NOTE: New posts go at the top, as in most blogs, but that means that in a story like this, spread over more than one post, you really need to find the first post in the series and read them in order. So, that's what I suggest you do here.

If you'll recall, just as I was about to tell my parents that Kelsey and I were going to be restationed in my favorite city in the country, Portland, Oregon, my parents told me that they were going to renew their vows, and of course I would have an important role in the ceremony.

It would be a fairly small-scale thing as far as guests. Just relatives and the closest of friends. Would I be the Maid of Honor? Of course, mom. Would Gina and Kelsey like to be bridesmaids? I'm sure they wouldn't miss it for the world, mom. When is this going to take place? In two weeks. Two weeks! Well, it's not going to be fancy: no one will need to get fitted for gowns, just Sunday best is all. We're gonna dress up special, but nobody else has to.

I asked what had brought this on and she said, "We had a fight." A fight?!!! They never fight. "We said some hurtful things and didn't even talk for an entire afternoon and evening."

I was stunned. During my entire childhood I don't think much more than mild irritation had ever been expressed in my presence, and here they were in a full-blown spat.

She continued: "Well, I got into bed facing away from him. After a minute or two, he tapped my shoulder and asked, 'If you had it to do all over again, would you marry me?' and I burst into tears. Suddenly, I was no longer mad at him. I said, 'Of course I would.' So he said, 'Then let's get married again.'"

I had to admit, this even had me misty. Dad always has been a romantic, maybe because he's a musician. And I had no worries that they might split. These two people fit together in such a way that they'd be lost without each other. The day one of them dies, I can't even imagine what the other will do.

To this day, I have never learned what the fight was about, and I'm sure I never will. It's just not something they would discuss with their children and I'm sure neither views it as a matter of much importance any longer.

I did tell them about the move a few days later, and of course they were happy for me, but I could see the sense of loss in their eyes. The baby was really leaving the nest now. No more just dropping by because I was nearby. No more "Hey, sweetie, I'm making a roast. Want to come by for dinner?" Happy as I was to be going to Portland, I had a couple really good cries about leaving my family behind.

Well, at least they have my little brother for a few more years, though he talks about joining the Marines, which has mom worried sick. The thought of her beloved son being killed is horrific to her, and the thought of him killing someone else comes in a close second, I'm sure. Both my parents are the gentlest of people.

I called Gina and asked her if she'd like to be a bridesmaid, and of course she agreed. As I've said before, over my childhood, she was around so much that she became essentially an adopted daughter. Her home life was less than ideal. Her mom was raising her alone and lived as a permanent temp. Sometimes at home after school, sometimes not.

Knowing that Gina needed supervision after school like any other child, my mother more or less ordered me to bring her home with me whenever her mother wasn't going to be home. That's what my parents are like, both of them. Hillary mouths the concept "It takes a village to raise a child" and then supports laws and programs that undermine parental and school authority over children in the name of children's rights. My parents actually took over some responsibility for parenting Gina without even being asked.

While I was never all that rebellious, like most teens I was sure I was ready for adult responsibilities. However, now I, as an adult, watch the news and can't help but notice how much mischief is caused by kids, many of whom will be responsible adults in another ten years, except that a big mistake made in their teen years may send them to that academy of crime we call our penal system.

And so, Gina became practically a sister, and I have with her the strongest bond I have with anyone I don't share blood with. Kelsey (my boss, in case this is the first post you've ever read here) comes in a very close second.

So, here I am starting to pack and having to deal with all the notices to disconnect or stop service, enduring one good-bye lunch or dinner after another (not that I'm complaining, but they all delayed my preparations somewhat). At least the company gave us a week off to pack and another week off to travel with our goodies.

Gina offered us the use of one of Ray's planes for the trip, but I told her Kelsey and I wanted the experience of driving across the country. Then, she said, if we'd have her, she'd be happy to come along and share driving with us and that offer I was happy to accept. She said she could get us an RV, and we did take her up on that offer as well.

Finally, the day of the wedding arrived. We'd been watching the weather closely, for a big snow storm was threatening the area, and when you live on The Great Lakes, you know that a big storm can be seriously big, leaving six foot tall snowdrifts and more or less halting the flow of traffic for hours until the plows can get things under control.

I had expected to be much more involved on wedding day than I was, but aside from attending a rehearsal the day before (followed by a rehearsal dinner), there really wasn't much for me to do. Maybe mom knew I had my own responsibilities and time constraints, what with preparing to move, or maybe that's the way she wanted it. Who knows?

I should explain that, as spare as this wedding was, it was considerably more elaborate than their first wedding, which was done in front of a local judge with five or six musician friends present. The reception consisted of a hot dog cookout at a friend's place, music provided by their friends. My mom always talked about it as one of the highlights of her life, along with having her babies, of course.

The wedding was to be held in what was once a church in some Protestant denomination, but had become a rental chapel used by whomever wanted to use it. It had seen many a wedding, both denominational and non-denominational. One of dad's musician friends is a Buddhist, and after looking into the legalities with the help of an attorney friend it was determined that the legal part of a wedding was nondenominational anyway. You're married when you submit your marriage license, or something like that (I don't know: I wasn't in on that part).

Well, the wedding was beautiful. It began with a series of sometimes humorous, recounted by family friends, of sentimental speeches and odes to my mother, my father, or the both of them. Famous instances when my dad hit a "clam" (a wrong note) during a performance, or classroom situations that my mom had had to deal with were also recited (for some of those present were teaching colleagues of hers, or favorite students). At times it seemed more of a roast than a wedding, but as time went by the jokes gave away to affectionate and fond memories intermixed with well wishes for continued happiness.

This was followed by a half hour snack break while my parents prepared themselves for the service.

They surprised us all by both being dressed in white. My father was white head to toe: white tuxedo, white tie, white shoes. My mother's gown was simple but elegant, and she was walked up the aisle by my brother, also dressed in a white tuxedo, white tie, and white shoes. They walked up a white carpet to the altar where the Buddhist said a few things I don't remember, my father put the wedding ring on her finger all over again, and they were pronounced man and wife.

I was crying like a baby as was Gina. Even Kelsey, who is about as unsentimental a a woman as you can imagine, was obviously misty.

The service over, we all took little sacks of rice out front only to be met by the densest blizzard in recent memory. When mom and dad burst through the doors of the church, we could hardly see them. It was one of those moments when the last of the snow is hitting the earth, but the sky has cleared up above it enough for the sun to illuminate the snow as it falls.

Here was the wedding I had dreamt about in Guyana, the one with snow so white, it's a color that only exists in dreams. For this, indeed, was a dream.

That part of the tradition done, we all ran back inside, for the reception would be held right there in the basement of the same church.

Gina had brought Ray with her, which was a nice surprise. And Ray had brought a very special surprise of his own, for when we went downstairs for the reception, in addition to the combo which you'd naturally expect to have at a musician's wedding, Ray had brought NW ("Name Withheld," who you may remember from the "It Didn't Stay In Vegas" series of stories about a trip to Vegas that ended up in Mexico).

As usual, I tell you nothing about NW except that he's a well-known Vegas performer. He could be a singer or magician or comedian. He's asked me not to reveal too much about him, and I respect that.

When my folks saw NW, their jaws dropped simultaneousl, and they dropped even further when Gina told them NW was there as my gift on their wedding day. I played along, and so did NW. So, in addition to some of he finest jazz to be heard in Northern Ohio, we also had the benefit of a good deal of NW's Las Vegas act. While, as professionals, the local musicians were adept at backing performers up by waiting to see what happened and then falling in behind, clearly they had rehearsed at least once, I know not where. It was too tight a performance not to have been rehearsed. Even the musicians, all my dad's friends, were blown away by working with someone who was actually famous.

My father looked at me, shaking his head in wonder. I had given my folks an expurgated version of the trip to Vegas and thence Yucatàn, and I don't think they disbelieved me, but to have NW show up at their wedding simply because he was my friend? Unbelievable! Things like that just don't happen to ordinary people.

Luckily, the blizzard stopped as soon as it started and by the time we all went home, the streets were clear and traffic was moving nicely.

A few days later, Kelsey and I were as packed up as we could be. Gina and Ray drove the "RV" down from Detroit and it pulled up in front of my house, a rental trailer in tow.

I put the quotes around "RV" because it turned out to be not s much a mobile home as a mobile house. One of those superbusses the top musicians and bands drive around in. It had a bedroom and a bunk area and I'm sure could sleep as many as eight and twice that sleeping in shifts. Sixteen people would have made it fairly crowded, but it was plenty roomy for three girls.

The bus (for it's really more a bus than an RV) had ample baggage room on board, and both Kelsey and I had sold or given away the bulk of our furnishings, with the intent of buying more when we got to Oregon, using the relocation allowance the company had given us. They had just given each of us a large check to cover everything. We didn't even need to tell them what we spent it on, and since Gina and Ray were giving us the bus, and Gina would be paying for the fuel, that gave us much additional money to apply to furnishing our new digs once we got there. We didn't even know where we'd be living. We were going to figure that out once we arrived.

Naturally, Kelsey was in shock when she saw what our "RV" turned out to be. We loaded up, stopped by my parents' place to say good-bye and made a quick stop to visit with Gina's mom and say good-bye to her as well, and we were off...

Off to a large parking lot at an abandoned factory where Gina taught us the controls of the monster we would be driving across the country. The bus belonged to her boyfriend, Ray, and she and he had done some traveling in it, which is where she learned how to drive it.

When she felt we knew it well enough to drive it, we drove on out to the highway and headed south, for no way were we going to drive across the upper half of the country at a time of year when we might expect to have to deal with the last blizzards of winter. I didn't want to find us upside down in a Nebraska snowdrift, and neither did Gina or Kelsey. And besides, there's a lot to see in the southern half of the country, and at a time of year when oppressive heat wouldn't be a problem.

The plan was basically to have no plan. The company's timetable was fairly long-term, and while the trip could comfortably be done in a week of driving, if we stopped off a couple places and too 2 weeks, that was just fine. We three girls enjoyed each other's company so much that just spending time together was great, the more the better. Hopefully, we'd see some things and have some adventures along the way.

We were totally "winging it." Since we could sleep in the vehicle, it's not like we had to keep a schedule in order to keep an itinerary involving hotel reservations. However, we soon found out that finding a nice level place to park the big hunker was another story entirely, and it wasn't uncommon to find ourselves looking for a parking lot or road where we could pull over for the night without a rapping on the window from a cop or property owner asking us to move it along.

Gina took the helm for the first two hours or so, and then she let me and Kelsey take turns, getting in about an hour each. I must say that it was both easy and intimidating. The while was huge, large even for a big man, I'm sure. However, it was definitely power assisted. It was like driving a house, which was both comfortable and scary at the same time. On the plus side, the driver was at least six feet above the road and could see over the tops of mere cars, which sometimes gave us a heads-up on a problem well before automobile drivers found out about it.

There were certainly very dodgy moments, as when we head the thread the bus through narrow lanes at construction sites, when smaller vehicles passing us would cut back into our lane leaving a patently untenable distance between us, had they been forced to slam on the brakes.

Since the bus had, not one, but two toilets, we never had to stop for a restroom break, and the thing's fridge and cupboards were packed tight with, not just snacks, but whatever we might need for our regular meals as well: soda, beer, wine, milk, tea, coffee, frozen meats and vegetables, canned soup and vegetables. While we planned on trying local cuisine whenever we could, we could certainly survive out in the middle of nowhere. Basically, if we stopped before reaching our destination, it was generally only to refuel. Then, of course, we'd stretch our legs.

One thing we decided to do, given the lack of serious time constraints was to make it a trip "coast to coast." Thus, in addition to driving in a general southerly direction, we'd be heading east as well. Our first stop was outside Charleston, West Virginia, where we pulled in with the last glimmer of daylight.

We soon found that one of the better strategies come the end of the day was to ask the owner/manager of a small intdependent motel if we could use a back corner of their parking lot for $20 or $25. It was money they wouldn't otherwise be making and they often had more than ample parking facilities. We did that here and on several other occasions as well. We also stayed in camping parks from time to time, when we found one that could accommodate a vehicle the size of ours.

Once we had arranged for parking our bus, we took off into town and I was allowed to turn on my laptop in order to research the city for restaurants. I had been forbidden from having my laptop on constantly, and I must say I was a good girl and used it almost entirely for planning our trip and for checking my e-mail. Kelsey and Gina would use it for this purpose as well. We did it this way so that we wouldn't spend entire evenings with all three of us silently staring at our machines. As a result, we spent a lot of evening time playing poker and Monopoly.

Unless of course, we decided to do a night on the town!

Well, I decided an Italian restaurant named Grazi sounded like a good bet. The girls checked out the menu and agreed.

You may think of West Virginia as hillbilly country, but this was a really fine restaurant, as good as many of the better Italian restaurants in Cleveland, which benefits from having a sizeable Italian community in the Murray Hill area and out in the eastern suburbs like Mayfield Heights, though being owned and run by an Italian is no guarantee that the food is good, either. I've had some fairly inconsequential Italian food even in restaurants operated by Italians.

So, we ordered caesar salad and two kinds of pasta, eaten family style, followed by tiramisu and spumoni for dessert. We finished off with espresso and decided to walk the meal off by exploring the town. Given the time of day, naturally many of the shops were closed, but we could see enough to know that it was a nice place to live.

We drove the bus back to the motel parking lot and settled in for the night, first playing a few rounds of cards and then watching one of the movies Gina had stocked the bus with. I had heard about, but had never seen, Wim Wenders' classic Wings of Desire, about angels moving among humans and longing to know human emotions even at the cost of losing their immortality. (This is a concept I found amusing in that it is a tenet of religions that believe in angels to also disavow the finality of death. So, the movie seems to embody something of a contradiction.)

That caveat aside, it's a beautiful movie and the opening is recited in very poetic German. It's the only time I've ever heard that language pronounced in a fashion I'd call beautiful, even gorgeous. One time the girls allowed me to surf was to find out additional information about the movies by going to imdb.com or rottentomatoes.com, and that is when I found out that the sublimely beautiful female lead, Solveig Dommartin, had already died just months earlier of a heart attack at the very early age of 46. I waited until the movie was over to tell my friends.

At around 10:30 p.m. we decided that rather than watch another movie, we'd do the old "early to bed and early to rise" and so we got ready for bed.

The bus had two basic options for sleeping (leaving aside a couple hide-a-beds that were never needed). There was a queen-sized bed in the rear of the bus where there was a smallish bedroom. It could sleep two comfortably but three would be pushing it. There were also ample bunk options, so we decided that one of us would sleep in a bunk every night and two of us would sleep in "a real bed." Quite frankly, I slept just as well my nights in the bunk as I did in the bed, and perhaps better because I didn't have to deal with the rustling of another person.

Of course when it came to sex, three wasn't exactly a crowd on the queen bed and we certainly christened (excuse me, Jesus) that bed that night.

It started off with taking turns at back rubs, but hands started wandering soon followed by the kissing of lips and ears and necks. Before I knew it, Gina was sitting on my face letting me lick her delectable pussy while Kelsey was demonstrating her prodigious talent at cunnilingus between my legs.

Maybe it was due to the size of the meal we'd had, but it took a little while to get me off. It was when Kelsey worked her thumb up my asshole that I was finally able to get off. Not my best orgasm ever, but I did squirt a bit. Luckily, Gina had prepared the bed with a waterproof layer under the sheet, so no one had to sleep on a wet spot. We pulled the sheet and waterproof thing off, draped them over some of the furnishings at the front of the bus, put a clean sheet on the bed, and settled down for the night, setting an alarm for 7 a.m.

I slept in a bunk that night and I must say, I have seldom slept better.

Kelsey surprised Gina and me by insisting on making breakfast for us. It was a surprise because she's never been accused of being much of a homebody and has always taken most of her meals in restaurants. I always assumed that whenever she ate at home, she would just heat something up like a Pop Tart or a toaster waffle.

She managed to make us a creditable truckstop breakfast of bisquits with sausage gravy, sausages, and scrambled eggs that had been perked up with cheddar cheese and chopped sweet red peppers and scallions. She made this plus some good Jacob's Kaffee. This is a German brand I had encountered on my trip to Bremen, Germany with my then boyfriend, Erik. I told Gina about how delicious this German coffee was and she actually went about obtaining some for the trip!

While we ate, I broke out the laptop to plan the next leg of the trip and we decided to go and see the nearby gigantic radio telescope at Green Bank. Unfortunately, it wouldn't open for tours this time of year, but it turned out to be a a stunning piece of hardware, so much so that we stopped the bus and got out to look at it.

Well, on to the coast, which is where we decided to spend the next night. After all, if you want to drive coast-to-cost you've got to start at one of the coasts, don't you? Getting to the Atlantic meant doing a good deal of mountain driving first. Tiny little Gina excelled at this, probably because she had more experience driving it. However, even for her, the mountain driving was often unnerving, due to the narowness of the roads and the many tight blind corners.

The mountains were beautiful...when we could see them. For in addition to the aforementioned hazards, we had to deal with intermittent fog. Even so, the glimpses we got were gorgeous. The mountains were nowhere near as magnificent as the Rockies or High Cascades, but they were bigger than anything in Ohio.

It being Appalacia, we encountered more than one ramshackle farmhouse or depressed village where most of the buildings were in bad need of paint and repairs and half the stores were closed. We didn't see any retarded farmboys playing banjos on their porch, however.

It was nearly dark when we reached the Outer Banks and started looking for a place to park and spend the night. This night, we were able to park right on the main road just after the last building in this little coastal village. We had passed several restaurants while driving through town, so we decided to just walk back, look around, and go into whatever restaurant caught our fancy.

In the fading light, we could barely see the ocean, and Kelsey suggested we take the nearby stairs down to the beach and get our feet wet in the Atlantic. By doing that and the same in Pacific, we could literally say we had gone from one ocean to the other. The weather never really gave us a clear view of the beach, but had we been able to see it, it would have looked like this.

So we trundled down the stairs and left our shoes at the bottom and started walking toward the water. The trouble was, it was windy and the wind was coming off the water, driving spray from the breaking surf across the beach inland. I could feel my interest in sticking my bare feet in the ocean waning for I was noticing that the surf was quite heavy as well with waves at least eight or ten feet tall. All it would take would be to be in the wrong place at the wrong time for a rogue wave to come along and drag us out into the surf.

I licked my lips, tasted salt, and said "I think I'm wet enough with Atlantic Ocean water. What about you guys?" "Umm, yeah" said Gina. Kelsey shrugged, saying, "Yeah. It sounded like a good time when I said it." We all turned around and ran back to the stairs, laughing.

We walked along the main street. It being around 6 p.m., some shops were open, many were closed or closing. Soon, little would be open other than restaurants, hotels, grocery stores, and gas stations. And in a little village like this, I wouldn't count on the grocery store much past 9 p.m.

Practically every restaurant in a coastal town like this is a "seafood joint," and this town was no exception. We ended up dining in a spot whose name was something of a seafood pun. While I seldom give actual names of people or businesses in my writing, think something like "Cod's Little Acre" or "Quahog Heaven."

This wasn't a ritzy joint. It had paper placemats with jokes up and down the sides, and on every table were crayons, because in the center of every placemat was a picture of an animal to color. There was a butterfly, a robin, a lamb, and a bunny, as I recall. All very gentle animals. No roaring tigers, rampaging bulls, or snarling dogs.

The menu was pretty standard seafood stuff, much of it from the freezer, I imagine, and not fresh off any of the fishing boats moored in the harbor we had passed on the way in. I had a pretty standard seafood platter with breaded cod, deep fried shrimp and clams. The offer of french fried sweet potatoes instead of normal french fries was the only deviation from anything standard. I guess we weren't quite far enough south yet to be offered hush puppies. And of course, there was cole slaw and tartar sauce. A tall glass of cheap beer topped it all off for me.

Kelsey and Gina splurged on lobster tails, but I figured they were even more likely to be from the freezer than what I was having. So they had lobster tails, melted butter, baked potatoes with all the toppings, cole slaw with white wine.

The service, by a fat middle-aged woman with salt and pepper hair and thick ankles was attentive, but not too attentive. I hate it when wait people over around you like flies. She took our order, delivered everything with efficiency, and looked our way from time to time to see if we needed anything. Just the way I like it.

We desserted on their homemade pies, which were made right there and were fantastic. They should turn it into a pie shop. They'd make a fortune. I told her as much, but she shrugged and explained she's just a waitress there, and had only been working there for two months.

We got back to the bus after exploring the town a bit further. It was getting too cold and windy to walk around. Since we were parked in a place where one side of the bus faced the ocean and had no wind protection whatsoever, there was a constant rumbling that was actually somewhat pleasant, and along with the rumbling came a vibration and slight rocking. It was quite an experience.

Gina surprised us because among the videos she'd stocked the bus with were a few gay porn videos of the "twink" (very young man) variety. Either two twinks getting it on or a cute twink fooling around with a more mature man. Seeing guys suck cock and get fucked in the ass is a bit of a change of pace, and we all got a bit horny watching the action. I was the first one to openly play with myself while watching it, but soon all three of us had one or both hands tucked in our panties making rhythmic motions of various sorts. Kelsey has a somewhat subtle finger wiggling thing whereas Gina and I tend to move our entire hands. Gina is fun to watch. With Kelsey, there's not too much to see.

Sometimes, I'll hear guys who think they really know women say that "Women don't get any pleasure from finger fucking. It's all in the clit." Well, I've seen more than a few girls masturbate, and while one goes into the vagina for lubricant, I'd say that most girls include finger fucking in their masturbatory repertoire. I know I do. I also like sticking dildos and vibrators in there. The clit is sensitive, but the idea that the vagina is insensitive is total bullshit. Fingering my pussy is a whole lot more pleasurable than fingering my ear canal.

Kelsey ran in the back and returned with a vibrator. Dropping her panties to the floor, she turned it on and started rubbing her vulva with it. Gina and I watched her for about 5 seconds, looked at each other, and ran back to get our own toys, and soon the bus was filled with the sounds of whirring vibrators and the wet smacking and sucking sounds of dildos being plunged in and out of pussies.

We dragged our fun out for about a half hour and all came within a few minutes of each other. At this point we made ourselves some tea and settled in to watch a classic psychological horror flick, Roman Polanski's Repulsion, in which a very repressed and shy Catherine Deneuve gradually goes bonkers over a weekend she has to spend alone when her daughter goes on a trip with her boyfriend. I had heard about the movie, and knew it was regarded as a classic that had inspired many another movie.

All three of us squeezed into the queen-size bed that night, giggling like junior high school girls at a slumber party. Huddling together, it still took us about an hour and a half to get to sleep.

Gina got up to go to the bathroom and that woke me up. I could see her looking out a side window on the side that faced the road. She ran her finger on the glass as if to make a picture in condensation, which is what I assumed she was doing. Then she pressed her forehead against the window and tipped her head to look down.

She whispered to me when she got back into bed. "We're not going anywhere very soon." "Why?" "Fog. At first I thought the window was frosted up because it was so white, but it wasn't. The fog is so thick you can't see across the street. I could barely see the road below the window. No way I'll be driving in this weather." "Then, I won't," I whispered back with a suppressed giggle. Kelsey was the least confident bus driver among us, so I already knew what her feelings would be.

So, we slept until 10 a.m. By 10:30 we were all in the kitchen where we decided to subsist on coffee and one slice of toast each, skipping a real breakfast and holding out till sometime around Noon for lunch.

By 11, we were on the road again with Gina at the helm. Our next destination: Savannah, Georgia. We had to deal with fog for another hour or so, but then the sun broke out and we had a glorious day for driving. Lunch turned out to be tomato soup with water crackers and paté. For dessert, a big bowl of thompson seedless grapes cleared the liver taste from our palates.

We pulled into Savannah with a few hours of sunlight left. Savannah is easily one of the most beautiful cities I've seen in the U.S., with architecture that certainly looks nothing like Cleveland (or Portland, for that matter). In fact, a lot of the architecture reminds me of pictures I've seen of Haiti, Havana, and other Caribbean locales.

It's been a while since I've been to the deep south (I went to New Orleans when I was a child with my parents). I haven't seen that phenomenon called Spanish Moss outside of a photo in quite a long time, but it really gives any scene it's in a dreamy and otherworldly look.

We found a lot where we got permission (after dishing out $25) to park and walked around the downtown area. Asking some questions of natives about places to eat, we ended up in a very old section that had a row of shops and restaurants.

I suppose a lot of white people from elsewhere in the country might be put off by a restaurant run by blacks and with an almost all-black clientele, but when you're from Cleveland and Detroit, black people are about as common as white people, and in the downtown areas, tend to outnumber whites by a substantial margin. We looked at the menu taped to the front window, which seemed to be a combination of soul food and gumbos, and knew that this was where we would be eating.

The proprietress, a jolly middle-aged fat woman named Claudette, directed us to a table about halfway in (the dining area was about three or four times as deep as it was wide). She guided us through the menu and we ordered a family-style repast of ribs and gumbo with hush puppies and several types of greens as side dishes. We washed it down with beer provided by a nearby craft brewery (in fact, their own brewpub restaurant was just around the corner and halfway down that block).

The music they provided certainly lent to the atmosphere. It ranged from Zydeco and cajun (music which is very nearly identical with the former tending to be played by blacks and the latter tending to be played by white folks) to greasy New Orleans-style jazz. By the way, "Zydeco" is commonly said to be a corruption of the French "les haricots" (the beans). Etymologists aren't quite ready to accept this explanation, but typically have nothing much better to offer.

We had no room for dessert. After paying and thanking Claudette for the repast, we wandered back into the city, which by now had been plunged into darkness. After looking in shop windows for about an hour, we saw a bar that looked like a lively place and had some very modern live jazz wafting out its open doorway.

I looked at the girls as if to say, "What do you think?" Their expressions said they wanted to explore. So, we went inside and drank mixed drinks, being careful to pace ourselves, since we didn't want to get totally plowed. We were set upon by a number of good-looking young business men, both white and black. And I seem to remember at least one Asian fellow with a deep accent who was particularly interested in Kelsey, probably because she has that professional model look. That was funny because she was at least eight inches taller than him! However, due to the lack of communication (and Kelsey's palpable lack of interest in him), he wandered off.

We stayed there until 11 p.m. or so and then decided we'd better get back to the bus so we could hit the road at a decent time in the morning.

On the way back, while walking slowly, I heard Kelsey say, "Whoa. Look at that." Gina and I followed her gaze to see a female figure squatting in front of a tall male, sucking cock. We just stood there and watched. When he realized he was being watched, he pushed her onto her ass, packed his cock back into his pants, and quickly walked away from her and us.

We followed Kelsey into the alley and found the girl to be sobbing.

Kelsey squatted down next to her and asked what was wrong. Upon realizing she wasn't alone, she turned her head away in shame. After some words of reassurance that we weren't judging her but wanted to know if we could help. She turned to look at us and we could see her mouth and chin were sopping wet, presuming with a mix of saliva and precum. Gina got out a tissue and wiped her face clean.

"Come with us," I said. "Let's see what we can do."

So, as we walked to the bus, the story slowly came out. She was a 19 year old college freshman named Danielle, away from home for the first time. She grew up in Austin, and had gone to school in Georgia over the objections of her mother. Her father was dead. The prior day, she had received a call that her mother lay dying in an Austin hospital of a previously undiagnosed cancer and was asking for her. She needed to get home but had no money. She had been reduced to offering a man a blowjob in order to have money for a Greyhound ride, but while sucking him off, she could tell from the expression on his face that he had no intention of paying her, and might even have had worse in mind if we hadn't happened on the scene. In retrospect, she said she realized it was a very bad idea.

"Come spend the night with us," said Gina. "You'll be in Austin tomorrow afternoon." "You...you're kidding me," said the girl. "She isn't," I said, adding, "Her boyfriend owns an executive jet company." "But..." she started to say when Gina responded with, "Don't worry about the cost. It won't cost you anything."

We took her back to the bus and noticed that she was quite scruffy. I took her to the shower and had her strip. I stripped with her and we got in together. "Prepare to be babied," I said, rubbing a bar of soap all over her wet body. About my size and with a similar build, she was a lovely girl with strawberry blond hair, including her lovely pelvic patch.

She had obviously been greatly stressed and so as I cleansed her, I said "Relax. We'll take care of you." She put her arms around me and sobbed. "I should never have left. I should never have..." "Shush," I said, "we all have to leave the nest at some point. It's always hard for the parents. At this point, I sobbed with her, for in my mind I saw the sadness in my own folks' eyes as I left Ohio for Oregon.

After I dried her off, I gave her a pair of panties, a pair of socks, and a T-shirt (our standard attire once we knew we were in for the night). I saw Kelsey and Gina look at her lovely body, knowing that they found her as attractive as I did. Unfortunately, this was no evening for sex.

While we were in the shower, Gina had made arrangements for one of Ray's jets to fly Danielle to Austin. She gave Danielle the details and a check for $1000. Danielle looked at the check and could barely get a "Thank you" out before she burst into tears. We did a group hug and put There's Something About Mary on to raise everyone's spirits.

It was great for all of us when we finally heard Danielle laugh out loud.

Danielle slept in my bunk with me that night. She slept so quietly and peacefully I wouldn't have known she was there at all, except for her soft breathing, which was like a lullabye to me.

Gina woke us up in the morning and we got ready for the day while she drove us to the small local airport where one of Ray's jets was waiting.

We all gave her a hug and a kiss and wished her well, and she asked if we'd like to come and visit her in Austin. We said, we certainly would if we could.

After the plane took off, we grabbed some toast and coffee in the airport's snack bar and as we did so, I got online with my laptop and we planned the next leg of our trip.

SapphicErotica is amazing. It's astounding how frequently they send me gigantic infusions of new photo and video material. Starting with a very simple idea, they have become one of the powerhouses of porn, and have been slowly expanding out of that core area of girls in pairs or groups to solo girl material in InFocusGirls.com and the occasional boy-girl thing in OnlyCuties.com. Here is another big load of movies and stills for your enjoyment.

SapphicErotica Vids	InFocus Girls Vids	Only Cuties Vids
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SapphicErotica Photos	InFocus Girls Photos	Only Cuties Photos
Stunning teen trio strips and toys Alluring vixens strip and finger Stunning teens lick and fuck twats Captivating teens strip and fist Heavenly blondes undress and fuck Tantalizing honies lick pussies Passionate teens strip in studio Bewitching secretaries lick and toy Enticing teens strip and rub twats Alluring cuties strip and finger Delicate blondes undress and finger Poolside beauties strip and lick Gorgeous teens lick and deep dildo Exquisite teens lap and dildo twats Pigtailed teen trio uses strapon	Blonde hottie toys ass and pussy Breathtaking honey pleasures slit Hot brunette dildos ass and snatch Petite blonde teen nudes and dildos Delightful blonde strips and dildos Dazzling blond rubs tits and dildos Brunette cutie dildos twat in gym Beautiful brunette nudes and dildos Curvaceous blonde fucks vibrator See a sexy lady tease her tiny tits Exquisite hottie nudes and dildos Ravishing hottie strips and dildos Blonde secretary strips in office Cute teen fucks banana and cucumber Hot teen dildos twat and showers	Luscious teens dildo quims in bed Blazing teens nude and dildo slits Charming cutie nudes and rubs pussy Busty brunette strips and spreads Alluring teen dildos twat to orgasm Cute teen nudes and dildos pussy Long legged vixen spreads and toys Naughty brunette bangs dildo in bed Stunning sirens dildo each other Lustrous blonde strips and dildos Petite teen fellates and bangs cock Captivating teens lap tasty twats Sizzling honey strips and dildos Cute teen plunges vibe into twat Angelic cutie nudes and dildos slit

NOTE: New posts go at the top, as in most blogs, but that means that in a story like this, spread over several posts, you really need to find the first post in the series and read them in order. So, that's what I suggest you do here.

The next morning I was awakened by Gina, who had found me still asleep, had sat down next to me and was gently shaking my shoulder. "Wake up, sleepyhead," she said. Apparently, she'd gotten a full night's sleep. Checking the clock, I was a bit shy of five hours. I asked her to let me sleep some more, but she said that if I did, I'd miss the traditional English breakfast that Rickie had ordered for everyone.

Not wishing to disrespect our hostess for the weekend, I resigned myself to spending at least the first few hours of the day fending off a lot of yawning, dozing off, and overall drowsiness.

I was a bit hazy on what an English Breakfast was. I had been in London with my parents when I was young, staying in an urban bed and breakfast in the Kensington area. Still, I couldn't remember what we'd had for breakfast. When I arrived to the bar/dining area, everyone was at the table but me. As soon as I sat down, Harry called to Rickie and Tanya to bring it on. Suddenly, as plates were placed in front of us one by one, the full horror that is an English Breakfast came back to me.

The "English Full Breakfast" or "Full English Breakfast," as it is commonly called, consists of fried sausage (in this case bangers), fried ham, fried bacon, fried tomatoes, fried bread (yes, you read right), sauteed mushrooms, baked beans, and fried diced or chopped potatoes.

Of course, on any given day, you might not get the full breakfast, in which case you are just getting an "English Breakfast." The baked beans, fried tomatoes, or mushrooms in particular might be omitted. I'm sure normal toasted bread is often substituted for fried bread, not so much for health reasons but most likely because there isn't enough room for it on the griddle, what with bacon, sausage, ham, tomatoes, and mushrooms a-sizzling.

Obviously, the key ingredient here is pork fat. You can't have an English Breakfast without downing absolutely suicidal quantities of, essentially, lard. Now, I like any one of those meat items, in moderation, myself. However, to have sausage and ham and bacon is a bit much. And when you're also having fried eggs, fried bread, and fried tomatoes as well, three meats seems overdoing it just a bit. But I don't think you can seriously call it any kind of English Breakfast (Full or otherwise) without at least two of the three meat items.

No wonder the Brits have a reputation not only for having no actual cuisine, but for having, if anything, an anti-cuisine. By contrast, most American truck stop food (biscuits & gravy, chicken fried steak with eggs, a tall stack of pancakes with maple syrup and bacon, etc.) seems positively healthy.

So, now, on top of feeling like shit due to lack of sleep, I could look forward to a day of rather intense colonic cramping as well if I didn't handle this situation carefully. Instead of fried bread, we could have toast, one of the options being whole wheat toast, but not even that, I feared, would keep this otherwise fiberless mass moving along through my bowels if I ate anything like a whole plateful.

So, in self-defense, I ate as little as I could manage to and pulled the old "My tummy is so small, I can't eat another bite." Ben took pity on me and quietly accepted my offer of several slices of bacon and a sausage. In any other situation, I might feed any dog that's around, but Cathy wouldn't touch anything unless authorized by Rickie or Harry.

Somehow the subject turned from how "wonderful" the breakfast was to Guyanese politics, and I heard how Harry and other wealthy industrialists were trying to influence the next election. I said it all sounded rather Machiavellian, but Harry explained that while Guyana is a democracy in theory, it has an ignorant populace which is easily swayed by propaganda and superstition, and so those who don't want Guyana to turn into another Venezuela, Cuba, or Haiti need to jump into the process with both feet to influence elections in ways that would help the people.

"You have to realize," added Rickie, "that this is a country where women can be stoned to death or lynched under accusation of witchcraft. No, not in the formal courts, of course, but in the neighborhoods or out in the countryside. Guyana is a democracy, but it's not totally ready for democracy."

Harry explained, "One of the things we want and need to do, we of the responsible upper class, is to make sure public education is free and universally required, just as it is in the United States."

Rickie jumped in again. "But, yes, there are rich people who fear that if the people become educated, they'll lose their base of poor and ignorant labor. They even see public education as a socialist plot."

"Socialist?!" I exclaimed. "Yes," said Harry. "You Americans don't see it this way, but public education, public libraries, public parks and national forests, even municipal police and fire forces...these are all examples of socialism."

The subject then turned to an agenda for the day.

We knew we had to return to Ohio late in the day so as to be at work the next morning, so what to do in the meantime? Ben suggested that it'd be great for us to see a tepuis (mesa) because not only are the tepuis amazing, but we'd see a whole different climatological area, far different from the coastal and jungle land we'd seen so far.

Gina offered her jet, but Harry thanked her and said he could arrange for us to take helicopters out there which would allow us to land near one, which we all agreed would be better than merely looking out of the window of a jet, as comfortable as that might be.

He had two helicopters at one of his plants not too far away with pilots on standby, so it wasn't long before we were strapped into two helicopters flying low over jungle land.

These were military-style helicopters with open sides, not typical civilian craft with soundproofing and plush seats. I don't think I've ever had to endure as much noise for so long, even in the front rows of a rock concert (and I've left more than one of those, my ears ringing despite enduring almost the entire concert with toilet paper stuffed in my ears).

It took a good 3 hours of flying over first jungle and then plains to get to the tepuis and while in a sense it is the same thing as a mesa as you might see in the southwest part of the U.S., my impression was that this one was much, much taller than any of our mesas. It was so tall and so large that apparently it had its own climatological system, for there was enough precipitation up there to generate a small waterfall on one side.

We wanted to land on top, but the pilot showed us that the terrain on top was too uneven to safely land the helicopter, so we ended up spending about an hour admiring this geological wonder from flat grassland below it.

It's impossible to impart in writing how huge the tepuis was. We were lucky, our pilot told us, because much of the time its summit is shrouded in clouds. This day, the sky was azure blue and what clouds there were, were high enough not to interfere with the view.

Tanya and Rickie had brought along a nice picnic lunch of sandwiches, fruit, and iced tea. Marianne used the time to tell us about the ecology of the area and some of the rare plants and animals that inhabited this still very wild part of the world, shared by Guyana, Venezuela, and Brazil.

Actually, when we exited the plane, Cathy seemed to be the one happiest to be out of the helicopter. Given her keen hearing, the noisy ride must have been almost unbearable. After eating her lunch of raw ground meat, Cathy tugged on a shoulder strap of Jenn's sunsuit as if to say, "This is boring. Let's explore." Cathy and Jenn, wandered off. Rickie trusted Cathy to guard Jenn and bring her back when called.

Rickie stood up to stretch and turning to me she held out her hand. "Come, let's take a little stroll." I looked around and no one else looked like they were about to get up.

A walk alone with Rickie didn't sound like a bad idea at all, and it seemed everyone else understood they weren't invited. This day, she looked like a more slender version of Marilyn Monroe. She had tied a folded bandana in her hair to keep it from flying around in the helicopter, but she was wearing a summer dress with bare shoulders and a checkered print pattern.

We came to a place where the flatland curved downward to a little lake fringed with small trees and patches of green grass interspersed with flat rocks.

We walked down and sat side-by-side on a shaded rock, at first just appreciating the surroundings. After a few minutes, she put her hand on mine and looked at me. When I looked back, it was easy to read permission in her eyes, and so I kissed her, and as I did so, she slowly reclined and relaxed.

I laid half on her, kissing her deeply and letting my hands roam down to her thighs, where I grabbed her dress and pulled it up above her well-trimmed blond bush. This allowed me to find her clit and tease it with my "fuck you" finger while we kissed. She particularly seemed to enjoy having it scratched and scraped by my fingernail.

She reached up under my loose cotton and was driving me to distraction by rolling one of my nipples between her thumb and forefinger. As if that wasn't enough, I looked into her face and just drank in her beauty, which was such that I couldn't even imagine how radiant she must have been when she was 18 or 20.

Slowly I crept down to her well trimmed bush, which was just as blonde as her hair. I rubbed my cheek against it for a while and drank in the beautiful and delicious smell of her body, feeling my head rise and fall gently with her every breath.

That's where my mind was when I heard her say, "Turn around." Since she had caught me off-guard, I said "Huh?" but then as my mind cleared, I became less stupid and realized she wanted to 69. That was just fine with me.

As we assumed the position, she clearly also wanted to be on top, and that, too was great as far as I was concerned.

As I began licking her pussy and sucking on her clit, I felt her tongue licking my inner thigh skin. Not flat-on, but making designs on the skin with the pointed tip of her tongue. I took it as a signal that said, "Take it easy. Let's enjoy each other for a while."

So, for a while I stopped the licking and sucking and followed her lead and kissed and gently licked her thigh, drinking in the mildly salty taste, for it was a warm day, and humid as well, and so both of us were a bit damp with sweat.

Finally, she homed in on my goodies and was teasing my labia and clit with the tip of her tongue. Instead of doing it dead center, she would do it from one side or the other, letting her hair and cheek brush against my thigh, and I'm sure the pleasure sounds I was making encouraged her to do it more.

As for me, I was enjoying the way her hips moved, grinding away as if to some imaginary cock. As I licked, I parted her cheeks and worked my middle finger into her asshole. Not really all that far in, just up to the first knuckle, but clearly she enjoyed this.

The intensity grew and grew until we were going at it furiously and I almost fucking came when she pissed into my mouth a bit, as if to find out how I'd react. Well, I redoubled my efforts, so she knew it was okay, and so for a couple minutes I was about as hot as I'd ever been with her mouth on my clit, her clit against my tongue, and the peculiarly salty taste of her piss intermittently in my mouth.

I do good work, and managed get her off before I got mine. As can happen in high country, the weather was changing. It had gone from sunny to cloudy and the air was cooling off, though it was still far from cold.

We lay there collecting ourselves for a few moments, and then she went to work on me. When she saw how wet I was, started seeing how many fingers she could get into my pussy, fucking me with two and then three, and then four.

Soon, her hand made into a point with fingertips bunched together into a kind of point, she got her entire hand in and was fisting me good and hard. I worked my hips to her rhythm and gradually felt more and more filled. In fact, I'd never felt my pussy so full before. I looked down and saw that she was in me about three inches above the wrist.

I signaled to her I was changing position, and she went along with me as I got into the extremest of doggy positions, with my tits and cheek on the ground and my bare as straight up. She got back to pumping me furiously, and as she did so I reached back stuck a finger into my asshole, but she pushed my hand away and started tonguing my asshole, sticking her tongue in and licking around the rim as she pumped me harder and harder and harder.

I came and she pulled her hand out, letting me squirt. And it was a massive and lengthy squirt, too, because she said "Wow...that was about the best squirt I've ever seen."

Looking at me with a smile, she said, "Well, I got that off my mind. I wanted to fuck you the minute I saw you." "Me, too," I admitted. I wanted to just lay there and take in her beauty for a while, but she said, "The weather's going to Hell in a handbasket, Jill, and if we don't get back to the helicopters soon, they'll be sending out a search party."

We recomposed ourselves as best we could, which meant we still looked pretty well disheveled and trotted back to the aircraft. Everyone else was in the helicopters, except for little Jenn and Cathy, who were running around, mostly with Jenn chasing after Cathy who trotted about two feet ahead of her, stopping intermittently to let Jenn catch up.

Once we saw the helicopters, we went from a trot to a walk and I was momentarily sad seeing Jenn and Cathy and suddenly realizing that sometime, probably in her teens, Jenn would lose her best friend. Dogs seldom live to see their twentieth birthday and, generally, the bigger the dog, the shorter their lifespan. For her, it would be like the death of a sister.

We hopped into our respective helicopters. I was sitting between Gina and Kelsey. Marianne sat opposite us. I went to tell Gina that Rickie and I had found a nice little lake, but hardly had I opened my mouth when Gina said, loud enough for all to hear, "pussy breath." She and Kelsey burst into gales of laughter, but Marianne just smiled.

On that return flight, Kelsey decided it was just too much to try to get back in the evening, so she made an executive decision to fly back early the next morning. That was fine with Gina and me.

When we returned to Tanya's inn, Kelsey called the company and left messages with several people so no one would worry or send out a search party. Meanwhile, Tanya and her cook put together a feast of grilled seafood served with saffron-laced jasmine rice and several Caribbean salsas based on a variety of tropical fruits as well as tomatoes. My favorite was a fruit salsa that also had raw white corn in it, sliced fresh off the cob.

And of course, drinks were on the house, with rum drinks being the order of the day. Truly, you haven't had piña colada until you've had it somewhere where coconuts and pineapples grow naturally.

It got dark early, as it does in the tropics, so soon the dining/dancing area was bathed in a combination of candle light, lamp light, and dim electric bulbs, but mostly candles.

Jenn, who had fallen asleep at the table, was gently carried off to bed with Cathy following behind.

After Rickie returned, we took turns at the jukebox, which had some pretty amazing music on not, unlike the typical jukebox back home which frequently has the most banal of pop tunes on it.

Tanya and Marianne, both accomplished dancers, taught us how to mambo, and amazingly Harry turned out to be lighter on his feet than the more athletic and dashing-looking Ben, though even Ben got into it and tried hard, eventually getting the hang of it. The music was by artists like Cal Tjader, Xavier Cugat, Tito Puente, and Pérez Prado.

Soon all the gals were topless and tits were bouncing all over the place. Well, those of us with enough tit to bounce. That kind of left me with my A cup boobs and Gina with her training bra size boobs out, but I didn't get the feeling anyone really cared.

The music eventually slowed down and we paired off to do some skin-on-skin slow sliding to plaintive melodies and torch songs sung by Peggy Lee, Julie London, and Sarah Vaughan, among others.

Ben and Marianne started necking as they danced, and soon wandered off into a dark corner where she sat straddling his lap as she kissed him. Rickie and Harry were dancing with his hands all over her ass, so I could see where that was going. As for Gina and Kelsey, seemed to have been working on Kelsey's nipples a little while, because they were as fully erect as I'd ever seen them. Despite their size difference, they'd fucked each other a few times. It looked like that's where things were headed.

That left Tanya and me as the only two who were still really dancing.

I whispered in her ear, "I seem to remember I owe you something." She looked into my eyes with feigned sternness as she said, "Well, everyone should pay their debts, shouldn't they?" "Yes," I replied. She gestured toward the door and said, "Let's take a walk."

We left and walked a short distance. She excused herself to stop in a small shed in which I could barely see a lawnmower and some gardening tools. She grabbed a small sack off a shelf and returned. We headed off toward the beach.

Maybe a couple hundred yards along the beach, she stopped and said, "Let's sit." So we sat. It was a gorgeous night with a light breeze, temperature in the mid-70's.

I waited for her to start something, and when she was quiet for a while and not initiating anything, I guessed it was my turn to play aggressor, so I said "Tanya" and when she turned, I planted a big wet one on her lips, and her mouth opened. Soon we where all laying in the sand playing, legs and arms all entangled, kissing and groping hungrily. Somewhere along the way, we had lost what little remained of our clothing.

Then she said, "Tie me up." I'm sure I looked puzzled. She said pointedly, "Look in the sack." I pulled the sack to me and opened it. In the meantime, she had adopted a contortionistic position with her feet behind her head and her arms bent behind the crooks of her knees with her hands grasping her ankles.

The sack held several lengths of rope about 3 or 4 feet long each.

I knew enough about Tanya to know that she wouldn't want anything sissified. She'd want to be pretty seriously restrained, so I tied her wrists to her ankles and her elbows to her knees. With the first rope she asked me to tie it tighter, and I did. I tied the others just as tight.

I kissed her a bit more and asked her what else she might like. "Smack me around a bit," she said. Now, hitting people doesn't come naturally to me, but I've been known to give Gina a nice solid smack on the ass. I'm afraid my first couple slaps on her ass weren't very hard. They certainly weren't what Tanya was hoping for.

"You bitch," she said. "You tie me up and then you diddle around with me? Fucking really hit me!" That was a challenge. So...I hit her quite hard. Even then, she said, "Good, but harder!" I hit her so hard the next time that my hand stung and I shook it.

At last, she smiled.

That was my cue. I finger-fucked her with three fingers, because she was so prepped and so excited and so ready that I might have not touched anything had I done it with just one finger. And as I did so, I sucked on one of her nipples, testing to see how hard she would let me bite it. I kept biting harder and harder, but it just made her more excited. I reached a point where, psychologically, I could bite no harder, but she urged me on.

Her pussy was getting so wet. I pulled my fingers out and tasted them. They tasted good, and I wanted more, so of course I went down on her bigtime, not just licking and sticking my tongue into her vagina as deeply as I could, but rubbing my cheeks against her pussy as well, to get her scent all over my face.

Working two of my fingers into her ass while I worked on her pussy, I eventually got them in as far as I could and judging by the sounds she made, she liked it. In fact, she really liked it, so I actually paid more attention to her asshole than her pussy for a while.

Then I had an inspiration. I stopped what I was doing and stood over her. She guessed what I was about to do and laughed. And so I pissed on her chest, to see how she'd react. She laughed and opened her mouth wide, as if to say, "Piss in here!" and so did my best to hit her mouth, but it was hard to aim from that position, so I dropped low with my pussy right over her mouth and let piss drizzle in.

This excited her no end, and was even enough to drive her over the edge because she looked like she was having an orgasm and sure enough, she squirted. A nice squirt. Not as impressive as my best, but a very good one, nonetheless. I've seen porn where chicks ejaculate when being fucked in the ass or when they get a load in the mouth, but this was a new one on me.

I untied her, we hugged for a while and then just laid there in the sand looking up at the stars. A thought struck me: that back in Ohio we'd be dead in a half hour or less if we were laying on a beach next to Lake Erie. I laughed and told her what I was thinking. She laughed, too.

We got up, put our clothing back on, and slowly walked back to the Inn. By then, everyone else had gone to bed.

We got up just after sunup the next morning and all had a light breakfast. One English Breakfast was enough for all of us, including Rickie. Tanya made a late entrance as we were finishing up our food. After all, she wasn't leaving with us and could get back to her normal schedule. We all gave her a hug and thanked her for her generous hospitality. I took one last look at that incredible body of hers and blew her a kiss. She replied with a smile and a wink.

After driving back to Harry and Rickie's place, we packed up and gave our hosts kisses and hugs. We gave little Jenn a few small gifts we'd bought while in Georgetown along with a package of huge dog biscuits for Cathy. Jenn laid one down in front of her, and of course she waited for permission before destroying it in several monumental chops. We waved good-bye after hopping into the flatbed and soon Ben and Marianne had us on our way to the airport. Marianne promised to come and visit us sometime. I look forward to that.

We were on the plane in a flash and dozed a good deal of the way, having all stayed up way into the night and gotten just a few hours of sleep. The last couple hours we played Poker and told bad jokes. Gina, who seems to have all the luck when it comes to cards, swept to yet another inexplicable victory, costing both Kelsey and me $25 each. Ouch!

We arrived back in Cleveland with just enough time to stop by the office. Kelsey quickly determined that, while work had naturally been piling up on her desk, the office, which she'd shaped up during her tenure, had once again proven capable of carrying on in her absence. She found one or two complaints by clients that might have been settled a day sooner if we hadn't gone to Guyana, but otherwise all was back to normal.

I sat there chit-chatting with her as she opened her mail. At 5, I turned on the news. (She has a small TV in her office for the days when she stays late.) More roadside bombs in Iraq. Another politician disgraced. Food recalls. Companies going under. So...what else is new?

I vaguely heard her call me. "Jill...Jill!"

"Hmmm?" I turned to see her with the biggest Cheshire cat grin on her face. "What is it?"

She was holding a letter half out of an envelope. I could see the reply area of the envelope. It was one of our own.

"It's from the corporate. They're opening a new office. They're offering to let me set it up and run it." She laughed. "Guess where?"

"Where?"

"No...guess!"

I tried a couple cities in areas where I knew we needed more presence, hoping against hope it wasn't one of them. Topeka? Baton Rouge? Bangor? Finally, her knowing look told me it was an answer that would make me happy.

"Portland?"

When her face went from an "I know something you don't know" smile to a full on grin, I knew it was true. She had talked to the main office about wanting to move up and take on more responsibilities. She had also mentioned that we (the company) needed more depth on the West Coast. We served many of those clients from an office in Wisconsin. Our competition served them from San Francisco and Seattle and, quite frankly, served them better due to their proximity.

I'm afraid I jumped around her office like a little girl while she laughed. Then I stopped and looked at her expectantly. She obviously had more to tell me and I was hoping it was what I wanted to hear.

"And yes, as I requested, I'll be taking you with me."

I was totally giddy and told her I was so happy for her and extra happy that I'd be going with her. But, of course, while she wanted to move up in the company, she had probably suggested Portland as a good place to open up an office, because it was well situated and offered relatively low living costs compared to Seattle, San Francisco, or Los Angeles (and, boy, I did not want to move to Los Angeles).

I bought Kelsey dinner at Carrabba's to celebrate and thank her, because I knew she had pushed for Portland because we both like it so much, especially me. I decided to stop by mom and dad's on the way home to tell them the good news. However, as I picked my way up the driveway slowly to avoid slipping on ice in the dark, it hit me that this would not be such good news for them. They enjoyed having their darling daughter around. Suddenly I was sad.

I knocked on the door and mom opened it. Before I could say a thing, she pulled me in and said, "Where have you been? We have such great news!" "I was away with Gina and Kelsey. What's up?"

"Your dad and I...we're getting married." I'm sure I looked puzzled. I wanted to say, "That's funny. I thought you were married!" She saw my puzzlement: "We're renewing out vows, silly."

I hugged her and dad in a little group hug and told them how happy I was for them. And I was.

They thought I was crying for them as I held them in my arms. And I was...half. But it was the wrong time to tell them I'd be leaving them for Oregon, that was the other half. They knew it would come someday, but the timing sure could have been better.

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Lovely Masha Naked In The Snow

WildInnocence is a new quality nude site featuring classy nudes of stunning models. Masha is so lovely, it breaks my heart just to look at her. She's like a dream, and there she is walking around in the snow not even looking the least bit cold. Maybe it's 'cause she's smokin' hot but isn't acting like she knows it. She's having fun parading her body around in the snow. Every shape on this girl's body is just as perfect as can be. She has a great face, perfect breasts, and while there are no butt shots here, you can just tell from the side view that her ass is the classic "two soccer balls mushed together"...a small bubble butt. Click on the small photos below to be taken to a gallery page where you can see these much larger along with a few other ones as well.

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Sunday, June 10, 2007
Rough Jungle Sex
A Weekend In Guyana, Pt. II

NOTE: New posts go at the top, as in most blogs, but that means that in a story like this, spread over several posts, you really need to find the first post in the series and read them in order. So, that's what I suggest you do here.

Gina, who was getting out of bed to pee, woke me up. While she was pissing, I brushed my teeth, and soon Kelsey walked in with a toothbrush as well. She patted my bottom and I kissed her on the cheek, leaving a little tuft of soapy spit behind, which I wiped off.

I walked back to the bedroom and looked outside. Yes, it had rained last night. I hadn't dreamed that. The white wedding dream was reverberating in my head, but I'm not one to place too much weight on dreams.

After making ourselves look decent and putting on more summer clothes (I had to remind myself it was likely blizzarding back in Northern Ohio), we wandered out to the main part of the house, wondering what a Guyanese breakfast might be like.

Little Jenn was playing a ball game with Cathy, who no doubt head learned that the pack leaders would have no wild and crazy ball chasing games in the house. Jenn had been well-trained, too, so that the game they played consisted of Jenn rolling the ball toward Cathy, who would use her nose to nudge it back toward her. Frankly, it looked to me like Cathy had better aim than Jenn.

Hector had us wait there in the large foyer while he fetched Rickie, who appeared with a smiling Harry. She explained that we'd be spending the day in Georgetown, starting with breakfast. Jim brought in a tray with coffee, cream, and some cookies, just to make sure no one died of starvation before breakfast.

Harry remarked as he poured for each of us that he counted as his greatest accomplishment weaning Erika from tea to the more grown-up beverage favored in mainland Europe and the Americas. He said he blended beans from Mexico, Costa Rica, and Brazil to make the delicious brew he was serving us, and said that the coffee he found in Starbuck's and most other North American coffee shops tasted like crap to him. I had to agree, having stopped buying my coffee from Starbuck's for the most part for over-roasting their beans.

Soon we had piled into the back of the same flatbed-with-pews truck that had brought us to the house and were on our way toward Georgetown, about an hour away. Ben and Marianne were up in the cab, Rickie and Harry were in the one pew that faced backward. This made it easy to chat with them. Gina and Kelsey and I sat in the foremost forward-facing pew and Jenn, Cathy laying at her side, were behind us.

The subject turned to Guyana itself, for it was a country we, like most Americans, knew very little about. Rickie reminded us that unfortunately the last time Guyana was in the spotlight was when Rev. Jim Jones and 900 of his followers committed mass suicide at his jungle compound, which he rather humbly called Jonestown. Thus, the mass suicide is known as "They Jonestown Massacre," which is something of a misnomer. It'd be a true "massacre" if someone from outside came in and killed them, but there's every indication that they drank so-called "electric Kool-Aid" laced with cyanide and sedatives.

It's sad enough to have to remind yourself that a country even exists, and then if you realize that if you remember it for anything at all, it's for 900 people deciding to opt out of life rather than live it without an insane preacher.

Harry had had enough of the Jonestown massacre talk, so he turned the topic to his country and its natural resources. Guyana exports are sugar and molasses, gold and bauxite (aluminum ore), rice, and shrimp. He said it was a mystery to him why Guyana wasn't a producer of coffee, and stated he had people working on locating the best places to start experimental production to find out which areas would work best, have the least negative impact on the environment, and which beans would produce the highest quality yield, and so on. He had no intention of fostering a quantity-oriented coffee trade like that predominating in Brazil. His plantations, if they were to exist at all, would be both bird friendly and fair trade oriented, with workers paid a wage that would give them what would be regarded as a middle class income in Guyana, and would allow them enough resources to make sure their children received a basic education and the opportunity to aim for higher education.

He explained that most of Guyana's industries had to survive in a commodity marketplace ruled by supply and demand, which pitted one poor worker against another. This is why he emphasized the exporting of handicrafts and planned on growing a kind of coffee that people would buy for reasons other than low price.

Guyana, we learned, while often said to have been founded by freed slaves, actually had a very complicated history involving many ethnicities. Today, despite the role of former slaves in founding it, and despite being at one time named British Guyana, the leading ethnic group today, at around 50% of the population, is East Indians, followed by Africans, followed by Native Americans, followed by a mix of many different ethnicities.

Politically, even though it's a democracy, like any democracy in a poor and poorly-educated country, it was manipulated by oligarchs who could use their great wealth to influence elections. They also used their power and influence to exempt themselves from the law and bully the press into toning down or even suppressing their misbehavior, abuses, and excesses. We were told of an instance where an industrialist's daughter had run down and killed a young mother and her 3 month old baby. She should have been put in prison, but instead the case was thrown out due to legal mistakes and irregularities Harry was sure had been committed intentionally by policemen paid under the table. He didn't even really blame the cops, since they risked anything from having their careers put on hold to simply disappearing in the middle of the night if they didn't cooperate.

Harry, the son of rattan craftsman father and an extremely intelligent and well-read mother, was an exception in terms of being a well-read and reasonably well-educated peasant. He had since gotten a college education, which, combined with his street wisdom, had served him well. Yet, the Guyanese population in general was ignorant and superstitious. Rickie recounted several instances of women being lynched as witches. The irony of dark-skinned people lynching other dark-skinned peoples wasn't lost on any of us.

Soon, we arrived in Georgetown, and it's a bit of a shock to be in a country's capital city and find nothing even vaguely resembling a skyscraper. Mexico, poor as it is, has one of the great cities in the world in Mexico City, complete with traffic congestion and many a skyscraper of 30+ floors. In Georgetown, it seemed, six stories was about as tall as it gets.

We ended up at one of the better hotel restaurants, in a building which looked much like one of those old Howard Johnson hotels, only shorter and smaller. At any rate, its restaurant was certainly several notches better than any Howard Johnson, though the food was distinctly keyed to North American and European tastes, what with eggs and ham, jelly or honey, and toast. When I commented that this breakfast was almost the same as a breakfast I might get in a hotel restaurant in Cleveland, NYC, or Los Angeles, Rickie assured us that, with its many ethnicities, Georgetown had more than a few fine ethnic eateries, and that we could plan on some great food for lunch and dinner.

So, off we went to explore Georgetown. We visited several little museums. And I do mean "little" in its literal sense and not the sense one often uses it, to mean "cute." Most of them didn't look very prosperous and frequently had ill-kept grounds

Ben and Marianne were with us, and so Rickie and Harry weren't 100% stuck with tour guide duties. They insights and facts that even Harry and Rickie didn't know. For example, there was hardly a tree, bush, flower, or even fungus that one or the other of them didn't know or at least couldn't make an educated guess at. Marianne, in particular, seemed to know every bird.

Cute little Jenn attracted a lot of attention as we walked along, and with Cathy as her constant companion and guardian, there was little to fear in terms of kidnapping or assault, for Cathy, like most dogs do, seemed to have a second sense as to people's intentions. From time to time, other children would come running up to Cathy yelling "big doggie," all to the horror of their parents, of course, who could see that if this was no friendly dog, it could kill a small being like a child almost instantly, forget about severe injury. There'd be no injury, just death. But Cathy never showed any sign of irritation at the patting and pinching she endured at the hands of children.

I was reminded that after every pitbull incident in Ohio—and we have a few—some responsible pitbull owner will say "Don't blame the breed, blame the owners." This placid and controlled dog shows the truth of that, but I also wonder if the pitbull owners ever stop to think that their trite little statement carries with it no solution to the problem of pitbull attacks, but is rather something one says after some horror has happened. They hint at a solution I bet they don't want, either: the licensing and bonding of the owners of particularly dangerous breeds with perhaps enhanced penalties, including prison time, for those whose dogs attack.

I mentioned earlier that while Guyana was pretty much founded by freed or escaped African slaves, it's largest ethnic community was actually East Indian, and thus Georgetown has many and varied Indian eateries. We had lunch at one of the very best. It had a menu that was replete with both vegetarian and meat dishes. We let Harry, the native, order, and soon we were eating. The meal started off with various hot pickled veggies, samosas, raita dips, and naan (flatbread), all served with Kingfisher and Taj Mahal Indian beer. The main course consisted of lamb vindaloo, pork masala, and tandoori chicken. I must say, I thought I'd developed a tolerance for hot food in Cleveland's Indian and Thai restaurants, but eating these curries was a real test.

Rickie and Kelsey ate the curries like they were oatmeal, both having lived in London for a while, with its huge Indian population and innumerable Indian restaurants. Harry, too, seemed immune to the intense spiciness, but then again, he had grown up eating Indian food. Ben and Marianne were, like me, a bit taken aback by the hotness of the foods. We were promised something a bit less trying for dinner.

And Rickie made sure Jenn got some mild curry. She was far too young to try the hot curries.

One memory I'll always have of this meal is that when a bit of curry was spilled onto the floor, Cathy got up, walked over to it, sniffed once, jumped back a bit as if to say "WTF is this shit?!!!" and then went and laid down near Jenn again.

After lunch, the sky was clear and there was a bit of a breeze, so Harry decided we should go sailing, and I love to sail, so that was fine by me, as it was with the rest. We drove down the coast a bit to a small cove where there was a restaurant, inn, and bar with a dock. Several sailboats were tied up there and there was a long, white strand. The inn was one of these places that was built in stages by people with varying ideas about architecture, and whose needs varied at each stage along the way. Here are some pictures of the beach and the back of the inn with the balcony to Tanya's suite on the second floor.

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We all went into the bar, where there were 6 or 8 people, a couple at the bar and the rest at tables. Behind the bar was a white woman and a black man. They both recognized Harry and Rickie and shouted a greeting.

The woman, was named Tanya, and she was slim but muscular along the lines of Linda Hamilton in Terminator II. I'm guessing she was around 30, about the same age as Kelsey. She came out from behind the bar and gave Rickie and Harry consecutive hugs, and then she shook Jenn's hand as Jenn curtsied. She patted Cathy on the head and Cathy licked her hand and wrist. Introductions were made and Harry introduced the idea of going sailing, wondering if there was a boat to be borrowed. Tanya counter-offered to take us out on her rig, which it turned out was a 2-masted yacht about 30 feet long.

All of my sailing experience has been on Lake Erie, which is so large that it's almost like sailing on the ocean and on a windy day can actually get quite choppy and rough. However, the smell of ocean air is different, even though salt really has no smell. I guess salt water just fosters forms of life that smell different.

Tanya and Harry went out to get the boat ready. The rest of us were served cold drinks by Joe the barman. Rickie told us that Tanya had led a very unusual life. Her father had been one of the military's top trainers of covert ops trainees. Covert ops basically means secret operations, where some tactical objective needs to be obtained while the government needs to maintain plausible deniability. They go in without insignia or official uniform and grab something or someone, destroy something, kill someone, or whatever is needed, generally under cover of night, trying to get out before anyone even realizes what happened.

As unusual as that was, even more unusual was the fact that he had taught his daughter all of his skills, and after his death became herself a very specialized assassin. When she got drunk, Rickie said, she would sometimes talk about her father and even some of the missions she'd been on, though she never named the names of specific people or places.

I found this very exciting. One normally thinks of men in such roles, but here was a beautiful woman who was capable of and experienced in the snuffing out of human lives! I suppose a lot of women might find the thought disgusting, but one only has to look around to see that while women ostensibly abhor violence, unconsciously they are attracted to it. It's probably hardwired in us from caveman days when it was beneficial to be allied with the toughest SOB in the woods. I once heard a guy lament, "Show me a mentally, verbally, and physically abusive pathological liar and sociopath, and I'll show you a guy who has a date on Saturday night." Apparently, he was a nice guy and had been finding that being nice wasn't the social attractant he thought it should be.

Tanya and Harry, it turns out, were both pretty expert at sailing and took turns for the next five hours or so as we cruised further on down the coast, stopping occasionally to do some skinny dipping in the various little coves and inlets that presented themselves.

I was further thrilled to see Tanya naked. Her body was hard on the verge of being masculine, and yet her grace was that of a female not a male. Her breasts were small but firm with little nickel-sized nipples. She was tanned from head to toe and had a really nice triangular pubic patch. She also had a number of randomly-placed scars that were almost certainly not surgery scars. They were from injuries of various sorts. But gosh, between her, Rickie, Kelsey, and Marianne, I had so much gorgeous womanhood around me I could hardly stand it.

Of course, Harry and Ben were naked, and while Ben was easily the most outwardly attractive, Harry was the Fun Guy and if push ever came to shove, I'm sure he could have throttled Ben, for Harry was a big man whose biceps were nearly as far around as Ben's waist.

I was glad for the swimming because those curries had decided to make a run for the back door, and I'm telling you, they hurt coming out in the boat's head about as much as they hurt going in. Swimming was a good way of cleaning myself off.

After Tanya's invitation, it was decided that we'd be dining in her restaurant and spending the night in her little hotel. I was quite happy about this.

We got back to her place about 7 p.m. and were assigned rooms. Rickie, Harry, and Jenn in one; Ben and Marianne in another; and Kelsey, Gina, and me in another. We were told to meet back in the dining room at 7:30 for dinner.

The menu was quite heavy on seafood, as you might imagine. I had a grilled fish of some sort. I think it was some sort of shark. It was served fresh off the grill with a cold sauce that resembled a Mexican salsa, but mildly spiced with Caribbean peppers, not Mexican peppers. Tanya even came up with a small hamburger with a side of fruit for Jenn (fries would have been too heavy on carbs, I suppose).

For her part, Cathy got a huge steak that was too old to serve to people, but for a dog was an unparalleled treat. She is so well-trained, however, that despite having the steak put in front of her, she ignored it until Harry gave her permission to eat. But then she pounced on it with relish, gobbling the whole thing down in less than a minute. She had been trained this way so that no one could get past her by tempting her with treats.

About 9 in the evening, Jenn was put to bed. Cathy, I'm sure, was on the floor beside her, ready to sound the alarm or defend her from all comers.

And so the activities turned to consuming alcohol and spinning yarns. At first, the tales were related to Kelsey and Rickie's experiences in the fashion industry. Then, Harry had a few yarns. Ben and Marianne related some of the many stories any college student has. Finally, the subject turned to music and of course my father's many tales of his life as a working musician were told. Gina, who is practically a second daughter to my parents, told many of the stories, and I told the rest. But then I just got to talking about my parents, and my dad in particular, because he's been such a big influence and inspiration to me.

This is when Tanya, whose demeanor turned to one of sadness, started talking about her own father.

"My father was a military man. A man who was born to be a soldier, who lived and breathed military life. One of those guys who would take on a suicide mission if that's what his commanders and his country needed.

"He had been raised in rural Washington State by a man who was a consummate woodsman and hunter. For several years, they had actually moved to Alaska and lived off the land in a cabin with no electricity, no running water, and no real bathroom facilities other than an old-fashioned outhouse, so that if you wanted to take a piss or a dump, you might have to walk 40 or 50 feet in -30F weather.

"Grandpa was a knifemaker and collector. He traded knives with some of the top knifemakers in the U.S. and Japan, and had assembled quite a collection of knives that would have cost hundreds of thousands of dollars to buy.

"Despite the fact that they were living in the wilds, grandpa was an ex-Marine and had brought along a bunch of books knives, knifemaking techniques, hand-to-hand knife fighting techniques, general hand-to-hand combat, and a number of related texts. My father had a lot of time on his hands and read each one over and over.

"During years, dad became an expert on knives and knife fighting. Not only that, he had become a knifemaker of note himself, and was also able to trade his handmade knives with famous knifemakers. Even today, he is known as a minor master, though when he and his father returned to the mainland and he decided to follow in his father's footsteps by joining the marines, he largely stopped making knives.

"Soon after joining the Marines himself, his skills with knives gained the attention of his superiors. He became an instructor and advanced in the ranks, becoming a top instructor in the art of knife skills and hand-to-hand combat with knives.

"He was sent to Japan to learn the fighting arts of the Samurai and Ninja. From there, he was invited to study fighting arts with groups in Japan, Korea, and Taiwan so secret that they have no commonly-used names, though they are known in the inner circles of many nations' special operations groups. I do know that he studied with Philippine and Brazilian masters and swapped tactical techniques with top Russian Spetznaz and Israeli Krav Maga instructors. He was probably in the top 50 or even 20 guys you wouldn't want to fuck with in a bar fight.

"It was in this life that he met my mom, an undercover CIA operative. She would go to various countries to back up field agents by evaluating specific streams of intelligence. So, she'd go to an embassy posing as an office worker or courier, but in fact she'd sit down at a computer or to decide what was interesting and what was not. What was gold and what was shit. She wasn't a soldier, but her head was full of valuable information. The kind of information our enemies at the time would have killed for.

"When I was five, she simply didn't return from a mission to Northern Africa. She simply disappeared on the way to the airport. Her body has never been found. Whether she was killed outright or was tortured for intel in a prison is simply unknown. And her work was on a "need to know" basis. Not even his position made him privy to the details of her mission and what might be known of how it ended. This made dad a single parent, and to his credit he jumped into the role of single parent with both feet. Never a day went by that I didn't feel loved and cared for and protected.

"Years went by and one day I asked him what he did for a living. Just as his father did with him, he proceeded to teach me everything he knew. He showed so much interest in me that I soon forgot all about dresses, dolls, and make-believe tea parties. He started out with simple things. He showed me knives. He told me how to care for them. He showed me how to make them, and I've made more than a few. But I really wanted to learn how to fight. He tried to draw the line there. He had lost his wife, not to mention some friends, in that world. He didn't want to lose me as well.

"But I was nearly raped the night of my prom, and so he changed his mind. He gave me a knife to carry with me wherever I went. Beyond that, he taught me the lore of knife fighting, such as 'The Second Rule of Knife Fighting is this The time to use a knife is before the other person knows you have it.' He told me last thing you want is to end up in a knife fight. So...never brandish your knife or threaten someone with it. Use it to effect and go.

"He told me that 'The First Rule of Knife Fighting is not to get into a knife fight." He taught me to take an inventory of my opponent and...if I feel I can run faster than him, to run like the wind. As he explained it, the person who wins the knife fight itself may actually be the one who ultimately dies. But if you can't avoid a knife fight, you want to win.

"And so we would practice knife fighting. For a good year and a half, wherein I would practice fighting a good three or four times a week, he would win every fight by parrying a thrust of mine and poking me somewhere with his fake knife. There were other areas in life where he'd let me win just to encourage me. For example, we'd chase each other and he'd let me tag him because he wanted me to experience success. But with combat, he wanted me to lose until I had an honest win, and for obvious reasons: unlike a game of tag, if you lose a knife fight, you're probably going to die.

"The day came when I parried one of his thrusts and he found my knife at his thigh. A well-placed cut in the thigh is almost as sure a killer as a slit neck, for a severed femoral artery can dump most of the body's blood in less than a minute, and if the a fighter tries to stanch the flow, he can easily be finished off if his opponent so wishes, though the smart thing to do is to take that opportunity to get outta there: the guy's probably going to die quickly anyway.

Maybe because of native talent and maybe because of all of the training I was getting, he told me I was his best student. This is certainly not an area where he would have flattered me.

"He protested when I decided to join the military, but he knew there was no way to stop me. I joined the Marines, but given my skills and physical appearance, I soon entered the world of covert ops, typically tasked with infiltration and assassination.

"I am prevented by law from ever discussing classified operational assignments, but you can be sure I was involved in a number of assignments directly or indirectly related to political events in Africa, Asia, and Latin America in the late mid-1900's.

"Then, something unthinkable happened just as I was returning from an assignment in Asia. I was told that dad had committed suicide. I demanded more information and discovered little more than that he had shot himself in the head out in the woods behind our home deep in Washington Cascades. After more inquiries, I was shown a suicide note. It was rather short and said only, 'Tanya, I'm so sorry I have to leave you this way. Be sure to tend to the orchids.' I'm sure that's a coded message of some sort."

"Why?" asked Gina.

"Because while we had a greenhouse, we don't have any orchids. Never have. I don't know what it means, but I process everything I hear and everything I see and everything I read every day for a clue. Someday I'll find something that will direct me to his killer or killers." I don't know if it's a reference to a person, place, or thing. I don't know if it's meant as a metaphor, a symbol, or mnemonic. I may not live long enough to know, but until the day I die, everything I see, hear or read will be examined. Maybe someday, something will fit.

"What then?" asked Kelsey.

"I'll kill them," was all she said. "The death by a thousand cuts." I had read about this ancient Chinese torture death, where parts of the body were sliced off (not chopped off), tourniquets being used to delay exsanguination until the person died. Maybe it was hyperbole. Maybe just killing them quickly would be enough, but I had no doubt of her intention to avenge her father's death.

After this, there was a very long silence. You don't hear a story like that every day, and you certainly don't meet a woman like Tanya every day. I was so fucking hot for her I could hardly believe it. I could tell that I was spotting my swimsuit bottom. I had never met a woman who could kill a man before, much less one who had killed men! For most women, to kill a man means to use a gun, to stab him while he sleeps, to poison him. Rare is the woman who can hope to come out on top in a physical confrontation with a healthy male.

We all decided it was time to bed down, and so Tanya was turning out the last of the lights and otherwise securing the property. We had been shown our rooms earlier, and for a change each single girl and both couples got a private room.

I had had a little trouble sleeping at least partly due to the way the curry was still affecting me and partly because it was still somewhat warm. This old inn had no air conditioning. I walked, naked, down the hall to take care of some curry-related business, which took me past the open door to Tanya's little suite. On the return trip, as I passed the door to Tanya's little suite, I heard her say "Hi, Jill." This stopped me, and I looked into her living room. While it was dark, I could see her, nude, leaning against the wall by her screen door, fanning herself with a some stiff paper. Perhaps it was a magazine. She was bathed in the blue-gray light of a full moon. In the half light, I thought she gave me a knowing smile.

Goddamn it! It seemed she knew how badly I wanted her. Was it so obvious?

"Having trouble sleeping?" "Yeah," I replied. "So am I...Come on in."

I leaned against the door jamb and asked, "Can we go outside?" The small table with two of those folding captain's chairs looked tempting, and I was sure it was a bit cooler outside. I could also feel through the screen that the air outside was moving.

"Well, personally, I'd rather wait until Samson leaves." She pointed down to a brown lump outside the door that at first looked like a cross between a pile of horse droppings and a small cow pie. It looked like that until it moved and I could make out legs. Lots of legs. That was when I jumped back a bit. She chuckled.

"He's a neighbor of mine. A Theraphosa blondi or bird eating tarantula. The largest spider in the world. Samson spends a lot of time out there at night. These spiders don't eat that many birds, actually, and when they do, they,re typically hatchlings that have fallen or been shoved out of a nest. They are hunters, however, and they do eat frogs and salamanders, small snakes and lizards, large insects, and even bats."

I found this monster fascinating and watched it for a while. I was standing at the screen door looking down. Tanya was behind me without my knowing it. I imagine she had learned stealth so that she could slit a guard's throat before he knew what had happened. But she didn't slit my throat: she hugged me under my boobs and rested her chin on my shoulder. I tipped my head to touch hers, rubbing my cheek into her hair.

I'm a pretty aggressive girl and I'm used to taking the lead, but it's nice to be taken sometimes, and I knew I couldn't resist her even if I tried. She could rape me and I wouldn't be able to stop her. As beautiful as she was, her approach and her touch were, well, manly.

Her body was hard, like an athletic man's, and that alone was getting me ungodly wet. In order to keep it from running down my leg, I had to do something, so I made her loosen her grip and turned to face her. I then kissed her mildly on the lips and we touched tongues only briefly. Then, I kissed her tits one by one. Dropping down slowly I kissed my way down her well-defined tummy until I was on my knees with her crotch right in front of me.

Sticking my tongue into the tropical darkness between her legs, I started teasing her hard little clit with the very tip of my tongue, feeling it get harder under my ministrations. I grabbed her ass cheeks as I did this, digging my fingers into her flesh as a signal that she could be rough with me...that I wanted her to take me even if I resisted. Sometimes, resisting increases the fun.

(And so, there goes that feminist "No means no" bumper sticker. We sometimes want to be taken and we sometimes want the right to be taken even as we resist. Sex, at its very best, can be a game. It's far too complicated to be controlled by slogans.)

Picking up on my vibe, her hands, which had simply been holding my head, grabbed my hair tightly. It hurt a bit, but that's what I wanted.

Keeping my hair in a strong grip, she slowly backed over to the couch, pulling me, shuffling on my knees, with her. She laid on her back, her butt hanging half off, her legs wide apart, in that position that's so ideal for cunnilingus. And I took full advantage of it.

After swimming in the saltwater and several hours of sweating and drinking (and pissing), her pussy had a strong salty/acidic taste that made me very excited. The other thing that made me excited was the steady stream of breathy sounds she was making as I licked and sucked.

Suddenly, I found myself being thrown onto my back and dragged by my hair to the center of the room. I almost let out a screech, but caught myself because I didn't want anyone to come and interrupt the fun we were having.

When she got me where she wanted me, she got up to close the door to the hall. She locked it quickly and returned, laying on top of me. Now her slender body felt heavy. As heavy as any man's. They say dead weight feels heavier than live weight. An unconscious person is a heavier carry than one who's active. Perhaps this, too, goes back to her military training: how to use her weight to best effect in a struggle, using only the parts of the body she needs, letting the limpness of the rest pin her opponent down.

Before I knew it, she had worked my arms under my body and her own body weight combined with mine trapped them there. Her legs were twined around one of mine and while she engaged me in a tongue wrestling match, she vigorously rubbed her pelvis up and down against my hip. As she did so, her thigh was stimulating my own clit and I was starting to tingle all over.

But then, she stopped and sat astraddle me and continued to kiss me for a few minutes, finally saying, "Masturbate." I looked at her puzzled. I was there to be fucked, not masturbate. But she said, "Trust me."

So, I started rubbing myself. Then she put her hands on my throat and squeezed. I could still breathe, but soon I felt lightheaded. She was cutting off the blood to my brain. She kept looking into my eyes, saying "Keep at it. Keep at it." And so I kept masturbating. In retrospect, I know that she knew I hadn't passed out because my arms had to pass under her crotch to masturbate, and she could feel my arms moving, so I was in no real danger (assuming she had no ill intentions) of being strangled to death or sustaining brain damage.

When I came, it was one of those orgasms I'll never forget, like icewater, fire, and needles and pins all at once. I felt like I exploded into a trillion pieces and then imploded back into myself.

She just laughed.

I was unaware of it, but apparently I had cried out. We heard a masculine voice from outside the door. It was Harry, come to the rescue, I suppose. "Go away, Harry. I'm just having a little fun." He chuckled and that was the last we heard of him, though we soon heard a female voice chuckle as well. Probably Rickie.

"We need to get some sleep," she said.

"I guess I'll have to owe you one," I said, intentionally setting up the possibility of another encounter.

She got up and unlocked the hallway door, patting me on the bottom as I left.

I couldn't get to sleep right away, despite the late hour, and so I took a quick cold shower, went to bed, stuffed a pillow between my legs, and masturbated myself to sleep just as I had when I was 14 years old.

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A Super Flood of Slutty Chick Pics & Flicks

The SapphicErotica people also run two other sites: InFocus Girls which is more of a solo girl site and OnlyCuties which is kind of like SapphicErotica but with the occasional heterosexual scene. They send me stills and movies to show, but I thought I'd give you a shitload of filthy fun. So, get out your AstroGlide, my friends, and get ready to spend a few hours enjoying yourselves. And, while I have your attention, the little description lines come from them. I think they may be written by someone with only a tentative grasp on English.

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