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Toshia finds herself in a predicament. By BradentonLarry – Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. NOTE: The events of this series (as a whole) follow immediately after Lost in Eros Book 1: The Manor. It is strongly suggested to complete that book first. Chapter 1 Toshia strained against the cords that held her fast. Her arms and legs were stretched out against an X-shaped cross, tied securely at the wrists and ankles. The muscles in her thin, strong arms and her bare legs pulled and struggled as her lithe, naked torso twisted against the cross. She had been trying to pull herself loose for what must be an hour now, and was convinced there was no actual hope that she would free herself. Only fierce stubbornness drove her to struggle again and again. At first, her captors had been gathered around Toshia, laughing at her as she fought futilely against her restraints. They had pinched and fondled her naked body, not as if they were trying to arouse her, but out of amusement at her defiant helplessness. They had squeezed and twisted her nipples, not playfully but cruelly, until tears were rolling down her cheeks. Hands had crushed her breasts roughly and slapped her face and thighs until her skin was burning and bright pink. Rude, unloving fingers had been shoved into her pussy, without intending to excite her, only to violate her. It was infuriating to her that her body had responded to this intrusion with grasping, hungry wetness. Although her mind was rebelling against her situation, and the rest of her body was being so badly mistreated, her vagina – and the damned XYZ in her veins – was ready for sex. Toshia didn't give in, though, and wouldn't. That had been the problem. Toshia wouldn't play along, so they tied her up and put her on display in the middle of this broken down old castle. They had good fun with that, hauling the kicking and fighting naked young woman off and holding her down on the cross while they bound her and then raised the framework to fit into its base. Toshia particularly remembered one of her tormentors, a big redhead with freckles over her cheeks and nose, who laughed in Toshia's face and then licked her cheek with a broad, wet tongue. After a while though, they got tired of abusing her and wandered off to find other things to do. Now and then someone would pass her by. Sometimes they would prod, pinch or fondle her body, but more and more they would just walk by, laughing. At first she had been happy to realize she'd been taken by the warrior women. Given her previous experience in Eros, Toshia expected to find herself in a Sapphic harem, surrounded by playful, horny women. After what she'd gone through, particularly since being separated from Don and the girls, the thought of some girl-on-girl action was quite welcome indeed! As soon as she was dumped out into the courtyard of the castle and looked around, though, Toshia realized this wasn't going to be any nice little harem situation. The stones of the courtyard were rough and cold on her bare skin. The women who stood around her were anything but welcoming. They looked down at her with various expressions of contempt and amusement. Each of these warriors was clearly very strong, with well-defined muscles on her arms, legs and abdomen. Odd pieces of armor were combined with tattered garments to barely clothe their athletic bodies. Each one held a weapon of some kind, mostly spears. "She's a scrawny one," said one of the women with a sneer. "No tits to speak of," said another derisively. Toshia was crouching there in front of them, trying to cover her nudity for the first time since she and Don had awoken in the Manor. "I'll bet she didn't put up any fight," one of the women scowled with distaste. "What about it, little pup? Did you put up any fight or did you just let them fuck you until they were done with you?" Toshia had twisted to get a look at the woman who had asked her those questions. She saw a tall woman with long jet-black hair and icy blue eyes looking down at her. The woman's expression gave the impression that she smelled something particularly rank. Toshia tried to think of what to say, but was distracted when she felt the butt of a spear shoved under her behind, and a voice saying, "I'll bet they screwed her ass too." The blue-eyed woman kept watching Toshia, as the woman behind her shoved the spear harder, pushing Toshia up to a kneeling position. Another woman asked, "Well, what is it, girl, did the goats fuck your ass?" "She's blushing," laughed one of them. "I'll bet she liked getting fucked in the ass by the goats." The blue-eyed woman smiled wryly and said, "As if you don't like a good ass-fucking, Wanda." "Well, yeah, but not from a goat!" Wanda protested. They all laughed at this, but Toshia didn't feel any more comfortable. The woman with the black hair and blue eyes was still looking down at her contemptuously. "What are we going to do with the scrawny little bitch, then," one of the women asked. "Give her to the men?" "It doesn't look like she can fight, so what else is she good for? She's too skinny to be any fun." "I don't know," said the blue-eyed woman haughtily. She reached out and caught Toshia's chin in a strong grip. She turned Toshia's head to the right and left, looking at her face coldly. "She's kind of cute." Cute!? Toshia suddenly realized how incredibly pissed she was. Things hadn't been going exactly well for days but she'd put up with it, thinking that Don and the others would turn up and get her out of this mess. Toshia was nothing if not a good sport; she hadn't actually been hurt and she'd managed to have fun in the process, but somehow a line had been crossed. This bunch of obnoxious women was too much to put up with nicely. A simmering rage welled up in Toshia's breast. The cold woman in front of her seemed to see the fury in Toshia's eyes. She smiled cruelly and said, "What do you say, little pup, will you be a good little pet for me?" "Fuck you!" Toshia spat. The smack came from somewhere off to the right and batted Toshia's head to the left. A spear shaft came down hard across her bare back, stinging like fire and knocking her forward onto her hands and knees. "Show respect, you skinny bitch!" said an angry voice. Toshia glowered at the gray stone in front of her, thinking furiously,I'll be damned if I'm going to be anyone's fucking cute little pet! Then she saw a sandaled foot extended under her face. It moved upward and Toshia lifted her head to avoid making contact. "There, there," said the blue-eyed woman. "I'm sure she'll behave now that she understands that she'll be punished if she doesn't. Right, little pup?" Toshia glared up at the woman and said nothing. "She's a wild one," a blonde woman with braids on both sides of her head, and who looked more than a little like a valkyrie to Toshia, said cheerfully. "Better watch yourself, Daphne." The blue-eyed woman, Daphne, sneered coldly and said, "Don't be ridiculous, Brigit. She'll be a good little pet for me, won't you, pup? Show the girls you'll play nice and kiss my foot." Toshia was keenly aware of the fact that she was surrounded by a gang of big bullies with sticks and worse, but she was past caring. She pushed herself up so that she was kneeling on her haunches and said, "I'll tell you what, I'll kiss your foot right after you kiss my ass." The blonde, Brigit, thought this was very funny, and Toshia thought some of the others laughed a little too, but again she was smacked – this time so hard that she tasted blood. Daphne, who wasn't laughing at all, then said, "It looks like the pup needs to be house-broken, ladies. Let's see how she likes being tied to the cross." So, Toshia was woman-handled until and after she was tied up and put on display in the middle of what seemed to be an ancient, decrepit hall. Fortunately, the women had tired of tormenting her, but they made no move to release her. Toshia pulled again, straining all the muscles in her lithe body against the bonds restraining her left wrist, trying to pull her hand through. She felt the wood of the cross against her back and butt. It seemed as if she would pull her hand off the end of her arm, or at the very least dislocate her shoulder, but nothing gave. She sagged, breathless, against the big X, hanging from her restraints. Toshia resigned herself to waiting until they untied her. In the meantime, she thought back to her adventures since she and Don had come to Eros, both in the Manor and since that day, about a week ago, when they had left the Manor and headed out into the forest. She knew reliving some of those events would make her horny, in spite of her situation, but thoughts of her life before coming to Eros would only depress her further. In any case, there was little doubt that the XYZ would have her horny soon anyway. Chapter 2 The Rite: centaurs & witches & crones (oh my!) Right after leaving the Manor Don found himself in strange company. It wasn't the fact that he was accompanied by four sexy women (each of whom he had slept with, sometimes with the active assistance of the others), including the love of his life and best friend Toshia. Nor was it the fact that two of those women had no memory beyond when they had awakened here in this strange place. Rather it was the presence of the amiable centaur, Ralph, who made the situation so surreal. They had gathered around Ralph in the shade of the first trees on the edge of the lawn spread out in front of the Manor. "Well, we call this the forest," Ralph answered Toshia's question. "No," she insisted, "what do you call everything -- the place where the forest is?" "The world? Oh, you mean Eros," Ralph laughed. "People call the world Eros sometimes." "Naturally," Don shrugged, smiling across to Toshia. "OK," Toshia tried to resume her explanation, "Don, Nicole and I aren't from Eros. We come from a place called Earth, and we would like to get home." Ralph frowned and scratched under his long, dark beard. His equine tail swished a bit too. Then, he said, "I can't say that I've ever heard of this 'Earth' place, and I've traveled extensively throughout the world -- Eros. Oh, would you mind scratching right there, dear?" Amy, who had utterly failed to resist the urge to caress Ralph's strong flanks, obliged him by scratching at his brown hindquarter where her hand had been. "Well," Don tried, "if you wanted to find a way to Earth, is there someone you would ask for help?" "Hmm," Ralph said as his forehead creased with his thought. "I suppose the first place one could try is the Witches of the Glen. Perhaps they could summon the Crone. She is very wise. If anyone knows anything about this 'Earth' it's likely to be... That's very distracting, my dear." "It certainly is!" Shelonda said. She had knelt down next to Ralph and was caressing his prodigious sex organ, which was, naturally enough, responding to the attention. Don wondered if the native fauna responded to the XYZ in the same way the human transplants did. He apologized to Ralph, saying, "I'm sorry. My friends have never encountered one of your kind." "I appreciate that," Ralph said. "It's just that it's been a while since I've been with a mare." "There aren't many centaurs around?" Don asked. "No... not too many..." By now Amy and Nicole had joined Shelonda in caressing and stroking Ralph's large phallus. Toshia was watching them with an expression that seemed a violent mixture of curiosity, shock and titillation. Don almost laughed at her reddening face. He saw that Amy was now kneeling on the ground with both her hands on the column of horse flesh pointing at her face, pumping her hands back and forth on it. Meanwhile, Shelonda and Nicole were similarly stroking Ralph's cock. Don thought it was fortunate for everyone concerned that they hadn't come across an actual horse. "Oh my!" Ralph breathed. Then a deluge of white cum erupted from him, virtually covering Amy's face and front. Pearly droplets splattered everywhere. Shelonda was able to say "Wow!" in the moment before a second bucket full of cum shot out of Ralph and onto Amy's face, and then there was a third much smaller one, followed by a stream that drizzled out. Nicole reached out and caught some of this in her cupped palm, and brought it up to her mouth, only to pronounce it "Yummy!" The girls on the ground proceeded to giggle and laugh as they scooped centaur cum off Amy and slurped it down. Toshia watched this for a moment, until she saw Don watching her with amusement, and then said, "Oh, what the hell?" and got down to join in the fun. "I hope that wasn't too rude of them," Don said to Ralph. "Oh, no -- not at all!" Ralph laughed. "It was a bit kinky, you know. I've never been pleasured by such tiny females, but I'm certainly not complaining." "Well, good," Don smiled. "Now, I was wondering if you could help us find these Witches of the Glen that you mentioned." Once the women managed to finish playing with Ralph's cum and to clean Amy up a bit, the centaur led them through the forest at a pretty brisk pace. Don was happy that he was a good hiker. The women took turns getting rides on Ralph's back, and took the opportunity to bring themselves to loud orgasms along the way. At first Toshia seemed shocked by the fact that Amy and then Shelonda were so openly grinding themselves against Ralph's spine and then so obviously coming, but, after Nicole took her turn, Toshia climbed up and enjoyed the ride for all it was worth. Don watched her bowing her head against Ralph's shoulder blades as she gasped and sighed with her orgasm, and smiled to himself. It was good to see her enjoying herself so thoroughly. For his part, Ralph said he was happy to return the favor done him as much as possible. Amy, however, insisted that she was unconvinced that there wasn't some further way in which Ralph could be of service to the ladies. Don found himself a bit happy when they came upon the glade they were seeking before Amy could put any of her ideas to the test. He sensed that Ralph was a bit relieved too. They were on a cleared hilltop high over the rest of the forest, sloping dark green all around them. The sun was sinking toward the horizon. In the center of the glade were a large stone altar and a large arrangement of wood, ready to become a bonfire. Off to the side, against the tree line, was a large tent of crimson cloth. Ralph led them toward this tent. Before they got there, though, or even called out, a flap was tossed aside and a beautiful woman in a dark red robe stepped out and said, "Hello, and welcome." She had a thick mane of yellow and gold hair falling to her shoulders in an unruly tumult. She looked the party over with eyes of light blue-gray and a knowing smile. "My name is Cassandra, how may we help you?" "Hello Cassandra, I'm Don, and this is Toshia, Nicole, Shelonda, Amy and Ralph." "It's good to see you again, Ralph," Cassandra smiled. Her voice was musical, friendly and confident -- in short, extremely sexy. "Thank you for guiding our new friends here." "It was an honor, mistress," Ralph bowed. "More than that," she winked, "judging from the smell of things." "An honor and a pleasure," he smiled back at her. "I am glad," she nodded. Then, turning to Don, she asked, "How may we help you, Don?" "Toshia, Nicole and I seek a way to leave Eros and return to our home, Earth," Don explained. "Ralph suggested that you could help us find someone who could tell us how to do that." "The Crone," Ralph added. "Ah, yes," Cassandra nodded, taking all of this in with apparent simple acceptance. "I see. We could perform the summoning rite, though you will have to help. We will need a fresh offering for the guardian of the portal, and then there will be a price to be paid to the Crone as well." "What sort of offering and price?" Toshia asked. She had dismounted from Ralph's back and stood next to Don. "Oh nothing quite so dire as you might imagine," Cassandra smiled enigmatically. "Any of you young ladies will do, though I suggest you or Nicole would be most fitting." "Fine," Toshia said firmly, "as long as it's nothing life-threatening, I'll do it." "Wonderful," Cassandra nodded. "And you, Don, will have to pay the Crone's price. Surely you will be as brave as your companion." "Of course," Don nodded, very much conscious of the fact that he was nowhere near as sure of himself as Toshia seemed to be. Cassandra smiled at them both and then turned to the tent behind her and called, "Come on everyone, we have to get ready to summon the Crone!" There were excited exclamations from the tent, followed by a dozen men and women all wearing robes just like Cassandra's. They busied themselves immediately around the firewood and the altar. Don would have paid more attention to what they were doing, but Ralph took this moment to say, "Well, I will leave you in Cassandra's capable hands, then." "You won't stay to see what the Crone says?" Don asked. "No," Ralph shook his head. "I want to find myself a mare as soon as possible, and, to be honest, these magical rites are a bit too intense for me." "Are we safe here?" Don asked in a hushed voice. "Oh, yes!" Ralph laughed. "Cassandra's a sweet, kind person. She won't let any harm come to you, but ... well, it's just going to be intense, that's all. It all gives me the willies. Anyway, good luck!" The girls all bid Ralph goodbye, and then he trotted off into the forest, which was already quite dark in the dusk. "Please, Toshia, come with me," Cassandra said. While they went into the tent, a pair of red-robed women came up to Nicole and Shelonda and led them off toward the fire area. A tall young man approached Don and said, "Sir, if you will accompany me." Don followed the man to a wooden chair that had been set off to the side, with a clear view of the altar without actually being close to it. The young man said, "During the rite, you will sit here until the Crone summons you. Do not participate in the ritual at all until that time. It is very important that you save yourself for the Crone. If you do not, she will know and be displeased." "Okay," Don nodded. "Sit in the chair and don't have any fun -- got it." "Oh, and remove your clothing." "Um, all right," Don said. After disrobing and putting his few items of clothing, and his staff, on the ground next to the chair, Don sat down and tried to make himself comfortable, watching the robed witches go about their preparations. He wasn't surprised to note that everyone in what he was thinking of as the coven was in good shape, even though they seemed to represent a spectrum of different ages, from quite young -- like Nicole or Shelonda -- to as old as in their sixties, if Don was any judge of such things. Knowing what he now knew about Eros, though, Don realized that each of these people could be much older than their appearance would indicate, thanks to the rejuvenating powers of the XYZ they drank as water. After the sun set Don was left alone in the clearing, as the others all disappeared into the big tent. Eventually, the group came out in a solemn procession -- one by one -- with Cassandra in the lead. Toshia came second and was wearing a white robe. The entire group made a circle around the pile of firewood, and most of them began to sing some sort of hymn the words of which Don couldn't make out. This went on for several minutes, until, abruptly, Cassandra raised her hands high over her head, and the wood in front of her burst into flame. Well, that was certainly a neat trick, Don thought to himself. He caught himself, though, and tried to make a point of not being quite so skeptical as usual. After all, we're trying to play along with this world's rules here. Maybe things won't work if I've got the wrong attitude. The witches had stopped singing now, and Cassandra took Toshia by the hand and walked her over to stand with her back to the stone altar; the other witches, along with Nicole, Shelonda and Amy, closed the gap in the circle. Facing Toshia, Cassandra raised her arms, with her palms up to the sky, and called out, "O wise mother who guides us and watches over us, we beseech thee to join us this night that the travelers among us may share in the gift of your knowledge and beauty." The witches around the bonfire repeated Cassandra's words, and four of the men lit torches in the fire and placed them in holes Don hadn't noticed before. These torches were positioned about a meter from each corner of the altar. When the men returned to the circle, Cassandra reached out to caress Toshia's face lovingly. She called out, "O guardian of the portal, we offer you this supplicant who comes seeking knowledge and will give you that which you most desire." Then, Cassandra untied the simple knot at the base of Toshia's throat that held the white robe closed. Toshia shrugged the robe off her shoulders and stood there naked in the firelight. If she was frightened or anxious Don could not see it in her expression or posture. Instead, she stood proudly, with her shoulders back and head high. To Don it seemed that it was Toshia, not Cassandra, who was the high priestess of this affair. As the witches around the fire began a low chant, Cassandra took Toshia by the hand and led her to the foot of the altar, and up a set of steps Don hadn't seen earlier. Toshia gently knelt down on the altar and then turned around and lied down upon her back on the cold stone. Don was fascinated to see her bare, pale flesh in the flickering orange and yellow light. He experienced a strong desire to go to the altar then and ravish Toshia even if it did mess up the rite. Instead, he forced himself to sit still in his wooden chair, and kept watching intently. Cassandra moved around to the opposite side of the altar, away from the bonfire, and produced a large pitcher that seemed to be made of clay. The witch proceeded to pour water over Toshia's naked body. From the sharp gasp and sudden tightening of her muscles, Don could tell Toshia had not expected this, but she lay still on the altar. When she'd emptied the pitcher over Toshia, Cassandra set the pitcher out of the way on the ground somewhere behind the altar, and then leaned over the naked, wet offering and kissed her on the lips. Cassandra came around the altar and joined the circle of chanting witches. Once she was there, the group slowly began to move around the fire. The chanting became a bit more rhythmic, and the witches started to move almost as if they were dancing. One by one, each of the participants broke away from the circle to approach the altar and kiss Toshia on the lips. When they had kissed her, each one dropped his or her robe to the ground in front of the altar before returning to the circle. Nicole, Shelonda and Amy each took their turn in this kissing and disrobing ritual, as if they had done this kind of thing many times. As this went on, with an increasing number of naked chanting, dancing celebrants, the rhythm and pace of the chant very slowly rose. The dancers were now holding hands or had their arms around each other's waists. Finally, only Cassandra still wore her robe, so she returned to the altar, kissed Toshia again and exposed her own naked body to the fire-lit night. This seemed to be a signal to the others, for the chanting shifted to a much more rhythmic cant, and Don swore there were now deep, distant drums keeping the beat. As soon as Cassandra returned to the circle, the dancing around the fire became more playful. Now sweaty bodies glistened in the orangey light. Don saw Amy moving along between two men, in each hand a stiff cock, while their hands groped her body. Shelonda passed by with a lovely young woman trying to get her mouth on Shelonda's beautiful heaving bosom. Nicole had allowed a man to catch her from behind and the two of them managed to move around the circle while he kissed the back of her neck and reached around to run his hands over her front. Cassandra danced past with the wanton sensuality of a belly dancer and a certain regal bearing, somehow both reveling in the energy of the rite and aloof from the playfulness rapidly spreading around the circle. The air seemed to be throbbing with the rhythm of the ritual chant, and the heat of the fire and rising eroticism flooded the night. Don looked over to the altar and saw that Toshia had begun to writhe on the stone. Her hands moved over her upper body and her legs rubbed against each other as she felt the aura of lust pulsing from the fire and the dancers. Don watched as she moved her left hand down between her legs, and he had little doubt what she was doing there. As for himself, Don's cock was lying thick on his thigh, growing harder as the rite progressed. Looking back to the fire, Don saw that the dancing had now stopped, though the chanting and the unseen drums continued on. The witches and company were giving in to their desires. Nearby, backlit by the fire, Nicole, had fallen to her hands and knees, and the man who had been following her so closely was now even closer -- fucking her from behind. Don was unsurprised to see that Amy was kneeling between her two men sucking one cock while stroking the other, and then switching. He couldn't see Shelonda, but figured she must be on the other side of the fire. He could see Cassandra, though, straddling a muscular young man, her head thrown back and her breasts thrust up in the night air as she rode him. When he turned his attention back to the altar, Don was surprised to see that a strange dark figure was standing there at Toshia's feet. Don almost sprang from his chair, but somehow managed to remember what he had been told, and resolved to sit still and wait. The figure, which Don presumed must be the guardian of the portal, was hard to discern at first, only a darker shadow in the night, but as Don concentrated it resolved into a tall, distinctly masculine form. Don was sure the shadowy "man" had long horns springing out of its forehead and sweeping back over its head. Toshia didn't seem to notice the creature's presence until it reached out to touch her ankle; the jet black hand seemed more like a talon at first, but then just a hand with long fingers. Toshia looked down to see the figure at her feet, but didn't seem frightened or even surprised. Don could see that she said something, but if there was any reply he could not tell -- he couldn't make out any features of the guardian's face, though he had the distinct impression that there were two fiery eyes of dark red in the shadows. Toshia parted her legs for the darkness and Don watched the claw-like hands moving over her relatively pale skin. As the shadow rose up and lowered itself over her, Toshia's hands left her own body and reached out for the dark shape. Her back arched as the shadows enveloped her. Don found it hard to focus on what was going on atop the altar. At one moment he saw Toshia with her head thrown back and a black creature with its mouth on her neck, and the next there was an almost billowing shadow enveloping her. Then there was a glimpse of her thighs and butt as they flexed while she was fucking the shadow enthusiastically. Her torso strained and tensed, and a mouth with sharp teeth was on her white breast. And then darkness swirled around her. Don was aware that all around the fire the orgy had become general, even though the chanting and the sound of drums went on. He knew that Nicole was now on her back while a new man was between her legs, thrusting with nearly crazed lust. He knew that Amy was being fucked from behind while she took a cock in her mouth. He knew that Cassandra was passionately kissing one of her female subordinates, while another suckled at her tits and reached down to play with her, all while still riding her initial partner. Don could feel his untouched cock, straining painfully in its excited, engorged state. However, he could not seem to look away from the altar. Though he couldn't hear anything but chanting, drums and the moaning of the witches, he was sure Toshia was crying out in a long, hard orgasm. He could tell the shadowy creature on top of her was not finished, though. "No," said a voice next to him, "he will not be finished anytime soon. His need is ... special." Don looked up to see a woman with long white hair swept away from her face and down her back. She was watching the altar with a smile on her thin, red lips. Her dark eyes sparkled in the firelight as she went on, saying, "His phallus is so very hard, like a thing of steel wrapped in a tight sheath of leather. Not as big as one might imagine, but so, so hard, almost painful to touch, until it fills you and you feel his need becoming your own." She was thin, but tautly muscular, and stood confidently and comfortably next to Don. She wore a black sleeveless shift, bound around her narrow waist with a silver cord. "What is his need?" Don finally managed to ask. Her features were sharp and aristocratic, but her smile was friendly as she looked down at him and said, "Sex, obviously, but not like you or them, or her. The guardian feeds off the carnal pleasure of others, particularly the woman with whom he is engaged -- but especially if she's new to him. The energy he draws from her orgasm makes it possible for me to come to you. He will couple with her as long as she can take it, drawing sustenance from her orgasms, and the lust of the others. He does not couple for release, though, but for the reverse. If he comes, which is quite rare, it will be a fiery jet of liquid ecstasy filling up her body -- every fiber." "A fiery jet?" She looked down at him again and smiled warmly, "Don't fear; I was being poetic." Don smiled back, "And your need?" She held out her hand, and Don took it and brought it to his lips, kissing her palm. She laughed and said, "Come with me, Don." A Covin of Witches Desire Toshia. Don stood and moved around his chair, following the white haired woman toward the large red tent. He stole one more glance over his shoulder and saw that Toshia had been pulled to the foot of the altar; her legs were wrapped around the column of deep shadow that stood over her there, her hands were on her breasts and her head lolled to the side with eyes tightly closed. Don imagined that the guardian of the portal was fucking her vigorously with his steely cock. He looked back to the woman leading him, who was looking back at him with an amused smile. Don said, "I didn't see a portal." "The portal is somewhat metaphorical. Cassandra called to me and the guardian, the guardian came, then Toshia came in the other sense, which made it possible for me to come to you." "So he's really not a guardian, but more of a conductor." She laughed as she drew aside the flap of the tent and pulled him inside. "Yes, that is perhaps a more apt description." The tent was lit by a number of candles, and was sumptuously appointed with large, soft carpets and many pillows. "And you are hardly what I would call a 'crone'," Don smiled, admiring the cool beauty of her face and the lithe sexuality of her form. "It's a title, not a description," she answered as she untied the silver cord cinching her gown about her narrow waist. "However, if you would prefer a different appearance..." She changed abruptly into an ancient, toothless hag, straight out of a stereotypical fairy-tale, or Macbeth. She laughed harshly and said, "Perhaps not, though. What about this? Something more befitting the images conjured up in your mind by the rite you witnessed so patiently." She was now a pale woman in a white nightgown. Thick dark hair fell in a tumult down around her shoulders. Her eyes were dark and glowing with a feral lust. Her full lips parted to show long, sharp canines, and were red with blood -- blood that covered her chin and had splattered all over her generous cleavage. Don immediately recalled his fevered teenage fantasies and felt his cock strain despite the obvious danger of the situation. "Or maybe you would prefer I took the appearance of someone more familiar," she said with Toshia's mouth. Don watched as Toshia shrugged out of the black shift the Crone was wearing, to reveal the slim body he had lately come to know so well. Don was both taken aback by these sudden transformations and now completely convinced that there was more to all of the evening's events that clever tricks. He swallowed and managed to say, "No, your original appearance was more than satisfactory." "Ah, thank you," she smiled, and stood before him as she was before, though now naked. Her breasts were not large, but firm for a woman of her apparent age, and the rest of her body was obviously fit and trim. She reached out to take his hand again and drew him to her. As Don's arms slipped around her unusually cool body, her hand took his straining cock in a strong grip. When their lips met and his tongue slipped into her mouth, Don found himself suddenly remembering his first kiss with remarkable clarity. Then he was reliving the moment he lost his virginity (in the basement of his teenage home), the time he had had sex with his girlfriend while another couple were doing it only feet away (in a cheap motel), the time he had slept with a certifiably unhinged woman who was also a completely uninhibited wildcat in bed, the first and second of the threesomes he had enjoyed, and every other memorable sexual moment from his life before the Manor. The memories flooded through his mind in vivid detail, as the Crone kissed him passionately, sucking on his tongue and stroking his cock in her tight grasp. He felt himself being pulled down to the sea of soft pillows as scenes from his time in the Manor played out in his mind. He remembered waking up next to Toshia in that strange bedroom, the wild, unexpected encounter with the Nymphets (including the first time he'd seen Toshia come), the sexual escapades involved in that dodge ball game (including seeing Toshia fucking the Player), the orgiastic ball, the night with the Lady, the first time he and Toshia had sex, watching and participating in Toshia's little gangbang in the second floor corridor, the wild night in the Disco, and the orgy in the steam room, and many other intense erotic memories swept through his mind. Don felt himself entering the Crone's surprisingly hot and wet vagina. The strong grip was no surprise. Still reliving his wilder sexual memories in exceptionally vivid detail, Don held on to the strong but slender woman beneath him and fucked. He fucked her both as if it was the only thing he could imagine doing and as if his life depended upon it. He felt as if his cock was penetrating deeper into the Crone than was physically possible. Her muscles squeezed and pulled at him with incredible dexterity and strength. The vision of Toshia being taken on top of the stone altar was in his mind when Don began to come. To say this was the most intense orgasm of Don's life would be a severe understatement. The cum boiled out of his balls and shot out of him into the Crone in a gushing torrent. He shoved into her and continued to pump jet after jet of cum. He felt her arms and legs wrap around him, pulling him tighter to him, even as her pussy squeezed and pulled at his cock. He thought for a moment that it felt that there were more than just two arms and two legs holding him to her. He opened his eyes and saw the Crone looking at him with a cool, happy smile on her lips. Don felt the orgasm slowly subsiding but then that preternaturally skilled pussy pulled him on, and he was squirting still more cum into her. When he could no longer pump any cum, it seemed that her pussy went on sucking it from him. The ecstasy of coming became a frightening overdose of pleasure and then a painful ordeal as what seemed like minutes passed and he was drained of cum. He groaned wordlessly, and surrendered to the blackness of unconsciousness. Don had no idea how long he was out before he felt the Crone caressing his face with her cool fingers and kissing his lips lightly. When he opened his eyes, she was smiling down at him. "You seek the Sage of the Tower," she said. "Go down into the valley and follow the river there to its source, and you will find the Tower." "Oh, but wha-?" he tried. "Shush," she smiled, "that is all you need to know. Thank you for your gift, Don." Don thought he should say "my pleasure" but he wasn't sure if that was true, and in any case he was already falling asleep. Chapter 3 Toshia Saved & Caught; rough sex in the forest Like Don had done a week earlier, while he was with the Crone, Toshia found herself reliving the erotic adventures she had had since waking up in the Manor. The sounds of the warrior women feasting and carousing nearby only taunted her with the thought that someone might remember her and bring her some food and water. Her deliberate mental game of remembering her time in Eros while she hung tied to the big, wooden X-cross served to distract her from not only her hunger and thirst but also from her frustration and dejection at being in this predicament. These depressing thoughts reminded her of the day ...Was it three days ago already? She must have been very close to drowning, her vision darkening and her temples pounding, when the strong slender arms had slipped around her from behind and she was hoisted up to the surface of the river. She had gulped air into her lungs desperately, and allowed herself to be drawn to shore. Too weak from struggling against the current, Toshia was limp and useless as she was hauled up onto the sandy bank. She lay there gasping, until she felt soft feminine hands brushing the wet hair out of her face. When she opened her eyes, she saw a beautiful young woman with big eyes of blue-green and long straight hair of emerald green looking down at her with concern. "Thank you for saving me," Toshia finally managed. The green-haired girl smiled at her with full inviting lips. She touched Toshia's lips with light fingertips. She licked her own as she traced the outline of Toshia's lips. She looked over Toshia's naked, wet body, and Toshia raised her head enough to see that the girl was also naked and, obviously, wet. She seemed to be very thin, but strong, and quite pale. The girl looked back at Toshia's face and smiled again, and Toshia thought this smile was a bit friendlier now. Well, this is Eros, after all, Toshia thought to herself. It's probably customary to sleep with anyone who saves your life. As if she could read Toshia's mind, the girl leaned in closer, brushing Toshia's skin with her wet hair, and kissed her mouth tentatively. The girl's lips and tongue were cool and moist, and Toshia found herself returning the gentle kiss happily. After only minutes earlier thinking that she was about to drown, this interlude was a most welcome turn of events. Toshia slipped her arms around her rescuer and held her body against her own. For some time, they lay there on the wet ground, kissing each other languorously. Then, with a smile, the green-haired girl pulled away a little and then moved a bit lower, so she could kiss her way down the curve of Toshia's breast. Toshia shuddered as the girl took her nipple and sucked on it. Toshia parted her legs in anticipation as she felt the girl's hand moving up along the inside of her thigh. Suddenly, though, the girl raised her head and looking into the nearby tree line with obvious alarm. In another second, Toshia heard the sound of someone coming toward them through the undergrowth. "It's OK, that's just my friends looking for me," Toshia smiled at the girl, who immediately shook her head and pulled away from Toshia's embrace. Toshia took the moment to look around a bit more carefully and realized that she was quite a bit downriver from where she had fallen in and, moreover, on the wrong side. It couldn't possibly be Don and the others making all that noise in the woods. Toshia looked warily at the woods, and then back to the girl who had saved her life. She was alarmed to see the green-haired waif diving back into the water. "Wait!" Toshia called as she scrambled to her feet. "Oh, damn!" said a masculine voice behind her. "She got away!" "Of course she did," said another. "The way you two go crashing about, it's impossible to sneak up on anything!" "At least we've got a consolation prize this time," said a third. Being called a consolation prize almost wiped the shocked expression off Toshia's face. Out of the forest had emerged three figures, about five and a half feet tall, with long, dark, curly hair and beards, and bare, muscular torsos and arms. They also had short, curled horns growing out of their foreheads and the hindquarters of goats. Naturally, they also had very prominent and generous male genitalia. Of course, after meeting Ralph the centaur she should not have been so surprised to be confronted by bona fide satyrs. In fact, Ralph hadn't even been the strangest thing she'd encountered since leaving the Manor; there was the demonic guardian of the portal to name just one thing.One thing that had fucked my brains out! she thought to herself. Still, in spite of herself, Toshia was shocked by the sight of these half-man, half-goats. "She does look like she'll give us some sport," said one of the satyrs with an obvious leer. "How about it, toots," grinned the third one who'd spoken, "you up for some fun and games?" "Um, actually, I was just going to find my friends," Toshia said taking a step toward the forest away from the three satyrs. "We can be your friends," suggested the satyr who had spoken first. He took a step closer to her on his hoofed feet and gave his already hard and thick cock a squeeze. "We're very friendly." "Oh, well, I'm sure, but I should really be going." "What's the hurry?" said satyr number two, without taking his eyes off her naked body. "Come on, honey," said number three, "we'll show you a real good time." Toshia was simultaneously revolted by the smarmy attitudes, alarmed that it seemed clear they had no intention of taking "no" for an answer, and annoyed with herself for being a bit aroused by the thought of having a "real good time" with three goat-men. Goddamn that fucking XYZ! "Tell you what," said number two, doing his apparent best to sound good-natured, "we'll give you a head start, and if we catch you we'll have some fun." Thinking it was a good idea to take advantage of a chance to put some distance between herself and them, Toshia nodded and said, "Fine." Without waiting for them to say anything else, she sprang for the trees and made for the nearest hillside up away from the river. Tree branches lashed at her bare skin, and she wished she had fallen into the river with her sandals on, but she didn't slow down. She clambered up a hill, vaulted over a large rock and then half-ran, half-fell down the other side, only to start up the next one. Ducking under a thick branch, she turned to the left and started running along the ridge of a line of hills that seemed to parallel the course of the river. She was trying to close some of the distance between the satyrs and where she had fallen into the river. She was vaguely aware that there were now sounds of pursuit echoing in the forest. Toshia slowed just a little to catch her breath, but that only allowed her to realize that the satyrs were getting alarmingly close. She even caught sight of one moving through the trees off to her left, cutting her off from the river. Plunging ahead again with renewed determination, Toshia clambered up the side of the next hill almost on all fours. At the top of the steep slope, she saw a sunlit clearing in the distance. With the vague hope that she might be able to get someone's attention on the other side of the river, Toshia set her sights on reaching that clearing. She might have made it too, if she hadn't tripped on an ill-placed root. Toshia went sprawling in the thick forest carpet of leaves right in front of an enormous tree trunk that had fallen years ago and was now covered with a deep layer of green moss. She heard someone coming up the hill close behind her, and frantically scrambled to her feet. Toshia hurried to get hold of the mossy tree trunk and raised her foot to get purchase on it so she could vault over, but then felt a strong, hairy arm slipping around her waist to pull her back down. "Gotcha!" the satyr laughed, as he pulled her behind against his front, at the same time pushing her chest and face forward against the soft moss in front of her. Toshia struggled, trying to twist out of his grasp, but he was too strong and she was too winded. She felt the head of his cock between her legs and rubbing up against her outer lips. He pushed her against the moss with one hand, holding her in place, while using the other to get his sex organ in the right position. Toshia gritted her teeth as he pushed himself into her. It wasn't an enormous cock, but it was hard and thick, and she had to admit at that moment, with the XYZ and the adrenaline of the chase coursing through her veins, it felt good to be filled. Toshia clutched the mossy trunk, and closed her eyes, as the satyr held on to her hips roughly and began to fuck in and out of her from behind, shoving violently. In addition to the sensation of the penis sliding in and out of her all too eager pussy, Toshia was keenly aware of the thick mat of fur brushing against her legs and butt as he took her and the fact that her tits were being pressed into the yielding moss with the solid resistance of the tree behind it. She knew that she was, basically, being raped by a half-man, half-goat creature, but she also knew she was enjoying it. The question of whether she should actually consider this rape would occupy her mind quite a bit in the days afterward, and particularly while she was strapped to the X-cross. On the one hand, she had actually said "Fine" to the satyr's proposal that "if we catch you we'll have some fun", but, on the other, at the time of that agreement she had been convinced they were going to have their way with her in any case. However, she knew that rape in the normal world she called home was not really a crime of sex but of violence. Someone who raped another wasn't really trying to have sex with them, but to hurt them. Somehow, Toshia did not get the sense that these satyrs wanted to hurt her in the least; they seemed to just want to fuck, and given the nature of this world, it might be reasonable for them to presume that she would enjoy a good tumble in the woods. Still, the girl who had pulled her from the river had obviously wanted to avoid getting caught by the randy goat-men. Later she would ponder these issues, but for that moment against the moss-covered tree trunk she just let herself enjoy the rough fucking. It wasn't too long before the goat-man began to shove into her with even more force, and then his cock swelled and shot his hot satyr cum into her. It felt like there was quite a bit, and it took him some time before he pulled out of her and slapped her butt happily. Toshia slumped against the fallen tree trunk, both relieved and frustrated. She started to push away from the tree, to make an attempt at gaining that clearing ahead somewhere, but another pair of rough hands took hold of her and pushed her back against the moss. "Not so fast, toots," said satyr number three. Without any other preamble, he shoved his cock into her pussy, squishing his partner's cum out to run down the insides of her thighs. Toshia surprised herself by letting out a happy moan as she was filled again. While the satyr proceeded to fuck her with great enthusiasm, Toshia let go of the moss with her left hand and managed to get it down between the trunk and her body, so she could get her fingers on her clit. She began to stroke herself frantically as the cock pistoned in and out of her almost savagely. In only moments, Toshia found herself gasping and moaning as her orgasm tore through her violated body. She shook and whimpered while the satyr had his way with her until he filled her up with his own flood of cum. He pulled out of her, and she felt more cum running down her legs. Laughing, he said, "Told you we'd have fun." Toshia wasn't surprised to hear satyr number one say, "My turn!" This time, though, she managed to roll around and get her back against the mossy tree trunk. She actually found herself smiling at the hairy goat-man as he stepped up in front of her. Toshia put her hands on his broad shoulders and let him lift her up a bit. Soon, she had her thighs supported on his furry haunches as he pushed his eager cock up inside her. She looked at his grinning, bearded face with its little horns, and even laughed a little as he lowered his mouth to her tits to suck and bite on her nipples. She rocked against him as he fucked in and out of her, letting his hairy torso rub against her clit. Leaning back against the curve of the trunk behind her, Toshia let herself enjoy getting fucked there in the woods by an actual satyr. She smiled when she felt his cock swell inside her to spew a third torrent of cum into her pussy, only to spill in a slow river out of her as soon as he withdrew. She noticed that the other two satyrs were still standing there, watching, with still very hard cocks standing in front of them. Perhaps they would have let her go in that moment, but Toshia had her mind on other things. She laughed and said, "Well, hello boys; are you just going to stand there? I thought you promised me a good time." This prompted laughter from all three of them, and they hastened forward. In the next moment, Toshia was surrounded by all three of the satyrs as they pawed her with their eager hands and kissed and nibbled at her wherever they could reach. Fingers pinched her nipples and pushed up inside her soggy cunt. One enterprising individual got his finger nice and slippery and pushed it up inside her ass. This reminded Toshia of that wonderful time she'd had in the steam room with Don and Peter, only a few days earlier, and gave her an idea. "OK, well, before we go any further, don't you think you should introduce yourselves?" Toshia laughed. Any further? They've each fucked me and they've got their fingers in my pussy and ass! "Oh, I'm Scratch," said satyr number two. "I'm Roscoe," said number one. "And, I'm Bob," said three. "I'm Toshia," she said. "Now that we've got that out of the way. Why don't you lie down on your back here, Bob?" Bob was only too happy to comply, and Toshia promptly straddled him, and took his stiff cock in her hand, pushing the head of it into her pussy, which was quite ready for more action. She sank down on Bob's shaft, leaning forward by placing both hands on his broad hairy chest. Toshia slid up and down on him a couple of times, just because it felt good. Then, she looked over her shoulder and said, "Scratch, can you get back there and fuck me in the ass?" "I sure can!" Scratch said with a grin. There was some scrambling around, and an interesting moment when Scratch pushed his finger up inside her wet pussy with Bob's cock (Oh my! That's interesting! I'll have to try to remember that.). After her own juices and a liberal amount of satyr cum was worked into her butt and smeared over his organ, Scratch slowly pushed himself into her butt. "Oh fuck that feels good!" she exclaimed. "Yes, push it in me!" An unexpected orgasm hit her then, and she held still there as her pussy and ass clenched on the two cocks inside her. Moaning and trembling, Toshia rode it out with a smile on her face. When she had started to come down, she looked down at Bob and over her shoulder at Scratch and said, "Well, what are you waiting for boys, fuck me!" The two satyrs began to do as they were told, working their thick, hard cocks in and out of her. Whether they had practiced this trick before or it was an innate satyr skill, they quickly got into a perfect rhythm, pumping and grinding against her body as if the three of them were one ideal sex machine. Toshia made sure she was giving as good as she was getting, working her pelvis in time with the way the satyrs were pushing and pulling inside her. When she felt comfortable and knew she could keep up, she looked around and beckoned Roscoe over. The third satyr moved over on his cloven hooves to stand in front of Toshia. She reached up with her left hand and took his cock in her hand and pulled it to her mouth, tasting his cum and her own juices on him. Once she had the fat head in her mouth, she stroked the shaft in her fist. Bob reached up to cup her breasts in his hands and to help hold her up. Letting Bob and Scratch do most of the fucking work, Toshia relaxed to enjoy those sensations and concentrated her active attention on Roscoe's cock. She pulled him closer so that she could get her mouth working up and down on him, pushing the head deeper in her mouth so she could feel his thick shaft moving over her lips and her tongue. I wish Don could see me! she thought as she relaxed her throat and sank deeper on to Roscoe's cock. She let go of the base of his shaft and held onto his hips with both hands, both for support and to shove him back if it became necessary, but she was now letting him fuck her mouth and throat. Roscoe was surprisingly careful, holding her head gently in his hands and moving slowly and steadily. Meanwhile, Bob lay under her flexing his hairy abdomen to push himself up inside her pussy, and Scratch held on to her hips and fucked in and out of her ass vigorously. Toshia was intent on making the satyrs come before she came again, but her body had other ideas, and soon she was moaning and trembling while an intense orgasm shook her from head to toe. The frantic clenching of her pussy and ass pulled Bob and Scratch past the point of no return, and they filled her up with more of their cum. Roscoe, who had come most recently anyway, held out a bit longer, but the other two were still inside her when Toshia felt him swelling in her mouth and throat and then pumping gout after gout of sweet, hot cum into her stomach, and then filling her mouth. Pulling away from her, he splashed on final stream of pearly jizz across the bridge of her nose and down her cheek. Still hard, Bob and Scratch continued to fuck her squishy pussy and ass until she came again and again. Only when she had collapsed between them, did they extract themselves and carry her off to their camp in the forest, where they bathed and fed her. That night, the next day, and the night after were spent in a marathon of satyr fucking that left Toshia exhausted. Toshia now, bound to the X-cross, strained again at her restraints, wishing she could get at her pussy and clit now. She needed to make herself come. She remembered how she had awoken the third day, well into afternoon. The satyrs were gone, and she was surrounded by the gathering party from the warrior woman camp. Angry at being abandoned, worn out from the incessant demands of three hard pricks, frustrated at being lost, Toshia had been a bit happy to learn that she was going to be taken to a bunch of women, but that hadn't lasted long. She remembered how they had tied her up underneath a pole carried on the shoulders of two brawny men. The next two days were spent hanging there as she was carried further down river, to the castle where she now stood on frustrating display. To be continued. By BradentonLarry for Literotica

November transitions come to Saint Michaels. Based on the works by Blacksheep. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories. Gordon & Miah Go On Holiday, before the hectic Advent flurry. Manchester Airport was busier than usual today. At Terminal 2, ranks of chairs were filled with passengers desperate to board flights to warmer climates. People from all walks of life headed along the concourse. Black, White, Asian, singles, couples, entire families, a group of American tourists arguing over the most mystical of all British customs -- queuing, cancerously-tanned tourists drifting homeward on the fumes of suntan lotion, pale tourists arriving with the damp smell of a cloudy country clinging to them -and drifting serenely through the crowds, a church organist and his much-younger girlfriend. "Well this is it!" Miah grinned as she and Gordon made their way to the departure gate. "Can't wait to get away from this awful weather!" Gordon replied, fiddling with his boarding pass. It was the middle of November. The rain had been relentless for the past few months, and showed no signs of easing. They boarded the Jet2 737 for the four and a half-hour flight to Tenerife South. They were seated in seats D and E on row 12 in the middle of the aircraft, which happened to be the emergency exit row. To Miah's delight, she'd got the window seat. "Oh nice!" she exclaimed, noting the larger amount of legroom. "Yeah, I was determined that we weren't going to be crammed in like sardines for four hours," Gordon replied, putting his hand luggage in the overhead bin. "Also, not wanting to sound like an anti-social old git, but I'd rather not sit next to anyone else either. Last year I had to fly to Poland, to help restore an old organ in Krakow. The outbound flight was a nightmare. Got wedged next to a fifty-stone bloke for two hours." "Also handy for other things," she winked at him as she fastened her seatbelt. "Our first holiday together. I can't believe it's actually happening. Oh Gordy, this is going to be unforgettable, I just know it." The flight was fully-booked and it seemed to take an eternity for everyone to board. Gordon observed the other passengers with his usual cynical eye. As a frequent flyer, he'd seen it all. This flight was no different. A middle-aged man wearing a Panama hat was taking his time, fiddling with the overhead bin, completely oblivious to the fact he was blocking the aisle. A family of four behind him tutted impatiently. A couple of rows in front, a young blonde woman with false nails and surgically enhanced lips was taking selfies, no doubt for Instagram. Gordon raised an eyebrow as she pouted and tilted her smartphone, almost elbowing an elderly man in the face. Obviously an influencer of some sort, he assumed. And what could be more glamorous than a selfie on a charter flight to Tenerife? Ah, the joys of modern air travel, Gordon thought to himself. And as soon as the seatbelt sign light goes out, folk will be up and heading to the loo. Miah was more interested in looking out of the window. "I want this to be a wonderful time, Miah. I hope it's as fun for you as it will be for me." He kissed her gently. "A week of sun, sea and lots of food. I just hope you won't be bored. I mean, there are excursions we can go on, you don't need to be stuck round the pool all day..." She was quick to reassure him. "Gordy, that's perfection to me. Family holidays with my parents were never relaxing. Dad was an action man, always wanting to do adventure stuff -- paragliding, rock climbing. I never wanted to do anything like that. For one thing, I'm terrified of heights. So I was always dumped in the hotel's Kid's Club whilst they went off enjoying themselves. I never liked those activities. I just wanted to be on the beach. Best holiday I had was when I went to Turkey with Jenna and her parents when I was twelve." "Well our hotel is right on the beach, so you're all sorted!" Gordon smiled back. "A full week away from St. Michael's Church and its organ! Finally my fingers can get a much-needed holiday. Plus, it'll be nice not to have Reverend Morris emailing all the time." "His sermons never get any better do they?" Miah replied. "Jenna did say she was trying to help him there." "Hmm, she needs to try harder." Gordon fastened his seatbelt. The vicar's wife had many talents, but improving her husband's sermons didn't seem to be one of them. He cast his mind back to Easter Sunday service. "Is Jenna still in the Guild Voices choir?" "Yes. She really likes it. Their choirmaster Derek said she has a perfect voice." Gordon chuckled to himself and wondered whether Jenna had worked her special magic on Derek. The fact she'd been using an egg vibrator during the Easter Sunday service seemed proof of that. Reclining in the seat, his mind briefly flashed back to his encounter with Harriet, his old crush. She'd be back in Australia now. He knew he'd never see her again. It was as if a long-abandoned loose end had finally been tied up -- an open door to his youth had closed. Her wise words about his relationship with Miah had emboldened him. Miah was his future now. No matter what happened. It was time to stop looking back. He was shaken from his thoughts as the plane's engines spooled up and Miah grabbed his arm. "Oh take-off. I love this part so much. I'm such a big kid. But it's so exciting!" "Yeah. It is. I love it too." The 737 roared down the runway and rose into the sky, climbing through the dense cloud. Even when they had reached cruising altitude and levelled off, Miah's eyes remained fixated on the view from the window. Bright blue and nothing but a blanket of cloud obscuring the land far below. Seconds after the fasten seatbelts sign went out, some passengers rose from their seats and headed for the toilets, just as Gordon had predicted. An hour into the flight and the queue for the toilets had gone. The cabin was quiet and most people were glued to their phones and tablets. Miah glanced round. Now seemed the perfect time for one of her fantasies to become reality. "Hey," she whispered in Gordon's ear. "Fancy joining the Mile High Club?" He laughed off her suggestion, then realised she was deadly serious. "Wait...you want to?" "I've always wanted to!" He bit his lip. "It's a hell of a risk, Miah. If the cabin crew find out we could get fined. Some airlines ban you for life." "Seems a bit harsh. Two consenting adults wanting some private in-flight entertainment." Her hand squeezed his thigh and she unfastened her seatbelt. "Join me in the rear toilet...if you're brave enough! Knock twice." As she got up from her seat and started forward toward the rear of the plane, she noticed a man rise from a seat farther forward in the cabin and glance back at her. The guy was about fifty, brown hair, bearded and of a stocky build like Gordon. This was no stranger. For an instant, Miah thought that perhaps the man was, in fact, a minor celebrity. He looked away from her after a fraction of a second of eye contact, stepped into the aisle, and moved forward towards the toilet at the front of the plane. He reminded her of someone, but try as she might, she couldn't make the connection. Thinking no more about it, she carried on to the toilet. In his seat, Gordon scratched the back of his head and wondered what to do. The thought of actually joining the infamous club had got him half-erect already. He rubbed his growing crotch bulge and decided to go for it. Now was his chance. It wouldn't be long before the cabin crew started the in-flight food and drinks. In the plane's tiny rear cubicle, Miah had positioned herself against the wall and prayed that Gordon hadn't chickened out. Two knocks on the door made her stomach lurch in excitement. She opened the door. "Gordy! You're here!" She slipped her dress off her shoulders. "What's this? A nervous flyer?" Gordon grinned as he squeezed into the toilet cubicle and quickly closed the door. "Actually this flight is too boring," she teased. "Needs more turbulence." "Well now. I know how to make it better." He pushed her up against the wall, and whispered into her ear with hot, seductive breath. "This is your Organist Captain speaking." Before Miah could comprehend exactly what he said, Gordon was all over her with a love so fierce. His hands roamed her bare shoulders and neck as he smothered her lips, nipping against her earlobes and bare skin. He kissed the sensitive skin below her jaw, making her tilt her head back. He kissed on, licking and grazing it, knowing he had hit a sweet spot. Gordon brought her face down with his hands, kissed her as she moaned lightly into his mouth. This pleased him immensely as he moved his hands down till they rested against her breasts. Miah knew nothing but bliss when he applied his sweet pressures. She began to gasp and pant as he pinched the sensitive rosebuds under her thin cotton dress. She didn't care as she felt him slide her bra straps down her shoulders. He was desperate to ravish her and she wanted him more than anything else in the world. The low hum of the plane's engines seemed to add to his arousal. "You're so big. Mmmm. I can't wait until I feel you inside my mouth." She said as she unzipped his trousers and pulled his dick out of his underpants. Softly, Miah ran her fingers over the heated flesh of his erect manhood. He took a sharp intake of breath at the feeling of her hands on him, and groaned. Tenderly, she encircled his organ with her right hand and gave it a few quick strokes. Gordon groaned from deep within his throat and moaned her name. Her face inched closer and closer to his penis. She could feel the energy pulsing through the veins and realised she alone was responsible for its arousal. She took a certain amount of pride in that fact. Miah's tongue lashed out at the head of Gordon's cock, slowly licking the bulbous head. "Ah..." He groaned. In the cramped confines of the toilet cubicle, his hands found her silky brown hair, as Miah's tongue lolled around his shaft like she was sucking on an orange slice. Slowly, she took more of his manhood into her wet, sucking mouth. Gordon was enjoying himself to no end. The things this woman could do with her tongue! She licked every inch of his cock, running her tongue across every vein, igniting every nerve ending. His breathing had picked up, Miah noticed. She began to increase her ministrations. She created a stimulating suction with her mouth and began to bob her head back and forth using her tongue to stimulate the underside of his cock. "Fuck!" Gordon said in a strained tone. "Do you h-have...oh...do you have any idea what you're doing to me? Ah!" "Umm hmm," she replied. And just to prove her point, she began to suck him off harder. His orgasm was coming now, hard and fast. "I'm going to cum," he grunted. "Not yet, Gordy. Need you inside!" Gordon quickly positioned himself between her legs as he continued to relish his girlfriend's sweet moans and kisses. Pulling her wet knickers aside, slowly, he began to tease her clit, receiving surprised gasps. He watched as he rolled one of her small breasts while thrusting a finger in and out of her glistening cunt. She flinched, and cried out in joy when she felt him thrust in two fingers. "I think you're ready to join the Club," Gordon whispered. "I know I am. Shall we?" "Yes!" And he thrust his large cock into her, and entered into the depths of her feminine waters. He was inside her, thrusting away, grunting, yelling her name. Miah held onto him tight, her legs wrapped around his sides. "Oh Gordy, sweet Gordy..." Her body shuddered, riding wave after wave of heat and unexplainable emotions. Just as he felt her walls tightening and squeezing him, he felt himself release deep inside of her, shooting his cum deep into her tight and quivering pussy... "Oh fucking hell, yes!" Gordon yelled. A furious knocking on the door brought them crashing down to earth. "Oh shit." "Um, just a minute!" Miah yelled, her voice shaky. She pressed the button to flush the toilet and Gordon quickly withdrew. Outside, a small queue had formed. "Whoever's in there must be trying to flush themselves down the bog. They've been in there ages!" a woman muttered to the air steward. Gordon zipped up his trousers and unlocked the door. He took a deep breath. "Okay, brace yourself. Hope whoever knocked isn't too pissed off with us!" He slid the door open and came face to face with a growing line of passengers. "About bloody time!" the man in the Panama hat yelled. Some of us have prostate trouble you know!" He fell silent as Miah squeezed out of the toilet behind Gordon. "Er, guess it's time we returned to our seats," Gordon smiled through gritted teeth. There were a few shocked gasps, while others cheered and clapped. "Looks like you two have earned your wings, the steward said, with a wink. Advent At Saint Michael's: Jenna has a dilemma. Can the Bishop help her? "This year has absolutely flown by," Reverend Morris said as he read through the latest edition of the parish magazine. I can't believe it's almost the first Sunday of Advent!" "It's been quite a year," his wife replied, looking very much troubled. "Are you alright Jen?" Reverend Morris looked at her. "Something's bothering you, I can tell." Jenna let out a sigh. "Oh Simon. I'm just so disgusted with recent events. I can't believe what's happened. He knew at once what she was referring to. "Ah. You mean the Archbishop of Canterbury resigning. No-one was more disgusted than I was. To think, we had to go and dine with him at Bishop George's house last year! Bowing and fawning over him whilst he prattled on about Africa and equal opportunities. That lying, hypocrite of a man had the nerve to threaten me over some 300 year old plaque in my church with the most tenuous link to slavery. And all the time he was covering up for some vile abuser!" He slammed his fist down on the coffee table and it was the first time Jenna had seen her normally mild-mannered husband look so enraged. "Makes me feel sick!" He added. "Good riddance. I hope whoever replaces him will be an actual Christian this time." Not as sick as I feel, Jenna thought to herself. Had I known what the Archbishop was truly like, I would never have given him a blowjob at that dinner party! But at the time it was necessary to stop him going public over the offending plaque in Saint Michael's church. Reverend Morris composed himself and sighed. "In times like this, I always find my faith tested. These people at the top have turned away from God. I just hope our dear little church doesn't suffer." Jenna embraced him. "That won't happen, Simon. I'll make sure of that!" "I'm feeling better already. We're approaching such a busy and important time in the church calendar. And your birthday too!" The shocking scandal engulfing the C of E had at least meant that Bishop George had long forgotten Reverend Morris' little dalliance with Sandra Conway at the vicarage garden party back in August. He took a deep breath and wondered if he was ever going to finish his sermon in time for the Sunday service. Meanwhile, over at 64 Stovepipe Avenue, Gordon the organist had no such worries. He whimpered and squirmed. It was getting hard to form thoughts between the tickling, let alone words, and the corners of his vision were fuzzing with pink mist that blended in with the view of Miah's of jiggling, bouncing breasts smothering him. "Has my sexy organist been a naughty boy?" She teased, tickling his balls. "You always bring out my naughty side...ah! Oh! Not down there! "Hee hee...Now I'm going to..." Suddenly, Gordon's smartphone rang, disturbing their afternoon pleasure. "Oh ignore it," he mumbled, in between kissing his girlfriend. The annoying ringtone continued, before the phone finally went silent. "What were you going to do?" "Open your diapason," Miah giggled, wrapping her hand round his cock. "That's the right term, yes?" "Oh yes," he replied, sucking on her nipples. "You've already made me Swell to Great!" Gordon always loved it when pipe organ-themed words were used during sex. The phone rang again. "Damn and blast it," Gordon exclaimed, reaching over to the bedside table. "Can't have five minute's peace. I should've switched it off." "Better answer it, it must be important," Miah said, licking the tip of his cock. "Hello? Oh hello Reverend." "Hope I haven't caught you at a bad moment, Gordon?" The vicar said. "Are you alright? Your voice sounds a little shaky." "Er, no I'm fine. Just er, doing a bit of D I Y. What can I do for you?" "Well about this Sunday's service. I would've emailed you but my Gmail has been playing up. Can't seem to log in at all. I hope it'll resolve itself soon. Anyways, could you play Happy Birthday on the organ after the service? It's for Gladys Wilcox. She's eighty-eight. I'll make an announcement during the reading of the notices." "Oh..." A groan of pleasure escaped Gordon's lips. "Umm, yes, of course I can!" "Are you sure you're okay? You sound tired." Reverend Morris asked. "I'm fine, Vicar. I'm...trying to...er, er, unblock the toilet. Eighty-eight? Good old Gladys, that's an achievement." Miah struggled to hold back a laugh and continued pleasuring the organist. "Right, thanks so much. I won't detain you further. Hope you get your toilet sorted. See you on Sunday!" The call ended and Gordon switched off the phone. "Unblocking the toilet?" Miah laughed, jacking his cock. "You should've said you were getting your pipes cleaned!" "It's hard to think clearly when a sexy lass has her lips round your dick!" Reverend Morris put down the phone. "Hmm, Gordon has organ practice in ten minutes. He's picked a fine time to unblock his toilet. Unless he's giving the practice a miss this week." "A blocked toilet is serious business though," Jenna replied. "Remember the trouble we had with our downstairs one after the vicarage garden party? Good thing Norman was able to fix it. Took him a while." "I still haven't a clue what it was that got flushed down there. Norman said it was a toy, but Christopher insisted it wasn't one of his, and none of the other kids at the gathering used the downstairs loo...not that it matters. Norman seemed rather embarrassed as I recall." "Maybe it wasn't a toy at all but a massive turd," Jenna added. "I bet poor Norman just said it was a toy because he didn't want to gross us out or embarrass anyone. By the way, did you notice how distracted he's been recently? I think he's got his eye on that newcomer to our church...what did you say her name was?" Reverend Morris took a sip of his coffee. "Oh. Eileen Hattersley. Yes, she's been attending our church for about a month now. She's a widow, and was brought up Catholic...used to attend Saint Mary's when Father Aiden was there. She was very fond of him, but since he jumped ship and joined the Living Earth Free Church, she seemed to undergo a crisis of faith. I think L E F C is a bit too modern for her, and the new priest at Saint Mary's isn't as approachable, so I've heard." "Hmm, I wonder what Gladys will think of Norman eyeing up a younger woman? They've had a sort of master-slave relationship for over a year now!" "Not sure! I still can't get that image of him in that pinny and being whipped out of my mind," the vicar said, shaking his head. "Whatever floats your boat. He's an excellent churchwarden. Anyways, I'd better hurry. I've got to be at the Youth Opportunities meeting at the town hall." Alone in the house, Jenna couldn't help but feel regret. Her musings were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Really hope this isn't another one of those doorstep sellers." She opened the door and was greeted by none other than Bishop George. "Hello Jenna! Is Simon in?" "Oh George! Afraid you've just missed him -- he's gone to some meeting at the town hall." "Ah, what a shame," the older man replied, trying to look disappointed, but secretly he was delighted. "Come in please," Jenna said, grabbing his arm. "Actually I could do with someone to talk to right now. Oh George. I did something last year that I truly regret now and I'm not sure how to deal with it." "Why certainly my dear," Bishop George smiled, following the stunning vicar's wife inside. "You know I am always more than happy to help you in any way I can! It's been a while since we last spoke -- was the vicarage party back in summer wasn't it?" "Yes it was. Too long." "How is your cousin doing? And Gordon? I heard that they drank rather too much home-made punch at that party!" "Umm yes. I think we all did! Poor Gordon, he had the hangover from hell the next day. He actually threw up at choir practice...all over the flower arrangement the Mother's Union ladies had brought...good thing this was before the choir arrived." The bishop smiled as he sat down on the settee. He decided not to mention the fact he'd noticed Jenna, Miah and Gordon asleep and naked in the master bedroom. Perhaps they had all been too drunk to remember what had happened? "Would you like a cuppa? Or something stronger?" Jenna asked. "Brandy would be nice," he said with a wink. "Sure!" A few moments later, he beckoned Jenna to sit next to him. "Now my dear, what's bothering you? It's not like you to seem so tense. Indeed, her attitude had him greatly concerned. He hoped whatever it was wasn't related to their passionate encounters in the past. "Well, it's all this business with the disgraced Archbishop of Canterbury," Jenna began. "Simon and I were both horrified when we heard the news." Bishop George pulled a face as he sipped his brandy. "I never liked him from the start. Ruined the C of E, he has. Of course, he's just one of several bad apples. When he was appointed to that role I said to others, this bloke will be nothing but trouble. And guess what I was proved right. And I was ignored and ostracized for my opinions. I can always smell a wrong 'un Jen. That ridiculous business with the 17th century horse. Can't believe I was forced to go along with that." "That's the thing, George. I had to persuade the Archbishop to drop his plans to shame Simon's church and remove a plaque that would've caused a lot of damage to a fragile wall. And I was successful in...persuading him. But..." Bishop George raised an eyebrow as he gazed at her flawless cleavage and legs. He remembered the dinner party last year and how she'd been sat next to the archbishop. How sweaty and red-faced he looked. "How exactly did you persuade him Jenna? Though I do have an idea..." "Oh George. When I was alone in the room with him, I sucked his cock. At the time it was such fun, seducing a powerful man...and it was for a very good reason of course. He backed down. But that was before I knew what a horrible person he was, covering up for an abuser. Now I feel ashamed and soiled." "My dear Jenna, you have nothing to feel ashamed about. He had a lot of us fooled. Friends in high places who defended him. And you did what you did in order to protect your husband's livelihood. Think no more about it. We must look to the future now and hope that the C of E elects someone who won't turn a blind eye to safeguarding concerns and predators that try to hide behind a mask of righteousness." She nodded. "You're right, George. "Oh I feel so much better now that I've unburdened myself!" She threw her arms around him and held him tight. Her firm tits pressed into his chest, and the bishop felt his cock twitch. They stared at each other, eyes flicking back and forth. Jenna's hand slid slowly down his chest, across his belly, over the belt buckle of his black trousers. She pressed his groin gently. "Something else I can help you with?" He whispered, as she began teasing his pink shirt that was neatly tucked into his trousers. "I need my faith in bishops restored." "Well Jenna, you know what to do there," he replied, kissing her as her eager fingers unzipped his trousers and freed his growing erection from his underwear. She was surprised to see that he was wearing plain white boxer shorts this time. "No pretty knickers today, George?" She said, pulling his trousers and underpants down. "Just fancied a change," he replied. "I'm saving the red lace ones you gave me for Christmas." Moving closer, he shoved his sweaty dick close to her face. She naturally opened up to taste him and he tasted as divine as last time. Sweet and manly. Jenna's hands quickly wrapped around his hips, pulling him closer to her face, shoving his cock deeper into her mouth, until his wiry grey pubes brushed her nose. "That feels bloody amazing." Bishop George sighed. "Swallow it all the way. I know you can do it, Jen." He urged her on as his dick quickly hardened further. The bishop's manhood was thick and a good seven inches when it was hard. Jenna closed her eyes to enjoy the musky smell of his crotch and the wet sounds of her lips sucking him. "Let's go upstairs," she whispered and he didn't hesitate to follow her into the vicarage's master bedroom. Much activity had taken place in here, he mused. He sat on the edge of the bed as Jenna took her dress off and then unhooked her bra, shrugging it off her shoulders, slipped her thumbs into the waistband of her knickers, and lowered them. Bishop George pulled her to him, his tongue flicking over delicate pink nipples, his fingers brushing her back and arse. She ran her fingers through his silver hair, before kneeling before him. Jenna opened her mouth wide and greedily started to suck his cock. She looked up to him, his eyes were closed and head tilted back moaning softly, "Oh, I'm blessed. Keep on doing it." Hearing those words, Jenna started sucking wildly on him. His breathing became really heavy as well as his moaning when suddenly the bishop lifted her head off his cock. The next thing Jenna knew, she was on her back with him between her legs lifting them high in the air. "Fuck me, Right Reverend. Give it to me." She found herself saying breathlessly. And he did just that as he rammed half his dick deep in her pussy so violently that she sucked in air to keep from crying out. Then he rammed the rest of it into her, stopping only when his low hanging balls slapped against her. Age hadn't dimmed his stamina one bit and he could match Gordon, her husband and the other church men she'd slept with. "You like having a bishop's cock in your pussy, Jen?" He suddenly asked with a huge smile on his face. "Has this Bishop successfully restored your faith?" "Yes... oh God yes!" "Well you've certainly strengthened mine and I thank you for this divine joy!" The knowledge that she was giving this hot older man so much pleasure filled Jenna with pride. Bishop George was really enjoying himself at this point as he was pounding her. He buried his cock deep into her holy tunnel and held it there as he pumped a full load of thick cum into the redhead's ever-welcoming womanhood. Burst after burst of his seed coated Jenna's insides and she climaxed, gasping for breath, but beyond satisfied! They lay happily together cuddling each other afterwards. Both had been relieved of their stress and worries. "You really are a true Christian Jenna," Bishop George murmured as he caressed her back. "Always thinking of others." Based on the works by Blacksheep, for Literotica  

Jenna helps a nervous choirmaster. Based on a post by Blacksheep, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories. Reverend Simon Morris scanned through a long list of church notices. Holy Week was such a busy time for the parish vicar, and he still hadn't finished his special sermon ready for Easter Sunday. "Palm Sunday was really well-attended," he said, typing something on his laptop. "Now there are one or two church notices I need to read through." His wife Jenna walked into the living room. "Oh before I forget, Simon, Judith Anderson from the Sunday School had a word with me after the service. She wishes it to be known that her grandson Kyle is trans, and now wants to be known as Ellie. John Pollard from the Men's Society has split up from his wife and wishes for her name to be removed from the church hall coffee rotation, too." "Ah, right, thanks. I'd better make a note of that. Are Gordon and Myah up to speed on the Maundy Thursday service's music? I know he normally does a choir and organ practice then, but;" "Already emailed them, Simon," Jenna replied. "Relax. Everything is under control." "Choir practice for you tonight? I must say, I think it was a genius idea of Gordon's to combine our church's choir with the Guild Voices, just for our Easter service. Our choir is small, so it'll be nice to have a bigger group of singers for the holiest day in our Christian calendar." "Oh yes, the bigger the better," Jenna replied with a smirk. She'd just joined the Guild Voices, a mixed-voice choir of around twenty-five singers who performed several concerts a year. The choir was formed with the aim of singing the whole range of music both accompanied and acapella; both religious and secular, from the renaissance pieces of Byrd and Tallis to great oratorios such as Handel's "Messiah." In addition to traditional works, they also performed classical versions of popular music. Jenna was enjoying the weekly recitals, and not just because of the music. The choirmaster was a chap called Derek Blackledge, and on more than one occasion, Jenna had noticed him staring at her. "Last year, the Guild Voices performed at Evensong at York Minster," Reverend Morris said. "Gosh, I'm so looking forward to our Easter Sunday Service! We'll definitely have a bigger congregation than St. Peter's;" "Ooh, do I sense a rivalry between churches, Simon?" "Well, a bit unChristian of me to say, but I can't stand that Reverend Conway. He completely blanked me at annual clergy conference last month. I don't know what his problem is." "Not all vicars are as wonderful as you, my love." He smiled and resumed typing. "They've just got a new organist there too. Conway was raving about him. Younger bloke, seems to have the women of St. Peter's all hot and bothered. Edward, I think his name is." "Ha, he won't be anywhere near as good as Gordon is," Jenna said. "Nobody plays organ as good as he does." "I don't think it's his playing they're interested in! Apparently he resembles the actor Robert Pattinson. I suppose that's one way to get more younger people attending church services." Jenna almost dropped the cup of coffee she was holding. "Fancy that." She stifled a gasp. I can't believe it. That was the organist who played for the King at Liverpool Cathedral last year! She thought. He was a cutie for sure; had a nice cock too, as I recall. Small world. Never imagined he'd end up here in our town. The Guild Voices choir practices took place every Wednesday evening in a function room at the town hall. The room was spacious and blessed with good acoustics, a piano and a box organ. Jenna arrived earlier than normal, and gathered up her music books off the car's passenger seat. "Hope none of the others are there yet," she smiled to herself. Derek Blackledge was alone in the function room, adjusting a music stand. He was a tall, stocky man, around sixty years of age. He was wearing a pale blue open-necked shirt, black trousers and rimless glasses. His buzz-cut silver hair was balding. He had a round face and a wide, flat nose, which as Jenna had overheard another member of the choir unkindly say, "made him look like he'd been bashed in the face with a frying pan." That wasn't strictly true, and Jenna didn't think him that bad looking at all. He spoke in a clipped, staccato sort of way. Derek looked up as Jenna entered the room. In the four weeks she'd been a member of the Guild Voices, the stunning redhead had certainly livened up the group of mostly boomer-age singers. Jenna was one of the most beautiful and charming women he had ever met, and he couldn't understand what she saw in her husband, the much-older Reverend Morris. The good vicar was a kind and decent chap, but seemed duller than Skegness in January. "Uh; evening Jenna! You're very early! I was just;" "Hello Derek. Yes, didn't realize just how early I was!" "Nothing wrong with that. I admire your dedication. Would you like a brew?" He walked over to a small table in the corner of the room where there was a coffee machine and a kettle. "Yes please. Tea. White, no sugar." He made some more idle chatter whilst he waited for the kettle to boil. Glancing round, he noticed she'd seated herself on a chair and crossed her legs. The black dress she was wearing was quite short and had ridden up nicely, exposing a generous amount of thigh. A most welcome sight for the long-divorced choirmaster who'd had zero success in the world of dating since going back on the market. "This our last rehearsal before Easter Sunday," Derek prattled, pouring the hot water into a mug. "It just seems to have crept up all at once. I'm looking forward to performing in St Michael's Church, with your choir. I hear your organist is very good." "Oh Gordon? Yes he's brilliant. He won't let you down." "Great to hear. Now I just need to ensure that the Guild doesn't let everyone down." Looking at the stocky choirmaster whom possessed a definite lack of confidence, Jenna realized that she would have to take control of the situation if the choir was going to put on their best performance on Easter Sunday. She had always been aware of Derek's interest in her physical attributes. In fact, she could see his eyes lingering on her breasts and her bare legs crossed in front of her. Perhaps it was now time to play her trump card. "I know we've had a few setbacks." "Setbacks? Do you know how much George and Alice being off sick is going to set us back? George is the best tenor we have." He handed her the mug of tea and sat opposite her. "Perhaps I could do something to make things better." Jenna slowly uncrossed her legs and recrossed them, allowing her skirt to hike up her thigh watching Derek as his eyes were glued to her legs, straining to see up higher. He swallowed heavily as he shifted in his chair. "Oh? Like what?" "I could help relieve some of your pressure," she replied as she glanced at his crotch. The bulge tenting his black trousers already broadcasting his state of arousal. Jenna stood up and walked over to him. "You're a wonderful choirmaster, Derek. I just want you to know that. You go the extra mile and know how to bring out the best in people." "Thanks for the vote of confidence," he mumbled, turning red. He swallowed, feeling his erection straining against his trousers and underpants. It had been quite some time since a woman had got him worked up like this. "Music really does bring people together," she continued. "Yes, indeed it does;" Jenna leaned forward so that her face was close to his and placed her right hand on Derek's groin and squeezed. The choirmaster's voice shot up several octaves, then he let out a groan. "Jah, Jenna; what are you doing?" "Just inspecting your crotchets and quavers, Derek." she added naughtily. "Oh, feels like you've got a bassoon in your pants!" Before he could protest, she knelt and unzipped his black trousers, revealing his underwear - y-fronts, which had a musical notes pattern on them. "Nice!" Jenna said out loud. She'd always had a fondness for men who wore y-fronts. She pulled them down, freeing his delightfully large cock. Grasping the base of the shaft, she took the bulbous head in her mouth and started to move up and down taking him deeper and deeper. Derek gasped, unable to speak. Instinctively, he grabbed the back of her head and pushed down, forcing himself deeper until he felt her lips around the base of his shaft. Holding her head, he pumped his engorged organ deep into the mouth of the vicar's wife, scarcely believing that his private fantasy was coming true. Her warm soft mouth aroused him further as he felt the blood pumping into his groin, making him harder than he could remember. He leaned back and enjoyed the incredible sensations as Jenna sucked his manhood. She was good, very good. Her husband may not have been very interesting, but bloody hell, he was a lucky bastard! Derek glanced warily at the conference room's door. At any moment, other members of the choir could come in. How the hell would he be able to explain himself? "Oh, Mrs. Morris here was just helping me with a very hard; piece of music!" As the stunning redhead continued to bob up and down in his lap, he leaned over and pulled down the top of her knit black dress to expose her pert breasts. "Oh;" he sighed. "Not just; blessed with a fine voice." Jenna glanced up at him and winked. "How about; I try and hit the high notes?" Derek pulled out of her mouth, stood up and turned her so that her arse was bent over his chair. He pushed his trousers and y-fronts down to his ankles. After jerking down her knickers he moved behind her, flipped up her black dress, lined himself up, then thrust abruptly into her tight wet tunnel, burying himself to the hilt. "Oh God Derek, your musical instrument feels amazing!" He chuckled at this, and relished the fantastic feeling as he grasped her hips and slowly moved in and out of her hot passage, slick with her arousal. The illicit nature of the situation and doing it in a public place where they could be easily discovered added to the thrill and made both of them even more aroused. Jenna's nerves were hypersensitive and as the choirmaster plunged into her again and again she could feel the waves of pleasure build quickly. Derek slid his hands forward to cup her hanging breasts, squeezing and pinching her nipples. He delighted in feeling the curved contour of the soft skin of her breasts in his hands as he pounded his rock-hard shaft into her. The pressure built quickly in his balls with the fantastic feeling of Jenna's tight vaginal walls clamped around his cock. It had been too long since he had really enjoyed such a sensuous treat and all too quickly he felt the pressure come to a head. He slammed his throbbing member as deep as he could and felt himself erupt as spurt after spurt of cum shot deep into his target. Jenna felt Derek tense and his final thrusts pushed her over the edge and she too felt waves of pleasure course through her body as she was wracked with the spasms of her orgasm. "Hmm! Oh Derek! Feels so good!" "Fuck; I needed that!" He sighed, slowly withdrawing and collapsing in the chair, pulling Jenna down on top of him. "Not sure if I have the energy to conduct a choir practice now!" "Well you'll just have to try your best, Derek. Because I have a feeling others will be arriving soon, so you'd better get your baton out." "It's already out," he replied, taking a tissue from the box and wiping then stroking his softening cock, and pulling his underpants and trousers up. "Jenna that was; that was; lovely." "Awe, you seem so much happier now, Derek. You're a really brilliant choirmaster." She flung her arms around him and kissed him. "And you; are a very dedicated member of the choir!" He stammered. "Um, well, I guess I'd better; compose myself!" He stood up and hurriedly fastened his belt. Jenna straightened her dress and pulled her knickers up. Just as Derek was zipping up the fly of his trousers, the door opened and Edna and Lawrence Draper, two members of the choir, came rushing in, as fast as they could, given that both had arthritic hips. "Not too late are we Derek?" Edna said. "Only our bus was late." "Uh, not at all, plenty of time. Please, help yourselves to a hot drink whilst I get organized." Derek said. Seconds later, more people filed into the room. "What piece of music have you and Derek been working on?" Lawrence asked Jenna, as he sat next to her. "Oh; just some scales and arpeggios," came her reply. "We were going up and down quite a lot!" Bare feet thrill the vicar during Maundy Thursday. "Brothers and Sisters. Today is Maundy Thursday, the fifth day of Holy Week. It gets its name from the Latin word 'mandare', from which we get the word 'command'. Christians remember Jesus' command: "Love one another as I have loved you." Though each of the days leading up to Easter Sunday are significant in their own ways, Maundy Thursday surrounds the events that led directly to Jesus' betrayal, arrest, and ultimately, His being put to death the next day on Good Friday." Reverend Morris continued. "The circumstances surrounding Maundy Thursday can be read in Matthew 26:17-75. The events that unfolded include the Last Supper that Jesus had with His disciples and betrayal of Jesus by Judas." The weather had become more spring-like and milder, which was a blessing to some of the older members of the congregation. March had blown in like a lion and was going out like a lamb. St Michael's church was often chilly and draughty during the winter months, even with the heating on. Today, it was pleasantly warm, helped in part due to the church being full for once. At the organ, Myah slipped her feet out of her shoes, ready to play a hymn before the start of the foot washing service. She rather liked the feel of the organ's pedalboard against her bare skin, and her feet felt hot and uncomfortable today. Earlier, she'd suffered cramp in the arch of her left foot. She reclined slightly on the stool, crossed her legs and idly flexed her toes as the vicar continued with his sermon. Gordon sat on a small bench behind her, admiring her shapely calves. He liked the way she raised her legs to slide onto the organ stool. Even more, he loved it when those legs were wrapped around him; something he was looking forward to later. "Their time spent on the Mount of Olives, where Jesus prayed earnestly in the Garden of Gethsemane, and where He was ultimately betrayed with a kiss by Judas who came to seize Him with the temple guards. Peter's denial of Jesus;" Up in the pulpit, Reverend Morris glanced to his right and became more and more fixated on a certain something. One of his long-repressed kinks was rising to the surface at the most inappropriate of times. Women's feet, younger women's feet in particular, had always aroused him. He'd never told anyone about his foot fetish, not even Jenna. He'd never had such a reaction as this and certainly not during a church service. But the way his wife's cousin kept wiggling her toes like that, dear Lord, it was driving his imagination to commit all kinds of sin! It's Holy Week for heaven's sake; must fight this, he told himself. "On the first day of the Festival of Unleavened Bread, the disciples came to Jesus and asked, "Where do you want us to make preparations for you to eat the Passover?" The vicar's voice trembled slightly, as he struggled to remain composed. Abruptly, he noticed Myah wince and reach for her foot. The cramp had returned. "What's wrong?" Gordon whispered. "Damn cramp's back again," she replied. "Ah, it's agony! Can you play the hymn for me?" "No problem," he said, as his girlfriend hobbled off the stool and sat on the bench. "Massage your foot slowly. Try putting it on the cold stone floor. That might help. I've gotten cramp loads of times in the past when playing. It's bloody torture!" "Thanks, Gordy-Pie!" Poor Myah, Reverend Morris thought. Now he had an even better view of her bare feet. Such slim and elegant feet. So nimble against the organ's pedalboard. He took a deep breath as he imagined he was cupping the arch of her foot, his hand slotted in the tender space between the heel and the upper sole. After an awkward pause, he continued his sermon. "He replied, "Go into the city to a certain man and tell him, 'The Teacher says: My appointed time is near. I am going to celebrate the Passover with my disciples at your house.'" So the disciples did as Jesus had directed them and prepared the Passover." Some young children were shifting uncomfortably in the pews. "How will we show that God is King when we're tempted, to abandon the way God call us to live? Knowing God is our King should change everything but we can't change everything all at once! So what one small step of obedience can we take this week to demonstrate with our lives that God is King all of the time? Take time to pray, and then seek to obey as Jesus obeyed. Amen!" Reverend Morris ended his sermon abruptly, no doubt to the relief of many, but most importantly, to himself. He descended from the pulpit and sat down beside the organ, as a member of the choir stepped up to the lectern to do a reading. He hardly heard a word the woman said, for his eyes were fixated on Myah's bare feet. She was still gently massaging her left foot. Oh dear, this was going to be unbearable. He knew she'd volunteered to take part in the ceremonial foot washing. Myah suddenly glanced at the vicar and smiled at him. He jolted and cleared his throat, before smiling back. He could feel a familiar burning in his cheeks, not to mention a throbbing in his cock, which was now at full stand, and forcing its way up against his trousers and vestments. He had never been more grateful to be wearing a cassock and surplice. He cast his mind back to last year when he'd allowed himself to be seduced by her. All in the past of course and they'd moved on. Besides, she was blissfully happy in a relationship with Gordon. The organist had slept with Jenna on numerous occasions before Myah had come along. Hmm, well best not to dwell on that tangled web of carnal relations right now. The reading came to an end and everyone stood up. "Please stand for our hymn, Sweet Sacrament Divine." Reverend Morris said, his voice faltering. On the front row of pews, Jenna tilted her head at her husband's shaky delivery, wondering what was wrong with him. It wasn't like Simon to be nervous when speaking in front of an audience. Something was bothering him though. She could see a line of sweat above his upper lip and a blush on his cheeks. After the hymn, came the ceremonial washing of feet, a reminder of how Jesus served others. As Myah sat before the vicar, her delicate hands folded in prayer, he could feel his heart race with anticipation. He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves, and began to wash her feet, using a soft, damp cloth to clean each toe, each inch of her soles. As his fingers brushed against her skin, he felt a surge of desire course through him, making it difficult to concentrate on anything but the feel of her feet against his palms. His erection began to ache, straining against his clothing, and he fought the urge to reach down and adjust himself, lest he give anything away. Myah seemed oblivious to his inner turmoil, content to let him tend to her with his gentle ministrations. Her breath hitched softly as he massaged a particularly tender spot on her arch, and he found himself growing bolder, wanting nothing more than to explore every inch of her feet, to lose himself in their softness and warmth. He moved his hands higher, tracing the line of her calves, feeling the muscles tense and relax under his touch. "Are you washing feet or giving out a full sponge bath, Vicar?" Reverend Morris was jolted back to reality and he glanced up. An impatient old woman sat next to Myah was glaring at him. "It'll be Advent before you've got round to washing all our feet." "Umm, my apologies, Mrs. Harris, I er;" "Stop being mean to him," Myah interrupted. "He's just being thorough. Like Jesus would've been!" The old woman tutted. "I'm not being mean, young lady!" The vicar's face was turning crimson, fearing that his arousal might be visible. He tried to focus on his duties, to keep his mind on the ritual, but it was becoming increasingly difficult, not to mention he was leaking precum into his underwear. The wet patch was becoming uncomfortable against his cock. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and forced his mind back to the task at hand. He finished washing her feet with a gentle pat, feeling a pang of regret as he stepped away from her. "About time," Mrs. Harris muttered as the vicar began washing her feet. "And be careful. I've got corns!" The ninety-year old's gnarled toes were sufficient to calm the raging sea of arousal surging within him. At least until the service was over. Myah headed back to the organ, her feet feeling lovely and refreshed. "What was that all about?" Gordon wondered, as she sat next to him on the organ stool. "Simon looks a bit flustered." "Well I could be wrong, Gordy-Pie, but I think he's got a raging hard-on under those robes. I noticed him staring at my feet earlier. He kept trying not to, but couldn't help himself!" She giggled. "Do you think he's got a foot fetish?" "Nah. He's done foot washing before and I don't recall him getting worked up." "Yeah but, this is the first time he's washed my feet; or Jenna's. She didn't volunteer last year." "Hmm, well you do have beautiful feet. I'm not into feet myself; I'm a thigh, tits and arse man, as well you know!" "Your feet are nice too." "Ha ha, you're just being kind, there! My size nines are ugly, hairy and sweaty." "Organists have special feet. After pressing down on those pedals, yours must be aching." "A bit. Perhaps you could; heal me later?" He winked at her. The rest of the service passed without incident. Reverend Morris had never been more relieved to return to the vicarage. "Are you okay Simon?" Jenna asked as he flopped down on the settee and fiddled with his clerical collar. "You seemed a bit uncomfortable in the church. You're not coming down with a bug are you?" "Oh I'm absolutely fine, my love, It was a bit warm in the church. I'll have to ask Norman to adjust the radiators." "I enjoyed the foot washing. Though not as much as you did!" She sat beside him and ran a finger across his knee. "Now Jesus being the Son of God, I reckon he was able to resist temptation when washing the feet of some nubile female disciple." The talk of feet was getting the vicar hot and bothered again. "Um, can't say I've ever given any thought to whether Jesus had those kind of; er, urges." "Would it have been wrong if he had?" She continued. "Not trying to be disrespectful. I'm just curious, that's all." "Probably not, given that he died to save us from our sins." He coughed and felt his cheeks burning again. "Simon you're blushing. Something's bothering you. Please tell me what's wrong." "I'm not sure I can, Jen. I'm a bit ashamed of it to be honest. It's not something I've ever admitted to anyone." She placed her hand in his. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. Please don't feel ashamed." He took a deep breath. "Feet. I like feet, Jen. I; have a foot fetish. Ever since I was a teenager. I don't know why. Women's feet. They just float my boat. There, I said it." "That's nothing to feel ashamed about, Simon! I think you'll find that's a really common fetish." She embraced him. "Though I wish I'd had better self-control during that part of the service. I was as hard as rock during the foot washing; when I did yours; and your cousin's. I think she's sussed me out." "Oh Myah wouldn't have noticed. Probably too distracted by thinking about getting her hands on Gordon's organ pipe. Besides, you had your robes on. Nobody would've suspected a thing. Right;" she continued. "I'm going to have a very quick shower. And when I come out, I expect you to be lying on the bed, feet bare, ready and waiting." She winked at him and his stomach jolted in excitement. "You mean;" Jenna smiled. "It's Maundy Thursday, Simon. What better time to indulge in a bit of foot worship? Now go and lie on the bed." He immediately obeyed. In the shower, Jenna began singing, no doubt in preparation for the big event on Easter Sunday. Reverend Morris was really looking forward to that. His church was going to be packed. Getting the Guild Voices to perform truly was a master stroke on Gordon's part. And with Jenna singing in the Guild too, well, what could go wrong? Nobody would want to attend St Peter's for Easter, even if they did have a hot organist who looked like Robert Pattinson. He started undressing and reclined on the bed. Closing his eyes, his mind drifted back to the incident in church, when Myah had been massaging her sore foot. Five minutes later, his eyes shot open as he felt a kiss on his cheek. Jenna smirked and lay back down, deliberately pressing her breasts, warm and wet from the shower, against his chest. He let out something that was halfway between a sigh and a moan and craned his neck to meet her mouth with his. She raked her nails down his scalp. She tended to get less gentle as she grew more aroused, so this was a sure sign that she was enjoying herself just as much as she was. He grinned against her lips and placed his own hands on her hips, gripping the gentle undulations there. Jenna was so good at multi-tasking, whilst he could only focus on one thing at a time if he was going to do it halfway well. So he concentrated on kissing her properly, on wrestling his tongue against hers. "Simon, take your undies off," she gasped, dismounting him, her breasts bouncing as she went. It took him a couple of seconds to comply and he cast his boxers aside. "Now." She settled herself on the side of the bed, legs dangling over the edge. "On your knees." He obeyed, unable to contain his excitement. Jenna giggled and extended a leg. "I want you to massage my feet Reverend," she purred, sending shivers of joy through him. "You're going to massage them, and then you're going to worship them. Do you understand?" Salivating, he nodded eagerly. She had such pretty feet. The shape of the actual foot was perfect, the heel smooth and well cared-for, the skin of the instep soft and delicate. He longed to put his mouth all over it and his cock pulsed impatiently. Taking her right foot, he focused on her little toe, licking along the bottom of it, then running his tongue back down the side, all the way into the little dip. Reaching the bottom, he wrapped his lips around the digit and gently sucked once again. "Mmm." This was sufficient encouragement for him to repeat the attentions, pressing kisses back down to her heel, his fingers kneading gently the flesh he hadn't yet reached. Then, looping back up to the top, he sucked each of the remaining toes in turn, massaging the pads with his tongue, forming his lips to the shape of Jenna's flesh, entirely lost in the sensation. By the time he had properly attended to every part of her right foot, he realized that he had spent quite a lot of time performing his worship, crouched on the carpet on his knees, and glanced up sheepishly to assure that his wife wasn't bored. She definitely wasn't and made a strange, strangled noise of surprise and pleasure. "That feels amazing, Simon. Now do my other foot." The vicar longed to touch himself. His cock ached with his arousal and neglect. But he wasn't about to leave a job unfinished, and quickly started worshipping Jenna's left foot too. "Ooh!" Reverend Morris began to say a prayer. "Heavenly Father, We lift up prayers of thankfulness for the example of humility that Christ has given us, as He washed His disciple's feet that night. Humbling Himself, and teaching us how to treat one another with the same humility and love. Thank You, Lord for His life. Help us to live as He did, humbly before You and others. In Jesus' name, Amen." "Thank you for worshipping my feet, Simon," Jenna moaned. "Now you may worship the rest of me." Even before he pushed her legs apart she made room for him. And no wonder: she was very ready, her entrance slick with her natural lubricant, her cunt pink and engorged. She had been teasing herself for some time. It was proof that she had indeed enjoyed the foot worship as much as she had claimed to, and almost as much as he had. He reached out a hand, tracing the line of Jenna's shoulder with his finger, feeling the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips. Her breathing deepened, and she let out a contented sigh, as if she felt the touch even in her dreams. "Mmm. Happy Maundy Thursday Jen," he whispered. The air in the vicarage bedroom seemed to crackle with desire as Reverend Morris leaned in and kissed her deeply, their tongues tangling together in a dance of passion. He rolled onto his side, taking her into his arms, their naked bodies pressing tightly together. With ease, he slid his hand down between their bodies, guiding himself toward her wetness. She arched her back, meeting his touch with a moan, and he thrust forward, filling her completely. The sensation was exquisite, the connection they shared almost painfully intense. They moved together in perfect sync, their bodies writhing and twisting as if they were a single entity. Their skin glistened with sweat, their breaths came in ragged gasps, and Reverend Morris knew that he was on the brink of his own release. He looked down at Jenna, her face flushed, her eyes clouded with pleasure, and he felt an overwhelming love and desire for her consume him. With one final thrust, he emptied himself into her, their bodies collapsing together in a tangle of limbs and sheets. "God." was all he could utter as he and Jenna got their breaths back. "Needed to get that out of your system didn't you, my love?" Jenna smiled, rubbing a hand across his belly. "I'm glad you told me about your little fetish. I'll keep it in mind the next time I want to surprise you!" "So; you're okay with it then? You don't think it's weird?" "Of course, Simon! And it's not weird. And it's 2024, not 1824. As a matter of fact, I rather like the idea of being married to a feet-loving vicar!" He laughed. "I'm just going to pop downstairs and grab a glass of water, then I'll be straight back up to tickle your feet some more!" He slid off the bed and hurried out of the room, not bothering to put any clothes on. After all, who was going to..? "Oh I say, Vicar!" He froze as he reached the bottom of the stairs, his cock swinging. Mrs. Harris, the impatient old woman who'd berated him earlier, was standing in the hallway. "Sorry for interrupting I'm sure. But you did say yours was an open house, and I did knock. The Mother's Union have produced these biscuits ready for Easter Sunday. You did request that I bring you some. I would've handed them to you in the church, but you hurried off home so fast, I didn't get the chance!" Poor Reverend Morris. He hadn't been this shocked since he walked in on Gladys Wilcox spanking the naked churchwarden's arse last year. "Umm, umm, thank you very much Mrs. Harris!" He grabbed a copy of the parish magazine off a side table and tried to cover himself. "Er, so sorry about this; I was; er, in the shower!" The stern-faced pensioner raised an eyebrow. "Quite. Well I trust you'll be more suitably attired during the Sunday service! Good day to you!" To be continued in part 2, Based on a post by Blacksheep, for Literotica.

Gordon is reunited with an old crush. Based on a post by Blacksheep, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.   The monthly Mother's Union meeting was taking place at Gladys Wilcox's bungalow. There was much to discuss, mainly tomorrow's Easter Sunday service. However the main topic of conversation was the vicar's phallus. "He was just standing there, starkers! Swinging, I tell you, swinging. It was like a boa constrictor poking out of a tree. I didn't know where to look!" Mrs. Harris exclaimed. "Wish I could've been there," Mrs. Wilcox replied. "Really, Gladys!" "Well at our age there's not much opportunity for those sorts of thrills is there?" She grinned and glanced at Norman the churchwarden, who said nothing and awkwardly sipped his coffee. Being the only man there, he felt uncomfortable sitting through this, but Mrs. Wilcox had insisted he attend. "How come he was naked?" Another woman asked. "Said he'd been having a shower, but I know a lie when I see one. If you ask me, him and his wife had been; you know;" "Having a quickie?" Mrs. Wilcox replied. Norman almost choked on his coffee, remembering that 21st birthday surprise the vicar had arranged for Jenna in the church, sixteen months ago. "Yes, exactly!" "You know something, Maureen, I was chatting to Maud Finch, on the bus the other day. Now she lives on Haddock Street, in one of those council houses that overlook the railway line. She tells me that groups of drunk young men are forever going up on that opposite embankment and mooning at passing trains." "Has she made a complaint?" "Why on earth would she want to do that?" Mrs. Wilcox spluttered. "I said to her, I'll call round later this week and I'll bring a pair of binoculars!" Over on the other side of town, at 64 Stovepipe Avenue, Gordon Leesmith yawned and sat up in bed. He squinted at the alarm clock. It was ten thirty. "Oh Gord, you lazy bugger," he said to himself, stretching his arms. He hadn't intended on having such a long lie-in. Myah had gone to work hours ago. She'd been working Saturdays the past few weeks, covering for Kate, a work colleague who was recovering from major abdominal surgery. Gordon staggered out of bed and scratched his belly as he peered out of the window. The weather seemed reasonable today. The past week had seen some very unsettled conditions, with sunny spells and frequent heavy showers, so typical of British springtime. "I'd better get a move on. I promised Myah I'd cook tonight and there's not a bite of food in the house." Gordon didn't relish the prospect of going to the supermarket during the Easter weekend. Every shop was crammed. Besides, he wanted to head to the church and spend an hour practicing on the organ ready for tomorrow's special service. He'd have the church all to himself for once. He relished this temporary period of calm. Easter was always busy for the organist. As well as his full-time job repairing organs, he'd had to play the Wednesday Eucharist, the Maundy Thursday service, yesterday's Good Friday evening service and on Sunday, it was the big one. At least he could rest his fingers on Monday's bank holiday. "Can't wait to jet off next month," he muttered, as he hurriedly dressed himself and brewed a cup of tea. He'd booked a week's holiday in Tenerife for himself and Myah. Their first holiday together and they were really looking forward to it. Gordon wasn't one for culture, eco-tourism or trailing round ancient ruins. Sun, sea and all-inclusive hotels were his idea of paradise. Myah had never been to the Canary Islands. He hoped she wouldn't be too bored just lounging on the beach or by the pool all day. He'd booked an adults-only hotel, the four star Golden Vista in Playa de las Americas. It had excellent reviews on TripAdvisor. Meanwhile, at the vicarage; Reverend Morris was in turmoil. "Maureen Harris has got a right mouth on her. Who needs social media when you've got a pensioner who's Britain's answer to Hedda Hopper?" "Simon, you're worrying unnecessarily," Jenna said. "You've not done anything wrong. You were in your own home and you didn't know she was there." "Oh, I don't know. I'm the parish vicar and I just accidentally exposed myself in front of an elderly member of my congregation. Can't say I'm too thrilled about that." "Maureen shouldn't have walked in. She was in the wrong. Said she knocked, but when nobody answered, she should've given up and gone." "And I should've locked the front door! I bet she's told everyone at the Mother's Union that she saw me nude!" Jenna shrugged. "So, she saw your cock. I bet many other ladies wish they could've been so lucky!" Gordon parked up on the Tesco Express car park. As expected, the place was heaving with people rushing to get last-minute groceries. Tubs of cut-price garden fence paint were piled up outside the store. As he was looking at these, he heard someone call his name. "Gordon? Gordon Leesmith. Is it you?" He spun round in surprise. A tall, slim woman, late sixties at a guess, and with silvery hair cut into a sleek bob, was stood next to him. She was dressed in a long, pale grey coat with fur-lined collar. Underneath, a skirt or dress of some sort, black tights and ankle boots. "Uh, hello? Yes, I'm Gordon Leesmith. Who are you?" The woman chuckled. "Oh dear. I really have changed haven't I? You don't remember me, do you?" Gordon blinked as he studied her face carefully, then he let out a gasp. "Harriet; Harriet Fairfax?" "Guilty!" Gordon was too stunned to speak at first, but he quickly composed himself. After so many years, here was the woman he'd lost his virginity to, way back one summer night in 1985, when he was just eighteen. His former piano teacher! "Oh God! I can't believe it! I; I, it's so wonderful to see you again! I always wondered what happened to you, Harriet. The last time we met was in 1988, when I'd just got my ARCO diploma. After that, you; well, vanished." "That's a long story. Come, let's go and have a coffee. We've both got a lot to catch up on. I'm only here until Tuesday, then I'm flying back home." "You live abroad?" "I emigrated to Australia when I got married." "Blimey. I think I need more than a coffee. I know a good place." He took her arm in his and they headed across the road. "You certainly have grown in confidence," Harriet smiled. "I always knew you would." At a small pub in the town center, Gordon sipped an overpriced beer and listened intently as Harriet filled him in on her life story. He felt a lump in his throat as she told him of her marriage to Graham, an Australian musician she'd met shortly after Gordon's fateful night in Blackpool Tower. "I suppose my head was well and truly turned. I was blinded by love. You have to remember back then in the Eighties, a single woman, mid-thirties and childless, well I was seen as being left on the shelf. Graham seemed the perfect man; and as I was never close to my parents, I figured here was my one chance to have a new start. New country, new job. So we settled in Perth. I started work as a music teacher. Loved it. Work was bliss. Unfortunately, marriage to Graham was anything but." "Was he unfaithful?" Gordon asked. "No. I would've preferred it if he was. He was abusive. It's because of him that I have partial hearing in my right ear. The beatings got so bad; he beat me black and blue. Even when I was pregnant." Tears pricked Gordon's eyes. "Bastard. Oh God, Harriet. I'm so sorry. Tell me you managed to leave him?" "Didn't need to. He took it upon himself to commit suicide one evening. I came back from work and found him swinging in the garage. August 11th, 1997. What a day to remember, eh? He'd always been a heavy drinker. I found out he'd run up massive debts, got himself fired." "Dear God. How did you cope?" "Well friends and neighbors rallied round. I'm lucky. I'm one of those people who makes friends easily. I had a good support network. Besides, I had to stay strong, for the sake of my boys, Daniel and Ryan; only got Ryan now." She paused and Gordon wondered whether he should press her further. "Daniel; died. He was twelve. A total sweetheart. You see, he was born with Down's Syndrome. Graham never coped with it. He was the loveliest, most gentle boy. Everyone who met him just adored his sunny nature. He loved animals and music. But Graham ignored him. Ryan came along three years later. He's able-bodied. Actually that's why I'm over here. I've been visiting Ryan. He's thirty now. Works as a concert pianist. I'm so proud of him. He's fiercely independent. Doesn't need me fussing over him, but we're still close. This is the last time I'll be flying here. I can't handle these long haul flights any more, now that I'm almost seventy-four. Never did like flying. He'll be the one flying over to see me next time." "You look amazing," Gordon quickly blurted out, wiping his eyes. "Heh, thanks." "I'm so sorry you've had to endure all that, Harriet," Gordon sniffed, placing his hand on hers. "Thanks for being a good listener. Hey and I'm a survivor. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?" "So; you didn't re-marry?" "Nah. After Graham died, I focused on being a mum. I got used to being single. Although ten years ago, I met Ray. He's widowed like me and a few years older. He's a total gentleman, bless him. I can't say he excites me sexually. I hope this doesn't sound too mean; he's a bit boring, but at my age, I'm past all that. It's just nice to have someone who's dependable and kind." Gordon nodded. Looking at Harriet, he thought she still looked very attractive. She'd aged well, despite the heartache she'd gone through. A surge of excitement rushed through him. "Anyways Gordon, I've prattled on about myself for too long! Tell me what you've been up to all these years!" Without wanting to bore her, Gordon gave a rundown of his life. From his marriage to Marjorie, to her cheating on him and then divorcing him, to becoming organist and choirmaster at St Michael's church, to meeting Myah. He chose to omit any mention of Jenna, the stunning vicar's wife who he'd bedded countless times before Myah arrived on the scene. "She's very attractive," Harriet said as Gordon showed her a photo on his smartphone. "You look so happy together. Do you'll think you'll have children in future?" "It's a possibility, given that she's much younger than me. Marjorie was adamant she never wanted children. I respected that. I confess I've never given much thought to becoming a dad. But if Myah does want to become a mum, then I'll be up for it." "About the age gap. It's a large one. Has that presented any problems?" "It did at first. Her parents were furious. Some hurtful things were said, but her mother and I eventually came to an understanding. Most people at church have been okay but there were a couple of exceptions. It upset me when my cousin Barry called me a "borderline nonce." He was only joking, but it hurt. She'll be twenty in July. Myah was the one who pursued me, not the other way round;" "Perhaps Barry was jealous of you. But yes, that was a crass thing to say. Well Gordon, there's one thing I want to experience before I head back Down Under." His eyes widened. "Really? What's that?" "I want to see and hear you play a pipe organ! You showed such skill and talent way back in 1985;" she winked at him and he felt that surge of excitement again. "Funnily enough, I was planning to have a practice at church today. Tomorrow's a big day, being Easter Sunday. We've got two choirs singing. Care to join me on a trip to St Michael's? It's only a five minute walk from here." The Mother's Union meeting was drawing to a close, but poor Norman could bear it no longer. Mrs. Wilcox was still questioning Mrs. Harris on a certain part of the vicar's anatomy. "Ladies, please excuse me; I really need to; er, relieve myself. Thank you for your company and I'll see you at church tomorrow!" "Oh yes, take care Norman!" they replied, oblivious to his embarrassment. "That's a fine lodger you've got yourself, Gladys. Now I tend to view men as nothing more than useless articles, but he is a true Christian." "Oh he truly is, Maureen. We have such wonderful times together. He was very easy to train!" At St Michael's church, Gordon gave Harriet a quick tour, before leading her to the organ. "This is a beautiful church," she said. "That's one thing I miss about living in Australia. All of the churches there are recent by comparison. There isn't the history. Oh there are some lovely ones, but it's not the same. This one goes back to medieval times. I love old buildings." "Yes, it's a nice church. Good community here too. I get on so well with the vicar. Reverend Morris is a good egg. His sermons are rather tedious, but nobody's perfect, eh?" He sat on the organ stool. "Here she is! What do you think?" "She's a beauty, Gordon. Three manuals, and the pipework is incredible. A large organ for such a small church." "Aye, she's a grand old lass. I gave her a complete overhaul in January. Replaced some of the big flue pipes. Now she sounds better than ever." He switched on the lamp above the manuals. "Very handy having an organist who can fix organs as well as play them. That's a very specialized job, isn't it?" "Pretty much. Right; what would you like me to play?" Harriet removed her thick coat and slid onto the stool next to him. "Hmm. It's an overplayed piece of music, but I've always liked The Entertainer. You played that for me when you used to come for lessons, remember?" "Ah yes. I remember!" As he began to play, Harriet glanced at her former student, no longer a gauche, skinny teenager but a stocky, fifty-six year old man, with silver hair. He had a paunch, but it suited him. He'd grown into his looks and actually looked better now than when he was eighteen. She ran a finger across her chin, and carefully considered her next move. He truly had become a very gifted organist. Gordon was halfway through playing, when a hand on his thigh made him play a wrong note. He stopped and looked down. "Umm;" "No-one must find out about this." Harriet whispered. "Well Myah's at work; and I don't think Ray can see what we're up to from the other side of the world;" Gordon stammered. He couldn't believe history was repeating itself. "An old girl like me can still get all hot and bothered seeing an attractive younger man," she teased. Her thigh was pressing against his and his cock was starting to respond. "Uh; Harriet," Gordon mumbled, and once again he was transported back to 1985, and was that shy, awkward teenager again. "I; just want you to know. You were my first major crush. Well; I'd fancied other girls, but you; well you just; did it for me." "I'm so glad to hear you say that, Gordon. You were the only student I ever felt attracted to. Truth is, at the time, I was feeling rather sorry for myself and unattractive. When I found out you had a crush on me, it was an incredible turn-on. To be desired by a much-younger man. I knew the whole time." "Guess I wasn't that good at being discreet," Gordon replied. "Not at all. You were shy and went bright red every time I spoke to you. Which was very endearing. I just had to make your first time a memorable one. During the pandemic, I did a lot of thinking. I started looking at old photos. I had one of you taken at your graduation. I started wondering what became of you. So I started trawling the Internet. I checked Facebook. There were a lot of Gordon Leesmiths on there, but not the one I was seeking." "I don't use social media," Gordon said. "Never have. Don't like the idea of it. I'm too old for the likes of Thick Tock or whatever it's called. " "That's fair enough. By chance, I came across a post made on the Facebook page of your church. It mentioned an organist called Gordon Leesmith. I clicked the link to the church's website and on the list of clergy and laity, there was a photo of you! I knew at once it was you." "Ah. So you were able to hunt me down with ease?" He smiled. "I'm glad you did; I've never forgotten that night in Blackpool." She leaned in closer and kissed his cheek. "Gordon; how about I give you a present? For old time's sake and all?" Her hand brushed his crotch and she could tell at once that he'd got a hard-on. "My, my. Seems like I haven't lost my touch!" "You're still beautiful, Harriet." He kissed her back. "I'm all yours;" She smiled and unzipped his trousers. As she freed his erection from his y-fronts, Gordon closed his eyes, savoring the sensation of her hot breath on his skin. He felt her lips wrap around him, and a shudder of pleasure ran through him. She began to bob her head, her mouth moving up and down his length in a rhythm that was both masterful and irresistible. Her tongue danced along the underside of his shaft, teasing and taunting him. "Oh God; oh shit, yes," he moaned. He was producing a lot of precum. Gordon considered himself an over-producer of the stuff. It was a bloody nuisance when one's underpants got wet from being horny all the time, as he usually was. The sounds of their breathing filled the empty church, the rustle of Harriet's skirt and the creak of the organ bench provided a steady beat as she continued her ministrations. Her grip on him was firm, but gentle, and she seemed to know just how to stroke him, how to tease him, how to drive him wild with desire. "Ahh," Gordon grunted. His hand caught one of the manuals and a few wrong notes disturbed the quietness. As she bobbed her head, Gordon could feel his control slipping away. He arched his back, letting out a low groan, his fingers digging into the sides of the organ stool. Harriet knew just how to use her tongue, teasing him mercilessly with it, driving him to the edge of release before pulling back and starting again. Her grip on him tightened ever so slightly, and he felt a surge of desire course through him, making his muscles tense and his heart race. With a groan that was equal parts pleasure and desperation, Gordon tensed, his hips bucking forward as he lost control. He felt the first spurt of hot seed erupt from his cock. Harriet didn't pull away, but instead opened her mouth wider, letting his essence flow over her tongue, down her throat. The sensation was almost too much for him to bear, and he let out a hoarse cry as he released himself fully into her mouth. As his orgasm subsided, Harriet slowly pulled back, her lips still wrapped around him, her eyes shining with pride and satisfaction. "That was wonderful, Gordon," she whispered. "Just wonderful." "Just like old times," came his breathless reply. Jenna Receives a Special Easter Egg. "You're quiet, Gordy!" Myah said as noticed him slumped on the settee, idly running his finger down an empty cup. "Oh! Sorry love," he muttered, quickly composing himself. His mind was still reeling from that fateful encounter with Harriet. He took a deep breath. "Hard day at the organ?" Myah giggled, leaning over the settee and kissing his forehead. "Got myself all prepared for tomorrow's service," he said quickly. "Erm, I have a confession to make; I er, was so wrapped up with practicing, I totally forgot to get some food in. But; worry not. Because you and I are dining out tonight! How do you fancy trying out that new Italian place? My treat. A working girl needs pampering." "Aww, yes!" Myah replied. "You're the best, my organ boy! Right, I'd better go and get changed!" She hurried upstairs and Gordon was alone with his thoughts once more. "Glad I got to see her one last time," he said to himself. "Goodbye Harriet." Next morning; The daffodils were in full splendor. A sea of yellow had erupted on the grass verges flanking the road to St. Michael's Church. A bright sunny sky greeted worshippers on this glorious Easter Sunday. Inside the church, it was bustling. Reverend Morris hurried about, making sure everything was just right, a music stand here, some extra hymn books there. "Where's Jenna?" He asked the churchwarden. "Why, in the vestry of course, with the rest of the choir. She's wearing robes this time, Vicar! Plus, Gordon and that Guild Voices chap will want to give a pep talk before they start." "Oh yes of course, silly me. Thanks Norman." "Do try to relax, it'll turn out fine. I have a feeling this Easter service is going to be unforgettable!" "Hope so, Reverend Morris replied, hurrying back down the aisle. "Right time for some more meet and greet;" A wrinkled hand grabbed the sleeve of his cassock as he passed a middle row of pews. "Good morning Vicar. I trust you weren't ignoring me?" "Ah; good morning to you, Mrs. Harris. Er, no I genuinely didn't see you there." "Of course, there are some things that cannot be unseen," the old lady replied, leaving him in no doubt has to what she was referring to. He cringed. "I'm so very sorry about that." "No need to apologize. You're lucky it was me and not Gladys Wilcox who saw you showing off everything the Lord gave you. Her reaction would've been rather different to mine." "Uh; I see," the vicar coughed, feeling his cheeks burning with shame. "Makes you sick doesn't it?" Mrs. Harris continued. "Just the thought of it." "The thought of what?" "Senior citizens lusting after younger men." Reverend Morris was unsure how to respond to that, but luckily Josh the curate intervened. "Would you believe it?" He said. "That flower arch around the door is absolutely infested with greenfly. Most of the flowers are already dead." "What? It only went up last night!" In the vestry, everyone was crammed in like sardines. Gordon had taken charge of the St. Michael's choir, whilst Derek was organizing the Guild Voices. "Oi, Luke, get that surplice on the right way round!" Gordon yelled at a choirboy. "Hannah, put that smartphone away!" He shook his head. "Honestly, it's like herding a bunch of cattle." "A shame about the lack of space," Derek remarked. "I keep forgetting what a small church this is. Morning Jenna!" He winked at the vicar's wife. "Hello Derek." The choirmaster lowered his voice. "Need a quick word with you alone; where can we go that's private?" Jenna glanced round. "Come with me." He discreetly followed her as she slipped out of the vestry and to a tiny storage area by the side of the organ pipes. There was no door, just a curtained archway. The room little more of an alcove, and the two of them could barely fit inside it. "Cozy," Derek smiled. "Got a little Easter present for you, Jenna," he said, rummaging in his jacket pocket. He handed her a small box. "Aww, thank you," she said. "That's really thoughtful." "Go on, you can open it now." "Oh that's cute," she smiled, holding up a little plastic yellow and green Easter egg on a pink silicone cord, and assumed it was a decoration of some kind. "Does it have chocolate inside?" Derek gave a mischievous grin. "Nope. You see; it's meant to go inside you! I was wondering if you could; wear it for me during the service? I'll enjoy an interesting little Easter egg hunt later; if you get what I mean." Jenna smiled back. Derek was more adventurous than she'd first imagined. "Why certainly, Derek. Maybe after the service, He will have Risen; and I'm not talking about Jesus there." She winked and hurried off to the toilets. "Naughty girl," Derek chuckled. "I hope she's in fine voice. Now the fun begins!" Shortly after, Jenna returned and took her place among the other Guild Voices choir members at the front of the church. Gordon began playing the voluntary, whilst the church choir did the usual procession down the main aisle. Reverend Morris stepped up to the pulpit and glanced at his wife. It seemed odd seeing his wife wearing a cassock and surplice, but she wore it well. He puffed out his chest with pride, noticing all the full pews. His church had definitely beaten St. Peter's. "Brothers and sisters, a very warm welcome to you all on this joyful Eastertide! I ask you to take the joy and hope of Easter and let it be your light and your life. Tell people that there's hope. In the driest valley, there is the resurrection. In the darkest night, there is the resurrection. In the worst moments you ever go through there is the resurrection, there is the promise of life, there is Jesus whispering into your ear saying that it's okay because death has lost its sting. There is the resurrection. Death is defeated. He has done it. He is risen. Hallelujah! We're very honored today to be hosting the Guild Voices Choir, led by the talented Mr. Derek Blackledge, who has put together a fantastic medley of holy music, along with our own equally talented organist, Gordon. He is, of course, ably assisted by his partner and organist-in-training Myah, who will be playing a few pieces for us. Now, without further ado, let us stand for our first hymn, Thine Be the Glory!" Just as Jenna was about to take a deep breath and focus on the music, she felt the egg she'd inserted into her womanhood begin to vibrate uncontrollably. Then, she noticed Derek, fiddling with his smart watch. His expression was one of mischief and amusement, and she knew instinctively that he was the one responsible for this unexpected distraction. The strains of the mighty organ filled the church as Gordon began playing the hymn. Jenna gave an awkward jolt, but was determined not to lose control during this situation. Well played, Derek, she thought. Well played. The choirmaster was waving his baton, and concentrating on the choir, but every so often, he made eye contact with Jenna, who was stood on the front row. Her voice was a little shaky, but it wasn't noticeable, thankfully. As the vibrations increased, Jenna struggled to maintain her composure. The sensations were overwhelming, and she could feel herself growing warm all over. She tried to ignore the egg, focusing instead on the beautiful music and the sacredness of the occasion. But try as she might, she couldn't help but be affected by the relentless vibrations. Her breath grew shorter, her cheeks flushed, and her body trembled with each passing moment. "No more we doubt thee, glorious Prince of life; life is naught without thee; aid us in our strife; Make us more than conquerors, through thy deathless love: bring us safe through Jordan to thy home above! Thine be the glory, risen conquering Son, Endless is the vict'ry, thou o'er death hast won." The hymn ended, and quiet descended on the church. Everyone sat down, and that didn't make it any easier for Jenna, as she squirmed awkwardly on the chair. "What's the matter with the vicar's missus, she got fleas or something?" One of the old ladies on the front row of pews whispered. "Well you know what young people are like, Maud. They can't sit still for five minutes can they? Probably suffering from smartphone withdrawal." "Either that or she's bursting for the toilet!" Sitting through the readings was bad enough, but the sermon was to prove far worse. Derek had obviously been planning this ever since their encounter on Wednesday night. The devious choirmaster was loving this! She gritted her teeth as she noticed him fiddle with his watch again. He wasn't finished with her yet. Just as she thought she had regained control, it started to vibrate again, this time more insistently than before. It seemed to have a mind of its own, dancing against her clit with an unyielding determination. Jenna bit back a moan, her cheeks burning red as she fought to maintain her composure. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the next piece of music in the book, trying to ignore the sensations building inside her. "We all make mistakes and mess up. The way you �be� a good Christian is to have faith in that cross and empty grave, in what Jesus did there. Because our faith is the one where God comes to us to give us hope and defeat the powers of sin and death for us, out of love!" After what seemed like an eternity, Reverend Morris finally ended his sermon. It was time for the next hymn, The Old Rugged Cross, but first, there was a piece of music to be performed a cappella by the choir. Gordon left his place at the organ and stood alongside Derek. He adjusted his open-fronted black gown and nodded at the choir. He noticed Jenna and smiled at her. She looked a bit uncomfortable, which he assumed was down to her singing in front of an audience for the first time. As the singing began, Derek subtly pressed his watch again. Jenna's voice went from low to impossibly high. Her eyes closed and as she sang, she felt a newfound strength welling up inside her. It was a strength born of passion and desire, of the need to express herself fully and without restraint. Gordon was amazed at her vocal range, then again, he didn't need to remind himself that the stunning vicar's wife had many talents; some he was no longer privy to, but her cousin had more than made up for. As she belted out the final chorus, her body trembled with the effort. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her heart pounded wildly in her chest. The egg vibrator continued its relentless dance against her sensitive flesh, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her veins. She could feel herself growing closer and closer to the edge, the release just out of reach. Gordon continued to watch her. Blimey, she's really putting her heart and soul into this performance. He thought. It's almost as if; she's about to have an orgasm! He scolded himself for thinking about sex yet again. Yet he could not shake the image of her desperate to climax. Under those robes, Miss Kitty could be sopping wet. Mmm, a nice thought. He took a deep breath as he felt his cock starting to twitch, and quickly put that out of his mind. The last thing he needed was to develop a hard-on in front of the entire church. The a cappella piece ended, and it was time for Gordon to return to the organ and play the next hymn. As he did, he stole one last glance at the vicar's wife. Maybe it was just nerves. He sat down on the organ stool and began playing The Old Rugged Cross. Jenna glanced around, hoping no one had noticed the effect the egg was having on her. But everyone seemed to be too focused on singing of the hymn, their faces glowing with pride and accomplishment. Jenna bit her lip, as she fought to control the egg's relentless movements. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on something, anything, other than the sensations building inside her. But it was no use. The loud notes of the organ, the church, passages from the Bible; all seemed to feed the fire burning inside her. She was about to come, and there was no stopping it. She closed her eyes, her fists gripping her hymn book tightly as she surrendered. She started moaning gently as the pressure within built up. As the hymn's final verse was sung, Jenna climaxed with an almighty yell and her body shuddered as her orgasm spewed forth her juices and then there was a pop. She gasped as she felt the egg vibrator slip loose and fall to the stone floor. The silicone cord broke free, and the egg rolled away, under her chair. There was no way she could bend down to retrieve it. Her intense behavior had not gone unnoticed by Edna Draper, who was stood next to her. "I take it you like that hymn a lot? You were really giving it your all!" "Yeah," Jenna said, getting her breath back. "I've been practicing so hard!" Meanwhile, the egg was still rolling along the church floor. It came to a stop by the side of the organ stool. "Hello, what do we have here?" Gordon said to himself. When the vicar took to the pulpit again, the organist discreetly bent down and picked up the egg. It was warm, wet and glistening with clear goo. He knew at once what it was. "Now which naughty little Easter Bunny does this egg belong to? I think I can guess." He gave it a sniff, wiped it with a tissue and placed it in his jacket pocket. Looking over to the choir, he noticed Jenna fidgeting on her chair. "I knew it! She was getting herself off when I was conducting the choir!" The Easter Sunday service drew to a close. Reverend Morris ended it with some uplifting words. "Brothers and Sisters! Before we all head off to the church hall for tea, coffee and chocolate eggs, let me ask you one more time. Are you filled with hope today? Then go out and take it with you! This is the best news you'll ever be able to give anyone. That He loves you enough to rise again, to give you hope. And no power on earth can stop us if that is the message we're bringing to people this Easter. Amen!" Based on a post by Blacksheep, for Literotica.

Hot female boss gives man the "okay' to fulfill his desires. by Alexis Peignoir. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories. It was pouring with rain that evening when Evan walked into Gray's Pub and settled on a stool at the far end of the bar. His navy blue suit was tailored to fit his trim physique, and his jet black hair was smoothed back showing a cut jaw, deep charcoal eyes and olive skin. He'd loosened his tie and unbuttoned the first button on his white shirt, so he could breathe. The bartender, a short stubby man with a balding head, walked over and eyed the man carefully. "The same?" he asked. "Yea," Evan nodded. Seconds later, the bartender reappeared with a bottle of Heineken and poured the contents into a glass, then put the bottle down next to it and walked away. Evan picked up the glass and took a long swig, and let the cold brew slide down his throat. It had been a long day; too long as far as he was concerned. What mattered worse was that She was there, with her long blonde hair that fell down her back to her ass, an oval shaped face, full lips, and emerald green eyes that seem to pierce through his heart when she spoke to him causing him to mumble and sputter. Damn the woman was fine, as he took another gulp of beer, but she was the boss and there was an invisible "do not touch" aura about her. He needed the job so he didn't touch, but it was killing him. There were only so many times one could jerk off in the shower to dull the need that burned inside of him. He drank more of the beer and tried to focus on the basketball game on the big screen above the bar. Seeing Evan finish his beer, the bartender came over again to where Evan sat. "Ready for another one?" he asked. "Not yet," Evan began. "Rocky what is it about some women that drives a man crazy?" The bartender chuckled, "I don't know what it is, but its how I ended up married. You better watch it or the next thing you know, you'll be walking down the aisle. She was a real looker and I was blindsided. Now I'm working in this place to get away from her. If you ask me, it's all a trap." "I guess," Evan sighed. "So who is she?" "My boss," Evan moaned. "Damn son, you know how to pick them," Rocky exclaimed. "Yea, like I had a choice. I don't know what it is about her, but I get hard even when she walks by." "Well, either you tell her how you feel or get another job." "If I tell her how I feel, I'll have to get another job," Evan said. "I'll take that beer now." Rocky put another Heineken on the counter and Evan paid for the first and second one. "You want to start a tab?" Rocky asked. "No," Evan replied. "Ok, but it could be a long night," Rocky said. "It doesn't look like the rain isn't letting up any." "I want to be sober when I leave," Evan replied. After drinking the second beer, Rocky was right. The rain still hadn't stopped, but Evan didn't care. He pulled the collar up on his jacket and left the pub making a mad dash to his car where he started the engine, flipped on the wipers and left the pub heading down Ivy Street towards home. He passed through street light after street light until he came to a stop sign where along the curb was a car with its emergency lights flashing. On further inspection, he recognized the license plates. It was his boss's car, a silver Lexus which was almost as unattainable to him as his boss. He blew the horn and she rolled down the window. "My car won't start," his boss said. I don't have that problem when I look at you he said under his breath. "Did you call the tow truck?" he asked. "Yes, but they won't get here for a couple of hours," she replied. "My place is just up the road. Why don't you get in and we can wait there." Half expecting her to say she'd rather wait, she unexpectedly jumped out of her car and ran to his and climbed into the seat next to him. She looked frazzled and concerned, but she smelled great and he knew a cold shower would be forthcoming after she left. "I'm so glad you stopped," she said wiping her brow. "No problem, Miss Jensen. I was on my way home anyway." "You're always so polite Evan, Call me Jenna," she replied. "Okay, Jenna. Then we're off to my place." He couldn't believe she said that. Fifteen minutes later, Evan was escorting Jenna upstairs to his loft apartment. He flipped on the lights that illuminated the room and took her wet coat and hung it on the coat rack near the door. "Oh you have a balcony," Jenna said. "You can watch the sky from sitting anywhere in the room." He said nothing, but thought of the nights he stared at the sky, while thinking of her. "Can I get you some coffee, or a glass of wine or a beer?" he asked. "Wine would be fine," she said as she sat on the sofa. Evan quickly went to the refrigerator, pulled out the wine bottle that he had saved from the Christmas party the year before, and poured it into two glasses. When he returned to the living room, Jenna was sitting there with her shoes off, curled up on the sofa. She was still dressed in work clothes, a pencil style cream colored dress with a thin black belt. She always looked professional and distant during the day, but sitting on his sofa she gave off a vibe of vulnerability that he couldn't ignore, and when she looked up at him with her soulful green eyes, he was mesmerized. He gave her the glass of wine, and then sat next to her on the sofa. "So what were you doing out so late?" he asked. "Working as usual," she replied. "It seems that's all I do." "I would have thought you would have some rich guy waiting at home for you," he prodded. "I wish," she replied then turned to him. "Do you have someone?" "Nope! I guess I haven't found the right one," he lied. There was an uncomfortable silence between them as they drank their wine before Jenna spoke again slowly. "I've seen you looking at me," she said. "Do you think that I might be the right one?" Evan's heart sank. Busted! "You are a very beautiful woman. How could I not see that?" "And you are a very handsome man. Any woman could see that," she replied. The mutual admiration society is now in session. He thought to himself. "But I try not to mix business with pleasure. You are the boss and if things didn't work out, then I would probably lose my job, and I need my job." Jenna pensively ran her finger around the rim of her wine glass. "What if I told you; that you wouldn't lose your job, no matter what happened?" "Oh shit," he whispered under his breath. She was making it this difficult. Jenna stared at the wine in her glass, "Have you thought about being with me?" Jenna asked. Only about a gazillion times, he thought of saying. But then he said; "Well, um yes. Yes, I have." Jenna smiled, "That's good to know, because I've thought about doing it with you about a hundred times." Evan's cock jumped inside his pants, and he had to move and adjust himself, to relieve the uncomfortableness he felt. "Glad we agree on that," Evan said, and took a gulp of wine. "So where does that put us now?" "Well," Jenna began. "Don't you think we probably should do something about it?" Evan's cock stood at attention. Pussy alert, was the alarm code going off in his shorts. "Yes!", he exclaimed. He wasted no time. In the next few moments, his shirt and tie were off, as well as his pants, and was standing in front of her, in his boxer shorts, with his cock protruding through the slit. Jenna grabbed his cock with her hand and began to stroke it. He took long breaths, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, as her silken hand moved up and down on his throbbing cock. He leaned down and rubbed her breast beneath the dress. As if on cue, she stood and removed her dress revealing a chocolate brown camisole and chocolate brown bikini panties. "Hot chocolate with whipped cream," he said, stroking his cock as he watched her undress. "I'm glad that you like it," she whispered, coming towards him. He pulled at the panties with his free hand, and slid them down enough for Jenna to step out of them. "Not shaved?" he said smiling. "I like it natural," she said. "Me too," he said as he fingered her curls before inserting his fingers between her slit. She spread her legs to accommodate him and the wetness soaked his fingers. " Umm ," she cooed. "Let me stroke you more." Evan dropped his boxers and extended his cock to her. She grabbed and stroked it vigorously, until the pre-cum oozed from the head of it. She then swept it up with her finger and inserted it into her mouth. "Delicious. Salty and thick, she noted" She was driving him mad as he drew her to him, and kissed her where their tongues danced together. She wrapped her arms around his neck and his cock pressed against her belly; hard and thick. The pre-cum dripping over her belly. Instinctively he helped her slip out of her camisole, and pulled her panties down further so that she could step out of them. The smell of her musky sexual arousal wafted up to tantalize his nostrils. He grabbed her breast, kneading it with the palm of his hand before twisting the nipple between his finger and thumb. The nub hardened, as he leaned forward and licked it. Jenna cupped her breast to feed it to him, and he sucked on it, taking the nub deep into his mouth. His teeth nipped at it, and she threw her head back to absorb the electrical ecstatic sensation that shot down to her pussy, forcing it to ooze its juices. He slid his hand over his cock again and rubbed the head of it against her pussy in a circular motion then slid it between her legs, faux fucking her between her thighs. "I need it in me," she said, her voice low and breaking with excitement. Evan needed no further urging. He took her by the hand and led her to his bedroom where she laid on the bed facing him. He turned the lamp on to low, and gazed at her body in its stunning delicious perfectness. His hand was on his cock, as her hand slid down to her pussy, and began to move it in a circular motion. "You need to finish this," she cooed. "I need to cum with your cock inside me. I want to feel that hot cream going deep, to make me cum." Wild with passion, Evan knelt on the bed and spread her legs with his own. "If you want it deep," he said in a raspy voice. "Then roll over." She smiled up at him, "Oh yes baby. I needed to get pounded like that." Evan helped her to roll over, and slid his arm under her hips, pulling her to her knees. The entrance of her pussy was dripping, waiting for him to enter. He leaned forward and pulled at her nipple and squeezed it until she squealed with delight. Fuck. He had to give it to her before he exploded. He pushed his cock against her pussy rubbing it up and down on her clit, then drove inside of her and buried it deep within her swollen folds. "Yes!" Jenna cried. "Deeper! Go Deeper!" Evan didn't hesitate. He withdrew his cock and plowed into her again. With his hands holding her hips, his balls slapped against her ass as he did. There was nothing better than Jenna's pussy, he told himself, as he plunged into her again, and again. He leaned over and grabbed her breasts as he slid in and out of her and his cum began to rise up his shaft. He slid his hand back and fingered her clit, as his cock drove into her. She began to moan, slowly at first, but then loudly, begging him for more. "Keep going," she cried. "I'm almost there. Keep fucking me." Evan began to sweat. He was getting close, but he wanted her to cum first. Again, and again, he pounded her, until he heard her grunt and cry out. "I'm cumming! Yes! So good! So good! Keep fucking me!" she commanded. Evan drove his cock into her pussy until his own desire overcame him, and he climaxed. His cock spewed its white hot load into her, slowed, and then shot another load into her, filling every crease and fold. "You got it all baby," he growled, as the last of his cum emptied in her. Jenna held her position until she could feel Evan slide out from her, then laid flat and rolled to her back. Evan followed suit and collapsed next to her and draped his arm over her waist, both breathless and satisfied. They lay together quietly, enjoying each other, until Jenna's phone rang and she sighed. Reality was back. "It must be about my car," she murmured. Evan sat up and rested on his elbow, "Timing is everything." She found her phone in her purse, in the living room, and answered the call. A few minutes later she returned to Evan on the bed, and snuggled up to him. "Was it the tow truck?" he asked. "Yes. They're going to tow it to the garage. I left the door unlocked, and the keys on the seat." "You left your keys in the car" Evan asked. "Well did you really want to go get my car, at this time of night?" She asked. He chuckled to himself, "You had this all planned." She leaned over and kissed him, "I'm not the boss for nothing." The next day at work, Evan waited impatiently for Jenna to arrive. His office was near a window and he could see when her car pulled into the parking lot. A car did pull into her spot and Evan knew it was a rental, because her own car was in the garage. He watched her get out of the car and head towards the office building. Now came the awkward part. How would they act? How would she treat him? She said she wouldn't fire him, but what if she had a change of heart and kicked him to the curb? He wouldn't know until he saw her walk through the door and past the glass windows of his office.  He took a gulp of his coffee and nearly choked on it with anticipation. His nerves were on high alert and his heart thumped in his chest as the main door opened and Jenna walked in with an air of business and sensuality at the same time. She wore a black fitted suit and black heels. Her hair was perfectly combed and draped over her shoulders. Her smile was so inviting that it made him want jump out of his chair and rush to her, but he didn't because it would ruin everything. She nodded to him and he could feel his cock jump in his pants and when she walked by, her cadence made him groan as he adjusted his chair position to accommodate his erection pushing against the fabric of his pants. "Hot. Hot.....Hot. Hot chocolot," he murmured as his voice mimicked the sound of her footsteps, "with whipped cream and other delights." And as if she heard him, she turned, flipped her hair away from her face, pursed her lips and gave him an air kiss. Nope. I don't think I'm getting fired. She walked by and into the main office closing the door behind her. Another day had started and it was going to be a long one. Evan drained his coffee and sat back in his chair. This was going to be more difficult than he thought. How was he was supposed to work when all he could think of was grabbing her, clearing off her desk, and throwing her on it to fuck her. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Yep, it was going to be a long day. In fact, it was an arduous day. There were meetings and Evan had to sit there and watch Jenna as she conducted outlines and pointed out the objectives for the next month and what it would take to meet financial goals. Yes, he sat there and what she said went into one ear and out the other all the while he was undressing her in his mind. Shit! He had a hard on again and he shifted to relieve the pressure. At lunch, he wanted to ask her to eat with him, but decided against it. Everyone would see and either think that he was sucking up to her for a raise or they were romantically involved. It would be awkward and uncomfortable so he grabbed a sandwich from the cafeteria downstairs and sat down with a couple of buddies from the offices next to him. That's when Jenna walked in and stood in line at the counter and ordered her lunch. "Damn! That woman looks fine," said Chuck, the office accountant. Evan tried not to notice. "Yea, I thought of doing her myself, but she might have someone," said Dave from Receiving. Evan had the sudden desire to punch his friend in the face. "I bet she's good in bed," said Chuck, "You can't look that good and not know how to fuck." Evan shoved the rest of his roast beef sandwich into his mouth. "You're not saying much," said Dave, "You can't tell me you never thought of doing her." Evan's ego wanted to tell them all about their encounter, but if they knew and Jenna found out, he could see himself being kicked in the ass with a pointed black high heel right out the door. He couldn't risk it. "She's all right," he managed to say. "She's more than all right. You know, I might give it a shot anyway and ask her out," said Dave. Evan could feel his temperature rise and his face grow red. "I wouldn't do that. Could cost you," he began, "Jobs are hard to find for a one night stand." Dave backed off, "You're probably right. I can't take the chance." "Ok, I got to get back to work. Got to make some phone calls," Evan said as he finished his sandwich. "What's the hurry?" Chuck grinned, "Talking about the boss got you excited? "I got better things to do than ogle the boss," Evan mumbled. "I think you got a thing for her," Dave said. "No! I just want to keep my job. That's all," Evan quipped. "We all want to bang her and we all know she's the boss." "Just remember that," Evan said as he rose from his chair, "I gotta go." Evan could feel himself getting angrier. He stormed out the cafeteria and headed back to his office. This was ridiculous. He had no right to feel possessive. Jenna could do what she wanted. He had no hold on her. He entered his office and slammed the door behind him. He had to stop obsessing over her. He sat down in his chair and threw open a folder on his desk. Work. That's what he needed to do. Work! The afternoon was cruelling, but he forced himself to focus on his work and by the end of the afternoon he had calmed enough so that he didn't get an erection every time he thought of her. Then the door opened. "Hi baby," Jenna cooed, "Your place at seven?" "Sure," he said and he knew he was screwed. "I'm looking forward to it," she said and closed his door. The erection came back and he gave up, closed the folder on his desk, went home, and waited. Jenna arrived at 7pm exactly and he immediately answered the door when the doorbell rang to see her standing there. Jenna kissed him lightly on the lips, "I've missed you." In response, Evan wrapped his arm around Jenna's waist and pulled him to her, "You have no idea how much I've missed you." She could feel his engorged cock pressing against her abdomen. "I believe I can," she giggled. "So let's end our misery and do something about it," he whispered hoarsely. "And what do you have in mind," Jenna whispered back. "Let me show you," he said as he removed Jenna's coat and led her by the hand to the sofa. Jenna sat down on the sofa and leaned back. She wore a pair of form fitting jeans and a white buttoned down shirt with the first two buttons undone which was just enough to show her cleavage and a glimpse of a pink lace bra. Evan held her face with his hands and kissed her. Their tongues darting in each other's mouth engaging in an erotic dance fueling their desire then he slipped past her tongue and shoved his tongue down her throat. Jenna pushed him back, "I can't believe this." "Why? Because you like it so much?" Evan smiled. "No," she began slowly. "Then what?" "I thought that we would just have some fun. It was my understanding that it was what we both wanted." "It is," Evan said his cock throbbing in his pants. Jenna shook her head, "That kiss was more than just an erotic prelude to sex. That was passion." "So?" "Passion means there is something more." by Alexis Peignoir, for Literotica

Hot female boss gives man the "okay' to fulfill his desires. by Alexis Peignoir. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories. It was pouring with rain that evening when Evan walked into Gray's Pub and settled on a stool at the far end of the bar. His navy blue suit was tailored to fit his trim physique, and his jet black hair was smoothed back showing a cut jaw, deep charcoal eyes and olive skin. He'd loosened his tie and unbuttoned the first button on his white shirt, so he could breathe. The bartender, a short stubby man with a balding head, walked over and eyed the man carefully. "The same?" he asked. "Yea," Evan nodded. Seconds later, the bartender reappeared with a bottle of Heineken and poured the contents into a glass, then put the bottle down next to it and walked away. Evan picked up the glass and took a long swig, and let the cold brew slide down his throat. It had been a long day; too long as far as he was concerned. What mattered worse was that She was there, with her long blonde hair that fell down her back to her ass, an oval shaped face, full lips, and emerald green eyes that seem to pierce through his heart when she spoke to him causing him to mumble and sputter. Damn the woman was fine, as he took another gulp of beer, but she was the boss and there was an invisible "do not touch" aura about her. He needed the job so he didn't touch, but it was killing him. There were only so many times one could jerk off in the shower to dull the need that burned inside of him. He drank more of the beer and tried to focus on the basketball game on the big screen above the bar. Seeing Evan finish his beer, the bartender came over again to where Evan sat. "Ready for another one?" he asked. "Not yet," Evan began. "Rocky what is it about some women that drives a man crazy?" The bartender chuckled, "I don't know what it is, but its how I ended up married. You better watch it or the next thing you know, you'll be walking down the aisle. She was a real looker and I was blindsided. Now I'm working in this place to get away from her. If you ask me, it's all a trap." "I guess," Evan sighed. "So who is she?" "My boss," Evan moaned. "Damn son, you know how to pick them," Rocky exclaimed. "Yea, like I had a choice. I don't know what it is about her, but I get hard even when she walks by." "Well, either you tell her how you feel or get another job." "If I tell her how I feel, I'll have to get another job," Evan said. "I'll take that beer now." Rocky put another Heineken on the counter and Evan paid for the first and second one. "You want to start a tab?" Rocky asked. "No," Evan replied. "Ok, but it could be a long night," Rocky said. "It doesn't look like the rain isn't letting up any." "I want to be sober when I leave," Evan replied. After drinking the second beer, Rocky was right. The rain still hadn't stopped, but Evan didn't care. He pulled the collar up on his jacket and left the pub making a mad dash to his car where he started the engine, flipped on the wipers and left the pub heading down Ivy Street towards home. He passed through street light after street light until he came to a stop sign where along the curb was a car with its emergency lights flashing. On further inspection, he recognized the license plates. It was his boss's car, a silver Lexus which was almost as unattainable to him as his boss. He blew the horn and she rolled down the window. "My car won't start," his boss said. I don't have that problem when I look at you he said under his breath. "Did you call the tow truck?" he asked. "Yes, but they won't get here for a couple of hours," she replied. "My place is just up the road. Why don't you get in and we can wait there." Half expecting her to say she'd rather wait, she unexpectedly jumped out of her car and ran to his and climbed into the seat next to him. She looked frazzled and concerned, but she smelled great and he knew a cold shower would be forthcoming after she left. "I'm so glad you stopped," she said wiping her brow. "No problem, Miss Jensen. I was on my way home anyway." "You're always so polite Evan, Call me Jenna," she replied. "Okay, Jenna. Then we're off to my place." He couldn't believe she said that. Fifteen minutes later, Evan was escorting Jenna upstairs to his loft apartment. He flipped on the lights that illuminated the room and took her wet coat and hung it on the coat rack near the door. "Oh you have a balcony," Jenna said. "You can watch the sky from sitting anywhere in the room." He said nothing, but thought of the nights he stared at the sky, while thinking of her. "Can I get you some coffee, or a glass of wine or a beer?" he asked. "Wine would be fine," she said as she sat on the sofa. Evan quickly went to the refrigerator, pulled out the wine bottle that he had saved from the Christmas party the year before, and poured it into two glasses. When he returned to the living room, Jenna was sitting there with her shoes off, curled up on the sofa. She was still dressed in work clothes, a pencil style cream colored dress with a thin black belt. She always looked professional and distant during the day, but sitting on his sofa she gave off a vibe of vulnerability that he couldn't ignore, and when she looked up at him with her soulful green eyes, he was mesmerized. He gave her the glass of wine, and then sat next to her on the sofa. "So what were you doing out so late?" he asked. "Working as usual," she replied. "It seems that's all I do." "I would have thought you would have some rich guy waiting at home for you," he prodded. "I wish," she replied then turned to him. "Do you have someone?" "Nope! I guess I haven't found the right one," he lied. There was an uncomfortable silence between them as they drank their wine before Jenna spoke again slowly. "I've seen you looking at me," she said. "Do you think that I might be the right one?" Evan's heart sank. Busted! "You are a very beautiful woman. How could I not see that?" "And you are a very handsome man. Any woman could see that," she replied. The mutual admiration society is now in session. He thought to himself. "But I try not to mix business with pleasure. You are the boss and if things didn't work out, then I would probably lose my job, and I need my job." Jenna pensively ran her finger around the rim of her wine glass. "What if I told you; that you wouldn't lose your job, no matter what happened?" "Oh shit," he whispered under his breath. She was making it this difficult. Jenna stared at the wine in her glass, "Have you thought about being with me?" Jenna asked. Only about a gazillion times, he thought of saying. But then he said; "Well, um yes. Yes, I have." Jenna smiled, "That's good to know, because I've thought about doing it with you about a hundred times." Evan's cock jumped inside his pants, and he had to move and adjust himself, to relieve the uncomfortableness he felt. "Glad we agree on that," Evan said, and took a gulp of wine. "So where does that put us now?" "Well," Jenna began. "Don't you think we probably should do something about it?" Evan's cock stood at attention. Pussy alert, was the alarm code going off in his shorts. "Yes!", he exclaimed. He wasted no time. In the next few moments, his shirt and tie were off, as well as his pants, and was standing in front of her, in his boxer shorts, with his cock protruding through the slit. Jenna grabbed his cock with her hand and began to stroke it. He took long breaths, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, as her silken hand moved up and down on his throbbing cock. He leaned down and rubbed her breast beneath the dress. As if on cue, she stood and removed her dress revealing a chocolate brown camisole and chocolate brown bikini panties. "Hot chocolate with whipped cream," he said, stroking his cock as he watched her undress. "I'm glad that you like it," she whispered, coming towards him. He pulled at the panties with his free hand, and slid them down enough for Jenna to step out of them. "Not shaved?" he said smiling. "I like it natural," she said. "Me too," he said as he fingered her curls before inserting his fingers between her slit. She spread her legs to accommodate him and the wetness soaked his fingers. " Umm ," she cooed. "Let me stroke you more." Evan dropped his boxers and extended his cock to her. She grabbed and stroked it vigorously, until the pre-cum oozed from the head of it. She then swept it up with her finger and inserted it into her mouth. "Delicious. Salty and thick, she noted" She was driving him mad as he drew her to him, and kissed her where their tongues danced together. She wrapped her arms around his neck and his cock pressed against her belly; hard and thick. The pre-cum dripping over her belly. Instinctively he helped her slip out of her camisole, and pulled her panties down further so that she could step out of them. The smell of her musky sexual arousal wafted up to tantalize his nostrils. He grabbed her breast, kneading it with the palm of his hand before twisting the nipple between his finger and thumb. The nub hardened, as he leaned forward and licked it. Jenna cupped her breast to feed it to him, and he sucked on it, taking the nub deep into his mouth. His teeth nipped at it, and she threw her head back to absorb the electrical ecstatic sensation that shot down to her pussy, forcing it to ooze its juices. He slid his hand over his cock again and rubbed the head of it against her pussy in a circular motion then slid it between her legs, faux fucking her between her thighs. "I need it in me," she said, her voice low and breaking with excitement. Evan needed no further urging. He took her by the hand and led her to his bedroom where she laid on the bed facing him. He turned the lamp on to low, and gazed at her body in its stunning delicious perfectness. His hand was on his cock, as her hand slid down to her pussy, and began to move it in a circular motion. "You need to finish this," she cooed. "I need to cum with your cock inside me. I want to feel that hot cream going deep, to make me cum." Wild with passion, Evan knelt on the bed and spread her legs with his own. "If you want it deep," he said in a raspy voice. "Then roll over." She smiled up at him, "Oh yes baby. I needed to get pounded like that." Evan helped her to roll over, and slid his arm under her hips, pulling her to her knees. The entrance of her pussy was dripping, waiting for him to enter. He leaned forward and pulled at her nipple and squeezed it until she squealed with delight. Fuck. He had to give it to her before he exploded. He pushed his cock against her pussy rubbing it up and down on her clit, then drove inside of her and buried it deep within her swollen folds. "Yes!" Jenna cried. "Deeper! Go Deeper!" Evan didn't hesitate. He withdrew his cock and plowed into her again. With his hands holding her hips, his balls slapped against her ass as he did. There was nothing better than Jenna's pussy, he told himself, as he plunged into her again, and again. He leaned over and grabbed her breasts as he slid in and out of her and his cum began to rise up his shaft. He slid his hand back and fingered her clit, as his cock drove into her. She began to moan, slowly at first, but then loudly, begging him for more. "Keep going," she cried. "I'm almost there. Keep fucking me." Evan began to sweat. He was getting close, but he wanted her to cum first. Again, and again, he pounded her, until he heard her grunt and cry out. "I'm cumming! Yes! So good! So good! Keep fucking me!" she commanded. Evan drove his cock into her pussy until his own desire overcame him, and he climaxed. His cock spewed its white hot load into her, slowed, and then shot another load into her, filling every crease and fold. "You got it all baby," he growled, as the last of his cum emptied in her. Jenna held her position until she could feel Evan slide out from her, then laid flat and rolled to her back. Evan followed suit and collapsed next to her and draped his arm over her waist, both breathless and satisfied. They lay together quietly, enjoying each other, until Jenna's phone rang and she sighed. Reality was back. "It must be about my car," she murmured. Evan sat up and rested on his elbow, "Timing is everything." She found her phone in her purse, in the living room, and answered the call. A few minutes later she returned to Evan on the bed, and snuggled up to him. "Was it the tow truck?" he asked. "Yes. They're going to tow it to the garage. I left the door unlocked, and the keys on the seat." "You left your keys in the car" Evan asked. "Well did you really want to go get my car, at this time of night?" She asked. He chuckled to himself, "You had this all planned." She leaned over and kissed him, "I'm not the boss for nothing." The next day at work, Evan waited impatiently for Jenna to arrive. His office was near a window and he could see when her car pulled into the parking lot. A car did pull into her spot and Evan knew it was a rental, because her own car was in the garage. He watched her get out of the car and head towards the office building. Now came the awkward part. How would they act? How would she treat him? She said she wouldn't fire him, but what if she had a change of heart and kicked him to the curb? He wouldn't know until he saw her walk through the door and past the glass windows of his office.  He took a gulp of his coffee and nearly choked on it with anticipation. His nerves were on high alert and his heart thumped in his chest as the main door opened and Jenna walked in with an air of business and sensuality at the same time. She wore a black fitted suit and black heels. Her hair was perfectly combed and draped over her shoulders. Her smile was so inviting that it made him want jump out of his chair and rush to her, but he didn't because it would ruin everything. She nodded to him and he could feel his cock jump in his pants and when she walked by, her cadence made him groan as he adjusted his chair position to accommodate his erection pushing against the fabric of his pants. "Hot. Hot.....Hot. Hot chocolot," he murmured as his voice mimicked the sound of her footsteps, "with whipped cream and other delights." And as if she heard him, she turned, flipped her hair away from her face, pursed her lips and gave him an air kiss. Nope. I don't think I'm getting fired. She walked by and into the main office closing the door behind her. Another day had started and it was going to be a long one. Evan drained his coffee and sat back in his chair. This was going to be more difficult than he thought. How was he was supposed to work when all he could think of was grabbing her, clearing off her desk, and throwing her on it to fuck her. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Yep, it was going to be a long day. In fact, it was an arduous day. There were meetings and Evan had to sit there and watch Jenna as she conducted outlines and pointed out the objectives for the next month and what it would take to meet financial goals. Yes, he sat there and what she said went into one ear and out the other all the while he was undressing her in his mind. Shit! He had a hard on again and he shifted to relieve the pressure. At lunch, he wanted to ask her to eat with him, but decided against it. Everyone would see and either think that he was sucking up to her for a raise or they were romantically involved. It would be awkward and uncomfortable so he grabbed a sandwich from the cafeteria downstairs and sat down with a couple of buddies from the offices next to him. That's when Jenna walked in and stood in line at the counter and ordered her lunch. "Damn! That woman looks fine," said Chuck, the office accountant. Evan tried not to notice. "Yea, I thought of doing her myself, but she might have someone," said Dave from Receiving. Evan had the sudden desire to punch his friend in the face. "I bet she's good in bed," said Chuck, "You can't look that good and not know how to fuck." Evan shoved the rest of his roast beef sandwich into his mouth. "You're not saying much," said Dave, "You can't tell me you never thought of doing her." Evan's ego wanted to tell them all about their encounter, but if they knew and Jenna found out, he could see himself being kicked in the ass with a pointed black high heel right out the door. He couldn't risk it. "She's all right," he managed to say. "She's more than all right. You know, I might give it a shot anyway and ask her out," said Dave. Evan could feel his temperature rise and his face grow red. "I wouldn't do that. Could cost you," he began, "Jobs are hard to find for a one night stand." Dave backed off, "You're probably right. I can't take the chance." "Ok, I got to get back to work. Got to make some phone calls," Evan said as he finished his sandwich. "What's the hurry?" Chuck grinned, "Talking about the boss got you excited? "I got better things to do than ogle the boss," Evan mumbled. "I think you got a thing for her," Dave said. "No! I just want to keep my job. That's all," Evan quipped. "We all want to bang her and we all know she's the boss." "Just remember that," Evan said as he rose from his chair, "I gotta go." Evan could feel himself getting angrier. He stormed out the cafeteria and headed back to his office. This was ridiculous. He had no right to feel possessive. Jenna could do what she wanted. He had no hold on her. He entered his office and slammed the door behind him. He had to stop obsessing over her. He sat down in his chair and threw open a folder on his desk. Work. That's what he needed to do. Work! The afternoon was cruelling, but he forced himself to focus on his work and by the end of the afternoon he had calmed enough so that he didn't get an erection every time he thought of her. Then the door opened. "Hi baby," Jenna cooed, "Your place at seven?" "Sure," he said and he knew he was screwed. "I'm looking forward to it," she said and closed his door. The erection came back and he gave up, closed the folder on his desk, went home, and waited. Jenna arrived at 7pm exactly and he immediately answered the door when the doorbell rang to see her standing there. Jenna kissed him lightly on the lips, "I've missed you." In response, Evan wrapped his arm around Jenna's waist and pulled him to her, "You have no idea how much I've missed you." She could feel his engorged cock pressing against her abdomen. "I believe I can," she giggled. "So let's end our misery and do something about it," he whispered hoarsely. "And what do you have in mind," Jenna whispered back. "Let me show you," he said as he removed Jenna's coat and led her by the hand to the sofa. Jenna sat down on the sofa and leaned back. She wore a pair of form fitting jeans and a white buttoned down shirt with the first two buttons undone which was just enough to show her cleavage and a glimpse of a pink lace bra. Evan held her face with his hands and kissed her. Their tongues darting in each other's mouth engaging in an erotic dance fueling their desire then he slipped past her tongue and shoved his tongue down her throat. Jenna pushed him back, "I can't believe this." "Why? Because you like it so much?" Evan smiled. "No," she began slowly. "Then what?" "I thought that we would just have some fun. It was my understanding that it was what we both wanted." "It is," Evan said his cock throbbing in his pants. Jenna shook her head, "That kiss was more than just an erotic prelude to sex. That was passion." "So?" "Passion means there is something more." by Alexis Peignoir, for Literotica

  Finally connecting with a high-school friend. By outdoorhorny. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Desiree should have been born in the 60's. Everything about her reflected a kinder, gentler, and groovier vibe than the 90's were comfortable with; in short, she was a hippie. She wore patterned peasant skirts, thin cotton T-shirts with mandalas and such, beads all over the place, Birkenstocks, and course, a peace-sign medallion. All of these things drew my eyes to her right away, but they in no way hid the luscious body beneath and behind them. She had long brown hair that fell in soft curls below her shoulders. Her eyes were dark brown, her lips deep red and shaped like Cupid's bow. Full tits and wide hips stretched her garments tight in all the right places. Best of all, her skin was translucent and flawless, even in the dead of winter. We were both new students in school during our senior year. She had been kicked out of boarding school, and my parents had retired to a small town in the eastern part of the state. That made us the only 2 students in our grade who hadn't been there all 4 years. Actually, the rest of the student body pretty much grew up together, but since the high school served 3 towns, only a third of them had been in school together all 12 years previously. Still, it was enough to make us feel like total outsiders. That alone was enough to bond us, but we also had a lot of classes together. There were only small sections of upper-level classes in English, history, math, French, and science, and we were in all those together. She was always somewhat spacey, but a good student, a good lab partner and homework buddy, and a pleasure to talk to, even if the conversations took odd turns. She was dating a guy named David who had already graduated. I spent the fall pursuing the only other single girl in our upper-level group, but she was still kind of seeing her old boyfriend from a few towns away, so that wasn't a regular thing. We all went to the same parties, hung out after soccer and basketball games, and went to the nearest big town once in a while for some wild nights of pizza or McDonalds and a movie. It wasn't until winter came that I realized how badly I wanted to be with Desiree. There was a lot of snow that winter, and she called one afternoon to tell me that her 18th birthday party was moved from the Science Museum to her own house; that way, no one had to drive 45 minutes in bad weather. When I got there, Des was dressed up for a change. There was still a hippie vibe to her outfit, but her parents had friends over as well, and everyone was dressed for a holiday party. It turned out that her family had scheduled both things, but combined them to save everyone a drive. Anyway, she looked amazing; her hair was silky and somewhat straighter, she had on a little makeup, and her outfit made her look older and more beautiful. I was glad I had taken some pains to dress up as well; some of our friends didn't get the memo and showed up in our usual teenage gear. She told me how nice I looked, and I made sure to compliment her as well. Because of my mother's job, I was accustomed to spending time with adults at parties like this one. I chatted with her parents, and with some other adults who were parents of kids at school, or people I had met around town. Even the damn principal of the high school was there, which was a little weird for all of us! I saw Desiree working her way around the room as well, and my eyes kept straying her way as I admired her outfit, her flashing eyes, and the soft ripples of laughter that I knew so well. She caught me looking every once in a while and smiled at me. When I finally broke away to hang out with my friends, her mom stopped me to say how glad she was that I had come. She complimented my poise, told me I was very grown up, and gave me a peck on the cheek. I grimaced, blushed, and thanked her before disengaging as gracefully as I could. When I got out of the kitchen and headed for the den where the kids were hanging out, Desiree was headed out as well. "Wow; you're quite the hit with the mom-and-dad crowd, dude" she teased me. "Just working the room, ya know?" I said in my most pompous voice. "I'm sorry if my mom embarrassed you," she said apologetically. "She can be kinda over the top. I keep trying to get her to mellow out, but she always comes out with something trippy!" "No problem; I can handle moms pretty well. My mom used to drag me to parties all the time for her old job, and you just kind of get used to the chit-chat." "Well," she began, taking my arm, "I was very impressed with your poise!" I blushed again. "Oh, you heard that, did ya?" She laughed happily and squeezed my arm, her tits pressing against me closely. "Yes, I did. I was thinking how grown-up you were, too. When I noticed you checking me out, I kept thinking it was some creepy older guy, but then it was you, and it just made me feel good." I had no idea what to say to that, so I fell back on flattery. "Des," I told her, "I'm sorry about that, you just looked so beautiful and natural chatting away with all those people that I couldn't help but look at you!" A pleased smile appeared, and she squeezed me again. "Does that mean you didn't think I was beautiful before?" "Oh, no, not at all!" Did I mention I was far from smooth back in those days? "So tell me, dude, how long have you been thinking I was beautiful?" At that point, I realized that she was completely messing with me, but I couldn't stop myself. "Since day one of school," I told her earnestly. I think my serious tone took her aback somewhat, but again the pleased smile appeared. "So it wasn't just because I'm all dressed up and wearing makeup instead of being my usual crunchy self?" she asked. This time, the teasing quality of her voice was more apparent. "Nope. Crunchy Des is beautiful all the time, I just never get a chance to tell you." "I can see why you're such a hit with the moms," she murmured just before we entered the den. She let go of me to rejoin the group, and we relaxed into our usual roles, joking around as a group and devouring the pizzas her mom had ordered for us. We stayed there for three or four hours, watched a movie, and at the cake her mom brought in. All in all, a good birthday party. The adults had drifted off before the movie ended, so the house was quiet when Desiree's party was over. Everyone hit the road, but I stayed behind to say goodbye to her parents; again, my mother's training was kicking in. She thanked me again for spending time with the grown-ups and, to me embarrassment, gave me another peck on the cheek, turned me around toward Des, and said, "Isn't he great?" in a loud voice. "And handsome?" "Oh, he certainly is!" Des affirmed, desperately trying to keep a straight face. "Well, goodnight, thanks again for having me," I muttered and headed for the door. Des caught me before I got my coat on completely. She grabbed my arm in the hallway, her eyes filled with laughter. "I'm sorry; I'm sorry! I couldn't resist!" "No big deal," I assured her somewhat truthfully. "It's your mom; she's just a little, " "I know. I'm sorry. But she was right about one thing, " "You Are very great and handsome," she said softly. Then she stepped forward and planted a soft kiss on my lips. Her eyes were deep and serious, and she pulled back a few inches, watching me, waiting for my reaction. "Des," I replied in a low voice, "I was serious when I said you look beautiful all the time. I've always thought so, it's just that tonight, I saw you looking beautiful in a different way and it made me realize, " My words trailed off. "Realize what?" she asked, holding herself just inches from my face. "How much I want to do this," I told her, crossing the space between us and kissing her back, letting my arms wrap naturally around her slender waist. Des hummed happily, then broke our kiss to smile up at me. "Far out!" she said softly. Her mom was still moving around the living room and kitchen collecting glasses, so Des urged me out onto the broad bluestone steps and closed the door behind us. The outside lights were on and it felt like snow again. I pulled my coat all the way on, then opened the front and she stepped gratefully into the shelter it offered her from the cold. Her body was warm and lush against mine, and I felt every curve plastered against me as our lips met again. Away from prying eyes, her lips parted quickly and her tongue darted playfully into my mouth. I responded in kind, and our eyes closed for what seemed like an endless moment as we shared that thrilling rise of passion for the first time. I could feel my whole body responding, and Des shifted her weight, clearly feeling the same ripples of pleasure in her core. "I've got to help my mom," she said apologetically. "I've got to get home, too," I told her. "I don't want to go, though, " "I know, I don't want you to go!" Stepping back into me, Des kissed me hard one more time, then pulled back and looked at me sadly. "I guess we'll have to finish this some other time," she said. "Yeah, definitely!" I said urgently. "Come back tomorrow if it doesn't snow," she said quietly. She smiled, then stepped back and opened the door. I watched her go and then turned down the icy stairs. Driving home, my mind was filled with possibilities, and I was grinning like an idiot. Thankfully, there was only a dusting of new snow when I got up the next day. I told my parents I would be hanging out with Desiree and working on a lab report. They nodded, told me to be careful and be home for dinner, and went back to whatever they were doing. The twisty back roads were gritty with salt and sand as I raced toward Des's house. Pulling into the driveway, I noticed fresh tracks from the garage to the street. When I tapped the bird-shaped knocker, there was a long pause before I saw a flash of movement through the prisms of glass beside the door. I heard a click, and the door swung open a few inches. I could see one of Desiree's dark eyes, a trace of a smile on her lips, a cloud of brown hair framing her face, a flash of bare thigh, and a thick bathrobe belted tightly at her waist. "Yes?" she asked in an imperious tone, raising an eyebrow playfully. "Good morning, miss," I said earnestly. "Is your mom home? She told me yesterday that I should come by this morning. I believe that I was so poised and well-spoken at her party that she wanted to spend some more time with me, " "You're disgusting!" Des snorted, swinging the door open wider. "You probably would go after my mom!" "Not when you're here," I told her, stepping close once the door was closed behind me. Desiree grabbed the lapels of my winter coat and pushed them back off my shoulders. As the coat slid down my arms, she closed the distance between us, pressing her warm body against mine. Our lips met, softly at first and then with increasing passion. "Come upstairs," she said after pulling back to catch her breath. "Parents?" I asked. "Gone for the day" she replied with a wicked smile. "Good!" I said fervently. "Let's go!" She turned with a smile and a swirl of dark hair. Her bare feet were almost silent on the wooden treads as she flew up the central staircase. My hiking boots left melting snow behind as I rushed after her. I almost tripped because I was trying to run upstairs and watch her enchantingly bare legs as I went; the bathrobe was long, but I could see a lot of her beautiful form from that angle. When I got to her room, Desiree was standing on the far side, the neatly made double bed between us. Posters, tapestries, dried flowers, and a lingering whiff of sandalwood competed for and lost my attention as I halted just inside the door. "You can come in," she said mockingly, a trace of that same sexy smile on her lips. I walked to the edge of the bed opposite her. "This is where I wanted to bring you last night," she said. "Once I saw you with my mom, " "Don't start. I was just being nice, but I'm glad you noticed me, finally!" "I always noticed you, we just had other stuff going on." "Yeah," I replied with my usual brilliance. "So now, " she began. "Now I'm all yours!" I told her with my best smile. "Good. I want to show you something!" I nodded and told her "Anything you want!" Her smile grew wider. Then she lifted on knee up onto the bedspread. "After you left last night, I came up here when everything was done." She leaned forward and put her palms flat on the covers. Her other foot came off the floor, and she drew herself toward the middle of the bed, sitting with her knees together, feet tucked under her, and the bathrobe lying in soft folds on her lap. My eyes were drawn to her bare thighs, then moved slowly upward, taking in the swell of her full tits under the thick terry cloth. When I reached her face, I noticed both a smirk on her lips and a smoking, sensual glimmer in her eyes. "I was wishing you were here with me," she continued. "So I threw my clothes over there." She gestured with her chin, and I glanced at the outfit she wore last night piled in reverse order on the chair. "And then I climbed into bed, " Her hands pulled slowly on the bathrobe belt. When it came undone, the lapels fell apart a few inches, drawing my eyes to the soft valley of her cleavage. Desiree shrugged her shoulders then, and the soft fabric slipped back off her shoulders. Her hands came up to cover her tits as they were exposed, but she kept up her narration. "And I started thinking about what I would do if you were with me, " I stood there in awe as she used her palms to graze her nipples, making small circles without fully revealing herself to me. "I got so fucking horny!" she said more intensely. Her hands fell away from her chest, and as she shoved the bathrobe off her lap and away behind her, my heart beat faster and I drank in the sight of her tits: pale globes with dark, tight nipples and wide areolas. They were as gorgeous as my teenage fantasies had imagined them, and my hands itched to reach for them. Des dropped her hands to her lap then, and shifted herself to widen the space between her knees. I followed the motion and was treated to a glimpse of dark curls before one hand blocked my view. I thought for a moment she was being modest, but then I noticed her hand moving slowly, caressing herself with slight up and down motion. "Just thinking about having you up here last night made me want you so badly, I ended up sitting just like this, wishing it was you playing with my boobs, and I was touching myself like this." Her free hand came up and I saw her pinch her own nipple delicately, twisting it as she did. Her other hand pressed more firmly into the shadowy depths of her lap, and I knew her fingers were curled underneath her, stroking the furry lips of her cunt. "Show me, " I whispered, finally contributing to the conversation. Des smiled again and rose up to her full kneeling height. From knees to neck, her body was a symphony of pale olive skin and alluring curves. She kept her hands in place, but seemed to savor my admiration while I took in the narrow waist, the long muscles of her thighs, and the rippling bounce of her tits. Again, she spoke as she played with herself: "My nipples got really hard thinking about you pinching them, and I started playing with my clit because I was already so wet for you!" Looking down, I saw that she had two fingers extended and they were making tight circles at the base of her mound. "Sometimes, " she resumed, "I put my fingers inside to get them wetter." Her hand curled lower for a moment and then went back to lavishing attention on her most sensitive spot. "Is that what you would have done to me last night?" "God, yes!" I told her immediately. She smiled, but I wanted to raise the stakes a little more. "I would have started like that, Des, I wish I could have come upstairs and seen you naked like this! I would have kissed every inch of you and pinched your nipples and rubbed your clit exactly the way you're doing it now!" "What else?" she asked in an urgent whisper, her back arching a bit and her eyes half-closed. "I would have pushed you back, though, so I could taste you," I said. "Umm, I love that idea!" she assured me with a sexy smile. Her hand left her lap and she brought the two fingers she had been using to play with herself up to her lips. "I do that all the time!" she said happily before licking each finger individually. Then she sucked them both at once, slowly getting every trace of her juices off. As I stood beside the bed and watched this erotic display, my cock was achingly hard inside my jeans. I could think of nothing to say; my mind was gripped by the show in front of me, and I was fantasizing about those beautiful lips sucking me instead, and I was imagining the taste as well. Fortunately, Des kept things moving forward. "When I was thinking about what I wanted you to do to me last night," she began, "you weren't wearing all those clothes!" As quickly as I could, I unlaced my boots, shucked off my jeans and underwear, and whipped both sweater and T-shirt over my head. All this was hampered by the face that Des was naked in front of me and I couldn't pull my eyes away from her! When I was as bare as she was, Desiree took the initiative again. Bracing her hands on the bedspread, she slipped her feet in front of her and moved them off the bed. Her legs parted even more as she scooted forward until her ass was just on the edge of the mattress. This position revealed her fully; wide-open thighs framed the neatly groomed, silky curls that covered her mound and along each side of her opening. Her earlier actions had turned her on, and her inner lips glistened with her arousal. "What were you going to do to me?" she asked enticingly. In a heartbeat, I fell to my knees on the soft rug beside her bed. My hands went to her inner thighs, pushing them wider apart while my thumbs did the same for her labia. Leaning in, I licked her from bottom to top, my tongue broad as I repeatedly lapped up her juices. Desiree groaned with pleasure, and her arms wrapped around my head, pulling me into her. "Oh, fuck!" she exclaimed. "Fuck me with your tongue!" With my nose bumping against her clit, I plunged in as far as I could. Rocking my head, I did exactly as she asked, fucking her repeatedly with my tongue, relishing the copious lubrication she was producing, and using my thumbs to caress her cunt lips as I worked away at her. Almost immediately, Desiree started to rock her hips into me. She must have been close already, because I could feel the trembling begin in her hips and thighs. She bent forward to embrace my head fully, her tits crushed against my hair as I ground into her. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm gonna cum!" she hissed above me. I didn't pause to reply, wanting only to drive her over the edge. Instead, I rubbed her clit harder with my nose from side to side and lashed her inner walls with the tip of my tongue. That did it. "Oh fuck!" Des cried out happily as her whole body froze. Her thighs clamped down on my head, her arms gathering me in even tighter, and her hips rocked forward to drive herself against me one last time. Barely able to breath, I held my position for a long minute, sucking gently on her cunt to gather every drop of her sweet juices. When she began to breathe again, Des pulled me up to her lips. I rose to stand in front of the bed, and her arms stayed wrapped around my head as she kissed me frantically, her tongue breaking away from mine to taste herself on my lips, my chin, and all around. Finally, she let me go and I stood up straighter, grinning down at her flushed face, her dark hair dampened by her exertions. Des looked up at me, grinning as well, then wrapped her arms around my waist and pulled me in for a hug. "That was better than I imagined last night!" she said happily against my abs. I stroked her hair and said, "Good. I've been wanting to do that for, like, forever!" She giggled happily in response and hugged me tighter for a moment. Then she tilted her head up, her chin resting just below my sternum. Her eyes were dark and wide and beautiful and I looked directly down into them, lost in a mixture of lust and love and happiness. "Is that all you've been wanting to do?" she asked me teasingly. Desiree and I continue, as the weather warms up. Now that Desiree and I were a couple, we spent the rest of the winter together. Usually, it was at one of our houses, or occasionally at a friend's. This led to a lot of fun, but a lot of frustration as we almost never found ourselves alone with any kind of privacy. However, like teenagers everywhere, we found ways. At school, we would climb the ladders behind the auditorium stage. There was a little room there for lights, ventilation, and theater controls, and we made the most of it. I have endless memories of lying on my back on the dusty floor while Desiree hiked her long cotton-print skirt up and rode me languorously. She loved to control the pace, and I was happy to lie back and caress her hips and tits while she rocked her way to bliss. It was hard to go back to class afterward, but every second we spent up there was worth it! There were also two cars involved, but Des had a tiny Honda Civic that wasn't much good for anything except road head and discreet fingering. When we went in my car-a roomier Volvo wagon-we often ended up parked up a logging road, stretching out in the back on an old sleeping bag. For some reason, my lasting memories of those encounters are all in the missionary position, my weight resting on Desiree's broad hips, my chest cushioned on her ample tits, and my face against the side of her neck, surrounded by soft brown hair. Her arms and legs would wrap around me almost tenderly, and I can still recall the warm spread of her skin against mine as our bodies came together fully. With gentle thrusts and counter-thrusts, we would rock lazily in the steamed-up little world until we were spent. Then we would roll onto our sides and enjoy what she called "the afterglow". Every now and then, we enjoyed the supreme luxury of a house when one set of parents or another went to church, or to a meeting, or out shopping. We tried very hard not to make it obvious that we were hooking up, but I think both sets of parents knew and gave us as much space as they reasonably could. Her parents didn't mind if we used their hot tub, and they were gracious enough not to look outside while we were there. If they had, they might have seen their daughter perched on the edge while my tongue explored her sweet, spicy depths. A while later, they would have seen their only daughter kneeling on the submerged seat, her ass barely out of the water, while I stood behind her, snowflakes falling on my shoulders as I pumped myself deep inside her. Needless to say, we were as quiet as possible on those occasions. Finally, the endless snow began to melt. Desiree, with her Earth mother attitude, turned out to have a huge fetish for having sex outdoors, and she had grown up in the town and knew every isolated place. As soon as it was over 40 degrees, she had no problem whipping off her shirt or at the very least hoisting her skirt up to allow me access. Guys have it easy, I realize, and on the colder days I have to admit all I did was unzip! Spot Number One: an abandoned shack just below a small dam. Dusty, cracked window panes and a door hanging off its hinges. Inside, an ancient wood stove, a creaky cot with a thin mattress, and the detritus of a hundred teen couples passing through-beer cans and condom wrappers, snack food bags and cigarette butts. It smelled permanently damp in the spring, but it offered unparalleled privacy and shelter from the wind. The first time Des parked her car at the edge of a twisty back road, I thought we were headed into the woods as usual. She slung her backpack over one shoulder and slipped between two mountain laurel bushes without a word. I followed, and saw to my surprise a real path twisting through the shrubs and trees. After a hundred yards, I could hear the river. Another fifty yards and the structure came into view. Des pulled the door open and propped it carefully as if it were her own summer house. Then her preparations became obvious! From the backpack, she pulled a rolled up afghan and covered the cot. A bottle of water and a bottle of Wild Turkey (her favorite) were placed on the rickety table. Finally, she extracted a carved wooden stash box and a matching bowl. With a smile, she packed it full and we shared it peacefully while she told me the history of the place. Sitting cross-legged on one end of the cot to keep it from sagging, she said this had been the foreman's office when the dam was built during the Depression. Since then, different people used it for different things, but it was always available, and most people tried to keep it somewhat clean. She went on to say that her old boyfriend Chris heard about it from his older cousin and they used to come down when it was warmer to swim and get high. "It's a little cold for swimming still," she said sadly, "but I totally want to put my feet in the water!" I was toasted enough to play along, and I kicked off my sneakers and socks and rolled my jeans up over my calf muscles. Des led me along the path to the water through a grove of birch saplings just starting to bud. She carried the Wild Turkey and I brought the water bottle. At the bank's edge, we sat on tree roots and eased our feet into the water. It was bitingly cold-of course-but my feet soon went numb, and we alternated sips of whiskey and water, enjoying the sunlight and the gentle buzz and the quiet chuckling of the river over smooth stones. As she lay back on her elbows, Desiree's full tits were pushed forward. My eyes traced the lush contours with growing hunger. She caught me looking and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Wanna see 'em?" she asked indulgently. "Always!" I assured her. She pushed her jacket back behind her, then lay back on it and teasingly raised the hem of her wide-necked T-shirt an inch at a time. As soon as it went above the waistband of her skirt, I leaned across and kissed the soft skin of her belly. I followed the hem upward until she paused just below her tits, kissing every exposed inch. She drew it snug against herself, pulling her tits up for a moment. When she lifted her hands, those pale, lovely globes came proudly into view, nipples already crinkling in the cold air. I reached across her body and cupped the underside of her tit, savoring its heft while my thumb grazed back and forth across her nipple. The one closer to me got my full attention, though, as I sucked her whole areola into my mouth, then let it go and focused on her nipple, sucking hard, letting it snap back into the air, and then leaning down to bite it gently with my front teeth. She moaned happily and ran her fingers through my hair. "Do the other side!" she urged, and I quickly moved enough to comply. As I settled into my work, I felt her hands move away from my head. Her right hand went down to my crotch and started stroking my cock as it lay stiffening along my thigh, trapped by thick denim. Her left hand, though, disappeared under the waistband of her skirt. As I sucked hard on her nipple, she tilted her head back, closed her eyes against the bright sunlight, and hummed. I knew that was her happy sound, and I knew it meant that her fingers were doing their best to stimulate her cunt while I worked on her magnificent tits. One great thing about Desiree-she was always quick to orgasm. The combined feelings of her fingers on her clit and my tongue and teeth on her nipples was pushing her quickly toward an explosion. She pulled her feet out of the water and braced them just below her ass, then began to thrust her hips upward every few seconds. I kept doing what I was doing, knowing she'd be horny as hell once she got off. The tell-tale motion of her hips was followed quickly by deep, rasping breaths and trembling in her core. I watched her face as it changed from concentration to approaching bliss-her back arching and a stream of whispered "yes, yes, yes, " escaping her lips. Her orgasm hit all at once, and her body jerked upward halfway. She grabbed me and held me tightly while she shuddered, and I could feel each wave of pleasure coursing through her body. As it subsided, I kissed her face and whispered endearments. Slowly, her body eased back until she was lying flat on her jacket again, panting contentedly. "God, that was so good!" she exclaimed. I kissed her in response, not really able to take credit since she had done most of the work. "Seems like you really needed that," I said to her. "It's just being outside again, it always makes me so happy and so horny!" "I know-that's what I love about you!" "Love?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "You heard me. I love you. And, I love how horny you get!" I leaned over again to kiss after that, and for a long, peaceful moment we lay there in the sun lost in that all-encompassing high school kind of love. Fortunately for me, Des was also creatively helpful when she knew that I was horny as well. When I broke the kiss to toy with her nipples again, inspiration struck. She pushed her tits together and smiled at me invitingly. "Since you were so nice to them, they want to say "thank you"," she said. "Why don't you come up here and show me how much you love them, too?" Now that was an invitation worth stripping down for! I kicked off my jeans and straddled her waist, then moved myself forward until my cock lay in the ample valley of her cleavage. Des reached under my leg and rubbed her cunt, gathering its lubrication and then spreading it all over my shaft as it poked out of my boxers. That was enough to get me started, and I began sliding the sensitive underside along her silky skin. "Move up a little," she urged me, matching her words with a tug on my ass. I did what she asked, and at the top of my next stroke, she sucked the head of my cock into her mouth, swirling her tongue all around it and bathing it with her saliva for a few seconds. Then she directed me back to her cleavage and reached up to push her tits more tightly together. "Fuck my tits now, I want you to cum just like this and let me taste it!" How could I refuse? Turned on by her erotic display a few minutes ago, and equally aroused by the sight and sensation of her firm globes enveloping me, I knew it wouldn't take long. I braced my hands up beside her head and stroked full length, leaking enough precum now to make the channel I was enjoying even slicker. Every few pumps, Des would bow her head forward and swipe her tongue along my crown as it emerged. When I felt the cum rising inside me, I buried myself between her luscious tits and fucked them with short, frantic strokes. Des wrapped her tits even tighter and murmured encouragement as I drove myself toward my reward. "Yes, yes, do it, fuck my tits, fuck them, cum for me, cum for me!" Gentleman that I am, I did as she asked. The first spurt leapt from my cock and hit her on the chin. Her hands flew to my ass and pulled me closer, and she wrapped her lips around my cock once again, sucking hard with every pulsation, swallowing every drop as it emerged. When I had no more to give, her suction eased and she swirled her tongue around and around the head, almost purring with satisfaction. She kept it up until my cock began to soften in her mouth. Conscious of myself towering over her all of a sudden, I rolled back on my side, leaning on one elbow to catch my breath. Des reached to the other side and grabbed the bottle. With a smile, she took a sip of Wild Turkey and held it for a moment, looking right into my eyes. Then she swallowed it down, smiled contentedly, and passed the bottle to me. "Ah, best chaser in the world!" she said happily. "You're a nut, and I love you!" I said, taking a sip of my own. "I love you, too" she replied. To be continued in part 2, By outdoorhorny for Literotica.

  Finally connecting with a high-school friend. By outdoorhorny. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Desiree should have been born in the 60's. Everything about her reflected a kinder, gentler, and groovier vibe than the 90's were comfortable with; in short, she was a hippie. She wore patterned peasant skirts, thin cotton T-shirts with mandalas and such, beads all over the place, Birkenstocks, and course, a peace-sign medallion. All of these things drew my eyes to her right away, but they in no way hid the luscious body beneath and behind them. She had long brown hair that fell in soft curls below her shoulders. Her eyes were dark brown, her lips deep red and shaped like Cupid's bow. Full tits and wide hips stretched her garments tight in all the right places. Best of all, her skin was translucent and flawless, even in the dead of winter. We were both new students in school during our senior year. She had been kicked out of boarding school, and my parents had retired to a small town in the eastern part of the state. That made us the only 2 students in our grade who hadn't been there all 4 years. Actually, the rest of the student body pretty much grew up together, but since the high school served 3 towns, only a third of them had been in school together all 12 years previously. Still, it was enough to make us feel like total outsiders. That alone was enough to bond us, but we also had a lot of classes together. There were only small sections of upper-level classes in English, history, math, French, and science, and we were in all those together. She was always somewhat spacey, but a good student, a good lab partner and homework buddy, and a pleasure to talk to, even if the conversations took odd turns. She was dating a guy named David who had already graduated. I spent the fall pursuing the only other single girl in our upper-level group, but she was still kind of seeing her old boyfriend from a few towns away, so that wasn't a regular thing. We all went to the same parties, hung out after soccer and basketball games, and went to the nearest big town once in a while for some wild nights of pizza or McDonalds and a movie. It wasn't until winter came that I realized how badly I wanted to be with Desiree. There was a lot of snow that winter, and she called one afternoon to tell me that her 18th birthday party was moved from the Science Museum to her own house; that way, no one had to drive 45 minutes in bad weather. When I got there, Des was dressed up for a change. There was still a hippie vibe to her outfit, but her parents had friends over as well, and everyone was dressed for a holiday party. It turned out that her family had scheduled both things, but combined them to save everyone a drive. Anyway, she looked amazing; her hair was silky and somewhat straighter, she had on a little makeup, and her outfit made her look older and more beautiful. I was glad I had taken some pains to dress up as well; some of our friends didn't get the memo and showed up in our usual teenage gear. She told me how nice I looked, and I made sure to compliment her as well. Because of my mother's job, I was accustomed to spending time with adults at parties like this one. I chatted with her parents, and with some other adults who were parents of kids at school, or people I had met around town. Even the damn principal of the high school was there, which was a little weird for all of us! I saw Desiree working her way around the room as well, and my eyes kept straying her way as I admired her outfit, her flashing eyes, and the soft ripples of laughter that I knew so well. She caught me looking every once in a while and smiled at me. When I finally broke away to hang out with my friends, her mom stopped me to say how glad she was that I had come. She complimented my poise, told me I was very grown up, and gave me a peck on the cheek. I grimaced, blushed, and thanked her before disengaging as gracefully as I could. When I got out of the kitchen and headed for the den where the kids were hanging out, Desiree was headed out as well. "Wow; you're quite the hit with the mom-and-dad crowd, dude" she teased me. "Just working the room, ya know?" I said in my most pompous voice. "I'm sorry if my mom embarrassed you," she said apologetically. "She can be kinda over the top. I keep trying to get her to mellow out, but she always comes out with something trippy!" "No problem; I can handle moms pretty well. My mom used to drag me to parties all the time for her old job, and you just kind of get used to the chit-chat." "Well," she began, taking my arm, "I was very impressed with your poise!" I blushed again. "Oh, you heard that, did ya?" She laughed happily and squeezed my arm, her tits pressing against me closely. "Yes, I did. I was thinking how grown-up you were, too. When I noticed you checking me out, I kept thinking it was some creepy older guy, but then it was you, and it just made me feel good." I had no idea what to say to that, so I fell back on flattery. "Des," I told her, "I'm sorry about that, you just looked so beautiful and natural chatting away with all those people that I couldn't help but look at you!" A pleased smile appeared, and she squeezed me again. "Does that mean you didn't think I was beautiful before?" "Oh, no, not at all!" Did I mention I was far from smooth back in those days? "So tell me, dude, how long have you been thinking I was beautiful?" At that point, I realized that she was completely messing with me, but I couldn't stop myself. "Since day one of school," I told her earnestly. I think my serious tone took her aback somewhat, but again the pleased smile appeared. "So it wasn't just because I'm all dressed up and wearing makeup instead of being my usual crunchy self?" she asked. This time, the teasing quality of her voice was more apparent. "Nope. Crunchy Des is beautiful all the time, I just never get a chance to tell you." "I can see why you're such a hit with the moms," she murmured just before we entered the den. She let go of me to rejoin the group, and we relaxed into our usual roles, joking around as a group and devouring the pizzas her mom had ordered for us. We stayed there for three or four hours, watched a movie, and at the cake her mom brought in. All in all, a good birthday party. The adults had drifted off before the movie ended, so the house was quiet when Desiree's party was over. Everyone hit the road, but I stayed behind to say goodbye to her parents; again, my mother's training was kicking in. She thanked me again for spending time with the grown-ups and, to me embarrassment, gave me another peck on the cheek, turned me around toward Des, and said, "Isn't he great?" in a loud voice. "And handsome?" "Oh, he certainly is!" Des affirmed, desperately trying to keep a straight face. "Well, goodnight, thanks again for having me," I muttered and headed for the door. Des caught me before I got my coat on completely. She grabbed my arm in the hallway, her eyes filled with laughter. "I'm sorry; I'm sorry! I couldn't resist!" "No big deal," I assured her somewhat truthfully. "It's your mom; she's just a little, " "I know. I'm sorry. But she was right about one thing, " "You Are very great and handsome," she said softly. Then she stepped forward and planted a soft kiss on my lips. Her eyes were deep and serious, and she pulled back a few inches, watching me, waiting for my reaction. "Des," I replied in a low voice, "I was serious when I said you look beautiful all the time. I've always thought so, it's just that tonight, I saw you looking beautiful in a different way and it made me realize, " My words trailed off. "Realize what?" she asked, holding herself just inches from my face. "How much I want to do this," I told her, crossing the space between us and kissing her back, letting my arms wrap naturally around her slender waist. Des hummed happily, then broke our kiss to smile up at me. "Far out!" she said softly. Her mom was still moving around the living room and kitchen collecting glasses, so Des urged me out onto the broad bluestone steps and closed the door behind us. The outside lights were on and it felt like snow again. I pulled my coat all the way on, then opened the front and she stepped gratefully into the shelter it offered her from the cold. Her body was warm and lush against mine, and I felt every curve plastered against me as our lips met again. Away from prying eyes, her lips parted quickly and her tongue darted playfully into my mouth. I responded in kind, and our eyes closed for what seemed like an endless moment as we shared that thrilling rise of passion for the first time. I could feel my whole body responding, and Des shifted her weight, clearly feeling the same ripples of pleasure in her core. "I've got to help my mom," she said apologetically. "I've got to get home, too," I told her. "I don't want to go, though, " "I know, I don't want you to go!" Stepping back into me, Des kissed me hard one more time, then pulled back and looked at me sadly. "I guess we'll have to finish this some other time," she said. "Yeah, definitely!" I said urgently. "Come back tomorrow if it doesn't snow," she said quietly. She smiled, then stepped back and opened the door. I watched her go and then turned down the icy stairs. Driving home, my mind was filled with possibilities, and I was grinning like an idiot. Thankfully, there was only a dusting of new snow when I got up the next day. I told my parents I would be hanging out with Desiree and working on a lab report. They nodded, told me to be careful and be home for dinner, and went back to whatever they were doing. The twisty back roads were gritty with salt and sand as I raced toward Des's house. Pulling into the driveway, I noticed fresh tracks from the garage to the street. When I tapped the bird-shaped knocker, there was a long pause before I saw a flash of movement through the prisms of glass beside the door. I heard a click, and the door swung open a few inches. I could see one of Desiree's dark eyes, a trace of a smile on her lips, a cloud of brown hair framing her face, a flash of bare thigh, and a thick bathrobe belted tightly at her waist. "Yes?" she asked in an imperious tone, raising an eyebrow playfully. "Good morning, miss," I said earnestly. "Is your mom home? She told me yesterday that I should come by this morning. I believe that I was so poised and well-spoken at her party that she wanted to spend some more time with me, " "You're disgusting!" Des snorted, swinging the door open wider. "You probably would go after my mom!" "Not when you're here," I told her, stepping close once the door was closed behind me. Desiree grabbed the lapels of my winter coat and pushed them back off my shoulders. As the coat slid down my arms, she closed the distance between us, pressing her warm body against mine. Our lips met, softly at first and then with increasing passion. "Come upstairs," she said after pulling back to catch her breath. "Parents?" I asked. "Gone for the day" she replied with a wicked smile. "Good!" I said fervently. "Let's go!" She turned with a smile and a swirl of dark hair. Her bare feet were almost silent on the wooden treads as she flew up the central staircase. My hiking boots left melting snow behind as I rushed after her. I almost tripped because I was trying to run upstairs and watch her enchantingly bare legs as I went; the bathrobe was long, but I could see a lot of her beautiful form from that angle. When I got to her room, Desiree was standing on the far side, the neatly made double bed between us. Posters, tapestries, dried flowers, and a lingering whiff of sandalwood competed for and lost my attention as I halted just inside the door. "You can come in," she said mockingly, a trace of that same sexy smile on her lips. I walked to the edge of the bed opposite her. "This is where I wanted to bring you last night," she said. "Once I saw you with my mom, " "Don't start. I was just being nice, but I'm glad you noticed me, finally!" "I always noticed you, we just had other stuff going on." "Yeah," I replied with my usual brilliance. "So now, " she began. "Now I'm all yours!" I told her with my best smile. "Good. I want to show you something!" I nodded and told her "Anything you want!" Her smile grew wider. Then she lifted on knee up onto the bedspread. "After you left last night, I came up here when everything was done." She leaned forward and put her palms flat on the covers. Her other foot came off the floor, and she drew herself toward the middle of the bed, sitting with her knees together, feet tucked under her, and the bathrobe lying in soft folds on her lap. My eyes were drawn to her bare thighs, then moved slowly upward, taking in the swell of her full tits under the thick terry cloth. When I reached her face, I noticed both a smirk on her lips and a smoking, sensual glimmer in her eyes. "I was wishing you were here with me," she continued. "So I threw my clothes over there." She gestured with her chin, and I glanced at the outfit she wore last night piled in reverse order on the chair. "And then I climbed into bed, " Her hands pulled slowly on the bathrobe belt. When it came undone, the lapels fell apart a few inches, drawing my eyes to the soft valley of her cleavage. Desiree shrugged her shoulders then, and the soft fabric slipped back off her shoulders. Her hands came up to cover her tits as they were exposed, but she kept up her narration. "And I started thinking about what I would do if you were with me, " I stood there in awe as she used her palms to graze her nipples, making small circles without fully revealing herself to me. "I got so fucking horny!" she said more intensely. Her hands fell away from her chest, and as she shoved the bathrobe off her lap and away behind her, my heart beat faster and I drank in the sight of her tits: pale globes with dark, tight nipples and wide areolas. They were as gorgeous as my teenage fantasies had imagined them, and my hands itched to reach for them. Des dropped her hands to her lap then, and shifted herself to widen the space between her knees. I followed the motion and was treated to a glimpse of dark curls before one hand blocked my view. I thought for a moment she was being modest, but then I noticed her hand moving slowly, caressing herself with slight up and down motion. "Just thinking about having you up here last night made me want you so badly, I ended up sitting just like this, wishing it was you playing with my boobs, and I was touching myself like this." Her free hand came up and I saw her pinch her own nipple delicately, twisting it as she did. Her other hand pressed more firmly into the shadowy depths of her lap, and I knew her fingers were curled underneath her, stroking the furry lips of her cunt. "Show me, " I whispered, finally contributing to the conversation. Des smiled again and rose up to her full kneeling height. From knees to neck, her body was a symphony of pale olive skin and alluring curves. She kept her hands in place, but seemed to savor my admiration while I took in the narrow waist, the long muscles of her thighs, and the rippling bounce of her tits. Again, she spoke as she played with herself: "My nipples got really hard thinking about you pinching them, and I started playing with my clit because I was already so wet for you!" Looking down, I saw that she had two fingers extended and they were making tight circles at the base of her mound. "Sometimes, " she resumed, "I put my fingers inside to get them wetter." Her hand curled lower for a moment and then went back to lavishing attention on her most sensitive spot. "Is that what you would have done to me last night?" "God, yes!" I told her immediately. She smiled, but I wanted to raise the stakes a little more. "I would have started like that, Des, I wish I could have come upstairs and seen you naked like this! I would have kissed every inch of you and pinched your nipples and rubbed your clit exactly the way you're doing it now!" "What else?" she asked in an urgent whisper, her back arching a bit and her eyes half-closed. "I would have pushed you back, though, so I could taste you," I said. "Umm, I love that idea!" she assured me with a sexy smile. Her hand left her lap and she brought the two fingers she had been using to play with herself up to her lips. "I do that all the time!" she said happily before licking each finger individually. Then she sucked them both at once, slowly getting every trace of her juices off. As I stood beside the bed and watched this erotic display, my cock was achingly hard inside my jeans. I could think of nothing to say; my mind was gripped by the show in front of me, and I was fantasizing about those beautiful lips sucking me instead, and I was imagining the taste as well. Fortunately, Des kept things moving forward. "When I was thinking about what I wanted you to do to me last night," she began, "you weren't wearing all those clothes!" As quickly as I could, I unlaced my boots, shucked off my jeans and underwear, and whipped both sweater and T-shirt over my head. All this was hampered by the face that Des was naked in front of me and I couldn't pull my eyes away from her! When I was as bare as she was, Desiree took the initiative again. Bracing her hands on the bedspread, she slipped her feet in front of her and moved them off the bed. Her legs parted even more as she scooted forward until her ass was just on the edge of the mattress. This position revealed her fully; wide-open thighs framed the neatly groomed, silky curls that covered her mound and along each side of her opening. Her earlier actions had turned her on, and her inner lips glistened with her arousal. "What were you going to do to me?" she asked enticingly. In a heartbeat, I fell to my knees on the soft rug beside her bed. My hands went to her inner thighs, pushing them wider apart while my thumbs did the same for her labia. Leaning in, I licked her from bottom to top, my tongue broad as I repeatedly lapped up her juices. Desiree groaned with pleasure, and her arms wrapped around my head, pulling me into her. "Oh, fuck!" she exclaimed. "Fuck me with your tongue!" With my nose bumping against her clit, I plunged in as far as I could. Rocking my head, I did exactly as she asked, fucking her repeatedly with my tongue, relishing the copious lubrication she was producing, and using my thumbs to caress her cunt lips as I worked away at her. Almost immediately, Desiree started to rock her hips into me. She must have been close already, because I could feel the trembling begin in her hips and thighs. She bent forward to embrace my head fully, her tits crushed against my hair as I ground into her. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm gonna cum!" she hissed above me. I didn't pause to reply, wanting only to drive her over the edge. Instead, I rubbed her clit harder with my nose from side to side and lashed her inner walls with the tip of my tongue. That did it. "Oh fuck!" Des cried out happily as her whole body froze. Her thighs clamped down on my head, her arms gathering me in even tighter, and her hips rocked forward to drive herself against me one last time. Barely able to breath, I held my position for a long minute, sucking gently on her cunt to gather every drop of her sweet juices. When she began to breathe again, Des pulled me up to her lips. I rose to stand in front of the bed, and her arms stayed wrapped around my head as she kissed me frantically, her tongue breaking away from mine to taste herself on my lips, my chin, and all around. Finally, she let me go and I stood up straighter, grinning down at her flushed face, her dark hair dampened by her exertions. Des looked up at me, grinning as well, then wrapped her arms around my waist and pulled me in for a hug. "That was better than I imagined last night!" she said happily against my abs. I stroked her hair and said, "Good. I've been wanting to do that for, like, forever!" She giggled happily in response and hugged me tighter for a moment. Then she tilted her head up, her chin resting just below my sternum. Her eyes were dark and wide and beautiful and I looked directly down into them, lost in a mixture of lust and love and happiness. "Is that all you've been wanting to do?" she asked me teasingly. Desiree and I continue, as the weather warms up. Now that Desiree and I were a couple, we spent the rest of the winter together. Usually, it was at one of our houses, or occasionally at a friend's. This led to a lot of fun, but a lot of frustration as we almost never found ourselves alone with any kind of privacy. However, like teenagers everywhere, we found ways. At school, we would climb the ladders behind the auditorium stage. There was a little room there for lights, ventilation, and theater controls, and we made the most of it. I have endless memories of lying on my back on the dusty floor while Desiree hiked her long cotton-print skirt up and rode me languorously. She loved to control the pace, and I was happy to lie back and caress her hips and tits while she rocked her way to bliss. It was hard to go back to class afterward, but every second we spent up there was worth it! There were also two cars involved, but Des had a tiny Honda Civic that wasn't much good for anything except road head and discreet fingering. When we went in my car-a roomier Volvo wagon-we often ended up parked up a logging road, stretching out in the back on an old sleeping bag. For some reason, my lasting memories of those encounters are all in the missionary position, my weight resting on Desiree's broad hips, my chest cushioned on her ample tits, and my face against the side of her neck, surrounded by soft brown hair. Her arms and legs would wrap around me almost tenderly, and I can still recall the warm spread of her skin against mine as our bodies came together fully. With gentle thrusts and counter-thrusts, we would rock lazily in the steamed-up little world until we were spent. Then we would roll onto our sides and enjoy what she called "the afterglow". Every now and then, we enjoyed the supreme luxury of a house when one set of parents or another went to church, or to a meeting, or out shopping. We tried very hard not to make it obvious that we were hooking up, but I think both sets of parents knew and gave us as much space as they reasonably could. Her parents didn't mind if we used their hot tub, and they were gracious enough not to look outside while we were there. If they had, they might have seen their daughter perched on the edge while my tongue explored her sweet, spicy depths. A while later, they would have seen their only daughter kneeling on the submerged seat, her ass barely out of the water, while I stood behind her, snowflakes falling on my shoulders as I pumped myself deep inside her. Needless to say, we were as quiet as possible on those occasions. Finally, the endless snow began to melt. Desiree, with her Earth mother attitude, turned out to have a huge fetish for having sex outdoors, and she had grown up in the town and knew every isolated place. As soon as it was over 40 degrees, she had no problem whipping off her shirt or at the very least hoisting her skirt up to allow me access. Guys have it easy, I realize, and on the colder days I have to admit all I did was unzip! Spot Number One: an abandoned shack just below a small dam. Dusty, cracked window panes and a door hanging off its hinges. Inside, an ancient wood stove, a creaky cot with a thin mattress, and the detritus of a hundred teen couples passing through-beer cans and condom wrappers, snack food bags and cigarette butts. It smelled permanently damp in the spring, but it offered unparalleled privacy and shelter from the wind. The first time Des parked her car at the edge of a twisty back road, I thought we were headed into the woods as usual. She slung her backpack over one shoulder and slipped between two mountain laurel bushes without a word. I followed, and saw to my surprise a real path twisting through the shrubs and trees. After a hundred yards, I could hear the river. Another fifty yards and the structure came into view. Des pulled the door open and propped it carefully as if it were her own summer house. Then her preparations became obvious! From the backpack, she pulled a rolled up afghan and covered the cot. A bottle of water and a bottle of Wild Turkey (her favorite) were placed on the rickety table. Finally, she extracted a carved wooden stash box and a matching bowl. With a smile, she packed it full and we shared it peacefully while she told me the history of the place. Sitting cross-legged on one end of the cot to keep it from sagging, she said this had been the foreman's office when the dam was built during the Depression. Since then, different people used it for different things, but it was always available, and most people tried to keep it somewhat clean. She went on to say that her old boyfriend Chris heard about it from his older cousin and they used to come down when it was warmer to swim and get high. "It's a little cold for swimming still," she said sadly, "but I totally want to put my feet in the water!" I was toasted enough to play along, and I kicked off my sneakers and socks and rolled my jeans up over my calf muscles. Des led me along the path to the water through a grove of birch saplings just starting to bud. She carried the Wild Turkey and I brought the water bottle. At the bank's edge, we sat on tree roots and eased our feet into the water. It was bitingly cold-of course-but my feet soon went numb, and we alternated sips of whiskey and water, enjoying the sunlight and the gentle buzz and the quiet chuckling of the river over smooth stones. As she lay back on her elbows, Desiree's full tits were pushed forward. My eyes traced the lush contours with growing hunger. She caught me looking and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Wanna see 'em?" she asked indulgently. "Always!" I assured her. She pushed her jacket back behind her, then lay back on it and teasingly raised the hem of her wide-necked T-shirt an inch at a time. As soon as it went above the waistband of her skirt, I leaned across and kissed the soft skin of her belly. I followed the hem upward until she paused just below her tits, kissing every exposed inch. She drew it snug against herself, pulling her tits up for a moment. When she lifted her hands, those pale, lovely globes came proudly into view, nipples already crinkling in the cold air. I reached across her body and cupped the underside of her tit, savoring its heft while my thumb grazed back and forth across her nipple. The one closer to me got my full attention, though, as I sucked her whole areola into my mouth, then let it go and focused on her nipple, sucking hard, letting it snap back into the air, and then leaning down to bite it gently with my front teeth. She moaned happily and ran her fingers through my hair. "Do the other side!" she urged, and I quickly moved enough to comply. As I settled into my work, I felt her hands move away from my head. Her right hand went down to my crotch and started stroking my cock as it lay stiffening along my thigh, trapped by thick denim. Her left hand, though, disappeared under the waistband of her skirt. As I sucked hard on her nipple, she tilted her head back, closed her eyes against the bright sunlight, and hummed. I knew that was her happy sound, and I knew it meant that her fingers were doing their best to stimulate her cunt while I worked on her magnificent tits. One great thing about Desiree-she was always quick to orgasm. The combined feelings of her fingers on her clit and my tongue and teeth on her nipples was pushing her quickly toward an explosion. She pulled her feet out of the water and braced them just below her ass, then began to thrust her hips upward every few seconds. I kept doing what I was doing, knowing she'd be horny as hell once she got off. The tell-tale motion of her hips was followed quickly by deep, rasping breaths and trembling in her core. I watched her face as it changed from concentration to approaching bliss-her back arching and a stream of whispered "yes, yes, yes, " escaping her lips. Her orgasm hit all at once, and her body jerked upward halfway. She grabbed me and held me tightly while she shuddered, and I could feel each wave of pleasure coursing through her body. As it subsided, I kissed her face and whispered endearments. Slowly, her body eased back until she was lying flat on her jacket again, panting contentedly. "God, that was so good!" she exclaimed. I kissed her in response, not really able to take credit since she had done most of the work. "Seems like you really needed that," I said to her. "It's just being outside again, it always makes me so happy and so horny!" "I know-that's what I love about you!" "Love?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "You heard me. I love you. And, I love how horny you get!" I leaned over again to kiss after that, and for a long, peaceful moment we lay there in the sun lost in that all-encompassing high school kind of love. Fortunately for me, Des was also creatively helpful when she knew that I was horny as well. When I broke the kiss to toy with her nipples again, inspiration struck. She pushed her tits together and smiled at me invitingly. "Since you were so nice to them, they want to say "thank you"," she said. "Why don't you come up here and show me how much you love them, too?" Now that was an invitation worth stripping down for! I kicked off my jeans and straddled her waist, then moved myself forward until my cock lay in the ample valley of her cleavage. Des reached under my leg and rubbed her cunt, gathering its lubrication and then spreading it all over my shaft as it poked out of my boxers. That was enough to get me started, and I began sliding the sensitive underside along her silky skin. "Move up a little," she urged me, matching her words with a tug on my ass. I did what she asked, and at the top of my next stroke, she sucked the head of my cock into her mouth, swirling her tongue all around it and bathing it with her saliva for a few seconds. Then she directed me back to her cleavage and reached up to push her tits more tightly together. "Fuck my tits now, I want you to cum just like this and let me taste it!" How could I refuse? Turned on by her erotic display a few minutes ago, and equally aroused by the sight and sensation of her firm globes enveloping me, I knew it wouldn't take long. I braced my hands up beside her head and stroked full length, leaking enough precum now to make the channel I was enjoying even slicker. Every few pumps, Des would bow her head forward and swipe her tongue along my crown as it emerged. When I felt the cum rising inside me, I buried myself between her luscious tits and fucked them with short, frantic strokes. Des wrapped her tits even tighter and murmured encouragement as I drove myself toward my reward. "Yes, yes, do it, fuck my tits, fuck them, cum for me, cum for me!" Gentleman that I am, I did as she asked. The first spurt leapt from my cock and hit her on the chin. Her hands flew to my ass and pulled me closer, and she wrapped her lips around my cock once again, sucking hard with every pulsation, swallowing every drop as it emerged. When I had no more to give, her suction eased and she swirled her tongue around and around the head, almost purring with satisfaction. She kept it up until my cock began to soften in her mouth. Conscious of myself towering over her all of a sudden, I rolled back on my side, leaning on one elbow to catch my breath. Des reached to the other side and grabbed the bottle. With a smile, she took a sip of Wild Turkey and held it for a moment, looking right into my eyes. Then she swallowed it down, smiled contentedly, and passed the bottle to me. "Ah, best chaser in the world!" she said happily. "You're a nut, and I love you!" I said, taking a sip of my own. "I love you, too" she replied. To be continued in part 2, By outdoorhorny for Literotica.

  AI for enhancing theranosticsTelix - Simon Wail @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; 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font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} Please let me know what you think about the video versions of the podcast.I am also looking for new material so please get in touch with me if you can contributewith an interview.Direct link to iTuneshttps://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicinie-podcast/id1444565219?mt=2Older podcastshttps://podcasts.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicine-podcast/id94286547You can get the podcast page at both http://nuccast.com and http://www.nuccast.com with the feed to put into iTunes or juice or your favourite podcast software can be found at http://molcast.com/.The cardiac subset of the podcast can be found at http://cardiac.nuccast.com/Please pass on information about this podcast to your colleagues and to your CPD provider.Link to Video Link to Video fileLink to Audio file Link to Audio fileOr you can subscribe by entering your email address below and you will be informed of new episodesEnter your email address:Delivered by FeedBurnerMost importantly of all please help this podcast by contributing your opinions, Sound files, and emailsnucmedpodcast@gmail.comAll contributions welcome, especially as sound files to nucmedpodcast@gmail.com.@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; 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  AI for enhancing theranosticsTelix - Simon Wail @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; 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font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} Please let me know what you think about the video versions of the podcast.I am also looking for new material so please get in touch with me if you can contributewith an interview.Direct link to iTuneshttps://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicinie-podcast/id1444565219?mt=2Older podcastshttps://podcasts.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicine-podcast/id94286547You can get the podcast page at both http://nuccast.com and http://www.nuccast.com with the feed to put into iTunes or juice or your favourite podcast software can be found at http://molcast.com/.The cardiac subset of the podcast can be found at http://cardiac.nuccast.com/Please pass on information about this podcast to your colleagues and to your CPD provider.Link to Video Link to Video fileLink to Audio file Link to Audio fileOr you can subscribe by entering your email address below and you will be informed of new episodesEnter your email address:Delivered by FeedBurnerMost importantly of all please help this podcast by contributing your opinions, Sound files, and emailsnucmedpodcast@gmail.comAll contributions welcome, especially as sound files to nucmedpodcast@gmail.com.@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; 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  AI for enhancing theranosticsTelix - Simon Wail @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; 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  AI for enhancing theranosticsTelix - Simon Wail @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} We talked to Simon Wail from Telix about how AI may improve the use of PET scans in theranostics TAGS ANZSNM24,PET,Podcast,Nuclear,Imaging,Therapy,NuclearMedicine,NIF,Physics,UNIMELB,MBCIU,Positron,NUCCAST,AI,TELIX @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; 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font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} Please let me know what you think about the video versions of the podcast.I am also looking for new material so please get in touch with me if you can contributewith an interview.Direct link to iTuneshttps://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicinie-podcast/id1444565219?mt=2Older podcastshttps://podcasts.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicine-podcast/id94286547You can get the podcast page at both http://nuccast.com and http://www.nuccast.com with the feed to put into iTunes or juice or your favourite podcast software can be found at http://molcast.com/.The cardiac subset of the podcast can be found at http://cardiac.nuccast.com/Please pass on information about this podcast to your colleagues and to your CPD provider.Link to Video Link to Video fileLink to Audio file Link to Audio fileOr you can subscribe by entering your email address below and you will be informed of new episodesEnter your email address:Delivered by FeedBurnerMost importantly of all please help this podcast by contributing your opinions, Sound files, and emailsnucmedpodcast@gmail.comAll contributions welcome, especially as sound files to nucmedpodcast@gmail.com.@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; 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  AI for enhancing theranosticsTelix - Simon Wail @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; 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font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} Please let me know what you think about the video versions of the podcast.I am also looking for new material so please get in touch with me if you can contributewith an interview.Direct link to iTuneshttps://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicinie-podcast/id1444565219?mt=2Older podcastshttps://podcasts.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicine-podcast/id94286547You can get the podcast page at both http://nuccast.com and http://www.nuccast.com with the feed to put into iTunes or juice or your favourite podcast software can be found at http://molcast.com/.The cardiac subset of the podcast can be found at http://cardiac.nuccast.com/Please pass on information about this podcast to your colleagues and to your CPD provider.Link to Video Link to Video fileLink to Audio file Link to Audio fileOr you can subscribe by entering your email address below and you will be informed of new episodesEnter your email address:Delivered by FeedBurnerMost importantly of all please help this podcast by contributing your opinions, Sound files, and emailsnucmedpodcast@gmail.comAll contributions welcome, especially as sound files to nucmedpodcast@gmail.com.@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; 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Strangers forced to share a cabin on a cruise ship. By HectorBidon. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.  The waiting area outside the Long Beach cruise terminal was abuzz with bright new outfits and happy chatter. It was enough to make even the most reserved introvert start to feel a bit of excitement. I was standing with Jack and Ciara, two regulars of the social group. Jack was tall and rugged, something to do with landscaping; Ciara tall and willowy, worked in an office of some sort. They weren't an official couple, as far as I knew, but they seemed to have hooked up for the New Year's Pacific cruise. That was sort of the way the group worked. Thirty somethings, mostly divorced, intent on maintaining the hard playing lifestyle of their twenties, looking for like-minded dating partners to do it with. Jack was explaining the different cruise drink payment plans. I smiled politely and nodded, thinking how different from theirs my life would be when I got to be their age. Denise bustled up in a pretty pastel pantsuit with her clipboard in her hand. She was a travel agent and the mother hen of the group, forty-something and no longer trying so hard to pretend she was any younger. She'd put together this group and made a nice extra income for her troubles. "Hector," she said, ushering me a step aside, "I'm afraid there's been a mix up with your reservation. Somehow your single cabin didn't show up on the final printout." She gave me a concerned look. "They're working on it,,  but we may have to double you up with someone." This came as a bit of a rude surprise. One of the only reasons I'd finally agreed to come on the cruise in the first place had been her assurance that I'd be able to have a single. It wasn't that I was antisocial really, but I had my limits. "You know Mrs. Pendergast, don't you?" Mrs. Pendergast was an older woman, well into her sixties. She wasn't a regular member of the group, but it amused her sometimes to hang with a younger crowd. The group let her tag along to some of their events. I was going to have to share a room with Mrs. Pendergast? "Apparently she got sick and had to cancel at the last minute. So we have an opening. She was sharing a room with, ah;" she double checked her forms; "a Ms. Crenshaw. I don't know her, but I'm sure she's very nice. It's a double room, and you know how it is on a cruise. You don't spend that much time in your room anyway." I didn't even try to return her smile. "They're still working on your single, of course. I just wanted to let you know the fallback plan." Not only losing my single, but having to spend the cruise being polite to an old lady? In Denise's mind, that was what the social group was all about. People were already starting to go into the terminal building when Denise came back, this time with an attractive young woman at her side. I wondered if it was Denise's daughter, there to see us off. "Hector," she said, peering at me over the top of her glasses, "this is Molly Crenshaw. I've been explaining our predicament." The girl gave me a weak smile. She was pretty, with long brown hair swept back, wearing white shorts and a light blue top. She didn't look like she could be a day over twenty-one. Not at all what I had pictured as a travelling companion for Mrs. Pendergast. "It's a double room," Denise was explaining. "I'm sure they'll be able to rig up a partition if need be. But this will be the first cruise for both of you. It will be nice to have a buddy to help you find your way around. I'm sure the two of you will hit it off." Molly was still looking at me rather uncertainly. This apparently wasn't exactly what she had signed up for, either. She looked back at Denise. "Well, if his other room got cancelled,” Denise was delighted. The registration mix-up had been solved in an efficient and social-group-positive way. I couldn't believe she was being so cavalier about putting a guy and a girl who didn't even know each other into the same room together. "They're still working on my single though, right?" "As far as I know. You'll be able to check with the Bursar once we get on board." Denise had more than enough smile for the three of us. They called our area for boarding. "See you on board," she said, bustling off with her clipboard. Going up the gangway onto the ship itself kind of blew me away. You entered onto the mezzanine level of what looked like the fanciest mall I'd ever seen. There was an atrium that rose several stories high with glass elevators gliding up and down and fancy shops and glittering lights on every different level. On the floor below us a fellow in a tuxedo was playing a grand piano. All of this right in the middle of the ship. Molly's eyes were as wide as mine. They'd told us to have lunch while the luggage was being brought on. Molly and I had come aboard with a bunch of other social groupers, but they'd all buzzed off one way or another leaving the two of us by ourselves. We found a little sandwich and salad buffet. "So, your first cruise?" I asked. I was pretty sure I'd be able to get the room situation straightened out, but there was no harm in being polite. She assembled a forkful of salad. "Yes, Mrs. Pendergast is a patient at the clinic where I work. She's pretty chatty, you know. She kept talking about this fantastic cruise she was going on. But she needed a travelling companion to come along and sort of look after her." She shrugged. " Mrs. Pendergast offered to cover the cost, if I'd come with. I don't know, she has a way of getting what she wants." "Is she all right?" I asked. "Denise says she's afraid she might be coming down with something. She's a bit of a hypochondriac. But the tickets are already paid for, and I'm already here, so Denise said I should just come along on the cruise without her." She gave her little shrug again and took a sip of iced tea. "Your first cruise too?" "I'm not really a member of the social group, actually. I went on a nature hike with them one time and ended up on Denise's list. So now she sends me emails every time she has some big event. She was kind of persistent this time. I think they needed to sign up a certain number of people in order to get a discount or something." Molly nodded and stabbed a crouton. "Well, it is a cruise. It should be fun. And it'll be nice not to have to keep tabs on Mrs. Pendergast all the time. There's gambling, you know. When we get far enough out to sea." "You gamble?" "Of course. Poker, black jack. Machines mostly, but sometimes at the tables. I have a system. It's a lot of fun." After lunch I asked my way up to the Bursar's office. Molly came along to make sure that everything worked out. The Bursar looked me up in his computer. Apparently, when Mrs. Pendergast had cancelled, they'd looked to fill the vacancy with someone from our same group. I was the only one in a single, so they moved me in to fill her spot and gave my room to someone else. He double checked, but there weren't any other singles available. He apologized for the inconvenience and gave me my key card. I was flabbergasted. "Well," said Molly, "we might as well go check it out at least." We found our way down to the deck where the cabin was located. The room itself was not much bigger than a walk-in closet. A chair, a little night stand, a mirror on the bathroom door, a bed against the wall. That was it. We looked at each other. "Kind of smaller than I would have thought," I said. "Yeah," she agreed. I corralled a passing steward. "Um, we were supposed to be getting a double room?" I showed him the printout. "Yes, yes," he said in his helpful foreign accent. "Very nice double cabin." "But there's only one bed." I said. "Double bed," he explained. Then he gestured toward the porthole on the wall. "Ocean view!" He smiled, happy to have been of service, and went on about his way. Molly didn't look altogether convinced. I sighed. "Let me go talk to the Bursar again,” But she was sizing things up. Sunshine was streaming in through the porthole. Our two suitcases had been placed in a little niche beside the bathroom door, side by side. "All the other rooms are probably just as small," she said. "On this level anyway. And they seem to have already given your other room away." She looked at me. "Do you snore?" It wasn't a question I was expecting. "I don't think so. No one's ever complained." "Well, Mrs. Pendergast does, apparently. That's the one thing I've been dreading the most." She looked back at the room. "I guess this is just what double rooms are like on cruise ships. Maybe it's not so bad. At least you don't snore. We're kind of on an adventure anyway. Maybe we should just try and make the best of it." She made it sound as if sharing a room with a complete stranger of the opposite sex was no bigger a deal than sharing a table with him at lunch. She sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the schedule of the day's activities as if the issue had already been decided. "Shuffleboard lessons at three o'clock," she noted. "Bingo at four thirty." I sat down on the chair. So instead of getting a room of my own I was going to have to share this one? Surely there must be some other alternative. What if,  what if I asked Denise to ask Ciara to move in here with Molly and let me bunk with Jack? Ugh! I cringed at the thought. "A magic show tonight in the forward theatre." Molly announced; reading more literature. I looked around. How would it even work? The room was so tiny. There was only the one bed. Molly was studying a map of the ship. "What do you think we should do first?" She'd not only accepted the fact that we'd be rooming together, she was ready to head out and start exploring. "Um,  why don't you just go ahead on your own? I've still got a couple things I need to take care of first." I couldn't tell if she was a bit hurt that I didn't want to join her. But she shrugged it off. "Well, OK. Then I guess we can just meet back up here later." I didn't really have anything I needed to take care of, I just wanted a little time to sort things out. I was pretty bummed that they'd given away my single. And I wasn't sure how I felt about Molly's matter-of-fact-ness. Was she really so used to sharing rooms with random guys? Still, if I did have to share a room with someone, Molly was probably no more objectionable than Jack or Mrs. Pendergast. She was more my age. She was just out of college and I had a few years on her. She seemed pretty easy going. If we'd been thrown together as partners at a workshop breakout session, I wouldn't have objected. But sharing insights at a breakout session wasn't exactly the same as sharing a cabin on a cruise ship. I'd had to share rooms with strangers before, but they'd always been guys. What you did was you put on your blinders, you put up your shields, you went about your business, you let them go about theirs. You tried to be polite. At least that's the way it worked with guys. Did it work that way with girls too? I guess I'd find out. The ship must have cast off soon after we came on board, but so smoothly that we hadn't even noticed. By the time I found my way up on deck we'd already cleared the harbor and were quite a ways out from land. I stood at the railing and watched the waves roll by. I wondered whether I might get seasick, but the deck was as firm and steady as any sidewalk on the mainland. The ship turned out to be a whole little city unto itself. There was a miniature golf course at one end and a climbing wall at the other. The top deck held two full-sized swimming pools, each already surrounded by sun bathers glistening in cocoa butter. The lower decks held lounges and theaters and eateries and nightclubs. There were shops and kiosks on every level; a sports bar, a wine bar, two piano bars, a margarita bar ("Hi, Jack! Hi, Ciara!"); and any number of different ways to get from any one place to any other: by stairs, by elevator, by main passageway, by side passageway. Later in the afternoon I sat down at a little coffee shop toward the stern of the ship and nursed a cup of lapsang souchong. Seagulls were gliding along in our tailwind. I'd been making good progress on a couple algorithms at work, and I went over some of the key steps in my mind. It was nice being out of the cubicle for a change, sitting in the sunshine, daydreaming instead of coding, watching the seagulls hover and veer. My thoughts eventually wandered back to my room situation. I still couldn't understand why Molly was being so agreeable about sharing the cabin. It dawned on me that maybe she didn't think she had any other choice. Maybe she thought that since she was only here as Mrs. Pendergast's guest, she had to do whatever Denise asked. And so maybe she wasn't really all that used to sharing rooms with random guys either. Maybe she was just doing what she thought was expected. A fellow shipmate, a sort-of member of the same social group she was sort of a member of, needed a place to bunk. She had an empty spot. Didn't shipboard etiquette kind of dictate that she offer to share? But then, by the same token, what did shipboard etiquette expect of me? I finished my tea and ambled back toward the front of the ship. A raucous game of volleyball was taking place in one of the pools. Someone called my name. "Are you going back to the room? I forgot my card." It was Molly. She gave her little shrug. She was wearing a bright yellow bikini. It was fairly conservative, the kind she could wear to the gym, but it called your attention to her shapely legs and her slender tummy. We made our way down the labyrinth of passageways toward our lower deck. The people we passed would have naturally assumed that we were together. "I figured out about dinner," she said. "Everybody has an assigned time and an assigned table. Ours is in about an hour. We can go together if you want." After a couple of wrong turns we finally found our corridor and our little room. It hadn't gotten any bigger in the time we'd been away. But there was a fresh bath towel sitting on the bed, folded into a sort of soft-origami swan. "Look how cute," Molly said. "The housekeepers must have been in." She put her things on the nightstand and fiddled in her suitcase for some clothes. "I'm just going to take a quick shower first." She went into the bathroom, taking the swan along with her. I sat on the foot of the bed and took a look at the schedule. The walls were thin enough that I could hear the water splashing. She came out wrapped in the towel. "It's too cramped to get dressed in there," she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. She looked around the room, a bit awkwardly. So this was one of the guys-and-girls-sharing-a-cabin rules that I wasn't really familiar with. What was I supposed to do while she got dressed? Step into the bathroom to give her some privacy? Or just ignore her, the way I would if I was sharing the room with a guy? She wasn't completely sure how to play it either. She turned to face the mirror, but that only put her sideways to me. So she turned all the way around, facing the outer door. She tried to give the impression that changing clothes in front of a cabin mate wasn't that big a deal. So I tried to follow her lead. I didn't stare, and she had her back to me, but it was hard not to notice what she was doing. She started by putting on her bra, but as she was pulling it up, her towel slipped, revealing the two round, pretty cheeks of her bottom. She quickly pulled the towel back into place, and I quickly forced my eyes back to the schedule. So it was only with my peripheral vision that I was able to see her stepping into her panties and skirt and buttoning up her blouse. Finally she sat on the chair to fasten her sandals. Our eyes met again. She sighed, then admitted. "I work in a clinic. I often have to help clients get over themselves, when they have to disrobe for an exam, in front of someone they don't know. I think I have better empathy, now. Oh, Dinner is supposed to be smart casual." she remarked. I took that to mean that my polo shirt didn't quite cut it. I'd brought a couple button-down shirts, and so I went over and got one from my suitcase. She nodded approvingly and turned to the mirror, fiddling with her hair. I took off my polo shirt and put on the button one. The dining room was immense, with big round tables like in a reception hall. Molly and I were assigned to a table with some of the other people from our group. I let Molly sit next to Ciara. There was nobody on my other side, which was fine with me. Molly and Ciara found some girl stuff to talk about. The general conversation at the table seemed to be about motorcycles. Denise stopped by to see how everyone was doing. Molly had the chicken and I had the fish. We resisted the hard liquor, but we both had a glass of wine with our meal. Valentin, our engaging Bulgarian waiter, brought us the chit. We had both just assumed that wine was included in the meal, but he explained that it would be added to our room bill. "Will they charge it to Mrs. Pendergast?" Molly whispered, afraid they might. "We'll figure it out," I whispered back, signing for both of us. The magic show didn't start until eight o'clock, so after dinner Molly suggested we just wander around. She showed me the little art gallery she'd discovered on deck six where it met the central atrium. Photographs of interesting doorways on old, rustic buildings. Just past the art gallery was a little gift shop. We went in, and Molly looked at the jewelry counter. She asked the lady to bring out a necklace that caught her eye. I leafed through the post cards, but I didn't really have anyone to send one to. We still had forty-five minutes until the show, so I took Molly up to the miniature golf course. We didn't bother keeping score. I made a couple lucky shots. Then, on the next-to-the-last hole, Molly's shot went wild and bounced onto the next green over. It ricocheted off a bumper and coasted down, curving gently, right into the cup. A perfect hole in one into the wrong hole! "Whoa!" I said. "Remind me never to play you for money." She raised her putter and blew on the end as if it were a smoking rifle barrel. "You should see me at pinball." The magic show was a lot of fun. The magician wore a black hat and cape and his pretty assistant wore a slinky black dress. They did all the traditional tricks with rings and scarves and giant cards. Then, for the grand finale, the magician announced that he was going to make his assistant disappear right before our very eyes. He had her stand at the front of the stage with her arms up and out to the crowd. He waved his wand and, Presto!, she didn't disappear, but her dress did! It was just gone! She kept standing there for a second with her breasts completely exposed and nothing covering her at all except a tiny G-string thong. Finally she realized what had happened. She shrieked, covered herself with her hands, and ran offstage, letting us see that her backside was just as shapely as her front. The magician was shocked that his trick had backfired. Shocked! But the audience was applauding wildly, and so he turned and bowed. And as he swept off his hat, what should fall out but the assistant's little black dress. He picked it up and gave us a sly grin. The assistant came out to take her bow, wrapped in a white ship's towel just like the one Molly had been wearing. When she saw what the magician had in his hand, she snatched it back from him with a nasty glare. The crowd ate it up. Molly was laughing as much as I was. After the show we went back up on deck and strolled a while in the cool night air. The ship was plowing along through moonlit waves, stars twinkling in the sky. Toward the stern, lively dance music was thumping up from the nightclubs below. We found our way down to check it out. We spotted Jack and Ciara in the hip-hop club amidst the flashing strobe lights and pulsing lasers. Jack raised his glass and Ciara called something we didn't quite catch. Further on was the salsa club, throbbing with its own level of intensity. Then came the golden oldies club, somewhat more subdued. And finally a relatively quiet lounge where we sat down and shared a bottle of sparkling water. "It's pretty amazing, isn't it?" Molly said. "I never thought there would be so many different things going on. A whole resort on a single ship! And they can just hoist up the anchor and sail us away to wherever they want to take us." I had to agree. "And the way it's so completely self-contained. I mean, what could we possibly want that they aren't already completely stocked up on? The whole rest of the world could just go ahead and blow itself up and we wouldn't even notice." It had been a pleasant evening. And Denise had been right: it had been fun to have a buddy to share it with. But now we were heading back to our little room, and we had to turn our attention to the more mundane aspects of cabin sharing. Molly went to the bathroom first, and then I did, and then neither of us was quite sure how to proceed. It was becoming pretty clear that she wasn't any more familiar with cabin sharing than I was. Both of us kept looking at the bed. It was up against the outer wall, and almost as long as the cabin was wide. It was going to be awkward getting to the side against the wall without disturbing the other person. Presumably the cabin-sharing etiquette book would have had something to say. I decided that one of us should at least try to pretend that they knew what they were doing. "Would you mind if I took the side with the ocean view?" That seemed like the most gentlemanly arrangement. She didn't argue, and in fact I think she was relieved to have the issue resolved. She opened her suitcase and brought out a pair of frilly, sky-blue pajamas. She looked around again and then turned her back like she had before. I sat down at the foot of the bed. I hadn't even thought to bring any pajamas myself. Well, there wasn't much I could do about it now. I took off my shoes and socks and tried not to pay any undue attention to what she was doing. She stepped into her pajama bottoms and pulled them up under her skirt before taking it off. Then she pulled off her blouse and put on her pajama top so quickly that I caught only the briefest glimpse of her bra strap. Then she reached in under the top, unhooked her bra, and fished it out. Meanwhile, I'd taken off my shirt and pants. I figured I could slip under the covers without her seeing me in my underwear. But then I realized that she'd had a perfect view in the bathroom-door mirror all along. She didn't let on, though. That seemed to be the universal rule of awkward cabin sharing, for girls as well as for guys. Just go about your business and let your cabin mate go about theirs. I crawled up onto the far side of the bed, trying not to notice if she was paying any attention. She turned off the light and got in on her side. I'd had to share beds with other guys before on occasion. What you do is turn your back, keep yourself perfectly still, and imagine that there is an invisible force field that insulates your half of the bed from the entire rest of the universe. I quickly discovered, however, that this technique is not that effective when the person lying beside you is a pretty girl in frilly pajamas. I got such a hard-on that I was sure she could sense it, even though we had our backs turned. So I thought about my algorithms. I rehearsed an upcoming seminar presentation of their salient features. And then I rehearsed it again. And then I rehearsed it again. Sunlight was shining in through the porthole again when I woke up the next morning. Molly was still asleep, but I needed to pee. I edged out of bed, trying my best not to disturb her. I went to the bathroom, then quietly got dressed and slipped out of the room. There were only a few people up on deck at this hour. We'd sailed during the night and were now anchored at the entrance to the harbor at Catalina Island. It was a beautiful morning, the water a rich cerulean blue, the harbor dotted with rows of pretty boats. I came back down and found a dining room that served breakfast. I had a bite and brought back coffee and a roll for Molly. She was up, but still in her pajamas. I told her about the island and tried to show her through the porthole. The way the ship was facing, though, we were only able to see the rugged hills of the island and not the harbor itself. By mid-morning she had talked me into going in to shore with her. It was like being transported back in time to the sunny southern California you see in old-time newsreels: palm trees, cute bungalows, handsome, sun-tanned people sitting at outdoor cafes or lounging under colorful beach umbrellas. We walked all the way along the beachfront to the palatial ballroom at the end, admiring its lovely art-deco mosaics of naked mermaids cavorting amidst swirling kelp forests and playful schools of fish. The huge round floor of the ballroom itself was dark and empty on this weekday morning, but photos along the walls showed elegantly dressed couples waltzing at the annual New Year's Eve ball. Molly was enchanted. "Let's come back for it, want to?" "I'm afraid my ballroom dancing is a little rusty." "Well, you'll have to brush up then." We strolled back along the main boulevard amidst tourists and tradesmen and shopping housewives. We looked in the windows of the boutiques and souvenir shops and had lunch at one of the sidewalk cafes. Molly filled me in on all the latest gossip about the interns and nurses at her clinic. I told her a bit about my algorithms. I may have gotten a little carried away, actually, but she did her best to follow along. Our map showed a botanical garden a couple miles out of town. Molly was game, so after lunch we rented a tourist cart and headed off to look for it. I drove and Molly navigated, and after a few wrong turns we found ourselves bumping along into the dusty interior of the island. It was a warm, sunny afternoon, and we had the place pretty much to ourselves. It had never even occurred to me that there were botanical gardens devoted almost entirely to cactus. I'd certainly never imagined there were so many different varieties: towering suaros like in the cowboy movies; rough organ pipes that shimmered like coral formations on the floor of some strange alien sea; fuzzy white phalluses that tried to lure you into thinking they were cuddly enough to pet; plump barrel cactus with swirling patterns of pristine spikes as geometrically perfect as Faberge eggs. Molly discovered a sprawling specimen that must have taken up a half a city block. It was covered with prickly green Mickey Mouse ears, and on the whole rugged plant there was one lone ear that held a single tiny delicate yellow flower. "That's what I want for my corsage," she said. "When we come back for New Year's Eve." We eventually bumped our way back into town and dropped off the cart. The tender back to the ship was pretty full, and Molly and I had to press up shoulder-to-shoulder on the bench. She closed her eyes in the afternoon sunshine. "A perfect day," she murmured. "And tonight's the gala dinner. And gambling!" "Gala dinner?" She opened one eye just enough to give me a look. "You were supposed to bring a sport coat. It was in the brochure." When we got back to the room we found our towel on the nightstand, folded into the shape of a jungle cat, ready to pounce. I had brought my sports coat, but it was pretty creased from being crammed in my suitcase. Molly hung it in the bathroom when she went in to take her shower. Then when she was done I took my own, making sure to give her plenty of time to get dressed. I cracked the door to see if the coast was clear. She was making her final adjustments in the mirror and stepped aside to let me out. She was wearing a lilac gown with a sequined top and a long swishy skirt. "I got it on sale," she shrugged. But I could tell from the way she kept looking at herself in the mirror that she was pretty pleased with it. Now I was the one who had to get dressed in front of her. I just went at it cabin-buddy style, turning my back and pulling things up under my towel like she had done. When I fetched my sports coat from the bathroom, the creases were a little less noticeable. We made our way up to the dining room. It was nice, actually, being a little dressed up. I found myself walking a little taller, standing a little straighter. Molly took my arm as we made our way to the table, and everyone paused to look. Molly and Ciara chatted about shopping on the island. It turned out that Jack knew something about cacti from his landscaping work and was interested to hear about the botanical garden. The appetizers were oysters on the half shell. It was my first time eating them, and Molly showed me what to do. By the time that dinner was over, the ship had gotten far enough out to sea that the casino was open. Molly walked right in as if she knew what she was doing. She got ten dollars' worth of quarters, and I pitched in another ten, trying my best to match her air of confident sophistication. She went to one of the poker machines, and I drew up a stool beside her. "So what's this system of yours? Or is it a secret?" "I only play until I run out of quarters. That way I never lose more than I'm willing to spend." I didn't think that that was what people meant by a "system," but I didn't say anything. I watched her play a few hands. The machine would deal out five cards. She would select which ones she wanted to keep, and the machine would replace the others. "I usually just bet a quarter. But if we're going to pool our money, we can bet two at a time, OK?" I finally figured out how it worked. If we got anything less than a pair of jacks, the machine would keep our money. If we got jacks or better, it would give us our money back. If we got an even better hand, like two pairs or three of a kind, it would pay out according to a table posted on the screen. All the way up to a hundred bucks for a royal flush. We lost our first few quarters, but then we got three aces, and the machine clunked us six shiny new quarters back out. Molly would study each hand carefully before making her selection. She pretty much chose the same cards that I would have chosen, except she was a little over-optimistic about our chances of getting a straight or a flush. On one hand the machine dealt us the jack and king of diamonds, along with a pair of eights. She eagerly selected to keep the jack and the king. "No, no," I told her. "Keep the eights." "But we have a chance for a royal flush." "But the odds are better for getting another eight." She gave me her look of patient exasperation. "Because look,” I tried to say. But she wasn't particularly interested in my analysis. "OK, Mr. Algorithm." She changed the selection. The machine dealt us a queen, a three, and a six and beeped the forlorn tone that meant "better luck next time." Molly flashed me her told-you-so eyebrows. "Well, we wouldn't have gotten the royal flush either." "Not if we didn't even try!" There was one moment of genuine excitement when we got a full house, sixes and queens. The machine clanged like crazy and quarters came pouring out. But eventually every one of them got re-deposited, never to be seen again. It wasn't really gambling so much as just playing a video game. An enjoyable one, though. There was the dress-up aspect, the battle of wits, the allure of the hundred-dollar jackpot. Molly certainly enjoyed playing, and I enjoyed watching her. I noticed that it was almost time for the show. "Juggling?" Molly wasn't so sure. She rattled our cup. "We still have a few quarters left." "Yes, juggling! I'll have you know that I minored in juggling in college. Come on. It'll be fun." The show was in the forward theatre again, right next to the casino. The Flying Garbanzo Brothers! Hup Hup! Four strapping guys with streaming hair and Frank Zappa mustaches, dressed in colorful gypsy blouses and billowing pantaloons. They juggled everything from tennis balls to bowling pins to pineapples to power tools. One of the brothers, Yakov, had a rakish, devil-may-care attitude and was always grinning at the ladies in the audience. In one of the acts, as balls were whizzing back and forth across the stage, he started making eyes at a blonde in the front row. He began paying less and less attention to his juggling, occasionally letting a ball fly past him, which one of the other brothers would then have to lurch out of formation to keep in play. Finally he just gave up on the juggling altogether and sat down on the edge of the stage, chatting the lady up. The other brothers were flailing frantically to keep all the balls in the air. They began to retire them, one by one, but somehow the very last ball went out of control and arched way up high toward the front of the stage. Yakov casually reached his hand out to the side and caught it without even looking. "Ladies and gentlemen!" announced Ripov, the black brother with dreads, "For our grand finale, a feat of blistering dexterity so flagrantly dangerous that it has never before been attempted within the enclosed confines of a luxury liner!" The brothers proceeded to arrange a panoply of torches and hoops and bales of combustible material all around the stage. Yakov came out sporting a mischievous grin and lugging a big red can, labeled 'gasoline.' Just as he was about to douse the first bale, the stagehand stormed in, a short oriental fellow in a white lab coat and thick black glasses, squawking in a barely intelligible accent and waving the ubiquitous ship safety placard, the one with the picture of the lifesaver on it. Yakov's grin collapsed into a sneer, but he put down the can. "Still never attempted," he muttered under his breath. The brothers juggled the torches anyway, unlit but unwieldy, back and forth through the hoops and over the bales. Suddenly red and orange crepe-paper streamers unfurled and rose up, flickering like flames and giving the impression, at least, of a roaring inferno. All in all, it was enough to get your blood pumping. When the show was over there was a bit of a traffic jam getting out of the theater. I grabbed Molly's hand and dragged her toward a less crowded side exit. Hup hup! We found ourselves in a stateroom passageway, and I kept dragging her along at a rapid pace. "Where are we going?" she asked. "C'mon," I replied. The fact is, I didn't really know. At the end of the passage was a short stairway up to a bulkhead door. We went through and found ourselves outside on a little deck by the lifeboats. The sun had set, but you could still see the frothy wave caps. At the end of the deck was another stairway, and at the top was the entrance to the miniature golf. I still didn't know exactly what I was looking for, but it wasn't miniature golf. There was another way to go, though, even further forward, right along the edge of the bow. Molly was panting from our frantic pace, but she was keeping up. We'd reached the very front of the ship. The image of Leonardo DeCaprio holding Kate Winslet on the bow of the Titanic flashed into my mind. That's what I wanted! Moonlight! Sea spray! Violins! But the forward view was all walled off. The only thing you could see, if you turned around, was the bridge, looming up above us, ominously dark except for the eerie glow from the radar screens. There was a stairway leading up to it, but the sign said "Authorized personnel only." "Kind of not what I was expecting," I said. "Oh, well," she said. She pulled us across to the other side where another deckway led back aft. The wall there was not so high, and we stood for a while, watching the foamy caps and the unbounded emptiness. We had engine noises instead of violins and a stinging wind instead of an enchanted spray. "Do you think they'd even bother to tell us?" she wondered. "Tell us?" "If the world blew itself up." But the wind was just too fierce. We retreated back to the more sheltered parts of the ship. This time Jack and Ciara were in the Salsa Club. They waved us in. "What are you having?" Jack yelled over the music, heading for the bar. Ciara and Molly had to half shout to hear each other. Jack came back with something tall and fruity for Molly and something short and amber colored for me. The music was catchy and persistent. Jack held out his hand and led Molly onto the dance floor. They made a handsome couple: Jack rugged and manly, Molly fresh and pretty. I felt a twinge of jealousy. Molly knew a lot of steps, and she was clearly enjoying herself. I gave Ciara an awkward smile and we walked out to join them. It turned out that Ciara was quite a dancer too. She would lose herself in the music, letting her willowy body become an instrument of its expression. I felt kind of bad that she was stuck having me as her partner, but the dance floor was crowded and she didn't seem to mind. When the song ended, she smiled and put her hand on my arm as she caught her breath. She was attractive, with long, honey-blonde hair and a captivating smile. A bit older than me, but not that much. I tried to picture the two of us going out after we got back home. By the third song it was no longer really clear any more who was dancing with whom. Ciara and Molly were dancing next to each other and laughing together at something one of them had said. Then Ciara turned her attention to Jack, and he gave her a few of the moves that her dancing so richly deserved. They made a striking couple too, in a different way than Jack and Molly. They seemed more appropriate for each other, somehow, a better fit. And there was a genuine cozy affection between them that I could imagine outlasting the cruise. Meanwhile, Molly was dancing beside me now, her freshness and joyful enthusiasm now beamed my way. That seemed more appropriate too. Molly and I finally called it a night. It had been a long, eventful day: mermaids, cacti, sea spray, dancing. We made our way down the corridor to the little room that was beginning to feel more and more like home. I took off my coat. Molly's hair was a bit mussed, but she looked happy, as if her day had been as full and eventful as mine had been. I brought my arms up to give her a little hug. I figured that the rules of cabin etiquette wouldn't begrudge us one little hug. But she stepped into it, and before I knew it we were kissing, a kiss that continued as we shuffled our way toward the bed. We sat down. I put my hand on her shoulder and ran it over her sequined back. She touched my face and let her tongue brush my lips. I stroked her side and whispily brushed her breast. She drew in her breath, then reached behind herself and undid her clasp. Her bodice slipped down like a sequined snake skin, revealing the more luminous, more tender skin beneath. Her breasts were perfect, pale and shy, each one frankly punctuated by a bashful, yearning nipple. I couldn't help but lean in and encircle one of them with my lips, tasting it gently with my own tongue. She held me softly there. The rules of cabin etiquette, it seemed, had been suspended by mutual consent. She lifted herself just enough to slip her gown off the rest of the way. She draped it over the chair and gave me the bashful version of her shrug. We had to get ready for bed after all. I undressed too, placing my clothes on top of hers. She lay down, wearing only her panties. I took off everything and lay down beside her. We glided our hands over each other's arms, over each other's sides, over each other's hips. My penis was sticking out like a sore thumb, but I just let it. I caressed her firm bottom and hitched her closer so that our thighs touched, so that her nipples grazed my chest. I slipped my hand down inside her panties to be even closer to the smooth, cool touch of her skin. Always before, one part of my brain would already have been working out the logistics of getting us back where we would need to go when we were finished. But tonight those concerns were blissfully absent. We were both already right where we needed to be, right in the very bed where we would be spending the night. But there was one concern I couldn't put aside. "I'm afraid I didn't think to bring any protection. Do you think the gift shop might still be open?" "It's okay," she murmured. "I'm protected." We kissed again. She reached down and slipped off her last remaining piece of clothing. So now we both were naked, lying together in each other's arms, in the very bed where we were going to spend the night. It wasn't that I didn't know what to do next, it was just that I was a little bashful to be the one to initiate it. And, truth be told, I was more than happy just to be doing what we were doing, lying together so intimately, so completely within each other's personal space, so fully accepting, so fully accepted. If that was going to be enough for her, it was certainly plenty enough for me. But I didn't object when she knelt up, and straddled my thighs, and took my rigid penis in her hand, and glided her moist vagina down upon it. Neither of us said a word. Partly it was shyness, but partly it was just because there was no need to muddle up with words what our entwined bodies were already saying so well without them. To be continued. By HectorBidon for Literotica.

Strangers forced to share a cabin on a cruise ship. By HectorBidon. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.  The waiting area outside the Long Beach cruise terminal was abuzz with bright new outfits and happy chatter. It was enough to make even the most reserved introvert start to feel a bit of excitement. I was standing with Jack and Ciara, two regulars of the social group. Jack was tall and rugged, something to do with landscaping; Ciara tall and willowy, worked in an office of some sort. They weren't an official couple, as far as I knew, but they seemed to have hooked up for the New Year's Pacific cruise. That was sort of the way the group worked. Thirty somethings, mostly divorced, intent on maintaining the hard playing lifestyle of their twenties, looking for like-minded dating partners to do it with. Jack was explaining the different cruise drink payment plans. I smiled politely and nodded, thinking how different from theirs my life would be when I got to be their age. Denise bustled up in a pretty pastel pantsuit with her clipboard in her hand. She was a travel agent and the mother hen of the group, forty-something and no longer trying so hard to pretend she was any younger. She'd put together this group and made a nice extra income for her troubles. "Hector," she said, ushering me a step aside, "I'm afraid there's been a mix up with your reservation. Somehow your single cabin didn't show up on the final printout." She gave me a concerned look. "They're working on it,,  but we may have to double you up with someone." This came as a bit of a rude surprise. One of the only reasons I'd finally agreed to come on the cruise in the first place had been her assurance that I'd be able to have a single. It wasn't that I was antisocial really, but I had my limits. "You know Mrs. Pendergast, don't you?" Mrs. Pendergast was an older woman, well into her sixties. She wasn't a regular member of the group, but it amused her sometimes to hang with a younger crowd. The group let her tag along to some of their events. I was going to have to share a room with Mrs. Pendergast? "Apparently she got sick and had to cancel at the last minute. So we have an opening. She was sharing a room with, ah;" she double checked her forms; "a Ms. Crenshaw. I don't know her, but I'm sure she's very nice. It's a double room, and you know how it is on a cruise. You don't spend that much time in your room anyway." I didn't even try to return her smile. "They're still working on your single, of course. I just wanted to let you know the fallback plan." Not only losing my single, but having to spend the cruise being polite to an old lady? In Denise's mind, that was what the social group was all about. People were already starting to go into the terminal building when Denise came back, this time with an attractive young woman at her side. I wondered if it was Denise's daughter, there to see us off. "Hector," she said, peering at me over the top of her glasses, "this is Molly Crenshaw. I've been explaining our predicament." The girl gave me a weak smile. She was pretty, with long brown hair swept back, wearing white shorts and a light blue top. She didn't look like she could be a day over twenty-one. Not at all what I had pictured as a travelling companion for Mrs. Pendergast. "It's a double room," Denise was explaining. "I'm sure they'll be able to rig up a partition if need be. But this will be the first cruise for both of you. It will be nice to have a buddy to help you find your way around. I'm sure the two of you will hit it off." Molly was still looking at me rather uncertainly. This apparently wasn't exactly what she had signed up for, either. She looked back at Denise. "Well, if his other room got cancelled,” Denise was delighted. The registration mix-up had been solved in an efficient and social-group-positive way. I couldn't believe she was being so cavalier about putting a guy and a girl who didn't even know each other into the same room together. "They're still working on my single though, right?" "As far as I know. You'll be able to check with the Bursar once we get on board." Denise had more than enough smile for the three of us. They called our area for boarding. "See you on board," she said, bustling off with her clipboard. Going up the gangway onto the ship itself kind of blew me away. You entered onto the mezzanine level of what looked like the fanciest mall I'd ever seen. There was an atrium that rose several stories high with glass elevators gliding up and down and fancy shops and glittering lights on every different level. On the floor below us a fellow in a tuxedo was playing a grand piano. All of this right in the middle of the ship. Molly's eyes were as wide as mine. They'd told us to have lunch while the luggage was being brought on. Molly and I had come aboard with a bunch of other social groupers, but they'd all buzzed off one way or another leaving the two of us by ourselves. We found a little sandwich and salad buffet. "So, your first cruise?" I asked. I was pretty sure I'd be able to get the room situation straightened out, but there was no harm in being polite. She assembled a forkful of salad. "Yes, Mrs. Pendergast is a patient at the clinic where I work. She's pretty chatty, you know. She kept talking about this fantastic cruise she was going on. But she needed a travelling companion to come along and sort of look after her." She shrugged. " Mrs. Pendergast offered to cover the cost, if I'd come with. I don't know, she has a way of getting what she wants." "Is she all right?" I asked. "Denise says she's afraid she might be coming down with something. She's a bit of a hypochondriac. But the tickets are already paid for, and I'm already here, so Denise said I should just come along on the cruise without her." She gave her little shrug again and took a sip of iced tea. "Your first cruise too?" "I'm not really a member of the social group, actually. I went on a nature hike with them one time and ended up on Denise's list. So now she sends me emails every time she has some big event. She was kind of persistent this time. I think they needed to sign up a certain number of people in order to get a discount or something." Molly nodded and stabbed a crouton. "Well, it is a cruise. It should be fun. And it'll be nice not to have to keep tabs on Mrs. Pendergast all the time. There's gambling, you know. When we get far enough out to sea." "You gamble?" "Of course. Poker, black jack. Machines mostly, but sometimes at the tables. I have a system. It's a lot of fun." After lunch I asked my way up to the Bursar's office. Molly came along to make sure that everything worked out. The Bursar looked me up in his computer. Apparently, when Mrs. Pendergast had cancelled, they'd looked to fill the vacancy with someone from our same group. I was the only one in a single, so they moved me in to fill her spot and gave my room to someone else. He double checked, but there weren't any other singles available. He apologized for the inconvenience and gave me my key card. I was flabbergasted. "Well," said Molly, "we might as well go check it out at least." We found our way down to the deck where the cabin was located. The room itself was not much bigger than a walk-in closet. A chair, a little night stand, a mirror on the bathroom door, a bed against the wall. That was it. We looked at each other. "Kind of smaller than I would have thought," I said. "Yeah," she agreed. I corralled a passing steward. "Um, we were supposed to be getting a double room?" I showed him the printout. "Yes, yes," he said in his helpful foreign accent. "Very nice double cabin." "But there's only one bed." I said. "Double bed," he explained. Then he gestured toward the porthole on the wall. "Ocean view!" He smiled, happy to have been of service, and went on about his way. Molly didn't look altogether convinced. I sighed. "Let me go talk to the Bursar again,” But she was sizing things up. Sunshine was streaming in through the porthole. Our two suitcases had been placed in a little niche beside the bathroom door, side by side. "All the other rooms are probably just as small," she said. "On this level anyway. And they seem to have already given your other room away." She looked at me. "Do you snore?" It wasn't a question I was expecting. "I don't think so. No one's ever complained." "Well, Mrs. Pendergast does, apparently. That's the one thing I've been dreading the most." She looked back at the room. "I guess this is just what double rooms are like on cruise ships. Maybe it's not so bad. At least you don't snore. We're kind of on an adventure anyway. Maybe we should just try and make the best of it." She made it sound as if sharing a room with a complete stranger of the opposite sex was no bigger a deal than sharing a table with him at lunch. She sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the schedule of the day's activities as if the issue had already been decided. "Shuffleboard lessons at three o'clock," she noted. "Bingo at four thirty." I sat down on the chair. So instead of getting a room of my own I was going to have to share this one? Surely there must be some other alternative. What if,  what if I asked Denise to ask Ciara to move in here with Molly and let me bunk with Jack? Ugh! I cringed at the thought. "A magic show tonight in the forward theatre." Molly announced; reading more literature. I looked around. How would it even work? The room was so tiny. There was only the one bed. Molly was studying a map of the ship. "What do you think we should do first?" She'd not only accepted the fact that we'd be rooming together, she was ready to head out and start exploring. "Um,  why don't you just go ahead on your own? I've still got a couple things I need to take care of first." I couldn't tell if she was a bit hurt that I didn't want to join her. But she shrugged it off. "Well, OK. Then I guess we can just meet back up here later." I didn't really have anything I needed to take care of, I just wanted a little time to sort things out. I was pretty bummed that they'd given away my single. And I wasn't sure how I felt about Molly's matter-of-fact-ness. Was she really so used to sharing rooms with random guys? Still, if I did have to share a room with someone, Molly was probably no more objectionable than Jack or Mrs. Pendergast. She was more my age. She was just out of college and I had a few years on her. She seemed pretty easy going. If we'd been thrown together as partners at a workshop breakout session, I wouldn't have objected. But sharing insights at a breakout session wasn't exactly the same as sharing a cabin on a cruise ship. I'd had to share rooms with strangers before, but they'd always been guys. What you did was you put on your blinders, you put up your shields, you went about your business, you let them go about theirs. You tried to be polite. At least that's the way it worked with guys. Did it work that way with girls too? I guess I'd find out. The ship must have cast off soon after we came on board, but so smoothly that we hadn't even noticed. By the time I found my way up on deck we'd already cleared the harbor and were quite a ways out from land. I stood at the railing and watched the waves roll by. I wondered whether I might get seasick, but the deck was as firm and steady as any sidewalk on the mainland. The ship turned out to be a whole little city unto itself. There was a miniature golf course at one end and a climbing wall at the other. The top deck held two full-sized swimming pools, each already surrounded by sun bathers glistening in cocoa butter. The lower decks held lounges and theaters and eateries and nightclubs. There were shops and kiosks on every level; a sports bar, a wine bar, two piano bars, a margarita bar ("Hi, Jack! Hi, Ciara!"); and any number of different ways to get from any one place to any other: by stairs, by elevator, by main passageway, by side passageway. Later in the afternoon I sat down at a little coffee shop toward the stern of the ship and nursed a cup of lapsang souchong. Seagulls were gliding along in our tailwind. I'd been making good progress on a couple algorithms at work, and I went over some of the key steps in my mind. It was nice being out of the cubicle for a change, sitting in the sunshine, daydreaming instead of coding, watching the seagulls hover and veer. My thoughts eventually wandered back to my room situation. I still couldn't understand why Molly was being so agreeable about sharing the cabin. It dawned on me that maybe she didn't think she had any other choice. Maybe she thought that since she was only here as Mrs. Pendergast's guest, she had to do whatever Denise asked. And so maybe she wasn't really all that used to sharing rooms with random guys either. Maybe she was just doing what she thought was expected. A fellow shipmate, a sort-of member of the same social group she was sort of a member of, needed a place to bunk. She had an empty spot. Didn't shipboard etiquette kind of dictate that she offer to share? But then, by the same token, what did shipboard etiquette expect of me? I finished my tea and ambled back toward the front of the ship. A raucous game of volleyball was taking place in one of the pools. Someone called my name. "Are you going back to the room? I forgot my card." It was Molly. She gave her little shrug. She was wearing a bright yellow bikini. It was fairly conservative, the kind she could wear to the gym, but it called your attention to her shapely legs and her slender tummy. We made our way down the labyrinth of passageways toward our lower deck. The people we passed would have naturally assumed that we were together. "I figured out about dinner," she said. "Everybody has an assigned time and an assigned table. Ours is in about an hour. We can go together if you want." After a couple of wrong turns we finally found our corridor and our little room. It hadn't gotten any bigger in the time we'd been away. But there was a fresh bath towel sitting on the bed, folded into a sort of soft-origami swan. "Look how cute," Molly said. "The housekeepers must have been in." She put her things on the nightstand and fiddled in her suitcase for some clothes. "I'm just going to take a quick shower first." She went into the bathroom, taking the swan along with her. I sat on the foot of the bed and took a look at the schedule. The walls were thin enough that I could hear the water splashing. She came out wrapped in the towel. "It's too cramped to get dressed in there," she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. She looked around the room, a bit awkwardly. So this was one of the guys-and-girls-sharing-a-cabin rules that I wasn't really familiar with. What was I supposed to do while she got dressed? Step into the bathroom to give her some privacy? Or just ignore her, the way I would if I was sharing the room with a guy? She wasn't completely sure how to play it either. She turned to face the mirror, but that only put her sideways to me. So she turned all the way around, facing the outer door. She tried to give the impression that changing clothes in front of a cabin mate wasn't that big a deal. So I tried to follow her lead. I didn't stare, and she had her back to me, but it was hard not to notice what she was doing. She started by putting on her bra, but as she was pulling it up, her towel slipped, revealing the two round, pretty cheeks of her bottom. She quickly pulled the towel back into place, and I quickly forced my eyes back to the schedule. So it was only with my peripheral vision that I was able to see her stepping into her panties and skirt and buttoning up her blouse. Finally she sat on the chair to fasten her sandals. Our eyes met again. She sighed, then admitted. "I work in a clinic. I often have to help clients get over themselves, when they have to disrobe for an exam, in front of someone they don't know. I think I have better empathy, now. Oh, Dinner is supposed to be smart casual." she remarked. I took that to mean that my polo shirt didn't quite cut it. I'd brought a couple button-down shirts, and so I went over and got one from my suitcase. She nodded approvingly and turned to the mirror, fiddling with her hair. I took off my polo shirt and put on the button one. The dining room was immense, with big round tables like in a reception hall. Molly and I were assigned to a table with some of the other people from our group. I let Molly sit next to Ciara. There was nobody on my other side, which was fine with me. Molly and Ciara found some girl stuff to talk about. The general conversation at the table seemed to be about motorcycles. Denise stopped by to see how everyone was doing. Molly had the chicken and I had the fish. We resisted the hard liquor, but we both had a glass of wine with our meal. Valentin, our engaging Bulgarian waiter, brought us the chit. We had both just assumed that wine was included in the meal, but he explained that it would be added to our room bill. "Will they charge it to Mrs. Pendergast?" Molly whispered, afraid they might. "We'll figure it out," I whispered back, signing for both of us. The magic show didn't start until eight o'clock, so after dinner Molly suggested we just wander around. She showed me the little art gallery she'd discovered on deck six where it met the central atrium. Photographs of interesting doorways on old, rustic buildings. Just past the art gallery was a little gift shop. We went in, and Molly looked at the jewelry counter. She asked the lady to bring out a necklace that caught her eye. I leafed through the post cards, but I didn't really have anyone to send one to. We still had forty-five minutes until the show, so I took Molly up to the miniature golf course. We didn't bother keeping score. I made a couple lucky shots. Then, on the next-to-the-last hole, Molly's shot went wild and bounced onto the next green over. It ricocheted off a bumper and coasted down, curving gently, right into the cup. A perfect hole in one into the wrong hole! "Whoa!" I said. "Remind me never to play you for money." She raised her putter and blew on the end as if it were a smoking rifle barrel. "You should see me at pinball." The magic show was a lot of fun. The magician wore a black hat and cape and his pretty assistant wore a slinky black dress. They did all the traditional tricks with rings and scarves and giant cards. Then, for the grand finale, the magician announced that he was going to make his assistant disappear right before our very eyes. He had her stand at the front of the stage with her arms up and out to the crowd. He waved his wand and, Presto!, she didn't disappear, but her dress did! It was just gone! She kept standing there for a second with her breasts completely exposed and nothing covering her at all except a tiny G-string thong. Finally she realized what had happened. She shrieked, covered herself with her hands, and ran offstage, letting us see that her backside was just as shapely as her front. The magician was shocked that his trick had backfired. Shocked! But the audience was applauding wildly, and so he turned and bowed. And as he swept off his hat, what should fall out but the assistant's little black dress. He picked it up and gave us a sly grin. The assistant came out to take her bow, wrapped in a white ship's towel just like the one Molly had been wearing. When she saw what the magician had in his hand, she snatched it back from him with a nasty glare. The crowd ate it up. Molly was laughing as much as I was. After the show we went back up on deck and strolled a while in the cool night air. The ship was plowing along through moonlit waves, stars twinkling in the sky. Toward the stern, lively dance music was thumping up from the nightclubs below. We found our way down to check it out. We spotted Jack and Ciara in the hip-hop club amidst the flashing strobe lights and pulsing lasers. Jack raised his glass and Ciara called something we didn't quite catch. Further on was the salsa club, throbbing with its own level of intensity. Then came the golden oldies club, somewhat more subdued. And finally a relatively quiet lounge where we sat down and shared a bottle of sparkling water. "It's pretty amazing, isn't it?" Molly said. "I never thought there would be so many different things going on. A whole resort on a single ship! And they can just hoist up the anchor and sail us away to wherever they want to take us." I had to agree. "And the way it's so completely self-contained. I mean, what could we possibly want that they aren't already completely stocked up on? The whole rest of the world could just go ahead and blow itself up and we wouldn't even notice." It had been a pleasant evening. And Denise had been right: it had been fun to have a buddy to share it with. But now we were heading back to our little room, and we had to turn our attention to the more mundane aspects of cabin sharing. Molly went to the bathroom first, and then I did, and then neither of us was quite sure how to proceed. It was becoming pretty clear that she wasn't any more familiar with cabin sharing than I was. Both of us kept looking at the bed. It was up against the outer wall, and almost as long as the cabin was wide. It was going to be awkward getting to the side against the wall without disturbing the other person. Presumably the cabin-sharing etiquette book would have had something to say. I decided that one of us should at least try to pretend that they knew what they were doing. "Would you mind if I took the side with the ocean view?" That seemed like the most gentlemanly arrangement. She didn't argue, and in fact I think she was relieved to have the issue resolved. She opened her suitcase and brought out a pair of frilly, sky-blue pajamas. She looked around again and then turned her back like she had before. I sat down at the foot of the bed. I hadn't even thought to bring any pajamas myself. Well, there wasn't much I could do about it now. I took off my shoes and socks and tried not to pay any undue attention to what she was doing. She stepped into her pajama bottoms and pulled them up under her skirt before taking it off. Then she pulled off her blouse and put on her pajama top so quickly that I caught only the briefest glimpse of her bra strap. Then she reached in under the top, unhooked her bra, and fished it out. Meanwhile, I'd taken off my shirt and pants. I figured I could slip under the covers without her seeing me in my underwear. But then I realized that she'd had a perfect view in the bathroom-door mirror all along. She didn't let on, though. That seemed to be the universal rule of awkward cabin sharing, for girls as well as for guys. Just go about your business and let your cabin mate go about theirs. I crawled up onto the far side of the bed, trying not to notice if she was paying any attention. She turned off the light and got in on her side. I'd had to share beds with other guys before on occasion. What you do is turn your back, keep yourself perfectly still, and imagine that there is an invisible force field that insulates your half of the bed from the entire rest of the universe. I quickly discovered, however, that this technique is not that effective when the person lying beside you is a pretty girl in frilly pajamas. I got such a hard-on that I was sure she could sense it, even though we had our backs turned. So I thought about my algorithms. I rehearsed an upcoming seminar presentation of their salient features. And then I rehearsed it again. And then I rehearsed it again. Sunlight was shining in through the porthole again when I woke up the next morning. Molly was still asleep, but I needed to pee. I edged out of bed, trying my best not to disturb her. I went to the bathroom, then quietly got dressed and slipped out of the room. There were only a few people up on deck at this hour. We'd sailed during the night and were now anchored at the entrance to the harbor at Catalina Island. It was a beautiful morning, the water a rich cerulean blue, the harbor dotted with rows of pretty boats. I came back down and found a dining room that served breakfast. I had a bite and brought back coffee and a roll for Molly. She was up, but still in her pajamas. I told her about the island and tried to show her through the porthole. The way the ship was facing, though, we were only able to see the rugged hills of the island and not the harbor itself. By mid-morning she had talked me into going in to shore with her. It was like being transported back in time to the sunny southern California you see in old-time newsreels: palm trees, cute bungalows, handsome, sun-tanned people sitting at outdoor cafes or lounging under colorful beach umbrellas. We walked all the way along the beachfront to the palatial ballroom at the end, admiring its lovely art-deco mosaics of naked mermaids cavorting amidst swirling kelp forests and playful schools of fish. The huge round floor of the ballroom itself was dark and empty on this weekday morning, but photos along the walls showed elegantly dressed couples waltzing at the annual New Year's Eve ball. Molly was enchanted. "Let's come back for it, want to?" "I'm afraid my ballroom dancing is a little rusty." "Well, you'll have to brush up then." We strolled back along the main boulevard amidst tourists and tradesmen and shopping housewives. We looked in the windows of the boutiques and souvenir shops and had lunch at one of the sidewalk cafes. Molly filled me in on all the latest gossip about the interns and nurses at her clinic. I told her a bit about my algorithms. I may have gotten a little carried away, actually, but she did her best to follow along. Our map showed a botanical garden a couple miles out of town. Molly was game, so after lunch we rented a tourist cart and headed off to look for it. I drove and Molly navigated, and after a few wrong turns we found ourselves bumping along into the dusty interior of the island. It was a warm, sunny afternoon, and we had the place pretty much to ourselves. It had never even occurred to me that there were botanical gardens devoted almost entirely to cactus. I'd certainly never imagined there were so many different varieties: towering suaros like in the cowboy movies; rough organ pipes that shimmered like coral formations on the floor of some strange alien sea; fuzzy white phalluses that tried to lure you into thinking they were cuddly enough to pet; plump barrel cactus with swirling patterns of pristine spikes as geometrically perfect as Faberge eggs. Molly discovered a sprawling specimen that must have taken up a half a city block. It was covered with prickly green Mickey Mouse ears, and on the whole rugged plant there was one lone ear that held a single tiny delicate yellow flower. "That's what I want for my corsage," she said. "When we come back for New Year's Eve." We eventually bumped our way back into town and dropped off the cart. The tender back to the ship was pretty full, and Molly and I had to press up shoulder-to-shoulder on the bench. She closed her eyes in the afternoon sunshine. "A perfect day," she murmured. "And tonight's the gala dinner. And gambling!" "Gala dinner?" She opened one eye just enough to give me a look. "You were supposed to bring a sport coat. It was in the brochure." When we got back to the room we found our towel on the nightstand, folded into the shape of a jungle cat, ready to pounce. I had brought my sports coat, but it was pretty creased from being crammed in my suitcase. Molly hung it in the bathroom when she went in to take her shower. Then when she was done I took my own, making sure to give her plenty of time to get dressed. I cracked the door to see if the coast was clear. She was making her final adjustments in the mirror and stepped aside to let me out. She was wearing a lilac gown with a sequined top and a long swishy skirt. "I got it on sale," she shrugged. But I could tell from the way she kept looking at herself in the mirror that she was pretty pleased with it. Now I was the one who had to get dressed in front of her. I just went at it cabin-buddy style, turning my back and pulling things up under my towel like she had done. When I fetched my sports coat from the bathroom, the creases were a little less noticeable. We made our way up to the dining room. It was nice, actually, being a little dressed up. I found myself walking a little taller, standing a little straighter. Molly took my arm as we made our way to the table, and everyone paused to look. Molly and Ciara chatted about shopping on the island. It turned out that Jack knew something about cacti from his landscaping work and was interested to hear about the botanical garden. The appetizers were oysters on the half shell. It was my first time eating them, and Molly showed me what to do. By the time that dinner was over, the ship had gotten far enough out to sea that the casino was open. Molly walked right in as if she knew what she was doing. She got ten dollars' worth of quarters, and I pitched in another ten, trying my best to match her air of confident sophistication. She went to one of the poker machines, and I drew up a stool beside her. "So what's this system of yours? Or is it a secret?" "I only play until I run out of quarters. That way I never lose more than I'm willing to spend." I didn't think that that was what people meant by a "system," but I didn't say anything. I watched her play a few hands. The machine would deal out five cards. She would select which ones she wanted to keep, and the machine would replace the others. "I usually just bet a quarter. But if we're going to pool our money, we can bet two at a time, OK?" I finally figured out how it worked. If we got anything less than a pair of jacks, the machine would keep our money. If we got jacks or better, it would give us our money back. If we got an even better hand, like two pairs or three of a kind, it would pay out according to a table posted on the screen. All the way up to a hundred bucks for a royal flush. We lost our first few quarters, but then we got three aces, and the machine clunked us six shiny new quarters back out. Molly would study each hand carefully before making her selection. She pretty much chose the same cards that I would have chosen, except she was a little over-optimistic about our chances of getting a straight or a flush. On one hand the machine dealt us the jack and king of diamonds, along with a pair of eights. She eagerly selected to keep the jack and the king. "No, no," I told her. "Keep the eights." "But we have a chance for a royal flush." "But the odds are better for getting another eight." She gave me her look of patient exasperation. "Because look,” I tried to say. But she wasn't particularly interested in my analysis. "OK, Mr. Algorithm." She changed the selection. The machine dealt us a queen, a three, and a six and beeped the forlorn tone that meant "better luck next time." Molly flashed me her told-you-so eyebrows. "Well, we wouldn't have gotten the royal flush either." "Not if we didn't even try!" There was one moment of genuine excitement when we got a full house, sixes and queens. The machine clanged like crazy and quarters came pouring out. But eventually every one of them got re-deposited, never to be seen again. It wasn't really gambling so much as just playing a video game. An enjoyable one, though. There was the dress-up aspect, the battle of wits, the allure of the hundred-dollar jackpot. Molly certainly enjoyed playing, and I enjoyed watching her. I noticed that it was almost time for the show. "Juggling?" Molly wasn't so sure. She rattled our cup. "We still have a few quarters left." "Yes, juggling! I'll have you know that I minored in juggling in college. Come on. It'll be fun." The show was in the forward theatre again, right next to the casino. The Flying Garbanzo Brothers! Hup Hup! Four strapping guys with streaming hair and Frank Zappa mustaches, dressed in colorful gypsy blouses and billowing pantaloons. They juggled everything from tennis balls to bowling pins to pineapples to power tools. One of the brothers, Yakov, had a rakish, devil-may-care attitude and was always grinning at the ladies in the audience. In one of the acts, as balls were whizzing back and forth across the stage, he started making eyes at a blonde in the front row. He began paying less and less attention to his juggling, occasionally letting a ball fly past him, which one of the other brothers would then have to lurch out of formation to keep in play. Finally he just gave up on the juggling altogether and sat down on the edge of the stage, chatting the lady up. The other brothers were flailing frantically to keep all the balls in the air. They began to retire them, one by one, but somehow the very last ball went out of control and arched way up high toward the front of the stage. Yakov casually reached his hand out to the side and caught it without even looking. "Ladies and gentlemen!" announced Ripov, the black brother with dreads, "For our grand finale, a feat of blistering dexterity so flagrantly dangerous that it has never before been attempted within the enclosed confines of a luxury liner!" The brothers proceeded to arrange a panoply of torches and hoops and bales of combustible material all around the stage. Yakov came out sporting a mischievous grin and lugging a big red can, labeled 'gasoline.' Just as he was about to douse the first bale, the stagehand stormed in, a short oriental fellow in a white lab coat and thick black glasses, squawking in a barely intelligible accent and waving the ubiquitous ship safety placard, the one with the picture of the lifesaver on it. Yakov's grin collapsed into a sneer, but he put down the can. "Still never attempted," he muttered under his breath. The brothers juggled the torches anyway, unlit but unwieldy, back and forth through the hoops and over the bales. Suddenly red and orange crepe-paper streamers unfurled and rose up, flickering like flames and giving the impression, at least, of a roaring inferno. All in all, it was enough to get your blood pumping. When the show was over there was a bit of a traffic jam getting out of the theater. I grabbed Molly's hand and dragged her toward a less crowded side exit. Hup hup! We found ourselves in a stateroom passageway, and I kept dragging her along at a rapid pace. "Where are we going?" she asked. "C'mon," I replied. The fact is, I didn't really know. At the end of the passage was a short stairway up to a bulkhead door. We went through and found ourselves outside on a little deck by the lifeboats. The sun had set, but you could still see the frothy wave caps. At the end of the deck was another stairway, and at the top was the entrance to the miniature golf. I still didn't know exactly what I was looking for, but it wasn't miniature golf. There was another way to go, though, even further forward, right along the edge of the bow. Molly was panting from our frantic pace, but she was keeping up. We'd reached the very front of the ship. The image of Leonardo DeCaprio holding Kate Winslet on the bow of the Titanic flashed into my mind. That's what I wanted! Moonlight! Sea spray! Violins! But the forward view was all walled off. The only thing you could see, if you turned around, was the bridge, looming up above us, ominously dark except for the eerie glow from the radar screens. There was a stairway leading up to it, but the sign said "Authorized personnel only." "Kind of not what I was expecting," I said. "Oh, well," she said. She pulled us across to the other side where another deckway led back aft. The wall there was not so high, and we stood for a while, watching the foamy caps and the unbounded emptiness. We had engine noises instead of violins and a stinging wind instead of an enchanted spray. "Do you think they'd even bother to tell us?" she wondered. "Tell us?" "If the world blew itself up." But the wind was just too fierce. We retreated back to the more sheltered parts of the ship. This time Jack and Ciara were in the Salsa Club. They waved us in. "What are you having?" Jack yelled over the music, heading for the bar. Ciara and Molly had to half shout to hear each other. Jack came back with something tall and fruity for Molly and something short and amber colored for me. The music was catchy and persistent. Jack held out his hand and led Molly onto the dance floor. They made a handsome couple: Jack rugged and manly, Molly fresh and pretty. I felt a twinge of jealousy. Molly knew a lot of steps, and she was clearly enjoying herself. I gave Ciara an awkward smile and we walked out to join them. It turned out that Ciara was quite a dancer too. She would lose herself in the music, letting her willowy body become an instrument of its expression. I felt kind of bad that she was stuck having me as her partner, but the dance floor was crowded and she didn't seem to mind. When the song ended, she smiled and put her hand on my arm as she caught her breath. She was attractive, with long, honey-blonde hair and a captivating smile. A bit older than me, but not that much. I tried to picture the two of us going out after we got back home. By the third song it was no longer really clear any more who was dancing with whom. Ciara and Molly were dancing next to each other and laughing together at something one of them had said. Then Ciara turned her attention to Jack, and he gave her a few of the moves that her dancing so richly deserved. They made a striking couple too, in a different way than Jack and Molly. They seemed more appropriate for each other, somehow, a better fit. And there was a genuine cozy affection between them that I could imagine outlasting the cruise. Meanwhile, Molly was dancing beside me now, her freshness and joyful enthusiasm now beamed my way. That seemed more appropriate too. Molly and I finally called it a night. It had been a long, eventful day: mermaids, cacti, sea spray, dancing. We made our way down the corridor to the little room that was beginning to feel more and more like home. I took off my coat. Molly's hair was a bit mussed, but she looked happy, as if her day had been as full and eventful as mine had been. I brought my arms up to give her a little hug. I figured that the rules of cabin etiquette wouldn't begrudge us one little hug. But she stepped into it, and before I knew it we were kissing, a kiss that continued as we shuffled our way toward the bed. We sat down. I put my hand on her shoulder and ran it over her sequined back. She touched my face and let her tongue brush my lips. I stroked her side and whispily brushed her breast. She drew in her breath, then reached behind herself and undid her clasp. Her bodice slipped down like a sequined snake skin, revealing the more luminous, more tender skin beneath. Her breasts were perfect, pale and shy, each one frankly punctuated by a bashful, yearning nipple. I couldn't help but lean in and encircle one of them with my lips, tasting it gently with my own tongue. She held me softly there. The rules of cabin etiquette, it seemed, had been suspended by mutual consent. She lifted herself just enough to slip her gown off the rest of the way. She draped it over the chair and gave me the bashful version of her shrug. We had to get ready for bed after all. I undressed too, placing my clothes on top of hers. She lay down, wearing only her panties. I took off everything and lay down beside her. We glided our hands over each other's arms, over each other's sides, over each other's hips. My penis was sticking out like a sore thumb, but I just let it. I caressed her firm bottom and hitched her closer so that our thighs touched, so that her nipples grazed my chest. I slipped my hand down inside her panties to be even closer to the smooth, cool touch of her skin. Always before, one part of my brain would already have been working out the logistics of getting us back where we would need to go when we were finished. But tonight those concerns were blissfully absent. We were both already right where we needed to be, right in the very bed where we would be spending the night. But there was one concern I couldn't put aside. "I'm afraid I didn't think to bring any protection. Do you think the gift shop might still be open?" "It's okay," she murmured. "I'm protected." We kissed again. She reached down and slipped off her last remaining piece of clothing. So now we both were naked, lying together in each other's arms, in the very bed where we were going to spend the night. It wasn't that I didn't know what to do next, it was just that I was a little bashful to be the one to initiate it. And, truth be told, I was more than happy just to be doing what we were doing, lying together so intimately, so completely within each other's personal space, so fully accepting, so fully accepted. If that was going to be enough for her, it was certainly plenty enough for me. But I didn't object when she knelt up, and straddled my thighs, and took my rigid penis in her hand, and glided her moist vagina down upon it. Neither of us said a word. Partly it was shyness, but partly it was just because there was no need to muddle up with words what our entwined bodies were already saying so well without them. To be continued. By HectorBidon for Literotica.

27 de diciembre de 1870. Calle del Turco. Juan Prim, el tipo que más manda en España, recibe ocho balazos en una emboscada digna de novela negra. ¿Murió por las heridas? ¿Lo remataron en su lecho de muerte? Este crimen sigue siendo uno de los mayores misterios de nuestra historia. En este contenido extra, anticipándose a la emisión de la semana que viene, David Botello (@DavidBotello4) y Esther Sánchez (@estesan1969), junto a Espido Freire y Ainara Ariztoy, desmenuzan las teorías más impactantes, entre conspiraciones de alto nivel y estrangulamientos poco aclarados. Y María José Rubio, historiadora y escritora vinculada a la historia de Prim, arroja luz sobre las sombras más inquietantes de este crimen. Si quieres acompañarlos, ¡súbete a la Historia!@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:"Veteran Typewriter"; panose-1:2 0 5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-2147483473 74 0 0 275 0;}@font-face {font-family:"Arial Narrow"; panose-1:2 11 6 6 2 2 2 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:647 2048 0 0 159 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:none; mso-layout-grid-align:none; punctuation-wrap:simple; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Arial Narrow",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Veteran Typewriter"; mso-font-kerning:14.0pt; mso-fareast-language:ES;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:0pt; mso-ligatures:none; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}

Life isn't fair. So when you fight back, fight dirty. In 2 parts, Based on the post from Tx Tall Tales. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. I married young, and had two perfect daughters, but my marriage was far from perfect. We had been young and in love. I was entering the community college and Denise was starting her senior year when we decided to tie the knot. Her family's ready acceptance of me was a huge factor - the family I'd never had, making me feel like a real member of theirs. I can admit it now; I probably loved being a part of the family as much as I loved Denise. Our split up was inevitable, two teenagers who knew nothing about life thinking their infatuation with each other would make everything else workout. I wasn't an all-star, super jock, Rhodes Scholar with a 12" swinging cock. I was just your average student, A and B grades, spending some bench time on the football team to get my letter, and losing my virginity at 18 to the girl I'd eventually marry. When times got rough, we didn't know how to handle it, and struck out at each other. Her family often stepped in and helped out when they could, but time after time, the great sex wasn't enough to make up for the difference in our wants, needs and ambitions. In the end, we gave up. Sometimes I think it's a miracle we made it through 5 years. Our devotion to our children allowed us to finally see past our own issues, and work out a remarkably amiable truce, with our girls at the center. Even though Denise and I couldn't live together, it turned out we got along a lot better divorced. We shared our daughters' time, lived only one neighborhood apart, and worked together as a team to make our personal differences have as little impact on our girls as possible. I had initially shared an apartment uptown, but eventually bought one of the smallest houses in the same school district, just to make things easier. It was a lot more than I needed most of the time, but when the girls stayed with me it felt like a home. And we only lived a couple of miles apart. The neighborhood was nice, predominantly younger families, in older, smallish homes. Most of the people were cordial, kept up their property, and after a few years I knew many by name and would exchange greetings at the grocery store, or when out shopping. I had become suburbanized. This was our fourth Christmas since the divorce. Denise was living with Eric, who I wish I could despise, but he was a decent guy with a great job and lousy taste in sports teams. He doted on my girls without trying to take my place. It had taken a while, but we'd developed a friendship, which wasn't a bad thing. My child support was pegged at just over $1500, with the kids on my health insurance. Even though we weren't married long enough for alimony to kick in, I was paying another $500 a month just to make the kids' lives better. And for me, that was all that really mattered. The expense had been rough at first, but with little to concentrate on other than work, my performance skyrocketed. Two promotions in three years had made the financial aspect much less problematic, but increased travel had made the ability to be available for the girls less guaranteed. Denise was good about it, and worked with me. In return I picked up some more of the girls' expenses, including music lessons and a piano. At Least we still had Christmas Christmas was special. We celebrated Christmas as an extended family. I'd come over early, and we'd have a big family breakfast and open all the presents together. I really went all out to make sure the girls got their favorite items. At six and eight years old, they were still young enough to have simple wants, and the magic of Christmas was as real as it gets. The in-laws would come over in the afternoon with more presents and we'd have a good old fashioned Christmas dinner with all the trimmings. It was nice to be part of something. I got a Christmas shut-down at work and Denise didn't, so we agreed that they'd stay with me from Christmas to New Year's, and any time she could get off, we'd usually work out something to get her time with the kids. It was understood that I wouldn't leave town, at least not for more than a day. Summer was great with the 2 weeks I got to spend with them, and we'd usually spend it on the beach. Christmas was still different. Christmas was magical. I always was given the girl's wish list, but I'd also start my shopping in late November for the must have items of the season. And I wasn't stingy; I'd buy them all up, just to make sure I didn't miss any. Stores, online auctions, Craigslist, I'd use any way possible to get my hands on the hottest presents. The first two years I'd caught hell from Denise for buying everything on the list, leaving nothing for them to get. Now I received a separate list of things I wasn't allowed to buy. So it was that I had just finished wrapping my forty-fourth present, all in glitter Barbie paper for Briana, and in Hannah Montana paper for Allora. December 5th, my earliest date so far to finish the bulk of my shopping. Sure, I'd pick up a few more things, including something for Denise and Eric, but my girls were taken care of. The presents were carefully spread around my living room, where they'd remain on display until just before Christmas, when I'd bring them over to Denise's in a big ceremony. The call came from Denise's mother, Sharon. It took me 11 minutes flat to get to the hospital. I was still too late. Denise and Briana had both died en-route. Eric had passed away only ten minutes before I'd arrived. But Allora, my perfect little Allora, was fighting for her life, in critical condition. She'd always been a fighter, would never back down from any challenge. She'd beat this too, I just knew it. It was a freak accident, with a car dodging out of the way to miss a coyote on the road. An 18 wheeler behind the car did his best to avoid the car in front of him, but ended up fishtailing, and taking out a suburban in the next lane over. That vehicle crossed the median and hit my ex-wife's family van head-on. Six dead already and one little girl still fighting hard for her dear life. Sharon and I kept a vigil over the little towhead, and when the doctors came out after 6 hours and declared the worst was over and she was in stable condition, we fell into each other's arms and cried like children. We stayed by her side, one of us always present, and Sharon called me when my baby woke up and spoke. For three long days we watched her slowly heal in the hospital, the worst of her bruises, cuts and contusions blossoming on the second day, and only just starting to fade again. I'm not a religious guy by nature, but I found myself on my knees beside her bed, praying to God to take care of her, and giving thanks for pulling her through this horrendous disaster. At 4:18 pm on December 7th, she passed away. No warning, no reason, she was there, and then she wasn't. The doctors suspected a clot. I suspected incompetence. I finally understood how a person could get so down on themselves that life might not even feel worth living. I went home and shut myself off from the world. After a while I took the phone off the hook. Hell, let's be honest, I ripped the fucking wires out of the wall so I didn't have to listen to one more bleeding heart tell me they were “sorry for my loss”. The cell phone was easier. I just turned it off. Several people from work came by and assured me that I could take as much time as I needed. They'd bring me food, and news, and would leave as soon as they felt they'd spent the minimum time required socially by the situation. Denise's family took care of the funeral arrangements. They attempted to call, and even stopped by for my input. I gave them a check for $10,000 to take care of the girls, nearly wiping out my savings. What was I going to spend it on now? I couldn't bring myself to go to the showing but I did take a shower and put on a suit for the funeral. It was a bleak day, gray skies, 20 mile an hour winds threatening to tear the top off of the outdoor tent. The ground was soggy from rain the previous night. Just perfect. "Thanks, God. Piss on a guy when he's down. Well, fuck You too." I shook the required hands, and kissed the offered cheeks until I just couldn't take it any longer. All these fake people. Fake emotions. Tell me how sorry they were then go home to their perfect little families and eat meatloaf. Fuck'em. Fuck'em all. Fourteen days. Two solid weeks in that dark house. I wouldn't turn on any lights. No TV. I didn't bathe, I didn't shave. I sat in my chair or I lay in my bed and wallowed. I had a few visitors after the first couple of days, but I'd rarely let them in, and before long they had the decency to stop showing up. Only Cathy from next door wouldn't let me sink into complete oblivion. Every day, at least 3 times a day, she'd check in on me. I wouldn't have let her in, but she had a key to the back door for emergencies and wasn't afraid to use it. She'd open the windows a crack, and goad me into getting out of bed and at least sit in the living room. She'd bring food, which she'd set in front of me, and refused to leave until I at least tried it. I insisted on getting my key back, and she handed it over willingly enough. And showed up again the next day. She'd made copies. Meddlesome bitch. Again, she badgered me into eating her breakfast. And she'd talk. God, how that woman could talk! I got tired just listening. All the neighborhood gossip, town gossip, political gossip, school gossip - she was plugged in everywhere and knew it all. Who was doing what, or whom. Griping about people who still had Thanksgiving decorations up, or had Christmas blowups in their front yard. Church fiascos and neighborhood vendettas, she would sit there, drink her tea (or bourbon and coke if the sun had set) and fill me in. I didn't care. It had been two weeks since the accident. I'd lost more than 10 pounds, and really just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. But Cathy wouldn't let me. She made it her personal mission to cheer me up, get me to respond, bring me back to life. Then one day she let me have it with both barrels. She walked up to me and slapped me across the face. Hard. "Damn it Alex! Snap out of it! Life is hard. And it isn't fair, but as bad as you have it, there's always someone who has it worse. Often in your own backyard if you have the eyes to see it." "What do you know about it?" I snapped viciously. "I notice your kids are alive." "I know my mother died when I was six, and my father left when I was thirteen, leaving Mike to raise my sister and me. He was seventeen years old. But he manned-up and did the job the best he could. That's what I know. Life is hard." "Life is hard. Life's a bitch and then you die. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When God closes a door he opens a window. If I hear one more God-damned cliché I swear I'll kill something," I growled. "Alex, you got a raw deal. You had two perfect little girls, and now they're gone. Your past is shattered. Your little bit of immortality is lost. And as bad as you've got it, I'd remind you others have it worse, and they just press on. You need to as well," Cathy told me, kneeling beside me and holding my hands. The woman barely knew me. A middle-aged mother of three with grown kids, and a workaholic husband. Her life was her home, keeping it immaculate and decorated for every holiday and season. Now it seemed I was her newest project. Why should I matter that much to her? Couldn't she see I didn't want her help? "Sure, starving Ethiopians, children in Nigeria dying of aids, Tibetan monks martyred, it's a tough world. Boo hoo." "You don't have to look as far as Ethiopia or Tibet. There are people right here, right on your own block that are really struggling. Open your eyes. If you don't like the unfairness do something about it. Even up the odds a bit. Make a difference somewhere. Get back to living." Something she said must have gnawed its way down to my subconscious. I spent my usual 14 hours or so in bed, but when I awoke I was thinking about her constant comments about someone in my own backyard that had it worse. I cataloged each person on my block, in my head, and nobody really had it that bad. Sure, Neil, three doors down had lost his job, but his wife was still working, and he was looking. The Harris's on the corner had a boy in Iraq, but as far as I could tell he was still Ok, and they had three more at home. The Martins, one down from the corner, fought all the time, and even had the cops called in on them once but they were still together. What did Cathy mean? I expanded the radius of consideration to include the blocks surrounding us. Then it hit me. Across the alley in back, two houses past Cathy's own. Six months ago. Barry Morrison had driven into an empty field behind the local middle school and eaten a bullet. I didn't know much about the family - I just knew there was one. When Cathy came over, I had showered off the top two layers of grime and sweat, and was drinking a Coke in the living room. "Good morning, Alex, beautiful day outside. Why don't we go out on the porch?" "The Morrisons. Tell me about them." She placed her mug of tea in the microwave, warming it up, then walked out my front door and sat in one of my rocking chairs out front. Irritated, I followed, and sat in the chair beside her. "The Morrisons?" "Sandy and her daughter Erica. You won't see much of her; she's working two jobs trying to keep the house over their heads. They're still fighting with the insurance company over payment. Suicide clause won't pay under two years. He had insurance for years, but just around two years ago he changed the terms. She's been trying to sell the house, but it's underwater, and nobody's buying." "How's the little one?" "Erica's not doing so well. She's seeing a counselor twice a week, and hardly speaks anymore. The school's talking about holding her back," Cathy explained. She sounded sad. "Do we know anything more about why he did it?" "No crimes, he wasn't fired, no embezzling, it's not clear what it was about. Apparently he'd been depressed for quite a while, but the underlying situation is still a blank as far as I know." "Harsh on the family, going out like that," I told her, finding the whole idea hard to grasp. "To say the least. The poor woman is worn to a frazzle." "And how does this all matter to me?" I asked. "It doesn't. It doesn't have to matter to anybody. They're on their own. Alone." "No family help?" "Not that I know of. If they're around, we don't see much of them, that's for sure." "Cathy, how the hell do you know all this stuff?" I had to ask. "People just like to talk to me. I'm a very good listener," she told me with a big smile. We sat quietly enjoying the crisp air, finishing our drinks. "You're a good neighbor too, Cathy. Thanks," I said softly. "That's what neighbors are for," she said, reaching out and patting me on my arm. That's what neighbors are for. Cathy brought me dinner again and I realized I was starving. She beamed at me when I finished the whole platter. "Let's go for a walk, Alex. You could use a stretch of the legs." It had gotten chilly, and we bundled up a bit. She took the lead and we walked down the block and turned up the neighborhood. We headed back up the next block and she regaled me with the entire history and habits of the inhabitants of each place we passed. She might have been a good listener, but I had to wonder when she ever was quiet long enough to hear anything. It was obvious when we got to Sandy Morrison's place. The "For Sale" sign was a dead giveaway. The unkempt yard and overgrown bushes indicated a lack of care for months. It couldn't help with the sales prospects. The door paint was faded, and there were no Christmas lights or decorations set up. I thought the Realtor wasn't earning their commission, letting the place show like this. Through the window I could see a desktop Christmas tree, maybe two feet tall, lit up all in white. Strangely, Cathy stopped speaking before we got to the house, and didn't speak again until the end of the block. "Sad," was all she said. We took a round-about path back to my house, and our conversation had returned to the safety of weather concerns, community issues, and such, carefully skirting any discussion of the Morrisons. I was feeling the chill after the walk, and invited Cathy in for a cup of coffee, Irish fortified if she so desired. We drank our coffee in front of my gas fireplace, warming our old bones. Damn that neighbor of mine, and her good intentions! She'd not only gotten me to think of something other than my own misery, and the unfairness of it all, but she had me thinking about those poor girls behind me, and what they must be going through. Damn it! It wasn't fair. I guess I still wasn't ready for pleasant company. Angry at the world, I threw my mug at the wall, shattering it, and leaned over with my head in my hands, doing my best to hold back the tears. Big boys don't cry. Cathy stood and ran her fingers through my hair for just a moment before leaving out the back door. Kind enough to leave me alone to wallow in my misery a little longer. December 22nd. Just three days until Christmas. When Cathy came over that morning, I was already up and dressed. I had my working duds on and coffee and bagels ready. "You're up early," she commented, helping herself to the java. "It's almost 10," I reminded her. "Not so awfully early." She laughed. "Seems to me anything before noon is quite early as of late. Got plans?" I nodded. "Thought I'd head over to the Morrison's and see what I can do about the outside of the house. Clean it up a bit. Make it a little more presentable if they're really planning on selling it." "That's mighty neighborly of you." "It'll give me something to do. I need to get out of this damned house." After our coffee, she walked with me across the alley, all my yard-work gear in a wheelbarrow. The grass was dormant, but long, and the bushes were out of control. I didn't notice when Cathy left, but she returned in a few hours with some sandwiches for lunch, insisting I take a break. I'd finished the bush trimming and had mowed the lawn, bagging the trimmings. I was just finishing the edging when she appeared. I took a break, and listened to her chatter about the neighborhood activities, and how sad it was that in the past few months nobody had offered to do as much as I had. "I guess we victims of fate need to stick together." "It already looks 100% better. If you want to work in the backyard, I have a key to the gate." "It figures you would." "What is that supposed to mean?" she asked. "It just doesn't surprise me. I bet you've been helping out when you could." She sighed. "Not too much. She's too damn proud. Doesn't want any help from anybody." I shook my head. "Now you tell me. She'll probably call the police on me." "So what if she does? You know you're doing the right thing. I'll bail you out if need be." I let her unlock the back gate, and saw I had my work cut out for me. The back yard was worse than the front. The fence needed work as well, some boards were broken and loose, and one whole section was sagging. Luckily, my tools were only a couple of hundred feet away, across the alley, and I was soon at work, determined to finish before the residents arrived home. The biggest problem was one of the fence posts which had rotted out at the bottom. A new post and some quick-setting cement, solved that problem. Within an hour I'd be able to reattach the fence crossbeams to the new 4x4. I turned to see a young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old, watching me from the porch. Crap. "Just thought I'd fix your fence, before it falls down. I hope you don't mind." She just shook her head. She stood there watching me, and I felt ill at ease. I was a stranger. She shouldn't be talking to me. I should probably leave. "I'm just going to clean up here and head back home. I can finish up later when your mother's home." I straightened up my clothing a bit, wiping my hands on my pants. "I'm Alex Reed. I live across the alley," I explained, pointing down a few houses. She nodded. She reminded me so much of my own daughter, right around that age. Her hair was the same length, blonde, but not quite as light as Allora's. Allora. My perfect little Allora. I closed my eyes, seeing her in that hospital bed, bruised and bandaged, fighting for her life. Her hair tucked under the bandages, the few strands that stuck out dark from sweat. Her body so small in that antiseptic white bed. My Allora. Gone. It felt like somebody had wrapped a band around my chest, and pulled it tight. I couldn't breath. I turned away from Erica, so she wouldn't have to see me lose it. She'd suffered enough already. I felt the tears rise, unbidden, and I started for the gate. I had to get out of there. I barely made it as far as the driveway. It was too much. I closed the gate behind me and crumbled to the ground, seated with my head between my knees, my hands covering my head. It was Christmas, damn it! Christmas! My girls were supposed to be with me, shaking their presents and trying to guess what was in them. Instead Allora and Briana were gone. Their lives snuffed out before they could see anything of the world, before they could find their place, before they could fall in love. No shaking presents. No stomach aches from eating too many holiday sweets. No late night parties to drive me crazy with worry. No learning to drive. No struggling to find the right college. No bringing a boy home for the first time. No cramming for tests. No Spring Breaks. No proms. Nothing. Ever again. I was sobbing, and the little girl who had lost her father was standing on the driveway beside me, her hand resting on my shoulder, while I made a fool of myself. "Erica! You know your mother doesn't want you out if she's not at home. You should go back inside. Mr. Reed will be all right, he's just tired. Go on now." Cathy had me by the arm, and was doing her best to get me back on my feet. "C'mon Alex, not here. Let's get you home." I knew she was right. I stood up, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. "I'll be alright. Just give me a minute." I pulled myself together, took a couple of deep breaths, and stood straight. "I'm Ok. Seeing her was just a little too much, too soon. But I'm fine now. I need to clean up here, and put the fence back together." "Alright. I'll help." It only took us a few minutes to clean up and cart the bags of yard trimmings out to the rear curb. I ran all the yard tools back to my house, and returned to finish the fence work. I braced the new post with a couple of 2x4's and reattached the two panels. Cathy's help made it a lot easier. When we were done we both stood back and looked over the yard. Much better. "I'm going to go inside and fix Erica her after-school snack. It's about all that Sandy will let me do. Why don't you come with me?" "I don't know if I should. Sandy doesn't know me. She may not want me in her house when she's not there." "Never mind that. She'll be fine. Just come in a moment. It'll only take a few minutes." I followed her inside, through the glass sliding door. Erica was sitting on the floor watching TV. I didn't even look that way. I was afraid that seeing the wrong TV show would dredge up more painful memories. "Where can I wash my hands?" I asked Cathy. She pointed to a door. "In there." I headed to the bathroom. "Don't use the toilet. That one doesn't flush anymore." I could hear the running water in the commode. I washed my hands and wiped them on my shirt. There was no towel in the bathroom. Then I took the top off the tank and examined inside. Nothing complicated. The chain that connected the stopper to the handle extension was missing. Lifting the rubber stopper, I saw it was under the lip, the cause of the running water. I reattached the chain, and tested the flushing. Worked fine. "Fixed. The chain was just off." Cathy nodded, and returned to making a grilled cheese sandwich. Briana loved grilled cheese. But you couldn't cut the sandwich, and you had to remove the crust. I wouldn't be cutting the crust off of sandwiches anymore. I took a deep breath, and went to examine the front door. "Cathy? I'm going to head home and get my sander and some paint. This door needs some help desperately." "Go ahead. Sandy won't be home until late, and if we're going to get in trouble for the yard and the fence, we might as well make it a trifecta." Fifteen minutes later, I was running the battery powered hand-sander over the door, removing the worst of the existing paint. I didn't have too much to do, it was already mostly bare. I had brought over three possible paints to use, all of which I knew were approved by the homeowner's association. "What color paint do you think I should use?" I asked Cathy. "Let's ask Erica." She returned in a few seconds with Erica at her side. "We're going to paint the front door, Erica. What color would you like?" We had a choice of off-white, light blue, and a dark brown. She pointed to the light blue, then seated herself nearby to watch. I had already removed the hardware. I taped the hinges and bottom kick-plate, laid out my drip cloth, and started applying a coat of paint, top-to-bottom. I looked over at the young girl watching me so intently. I saw the tree beside her, so small and bare, with one little package underneath it. Christmas trees shouldn't look like that. They should be big, full of decorations, all sorts, each one with its own story. Handcrafted special ornaments, with pictures of your family members. Popsicle stick ornaments with the Elmer's glue showing. Lights blinking in an assortment of colors, candy canes and tinsel, and an angel on top. There should be presents around the bottom, stacked and scattered, so many you can't even get near the tree. It was the first year I didn't have a tree. We'd normally go out as a family and visit one of the Boy Scout tree lots, picking the biggest, fullest tree we thought could fit in my living room. Then we'd decorate it together, Christmas songs playing in the background, and sipping eggnog. We'd spend an eternity untangling the lights, replacing the bulbs that wouldn't work, and replacing the metal hangars on the decorations that needed them. It was an all day affair. Not this year. Not ever again. I realized I'd stopped painting, and I was staring. A long drip of paint from my brush was running down the door. The little girl looked at me, almost as if she understood. "Would you like to help?" I asked. She looked around, as if to ask if I was talking to her. "Yes, you." She shyly nodded yes. I reached over to my bucket of painting supplies and pulled out a small brush. I pointed to the inlaid panels on the bottom half of the door. "You can paint here, around the edge of the panel. It needs to be done with a detail brush like the one you have. Get into the cracks." She nodded, dipped her brush, and started painting straight down the panel edge, doing a good job. "That's perfect. Just like that." I went back to work completing the top half, and had to work around her, sometimes leaning way over to paint above her. She saw what I was doing, and I saw the mischievous heart of a little girl for a moment when she started backing away from the door, making me lean further and further over. "Hey!" I said in mock outrage. "You're doing that on purpose!" When she giggled, apparently ignoring me, and continuing with her painting effort, I felt a small leap in my heart. It was nice to hear her giggle. "When you're done with the painting, and done torturing me, you can paint around the edges of the two hinges and the kick-plate. If I won't be in your way." Little Erica nodded, and continued her careful painting, working slowly and deliberately around the perimeter before moving onto the hinges. I found myself kneeling beside her, painting the bottom-half of the door, while she detailed the trim. We switched places so I could work on the side near the hinges while she completed the bottom trim. "Not bad," I commented, holding out a drip bucket for her to dump her brush in. I sealed up the paint can, peeled off the trim tape, and stood back to get a look at the results. A little girl stood beside me, her blonde hair a poignant reminder of all I'd lost. I took a deep breath to compose myself. "Not bad at all. Think your mother will like it?" I looked down at her while she thought it over. A smile slowly spread across her face. She nodded twice. I put my hand down for a fist bump, just like I would with my girls. She shrank away for a second, then glanced up at my face for a second before making a tiny fist and bumping her knuckles against mine. We were enjoying the last of the natural light as dusk was settling in. Cathy walked out and stood beside us, giving her approval. "The blue is perfect. Great choice Erica." Erica stopped admiring her work, looked at Cathy, and blinked like she was just seeing her for the first time. She looked up and down the block, then walked back into the house and planted herself in front of the TV. "Ready to call it a day?" Cathy asked. "Yeah. Best get while the getting is good." I packed up my paint supplies and in just a couple of trips hid any trace that I'd ever been there. Except of course for the door, yard and fence. Oh, and the toilet, although that really didn't count for much. Back home I cleaned up and sat down pondering what I'd just done. I had mixed feelings, a little guilt creeping in for taking liberties with someone else's house. But thinking about that little girl, and what she must be going through, made anything I could do to help worthwhile. Thinking was dangerous. I realized I hadn't been very nice to the people who had tried to help me. I decided to rectify that if possible, and found a new phone cable for my phone and plugged it in. Picking it up I heard a dial tone. Good. I made a list of phone calls, and went to work. Calling, one-by-one, my friends, neighbors and co-workers, I apologized for my behavior and thanked them for their concern. To a one, they blew off my boorish behavior, and promised they'd be there for me if I needed anything. I stopped, with just a few calls remaining, wondering where those people were for Sandy and Erica, who seemed to need it far more than I. I picked up the phone and dialed Denise's family. I knew it was going to be tough. I apologized for leaving the funeral arrangements to them, and thanked them for all they had done. Speaking to Dan was difficult, but my conversation with Sharon almost did me in. The time we'd spent in the hospital, watching over Allora came up, and I had to take a break for a bit to get my emotions under rein, while I listened to Sharon sob. Even after the divorce we'd remained friendly, and I was glad that we'd had each other on that fateful watch. I promised I'd stop by in the next couple of days, she insisted there was some paperwork that needed taking care of. My last call was to Steve, my roommate for three years in college, and best friend in the world. I had hung up on him twice that first day, and it was haunting me. He'd left more than a dozen messages on my cell-phone voicemail. Plus, I had ulterior motives. The phone rang several times and went to the answering machine. I felt like a weight had lifted, I wouldn't have to face him. "Steve, Alex here. I'm sorry I..." "Alex, I'm here, don't hang up, I'm here. Let me turn off this damned machine. Hold on." I heard some rustling and the echo of our voices disappear. "Jesus, Alex. You're killing me." "Sorry. It hit me so hard; I just couldn't listen to one more well-wisher." "I understand." He would understand. His father had passed away while we were in our last year of college, and he took it hard. Started drinking heavy, cutting classes, and chasing anything with boobs. I took care of him as much as I could, going so far as to collect his homework and projects, even talking to his professors. He'd been slow to pull it together, but eventually came around. Five years later, less than a year out of law school, it was his mother. I had flown out and spent a week with him. I knew it would be hard - he was an only child, and he had few relatives, and none he was close to. He came out of that funk bitter, and it cost him his girlfriend - no loss there. We'd been as close as brothers, hell, probably closer. We still were. Steven understood. I opened my soul to him, and stayed on the phone for ages. I heard him send his wife off to bed, while I vented. It was a much needed cathartic outpouring that left me exhausted. "What can I do? Anything, you know it. Should I fly down?" As much as I'd love to see him, it had been nearly a year, he was a family man now, and it was Christmas. "No. Stay with your family. I'm doing better, and if I need to I can call." "Of course." "I also wanted to say I was sorry." "Sorry?" "Sorry that I couldn't do more for you when you lost your parents. I never really experienced losing anyone like that, and couldn't comprehend what you were going through." "Shut the fuck up. You were there for me, buddy. Always. When nobody else was. I'll never forget that. Enough said. Don't need to be getting sappy over it." I couldn't help but chuckle. "Alright. By the way, there's one other thing you might be able to do for me." "Anything. That's what friend are for." That's what friends are for. The pounding on my front door was not unexpected. Ten o'clock at night might be a little of a surprise, but the knock wasn't. I went to the front door, and looked out through the glass beside it. A woman stood there. I had a fairly good idea of who it was. I opened the door. "Mrs. Morrison?" She glared at me and nodded. "Come in, please. Can I get you a cup of tea, or coffee?" I turned and walked into the house, leaving the door open. I walked to the kitchen, and poured myself a cup of coffee. I turned to see her standing in the archway to the living room. She looked ready to burst, but I watched her breath deep and run her hands through her short hair. She looked young. Too young to be going through the hell she was currently experiencing. "I don't want you around my house or my daughter," she finally snapped. "I understand, and I'm sorry I interfered." I walked past her and sat down in the living room. "I can't explain it. I had to do something to get out of this house, and when Cathy told me about your situation I guess I got carried away." She stared at me, and crossed her arms. "Don't mention her name. I could kill her." I smiled. "Believe me, I understand that. She's been in my house every day, 3 or 4 times a day, meddling in my life." "Meddling is right," she snapped. She walked over and sat on the loveseat across from me. "Listen. I appreciate the thought. And I'm sorry for your loss." She smirked. "Ha, listen to me. Sorry for your loss. Crap." She leaned back. "We're doing fine. I don't need your help, I don't know you from Adam, and I don't want you around my daughter when nobody's around. Jesus, you painted my frickin' front door blue! A little presumptuous, don't you think?" I smiled. "I would have picked the wood tone. Blue was Erica's choice, one of the four approved colors according to our Stalinist homeowner's association." She leaned back, rolling her eyes up. "Don't remind me. If the bastards send me one more notice about yard and fence maintenance, I'll rip their lungs out." She seemed to calm down for a second, maybe realizing that those notices would no longer be coming. "I know. I should be thankful but I don't need a stranger meddling in my life. Understood? No more doing things for me." "I didn't do it for you. I did it for that little girl. You don't know me. I don't know you. Agreed. I don't know what happened to you and your family or why. Not really. What I do know is that girl of yours doesn't deserve the hand she's been dealt. That's all I could think. I just wanted to help where I could." She looked angry. "I'm sorry you lost your daughters. I am. But Erica is MINE. My daughter. My responsibility. Not yours." "You are right. She's no responsibility of mine." "That's right. I don't know you. We live three doors down and in two years you've never spoken a word to us. Six months we've been on our own. I certainly don't need you poking your head in now. I don't know you, I don't want to know you, and I'm not sure I'd like you if I did." "Welcome to the club." "Club?" "I'm not sure I like me either. I'm sorry, alright? Now I'm tired. You can let yourself out." She got up and stomped her way to the front door, closing it sharply behind her. That had gone better than I'd expected. December 23rd. I got up early, cleaning up, even shaving. I had errands to run. Cathy showed up in my kitchen while I was preparing breakfast. "At least neither of us is in jail," were her first words. "Not yet." "You did a good thing. Don't forget it." "I know. Still she was right. We should have asked permission." "The hell we should! She'd never have given it." "Then maybe we should leave her be." "If a person was drowning, and they couldn't yell for help, wouldn't you still throw them a life preserver?" "A little overly-dramatic, don't you think?" "No. She's going down for the third time, and is in complete denial. By the time she accepts the fact she needs help it could be too late." She looked me over. "You clean up nicely. What are you up to?" "I need to run some errands, see a few people, stop by work, some other stuff." "Don't overdue it," she said, still in her 'caring' mode. "Need some company?" "Thanks, I appreciate the offer. I can handle this." "Ok, you have my number. Give me a call if you need anything." The office visit was painful. I stopped in, thanking my bosses for their understanding, visiting a few friends and letting them know I appreciated their concern. The way they looked at me just drove home how alone I was. I was glad to get out of there. I made a visit to the florist and picked up a trunk-load of Christmas cacti. I drove around to everyone I could think of, expressing my gratitude, and leaving the pretty plants behind. I used the same corny line with each one, comparing my 'prickliness' the last couple of weeks to the plant's spines. I left a few plants on doorsteps with a note. By mid-afternoon I felt I'd done my part. I stopped by Denise's parent's house, and Sharon greeted me at the door with a hug before she broke into tears. After she'd soaked my shirt she brought me in. "There's something you need to know, Alex." She sounded odd, and I wondered what was up. "Denise left a will. She left you the house and the lion's share of her insurance, to take care of the girls if anything happened to her." I was stunned. It was so unexpected. "I... I don't know what to say." Sharon reached out and patted my hand. "It's not what I'd expected, but if you think about it, it makes sense. What are you going to do?" "I guess I'll sell the house. I certainly don't need two houses." "She had mortgage insurance, it'll be paid off. You could rent it out, you know. Earn some steady income off of it." It was too much too fast. I couldn't think straight. "I'll have to think about it. I just wasn't expecting anything like this." "I understand." She held my hand. "How are you doing?" "Better. Not good, but at least I can get out of bed." "We're here if you need us. You know that, right?" "Yes. Thank you. After the girls, you were the best thing that came out of our marriage." "We love you too. Don't forget it." "I'm sorry I was so useful about the funeral arrangements, I don't think I could have handled it without you," I confessed. "Don't even think about it. That's what family is for." That's what family is for. My day wasn't quite complete. A few more calls and I was putting things in motion I wasn't sure I should, but I couldn't resist. Around dinner time, I ventured next door. Cathy's husband John answered the door. "The hermit has left the cave. Good to see you out and about." He shook my hand, letting me in. "Cath - Alex is here." Cathy came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. "How'd your day go?" "Not bad. A few surprises, but I survived." "We're about to eat. Care to sit down with us?" "Maybe. When do you think Sandy will be getting home?" "Probably nine-ish, would be my guess. Why?" "Just want to talk to her if I can." "You have time for dinner then?" "Sure." By 8:30 I was enjoying a cigar with John, sitting out in their driveway, trying to figure out what our football team's chances were of going anywhere in the playoffs. We were strategically positioned so I had a view of the Morrison's driveway. When Sandy drove up, I excused myself from John and jogged across the alley. "Sandy, can I talk to you a moment?" She looked ready to chase me off, but after a few awkward seconds she crossed her arms, leaned back against the car and raised her eyebrows. "Again, I'm sorry I entered your house without your permission. I know that was wrong. All I can say is I wasn't really thinking straight." She rolled her eyes. "Anything else?" "Yes. I know you told me you didn't need my help, but there's someone I'd like you speak to. I have a friend that's a lawyer, and he's willing to check into your insurance situation pro bono. Like you and me, he's suffered a few losses in life, and he'd like to help you if he can. If you'd just give him a call, he'll see what he can do." I could see she wanted to say no, but was torn. She gnawed on her bottom lip, which I saw were chapped. She looked exhausted. I pulled out his card and held it out to her. "It'll only take a couple of minutes. It can't hurt." She finally nodded and took the card from me. "Is that it?" "One last thing. I'm headed over to my ex-wife's house tomorrow to clean out the refrigerator, and to get rid of her tree. It's my responsibility now. I was going to ditch the tree; it's one of those pre-lit artificial ones which I never could stand. I thought, if you don't mind, and it's not interfering too much, I could bring it by here and you could take if off my hands. Otherwise it's going to the dump." I spit out the words quickly before she could find too much fault with me. She seemed resigned to allow me to interfere, at least this much. She sighed and finally spoke up. "Alright. That would be nice. Now if that's all, I'd like to go in now. My feet and back are aching and I have to get up early tomorrow." "That's all. You can call Steve tonight if you'd like, he's a night owl and is expecting your call. Good night." I took off quickly before she could change her mind about anything. I had recruited Cathy's help over dinner the night before, assuming things went Ok with Sandy, and by noon we were back at the Morrison house, knocking on the door. Erica let us in, and we hauled our goodies in after us. I had the tree folded up and left it on the front doorstep while we made room for it in the living room. After I'd put it in place, I hauled in a large plastic crate of Christmas decorations, and encouraged Cathy and Erica to get to work making the tree look 'festive'. Right on schedule my weekly cleaning crew showed up and I put them to work giving the entire house a thorough cleaning. I had felt guilty chasing them away the last few weeks, and had begged and cajoled them into doing me this one favor, on Christmas Eve of all days. The team of four went to work like whirling dervishes, storming through the rooms in pairs leaving sparking chrome and sweet smells in their wake. We only had a few hours if Cathy was right, and I had one more big task lined up. The Chem-Dry carpet cleaners were running a little late, but showed up not long after the cleaning crew had finished with the living and dining rooms, and I had moved most of the furniture into the hallways and kitchen. They went right to work, and had the downstairs completed in a little over an hour. While they worked at that, I spent the time decorating the front yard and the house with Christmas lights. I hoped that Sandy liked traditional multi-color displays. I wasn't all that fond of the 'all-white' look, and was using my own lights to decorate her house. By the time I had finished I was sweating up a storm, and was getting nervous about the time. The carpet guys left first, reminding me to let the carpet dry for another hour before returning the furniture to its place. The cleaning crew followed shortly after, and I'd rewarded them nicely, tipping them an extra $100 for coming out on Christmas Eve. I moved indoors, with the lights complete and lit up, to find a Christmas wonderland awaiting me. Cathy and Erica had done an amazing job, using what I had brought over and getting the Morrison's decorations out of the attic and putting those to use as well. You could hardly tell it was the same house. "You ladies have done an incredible job!" I announced, standing in the doorway. Cathy looked a little disheveled but very pleased with herself. "Let's finish up quick. I have to get home; John's going to kill me." I'd promised her we'd be done by 4:00 and it was already nearly 5:00. She was holding a Christmas Eve open-house and was expecting half of the neighborhood over that evening. She only had a couple of hours left to finish her own preparations. I gave her a hug for all of her effort and shooed her off, while I started hauling the furniture back into place, working at a frenzied pace to get done before the unsuspecting benefactor got home. Erica followed behind me, arranging all the lamps, baskets and knick-knacks, and adding additional holiday decorations as we went. With the last of the furniture in place, I turned and gave her a high-five. "This is all our secret, right? If your Mom asks, the Christmas elves stopped by to help clean up. You did a great job, Erica." She smiled and held her arms out to me. I leaned down and gave her a hug. "Thank you," she whispered, just before she let go and disappeared up the stairs. I felt a lump in my throat. Whether it was fear of being caught by her mother, or the joy of hearing her speak her first words to me, I couldn't be sure. By eight o'clock, Sandy still hadn't shown up on my front-doorstep with a shotgun. I guess she was going to wait until after Christmas to eviscerate me over meddling where I didn't belong. I didn't care. I felt good, the best I'd felt in two weeks, thinking about that little girl celebrating a real Christmas. Kids should have Christmas. I had cleaned up and decided to make an appearance next door, as I'd promised, when I got a call from Steve. "Hey-ho, Stevorino." "Only my Grandma gets to say that, asshole." "Merry fuckin' Christmas to you too." I teased. I heard him chuckle. "Merry Christmas is right. At least for your neighbor." "How's that?" I asked, suddenly interested. "The insurance creeps were just stalling. They don't have a leg to stand on. The only change to the policy was upon their advice after an annual policy review by their own agent. A little legal pressure was all it took. It's not a lot, less than $300K, but she'll be getting her check next week." "Steve, you're the man. I take back all those nasty things I said about you." "Shit, they're probably true. If anybody would know, it'd be you." "All kidding aside. You're a life saver." I knew he hated any hint of seriousness. I could almost hear him blushing over the phone. "Hey, that's what friends are for, right?" "That's right. And I couldn't ask for a better one." "Ditto. Asshole." "Shit. You had to go and spoil it. Listen, I gotta run. Give your family my love and have a great Christmas. I'll give you a call next week." "You got it. And Darla sends her love. She made me say that. Don't get any ideas." "Got it. Give her a kiss for me. Scratch that. I'll come out after the holidays and give it to her myself. When are you going to be out of town next?" "Funny guy. Start anything with her, and I'll make you keep her and the credit card bills." "Ouch. You win," I had to laugh. "Thanks again." "Merry Christmas. Hang in there buddy." "You too." To be continued in part 2, Based on the post from Tx Tall Tales for Literotica 

Life isn't fair. So when you fight back, fight dirty. In 2 parts, Based on the post from Tx Tall Tales. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. I married young, and had two perfect daughters, but my marriage was far from perfect. We had been young and in love. I was entering the community college and Denise was starting her senior year when we decided to tie the knot. Her family's ready acceptance of me was a huge factor - the family I'd never had, making me feel like a real member of theirs. I can admit it now; I probably loved being a part of the family as much as I loved Denise. Our split up was inevitable, two teenagers who knew nothing about life thinking their infatuation with each other would make everything else workout. I wasn't an all-star, super jock, Rhodes Scholar with a 12" swinging cock. I was just your average student, A and B grades, spending some bench time on the football team to get my letter, and losing my virginity at 18 to the girl I'd eventually marry. When times got rough, we didn't know how to handle it, and struck out at each other. Her family often stepped in and helped out when they could, but time after time, the great sex wasn't enough to make up for the difference in our wants, needs and ambitions. In the end, we gave up. Sometimes I think it's a miracle we made it through 5 years. Our devotion to our children allowed us to finally see past our own issues, and work out a remarkably amiable truce, with our girls at the center. Even though Denise and I couldn't live together, it turned out we got along a lot better divorced. We shared our daughters' time, lived only one neighborhood apart, and worked together as a team to make our personal differences have as little impact on our girls as possible. I had initially shared an apartment uptown, but eventually bought one of the smallest houses in the same school district, just to make things easier. It was a lot more than I needed most of the time, but when the girls stayed with me it felt like a home. And we only lived a couple of miles apart. The neighborhood was nice, predominantly younger families, in older, smallish homes. Most of the people were cordial, kept up their property, and after a few years I knew many by name and would exchange greetings at the grocery store, or when out shopping. I had become suburbanized. This was our fourth Christmas since the divorce. Denise was living with Eric, who I wish I could despise, but he was a decent guy with a great job and lousy taste in sports teams. He doted on my girls without trying to take my place. It had taken a while, but we'd developed a friendship, which wasn't a bad thing. My child support was pegged at just over $1500, with the kids on my health insurance. Even though we weren't married long enough for alimony to kick in, I was paying another $500 a month just to make the kids' lives better. And for me, that was all that really mattered. The expense had been rough at first, but with little to concentrate on other than work, my performance skyrocketed. Two promotions in three years had made the financial aspect much less problematic, but increased travel had made the ability to be available for the girls less guaranteed. Denise was good about it, and worked with me. In return I picked up some more of the girls' expenses, including music lessons and a piano. At Least we still had Christmas Christmas was special. We celebrated Christmas as an extended family. I'd come over early, and we'd have a big family breakfast and open all the presents together. I really went all out to make sure the girls got their favorite items. At six and eight years old, they were still young enough to have simple wants, and the magic of Christmas was as real as it gets. The in-laws would come over in the afternoon with more presents and we'd have a good old fashioned Christmas dinner with all the trimmings. It was nice to be part of something. I got a Christmas shut-down at work and Denise didn't, so we agreed that they'd stay with me from Christmas to New Year's, and any time she could get off, we'd usually work out something to get her time with the kids. It was understood that I wouldn't leave town, at least not for more than a day. Summer was great with the 2 weeks I got to spend with them, and we'd usually spend it on the beach. Christmas was still different. Christmas was magical. I always was given the girl's wish list, but I'd also start my shopping in late November for the must have items of the season. And I wasn't stingy; I'd buy them all up, just to make sure I didn't miss any. Stores, online auctions, Craigslist, I'd use any way possible to get my hands on the hottest presents. The first two years I'd caught hell from Denise for buying everything on the list, leaving nothing for them to get. Now I received a separate list of things I wasn't allowed to buy. So it was that I had just finished wrapping my forty-fourth present, all in glitter Barbie paper for Briana, and in Hannah Montana paper for Allora. December 5th, my earliest date so far to finish the bulk of my shopping. Sure, I'd pick up a few more things, including something for Denise and Eric, but my girls were taken care of. The presents were carefully spread around my living room, where they'd remain on display until just before Christmas, when I'd bring them over to Denise's in a big ceremony. The call came from Denise's mother, Sharon. It took me 11 minutes flat to get to the hospital. I was still too late. Denise and Briana had both died en-route. Eric had passed away only ten minutes before I'd arrived. But Allora, my perfect little Allora, was fighting for her life, in critical condition. She'd always been a fighter, would never back down from any challenge. She'd beat this too, I just knew it. It was a freak accident, with a car dodging out of the way to miss a coyote on the road. An 18 wheeler behind the car did his best to avoid the car in front of him, but ended up fishtailing, and taking out a suburban in the next lane over. That vehicle crossed the median and hit my ex-wife's family van head-on. Six dead already and one little girl still fighting hard for her dear life. Sharon and I kept a vigil over the little towhead, and when the doctors came out after 6 hours and declared the worst was over and she was in stable condition, we fell into each other's arms and cried like children. We stayed by her side, one of us always present, and Sharon called me when my baby woke up and spoke. For three long days we watched her slowly heal in the hospital, the worst of her bruises, cuts and contusions blossoming on the second day, and only just starting to fade again. I'm not a religious guy by nature, but I found myself on my knees beside her bed, praying to God to take care of her, and giving thanks for pulling her through this horrendous disaster. At 4:18 pm on December 7th, she passed away. No warning, no reason, she was there, and then she wasn't. The doctors suspected a clot. I suspected incompetence. I finally understood how a person could get so down on themselves that life might not even feel worth living. I went home and shut myself off from the world. After a while I took the phone off the hook. Hell, let's be honest, I ripped the fucking wires out of the wall so I didn't have to listen to one more bleeding heart tell me they were “sorry for my loss”. The cell phone was easier. I just turned it off. Several people from work came by and assured me that I could take as much time as I needed. They'd bring me food, and news, and would leave as soon as they felt they'd spent the minimum time required socially by the situation. Denise's family took care of the funeral arrangements. They attempted to call, and even stopped by for my input. I gave them a check for $10,000 to take care of the girls, nearly wiping out my savings. What was I going to spend it on now? I couldn't bring myself to go to the showing but I did take a shower and put on a suit for the funeral. It was a bleak day, gray skies, 20 mile an hour winds threatening to tear the top off of the outdoor tent. The ground was soggy from rain the previous night. Just perfect. "Thanks, God. Piss on a guy when he's down. Well, fuck You too." I shook the required hands, and kissed the offered cheeks until I just couldn't take it any longer. All these fake people. Fake emotions. Tell me how sorry they were then go home to their perfect little families and eat meatloaf. Fuck'em. Fuck'em all. Fourteen days. Two solid weeks in that dark house. I wouldn't turn on any lights. No TV. I didn't bathe, I didn't shave. I sat in my chair or I lay in my bed and wallowed. I had a few visitors after the first couple of days, but I'd rarely let them in, and before long they had the decency to stop showing up. Only Cathy from next door wouldn't let me sink into complete oblivion. Every day, at least 3 times a day, she'd check in on me. I wouldn't have let her in, but she had a key to the back door for emergencies and wasn't afraid to use it. She'd open the windows a crack, and goad me into getting out of bed and at least sit in the living room. She'd bring food, which she'd set in front of me, and refused to leave until I at least tried it. I insisted on getting my key back, and she handed it over willingly enough. And showed up again the next day. She'd made copies. Meddlesome bitch. Again, she badgered me into eating her breakfast. And she'd talk. God, how that woman could talk! I got tired just listening. All the neighborhood gossip, town gossip, political gossip, school gossip - she was plugged in everywhere and knew it all. Who was doing what, or whom. Griping about people who still had Thanksgiving decorations up, or had Christmas blowups in their front yard. Church fiascos and neighborhood vendettas, she would sit there, drink her tea (or bourbon and coke if the sun had set) and fill me in. I didn't care. It had been two weeks since the accident. I'd lost more than 10 pounds, and really just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. But Cathy wouldn't let me. She made it her personal mission to cheer me up, get me to respond, bring me back to life. Then one day she let me have it with both barrels. She walked up to me and slapped me across the face. Hard. "Damn it Alex! Snap out of it! Life is hard. And it isn't fair, but as bad as you have it, there's always someone who has it worse. Often in your own backyard if you have the eyes to see it." "What do you know about it?" I snapped viciously. "I notice your kids are alive." "I know my mother died when I was six, and my father left when I was thirteen, leaving Mike to raise my sister and me. He was seventeen years old. But he manned-up and did the job the best he could. That's what I know. Life is hard." "Life is hard. Life's a bitch and then you die. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When God closes a door he opens a window. If I hear one more God-damned cliché I swear I'll kill something," I growled. "Alex, you got a raw deal. You had two perfect little girls, and now they're gone. Your past is shattered. Your little bit of immortality is lost. And as bad as you've got it, I'd remind you others have it worse, and they just press on. You need to as well," Cathy told me, kneeling beside me and holding my hands. The woman barely knew me. A middle-aged mother of three with grown kids, and a workaholic husband. Her life was her home, keeping it immaculate and decorated for every holiday and season. Now it seemed I was her newest project. Why should I matter that much to her? Couldn't she see I didn't want her help? "Sure, starving Ethiopians, children in Nigeria dying of aids, Tibetan monks martyred, it's a tough world. Boo hoo." "You don't have to look as far as Ethiopia or Tibet. There are people right here, right on your own block that are really struggling. Open your eyes. If you don't like the unfairness do something about it. Even up the odds a bit. Make a difference somewhere. Get back to living." Something she said must have gnawed its way down to my subconscious. I spent my usual 14 hours or so in bed, but when I awoke I was thinking about her constant comments about someone in my own backyard that had it worse. I cataloged each person on my block, in my head, and nobody really had it that bad. Sure, Neil, three doors down had lost his job, but his wife was still working, and he was looking. The Harris's on the corner had a boy in Iraq, but as far as I could tell he was still Ok, and they had three more at home. The Martins, one down from the corner, fought all the time, and even had the cops called in on them once but they were still together. What did Cathy mean? I expanded the radius of consideration to include the blocks surrounding us. Then it hit me. Across the alley in back, two houses past Cathy's own. Six months ago. Barry Morrison had driven into an empty field behind the local middle school and eaten a bullet. I didn't know much about the family - I just knew there was one. When Cathy came over, I had showered off the top two layers of grime and sweat, and was drinking a Coke in the living room. "Good morning, Alex, beautiful day outside. Why don't we go out on the porch?" "The Morrisons. Tell me about them." She placed her mug of tea in the microwave, warming it up, then walked out my front door and sat in one of my rocking chairs out front. Irritated, I followed, and sat in the chair beside her. "The Morrisons?" "Sandy and her daughter Erica. You won't see much of her; she's working two jobs trying to keep the house over their heads. They're still fighting with the insurance company over payment. Suicide clause won't pay under two years. He had insurance for years, but just around two years ago he changed the terms. She's been trying to sell the house, but it's underwater, and nobody's buying." "How's the little one?" "Erica's not doing so well. She's seeing a counselor twice a week, and hardly speaks anymore. The school's talking about holding her back," Cathy explained. She sounded sad. "Do we know anything more about why he did it?" "No crimes, he wasn't fired, no embezzling, it's not clear what it was about. Apparently he'd been depressed for quite a while, but the underlying situation is still a blank as far as I know." "Harsh on the family, going out like that," I told her, finding the whole idea hard to grasp. "To say the least. The poor woman is worn to a frazzle." "And how does this all matter to me?" I asked. "It doesn't. It doesn't have to matter to anybody. They're on their own. Alone." "No family help?" "Not that I know of. If they're around, we don't see much of them, that's for sure." "Cathy, how the hell do you know all this stuff?" I had to ask. "People just like to talk to me. I'm a very good listener," she told me with a big smile. We sat quietly enjoying the crisp air, finishing our drinks. "You're a good neighbor too, Cathy. Thanks," I said softly. "That's what neighbors are for," she said, reaching out and patting me on my arm. That's what neighbors are for. Cathy brought me dinner again and I realized I was starving. She beamed at me when I finished the whole platter. "Let's go for a walk, Alex. You could use a stretch of the legs." It had gotten chilly, and we bundled up a bit. She took the lead and we walked down the block and turned up the neighborhood. We headed back up the next block and she regaled me with the entire history and habits of the inhabitants of each place we passed. She might have been a good listener, but I had to wonder when she ever was quiet long enough to hear anything. It was obvious when we got to Sandy Morrison's place. The "For Sale" sign was a dead giveaway. The unkempt yard and overgrown bushes indicated a lack of care for months. It couldn't help with the sales prospects. The door paint was faded, and there were no Christmas lights or decorations set up. I thought the Realtor wasn't earning their commission, letting the place show like this. Through the window I could see a desktop Christmas tree, maybe two feet tall, lit up all in white. Strangely, Cathy stopped speaking before we got to the house, and didn't speak again until the end of the block. "Sad," was all she said. We took a round-about path back to my house, and our conversation had returned to the safety of weather concerns, community issues, and such, carefully skirting any discussion of the Morrisons. I was feeling the chill after the walk, and invited Cathy in for a cup of coffee, Irish fortified if she so desired. We drank our coffee in front of my gas fireplace, warming our old bones. Damn that neighbor of mine, and her good intentions! She'd not only gotten me to think of something other than my own misery, and the unfairness of it all, but she had me thinking about those poor girls behind me, and what they must be going through. Damn it! It wasn't fair. I guess I still wasn't ready for pleasant company. Angry at the world, I threw my mug at the wall, shattering it, and leaned over with my head in my hands, doing my best to hold back the tears. Big boys don't cry. Cathy stood and ran her fingers through my hair for just a moment before leaving out the back door. Kind enough to leave me alone to wallow in my misery a little longer. December 22nd. Just three days until Christmas. When Cathy came over that morning, I was already up and dressed. I had my working duds on and coffee and bagels ready. "You're up early," she commented, helping herself to the java. "It's almost 10," I reminded her. "Not so awfully early." She laughed. "Seems to me anything before noon is quite early as of late. Got plans?" I nodded. "Thought I'd head over to the Morrison's and see what I can do about the outside of the house. Clean it up a bit. Make it a little more presentable if they're really planning on selling it." "That's mighty neighborly of you." "It'll give me something to do. I need to get out of this damned house." After our coffee, she walked with me across the alley, all my yard-work gear in a wheelbarrow. The grass was dormant, but long, and the bushes were out of control. I didn't notice when Cathy left, but she returned in a few hours with some sandwiches for lunch, insisting I take a break. I'd finished the bush trimming and had mowed the lawn, bagging the trimmings. I was just finishing the edging when she appeared. I took a break, and listened to her chatter about the neighborhood activities, and how sad it was that in the past few months nobody had offered to do as much as I had. "I guess we victims of fate need to stick together." "It already looks 100% better. If you want to work in the backyard, I have a key to the gate." "It figures you would." "What is that supposed to mean?" she asked. "It just doesn't surprise me. I bet you've been helping out when you could." She sighed. "Not too much. She's too damn proud. Doesn't want any help from anybody." I shook my head. "Now you tell me. She'll probably call the police on me." "So what if she does? You know you're doing the right thing. I'll bail you out if need be." I let her unlock the back gate, and saw I had my work cut out for me. The back yard was worse than the front. The fence needed work as well, some boards were broken and loose, and one whole section was sagging. Luckily, my tools were only a couple of hundred feet away, across the alley, and I was soon at work, determined to finish before the residents arrived home. The biggest problem was one of the fence posts which had rotted out at the bottom. A new post and some quick-setting cement, solved that problem. Within an hour I'd be able to reattach the fence crossbeams to the new 4x4. I turned to see a young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old, watching me from the porch. Crap. "Just thought I'd fix your fence, before it falls down. I hope you don't mind." She just shook her head. She stood there watching me, and I felt ill at ease. I was a stranger. She shouldn't be talking to me. I should probably leave. "I'm just going to clean up here and head back home. I can finish up later when your mother's home." I straightened up my clothing a bit, wiping my hands on my pants. "I'm Alex Reed. I live across the alley," I explained, pointing down a few houses. She nodded. She reminded me so much of my own daughter, right around that age. Her hair was the same length, blonde, but not quite as light as Allora's. Allora. My perfect little Allora. I closed my eyes, seeing her in that hospital bed, bruised and bandaged, fighting for her life. Her hair tucked under the bandages, the few strands that stuck out dark from sweat. Her body so small in that antiseptic white bed. My Allora. Gone. It felt like somebody had wrapped a band around my chest, and pulled it tight. I couldn't breath. I turned away from Erica, so she wouldn't have to see me lose it. She'd suffered enough already. I felt the tears rise, unbidden, and I started for the gate. I had to get out of there. I barely made it as far as the driveway. It was too much. I closed the gate behind me and crumbled to the ground, seated with my head between my knees, my hands covering my head. It was Christmas, damn it! Christmas! My girls were supposed to be with me, shaking their presents and trying to guess what was in them. Instead Allora and Briana were gone. Their lives snuffed out before they could see anything of the world, before they could find their place, before they could fall in love. No shaking presents. No stomach aches from eating too many holiday sweets. No late night parties to drive me crazy with worry. No learning to drive. No struggling to find the right college. No bringing a boy home for the first time. No cramming for tests. No Spring Breaks. No proms. Nothing. Ever again. I was sobbing, and the little girl who had lost her father was standing on the driveway beside me, her hand resting on my shoulder, while I made a fool of myself. "Erica! You know your mother doesn't want you out if she's not at home. You should go back inside. Mr. Reed will be all right, he's just tired. Go on now." Cathy had me by the arm, and was doing her best to get me back on my feet. "C'mon Alex, not here. Let's get you home." I knew she was right. I stood up, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. "I'll be alright. Just give me a minute." I pulled myself together, took a couple of deep breaths, and stood straight. "I'm Ok. Seeing her was just a little too much, too soon. But I'm fine now. I need to clean up here, and put the fence back together." "Alright. I'll help." It only took us a few minutes to clean up and cart the bags of yard trimmings out to the rear curb. I ran all the yard tools back to my house, and returned to finish the fence work. I braced the new post with a couple of 2x4's and reattached the two panels. Cathy's help made it a lot easier. When we were done we both stood back and looked over the yard. Much better. "I'm going to go inside and fix Erica her after-school snack. It's about all that Sandy will let me do. Why don't you come with me?" "I don't know if I should. Sandy doesn't know me. She may not want me in her house when she's not there." "Never mind that. She'll be fine. Just come in a moment. It'll only take a few minutes." I followed her inside, through the glass sliding door. Erica was sitting on the floor watching TV. I didn't even look that way. I was afraid that seeing the wrong TV show would dredge up more painful memories. "Where can I wash my hands?" I asked Cathy. She pointed to a door. "In there." I headed to the bathroom. "Don't use the toilet. That one doesn't flush anymore." I could hear the running water in the commode. I washed my hands and wiped them on my shirt. There was no towel in the bathroom. Then I took the top off the tank and examined inside. Nothing complicated. The chain that connected the stopper to the handle extension was missing. Lifting the rubber stopper, I saw it was under the lip, the cause of the running water. I reattached the chain, and tested the flushing. Worked fine. "Fixed. The chain was just off." Cathy nodded, and returned to making a grilled cheese sandwich. Briana loved grilled cheese. But you couldn't cut the sandwich, and you had to remove the crust. I wouldn't be cutting the crust off of sandwiches anymore. I took a deep breath, and went to examine the front door. "Cathy? I'm going to head home and get my sander and some paint. This door needs some help desperately." "Go ahead. Sandy won't be home until late, and if we're going to get in trouble for the yard and the fence, we might as well make it a trifecta." Fifteen minutes later, I was running the battery powered hand-sander over the door, removing the worst of the existing paint. I didn't have too much to do, it was already mostly bare. I had brought over three possible paints to use, all of which I knew were approved by the homeowner's association. "What color paint do you think I should use?" I asked Cathy. "Let's ask Erica." She returned in a few seconds with Erica at her side. "We're going to paint the front door, Erica. What color would you like?" We had a choice of off-white, light blue, and a dark brown. She pointed to the light blue, then seated herself nearby to watch. I had already removed the hardware. I taped the hinges and bottom kick-plate, laid out my drip cloth, and started applying a coat of paint, top-to-bottom. I looked over at the young girl watching me so intently. I saw the tree beside her, so small and bare, with one little package underneath it. Christmas trees shouldn't look like that. They should be big, full of decorations, all sorts, each one with its own story. Handcrafted special ornaments, with pictures of your family members. Popsicle stick ornaments with the Elmer's glue showing. Lights blinking in an assortment of colors, candy canes and tinsel, and an angel on top. There should be presents around the bottom, stacked and scattered, so many you can't even get near the tree. It was the first year I didn't have a tree. We'd normally go out as a family and visit one of the Boy Scout tree lots, picking the biggest, fullest tree we thought could fit in my living room. Then we'd decorate it together, Christmas songs playing in the background, and sipping eggnog. We'd spend an eternity untangling the lights, replacing the bulbs that wouldn't work, and replacing the metal hangars on the decorations that needed them. It was an all day affair. Not this year. Not ever again. I realized I'd stopped painting, and I was staring. A long drip of paint from my brush was running down the door. The little girl looked at me, almost as if she understood. "Would you like to help?" I asked. She looked around, as if to ask if I was talking to her. "Yes, you." She shyly nodded yes. I reached over to my bucket of painting supplies and pulled out a small brush. I pointed to the inlaid panels on the bottom half of the door. "You can paint here, around the edge of the panel. It needs to be done with a detail brush like the one you have. Get into the cracks." She nodded, dipped her brush, and started painting straight down the panel edge, doing a good job. "That's perfect. Just like that." I went back to work completing the top half, and had to work around her, sometimes leaning way over to paint above her. She saw what I was doing, and I saw the mischievous heart of a little girl for a moment when she started backing away from the door, making me lean further and further over. "Hey!" I said in mock outrage. "You're doing that on purpose!" When she giggled, apparently ignoring me, and continuing with her painting effort, I felt a small leap in my heart. It was nice to hear her giggle. "When you're done with the painting, and done torturing me, you can paint around the edges of the two hinges and the kick-plate. If I won't be in your way." Little Erica nodded, and continued her careful painting, working slowly and deliberately around the perimeter before moving onto the hinges. I found myself kneeling beside her, painting the bottom-half of the door, while she detailed the trim. We switched places so I could work on the side near the hinges while she completed the bottom trim. "Not bad," I commented, holding out a drip bucket for her to dump her brush in. I sealed up the paint can, peeled off the trim tape, and stood back to get a look at the results. A little girl stood beside me, her blonde hair a poignant reminder of all I'd lost. I took a deep breath to compose myself. "Not bad at all. Think your mother will like it?" I looked down at her while she thought it over. A smile slowly spread across her face. She nodded twice. I put my hand down for a fist bump, just like I would with my girls. She shrank away for a second, then glanced up at my face for a second before making a tiny fist and bumping her knuckles against mine. We were enjoying the last of the natural light as dusk was settling in. Cathy walked out and stood beside us, giving her approval. "The blue is perfect. Great choice Erica." Erica stopped admiring her work, looked at Cathy, and blinked like she was just seeing her for the first time. She looked up and down the block, then walked back into the house and planted herself in front of the TV. "Ready to call it a day?" Cathy asked. "Yeah. Best get while the getting is good." I packed up my paint supplies and in just a couple of trips hid any trace that I'd ever been there. Except of course for the door, yard and fence. Oh, and the toilet, although that really didn't count for much. Back home I cleaned up and sat down pondering what I'd just done. I had mixed feelings, a little guilt creeping in for taking liberties with someone else's house. But thinking about that little girl, and what she must be going through, made anything I could do to help worthwhile. Thinking was dangerous. I realized I hadn't been very nice to the people who had tried to help me. I decided to rectify that if possible, and found a new phone cable for my phone and plugged it in. Picking it up I heard a dial tone. Good. I made a list of phone calls, and went to work. Calling, one-by-one, my friends, neighbors and co-workers, I apologized for my behavior and thanked them for their concern. To a one, they blew off my boorish behavior, and promised they'd be there for me if I needed anything. I stopped, with just a few calls remaining, wondering where those people were for Sandy and Erica, who seemed to need it far more than I. I picked up the phone and dialed Denise's family. I knew it was going to be tough. I apologized for leaving the funeral arrangements to them, and thanked them for all they had done. Speaking to Dan was difficult, but my conversation with Sharon almost did me in. The time we'd spent in the hospital, watching over Allora came up, and I had to take a break for a bit to get my emotions under rein, while I listened to Sharon sob. Even after the divorce we'd remained friendly, and I was glad that we'd had each other on that fateful watch. I promised I'd stop by in the next couple of days, she insisted there was some paperwork that needed taking care of. My last call was to Steve, my roommate for three years in college, and best friend in the world. I had hung up on him twice that first day, and it was haunting me. He'd left more than a dozen messages on my cell-phone voicemail. Plus, I had ulterior motives. The phone rang several times and went to the answering machine. I felt like a weight had lifted, I wouldn't have to face him. "Steve, Alex here. I'm sorry I..." "Alex, I'm here, don't hang up, I'm here. Let me turn off this damned machine. Hold on." I heard some rustling and the echo of our voices disappear. "Jesus, Alex. You're killing me." "Sorry. It hit me so hard; I just couldn't listen to one more well-wisher." "I understand." He would understand. His father had passed away while we were in our last year of college, and he took it hard. Started drinking heavy, cutting classes, and chasing anything with boobs. I took care of him as much as I could, going so far as to collect his homework and projects, even talking to his professors. He'd been slow to pull it together, but eventually came around. Five years later, less than a year out of law school, it was his mother. I had flown out and spent a week with him. I knew it would be hard - he was an only child, and he had few relatives, and none he was close to. He came out of that funk bitter, and it cost him his girlfriend - no loss there. We'd been as close as brothers, hell, probably closer. We still were. Steven understood. I opened my soul to him, and stayed on the phone for ages. I heard him send his wife off to bed, while I vented. It was a much needed cathartic outpouring that left me exhausted. "What can I do? Anything, you know it. Should I fly down?" As much as I'd love to see him, it had been nearly a year, he was a family man now, and it was Christmas. "No. Stay with your family. I'm doing better, and if I need to I can call." "Of course." "I also wanted to say I was sorry." "Sorry?" "Sorry that I couldn't do more for you when you lost your parents. I never really experienced losing anyone like that, and couldn't comprehend what you were going through." "Shut the fuck up. You were there for me, buddy. Always. When nobody else was. I'll never forget that. Enough said. Don't need to be getting sappy over it." I couldn't help but chuckle. "Alright. By the way, there's one other thing you might be able to do for me." "Anything. That's what friend are for." That's what friends are for. The pounding on my front door was not unexpected. Ten o'clock at night might be a little of a surprise, but the knock wasn't. I went to the front door, and looked out through the glass beside it. A woman stood there. I had a fairly good idea of who it was. I opened the door. "Mrs. Morrison?" She glared at me and nodded. "Come in, please. Can I get you a cup of tea, or coffee?" I turned and walked into the house, leaving the door open. I walked to the kitchen, and poured myself a cup of coffee. I turned to see her standing in the archway to the living room. She looked ready to burst, but I watched her breath deep and run her hands through her short hair. She looked young. Too young to be going through the hell she was currently experiencing. "I don't want you around my house or my daughter," she finally snapped. "I understand, and I'm sorry I interfered." I walked past her and sat down in the living room. "I can't explain it. I had to do something to get out of this house, and when Cathy told me about your situation I guess I got carried away." She stared at me, and crossed her arms. "Don't mention her name. I could kill her." I smiled. "Believe me, I understand that. She's been in my house every day, 3 or 4 times a day, meddling in my life." "Meddling is right," she snapped. She walked over and sat on the loveseat across from me. "Listen. I appreciate the thought. And I'm sorry for your loss." She smirked. "Ha, listen to me. Sorry for your loss. Crap." She leaned back. "We're doing fine. I don't need your help, I don't know you from Adam, and I don't want you around my daughter when nobody's around. Jesus, you painted my frickin' front door blue! A little presumptuous, don't you think?" I smiled. "I would have picked the wood tone. Blue was Erica's choice, one of the four approved colors according to our Stalinist homeowner's association." She leaned back, rolling her eyes up. "Don't remind me. If the bastards send me one more notice about yard and fence maintenance, I'll rip their lungs out." She seemed to calm down for a second, maybe realizing that those notices would no longer be coming. "I know. I should be thankful but I don't need a stranger meddling in my life. Understood? No more doing things for me." "I didn't do it for you. I did it for that little girl. You don't know me. I don't know you. Agreed. I don't know what happened to you and your family or why. Not really. What I do know is that girl of yours doesn't deserve the hand she's been dealt. That's all I could think. I just wanted to help where I could." She looked angry. "I'm sorry you lost your daughters. I am. But Erica is MINE. My daughter. My responsibility. Not yours." "You are right. She's no responsibility of mine." "That's right. I don't know you. We live three doors down and in two years you've never spoken a word to us. Six months we've been on our own. I certainly don't need you poking your head in now. I don't know you, I don't want to know you, and I'm not sure I'd like you if I did." "Welcome to the club." "Club?" "I'm not sure I like me either. I'm sorry, alright? Now I'm tired. You can let yourself out." She got up and stomped her way to the front door, closing it sharply behind her. That had gone better than I'd expected. December 23rd. I got up early, cleaning up, even shaving. I had errands to run. Cathy showed up in my kitchen while I was preparing breakfast. "At least neither of us is in jail," were her first words. "Not yet." "You did a good thing. Don't forget it." "I know. Still she was right. We should have asked permission." "The hell we should! She'd never have given it." "Then maybe we should leave her be." "If a person was drowning, and they couldn't yell for help, wouldn't you still throw them a life preserver?" "A little overly-dramatic, don't you think?" "No. She's going down for the third time, and is in complete denial. By the time she accepts the fact she needs help it could be too late." She looked me over. "You clean up nicely. What are you up to?" "I need to run some errands, see a few people, stop by work, some other stuff." "Don't overdue it," she said, still in her 'caring' mode. "Need some company?" "Thanks, I appreciate the offer. I can handle this." "Ok, you have my number. Give me a call if you need anything." The office visit was painful. I stopped in, thanking my bosses for their understanding, visiting a few friends and letting them know I appreciated their concern. The way they looked at me just drove home how alone I was. I was glad to get out of there. I made a visit to the florist and picked up a trunk-load of Christmas cacti. I drove around to everyone I could think of, expressing my gratitude, and leaving the pretty plants behind. I used the same corny line with each one, comparing my 'prickliness' the last couple of weeks to the plant's spines. I left a few plants on doorsteps with a note. By mid-afternoon I felt I'd done my part. I stopped by Denise's parent's house, and Sharon greeted me at the door with a hug before she broke into tears. After she'd soaked my shirt she brought me in. "There's something you need to know, Alex." She sounded odd, and I wondered what was up. "Denise left a will. She left you the house and the lion's share of her insurance, to take care of the girls if anything happened to her." I was stunned. It was so unexpected. "I... I don't know what to say." Sharon reached out and patted my hand. "It's not what I'd expected, but if you think about it, it makes sense. What are you going to do?" "I guess I'll sell the house. I certainly don't need two houses." "She had mortgage insurance, it'll be paid off. You could rent it out, you know. Earn some steady income off of it." It was too much too fast. I couldn't think straight. "I'll have to think about it. I just wasn't expecting anything like this." "I understand." She held my hand. "How are you doing?" "Better. Not good, but at least I can get out of bed." "We're here if you need us. You know that, right?" "Yes. Thank you. After the girls, you were the best thing that came out of our marriage." "We love you too. Don't forget it." "I'm sorry I was so useful about the funeral arrangements, I don't think I could have handled it without you," I confessed. "Don't even think about it. That's what family is for." That's what family is for. My day wasn't quite complete. A few more calls and I was putting things in motion I wasn't sure I should, but I couldn't resist. Around dinner time, I ventured next door. Cathy's husband John answered the door. "The hermit has left the cave. Good to see you out and about." He shook my hand, letting me in. "Cath - Alex is here." Cathy came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. "How'd your day go?" "Not bad. A few surprises, but I survived." "We're about to eat. Care to sit down with us?" "Maybe. When do you think Sandy will be getting home?" "Probably nine-ish, would be my guess. Why?" "Just want to talk to her if I can." "You have time for dinner then?" "Sure." By 8:30 I was enjoying a cigar with John, sitting out in their driveway, trying to figure out what our football team's chances were of going anywhere in the playoffs. We were strategically positioned so I had a view of the Morrison's driveway. When Sandy drove up, I excused myself from John and jogged across the alley. "Sandy, can I talk to you a moment?" She looked ready to chase me off, but after a few awkward seconds she crossed her arms, leaned back against the car and raised her eyebrows. "Again, I'm sorry I entered your house without your permission. I know that was wrong. All I can say is I wasn't really thinking straight." She rolled her eyes. "Anything else?" "Yes. I know you told me you didn't need my help, but there's someone I'd like you speak to. I have a friend that's a lawyer, and he's willing to check into your insurance situation pro bono. Like you and me, he's suffered a few losses in life, and he'd like to help you if he can. If you'd just give him a call, he'll see what he can do." I could see she wanted to say no, but was torn. She gnawed on her bottom lip, which I saw were chapped. She looked exhausted. I pulled out his card and held it out to her. "It'll only take a couple of minutes. It can't hurt." She finally nodded and took the card from me. "Is that it?" "One last thing. I'm headed over to my ex-wife's house tomorrow to clean out the refrigerator, and to get rid of her tree. It's my responsibility now. I was going to ditch the tree; it's one of those pre-lit artificial ones which I never could stand. I thought, if you don't mind, and it's not interfering too much, I could bring it by here and you could take if off my hands. Otherwise it's going to the dump." I spit out the words quickly before she could find too much fault with me. She seemed resigned to allow me to interfere, at least this much. She sighed and finally spoke up. "Alright. That would be nice. Now if that's all, I'd like to go in now. My feet and back are aching and I have to get up early tomorrow." "That's all. You can call Steve tonight if you'd like, he's a night owl and is expecting your call. Good night." I took off quickly before she could change her mind about anything. I had recruited Cathy's help over dinner the night before, assuming things went Ok with Sandy, and by noon we were back at the Morrison house, knocking on the door. Erica let us in, and we hauled our goodies in after us. I had the tree folded up and left it on the front doorstep while we made room for it in the living room. After I'd put it in place, I hauled in a large plastic crate of Christmas decorations, and encouraged Cathy and Erica to get to work making the tree look 'festive'. Right on schedule my weekly cleaning crew showed up and I put them to work giving the entire house a thorough cleaning. I had felt guilty chasing them away the last few weeks, and had begged and cajoled them into doing me this one favor, on Christmas Eve of all days. The team of four went to work like whirling dervishes, storming through the rooms in pairs leaving sparking chrome and sweet smells in their wake. We only had a few hours if Cathy was right, and I had one more big task lined up. The Chem-Dry carpet cleaners were running a little late, but showed up not long after the cleaning crew had finished with the living and dining rooms, and I had moved most of the furniture into the hallways and kitchen. They went right to work, and had the downstairs completed in a little over an hour. While they worked at that, I spent the time decorating the front yard and the house with Christmas lights. I hoped that Sandy liked traditional multi-color displays. I wasn't all that fond of the 'all-white' look, and was using my own lights to decorate her house. By the time I had finished I was sweating up a storm, and was getting nervous about the time. The carpet guys left first, reminding me to let the carpet dry for another hour before returning the furniture to its place. The cleaning crew followed shortly after, and I'd rewarded them nicely, tipping them an extra $100 for coming out on Christmas Eve. I moved indoors, with the lights complete and lit up, to find a Christmas wonderland awaiting me. Cathy and Erica had done an amazing job, using what I had brought over and getting the Morrison's decorations out of the attic and putting those to use as well. You could hardly tell it was the same house. "You ladies have done an incredible job!" I announced, standing in the doorway. Cathy looked a little disheveled but very pleased with herself. "Let's finish up quick. I have to get home; John's going to kill me." I'd promised her we'd be done by 4:00 and it was already nearly 5:00. She was holding a Christmas Eve open-house and was expecting half of the neighborhood over that evening. She only had a couple of hours left to finish her own preparations. I gave her a hug for all of her effort and shooed her off, while I started hauling the furniture back into place, working at a frenzied pace to get done before the unsuspecting benefactor got home. Erica followed behind me, arranging all the lamps, baskets and knick-knacks, and adding additional holiday decorations as we went. With the last of the furniture in place, I turned and gave her a high-five. "This is all our secret, right? If your Mom asks, the Christmas elves stopped by to help clean up. You did a great job, Erica." She smiled and held her arms out to me. I leaned down and gave her a hug. "Thank you," she whispered, just before she let go and disappeared up the stairs. I felt a lump in my throat. Whether it was fear of being caught by her mother, or the joy of hearing her speak her first words to me, I couldn't be sure. By eight o'clock, Sandy still hadn't shown up on my front-doorstep with a shotgun. I guess she was going to wait until after Christmas to eviscerate me over meddling where I didn't belong. I didn't care. I felt good, the best I'd felt in two weeks, thinking about that little girl celebrating a real Christmas. Kids should have Christmas. I had cleaned up and decided to make an appearance next door, as I'd promised, when I got a call from Steve. "Hey-ho, Stevorino." "Only my Grandma gets to say that, asshole." "Merry fuckin' Christmas to you too." I teased. I heard him chuckle. "Merry Christmas is right. At least for your neighbor." "How's that?" I asked, suddenly interested. "The insurance creeps were just stalling. They don't have a leg to stand on. The only change to the policy was upon their advice after an annual policy review by their own agent. A little legal pressure was all it took. It's not a lot, less than $300K, but she'll be getting her check next week." "Steve, you're the man. I take back all those nasty things I said about you." "Shit, they're probably true. If anybody would know, it'd be you." "All kidding aside. You're a life saver." I knew he hated any hint of seriousness. I could almost hear him blushing over the phone. "Hey, that's what friends are for, right?" "That's right. And I couldn't ask for a better one." "Ditto. Asshole." "Shit. You had to go and spoil it. Listen, I gotta run. Give your family my love and have a great Christmas. I'll give you a call next week." "You got it. And Darla sends her love. She made me say that. Don't get any ideas." "Got it. Give her a kiss for me. Scratch that. I'll come out after the holidays and give it to her myself. When are you going to be out of town next?" "Funny guy. Start anything with her, and I'll make you keep her and the credit card bills." "Ouch. You win," I had to laugh. "Thanks again." "Merry Christmas. Hang in there buddy." "You too." To be continued in part 2, Based on the post from Tx Tall Tales for Literotica 

 Brandon has been harboring a secret librarian fantasy by horn pixy. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.Wednesday night before Thanksgiving, 2010 Brandon has been harboring a secret librarian fantasy for many years, but Emily was hardly his idea of a hot librarian. She was the type of women who came a side-serving of Complication. So why couldn't he stay away from her?It was almost time for last call. Brandon wiped the sodden rag over the counter and put the empty glass the girl had just put down into the crate under the bar with the other dirty glasses.“One more?” he asked. She nodded and took her wallet from her purse. He handed her the scotch on the rocks; her sixth or seventh one for the evening; and wondered how she managed to keep her balance on the high barstool. Her eyes had that glazed look of somebody who had definitely had a few too many, but if he had not been the one to pour her drinks; all six or seven of them; he would not have guessed she was drunk. There was no characteristic slumping or wobbling or even raucous laughter. In fact, her ramrod straight posture and uncanny balance reminded him of a ballet teacher, especially with her hair scraped back into a bun like that. She was pretty enough, in a neat, mousy little way. It was impossible to hazard a guess at the figure under the bulky, shapeless coat she was wearing over goodness knew what. She was wearing glasses with a nice frame that actually suited her face in a non-descript kind of way. Brandon had never seen such a dignified drunk in his life. She had better manners drunk than most people had when they were stone cold sober and sitting their grandmother's sitting rooms.“Thank you,” she said politely when she accepted her change and slipped half of it into the tip-jar, as she had been doing all evening. He kept an eye on her as he started straightening bottles on the shelf behind him, wondering about her story.Brandon loved his job. He owned several bars and still spent an evening now and then behind the counter. After serving drinks for three years across the globe when he was fresh out of high school, he enjoyed the occasional trip down memory lane. It fascinated him to see how alike people were, no matter where they lived. Broken hearts healed just as slowly in Hawaii as they did in Australia, and flirting was a universal art that did not differ too much from one place to another. He loved watching the games, the intrigues, the emotions, as people relaxed around him. He'd seen it all; the break-ups and the make-ups, the hopeful souls scouring the bar for the love of their lives; or at least the lay of the night. He'd seen people drink to forget, or to try to keep memories alive. He'd seen them drink because there was nothing else to do, or because they couldn't do anything else. He'd seen the lonely girls go home with the wrong men and knew they'd wake up the next morning with alcohol on their breath and regret in their hearts. He'd seen women play fast and loose, and the men who managed to escape their clutches. He'd seen the best and the worst of people, but he thought he'd never quite seen anything like the girl sitting there in a dull brown coat, finishing one drink after another without toppling over or falling into somebody's lap on her way to the bathroom. She was fresh and new, and it intrigued him.The bar was rather empty in comparison to most Friday nights. But to be fair, it was the middle of the month and there was a blizzard raging on outside. He was closing up earlier than usual to give the staff and the customers the chance to get home before it got worse. The neat lady; there was other way to describe her; was one of the diehards, but since she was hardly causing a scene, he didn't ask her to leave just yet while they were cleaning up.Finally they were done, and he had to ask her to leave. She blinked owlishly at him from behind her glasses.“Excuse me?” she asked, as if she had not heard him the first time.He leaned closer and thought he caught a whiff of something clean and fresh under the ripe smell of alcohol and closed-up people that hung over the room.“It's closing time,” he repeated. “We're going to lock up.”“Oh,” she said, frowning slightly as her impaired brain tried to sort out his words. “Right,” she said finally. “Well, I'll just go then, won't I?”“Can I call you a cab?” he asked, because she still had not moved from her seat. He waved a hand at the two waiters and the other barman, indicating that he would lock up and they could go home.She looked at him, her eyes still slightly unfocused.“To take you home,” he explained. “You shouldn't drive.”“Did I come with a car?” she asked, bewildered. “I hope not. I don't own a car. Did I steal one?”He grinned. This was fun. Normally drunk people just annoyed him a bit, but this girl struck a chord somewhere in his chest he'd never known to exist.“Not that I know of,” he said. “How did you get here?”“I must have walked,” she said, puzzled. “From work. Fancy that.”“What work do you do?” he asked as Rod, one of the waiters, closed the door behind the other staff members.“I'm a libal; librali; a li bra rian,” she said, looking quite pleased with herself for managing the word. Fancy that indeed, he thought, his mind going into immediate overdrive at the mention of her career. Like many, many men, he harbored a secret Librarian Fantasy. Even the way she broke it up into syllables didn't diminish the thoughts running though his head.The job suited her perfectly, he thought. She was cut out for the silence and air of wisdom and propriety that hung around the books like dusty clouds. He imagined being scolded by her for being too loud and grinned.“Where do you live?” he wanted to know. He would help her home, call her a cab, and forget about her. She was not the type of librarian he fantasized about; she had glasses, but they were the wrong kind, and even though her hair was scraped back out of her face, there was nothing sexy about it. She wasn't wearing nearly enough make-up and not at all the right kind of clothes, either. She was just a girl, hiding behind stacks of books. Her fingers were unadorned, and he guessed her to be single. She probably had four or five cats and a vibrator named Bob hidden in her nightstand that she rarely used because it made her feel guilty.“Up the street, I think,” she said, pointing vaguely with her fingers. “That way. You have pretty eyes.”He lifted an amused brow. ‘That way' would take him to the kitchen and eventually, an alleyway behind the building.“How about an address?” he asked. “To give to the cab-driver.”He grabbed a paper napkin and a pen. She wrote slowly, carefully, her handwriting still managing to be neater than his illegible scrawl.“You don't live far from me,” he said, lying smoothly. “Just one block south, to be precise. Would you like a lift home?”“Never get in the car with strangers,” she said firmly.“A cab driver is also a stranger,” he pointed out.“Not the same thing.”“Nope. But on second thought, I'm not sure you'll find a cab in this weather.”“That's right,” she said, smiling broadly for the first time. The expression transformed her face from plain to pretty. Her innocence amused and tickled him. “It's snowing. Like a White Christmas.”He couldn't help it. He grinned; it was January. She wasn't just drunk, she was completely sloshed. But still amazingly stable and logical.“Let's get you home,” he said, coming around the bar to help her from the stool. This was not something he ever did. He owned the bars; how the patrons got home was their problem, not his. But he couldn't just leave this girl to her own devices, not unless he wanted the next time he heard about her to be her name in an obituary. She'd probably fall asleep in the cold right outside his bar and die. It would cause all sorts of unwanted paperwork and police questions.She didn't even need his help standing up. The liquor, it seemed, had not affected her balance one bit. Still, he kept a hand on her back to steer her. He locked up behind them while she stood looking at him through her wide, trusting eyes.“You're really tall,” she said. “I wish I was taller.”“You're the perfect height,” he said. “See? My arm fits right round your shoulders. You're like a portable armrest.”She didn't giggle at that, and he wondered of she'd heard him. It was a pretty lame joke, but in his experience, drunk people will laugh at anything.“I wish I was hot,” she said. “Like you. But not like you. Like a girl. Then maybe I could have sex.”He coughed, choking on his breath, the way some people trip over their own feet.“What?” he asked when he finally had the air back in the right pipes.“I wish I was prettier,” she said matter-of-factly. “I'm not being pessimistic, really. I just; well, no use crying for the moon, is there?”“You are pretty,” he said automatically. She sighed.“I'm not. But thank you for pretending, anyway. Oh, my goodness, it's cold.”He had just opened the back door and yes, it was cold indeed. The wind was blowing sheets of snow into their faces and heaping it against the side of the building. He steered her with one hand in the direction of his car, which was parked under the staff-members-only roof.He cranked up the heater and took the drive slowly and carefully. The cold was making her drowsy, and he could see her head drooping slightly. No doubt the drinks were finally taking effect.“I take it you don't drink often?” he said.“Nope,” she said, pulling the edges of her rather ugly coat closer around her. “I've never been drunk before.”Until tonight, he thought, but he waited for her to continue on her own. After a few seconds, she did.“I'm sort of a virgin,” she said.” By choice. But it's not my choice.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Technically I'm no longer one. But I've never been with a man, you know?”Well, he certainly knew now. But his years as a barman had taught him when to listen and when to talk. So he kept quiet.“Well, anyway, I always thought it was because I'm too shy. Men don't like that, right?”“Some do,” he said, because what else could he say?“Liar,” she said fondly. “Nobody wants to be with somebody who's ashamed of themselves. I know I wouldn't like that in a man, so I can hardly expect any man to show interest in me. That's why I went out tonight,” she added after a few seconds. “Too see if drinking helps me get loose. Turns out I'm even boring when I'm drunk.”“You're not boring,” he said firmly. “You just need to learn how to fake it. Everybody is secretly self-conscious. Some just hide it better that others. You need to find a way to pretend. If you can convince yourself, you know other people will believe it.”“I don't think I'd know how,” she said. “I'm no good at acting or pretending or lying. I can't even lie to telephone sales people. ““I'll help you,” he said impulsively. “I'll show you how to fake it.”“Really?”“Sure. When you're sober. Anything I teach you now will be wasted.”“Like me,” she sighed. “I'm wasted, and all I want to do is go to bed. That's my building up there.'“That's a gas station,” he said with a grin.“Oh.” She frowned. “Then it's not my building, is it?”“I sincerely hope not.”They found her building eventually, tucked away between a tall, scary-looking block of flats and a three-story bridal boutique. He helped her out of the car and up the steps. It took her three times to key the right series of numbers into the keypad so the door would open. Finally, she recited them to him to read it in.“Thank you,” she said awkwardly. “For the lift, and the ear.”He grinned. “No problem,” he said. “Hey, what's your name?”“Emily,” she said.Emily. It suited her perfectly, as if her parents had had a glimpse of her in the future when they named her. She looked like an Emily more than anybody else he'd ever met.“I'm Brandon,” he said. “Can I pick you up tomorrow around noon for your first lesson?”“Lesson?”“In faking it.”It occurred to him then that ‘faking it' might refer to something else as well, but he always made damn sure a girl does not need to fake it when she's with him. Not that he planned to have sex with her. This girl's second name was Complication. It would be cruel to pluck her cherry and then be off on his merry way. She was not the type to come; and then go.“Okay. Wanna come up?”He considered saying no, but realized she might need help to get into her apartment. It seemed her brain had simply been behind on its reaction, and she was finally in the clumsy imbalance phase of drunkenness.She might get hurt, or lost, or wind up asleep on a hallway chair somewhere.“Sure,”' he said.It was three interesting flights of stairs. She only almost-fell seven times, even with his arm around her waist. She was still incessantly polite, apologizing profusely and telling him how pretty he was.Yeah, because that's what every guy secretly wants to be. Pretty.He had to take her keys and unlock the door himself. She was toppling over and had to hold onto the wall with both hands to keep from introducing her ass to the ground. It was a good thing she was wearing sensible flats rather than sexy heels, and he had to be the first guy ever to have that particular thought.“There we go,” he said when he finally got the door open. She would need to get a locksmith to take a look at the thing; the key had stuck a bit, as if the mechanism inside was rusty.Her house surprised him. He had unconsciously expected it to be decorated like something from the Victorian Era; Chintz and flowers, frilly and stuffy. Chokingly girly. It wasn't. Oh, it was undeniable a female place, but it was feminine rather than girlish. The door opened into the sitting room, which had a sage green couch with big white pillows and lampshades. The lavender curtains had been drawn against the cold air and what was probably a dreary scene outside. The art against the walls was lovely; no modern skyscrapers with red splashes to indicate blood and lust, or wriggling shapes than reminded him of female sex organs during ovulation.A small little galley kitchen on the right showed no dirty dishes in the sink, and a gleaming espresso machine on the countertop next to an equally gleaming microwave.He half-carried, half-dragged her to the only other door, guessing it to be the bedroom.It was, and here was more proof of neat, uncluttered taste. The room was tiny, with built-in cupboards and barely enough space to walk around the bed to the bathroom on the other side.“You gonna kiss me now?” she asked when he helped her onto the bed and slid a pillow under her head.“Sure, thing, honey,” he said as he switched on the bedside lamp so he could turn off the harsh overhead fixture. “In a minute, okay? You just wait right there.”He made sure she wasn't too close to the edge to roll off and brought her a glass of water from the kitchen. He found Advils in her bathroom cabinet, along with some make-up and an unopened packet of condoms. Pity stirred his heart. She was well and truly lonely, wasn't she? All cosseted in her small little apartment, hiding behind books and pretty paintings. So far he hadn't seen any sign of a cat, but maybe the building didn't allow pets.He found a heater and turned it up. She was lying suspiciously still on her side, one arm flung out to the side. He tucked it into a more comfortable position. It was the desire to get her comfortable as much as curiosity that made him wait until she was deeply asleep, or, more likely, passed out, before he pulled her coat off to reveal her body.She was small, and firm, and the only word he could think of to describe her was neat. She was utterly non-descript. She had tits, but they were just there, situated on her chest much in the way a nose is situated more or less in the middle of a face. He doubted he'd notice them if he saw her in the line at the grocery store other than for the obvious reason; they were female tits, and therefore bound to be noticed, even if they did not get a second look. They were completely average tits. He couldn't see much, as she was wearing a creamy beige sweater that had clearly been bought with an eye on heat rather than hotness, and brown slacks that sat loose around her legs and revealed nothing about what her body looked like.He shook his head as he slipped her shoes from her feet and considered doing her another favor and tossing them in the trash. They were butt-fuck-ugly. He hated sensible shoes on a woman.He pulled the quilt over her body and since he had some experience with drunk people, found a plastic bucket in her kitchen to put next to her bed. She seemed to have missed the psychedelic-yawn, porcelain-god-worshipping part of the evening, but judging by the fact that her body seemed to have its own ideas of how to react to alcohol, he wasn't taking anything for granted. She would hate herself if she woke up in the morning, only to find she'd puked all over her pretty, plush white carpet. Who bought white carpets anyway? Wasn't that like a direct invite to Karma and Murphy and all those other sadistic creatures who makes people spill coffee just after they get dressed in a new shirt, or back their car into a lamp pole the first time they take it out for a drive?He left a piece of paper with the instructions to drink the tablets and the water next to the glass and went back downstairs, only to tread back up when he couldn't find his keys in his pocket.It wasn't in the living room either, nor anywhere else in her house that he could find. He went as far as opening her underwear drawer (he really was desperate, after all,) and was not too surprised that they weren't there. He was pleasantly surprised, however, that the librarian lady had quite good taste in underwear. He didn't touch any of the pretty lace and satin snips of fabric, but he could imagine them on her easily enough, and it made for a pretty image.He finally located his keys; sitting in the ignition of his car, the doors firmly locked against him.“Son of a bitch!” he said, slamming a frustrated hand onto the snow-covered roof. “Dammit!”He took his phone from his pocket and tried to call a cab company to come get him and take him home to get his spare key, but just as he got an operator his phone made a cheerful beep just before the battery died. He considered throwing the piece of shit into the nearest heap of snow, but figured that would be counterproductive.He was stuck, and he'd be dammed if he was going to wait for the sun to rise outside on the streets, looking at a locked car.He trudged back upstairs, grateful that he hadn't been able to lock the door behind him and made himself at least semi-comfortable on Emily's couch, and closed his eyes. By any luck he would be awake and gone long before Miss Emily found the courage to leave her bed. And when he left, he would stay gone. She probably won't remember the impulsive promise he had made to help her get confidence, so she won't be upset when he doesn't show up. He already regretted the invitation; Emily the librarian was not the type of girl he needed to spend time with. She was too shy; she said so herself; and she dressed atrociously. Except for her underwear, of course. She was plain, bordering on dowdy, a self-proclaimed virgin, (whatever she had meant by technically) and she had you're-going-to-break-my-heart written all over her.She was a librarian, for goodness sake. That was a species of women best suited to the porn industry, where they wore impractical high-heeled pumps and button down shirts with sexy glasses and tight skirts. If you put Emily in an outfit like that she would; well, she would look hot, to be honest. Almost any woman would look awesome, dressed like that. He imagined it easily, right down to the stern look she was giving him for putting a book in the wrong shelf.“It belongs in the back,” she would say and motion for him to follow her so she could show him where to put it. He would wait for the right moment to pin her against the shelves and kiss the living daylights out of her while his hands explored her hot and eager curves. She would slide one leg around his waist and grind against him seductively;Brandon came to his senses with a jolt, his hand around his cock. He groaned. This was ridiculous. He was sporting a hard-on for the most wood-uninspiring girl he's ever met. She was shy and plain and, frankly, her life was a little pathetic. She had to be at least twenty-six and she'd never had sex? What was he even doing in her house, other than trying to beat one out?He swore and closed his eyes, trying to get comfortable and wishing he had a blanket.This was what he got for playing the Good Samaritan.Emily could feel the light all the way down to her queasy stomach, and it burned the whole way down.“Oh,” she moaned and wondered, briefly, if a freight train or a passenger one had hit her. The question seemed important, somehow. Her head felt like the maze of a Pac-Man game. Something was running around inside there and eating bits of grey-matter. She tried to squint through the smallest of slits she could make with eyelids; straight into the light of her bedside lamp. She could hear her corneas go up in flames. She whimpered and turned her face into her pillow to hide from it. She regretted waking up with every fiber of her being. The longer she was awake, the more issues were brought under her attention by her irate body. Her mouth tasted like something she would gag at if she were to smell it on her way to wok. Her body was sore, and she was nauseous. The most pressing problem, however, was her bladder, which was screaming for attention. She eased her legs over the side of her bed carefully, surprised to find herself in her wrinkled angora sweater and slacks of the previous day. At least she'd had the sense to kick off her shoes the previous evening before she got in bed.Her eyes fell on the bright red bucket sitting next to her bed. It was the one she used when she washed floors or windows, and it belonged in her kitchen on top of the cupboard that holds other cleaning supplies. What was it doing next to her bed? The next second she grabbed for it as her stomach revolted against the switch from horizontal to vertical. She was sick; violently and tear-inducingly sick. When it was over she sat there, sweating and just trying to get her breath. Another wave hit her and she was infinitely grateful for the bucket, though she still had no idea how it got there.Finally it seemed to be over for real. She made her way cautiously to her bathroom and emptied the bucket in the toilet with a grimace. She would clean it later. No, she would throw it out. Nobody needed a reminder like that sitting in their kitchen.She flushed the toilet before she unbuckled her slacks and sat down, relief spreading over her body like a flush. Eventually she realized she couldn't hide on her toilet forever and she got up.She just looked at herself in the mirror. Was that her? That rumpled, bleary-eyed stranger who's make-up had smeared and whose hair; well, to be honest, the ruthless bun she'd tied her hair in had held pretty well. It still looked reasonably neat, in comparison to the rest of her. But her skin was white, her eyes red. There were pillow-creases on her check and she smelled like; No. There was no words to describe the odors wafting around her. But it was foul and she might need to burn her clothes.She pulled it off, stepped into the shower and closed the curtain. The next second she screamed when the icy water hit her skin and she realized too late that she should have waited a minute for the hot water to reach the pipes. It cleared her head instantly, however, and she forced herself to stand there while it warmed.That's when she heard her bathroom door swing open, and an unfamiliar voice say, “What the hell?”Oh, dear heavens! There was a man in her apartment.Brandon could see vague movements behind the translucent curtain; he truly hated those things; but nothing else. He'd woken up to the cheerful sounds of somebody throwing up and considered leaving before she emerged. But he would still be stranded until he could get home for his spare key, and he knew the lady would probably have a few questions regarding the previous evening. It seemed cruel now to leave her to her own speculations. And then she'd screamed and although he knew there was probably no crazy axe-murderer in her bathroom, he did feel some concern. Or, at the very least, the desire to be spectator to her humiliation. The uncharacteristic bout of pettiness was undoubtedly brought upon by the crick in his neck after spending the night on a couch that was too short for his frame. Why didn't women invest in man-sized leather couches or lazy-boys with cup-holders?“Who‘s there?” she asked, and he could hear the shiver in her voice. Was it fear or cold?“Me,” he said, wanting to punish her; just a little; for the worst night of his life. Not that it was entirely her fault. He had decided to help her home all on his own, after all. But the punishment her couch had meted out had neutralized his part in this little clusterfuck. That, and the raging case of blue balls he was suffering from even now. Though, to be fair, there was no way in which he could hold her responsible for that.“I,” she said.“What?” Brandon asked, confused.“You mean I. Not me. Grammatically speaking…”“You're giving me a grammar lesson?” he asked, astounded. “You're naked in the shower and there's a stranger outside who could, for all intent and purposes, have a chainsaw or an electric appliance, and you're pointing out grammatical errors?”There was a moment of silence, during which he could only hear the sound of running water.“Do you have a chainsaw or an electric appliance?” she asked after a few seconds. Steam was rising and she sighed in pleasure. The sound shot straight downstairs. He winced.“No,” he admitted.“Well, then,” she said as if that explained everything. “I assume we met last night?”“Sort of.”“Did we…” There was trepidation in her voice now. “Did we have sex?”He grinned. There was no way he was passing up this opportunity.“Baby, you rocked my world,” he said. “Twice. Where'd you learn to do that thing with your tongue?”“What thing?”“That thing where you; Oh never mind, I'll show you later. Mind if I join you?” He jiggled his belt, making it sound as if he was pulling off his pants.“No!” she said quickly. “I'm naked!”“That's the idea,' he said. “Naked and wet. Just the way I like you best. Just like last night. Man! You were wet.”He thought he heard her whimper something about deities unknown.“Want me to go make coffee instead?” he asked, taking pity on her.“Yes,” she seized the opportunity. “Please. Coffee. Why don't you take yours to go?”She was kicking him out? After everything he'd done for her the previous evening?“Now that's no way to talk to your new husband,” he said reprovingly.He could hear her shock in the very silence.“My what?”“Don't you remember?” Oh, he was enjoying this.“My what?”“After we met up at the bar, we went to a judge I know and got a special license. He married us. He's a good guy, Judge Henderson. Owed me a favor after I got rid of a little problem for him a year ago.”“Please leave,” she begged, close to tears, if her voice was anything to go by.“Now, honeybun, I told you last night the garbage disposal company I work for doesn't work over weekends. Where would I go?”She moaned, a pitiful sound that made him feel slightly guilty. There was a movement behind the curtain and then her head poked out. She was holding the curtain prudishly high to hide the rest of her.“Please tell me you're joking,” she pleaded.He let his silence speak for itself, while he took her in. Her eyes were bloodshot, but that didn't do much to distract from their beauty. Had he ever seen such big blue eyes outside the porcelain-doll industry? Why hadn't he noticed that before? He was standing close enough that he could see the water clinging against her long lashes. Her nose was fine with the cutest tilt, and her skin, though still slightly sallow from the previous evening, was perfect and unblemished.He was stunned. She was beautiful. How the hell had he missed that?“This can't be happening,” she said.His thoughts exactly. He could not be noticing her beauty now. It was just his libido talking. He'd spent a restless evening tossing around coldly on her couch, getting images of her all mixed up with his librarian fantasies. That's what this was. His cock was desperate to convince him he was attracted to her so he would make his move. And she would fall for it, no doubt about that. She was inexperienced and, by her own admission, desperate. If he turned on the charm, he would have her under him before the end of the day.But he wasn't that kind of a guy. The guy who sleep with girls and leave them when they bore him. And bore him she inevitably would. She was too quiet, too shy, too damn librarian-ish to hold his attention for longer than it took him to come. He preferred women with fiery personalities and lots of experience in pleasuring her lover in bed. Emily would probably faint dead the first time she saw him naked. And try to be prim and proper, and not want him to go down on her. Sex with her would have to be after dark, a quick, awkward coupling under the covers. She wouldn't want to do any of the things he liked; no blowjobs, no cunnilingus. Definitely no role-play. It would be utterly unfulfilling.So why wouldn't his cock stop trying to make happy-happy with her?“Don't worry,' he said, finally annoyed by himself and his thoughts and feelings. “It's not. I'll go make coffee. I'll even leave if you want me to.”She looked at him, blinking those big eyes of hers.“No,” she said. “Stay. I'll be there in a few minutes.”She brushed her teeth and even her tongue for what felt like hours to no avail. The taste of her humiliation sat as if the enamel on her teeth had absorbed it. She felt as if she was chewing on moss as far as she went. She twisted the towel around her head and drank the Advils next to her bed. Bits and pieces of the previous evening was filtering down to her. She had been at the library and Mrs. Gunnings; bless her heart; had been talking about how Emily needed to find a nice young man to take care of her. Of how nice it was to go home and not spend the evening alone. Of how nice it was to go out and hold somebody's hand in public. Of the lovely man who'd swept her daughter right of her feet and now they were married with a little baby and how happy they were; she'd talked and talked until Emily was so depressed with her own lonely little life that she decided to stop for a drink, rather than face her empty apartment. As she sat there, she kept thinking of ways to meet somebody; clearly, her job was no help; and the thought had somehow taken root that people met other people in bars. When they were drunk. So she'd ordered one drink after another, hoping she would magically become sexy and; and pretty and desirable. And somebody would magically notice her and fall magically in love with her and they would magically live happily ever after.To be continued, by horn pixy.

 Brandon has been harboring a secret librarian fantasy by horn pixy. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.Wednesday night before Thanksgiving, 2010 Brandon has been harboring a secret librarian fantasy for many years, but Emily was hardly his idea of a hot librarian. She was the type of women who came a side-serving of Complication. So why couldn't he stay away from her?It was almost time for last call. Brandon wiped the sodden rag over the counter and put the empty glass the girl had just put down into the crate under the bar with the other dirty glasses.“One more?” he asked. She nodded and took her wallet from her purse. He handed her the scotch on the rocks; her sixth or seventh one for the evening; and wondered how she managed to keep her balance on the high barstool. Her eyes had that glazed look of somebody who had definitely had a few too many, but if he had not been the one to pour her drinks; all six or seven of them; he would not have guessed she was drunk. There was no characteristic slumping or wobbling or even raucous laughter. In fact, her ramrod straight posture and uncanny balance reminded him of a ballet teacher, especially with her hair scraped back into a bun like that. She was pretty enough, in a neat, mousy little way. It was impossible to hazard a guess at the figure under the bulky, shapeless coat she was wearing over goodness knew what. She was wearing glasses with a nice frame that actually suited her face in a non-descript kind of way. Brandon had never seen such a dignified drunk in his life. She had better manners drunk than most people had when they were stone cold sober and sitting their grandmother's sitting rooms.“Thank you,” she said politely when she accepted her change and slipped half of it into the tip-jar, as she had been doing all evening. He kept an eye on her as he started straightening bottles on the shelf behind him, wondering about her story.Brandon loved his job. He owned several bars and still spent an evening now and then behind the counter. After serving drinks for three years across the globe when he was fresh out of high school, he enjoyed the occasional trip down memory lane. It fascinated him to see how alike people were, no matter where they lived. Broken hearts healed just as slowly in Hawaii as they did in Australia, and flirting was a universal art that did not differ too much from one place to another. He loved watching the games, the intrigues, the emotions, as people relaxed around him. He'd seen it all; the break-ups and the make-ups, the hopeful souls scouring the bar for the love of their lives; or at least the lay of the night. He'd seen people drink to forget, or to try to keep memories alive. He'd seen them drink because there was nothing else to do, or because they couldn't do anything else. He'd seen the lonely girls go home with the wrong men and knew they'd wake up the next morning with alcohol on their breath and regret in their hearts. He'd seen women play fast and loose, and the men who managed to escape their clutches. He'd seen the best and the worst of people, but he thought he'd never quite seen anything like the girl sitting there in a dull brown coat, finishing one drink after another without toppling over or falling into somebody's lap on her way to the bathroom. She was fresh and new, and it intrigued him.The bar was rather empty in comparison to most Friday nights. But to be fair, it was the middle of the month and there was a blizzard raging on outside. He was closing up earlier than usual to give the staff and the customers the chance to get home before it got worse. The neat lady; there was other way to describe her; was one of the diehards, but since she was hardly causing a scene, he didn't ask her to leave just yet while they were cleaning up.Finally they were done, and he had to ask her to leave. She blinked owlishly at him from behind her glasses.“Excuse me?” she asked, as if she had not heard him the first time.He leaned closer and thought he caught a whiff of something clean and fresh under the ripe smell of alcohol and closed-up people that hung over the room.“It's closing time,” he repeated. “We're going to lock up.”“Oh,” she said, frowning slightly as her impaired brain tried to sort out his words. “Right,” she said finally. “Well, I'll just go then, won't I?”“Can I call you a cab?” he asked, because she still had not moved from her seat. He waved a hand at the two waiters and the other barman, indicating that he would lock up and they could go home.She looked at him, her eyes still slightly unfocused.“To take you home,” he explained. “You shouldn't drive.”“Did I come with a car?” she asked, bewildered. “I hope not. I don't own a car. Did I steal one?”He grinned. This was fun. Normally drunk people just annoyed him a bit, but this girl struck a chord somewhere in his chest he'd never known to exist.“Not that I know of,” he said. “How did you get here?”“I must have walked,” she said, puzzled. “From work. Fancy that.”“What work do you do?” he asked as Rod, one of the waiters, closed the door behind the other staff members.“I'm a libal; librali; a li bra rian,” she said, looking quite pleased with herself for managing the word. Fancy that indeed, he thought, his mind going into immediate overdrive at the mention of her career. Like many, many men, he harbored a secret Librarian Fantasy. Even the way she broke it up into syllables didn't diminish the thoughts running though his head.The job suited her perfectly, he thought. She was cut out for the silence and air of wisdom and propriety that hung around the books like dusty clouds. He imagined being scolded by her for being too loud and grinned.“Where do you live?” he wanted to know. He would help her home, call her a cab, and forget about her. She was not the type of librarian he fantasized about; she had glasses, but they were the wrong kind, and even though her hair was scraped back out of her face, there was nothing sexy about it. She wasn't wearing nearly enough make-up and not at all the right kind of clothes, either. She was just a girl, hiding behind stacks of books. Her fingers were unadorned, and he guessed her to be single. She probably had four or five cats and a vibrator named Bob hidden in her nightstand that she rarely used because it made her feel guilty.“Up the street, I think,” she said, pointing vaguely with her fingers. “That way. You have pretty eyes.”He lifted an amused brow. ‘That way' would take him to the kitchen and eventually, an alleyway behind the building.“How about an address?” he asked. “To give to the cab-driver.”He grabbed a paper napkin and a pen. She wrote slowly, carefully, her handwriting still managing to be neater than his illegible scrawl.“You don't live far from me,” he said, lying smoothly. “Just one block south, to be precise. Would you like a lift home?”“Never get in the car with strangers,” she said firmly.“A cab driver is also a stranger,” he pointed out.“Not the same thing.”“Nope. But on second thought, I'm not sure you'll find a cab in this weather.”“That's right,” she said, smiling broadly for the first time. The expression transformed her face from plain to pretty. Her innocence amused and tickled him. “It's snowing. Like a White Christmas.”He couldn't help it. He grinned; it was January. She wasn't just drunk, she was completely sloshed. But still amazingly stable and logical.“Let's get you home,” he said, coming around the bar to help her from the stool. This was not something he ever did. He owned the bars; how the patrons got home was their problem, not his. But he couldn't just leave this girl to her own devices, not unless he wanted the next time he heard about her to be her name in an obituary. She'd probably fall asleep in the cold right outside his bar and die. It would cause all sorts of unwanted paperwork and police questions.She didn't even need his help standing up. The liquor, it seemed, had not affected her balance one bit. Still, he kept a hand on her back to steer her. He locked up behind them while she stood looking at him through her wide, trusting eyes.“You're really tall,” she said. “I wish I was taller.”“You're the perfect height,” he said. “See? My arm fits right round your shoulders. You're like a portable armrest.”She didn't giggle at that, and he wondered of she'd heard him. It was a pretty lame joke, but in his experience, drunk people will laugh at anything.“I wish I was hot,” she said. “Like you. But not like you. Like a girl. Then maybe I could have sex.”He coughed, choking on his breath, the way some people trip over their own feet.“What?” he asked when he finally had the air back in the right pipes.“I wish I was prettier,” she said matter-of-factly. “I'm not being pessimistic, really. I just; well, no use crying for the moon, is there?”“You are pretty,” he said automatically. She sighed.“I'm not. But thank you for pretending, anyway. Oh, my goodness, it's cold.”He had just opened the back door and yes, it was cold indeed. The wind was blowing sheets of snow into their faces and heaping it against the side of the building. He steered her with one hand in the direction of his car, which was parked under the staff-members-only roof.He cranked up the heater and took the drive slowly and carefully. The cold was making her drowsy, and he could see her head drooping slightly. No doubt the drinks were finally taking effect.“I take it you don't drink often?” he said.“Nope,” she said, pulling the edges of her rather ugly coat closer around her. “I've never been drunk before.”Until tonight, he thought, but he waited for her to continue on her own. After a few seconds, she did.“I'm sort of a virgin,” she said.” By choice. But it's not my choice.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Technically I'm no longer one. But I've never been with a man, you know?”Well, he certainly knew now. But his years as a barman had taught him when to listen and when to talk. So he kept quiet.“Well, anyway, I always thought it was because I'm too shy. Men don't like that, right?”“Some do,” he said, because what else could he say?“Liar,” she said fondly. “Nobody wants to be with somebody who's ashamed of themselves. I know I wouldn't like that in a man, so I can hardly expect any man to show interest in me. That's why I went out tonight,” she added after a few seconds. “Too see if drinking helps me get loose. Turns out I'm even boring when I'm drunk.”“You're not boring,” he said firmly. “You just need to learn how to fake it. Everybody is secretly self-conscious. Some just hide it better that others. You need to find a way to pretend. If you can convince yourself, you know other people will believe it.”“I don't think I'd know how,” she said. “I'm no good at acting or pretending or lying. I can't even lie to telephone sales people. ““I'll help you,” he said impulsively. “I'll show you how to fake it.”“Really?”“Sure. When you're sober. Anything I teach you now will be wasted.”“Like me,” she sighed. “I'm wasted, and all I want to do is go to bed. That's my building up there.'“That's a gas station,” he said with a grin.“Oh.” She frowned. “Then it's not my building, is it?”“I sincerely hope not.”They found her building eventually, tucked away between a tall, scary-looking block of flats and a three-story bridal boutique. He helped her out of the car and up the steps. It took her three times to key the right series of numbers into the keypad so the door would open. Finally, she recited them to him to read it in.“Thank you,” she said awkwardly. “For the lift, and the ear.”He grinned. “No problem,” he said. “Hey, what's your name?”“Emily,” she said.Emily. It suited her perfectly, as if her parents had had a glimpse of her in the future when they named her. She looked like an Emily more than anybody else he'd ever met.“I'm Brandon,” he said. “Can I pick you up tomorrow around noon for your first lesson?”“Lesson?”“In faking it.”It occurred to him then that ‘faking it' might refer to something else as well, but he always made damn sure a girl does not need to fake it when she's with him. Not that he planned to have sex with her. This girl's second name was Complication. It would be cruel to pluck her cherry and then be off on his merry way. She was not the type to come; and then go.“Okay. Wanna come up?”He considered saying no, but realized she might need help to get into her apartment. It seemed her brain had simply been behind on its reaction, and she was finally in the clumsy imbalance phase of drunkenness.She might get hurt, or lost, or wind up asleep on a hallway chair somewhere.“Sure,”' he said.It was three interesting flights of stairs. She only almost-fell seven times, even with his arm around her waist. She was still incessantly polite, apologizing profusely and telling him how pretty he was.Yeah, because that's what every guy secretly wants to be. Pretty.He had to take her keys and unlock the door himself. She was toppling over and had to hold onto the wall with both hands to keep from introducing her ass to the ground. It was a good thing she was wearing sensible flats rather than sexy heels, and he had to be the first guy ever to have that particular thought.“There we go,” he said when he finally got the door open. She would need to get a locksmith to take a look at the thing; the key had stuck a bit, as if the mechanism inside was rusty.Her house surprised him. He had unconsciously expected it to be decorated like something from the Victorian Era; Chintz and flowers, frilly and stuffy. Chokingly girly. It wasn't. Oh, it was undeniable a female place, but it was feminine rather than girlish. The door opened into the sitting room, which had a sage green couch with big white pillows and lampshades. The lavender curtains had been drawn against the cold air and what was probably a dreary scene outside. The art against the walls was lovely; no modern skyscrapers with red splashes to indicate blood and lust, or wriggling shapes than reminded him of female sex organs during ovulation.A small little galley kitchen on the right showed no dirty dishes in the sink, and a gleaming espresso machine on the countertop next to an equally gleaming microwave.He half-carried, half-dragged her to the only other door, guessing it to be the bedroom.It was, and here was more proof of neat, uncluttered taste. The room was tiny, with built-in cupboards and barely enough space to walk around the bed to the bathroom on the other side.“You gonna kiss me now?” she asked when he helped her onto the bed and slid a pillow under her head.“Sure, thing, honey,” he said as he switched on the bedside lamp so he could turn off the harsh overhead fixture. “In a minute, okay? You just wait right there.”He made sure she wasn't too close to the edge to roll off and brought her a glass of water from the kitchen. He found Advils in her bathroom cabinet, along with some make-up and an unopened packet of condoms. Pity stirred his heart. She was well and truly lonely, wasn't she? All cosseted in her small little apartment, hiding behind books and pretty paintings. So far he hadn't seen any sign of a cat, but maybe the building didn't allow pets.He found a heater and turned it up. She was lying suspiciously still on her side, one arm flung out to the side. He tucked it into a more comfortable position. It was the desire to get her comfortable as much as curiosity that made him wait until she was deeply asleep, or, more likely, passed out, before he pulled her coat off to reveal her body.She was small, and firm, and the only word he could think of to describe her was neat. She was utterly non-descript. She had tits, but they were just there, situated on her chest much in the way a nose is situated more or less in the middle of a face. He doubted he'd notice them if he saw her in the line at the grocery store other than for the obvious reason; they were female tits, and therefore bound to be noticed, even if they did not get a second look. They were completely average tits. He couldn't see much, as she was wearing a creamy beige sweater that had clearly been bought with an eye on heat rather than hotness, and brown slacks that sat loose around her legs and revealed nothing about what her body looked like.He shook his head as he slipped her shoes from her feet and considered doing her another favor and tossing them in the trash. They were butt-fuck-ugly. He hated sensible shoes on a woman.He pulled the quilt over her body and since he had some experience with drunk people, found a plastic bucket in her kitchen to put next to her bed. She seemed to have missed the psychedelic-yawn, porcelain-god-worshipping part of the evening, but judging by the fact that her body seemed to have its own ideas of how to react to alcohol, he wasn't taking anything for granted. She would hate herself if she woke up in the morning, only to find she'd puked all over her pretty, plush white carpet. Who bought white carpets anyway? Wasn't that like a direct invite to Karma and Murphy and all those other sadistic creatures who makes people spill coffee just after they get dressed in a new shirt, or back their car into a lamp pole the first time they take it out for a drive?He left a piece of paper with the instructions to drink the tablets and the water next to the glass and went back downstairs, only to tread back up when he couldn't find his keys in his pocket.It wasn't in the living room either, nor anywhere else in her house that he could find. He went as far as opening her underwear drawer (he really was desperate, after all,) and was not too surprised that they weren't there. He was pleasantly surprised, however, that the librarian lady had quite good taste in underwear. He didn't touch any of the pretty lace and satin snips of fabric, but he could imagine them on her easily enough, and it made for a pretty image.He finally located his keys; sitting in the ignition of his car, the doors firmly locked against him.“Son of a bitch!” he said, slamming a frustrated hand onto the snow-covered roof. “Dammit!”He took his phone from his pocket and tried to call a cab company to come get him and take him home to get his spare key, but just as he got an operator his phone made a cheerful beep just before the battery died. He considered throwing the piece of shit into the nearest heap of snow, but figured that would be counterproductive.He was stuck, and he'd be dammed if he was going to wait for the sun to rise outside on the streets, looking at a locked car.He trudged back upstairs, grateful that he hadn't been able to lock the door behind him and made himself at least semi-comfortable on Emily's couch, and closed his eyes. By any luck he would be awake and gone long before Miss Emily found the courage to leave her bed. And when he left, he would stay gone. She probably won't remember the impulsive promise he had made to help her get confidence, so she won't be upset when he doesn't show up. He already regretted the invitation; Emily the librarian was not the type of girl he needed to spend time with. She was too shy; she said so herself; and she dressed atrociously. Except for her underwear, of course. She was plain, bordering on dowdy, a self-proclaimed virgin, (whatever she had meant by technically) and she had you're-going-to-break-my-heart written all over her.She was a librarian, for goodness sake. That was a species of women best suited to the porn industry, where they wore impractical high-heeled pumps and button down shirts with sexy glasses and tight skirts. If you put Emily in an outfit like that she would; well, she would look hot, to be honest. Almost any woman would look awesome, dressed like that. He imagined it easily, right down to the stern look she was giving him for putting a book in the wrong shelf.“It belongs in the back,” she would say and motion for him to follow her so she could show him where to put it. He would wait for the right moment to pin her against the shelves and kiss the living daylights out of her while his hands explored her hot and eager curves. She would slide one leg around his waist and grind against him seductively;Brandon came to his senses with a jolt, his hand around his cock. He groaned. This was ridiculous. He was sporting a hard-on for the most wood-uninspiring girl he's ever met. She was shy and plain and, frankly, her life was a little pathetic. She had to be at least twenty-six and she'd never had sex? What was he even doing in her house, other than trying to beat one out?He swore and closed his eyes, trying to get comfortable and wishing he had a blanket.This was what he got for playing the Good Samaritan.Emily could feel the light all the way down to her queasy stomach, and it burned the whole way down.“Oh,” she moaned and wondered, briefly, if a freight train or a passenger one had hit her. The question seemed important, somehow. Her head felt like the maze of a Pac-Man game. Something was running around inside there and eating bits of grey-matter. She tried to squint through the smallest of slits she could make with eyelids; straight into the light of her bedside lamp. She could hear her corneas go up in flames. She whimpered and turned her face into her pillow to hide from it. She regretted waking up with every fiber of her being. The longer she was awake, the more issues were brought under her attention by her irate body. Her mouth tasted like something she would gag at if she were to smell it on her way to wok. Her body was sore, and she was nauseous. The most pressing problem, however, was her bladder, which was screaming for attention. She eased her legs over the side of her bed carefully, surprised to find herself in her wrinkled angora sweater and slacks of the previous day. At least she'd had the sense to kick off her shoes the previous evening before she got in bed.Her eyes fell on the bright red bucket sitting next to her bed. It was the one she used when she washed floors or windows, and it belonged in her kitchen on top of the cupboard that holds other cleaning supplies. What was it doing next to her bed? The next second she grabbed for it as her stomach revolted against the switch from horizontal to vertical. She was sick; violently and tear-inducingly sick. When it was over she sat there, sweating and just trying to get her breath. Another wave hit her and she was infinitely grateful for the bucket, though she still had no idea how it got there.Finally it seemed to be over for real. She made her way cautiously to her bathroom and emptied the bucket in the toilet with a grimace. She would clean it later. No, she would throw it out. Nobody needed a reminder like that sitting in their kitchen.She flushed the toilet before she unbuckled her slacks and sat down, relief spreading over her body like a flush. Eventually she realized she couldn't hide on her toilet forever and she got up.She just looked at herself in the mirror. Was that her? That rumpled, bleary-eyed stranger who's make-up had smeared and whose hair; well, to be honest, the ruthless bun she'd tied her hair in had held pretty well. It still looked reasonably neat, in comparison to the rest of her. But her skin was white, her eyes red. There were pillow-creases on her check and she smelled like; No. There was no words to describe the odors wafting around her. But it was foul and she might need to burn her clothes.She pulled it off, stepped into the shower and closed the curtain. The next second she screamed when the icy water hit her skin and she realized too late that she should have waited a minute for the hot water to reach the pipes. It cleared her head instantly, however, and she forced herself to stand there while it warmed.That's when she heard her bathroom door swing open, and an unfamiliar voice say, “What the hell?”Oh, dear heavens! There was a man in her apartment.Brandon could see vague movements behind the translucent curtain; he truly hated those things; but nothing else. He'd woken up to the cheerful sounds of somebody throwing up and considered leaving before she emerged. But he would still be stranded until he could get home for his spare key, and he knew the lady would probably have a few questions regarding the previous evening. It seemed cruel now to leave her to her own speculations. And then she'd screamed and although he knew there was probably no crazy axe-murderer in her bathroom, he did feel some concern. Or, at the very least, the desire to be spectator to her humiliation. The uncharacteristic bout of pettiness was undoubtedly brought upon by the crick in his neck after spending the night on a couch that was too short for his frame. Why didn't women invest in man-sized leather couches or lazy-boys with cup-holders?“Who‘s there?” she asked, and he could hear the shiver in her voice. Was it fear or cold?“Me,” he said, wanting to punish her; just a little; for the worst night of his life. Not that it was entirely her fault. He had decided to help her home all on his own, after all. But the punishment her couch had meted out had neutralized his part in this little clusterfuck. That, and the raging case of blue balls he was suffering from even now. Though, to be fair, there was no way in which he could hold her responsible for that.“I,” she said.“What?” Brandon asked, confused.“You mean I. Not me. Grammatically speaking…”“You're giving me a grammar lesson?” he asked, astounded. “You're naked in the shower and there's a stranger outside who could, for all intent and purposes, have a chainsaw or an electric appliance, and you're pointing out grammatical errors?”There was a moment of silence, during which he could only hear the sound of running water.“Do you have a chainsaw or an electric appliance?” she asked after a few seconds. Steam was rising and she sighed in pleasure. The sound shot straight downstairs. He winced.“No,” he admitted.“Well, then,” she said as if that explained everything. “I assume we met last night?”“Sort of.”“Did we…” There was trepidation in her voice now. “Did we have sex?”He grinned. There was no way he was passing up this opportunity.“Baby, you rocked my world,” he said. “Twice. Where'd you learn to do that thing with your tongue?”“What thing?”“That thing where you; Oh never mind, I'll show you later. Mind if I join you?” He jiggled his belt, making it sound as if he was pulling off his pants.“No!” she said quickly. “I'm naked!”“That's the idea,' he said. “Naked and wet. Just the way I like you best. Just like last night. Man! You were wet.”He thought he heard her whimper something about deities unknown.“Want me to go make coffee instead?” he asked, taking pity on her.“Yes,” she seized the opportunity. “Please. Coffee. Why don't you take yours to go?”She was kicking him out? After everything he'd done for her the previous evening?“Now that's no way to talk to your new husband,” he said reprovingly.He could hear her shock in the very silence.“My what?”“Don't you remember?” Oh, he was enjoying this.“My what?”“After we met up at the bar, we went to a judge I know and got a special license. He married us. He's a good guy, Judge Henderson. Owed me a favor after I got rid of a little problem for him a year ago.”“Please leave,” she begged, close to tears, if her voice was anything to go by.“Now, honeybun, I told you last night the garbage disposal company I work for doesn't work over weekends. Where would I go?”She moaned, a pitiful sound that made him feel slightly guilty. There was a movement behind the curtain and then her head poked out. She was holding the curtain prudishly high to hide the rest of her.“Please tell me you're joking,” she pleaded.He let his silence speak for itself, while he took her in. Her eyes were bloodshot, but that didn't do much to distract from their beauty. Had he ever seen such big blue eyes outside the porcelain-doll industry? Why hadn't he noticed that before? He was standing close enough that he could see the water clinging against her long lashes. Her nose was fine with the cutest tilt, and her skin, though still slightly sallow from the previous evening, was perfect and unblemished.He was stunned. She was beautiful. How the hell had he missed that?“This can't be happening,” she said.His thoughts exactly. He could not be noticing her beauty now. It was just his libido talking. He'd spent a restless evening tossing around coldly on her couch, getting images of her all mixed up with his librarian fantasies. That's what this was. His cock was desperate to convince him he was attracted to her so he would make his move. And she would fall for it, no doubt about that. She was inexperienced and, by her own admission, desperate. If he turned on the charm, he would have her under him before the end of the day.But he wasn't that kind of a guy. The guy who sleep with girls and leave them when they bore him. And bore him she inevitably would. She was too quiet, too shy, too damn librarian-ish to hold his attention for longer than it took him to come. He preferred women with fiery personalities and lots of experience in pleasuring her lover in bed. Emily would probably faint dead the first time she saw him naked. And try to be prim and proper, and not want him to go down on her. Sex with her would have to be after dark, a quick, awkward coupling under the covers. She wouldn't want to do any of the things he liked; no blowjobs, no cunnilingus. Definitely no role-play. It would be utterly unfulfilling.So why wouldn't his cock stop trying to make happy-happy with her?“Don't worry,' he said, finally annoyed by himself and his thoughts and feelings. “It's not. I'll go make coffee. I'll even leave if you want me to.”She looked at him, blinking those big eyes of hers.“No,” she said. “Stay. I'll be there in a few minutes.”She brushed her teeth and even her tongue for what felt like hours to no avail. The taste of her humiliation sat as if the enamel on her teeth had absorbed it. She felt as if she was chewing on moss as far as she went. She twisted the towel around her head and drank the Advils next to her bed. Bits and pieces of the previous evening was filtering down to her. She had been at the library and Mrs. Gunnings; bless her heart; had been talking about how Emily needed to find a nice young man to take care of her. Of how nice it was to go home and not spend the evening alone. Of how nice it was to go out and hold somebody's hand in public. Of the lovely man who'd swept her daughter right of her feet and now they were married with a little baby and how happy they were; she'd talked and talked until Emily was so depressed with her own lonely little life that she decided to stop for a drink, rather than face her empty apartment. As she sat there, she kept thinking of ways to meet somebody; clearly, her job was no help; and the thought had somehow taken root that people met other people in bars. When they were drunk. So she'd ordered one drink after another, hoping she would magically become sexy and; and pretty and desirable. And somebody would magically notice her and fall magically in love with her and they would magically live happily ever after.To be continued, by horn pixy.

¡¡¡EXTRA, EXTRA‼! David Botello (@DavidBotello4) y Esther Sánchez (@estesan1969), acompañados por el cómico Luis Fabra, viajan a los yacimientos de Wadi en-Natuf, en Palestina; Gobekli Tepe, en Turquía; y Poverty Point, en Luisiana, Estados Unidos, para conocer los orígenes de las primeras ciudades y las grandes construcciones, antes de que el ser humano empezase a vivir de lo que cultivaba. Y, de paso, reflexionar sobre si vivimos, o no, mejor desde que nos dejamos la piel en el trabajo. Si quieres acompañarnos, ¡súbete a la Historia! @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:"Veteran Typewriter"; panose-1:2 0 5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-2147483473 74 0 0 275 0;}@font-face {font-family:"Arial Narrow"; panose-1:2 11 6 6 2 2 2 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:647 2048 0 0 159 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:none; mso-layout-grid-align:none; punctuation-wrap:simple; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Arial Narrow",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Veteran Typewriter"; mso-font-kerning:14.0pt; mso-fareast-language:ES;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:0pt; mso-ligatures:none; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:"Veteran Typewriter"; panose-1:2 0 5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-2147483473 74 0 0 275 0;}@font-face {font-family:"Arial Narrow"; panose-1:2 11 6 6 2 2 2 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:647 2048 0 0 159 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:none; mso-layout-grid-align:none; punctuation-wrap:simple; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Arial Narrow",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Veteran Typewriter"; mso-font-kerning:14.0pt; mso-fareast-language:ES;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:0pt; mso-ligatures:none; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}

Overall impressive series win for the Mariners -absurd pitching run comes to an end for M’s starters-Julio and Mitch have struggled recently-bullpen continues to be terrific // Is this where we finally see some consistency from Julio?-Haniger also can’t be an everyday right fielder if he is struggling this much at the plate -interesting question for the Mariners with Hancock after today’s start + whenever Woo is ready

  Positron Range Correction PET Hunor Kertesz Image X institute @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} We talked to Hunor Kertesz about how he has implemented  Positron Range Correction PET with commercial PET scanners! This can make huge improvements in PET especially in cardiac and Gallium PET. TAGS PET,Podcast,Nuclear,Imaging,Therapy,NuclearMedicine,NIF,Physics,UNIMELB,MBCIU,Positron,NUCCAST @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} Please let me know what you think about the video versions of the podcast.I am also looking for new material so please get in touch with me if you can contributewith an interview.Direct link to iTuneshttps://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicinie-podcast/id1444565219?mt=2Older podcastshttps://podcasts.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicine-podcast/id94286547You can get the podcast page at both http://nuccast.com and http://www.nuccast.com with the feed to put into iTunes or juice or your favourite podcast software can be found at http://molcast.com/.The cardiac subset of the podcast can be found at http://cardiac.nuccast.com/Please pass on information about this podcast to your colleagues and to your CPD provider.Link to Video Link to Video fileLink to Audio file Link to Audio fileOr you can subscribe by entering your email address below and you will be informed of new episodesEnter your email address:Delivered by FeedBurnerMost importantly of all please help this podcast by contributing your opinions, Sound files, and emailsnucmedpodcast@gmail.comAll contributions welcome, especially as sound files to nucmedpodcast@gmail.com.@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}

  Positron Range Correction PETHunor Kertesz Image X institute @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} We talked to Hunor Kertesz about how he has implemented  Positron Range Correction PET with commercial PET scanners! This can make huge improvements in PET especially in cardiac and Gallium PET. TAGS PET,Podcast,Nuclear,Imaging,Therapy,NuclearMedicine,NIF,Physics,UNIMELB,MBCIU,Positron,NUCCAST @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; 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margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} Please let me know what you think about the video versions of the podcast.I am also looking for new material so please get in touch with me if you can contributewith an interview.Direct link to iTuneshttps://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicinie-podcast/id1444565219?mt=2Older podcastshttps://podcasts.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicine-podcast/id94286547You can get the podcast page at both http://nuccast.com and http://www.nuccast.com with the feed to put into iTunes or juice or your favourite podcast software can be found at http://molcast.com/.The cardiac subset of the podcast can be found at http://cardiac.nuccast.com/Please pass on information about this podcast to your colleagues and to your CPD provider.Link to Video Link to Video fileLink to Audio file Link to Audio fileOr you can subscribe by entering your email address below and you will be informed of new episodesEnter your email address:Delivered by FeedBurnerMost importantly of all please help this podcast by contributing your opinions, Sound files, and emailsnucmedpodcast@gmail.comAll contributions welcome, especially as sound files to nucmedpodcast@gmail.com.@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}

  Positron Range Correction PETHunor Kertesz Image X institute @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} We talked to Hunor Kertesz about how he has implemented  Positron Range Correction PET with commercial PET scanners! This can make huge improvements in PET especially in cardiac and Gallium PET. TAGS PET,Podcast,Nuclear,Imaging,Therapy,NuclearMedicine,NIF,Physics,UNIMELB,MBCIU,Positron,NUCCAST @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; 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margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} Please let me know what you think about the video versions of the podcast.I am also looking for new material so please get in touch with me if you can contributewith an interview.Direct link to iTuneshttps://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicinie-podcast/id1444565219?mt=2Older podcastshttps://podcasts.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicine-podcast/id94286547You can get the podcast page at both http://nuccast.com and http://www.nuccast.com with the feed to put into iTunes or juice or your favourite podcast software can be found at http://molcast.com/.The cardiac subset of the podcast can be found at http://cardiac.nuccast.com/Please pass on information about this podcast to your colleagues and to your CPD provider.Link to Video Link to Video fileLink to Audio file Link to Audio fileOr you can subscribe by entering your email address below and you will be informed of new episodesEnter your email address:Delivered by FeedBurnerMost importantly of all please help this podcast by contributing your opinions, Sound files, and emailsnucmedpodcast@gmail.comAll contributions welcome, especially as sound files to nucmedpodcast@gmail.com.@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}

  Positron Range Correction PET Hunor Kertesz Image X institute @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} We talked to Hunor Kertesz about how he has implemented  Positron Range Correction PET with commercial PET scanners! This can make huge improvements in PET especially in cardiac and Gallium PET. TAGS PET,Podcast,Nuclear,Imaging,Therapy,NuclearMedicine,NIF,Physics,UNIMELB,MBCIU,Positron,NUCCAST @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; 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margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} Please let me know what you think about the video versions of the podcast.I am also looking for new material so please get in touch with me if you can contributewith an interview.Direct link to iTuneshttps://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicinie-podcast/id1444565219?mt=2Older podcastshttps://podcasts.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicine-podcast/id94286547You can get the podcast page at both http://nuccast.com and http://www.nuccast.com with the feed to put into iTunes or juice or your favourite podcast software can be found at http://molcast.com/.The cardiac subset of the podcast can be found at http://cardiac.nuccast.com/Please pass on information about this podcast to your colleagues and to your CPD provider.Link to Video Link to Video fileLink to Audio file Link to Audio fileOr you can subscribe by entering your email address below and you will be informed of new episodesEnter your email address:Delivered by FeedBurnerMost importantly of all please help this podcast by contributing your opinions, Sound files, and emailsnucmedpodcast@gmail.comAll contributions welcome, especially as sound files to nucmedpodcast@gmail.com.@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}

  Positron Range Correction PET Hunor Kertesz Image X institute @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} We talked to Hunor Kertesz about how he has implemented  Positron Range Correction PET with commercial PET scanners! This can make huge improvements in PET especially in cardiac and Gallium PET. TAGS PET,Podcast,Nuclear,Imaging,Therapy,NuclearMedicine,NIF,Physics,UNIMELB,MBCIU,Positron,NUCCAST @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; 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margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} Please let me know what you think about the video versions of the podcast.I am also looking for new material so please get in touch with me if you can contributewith an interview.Direct link to iTuneshttps://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicinie-podcast/id1444565219?mt=2Older podcastshttps://podcasts.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicine-podcast/id94286547You can get the podcast page at both http://nuccast.com and http://www.nuccast.com with the feed to put into iTunes or juice or your favourite podcast software can be found at http://molcast.com/.The cardiac subset of the podcast can be found at http://cardiac.nuccast.com/Please pass on information about this podcast to your colleagues and to your CPD provider.Link to Video Link to Video fileLink to Audio file Link to Audio fileOr you can subscribe by entering your email address below and you will be informed of new episodesEnter your email address:Delivered by FeedBurnerMost importantly of all please help this podcast by contributing your opinions, Sound files, and emailsnucmedpodcast@gmail.comAll contributions welcome, especially as sound files to nucmedpodcast@gmail.com.@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; 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DC Comics is currently publishing three mini-series related to The New Golden Age.  Wesley Dodds: The Sandman includes his paramour and assistant, Dian Belmont.  How has she been retconned over the years since her first appearance in 1940 and what series has handled her best?      You can follow the show @ComicsLloyd on Twitter or send an email to ClassicComicsMBL@gmail.com.   You can find me on Twitter @MattB_Lloyd and at www.dccomicsnews.com where I write reviews and edit news stories.   You can also check out my chapter in “Politics in Gotham: The Batman Universe and Political Thought.” https://www.amazon.com/Politics-Gotham-Universe-Political-Thought/dp/3030057755 “Black Panther and Philosophy: What Can Wakanda Offer the World?” https://www.amazon.com/Black-Panther-Philosophy-Blackwell-Culture/dp/1119635845/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2F69N3WJBZMF3&keywords=what+can+wakanda&qid=1642053514&sprefix=what+can+wakanda%2Caps%2C256&sr=8-1   “Batman's Villains and Villainesses: Multidisciplinary Perspectives On Arkham's Souls” https://www.amazon.com/Batmans-Villains-Villainesses-Multidisciplinary-Perspectives-ebook/dp/B0C5SHX9BJ/ref=sr_1_1?crid=D49SBV4K1UQD&keywords=villains+and+villainess+arkham&qid=1695406720&sprefix=villains+and+villainesses+arkaham%2Caps%2C284&sr=8-1   Episode 40 Notes   Sandman Mystery Theater at Fandom   https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sandman_Mystery_Theatre   Dian Belmont at Theater at Fandom   https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Dian_Belmont_(New_Earth)    Ogden Whitney at Wikipedia   https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ogden_Whitney     --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/comics-in-motion-podcast/message

The JSA return to their headquarters to find the enigmatic Dr. Fate.  His news leads the team to Green Lantern creating havoc at Gotham Airport which confirms Bruce Wayne's suspicions, but who's behind it all?   You can follow the show @ComicsLloyd on Twitter or send an email to ClassicComicsMBL@gmail.com.   You can find me on Twitter @MattB_Lloyd and at www.dccomicsnews.com where I write reviews and edit news stories.   You can also check out my chapter in “Politics in Gotham: The Batman Universe and Political Thought.” https://www.amazon.com/Politics-Gotham-Universe-Political-Thought/dp/3030057755   “Black Panther and Philosophy: What Can Wakanda Offer the World?” https://www.amazon.com/Black-Panther-Philosophy-Blackwell-Culture/dp/1119635845/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2F69N3WJBZMF3&keywords=what+can+wakanda&qid=1642053514&sprefix=what+can+wakanda%2Caps%2C256&sr=8-1   “Batman's Villains and Villainesses: Multidisciplinary Perspectives On Arkham's Souls” https://www.amazon.com/Batmans-Villains-Villainesses-Multidisciplinary-Perspectives-ebook/dp/B0C5SHX9BJ/ref=sr_1_1?crid=D49SBV4K1UQD&keywords=villains+and+villainess+arkham&qid=1695406720&sprefix=villains+and+villainesses+arkaham%2Caps%2C284&sr=8-1   All-Star Comics #68 Links   All-Star Comics #68 at Fandom   https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/All-Star_Comics_Vol_1_68   Earth-Two Batman (Bruce Wayne) at Wikipedia   https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Batman_(Earth-Two)                           --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/comics-in-motion-podcast/message

Thinking inRosh Hodesh Shabbat prayers שֶׁתַּעֲלֵנוּ בְשִׂמְחָהלְאַרְצֵנוּ וְתִטָּעֵנוּ בִּגְבוּלֵנוּ, וְשָׁם נַעֲשֶׂה לפָנֶיךָ אֶתקָרְבְּנוֹת חוֹבוֹתֵינוּ, תְּמִידִים כְּסִדְרָם וּמוּסָפִים כְּהִלְכָתָם. אֶתמוּסְפֵי יוֹם הַשַּׁבָּת הַזֶּה, וְיוֹם רֹאשׁ הַחֹדֶשׁ הַזֶּה, נַעֲשֶׂהוְנַקְרִיב לְפָנֶיךָ בְּאַהֲבָה כְּמִצְוַת רְצוֹנָךְ Mishkan . Mikdash But do weunderstand what we lost ? Access And, Do I makea difference Unicorns Ketuba Unicornand Lion Wrote Shortstory in Rhyme A couple ofyears ago, our youngest Mariyah edited it and turned it into a small book This week weread 2. 'Speak to the children of Israel, andhave them take for Me an offering; from every person whose heart inspires himto generosity, you shall take My offering. Among the various items used tobuild the Mishkan were the tachash skins that were used as the outer coveringof the Mishkan as well as a slipcover for the vessels of the Mishkan whiletraveling through the desert. (Yalkut Shimoni II,688) records a fascinating story in which the majestic re'em possibly unicornlifts David up into the clouds:

  Coris 360, ANSTO, finding a lost radioactive source in the outback @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} We Talk to Lachlan Chartier about the Coris 360 from ANSTO, and the amazing story about how they found a lost radioactive source in the outback@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; 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panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}  nuccast,NIF,UOM,nuclearmedicine,theranostics,cancer,radioactive,mbciu, ,ansto,corlis360,cancer,radioactive,PET,safety,physics,waste @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; 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mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} Please let me know what you think about the video versions of the podcast.I am also looking for new material so please get in touch with me if you can contributewith an interview.Direct link to iTuneshttps://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicinie-podcast/id1444565219?mt=2Older podcastshttps://podcasts.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicine-podcast/id94286547You can get the podcast page at both http://nuccast.com and http://www.nuccast.com with the feed to put into iTunes or juice or your favourite podcast software can be found at http://molcast.com/.The cardiac subset of the podcast can be found at http://cardiac.nuccast.com/Please pass on information about this podcast to your colleagues and to your CPD provider.Link to Video Link to Video fileLink to Audio file Link to Audio fileOr you can subscribe by entering your email address below and you will be informed of new episodesEnter your email address:Delivered by FeedBurnerMost importantly of all please help this podcast by contributing your opinions, Sound files, and emailsnucmedpodcast@gmail.comAll contributions welcome, especially as sound files to nucmedpodcast@gmail.com.@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; 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  Coris 360, ANSTO, finding a lost radioactive source in the outback @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; 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panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}  nuccast,NIF,UOM,nuclearmedicine,theranostics,cancer,radioactive,mbciu, ,ansto,corlis360,cancer,radioactive,PET,safety,physics,waste @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; 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  Coris 360, ANSTO, finding a lost radioactive source in the outback @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; 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panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}  nuccast,NIF,UOM,nuclearmedicine,theranostics,cancer,radioactive,mbciu, ,ansto,corlis360,cancer,radioactive,PET,safety,physics,waste @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; 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mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} Please let me know what you think about the video versions of the podcast.I am also looking for new material so please get in touch with me if you can contributewith an interview.Direct link to iTuneshttps://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicinie-podcast/id1444565219?mt=2Older podcastshttps://podcasts.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicine-podcast/id94286547You can get the podcast page at both http://nuccast.com and http://www.nuccast.com with the feed to put into iTunes or juice or your favourite podcast software can be found at http://molcast.com/.The cardiac subset of the podcast can be found at http://cardiac.nuccast.com/Please pass on information about this podcast to your colleagues and to your CPD provider.Link to Video Link to Video fileLink to Audio file Link to Audio fileOr you can subscribe by entering your email address below and you will be informed of new episodesEnter your email address:Delivered by FeedBurnerMost importantly of all please help this podcast by contributing your opinions, Sound files, and emailsnucmedpodcast@gmail.comAll contributions welcome, especially as sound files to nucmedpodcast@gmail.com.@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}

  Coris 360, ANSTO, finding a lost radioactive source in the outback @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} We Talk to Lachlan Chartier about the Coris 360 from ANSTO, and the amazing story about how they found a lost radioactive source in the outback@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; 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panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}  nuccast,NIF,UOM,nuclearmedicine,theranostics,cancer,radioactive,mbciu, ,ansto,corlis360,cancer,radioactive,PET,safety,physics,waste @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; 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mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} Please let me know what you think about the video versions of the podcast.I am also looking for new material so please get in touch with me if you can contributewith an interview.Direct link to iTuneshttps://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicinie-podcast/id1444565219?mt=2Older podcastshttps://podcasts.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicine-podcast/id94286547You can get the podcast page at both http://nuccast.com and http://www.nuccast.com with the feed to put into iTunes or juice or your favourite podcast software can be found at http://molcast.com/.The cardiac subset of the podcast can be found at http://cardiac.nuccast.com/Please pass on information about this podcast to your colleagues and to your CPD provider.Link to Video Link to Video fileLink to Audio file Link to Audio fileOr you can subscribe by entering your email address below and you will be informed of new episodesEnter your email address:Delivered by FeedBurnerMost importantly of all please help this podcast by contributing your opinions, Sound files, and emailsnucmedpodcast@gmail.comAll contributions welcome, especially as sound files to nucmedpodcast@gmail.com.@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}

Jesus explains parables    @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073732485 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}

  Jesus shares the parable of the sower    @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073732485 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}

  Jesus is with us through all of life     @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073732485 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}

  Jesus opens up the spiritual playbook     @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073732485 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}

  Michael Hofman, LuTectom, Violet and more theranostics for Prostate cancer Prof Michal Hofman from Peter Mac talks to us about new theranostics in prostate cancer @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; 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  Michael Hofman, LuTectom, Violet and more theranostics for Prostate cancer Prof Michal Hofman from Peter Mac talks to us about new theranostics in prostate cancer @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; 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  Michael Hofman, LuTectom, Violet and more theranostics for Prostate cancer Prof Michal Hofman from Peter Mac talks to us about new theranostics in prostate cancer @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-469750017 -1040178053 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; 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mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} Please let me know what you think about the video versions of the podcast.I am also looking for new material so please get in touch with me if you can contributewith an interview.Direct link to iTuneshttps://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicinie-podcast/id1444565219?mt=2Older podcastshttps://podcasts.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicine-podcast/id94286547You can get the podcast page at both http://nuccast.com and http://www.nuccast.com with the feed to put into iTunes or juice or your favourite podcast software can be found at http://molcast.com/.The cardiac subset of the podcast can be found at http://cardiac.nuccast.com/Please pass on information about this podcast to your colleagues and to your CPD provider.Link to Video Link to Video fileLink to Audio file Link to Audio fileOr you can subscribe by entering your email address below and you will be informed of new episodesEnter your email address:Delivered by FeedBurnerMost importantly of all please help this podcast by contributing your opinions, Sound files, and emailsnucmedpodcast@gmail.comAll contributions welcome, especially as sound files to nucmedpodcast@gmail.com.@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; 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 NET theranostic nursing to the outbackWe chat to an amazing nurse who is coordinating complex theranostic treaments to patients accross a vast area encompasing outback Australia. She works as a neuroenocrine theranostic cordinator from Queen Elizabeth hospital in South Australia. anzsnm2023,nuccast.com,advancell,NIF,UOM,nuclearmedicine,theranostics,cancer,radioactive,mbciu,PETanzsnm2023,nuccast.com,NIF,UOM,nuclearmedicine,theranostics,cancer,radioactive,mbciu,PET,nursing,Please let me know what you think about the video versions of the podcast.I am also looking for new material so please get in touch with me if you can contributewith an interview.Direct link to iTuneshttps://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicinie-podcast/id1444565219?mt=2Older podcastshttps://podcasts.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicine-podcast/id94286547You can get the podcast page at both http://nuccast.com and http://www.nuccast.com with the feed to put into iTunes or juice or your favourite podcast software can be found at http://molcast.com/.The cardiac subset of the podcast can be found at http://cardiac.nuccast.com/Please pass on information about this podcast to your colleagues and to your CPD provider.Link to Video Link to Video fileLink to Audio file Link to Audio fileOr you can subscribe by entering your email address below and you will be informed of new episodesEnter your email address:Delivered by FeedBurnerMost importantly of all please help this podcast by contributing your opinions, Sound files, and emailsnucmedpodcast@gmail.comAll contributions welcome, especially as sound files to nucmedpodcast@gmail.com.@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}

 NET theranostic nursing to the outbackWe chat to an amazing nurse who is coordinating complex theranostic treaments to patients accross a vast area encompasing outback Australia. She works as a neuroenocrine theranostic cordinator from Queen Elizabeth hospital in South Australia. anzsnm2023,nuccast.com,advancell,NIF,UOM,nuclearmedicine,theranostics,cancer,radioactive,mbciu,PETanzsnm2023,nuccast.com,NIF,UOM,nuclearmedicine,theranostics,cancer,radioactive,mbciu,PET,nursing,Please let me know what you think about the video versions of the podcast.I am also looking for new material so please get in touch with me if you can contributewith an interview.Direct link to iTuneshttps://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicinie-podcast/id1444565219?mt=2Older podcastshttps://podcasts.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicine-podcast/id94286547You can get the podcast page at both http://nuccast.com and http://www.nuccast.com with the feed to put into iTunes or juice or your favourite podcast software can be found at http://molcast.com/.The cardiac subset of the podcast can be found at http://cardiac.nuccast.com/Please pass on information about this podcast to your colleagues and to your CPD provider.Link to Video Link to Video fileLink to Audio file Link to Audio fileOr you can subscribe by entering your email address below and you will be informed of new episodesEnter your email address:Delivered by FeedBurnerMost importantly of all please help this podcast by contributing your opinions, Sound files, and emailsnucmedpodcast@gmail.comAll contributions welcome, especially as sound files to nucmedpodcast@gmail.com.@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}

 NET theranostic nursing to the outbackWe chat to an amazing nurse who is coordinating complex theranostic treaments to patients accross a vast area encompasing outback Australia. She works as a neuroenocrine theranostic cordinator from Queen Elizabeth hospital in South Australia. anzsnm2023,nuccast.com,advancell,NIF,UOM,nuclearmedicine,theranostics,cancer,radioactive,mbciu,PETanzsnm2023,nuccast.com,NIF,UOM,nuclearmedicine,theranostics,cancer,radioactive,mbciu,PET,nursing,Please let me know what you think about the video versions of the podcast.I am also looking for new material so please get in touch with me if you can contributewith an interview.Direct link to iTuneshttps://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicinie-podcast/id1444565219?mt=2Older podcastshttps://podcasts.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicine-podcast/id94286547You can get the podcast page at both http://nuccast.com and http://www.nuccast.com with the feed to put into iTunes or juice or your favourite podcast software can be found at http://molcast.com/.The cardiac subset of the podcast can be found at http://cardiac.nuccast.com/Please pass on information about this podcast to your colleagues and to your CPD provider.Link to Video Link to Video fileLink to Audio file Link to Audio fileOr you can subscribe by entering your email address below and you will be informed of new episodesEnter your email address:Delivered by FeedBurnerMost importantly of all please help this podcast by contributing your opinions, Sound files, and emailsnucmedpodcast@gmail.comAll contributions welcome, especially as sound files to nucmedpodcast@gmail.com.@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}

 NET theranostic nursing to the outbackWe chat to an amazing nurse who is coordinating complex theranostic treaments to patients accross a vast area encompasing outback Australia. She works as a neuroenocrine theranostic cordinator from Queen Elizabeth hospital in South Australia. anzsnm2023,nuccast.com,advancell,NIF,UOM,nuclearmedicine,theranostics,cancer,radioactive,mbciu,PETanzsnm2023,nuccast.com,NIF,UOM,nuclearmedicine,theranostics,cancer,radioactive,mbciu,PET,nursing,Please let me know what you think about the video versions of the podcast.I am also looking for new material so please get in touch with me if you can contributewith an interview.Direct link to iTuneshttps://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicinie-podcast/id1444565219?mt=2Older podcastshttps://podcasts.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicine-podcast/id94286547You can get the podcast page at both http://nuccast.com and http://www.nuccast.com with the feed to put into iTunes or juice or your favourite podcast software can be found at http://molcast.com/.The cardiac subset of the podcast can be found at http://cardiac.nuccast.com/Please pass on information about this podcast to your colleagues and to your CPD provider.Link to Video Link to Video fileLink to Audio file Link to Audio fileOr you can subscribe by entering your email address below and you will be informed of new episodesEnter your email address:Delivered by FeedBurnerMost importantly of all please help this podcast by contributing your opinions, Sound files, and emailsnucmedpodcast@gmail.comAll contributions welcome, especially as sound files to nucmedpodcast@gmail.com.@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}

 From the Alzheimers International meeting the De Leon imaging prize winners 2023.We talk to the three imaging prize winners at the Alzheimers international meeting.At the most eventful brain imaging meeting ever where AD therapies are announced we talk to the 3 main imaging prize winners.https://aaic.alz.org/about/awards.asp#dlnuccast.com,NIF,UOM,nuclearmedicine,radioactive,mbciu,lund,BiomedicineInstitute,NIF,nuclearmedicine,brain,aaic,radioactive,mbciu,PET,imaging, alzheimers,AD,LATE,amyloid,TDP-43,TAUPlease let me know what you think about the video versions of the podcast.I am also looking for new material so please get in touch with me if you can contributewith an interview.Direct link to iTuneshttps://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicinie-podcast/id1444565219?mt=2Older podcastshttps://podcasts.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicine-podcast/id94286547You can get the podcast page at both http://nuccast.com and http://www.nuccast.com with the feed to put into iTunes or juice or your favourite podcast software can be found at http://molcast.com/.The cardiac subset of the podcast can be found at http://cardiac.nuccast.com/Please pass on information about this podcast to your colleagues and to your CPD provider.Link to Video Link to Video fileLink to Audio file Link to Audio fileOr you can subscribe by entering your email address below and you will be informed of new episodesEnter your email address:Delivered by FeedBurnerMost importantly of all please help this podcast by contributing your opinions, Sound files, and emailsnucmedpodcast@gmail.comAll contributions welcome, especially as sound files to nucmedpodcast@gmail.com.@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}

 From the Alzheimers International meeting the De Leon imaging prize winners 2023We talk to the three imaging prize winners at the Alzheimers international meeting.At the most eventful brain imaging meeting ever where AD therapies are announced we talk to the 3 main imaging prize winners.https://aaic.alz.org/about/awards.asp#dlnuccast.com,NIF,UOM,nuclearmedicine,radioactive,mbciu,lund,BiomedicineInstitute,NIF,nuclearmedicine,brain,aaic,radioactive,mbciu,PET,imaging, alzheimers,AD,LATE,amyloid,TDP-43,TAUPlease let me know what you think about the video versions of the podcast.I am also looking for new material so please get in touch with me if you can contributewith an interview.Direct link to iTuneshttps://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicinie-podcast/id1444565219?mt=2Older podcastshttps://podcasts.apple.com/au/podcast/the-nuclear-medicine-and-molecular-medicine-podcast/id94286547You can get the podcast page at both http://nuccast.com and http://www.nuccast.com with the feed to put into iTunes or juice or your favourite podcast software can be found at http://molcast.com/.The cardiac subset of the podcast can be found at http://cardiac.nuccast.com/Please pass on information about this podcast to your colleagues and to your CPD provider.Link to Video Link to Video fileLink to Audio file Link to Audio fileOr you can subscribe by entering your email address below and you will be informed of new episodesEnter your email address:Delivered by FeedBurnerMost importantly of all please help this podcast by contributing your opinions, Sound files, and emailsnucmedpodcast@gmail.comAll contributions welcome, especially as sound files to nucmedpodcast@gmail.com.@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}

@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073732485 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Arial",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family:Arial; mso-ansi-language:EN;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-size:11.0pt; mso-ansi-font-size:11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Arial",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Arial; mso-fareast-font-family:Arial; mso-hansi-font-family:Arial; mso-bidi-font-family:Arial; mso-ansi-language:EN;}.MsoPapDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; line-height:115%;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}ol {margin-bottom:0in;}ul {margin-bottom:0in;} “Purchase-order financing, account-receivable financing, and asset-based lending are other descriptions of what we do, but it's all about what your assets are and how we can advance on the assets you already have.” – Jon Shane Jon Shane is the Vice President for Broker Relations at SouthStar Capital, an asset-based private lender with in-house closing, underwriting, and account management. A commercial lending institution that specializes in accounts receivable, payroll funding, and purchase-order financing, SouthStar Capital provides custom financial solutions from its diverse product mix to help its customers meet their unique cash flow needs. Jon holds a Bachelor of Science in Education from the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point and a Master's of Ministry in Biblical Studies from Northland International University. Jon joins us today to discuss purchase-order financing and SouthStar's asset-based lending services. He describes his role and responsibilities as the Vice President for Broker Relations at SouthStar Capital. He differentiates asset-based lending from other financing structures and outlines different terms that describe the asset-based lending structure. Jon also highlights how asset-based lending can help small businesses create cash flow and grow their accounts receivable. This week on Breaking Barriers: SouthStar's asset-based lending services and Joe's role and responsibilities in the organization Risks and rewards related to asset-based lending and purchase-order financing Invoice factoring and accounts receivables funding Merchant cash advance loans and how asset-based lending is different from payday loans Understanding and making smart, strategic purchases Connect with Jon Shane: SouthStar Capital SouthStar Capital on LinkedIn SouthStar Capital on YouTube SouthStar Capital on Facebook SouthStar Capital on Twitter Jon Shane on LinkedIn Email: jshane@southstar.com This podcast is brought to you by Hire Ground Hire Ground is a technology company whose mission is to bridge the wealth gap through access to procurement opportunities. Hire Ground is making the enterprise ecosystem more viable, profitable, and competitive by clearing the path for minority-led, women-led, LGBT-led, and veteran-led small businesses to contribute to the global economy as suppliers to enterprise organizations. For more information on getting started please visit us @ hireground.io today! If you enjoyed this episode, please subscribe and leave a review wherever you get your podcasts. Apple Podcasts | TuneIn | GooglePlay | Stitcher | Spotify Be sure to share your favorite episodes on social media and join us on Facebook, Twitter, and LinkedIn.

Please read and/or listen to the following special announcement about the "Writers on Writing" podcast, as it has moved. As you likely know, for the past several months, "Writers on Writing" has been experiencing trouble with our Apple and Amazon podcast platforms. Ironically, the problem stems from how long we've been podcasting the show. When we originally began podcasting in 2005, the technology for podcasters was still primitive and new. Since then, it has evolved significantly and we've been forced to change platforms. Unfortunately, so far, Apple and Amazon have been unable to move our subscribers over to the new platform. Rest assured, we've been posting shows on Mondays as usual, but they're now showing on a new "Writers on Writing" podcast. Please consider resubscribing at our new site. It's entirely free, as always. Search for “Writers on Writing” with Barbara DeMarco-Barrett and Marrie Stone. You'll notice a slightly updated new logo, which includes  a radio tower beaming out its circular signal to the left of the “Writers on Writing” title with the pen. You'll know you have the correct show when you see recently posted episodes. If you're experiencing any difficulties, please feel free to reach out to us at marriestone@gmail.com or bdemarcobarrett@gmail.com. Our new website is www.writers-on-writing.com. Thanks again for your ongoing support of the show. We value your listenership. Happy holidays! @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073732485 9 0 511 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}a:link, span.MsoHyperlink {mso-style-priority:99; color:#0563C1; mso-themecolor:hyperlink; text-decoration:underline; text-underline:single;}a:visited, span.MsoHyperlinkFollowed {mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; color:#954F72; mso-themecolor:followedhyperlink; text-decoration:underline; text-underline:single;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSectiDownload audio.