Getting started in Portland was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Kelsey and I had to simultaneously scout office locations, interview potential staff, and figure out where we would live. All of those things equally urgent, so for a while, any time spent enjoying ourselves left us feeling guilty.

Luckily, I did find a place I liked after a couple weeks and was able to qualify to rent it. Since I have never been one to use my credit cards much (saving them for emergencies), I didn't have much credit. Also, the apartment was quite a bit more expensive than what I had been paying, so I guess I must have made a pretty good impression on the rental agent.

I ended up getting my company to, in effect, cosign on the apartment, with the understanding that I would use the next year to build up my credit score by using my cards and paying them off promptly. A bit later, once our office location was determined, I decided to give up my car, which allowed me to better afford my new apartment and a lifestyle that was in every way (besides living without a car) a step up from the one I'd had in Ohio.

And with American gas prices creeping ever closer to what they pay in Europe, it's good riddance as far as cars go. I can always get where I want to go by taxi, rental, plane, or train (and I live a 6 or 7 minute walk from Portland's Union Station, probably the most beautiful train station in the United States).

Giving up the car was no big problem, it turned out, since my chosen apartment in the so-called "Pearl District," was very close to a trolley line taking me to within easy walking distance of my office, and to be truthful, on nice weather days, it was an easy bicycle ride to work.

In Cleveland, a boss who bicycled to work would be the subject of ridicule, but not here in Portland where, in our office, fully 30% of the staff ride bicycles whenever weather permits it. Portland is renowned as The Second Greenest City in The World as well as the most bicycle friendly large city in the United States. There are bike lanes on many of the major thoroughfares, and although when I first got here there were a spate of deaths where bicycles and trucks or cars tangled and the bicyclists lost, since then such incidents have been rare. I think it was just a statistical cluster, not a permanent state of affairs or trend.

In two cases, drunken drivers were involved, in the other cases, which involved young people (students), I think maybe their lack of experience or a sense of immortality impelled them to do risky things or distractions in their lives (love, sex, grades, etc.) probably had much to do with it. One girl, an art student, was waiting for a light and was run over by a truck making a right turn on red. As you may know, a truck may initiate a turn apparently wide, but then the rear wheels come close to or go over the curb as it turns, and if there is a bicyclist whose mind is elsewhere at the curb, then it's bye-bye baby bye-bye.

In another case, a high school student in Beaverton (a suburb) was struck by a city bus. While the kid's mother is suing the local transportation agency, Tri-Met, it has come out that the boy was wearing a headset and listening to his iPod when it happened. I don't expect the mother to get the $2,000,000 she's asking for. Wearing an iPod while biking is somewhat equivalent to driving drunk. When you bike, you're in a soft shell (your skin) and just about everything else is hard shell. Pretty clearly, you need all of your senses in a full state of awareness to maximize your safety.

Anyway, I'm sure you're wondering, "Okay, your last post was great but...no sex! How about some wild-ass fucking and sucking?" So, here goes.

When I finally found the apartment I wanted, I got my stuff (which had been shipped ahead) out of storage and moved in. It overlooks a cute park which looks like nothing I've ever seen before. It has terraces to sun oneself on, a little lake with a boardwalk over it, and bunches of scrub grass with gravel paths and park benches placed strategically. It even has a little man-made creek running into the lake! I'd be able to see Mount Hood except for the fact that there's another building across the park. Oh, and while I call it an apartment, it's actually a condo being rented out by its owner. Even though it's pretty expensive, I think the owner even loses a few bucks on it every month, I'll gladly make some sacrifices to live here.

My apartment is a 3-room 2-bath unit. I only need one bedroom and a work room, so I decided to take on a roomie. I put an ad out on Craigslist and started getting replies right away. A surprising number of guys responded to an ad put out by a female. (Oh, well, why should I be surprised?) I like guys, but rooming with one who isn't my boyfriend (of which I have none, by choice) is out of the question. Unless he's gay, of course. Even so, I wanted to share the place with another chick.

At last, I settled on a girl about my size but a bit fuller than me and with bigger boobs. If you were to ask, "Which movie star does she most closely resemble?" I'd say probably Elizabeth Shue only with light blond hair. A pretty sexy girl.

She proved to be a flight attendant and in many ways the ideal roommate. Why? Well, she tended to be away more than half the time, sleeping at the end of her run wherever that took her. This left me plenty of time to think and write. In fact, she had two days off every week, and seldom, if ever, the same two days. And even then, she frequently spent the night away from home.

Her name is Hanna.

One time, I saw her while I was out shopping with Kelsey at Lloyd Center, one of Portland's better indoor shopping malls. She was with a tall Asian man. She saw that I saw her and she smiled that smile that invited me not to introduce myself.

This made me curious, of course. Typically (and annoyingly) girls tend want to flaunt their arm candy, especially when he is as obviously prosperous as this man was.

Then, there was the fact that she had a car that was way beyond the means of a typical flight attendant. It was a Bentley Continental GT. A little googling told me that it sells for about $175,000 stock, before adding anything on! After that, I saw her several other times behind the wheel of that car, alone, and I realized she hadn't borrowed the car: she owned it!

I wouldn't have even known she owned it except for seeing her pull up in front of the building one Saturday while I was on the main floor to get the day's mail. She ran into the building and was obviously a little upset that I'd seen her. "Wow," I said as we got on the elevator together, "whose car is that?" "Mine," was her reply. I was stunned into an uncomfortable silence which she filled with "A boyfriend gave it to me." She said "a boyfriend" and not "my boyfriend," which told me something in itself: that her relationship with the so-called boyfriend wasn't all that romantic.

I changed the subject, which made her a bit more comfortable. She grabbed a pair of sunglasses and put together a small bag of clothes, cosmetics, and toothbrush. Obviously, some kind of overnighter was in the works, or at least being prepared for.

A number of other strange incidents helped me put it together: she was more than a flight attendant. In fact, being a flight attendant might be nothing less than a very smart marketing strategy.

My roommate was a high-priced international call girl! I found that idea terribly exciting!

Now, actually, I'm not opposed to prostitution. I've had plenty of sex with strangers and I personally see nothing wrong with being paid to perform a service in a professional way. Many men aren't interested in or ready for family life and just want a good fuck from time to time. At the same time, it's tragic when a gal isn't her own boss and is "run" by some kind of pimp. I personally think that legalizing prostitution would go a long way toward putting pimps out of business.

It was a Saturday morning, and one of the few she was actually at home. I asked her point blank if she was a call girl. She had a piece of toast with peanut butter on it going up to her mouth as I said it. She froze and thought for about five seconds before asking, "Would you care?" "Not particularly," I answered. I pointed out that she knew what I did for a living and about this blog and that her lifestyle had made me curious, and so I put that together as the leading possibility.

She then took a bite out of the toast, followed it with a sip of coffee, and said, "Well, in that case...I don't think of it that way, but I suppose I am. She laughed at the thought, which prompted me to follow suit.

I explained that seeing her in the Bentley several times had me realizing that she owned a car a flight attendant couldn't possibly afford, and that either she had a side business of some sort going on or was the heir to a hefty sum of cash.

She explained that at first her job as a flight attendant was just a job like any other until a pilot had shown her the possibilities. They had landed in Frankfurt just as a major snowstorm hit, snarling the airport and keeping her from getting a taxi to the big downtown hotel she normally would have stayed at. The pilot of the flight, Paco, a dashing 50-ish Spaniard, who normally stayed at the same hotel, kept her company. Their chitchat was very pleasant and much more serious than the levity which prevailed on the plane.

Gradually, it became clear that they might end up spending the entire night sitting in a gate, so he got on his cell phone and called around, finding a room for himself in a nearby airport hotel. He also made arrangements with the airport to get taken there. She asked if he could get her a room as well. He made another call to the airport hotel and shrugged in a way that told her "no luck."

"You are welcome to stay in my room," he offered, and since she had had a bit of a crush on him for several months, this invitation was welcome, and after some disingenuous hemming and hawing, she finally accepted, and had, as she put it, one of the greatest nights of sex in her entire life.

In the morning, over coffee and rolls in the hotel's dining room, he told her that she was one of the best lays he'd ever had. After that, he went back to being funny and friendly on their flights together, but gave no hint to anyone (least of all to her) that they had had sex, or had any sort of special relationship at all.

Then, after a month or so, after she had seen the last passenger off in Paris, she left the plane and was walking through the terminal when she passed a male passenger who was buying a paper at a newsstand. He was a well-dressed and rather good looking Asian in, she guessed, his mid-30's. He saw her, paid for the paper, and scrambled to catch up with her. Since she was off-duty, this annoyed her at first, but she was polite because, as she was constantly reminded, while in uniform she represented the airline, which was all about being friendly.

He made small talk in surprisingly good English as they walked along, complaining about the weather and giving his advice on dealing with sleeping in constantly shifting time zones. When she finally got to the departures area, where she intended to grab a taxi, he finally asked her if she'd be his guest for dinner. Now, normally she'd say no, but dinner in Paris, with someone ready to spend some serious cash? That was an offer to consider, and finally she said she'd be happy to. He then said, "Thank you. Your pilot, Paco, is a friend of mine. He greatly recommended you and said I would not be disappointed."

She was floored. Was Paco telling everyone he knew that she was a good and ready lay?

She went through with the dinner, hiding her resentment as best she could at first, but as time went by she found the man to be engaging and intelligent. When the time came at the end of the evening, she accepted his invitation for a nightcap, and found that sex with him was enjoyable if a bit quaint. His Asian formality was a bit foreign to her, and at first she tried to match his formality, but she saw his frustration and quickly figured out that what he wanted was a real lusty American girl. She gave him the blowjob and fuck of a lifetime, letting him cum in her mouth.

In the afterglow, he asked if she'd ever seen Japanese porn. She said she had. He said it's customary to the point of being almost ingrained in Japanese women that they reveal no enjoyment of sex and remain very passive or even resistant. In much Japanese porn the female just lays there and lets the man toy with her pussy, and if he fucks her, she makes a show of acting very girlish and shy and of not displaying any lust or pleasure.

Because of this, he said he enjoyed having sex with European and American women.

At something like 3 a.m., she got dressed to go and he walked her to the door. He gave her a check folded in half, which surprised her. Even so, she took it and after giving him a kiss good-bye, she walked to the elevator, opening up the check as she got on: $5,000.

She said that all of a sudden she felt like a prostitute...and it was the most delightful feeling she had ever had.

Paco was the pilot on the way back. He winked at her and she smiled back, thus giving him permission to send more business her way. She had a lot going for her, and not just her natural good lucks and ample breasts. Luckily, she worked for an international airline that provided uniforms that were at the same time businesslike and sexy. Lining up work would have been impossible on a budget airline like Southwest, most of whose attendants appeared to be soccer moms, and whose clientele thought paying anything over $300 for a flight was highway robbery. On her airline, only standbys ever got a seat for under $1000, and the flights were generally about half-full, which is good when the flights could last upward of seven or eight hours. She had ample time to socialize with the passengers.

From then onward, she'd have sex once or twice a week, earning anywhere from $5,000-$10,000 each time, and receiving expensive gifts of clothing and jewelry. The Bentley was the largest gift of all, and it came from an Arabian prince. Despite its high value, she felt it was the hardest gift to earn, for his tastes were rather extreme and involved going to a party with him where she was passed around for several hours among six businessmen who had a taste for anal sex and bukkake and nothing but contempt for womankind. So much for that vaunted Islamic "respect for women" thing: that was only extended, if at all, to Islamic women. Thank heavens they'd never heard of fisting and he said something about inviting her out to his horse ranch in Kentucky. She wasn't going to take a chance on that. There'd be no visits to the horse ranch, she told me with a laugh.

Possibly because my reaction wasn't negative, she would tell me about her every adventure from then on. Finally, she asked me if I'd like in on a menage à trois one of her regulars was jonesing for. I'd done this once before during a time when my best friend Gina had been earning some bucks by escorting. The answer was, sure, why not?!!! I was curious to see what went on.

The day came for our "job." I'd cleared the decks and impressed on Kelsey that I would be unavailable. I explained to her why and she gave me a broad smile along with a look that said "You lucky little bitch."

I hadn't seen Hanna and was only aware she was in town because she told me she would be. Apparently, she had been with this man and had, presumably, spent the night with him. I was told it didn't matter what I wore because I'd be given special clothing to wear.

This made me even more curious, of course.

At the appointed time, about 9 p.m., I went down to the lobby and saw a black stretch at the curb outside the door. I walked out and a door opened. Inside was Hanna dressed in a conservative skirt and long sleeve shirt. I was wearing a dress that came down mid-thigh and a pair of platform wedgies with uppers made of woven straw. I hardly ever wear a bra and that day I saw no serious need to even wear panties.

With her was a gaunt man she introduced as Helmut, a businessman big in the European coffee business. He was in the United States looking into opening up Starbucks-style coffee shops specializing serving up coffee more in the German style. Having been to Bremen, in Germany, I can attest that German coffee is second to none, and nothing I ever had at Starbucks was better.

Anyway, we were driven to one of the most expensive hotels in Portland. We took the elevator to the penthouse floor, which faced the direction of Mt. Hood, meaning an incredible daytime view. Of course, this was after dark, giving the suite a great night view of the city.

It quickly became apparent that this was going to be one of the strangest, kinkiest escapades I've ever been involved in. I know that the only people who can compete with the Germans when it comes to kinkiness are the Brazilians. And this guy was weird.

We both got nude. He wanted me to tie Hanna up and torture her by pinching her nipples and labia and by smacking her vulva. She gritted her teeth and let me do all these things in a serious way, because he would have settled for nothing less.

Now, in the meantime, he spent most of his time hiding behind a curtain, peeking around it to observe the goings on. Occasional shaking at the pelvic level let me know that he was playing with his pecker while engaging in this voyeuristic fantasy.

This went on for something like a half hour, at which time he changed gears. Now came the truly weird stuff. Retrieving a duffle bag from the closet near the front door, he removed some black garments which we were ordered to put on. They turned out to be nuns habits and so, except for the fact that we also wore black masks covering the raccoon area, we looked like nuns. Don't ask me why the masks: even a fetish as common as big asses or garterbelts isn't subject to explanation. Fetishes are just reflective of personal tastes and one's private fantasy life. Perhaps he'd felt attracted to a nun in his teen years. Perhaps he simply enjoyed thinking about subjecting something sacred to profanity. We never found out and in the end it doesn't really matter.

Once the garb was on, he wanted some fairly straight sex: Hanna blew him while I let him eat my pussy. Then, he wanted to assfuck, and I guess that isn't Hanna's specialty (though she assures me she's done it). On the other hand, I just love it, so I let him fuck my ass. And of course, I masturbated simultaneously, cumming several times and leaving a pool on the floor behind me, because, as you may know, I'm a squirter.

All the while we humiliated him verbally, as was his desire. Even while he was fucking my ass I taunted him with his imaginary inadequacy (even though I was quite enjoying myself!).

Then Hanna invited me to leave and wait in the next room. The next part, apparently, involved only him. This was unexpected and surprising, but I was only an assistant here, so I left.

I wouldn't spy intentionally. I respect people's privacy and boundaries for the most part. So, I sat on the bed and turned on the TV with the volume just barely audible. After a few minutes I realized that I could see what was going on in the next room reflected in the glass of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

At first, I thought she was giving him a facesitting, but then I realized what was really going on, and it excited me. I mean, it got me really hot.

He was masturbating. I was masturbating. And Hanna...

Well...Hanna was doing what comes naturally (usually, the urge comes after my first morning bran muffin and coffee), and she was doing it right into his open mouth!

After we left, the limo took us home. I made myself a stiff one and sat down in the livingroom. It was about time for the 11 p.m. news. To keep things "legal" for myself, I had refused to haggle over price. There was no quid pro quo. I treated it as an adventure, and if some money turned up as well, I'd put it to good use. There wasn't even an understanding that I'd be paid. And yet, Hanna handed me an envelope containing twenty $100 bills as she sat down next to me. Gosh damn! I wonder how much she got to keep! My guess would be a good $8000!

She smiled and said, "That was pretty weird, wasn't it? Most of my work is much more conventional."

She was aware that I knew what she had done because, did I mention?, as I saw her in the reflection, as in any such reflection, she could see that I was watching.

Now, I'm very tolerant and open-minded, so while it's nothing I'd ever want to be involved in myself, and strictly speaking it's illegal even beyond the prostitutional aspect of it, it didn't bother me. If the guy was willing to risk a pretty extreme case of colitis, that was his business. It didn't hurt anyone but him: no child molested, no hooker beaten by a vicious pimp, and I've always felt that a guy who's had an orgasm isn't going to rape anyone. (Rather, I worry about the guys who have no sexual outlet: I think they are the potential rapists and sex murderers, not the poor soul jerking off to an assfuck video.)

Things went on as they had before for a while, but then Hanna started spending more time at home and I noticed her watching her money more closely. Eventually, she explained that her lifestyle had finally caught up with her: she had contracted gonorrhea, which she successfully treated with a series of antibiotics. It was scary because gonorrhea is becoming antibiotic resistant and it was on the fourth try that they found one that cleared her up.

That was a wake-up call for her. As she explained it, next time it might be herpes, which you just have to live with and is very limiting in terms of one's sexual lifestyle. But besides being industrious, she is a good businesswoman and clearly had saved much of what she had made. Spending it wisely and continuing to work, she was set for life.

And since she gave up her prostitutional ways, she has become an even better friend and, yes, occasional sex partner.

I know some of you worry about me and even write me to urge me to use protection, because I never mention it in the stories. Don't bother. I am writing stories for your excitement and the story always comes first. Take a James Bond movie for example: what would it do to the flow of the story if, before he jumped into his go-fast car, he did a 10-point safety check. That's why you'll never hear me talk about birth control or protection from disease unless it's actually part of the story.

Don't worry about me: I can take care of myself.

They must have a worldwide factory going to produce this stuff in vast the vast quantities they do. I almost want to send them an e-mail to volunteer as a performer, except that I pretty much try to fly under the radar. Anyway, once again you can see some of the world's pretties legal teen and early 20's girls licking, fingering, and dildoing each other into one orgasm after another. Pardon me...I think I know where I left my rabbit.

Four stunning teens in dildo frenzy Three cute teens dildo wet pussies Gorgeous lesbians passionately kiss Lusty teens finger shaved pussies Three sweet teens share huge dildo Sweet teen cuties lovingly caress Luscious blondes strapon fuck twats Teen cuties kiss and dildo pussies Blazing vixens dildo tight butts Three sultry honeys lick in garden Thee hotties in living room orgy Sensual lesbians make love in bed Brunette hotties have sex in garden Four beauties strapon fuck on sofa Horny teens deeply finger pussies Stunning trio dildos twats on patio Sultry sirens soap up in the shower Three hot ladies orgasm on couch Sultry vixens rub and toy poolside Three vixens rub and toy on sofa Lusty teens lick and rub to orgasms Adorable teens wildly dildo pussies Tempting schoolgirls fuck dildos Five sultry ladies in outdoor orgy Brunette cuties rub to loud orgasms

Enchanting teens kiss and toy holes Blonde hotties have sex outdoors Sublime teens lovingly lick and rub Horny hotties works toys into butts Three dazzling honeys lap pussies Sweet teen trio deeply dildos twats Dazzling teens in outdoor threesome Three cuties lustily dildo pussies Tempting beauties finger wet holes Three sublime beauties lap and rub Teen sweethearts dildo furry muffs Sultry sunbathers have sex poolside Raven haired vixens in dildo orgy Brunette honeys eat hairy pussies Beautiful lesbians tenderly tongue Blazing vixens dildo butts poolside Luscious ladies lovingly lick twats Captivating ladies toy in kitchen Enchanting blondes bang big sex toy Passionate ladies use anal beads Three sultry vixens in patio orgy Passionate lesbians strapon fuck Sultry vixens lustily lap in office Blonde sweethearts finger wet slits Sensual lovers tenderly lick twats

Sweet teens hungrily eat pussies Sizzling trio tongues and dildos Blazing trio fills twats poolside Three hot blondes in picnic orgy Angelic blondes in hot sixtyniner Three bewitching vixens lap and rub Sultry teens have sex on pool chair Brunette cuties dildo to orgasms Hot teens deeply tongue and finger Sultry honeys trib and toy outside Horny teens rub quims in threesome Hot teens make love on tennis court Dazzling ladies finger holes in bed Lusty teen trio dildos shaved twats Pigtailed darling make sweet love Stunning vixens drill tight holes Gorgeous brunettes lovingly kiss Three teen cuties bang toys in bed Luscious ladies tongue buttholes Naughty teens dildo in the office Ravishing hotties eagerly finger Lusty ladies loving lick pink twats Raven haired vixens dildo outdoors Captivating beauties in sixtyniner Tempting teen trio fingers on couch

Saturday, July 19, 2008
Ray's Report From Lake Como, Italy
The Trip West, Addendum I

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.

In my prior post, I mentioned that Gina got a stunning e-mail from her beau, Ray, who had gone to Como, Italy, to be by his niece Belinda's side. With Belinda's permission, we are now learning what happened there.

* * * * *

Bear with me, honey. This e-mail will be long, but there is a lot to tell.

I flew to Milan where I had arranged to get a car and managed to get to Belinda just before her bus to Como arrived. She was so glad to see me, and I was so glad I caught up with her. I saw her before she saw me and she looked so terribly lost and alone. Obviously, being in Italy and returning to the home that was to be hers with Franco was a melancholy chore at best, but more likely something she was approaching with overwhelming dread.

The drive from Milan to Como isn't terribly long. It took us about 45 minutes. I've never been to Como before and I must say it's quite simply the most beautiful location I've ever seen.

The family home is right on the water and is immense. Fifty-five rooms, the servants told us, and almost none of them small. There is a huge patio jutting out into the water with moorings on one side. The family owned several boats. The patio is so large, Belinda told me that they would have held their reception there with 300 people or more. Here is link to a page with a photo of the home.

(Note from Jill: Ummm...not going to show you that page but instead one with a similar-looking villa, so click HERE.)

Obviously, there was a contingency fund to keep the house running and provide for the servants in case of an emergency such as this. Maria, the elderly housekeeper, found rooms for Belinda and me. She's a wonderful lady who has been in charge of the house for decades.

One thing is clear: the servants all love Belinda and had accepted her as "family" during her stay there. When we arrived, a dozen servants arranged themselves in the foyer to greet us, and although they tried to shake her hand at first, she gave them each a hug, and so after a moment or two, it was all hugs, no handshakes. She knew every single one by name.

At the same time, they are servants and they are at a loss with no one to serve. At last, and at least for now, with Belinda there, they had a sense of purpose. Heaven only knows the doldrums they must have been in until her arrival, dusting, polishing, cleaning for no one in particular.

They prepared a small feast for us, treating the both of us like royalty. Afterward, in my room, I got online and did some research, discovering that this family was one of the richest in Europe. In fact, they owned what might be described as a conglomerate. You'd have to go to Japan or Korea to find anything like it. Electronics. Shipbuilding. Auto parts. Restaurant equipment. Several chains of restaurants. Three five-star restaurants. Two villa hotels right there on Lake Como. Aerospace industries... I could go on. Their holdings are extensive and varied. And I'm sure some of them are not publicly known. In fact, I doubt anyone knows the depth of the family's wealth.

Oh, yeah...they also have a fortune in gold which is kept in a commercial bank. A bank they also own.

My jaw was on the floor, as you can imagine.

The next morning, the attorney I arranged for came by and, over espresso, explained the basics of Italian inheritance law to us. The law prevents someone from totally stiffing their spouse or children. But he was mystified as to why Belinda was being called.

We spent the next day enjoying the area. It was Sunday and it's still spring so there was a bit of chill in the air, but flowers were blooming as well. We rented a pair of scooters and tooled around the lake together. Belinda seemed to enjoy that. It was nice to see her smile from time to time. Seeing her there, she seemed to belong.

By the way, her Italian is very good, especially considering she never took it in school and had been in Italy for only several months.

We lunched in a cafe on the far side of the lake enjoying paninis and Italian sodas. After a full afternoon of sightseeing and hiking, I took her to dinner in a fine restaurant (of which there are many in Como, though unbeknownst to me at the time, the one I chose is one of the ones the family owns, and so the manager refused my AmEx card while kissing her hand).

After dinner, we went to a local jazz club named (guess what?) Como Jazz Club. People in Como don't lack much when it comes to food or entertainment.

The next morning, she met me at the home's carport wearing a black dress which Maria had obtained for her, using clothing she had left behind for sizing. It was heartbreaking to our beautiful little Belinda dressed like a widow from head to toe, including black shoes, black stockings, and a black hat with a fine veil, which at least had the advantage of covering the tears I'm sure were there.

We went to the reading of the will through torrents upon torrents of rain. It was miserable, which made her depressed. It took me five minutes to get her out of the car and into the building. The family's attorney greeted us and asked us to follow him to a consultation room in his offices. We discovered that we were the only ones present. Belinda's attorney arrived about 10 or 15 minutes late, apologizing profusely at having been delayed by the rain.

Belinda had been expecting to see some of the family's other relatives there, but the family's attorney informed us that there was no need to invite anyone else since this had turned into a rather simple matter involving no one else.

He went to a heavy antique safe in the corner of the room and withdrew a folder. From the folder he withdrew an envelope. He pulled the contents of the envelope out and put it in front of him. Putting on his glasses, he read the will, which, indeed, was as simple as could be, distributing the family's fortune among his wife and children and specifying his son, Franco as the one ultimately in control of the businesses.

Then the family's attorney said, "But then, we have the rather extraordinary and sad circumstance of the annihilation of the entire family in that terrible accident, which I will refer to only this once. Normally, the estate would then have to be probated, except for the fact that there is another claimant..."

Belinda's attorney looked at her. Nothing. He looked at me and I shrugged.

The family attorney who, apparently to enhance the drama of a situation, had awaited our reactions, continued... "namely Franco's wife."

I was stunned. Belinda shifted in her chair nervously. Belinda's attorney seemed baffled as well.

Retrieving another envelope, he read the last will and testament of Franco, leaving to his wife his entire fortune and interests should anything unfortunate befall him, and to any children who might be born to them in the course of their marriage.

Belinda burst into tears because, I assumed, the fact that Franco was married was a secret unknown to her. I was wrong. Belinda knew exactly what the family's attorney was referring to.

For the first time Belinda spoke up, managing to ask the family attorney, "When was this will drawn?" "Literally hours before he died, while you were in Milan." Then he smiled a smile I imagine he had been suppressing ever since we arrived. "But it was signed in front of witnesses. It's a valid will." She burst into tears and fell into my arms, heaving and crying uncontrollably.

Belinda's attorney had a blank expression on his face at first. But then I could almost see the gears of his mind churning and he asked her, "Please pardon me if I'm wrong here, but when did you and Franco get married?"

It took a minute or so for Belinda to compose herself enough to say, "Two or three months ago. In Monaco. We went away for a weekend of fun and on a whim got married so that we could express our love legitimately. That would have mattered to the family. We were going to have a big wedding later to please his mother. We didn't even want to tell anyone. I wouldn't have even let him do such a will until after we were married in the eyes of his parents."

After a very long pause, she added, as if she needed to justify herself, "We only made love once, and now I have his baby in me."

"Once is enough to consummate a marriage and make an heir," said the family attorney, "I have seen the certificate of marriage. There is no doubt in my mind that you are his wife. That you are to be the mother of his child only makes it harder to contest."

Belinda's attorney was grinning ear-to-ear. He stuttered for a few seconds before managing these opaque words, "My God! My GOD!!!"

I thought I knew what it meant but to be sure I asked as much as said: "She inherits everything?" He could still barely speak, but finally said: "She inherits everything: the family home, the entire family fortune." He paused to absorb it himself. Laughing hysterically, he said, "Holy Mother of God!...this lovely child owns a bank! She is one of the richest people in the world!"

I know you and your friends think I'm wealthy because of the company I own. Let me tell you, she is far wealthier than I am. To say she's several orders of magnitude wealther hardly expresses it. Wealthier than anyone I know. She is among the super wealthy. She's so wealthy there's no way to even measure it accurately. This family must have people who's full time job is to spend their money for them. To invest it, to buy businesses, to sell businesses, to wheel and deal, and to do so without much, if any, supervision. That is real wealth. That is Bill Gates' kind of wealth.

Belinda's attorney got back to business, saying "There are relatives who may not like this." He indicated that the two attorneys needed a huddle. I excused us and took Belinda out to get some air. During the period inside, which lasted no more than 45 minutes, the rain had subsided and the clouds were breaking up. Straight, steeply diagonal shafts of light were punching through the clouds, hitting Lake Como and illuminating parts of the mountains flanking the lake like spotlights. The cobblestone road was wet, emphasizing the colors in the stones. Anything that was green was vividly green and the air was full of the earthy smells of burgeoning spring.

She paced. "I didn't want this. I didn't marry Franco for his money. I didn't even think about the money. I'd give it all up just to have him back. I'd live in one room with him and wait tables if that's what it took." I said, "I know, sweetie, but money is part of life. This is what happens when people pass away. It doesn't matter to you right now but believe me it matters. Especially this much money. Do you have any idea how wealthy you are or what it will mean to your child? The advantages that he or she will have?"

Lifting her veil, revealing mascara-scarred cheeks, she said, "Uncle Ray...I'm just a girl, a student who doesn't even have a degree. I've been sheltered. I have no idea what to do with the money. I own a bank? I don't even know what that means. I know what it means to own a pair of shoes or a car or even a house. I can change shoes, drive a car, or live in a house. What do you do with a bank?"

I was at a loss. She wouldn't know how to run a company like mine, much less a huge conglomerate consisting of companies, many of them larger than mine.

I did my best: "Don't worry: things like that are run by managers, not owners. You see: I'm here. My company would go on even if I was struck by lightning as I stand. You can even sell it off bit by bit if you want, but I wouldn't recommend doing that precipitously. You'll grow into this. You have no idea how lucky you are." Immediately, I regretted saying that. Of course she couldn't feel lucky. Not now.

She grew quiet. I said, "You'll need time to absorb this." I took her to a nearby coffee stand and got us some espresso and a delicate cookie. She drank the coffee and munched on the pastry. I gave her a paper napkin and told her she should wipe her cheeks. She pulled a small mirror from her tiny black purse and at first laughed, but as she dabbed her cheeks, she began weeping again, saying, "This really means nothing to me." All I could manage to say was, "That is how we all feel when we lose a loved one. Nothing means anything for a while, but time gives us perspective. This will always be something sad to think about, but you will find new reasons to live. You have one in your tummy. A little someone who is half you and half..."

Belinda's attorney came on the scene just then and, seeing the state she was in, and knowing I was a trusted relative who was somewhat older, asked me to come and talk with him. "We looked things over and tried to anticipate any claims that could be made, and while it's impossible to stop someone from making a claim based on family relations, we can't see that they'd have a leg to stand on. Cousins and uncles are not as close as wives, and in Italy no such claim can trump the claim of a spouse, especially one bearing the deceased's baby.

"Basically, if she had hired someone to eliminate the family (I'm so glad we were out of earshot when he said that), that is about the only way the bequest could be kept from her. We both think she's quite safe."

I explained this to Belinda on the way back to the family home, which was now hers, or would be once all the legal formalities were taken care of. She nodded without emotion, merely acknowledging that she had heard me. Nothing more.

Belinda wanted to go to her room, no doubt to weep some more before fixing her makeup, which gave me a chance to update Maria, the housekeeper, who was, quite simply, elated by the news. "Oh, my! That is such welcome news. If anything good could come out of this, this is it." "And of course, the baby," I said without thinking, realizing by the surprise on Maria's face that it was not universally known. Immediately I regretted my indiscretion. It was really for Belinda to reveal.

"Miss Belinda is pregnant with Franco's baby?" The cat well out of the bag, and knowing such things mean more here, I added, "It turns out that it's Mrs., not Miss. They were married some months ago in Monaco." "A baby...how wonderful!" Clasping her hands under her chin with pleasure, she continued, "That is marvelous. There hasn't been a baby here in nearly two decades. It's something this ancient house needs." Then panic crossed her face and she asked if Belinda would be staying.

Belinda, who had returned and had overheard much, looked at me with exasperation and said with more composure than I might have expected, "Yes, Maria. For now, anyway. I haven't had time to think of the future, but here I know I can have shelter and peace and quiet."

"I can speak for your entire staff," Maria said with conviction, "We want you to stay. We would all love to help you stay and raise a child. How could there be a better place to raise a child? And besides, this is your house now. This is your home." I almost burst into tears at that point. I don't know how Belinda managed it, but perhaps she did so by throwing her arms around Maria's thick torso, clinging to the sturdy woman as if she were her mother.

Then, to my total surprise, Belinda let go of Maria and took on a commanding tone, no doubt learned from hearing how Franco and his father, the patriarch, had talked to the staff. She ordered Maria to gather the entire staff for a meeting out on the large patio. (The one on the lake, which I have already described.) Once they were assembled, she somehow got through explaining that she had inherited the house (leaving out the fact that she also owned the entire fortune and all the holdings) and that she and Franco had been married in Monaco and that she would be having Franco's baby in about six months. She did so solemnly but without shedding a tear.

Clearly, she was pulling herself together and giving herself a sense of purpose.

The delight that crossed the faces of the female staffers at the news was evident. At this point, and perhaps buoyed by the reaction the staff was having, she added, "...and I have decided that I will be having our baby here." Maybe it was something in the way she said it. Maybe it was just the context of the situation, but they took the word "our" to mean the baby was theirs as well as hers.

This announcement was followed by deafening applause. I tell you, these people are in love with Belinda. I can't imagine a better situation for her right now. She will be surrounded by affection and showered with attentions every moment of the day. I got the impression any of them would take a bullet for her.

What a series of changes this little niece of mine has gone through, and the wonderful thing is I'm actually watching her mature in front of my eyes. She's realizing she's the mistress of one of the great houses of Como, the heir of a grand family, and she's taking the helm. I'm sure she's still lost as far as the family's business holdings, but like I told her, those are run by managers, and while she'll eventually need to look at them, for now they will run themselves under the care of experts and specialists who are well-paid, but not so well-paid as to not want to impress the boss. By running this house, she will learn to run a business.

I think she's going to be okay. I know you all will be happy about that.

It's bedtime here. Belinda told me to fill you in and I hope I haven't left anything major out. I'm sure you're not bored! She asked me to have you update her buddies. So, there it is.

It's 2:30 a.m. and I need some sleep. Tomorrow will be a very busy day. For now, I, too, am Belinda's servant. I'll keep you posted.

Love, Ray

* * * * *

(Note from Gina: Okay, I need to tell you that Ray doesn't write that well. At the same time, she got all the facts in and made the e-mail quite a bit more readable.)

Hey, I apologize for another sexless post, but as with the others I think you can understand why. More sexy yarns are on the way, don't worry!

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Tuesday, July 9, 2008
The Arrival
The Trip West, Pt. XVII

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.

We woke up to a rainy morning and learned from a local radio station that we had just beat a storm that was starting to snarl traffic on the I-5 mountain passes and was probably going to result in chains being required and possibly total closure of the road behind us. We were lucky. I doubt if we'd have been able to mount chains on the gigantic bus all by ourselves. Just considering the size of the tires, I wonder if I could even have handled a set of chains by myself.

During breakfast, Belinda called to inform us that she had landed and was awaiting the bus which would take her from Milano to Como. She was mystified as to why she had been invited to a reading of the will. She and Franko had never married. Perhaps, she thought, she was simply on a long list people who, through their association with the family, might be mentioned or might be needed as witnesses.

We told her to keep us posted and said good-bye one by one. It was heartening to see that Cliff clearly cared for her as much as we did. So many guys are callous and cynical nowadays. He has a good heart and will make good father, just like our daddy.

Gina made a call to Ray, who said he'd try to get some Italian legal assistance for his niece.

We let Cliff drive the rest of the way. It took about 5 and a half hours and we arrived just before sundown. It had been gray and intermittently raining all the way up I-5, but as we passed from Tigard, Portland's big suburb to the South, the clouds broke and we were treated to the last orange rays of sunlight as the sun set below The Coast Range to our left.

Once in town, we followed some advice we'd been given and found a place to park on the road that runs along the Willamette River. We parked below what I later learned was The Broadway Bridge. Since there was a stairway up to bridge level, we put on some jackets and walked up. Those 80 steps (yes, I counted) took us up about five stories, which gave us a great view of the northern part of the city.

In the dying light, it was apparent which way to walk to find some food, so we walked into the area called The Pearl, which is full of little shops, restaurants, and gorgeous condos. We had dinner in a great Chinese restaurant called Sungari Pearl. That done, on the advice of the locals at the next table, we took a tram into the downtown area, a place Kelsey and I had been to several times, though it was new to Gina and Cliff.

Portland is a city that feels like a town, and nowhere more than in the city center. It's the most compact major city I've seen anywhere, and it has a public square that still is a public square. By that, I mean that Pioneer Square is a place at the center of town where public events are held such as rallies or concerts or displays. At other times, people just go there to watch people or, in the summer, to sun themselves.

Of course, it's still a major city with, rain aside, a fairly mild climate. So it attracts more than its share of the homeless and houses many street people who, of course, tend to abuse alcohol and drugs. So...all is not sweetness and light.

We walked around a bit, saw a movie, at one of the four downtown movie theaters (all within a five minute walk from the center of Pioneer Square, by the way...see what I mean about "compact"?). and by then it was around 10 p.m.

We were a little lost and stopped by the Hilton where someone at the desk told us how to get back to the bus by taking the MAX (the local commuter light rail system), getting off at the Old Town/Chinatown stop, and walking a bit.

We drank a little wine, watched a video, and went to bed about 1:30. The next morning was glorious: Sunny and somewhere in the mid-50's, whereas back in Cleveland it was still in the 30's.

Our main task now would be to find a place to live, and our main resource was a girl we'd met on an earlier visit. Mandy. She had taken the day off and would be meeting us for lunch, where we would talk about our needs and give us the general lay of the land.

We met her for lunch at a downtown dive bar called Kelly's Olympian. As she walked in Cliff made the three of us laugh when he said under his breath, "Jeeeezus, Jill...do you know any chicks who aren't hot?"

Mandy was even more beautiful than she had been in my memory. She was wearing a green flannel shirt with a plaid pattern and black denims that couldn't fit better even in my imagination. Her long dark hair flowed as if she had just stepped out of a shampoo ad. I gotta tell ya: I was feeling it in my loins.

Poor Cliff! I could almost feel his pain. I say "pain," remembering the photographer who had defined the highest level of beauty is "So beautiful, she's painful to look at." The pain being the pain of realizing the girl is so desirable and yet is beyond one's reach. I just feared Cliff was in for another disappointment. I'm glad I'm no longer his age.

You may remember that when last I had been with her, she'd developed a crush on me that I had to put an end to, which hurt me greatly, because I really don't enjoy hurting people (especially people I like), but which I'm sure hurt her even more.

After a while, we'd started staying in touch via e-mail and the occasional phone conversation and I was pretty sure she was over it by now.

I wasn't so sure I was over her, though, upon seeing her again. My relationships had been so topsy-turvy the last few years, what with leaving Eric, my boyfriend; my own crush on Belinda, which turned into a deep love-based friendship; and then seeing Mandy again and realizing how fucking attracted I still felt her to be.

So, over burgers and beer, she laid the city bare. The city had five "quarters" (one of the wacky things about Portland, and one I still don't know the genesis of).

The central downtown area is in the southwest (SW) quarter, up against the river. This is where the tall buildings and public square are. It is also the public transit hub of the city. Most bus lines and the MAX light rail line go through here. Stretching in the southwest direction, one runs into a residential area largely characterized by roads forced to be serpentine due to having to deal with a very uneven landscape.

Across the river is the southeast (SE) quarter, which she described as the "West Virginia part of town." This is where a lot of the low-cost rental housing and old slapdash construction bungalows are. This is where the bikers and tweakers tend to be found, and if there's a murder in the news, more than half the time, it's in this quarter of town.

The northwest (NW) quarter is heavy on young people, students, artists, and the well-educated, and cost of renting there reflects its popularity. The close-in northwest is called The Pearl (which has been mentioned earlier). This area used to be mostly industry- and warehouse-oriented. Today, it has trendy shops and restaurants, as well as a growing list of luxury condos and apartments. And the apartments tend to be spaces rented out by condo owners who bought them as investments.

In the northeast (NE) quarter, you have old neighborhoods full of well-kept homes that are holding their value. It also holds Lloyd Center, the original Portland area enclosed mall. It's very family-oriented, and if you want to raise a child, it's probably the quarter to concentrate on. (We assured her that raising kids weren't among out intentions in coming to Portland. We all got a good laugh out of that.)

This leaves the north (N) quarter, which might be described as somewhat like the southeast quarter in terms of having poorer housing than the other quarters, in part because it blends into the industrial part of town. But it also houses The University Of Portland, a fine institution of higher learning operated by The Catholic Church

Gina rented a car and we all hopped in and with Mandy as navigator, we spent the next five or six hours driving around town. In my prior visits, I'd been largely limited to the downtown area. It was refreshing to get out into the suburbs and discover old neighborhoods that look about the same no matter where you go.

Somewhere along the way we got a call from Belinda with a bit of a surprise. We had been concerned that Belinda, in her fragile state, would be going through something harrowing all alone in Italy. It turned out that that was not to be the case. Her Uncle Ray, Gina's beau, had jetted out and caught up with her. He had been waiting for her when she stepped off the bus. He would be a quasi-parental presence. Not as old as her adoptive father, Ray's brother, but old enough to play the role of a mature male solely interested in her welfare, and powerful enough to actually provide help, should she need it.

She was in safe hands and sounded optimistic.

The phonecall over, I looked at Gina, saying "You...you never tell us what's going on." She smiled. "It's family stuff." "Yeah, but..." "I like to surprise you." Yes, that she does.

Gina told us that Ray had arranged for Belinda to have the assistance of a good Italian attorney specializing in inheritance to explain the proceedings and assist her should she need it. The reading would be coming up soon and we were all very curious about it, as you can imagine.

Over dinner, it seemed Kelsey and I had fallen in love with the same part of town: The Pearl District. It was brand spanking new, but bordered Old Town and Chinatown as well as the trendy Northwest area heavily populated by students and artists. It had galleries, great restaurants, several neat parks, and good bus and trolley service. What more could one want.

We would continue to look around because our love for "The Pearl" was based on first impressions, but I think we both felt that something would have to be mighty impressive to be more attractive.

After dinner, Cliff volunteered to go back and stay in the bus so that it wasn't left unattended. He probably wanted to play some video games and have some privacy to chat with some friends as well.

As for the rest of us, we went to Mandy's studio apartment in the Northwest quarter. To a lot of people, the words "studio apartment" conjures up images of a very small apartment where there is perhaps one room doubling as a bedroom, living room, and kitchen, plus a small bathroom.

No...her apartment actually turned out to be an artist studio, and it it is not only open design, it is huge. Also, we discovered a side of her we hadn't known about before: she's an artist. She makes objects out of papier maché and paints them. It seemed most of her objects were animals of various sorts, but that might have been because she had a contract to produce decorations for a Mexican restaurant. I remember a coati mundi, an armadillo, a jaguar (yes, in southern Mexico!), a puma, and some birds. Plus...a piñata.

Mandy still worked in the hotel on a modest salary, and apparently the extra income brought in by sales of her art were enough to pay the $900 a month she pays in rent. This isn't to say she lives a lavish lifestyle. Her shelves (she has no kitchen cupboards) were full of ramen and canned soups as well as basics like flour, sugar, vinegar, molasses and so on. Obviously, she did a lot of scratch cooking. This was verified when she served us some delicious homemade bread with butter and cheese and a jug of Hearty Burgundy.

Before long we were drunk and all getting kind of horny (of course!). Mandy put on some dreamy ambient music and we all got up with our wine glasses in our hands and swayed to the music.

After a couple minutes, Mandy dimmed the lights and stoked a large woodstove that had previously gone unnoticed. She left the stove door open and when it provided enough light, we danced in the warm glow of the flames and embers therein.

Kelsey was the first to start disrobing. The stove was putting out so much heat that she removed her sweater, then her bra, and her gorgeous breasts looked ever so appetizing sharply outlined in the light from the fire. I was next, followed by Mandy. Gina was last. Her chest is all but flat, and I'm afraid she's a little self-conscious about it, but none of us really cares. We all love her. Heaven knows Ray doesn't care.

Mandy stripped down to her panties and the rest of us followed suit. She opened another bottle of wine and put on some soft and sultry saxophone jazz. We continued swaying and it was in the air: we were all horny as could be.

Mandy stepped out of her panties revealing something that gave me a thrill: she had a dark triangle in the pelvic area that, if anything, was blacker than her black hair. It gave me a thrill: I shave, but I have a "thing" for hairy pussies. I wanted to dive down into her crotch so bad! Then, to make matters worse, she produced a bottle of baby oil and oiled her body. We got out of our panties as well and the bottle was passed around.

I wish you could have seen us: four sexy girls gleaming from oil, dancing in the light of the woodstove. It was like what I'd always imagined a witches' sabbath would look like, with naked witches dancing around a bonfire.

Kelsey drew me into her arms and against her pillows. She dropped to rug we'd been dancing on, pulling me on top of her. I slid around on her body. I laughed because it was hard to stay on top of her. So, I finally gave up and slid half off her. I sucked on her nipples, which were already hard.

Soon I sensed that Mandy and Gina were next to us. I glanced and saw Gina planting a kiss on Mandy's lips. Mandy's legs were wrapped around tiny little Gina, both of them grinding their pelvises as they kissed.

Slowly, I kissed my way down to Kelsey's crotch. Her legs opened for me and I pulled her labia apart. Her tiny clit stood to attention and I teased it with the tip of my tongue, and Kelsey writhed with pleasure.

I love this position where a girl's pussy is at my mouth and I can look up at her boobs and face and watch her respond to my ministrations.

By this time, Gina was between Mandy's legs, too, and I know from experience that tiny little Gina's tongue could give an orgasm to a bowling ball. Yeah...she's that good. It didn't take long for Mandy to cry out requesting Gina to stop. But Gina knows better, and Mandy had probably nearly a dozen consecutive little orgasms.

I enjoyed hearing Mandy's cries, and it made me work Kelsey ever harder until she came with a goodly squirt. Kelsey doesn't squirt nearly as readily as I do, so that was something of an accomplishment, and she was totally exhausted, so I joined Mandy and Gina.

By this time, Mandy was giving Gina what for, lying between Gina's legs and going crazy on Gina's little clit. This left Mandy's package vulnerable and I took advantage if the fact. I was so hot I didn't think twice about licking the crack of Mandy's add, running my tongue up and down over her anus, but not sticking my tongue in. If you've never had your tongue in anyone's anal area, it burns the tongue a bit.

Mandy was still hot as hell as evidenced by the drip, drip, drip of liquid out of her pussy. After a bit, I turned onto my back and positioned my mouth under her pussy and, lifting myself up a bit on my elbows, I went to work on her clit, her pussy juice at first wetting my chin, then running down my neck to the floor.

I could tell by Gina's breathing that she was about to cum, and I could tell by Mandy's hip motion, done in contra-rhythm to the rhythm of my tongue, that she was getting there as well.

Gina finally orgasmed with a stifled whimper, and this left Mandy and me to enjoy each other.

Presently, she turned around and got into the classic 69 position, leaving me to admire her gorgeous ass as I licked and probed her vulva with my tongue.

She came with a squirt that left my forehead and hair wet, which sent me over the edge as well. I let go a generous squirt, too, hitting Kelsey with it. She yelled, "Hey, you've got to learn to aim that thing!" and we all rolled around on the floor laughing.

We were all bushed and slept together in Mandy's massive bed, getting up early with Mandy, who had to go to work that day.

After seeing Mandy off, we made our way back to the bus and went about looking for lodging again. A couple days went by when Gina got the most astonishing e-mail about Belinda from Ray. Something had happened to our lovely little hard-luck girl that was so unexpected and incomprehensible, it almost left us speechless.

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Sunday, June 15, 2008
The Snow Job
The Trip West, Pt. XVI

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.

I stared at my laptop's display for a couple minutes, terrified to open Gina's e-mail, yet knowing that I would surely not sleep if I didn't.

So, at last it opened and I read it: "I took Belinda to a specialist recommended by one of Ray's doctor clients. After a manual examination and an X-ray, he declared that it was unlikely to be malignant, but he recommended excising it to be sure. He said it would leave a hairline scar at most. So...isn't that good news?

"We're bushed and have checked into a hotel. The surgery will be done in his office (it's that simple!) and she'll be kept there for an hour afterward under observation. After that, we'll catch up with you guys wherever you happen to be. Love, Gina."

I have to tell you, I didn't even reach the end of the first paragraph before I burst into tears of joy, for more than you can imagine, I identified with Belinda and wanted to hear some good news.

I knocked on both Kelsey's and Cliff's doors. I pulled them both into a three-way hug and told them the news, that Belinda's lump seemed to be benign and would be removed in just a few hours just to be sure.

They were both glad beyond words.

This is when I realized I was indeed topless and covered my tits with my hands. Kelsey laughed at me and Cliff, with raised eyebrows (and while staring at my hands) said, "Too late, sis!" Then we all had a big laugh and I let my hands down. So he saw my tits. Big deal!

With that, we went back to bed and while I can't speak for them, I slept long and hard, dreaming of fields of wildflowers shimmering in a languorous breeze under a deep blue sky populated by the occasional puffy cloud.

Cliff and Kelsey had been waiting for me for about 30 minutes, I learned, and we had a small late breakfast together of danishes, bacon, and coffee. We decided to hit the road again. It seemed to us (and I'm sure even more to you, the reader) that we had been on the road forever. Would we never reach Portland?

With the help of some of NW's staff and even NW himself, we packed our stuff into the bus, including Belinda and Gina's things. NW and Hilda had been informed of the good news regarding Belinda and were joyous for her, too. So it was a really emotional farewell as Kelsey, Cliff, and I hugged NW and hopped into the bus.

I took the wheel and before long were were on our way to our next destination: Lake Tahoe. I had never been there, but from the photos I'd seen, it was certainly one of the top five or so most beautiful locations in the United States.

The 450 mile drive took about 9 hours what with a brief dinner stop. Ray's company got us a suite of attached rooms Caesar's Palace. Those accommodations probably wouldn't have been available to us otherwise. We might have stayed in the bus, had we been able to find a place to park, but that was in doubt as it was still ski season there and parking was severely limited by mounds of snow.

We had dinner in a hotel restaurant and spent an uneventful night watching movies and drinking before going to bed in our respective rooms. Cliff, an inexperienced drinker, got sloshed on three beers. Hahahaha!

I woke up after a few hours of sleep to be greeted by the orange glow of dawn. I got up and went over to the window, for a moment or two drinking in the beauty of this locale which, in the United States, I'd rate second only to the Grand Tetons in terms of sheer sylvan beauty. I got up, closed the blinds and slept a few more hours until Kelsey knocking on my door awakened me.

"Planning on sleeping all day?" I looked at the nearby clock. It was 11:45! Rubbing my eyes, I replied. "Sorry." "Cliff and I have been having coffee for the last hour and a half, waiting for you to wake up. Get ready, let's have lunch and figure out what to do with the day." "Cool," I said, waving her away. "I'll be out in a jiff."

Over lunch we perused the literature cliff had amassed about activities in the area, which this time of year mostly had to do with skiing, snowboarding, snowmobiling, and so on. We settled on snowboarding and after a few calls found a place that would rent us the gear.

Now, I'm no snow bunny. Yeah, in high school I went with friends a couple times and skied some not very steep slopes in Pennsylvania, mostly spending time falling on my face or ass. So...I wasn't looking forward to this very much since I was sure that snowboarding was, if anything, harder than skiing.

I was right about that, but it was new to Kelsey as well. Cliff, who had done it before, was much better and helped us quite a bit, but soon our struggles got the attention of a young guy who introduced himself as Ross (first name? last name? who knows?

To say that Roth was hot would be an understatement. Who did he look like? Kind of like Justin Timberlake, only very blond. Slender but athletic. Kelsey looked at me and smiled, knowing exactly what was on my mind. Cliff...he was totally oblivious; probably thinking more of Faith than anything else, because at his age every encounter seems pivotal and every relationship, however brief, seems destined to end in a walk down the aisle.

He worked with us for a half hour or so until Kelsey pretty much had the hang of it and Cliff, who was already fairly good, was looking semipro. I'm afraid I wasn't trying that hard because I wanted some 1-on-1 tutoring.

When Roth finally suggested that Cliff and Kelsey go off on their own so he could concentrate on me, they agree, Kelsey doing so with a suppressed chuckle. We all had our cell phones with us, so we agreed we'd get back together later on in the day.

Roth seemed oblivious to my plan, so when I drifted off the edge of the hill and into the woods (don't worry: I had more control than I was letting on to Roth), he followed me. I had fallen into the snow and was laying on my face. I felt him grab the collar of my jacket to lift me up. "Okay?" he asked. "Yeah," I said.

Finding myself on my knees in front of him, I made an attempt to get up but intentionally lost my balance and ended up falling forward and hugging his upper thighs to keep from falling. This put my mouth right over his cock. I regained my balance and looked up at him, still hugging his thighs. He laughed and asked, "Having fun?"

I laughed and said, "Not as much as I'd like to have. Ummm... Mind if I suck your dick?" This took him aback, I could see. "Don't say know," I said, adding "that could be pretty humiliating." He laughed and said, "Actually, you must be a mind reader!"

And so I opened the fly of his pants and stuck my tongue inside. Feeling underwear, I stuck a finger in and pulled it down. Out popped a gorgeous cock. Not a huge cock, but a very pretty one. About 7" inches long, I could deep throat it without choking. I sucked for a minute or two enjoying the change in texture and taste in my mouth as the first seminal fluid (aka "precum") came into my mouth, along with the slightly salty taste that always accompanies it.

I must have sucked for about five minutes when he said, "Want to fuck?" "Absolutely!" I said, pulling my own pants and undies down to my ankles, suddenly finding my bare ass laying on packed snow. Seeing my distress, he removed his jacket and helped me get it under me. Soon, he was in me and fucking me hard. We did a lot of tongue-wrestling along the way.

Deciding to give this cute hunk something special, I pushed him off me and onto his back and, sucking him off again, I stuck my finger up his ass and massaged his prostate while blowing him and jacking him off.

When, presently, his load filled my mouth with semen, I myself came. One of the few times I've ever had an orgasm from circumstances alone, with no direct physical stimulation at or around the vagina. It was strong enough that I felt myself squirt.

"Wow!" he said as he pulled his pants up, "that was something else. I wouldn't mind a little more of that."

Well, fun it had been, but I am quite practical about such things, and while I said that sounded great, I really had no intention of turning a little escapade like this into a big "thing." In no way am I ready for the little cottage with a white picket fence around the yard, 2.5 kids in the yard playing with their puppy and kitty cat. In fact, I have my doubts that anything like that is in my future. By choice.

He told me where he was staying and to make it harder for him to catch up with me later, I told him a lie about staying at a hotel across the lake from Caesar's Palace. He then told me his intended agenda for the evening, and I made a mental note to avoid those places.

When we got back to the hotel, guess who was waiting for us? Okay, you've probably guessed it was Gina and Belinda, with good news: indeed, the lump in Belinda's breast was not malignant. Belinda pulled open the collar of her sweater to show a tiny scar with just about three stitches. I could believe that in a year or two, after completely healing, it would just be a hairline scar and would not deform her in any way.

We took turns hugging Belinda and telling her how glad we were that this had turned out well. She still seemed a little gloomy, though, and we had to remind ourselves of something she, doubtless, could not easily put out of her mind: that not only had she been disowned by her family over the love of her life, but that her lover had then died in a horrible accident.

We ended up having dinner across the state line at a restaurant we could walk to, after which we gathered in my room and watched a couple movies before going to bed.

The next morning, as we'd arranged, we met downstairs for breakfast. Belinda was the last to show. She explained that she had received a call just as she was leaving her room. She was being summoned back to Italy. Why? we all asked almost in unison. "For the reading of the wills."

Are you going? we asked in our various ways. Her eyes flooded with tears. "I...I don't know. I'm almost out of money." Now, I know what you're thinking: Gina could certainly arrange to fly her there, through the executive jet company her boyfriend Ray owns. But I could feel that Belinda was starting dread prevailing on her friend for yet another big favor.

This is when Kelsey pulled an envelope out of her purse. I recognized it from two nights earlier, when we had made $1000 screwing the cowboy in the downtown casino hotel.

"Jill and I won this," she lied. "We have decided that you need it far more than we do." "I can't..." Belinda started to say, but I shushed her and said, "It no longer belongs to us. We just gave it to you. Go to Italy. It's worth $1000 to us just to find out what's going on.

Belinda wept openly. "You've all been such good friends." Cliff took her hand and put his arm around her shoulder.

After breakfast, I took Belinda to a nearby bank and we wired the $1000 to her account. When the transfer had been completed, we went to my room and I helped her arrange the trip for her return to Italy, which to my surprise, still left her with a few hundred dollars.

The trip would begin at Reno, take her to Las Vegas, then New York, and from there to Milano (Milan). From there, she would take a bus to Como. She would be staying with an older cousin of Franco, and her husband. She had to be in Reno in six hours, the bus ride is about two, so she packed and we saw her onto the bus to Reno. We crossed our fingers and wished her the best. And it was no pro forma wish: We all loved her and hoped she was going to hear some good news. Perhaps she'd been left something.

After seeing Belinda off, we gathered our stuff and got into the bus. There, we sat down with a bunch of maps and decided to push on to Medford, Oregon. (Oregon! at last!) It was about 300 miles, which on a flat highway would take about 5.5 to 6 hours. Through mountains in a bus, and with a couple scenery stops where we jumped out of the bus to take some photos, it turned out to be about 8.

We found a friendly bar, pulled into their parking lot for the night, and went inside for some hamburgers and beers. We played cards that night, speaking little of our unlucky friend. In fact, we spoke so little of her precisely because she was all we could think about. After we made ready for bed, and as we were all drifting off to sleep, Gina wondered aloud, "I wonder where Belinda is about now?"

I did some mental calculations and said, "I believe she's somewhere over the Atlantic. She should be in Italy before we wake up."

That night, I thought of Belinda and all she had been through. That made me sad. Finally being in Oregon, though, was making me happy. In one day, I'd finally be in Portland starting to look for a new home.

With that contradictory blend of feelings churning around in my head, I somehow managed to get to sleep.

A new day was dawning in so many ways.

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More Pussy Than I Could Possibly Lick
In A Million Years

SapphicErotica must be a huge organization to be putting up lesbian videos and photos at the rate they do. I mean...it's just astonishing! And Sapphic chicks are so unlike the Met-Art and Hegre girls. They truly look like American "girl next door" girls, though someone told me most of them are actually from The Czech Republic, Hungary, The Slovak Republic, Russia and other Eastern European places, and that the locations are all there as well. Go figure. They look like American girls to me!

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PHOTOS Three hot teens share dildo in bed Three stunning ladies plug butts Three horny teens in move in orgy Brunette cuties dildo in kitchen Hot teens finger on tennis court Blazing vixens lick twats poolside Gorgeous honeys make love on sofa Luscious cuties share huge dildo Enticing teen cuties dildo on couch Dazzling ladies in sultry threesome Ravishing vixens toast and have sex Busty beauties plug quims in garden Sizzling ladies toy and fist twats Curious teens strapon fuck pussies Naughty teen trio deeply fingers Naughty teens toy twats in kitchen Teen cuties make sweet love in bed Ravishing brunettes have hot sex Dazzling vixens lap twats on couch Innocent teens dildo bald pussies Stunning beauties dildo fuck holes Busty ladies finger fuck hot twats Blazing vixens bang large dildos Sensual teens share dildo in bath Brunette cuties finger tight twats Lustful teens kiss and dildo quims Three dazzling ladies lick and toy Five stunning hotties lick poolside Luscious blondes fist tight pussies Sweet brunette dildo shaved quims Hot blondes strapon fuck on couch Three teen lesbians lick and rub Tempting ladies in couch threesome Hot teens work sex toys into holes Brunette cuties dildo sweet pussies Sizzling tennis players have sex Sunbathing vixens oil up hot bodies Adorable teens plug tight pussies Sultry vixens dildo fuck wet holes Three stunning ladies in hot orgy Dazzling teens finger wet pussies Lusty teens kiss and rub pussies Ravishing ladies have sex on patio Naughty teens dildo in threesome Playful teen trio deeply fingers Tempting cuties dildo in kitchen Dazzling teen trio fingers on table Raven haired vixen make sweet love Gorgeous ladies have sex on couch Sizzling hotties undress and dildo Busty honeys make sweet love in bed Three adorable teens finger in bed Brunette teens drill twats on table Playful cuties finger in kitchen Alluring ladies in living room orgy Lusty lesbians disrobe and tongue Sensual lovers embrace and dildo Beautiful ladies finger tight holes Sultry vixens fist and dildo in bed Horny teens strip and deeply finger

Saturday, June 7, 2008
Feminists Backing John McCain? WTF?!!!
(my involuntary rant on misguided feminism)

Here's another reason (among many) the "feminists" bug me. There's talk among feminists of backing McCain.

Yes...Hillary lost to Barack Obama. Yes, he did call a reporter "sweetie." Did he fuck her in The Oval Office, like Hillary's husband did? No! There's no evidence he doesn't like women or thinks their just a blowjob on legs.

Both candidates are human.

As for the Michigan/Indiana primary votes question, Hillary's Army seems put out that the outcome didn't favor Hillary 100%. But, let's face it: this was a problem caused by renegade democratic committies in those states to start with. Naturally, one expects Obama's supporters to push for one result and Hillary's supporters to push for another. Just as naturally, that the ultimate outcome was a compromise is no surprise, either. What is surprising is how rude her supporters were at the Rules Committee hearing and how bitter they were that the Committee didn't just roll over for them.

If you believe in Democracy, you understand that it's all about compromise and waiting your turn. Hillary's turn may come in four or eight years, but not if her supporters continue to make asses out of themselves and threaten not to play at all if they don't like the score. The following pardigmatic old-school feminist Hillary supporter can't seem to grasp the plain fact that a lot of women prefer Barack Obama over Hillary Clinton, and not only because they like his looks. She, for better or worse, represents old politics many of us want thrown out of Washington.

Study after study has shown that women will not automatically vote for a candidate based on sex, and many of us (and I'm not taking sides here) actually prefer having men in leadership roles. That's a reality. It's the way it is.

All that aside, for me, the astounding main message is that, sooner than anyone thought possible, a racial minority or a woman can be taken seriously for the Presidency by one of the major parties, and that party certainly isn't the Republican Party. My dad is blown away. Thought he'd never live long enough to see either. He's so proud of his country. Great Britain is smug about the way it has absorbed its Indian and Pakistani minority, but how soon do you think it will be that an Indian or Pakistani will be considered for Prime Minister?

They could surprise us, I suppose, but don't hold your breath!

And before you ask why I'm not quoting my mom, it's because, like many women, she's simply not very political. The feminists, who are radicals, seem to believe they can get women voting as a bloc. The trouble is, almost all of them are urban women. If they would bother to visit towns in places like rural Ohio, Kansas, or Nebraska, they'd discover how far away they are from having a bloc like that. For any woman to become President, she'll have to appeal to men as well. Not on a sexual level, which to my shame is the appeal Obama has to many women, but as someone who can make hard choices like dealing with 9/11-like situations. Someone who can stomach sending bombers out on missions that will likely kill innocents collaterally.

We're talking someone along the lines of a Golda Meier or a Margaret Thatcher. Men would vote for a female like that, but not one who is cute.

I might add here that a lot of women have never forgiven Hillary for her famous cookie baker comment in which she seemed to dismiss housewives as irrelevant. Come to think ot it, my own apolitical mom, who, while she has had a few part-time jobs in teaching or library work, was almost always there to welcome me home after school, frequently with some nice, warm freshly-baked cookies...she always looks at Hillary with disdain whenever she appears on TV. She says nothing, but I can feel her disgust in the air.

I also think that Hillary's voice, a shrill and nasal monotone, has never worked in her favor. Gina thinks her voice is just a notch more pleasant than the sound of a dentist drill. She also lacks taste to a painful degree on occasion, as when she adopted the brogue of a poor southern black while addressing a black audience:

I read somewhere once that what characterizes all radicalism, left or right is that it values purity above victory. In other words, it's a form of obsession. Compromise, they feel, leaves you with dirty hands. Better to lose than give everyone involved some satisfaction. Better to wait until you can convert everyone to your cause. Which is why radical politics fails so frequently.

But let's take a look at what a McCain victory would mean.

Do you value your abortion rights, ladies? You have no ally in John McCain. Do you value your online freedom to read and see what you like? Do you, like me, feel that porn, literary or pictorial, is merely masturbation material and that it's harmless? Well, that view isn't the Republican view. They feel that the Internet is something threatening that needs governmental control.

Funny how they feel choice and lack of governmental interference is what's important in health care, but quite the opposite is what's called for on the Internet.

The Republicans talk about how the Internet promotes rape and destroys the family, but let's face it: if a guy has masturbated, he's in no mood to rape anyone. Porn probably prevents far more rapes than it promotes. And as for the destruction of the family, why do Republicans fight tooth and nail to prevent us from taking time off from work to care for children or ill relatives?

H