Chapter One: In You Go

“So anyway, after several bombs – a lot of bombs actually, a whole string – he just stopped making films. Nobody would cast him anymore. Box office poison they all said. Lost his studio conFtract, and couldn’t get another one. From the top of the world to unemployable, in what must have seemed like overnight. Eventually he just… ran out of money. He was still living like a movie star years after he was one, and he just ran out. I think the tax man got the place, just ahead of any number of other creditors. That was in the late thirties. Early forties, maybe. Somewhere around there.”

The real estate agent’s voice echoed a bit as we wandered through the vast, empty rooms. She was in full pitch mode and working hard to drum up some romance, or at least some interest, in the place. Not that it needed it, really. But at this asking price you played every angle.

“Must be a fairly common story in this town. Falling stars.” I blinked hard as we moved through tall french doors from the dim, still interior and back into the brilliance of the afternoon sunshine.

“I suppose so. I guess it’s easier to get into the habit of being a star – a movie star, a rock star, whatever – than it is to get out of it. And stardom is so very expensive, you know, in so many different ways. On the good side, it does leave behind a lot of prime real estate for the rest of us to buy.”

For one of us to buy, actually, I thought. And for one of us to broker the deal for the current owner, collecting a tidy commission for her efforts. But I let that pass. “Nice place. For this kind of money, it had better be,” I said instead.

We wandered through a garden and ended up by the edge of the pool. It was surrounded by a wide deck of brick paving, some more flowers, and then a lot of grass. Not enough for a polo match, maybe, but a lot of grass. The place was surrounded by tall hedges trimmed carefully as a championship poodle, with eucalyptus trees densely planted behind them. A cabana was off to one side, an outdoor bar on the other, and a pair of tennis courts were down the hill and past some more trees – you could just see the lights over the treetops. The property was so large and wooded there wasn’t another house in sight. Somebody could throw one hell of a party in this back yard, I thought.

“Oh, there isn’t a better property in the whole city. Or a better city, anywhere. This is still a movie star kind of neighborhood, you know. Even though the current owner is an investment banker.”

“These days, that pays a whole lot better than the movies. More reliably, at least. And I should know.”

The heat had been brutal for days, the entire time I’d been house hunting. Southern California in August can be like that. We’d spoken over the phone, she and I, and then met at her office. She’d driven us out in the agency’s huge Mercedes Benz. My agent couldn’t make it, so it was just the two of us wandering through the house, looking at the yard, admiring the pool.

“It pays well enough that the owner has actually traded up, if you can believe it. For an even bigger place, just over the line in Bel Air. Although I can’t imagine a better property, anywhere, if you want my opinion. And that’s only Los Angeles over there, you know, The City Of. Not Beverly Hills. But you’ll have to keep that in mind, if you decide to make an offer. This guy can afford to hold out for his asking price.”

“I’ll need to think about it some more. Before we start talking numbers.”

“Everybody who sees this place just loves it. You’ll have to move fast if you want to grab it.”

Typical real estate bullshit, I thought. But I let that pass too. The property had been on the market for just over a year, and the asking price had been cut in stages from preposterous to outrageous to merely absurd. And having this much money tied up in a declining asset would be hard on anyone, even an investment banker. I’d keep that in mind if I decided to make an offer.

Near the cabana, directly in the sunshine of the early afternoon, were half a dozen deck chairs, flanked by several small tables. Walking past, she’d dropped her purse onto one of the tables; I laid the jacket I’d been carrying all day on a chair. The farthest table held a bottle of very expensive French suntan lotion and a stack of crisp white towels, folded neatly. Several more towels, bunched up, were crumpled below. Her eyes followed mine.

“Hmmm, looks like somebody from the office has been working on their tan, and didn’t clean up after,” she explained. “It’s OK, really it is. The owner doesn’t mind if we use the place, somebody might as well, and he’s paying for the maintenance anyway. But we’re supposed to clean up after.”

“They probably expect to come back.”

“Not today. We have an exclusive listing, you know. And I’ve got our only key.”

Inside the house had been like a slow oven. The air conditioning should have been left on, but it wasn’t. She was wearing a filmy silk dress of dark, shimmering gold, which set off her short tawny wave and deep California tan. All three were nicely complimented by a discrete jade necklace and earring set, which had matched her green eyes in the full summer’s sun. Inside, that light streaming through uncurtained windows cut an absolutely perfect silhouette of a nearly perfect figure. On such a scorching day, she hadn’t worn a slip – she spent a lot of time working out, I judged. While we walked, I had listened carefully in the sweltering stillness to the quiet whisk of nylon between her thighs. I’d had a lot of innocent fun trying to guess stockings or pantyhose.

Now, as we stood next to the pool, I savored the sight of cool blue water on such a hot day. “This is the best place I’ve looked at. By a wide margin. So far, at least, I think I could live here.”

She tried hard to act nonchalant. But her eyes lit like fireworks. Jade green fireworks. At anything close to the asking price, she was in for a big payday.

“So you’re definitely going to make an offer?” Of course, she’d want to seal the deal as soon as possible. But I was in no hurry.

“Well, I still have to think about it – for a while anyway. Let’s go swimming.”

Before she could react, I reached up, worked the button behind her neck, and had the zipper running down her back. With so many emotions hitting all at once, she seemed to freeze on the spot. Sensory overload, maybe. I guess that’s what I was counting on. I stepped behind and had the dress slipping off her shoulders before she could move.

Panicked hands shot up to the neckline, keeping it from falling to the deck, and her eyes opened even wider, wild. But she didn’t say anything.

I moved up close behind, pinched the fabric and gently pulled the dress down. She didn’t let go, exactly. But she didn’t grab hold. Designer silk slipped softly through her fingertips.

My head over her shoulder, I watched between lacy cleavage as it fluttered to a heap at our feet. Running my fingertips up her side, thumbnails dragging, and across her tummy, she shuddered below my hands. I can be a bit of an ass sometimes, and I liked making her shiver like that.

Hands on her hips and my nose in her hair, I pulled in tight from neck to bottom. Breathed deep her mixed scents of perfume and shampoo. But just for a second.

Holding her gently across the navel with my left hand, I reached up and unhooked her bra with my right. That’s hard to do one handed, and it took a couple of tries. Her hands were back up, now against the cups. I casually slid the straps off her shoulders, and reached around, placing my hands over hers.

Pressing my fingers between her fingers, I squeezed hand and bra and breast; then pulled straight down firmly. Delicate tan lace drifted lazily through the afternoon’s sunshine.

On one knee behind, I whisked down pantyhose and panties all at once, bunching them around pure white heels. Her panties were tan lace too, matching her bra.

Grasping one ankle firmly to help steady her, I lifted up and pulled everything off, then did the same for the other. She stood naked except for her jewelry, her carefully selected outfit crumpled on the deck.

I didn’t think she’d taken a breath since the button popped.

I stood up very slowly, still with her between me and the cool blue water, letting my fingers run up her legs. Then gave a playful swat to her bare backside, fairly hard. The smack resounded a bit in the hot, heavy air. “In you go!”

And she did.

Which kind of amazed me, actually. I really didn’t expect to get away with it. Didn’t even think I’d go through with it, right up to the instant I’d reached for the button.


Chapter Two: The Deep End

The thought had begun building in my mind when we’d gotten into the car outside her office. Vaguely, at first; formless. I’d just met her. Knew absolutely nothing about her. Wasn’t even interested in her, to tell the truth – and certainly not in that way. Maybe it was admiring her silhouetted figure, but the thought of getting her naked had amused me. I don’t know why.

She went down the steps, into water to her knees, then walked across the bottom from shallow towards deep until the water was waist high. Leaning forward, she breast stroked straight across the pool, carefully keeping her hair dry. At the far end, she reached up to grab the tile edge, the water playing around her shoulders, turned and waited.

I stood, watching; savoring the moment. Remembering the look in her eyes, the feel of her skin, her shudder below me as my fingers traced the path from ankle bone to hip bone, her smooth derrière inches from my nose. I had liked that a lot. Which amazed me too, in its own way.

Very slowly, deliberately, I picked up her things, straightening them out and carefully laying them on a chair. Taking my time, not looking at her, I undressed completely. I folded my clothes and laid them on top of hers. Aware of the symbolism. Then turned and dove in hard, letting my momentum carry me underwater until I broke the surface almost halfway across the pool. I paddled the rest of the way, reaching up to grab the edge a foot or so from her hand.

I half expected the jolt of cool water to shock some sense into one of us, to break the spell. Somehow it didn’t. We just held like that, treading water together. Close enough to touch, but not touching.

“Water feels good, doesn’t it? After all that heat.” Deliberately innocuous. I wanted to keep her waiting. For what, exactly? I wondered. She just looked at me, green eyes still very wide, biting her lower lip ever so gently as the water lapped at her shoulders. At least she was breathing again, short and quick.

Turning to face the house, I admired the view. When you’ve seen one Italianate villa with herringbone floors, marble columns and leaded glass windows, you’ve pretty much seen them all. I’d checked out over half a dozen in the last few days. It’s as close to the local style as you can get in the Land of Make Believe. Most were pretty awful, to tell the truth. But this one seemed different. A little less phony than the others. Substantial. Looking up from such a low angle made the house seem even more solid. And after twenty years in a Park Avenue co-op, I really liked the idea of having all that space.

I let my hand slide across the coping, over hers. She flinched at our touch, but didn’t let go. I reached across with my other to pull a stray strand of tawny hair out of her eyes. She flinched again.

I noticed that her knuckles were very white, gripping the pool’s edge, and that she was trembling all over, slightly. And that her nips were very hard. The water wasn’t that cold. I held, suspended, for a few seconds more. Considering my next move carefully.

“Wait here.” Pressing my feet square into the pool’s side, I pushed off and swam back to the shallow end. I walked over to the jacket I’d left behind and pulled out the cell phone.

Walking around, taking my time, admiring the flowers, I stood directly over her. My toes curled around the tile edge on either side of her hand as she stared straight up at me. I was pretty sure her eyes hadn’t blinked even once. Looking up like that, all she could possibly see would be cock. Not erect, not even hard. But firm. Definitely firm. Which surprised me.

Wasn’t I expecting that? I wondered. How big a jerk am I? I wondered.

I took a small step to the right, and sat down on the pool’s edge, letting my feet dangle in the water. I tapped my private number, and it was picked up halfway through the first ring. Just a simple, nondescript “Hello,” and then silence. If someone didn’t know who they were dialing, I wouldn’t want to take their call.

“Hi Sweetheart. Found a house, one I think I like. I’m going to need to free up that cash, like we talked about, real soon. Have you talked to that no good, lazy, son of a bitch accountant of mine lately?”

“Of course I have, Boss,” she answered, as chipper as always. “Daily, sometimes hourly. He sends his love too.”

“I don’t need the love, Love. Just the money. How much and when?”

“More than you deserve, you bastard. The way you treat us, all of us here. Running off to sunny skies leaving us behind to freeze our asses off.”

“It was over eighty degrees, and damn near eighty percent, when I left. Has it snowed already?”

“Soon. Any day now, really. We’ll all be bundled up like Eskimos and you’ll be basking in the sun. I hope you burn to a crisp. Ever hear of melanoma, you idiot?”

“I’ll e-mail everyone photos come February. Of sunny beaches and palm trees. That’ll warm your hearts, at least.”

“I’ll warm your butt, myself, personally, if you don’t send us all gift baskets, at the very least, from that godforsaken place. Really big ones, with lots of exotic goodies inside. And huge bonuses. Winter coats are expensive, or have you forgotten already?”

“Take care of it for me, will you, Precious?”

“Don’t I always take good care of you? Not that you deserve it, you bastard. Running away like that on a whim.”

She had remained at my side. Listening? I couldn’t tell. But waiting, still. As I was sitting there, thinking, considering, imagining, I’d passed firm and started to get reasonably hard. How big a bastard was I? I shifted the phone to my other hand and used a fingertip to tickle her nose playfully. She still didn’t blink. I slid down, careful not to smear her lipstick, and pressed the cute little dimple on her chin like a button. Her lips parted, just slightly.

I reached around, fingers beneath her hair. Cupped the base of her skull, right at the top of the spine. Pulled her up a little and around my knee, to between. Listening to the quiet swish of the water passing by naked skin. Her neck, shoulders and breasts were a perfect deep honey tan, all over. Her bottom had been pale, I recalled. She sunbathed topless, but not nude.

“You take very, very good care of me, Princess. Because I pay you an obscene amount of money. And then I let you abuse me whenever you like, which is always. But why do I put up with you?” I pulled in slightly. Then a little more. Both her hands were now on the edge of the pool, on either side of me. Holding on, not pressing outward, not resisting in the least. I noticed again how wide her eyes were, and how green. How her jade necklace and tiny earrings set them off perfectly. And that her cheeks were flushed very red – they contrasted nicely. But also that she was keeping her head at exactly the right level, and her lips were still parted.

“Because you need me, Boss. You need someone to stay here in the freezing cold and watch all the people who have their hands in your pockets. While you gallivant in the sun.”

Fraction by fraction, she approached, letting me guide her in. Eyes focused straight ahead. Licked her lips quickly, suddenly, less than an inch away. Opened a tiny bit wider, and I was in. I kept pulling firmly. Straight in, hard. I like deep.

“So, speaking of the hands in my pockets, is he around?”

“Your lazy no good son of a bitch accountant is out with your lazy no good shyster lawyer. They’re both over talking to your lazy no good thieving banker, setting things up, signing papers. Making foolish promises, no doubt. Telling outrageous lies. All to help our lazy no good idiot bastard of a boss buy a stupid house in a stupid climate.”

She was straining against my hand, her tongue up at the back of her throat as my cock pushed in, keeping me from going too far. Her right hand had come off the tile edge of the pool as I entered, and was gripping me tight halfway up the shaft and pumping tentatively. I wasn’t going to let her get away with that, of course.

“Ummm, hold on for a second, Cupcake. Going to ahhh… going to put you on hold, be right back.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m not running away to Never Never Land.”

I thumbed the ‘hold’ button, and set the phone down on the brick paving. Taking her wrist, I pulled the hand off of me, and placed it firmly back on the pool’s edge. Significantly. I noticed her carefully manicured and painted fingernails for the first time. A pale pink shade, pearlescent, like a sea shell. Deliberately, I stopped pressing her head, and she started to let me slip out. I pressed in again, slightly, fingertips only, keeping my cock inside her. She didn’t strain against my hand at all, she just allowed me to position her.

“Look at me.”

She did. Her eyes fluttered several times, adjusting to the new focus distance. Was it the first time she’d blinked since her dress hit the deck? I admired the sight of her lips, the exact pink and pearlescent shade as her fingernails, stretching hard and wrapped tight around, jade eyes blazing, gazing up at me. It was a very pretty sight.

“Put down your tongue.” I could feel it wiggle under me. That was a good sign, I thought. She could be taught, she was willing to learn. “I want to be deep inside you. I don’t want to fight you, to pull. I want you to do it, and do it by yourself. Now, take me deep.” She hesitated for just a second, blinked a couple more times, and then slipped forward slightly, less than an inch. Not nearly enough, not yet. Kept looking up at me. “More.” Another fraction, sucking hard now. “A lot more.” Not a lot. But deeper, again. She was starting to gag, just a little; her breaths now very quick and very shallow, looking straight up into my eyes. “Still more.” Still more.

“That deep. Each time. Understand?”

She looked up at me, fluttering once again. Tears in the corner of her eyes, small ones, grew larger as I watched. She held me deep, though, still. I admired her vastly – that isn’t an easy thing to do. And very hard to hold for so long.

“Now suck. Hard, that deep, every time.”

“Back again, Dearest. Ummm…, they’re all talking you said. All of them, all of the guys. What kind of numbers, did he say? When, ahhh… when? How soon? And, ahhh… how much is all of… ahhh, all of this, ahhh… going to cost me?”

“Up to mid six figures right away, even high six if you need it, way more than enough to open the escrow. From the certificates. They’ll work it out, whenever you say, at a moment’s notice, with no penalty. They’ll stretch the rules hard for you, not that you’ve ever given any of us anything but grief. More, more than enough, when you need it, later. For the closing. Part from the accounts and part from the certificates, with the credit lines available if necessary. Again, some from each. A package deal, they’ll work it out, no problem.”

“Ummm, yeah. That’s good, ahhh… very good, Sweetheart, really, very good. I… I appreciate it, you know… ahhh… really, I do. Really. All you all do for me. All, ahhh… all of you, everybody. There. All ahhh… all everybody there does. For me. Really.”

“Boss, can I ask you a very personal question?”

“Would it, ahhh…, would it matter if, ahhh…, if I said no?”

“Of course not. Tell me Boss, are you getting laid Right This Very Minute?”


Chapter Three: Unusual Sex

I really hadn’t considered what to say if the conversation went this way. Which shows how little I’d thought things through.

“Ahhh… yeah. Something… yeah, like that. Yeah.”

“Again? God, you’re a cad. To phone in the middle.”

“That’s ahhh… that’s the word. I was… I was looking ahhh… looking for, ahhh… earlier. Couldn’t think of it. Actually I… we… ahhh… that is to say, ahhh… we began after I dialed.”

She laughed. “Even worse! So tell me – is he just gorgeous? A cute blond surfer dude with rock hard abs and tight, tight buns? Lie to me if ya’ gotta’, Boss. Let a girl dream.”

Now how the hell am I going to I explain this? Despite all her teasing, I never lie to her. She knows me far too well, and I need her far too much.

“Ahhh… not that, sorry, Dearest. No, I ahhh… I can’t say that. No… sorry.”

“Oh, come on now. I know your type. You like ‘em pumped, buffed, and trim. I hear LA is just crawling with guys like that. No wonder you’re leaving us.”

I leaned forward, to look over. Admired her behind again, below the rippling water as she continued her beat. It was more than a little larger than I usually prefer, true; and the shape was completely different. But she was tensing hard with each thrust in, and looked very trim and firm. Was that what tempted me? I examined her closely for a few more moments, careful not to drop the phone into the pool.

“Ahhh… no, not like that at all, sorry, Cutie Pie, not… ahhh… not at all. Like that. More like… ahhh… more like the shyster’s type.”

I put up with her, and I paid her an awful lot of money, because she’s smart. She caught my drift instantly. “A girl?” She was incredulous. Well, so was I, I suppose. “You’re fucking,” she took a deep breath, “a girl!?!” Loud enough to be heard in Brooklyn.

“Watch your sexist language, young lady.”

“OK then Mr. Smarty Pants, a woman? A female-type person of the opposite gender?”

“That would appear to be the, ahhh… yes. The case. Yes.” Why was I so embarrassed? I’ve confessed worse things to her before, I suppose. It’s hard to say how being blown by the unusual sex relates to other indiscretions. And then phoning in the middle. How do you score these things?

She was obviously getting tired; her flagging rhythm showed it. “Gotta put you on hold again, Sweetheart. Just for another second.” I didn’t wait for her answer, but just hit the button.

Again, I set the phone down. I gripped her hand with one of mine, and dropped the other square on top of her head. Squeezing both, I stopped her. She looked up at me, expectantly, at the back of the stroke. Breathing very hard now.

Running both hands under her ears and holding gently, I slid her off me. She popped loud exiting. I let her catch her breath for a few seconds as I scooted forward a few inches, and then guided her head down and around until the tops of her shoulders were level with the water. Her hair got a little wet, but it gave a better angle. Her pink tongue slid past her pink lips as she turned slightly more. She pulled up a bit, aiming carefully, and caught my balls square with the tip.

“Right there, for a while,” to the woman between my knees. Into the phone, “Back again.”

“So tell me, Boss. When, exactly, did this happen?”

“Just… a little while ago. Just…ahhh… ahhh… just now, actually.”

“OK, yeah – well I can see that. But when, exactly, did you turn straight?”

“When did you turn nosy?”

“No fair! I asked first! What I want to know is, why have you been humping hunks all these years when you could’ve been humping me like any decent boss would?”

“I… I don’t know… it… surprised me, really it did. I don’t know. Don’t know why. Or why I’m even talking to you about it,” I said into the phone. “Lower, under,” to the woman in question. “Up behind.”

“I mean, I’ve heard of guys turning queer when they get to The Land of Fruits, Flakes and Nuts. But never the other way around.”

She switched sides, twisting her head the other way, but stayed down low. I’d covered everything I needed to say and it was time to wrap things up. “Have them send me the details, will you Darling? Of what they worked out?”

But she wasn’t ready to let me go quite yet “I think you’ve completely misunderstood the ‘bi-’ in ‘bi-coastal’.”

“You should write for Letterman. I’ll call you tonight. At, ahhh… at home, your home. Tonight. Not too late, your time. To, ahhh… to go over the details. Of what they worked out.”

“You’d better be ready to give some details, too, Buster. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do. Meantime, have fun. You might even start liking it.”

“It’s possible. I’ll try. Bye.” And I hung up before she could come up with another zinger.

My cock was brushing across her face as she continued to lap, bumping hard, smearing the makeup. Her mascara, eyeliner and blush were a mess, her hair wet, matted and disarrayed, her lipstick in ruins. I found the effect surprisingly charming.

After admiring the sight for a minute or more, appreciating her obvious efforts, I reached below her chin, and lifted. Her gaze rose faster than her head, until she was staring straight into my eyes once again, the tip of my cock exactly even with her still open lips.

There was no need for stage directions any more. She knew what was next. She blinked twice, then once again, took a deep breath and opened her mouth very wide. She even pulled herself forward against my hand a little. I let it slip around her neck, then reached across to hold her hand once again.

Straight, hard and deep, on the very first push, very hard, straight in, fully in, no question that now she wants to.

But do I? I wondered.

It’s been years since I’d even thought about screwing a woman. I mean, I’m no virgin. Not that way. Well, not any way, actually. I even started out with girls. But that was a long time ago.

The thought hit like a hammer. What if I can’t? Now that would be embarrassing, after all the build-up. I should be OK, I mean, a mouth is a mouth, after all. And I’ve come into dozens and dozens of those over the years. Many of them not nearly as eager as hers is now, not trying anywhere near as hard.

I’d hate to disappoint her, make her think I didn’t appreciate her considerable effort.

One thing I’ve found about coming is, you can’t chase it. It’s there, or it isn’t. Trying doesn’t make it any easier. So I did my best to just relax; closing my eyes, leaning back and remembering the clenching of a very tight ass. To her credit, it was hers I was thinking about, right in front of my nose, just as her panties cleared her ankles. That surprised me all over again. This was turning out to be a very surprising afternoon.

I drifted like that, quietly; feeling her lips, teeth, and throat pushing hard over my cock; over and over. Her tongue was pressing up hard with each thrust in and dragging across the sensitive spot, her breath blowing hard into my tummy each pull out. She was holding tight to the pool’s edge with both hands and really pushing.

A few more strokes and the familiar tightening, tensing, triggering told me that I was going to. And soon. I lingered on the image a little longer, exploring unfamiliar mental territory while the familiar physical sensations flowed through me. I opened my eyes and looked down just as the first spurt shot hot and fast into her. She stopped instantly, looking up, suddenly focusing on me. Green eyes were asking permission. I didn’t hold her, but I didn’t give it either. It wasn’t my pool yet.

I continued to come into her, deep into her, for a very long time. It had been longer than usual for me, and I’d built up. She took me all, or at least most of me. Some semen leaked out around her lips, dripping down her chin while I felt her tongue and throat working quickly to swallowing as much as she could.

After the last of the sperm, but before the last of the spasms, I reached down, below her arms and lifted straight up. I pulled her out of the water, across my lap, and held on as she gasped for air. I very carefully pulled wet and matted hair from her eyes once again and stroked her cheeks, soothing as best I could. It had been a long time since I’d held a woman that way, and wasn’t quite sure where to put my hands. But I tried, rocking slowly.

Gathering up the thick drops from her chin, I held my finger to her lips, not pressing in at all. I wouldn’t have minded at all if she’d turned her head, but she didn’t. She let her tongue slip out one last time, accepted the last, and it was over.


Chapter Four: Turning About

We sat like that for quite a while. Me, remembering it all; every single image extraordinary, distinct; from the moment I first saw her, looking cool, crisp and efficient in her air-conditioned office, right up to the instant I began pumping sperm down her throat. In retrospect, it was even more amazing.

Her? She didn’t say.

After a while, when she’d settled down, I lifted up and set her next to me. Carefully, I got my feet below and stood, then stooped to pick her up, arms below her back and under the knees. She turned into me, snuggling, sliding one arm up around my neck and the other grabbing the far shoulder. She kissed me, delicately, on the collarbone, her breathing smooth and easy and semen scented as I carried her to the nearest deck chair and carefully set her down. I lowered the back so the chair was flat, pulled another one next to her, and settled it in tight. I reached across once more to stroke her cheek gently.

She was on her side, mostly, hips turned down and one knee up. Breathing lightly now, eyes closed lightly, lying lightly in the sun. We lay together for a while, drying off quickly in the afternoon heat, as I remembered it all over again. Now and then she would burrow a little closer into me.

My nose was pressed a little into her scalp, and I noticed again how good she smelled. That’s pretty much the only thing I’d missed about sleeping with women.

After drifting together for many minutes, I decided that if we were going to be in the hot sun, we should probably use that leftover lotion. Had she been the one to leave it there? I wondered. Planted it? Had she planned for something like this to happen? Did she do this kind of thing often, if in fact it was planned? Did I really want to know?

I had a lot to think about as I grabbed it and got to work.

Starting at her shoulders, I massaged some lotion carefully into her skin. She twisted slightly below my hands, turning to lie fully on her tummy. I used the stuff generously, stroking and smoothing across her back, around to the side and halfway up her breasts, then down to her waist. I squeezed a large drop square onto the hollow at the base of her spine, and spread it up and about.

Turning around, I started with her feet, holding an ankle, kneading into the sole. I even pushed a little between each toe, working across from little to big. Then the other foot, continuing from big to little, having a surprising amount of fun in the process.

Up the calves, each one in turn, to her knees. I casually slid my hands between, and pressed out. She opened wide for me without any hesitation or resistance. It was far too early to even think about another, but I do like to be prepared. Speaking of prepared, I remembered that there were a handful of condoms tucked into the inside pocket of my jacket, just a few feet away. My gaze was well in advance of my hands, and my thoughts were even farther ahead, wondering just how surprising this day would turn out to be.

I slowed my pace even more, gradually inching up the thighs. Mostly on the back and outside, but I let my hands move inside every once in a while. She wiggled her backside slightly when I passed the halfway mark, settling completely and fully into the chair.

Did she think I’d be insulted if she didn’t cooperate? Not buy a multi-million dollar property, just because of that? Or buy it because she did? That was silly, of course. But people believe silly things. I added it to my list of questions, and continued higher. Did I really want to know?

As I was considering all of the questions, my hands drifted from honeyed skin to milky white. I really should have started there, I thought casually. If what I was doing was meant to be protection and not foreplay. Another question to think about. Why is screwing always so dammed complicated?

Back in my youth, back when I was fooling around with girls, I suppose they didn’t work out as much as women now days. I sure didn’t recall any female buns as firm as the ones below my hands now. She rolled her hips again as I smoothed on the lotion, and I noticed that her breathing was much huskier now than it had been, and that her cheeks were flushed red once more. The other pair of cheeks. The ones I was covering with suntan lotion were taunt and trim, smooth and pale, but not clenched. Slipping my hands across so that each palm was centered on a cheek, I pressed my thumbs in and apart, spreading her slightly.

She was pink, between. Very pink, and looked very small. Had she ever been penetrated there before? I wondered. It was possible, I supposed, that she hadn’t. Even possible that she didn’t quite realize what I was doing, or rather thinking about doing. What my cock was beginning to wake up about. After all, if a mouth is a mouth…

Holding her apart with one hand, I dripped some more lotion at the top of the valley, watching it drizzle gradually downward, covering. Using just my middle finger, I began to rub it around, very slowly and gently, then pressing in slightly. Feeling her muscles move under my fingertip.

“Not there. I don’t do there.” Smooth and level, calm. She didn’t close her legs, didn’t tense, didn’t even move below my hand. She just set her boundary, firmly. It was the first time she’d spoken since I’d began undressing her. I paused, holding very still.

“I mean, I know that that’s the way you like it. There. Screwing there. Isn’t it? Boys.”

“Not kids, no.”

She allowed her eyes to open, slightly, and turned to look straight at me over her shoulder. “But guys. Other men. That’s what I meant.”

“Yes. Do you always check up on your potential buyers? I mean, that way?”

“Not that way, not specifically, no. But yes, we always check, and very carefully. At this price level, you can’t be too careful.”

“Does it bother you?”

“It flatters me. That you would want me. To do that. For you… to you. I know I’m not exactly your type.”

“But you’re exactly my type. Apparently. Believe me, I had a very good time.”

She turned and reached high and across to her purse, pulling it to within easy reach. Then slipped back down, onto my hand once again. I’d just held still, and she maneuvered her bottom back into position. “You can fool around some more, there, if you want. I even like it, kind of. For a little while. But not inside, OK?”


She reached into her purse, found a mirror, and cringed at the sight. Quickly, expertly, she removed the worst of the damage and began to reapply her makeup while I worked my way outward, reversing my path, spreading a second layer of lotion.

As soon as she had everything more or less repaired, she started brushing her hair. She was shifting around far too much for me to continue massaging, so I just put one hand directly on the small of her back and felt her move below me. When she had herself more or less in order, she rolled over and sat up, took the lotion from my hand, and motioned for me to lie flat. I lay back on my back, raised my hands over my head, closed my eyes, and tried to relax into her.

Moving much more swiftly than I had, she covered my shoulders, chest and stomach. Then shifted down to my ankles, and worked back up, like I’d just done. She hesitated not at all when she reached my crotch, just filled her hand with a big squirt of lotion and massaged it onto the balls, then made a fist around my cock and pumped easily once again. I started to firm for her once again, slightly. It was early, way too early, but the afternoon was still young, too.

“You sure are pale. You’ll need to work on that, if you want to become a real Californian.” Her hand slowed, then stopped. She slid way forward on the edge of the chair, and squeezed just a tiny bit of lotion on her fingertips. Gently, she worked it into the skin over my eyes, then down my face and neck.

“How do you get such a deep glow?” I wondered.

“Lots of time in the sun – the real sun, you know. Not a tanning bed, never. And lots of really good moisturizer. You have to do it carefully.”

“And be careful you’re in a very private place, I suppose.” I opened my eyes slightly, and gazed at her taunt and tanned tits, jiggling pleasantly a foot or so from my nose.

“Actually, the pool at my condo is pretty cool. For topless, anyway. You have to be a little careful, though, even there. Women have to be careful everywhere, you know. You never know when some creep is going to try to have his way with you.”

I let that hang in the hot stillness of the afternoon for a very long time. Then decided to steer the conversation in a slightly different direction.

“I looked for a ring. In the car.”

“Oh, I never wore mine when I was working. Back when I was married.”


“I didn’t wear a ring then, either. Over?”

That wasn’t exactly what I’d meant, but I guess she’d answered the question anyway. I rolled over, and she started between the shoulder blades, then worked outward and down.

“So you’re definitely going to make an offer?” The exact inflection as the first time she’d asked the question, standing fully clothed next to the pool. She was a pro, all right. She hadn’t lost sight of why we were here.

I turned to look at her over my shoulder. “I think so. Not full price, of course. But a good offer. Good enough, at least. And all cash.” I named a figure a little more than two thirds the latest asking price. She winced once again, even harder than when she’d looked in the mirror. I’d just taken a big bite out of her commission.

“He’ll scream – and loud. But in the end, something near there will probably work. If it really is all cash. Dollar bills carry a lot of weight in this town.”

“I know. You didn’t think you had to, did you? To get me to buy the place?” I guess I did want to know after all.

“Surely you’re joking.”

“No I’m not. And don’t call me Shirley.”

We shared a good laugh at that.

“See? You’re starting to become a local already. Quoting movies.”

“Actually, that’s vaudeville. And old vaudeville at that. It was ancient before it was ever filmed.”

“True. But you were quoting the movie, not anything you ever saw on a stage.”

“I suppose. Then why?”

“It’s a common enough fantasy; at least it is for women. To be swept off her feet. Ravished. Read any romance novel. Or any fairy tale for that matter. I must have written that scene, or something near it, a dozen different times. I wanted to see what it was like in real life.”


“I’m a screenwriter. When I’m not selling real estate.”

“Oh? Have I seen anything of yours?”

“If you had, would I be selling real estate?”

“Good point.” I paused, searching for something other than the inevitable next question. I didn’t find anything. “And?”

She turned her head to look directly at me. Cool and level. “I didn’t care for it all that much. Sorry.”

“Sorry too, I guess.”

She turned fully around to start at my soles, and worked back up the legs. When she reached my ass she squeezed hard. “Someone’s been just sitting around too much lately. You need to work on that, too, you know,” and she smacked me just as playfully, and every bit as hard, as I’d done to her.

Shifting over to her chair, she leaned back once again, stretching naked in the sunshine just as easily and gracefully as a cat. “Do me in front?”

Interesting phrasing, I thought. ‘Do’ is such an all-purpose verb these days. I just rolled with it. “OK.”

She reached her hands very high, over her head. I started with the palms, and then quickly downward to the shoulders.

After spreading lotion onto her face and neck, just as carefully as she had mine, my hands slid smoothly down to her breasts, and I paid them careful attention. I remembered once again the sight of her dress falling as I watched between, the instant I realized that I was actually going through with undressing her. And that she was letting me.

“No lotion on the nipples, please. Everywhere else, but not there.” I had no idea why not, but she seemed to think it was important, so I just swirled around, between, and moved lower. “I suppose I could try,” she said quietly, eyes closed and head tipped far up, chin pointing directly into the afternoon sun. “You know. There. Back there. Someday. With the right someone. Someone with some… experience. Back there.”


“But not with a sale pending, never. I just couldn’t. I wouldn’t want to think that someone thought that I thought I had to. To make the sale.”

“I see. I think.”

“But after we close…”

I had decided, somewhere around the bottom of her ribs, to continue straight down to the toes in a single pass, not to jump over and work back up like we’d both done before. She had other ideas.

Just as soon as I got near her throughly waxed mons, she lifted one leg straight up into the air, pointing the toe like a Rockette. Held very still for me as I took the hint and worked down from ankle to hip, then lowered it and raised the other.

“Not yet,” she whispered before I could start on her pubic area. She reached way up above her and stretched out fully one again, arching her back high, her legs parallel, her knees chastely together. Then she settled back and opened, like a curtain parting. She hooked her heels around the sides of the chair, and waited once again.

I hesitated, not exactly sure what she wanted me to do next. What I wanted to do next. Just how surprising this day was going to turn out to be, and for whom.

Casually, she reached up and stroked my face. Moved her hand along my cheek, down to my neck, and then back up behind my ear. Ran her hand through my hair. Squeezed some between her fingers, very softly. Pulled, just as softly. In and downward. Mostly downward.

“I am way, way out of practice with that sort of thing.”

“Oh, that’s OK, I’m not. I’ll let you know what to do, maybe even help you some in a little while. It’ll be fine, really. And after all, turnabout…”

I really couldn’t disagree. “I suppose…”

As I approached, allowing her to guide me, she pulled out her her cell phone and flicked it to life.

“You know,” she purred huskily as she tapped buttons with one hand and pressed me in with the other, “this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”


Chapter Five: A Brief Interlude

We drifted side by side, lazing away the afternoon naked in the sweltering heat. She had seemed to have a good time, I guess. I had forgotten how… interesting… women tasted. I couldn’t possibly tell how much of her moaning was me, how much was her own fingers, and how much was just for show. Guys never know for sure, I guess.

But I tried my best, stirring my tongue around, hoping to tell by the sounds and feel what worked. Eventually she tapped me on the shoulder and whispered “That’s fine.” She pulled my head up for a lingering kiss, then turned it and carefully wiped my lips with her shoulder. We snuggled together for a while.

Finally I unwrapped my arms and e-mailed my agent, telling him to prepare a formal offer, including all the standard conditions plus a few extras and a very long escrow period. And to emphasize that it was all-cash. I didn’t mention who I was with, what we had just done, or how many California Department of Real Estate ethics rules we’d violated.

Arms back around, she and I lay together for a while, rolling this way and that every now and then trying to even out the bright sunshine on our skin, quietly chatting about nothing in particular. Somehow, she wandered onto the subject of her husband.

“He was the only boy in town who had any ambition at all, wanted to do something with his life, be somebody. And I was the only girl, I think. Everybody I knew seemed happy to just eat barbeque, drink beer, and make babies for the rest of their miserable lives.

“Lone Springs, Oklahoma. Yeah, it was just as awful as you imagine. And worse than you can imagine in the summer. Wind and dust like you couldn’t possibly believe.

“We were both so damned desperate to get the hell out of that place, that’s all we really had holding us together. Well that plus he was just so damned gorgeous, and I was young enough, stupid enough, to think it mattered. But on the good side, he did get me to LA like he promised, so I’ve got to thank him for that I guess.”


“He wanted to be a rock and roll star in the worst way, and I guess he’s getting his wish – the worst way part I mean. I still hear about him playing some dive or another now and then.

“After almost a year of his hands up my bra and down my panties, I finally let him screw me on my high school graduation night. In the back seat of his Camaro, he was my first. I graduated a virgin, just like I’d promised my mom, god knows why. I turned eighteen the following Tuesday, and Wednesday morning at four AM we were on the road to California. We got married passing through Vegas.”

My cell phone burbled, an e-mail confirming the offer had been sent. I glanced at the subject line and put it aside unread.

“We kicked around West Hollywood for a while, I thought it was absolutely the most amazing place in the world. At first sleeping in the car, then staying with other musicians, actors, even a wanna-be rodeo clown, I kid you not. What the hell he was doing in LA I didn’t figure out until way later. I’d led a very sheltered life up ’til then, you see, and I had no idea how much I still had to learn. And unlearn.

“I got a job cocktail waitressing and we moved into a stinky little one bedroom just off Santa Monica Boulevard. I worked all night, he played music all night, we slept all day and it actually worked out pretty well. Meant I didn’t have to listen to him all that often, he really wasn’t very good back then. More ambition than talent I guess.

“But I hear he’s getting better these days. Practicing a lot. By the time he’s sixty he might even get to be pretty good.”

“Cattiness does not suit you, m’dear,” I pointed out.

“Sorry. You’re right.”

She turned a little and rested her head on my chest, one breast pressing soft and comfortable into my side, the other into my chest. I got an arm around her shoulder and encouraged her a little closer still.

“But anyway,” she continued, a little softer now, “He kept getting into and then breaking up with bands, I kept the rent paid, and things were pretty good, mostly. At least I didn’t have to put up with my fucking parents any more, and that was worth aching feet and a pinched butt all by itself. The beach, the clubs, the dope were all just a nice bonus.

“We lived a couple doors down from another couple, both of them from the Dallas area. We had a lot in common, although unlike us they’d come to LA separately and met here. In an acting class, I think.

“Anyway, we’d get together with them every now and then for KFC and cheap Chardonnay and talk for hours ab–” Her cell trilled, interrupting. Reluctantly, she grabbed the phone, then flicked to read the message.

“That was quick. Like I said, he’s screaming. Calling your offer an insult, telling me not to negotiate with you. Doesn’t want to hear from you again, ever. Don’t worry. Just give him a few minutes, he’ll counter directly to your agent, which he knows he’s not supposed to do but he just can’t help himself. But be prepared, you won’t like his number. And it is an absolute bargain even at the current asking, you know.”

She was still his agent. And business is business.

“All part of the game,” I said.

She dropped the phone aside and settled downwards a little more, shifting slightly, getting comfy. Her naked skin against my naked skin, both of us lightly coated with lotion and sweat. “Part of the game. Where was I?”

“Eating chicken and drinking wine just off Santa Monica Boulevard.”

“Right, OK, yeah. Young and in love I guess, at least in a way, and real, real, stupid. And horny as hell, too, but too stupid to even know that. I’d hated sex ever since that back seat, it was nasty and uncomfortable, and it never seemed to get any better even after we had a real bed. Plus he was too stoned to, ahhh… perform… most nights anyway. I bought a vibrator at a dirty little shop over on Vine Street and that pretty much put an end to our having sex at all. He didn’t seem to mind. Or even notice, for that matter. He sure as hell didn’t say anything.

“But anyway, one afternoon the guys were at somebody’s place watching a football game or something, and she came over to chat. We got to talking, drank some wine, smoked a little, and suddenly from out of nowhere she’s crying her eyes out. Her sex life was every bit as crappy as mine, and she didn’t know what to do about it either. And then we just… kind of… fell into each other’s arms.

“I mean, it was a life changing experience, I kid you not. Finally, something that felt right, made sense, worked without needing batteries.

“We didn’t have a clue what to do, of course. What went where. We’d never done anything like that before, or even thought about it. At least not in any kind of, ahhh, anatomical? I guess that’s the word. Detail. But somehow it didn’t seem to matter. Our clothes melted away, our hands and our lips just seemed to find all the right spots by themselves and without having to think about it. Which was a good thing, if I’d thought about it for even an instant I’d never have done it. That’s how stupid I was.

“But thank god I didn’t think, and from out of nowhere I was in love all over again. Or maybe for the first time, I don’t know. But married. And raised to take that seriously, no matter how much I hated my parents.

“We’d tell our husbands they needed a ‘guys night out’, and then go down on each other for hours while they were away. I kept telling myself it wasn’t really cheating, there was no sperm, no chance of getting pregnant, so therefore it didn’t actually count as, you know, ‘sex’. But even stupid as I was then, I knew way down deep that it did count as ‘love’, which I was slowly discovering meant way more.

“It was only a matter of time, getting comfortable being queer. And in West Hollywood you can get comfortable with that kind of thing pretty fast.

She turned over on her other her side, facing away, and pressed her back and bottom into me. She wiggled a little, keeping my arm below her neck and getting my still soft cock between her cheeks, then snuggled backwards so we could spoon. She pulled my other arm over and around her waist, holding my hand to her navel. She felt good, I squeezed lightly.

“Basically, I think, I was just waiting for us to get caught, for things to come to a head, so as to speak. Something to push us over the edge. And it did, but not exactly the way th–”

It was my phone’s turn to interrupt us. A counter-offer had in fact arrived, just like she promised. I skimmed the message quickly. “Hang on a second, don’t lose track. I’ve got to counter this right away. With luck we may wrap things up by sunset.”

He had come down in price a lot more than I expected, and wanted a much faster escrow and no extra conditions – which I did expect. I got my hand out from below her neck, I really can’t type one handed, and e-mailed my agent telling him to counter with a small increase in the money, but agreeing to his closing date and dropping a few of the less important conditions. All part of the game.

When I looked up she had turned back to face me, elbow on the chair, and head on her hand. She was frowning, obviously very, very disappointed. Was it by being interrupted just when her story was getting to the good part? She was a writer after all. Or disappointed at the price she saw me thumbing into the e-mail back to my agent?

“That’s not much of a bump,” she pointed out.

“Time is money, honey. He wants fast, he’s got to expect to pay for it. There’s taxes, maintenance, insurance right up until the deal clears. Then they’re my problem. Plus the sooner he gets my cash, the sooner it starts earning interest for him and not for me. He’ll probably counter once more at least, but when we’ve got a deal I’ll let you treat me to a nice dinner from all the money you’re about to split with my agent, and soon.”

“Soon is good, I guess. But don’t send it out right away, OK?” She reached over and stilled my hand over the phone’s screen. “Let him wait for a bit.”


“He can’t interrupt us until he gets the counter,” she pointed out coyly. The storyteller had won out over the agent. “Plus, waiting makes him antsy. He’ll be that much more eager to deal in a little while.” Or maybe not.

I put the phone down, wrapped both arms around her shoulders and we got back to being comfortable just lying in the sun together.

“Whatever you say. And you were saying…?”

“The Unexpected Twist. That’s what I was working up to. Before we were so rudely interrupted.”

A thought struck me. “But before you go on, tell me – just how much of this is actually, you know, true? And how much is a script you’re writing?”

“Busted!” she squealed, burying her face in her hands. She peeked up at me from between her fingers. “Sorry?”

Then lowered them, turning a bit more serious. She eased back down to rest on my shoulder again, but now looking off into the distance, not at me. I got my arms around her again, soft and easy and comfortable.

After a while, she went on. “A lot of it is true, actually. Most even.” Her voice was quiet once more. Thoughtful. “It gets harder and harder to say, though. With every draft.” She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Now, just hush and let me tell my story, will you? Then you can send in your offer, and then we can finish up here.”

Interesting phrasing, I thought again. She really did have a way with words. ‘Finish up.’ Saying just enough, but not too much. Implying. Teasing?

Shut up you idiot and just go with it, is what I thought. “Certainly, m’dear. Please, continue,” is what I said.

“OK OK, anyway, the story so far – I was hoping to get caught with my lesbian lover, preferably in bed, preferably with my tongue up her twat, so I could get out of a rotten marriage without having to, you know, deal with the thought that it was really all my fault, that I never should have gotten married in the first place.

“But instead one day I caught her husband sucking mine in their bathroom while he jerked off. The guys had been sneaking around and having sex a lot longer than we were, no wonder they were never at home. And everyone oblivious to the situation. I broke out laughing on the spot as the whole sorry mess flashed clear to me all at once. They both lost their erections, and I don’t think either one has ever quite forgiven me. Although they’ve screwed plenty of times since then, and plenty of other guys too I bet.

“Once all the yelling quieted down we worked it out. I moved in with her, her husband moved into our apartment, and everything was fine again. Much better even. We still got together for dinner too.

“Then they ruled same-sex marriage was legal in this state. I filed for a quick divorce, and in my very last act of teenage rebellion we got married the first day we could. Stood in line for hours. I so, so wanted to get back in touch with my parents, just to tell them I’d married a girl. Give them both heart attacks. Serve them right for all the crap they put me through growing up. In the end, though, I didn’t.

“Because, you see, it was slowly dawning on me that I might not actually be all that queer, that I just had a rotten lay for a husband. He was still the only guy I’d ever slept with, you see. And I was tempted constantly to find out. To cheat on my spouse. Again. And eventually I did, of course.

“One of the regulars at the restaurant I was working at then had been coming on to me, very gently, probably without much hope, for a year or so at least. I’d told him that I was married, and never mentioned the switch in spouses. He seemed like a nice guy and, well, I wanted to know.

“So I told him I’d divorced my husband, which was true of course, and I just didn’t mention what happened after. He really was very gentle and patient and sweet with me, in a lot of ways it was actually my first time – with a hetro guy at least. And I tell you, I saw stars. And then again, a few days later. The third time really convinced me. I never told him about the ugly, screaming break-up I worked up the courage for a few weeks later.

“It turns out that she really is gay, was all along, but I was just passing through dyke to someplace else. She got over it eventually. She’s got a new girlfriend now who’s a lot nicer to her than I was. I sold them a cute little two bedroom on Franklin Avenue, real pretty and they got a great deal. We divorced so they can get married whenever it’s legal again.

“I moved in with the guy, he sold real estate and helped me get my license and then a job. But I’d learned my lesson, I didn’t marry him right away. Good thing too, because one day after visiting his kids he managed to knock up his ex-wife, and they decided to give it another go. But he did sell me his condo for a very good price. I flipped it right around the top of the boom, and made a bundle.

“These days, I date guys sometimes, girls now and then, but mostly I work on my career. I’ve hustled my ass off and managed to go from crappy little bungalows in Culver City to estates in Beverly Hills in only a few years.

“So, that’s my story.” She took a little bow as I quietly applauded. “And most of it’s true. The important parts at least. I left out the dull parts, bridged over a bunch of things. Punched up the big reveal. Lied about the virginity, but only by a couple of months. I thought it was more poignant that way. Oh! And for the record? He only thinks he’s that gorgeous. Now why don’t you send in your offer, so we can finish up before the sun goes down?”

I reached for my phone, she reached for the suntan lotion.


Chapter Six: Who Owes Who

After the e-mail was winging its way through the airwaves, she gestured for me to lie back and began spreading more lotion on me. “You first. You’re so pale!” she explained, “You need it way more than I do.”

Face, neck, chest, tummy in only a little more time than it takes to tell. Jumping over the cock to toes, working upward quickly, and then massaging into my balls with one hand, stroking the shaft with the other. Lots of friction on just the right spots.

So, that’s how she wanted to complete the afternoon. I really hadn’t planned on anything like this, but I wasn’t in a mood – or a position – to object.

I tipped my head up to admire her technique. “You do that well. I’m impressed.”

“I had to learn. If I wanted any action at all.”

“Hmmm.” There was really no good way for me to respond to that. So I moved along. “There are some condoms in my jacket pocket. Hang on a second, let me go get.” I pointed across the deck, well out of our reach.

“Way ahead of you, Big Boy.” She dipped into her purse and came up with a black, square package. She showed me the label. “Trojan Magnum. They work for you?”

May 2018
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