won’t need these!" he chuckled, as he started his chore. Then he slithered and slunk, with his heart starting to sing, Around the whole room, and he stole every plaything! Dildos! And Sybians! Anal beads! Balls! French Ticklers! Massagers! Butt plugs! And dolls! And he stuffed them in sacks. Then the Inch, the old baddie, Threw the sacks, into the trunk of his Caddy! Then he snuck to the bathroom. He took every pill! He took the ribbed condoms! All the sensual thrills! He cleaned out the bathroom of the last drop of lube. Why, that Inch left nothing but one single pube! Then he threw all the junk into the car with scorn. "And now!" growled the Inch, "I will take all the porn!" And the Inch grabbed films, dirty books and magazines, When a small voice almost made him jump out of his jeans. He turned around fast, and he saw a young Fuck! Petite Cindy-Blew You, who was naked as buck. The Inch had been caught by this 22 year-old miss, Who'd got out of bed to use the commode for a piss. She gazed at the Inch and said, "Mister Pimp, why,” "Why are you taking our Pornography? Why?" But, you know, that old Inch was such a clever old prick, He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick! "Why, my dear sweet vixen," the bogus Pimp dissembled, "This smut is terrible!” he said, with nary a tremble. "So I'm switching it out, for something much less of a bore." "I'll be back in a flash. With something much more hardcore!" And his fib fooled the minx. Then he patted her bottom, And he went to the loo, never knowing she caught him. And when Cindy-Blew You curled up under her sheet, He grabbed the last bag and chucked it in the street! Then the last thing he stole was their pole for stripping! Then he jumped out the window, practically skipping. He left nothing, no cuffs, no rope. no whips for whipping. And the one drop of lube he left was a crock, It wasn’t enough for even his tiny cock! He did the same thing to every house on every block, Leaving drops much too small for the every Fucks’ cock! There was one hour left before the Fucks started to rise, He decided that heading to his cave would be wise, The car was so stuffed with trinkets it had started to slump! With gags! And with cock rings! With clamps! And clit pumps! Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mt. Pumpit, He drove with his load to the tiptop to dump it! "Yuck yuck to the Fucks!" he was wickedly singing. "They're finding out now what the morning is bringing!" "They're just waking up! With their morning wood throbbing!" "They’ll look all around them and then they’ll start sobbing, For the Fucks down in Fucksville will see all my robbing!" "That's a noise," grinned the Inch, "That I simply must hear!" So he paused. And the Inch put his hand to his ear. And he did hear a sound rising over the snow. It started in low. Then it started to grow. But the sound wasn't sad! Why, this sound was climatic! It couldn't be so! But it this sound was loud and dramatic! He stared down at Fucksville! The Inch growled in disgust! Then he shook! What he saw was shocking, terrible lust! Every Fuck down in Fucksville, the thin and the fat, Was humping! Without any sex toys at that! He hadn't stopped Xmas from coming! They came! Somehow or other, they came just the same! And the Inch, as he watched them suck and blow, Stood puzzling and puzzling: "How could it be so?" "It came with out vibrators! It came without smut!" "It came without lubricates, or plugs in the butt!" And he stared on for hours, and then something felt sore. Then the Inch looked down at something he hadn't before! "Holy shit! I have an erection!” the amazed Inch swore. "Maybe Xmas;perhaps;isn’t so much of a snore!" And what happened then? Well;in Fucksville they say, That the Inch’s micro cock grew five sizes that day! And as his member filled and hung low and swollen, He jumped in his ride to return all the loot he had stolen, And he gave it all back! All the gizmos, gadgets and the tidbits! And he, he himself! The Inch, came on Cindy-Blew’s tits! Based on a post by Sancho Hardbottle, for Lush Stories.

Twas a Perv Christmas. Christmas eve with your favorite, kinky, perverted family. (2 poems) Based on a post by Sancho Hardbottle. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Twas the night before Christmas,and all through the dwelling. Not a creature was stirring,'cept my cock, which was swelling; From walls hung portraits,setting the mood, Above the mantel hung Grandma,She posed fullly nude; Down the hall, on her bed,Coed stepsister did sit, A vibrating dildo,rubbed on her hard clit; Stepmom in panties,and I in the nude. Had just readied our loins,before getting screwed. When from outside the window,there arose such a cry, My head darted up,from stepmom’s wet thigh; Jen's eyes got so wide,as we both turned to see, Just what sort of Christmas,the visit might be; The moonbeams bounced off,the snow all so white, I blinked as I tried to,make sure of my sight, What did I see,that gave me such pause? It was the round, jolly face,of old Santa Clause! Framed in the window, red cheeks and a beard, When in through the doorway,Buxy Susan appeared; I opened the window,we pulled him within, Jenny glanced at her daughter,then said with a grin: “Santa! We're busy,You're spying, You creep! I’m riding my stepson,and you try to peep! That’s awfully spotty,for man such as you! I wonder what naughty,kinky perversions you do! Now please come on in,and join the fun, We’ll be on the nice list,when finally done!” Quick as the devil,Jen's down on her knees, Tugging his Pants off,as fast as she please, The Sled Musher looked down,his eyes wide with shock, When out of his britches,popped his massive cock, She started to suck him,with skills of a pro, And Santa exclaimed,“Sue, Your Mom's a Ho!” My stepsister laughed,as she fell to Jen’s side, She opened her mouth,took both ball's inside, Her tongue lapped and writhed,his scrotum with care, As Jen bobbed on his shaft,and came up for air, She said, “I’ve taught her well,don’t you think St. Nick? Watching her lick you,gets my pussy all slick.” They sprung to their feet,and got back in bed, “Why don’t you fuck her,while Billy gives me head?” Susan then beamed,and she squealed with delight, then spread her legs and cried,“hurry down my chimney tonight!” And taking my cue,I crawled to Jen’s bits, my tongue, ran up through it,from the crack to the slit, Santa rushed forward,his hard swollen tip, And rubbed it on Susan's,soft, shaven lips; As he pushed it inside,Susan’s ass gave a leap, He was all the way in her,rigid hard and balls deep; Watching her daughter,Jen gave a moan, My tongue pushed down firmly,her clit hard as a bone; Susan writhed on the mattress,her feet in the air, While Santa Clause thrusted,Jen gripped on my hair; At once her back arched,and her toes they did curl, My sister shouted, “Don't stop! I'm Cumming!”while I sucked Jenny's Pearl; Jen pushed my face up,my chin wet with juice, And she said, “My turn! Santa,put my twat to good use!” Her lips stuck out,from under her ass, Santa slid out of Susan,said, “Awe! There’s a good lass!” He went behind Jenny,and in her he plowed, His log hit her g-spot,she cried out aloud; Still horny myself,”Stepsis, want some more?” Got on her knees and said,“Billy, make me a whore!” Sue knelt before Jenny,I poked in her cunt, Jen groaned as I panted,and I heard Santa grunt; He pulled on Jen's hair,Mom’s face all a glow, I pounded up, Susan’s,tits bounced too and fro; She cooed as I fucked her,I smiled at her mother, “Sue, you get along well,with your stepBrother.” We're all moving faster,the bed rocked and squeaked, There's magic in the air,as we all reached our peak; Then Jen started first,a long, bellow scream, Susan came next,as I filled her with cream; With eyes all a twinkle,Saint Nick shot his load, It was a Miracle,Mom didn’t explode! I pulled out of Sue,Nick pulled out of Jen, They fell to the sheets,cunts full to the brim; They both were in giggles,together they squirmed, then straddling each other,they sucked out the sperm; Sue looked up at Nick,her eyes had a glint, Licking her lips, said,“Yum! tastes like mint.” Nick stumbled backwards,and pulled up his drawers, His face was beat red,sweat flowed from his pours; He got to the Window,about to slip out, But paused and he turned,and said with a shout: “You people are lovely,That much I will say! But tonight you're naughty,since Harold's away!” Based on a post by Sancho Hardbottle, for Lush Stories. How The Inch Stole Xmas. From The Fucks down in Fucksville. Based on a post by Sancho Hardbottle. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Every Fuck down in Fucksville liked Xmas a lot; But the Inch, who lived just north of Fucksville, did not! The Inch hated Xmas! The whole Xmas season! Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason. It could be that his testicles were hung up far too high. It could be, perhaps, that his bladder was shy. But I think that the most likely reason of all, May have been that his cock was two sizes too small. But who cares why? The guy was a schmuck, He stood there on Xmas Eve, hating the Fucks, Staring down from his lair with swollen, blue balls, At the radiantly lit windows below in their halls. For he knew that every Fuck down where he gazed, Was busy now, having their pubic hair shaved. "And they're trying on their nighties!" he snarled with a sneer, "Tomorrow is Xmas! It's practically here!" Then he growled, with his Inch fingers nervously drumming, "I must find some way to stop all those Fuckers from cumming!" For tomorrow, he knew, all the lusty studs and sluts, Would wake nice and horny. They'd all start to rut! And then! Oh, the moans! Oh, the moans! Moans! Moans! Moans! That's one thing he hated! The moans! Moans! Moans! Moans! Then the Fucks, barely legal and mature, would hump. And they'd hump! And they'd hump! And they'd hump! Hump! Hump! Hump! They would hump in their pussies, and tight little rumps. Which was something that put the Inch down in the dumps! And then the thing that he hated most would begin! Every Fuck down in Fucksville, the fat and the thin, Would lay close together, with their vibrators humming. They'd lay side-by-side. And the Fucks would start cumming! They'd cum! And they'd cum! And they'd cum! Cum! Cum! Cum! And the more the Inch thought of this Fuckville wide climax, The more he thought, "I must stop this whole thing in its tracks!" "Why, for sixty-nine years I've put up with it now!" "I must stop this Xmas from coming! But how?" Then he got an idea! A nasty idea! The Inch got a wonderful, nasty idea! "I know just what to do!" The Inch laughed in his throat. And he made a quick wide brimmed hat and a coat. And he chuckled, and clucked, "I am such a devilish Imp!" "With this coat and this hat, I look just like a Pimp!" "All I need is a hooker." The Inch looked around. But, since the Inch had no Hos, there was none to be found. Did that stop the old bastard? No! The Inch simply said, "If I can't find a woman, I'll make one instead!" So he gathered some straw, and he formed it into shape, And he planted a red wig on its head with some tape. Then he grabbed the straw woman and a few old rucksacks, And then jumped behind the wheel of his rusty old Cadillac. Then the Inch said, "Let’s go!" And the jalopy started down, Toward the homes where the Fucks lay asnooze in their town. All their windows were dark. Soft groans filled the air. The Fucks were all dreaming wet dreams without care. When he came to the first flophouse on the square. "This place will work for a start," the old Inchy Pimp hissed, And he jumped into the window, empty bags in his fist. Then he crept into the living room, on the tips of his toes, past the discarded condoms and piles of clothes. And into the parlor, the Inch gleefully strolled. In the middle of the room was a polished stripper pole. Laid out beneath it were wondrous sex toys galore. "They won’t need these!" he chuckled, as he started his chore. Then he slithered and slunk, with his heart starting to sing, Around the whole room, and he stole every plaything! Dildos! And Sybians! Anal beads! Balls! French Ticklers! Massagers! Butt plugs! And dolls! And he stuffed them in sacks. Then the Inch, the old baddie, Threw the sacks, into the trunk of his Caddy! Then he snuck to the bathroom. He took every pill! He took the ribbed condoms! All the sensual thrills! He cleaned out the bathroom of the last drop of lube. Why, that Inch left nothing but one single pube! Then he threw all the junk into the car with scorn. "And now!" growled the Inch, "I will take all the porn!" And the Inch grabbed films, dirty books and magazines, When a small voice almost made him jump out of his jeans. He turned around fast, and he saw a young Fuck! Petite Cindy-Blew You, who was naked as buck. The Inch had been caught by this 22 year-old miss, Who'd got out of bed to use the commode for a piss. She gazed at the Inch and said, "Mister Pimp, why,” "Why are you taking our Pornography? Why?" But, you know, that old Inch was such a clever old prick, He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick! "Why, my dear sweet vixen," the bogus Pimp dissembled, "This smut is terrible!” he said, with nary a tremble. "So I'm switching it out, for something much less of a bore." "I'll be back in a flash. With something much more hardcore!" And his fib fooled the minx. Then he patted her bottom, And he went to the loo, never knowing she caught him. And when Cindy-Blew You curled up under her sheet, He grabbed the last bag and chucked it in the street! Then the last thing he stole was their pole for stripping! Then he jumped out the window, practically skipping. He left nothing, no cuffs, no rope. no whips for whipping. And the one drop of lube he left was a crock, It wasn’t enough for even his tiny cock! He did the same thing to every house on every block, Leaving drops much too small for the every Fucks’ cock! There was one hour left before the Fucks started to rise, He decided that heading to his cave would be wise, The car was so stuffed with trinkets it had started to slump! With gags! And with cock rings! With clamps! And clit pumps! Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mt. Pumpit, He drove with his load to the tiptop to dump it! "Yuck yuck to the Fucks!" he was wickedly singing. "They're finding out now what the morning is bringing!" "They're just waking up! With their morning wood throbbing!" "They’ll look all around them and then they’ll start sobbing, For the Fucks down in Fucksville will see all my robbing!" "That's a noise," grinned the Inch, "That I simply must hear!" So he paused. And the Inch put his hand to his ear. And he did hear a sound rising over the snow. It started in low. Then it started to grow. But the sound wasn't sad! Why, this sound was climatic! It couldn't be so! But it this sound was loud and dramatic! He stared down at Fucksville! The Inch growled in disgust! Then he shook! What he saw was shocking, terrible lust! Every Fuck down in Fucksville, the thin and the fat, Was humping! Without any sex toys at that! He hadn't stopped Xmas from coming! They came! Somehow or other, they came just the same! And the Inch, as he watched them suck and blow, Stood puzzling and puzzling: "How could it be so?" "It came with out vibrators! It came without smut!" "It came without lubricates, or plugs in the butt!" And he stared on for hours, and then something felt sore. Then the Inch looked down at something he hadn't before! "Holy shit! I have an erection!” the amazed Inch swore. "Maybe Xmas;perhaps;isn’t so much of a snore!" And what happened then? Well;in Fucksville they say, That the Inch’s micro cock grew five sizes that day! And as his member filled and hung low and swollen, He jumped in his ride to return all the loot he had stolen, And he gave it all back! All the gizmos, gadgets and the tidbits! And he, he himself! The Inch, came on Cindy-Blew’s tits! Based on a post by Sancho Hardbottle, for Lush Stories.

What does love really mean in these postmodern times? Is it merely rejecting the old and embracing the old or something else entirely?Dr. Marc Gafni redefines how quarks and love co-exist seamlessly in the universe and explains why you should be writing your sacred autobiography this week on Spirit Gym.Learn more about Marc's work on his website where you can register for his free, weekly Evolutionary Sensemaking program Sundays at 10 a.m. Western Time/1 p.m. Eastern Time and receive Chapters 1-4 of his book, Your Unique Self: The Radical Path to Personal Enlightenment, for free. Take Marc's Unique Self mini-course that's also free. Download Marc's free audiobook, The Erotic and The Holy, at this link.Also, check out Marc's work on the Office For the Future and the Center For World Philosophy and Religion.Find Marc on many social media platforms, including Facebook, Instagram, Twitter/X, YouTube, TikTok and Substack.Timestamps4:20 Marc has proposed a public conversation with Prof. Yuval Noah Harari about his undermining of the very fabric of the cosmos.11:44 What's wrong with social media — the first wave of AI — hijacking your attention?20:51 “Literally, there are love notes exchanged between the quarks.” 25:41 The need for a new world religion, as a context for our diversity.29:33 Uniqueness — a first principle and value — is not an act of separation.38:20 “Information is meaning and value.”50:18 The four meanings of amen.1:10:39 The ultimate postmodern question about love.ResourcesThe Evolution of Love From Quarks to Culture: The Rise of Evolutionary Relationships in Response to the Meta-Crisis by Dr. Marc Gafni1984: 75th Anniversary by George OrwellFind more resources for this episode on our website.Music Credit: Meet Your Heroes (444Hz), Composed, mixed, mastered and produced by Michael RB Schwartz of Brave Bear MusicThanks to our awesome sponsors:PaleovalleyBIOptimizers US and BIOptimizers UK PAUL15Organifi CHEK20Wild PasturesKorrect SPIRITGYMPique LifeCHEK Institute We may earn commissions from qualifying purchases using affiliate links.

To celebrate the old bird/broad role models who've appeared on The Shift with Sam Baker I'll be rerunning some of these conversations throughout December and into January. Next up is Australian literary legend Helen Garner who, in her 83rd year has finally broken out in the UK and US and won the Baillie Gifford Prize for her collected diaries, How To End A Story... --- My guest today is the writer Helen Garner. I'm pretty sure that right now you are either going, wow I LOVE her, or looking a bit vague. Because despite being one of Australia's greatest living writers she is surprisingly little known here. But not for much longer because, at the age of 81, she is finally about to see almost all her books in print in the UK and US for the first time. Born in 1941 in Geelong, Victoria, the eldest of six, Helen has lived a fascinating life and one that has found its way into her 13 books. Her debut Monkey Grip, published in 1977 when she was a single mother, is still in print today; her second novel, The Children's Bach (which is where I recommend you start if you've never read her), has been compared with Hemingway and Fitzgerald; and, her true crime classic, This House of Grief, has been declared one of the best books of the 21st century. Not bad for a regular kid from, as she puts it, “an ordinary Australian home - not many books and not much talk.” I was lucky enough to get to chat to Helen (and her chooks) from her home near Melbourne. In fact she kept me up long past my bedtime (!) as we discussed the difficult father-daughter relationship, making peace with the older generations and the emotional impact of being a war baby. She also told me why getting married a fourth time would have been the definition of madness, how she couldn't give a monkeys about the withdrawal of the erotic gaze and why grandmothering has been the greatest pleasure of her life.  * You can buy all the books mentioned in this podcast at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠The Shift bookshop on Bookshop.org⁠. * If you enjoyed this episode and you fancy buying me a coffee, pop over to my page on ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠buymeacoffee.com⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. • And if you'd like to support the work that goes into making this podcast and get a weekly newsletter plus loads more content including exclusive transcripts of the podcast, why not join The Shift community, come and have a look around at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠www.theshiftwithsambaker.substack.com⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Mars MenFor a limited time, our listeners get 60% off for life AND 3 Free Gifts when you use EROTIC at Mengotomars.com Our sponsor, FLESHLIGHT, can help you reach new heights with your self-pleasure. FLESHLIGHT is the #1 selling male sex toy in the world.Looking for your next pocket pal? Save 10% on your next fleshlight with Promo Code: 10EROTIC at fleshlight.com fleshlight.comfleshlight.comPlease support our show and get discounts on our favorite brands by using our sponsors' links here!EroticStoriesPodcast.comAdvertising/Collabs/Stories: sensualroleplayasmr@gmail.comIf you enjoy this podcast, remember to leave a review on your favourite listening platform.See you next week.Mia xErotic Stories: Where you can Immerse yourself in sensual storytelling, intimate roleplay, and immersive soundscapes. From whispers to wild fantasies, each episode is designed to ignite your imagination and heighten your senses. #Erotica #EroticStories #SexyStories #AdultStories #AudioErotica #EroticPodcast #EroticFiction #SpicyStories #SensualStories #NSFW #Podcasts #Storytelling #RomancePodcast #SexyAudio #SpicyAudio #EroticASMR #ASMRRoleplay #RoleplayPodcast #AudioRoleplay #WhisperAudio #ASMRCommunity #SoundFX #AudioDrama #ImmersiveAudio #FantasyAudio #SexyWhispers #EroticRoleplay #IntimateAudio

The holidays have a way of bringing everything to the surface - desire, grief, longing, overwhelm, comparison… and yes, your sex life too.In this special year-end episode, I invite you into an erotic year in review - not to judge, fix, or optimize your sex life, but to actually listen to what it's been trying to teach you.I open up vulnerably about my own year:what sex revealed to me about my boundaries, desires, and aliveness…what I'm consciously leaving behind…and what I'm calling in for the year ahead.We talk honestly about what's really happening beneath the surface during family gatherings and holiday celebrations — why loneliness can show up even when you're not alone, why desire often disappears under pressure, and how comparison and old dynamics quietly shape our erotic energy.This episode is equal parts reflection, release, and celebration.Inside, we explore:✨ Why sex is a teacher — not just an act✨ The emotional realities of the holidays (loneliness, overwhelm, comparison)✨ How your nervous system impacts desire and pleasure✨ What patterns you might be ready to stop repeating✨ What you actually want to feel in your sex life next year✨ A guided erotic reflection + intention-setting ritualThis isn't about having the “best” sex life.It's about having a truer one.So whether you're partnered or single, wildly turned on or feeling disconnected, celebrating or quietly surviving the season - this episode is a place to land, clear out the old, and make space for what's coming next.Let pleasure lead.Let curiosity replace judgment.And let this be your permission slip to start the new year a little lighter - and a lot more alive.Go Deeper: ⁠www.krishall.ca⁠ Apply now for Wild Women Rising: ⁠https://www.krishall.ca/application-wwr⁠ Work with Kris for 1:1 Sex Coaching & Couples Tantric Awakening:⁠⁠https://calendly.com/krishall2/clarity-call⁠⁠ Download The Pleasure Portal (FREE)⁠https://www.krishall.ca/the-pleasure-portal⁠ Try Sex Magic: https://www.krishall.ca/sex-magic Get 10% your favourite crystal pleasure wands, yoni eggs, & butt plugs:⁠⁠https://waands.com/?ref=illhavewhatsheshaving⁠ ⁠ Submit your questions:⁠⁠https://www.krishall.ca/podcast⁠⁠   IG:⁠https://www.instagram.com/kris.hall.coaching⁠ 

Season 5, Episode 702: Two Hot Santa Stories, An Excerpt from Santa Gives An Erotic Gift (get the full story on Patreon https://www.patreon.com/posts/naughty-santa-75274414  and Unwrap Me (The Full Story is in the episode). Santa Gives An Erotic Gift:  Join a woman, let's call her Mrs. Claus, on a sensual erotic journey in this sexy story where her lover dresses up as Santa. He intends to give her what she's always wanted because she's been a good girl. She's waiting for her lover to return home for their annual Santa-spanking intimate holiday date. He instructs her to dress up in Mrs.Claus lingerie and put on a blindfold. She is to sit on the couch to wait for her sexy surprise. She's so horny and excited that she can hardly contain herself. Her holiday joy explodes when she realizes the erotic gift her lover has gifted her; she gets just what she wants for Christmas. The story is told in first person from the woman's perspective in mostly internal monologue style. Unwrap me by the tree: A fun loving spicy Christmas tale of an at home HOT date where she gets unwrapped by the tree, and she's wearing the paper! Told in 2nd person. Other Holiday Erotic Fiction Stories: Holiday Smut: Santa Gives 12 Orgasms of Christmas The Smutty Little Holiday Audiobook Smutty Spicy Holiday Stories Ruan's Links, Newsletter Signup, Affiliate links and Deals:  PodNation Podcast Affiliate link, Get 15% OFF with code podna15 on Ryze Coffee at https://www.ryzesuperfoods.com/ Support the show and get exclusive content Sign up for Ruan's Newsletters https://subscribepage.io/ruanwillow All Ruan's links: https://linktr.ee/RuanWillow Affiliate link Firm Tech 15% OFF with code ruan15 https://myfirmtech.com/ruanwillow Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! Thanks for listening!

Elf on a Shelf: Part 3 It's hard to punish a girl as good as Honey, but he'll try. Based on a post by LingeringAfterthought, in 3 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. In the second week of February, Honey Lane sat on a tall stool in the corner next to Zach's kitchen counter, sulking as she watched him walk slowly around the table at which sat a girl and two boys between the ages of 7 and 10. The dour silence of the spacious industrial loft suggested more that the children were completing a college entrance exam with a severe proctor, rather than completing Valentines to be distributed in class the following Monday. Honey crossed her long legs and sighed again, earning a piercing glare from Zach. She had been looking forward to helping Zach's niece and nephews with their Valentines for a couple weeks, Until she received a call from the Health Department, advising her to take precautions due to a Covid outbreak in her dumpy apartment complex. and now she was only allowed to observe the kids from five feet away. She crossed her arms and sighed again. This was the worst punishment ever. Zach continued circling the table, trying not to notice how Honey's folded arms pushed her tits together, the neckline of her fuzzy sweater dipping between them. Beneath the soft woven folds, the silken white skin of her tits probably still bore the red marks of his passion, his teeth and lips remembering the feel of her shuddering with pleasure under them only moments before his sister dropped her kids off for the afternoon. Jesus Christ; she just uncrossed and crossed her legs again, totally oblivious to the way she flashed him an upskirt every goddamn time she did it. Unless she wasn't oblivious to it; with Honey, it was hard to tell. Zach could tell that Honey was just dying to hop down from the stool, scamper over and huddle with Amarie, Fallon and Logan, as they wrote their names on the stupid little perforated papers and stuck a pencil through the pre-punched holes for a stupid commercial holiday that was supposed to celebrate love. Honey would ask them questions about their classmates, help them choose the right stupid Valentine message for the right classmate, put stickers and shit on the cards, and generally sprinkle that fairy dust that she seemed to bring to anything she did. She was a born nurturer and would make this whole thing magical for the kids, but it couldn't be helped. Honey had scared the shit out of him and she needed to learn a lesson. It would be hard, but he just had to be strong. She would not be getting out of this. Not this time. "Done!" Fallon yelled, slamming his pencil down on the table. Logan looked up from where he was working on his third personalized Valentine message, apparently trying to sign each of them in rudimentary calligraphy, and frowned, "You just put 'F' on all of them," he said in disgust, "It looks like you're giving them a bad grade; he said, shaking his head and returning to his careful scrivening. "I am. Everyone in my class is a jerk. What are these things supposed to mean, anyway? All these cards sound stupid. Like you'd really walk up to someone you like and say 'Let's swing!' I haven't asked a girl to swing in years. I'm too old for swinging," Fallon griped, looking at his Spiderman sticker cards. A snort of suppressed laughter came out of the corner of the room, followed by the sound of a body collapsing to the floor in a fit of coughing. "Fourth Fucking Place! On Your Face, Maggot!" Zach roared. In the corner, hidden among the gym equipment, Zach's friend and loyal wingman Terry promptly scrambled up into pushup position again without a word. "Thirty-two," the children said in unison, prompting Zach to put another dollar into a large money-stuffed jar labeled "Language Arts Scholarship" in the middle of the table. Amarie sighed and looked longingly over at Honey, who smiled ruefully and gave her a little wave from her stool. "Why is Miss Honey on the naughty stool, Uncle Zach?" she asked. "Cards," Zach ordered, walking over to block Amarie's view of Honey with his massive body. Amarie resignedly turned back to signing her pink and purple mermaid cards that came with scented tattoos. Zach knew Amarie would be a problem. She adored Honey, and there was very little that Amarie's big brown eyes and reddish curls couldn't talk him into. She had a tender heart that couldn't believe anyone deserved to be punished; especially not someone as soft and sweet as his Honey. Goddammit. Honey leaned forward and pressed her cheek against the tightly muscled wall of Zach's back, then reached her hand up under his t-shirt and began gently scratching him. She could feel the warmth of his skin seep through the tight cotton, and smiled as she snuggled into him, still grazing her fingernails across the skin of his back. Zach's mind flashed back to this morning when her nails were not so gentle as he pounded into her tight, wet pussy, her nails digging deep, scoring his flesh in her ecstasy. A noise of pleasure escaped him before Zach disguised it as a barking cough, and quickly stepped away until he was a safer distance away from the irresistible vixen sitting, most deservedly, on the naughty stool. Shaking his head to clear it, Zach tucked his t-shirt back into his jeans and folded his arms. "Miss Honey is on the naughty stool. I ll tell you why. The other day when I got back from the race in California where I had to drag Terry's ass across the finish line in Fourth Place Behind The Fucking Bubbleheads," Zach ranted, before pausing to collect himself and continuing. "I go over to get Miss Honey at her apartment and find her giving a fucking haircut to a naked guy in her fucking living room!" "You cheated, Miss Honey?" Fallon gasped in disbelief, at the same time Logan called out "Thirty-six!" Zach fished a five-dollar bill out of his wallet and put it into the jar, taking a one out for change. A foot stomped on the floor and he glanced up to see Honey with her hand raised in the air, outrage written on her face. He raised his hand, blocking his view of her face and the heart-melting effect it had on him, and looked away dismissively. "He was not naked! Cade had a towel on!" Honey yelled in protest. Zach strode over to her, took her chin in his hand, trying to think of something harsh and authoritative to say, but got distracted by her plump lower lip instead, remembering how it felt to suck it between his own and have her open her mouth, hungry to accept his tongue. He could smell the faint strawberry scent of her lip balm and closed his eyes, clenching his jaw in an effort not to kiss her. "No talking on the naughty stool," he murmured, his eyes dipping down to let his gaze rove over her soft tits, loosely wrapped in her fuzzy sweater. Honey smirked and kissed his palm. "Miss Honey would never cheat," Amarie said with resolute confidence. Honey nodded in agreement and thanks to the young girl, tossed her long hair over her shoulder and grinned up at Zach. "Towel or no towel, I still saw Cade's nuts when she was goin' after him with the Flowbee," Zach explained, turning from Honey as Logan opened his mouth with a look of question, "And no, 'nuts' doesn't count as a swear," Zach finished, pointing at Logan. Zach resumed his rounds of the table, continuing his story. "So, of course, I reacted like anybody else who saw another guy's nuts in his girlfriend's living room, and she has the balls to tell me not to yell because it's not good for Cade." "I think 'nuts' should be fifty-cents; 'balls' too," Logan said, thoughtfully. "They might not be swears, but they are; indelicate." Zach turned to Honey and silently mouthed the word "indelicate?" to her, a discomfited look on his face. Honey bit her lips, and another snort of laughter erupted from the corner where Terry was still in starting push-up position. "Fourth Place, Maggot! You Got Nothing To Laugh About Except The Size Of Your;" Zach roared, before pausing and breathing deeply and continuing in a calmer voice. "Anyway. Turns out, this guy Cade just got back from a tour and was dealing with some PTSD when he saw another guy's balls in his living room, too, only his girl wasn't exactly giving the other guy a haircut. So, after a bit of trouble, he was living on the streets. No job. No money. Nothing. Then, a few days ago, Honey sees him eating some of the food she left out for a stray cat," Zach said, his voice constricting as his throat tightened. He turned away from the kids to hide his face for a moment, only to meet Honey's deep blue eyes and a whole new set of problems; like not remembering anything he was talking about before. She reached up and stroked his cheek, and then he felt all the blood in his brain drain down below his belt. Fucking hell. "Miss Honey helped him, though, didn't she?" Amarie said expectantly, more as a statement than a question. "What? Yeah. Of course, she did," Zach said with exasperation, looking down into Honey's face, and trying not to laugh at her stubbornly set jaw. "Miss Honey never fucking heard of "stranger danger," or met a wreck of a person she couldn't care about. So, she takes this 'Cade' in, feeds him, gets him washed up, takes him shopping at the Salvation Army, and then takes his ass to the library to write up his fucking resume and apply for jobs, for cryin' out loud," Zach said, putting another two dollars into the jar before Logan could remind him. "When I got there, Cade was there in her living room with his nuts showing under the towel, getting a vacuum cleaner haircut, because he'd gotten a job interview with a moving company." "Yeah, but if she wasn't cheating, I don't see what she did wrong," Fallon said, applying a scented mermaid tattoo to the back of his hand. "Is this what mermaids smell like?" he wondered. "Yeah, well, just as I was cooling down, this 'Cade' starts in on me for letting Honey stay in that piece of crap apartment of hers and taking in homeless guys. Even had the nerve to ask me what woulda happened if he'd been some addict, or worse, if someone that got to thinking that she was his girlfriend?" Zach said, folding his arms and looking down at Honey, who looked quite unrepentant. "What? So, Miss Honey can't be nice because they might have problems or fall in love with her?" Amarie asked. "That's not fair! You wouldn't even like her if she wasn't happy and nice all the time because she was always worried about what would happen if the boys fall in love!" "Ugh. Love ruins everything. Maybe that's why these Valentines are all so stupid, so nobody actually falls in love; Fallon said, with an air of realization. "Yeah; and then girls can take the pencil from the card and jab anybody that wants to kiss them, too." "If the burden was placed on women to be preemptively hostile to avoid rejecting unwanted affections, it might explain the decline of romance in the modern era; and 'crap' is an excremental swear," Logan added offhandedly, not looking up from his fourth Valentine message. Zach's eyes grew wide, his jaw going slack as he looked at his oldest nephew with unnerved awe and added another dollar to the jar without argument. "They should really make these things with nunchucks; Fallon added, looking down at his Valentines, "Nobody can kiss you if you have nunchucks." "The point is, even a freaked out homeless guy knew that Miss Honey did something dangerous that nobody should ever do! You don't just grab strangers off the street and take them into your homes because there's a lot of crazies out there that will mess you up for no reason at all!" Zach ranted at the kids. A stomp from the corner made Zach turn back to where Honey waved her hand insistently in the air, her sweater pulling up and exposing a narrow bit of skin at her waist. The skin was pale and beautiful, like the rest of her, except where there was a slight bruise where his fingers had gripped her tightly as he pounded into her from behind in a haze of animalistic lust, only a few hours ago. "Yes?" he asked hoarsely, a dew of sweat breaking out over the back of his neck. Honey cleared her throat, "Okay; say someone threatened to kill you and then scared you to death for a whole year by following you around; and then one day you wake up at their house all beaten up and they tell you that they're going to keep you there and take care of you until you're better. Should you give them a chance, or just phone an Uber and get the heck out of there?" Honey asked, putting her hands on her hips. A peal of laughter rose out of the corner where Terry was, and Zach stomped his foot, ending it quickly. "I don't know. That person sounds scary, Miss Honey; Amarie said, her large eyes concerned. "That's just insane. That's like that movie where this crazy lady kidnapped this guy and makes him write books for her and then she smashed his legs with a sledgehammer when;" "Who the fuck is letting you watch 'Misery,' Fallon?" Zach roared. "YouTube," Fallon said, shrugging. "Jesus Fucking Christ; Zach said, waving down Logan's hand and stuffing more bills into the jar, then walked back to where Honey sat with a smirk on her face. Glaring down at her, he crossed his massive arms, and she crossed her legs again, squirming slightly on her stool. "Maggot, come watch the kids," he barked as Terry collapsed on the floor with a relieved sigh. "I wanna talk to you in the other room," he said, gripping Honey by the back of her neck and steering her up the stairs as she tried to control her giggles. "But there isn't another room; it's all just one big room. Even your bedroom is just a big shelf;" Honey began, until Zach steered her into the bathroom and locked the door. "Hey kids, what do you say we turn this into a dance party!" Terry yelled, and loud music quickly started blasting outside the bathroom door. "Did they just fucking compare me to Annie Bates?" Zach asked as Honey dropped to her knees, unzipped his jeans and took out his painfully excited erection. "Umm huh," Honey said, hungrily filling her mouth with his hard cock, as his hand gripped the back of her head. Zach's breath hitched as she began rubbing her tongue on the bottom of his mushroom head, clutching his flexing thighs. Groaning, he thrust back and forth slowly, watching his cock slide in and out of her wet lips. "Just for that, you're swallowing my load this time," Zach growled, gripping her hair tighter and thrusting deeper. Honey just wrinkled her nose and relaxed her throat, letting him plunge and withdraw, clenching his jaw, loving the noises he made as his excitement grew beyond his control. With a strangled moan, he thrust deep and watched her eyes widen when he swelled and throbbed down her throat, until he slowly pulled out and spilled the last hot pulses on her tongue. Honey's eyes glowed as she took him once more into her mouth and slowly slid back, cleaning him with her tongue, until the head of his cock slowly emerged from her wet lips and received a sweet kiss on the tip. He shook his head in amazement and lifted her up in his arms, overwhelmed again at the miracle of having her there with him, when there were so many ways that everything that had happened between them could have gone wrong. Still breathing raggedly, he bent down and kissed her, her eager and innocent passion for him touching him more deeply than he cared to admit. How in the hell had he managed to get this girl? Zach lifted her up and set her bottom on the bathroom countertop and stripped her sweater over her head, bending and going after her neck first. He loved the way she shivered when she felt his lips and teeth drag across the smooth skin, the way she completely lost herself to him. She was already panting those soft sighs against the top of his head when he freed her tits and took them in his mouth, and then he chuckled when she jumped at the sensation of it. God, he hoped she never changed. Diving in, he devoured her soft pale flesh, her rosy nipples tightening under his busy tongue. He reached down, pushed her skirt up, and moved the wet gusset of her panties aside. He laughed again, feeling the abundant slippery nectar between his fingers, leaving no doubt that she wanted him just as much as he did her. He wanted to taste her, to feel her hips rise up under his mouth, begging him for more, but he knew Honey could never stay quiet enough, even with Terry blasting a dance mix. Lifting his head from her tits, he returned to her mouth, her nose, her cheeks; God, he couldn't get enough of her. "Look at me," he said in a rough whisper, smiling when Honey's eyes opened obediently, seeking him through her haze of need. She bit her lips and whimpered when his fingers found her clit. "Don't you come until I say," he rasped, toggling her bud expertly. Honey moaned and wound her legs around him, pulling him closer, her back arching in restrained pleasure. "Umm; I can't do it; please; please; she begged, crying softly in loss when he slowed his ministrations, "No; she whimpered. "Don't you want to come on my cock, baby girl?" he said, finding his mark and sliding home into her warm welcome. "Now, come; he said, kissing her softly and pulling her hips to him as he thrust deep. "Ah;" Honey's cry was quickly contained by Zach's hand covering her mouth, his other hand holding her steady as he thrust into her and felt her shaking and squeezing around him as she came. If he hadn't just released in her mouth, there was no way he could resist filling her full of his cum again now. Instead, he just watched Honey's eyes roll back as she clung to him, letting her orgasm take her away until it left her weak and pliable in his arms. He held her against him, slowly moving inside her, waiting for her to recover. Always before, it had been a relentless push for the intense frenzied moment, almost blind to whatever person he was with, but with Honey that was all on its head. She was the experience, for him. Seeing her discover, taste, and feel was everything he wanted. He didn't want to feel a surge ripping through him if she wasn't there, too. It wasn't real; wasn't complete if she wasn't there with him. Fuck; he was gone for this girl. "There she is; he murmured when he saw her eyes clear and smiling into his again. Relieved, he thrust faster, joining their bodies together with more force, now that she was able to be present to it. "There's my girl; he said, smiling and kissing her again. "Zach; she said, smiling back at him for no reason other than thinking he was something wonderful. Looking at her, he started shaking his head, "God, Honey; I don't know what I was thinking. I mean, it scared the fuck out of me; thinking what could've happened to you; but Amarie's right. I couldn't stand it if you were any other way," Zach rasped, lifting her off the counter just to hold her closer to him. Honey wrapped her arms and legs around him, clinging to him as he kissed her desperately, plunging into her again and again. "Promise me; promise me you'll never change; he panted, lifting her and pressing her against the wall as his need grew. "Oh Zach; it's coming; uh; uh; uh; uh;" Honey's squeals were again silenced, this time by Zach's lips. Thrusting with joyous abandon, Zach filled her again and again, pushing into her body, his release tearing through him, made complete only by her embrace, pouring into her his need, his heart, his everything; because she was the only one he wanted to have it. A short while later, Zach and Honey slunk out of the bathroom, carefully primped and looking like nothing at all had happened. They needn't have bothered, though, because the children were transfixed with a story Terry was telling, with his foot on the table and his pants leg pulled up to show a small wound on his ankle. "And I'm screaming bloody murder, of course, because when something in the desert bites you, in your head it's always a rattlesnake, right?" he asked, to the unanimous agreement of the three children. "Well, then your Uncle Zach doesn't even miss a beat and he just picks me up, throws me over his shoulder and continues on the race like nothing happened!" "Whoa! He's really strong! You're like 500 pounds or something!" Fallon exclaimed. "Why didn't he just call for help?" Logan asked, frowning. "No coverage. This race was the middle of nowhere; and Zach figured I'd get the anti-venom faster if he brought me with him, not to mention all the things that woulda crawled up to bite me all alone out there in the desert. So, like a hero, your uncle carried me more than three miles through the desert and dumped me down only after he'd crossed the finish line," Terry said, nodding. "And what's a 'bubblehead?'" Amarie asked. "Well, you see, sweetheart, a 'bubblehead' is;" "A bubblehead is someone who works on a submarine where there's nowhere good to practice running for a race; and who give you no end of shit when you fucking come in fourth place after them, carrying an idiot with a fucking kangaroo rat bite on his goddamn ankle! Back on your face, Maggot!" Zach roared, "Fallon, go sit on Uncle Terry's back, over there," Zach said, pointing to the corner where Terry was getting back into pushup position, and then he took out his wallet and dropped the entire thing into the Language Arts Scholarship jar. "All right, kids, I'm gonna tell you the story the right way, now; Released from the naughty stool, Honey happily buzzed around the apartment, making cupcakes with Amarie, giving pointers to Logan who had decided to fold each of his Valentines into a different origami animal, and bringing water to the profusely sweating Terry, over Zach's obscene objections. At the end of the day, after the kids and Terry had gone home, Honey and Zach had nearly fallen asleep on the sofa when a knock at the door jerked them back awake. Zach seemed to expect it, though, and winked at Honey before getting up and going to the door. "Where do you want it?" the visitor's familiar voice asked, though their face was obscured by a large cardboard box. "Yeah, put them in the storage area, through there; we'll go through it all later," Zach said, pointing out the way to a uniformed Cade. "Cade! You got the job! That's great!" Honey squealed. "Yeah, well it's just moving stuff around, but I can make something of it," Cade called to her over his shoulder as he carried the box to the area Zach had specified. "And what is all this? Are you letting him stay with you until he's got a place of his own?" Honey asked Zach, her eyes shining as she wrapped her arms around him. "Not exactly. Cade's staying at your place. Actually, it's his place, now. This is your place. That's your stuff he's moving in here," Zach explained. "Wait, what? You're moving me out of my apartment?" Honey asked, getting up and looking into the boxes Cade was moving in. "It's a shitty apartment. My foot went through the floor," Zach said in disgust, walking over and enjoying the view as Honey bent over and tried to pull something out of the bottom of one of the larger boxes. "That's because you stepped on one of the soft spots!" Honey's voice said, muffled by the cardboard. "If you stayed to the path I showed you, it wouldn't have; wait a minute, you just gave my apartment to Cade? What am I going to tell my landlord?" Honey said, dropping whatever it was she was trying to lift out of the box. "I don't think the guy who owns your building's gonna mind; Zach said, scratching his chin and looking around the room with a slight smile. "Of course, he's going to mind! He minds everything! Unless it has to do with a toilet that looks like it's sinking through the floor, he; wait a minute; Zach, did you just buy my apartment building?" Honey asked, pulling her head out of the box and frowning at him. "It was really cheap. Saved them the cost of condemning it, really," Zach said with a shrug, taking her hand and pulling her against him. "I'll have Terry and Cade fix it up, rent it out. Maybe find some more guys that need a break; Cade's got some contacts at the homeless vets place." "What, so Cade's one of your guys now, too? Like Terry? I was going to make Cade my Terry! You took my Terry?" Honey asked. "Well, it's not like you knew what to with him, anymore. I have Cade training with us for next year's race, too. I'll make him carry Terry when he gets a hangnail or some other damn thing," Zach said. "Took my apartment; actually my whole apartment building; and you took my Terry. Didn't even ask. I can't believe this," Honey grumbled. "Just so you know, one of these days, I'm gonna need you to marry me and have some babies, too. Good ones, okay? None of those 'well, maybe they'll grow out of it' babies," Zach said. Honey bit her lips like she was hiding a smile and crossed her arms, "That's not how you ask someone to marry you; she said, trying to sound more upset than she felt. "I wasn't asking. Now, was I?" Zach said, lifting her over his shoulder and giving her bottom a spank before carrying her back to the living room. "Do you remember that time I slapped you and called you an 'overbearing ass?' This; Honey said, gesturing to their entire situation, "This is what I was talking about." "Hmm," Zach said, putting her down on her feet, then stretching back on the sofa, making a space for her under his arm, as he turned on the TV. Honey huffed in disgust, but curled up against him anyway, taking the remote and turning it to a movie she liked, just to make a point. Zach only smiled, pulling her closer with his arm. "That apartment was mine; she mumbled, the warm rise and fall of his chest and the steady beat of his enormous heart already lulling her to sleep. Zach smiled down at Honey, stroking a lock of hair away from her face, grateful and relieved that she hadn't put up more of a fuss. Leaning down, he kissed the top of her head, "Yeah, well; so am I. Happy Valentine's." Based on a post by Lingering Afterthought, in 3 parts, for Literotica.

Hospitality For Santa A gullible girl finds a Christmas Night Visitor. Based on a post by tomthumper. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. It was the night before Christmas when Betty Boots was awakened from her wet dream of big dripping candy canes; by a thump, and then a clunk from her apartment's living room. Her big blue eyes popped open as she listened to a rustling, then a man's voice; cursing? Excited, Betty slipped out of bed and crept towards the living room, the cool night air raising goose bumps all over her voluptuous body. The red frilly negligee she wore was frightfully thin, but Betty didn't mind the cold. She was convinced she was going to catch Santa Claus! Eight years ago, when she was just eighteen, she had hidden behind the couch as Santa put presents under the Christmas tree at her parent's home. She'd just returned from college, after semester finals. But even when she was an elementary lass, friends had tried to convince her that Santa wasn't real. But Betty was a special girl. She really, really loved Santa. Eight years ago, as Santa slipped the last present under the tree that night, her mother had come out of the bedroom wearing only a pair of white stockings, stiletto heels, and hair ribbon; and gave Santa a very friendly hug. In return, Santa gave Betty's mum a very sexy workout that night. Betty got the gift of a very sexy education. Unfortunately, the next day when young Betty's salesman Dad called from the airport, about to board his rescheduled flight home; Betty had told him all about Santa's exciting visit. Dad had gotten very upset and yelled at Betty's mum. He hung up and they never saw him again. Betty's mum was angry, and threw Betty out of the house for good. From then on Betty had to go back to college, but since the dorms were vacated til past new years, she had to turn to some fraternities, who were always happy to help the plucky, busty, blonde beauty. They were eager to trade boarding for services. But it's 8 years later. Sneaking towards her apartment living room, Betty was very excited. It was Christmas and Santa had come to visit her! She wasn't angry about Santa causing her parents to split or her abandonment. She had never connected the events. No, Betty was as happy and excited as a particularly naïve schoolgirl. Santa was in her living room! She tried not to skip with glee, as she slipped into the unlit room. Santa was bent over the entertainment center. Perhaps, Betty thought, he was leaving a holiday music CD in her stereo. She hoped it was someone sexy and sophisticated like Britney Spears or Katy Perry. Betty flushed. Santa had sure slimmed down since the last time. He had the firmest butt that showed off very well indeed, in his tight blue jeans. He must have started going to the gym because his muscles bulged beneath his black sweater. He still wore a red Santa hat, which made sense since he was Santa. "Oh; Santa," she said, half out of happiness to find him bringing her presents, and half because; Wow! He was really built. Santa was startled and turned around. Betty was confused. Instead of being old with a white beard, he was young, with chiseled features, short spiky black hair and green vigorous eyes. But then again, Betty thought, Santa was a magical man. Perhaps this was how he appeared to lonely young women who were positively bursting out of their lacy intimates, like her mom had done, some 8 years earlier? "I'm sorry Santa," said Betty in a bashful voice, after flicking on a lamp. Santa was looking very nervous. He had dropped his bag of presents with a clank; and if she didn't know better, she would have said he was about to make a break for it. "I'm sorry Santa," she repeated, edging over to him. "I know I should be tucked in bed like a good girl. But I got so very excited when I heard you delivering my presents." Santa's mouth dropped open, and it took him a moment to say anything. "Santa?" he finally managed to say, in a marvelously deep voice. "You can't fool me, Santa," Betty said proudly, sticking out her magnificent chest. "I'm smart. You're disguising yourself! You may not look like Saint Nick, but who else would be bringing me presents tonight? The Easter Bunny?" "I; I guess you caught me," Santa said, googling at Betty's buxom tits. The fabric of her red negligee was light and sheer, almost transparent. She obviously wasn't wearing a bra and her sizable jugs jostled together amiably. Santa could even catch the hint of her tit's dark areolas. "Well," he gulped. "I should go." He reached to pick up his sack. "Lots of boys and girls to visit." "Oh no, Santa!" Betty exclaimed, clutching him to her bosom. "Please don't go yet! Have some milk and cookies. Mama taught me to be extra hospitable, and be good to you." Santa got a strange look on his face as the buxom blonde rubbed up and down him in her small frilly teddy. Without her noticing, he flipped up the back of her nightie. He broke into a grin. This girl had gone to bed without any panties! "Okay," he said. "I'll stay a bit." He settled down in a brown comfy chair and let Betty serve him his milk and cookies. "Any beer?" Betty got Santa a tall cool one, which he guzzled, in one swig. "Ah!" He plopped the bottle down and looked up at Betty, who was hovering over his extended leg. Facing away, she was removing his boots for a foot massage, and accidentally giving him a preview of her equally blonde nether locks as well. He stretched and then grabbed her round the waist and set her on his lap. Then he asked with a grin. "So what do you want for Christmas, little girl?" "I thought you'd never ask, Santa!" exclaimed Betty. She giggled as she slid further up on his lap, making him go Ooof! and slip his hand up the back of her nightie; all the way up to her shoulder blades. Betty was so excited, she paid no attention to Santa's paw. "But you have to ask me the other question first, Santa," demanded Betty, bouncing on Santa's lap. "Holy" Santa caught himself just in time as Betty gave his lap the bouncing of its life. "What question honey?" "The naughty or nice question!" Betty said impatiently. "What's wrong with you, Santa?" Santa was breathing the sweet scent of Betty's hair; so had to shake his head to answer the question. "Oh, yes! Naughty or nice. Sorry, my girlfriend; I mean, Mrs. Claus left me for one of the elves." He eased his hand lower until it rested on her full round ass. Man, this chick was all curves! "That's awful, Santa!" said Betty, opening wide her full round lips around the 'aw' in awful. "Yes. I walked in on them," said Santa. "Have you ever seen an elf with a twelve inch dick?" "Not on an elf." Betty shuddered. "But twelve inches is a lot for any gal to take, let me tell you." She blushed, realizing that Santa was studying her closely. "Hmm, So you know exactly how she felt," he said, giving her bottom a squeeze. Betty giggled and wiggled. "So Santa has been all alone since June, and what with my work; I don't get to meet cute little scamps like you, except for around Christmas." "Poor Santa!" cried Betty. "So there's been no one to; relieve all the pressure?" Betty grinned as her hand involuntarily slid over the hump between his legs.. Santa might not be twelve inches, but she was pretty sure he was pushing eight or nine, judging from what a bumpy lap she was sitting on. "Yes, it's just been me and the reindeer," said Santa. "Oh, Santa," Betty said in a shocked voice. "You haven't been using Cupid or Comet that way, have you?" "What way is that?" asked Santa, running his finger down between her soft ass cheeks. "You know." Betty squirmed. "Like when a woman bends over and a man takes his; candy cane and slides it into her stocking." "Oh, reindeer-style," Santa drawled. "No, I've never gotten that desperate." He locked Betty in his gaze. "What about you? Have you been a good girl this year? I hope you haven't been getting your stocking stuffed, too much. Though you're very, very stuff-able." "Well..." Betty looked very guilty. "I've been, pretty good?" "Betty," Santa said sternly. "Remember who you are talking to." Betty tugged at the neck of Santa's sweater. "Well, I honestly didn't know about my mistletoe print dress, until Mr. Stevenson and Mr. Johnson took me into the coat room, and explained," she said in a defensive tone. "It was lucky Mr. Johnson told me to take it off, cause while they were performing the traditional punishment, Mr. Stevenson splattered all over me with his big dick! Santa's eyes widened as he imagined the banging of Betty Boots in the coat closet. His pants were getting tighter and tighter, nuzzling Betty's sexy bottom. "I got pretty tipsy as well," admitted Betty. "But I did a good deed! I gave Tim, the office boy, a hand job cause of his cock cancer." "Cock cancer?" "Yes," said Betty, biting her lip trying to remember. "He was afraid he might have cock cancer, and the only way to know was to; you know, try to cum. But he didn't want to find out all alone. So I;" Betty grinned sheepishly. "I gave him a hand job." "And?" asked Santa, shifting with exquisite discomfort. "Oh, he came really, really well!" Betty giggled. "I decided to really make sure he was A okay, so I sucked on him till he came again." Betty licked her full lips. "He tasted very healthy!" She glanced at Santa nervously. "I like tasting cocks. Is that naughty?" "Ho Ho! No!" Santa bounced Betty on his knee, watching her tits jiggle as her ass pounded his bulge. "Except Santa isn't sure if you're not just a little naughty," he said. "The last time I looked at you closely, was when you were still in high school." He wiggled the end of her button nose. "You were in the shower getting all soapy. My how you've sprouted since then!" "In the shower?" Betty squeaked. "Oh gosh, I wasn't using the shower head was I? You know, the naughty way." When Santa nodded, Betty turned bright red. "But, but I have to, cause if I don't, I just can't concentrate on anything. Even now." Betty was crossing and uncrossing her legs and nuzzling against Santa's broad chest. "There, there," said Santa, giving Betty's bottom a comforting pat. "I know a vigorous girl like you needs to let off steam if she's going to try and be nice." Betty calmed down and rested her head on Santa's shoulder. "I decided I should visit you tonight and have a good look at you, because I know how hard you try to be a good girl," he explained. "Sometimes Santa needs to really examine the borderline naughty girls. Now slip off that nightie and let's get started." Betty's eyes widened, and she sat up straight on Santa's lap. "You want to see me naked?" she asked, her voice a little shocked. "Yes," wheedled Santa. "That way I can be really sure if you are naughty or nice. You want your presents, don't you?" "I do! I do!" exclaimed Betty. "I guess it's okay, since it's you, Santa." Betty amiably reached down and took hold of the hem of her fuzzy red negligee. "Now that's the first sign of a good girl!" Santa helped Betty slip the garment over her head, and had her hold her arms up in the air as he feasted his eyes on Betty's supple body. With her perfect complexion and the lotion she rubbed all over herself, by her open window each night, she was good enough to eat. Santa groaned as his eyes unsuccessfully tried to take in Betty's firm melons. Around each nipple was a large chocolate areola, like the ring around a particularly high scoring bulls-eye. "What's the matter, Santa Claus?" asked Betty, putting her arms around him. "You seemed bothered." "Oh, it's nothing," he said, pulling Betty's warm, curvy body closer. "It is just that Mrs. Claus has nice firm tits like yours. I loved to suck on her nipples. They were so tasty." Santa's voice was heavy with sadness. After a moment of silent considering, Betty spoke up in a kindly voice. "You could suck my nipples, if you'd like. I mean, I know it wouldn't be the same as Mrs. Claus, but maybe it would help." She squirmed with delight. She was proud of her tits and having her nipples sucked made her all squishy. "If you're sure you don't mind," said Santa quickly, taking her knockers in his large hands and gently squeezing them. How plump they were! Betty shook her head, a happy half grin lighting up her face. "Thank you very much." Santa gently took the nearest nipple into his mouth and began to suck. Betty's nipples had hardened at the mere idea of Santa having a go; and each was nearly an inch long. Santa closed his eyes as he began to draw on the tasty teat. Betty moaned and rubbed herself on his lap, pushing her breasts into his face. God, she loved to be sucked! Her pussy was getting drippy with delight. "Oh, Santa!" she gasped. "You're so lumpy! What do you have in your pants?" Betty swiveled so she straddled Santa and could better rub up and down his lap. Her pussy lips had spread apart easily to nestle on the rise of his jeans. "I'm sorry, my breasty beauty," said Santa, nosing his way between Betty's heaving knockers. "It's been so long since I felt the touch of a woman. I've even started letting young women sit on my lap. "In Switzerland this Inga in a Heidi skirt hopped up, popped the buttons on my pants and pulled out my stiff todger. She was a horny girl who loved to bounce up and down." Santa gripped Betty's hips and grinded her as he spoke. "Damned if she didn't wrap her pussy lips right around me! And this was all in a crowded mall. She batted her eyes and waved to her friends. Her cunt muscles rippled up and down me as she asked for a pretty pair of shoes for Christmas. The she leaned in and whispered: "Oh Sinterklaas, I want you to use your big cock to fill up my belly!" Then in a louder voice she said, "Oh yah! Bounce me on your knee, yah!" And she rode my cock, surrounded by my elves, mummies and daddies, their children; and also her lewd little girlfriends, until I erupted into her. The last time I saw her, she indeed did have a big belly, and tits almost as big as these." He squeezed Betty's boobs together and sucked each nipple with a long hard pull at the end. "What a saucy girl! And how selfish not to consider your feelings," said Betty, pulling off Santa's cap and putting it on. "I think it is high time someone be your Santa. Or," she grinned. "Be your Ms. Santa!" She stripped off Santa's sweater and marveled at the sculpted bronze muscles underneath. Playfully, she tugged on his nipples. "What nice buttons you have Santa!" Then she whispered naughty things in his ear. "You want to ride the boobie train, Santa? You want to check out my caboose? I bet you could make me blow the whistle, Santa." "Get some steam going, baby!" He slapped her firm round bottom. "Run to your bedroom and Santa will follow with a big candy cane for his special special girl." So Betty ran, her boobs bouncing, giggling lustily, and Santa followed, dropping his pants and letting his cock wave in the air. Betty tripped on a pair of high-heeled boots and fell face down on her bed, her boobs splayed out on either side of her. Before she could move, Santa caught up, raised her bottom and started sliding his turgid cock between her plump ass cheeks. "Santa!" laughed Betty. "What a naughty boy you are!" "What a wet girl you are!" Santa spread Betty's legs and dipped his fingers into her sodden snatch. "Oh, Santa," groaned Betty. "Just how I like my ho's," chuckled Santa. He withdrew his fingers and gripped his reddened rocket. "Here comes Santa Claus! Right down Betty's cunny lane!" He fed his cock into Betty's pussy, reindeer style. "Oh, Santa!" Betty lost her balance and ended up with her head buried in pillows and stuffed animals. "Ho, Ho, Ho!" moaned Santa, his cock buried in the pussy of this beautiful woman's body. Her round toned ass was up in the air, her boobs rocking with each thrust, her empty head was lost under the pillows. "Mumfer!" Betty tried to say, flailing her arms. "Oh yes! You hot bitch!" cried Santa, battering her bottom with the pent up lust of the last six months. All he wanted was release and the liquid snugness of this beauty's snatch on his red-hot cock. That she was temporarily headless just made him more animal, more Satan than Santa. "Ah, mumph!" went Betty as Santa's dick stretched her wet pussy. She tried to pull her head from the pillows but Santa was ramming her so hard all she could do was be ridden by him like an extremely busty fuck doll. He was fucking her so fast and the air was so hot and close under the pillows, teddy bears, and her tickle-me-Elmo. She felt like the naughtiest fuck doll you might see advertised at the back of a porno rag. He was just using her to sate his big bulging cock. His swelling mushroom head rubbed her walls. She was going to cum, but she felt so dizzy, so light. "Oh, Jesus fucking Christ," grunted Santa, working his dick up into a white foam of her cunt cream. The sucking and slurping noises from Betty's cunt echoed off the wall as her boobs rocked back and forth on the bed. Her head was still out of sight under the bedding. "I'm gonna fill this ass!" Santa declared and slapped a red handprint across it. Then the pussy, for Santa had forgotten poor suffocating Betty, suddenly tightened and he found real resistance and purchase for his cock. The cunt dragged on his dick as he slid out, and was slow to give way as he shoved in. "Oh yes! You wonderful poon tang," he said, digging in with his dick, feeling every inch as he plowed. "That's, That's it," he groaned. And as he plunged deep; the pussy convulsed around him; giving him a series of rapid squeezes. "Hmm, ah." came the muffled cry of orgasm from under the pillows. "Oh, what a fucking tremendous naughty girl!" Santa's cock exploded and shot ropes of cum into Betty's twitching snatch. He held her weighty bottom up, and filled her up like a fuel tank on a big rig. Santa gasped and let Betty's body fall to the bed, his gleaming, still-hard cock, slipping from her pussy. Her snatch twinkled from between her golden ass cheeks. On either side of her small and finely muscled back, her boobs spread out like overfilled water balloons. Her head was still under the pillows and she wasn't moving at all. Was she even breathing? "Betty?" His cock twitched and spurted cum residual over her bottom and the small of her back. Betty didn't move at all. "Oh, fuck!" He grabbed her leg and shook it. Nothing. "Shit," he muttered. "Stealing is one thing. Pretending to be Santa, who cares? But murder!" Santa Claus, a.k.a. Sam Clay; burglar, jumped onto the bed and pulled the pillows and teddy bears from Betty Boots' blonde heat. He flipped her over, her jugs sloshing from side to side until finally coming to a quivering halt. Her eyes were closed and her plump red lips hung open. Sam had been merrily breaking into the less secure apartments of the complex, loading up on Christmas presents when he slipped into Betty's apartment through the unlocked balcony door. Who knew Christmas shopping could be so much horny fun? Or turn so wrong? "Please don't be dead," pleaded Sam. "You're such a fine fuck!" He rested his ear between her tits and held his breath. For a moment he could hear nothing over the pounding of his own heart. But then, then there was a soft and steady echoing in that wonderful chest of hers. He sat back in the bed and sighed with relief. After a moment, Betty stretched without waking up, turned on her side towards Sam; and rested her tousled blonde head on his lap. She smacked her lips and sighed. Sam had been worrying about brain damage. How many brain cells did this girl have to spare? But all worries left his mind when she put her head on his leg. "Hmm! Maybe she needs cock-to-mouth resuscitation!" he said, his dick starting to stiffen. Stroking himself luxuriously, he put his tip up to her mouth. At first she furrowed her brow and refused him, but he persisted, rubbing the tip with its bead of pre-cum over her lips until she licked them. After that she relaxed completely and let him slip his member into her mouth. First his head went in and she was eagerly sucking after a few mewls. "Oh yes, baby," he groaned as her tongue explored his cock-head, lapping the underside. "Santa's got the tasty candy-cane for you." He stroked her head, gently applying pressure on the back of her head, so soon she was bobbing her head up and down on his dick. "What a hungry mouth you have," he moaned as she sucked hungrily on him, her hair tickling his abs and her nipples brushing his thighs. Betty's eyelids fluttered open and then became very wide as she realized that she was orally pleasuring Santa's very big, very bulging dick. "Umm; Hmm! Slurp! Slurp! Oh, Santa Claus, you made me cum so hard I passed out!" Betty wrapped her hands around Sam's cock and pumped him as she talked. "I am sorry Santa, no one has fucked my brains out like that, ever!" "That's okay, Betty," Sam grunted, watching the tip of his dick disappear between Betty's boobs. "Except Santa still has this raging hard-on." "I'm sorry Santa," Betty said, realizing she was covered in a layer of hardening cum. "I'm being so selfish when I'm supposed to be giving." She climbed up Sam's prone body, took hold of his pole and slid her gorgeously tight pussy all the way down him, right to the hilt. She swayed like a bronco rider on top of him, moaning. "Oh Santa, such a big gift on Christmas!" She began to slowly slide herself up and down him. Sam lay back and watched the blonde beauty ride him, groaning as she moaned, squeezing her knockers, and urging her on. "Oh shit! You're going to be at the very top of my nice list for this," he said as she picked up her pace and began to gallop. Her boobs flew high into the air and then dropped onto her chest with fleshy thuds over and over again. Faster and faster she fucked. Her pussy was tingling every nerve of his dick until he could no longer stand it. "Jingle Boobs! Jingle Boobs," he gasped. "Jingle all the... oh god, oh god... Jingle All the Way!" And his cock gunned shot after shot into her snug little snatch. "Oh Santa. Oh Santa! Fill me up with your sticky snow!" Betty rocked her pussy furiously over his dick. "Oh, oh, Santa! Santa! Santa!" She was really loud now. She raised her arms in the air and her eyes rolled back in ecstasy. "Merry Christmas, Santa!" And she came, doing little half jerky gasps over his pulsing dick. "Merry" She bounced. "Christmas" She undulated. "Santa!" She jiggled up and down furiously for a glorious moment, her knockers slapping her chest and then her chin stunningly. Finally she fell beside Sam gasping. At that point Sam thought it was over, but he didn't realize what a trooper Betty Boots was. She slithered down to his lap and slipped his still pulsing dick into her mouth. Slowly and thoroughly she milked the last of his cum and licked his balls clean. Sam looked up to the heavens in bliss. When all of this was finished he looked down. Betty was curled up beside him asleep, a naughty grin on her face. The next morning Betty was delighted to find two presents from Santa under her two-foot plastic tree. Santa must have been a little too happy from Betty boinking because one had a label to Lori and the other one was addressed to Mabel. The Lori present was a tiny white crop top with Pretty ink-stamped across the chest. Betty blushed, thinking of what kind of attention she would get wearing a top better suited to a flat-chested twelve-year-old. The Mabel present was a black three-foot massage wand, but Betty soon found another very naughty use for her present. She was sure Santa would approve. It was the best Christmas ever!  Based on a post by tomthumper, for Literotica.

Sarah is back from Mexico, and she has tales to tell! It was a White Lotus scenario with a little jellyfish run-in on the side. Susie watched The Stringer documentary about the Napalm Girl Pulitzer Prize winning photograph, and the recent controversy about who took the picture. We learn about a 30 year study on the language used in obituaries, and what it can teach us about societal values, what matters to us, and what influences changes over time. We discuss a theft of a Fabergé egg and the unusual means the thief used to take it.Brain Candy Podcast Website - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/Brain Candy Podcast Book Recommendations - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/books/Brain Candy Podcast Merchandise - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/candy-store/Brain Candy Podcast Candy Club - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/product/candy-club/Brain Candy Podcast Sponsor Codes - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/support-us/Brain Candy Podcast Social Media & Platforms:Brain Candy Podcast LIVE Interactive Trivia Nights - https://www.youtube.com/@BrainCandyPodcast/streamsBrain Candy Podcast Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/braincandypodcastHost Susie Meister Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/susiemeisterHost Sarah Rice Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/imsarahriceBrain Candy Podcast on X: https://www.x.com/braincandypodBrain Candy Podcast Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/braincandy (JOIN FREE - TONS OF REALITY TV CONTENT)Brain Candy Podcast Sponsors, partnerships, & Products that we love:Head to https://airdoctorpro.com and use promo code CANDY to get UP TO $300 off today!Cancel your unwanted subscriptions and reach your financial goals faster at https://rocketmoney.com/braincandy today.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Elf on a Shelf: Part 2 Life in hob-along mode. Based on a post by LingeringAfterthought, in 3 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. When she woke the next morning, Zach was standing next to the bed with a pain pill and a glass of water. "Terry's gonna be here in about half an hour. I could make you some breakfast?" he said, putting the pill and the water into her hand. Honey shook her head, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders. "I'd; I'd like to take a shower before I go; if that's okay," she asked. "Right; uh; I'll just set it up for you. I'll get your things together after you're done in there; if you still want to go, that is; Honey closed her eyes and nodded, "Thank you," she whispered, unable to look at the silent pleading in his face. When the shower was ready, Zach carried her down the stairs and set her down in his large walk-in shower on the bathing chair he'd set up for her. "I, uh; I warmed up the water. The; soap and shampoo stuff is right here," he said, gesturing to a collection of bottles put down within her reach. "If you need anything, I'll be right; right here," he said, sitting down on the toilet, looking like he didn't know what to do with his hands. Honey nodded and took off her nightgown and panties, putting them on the floor outside the shower. She leaned down and began unwrapping the velcro the straps on her boot, finding that she couldn't reach the last one. She opened her mouth to ask for help, but Zach was already sliding the door open to undo it for her. When he disassembled the boot around her foot and lifted it away, a slight whimper escaped her when the motion bumped her ankle slightly. Zach's eyes flashed to hers as she tried to cover herself with her arms, "I'm okay," she whispered. Clenching his jaw, Zach nodded, stood and left the stall. The water felt like heaven after the sad sponge baths she had given herself in bed. Her skin came alive in the heat and flushed a deep pink. "Is that too hot? You're getting red," Zach said, standing next to the door looking concerned. "No; it's perfect," she sighed. She twisted around to reach the shampoo and tipped it over, groaning as she watched it roll out of reach. Zach reached into the stall and returned it to her, growling in annoyance as he watched her try to squeeze some out with only one fully functional arm. Soon, he stepped into the shower with her, clad only in his underwear. "I don't know how you think you're going to do this by yourself; he grumbled, glaring at her as he massaged the shampoo into her long hair. "I'll figure it out; put a folding chair in the tub or something," she said, trying not to notice that the fabric of his underwear was leaving nothing to the imagination the wetter it got. "A fucking folding chair will slip. I'll send this one with you. You still can't reach shit, though." "I haven't done this before. I'll get better as I go." "Yeah, but until then, you'll; Look, you need to give me a call when you; so that I know you're okay." "You wouldn't be able to hear me talk; the water makes this growling noise," she said. "Well, why the fu; never mind. You call me before and after. No longer than 10 minutes, or I send Terry." "And he just does whatever you tell him? You're really kinda bossy." "Glad we sorted that out. Put your head back." With a smirk, Honey leaned back, letting him support her with his arm as he rinsed the shampoo out of her hair. After one minute, Zach began swearing under his breath. "I've been rinsing this shit out of your hair forever and there's still more! How the fuck is this possible?" Honey began giggling, despite the pain it caused her shoulder. "I guess you should allow me longer than 10 minutes to shower, then; she murmured. "Ten fucking minutes, or I send Terry." "Do you have any conditioner?" "Any what?" "Never mind," Honey said, trying to control her face. When he finally released her from being rinsed, Honey grabbed the loofa and put some body wash on it, washing what she could reach with her right arm while Zach glared down at her. "Oh, for fuck's sake," he grated, roughly taking the fluffy sponge from her and then washing her with surprising gentleness. When he delicately supported and washed her broken ankle, he waited until he finished before looking up at her, "Remember, doctor says you can take off your boot for a while now and then, so that should help with the smell. I'll pack the extra sock so you can put a clean one on and wash the; well, just how the fuck are you going to do the laundry?" he asked, as if she created the concept of dirty laundry just to bother him. "Hand wash?" she suggested. "That won't work for these boot socks! They smell like gangrene or some shi;" "Well, now you're just flirting; she said, smiling up at him. For a moment Zach's face went completely blank, his eyes slowly traveling down her naked body as his face turned bright red, then he turned away and cursed under his breath again. "Grab onto my arm and I'll finish you up," he said, clenching his jaw and holding out his forearm to her, as he diligently looked away. Cautiously, she took his arm and tried to stand, rising wobbly on her left leg. Before she could gain her balance, her hand slipped on his wet arm and he pulled her tightly against him before she could fall. Body to body, they clung on to each other in the hot spray, each of them shaking. "Honey; you may notta noticed, but I'm hanging on by a fucking thread, here," Zach said quietly in her ear, "Try not to get yourself killed for two seconds." Honey nodded and wrapped her arms around his waist so that he could move his arms again. She felt him move the loofah between her legs and begin washing her private area, looking around the shower stall as he did. When Honey cringed and her breath hissed between her teeth, he stopped, "What's wrong?" he asked, looking down at her face. "It's; rough; she said, quietly. "Yeah, but it was fine when; oh; right; sensitive. Okay; he said, swallowing as he tossed the loofah aside and hesitantly reached his fingers between her legs. Honey leaned her forehead on his chest and closed her eyes, gasping when his fingers made contact. "Is that; is that okay?" he asked. She nodded and tried to move her legs further apart for him. Zach gently washed her, trying to think of sports scores, laxative commercials, or the accounts payable at the club, but inevitably his cock noticed that he was holding the woman of his dreams naked in his arms. When she shifted against him, trying to keep her balance, a breathy grunt escaped him as she inadvertently rubbed against him. "I'm sorry; she whispered, trying to give him more room. "Don't be; you're perfect; it's fine; he said, trying to think about anything but how it would feel to slide his cock between her slippery lips right at that moment. "Let me just get the; water; he gritted, reaching for the shower sprayer and directing it between her legs. Honey gasped and whimpered as the water pulsed against her clit, down her labia and over her anus again and again, feeling Zach's eyes on her as he did it, intensely absorbing her every reaction. She trembled as she held on to him, trying to remain calm. Finally, she raised her eyes up to him and opened her wet lips and whispered, "Zach; ?" "Hey, how do you guys want your eggs?" Terry asked, sticking his head into the bathroom. "Get The Fuck Out Of Here, Maggot!" Zach roared, as Honey squealed and released him, quickly ducking down to where Terry couldn't see her on the shower chair. "Scrambled, it is," Terry said, ducking out of the bathroom and leaving them alone again. Zach watched Honey begin to shiver as the room cooled off and handed her a towel. "Let me know when you're dry and I'll wrap up your leg again," he said, looking around the bathroom uncomfortably before wrapping a towel around his waist and taking off his wet underwear from underneath. After securing her ankle in the air cast, Zach carried her back up to the bedroom, turned his back to her, and blocked Terry's kitchen view of the loft as Honey dressed. When she finished, Zach turned around again, his mouth hardening into a grim line when he saw she had put on her elf dress again. "You're; going, then," he said, frowning as he watched her wince at the pain in her shoulder as she tried to tie the thick red ribbon belt behind her back. He stepped behind her and took the belt out of her hands and began brusquely tying it. "I want you to stay," he said to the back of her head, tugging the loops into a tight knot. Honey hobbled around to face him, "Enough to tell me why you wanted to send that message to someone?" she asked him, her dark blue eyes somber. "You; you wouldn't want to stay if I did," he murmured, stroking the soft velvet covering her arms. "Then, I guess I should go," she said, looking away before she could start crying again. "Wow, nice apartment!" Terry said, following Honey inside her apartment with the bag of her clothes. "The blood stains really bring the room together; "Say what you will, it's all mine," she said, hobbling over to the sofa and curling up, exhausted. "Here's your mail. I gotta text Zach, he's going nuts; well, more than usual, anyway," he said, handing her a stack of envelopes. "Arrived at hellhole; Angel has typhoid; the tweakers give their love; send food stamps," he said aloud, typing into his phone as Honey went through her mail. "Let me go set up the bath chair; just the thing to class up the joint," he said, disappearing to the bathroom. When Terry returned, he found Honey white as a sheet, reading a letter. "Whoa, kid; you okay? Need a pain pill? Let me take you back to Zach's. You look like you really do have typhoid; he said, kneeling down next to her. "Um; yeah, I'm fine," she said faintly, then cleared her throat. "Would; would you mind taking that laptop with you when you go deliver the charity gifts to the firm? They; asked me to send it back; probably upgrading; she said, quickly wiping the tears off her cheeks. Terry watched her for a long moment, his face grim, and don't mention it to Zach?" he finished. "Um; probably not?" Honey choked. "Ah, Honey; you have hospital bills. This is where a sensible person starts telling themself, 'Hey self, maybe I should go back to that really great guy that wants to take care of me," Terry said, closing her laptop and wrapping the power cord around it. "If he's such a great guy, why does he send people messages like this?" she asked, holding up the screenshot to him. After staring at the screen for a while, Terry let out a low whistle, "Now, see, Zach just puts it right out there. You gotta respect that. No wonder he got so much ass. He send this to you?" "He said he meant to send it to someone else, but what are you talking about? He sent this to me on our first date when he went to the restroom! I thought he wanted to kill me!" Terry canted his head and looked at the screenshot again, "Oh; yeah, I could see that. Especially if you got it without the dick pic," he said, nodding sympathetically. "No, see, this was sort of a sex S O S, if you will. A guy goes out with a girl like you, it's like a high-wire act. He gets all wound up, needs to blow off some steam, sends out a flare hoping someone can help him take the edge off things so you don't find out what a high-strung, rough sex freak he is. You're a big deal. He just didn't want to scare you off, Angel," Terry explained. "He; he wanted to go have sex with someone else after our date??" Honey yelled, incensed. "Only because he *liked* you so much!" Terry argued, winsomely. Just then, Honey's phone rang in his hand and he tapped the screen, "Honey's phone!" he answered. "Don't Ever Talk To Me Again!" Honey yelled at her phone when she saw it was Zach's number. "Ah yeah?" Terry said, holding the phone to his ear. "Yeah. Right. Be right over," he said, disconnecting the call and handing the phone back to Honey. "What did he say?" Honey asked, grinding her teeth. Terry leaned over and flipped her phone back to the screenshot that had frightened her so much, "Yeah; pretty much that; just without the sex. See you when I get out of the hospital, kid," he sighed. During the next week, Honey took a bus to the city hall offices and applied for unemployment, used the library computers to send out her resume and read her email, and got no calls whatsoever from Zach. Gatsby's, however, started having trouble with their delivery service and three meals a day were accidentally delivered to her disreputable apartment. When she called Gatsby's about it, she was assured they were working on it and were sure to fix the delivery service problem; as soon as they got a delivery service. The following week, Honey got a knock at her door. Promising herself she would open the door only for the pleasure of slamming it shut in the visitor's stupid, handsome face, Honey hobbled up and looked through the peep hole. It wasn't who she expected, though. "Um, hi; she said, opening the door a bit and tightening her robe. "Hi Honey, I'm Jeff. You probably don't remember;" "I remember you," Honey said, opening the door wider. "Please come in." "Thank you," he said, coming in and standing with his coat over his arm as she hobbled back to the couch. "Jeff, I always wanted to call Gatsby's and thank you; you know, for what you did," Honey said. "For the 'angel shot.' I didn't realize I was on a date with the owner, at the time. I hope it didn't make trouble for you," she said. "You're kidding, right? He fired me on the spot," Jeff laughed. "Oh no; she said, covering her face with her hands. "Oh, I'm so sorry." "No, it's okay. He hired me back as a manager a couple weeks ago. Said anyone who had the balls to do what it took to protect you, even from him, that was someone he wanted taking care of his customers. Actually said that, looking back, if you had been scared enough to ask someone for help back then and they *didn't* help you, well, he'd probably want to go find them and; and; well, the details don't matter, and they're probably illegal, anyway. The point is, we're good." "Oh, that's; that's good to hear. Is this about the delivery service problem, then?" "We don't have a delivery service." "Well, yeah, I know. I mean the meals that Zach is making you send me." "Um; I'm probably going to get my life threatened for telling you this, but we're not sending you meals. Zach's popping in and out with a lot of takeout boxes under his arm, but Gatsby's isn't sending you any meals, Honey. That's; that's all Zach." "Oh; Honey said, her cheeks warming. "Yeah, no I came to ask if you'd be interested in a job." Honey laughed, "I appreciate it, but don't think I'd make much of a waitress right now." "Actually, I kinda had something else in mind; Honey's heart pounded as the music swelled and she felt the platform descend, her legs dangling down clad in candy cane striped stockings and curled-toe shoes. Her dress was the same pink velvet and white fur trim costume as before, but the fabric was far more luscious and expensive than the dress she'd worn in the mall. It had arrived at her door with a seamstress tasked with making it fit flawlessly. Honey's eyes were closed out of habit, getting ready to sing for the clientele of the great room as Gatsby's "Elf on a Shelf." She knew he was out there. He always came out of hiding when she sang. A smile curled across her face as she felt the spotlight warm her body. She opened her eyes. After the show, Honey stripped off her tights and a stage hand gave her the air cast as soon as the platform had risen out of sight. Gingerly, she eased her leg back into the boot and began strapping herself in again. As she reached the last fastener, two large hands took the straps out of hers and began wrapping them expertly. Honey blushed and looked aside as Zach did it, and tried not to roll her eyes when he checked the other two straps to be sure she had secured them properly. His eyes wandered over her with nervous adoration, like he still couldn't quite convince himself she was real; even after the mundane work of feeding her, dressing her, and cleaning her all those days up in his loft. "Did you like the show?" she asked quietly, looking up at him with a small smile. Zach sighed with relief, having received tacit permission to speak to her again. "Yes," he said. "Did you really like it?" she asked, her eyes twinkling, her smile growing bigger. "I really; really liked it," Zach said, nodding and pulling at the collar of the dress shirt that was having trouble containing him. He seemed to have only grown larger in their weeks apart. "So much that you want to go have rough sex with somebody else tonight?" she asked, her large and deceptively innocent, twinkling eyes skewering him. Zach's mouth set, "I; I don't do that anymore. I exercise," he said quietly, reddening and looking away from her. "Oh; I see," Honey said, nodding. Ignoring the hands he offered her, Honey rolled herself onto her good knee and clumsily pushed herself back up into a standing position, her skirt flashing him as she rose. "What the fuck is that?" Zach yelled, pulling her skirt up to where a large purpling bruise was blooming on her hip. Honey bit her lips and forced her face to stop grinning before she turned and faced him again. "What's what?" she asked innocently. "What the hell do you think? That fucking huge purple ass-shiner you're walking around with! Where the fuck did that come from?" he roared. "Oh, that? I slipped. You know, it's icy out there; she said brightly, patting his chest and hobbling past him to her dressing room. Zach clenched his hands and followed her, growling things under his breath that would make a sailor blush. She wobbled into the dressing room, leaving the door open behind her, wondering if he would follow her in. He didn't, but instead stood there in the doorway glowering at her like a gargoyle as she pulled some clothes out of a large Gatsby's takeout bag. Honey's ribs were beginning to hurt from trying not to laugh. Honey breath hissed through her teeth as she reached behind her, fumbling with the knot of her wide red ribbon belt, her shoulder still healing from the dislocation. Before long, she heard muttered curses and large feet stomp into the room and push her hands aside, untying the belt for her. She smiled her thanks up at him over her shoulder, and moved her hair aside so he could help her with the zipper. Carefully, he smoothed some more of her hairs aside and slowly lowered the clasp. "So, um; how would it have worked?" she asked quietly, the softness of her voice making him lean in to hear her. Zach cleared his throat, "How would what have worked?" he asked, his breath falling warm on her neck as he tried to unclasp the tiny hook at top of the dress with his large fingers. "If we'd gotten together that night; if I'd never got that message," she said. Zach closed his eyes and shook his head. "I would've taken you home. Maybe tried for a kiss at your door, if you looked like you wanted it," he said, his voice hoarse. "Cheek or lips?" she asked. He sighed, "Who am I kidding? I would've passed out from not breathing by the time I got that close." "And those; other things; would you have wanted to do those things to me? To hurt me; to scare me?" she asked, her voice shaking. Zach turned her to look her in the eye, and she wrapped her arms around herself, keeping the unzipped, loose elf dress from falling down. "No Honey," he swore, shaking his head emphatically, cupping her face and holding her tightly. "God no. Never. Never ever. I would've never let you see that side of me. I'd give it up. I gave it up. I'd go run ten miles before I even;" his impassioned vows were interrupted by a loud crack as a delicate hand slapped him across the face. "How dare you?" Honey said, trembling with fury before she winced and cradled her hand to her chest as Zach blinked slowly in disbelief, trying to process what had happened. "That's for deciding you'd just have a boring, unsatisfied sex life with me without even asking what I wanted, you; you overbearing ass! That's for offering only a part of yourself to me! That's for ruining our beautiful date because you were ashamed of the man I lo;" Honey's uncharacteristic rage was interrupted by Zach's mouth descending on hers and claiming it furiously, pressing her against the wall as her dress fell to the floor. The kiss ended almost as quickly as it began, and Zach pulled away from her, his face a twitching, terrifying storm as he stared down at her. He wrapped his hand around the slender wrist of her only functional arm and pressed it to the wall over her head. "You don't hit me like that; ever," he said quietly, breathing hard through flared nostrils. Honey trembled, staring up into his blazing eyes almost panting against him in terror; but also in something else. The corner of Zach's mouth curled when he saw her deep blue eyes dilate hugely, a heady, familiar scent rising up between them. "You don't fucking hit anyone like that; goddamn amateur. You wanna break your wrist? Jesus Christ. Get your ass dressed and I'll take you home, you little freak," he growled, turning around to give her privacy and hide the huge smile he couldn't stop from covering his face. When Honey came up panting for air, she was pressed against the wall of Zach's loft as he fumbled with the locks of his door with one hand. She was making good progress at getting his shirt off, but it kept bunching up around his arms, and the cuffs were still a problem she didn't even want to think about. Even so, she was blissfully occupied with the acres of warm bare skin and muscle that she had excavated. "This isn't my home; she said, looking around bewildered, "why does everyone get my address wrong?" "Probably because they've blocked it out after seeing your place. Shut up and tell me what you want," Zach said, carrying her over to the stairs until he saw a bit of her lower lip he needed to bite and had to take a break to do it properly. "Look, don't give me names, because then I'd have to kill 'em, but tell me what makes you hot, Honey; we're gonna do all of it and more. I'm making your dreams come true, tonight," he said, winding his hand in her hair as she dropped her head back to give him her neck. "Oh! Um; I liked it when;" "No names," he reminded her, covering her mouth. "Right; well, this one guy, he um; he wore a towel around his waist and bent over his dresser to look for his underwear? And this other time, he held this spoon out to me and I opened my mouth and he fed me. And; and; um; in the shower, he; he held me against him in the water and;" "Honey, are all these stories gonna be about me?" "Um; yeah?" "That's sweet of you, tryin' to keep me outta jail and all, but I need you to get to the part about cock and pussy. Stories about me aren't gonna help that. Cock, pussy, tongue, ass, tits, ears, neck, taint - what do you like?" he asked "Right; uh; I liked it when you washed me down there; my pussy; with your fingers?" Honey said, at a loss. Zach drew his head back from her neck and looked at her, his face growing uneasy. "Honey?" "And when you sprayed the water back and forth down there, especially the top bump part, that really made me feel amazing, kind of squirmy, you know?" "Oh Jesus; he said, looking as if he'd been hit in the head. "And um; I know I wasn't supposed to look, but your um; you know; p-penis; in the shower, when your underwear got wet? That was" "I don't feel so good; he said, lowering himself to the floor and sitting down on the stairs. "No, no, it's fine. We can do this. What's a taint and what do I do with it?" she asked, sitting down and cuddling up next to him. Zach held his head in his hands, "You're a virgin; not like an "everything but" Evangelical, but like an alien or something. I don't know if I can do this." "Look, I know how to have sex; I had health class, for Pete's sake!" she said, slapping his shoulder. "What the fuck did I just get myself into?" he said through his hands. Honey pulled his hands down from his face and climbed up in his lap, putting his arms around her and looping her arms around his neck. "Zach; I have been a very good girl; not just this year, but for a long, long time. I figure that makes it so I can ask for something really big. So, here's what I want: I want you and me; just being together. Not planned or rehearsed or trying to be impressive. You already impress me. You're the best person I know. You took care of me when you hated me. You took care of me, even when I hated you. I just want to see what it's like if we let go of all that and just; you know; love. Will you give me that for Christmas, Santa? Please?" she asked, leaning in and kissing his cheek softly. "I've; never done that before," he said stiffly, looking sideways at her, unable to turn his head. "I'll be gentle with you," she whispered, smiling and brushing her lips against his. Climbing down from his lap, she took his hand in hers and led him up the stairs; until he lost patience with her hobbling and lifted her in his arms, carrying her to the top. Honey smiled as he gently lowered her feet to the floor, then took his hand and worked on the buttons of his cuff, "You're really big, but you don't do that big guy thing where you act like nothing matters. You notice everything; I like that," she said, glancing up at him. Zach frowned, watching her and then looking around the room, uncomfortable. "That's just; you gotta do that. You can't just throw your weight around without knowing where it's going. You're gonna hurt someone that way," he demurred, unbuttoning the cuff for her and tugging the other loose, as well. "You give a lot, but you're not a show-off about it; you didn't even let me know it wasn't Gatsby's sending food to me," she said, pulling his shirt down off his shoulders, pressing her face into his back to smell him. "You needed protein, calcium, and vitamin D to build those bones again -- that ramen shit you eat wasn't gonna give you enough of anything; just empty carbs and fuckin' sodium," he argued, putting his hands on his hips and scowling at her. Honey smiled and nodded, unbuckling his belt and slowly pulling it out of the loops. Zach swallowed, "You; you also needed vitamins C and K, so I made sure you got things like broccoli and fish and citrus; not; not everybody knows that," he said, drawing a shaky breath. "I didn't know that," she said, separating the hook and eye of his trousers and unzipping them, smiling when he cleared his throat and breathed faster as she lowered them. "You're smart, but you don't need everyone to know about it. You watch how people treat you when they think you're simple, instead; you want to know who they really are." Zach pulled his legs out of his trousers and laid them carefully over the chair, glancing over to the closet where he really wanted to put them instead. Honey smirked and turned to go get a hanger for him, and he swept her down onto the bed instead, going to get the hanger for himself and carefully hanging his pants to avoid any creases. Zach returned to the bed, standing in front of her knees where she sat, waiting. Honey moved her hands curiously over his hips and thighs, feeling the strength, the hours of toil and exertion he put them through; so that he could have control and be gentle when he needed to be. "You care about what I want; she said, swallowing and slowly sliding his underwear down his hips, gasping in surprise when his cock bounced out and waved at her. "You care about it even when you think I'm wrong; and it makes me love you so much; she said, trailing off and blushing. "You; got my clothes off," he said, looking down at her, his face a mix of bewilderment and wonder. "I guess you see all of me, now," he said, blushing for the first time since she'd known him. Smiling, she pulled her dress over her head and tossed it aside. She winced, reaching back trying to un-do her bra, and instead of helping her as usual, Zach narrowed his eyes, tilting his head. "You do that on purpose, don't you? Doing shit that hurts right in front of me instead of asking me for help. Showing off that fucking bruise to me at the club. Showing me what happens when I can't take care of you; you actually get off on driving me crazy," he said in outraged realization. "You really want to do that rough sex stuff on me, now, don't you," Honey said, her eyes alive with mischief. "Like you wouldn't believe; he said, flipping her over, straddling her back and unclasping her bra. Honey squealed and giggled when he laid himself out over her back, careful to avoid her shoulder and ankle. "You feel that cock, all hard and ready on your panties and between your legs down there? You don't get him now, brat," he growled, pushing her hair aside and biting the back of her neck. "Not until you beg me." "Okay! Please?" she asked, giggling. Zach looked over at her, trying to hold a stern face, "Yeah, that's not how this works. The way this works is, I make you want it so much that you think you're going out of your mind, and *then* you beg me." "Okay!" she chirped. "Oh, fucking hell; he grumbled, trying not to laugh. He nipped all over her back, enjoying her squeaks and gasps, wiggling under him as her need grew. She seemed completely unaware of how she was responding to him, but he proudly basked in her every flutter. He kissed down to the small of her back, hearing her breath stop and then resume at a pant when he began to lower her panties. "Zach; Zach; Honey whimpered. "Yes, Honey?" he smiled, kissing the top of the crease of her bottom, flicking it slightly with his tongue. "Does it; does it always go this slow?" she asked, raising her bottom to him and moaning when he slid his fingers through her crack, making her jump and then grab onto his thigh. "Are you in a hurry?" he murmured, stroking his fingers leisurely around her clit and into her vagina, "Some other pressing; engagement?" he asked, pressing his finger against her hymen and laughing evilly at her shocked, yet needful, reaction. "Yeah; it would feel good to have a hot deep cock in there, wouldn't it?" he asked, thrusting gently into her with his finger. "Zach; Honey moaned, squirming under him. "I like that word 'engagement; '" Zach mused idly, "don't you?" he asked, raising one of her knees up to her side, sliding his cock along her crack, wetting it until it glistened in her juices. "Zach, please; please; please; she gasped, feeling him rise up over her again, pressing against her entry, "I need you; she whispered. "I need you, too, Honey. I've needed you for so long; he answered, parting her lips and moving into her with slow, gentle thrusts. Honey trembled under him, holding her breath, feeling him fill her more and more, until with a slight sharp pain, she took him into her. "Oh; oh; oh; oh; she whimpered. "Just breathe, Honey. You're doing great; perfect. I'm not moving till you're ready," Zach said, reaching deep for control. A sheen of sweat broke over him at the sheer effort of holding himself back from plunging furiously into her body again and again and again. "Is; is this the rough sex part?" she breathed, reaching out to touch the hand he was using to keep most of his weight off her. Zach barked out a breathless laugh, clasping her hand in his, "I don't know about you, but this is about as rough as I can take it, tonight. You're fucking killing me, right now. But, being inside you; it's like magic." Honey moved her head and kissed his forearm, "Be inside me again, Zach; she whispered. With a low sigh, he began moving inside her, his hips pressing and rolling against her, his cock stroking a patient rhythm. She sighed with happiness, feeling him explore and claim her at the same time. His lips moved over her neck and back as he leisurely took her, whispering praise and encouragements, waiting for her to adjust to him. Before long, though, his words stopped, his body growing harder around her, his every muscle stiffening as he gripped her hand harder, his thrusts quickening until, with a soft, surprised grunt, he thrust deep and shook as he emptied himself inside her. With explosive breaths, he rolled off her, pulling her against him in the bed. "Well, fuck; he said in disgust between gasps. "Yeah; Honey said, snuggling back against him happily, "that was perfect; Zach snorted, "No it wasn't, you noob. You didn't come. I fucked it up." "What do you mean? What makes you think I didn't come? That felt great! Let's do that all the time," Honey said, turning in his arms so she could smile at him. "I would've felt it if you came, Honey; it gets tight and squeezes you, almost like it's sucking on you; drinking you down; he said, smiling down at her with rueful affection. "Well, I don't know how it's supposed to get any tighter than that was. I think you're expecting too much of me. Maybe I did come; she argued. "Honey, trust me; when I make you come, you'll know about it," he said, reaching down and caressing her clit with his fingers. "Oh, that's nice; you did that in the shower," Honey cooed, moving her boot up over his hips so he could reach her more easily. "I didn't fucking do this to you in the shower. I fucking washed you. I was a fucking gentleman. People cut diamonds with less fucking focus than I had in that fucking shower. I was just taking care of business, then," he grumbled, leaning down to nuzzle her neck. "I guess; I guess, I took advantage of you, then; s-sorry; oh; she said, raising her hips to him as her breathing became irregular, her head tossing from side to side. "Well, unless I'm wrong, you are about to really pay for it in 3, 2, 1" Zach said, when Honey screamed high and long, her hips bucking as she came hard, covering his hand in her sweet nectar and then bursting into tears. Zach held her close as Honey wailed in pain, stroking her body gently, "Yeah; see, that boot can do a lot, but it can't do squat about it when every muscle in your body wants to stiffen up as you come," he said, still soothing her. Honey slapped his shoulder, "That; that was mean! Don't you ever make me come again!" she panted against him, her face still twisted in slowly receding pain. "Uh huh; Zach said, glancing at the alarm clock on his nightstand, "we'll see how long that lasts, you little freak," he said with a smirk, leaning down to kiss her tears away.  To be continued in part 3, Based on a post by Lingering Afterthought, in 3 parts, for Literotica.

On the very LAST episode of Stripped by SIA, I invite erotic massage parlour owners, Emily and Riley Muse of MUSE Massage Spa onto the show to speak about sensual massages. As both of them are former SWers in erotic massages, the duo were unlikely business partners having started off as colleagues and then later coming up with the idea together to open up their own massage parlour. They opened up MUSE after wanting to disrupt the massage industry in Toronto having worked in the field themselves. We discuss popular offerings, client requests and asks, and how they have seen the industry change over the years. I had to go out with a Big Bang and have these ladies on as my last guests.Thank you ALL who have listened to even just one episode, those who have been there from the start, every single guest, every Patreon member, every brand new baby SWer and those who have been well-seasoned in this industry... Thank you so much from the bottom of my heart for listening over the past 6 years, 8 seasons and 290 episodes later...I'm closing this chapter (of podcasting, not SW or advocacy!) of my life and looking forward to what 2026 will be bringing. Thank you to everyone who I've met this industry and hope to stay connected and see you all at other community events!- Sia

Elf on a Shelf: Part 1 Her stalker wasn't who she thought he was; Based on a post by LingeringAfterthought, in 3 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Honey smiled at the long line of children waiting to see Santa, flipping her phone from Google Translate back to see the information of the next little girl in line, who was looking up at her somberly with large liquid brown eyes. In her small face was a familiar mixture of fear and hope. Wonder; it was wonder in her eyes, Honey thought. Unlike the tired and jaded adults, dutifully shifting their weight from foot to foot, holding overstuffed shopping bags and all the coats of their kids as they distracted themselves on their phones, the children got more and more excited as they drew near the man in the furry red suit with white trim. Honey loved working with the children; because like them, she sometimes could still see the magic. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Norman shift uncomfortably in the painted plywood throne made for him to sit with the children and discuss their good behavior and of the wishes that they hoped would come true. Even at age 62, Norman still saw the magic with his merry bright blue eyes, but it faded when his prostate pained him. When the photographer got the shot the parent wanted, Honey walked to where most of the long line could see her as Norman flashed her a look of worshipful gratitude. The adults' faces immediately fell, knowing what was coming. "I'm afraid Santa needs to take a quick break because apparently the reindeer have begun arguing again!" Norman put his gloved hands up to his real beard, pulled a comically dismayed face, jumped up from his throne, and ran off toward the restrooms. Honey shook her head mournfully and continued, "The reindeer were all practicing their Christmas carols when Comet and Cupid couldn't decide how many times Santa checks his list in Santa Claus is Coming to Town! Does anyone here remember how it goes?" she asked, scanning the line for people game enough to help. Honey scampered back and forth along the line trying to choose among the eager volunteers, her white-trimmed, pink fur skirt flaring out around her thighs, her long legs clad in sparkly curly-toed ruby slippers and candy cane swirl stockings catching the eyes of several fathers. Suddenly, she gasped listening carefully to her headset, "Nina?" she called out. "Comet and Cupid say they will only stop arguing if 'Nina' gives the answer. Is there a 'Nina' here today? Nina?" Honey looked around at the crowd carefully until the little girl with the big brown eyes, who had been quietly waiting 57 minutes in line, gathered the courage to raise her hand. "Oh! Are you Nina?" she asked, running over and crouching down near the girl. "We just adopted her; she only speaks Portuguese," the weary woman holding her hand said quietly. Honey gasped and smiled widely, "Voc fala portugu s Nina? Maravilhosa!" she said, watching the little girl's eyes brighten excitedly. "Voc pode me dizer quantas vezes o Papai Noel verifica sua lista?" she asked, holding her microphone out to the little girl. "Duas vezes!" Nina said confidently into the mic. Honey listened carefully to her headset, concentrating, "'Duas vezes' it is! They've stopped arguing!" she announced. "But now, they want us all to sing the song in Portuguese! Nina, voc vai me ajudar a ensin -los a m sica?" she asked. Nina nodded and slowly she and Honey taught the familiar song to the crowd in a new language. As always, a hush came on the crowd when Honey began to sing. Heads raised up from forgotten phones. Vague smiles drifted onto the turning heads of passers-by in the mall as they paused in their frenetic search for gifts. It wasn't so much that Honey's voice was beautiful, though it certainly was. It was more that when Honey sang, it seemed to make the things that didn't really matter melt away. To those that believed in such things, Honey's voice was magic. When she sang, people held their breath and didn't even miss the air. Honey closed her eyes as she sang next to Nina. It was a newly acquired habit. Though she had been taught to let her eyes slowly drift over the audience, letting them make a connection with each person as she sang, she didn't do that anymore. She knew he was out there. She felt his presence frequently as she worked, but it was only when she sang that he came out into the open. She couldn't hold her voice steady when she saw him watching her, so she closed her eyes and let the magic continue for the crowd. When the song ended, Honey opened her eyes as the crowd cheered, finding his powerful form immediately as if she had been commanded to look at him. Zach. He had changed a lot in the year since he brought his sister's children through the long Santa line, drawing her almost too-large dark blue eyes to him then, as easily as he did now. After bringing his nieces and nephews through the line, he'd gone home and brought all his neighbors' kids to see Santa in five more trips, watching her the entire time. He looked at her as if he'd never seen anything like her in the world, like he couldn't believe she was real. She had loved feeling his eyes on her then, hearing his voice. She had wanted to climb up in his lap, feel his large arms curled around her, whisper to him about how good she had been that year, and of how much she hoped he would make her wishes come true. Of course, all that was before he'd told her he wanted to kill her. Zach's face looked leaner now, though his body seemed even larger, if such a thing was possible. His brooding, deep-set eyes were not merry, as they had been when children climbed his tree-like body in her line last year. They weren't nervously soft and adoring of every part of her, as they had been at their candle-lit dinner. His eyes weren't rageful or insane as you might expect from someone visiting their object of murderous hate, but rather; they were tortured, trapped. Pain and quiet desperation had taken up restless residence in the windows to his soul. Honey knew she shouldn't look at him so much, but she just wished she could understand what she had done wrong. Once the line of children and parents had cleared, it was long past the official closing time. Honey cleaned up the display and prepared it for the next day while Norman took one last lingering trip to the restroom. Her phone showed numerous messages from work friends from her other job asking where she was. The firm had planned a Christmas party at Gatsby's, a gorgeous club worthy of F. Scott Fitzgerald's glamorous hero. It was also the place where Zach had taken her on their first and last date. The Gatsby's waiter had looked stunned and confused when she shakily ordered herself an "angel shot," the code-phrase used to quietly ask bartenders or wait staff for help when you felt threatened, but after his initial shock, the waiter immediately escorted her secretly to a taxi waiting outside before Zach returned to the table. Gatsby's had saved her life; but she didn't want to go back there. After avoiding call after call from Zach, she finally answered and politely asked him never to call her again. To her surprise, he didn't. He never spoke to her again. Unless she sang, she never even saw him, but she felt his presence almost everywhere. It felt like she was haunted by him; haunted by something wonderful and magical that, inexplicably, went horribly wrong. Her phone buzzed again, the display showing that the firm's senior partner wanted to FaceTime her. Steeling herself, she answered. "Honey Lane where in the hell; oh my god lookit you!" Aaron Timberman held the phone high above his head with his long ex-basketball-player arms and Honey saw a crowd of her co-workers crowd into the picture behind him. "Um, hi sir. Sorry I'm late to;" "You're an elf!" "Um, yeah. It's a volunteer thing;" "Wait, wait, wait; you have the shoes? You know, with the; toes?" he slurred, motioning his finger in a spiral motion. Honey bit her lips and tilted the camera down her body, showing her entire costume, tilting her foot to show off the curled toe. "I'm sorry it got late tonight, but I'll be there as soon as I can get home and get changed;" Timberman looked around at the crowd surrounding him, "Guys, do we wanna see Honey Lane here at the party in some boring old Anne Klein shit, or do we want the elf?" he yelled, pointing at the screen. Behind him, almost a dozen of her co-workers began chanting "Elf, Elf, Elf, Elf!" "Get yer ass over here, Elf," Timberman ordered, poking at his screen several times before effectively ending the call. A few minutes later, Norman finally came back from the restroom and gave Honey a ride over to Gatsby's in his red SUV bedecked with a bumper sticker that read, "My other car's a SLEIGH!" Honey hopped out after getting bits of advice from Norman that would have been appropriate several decades ago. With flaming cheeks, she brushed the furry white pompom from her hat out of her face and told the smirking ma tre d which party she wanted, sighing when he grinned widely and escorted her through the middle of the main dining area, much to her horror. When the doors to the party room opened and she was greeted by another round of "Elf, Elf, Elf, Elf," she didn't feel much better. She was starving, so she headed over to the buffet and began loading up a plate with delicious-looking things on ice in shot glasses, impaled on sticks, or immersed in flames. She just spied a quiet table in a dark corner and was winding her way toward it to it to scarf down her only food since breakfast before she could be drawn into a drunken debate. That was the plan, anyway. "Hunnybaby! Lookit you! C'mon we gotta dance!" Lee James slurred to her fur-trimmed tits. With a sigh, she smiled and laid her plate down on a nearby table, promising to herself that she would eat right after enduring a dance with the favored junior partner. Unfortunately, after Lee angled her awkwardly around the dance floor, they'd drawn so much attention that everyone wanted to get pics of themselves toasting and dancing with the Christmas elf. At some point, she found herself in Timberman's arms with a glass of champagne in her hand. "Um; what?" she said, almost asking herself how she had gotten there. "I said you look lovely, tonight, Honey. Much better than in a shawl and sheath dress," he said, quickly twirling her around as they reached the edge of the dance floor. "Twirling makes my skirt go up; I'm dizzy," she murmured. A familiar dark figure flashed in the background and disappeared as Timberman turned her again. She looked around, trying to find the figure again, but she couldn't see him anywhere. Why was he there? Had she been singing again? "Well, I'll make sure nobody twirls you, my dear," he said, twirling her and smiling as her skirt flew up her long candy-cane striped legs. "The wives wouldn't like it." "I like your wife's dress Mr. Timberman; looks warm. It covers her ass when she sits, too," she slurred, frowning in confusion at the dark red drink in her hand now. Zach was frowning, and then he just looked blurry again as she swirled around. Maybe swirling made it harder for him to kill her. Why did he want to kill her? It just wasn't fair. Timberman leaned down and dipped her, "I'll make sure to give her your compliments. You know, if you like what wives wear, you should consider getting married. Lee is quite taken with you, you know," he said, stroking his hand against the soft pink velvet of her dress. Honey found herself drifting away and wandering inside her head again, thinking about Lee; he was handsome in an overly-polished way, said funny things, but they always sounded a little mean, like he wanted to be the only one laughing; and he also took her away from the food plate that just floated by on a table. It was still full. She should have eaten that food. What time was it? "He likes my boobs; and he doesn't want to kill me," she agreed eventually, surprised to find that Timberman was gone and she was dancing with Lee James again. "Well, I can't blame him for that; they're fucking perfect; just like everything else. I'm gonna come on them after you suck me off; he murmured, pulling her closer against him. "Let me take you home, Honey; penthouse view of the city; "Umm; no, that's not home; I live in the; railroad place; with the trains?" Honey explained, pointing in what she thought was the direction of the Lowertown Commons. Why did every guy think she lived with them tonight? "Sounds charming, Eliza Doolittle; you should trade up. You don't know how much I'd love twist your arms back and fuck this ass wide open over my balcony tonight," he said, reaching his hand under her skirt and greedily squeezing her bottom. "You'd like that, wouldn't you Honey? I can tell; Lee whispered, his cologne invading her head and making her queasy. "I feel sick; Honey whimpered and staggered away, trying to find the quiet table where the food was that would make her less drunk. The dance floor was confusing, though, always turning around and thumping and flashing. She leaned against a pillar until she got a better sense of where she was. She liked the pillar. It was big and strong; and it stroked her hair. "Honey; wake up, Honey. Open your mouth. You need to take these," the vaguely familiar voice said, cutting through the sleep that had been blocking out some of the pain she felt everywhere. She obediently opened her mouth and the hand put two caplets on her tongue. A water bottle squirted a little cool liquid into her mouth until she moaned and sucked harder, desperate for more. "Not too much. Wait until you can hold that down. I'll give you more in a bit. You don't want that IV back, do you?" "Nuh" Honey groaned. She hated needles. Sure, just about every part of her body hurt more than a needle did, right now, but somehow needle pain felt personal. Like with Zach. He didn't seem like someone who went around wanting to choke everybody; just her. She was nobody special; just a simple girl who kept lawyers organized and tried to be nice. Then, someone wonderful like Zach thought she needed to die. That hurt. Something about her made him go from being tender and intensely loving to someone who; it just didn't make sense. What did she do? Mercifully, sleep faded the pain and clouded her thoughts. Voices below her intruded into a wonderful dream where she was bouncing on clouds. Though not in the same room, the voices seemed strangely clear. "I can't; Terry, she cries when I do that," the pills voice said, making her eyes fly open. She knew that voice. She hadn't heard it for a year, but she would never forget it. Her body reacted with a confused mix of emotions, her cheeks flushing and adrenaline searing a path all through her at the same time. "That's because it hurts her. You know what hurts more? Bedsores. Man up. Use the pillows to prop her weight against the parts that aren't hurt on whichever side. It's either this, or she goes back to the hospital, and I have it on good authority you won't be allowed to visit after what happened." "She was screaming; Zach gritted. "Yeah, well they were putting her shoulder back in. People scream. That still doesn't excuse what you did. Since when did you become such a pussy about pain?" Terry asked. "since her." "oh my god." "Shut up," Zach grunted. "Oh my god; "Yeah, that's not shutting up." "The great Z-dog has been taken down;" "Shut up, maggot, it's not like that. I'm just taking care of h;" "By a little bitty pink Christmas elf; Terry laughed. There was a scuffling sound and then a loud whoomp and a forceful exhalation of air. "So, I turn her every few hours until she can do it for herself?" Zach asked, casually. "Yes, sir," Terry choked. "Anything else?" "Clear liquids until she can hold stuff down. Talk to her. Ask her questions. If she seems disoriented or part of her face goes slack, she goes back to the hospital. Don't fuck around." "Got it. Are you squared away, or do we need to discuss this further?" "Squared away, sir," Terry choked, then gasped in relief, panting faintly. "Jesus Christ, you haven't lost your touch. We on for the hump tomorrow at 0 500?" "No. I'm gonna stick close here until she's;" "Got it. Hey, maybe they have those Baby Bjorn things in elf-size. Then, you could just strap her onto your ba; ow! ow! ow, ow, ow!" "You weren't particularly attached to the rest of that sentence, were you, maggot?" Zach growled. "Sir, no sir; Terry squeaked. "I didn't think so. You'll be back here Wednesday," Zach stated, more as an order than a question. "Yeah, if you want me to. Honestly, right now she just needs rest and TLC more than a medic. That stands for 'tender loving care' by the way, not;" "You were just going," Zach said, as the voices moved to another end of the room below her. "Hey, you wanna know what makes an elf's toes curl up like tha;" Terry asked, his question cut off by the slamming of the door. Honey listened, trembling and terrified as Zach paced the floor below her. Though his voice hadn't changed, he sounded nothing like the man that had wooed her so tenderly a year ago. He sounded dangerous, brutal even. He definitely sounded like the kind of person that went around wanting to choke everyone, she thought, strangely relieved that her heartbreak felt a little less personal. How could she have been so wrong in her impression of him? She looked around the room, understanding now how the voices had reached her so easily. She was in an open industrial loft bedroom that opened onto the main floor below. Looking around, she realized she must be in Zach's huge bed, though if the crisply made side next to her was any indication, he hadn't been sleeping in it with her. Looking down her body, she gasped quietly. Her left arm was in a sling strapped to her chest, her legs were covered in bruises, and the right leg that was being stabbed with an invisible knife right now, was wrapped up in an air cast boot. What had happened to her? The last thing she remembered was feeling sick as she tried to get away from Lee's groping hands on the dance floor. After that; nothing. How did she get here? A beeping noise sounded below and Zach walked across the room to what sounded like a kitchen. The sound of water being poured into a cup, the ringing of a spoon stirring it, a pill bottle being opened. Honey shivered, realizing he was probably coming up to her, soon. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing, feigning sleep. Steps ascending to the loft bedroom. Ankle stabbing, stab, stab, stab, stab with every panicked heartbeat. A tray went down on the nightstand next to her. A chair across the room was lifted and set down by the bed. Honey told herself to breathe slowly, willing the tears welling behind her lids not to leak out of her eyes. He would leave her alone if she was sleeping, wouldn't he? "You're not sleeping," Zach's voice stated, quietly, and her stomach clenched in fear. "You've been waking up for these pills every four hours like a junkie. I know you don't want to talk to me, Honey, but until you're squared away, you're gonna have to. So, cut the crap, open your eyes, and let's get this done." Honey opened her eyes to see his grim face looking down at her. With one blink, large tears rolled down her pale cheeks, and Zach's jaw set angrily. Sitting down in the chair, he put his elbows on his knees and leaned his massive shoulders forward, looking at her. His hands looked like they could crush rocks as he gripped them together. "Let's get some things straight. I don't know what you think you know about me, but acting like I'm some kind of psycho is pretty shitty. You want nothing of me, that's fine, but you're hurt because you screamed and flung yourself down some stairs rather than let me help you to an Uber. You're staying here until you're well, because some shithead at that party gave you enough roofies to be in a coma for almost 3 days and I'm not dragging my ass to that rat trap of yours in the Commons every day to make sure they don't come back while you're weak. Are we clear?" he asked. Honey swallowed and nodded, wincing at the pain in her neck and head. That just seemed to make Zach angrier. "While you are here, you will do as you're told. You will eat what you get, and you will not complain. You see these, here?" he said, holding up the magic caplets that made everything better. "These are the last ones you're getting. I'm switching you to ibuprofen and Tylenol because, unchecked, this Sackler shit will fuck you up for good and that's not happening on my watch. Do you understand?" he asked. "Yes," Honey whispered. At the sound of her voice, Zach's mouth twitched, but at least he didn't look as angry as when she'd nodded and winced. "You will follow your doctor's orders to the last goddamn word. You will rest. You will do your therapy. You will let me help you and you will ask me for what you need because I am not a fucking mind reader. And so help me, if you do anything stupid like get out of that bed without me here to help you, or push yourself away from me like you did at Gatsby's, or any other drama shit that hurts even one hair on that head again, I will personally make you regret you were ever born." "Yes, Zach," Honey breathed, confused. Two more tears rolled down her cheeks. Without thinking, she leaned over to wipe them off on her shoulder and cried out in pain. Zach squeezed his clenched hands together and several of his knuckles cracked. "You don't use my name. You don't get to use my name. You're not getting under my skin again, you hear me?" Zach growled, using his rough knuckle to wipe her tears. "Orders a fucking angel shot in my own fucking club; fuck you. I don't have a name, you don't have a name. You're nothing to me. Understand?" "Yes, sir," she whispered. Honey leaned forward and took the last spoonful of broth into her mouth and swallowed, looking longingly at the noodles at the bottom of the cup. Zach caught a drop of broth at the bottom of her lower lip with the spoon and returned it to her mouth. "No," he said, seeing where her eyes lingered. "I can do it," she pleaded. "Please; I haven't had anything solid since; how long has it been?" "I said, no. You throw up on another pair of my skivvies and I'll be doing laundry twice a week," Zach said, dabbing her mouth with a paper towel. "Why do I have to wear your boxer briefs anyway? They feel weird. They have this hole-flap thing; and there are some places that aren't supposed to feel a breeze," Honey said, lifting the blanket to look down at his underwear loosely covering her hips. "Are you complaining?" he asked quietly. Honey's eyes darted quickly to his face, "No sir," she murmured, looking down at her lap. "I just thought if I had some of my things here, you wouldn't have to do the laundry so much." "I'll worry about what I have to do, Honey," he said, unthinkingly using her name. Startled, she looked up to see his eyes wandering over her, his massive t-shirt sleeves going down past her elbows. She felt ridiculous and disheveled, but something about the way he looked at her made her hold her breath. Then, without another word, he slurped the noodles out of the cup and took the tray downstairs. After that, the two settled into a quiet routine of him feeding her, giving her medicine, and watching her sleep most of the day. She would sometimes awaken to the soft repetitive sounds of him running on a treadmill, or the clinking of him lifting weights downstairs where she couldn't see him. Then, he would go to the bathroom and shower. After his shower, he came upstairs again in his towel and took some clothes from his dresser before going back downstairs to change. Honey found herself looking forward to those few seconds each day, watching his droplet-covered torso twist as he leaned over his dresser. He frowned as he flipped through his carefully folded underwear. "You wearing the grey ones?" he asked, not looking at her. Honey peeked under the covers, "Um, yes sir," she replied. "I'm supposed to wear the grey ones today," he grumbled to himself. Honey didn't say anything. Zach was the one who picked out which underwear she wore today. He was the one who looked away while he painstakingly slipped the old ones off her hips and pulled the new ones over her boot and up her legs until her bottom was covered again. There was nothing about her life that wasn't chosen and executed by him. If he wasn't happy about the color of his underwear, that was his fault. Still, Zach kept rummaging around in his underwear drawer as if another crisply folded grey pair would somehow magically appear. Finally, rather than offend him by laughing, Honey spoke, "Um; you know, if they're clean, I could wear the pair I had on when I went to the hospital and you could have these. It would get you back on schedule; Zach lifted his head from the drawer and glared at her, as if he thought she was making fun of him. Honey held carefully still and shrugged her uninjured limb. She wasn't making fun, she just wanted to help. The movement caused the huge neckline to gape over to the side, revealing her bare shoulder. She waited as Zach stared impassively at her, the vein at his neck throbbing. After a long moment, he walked over and stood next to her, the tuck of his towel right next to her face. With every breath, she inhaled the scent of his wet body and the bar soap he used. A rivulet of water painstakingly slid from his chest and down his abdomen, until finally disappearing into the tightly twisted white cotton. Honey glanced up to see that he had been reading her face as she watched the droplet's progress. With a shaking breath, she blushed and pulled the covers higher with her good arm. With a twist of his mouth, Zach pulled the neckline back over her shoulder again and quickly left the room. That night, after leaving her with a video baby monitor watching her on the nightstand, Zach returned with a bag of her underwear and some of her nightgowns. After watching her excitedly sort through them, Zach pushed them aside and sat on the edge of the bed. "There were a bunch of boxes with tags on them in your living room. What's that about?" he asked. Honey's eyes dropped, "Oh; that's the charity gift thing for kids. You sign up and get them something they wished for and wrap it up so they can have something under the tree, when they wouldn't have something otherwise. It's nice, you know? I signed up for a bunch and I was supposed to wrap them and get them back to the law firm, but I guess; sorry kids," she trailed off. Looking furious, yet carefully impassive at the same time, Zach cursed under his breath and left again, returning with the packages and a huge stack of unused Styrofoam clamshells from Gatsby's, and dumped them on the bed next to her. For the next few hours, they "wrapped" the presents, Zach carefully fitting items into an appropriate-sized takeout box, and Honey trying to make them pretty with ribbons. As she watched him work, occasionally cursing under his breath, she found herself smiling at his frowning face when he was strategizing how to fit a basketball into three disassembled clamshells. "What are you laughing at?" he said, glaring when he caught her at it. "I wasn't laughing. I was smiling." "Why were you smiling, then?" he asked. "I guess; I just like you; sir," she said, glancing over at him. Honey saw a hopeful softness steal into Zach's eyes until he forcibly wrestled it down and a look of hooded sarcasm shaded them. "Yeah, well; fool me once," he sneered. Angry, Honey closed her eyes, blocking him out the only way she could. "You know, that's; that's not fair. Not after what you said; you scared me!" she said, frustrated that, once again, tears were rolling down her cheeks. Zach choked out a mirthless laugh, "I scared you? What did I say, Honey? What did I fucking say? God! I was on eggshells all night trying not to fuck it up with you and then you just; why? Those creeps you were dancing with at that party, those fucking 'nice guys' that drugged you, they were saying shit that made my skin crawl! I didn't even kiss you! I couldn't! I could barely breathe just for looking at you on our date; you looked just like a fucking angel. What did I say, Honey? What did I say?" Honey reached over and grabbed her phone, flipping through her photo album to a screenshot taken shortly before she blocked his number. "You didn't say it; you texted it. I remember watching you leave for the restroom thinking I'd met the love of my life and then you sent me this; she said, handing her phone to him. Zach took the phone, his face going from an angry red to pale horror in a matter of seconds. "This; this; he gasped, "I didn't; send this; to you; he said, shaking his head. "Whoever had your phone did, sir!" she said, emphasizing the last word, making him wince. "I spent the last year thinking you wanted to do that to me; to kill me. Every time I felt you watching me, every crowd I saw you show up in, every dark room I had to go into, that's what I thought about. I thought that a man I was head over heels about; that I could be so wrong about him. So, excuse me for thinking I liked you, sir. I promise it won't ever happen again!" Honey cried herself to sleep that night, refusing to speak to, or even look at Zach again. When she awoke, the bedroom was empty, and a glass of water and a pain pill were waiting on the nightstand. After swallowing the pill, she stared at the ceiling, furious. She didn't want to be there anymore, to be helpless and dependent on him, to obey all his stupid rules. He didn't deserve to take care of her. So, she tightened the straps on her boot and increased the air pressure to hold her broken ankle tightly enough to walk without her crutches. Then, she took off Zach's t-shirt, pulled on her elf dress, and called herself an Uber. It was when she saw the anticipated arrival time of 8 minutes that she realized her mistake. There was no way for her to get down from the loft and out of the apartment quietly in that amount of time. If she used the crutches, she would be able to descend the stairs quickly enough, but they made such a distinctive clicking racket that they would surely wake up her gorilla-like guard. If she hopped down the stairs on her good foot, it might have worked, but her good arm was on the opposite side and she kept losing her balance. Eventually she decided on the most painful course, of going down on her good and bad legs, using her good arm for support. Her boot thunked horribly the first few times, until she got the hang of it and could place it more quietly on the next step and then hop her good foot down to support it before the scream inside her could escape her lips. By the time she reached the bottom, though, she was shaking with pain and exhausted. Curiosity forced her to look around the rest of the apartment as she caught her breath, sitting on the bottom step. It was clean and unmistakably masculine. Exercise equipment took up a lot of the space not already claimed by a leather couch and TV arrangement. Zach lay on the couch, made up with sheets to act as a bed, his feet sticking out over the arm, his hand tucked under the back of his head, his chest rising and falling under the rumpled sheet. If she wasn't so angry, she'd find him handsome; or maybe he still was handsome, she thought grudgingly, closing her eyes miserably and looking away. Why couldn't he be ugly? Life wasn't fair. Uber. Right. Screwing up her courage for what was ahead, she stood and slowly hobbled across the hardwood floor, agonizing over every painful thump and noisy squeak until she finally reached the door. She unlocked the five locks on his large door, each of them being well-oiled and working perfectly. She expected no less of her anal-retentive, grey-skivvies-on-Tuesdays captor. Finally, she tugged open the heavy door to find endless flights of icy steel-mesh stairs leading all the way down to the street where her Uber was waiting. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me; she cried, breaking down into tears. A strong arm slid down around her waist and mercifully shifted her weight off her throbbing foot, "I know. It sucks. You should try it with a rucksack full of bricks," Zach said, leaning his head down and breathing into her hair. "I want to go home," she whispered. "Let me take care of you; please," Zach murmured into the top of her head, "I; it was my fault this happened to you. I scared you, I know that now; but, please believe me that I would never want to hurt or frighten you like that." "It wasn't just that text," she said, pulling her head away and looking up at him angrily. "All year, I never had a moment's peace. Even when I couldn't see you, I could feel you waiting in the quiet or dark places. Even if you weren't there;" "I was there," he confessed. "I was always there. I didn't understand what had gone wrong. You didn't want to talk to me, and the world just didn't make sense to me unless I knew where you were, what you were doing; unless I knew you were safe." "Maybe you knew I was safe, but I didn't! I thought I'd done something; that somehow I deserved to have this beautiful, scary monster hunting me. I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd done to destroy something that was so; wonderful." "You didn't do anything, Honey. Nothing at all. You were perfect. You were so perfect that I couldn't keep; you didn't do anything wrong. I never meant to send you that message; please, please believe me." "Why did you send it?" she asked, finally looking up into his eyes. The dark blue liquid pools of her eyes turned violet in the moonlight, and Zach felt a tightening in his chest. "I; I can't tell you that; but it was never meant for you." "You mean, you meant to send that message to someone else? To hurt them like that?" "Honey, I; Zach said, looking around, unable to meet her eyes, "Please, I can't; you wouldn't understand; my life isn't like that anymore." "I want to go home, Zach; please," she whispered. Zach closed his eyes for a long moment before he swallowed and nodded, looking like he was in more pain than she was. "I'll take you home tomorrow, okay? Or Terry will, if you don't want me to. He'll check the place out, make sure you're set up and safe there. You're tired, you're hurting, and your Uber's gone, now. Let me take you back upstairs and you can go in the morning. Please." At that moment, a throb of pain shot through her entire leg, and as angry as Honey was, she knew she couldn't face her empty apartment without a few more hours of rest. "Okay," she whispered. To be continued in part 2, Based on a post by Lingering Afterthought, in 3 parts, for Literotica.

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 4 Finding real love, at last. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. Driving home the next day felt like waking up from some kind of dream until I pulled into our driveway and Munchkin came running out to greet me. As I was getting out to reassure him that he hadn't been abandoned, the reality of my life settled right back in. I went inside, and Lane and Mary grunted their hellos without looking up. Ah, home. I texted Erin that I made it back safely, and she replied almost immediately saying what a great night she had, and how much she missed me already. It was going to be a long three weeks until she rotated back to the hospital in Petoskey. Luckily, life was as busy as always, and time flew by. For the first time since I was a child, I could honestly say that I was happy. My happiness lasted until the day before Erin was scheduled to return. I got my first inkling that something might be wrong when I called to see if Wilma wanted me to pick up any groceries for her from town. She didn't answer, which was strange, and the call went to voicemail. Even if she was napping, she was a very light sleeper and would normally answer by the third ring. I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, so I went straight to Wilma's to make sure she was alright. Everything seemed fine when I pulled into the yard, but there was no answer when I knocked on her door. I tried again, but there was nothing but an eerie silence. Fearing the worst, I grabbed the spare key from its hiding place and went inside. I called Wilma's name and, hearing no reply, went quickly through the house trying to find her. When I got to her bedroom, I could hear a low moaning sound from the attached washroom. I ran in and found Wilma collapsed by the bathtub. She had slipped and hit her head, injuring her hip and arm in the process. She didn't have her phone with her when she fell and had been unable to move, so who knows how long she had been lying there. I called 911 for an ambulance and then called Erin and suggested that she meet us at the hospital. It took forever for the paramedics to arrive, and longer still to get Wilma loaded into the ambulance. By the time I got to the hospital, she was already being triaged by their emergency team. I took a few minutes while I waited for an update on Wilma's condition to call the rest of the family and give them the news. Alison came directly to the hospital after class, and Sharon brought Mary and Lane as soon as they got home from school. Erin arrived a few hours later and broke down when she saw me. Finally, just after nine, the doctors gave Erin an update. Wilma was in rough shape; she was badly dehydrated and had a moderate concussion, a fractured wrist, and a bone bruise on her hip. It would take her weeks to recover in the hospital. The good news was that she would make a recovery, given enough time and support. Erin and Mary decided to stay with Wilma in the hospital while Sharon dropped Alison at her dorm and drove Lane back to the house. By midnight, Mary had nodded off in a chair in the corner of Wilma's room, while I waited outside with Erin. "You should go home, Davis. There's nothing else you can do tonight. Thank God, you found her; I am not sure what I would have done if you hadn't. I already lost Grampy; I am not ready to lose Gran as well. They are all I have." I wrapped her in my arms and pulled her close. "You have me, now, too. And the girls. And you know Lane would do anything for you, you just need to ask. I was serious about what I said in Grand Rapids, Erin. I love you." Erin pulled me closer but didn't reply. The following week was a rollercoaster of emotions. Wilma was improving far quicker than the doctors had anticipated, but she would still be in rehab for at least another two weeks. It was impossible to hide Wilma's accident from the rest of the family, and they descended on the hospital like vultures; or, more accurately, their lawyers descended on the hospital while, for the most part, they stayed far away where it was warm. The one exception was Erin's stepfather, who flew in the next day. "For Christ's sake, Erin. Haven't you done enough harm as it is? Do you want your Gran to die alone on the floor of that dingy old shack of hers? It's time for her to move into a care facility that can look after her. Be reasonable!" When he failed to persuade Erin to act on his behalf, his attorneys requested an emergency court order, alleging that Wilma lacked the capacity to make her own medical decisions, that Erin was not acting in her best interests, and that one of Wilma's children should be appointed as her legal guardian. Wilma was furious when she learned of his actions, but there was little she could do to stop him until she was discharged from the hospital. Both sides knew that her doctor's recommendation would hold a lot of weight with the judge, and it was not good news for Wilma when it came. "If Mrs. Anderson is to return home, she will require around-the-clock care and company. If such care can't be arranged, then I recommend that she be placed in a long-term assisted-living facility that can treat any lingering effects from her fall, and from her late-stage cancer." Erin took the news like a physical blow, and she staggered backward to a chair. We didn't have the resources for 24-hour nursing, and it would be impossible to arrange it with such short notice even if we did. "I'm sorry, Davis. I need to be alone for a while to think." She left without looking back or saying goodbye to Wilma, and I just let her go. I wanted to ease her pain, but I knew that there was nothing I could do. She had lost, and her family had won. I was despondent as I made my way towards the exit, so much so that I nearly ran into Alison who was finishing up her shift at the hospital. "You look terrible, Brother, what happened? Is Wilma alright?" I explained to her about the doctor's recommendation and Erin's reaction. "No one has had the heart to tell Wilma, yet. She's recovered from the fall, but this news is going to kill her." Alison looked at me for a minute, before her mouth quirked upwards in a smile. "I'll do it." "What do you mean? "I'll do it. I'll look after Wilma. I am wrapping up my clinical practicum tomorrow, and I was planning on working this summer. I will look after Wilma instead. Mary can move in with us as well, and I can teach her what she needs to know to care for her when I'm not there. Once her school year is done in June, she and I can spell each other off, and I can still pick up some shifts here and there." It was an amazing offer, but I couldn't let her do it. "Alison, I can't ask you to give up your job for the summer. You need that money for your living expenses at school." "You're not asking; I'm offering. And since you've paid for my tuition so far, I am debt-free and can take out a loan to cover my last term." "I didn't cover the tuition, it was your;" "Davis. Really? Our mother, who never met a five-dollar bill she couldn't snort or inject, left me a college fund? Please. I am not an idiot. I love you, Big Brother, and I love what you have done for me and the others, but it's my time to step up now as well. Let me do this." I felt a heaviness lift from my chest as I hugged Alison and lifted her off her feet. I tried to reach Erin to let her know about Alison's offer, but I drove to her apartment, and she wasn't there, and she must have turned her phone off. I figured she must have gone to Wilma's, so I headed that way. I pulled in just as the sun was setting and found her SUV parked in the laneway, crosshatched by the lengthening shadows of the trees. I parked and saw a lone figure at the end of the dock, still wearing her scrubs. I could see whitecaps on the waves as they smashed into the dock, and I knew she must be freezing, so I grabbed my jacket out of the back of the truck and went to join her. The footing was treacherous, with patches of ice hidden by the gloom and spray, but I made my way carefully to Erin and wrapped my jacket around her shoulders. She closed her eyes and leaned back against me. "Am I doing the right thing, Davis? Gran could have died. She would have died if not for you. Can we risk that happening again? Am I just holding on to the past?" When she was finished, Erin lapsed into silence. "You are doing what Wilma asked you to do. I know your stepfather says that she isn't mentally competent, but I tell you, if she's not mentally competent then none of us are." "But it doesn't make a difference anymore. You heard what the doctor said, and I can't go against her recommendation." "You don't have to, Erin. Alison has offered to move in with Wilma to look after her, and she will teach Mary to look after her as well. Between the two of them, Wilma can stay in the house until the fall, at least, and then we can see." Erin turned towards me in her excitement but lost her footing on the slippery dock and fell backward into the water, pulling me with her. Now, in the summer, that kind of accident might be cause for some laughter and an embarrassing story around the dinner table. In late April, however, spending any time in the frigid waters of Lake Michigan could rapidly prove fatal. The shock from the cold when Erin hit the water caused her to gasp involuntarily, and she took in a mouthful. I had a half-second longer to prepare myself and managed to keep my mouth closed as I submerged, but I could immediately feel the cold in my extremities. The ladder that would normally have been at the end of the dock had been taken out for the winter, so we had no choice but to make for shore. Time compressed as I struggled to pull us through the water while Erin coughed and vomited. Finally, we dragged ourselves onto the shore, wet and shivering. I felt clumsy and weak from the cold, and my clothes felt like they weighed a hundred pounds, but I wrapped my arm around Erin's waist, and we started stumbling toward the house. By the time we got there, we were both shivering uncontrollably and my hands were numb from the cold. I knew we needed to get warm, but it was like my brain was in a fog and I couldn't get my limbs to move the way they were supposed to. So, I did the first thing that came to mind, and started feeding paper and kindling into the fireplace, while Erin went to the linen closet and grabbed a stack of towels. She stripped off her wet scrubs while I got the fire started, and then she helped me get undressed as well. When I felt a little feeling return to my fingers, I fed a larger log onto the fire and then went and got a large comforter which I wrapped around us as we shivered in front of the fire. Eventually, our shivering subsided as our bodies warmed up, and Erin laid her head back against my chest. "I'm not ready for her to go. I'm not ready to be all alone again." "You're not alone anymore; not unless you want to be. I love you, Erin." I felt her relax back against me. "I love you too, Davis, and I'm sorry." "For what?" "For pulling you into the lake like a dumbass; fuck, that was cold." Chapter 6. Wilma's family insisted on taking their emergency petition to court, over Wilma's continued objections, but once the judge learned that Alison, a trained nurse, was going to be staying with her, their decision was an easy one. And let me tell you, Wilma's mind was still sharp as ever, and she made it clear both to her doctors and, eventually, to her family and the judge, that she wanted to go home. Erin's stepfather was beside himself with anger after they lost the hearing. "Why do you insist on delaying the inevitable like this? Wilma is dying. We know it, she knows it, the doctors know it. You're the only one who won't accept it. She would get better care in a facility with real nurses here in town, rather than relying on a student, a little girl, and whatever time you can give her at home. The next time she has a crisis maybe we won't get so lucky, and it will be on your head." Outwardly, Erin looked as smooth and unbothered as glass as her stepfather screamed at her, but her hand was squeezing mine so hard that I thought she might break a bone. Luckily, before I could say anything to make matters worse, Wilma intervened. "What is it that makes you so damn sure that you know what's best for everyone else? You're right, I'm dying. There is nothing that anyone can do about that. If I happen to fall again and speed the process along, so be it. But don't you dare pretend that you care one iota about my health or happiness, or your stepdaughter's happiness for that matter. The only thing you care about is getting your wife's inheritance faster. Is your business doing so badly that you can't wait until I die? It seemed like she had scored a direct hit, as his face turned solid red as he started to stammer out a response, but she dismissed him before he could even begin. "Now go away and leave us in peace. You will be back here for my funeral soon enough, and no one wants you hovering around, hoping to speed it up." A week later, Wilma was released from the hospital, and we brought her back home. Alison moved in right away, along with Munchkin, and Mary soon followed. On most days, James would come by to pick Mary up for school and then drop her back afterward. Alison stayed with Wilma during the day, and Mary covered most of the evenings. Erin came by to help whenever she could, and I did my best to keep them stocked with supplies. It wasn't perfect, but it worked and, more importantly, it made Wilma happy. She didn't talk much about her cancer, but it was clear that it was getting worse. Mary noticed that she was eating less and resting more and that she had begun to take her pain pills in the morning as well as in the evening before she went to bed. Wilma was still adamant that she wanted to stay in her home, however, and continued to teach Mary all she could about art and life. In early June, I had stopped by to visit Wilma and the girls late in the afternoon and I was still there when James dropped Mary off from school. He escorted her into the house but then stood awkwardly in the entranceway rather than leaving. "Mr. Crawford, could we talk for a minute, if you have the time?" I shook my head in amusement. No matter how many times I told him to just call me Davis, Mr. Crawford, I remained. "Sure, I was just finishing up with Wilma," I replied as I gave Wilma a gentle hug. She felt more like a bird at that point than a person, just skin hanging on fragile bones held together by her indomitable will. James looked worried as we went outside. "This may not be any of my business, but yesterday, when I got home from school, Calum and my dad were on a conference call with some officials from the county and Wilma's son and one of her granddaughters, the lawyer. I didn't mean to eavesdrop or anything, but they were on speaker, and it was loud enough that I could hear them in the kitchen. "They were saying that when Wilma dies, her estate is being divided up equally amongst all of the children and grandchildren, but there is a part of the will that states that the land by the lake can't be sold or developed. From the sounds of it, however, once Wilma is gone, the county is going to seize that land, using eminent domain, to create a public boat launch, since Wilma's dock is the only four-season dock for at least ten miles in either direction. They will fix it up and then sell the rest of the land to the McDougals for development. "So, Wilma's family will get their money when the county forces the sale, and the McDougals will get their land. The only person left who might make a fuss would be Erin, but they figure she will fall in line once she sees the big fat check from the county." Listening to James' story made my blood boil. I hated the kinds of rich pricks who used their money and their purchased politicians to run roughshod over the rest of us. I just wasn't sure if there was anything that we could do to stop them. I thanked James for the heads up and went to speak with Wilma once he left. I expected Wilma to be as filled with rage at her family's treachery as I was, but she seemed remarkably calm about the whole thing. "Thank you for sharing this with me and thank James for his candor. He must have been deeply conflicted between his loyalty to his family, and his desire to do the right thing. Now, as to what we are going to do about this, we are going to do nothing. I don't want you to mention this to Erin or Mary, it will just worry them and make them upset. And you have more important things to do than to rage against a bunch of duplicitous assholes. Leave this one with me. "Now, why don't you go outside, take that shirt off, and start chopping some wood or something equally manly? Erin will be here soon, and you know how she likes to see you when you have worked up a sweat." I didn't know exactly what Wilma had planned, but for the next few days, she spent a lot of time on the phone. Towards the end of June, a very well-dressed older man in a tailored suit was leaving her house just as I was pulling in. It was clear that he had been there before since Munchkin ignored him and came over to give me an enthusiastic greeting instead. The man gave me a friendly smile as he put his briefcase in his top-of-the-line Lexus SUV before walking over to introduce himself. "Brantford Sage," he said holding out his hand. "You must be Mr. Crawford. Wilma has told me a lot about you. With everything she said, I was kind of expecting you to be seven feet tall and wearing a cape." I laughed at the image. "It's nice that she thinks so highly of me, but she gives me too much credit. And please call me Davis." "Well, Davis, and please call me Brantford, I have known Wilma for more years than you have been alive, and I have never heard her talk about anyone the way that she talks about you, except for Phillip, of course. And we all know how she felt about Phillip." I knew that it was none of my business why Mr. Sage was visiting Wilma, but my desire to protect her overrode any hesitation on my part about speaking out. "I am sorry if it's rude of me to ask, Mr. Sage, but what is your business here with Wilma? As you may know, her own family, along with a local family of some prominence, have been waging a campaign to get Wilma to sell this land. You are not here on their behalf, are you?" "I can assure you, Davis, that I am only here as a favor to Wilma. I normally split my time between our offices in Detroit, New York, and London, but when Wilma calls, I make it a priority to answer. I am sorry that I can't say more about my business here, attorney-client privilege, but you can ask her yourself if you would like." "It's all good. Wilma is still sharp as a tack, and even if she has lost a step or two, she is still twice as smart and four times as wise as I will ever be." "Well, I should be going. But sadly, I am sure I will see you again, soon enough." By the end of the summer, it was clear that Wilma's adventures were almost done. When she worked with Mary, she would often fall asleep in the comfortable chair in the corner. She had never had a large appetite, but recently, it had dwindled almost to nothing. Erin was very worried and suggested that it was time to move her Gran into hospice, but Wilma wouldn't hear of it. "This house has been my home for more than 60 years; I am not going to leave it now. It would miss me too much, and I can't have my home pining away over me. There is nothing more depressing than a sad home." Even Munchkin, the dog with boundless energy, became more subdued and often sat a quiet watch over Wilma while she slept. Finally, on the last Sunday of August, I got the call I had been dreading. I could hear Mary's voice on the other end of the line, holding back tears. "Gran says she's too tired and it's time to stop fighting. She told me to call you and Erin, and ask you to come;" I could hear the sobs building in her as she spoke, "to say goodbye." "Is James there with you, Mary?" "I called him. He's on his way." "I will call Erin and then go and pick her up. She won't be in any condition to drive." I figured the odds of there being a speed trap on the highway to Petoskey before 7 AM on a Sunday were slim to none, so I made it to Erin's apartment in record time. She must have been watching for me out of her window, as she threw herself into my arms before I was fully out of the truck. "I am so sorry, Honey," was all I could say, and I just held her in silence until the waves of grief that wracked her body had subsided. "We should get going," I said, not knowing what else to say. Maybe I should have told her that "Everything would be alright," but I suspected that it would be a while before that was true. But that was okay. People grieve in their own time. Erin held my hand tightly as we started the drive to Wilma's. "Why don't you tell me some of your favorite memories with your Gran and Grampy?" Erin remained silent for a few minutes, but once she started talking, the floodgates opened wide. She told me about the first time that her parents dropped her at the airport when she was only seven. How scared she was of these strange older people she didn't know. Phillip had seen her fear, and rather than trying to comfort her; how do you comfort a child whose parents have abandoned them; he had taken her for a long walk down by the lake. She remembered the sound of the wind blowing off the lake, as Phillip told her stories about their past. She remembered the summers she spent with Gran and Grampy as a teen. By that point, she had grown into a beautiful young woman, and her parents wanted to show her off to their important friends in Europe and places further afield. But she had already chosen to spend her time with the people that she loved. She spoke of coming to see them when she was in college. Of the awful year that Phillip got sick, and her grief at his passing. She said that her parents came to Good Hart for the funeral, but it felt like she and Gran were the only people to truly grieve his loss. She fell silent as we pulled into Wilma's laneway. "Go and see your Gran. Let me know what you need, Honey. I am here for you." Despite her grief, Erin looked at me as she took my hand. "What about you? What do you need, Davis? You love her too." "People show their love in different ways. I never really got the chance to give or receive love as a child, at least not in the way that most of us think of it. But being with you has made me realize something important about myself; I take care of the people I love. So, let me take care of you, Mary, and Wilma, one final time." By that point, Mary and Munchkin had come outside. Mary's eyes were red, and you could see the tracks that her tears had left on her cheeks. I got out of the truck and just held her for a minute. Erin came up behind me and enveloped her as well. Munchkin, mourning in his own way, stood watch for us, keeping us safe as we grieved. "Mary, you don't have to be here for the end if it's too hard. You can say goodbye, then take the truck and go and meet James. We can let you know when it's over." She just shook her head. "Where is she?" Mary led us into the living room. The wisp that remained of Wilma was in the comfortable chair by the fire. She had been a very small woman when we met less than a year before, but now she looked almost ethereal. Like the wind could slip right through her collecting her stories as it passed. She beckoned me over with one of her curled hands. "Davis, I am glad that you're here. I know I am a greedy old biddy, but I have three favors to ask, and I don't have a lot of time left to do the asking." "Of course, Wilma. You know I would do anything for you and Erin." She closed her eyes for a moment to collect her thoughts. "The first favor is that I need some time alone with my girls. I am sure James will be here in a minute; he is a good boy, don't hold those assholes in his family against him. He loves our Mary. Go outside, and when he arrives, I want you to go down to the lake and set up the five Adirondack chairs, so they are all together and facing out over the water. Then come back up to me." "Of course, Wilma." I went outside and sat on the front steps, scratching Munchkin's ears as I waited. James pulled up less than ten minutes later and I explained what had happened, and Wilma's request. When we were finished at the lake, we walked back up to the house, with Munchkin following quietly on our heels. We let ourselves in and saw Wilma, Erin, and Mary pulled together in an embrace. I was hesitant to interrupt, but Wilma saw us and called us over. "There's your big, strong men. Girls, could you get some of the outdoor blankets for James to carry down to the lake for us? And Davis, my second favor is for you to carry me down to the lake one last time. Would the rest of you give us a few minutes before you follow?" I picked Wilma up from the chair and wrapped her in my arms. She felt almost weightless, but I saw hints of her mischievous smile as we started walking. "You know, the last time a man carried me like this, the journey ended very differently." I couldn't help but smile, even at the end Wilma was still quick with the teasing and innuendo. "I bet you wish it was that other man carrying you now," I joked in return, but Wilma just rested her head against my chest. "No. No, I don't, Davis. I will see that other man soon enough. I am well content to be here with you. I am so proud of you. You are such a good and faithful man. It is a lot to ask of you, but for my third favor, will you look after my girls when I am gone?" By that point, we had reached the shore, and I set Wilma down in the middle chair of the five. "You don't need to ask, Wilma. Of course, I will look after them. Because you asked it of me, and because I love them just like you do." Wilma smiled and reached out to take my hand while she pressed three small objects into my palm. I looked down and saw that she had removed her engagement and wedding rings and given them to me. They were joined by an almost identical wedding band that must have belonged to Phillip before he passed. "You will know when the time is right for these. I would have liked to have been there to see it, though. Through these rings, maybe Phillip and I can continue to be a small part of your love for each other, even once we're gone." James and the girls had started down the path to the lake and would reach us in a minute. Before they arrived, Wilma gave me a final serious look. "All hell is going to break loose when they read my will after the funeral. Be there for Erin, please. The mistakes I made with my children are all my fault, but Erin will be left to bear that weight for a little while longer once I'm gone. It would mean a lot to a dying woman to know that she won't have to carry that weight alone." "I'll share that weight with her, for as long as she needs. For as long as she will let me." Wilma patted my hand. "That's good. I love you, Davis, but I think it's time." Mary and Erin arrived with James, and they made sure that Wilma was bundled in warm blankets as she looked out over the lake. Mary and Erin sat on either side of her and held her hands, while James and I sat at the ends. Munchkin settled against Wilma's feet, to keep them warm. After a while, Wilma started talking. She told stories about her life with Phillip; how they met, when they first came to this place, building a home, and raising their family. She spoke of their success as artists, and their failures as parents. She spoke of her regrets but also about her deep love for Erin and Mary, and how much she appreciated what they had done for her. She paused for a moment as the wind began to pick up, but we heard her last words before the wind carried the rest away. "You are all artists, and you are all worthy of love." She fell silent, and we sat for a long while listening to the wind off the lake. Epilogue. As always, Wilma was right. The reading of her will did indeed set off a firestorm, but she had made sure that we were ready for it. Do you remember Mr. Sage, that man in the suit who came to visit Wilma not too long before she passed? It turns out that he wasn't just an old friend, he was also a named partner at the largest law firm in the state and one of the most powerful firms in the country. It seems that Phillip didn't just paint portraits for the richest family in the state (you would recognize their name from the hospitals, museums, and other cultural institutions where it is featured prominently), but he also became a close family friend. You would never have known it, though, since Phillip refused to even acknowledge their friendship in public so that he didn't inadvertently trade on their name. Mr. Sage was also a good friend of that family and, over the years, became close with Wilma and Phillip, as well. After James told Wilma his story, she called those old family friends and, for the first time in their long friendship, asked for their help. She would never have done so for her own benefit, but she couldn't bear to think that Phillip's legacy would be lost because of the greed and treachery of his children. Within a day, Mr. Sage was working on a solution to Wilma's problem, and everything was signed and sealed well before Wilma passed on. The day of the reading of the will would have been comic if it hadn't also been so tragic. In the weeks after Wilma's death, her remaining children and grandchildren had gathered to express their deep sadness at her passing. Many black outfits were worn, and many sad faces were made. Not surprisingly, the entire McDougal family also showed up both to the funeral and to the smaller gathering at Wilma's house afterward. James stood with Mary, his arm around her shoulder, both to comfort her and to protect her from his own family, as best he could. The rest of the McDougal clan stood with Wilma's family and made sure to avail themselves of the free wine and hors d'oeuvres. As per her wishes, Wilma was cremated, and her ashes were scattered from the deck behind her house so that the wind could carry them towards the lake. Again, as per her wishes, the will was read immediately thereafter. The first surprise of the day came when Mr. Sage, who everyone thought was there merely to express his condolences at Wilma's passing, informed the family lawyers that the will in their possession had been revoked earlier that year. Both Wilma's family and their lawyers began to protest until the man formally introduced himself as a named partner at Sage, Bentley, and Carstairs, and as the new executor of Wilma's estate. The second surprise was the size and extent of that estate. The property by the lake was considerably larger than anyone had known and included a number of additional houses and cottages that Wilma and Phillip had acquired over the years. Unlike the previous will, however, that had left an equal share of the land to each of Wilma's descendants, the new one protected the entire property, in perpetuity, as part of a land trust that was established for the benefit and use of artists, local residents and even the Fudgies, when summer came to the lower peninsula. As part of the land trust, the dock was to be extended and reinforced and a public boat landing and park were to be built and maintained on the land, again, in perpetuity. Erin and I were named as trustees of the land trust, along with Mr. Sage and Mary, when she came of age. Given Michigan's strict laws around the use of eminent domain for private gain, there was no chance that the McDougals and the county would be able to move forward with their plans to seize the land. The third and final surprise was that Wilma and Phillip had done much better with the sale of their art and with their investments over the years than anyone had thought or expected. In addition to the property that was now in the trust, they had amassed a fortune in the low eight figures. Most of that money was left to manage the land trust, but a not inconsiderable amount was set aside to fund the college education of my brother and sisters and to pay off Erin's considerable student debt from medical school. The will also stipulated that the estate would pay for any costs that Wilma's family had incurred to attend the funeral (with receipts, of course.) Wilma's paintings were left to the public gallery in Grand Rapids and galleries further afield, with a few notable exceptions. Mary was given three paintings of her choice from the collection, that weren't otherwise named in the will. After much thought and consideration, she chose both the first and last works that Wilma had painted, both of which had been hanging in the living room, along with a small study of the house that Wilma kept in her bedroom beside a picture of Phillip and her on their wedding day. Erin was given Phillip's portrait of her as a young woman, and that portrait still hangs above our mantelpiece alongside his portrait of Wilma as a young woman, which she left to me. The only time they left our mantelpiece was when they were featured in a retrospective exhibit of their work at a museum in New York, but the house felt strangely empty when they were gone. Erin's family was furious at the changes in the new will. They threatened to fight it with every resource at their disposal. They tried every dirty trick they could think of, questioning Wilma's mental capacity in the months before her death, fighting the legality of the land trust, and trying to impugn our characters implying that we were gold diggers who wormed our way into Wilma's life to steal the family inheritance. In the end, though, the family's lawyers were no match for Brantford and his firm. When none of their ploys worked, Erin's family and the McDougals turned on each other, and the ensuing lawsuits are still ongoing to this day. I would love to say that that was the end of the McDougals, or that Erin's family came around in the end. Unfortunately, they are still just as terrible as ever. But at least their arrogance and corruption are now far enough away that we can safely ignore them. On a similar note, my mother is still absent from our lives. I don't honestly know if she is even still alive, although I assume that someone would have tried to find her next of kin if she had died. Sometimes, I am charitable and hope that she managed to face her demons and turn what's left of her life around. But most of the time, I am just glad that she is no longer able to hurt the people I love. After things settled down, Alison finished her schooling and became a nurse practitioner, as she had always dreamed of. In her last year of study, while she was doing a clinical practicum at a hospital in Detroit, she met a lovely internist who fell madly in love with her. Luckily for him, his feelings were reciprocated, and they are now married and living in Grand Rapids. They split their holidays between our family and her husband's family in Detroit, and they stay with us for a few weeks each summer. Their son is as thick as thieves with our daughter, and their imagination carries them through endless adventures together. Sharon was successful in her ambition to leave the peninsula and see more of the world. She finished her undergraduate degree in creative writing in Chicago before setting out to see the world, and she is still out there wandering. But she sends us lots of pictures when she gets the chance, and recently, Erin noticed that many of her pictures have the same very attractive woman smiling in the background. I think it was probably a coincidence, but Erin thinks otherwise. I sure hope Erin's right. There is nothing I want more than for my family to find love and happiness. When the spirit moves her to come home to us (with or without her friend), she will be very welcome. Mary spent months grieving her loss, but rather than turning inward, she channeled her emotions into a triptych of paintings that firmly established her as an upcoming talent in the world of art. She lived with us for several years until James proposed, at which point they moved into one of the cottages owned by the trust. Unfortunately, James' family found out that he told Wilma about their plans, and they disowned him. He had a few tough years, but Mary helped him through, and when he turned eighteen, I took him on as an apprentice. He now runs one of my crews. I used to worry that he loved Mary more than she loved him and that the imbalance would lead to heartache. My worries were put to rest when she painted her first portrait. James was her subject, and I have never seen a painting more suffused with love and desire. A few years later, a collector offered her an eye-watering amount of money for it, but she politely declined. As for Lane, well who knows what he will do with his life, but he is carrying a 4.0 GPA, and the world is his oyster. He was sure impressed by the lawyers who rained hellfire down on the McDougals, though, so I suspect that he might be leaning that way in the future. He is also building quite a following as a DJ, combining classics from the 40's and 50's with new beats. He recently started dating a new girl, and she is a real sweetheart. We haven't told her about the day that he met Erin for the first time; yet. But trust me, that time will come. But until it does, Lane is more than happy to keep up with his chores and help out around the house. But what he loves more than anything is to carry his rod out to the end of the dock and fish, while the wind off the lake plays through his hair. And then there is Erin and me. I have to say that things have worked out pretty well for us, in the end. It took less than a year for me to make use of Wilma's last gifts, and Erin and I were married the next summer in the new park down by the dock. Wilma left her house and a few acres of land to Erin, separate from the land trust, and we spent several years fixing it up and expanding it so that my brother and sisters know that there is always a place for them if they need it; for a day, a week, or a lifetime. I am still not the best at taking orders or following instructions; but gentle requests from the woman that I love, sealed with a kiss on my cheek? It turns out that I am more than fine with those. And I am still not always sure what a beautiful doctor sees in a plumber like me. But rather than let my insecurity get the better of me, I have learned to accept my good fortune with a smile. One tradition that we've adopted as our own is that we make time to dance together every Friday night. If we have guests, or family who are home, they know that they will be joining us as well; Wilma's 'no wallflowers' rule is still in full effect. Now that she is old enough, I am teaching our daughter to dance, and her favorite thing in the world is to twirl around the living room in her mommy and daddy's arms. Some nights, when it's just the three of us and our daughter has gone to bed, we let the soft crackle of Wilma's old 45s take us back. We dance together with the lights down low, the music threading through the quiet night like a whisper from the past. And when the music fades, we hold each other close and listen to the voices of those we have loved, as they linger in the wind off the lake. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

Let's unwrap together... WARNING: The content in this channel may cause guilty pleasure! UNCENSORED versions and more media on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/FranxiscoASMR MORE EROTIC ASMR FOR REAL WOMEN ON YOUTUBE: 💫 🔥 Feel better... https://youtu.be/7pvowf_uDmM

You can enjoy exclusive and intense erotic audio by grabbing your copy of the Sensual Awakenings App on the Apple Store, or downloading the very unofficial and unapproved Android version from WyldeInBed.com In the quiet town where the sea kisses the shore, Tess finds herself haunted by the last words she exchanged with Finn before he vanished beneath the waves. Regret clings to her like sea salt, and as she stands on the beach, her heart breaks for the love she lost. Yet, as the tide ebbs and flows, so does her longing—transforming into tantalizing erotic fantasies that dance like shadows on the sand.But the ocean holds secrets deeper than Tess ever imagined. As she plunges into the supernatural depths of her desires, she uncovers a world where passion knows no bounds and the boundaries between life and death blur. Finn's spirit calls to her, weaving a tale of love intertwined with BDSM and longing that transcends the physical realm.In a journey filled with tearjerking revelations and tantalizing encounters, Tess must confront the truth of Finn's demise and the powerful connection that binds them—one that could either set her free or drown her in desire forever. Join Tess as she navigates the stormy waters of love, loss, and the supernatural, discovering that some ties can never be severed, and the heart's deepest yearnings can lead to the most unexpected places. Will she find closure, or will she drown in the depths of her desire?

It's that time of year again—when we gather by the fire, sip something warm, and queue up… movies that *technically* take place at Christmas. This week, we're unwrapping two not-quite-but-definitely-set-during-the-holidays classics: Stanley Kubrick's eerie yuletide odyssey Eyes Wide Shut (1999) and Steven Spielberg's breezy cat-and-mouse charmer Catch Me If You Can (2002). While neither film is exactly “festive,” both use the holiday season to cast their stories in a glow equal parts melancholic and mischievous. Before diving into our gift-wrap-adjacent double feature, our Blue Plate Special is packed with plenty of cinematic goodies waiting under the tree. We break down the eyebrow-raising possibility of Warner Bros. being sold to either Netflix or Paramount/Skydance—and what such a shake-up could mean for the future of the film industry. We also share our thoughts on several recent releases we've caught (Sentimental Value, The History of Sound, Jay Kelly, and Pavements), react to Quentin Tarantino's recent comments about Paul Dano and 21st-century cinema, relive our theatrical experience seeing Kill Bill: The Whole Bloody Affair, and pay tribute to the recent losses of Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa, Jim Ward, Jeff Garcia, Peter Greene, and the legendary Rob Reiner. As always, please like, subscribe, rate, and review us on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, YouTube, and wherever else you listen! Got thoughts or questions? Email us at huffmanbrothersproductions@gmail.com.

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 3 How did we ever get here? Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. "When I was fourteen, Mr. Johnson introduced me to a friend of his, Henry White, who was a master plumber. Henry was a high-functioning alcoholic whose temper had driven away all his old apprentices and journeymen. Luckily, I was always big for my age, and Mr. Johnson assured Henry that I was seventeen, turning eighteen in the next few months, so he took me on with the promise to make me an apprentice as soon as I was old enough. By the time that Henry learned my actual age, he had come to rely on me so much that he kept me on." "But what about school? Don't you need a high school diploma to become an apprentice?" "One good thing about growing up in a small town is that most people know the score. I made it to school when I could, and Henry and I worked a lot on the weekends, while Alison watched the rest of my siblings. Most of my teachers let me through with C's and D's, even though I must have missed half of my classes. Everyone knew that I was working with Henry and that I would need my high school diploma to become an apprentice, so they just kind of let me slip through. "I had well over 6,000 hours of experience plumbing before I even turned 18 and could formally become an apprentice. By that point, Henry was a significantly less functional alcoholic, and I was doing everything for his business; all the plumbing and all of the invoicing. He just signed off on the work. If anyone had ever looked into it, he could have gotten into real trouble, but we did smaller jobs for folks who didn't have a lot of money, so no one ever noticed or cared. "Just about the last thing that Henry did before he passed was to swear out my application to become a master plumber. Then one day I showed up for work, and he had died in his sleep. He didn't own much of anything, other than his tools, and he didn't have any family that I knew of, so I just kept on working." After a few minutes spent lying together in silence, I thought that Erin might have drifted off, but she had one more question for me before she did. "When did your mom leave?" I had never told anyone that part of my story; even my brother and sisters thought that Mom had just left one day, leaving me in charge. The reality was so much worse. "By the time Lane started school, Mom had already left us. Not physically, but in all the other ways that matter. She didn't work, and she regularly brought her 'boyfriends' back to our house to trade sex for drugs. Any support she got from social services went straight into her arm or up her nose. I was working long hours by then, to pay the rent and put food on the table, so sometimes that meant that Mary or my brother would be at home with Mom when I wasn't there. I knew it was playing with fire, but there was nothing I could do about it other than pray. "Normally, when I got home, I would blow my horn as I pulled into our drive and Lane would come running out to hug me and tell me about his day. So, I knew something was wrong when I came home late one evening, turned off my truck, and he still hadn't come out. I went inside, and Mom was sitting stoned in the living room watching TV. I asked where Lane was, and she just waved toward the back of the house. Alison and Sharon were out, so Mary and Lane were home with her by themselves. I found him in the room that we shared, cowering in the corner, with little Mary guarding the door. She was only eight at the time. "After a few minutes, I got Lane to tell me what was wrong, and he showed me his arm. Earlier, he had been in the kitchen and had bumped into Mom while she was cooking something on the stove. In a burst of rage, or maybe just evil, she grabbed his arm and held it against the burner. You can still see the scar on his arm today. "That was the end of it. I asked Mary to stay with Lane in our room, I packed Mom's things into the one suitcase we owned, and I drove her to the bus station. I bought her a ticket to Grand Rapids, gave her all the cash in my wallet, and waited with her until she boarded. I told her I would call the police if she ever came back. "Before she left, she spat on me and told me she wished I had never been born." I marveled at how flat my voice sounded, but to my surprise, my cheeks felt wet. I thought I had lost the ability to cry long ago. "Can you imagine that, abandoning your own mother? I'll probably burn in hell, but it was the only way I could think of to keep my brother and sisters safe. I haven't seen her since, although she used to call a couple of times a year asking for money. I didn't feel too bad about hanging up on her when she did, though, since she was still collecting family benefits for us all. Lane barely remembers her, which is likely a blessing, so I made up the story about Mom going away for the weekend and never coming back. "Since then, I have done what was needed for us to survive. When Alison finished school, she wanted to stay home to help look after the others, but I convinced her to go to college. I said that Mom had put aside some money for her tuition, but of course, that was a lie. I have been making the payments for her, but I wanted her to have the chance to just be young, for once. To get away from all of this, at least for a while." "But what about you, Davis?" "I don't matter." "Well, you matter to me." While I was speaking, Erin had wrapped both arms around me and was now holding me tight against her body. When I finished, my body was wracked by waves of uncontrollable grief, but she held me through it all. Eventually, as I started to calm down, she gave me gentle kisses on the nape of my neck and whispered to me in a soft voice. I don't remember what she said, but I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. The power came back on early the next morning, and Erin and I were the first people to wake up. She lay beside me with a small smile on her face. "You've had some hard times, Davis Crawford, but you have come out the other side. You're pretty amazing." I felt a sudden burst of both elation and fear as I returned her smile. "Thanks for listening and not judging me. I've never told anyone some of the things I shared with you." "It was my pleasure. Now let's get up and make some coffee." Looking out the window, the snowdrifts were over two feet high in places, but I knew they weren't going to get any lighter as the sun came out and they started to melt. "I am going to get started on the shoveling if you want to start on breakfast." Erin gave me a bemused look. "Or maybe, I am fully capable of shoveling snow, and we can get it done twice as fast by working together." A few minutes after we started, Lane came out to help. At one point, when Erin was on the other side of the yard, he started to speak. "I heard some of what you said to Erin last night. I never knew what Mom did to you, what you did to protect us. Thank you." "Ah, Bud. I never wanted you to worry. Mom wasn't well for a long time, and she made some terrible choices. But she's gone now, and you will always be safe with me." By the time we finished, we had worked ourselves into a lather, so I suggested to Wilma that she get a snow plowing service for the winter. She gave me a look that implied that somewhere there was a village searching for its idiot; and that idiot was me. "Oh, I have a service, but they take so long to come that they are useless if they bother to show up at all." Erin jumped into the conversation, looking pissed off. "It's part of my family and the McDougal's ongoing campaign to get Gran to move. I have told them how dangerous the game they are playing is, but they just don't seem to care." I thought for a minute, before walking a little ways away and making a call. When I returned, I had some good news for Wilma. "Go ahead and cancel your current service. If they aren't going to do the work, they shouldn't have a problem with not getting paid. I called an old friend of mine from school who runs a snow removal company out of Harbor Springs, who owes me a favor or nine. From now on, you will be at the top of his list." Erin and I texted just about every day between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and we talked most nights when she wasn't working. We were both insanely busy; Erin was providing pediatric coverage for two hospitals that were three hours apart, and I was working as much overtime as possible, to save up for Christmas. Some weeks, the only time we had to meet in person was Sunday afternoons at Wilma's. Mary, in turn, was flourishing under Wilma's guidance. It seemed like she was channeling her emotions into her art, and I began to see the kind and thoughtful sister reemerge that I thought I had lost forever. She wouldn't show me the painting she was working on, but Wilma said she was making good progress, and that was all I needed to know. As it got towards mid-December, our thoughts turned to Christmas. Since Wilma's family was still boycotting the holidays, we decided to have a joint celebration like at Thanksgiving. Erin was going to be working at the hospital in Petoskey on Christmas Day, but we promised to keep Wilma company and to bring her a Christmas meal that she could eat on her break. In typical fashion, she tried to convince us that she would be fine with cafeteria food, but we would hear nothing of it. When we got to Wilma's house for lunch on Christmas Day, she had stockings laid out by the fireplace with a present for each of us. Santa must have had a very healthy budget, because he brought Lane a new fishing rod, Mary a set of expensive paints and charcoals, Sharon a contribution to her college fund, and Alison a specialized nurse's bag with a personalized stethoscope. Rather than a present, my stocking came with a small envelope that contained a pair of tickets to the traveling production of "Moulin Rouge" that was playing in Grand Rapids in March. Although I was happy to get a present of any kind, Wilma must have seen my look of confusion at the choice. "I was talking to Santa, and he mentioned that Erin loves musicals. Phillip used to take her to them when she was younger. He would put on his best suit, and she would get all dolled up in a dress with some of my jewelry, and they would go out for a fancy dinner before the show and have a grand old time." I looked at her in amusement, before replying. "Well, it seems that Santa is about as subtle as a sledgehammer. But I will have to say thanks, next time I bump into him." Our present to Wilma came in three parts. First, we included her in our Christmas cookie exchange, and Mary even gave her a double portion of the chocolate chip cookies she had baked. Second, the five of us committed to helping her catch up on the yard work and house repairs that had fallen by the wayside since Phillip passed. And finally, we pledged to do everything in our power to make sure that she could stay in her house for as long as she was able. Wilma hugged and thanked each of us with tears in her eyes, then looked over at Mary. "Why don't you get your present for your brother." Mary went to the studio at the back of the house and brought back what looked like a small painting, wrapped in Christmas paper. "I wanted to make you something to say 'thank you' for everything you have done for us. And for not giving up on me." When I unwrapped the painting, I was stunned. It was very different from Phillip or Wilma's more realistic works and had vibrant streaks of paint that burst across the canvas, meeting, seemingly at random, in explosions of color. The entire piece was chaotic, except for a single corner that was shielded from the turmoil by a solid arc of paint that was the exact color of my eyes. After lunch, Mary and Sharon kept Wilma company while Alison, Lane, and I went to see Erin at the hospital. Things were pretty quiet, so she had time to sit and eat her dinner with us. While she ate, I showed her pictures from earlier in the day. She laughed at one, in particular, of Wilma with her arm around Mary while they were wearing festive paper hats from their Christmas crackers. "Thank you for taking such good care of Wilma, Davis. She would never admit it, but the holidays would have been very lonely for her this year without you. It means the world to me that you could be there for her." We chatted a bit longer before I pulled out my present for Erin. It was a small flat package which she opened slowly. Inside was a framed drawing of Wilma's house, as seen from the docks, as she looked out the picture window in her living room. "This is amazing, who made it?" "I used to draw quite a bit in school. Since Mary has been working with your Gran, I thought I might give it another try, and I particularly liked how this one turned out." "It's beautiful, Davis. Thank you." She started to blush as she glanced over at Lane, before she slid a card over to me, and whispered, "Maybe you should wait to open this until later when you're alone." Inside the card was Erin's two-part gift to me. First, an invitation to visit her in Grand Rapids, and second, a night for the two of us in a suite at a very nice hotel. New Year's Eve was even quieter than usual at our house. Erin was working in Grand Rapids and was on call that evening. I spoke with her earlier in the day, however, and wished her a Happy New Year, and we sent each other kissing emojis at midnight. The rest of us spent the night playing board games. The only real excitement came a few days earlier when Mary asked if she could invite a friend to join us. "And is this friend a boy, by chance?" As far as I knew, Mary had never had a boyfriend, so this was a new development. Mary didn't have to answer, since her blush did the talking for her. "Do we know this boy?" "It's; It's James McDougal. But he's not like his brothers. He's a good guy." I had my reservations about all of the McDougals, but I was willing to give him a chance. I had only met James that one time at his parent's house when I had gone to get Mary, and he seemed polite enough. But since he was a McDougal, he was starting with two strikes and was in danger of going down swinging. To give Mary credit, James passed the first boyfriend test before he even made it into the house. When he drove into the yard, Munchkin was the first to greet him. He wasn't growling or barking like he sometimes did, or showing his teeth, but he was plenty intimidating. James waited patiently for him to approach before carefully scratching behind his ears. After Mary came out to greet James, Munchkin decided he was alright and fell in behind them as they came inside. Just after midnight, as he was getting ready to leave, James took me aside. "I just wanted to say, sir, that I am sorry for what happened with Mary a few months back. I should never have brought her over to my house without your permission, and I should have brought her right back home once I saw that my brothers were home. I promise you, that despite my bad judgment, I would have made sure that nothing happened to her, and I won't ever make that mistake again." I had to admit that James was growing on me. Chapter 5. It wasn't long before Mary introduced James to Wilma. I had to work on a Sunday in early January, so he offered to drive her to Wilma's in my place. I could tell he was nervous, and he was wearing a nice, collared shirt with some clean jeans, under his winter jacket. By the time he brought Mary home, his shirt was soaked in sweat, and he looked a little like a young man returning from war. Later that week, I asked Wilma what she thought of him. "He seems like a nice, polite boy and he sure is besotted with our Mary. While Mary and I worked on her latest painting, he did some chores for me, including chopping and stacking the entire half cord of wood you dropped off last week. But he didn't complain, and he was still smiling at Mary when he was done, so I think he will do." Wilma's relationship with the rest of the McDougals, however, remained tense, and they made it clear to me that continuing to help her would come at a steep cost. I ran into Calum one evening at the grocery store and he made their position crystal clear. "We've got a big job coming up in Indian River that you might be interested in. Starts in a week, and it would keep you busy for the better part of the next year, solid. The job is yours if you want it." "What's this job going to cost me?" "It's yours, no strings attached. But you wouldn't have time to help old lady Anderson anymore. You know, and I know, that it's time for her to move on from that land. It's what her family wants and it's what's best for her. I am sure that doctor down in Petoskey would understand, I figure she must be tired of looking after that grandmother of hers all the time anyway. Think how much more time the two of you would have together if you were working a regular nine-to-five kind of job. "On the other hand, if you don't work with us on this project, my family is going to take it pretty hard. Hard enough that we might reach out to our friends and neighbors to let them know that you are not a team player and that they may not want to do business with you." There it was. They were threatening to ruin me if I didn't do what they wanted. I knew they couldn't cut off all of my business since there were too many people in the lower peninsula who had been screwed over by them in the past. But they could sure make things tough for me. I am really bad at taking orders, however, particularly from dickheads like Calum McDougal. Calum had a cynical smile as he walked away. He didn't value decency or loyalty, so I was sure he thought he had won me over. All he had done was harden my resolve. I felt honor-bound to reach out to my friend who was clearing Wilma's driveway, though, to let him know that he might get some heat from the McDougals. He was surprisingly poetic in his response. "Fuck those arrogant worm-drowners and the horses they rode in on." Valentine's Day was never a big deal for me. Over the years, I hadn't had time to date, and I wouldn't have had any money to do anything special if I did, so the Hallmark holiday passed me by without too much fuss or bother. I had hoped things might be different since I was with Erin, but she was on call at the hospital in Petoskey, and I was pushing hard on a large multi-unit build that was on a tight schedule, so I was working six or even seven days a week until it was done. My work hadn't completely dried up since my run-in with Calum, but it had certainly taken a hit, so I was not in a position to turn down jobs, no matter how inconvenient. My one consolation was I knew I would see Erin in a couple of weeks when I visited her in Grand Rapids for the show. I had some flowers delivered to her at the hospital anyway, to let her know that I was thinking of her. That earned me an emoji-filled text and an enthusiastic video call when she was done with her shift. As the date of the show got closer, I started to get anxious. I had never been to a live performance of anything, except the occasional high school assembly, and I worried that Erin would be disappointed in my lack of manners and refinement. Wilma noticed my growing nervousness and decided that I needed a pep talk. "Listen, Davis. Erin likes you for who you are. She doesn't need or want you to act like some slick yuppie from the big city." "I know, Wilma, but I don't even know what to wear. The nicest outfit I own is still just a collared shirt over a pair of jeans." "Hmm, I can help you with that. I still have some of Phillip's old suits and ties, let's take a look and see what might fit." Half an hour later, Wilma had picked out a heavier dark charcoal-colored suit, a lightweight linen suit suitable for warmer weather, and a dark grey suit with tight pinstripes for me to try on. She had some shirts for me, as well, from when Phillip was younger. "Phillip wore that pinstripe suit the first time that he took me to the movies. I'll never forget that night, he looked just like Cary Grant. If you bring these suits to the tailor in Indian River, he should be able to take in the jacket and hem the pants to fit you perfectly. A good tailor can make these suits look like they were cut just for you." I didn't want to seem ungrateful, but I couldn't help but wonder if I would look funny in a decades-old suit. Wilma dismissed my concerns out of hand. "Let me tell you a little secret. If you buy a cheap suit, it will quickly begin to look tacky and dated. If you invest in a quality suit, it will age gracefully and become a timeless classic." Finally, Wilma selected a half dozen ties for me to try on and spent an hour teaching me how to tie a half-Windsor knot. "Get these suits altered, grab yourself a pair of polished black leather shoes, and you'll have those snooty pricks at the theatre thinking they are underdressed. And try to have fun. Erin loves the theatre, so if the two of you continue to fall in love, you will be going with her at least a couple of times a year, so you might as well enjoy it." I stood there in shock for a moment. "Do you really think Erin is falling in love with me?" "Well, yes, I do. And it's clear as daylight that you're in love with her too. But don't overthink things. Just go to the show and have a great night together. And here, take this with you as well," Wilma said handing me a navy blue pocket square with a distinctive paisley pattern. "Most men don't bother wearing a pocket square anymore, but I think they complete the look perfectly. You should wear this one on your date with Erin." Wilma took a final look at me and then slipped a twenty-dollar bill into my pocket. "That's for you to get a haircut before the show. Your normal 'shaggy mutt lost in a forest' look is adorable but not for your big date." The day of the performance approached with both aching slowness and relentless speed. We hadn't discussed it, but I knew (or at least strongly suspected) that Erin would have some expectations about how we spent our time together after the show. Unfortunately, I had no experience when it came to women other than a single kiss with Brittany Johnson back in my sophomore year of high school. I was terrified that I would disappoint her. To make matters worse, I had the three-and-a-half-hour drive to Grand Rapids to overthink things. By the time I arrived at Erin's apartment complex, I was a bit of a mess. My nerves were somewhat allayed, however, when Erin came running out to greet me with a huge smile on her face. "You made it! How was the drive? Wow, I love the haircut! I hope you're not too tired. I can't wait for tonight. I have been telling the girls all about you, and they are dying to see if the man lives up to the legend!" I guess Erin could see the sudden swell of anxiety on my face, so she took my hand. "Don't worry, the girls will love you, Davis. Why don't you grab your bag and come inside? I thought we could get changed here and then check in to the hotel before dinner and the show." Erin's housemates were really sweet, and the three of us chatted for at least an hour while Erin got ready before I excused myself to do the same. I put on Phillip's charcoal grey suit along with the crisp white shirt that Wilma had recommended. It took me four tries to tie my navy blue tie, but even I could tell that it made the colors in my paisley pocket square pop. Despite my nerves, I was still ready before Erin, so I rejoined her housemates in the living room while I waited. They kept sneaking glances at me when they thought I wasn't looking, so much so that I thought I must have done something wrong. Rather than second-guessing myself, I decided to take the bull by the horns and ask; better to be embarrassed in front of Erin's housemates than in front of her. "It's; it's not that you did anything wrong. It's just that you look; well, amazing; like an old-time movie star or something. Erin is going to swoon when she sees you." "You really think so?" I asked, still not sure of myself. Just then, I heard Erin's voice from behind me. "I'm sorry I took so long; we should head out before we're;" Erin went silent as I turned to look at her. She was wearing a floor-length emerald-green dress, which seemed to flow around her and mold to her curves, gathering delicately at her neck while leaving her back bare. Her sandy-blonde hair was styled in an elegant updo, while a few strands floated loose, framing her face. But, as always, what captured and held my gaze were her amber eyes, which danced and sparkled as she moved. My hands began to tremble, and I didn't trust myself to speak. "Do I look alright, Davis?" I took a deep breath that sent oxygen coursing through my body, as I found my voice. "I had no idea that anyone could look as beautiful as you do right now." Apparently, she liked my response, since her face broke into a wide grin. "You look mighty handsome yourself, Mister," she said while making a small adjustment to the knot of my tie. "Is that one of Grampy's suits? It looks amazing on you, and I love the tie and the; Oh; Oh, Davis. Is that Grampy's pocket square?" I could see tears forming in her eyes. "Wilma thought you might like it; that it might remind you of Phillip and the times he took you to the theatre when you were younger. I don't have to wear it, though, if you don't like it," I said reaching up to take it out of my pocket. Erin stopped my hand with hers, however, and then lightly ran her fingertips over the colorful square. "Gran was right. It reminds me of Grampy and now it will remind me of you. Please, I want you to wear it. For me." I felt a bit self-conscious pulling up to a fancy hotel in my ratty old truck, but it didn't seem to faze Erin in the least, so I decided not to worry about it. The suite she had booked was by far the nicest room of any kind that I had ever been in, but I tried not to seem like a country rube as I looked around. "Do you like it?" Erin asked a bit nervously, as she tried to gauge my reaction. "Honestly, I thought that rooms like this were just for celebrities and movie stars, and folks like that." "Normally that's the case, I guess, but for one night; tonight; it's ours." Dinner was lovely. I kept expecting people to see past my suit and realize that I was an imposter; just a plumber from the peninsula; not the kind of man who should be spending the evening with a woman like Erin. But she seemed to be having a wonderful time, so I began to relax. My anxiety was further abated when she leaned over the table and said in a low voice. "Jesus, the women in this place can't stop checking you out. I'm kind of wishing I had brought my bear spray now to keep them away. I need to excuse myself for a minute, but I wouldn't be surprised to find one of them trying to take my place when I get back." "Erin, I would never;" "I know, Darling. And frankly, they can look all they want because I know who you're going home with tonight." After that, I looked around the room with a new eye and noticed the subtle glances in my direction, and the shy smiles and blushes. I guess Phillip really did have good taste in suits. After dinner, we walked arm-in-arm to the performance hall, which was very impressive, with its soaring ceilings and plush velvet upholstery. Our seats were in a box on the right-hand side of the hall, which gave us a commanding view of the stage. As the lights went down, Erin took my hand in eager anticipation. I don't remember much about the performance that night; I spent more time watching Erin's childlike wonder than what was happening on the stage. Erin was still holding my hand at the intermission, and I felt a warm sense of contentment wash over me. "Oh, I forgot to mention, some of the largest donors to the hospital are hosting a reception after the performance. Would it be alright if we put in an appearance before we head back to our hotel?" I agreed without hesitation; a decision I would second guess before the night was over. It was close to 10:30 by the time the performance ended, and Erin held my arm, while resting her head on my shoulder, as we made our way through the hall to the reception. We each grabbed a drink, and we drifted through the small crowd until Erin was greeted warmly by a distinguished-looking older couple. Erin introduced them to me as the hosts of the reception, Mr. and Mrs. Wendel. "Please, just call us Tom and Martha. And you two make such a lovely couple. What do you do, Davis?" "I am a plumber, Ma'am," I replied, wondering how that news would be received by this obviously well-to-do couple, but I needn't have worried. "What kind of plumbing do you do?" Tom asked with genuine interest. "Mainly residential at this point, since I just got my master's license last year. A lot of the larger builders want to see some gray hairs on the heads of their skilled tradesmen, so right now, I am just doing what I can to pay the bills." "Amen, to that brother. I remember those days well. I started out, over 30 years ago now, as a dry Waller, and I spent more years than I care to remember doing whatever jobs I could get, just to get a foot in the door. It paid off for me in the end, though. Say, I am working on a development on the south side of town and was wondering;" Before Martha could stop him, Tom launched into a long and technical question about a challenge he was having with the plumbing for his new development. When I started an equally long and technical response, Erin kissed me on the cheek and whispered that Martha and she were going to go to the bar to get another drink. A few minutes later, I was still talking with Tom when a movement at the bar caught my eye. I looked more closely and saw that Erin was speaking with a tall, arrogant-looking man who kept trying to put his hand on her lower back, while she forcefully pushed it away. "My apologies, Tom, but could you give me a minute?" Without waiting for a reply, I walked over to where Erin was standing and slipped my arm around her waist, just as the man reached for her for a third time. "Hey, now," I said, trying to defuse the situation with a bit of humor. "At least buy me a drink before you make a move on me like that." His hand recoiled like it had been scalded, and his cheeks colored in anger. I could smell the alcohol on his breath from where I was standing. "Well, if it isn't the plumber," he said in a mocking tone. He must have been eavesdropping on my conversation with Tom, and he clearly wasn't impressed. "What did you think of the show this evening? Actually, that's hardly a fair question since you've probably never been to the theatre before. So, how about something more your level? I wonder what you would think of the bathrooms in my new penthouse. I am sure you would find them very impressive. I will give you a call the next time my toilet gets clogged, and you can come and check them out." He seemed very pleased with his insults, so he continued, a condescending grin on his face. "Anyway, Dr. Anderson, as I was saying, it was charitable of you to let the help see how the rest of us live, and I am sure he is having a good time and all, but it's past time for him to bring his daddy's suit home, don't you think? Why don't you leave him to it, and you and I can go have a drink? And then; who knows? I had dealt with people like this prick for my entire life. When you grow up with one abusive parent and no money, you get used to just about everyone feeling like they are better than you. There was nothing I could do about that, but I learned to use humor as a shield to protect myself and deflect attention. But sometimes humor just wasn't enough. And when humor failed, a more direct approach was called for. "You know, if you're trying to insult me, you're going to have to work a whole lot harder than that. But I doubt that hard work is something that you're too familiar with. I have been working since I was twelve to put food on the table for my brother and sisters. I have been a plumber since I was fourteen; by the time I was fifteen, I am sure I had already spent more time ankle-deep in shit than you've spent doing honest work in your entire life. "I didn't borrow this suit from my father because I don't know who my father is; that's right, I'm a bastard. But I am a bastard by circumstance and not by choice. I was born this way, what's your excuse? And since you asked, the suit I'm wearing belonged to Erin's grandfather, and you're right, I would never be able to afford a suit like this myself. But it's an honor to wear a suit that belonged to a man who loved Erin more than anything in this world. If I am really lucky, maybe she will let me love her just as deeply one day. "I may not know that much about musicals or the theatre, but anything that brings that much joy to Erin is more than fine in my books. So, I am going to continue to have a wonderful time with Erin this evening. Why wouldn't I? I am here with the most beautiful woman in the place, or;" I swept my gaze over to Martha, who was still standing beside Erin, "tied for the most beautiful, anyway." The man's face was now distorted with anger, and he took a step towards me. I stepped forward to meet him, my eyes never leaving his. Before, I had been speaking loudly for the benefit of those around us, but now I was speaking in a controlled voice, pitched for his ears alone. "You can say what you want about me, you prick. I have no respect for arrogant shitheels like you, so I just don't care. But before you ever think about putting your hands on Erin again, without her consent, you would do well to remember the Pipe Wrench Incident. "When I was fourteen, two of the men my mother was having sex with, in exchange for drugs, decided that my sister Alison should join in their fun. She was just nine years old. Luckily, I was home at the time, but I was just a kid, and they were fully grown men. When it was over, they were in the hospital, and I was cleaning my pipe wrench with some WD-40 and a rag." I looked him up and down once, dismissively. "Remember that story the next time you're tempted to touch someone I love." I turned to Tom who had come over to stand with Martha. "I'm sorry I interrupted your lovely event, and please don't hold my bad manners against Erin. I don't want to cause any more trouble, so maybe we should be on our way." Tom held up his hand indicating that we should stay. "Dr. Allen, you're drunk and making an ass of yourself. Please see yourself out. On your way home, please consider what you would like me to say at the next Board meeting regarding your behavior tonight." As a chastened Dr. Allen left the reception, Erin leaned over and whispered in my ear, "So, I'm someone you love, am I?" Before I could stammer a reply, Erin kissed my cheek and led me away to get a drink. We avoided the topic of Dr. Allen for the rest of the evening until we were on our way back to the hotel. "Did you really put two men in the hospital with a pipe wrench?" I chuckled softly before responding. "That part of the story is 100% true. What I didn't mention, though, was that they were both stoned at the time and facing the other direction. They would have killed me in a fair fight." It was close to midnight by the time we made it back to the hotel. We held each other's hands as we walked to the elevators, and Erin leaned against me as the doors closed. "Davis, how would you like this evening to end?" My heart started racing and my hands trembled. "I; I want to be with you. But, I have never;" "Are you still a virgin?" "I kissed a girl once, back in high school, but it was nothing like kissing you. I want you more than anything I have ever wanted in my life, but I don't want to disappoint you." Erin tried to stay calm as she replied. "So, you think that I am some kind of floozy who is going to compare you to all my past conquests?" "No, that's not it at all, I;" "Or do you think that I am so shallow that I will get mad at you if it takes a little while for you to learn what I like?" "No, I don't think that either;" "Okay, then. Here is what's going to happen. When we get to our room, you are going to move some of the furniture out of the way, while I put on some music. You still remember how to dance, right? And then we will take things slowly. I will let you know what makes me feel good, and you will let me know what makes you feel even better. And we will be together, and that's all that matters." And that is what happened. Erin started a playlist of songs that she liked, and we slowly danced together in our room. After the first song ended, she nuzzled into my chest as she loosened my tie and undid the first two buttons of my shirt. When the next song started, she started gently kissing and then licking my chest, causing my manhood to stiffen almost painfully. "Well, hello, my rather large friend. You need to be patient, for now. But if you're good, I may kiss you as well before the night is done." Her sensuous voice, and the image it evoked, were definitely not conducive to patience, and I let out a low moan of pleasure. "That's what I like to hear," she murmured as she untucked my shirt and continued to undo my buttons until she could run her tongue over my nipples and tweak them with her teeth. She looked up at me with sultry, half-lidded eyes. "It's okay for you to touch me as well if you want," she said, as she took one of my hands and slid it under the back of her dress and down to her silky-smooth cheeks. She slid my other hand under the front of her dress so that it cupped her tit, and she sucked in a breath as I stroked my callused thumb over her nipple. "Now some women like it when you;" I kissed her before she could finish her thought. "Erin, I don't care what some women like, the only woman I want is you." "Oh," she replied in a breathy voice. "Well, I like it when you're a bit rougher with my tits. Not right away, I need to be in the mood; like I am now;" She lost her train of thought as my hand enveloped and massaged her tit, squeezing her nipple lightly between my thumb and forefinger as I lifted it away from her body. "Mmmm, yes. Just like that, baby." I felt a wave of heat roll up the fingers on my other hand, so I slid it further down until I felt a small triangle of material, that was slick with liquid heat. I slipped my finger a little further and felt her long smooth cunt open at my touch. "Oh, Baby," Erin whispered huskily into my ear. "We are going to have so much fun tonight." It was strange going back to my regular life after my night with Erin. The time with her was so incredible, and so beyond anything I could ever have imagined, that it didn't seem real. To be continued in part 4. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

This episode explores how intimacy, desire, and erotic states function as powerful tools for healing, nervous system regulation, and personal transformation. You'll learn why certain forms of conscious erotic play create genuine altered states of consciousness, not through substances or external compounds, but through the body's own internal chemistry. This conversation reframes sexuality as a core aspect of health, performance, and emotional resilience rather than something separate from personal development or spirituality. Watch this episode on YouTube for the full video experience: https://www.youtube.com/@DaveAspreyBPR Kimi Inch is a somatic therapist and educator with over 20 years of experience working at the intersection of intimacy, conscious kink, trauma healing, and embodied self awareness. Her work centers on helping individuals and couples access deep states of connection and healing through structured, consent based practices that engage breath, sensation, power dynamics, and presence. She is known for creating safe, grounded spaces where people can explore desire in ways that support lasting nervous system regulation and authentic self expression. Together, Dave Asprey and Kimi explore how erotic experiences trigger specific neurochemical responses including oxytocin, serotonin, endorphins, and adrenaline, and why this internal cocktail mirrors the effects of many psychedelic and somatic healing modalities. They discuss surrender, safety, attunement, and aftercare as essential components of integration, and why unexpressed desire often leaks into leadership, relationships, and performance in destructive ways. You'll Learn: • How erotic states create real altered states of consciousness through internal neurochemistry • Why intimacy can function as a powerful form of nervous system regulation and trauma healing • The difference between conscious desire and compulsive behavior • How surrender, safety, and attunement reshape emotional and relational patterns • Why suppressed desire leaks into work, leadership, and relationships • What makes healthy power dynamics healing rather than harmful • The role of aftercare and integration in long term transformation • How erotic intelligence connects to vitality, authenticity, and human performance Thank you to our sponsors! -EMR-Tek | https://www.emr-tek.com/DAVE and use code DAVE for 40% off. -Calroy | Head to https://calroy.com/dave for an exclusive discount. -Our Place | Head to https://fromourplace.com/ and use the code DAVE for 10% off your order. Dave Asprey is a four-time New York Times bestselling author, founder of Bulletproof Coffee, and the father of biohacking. With over 1,000 interviews and 1 million monthly listeners, The Human Upgrade brings you the knowledge to take control of your biology, extend your longevity, and optimize every system in your body and mind. Each episode delivers cutting-edge insights in health, performance, neuroscience, supplements, nutrition, biohacking, emotional intelligence, and conscious living. New episodes are released every Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and Sunday (BONUS). Dave asks the questions no one else will and gives you real tools to become stronger, smarter, and more resilient. Keywords: conscious kink, erotic healing, intimacy and healing, altered states of consciousness, somatic therapy, nervous system safety, erotic intelligence, surrender and intimacy, power dynamics psychology, trauma and embodiment, aftercare and integration, neurochemistry of intimacy, oxytocin bonding, endorphins and pleasure, consent based intimacy, asking for what you want, suppressed desire, authenticity and intimacy, biohacking intimacy, Dave Asprey intimacy, Kimi Inch Biohack Resources: • Kimi's Website: https://andmorepresents.com/ • Dave Asprey's Latest News | Go to https://daveasprey.com/ to join Inside Track today. • Danger Coffee: https://dangercoffee.com/discount/dave15 • My Daily Supplements: SuppGrade Labs (15% Off) • Favorite Blue Light Blocking Glasses: TrueDark (15% Off) • Dave Asprey's BEYOND Conference: https://beyondconference.com • Dave Asprey's New Book – Heavily Meditated: https://daveasprey.com/heavily-meditated • Upgrade Collective: https://www.ourupgradecollective.com • Upgrade Labs: https://upgradelabs.com • 40 Years of Zen: https://40yearsofzen.com Timestamps: 0:00 - Trailer 1:25 - Altered States Through Kink 4:41 - Learning to Receive 12:17 - Play Parties Explained 19:31 - Life Force Energy 26:40 - Desire vs Compulsion 28:23 - The Kidnapping Session 35:53 - Aftercare and Integration 45:35 - Bedroom = Life 52:50 - CEOs and Surrender See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

We're discussing the feedback from Sooz Review of Jaws, and why people are real worked up about it. We learn about a woman who changed her gender on LinkedIn only to get a 400% increase in page views, so obviously we're mad about it. Sarah explains why drones are being used in warfare and it feels more dangerous than you'd think. Susie describes a study that had a man dressed as Batman entering a subway car, and the surprising effect it had on passengers, but the real surprise was the conclusions it gave scholars. We learn about a man who is wearing ridiculous pants to win a jeans contest for absolutely no reason, and Sarah cannot quit laughing at him. Plus, we hear about a trial where a mistress was fined almost $2M for breaking up a marriage, while the man was not held accountable in any way.Brain Candy Podcast Website - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/Brain Candy Podcast Book Recommendations - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/books/Brain Candy Podcast Merchandise - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/candy-store/Brain Candy Podcast Candy Club - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/product/candy-club/Brain Candy Podcast Sponsor Codes - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/support-us/Brain Candy Podcast Social Media & Platforms:Brain Candy Podcast LIVE Interactive Trivia Nights - https://www.youtube.com/@BrainCandyPodcast/streamsBrain Candy Podcast Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/braincandypodcastHost Susie Meister Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/susiemeisterHost Sarah Rice Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/imsarahriceBrain Candy Podcast on X: https://www.x.com/braincandypodBrain Candy Podcast Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/braincandy (JOIN FREE - TONS OF REALITY TV CONTENT)Brain Candy Podcast Sponsors, partnerships, & Products that we love:Get $35 off Aura's best-selling Carver Mat frames - named #1 by Wirecutter - by going to https://auraframes.com and using promo code BRAINCANDY at checkout.For 20% off your order, head to https://reliefband.com and use code BRAINCANDYSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

On this episode of #mensexpleasure, Jessica Soares, also known as the Erotic Muse or the Holy Hedonist, shares insights into her unique career as an erotic artist and experience designer. Jessica discusses her passion for fostering creativity and helping individuals live authentically. She delves into the nuances of creating erotic audio content aimed at arousal and its impact on both creator and consumer. Additionally, the conversation explores the complexities around authenticity, societal perceptions of erotic content, and the importance of paying for such artistry. We also touch upon Jessica's methods for cultivating a shame-free environment and the evolving landscape of sexuality work.Key points:00:32 Meet Jessica Soares: The Erotic Muse04:48 Navigating Public Perception and Erotic Content16:21 Permission vs. Prescription in Sexual Expression27:06 Embracing Arousal in Practice27:31 Creating Erotic Audio for Men28:20 Guided Self-Pleasure Practices29:04 Retention and Edging Techniques31:53 Defining Pornography and Erotica42:17 Supporting Erotic ArtistsRelevant links:https://patreon.com/HolyHetairawww.theroticmuse.comCODE for 25% off first month of membership: MSP25

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 2 Dancing, and other forms of sentimentality. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected.  As we finished the prep work, I asked Wilma about her day with Mary. "She is a good kid but is carrying a lot of anger and shame. We spent most of the day getting in touch with that anger. It takes some people years before they can express their emotions through art; it took her about five minutes. But we had to take some breaks to clean up the paint splatters afterward before they stained." "Oh shit! Sorry about that. I can pay to replace anything that;" "Nothing to apologize for; I asked her to express how she felt, and she did it in the way that felt right to her." "Well, I appreciate your taking the time. I am just her big brother; I feel so lost when it comes to parenting." "Being a parent doesn't mean that you know any more than anyone else, and it certainly doesn't mean that you know any better. For what it's worth, I think you are doing a fine job with your family. I know that you don't have your parents around to say it, but this old woman is mighty proud of who you are and of how you have stepped up for your brother and sisters. They are very lucky to have you." I turned away so that Wilma wouldn't see me getting choked up. I couldn't remember the last time that someone had said they were proud of me. Soon enough, though, it was dinner time, and Erin came into the kitchen with that same look of amusement on her face. "Sorry to bother the chef, but Lane needs some help that only a big brother can provide." When I gave her a quizzical look, she blushed. "It seems like he is going through puberty, which can pose; some new challenges. When I was assessing his ankle, he; well, indicated his interest in me in a way that can be difficult to hide, particularly while wearing sweatpants. It's natural for his body to react that way at that age, and it's nothing for him to feel badly about, but he was mortified. I think he could use a bit of brotherly guidance and understanding." I went to the living room and saw that Lane was curled up on the couch and looked like he was fighting back tears. "How are you doing, Buddy?" He couldn't even look at me he was so embarrassed. "I am so sorry; I just couldn't help it. I don't know why it started to get bigger, and I wanted it to stop, and it wouldn't and then she saw me, and;" he continued as he fought back a sob. "Can we just go home?" "Erin is a doctor. She knows how the human body works and has seen that kind of thing a hundred times. She isn't mad at you or embarrassed. She just feels bad that you feel so bad. This is just part of getting older and growing up. "Did I ever tell you about what happened in Miss Iron's class when I was a freshman? Miss Iron was a bit of a legend among the male students at our local high school. She was the youngest and prettiest teacher, by far, and even though she always dressed professionally, the clothing style had yet to be invented that could fully conceal her bountiful natural endowment. "Well, I liked Miss Irons a lot. She was one of the few teachers who looked past my difficulty with reading and writing. So, I developed a little crush on her, which was fine until the inevitable; hmm, physical demonstration of my crush; happened in class one day, just before she asked me to collect everyone's quizzes. I tried to delay, I tried to ask a friend to do it instead, but eventually, I had to stand up. It took me until my junior year to live that one down." As Lane listened to my story, he turned to face me and his second-hand embarrassment for me helped to push his embarrassment to the side. "So, what happened?" "Miss Irons was lovely and kind like she always was, but I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me or to get hit by a bolt of lightning. Things would have been fine if she hadn't mentioned what happened to the principal, who called Mom. She didn't find the story funny at all." I hadn't thought of the aftermath when I started telling Lane this particular story, but as they say, might as well put it in four-wheel drive and keep going. "Mom was mad?" "By then, Mom was pretty much always angry. I did my best to keep her away from you and the girls when she got that way, but yeah; she was mad." "Are you mad at me?" "No, Bud, I'm not. In a few years, once your embarrassment has died down a little, I will tease you mercilessly about this because that's what brothers do; and maybe threaten to tell your girlfriend, if you fall behind on your chores or homework. But I will never get mad at you for something that you can't control. And I promise that Erin isn't mad at you either." Just then, Mary poked her head in to tell us that dinner was on the table. "Are you safe now, or do you need a few more minutes." "I'm good. Thanks, Dad." After I helped Lane hobble into the dining room, we got down to the business of eating and teasing each other, but not necessarily in that order. It felt good; almost like what I imagined a real family would feel like. Eventually, the conversation turned to more serious matters, though, and Erin led off the questions. "So, how do you know Gran, and why are you wearing Grampy's favorite sweater? And, for what it's worth, I don't remember him filling it out in quite the way that you do." I blushed a bit as Wilma jumped in. "If Phillip had filled out that sweater like young Davis here, it wouldn't have stayed on him for very long, I can tell you that." "Gran!" Erin exclaimed, laughing while sounding scandalized. "I didn't need that mental image. Heck, none of us needed that mental image." "Oh, don't you worry, Dear. He still filled it out well enough, and it looked equally good on our bedroom floor." We were pretty much all blushing at that point, which I think was Wilma's objective, so I quickly changed the topic. "I am just your mother's plumber. I came out to fix her boiler and then finished the job earlier this week when a couple of parts came in that I needed." Wilma jumped in at that point and added her two cents to my story. "He also brought me my groceries and we had a lovely conversation. He is a real Renaissance gentleman, a rarity these days." Erin looked grateful but concerned. "Did you have enough money to cover the bill, Gran? You know I can help if you need;" I tried to jump in before Wilma could reply. "No need to worry, the bill was paid in full;" "Hogwash," Wilma exclaimed as I tried to finish, turning to Mary before she continued. "Your brother wouldn't let me pay him a cent for the work that he did. Not even for the parts that needed to be replaced! He is a very nice boy but a terrible businessman." I turned to Erin for support. "I figured your Gran has enough going on right now with her health and all. It was the least I could do to help her out." Erin looked at me with a strange expression on her face. I didn't have much experience with women, so I figured I must have made her angry somehow. Most of my interactions with women, including my sisters, seemed to end with them being upset with me for one reason or another, but she didn't sound angry when she spoke. "Thank you, Davis, that was very sweet of you." "Yeah, well; you see, it's just; pass the fish, please." "That still doesn't explain why you're wearing Grampy's favorite sweater. When I was a little girl, I used to curl up in Grampy's lap and snuggle into that sweater as he read to me. He was wearing it when I danced my first dance with him in front of the fireplace. Do you remember that old record player, Gran? You used to bring it out and we would waltz around the living room to Moon River." "I still have that record player here somewhere, let me go see if I can find it." Erin started to protest, but it was too late. "To finish answering your question, Erin, we were here today because your Gran offered to mentor Mary. I tried to politely decline, but your Gran is pretty persistent when she wants to be." "That sounds like Gran. Most of the time when she makes a suggestion, it is really a command." "While we are asking questions, how is Lane's ankle?" "It's pretty badly sprained, and he will need to use crutches to walk for the next couple of weeks. You should bring him to the hospital to get some X-rays done as well, to make sure that he doesn't have any fractures." I could feel myself deflate as she mentioned X-rays. "I'm not trying to be cheap, but are the X-rays absolutely necessary? We don't have the best insurance; we got it through the exchange. I guess it's better than nothing, but the deductible is pretty high, and my other sister, Alison, her college tuition is due soon. But if you say it's important, I will put in some extra hours to make it work." It didn't usually bother me that we were poor. Heck, most everyone we knew, except the McDougals, was poor. But it hit home when you had to tell a beautiful doctor with bright amber eyes that you couldn't afford an X-ray for your little brother unless it was urgent. "Tell you what. I will be working at the hospital in Petoskey tomorrow, so why don't you bring Lane by, and I will take care of him? I will make sure that he gets a pair of loaner crutches for as long as he needs them." "You don't need to do that for us." Erin gave me another one of her looks, this one I was more familiar with; I was pretty sure it was annoyance. "So, just to be clear, you can look after my Gran, fix her boiler for free, and bring her groceries whenever you feel like it, but I can't look after your brother and make sure that his ankle is treated properly?" "Well, when you put it that way, I sound like a bit of a jackass. I'm sorry." "Apology accepted. Come by the hospital at 11 AM tomorrow." Before we could continue, the sound of a 45 playing on an old record player filled the house. You could hear the hisses and pops before Ella Fitzgerald's voice began to sing "Dream a Little Dream of Me." Chapter 3. We got up from the table and followed the music back to the living room. I helped Lane out of his chair while he half-hobbled and half-hopped along beside me. Wilma had set her ancient record player up in the corner beside a stack of old 45s, and she had a faraway look in her eyes as she looked out the picture window toward the lake. "I think it's time for me to ask the prettiest girl in the place to dance," I said, as my eyes swept across the room. "But unfortunately, it's a three-way tie. So, will you do me the honor?" I said as I held out my hand to Wilma. "I haven't danced since Phillip passed. You know, we used to dance together every Friday night. It didn't matter where we were or what we were doing, we would always make time to dance at least one song together, even if the music was only in our heads." "I imagine I will be a pretty poor partner compared to Phillip, but I will try not to step on your toes." Wilma and I ended up dancing a slow foxtrot to "Unforgettable" by Nat King Cole. She smiled at me as we slowly circled the living room. "You're a very good dancer, young man." "Our mother taught me when I was very young." Before she began with the drugs and men, our mother had been a showgirl in New York and then Las Vegas. When she got pregnant with me, she moved back to Mackinaw City and started teaching ballroom dancing at a local studio. By the time I was five, I was her practice partner of choice, and she always insisted that I lead, despite being only half her size. "The man always leads, Darling, that's just the way of the world." I was hardly a man at the time, but I never disagreed with my mother when she was in a good mood, because I knew it could shift in an instant. So, I learned to dance, and I learned to lead. The memories came flooding back as I guided Wilma into a soft over-sway, and she smiled with delight. "Oh my, you do know how to dance!" I couldn't help but smile back. "I can't take all the credit. I think Phillip must have infused this sweater with his fancy footwork." As the song ended, I took a step back and did my best to give Wilma a gracious bow. "It was a pleasure dancing with you, my lady." "The pleasure was all mine, good sir." I turned toward Mary and held out my hand. She hesitated before Wilma declared, "There are no wallflowers in this house." Mary slowly stood but looked anxious as I took her hand. "Davis, I don't know how to dance. Mom was; she was too far gone to teach me by the time I was old enough to learn." "That's okay," I reassured her. "If there is anything that Mom made sure of, it's that I know how to lead. Just relax, and I will guide you through it." Wilma helped Lane, who had taken over as DJ, to choose a slower song so that Mary would feel more comfortable, and I heard the opening bars of "What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong. I started to lead Mary through a slow rumba, and she picked up the steps very quickly. She was a natural. I felt a sudden stab of regret as we moved together across the floor. "I'm sorry. I should have made time to teach you to dance. But the last few years, it has just taken everything I have to keep us;" "It's alright. You've had other things on your mind. And look; you are teaching me how to dance, now." As Mary grew more confident, I guided her through a simple underarm turn, and we ended with a dip, which made her giggle and earned a round of applause from the others. Finally, I turned to Erin, who was sitting on the couch beside Lane. I suddenly felt very shy and, for the first time that evening, she looked nervous as well. "Would you dance with me, Erin?" She didn't reply but stood and took my hand. We waited for a moment while Wilma and Lane chose a new 45 and then listened to the pop and hiss as it started to play. Soon, an alto saxophone introduced the Henri Mancini version of "Moon River," and we started a slow waltz. Although there was space between us, it was bridged by an electric charge that connected and drew us together. Even though I spent most of the dance looking over Erin's shoulder, every detail of her beauty was etched in my memory, and I felt a warm breeze pass between us, raising goosebumps on my skin. We barely noticed the pause as the song ended, and a new one began until Etta James began to sing. At last, my love has come along My lonely days are over And life is like a song The song was in 4/4 time, so I switched to a foxtrot and Erin followed as we glided across the smooth wood of the living room floor. I was so caught up in the moment, and in Erin, that I led her through a turn that transitioned into an over sway, before I stepped backward, allowing her to gently pivot into me. Our eyes met and I was lost in them again. Before we could break the spell, a heavy gust of wind shook the house, and the power flickered out. The room went dark, which sharpened my remaining senses. Suddenly, the warmth of Erin's breath on my neck felt like wildfire across my skin. We were motionless for a three-heartbeat eternity before the lights flickered and came back on. I let go of Erin and felt all of my longing and awkwardness rush back in. "Thank you, Erin. That was;" I couldn't finish; words didn't seem enough to express how I felt. "I should check the breakers and make sure that everything is alright, and then we should go. Why don't I wash these clothes and drop them back for you later." Wilma just smiled and shook her head. "If you like them, please keep them. Otherwise, they will just grow old and musty like me." A little while later, we said our goodbyes, but I promised to bring Lane to the hospital the next morning. Wilma told Mary that she would see her on Wednesday after school and again the next Sunday. I was expecting Mary to protest, but she just gave a meek, "Yes, Wilma." I was nervous when I took Lane to the hospital the next day. The deductible on our insurance was high enough that we paid for pretty much anything less serious than a severed limb out of pocket. Erin, however, was as good as her word. After the X-ray confirmed that there were no breaks or fractures in the bones around his ankle, she re-wrapped it and arranged for a pair of loaner crutches that he could use for as long as he needed them. Before we left, Erin asked me if I wanted to grab a coffee in the cafeteria, to which I readily agreed. I gave my phone to Lane so he could amuse himself while Erin and I talked. "I just wanted to say how much I appreciate what you did for Gran. I do what I can, but I spend half my time at the Children's Hospital down in Grand Rapids right now and I am often on call while I am here. I just don't have the time to give her the help that she needs." "Honestly, it's no big deal. I do a lot of work around Good Hart since the bigger plumbing companies don't like to travel that far, so I don't mind looking in on her while I am there. And she seems to have taken a real interest in Mary, so the least I can do is to bring her some groceries and help around the place a bit." Erin pursed her lips and looked like she had just bitten into a lemon. "The 'least you can do' is more than the rest of our family can be bothered to do put together, so thank you." "I meant to ask you about that. What did your Gran do to end up so isolated from the rest of your family?" "The rest of my family is; there is no nice way to put it, they're snobs. None of them have any interest in spending time 'up north' as they call it, and they can't wait for Gran to move into a retirement home and die so they can get their money and forget about this place. That's why no one comes to visit Gran anymore, even for Thanksgiving; it's part of their campaign to convince her to sell her land to the McDougals. Before you came along, I thought they were going to succeed." "Well, excuse my language, but fuck them. I don't know Wilma that well, but I will do what I can to make sure that she gets to spend her remaining days in the place that she loves." "That's easy to say, but harder to do once the McDougals and their minions start coming by your place, offering you money and making threats unless you back off." "Well, if they do, they will find out what every teacher who ever taught me learned the hard way. I am bad at taking orders and even worse at following instructions. I am not afraid of the McDougal boys." My exclamation brought a smile to Erin's pretty face. I decided that I would be willing to do quite a lot to see that smile on her face again. But there was one thing I still didn't understand. "Why aren't you on board with the rest of your family? You must be under a lot of pressure to abandon your Gran like the rest of them." "My father, Gran's youngest son, Max, died shortly after I was born, and my mother moved the family to California where she remarried into a family that had a little money but a great deal of pretension and ambition. My mother picked up that insatiable need for money and status like it was a virus. "When I was a child, my mother and stepfather spent summers and holidays traveling the world, staying in places where children weren't welcome. Although they wanted nothing to do with Gran and Grampy and their 'vermin-filled shack in the middle of nowhere', they were more than happy to leave me with them while they were away. "They would put me on a plane to Grand Rapids while they jetted off to their spas and their fine dining. Gran and Grampy were the only people who cared for me, and they became my whole world. "When I was 14, I was staying with Gran and Grampy, and I caught a fever that was so bad that I nearly died. It was a pretty grim time. My parents even thought about flying home from Monaco to be with me. They didn't, but it was the only time in my entire childhood that they considered it. But I will always remember how kind the doctors and nurses were to me when I was sick. That's why I became a pediatrician and moved home." "Isn't California home?" "Home is where the people that you love are, and so this will always be my home. Or it will be until Gran passes on, anyway." We sat in silence for a while, sipping our coffee. Before long, it was time for me to go. "This might sound crazy, but since the rest of your family aren't going to be here to celebrate Thanksgiving with your Gran, how about you and I try to give her one more Thanksgiving to remember." Erin brightened at the idea, and the smile returned to her face. "That would be amazing! Why don't I give you my number, and we can figure out how to make it happen!" Chapter 4. For the next few weeks, Mary continued to meet with Wilma on Wednesdays and Sundays. I would often take the opportunity to bring her groceries or other supplies while I dropped Mary off and, if the weather was agreeable, do some fishing. Once he could walk without crutches, Lane came along as well, in quest of another monster steelhead. Unfortunately, all he caught was some yellow perch and rock bass, but it was nice to spend the day with him down on the dock. I saw Erin a few times at Wilma's as we made plans for Thanksgiving. She seemed to particularly enjoy talking with me while I split firewood out by the shed. It was hard work, and I was often drenched with sweat by the time I was done, but she didn't seem to mind. And she worked while we talked, helping to stack the larger pieces and collecting the smaller ones for kindling. The one point of contention in our plan was how Erin would get to Wilma's on Thanksgiving Day. She was slated to work a 12-hour shift the evening before, ending at seven in the morning, and she worried that if she went home to rest, she would sleep through the entire day. Her solution was to drive out to Wilma's after her shift and catch a few hours of sleep when she got there. I thought that driving that far after working all night seemed like a terrible idea, so I offered to give her a ride instead. She did not like that one bit. "I don't want you to make an extra trip when I am perfectly capable of driving myself." It sounded like she was digging in for a fight, so I tried a different tactic to convince her. "I need to stop at the hospital anyway, to return Lane's crutches. I can kill two birds with one stone and pick you up at the same time." She didn't buy that rationale either so, reluctantly, I resorted to the truth. "I am sure you're a great driver, but if you drive yourself, I will be up that morning anyway, worrying that you are safe. I know it doesn't make sense, but I have been looking after my siblings for so long its second nature for me to worry, and I can't seem to turn it off. So please, let me pick you up. But for me, not for you. And do you know how rarely I get to be gallant these days? I will feel like your knight in shining armor." That finally got a laugh from Erin. "Alright, you win. Why don't you pick me up at 7:15 at the hospital? You can sweep me up onto your trusty steed and carry me away to Gran's house." "If by trusty steed you mean rusty old GMC truck, then it's a deal." The morning of Thanksgiving dawned chilly and gray, with a cold wind blowing in off the lake. I was up early to make sure that I made it to the hospital on time, and I was listening to the local AM country station as I drove when the DJ started his break. "A happy Thanksgiving to all our listeners. If you're on the roads today, be aware that there is a severe weather warning in effect for the area north of Cadillac and into the upper peninsula. We're expecting a combination of high winds and lake-effect snow to make driving hazardous, and you should be prepared for possible power interruptions and outages." I was relieved that Erin had agreed to let me pick her up and that I had invested in good snow tires for my pickup. The snow had already started by the time I reached the hospital, and I pulled my jacket tightly around me as I went inside. I dropped Lane's crutches with the duty nurse and waited for several minutes before Erin arrived. She looked exhausted, and the gentle smile that I loved was nowhere in evidence. "Hey, Erin. Are you okay?" "I'm fine. I just had a long shift, but I am ready to head out." She came up to me and gave me a hesitant look. "Actually, I could really use a hug if that's alright." Without a word, I wrapped my arms around her, and she buried her face in my sweater. Hidden from the world by the folds of my jacket, I felt her body start to shake. The tremors lasted for a minute before they gentled and then finally stopped. I looked out the window at the falling snow to give her a moment to compose herself. "Let's head to Gran's house. This weather isn't going to get better any time soon." With that, we got in my truck and started the drive up to Good Hart. Erin sat in silence and looked out the window. "If you want to talk, I probably can't help with doctor problems; but I am a good listener." It took Erin a minute before she opened up. "Most of the time, I love being a pediatrician. Kids come to me scared and in pain, and I help them to get better. But sometimes, it's just too much. Around midnight last night, an ambulance brought in a mother and daughter. Her boyfriend had been drinking; and he got violent. The little girl tried to protect her mother and; and; "It's one thing to treat a grown woman, you know. I mean it's still pretty bad, but; that little girl. Fuck. One thing I've learned from this job is that monsters are real." I wanted to give Erin another hug, but since I was driving, I just reached over to take her hand. "I'm sorry." My words seemed so incredibly inadequate; considering what she had just dealt with; but she squeezed my hand. "Thanks for listening." We drove on in silence, and by the time we pulled into Wilma's laneway, Erin was gently snoring with her head against the window. I stopped as close as I could to the house before lifting her out of the cab. She tucked her head into my shoulder, and I carried her inside, where Wilma was already busy in the kitchen. She came out to greet us, and I spoke to her in a low voice. "Erin had a very tough night. I think some rest will do her a world of good." Wilma helped Erin out of her boots and coat and then showed us through to the guest bedroom, where I laid Erin on the bed. The room was filled with pictures of Erin from when she was younger; standing on the dock with an older but handsome man who I guessed must be Phillip, curled up in a ball on the sofa, book in hand, and smiling in her cap and gown as she graduated. In each picture, I could see hints of the beautiful woman she would become. By the time I returned with the rest of my family, the storm had begun to pick up. Snow drifts were accumulating against the house and shed, so we brought everything with us into the house that we might need for the evening. It took some convincing, but Sharon and I took over in the kitchen while Wilma, Alison, Mary, and Lane started a game of Scrabble in the living room. Once the preparations were well underway, I laid in as much wood for the fireplace as I could. With the high winds and heavy snow, I was worried that we might lose power, and I wanted to make sure that we prepared, just in case. The radiators and boiler would provide almost no heat if there was a prolonged power outage, but the fireplace had a high-efficiency insert that would keep the house warm, as long as we built up a good bed of coals. Lane insisted on helping me with the firewood, and after a half dozen trips to the woodshed and back, we both looked like live-action versions of the abominable snowman. Wilma showed some sympathy for our plight, while our sisters had a good-natured laugh at our expense. By the early afternoon, dinner was almost ready, and Wilma sent me to wake Erin. She had barely moved since I had tucked her in and seemed so peaceful in her sleep. I leaned over and spoke softly to her until she opened her eyes. After a moment of confusion, she broke into a shy smile. "I guess we made it to Gran's." "That we did, we got here close to six hours ago." Her eyes flew open, and she tried to get up until I reassured her. "We've got things under control. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes. Take your time; and maybe give yourself a few minutes for that pillow line on your cheek to fade." I turned to leave, so she could have some privacy, but she reached out and took my hand. "I just wanted to say thank you again for earlier. I am not used to having someone I can talk to; someone I can trust. It's only been Gran and Grampy, and me for so long, and I didn't want to burden them. But I shouldn't have dumped my troubles on you like that, we barely know each other." "I was just glad that you felt comfortable enough to share how you felt with me. Today was probably the worst day of that little girl's life. I am sure she was terrified, confused, and in a lot of pain. But what she'll remember is the angel who comforted her and treated her with kindness and love. "I need to get back to the kitchen, or I will burn something. Fair warning, this is my first time cooking a Thanksgiving turkey, so you may want to load your plate up with fixings and sides, just in case." As it turned out, the turkey wasn't perfect, but it wasn't that bad, and the gravy was tasty as heck (probably because Wilma made it.) We had mashed potatoes, stuffing, corn, and peas as sides, with the obligatory cranberry sauce (from a can). The conversation at dinner was a chaotic mixture of laughter, stories, and the kind of teasing that you only get when you bring five siblings together over a hearty meal. It didn't take Erin long to choose a side in the battle of the siblings, and soon, it was the four girls against Lane and me, with Wilma as our impartial referee. I don't know how Lane felt, but for me, it was worth being ganged up on just to see Erin and my sisters smiling and laughing. Although he tried to hide it, it was clear that Lane still had a bit of a crush on Erin, so I imagined that he was just fine with making her smile as well. For dessert, Erin brought pumpkin and apple pies that she had bought at the bakery in Petoskey, which we ate with some vanilla ice cream from the local creamery. I was sure there would be some dessert left over, given the amount that we all ate for dinner, but somehow, we finished it all. Everyone pitched in with the dishes and then we moved to the living room where we played cards and some more board games. As we played, Mary asked Wilma about some of her more memorable Thanksgivings, and she got a faraway smile. For the next hour, she regaled us with stories of humble times with the kids by the lake and, in later days, fancier celebrations with some of the families that Phillip befriended while they sat for portraits. As our last game of Scrabble ended, Sharon looked at Wilma with a mischievous grin. "Mary was telling me about the dance party that you had a few weeks ago here in your living room. Rumor has it that my big brother can dance! I was hoping, if you asked him nicely, that we could all see him in action." Wilma got up from her chair and started to move toward the hall closet. "Lane, come along and help, please. I am far too old to be carting around a heavy record player." Lane hopped up and went to help Wilma, while the rest of us began to move the furniture out of the way. As Lane set up, Wilma admonished the rest of us. "Remember, there is only one rule about dancing in my house: no wallflowers." With that, Lane started the first song, and I asked Wilma to dance. Alison followed suit, asking Lane to dance, and soon she was teaching him how to lead. Finally, Erin stood as well and gave a deep bow to Mary. "It would be my honor, enchanting lady, if I could have this dance." With a laugh, Mary stood, and soon we were all moving around the room, trying not to bump into each other or step on each other's toes. For the next hour, we danced, laughed, and pretty much forgot about the world outside. Lane even got up the courage to dance with Erin, although he stayed so far away from her that you would have thought she was radioactive. I took a couple of turns with Erin and was amazed at the way she melted into my arms. When we danced, there was a wave of knowing smirks from my sisters and a pleased smile from Wilma, but I didn't care. I could have danced with her all night. Unfortunately, during my third dance with Erin, the real world decided to interrupt our festivities. Erin and I had just started a turn when the power went out. I instinctively pulled Erin into my arms to protect her, and then I leaned in through the darkness and kissed her. She returned the kiss, ran her hand through my hair, and let out a small moan. "Do you think the power will come back on?" Lane's question cut through the fog of my lust and longing. "Probably not until sometime after the storm has passed. So, we should all plan on spending the night here and then figuring things out in the morning." With Wilma's agreement, we got settled in for the evening. After some protest, Wilma agreed to sleep in the guest room since it had a direct line of sight to the thermoelectric stove fan that helped circulate the heat from the fireplace. My three sisters slept in Wilma's bed, both to share body heat and because it was the larger of the two beds in the house. Lane slept on the couch, while Erin and I slept on the floor in front of the fireplace. Erin laid out an older sleeping bag, for comfort, with some bedding and blankets on top. In deference to Lane, she waited until she was under the blankets before she shimmied off her pants, while I stoked the fireplace. I made one more pass through the house, to check on Wilma and my sisters, but it seemed they had already fallen asleep. Even Lane had passed right out, despite his proximity to the pants-less Erin. I set a quiet alarm on my phone for two-hour intervals so that I could get up and add wood to the fire, ensuring that it would last all night. Looking down at the makeshift bed where Erin was watching me, I suddenly felt incredibly shy and anxious. I took my sweater and pants off as quickly as I could and set them on a chair before crawling under the blankets next to her. I didn't want to be presumptuous, so I stayed as far over to one side as I could. I had just settled in when I heard Erin's soft voice from behind me. "You can come a little closer. I won't bite, you know." My brain froze with indecision, but my heart knew the score and it started beating at a furious rate. I heard her shifting behind me, and I felt an arm wrap itself around my chest. My senses were on fire. The faint scent of lavender from her hair washed over me like a field of wildflowers. "Was everyone safe when you made your patrol?" I slowly rolled over so that my forehead was lightly touching hers, and I could see the flickering of the fire reflected in her eyes. "I know it's silly, but I can't sleep until I know that everyone I love is safe. Even when she is away at college, Alison texts me each night to let me know she is okay. I will make another round later after I stoke the fire." "It's not silly at all; I feel safe when I'm with you too.  Why don't you tell me your story, Davis Crawford." She must have felt me stiffen, and she started to lightly brush her fingertips through the hair on the back of my neck. "You don't have to if you're not comfortable with me yet, but I would like to hear it someday when you're ready." We sat in silence for another few minutes, while the tension slowly drained from my body. It had been over 15 years; since before the drugs and alcohol got too bad with my mother; since someone had touched me with kindness and love, and I was helpless before the gentle onslaught of Erin's fingers. Eventually, I started talking. "Things weren't always bad with Mom; I remember there being more laughter than anger when I was little. She was very beautiful, and there was a procession of men in her life, even back then, but most of them treated me well. I guess they wanted to make a good impression on her. When I was four or five, though, she took up with a man from a rougher crowd. She started in with the drinking and drugs, and they never really stopped. She got pregnant with that man, and Alison was born. From there, it was like a rock sliding down the side of a hill. It starts slowly, but soon it's rolling downhill in leaps and bounds. "After Sharon was born, fewer men came around. My mom was still beautiful, but how many guys are interested in a single mother who has three kids from three different men? I had just turned ten when she left me in charge for the weekend and flew down to Vegas with some friends from the club where she waitressed and danced. A bit more than nine months later, she had Mary. "The one thing I can say for my mom is that she mostly managed to stay clean while she was pregnant. But once Mary arrived, the hill got steeper, and the rock started plummeting downwards. As fewer men showed an interest in her, Mom had to blame someone, and we kids were handy targets. That's when the hitting started. I learned pretty quickly that she didn't much care who she hit, so I made sure that I was always close at hand, to try and spare the little ones. If she was going to throw plates at someone, I figured it had better be me. "By the time I was 12, I was the only one caring for my siblings. When Mom came home drunk or stoned after her shift at the bar, I would steal enough of her tip money to buy food for my sisters' lunches. That was the worst of it, and I didn't think that we would make it through. I am not sure we would have without our landlord, Mr. Johnson. "He lived in the apartment below us and would take us in on the weekends when my mother was out with her boyfriends, feed us dinner, and let us watch a little television. I never found out why he lived such a lonely life, but he helped me keep our family together until I was old enough to handle things myself, so I will always be grateful to him." I could see tears starting to pool in the corner of Erin's eyes. "You don't need to hear the rest of this;" Erin stopped me mid-sentence by kissing my lips. "You never got to be a kid, Davis. My whole life I felt sorry for myself because my parents didn't want or care for me, but at least I had Gran and Grampy. You had no one." Even though we were lying on an old lumpy sleeping bag on a rough hardwood floor with only a fireplace for heat, I had never felt safer in my life than I did with her right then. To be continued in part 3. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 1 Love, bastards, and what we leave behind. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. The Plumber, The Painter, and the Wind off the Lake Prologue I have never been much for following instructions or doing what I'm told. In eighth grade, we were assigned to make a volcano in science class. I figured that if the eruption looked good with a couple of tablespoons of baking soda, then it would look even better with the whole container! And what better place for a natural disaster than the teacher's desk at the front of the class. I was right; the whole container of baking soda produced an impressive explosion. What I didn't count on, however, was it producing a week-long suspension from school and a beating from my mother. In high school, we had to take an art class to graduate. Our teacher loved still life drawing and would ramble endlessly about how it revealed the beauty that is in the everyday objects that surround us. I guess he wanted us to reveal the beauty in the bowl of fruit that he had put in the middle of the classroom, but the most beautiful things that I could see were Brittany Johnson's D-cups which filled out her sweater gloriously. At the end of the class, there were 29 drawings of a bowl of fruit and one drawing of a beautiful girl's smile (amongst other details). Although I was suspended for two days, I got a date with Brittany who loved my drawing, so I feel like I came out ahead on that one. In my last year of school, the final mathematics exam asked the following question: Determine the points of intersection between the following parabolas and lines. Illustrate fully. While the other students slaved away to solve the listed problems in the allotted time, I fully illustrated a drawing of our math teacher, Mr. Aaronson, dancing a slow waltz in a field of sunflowers with Mrs. Stevens, the geography teacher. It was the worst-kept secret in the school that our two shyest teachers had massive crushes on each other, and after four years of watching them pine away, I thought they could use a little push. I failed the test, but Mr. Aaronson showed my drawing to Mrs. Stevens during a particularly dull staff meeting, and when it made her blush and smile, he finally got up the courage to ask her out. They are now married and have a little girl who is as cute as a button. At the end of the year, Mr. Aaronson asked me if I planned to pursue math in the future, and when I assured him that I did not, he gave me a passing grade. So, what was my problem, you might ask? Was I just one of those kids who didn't give a shit and was destined for mediocrity or failure in life? Like many things, the answer is more complicated than it might first appear, but I am getting ahead of myself. Our story starts on an unusually cold and blustery afternoon in late October, on the north-eastern shore of Lake Michigan about a half hour's drive north of Petoskey, just outside a village called Good Hart. Chapter 1. It had been a busy day. The perfect storm of an early season snap freeze, strong winds, and lake-effect snow meant that there was a couple of inches of snow on the still soggy ground, along with a number of leaky or burst pipes, malfunctioning valves, and boiler issues as people cranked their heating systems up to full for the first time that year. As a plumber, though, I didn't mind. It just meant more work for me, which was always a good thing. At only 25 years of age, and despite being a master plumber, I was generally the last choice for folks to call, even in an emergency. Anyone with money chose one of the larger and more established plumbing contractors, leaving me with the jobs that they didn't feel were worth their time or effort. That's how I found myself pulling into the laneway of an older house, just off Lamkin Road down by the lake, late that Friday afternoon. It was my last job of the day, but I would be working over the weekend to catch up on my backlog, so I wanted to get it done. The house looked like it hadn't been updated since it was built, likely in the late fifties or early sixties, other than a couple of coats of paint and a new roof when the original finally gave up the ghost. The front gardens were neatly tended, however, and the property itself was stunning, with panoramic views in three directions out over the lake. The sun was just beginning to dip toward the western horizon as I drove up, so the trees cast long shadows across the laneway. The house was owned by Mrs. Wilma C. Anderson, who had called me earlier in the day to say that some of her radiators weren't working and that her boiler was making one hell of a racket when she turned it on. I told her to shut the system down and that I would look at it by the end of the day. She sounded quite elderly, and I didn't like the idea of her going without heat for a night during a cold snap. I rang the doorbell and waited until a tiny wisp of a woman answered. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall and looked older than the hills, but her face was full of life, and her eyes had a twinkle that spoke of humor and mischief. "Hi, Mrs. Anderson, I'm Davis Crawford. You called earlier about some issues with your boiler and heating system. How can I help?" Mrs. Anderson gave me an appraising look. "I wasn't expecting you to be such a handsome young man. If I were fifty years younger, I would tell you exactly how you could help me, and then I'd teach you a trick or two I learned over the years. But I am too old for that kind of foolishness these days, so I will just have to make use of your plumbing expertise instead. And please, call me Wilma." I couldn't help but laugh and blush at Wilma's surprisingly raunchy sense of humor. I liked her immediately. "Let's try that again. What seems to be the problem?" "Well, the biggest problem is that I am 91 years old and dying of cancer. The doctors give me less than a year to live. But aside from that, I really can't complain. I have had a good run of it." I cocked my head to one side and gave her a bemused look. "Oh, you were wondering what the problem is with my heating system. Well, I turned it on this morning when I got up, and the boiler sounded like there was someone trapped inside of it trying to hammer their way out. There was a worrisome hissing from some of the radiators, as well, and they weren't heating up worth a damn. "My husband, Phillip, used to take care of those things for us, but he has been gone for almost five years now, so I hate to think what you will find when you look around." "I'm sure I can help you, Mrs. Anderson,;" "Wilma, please." "Sorry, Wilma. Why don't you show me to the basement, and I will try to figure out what's wrong. Then I can get started on fixing it." On the way to the basement stairs, Wilma led me through her crowded but orderly living room. I couldn't help but notice the paintings on just about every surface of its walls. "You have a real eye for art, Wilma. Those paintings are beautiful." Wilma smiled wistfully at me and got a faraway look in her eyes as she replied. "Phillip and I were artists. I guess I still am, but I haven't felt much like painting since he passed on. Phillip painted portraits. He made a surprisingly good living at it; you would be amazed at what rich people will pay to see their lives immortalized in oil on canvas. I never had the knack. Phillip could make even the most corpulent and corrupt industrialist appear regal and wise. I could only ever capture what I actually saw in them, and I quickly discovered that they did not enjoy, or pay for, that kind of introspection. "So, I painted landscapes, and there is always a market for those. But I kept some of my favorite pieces, over the years, as you can see." As Wilma spoke, I took a closer look at the paintings. One, in particular, was striking; a portrait of a beautiful young woman, in her late teens or early twenties, with a stethoscope around her neck and her blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She was wearing a loose hoodie and was curled up in an Adirondack chair, reading a book. It was not what you would expect from a formal portrait, but it seemed to capture her essence in a way that no photograph could match. I must have stopped moving as I was drawn into the image, so Wilma gave me a minute before she continued. "That's the last painting that Phillip worked on before he passed. He didn't get the chance to finish it, but I still think it's his finest work." I couldn't help but agree. "Who's the model? She's beautiful." "That's my granddaughter, Erin. You can't tell from the portrait, but she's a real firecracker. As a grandparent, you're not supposed to play favorites, but she was very special to Phillip, and it hit her hard when he passed. There is more love in that one painting than in all the other portraits that he painted over his lifetime. Except for his first, of course, of me." "Where are Phillips' other works? Surely, they weren't all commissions that are now locked away in some dusty millionaire's palace." Wilma's expression turned bleak as she contemplated her response. "All of his other paintings were sold after he died. The kids said they would fetch a better price while there was an upswing of interest in his work after his death, so they insisted that they all go to auction as quickly as possible. They were probably right, I guess, although I loved his art more than I needed the money. But how do you argue with your kids when they have just lost their father?" "Do any of your children live nearby?" "They all moved far away. Phillip and I chose a wonderful spot to live and make our art, but a challenging place to raise a family. It's not so bad now, what with the internet, highways, and the like, but when we first moved here sixty-some years ago, it was very isolated. We were young and selfish, and our selfishness cost us dearly. "We thought that our children would grow to love this area over time, like we did. But they never did, and they left as soon as they could get away. My daughter, Samantha, is a retired lawyer and she and her third husband split their time between their loft in Manhattan and their beach house in the Bahamas. My son, Robert, is an oil executive down in Texas. Neither of them has been here in more than a decade, except for Phillip's funeral. "My baby, Max, passed away more than twenty years ago now of cancer. Erin is his granddaughter. She is a pediatrician, and she splits her time between the hospital in Petoskey and the children's hospital down in Grand Rapids. She comes to see me when she can, but she is very busy. My other relatives all live busy lives far away from here. We chose to live here, though, so I can't be too upset that the rest of the family chose to live far away. "But enough about me. What about you, Mr. Crawford? Do you have any children?" "It's just me and my siblings, I'm afraid, and it's been that way for quite some time. My oldest sister, Alison, is 20, and she goes to college at North Central Michigan, in Petoskey. She is planning to become a nurse practitioner. The rest of the gang still lives at home with me. Sharon is 17 now, so she kind of runs the show while I am working; Mary is 15 but going on 30, if you know what I mean; and Lane is the baby of the family at 12." "Where are your parents?" "I don't honestly know. We each have a different father, or at least we think we do. Sharon, Lane, and I have no idea who our fathers are, so there's a chance that we might be full siblings, but I doubt it. My mother never kept the same man around for long. Alison's father has been in and out of jail since before she was born and is currently serving a stint in federal prison. But Mary has it the worst of all of us. "My mother met Mary's dad on a weekend bender in Vegas, and he is a pretty big deal. Rich, famous, the kind of guy you see on TV and the cover of magazines. A real family man, except when it comes to Mary, whom he refuses to even acknowledge. He bought my mom's silence with a lump sum payment and a non-disclosure agreement. That money was supposed to be put in a trust for Mary, but my mom snorted and injected it all in less than a year. Mary has written to her father dozens of times and reached out to him on social media countless more, but he wants nothing to do with his bastard daughter. "As for my mom, she went away for the weekend almost seven years ago now and left me in charge. And I am still in charge, I guess. So, no time for dating or romance for me, and I think that I will be just about done with raising kids by the time that Lane goes off to college." Wilma gave me a look filled with more empathy than I had felt in a long time, maybe ever. "Anyway, I should take a look at your boiler and see what I can do about getting you some heat." I would have called the boiler in Wilma's basement old, but that wouldn't have done it justice. Frankly, it wouldn't have seemed out of place in a museum of heating and plumbing, and it was hanging on to life by the barest of threads. With only a year to live, however, I wasn't going to recommend to Wilma that she replace the whole system with something more modern and efficient. "I think I can fix your boiler so that it will hold on for another year or two, and I can patch a couple of leaks in the lines to the main radiators as well. One line to a radiator at the back of the house is completely shot, so I will shut that one off and be back to replace it later this week." "What's all that going to cost?" "It's free of charge, Ma'am. You've got enough to look after with your health and all, without having to worry about your heating system. I never had a grandma to spoil, at least not one that I know of, so it would be my pleasure to do this for you." "Please, it's Wilma. And it's a grandmother's prerogative to spoil her grandchildren, and not the other way around. But your kindness is mighty appreciated, Davis." It took me a couple of hours to shore up the boiler and repair the lines that were still in reasonable condition before I was finished for the day. As I got ready to leave, I found Wilma sitting alone in the living room reading an old paperback. "I'll call you later this week, once the replacement line for your radiator comes in." Wilma got a mischievous smile on her face. "Why, Davis, are you getting fresh with me?" "If I were older and more experienced, I would in an instant. But I hardly think I can compete with the memory of your Phillip." "Too true, too true. Alright young man, well thank you for taking the time to look after a foolish old woman on a cold October night." "I hardly think you're foolish, Wilma, but it's been my pleasure." I didn't get home from Wilma's until well after nine that night, and by the time I pulled into our gravel driveway, I was beat. The dilapidated old yard light mounted on the roof of the garage shone weakly down on the sloppy mix of gravel and mud that was our yard, and I could hear the excited barks of Munchkin, our rescue puppy. He was a mix of German Shepherd and Cane Corso, with some variety of northern dog thrown in, and he was mighty pleased to see me. I'm glad that someone was. I came into our small three-bedroom rental to find Sharon and Lane sitting at the dining room table working on his math homework. I wish that they reacted like Munchkin when they saw me, but Lane just grunted a hello, while Sharon looked up at me with a mixture of sadness and worry. "Mary is out with the McDougal brothers again. They showed up here a half hour ago, I told her not to go with them, but she wouldn't listen." "The McDougal brothers are assholes," was Lane's addition to the conversation, without even looking up from the table. He wasn't wrong. The oldest McDougall brother, Calum, was a couple of years ahead of me at school and was a bully and a braggart. Two of his three brothers had followed in his esteemed footsteps, while the jury was still out on the youngest, James. "I'm going to go get her. Next time that those boys turn up in our yard, let Munchkin lose on them." "Alright, dinner will be in the oven when you get back. Given 'em hell, Bro." The McDougal brothers lived just outside Pellston in the closest thing to a mansion that you could find in our neck of the woods. Their family owned the largest construction and maintenance company in the area and had most of the Public Works contracts sown up, along with a not inconsiderable portion of the private construction in our region as well. Their parents spent most of their time in Sarasota, Florida, though, and the brothers had free rein while they were gone. As I drove up their long, paved driveway, automatic floodlights came on, illuminating the ostentatious columns that flanked the entrance to their house. I parked in front of the nearest bay of their four-car attached garage while noting that there was another three-car garage further off to the right. I idly wondered who got to park in which garage. Rich people problems, I guess. I walked to the front door and let myself in. From the foyer, I could hear the loud thump of music coming from the back of the house, so I headed that way. As I passed through the kitchen, I nearly bumped into James, who was holding a couple of empty serving bowls. He stopped dead when he saw me, looking nervous, clearly not expecting anyone else to be in their house. Certainly not me, anyway. "Hey James, I am here to get my sister. Where is she?" He hesitated a moment before pointing toward the back of the house. "She's in the game room playing pool with the guys. We didn't force her to come here or anything, if that's what you're worried about." "Maybe that's true, James. But you know she is still a minor, and I am her guardian, so I'm going to fetch her and bring her home." James didn't like the sound of that, but I turned my back on him and followed the music to a large, sunken room at the back of the house, which had an expensive-looking pool table in the middle. The remaining McDougal brothers were either playing pool or smoking up on one of the couches that were scattered around the outside of the room. Calum was presiding over the festivities, while the Pistons game was playing on a wall-mounted TV that was bigger than some movie screens. Despite his family's blue-collar roots, Calum looked like an overgrown frat boy, with his preppy clothes and fifty-dollar haircut. Mary was sitting in the middle of one of the couches, with a McDougal brother on one side and one of their hangers-on on the other. She looked somewhere between uncomfortable and scared, but she gave me a defiant scowl. The music stopped, and everyone looked to Calum and then back at me. There was a nervous tension in the air. "Hi Calum, I'm here for my sister." Calum was now in a bit of a spot; he couldn't just let me come into his home and give him orders without losing face with his brothers and their cronies. But he also knew, or at least suspected, that my sister was underage. And then there was always the Pipe Wrench Incident. That always made people nervous to be around me. "That's not my problem. She told my brother that she wanted to party, so she's here to party. No one forced her to come, and she seems to be having a good time." I wondered if all of Calum's dates looked as scared and uncomfortable as Mary did at that moment when they were having a 'good time'. "Well, since she is still a minor and I'm her guardian, it's a bit of a problem. Or it could be. But I don't want to put a damper on your evening, so I'll just bring Mary home with me and we'll call it a night." Calum looked toward James who had just come back into the room with bowls now filled with potato chips. "Is that true, Limp dick? Did you bring an underage girl home to party with us?" James began to sputter before Calum shook his head in disgust. He pointed over at Mary. "Get the fuck out of here, and don't come back until you're sixteen," he said before turning back to me. "And you. Just get the fuck out of our house." It was a silent drive home. Mary refused to even look at me, staring out the window instead. When we pulled into our yard, Munchkin came running up to greet us, and Mary finally spoke. "You didn't need to embarrass me like that. I'm old enough to make my own choices, you know." "The law says you're still a minor. And you'll always be my sister. Those guys are no good, Mary. You know that." "James is different. He isn't like the rest of them." "Maybe that's true, or maybe not. But you don't hang out in a nest of rattlesnakes, just because there is a garter snake in there with them that you think is cute." After a pause and some continued barking from Munchkin, Mary finally looked over at me. "You're not my dad, you know. You can't tell me what to do." And there it was. It always came down to the same thing with Mary; her father's rejection of her. Over the years, it had undermined her self-esteem and destroyed her self-worth to the point where I wondered if they would ever recover. Unfortunately, I was just smart enough to see the problem, but I had no idea how to fix it. A brother's love can only go so far, I guess. "I know, Mary. I know. But I love you, and I am so proud of you, and I just wish that was enough." We sat in silence for another minute before she replied. "I wish it was too." Chapter 2. It took a couple of days for Mrs. Anderson's new radiator line to arrive, and I gave her a call when I went to pick it up. "Hi, Mrs. And; Wilma. I was just picking up the replacement line for your radiator, and I was wondering if you needed anything else from town, while I'm here. I was going to come by and install the line later this afternoon if that works for you." "That's very kind of you, Davis. Would you mind picking up a few groceries for me? I can send the store a list, so they will be ready for you when you get there." A couple of my calls that day took longer than expected, so it was late in the afternoon again by the time I made it to Wilma's place. The early season snow had mostly melted away, and her yard was now a combination of gravel and thick soupy mud that could swallow a tire as easily as it could swallow a boot. "Thank you for picking the groceries up for me, you're too kind." "It was no trouble at all, especially since I was coming out this way anyway. If you don't mind me asking, how do you usually get them?" "I used to have a young man up the way who would help me with groceries and yard work, and other small things, but now I am pretty much on my own." "What happened to him? Did he move away?" "No, he still lives in the same place that he always has, but I am pretty sure that my family paid him more not to help me than I was paying for his assistance." "What? That seems like a crappy thing for them to do to you." Wilma gave a resigned sigh and then offered me a coffee while she told me her story. "I think I told you the last time you were here, that most of my family has moved on from this place, except my granddaughter Erin. The rest of them already have an agreement in place with a developer, the McDougals, to turn this property into a high-end resort for the Fudgies, so they have someplace to spend their money after visiting Mackinac Island." "Fudgies," was what the locals called the tourists from down south who descended on the upper peninsula in the summer. "If you don't mind me asking, just how much land do you own?" "Well, Phillip and I didn't have much to spend our money on over the years, so we bought up many of the nearby properties when they went up for sale. We ended up with at least a quarter mile of land that fronts onto the lake, without even really trying." I let out a low whistle. "That must be worth a small fortune. I can understand your family's interest." "At first, they didn't care if I stayed in the house after Phillip died. They figured that I would follow soon enough. After a few years, however, they started to get impatient, and it's fair to say that they are now actively encouraging me to leave, by foot, by car, or in a box. They have generously offered to put me out to pasture in a warehouse for the old and infirm, though, to await my impending doom. "With my cancer, their wish is finally going to come true. By this time next year, I will be sipping coffee with Phillip in whatever afterlife we atheists get to enjoy. Actually, who am I kidding? If there is an afterlife for Phillip and me, the first thing I'm going to do when I get there is get on my knees, undo his belt buckle, and then show him just how much I've missed him these past five years. Wilma looked a bit startled as if she had just remembered that I was still there. "I'm sorry, Davis. You probably didn't need to hear that last part. I just miss him so much. I still see him in the trees and along the shore, and I sometimes hear his voice in the wind off the lake." "It's all good, Wilma. I just hope that my brother and sisters get to experience the kind of love that you and Phillip had someday." "What about you, Davis? Don't you deserve to experience that kind of love as well?" "Maybe I deserve it, Wilma, but I don't think I am going to find it. It's been tough; real tough, looking after my family all these years. I have done things that I am not proud of, but that needed to be done. I don't regret them; I would do anything to protect the people I love. But I doubt that anyone would be able to love me, once they found out what I've done." "I think you are selling yourself short, Davis. We are all artists, and we are all worthy of love." With that, Wilma offered to top up my coffee before I started replacing the broken line. As the evening's shadows deepened, I saw her watching me with compassion and concern in her eyes. Once I was finished, I felt her hand on my shoulder, and she gave it an empathetic squeeze. "A penny for your thoughts?" I stopped what I was doing and turned to look at her. "It's my sister, Mary. I am losing her. She is so hurt and angry that she is beginning to make bad choices, and I don't know how to help her. I've tried to be her brother, parent, and friend, but I'm failing at all three." Wilma offered no judgment, good or bad. She just listened, and when I finished, she spoke. "Bring her over this Sunday around noon. Tell her to wear some old clothes that she doesn't mind getting dirty. You can come too if you would like and bring your little brother to do some fishing, but Mary will be spending her time with me." It wasn't easy convincing Mary to come to Wilma's. If you have spent time dealing with teenage girls, you know that they can be as stubborn as late-season ice on the lake. In the end, I resorted to threats and bribery to get her onboard, but she assured me that she would hate every minute she was there. Lane came with us as well, with the promise that we could spend the afternoon fishing off the end of Wilma's dock. By the time we arrived, Mary was sullenly glued to the passenger seat and wouldn't look up from her phone. Wilma waited a few minutes for Mary, but she stubbornly refused to leave the truck. Eventually, Wilma pulled on her rubber boots and walked over to the truck. She looked up at Mary and started speaking. "There are three things that I know are true. "The first, I've already shared with your brother. We are all artists because we are all worthy of love. But many of us lose our way. We are hurt and abandoned, and we are buried in shame. I was like that for many years. But my husband, Phillip, found me and taught me what it is to be loved. Not just the physical act; although he taught me about that as well; but the certainty that I was seen, known, and cherished. He showed me that I am an artist. You are an artist too. "Second, I am old, I have cancer, and I will die. Not today, and hopefully not tomorrow, but soon. And that is okay; we all die. I have lived a good life. And when I do, I hope that Phillip will be waiting for me with a glass of chilled white wine and his beautiful smile. My art may linger for a while once I am gone but, eventually, it too will be lost. "Third, the world is full of bastards. Your brother tells me that you and he are both bastards. I will tell you a secret that I have shared with very few people; I am a bastard too. "My mother was beautiful but poor. Her parents lost everything during the Great Depression, and she worked as a housemaid for a rich and powerful man to support her family. When she fell pregnant, he put her out on the street and refused to recognize her child, his daughter; me. Because of his rejection, I spent too many years steeped in shame and self-loathing. But eventually, I learned a hard truth; my father was a bastard by choice, while I was a bastard by birth. And those of us who are bastards by birth must never let the bastards by choice win. "Come inside when you're ready. I'm too old and it's too cold for me to stand here waiting for you." With that, Wilma turned and slowly made her way back to the house. Surprisingly, after a minute, Mary followed. When they reached the door, Wilma turned to look back at me. "It's time for you boys to go fishing. There is a warm breeze off the lake that will bring you good luck." Lane and I made our way down the hill to the dock in silence, our fishing rods, ice chest, and tackle box in hand. Unlike a seasonal dock that would be taken out of the lake each fall, Wilma's dock could be used year-round and was built with heavy timbers and steel bracing, so it could withstand the crushing force of the winter's ice. When we reached the dock, we felt the warm wind that Wilma had promised, and we chose our lures and began to cast. After a half hour of fishing, Lane broke the silence. "Do you think it's my fault?" "Do I think what's your fault, Bud?" "That mom left us. That she never came back. Do you think it's my fault?" I sighed as I thought about my answer. "No. It's not your fault. It's no one's fault, really, maybe not even hers. It's funny though, she brought some amazing people into this world. I wish she could have seen how incredible you and your sisters have turned out. But she made her choice, and that's on her, not you." Lane thought about my answer before he continued. "But you would be better off without me. Sharon would have more time to study for the scholarship she will need to get away from here. I try to be nice to Mary, to make her feel better, but I just seem to make things worse for her as well. And I see how hard you work to keep our family together. I feel like you would all be better off without me. If I weren't here, maybe Mom would come back home." I took a deep breath and tried to push down the anger that threatened to overwhelm me; anger at my mother for abandoning us, anger at myself for never being enough, and anger at a world that would leave my brother feeling like it would be better off if he didn't exist. I felt the wind off the lake as it blew across my face, drying my unshed tears before they were formed. As I was wondering how to unbreak my brother's heart, a particularly strong gust of wind blew through and Lane's fishing rod bent into a deep arc, the tip dancing wildly as a fish fought against the line. "Dad! Help;" The drag clicked furiously as the fish pulled line, as Lane fought to keep his rod tip up. I quickly set my rod aside and braced him, my hands held loosely beside his as he fought to reel in his catch. We worked together for what seemed like an eternity before he finally fought his fish to the side of the dock. I grabbed the net and saw that he had hooked a steelhead trout that was easily two feet long and must have weighed at least eight pounds if not more. It was a wonder the drag held steady, and his line didn't break during the fight. As I scooped up his catch, the steelhead's silver sides shimmered like polished chrome in the fading light, and it was so big that it took up over half the ice chest I had brought along to store our catch. Lane was flushed with excitement at landing such an impressive fish, and I was so proud of him that my heart almost ached. "Nice work, Son." He just looked up at me for a moment before throwing his arms around me in a hug. In the time since our mother left, he had never called me by anything other than my name. I never tried to be his dad; I didn't think I was qualified, but I guess that all of us need someone in our lives who will love us without conditions or end. "Never think that you're a burden on me or the family. Maybe you need a bit more from us right now than you can give back, but that's alright. Because sixty years from now, when I am old and can't wipe my ass anymore, you are going to be paying me back in spades, alright?" With that, we went back to fishing in companionable silence. I pulled in a few smaller ones, but nothing to match Lane's steelhead. A few hours later, the wind had picked up and it was getting colder, so we packed up our equipment and made our way back toward the house. Halfway down the dock, however, a huge gust of wind swept through, and I heard a cry followed by a loud splash. Turning back, I saw that Lane's foot had slipped through a broken slat, and he had fallen off the dock. Without thinking, I dropped the ice box and rods and jumped into the water to help him. When I got him to shore, he couldn't put any weight on his ankle, and any efforts to do so were met with cries of pain. I quickly collected our discarded fishing gear and set it to one side, before helping him to slowly make his way back up the hill. The November chill quickly took hold of us as we walked, plastering our damp clothing to our skin, and we were shivering uncontrollably by the time we reached the house. I knocked but it took a minute for Wilma and Mary to come out from the studio at the back of the house. "I am sorry to cut things short, but Lane had an accident down at the dock and he sprained or maybe even broke his ankle. I am going to have to take him to the hospital in Petoskey to get it looked at before it swells up any further." Wilma looked at me with concern. "Maybe you should hold off at least for a little while. My granddaughter, Erin, the pediatrician, is coming for dinner tonight and should be here any minute. Why don't we let her take a look at it before you head into town? And let's get you out of those clothes; you must be freezing. I still have some of Phillip's things in the closet that might fit you." A few minutes later, I had changed into a pair of comfortable but slightly musty-smelling pants, with a warm sweater over a well-worn collared shirt. I was both taller and wider than Phillip had been, at least in the twilight of his years, so the pants were a bit short, while the sweater was tight across my shoulders. While I changed, Mary and Wilma had set Lane up on the couch with his ankle elevated on some pillows. I helped him change out of his wet clothing and into an old sweatshirt and shorts that fit over his swollen ankle. Once Lane was settled, Wilma and I talked quietly in the kitchen. "It's getting late, and you must be getting hungry, but I don't think I have enough to feed everyone." I thought for a moment. "We may be in luck. Lane caught the biggest steelhead I have ever seen earlier this afternoon, but I left it down by the dock after the accident. If you have a few potatoes and maybe a veg or two, I am sure I can whip something up that would feed us all." Wilma looked at me with a sly smile. "He cooks, he plumbs, and he cares for his family, all while cutting a dashing figure in my late husband's favorite sweater. You, Mr. Crawford, are a catch." "I am not sure about that, Wilma," I replied with a laugh, "But either way, this catch had better go and get our earlier catch, so I can get started on dinner." It took me almost half an hour to collect our fishing gear and bring it back up to the truck. By the time I was done, an older SUV was parked behind my truck, which meant that Erin had arrived. After I loaded the gear, I used the fishing knife and stained plastic cutting board that I kept in a bin under the back seat to clean and filet the steelhead before heading inside. From the doorway, I could see a head of sandy-blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail sticking up from the far side of the couch, and I heard a calm and melodic voice talking to Lane while Wilma and Mary looked on. I was so lost in that voice that I almost jumped when the latch on the door caught behind me. The head of sandy-blonde hair looked up at the sound, revealing a pair of amber, almost golden eyes. "You must be the father," said that same melodic voice, as those eyes bore their way into my soul. "It's Davis Crawford, and I'm the older brother." "Erin Anderson, nice to meet you. Can you get hold of your parents? We might need to take Lane to the hospital for some X-rays." "No," I replied more harshly than I intended. "No," I tried again, more gently but with an edge to my voice. "Our parents aren't around; I am as close as you're going to get. I am Lane's legal guardian if that helps." There was a slight pause as her amber eyes shifted from surprise to curiosity. "That helps a lot. Why don't you give me 15 minutes or so to take a look at this brave dude's ankle, then we can talk over some options, once I have a better sense of what's going on." "That okay with you, Bud?" I asked as I walked over to the couch. "Yeah, that should be fine," he replied, but his eyes were wide, and his cheeks were flushed. For a moment, I was worried that he might be running a fever, but then I got my first look at Erin, and I understood. Maybe she wasn't classically beautiful like a movie star or swimsuit model, but she was lean and fit, and from what I could see, had more than enough curves in all the right places. It was her face, however, that captured me. She had delicate features accentuated by her high cheekbones, and there was a softness to her expression that spoke of empathy and kindness. Her eyes, though intense, had a warmth that put me instantly at ease. I realized much too late that I had been staring at Erin for an uncomfortably long time while holding the bag of steelhead filets out like some kind of sacrificial offering. While I stood frozen, the look in Erin's beautiful eyes had shifted from curiosity to amusement; I would assume at the fish-carrying simpleton standing in front of her. "Thanks, Dr. Anderson; err, Erin. I appreciate your taking a look at him and; I am going to go cook us up some fish before I make an even bigger ass of myself." Wilma joined me in the kitchen, while Erin continued to assess Lane's injured ankle. We spent the next few minutes dicing the potatoes and veggies and tossing them with some olive oil, salt, and pepper before sprinkling the filets of steelhead with a mixture of herbs. I topped the fish with some slices of a less-than-fresh, but still edible, lemon I found in the fridge, before putting the whole thing in the oven. To be continued in part 2. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

We learn about the Selena documentary, and the life, career, and death of the Tejano singer, who was killed by a disgruntled employee. We find out the evolutionary advantage of kissing, which animals do it, how scientists define "kissing," and why it actually could protect us from harm. Susie explains why raccoons might become the next domesticated animals, why they seem to be ushering in their pet era, and why experts are convinced it's inevitable. We discuss the new female test dummy (or smartie as Susie calls her), and why it took so long to get it made, why people still aren't happy, and why it's so expensive to make. We're mad at the Guinness World Book of Records again because of their evolving business model and the schemes they're using to make bank. And Susie talks about the Stiller and Meara documentary, about the comedy duo and their famous son, Ben Stiller, and why despite their fame, they're more relatable than you'd think.Brain Candy Podcast Website - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/Brain Candy Podcast Book Recommendations - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/books/Brain Candy Podcast Merchandise - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/candy-store/Brain Candy Podcast Candy Club - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/product/candy-club/Brain Candy Podcast Sponsor Codes - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/support-us/Brain Candy Podcast Social Media & Platforms:Brain Candy Podcast LIVE Interactive Trivia Nights - https://www.youtube.com/@BrainCandyPodcast/streamsBrain Candy Podcast Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/braincandypodcastHost Susie Meister Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/susiemeisterHost Sarah Rice Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/imsarahriceBrain Candy Podcast on X: https://www.x.com/braincandypodBrain Candy Podcast Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/braincandy (JOIN FREE - TONS OF REALITY TV CONTENT)Brain Candy Podcast Sponsors, partnerships, & Products that we love:For 50% off your order, head to https://www.dailylook.com and use code BRAINCANDYGo to https://cozyearth.com and use my code BRAINCANDY for up to 20% off!Get $35 off Aura's best-selling Carver Mat frames - named #1 by Wirecutter - by going to https://auraframes.com and using promo code BRAINCANDY at checkout.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Sai Marie is back, and we discuss a topic important to us as writers of erotica: The Erotic Power of Language!

Sarah was car shopping, and you'll never guess what kind of car she and her girlfriend got... We learn how doctors who perform surgery on babies were inspired to improve their care after seeing the efficiency of Formula 1 pit crews. We talk about a little girl who donated a simple rock to a museum, but it is now the most popular exhibit at the museum. Sarah explains the impact having daughters has on male CEOs. Susie gives a surprising update on Milli Vanilli that feels redemptive and exciting, so much so that Sarah wants to use it to illustrate the way life can turn around to her therapy clients. Plus, we hear about this year's IG Award winners and the scientific discoveries that they made.Brain Candy Podcast Website - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/Brain Candy Podcast Book Recommendations - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/books/Brain Candy Podcast Merchandise - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/candy-store/Brain Candy Podcast Candy Club - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/product/candy-club/Brain Candy Podcast Sponsor Codes - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/support-us/Brain Candy Podcast Social Media & Platforms:Brain Candy Podcast LIVE Interactive Trivia Nights - https://www.youtube.com/@BrainCandyPodcast/streamsBrain Candy Podcast Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/braincandypodcastHost Susie Meister Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/susiemeisterHost Sarah Rice Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/imsarahriceBrain Candy Podcast on X: https://www.x.com/braincandypodBrain Candy Podcast Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/braincandy (JOIN FREE - TONS OF REALITY TV CONTENT)Brain Candy Podcast Sponsors, partnerships, & Products that we love:Go to https://auraframes.com to get $35 off Aura's best-selling Carver Mat frames - named #1 by Wirecutter - by using promo code BRAINCANDY at checkout. Go to https://beducate.me/BRAINCANDY to get 60% off with code BRAINCANDYGet 25% off your first month at https://ritual.com/BRAINCANDYSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

In this episode, I answer three powerful questions from my community about orgasms, disgust in self-touch, and how to find your way back to sex after a long dry spell in a relationship. We explore the refractory period after clitoral orgasm, how to “edge” your pleasure to expand into vaginal orgasms, what's really behind feeling icky or nauseous when you touch your body, and how to reconnect intimately with your partner when sex has felt clunky or disappointing. In this episode: Why pleasure is a choice and how attention grows desire The refractory period after clitoral orgasm and what to do about it Using edging to expand pleasure and support vaginal orgasms Disgust and nausea during self-touch as a protective, learned response Somatic and emotional tools for healing shame and body aversion Rebuilding sexual connection with your partner after months without intimacy JOIN SLUT ACADEMY

We got an update about "aphantasia," the condition where you cannot see mental images, and now we're wondering if we're the weird ones because the way we see the images is apparently strange??? We think we are on the precipice of a scientific discovery that will be named after us. Susie talks about a man who had his wife cryogenically frozen, but now it's awkward because he got a new girlfriend, so hopefully they don't bring the wife back to life or he's going to have a lot of explaining to do. We hear why female scuba divers are better than their male counterparts, and Sarah is soooo happy. We learn about a woman who was stabbed to death (including in the back) and authorities are still claiming it was a suicide. Predictably, Sarah's got a theory. Plus, we learn about a "reparations happy hour" where people of color drink for free thanks to donations from white people who aren't allowed to come, and we debate whether this is a good or bad idea.Brain Candy Podcast Website - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/Brain Candy Podcast Book Recommendations - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/books/Brain Candy Podcast Merchandise - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/candy-store/Brain Candy Podcast Candy Club - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/product/candy-club/Brain Candy Podcast Sponsor Codes - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/support-us/Brain Candy Podcast Social Media & Platforms:Brain Candy Podcast LIVE Interactive Trivia Nights - https://www.youtube.com/@BrainCandyPodcast/streamsBrain Candy Podcast Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/braincandypodcastHost Susie Meister Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/susiemeisterHost Sarah Rice Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/imsarahriceBrain Candy Podcast on X: https://www.x.com/braincandypodBrain Candy Podcast Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/braincandy (JOIN FREE - TONS OF REALITY TV CONTENT)Brain Candy Podcast Sponsors, partnerships, & Products that we love:Get 40% off your first box PLUS get a free item in every box for life. Go to https://www.hungryroot.com/BRAINCANDY and use code BRAINCANDYGet $10 off your first month's subscription plus free shipping when you go to https://nutrafol.com and use promo code BRAINCANDYGot to https://auraframes.com to get $35 off Aura's best-selling Carver Mat frames - named #1 by Wirecutter - by using promo code BRAINCANDY at checkout. See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Have you ever wanted a bed for your phone? Do you live in the United Arab Emirates? Well, you're in luck. Ikea has the perfect thing for you. We discuss Nike's latest product that makes it easier to walk for people who were not having trouble walking (??). We created the perfect foot race, and it involves flip-flops, margaritas, and fun for the whole family. This might be our best idea yet. We learn why horses got domesticated and zebras didn't, and we also realize zebras are the reality tv personaliteis of the animal kingdom (in the worst way). We find out why octopuses are more similar to humans than we realized, except for how they might be aliens. Plus, we discuss a boy who was kidnapped that was released because he annoyed the hell out of his captors, and we stan.Brain Candy Podcast Website - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/Brain Candy Podcast Book Recommendations - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/books/Brain Candy Podcast Merchandise - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/candy-store/Brain Candy Podcast Candy Club - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/product/candy-club/Brain Candy Podcast Sponsor Codes - https://thebraincandypodcast.com/support-us/Brain Candy Podcast Social Media & Platforms:Brain Candy Podcast LIVE Interactive Trivia Nights - https://www.youtube.com/@BrainCandyPodcast/streamsBrain Candy Podcast Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/braincandypodcastHost Susie Meister Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/susiemeisterHost Sarah Rice Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/imsarahriceBrain Candy Podcast on X: https://www.x.com/braincandypodBrain Candy Podcast Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/braincandy (JOIN FREE - TONS OF REALITY TV CONTENT)Brain Candy Podcast Sponsors, partnerships, & Products that we love:For a limited time, get 60% off your first order, plus free shipping, when you head to https://www.smalls.com/BRAINCANDYGet 15% off OneSkin with the code BRAINCANDY at https://www.oneskin.co/BRAINCANDY #oneskinpodHead to https://cozyearth.com and use my code BRAINCANDY for up to 40% off — just be sure to place your order by December 12th for guaranteed Christmas delivery. See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.