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Summerlove

A Handsome Son

The Forturne Teller



IT'S OCEAN NIGHT AT GEORGE HALL... and a girl loosely covered with three fake shells the size of tennis balls jumps up and down to end herself in my arms.
by Nadir
*Warning this story is for adults over 18 only
(21 in Utah)

Sometimes things like these happen. Even on a Wednesday, which is usually the worst. I walk into old George Hall on 211, Bentmoore Street, and what do I know. The lights go flashing, they’re playing a march. Get a party cap thrown over my hairstyle, a blue one with little golden Disney figures on it, and a girl loosely covered with three fake shells the size of tennis balls jumps up and down to end herself in my arms.

Right. It’s Ocean Night at George Hall. I keep forgetting. The 211th person to walk in through the door as a customer is the star. Gets all his drinks for free. Decides on the music. Decides on anything he can put his little fantasy over, really. Well, almost, within decent English rules. So there I am, with this Neptune-style stick flocked in my one hand so everybody knows who I am this evening. Plus three mermaids to my side to make me enjoy the evening. Don’t I all ready. My guys are sitting at the usual table next to the trestle. Mary is behind it, working on the ales, giving me that juicy firing look again, like she set it all up for me, but I shouldn’t bother to thank her.

She knows I’d like to bring her home, her home, but there it’s her mother and a little boy of three waiting for mommy to come home. The Granny’s not the problem, she goes away and Mary doesn’t care anymore anyways. It’s just, well, she has one kitchen and one bedroom, wherein she and that little brad are sleeping in two beds. And you can’t really jump on a lady when her child, which almost certainly isn’t yours, is sleeping right along sides to it. At least I can’t. My room of course is impossible. The bed is too old and squeeky. It would probably brake during the process, and I can’t afford a new one. I’m down in the minus as it is. Would leave the kitchen of Mary. We have thought about that. The tiles are cleaned every week on Mondays, so that evening would be fine without risking ruining any clothes. Except we both down want our first official one to be on a kitchen floor. It wouldn’t feel right. So we agreed on looking for now. And I will save some money someday, for a nice sturdy frame and a queen’s mattress to go along with it. And the glances are lovely. And the talking when she’s cleaning up around twelve and me I’m helping sitting there and sort of listening.

The bunch of guys are getting hysterical at the table. Won’t be long until they stand up and give us a dance. Well, I won’t be sitting down watching them. Of course they are only jealous. So I’ve been the Ocean King four times in one year. It can’t be right, they say. That’s just their problem, they don’t believe in anything supernatural. Of course they want to wear the cap. I let them. They don’t want to. It wouldn’t be the same, they say. Well of course it wouldn’t, you’re just not me. They boo me out for that one, I apologise. Just getting a little carried away by a bunch of slavish little admirers, that all. It’s not my fault they can’t reach the plastic magic stick I got in my hand and gets me beer and instantaneous affection from one of the mermaids, provided that they aren’t being shifty serving the other customers. So the lads get a couple of beers from me. The mermaids close their beauty little eyes and I give them a legere I-know-I’m-not-supposed-to-do-that-look. They really go for boys not giving a fig, them mermaids giggling in their corner and sticking their noses together as if they were smelling some little flower.

Next thing that happens an this day is that a girlie well in her thirties comes walking across the room, trying to look pure and childish and tells me her friend sitting somewhere in the back is really desperate. "And when I say desperate, you know I mean like really balls shaking desperate." Asking me if I would mind taking her somewhere to sleep with her. "You can give it a try, can’t you? Or did you have any great plans for the evening?"
I still sort of stare at her. "You’re a male, aren’t you"

To say the least, I think and all the other boys go crazy. We end up throwing chips and some of the little bags at her. Giving her a great intermezzo with a dipping sauce until the mermaids rush in for the finale and stop us from having fun. Would have thrown us out, except of me having the magic stick and being Neptune for the evening. And what would the grand old George Hall and the amiable Ocean Night be without its Neptune? They’re backing up getting the clean up things with a mouthful of words they’ll have to get rid of somewhere else. Of course us lads hustle off our seats and get down on the floor to make it good again. I mean, things are great and we sure don’t want the mermaids to get all mean when they turn to us, so we might as well be nice. We were just joking and the girl was gone again, lucky her.

When things settle down, Tommy goes off, actually. Going to see about that little Aphrodite holding out her thumb or whatever in the middle of the night. But Tommy is married, the only one of us to fall in that category, so it’s a dead open book that he would start on something desperate. Must be like looking in the mirror, really.

Mary is still embracing me, visually, when all the sudden I can’t see her anymore because someone is in the way. "Hi, I’m Virginia" That’s what the shadow says, might add a "Can I sit down?" I don’t hear it and there she is sitting, all of her. Tommy had left a chair to fill, right next to me, have to thank him for that one day. So there she is, Virginia, an arm away from the table, which is giving me a nice open view on her and she doesn’t do much to stop anybody from looking.

She starts entertaining. Little stories. Our ears get bigger. Talking of bra sizes and plenty different alien sex forms from Asia and the Pacific Isles, she is. She knows it all. Making us guys a little embarrassed and short of breath, the way she is harassing us with different postures and the mean millilitre volume difference of an Asian and a Caucasian ejaculation. Asking us if we had ever heard of the mosaics of Pompeii. Desmond the old wise guy goes on brabbling something about his last trip to Greece, but Virginia doesn’t even listen. Doesn’t give any of the boys a glance. I’m Neptune, right? Her all knockers pointing at me, goes on telling something about sheep and anal and then she has us wondering with her about whether they had Vaseline in those days. The party in George Hall closes, like the end of an overture for me, really. Virginia telling me that she was feeling sort of empty and giving me the impression that I was the one to fill her up again.

Great ride to her flat it is. Marvin Gay crying out of a Bose sound system. The leather seats feeling fine, like a skin. Her asking me, "Do you know why I drive these cars?" She doesn’t wait for my answer, she wants to tell me, "Because they have a nice little white horse in front, and I just love riding white little horses." There is a developing tenseness in me, my trousers starting to get itchy. Then she actually tells me that a friend of hers likes to masturbate while she is driving. "I don’t mind. I think it’s more like a compliment. What do you think I would do with an erogene zone the size of a cucumber?" She’s smiling now.

Us arriving at her flat. Short climb up some stairs, a click and then we’re there. Nothing really over-exquisite. Rather a good taste then an expensive one. We are dropping off right next to the front door. Our jackets only. "Let’s have some champagne." Nothing wrong with that. She shows me into her living room. It opens up straight ways to the kitchen. Let’s me have a seat. She must get paid a lot. Then she shows me what for. Japanese soft porns in a nice little heap on the tea table. A remote control on top. She gets them and hands them to me like an old couple that starts another cosy television evening. That’s Virginia between those covers all right. Quite a lot of Virginia, behind a bed or on one, assisting or being assisted. Didn’t know her tongue was that long. I could see that she shaved regularly. The magazines were printed in good offset quality, like those travel magazines, nothing cheap.

Virginia stands up and asks me if I want to join her for a line. Laughs again when she sees that I don’t get her words. Disappears into the bathroom. "Won’t be long, darling, and then I’ll get the wine." Leaves me with that remote control and the magazines on the table. I thumb through them. Finding Virginia to be the nicest one out of that lot. There’s really silly pictures, like her riding on top of a bull with only a Scottish hat and long shaft boots on. The poor animal looked so sedated that a stuffed one from the Natural History Museum would have compared as fiercing. Or Virginia on a tractor riding somewhere in a wheat field, with a tiny fairy crown in front of Buckingham, a rather cheap montage, both times nude as a jelly bean. And Big Ben being stuck into her vagina, her lying on an Union Jack. Now where do Japanese learn about England. Also some hardcore ones. More picture books, also Japanese. A strange mixture out of mediaeval Samurai and a futuristic Inquisition. The pictures making me a little nervous, but then, it’s all just fun, isn’t it? Virginia came back, like a lavender in the wind, gorgeous, and offered the champagne.

She is still looking quite the same, didn’t change her dress that I could see, which is comforting. Joining me at the sofa. She gets up again, brings a small college block and pencils from the hall. Let’s play Tic Tac Toe, she says. And the winner gets to take of one piece of clothes from the other one. Simple enough. So she starts and wins. Has more practice, probably. Off goes my shoe. Puts my foot in her lap and presses it hard into herself. Wins again. The other side. And so on until it’s only T-shirt and underwear with me. Then she starts loosing. Sort of deliberately. I don’t mind. Her smiling. Wetting her lips with her tongue. Relaxing down on her side of the sofa. I start with her jewellery. Making myself believe I’m being gallant. No stopping now at the rate she looses. Things go flying in the room. Us giggling like crazy little dorm kids.

Her bra is really good, have to sort of peel her out of it. The string tanga doesn’t cover much anyway. The champagne had loosened me a bit, feeling free. We go to the bathroom and have a good shower. Getting our small rest off while getting wet. She has this amazing shampoo that tastes like a roasted chestnut when you suck it in. I must have ejaculated a few times by then. Hadn’t noticed, her keeping us in a high key energetic way of enjoying ourselves. Then she stops, suddenly and looks me in the face. "Let’s do it now." Making me wondering what I’m doing all the time.

She pulls me in the bedroom, just a square filled with a mattress, really. She turns on a stereo and this warm tone heartbeat begins to sound. Making me lie down on my back on the mattress, her dancing over me, standing, like clinging onto some pole sticking out between my legs. The music starts moving around a little, another beat evolves, great mix, and then she has this rope in her hands and is pulling it through her genitals going wilder and wilder. She’s kneeling by now, her body a quivering mass.

She gets up, like an actor in drama class when something goes wrong. Goes over to where the stereo stands. Finds this bottle, opens it and pours a bunch of pills into herself, swallowing it down like at an eating competition. Seems to find herself again, has this clinic size box of condoms in her hands, gets one out. The music is still shuffling. Takes me in her eyes. Gets down and is crawling on her fours at me. I’m still lying on my back, my fours stretched out waiting to be pulled off. She reaches me and fits me the London over, carefully. Then she really looks at me. Slowly moves on down to my feet and doesn’t let go of my eyes with hers. Comes moving on up, her breasts tickling my feet and legs, rests them on my penis. Starts massaging with them and looking at me. Rubbing herself over my groins. "Now close your eyes," she says, "it will be better that way." Bends down to lick my tummy as if she had to convince me. So I shut my eyes. The music is building itself up. She is doing it nicely with the rhythm. Slowly. Keeps me up, not too much. Knows a bit of that physiology, she does. She starts moving up. Her nipples still felling their way about my skin. My gland getting hooked a little in her navel. Then she is there. One smooth penetration. Feels like she has muscles down there wanting to suck me in. Like a vacuum. Letting her hips dance. Going beautifully with the music. Excellent timing. Getting harder and faster bit by bit. Beautifully warm. I can hear us working together, breathing and accelerating as one. Ready to explode. Waiting so much that it hurts and not wanting anything to ever stop. She chokes hard, like a stick you put into the spokes of a spinning wheel. Her body one spastic pull. She’s really sucking with her thighs. Choking strong. The music incredibly big, colourful over me. Choking again, weaker. I open my eyes.

She has strangulated herself with that rope. There is a hook fastened in the ceiling. The cord wrapped around it and holding tight. Her body is loosening, her mouth opening up, a little saliva. Doesn’t look like she still appreciates her surroundings. I start up out of her. Holding her shoulders with my hands. She’s grocely heavy. Without any tension left in her muscles. Try to heave her as best as I can. She’s sweaty and slippery. One massive bunch of soft flesh. Her bones don’t seem to work. I manage to hold her. Fingering her head out of the sling. Her long hair isn’t any help. I can free her. Lie her down. Nothing. Then she starts coughing. Luckily. Starts choking bad again. Gets a new spasm in her body. A wretch. Starts spitting and pukes right beside the bed. You can still see some pills swimming in the slubberish excretion. Not that I am looking. That scene goes on for a while, me trying to hold her head over the side of the bed, her breathing gets better. Seems like the whole of her is quieting up again. Her breathing sounds regular to me. And the room goes faint on me for a while. Not really bad. I’m back in no time.

She’s lying now, nestling herself on her stomach. Looks quite peaceful. I can’t hear her. And then I realise that it’s still the music from the stereo going strong. Seems so absurd, now. I pull a blanket over from the side and cover us both. There’s something like thunder crashes and eternal cries reaching me from the other side of the room. Far away. Could be the soundtrack to a freaky version of Snow-white, I think. Almost. I slumber. It’s enough.

I wake up lying next to her. There’s this awful smell. My body is still feeling sweaty. From my bed I can see the walk through to the bathroom and beyond. There’s another room leading to some sort of dressing room with a workout station in the middle. What more should come, I was thinking. There’s always sure to be more somewhere. Maybe a girl with four tits scrambling themselves to one big amusement. Or a giant vagina being pulled over me like a wet suit. Maybe I should start taking medicine. And the freaky balloons you put in your Willie to blow up the size you need it. Maybe some colloid gel would do even better. Silicone. Desmond could help me out with that one, he’s good with science. I am not too keen on starting with vegetables or animals or anything of that sort. Strange pictures of Virginia wander through my head. I’m still dreaming. Sleeping. Waking up.
She’s next to me, lying there. I can see her lurking in that head. Wanting something ultimate. Breathing softly like a rose now. Making me feel sorry for her now. Feeling augmented. I can feel her deteriorating right beside me. Me being invigorated in the process. Me somehow becoming abundant. I get up. Dress.I can’t just walk out the door like that. There is something more. I see her purse lying next to those crazy Japanese magazines. I take it, there’s an envelope in there with £7000. I put half of it in my pocket, the other half I leave, that’s fair enough. And the keys for the car. Guess she really gets paid good for these snapshots. I don’t bother to shut the door after me on my way out.
The car goes on like a little digital alarm clock in the morning. Has me out of my gazing in seconds. The motor doesn’t tell you anything about the kind of noise it makes from 6000 revolutions on upwards, just a cute snurr. I take it out of the driveway. Makes me feel all silly driving through the morning streets with tempo 30 km/h. Like a rope dancer high in the circus tent doing the split of his life, one foot on the rope and the other one in the stars. I’ll leave the car in an hour or so. Park it in front of her house and leave the keys. She won’t mind. Not even about the money. I can pay some debts. Maybe I’ll even have a little left over. I’ll find something to buy. There’s always something more you need. Always.

© Nadir 2000


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