MUSINGS FROM THE ICONOCLASM!

If I haven't dissed it--it ain't worth dissing!

Frank Apisa

Frank Apisa
Location
Piscataway, New Jersey, USA
Birthday
August 09
Bio
On a political continuum with Extreme Liberal at 1 and Extreme Conservative at 10, I can be found at position “P.” I get a chuckle at much of what passes for liberal thought, but don’t much chuckle at anything conservative. Quite frankly, I consider American conservatism to be one of the most dangerous pieces of garbage ever to pollute the planet Earth. A major problem with this mindset is occasioned by the fact that I am a 72 year old, white male who works at a county golf course in one of the richest, most conservative counties in the United States. Since I get free golf (at five county courses) as part of my compensation package, I play 4 – 5 times a week. Bottom line: Goddam near everyone I work with or play golf with, almost all of whom are 70+ year old white, males, is a die-hard conservative. I love each and every one of ‘em—love every bone in their heads. Truly! Sure is a tough haul, though—‘cause I am not given to holding my tongue. Just think of all the fun I have at work and play! Don’tcha envy me?

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Salon.com
JANUARY 6, 2012 12:37PM

Weekend fiction: A sexy chapter.

Rate: 3 Flag

This is a chapter from a sci-fi story I probably will never finish. Hope you like it.

 

At some point, they looked directly into each other’s eyes and acknowledged that they were alone together in the hot tub with absolutely no chance of intrusion. Neither Michael nor Nancy would be home before 9—and it wasn’t even 5:30 yet!

 

“I can’t believe this,” she laughed.

 

“Couldn’ta set it up better if I’d schemed it myself,” he said in return.

 

They laughed—both. Each felt a bit of the unspoken tension, but considering the circumstances, each was reasonably at ease.

 

The plans had called for pizza and a soak. “Eloise might stop by,” Michael had mentioned when inviting Kerry. “Kerry might stop by,” Nancy had mentioned to her daughter. Then Michael had been called out to an interview and Nancy had run into a tour needing a late guide—and there was no replacement. She had to do it.

 

Michael called home and Eloise had taken the message that he’d be out at least until 9 or 10. He had asked that his apologies be offered to Nancy and Kerry. At the office, Nancy stopped by Mail Distribution on her way to the cafeteria and asked Kerry to give her apologies to Michael and Nancy. No way she would make it home before 11. The lack of coordination had lead to Eloise and Kerry being alone—with none of the four realizing the whole of the story.

 

“I can understand him screwing up,” Eloise had said to Kerry, “…the guy’s got almost no brain left; but my mother???!!  I keep tellin’ her, ‘If ya hang out with him…’”

 

“Oh well, Kerry shrugged. “The both said to take a dip—and that still seems like a good idea. What about you, child?”

 

He flinched immediately—pretending to ward off the blow she pretended to throw in response to the ultimate insult of being called a kid. The move on her part allowed her robe to separate and gave Kerry his first clear view of her glistening skin and firm mid-section.  Then, with almost monotonous bravado—she removed the robe and slowly walked over to the edge of the tub to be the first to enter.

 

“Seems to me you usually reserve that walk for the Prof,” Kerry tried—a bit forced.

 

“Really!” she replied with a petulant look shaping her face. “No, I don’t think so,” she said as she lowered herself onto the deck at the edge of the tub. “I always walk the way I walk.”

 

She then turned her right leg round into the spa—but held the left in place; a move that caused an intended spread-leg offering to Kerry’s view. She held the pose just long enough to add,  “Ain’t I right?”—then moved the left leg around and completed her move into the warm water.

 

Once in, she turned back to him, smiled, and said,  “Come on in,” emphasizing her request with a beckoning motion using all fingers rather than just the index.

 

Kerry was in the water almost before his outer pants were off.

 

“Oh my, my, my,” she said staring at his briefs as he entered the spa, “you do like me a lot, don’t you?”

 

The both guffawed. The banter was light; she was leading; and he’d probably manage to keep his sanity! To that end, Kerry took a deep breath, closed his lids, and tried to stay relaxed.

 

He thought back to the day three years back when Eloise had said to him, “I feel sorry for a guy having to deal with one of them.” The subject had been erections, occasioned by an unusually graphic sex-education class on television.

 

Kerry’s response had come out of his mouth before Nancy had been able to stifle his words. “Don’t ever feel sorry for a guy with a schlong as stiff as that one, Ellie,” he said, “a guy in that condition could have a root canal done without Novocain.

 

Nancy’s lecture had been moderate: “Can we all keep in mind that Eloise is only 16. I know she spends a lot of time with us…adults—and better that she be here than hanging out in the streets or with…” her voice trailed off, leaving the “with her father” unsaid. “But she is only 16 years old, Mr. Smith.”

 

“Will you stop treating me like a child, Mother!” had been the predictable response—followed by a perceptible pulling back of her shoulders. “Or perhaps I can interest you in a game of comparative bra’s!”

 

“I’ll give ya comparative bra’s,” said her mother, pushing herself out of the entertainment chair, pretending to hide the enjoyment she was getting from Eloise’s sexiness. Fact is, she got more out of it than Eloise, because she reaped the benefits of the all too obvious adolescent vamping her daughter did on Michael. And that was more than just okay with her.

 

Eloise’s voice popped Kerry out of his reverie like a gunshot.

 

“Do you think I should try to lose some weight, Horse?” she asked.

 

The beautiful young nymphet had been buoying herself in the warm water—her body stretched out across the spa, elbows reaching behind to rest on the seat. It allowed her to move her body gently up and down in the water—a movement whose significance was not at all lost on Kerry. She prefaced her question by lifting her left leg up out of the spa unbent—using the exclamation point of her out-stretched leg with the toes pointed upward as a kind of living punctuation mark at the end of her sentence.

 

The mention of her weight…the display of her body signaled to Kerry that most likely, he’d soon have an important decision to make. “Do I do the dirty deed or not,” he thought to himself, carefully masking any trace of what he was thinking from facial expression or body language.

 

Eloise obviously meant business this time!

 

It was a very long leg; she was a big girl in every way—but her question about her weight was as obvious as the way she had entered the pool.

 

Kerry cleared his throat before speaking; no need to let the sound of urgency come into play. Leave that for the female stand-up comics to mimic, he thought to himself as he said in a clear, steady voice, “You gotta be shittin’ me, Kid. You got a great body.”

 

Too much, he thought to himself immediately, the race goes to the sure, not the swift, big guy. Then he added aloud, “It’s just that there’s a lot more body there than most people have!”

 

That caused the expected reaction—lots of water being splashed; lots of kicking; lots of high-pitched protestation; and lots and lots of accidental-on-purpose body touching.

 

Eloise got as much mileage from the incident as she could—then quieted for a moment. She reached over for the remote to punch up some music. The search for the right sound stopped at an ages-old treatment of Rigoletto—grand opera being to both their likings. The she turned the strobe off and started fiddling with the lighting of both the spa and the playroom.

 

Satisfied, she settled back down—for five seconds—and then was up again readjusting the setting she had just readjusted—each movement taking her up out of the water. The combination of wet and glistening skin was revealed from a dozen perspectives—her body bent this way, stretched that way—and of course there were the constant moves to keep her hair from falling across her face. That always seemed to require the use of both hands—elbows always pointing directly out in front as she started—then timing themselves with her hands through her long tresses, they moved apart, each to its own side—her magnificent firm breasts, barely contained by the thin bra pushing out from her body.

 

Up went the rose coloring; down went the intensity; and back again—and just when she seemed to get everything just right, she realized she wanted something from her robe and reached for that.

 

Kerry was aware that this was one of those times when the head of his penis was beyond the pleasant glow an erection can give it—and had now moved on to the pulsing pain a guy often experiences.

 

“Will you settle down, for chrissake,” he scolded, “I’m trying to unlax.”

 

“From the way I saw you looking at me while I was punching up the music, Horse,” she said without a trace of a smile, “…my guess is you’d need a lot more than my being quiet to unlax you.” She turned her head back toward him—her incredible body still stretched out toward the robe. “My leaving the spa might do the trick, though!” she added…as her mouth transformed into an almost sardonic smile.

 

She was mocking him—big time! And he was about to wisecrack back when she turned her attention back to the robe and continued her thought, “…or maybe this might do the job.”

 

Her search thought the pockets of the robe had taken her out of the water to mid-buttocks level. It was a vision that would have made Venus envious. When she turned back, she had a red, white, and blue-papered joint held almost like a mustache against her upper lip. “I know it’s gonna unlax me!” she added, jutting her jaw toward Kerry.

 

She was playing major league mind games with him.

 

“Hey, kid,” he said, “…you really shouldn’t do that. The wine is okay, because you drink wine in front of Nancy, but she’d give me a whole bunch of shit if she knew about…”

 

All of which he said without much conviction.

 

Her long, dark hair was thoroughly wet now—and hung in curly strands—the ends plastered tightly against her shoulders. Kerry drank in the no make-up look; the innocence; the provocation—all wrapped up in one glistening-skinned, gorgeous young woman.

 

What a fox, he thought to himself.

 

“Yeah, man, I know,” she said, “…but why on Earth wouldja tell her—which is the onliest way she’d ever find out ‘cause I sure as hell ain’t gonna.”

 

The both did another round of laughter at her gutter English—and then spent several undivided seconds looking unflinchingly into one another’s eyes.

 

She used the lighter she’d pulled from the robe at the same time as the joint…took a deep toke and then passed it to him. His feeble protest caused no more than a raised eyebrow and slight tilting to her head. He dried his hand on a spa-side towel; took the joint; and puffed. Another pass…another toke…another pass and another toke.

 

Then while carefully submerged in the water, in a move obviously calculated to get his undivided attention, she took off her bra and placed it on the deck. Seconds later, she reached down—struggled ever so slightly—and put her panties on top of he bra. Underwear was the only thing most people ever wore into the Prof’s homemade hot tub.

 

They had often kidded about skinny-dipping in the spa—and now she was pushing things. Fact is, Kerry had seen her a dozen times sans bra since she was thirteen or fourteen—fleeting supposed accidents she had set up to provoke Michael. And the thong panty she had worn into the spa session was about as efficient a cover-up as would have been a sneaker lace. But just knowing that she and he were in the tub together with her absolutely naked was almost more than he could take.

 

They both started giggling uproariously when the combination of “nakididity” and “dope annihilation” kicked in. He was delighted with the laughter, because it gave him some reprieve from the throbbing his brain was dealing with. At one point—before the laughter of absurdity hit, he actually worried that the bubble action, water jet movement might cause him to finish up right in the spa—without so much as a human hand coming into contact with his penis. Kerry Smith was sizzling—and the temperature of the water had nothing to do with it. His head was throbbing as much as his manhood—and a sheepish look was integrating itself into an exaggerated lecher shtick—complete with eyebrows shooting up and down in an attempt to cover up his urgency.

 

The banter came fast and furious—and he marveled that such a young person could retort and handle herself as well as she did. What the hell else do they teach these kids these days, he thought to himself. I was 30 years old before I could handle myself like she’s doing; shit, I was 30 before I even knew what the hell was what. And here this kid is in a tub with me buck fuckin’ naked—and she’s making it seem like “everybody does this, don’t be so old-fashioned.”

 

The words “old-fashioned” actually were used—and he predictably reacted to them about the same way Eloise reacted to his use of the word “kid.”

 

“Don’t anybody call me old-fashioned!” he said in Gutter English—and he punctuated his sentence with a full-face straight-arm splash of water.

 

“Yaahhh!” she shrieked in delight—and straight armed water back in return—which, of course, degenerated into a lot of flailing arms and breasts on her part and a lot of very heavy breathing on his. Eloise had the firmest breasts Kerry had ever seen—and if a certain amount of subcutaneous fat deposits had less than desired effect on some body parts, the deposits in her breasts were marvelous to behold. They were no large, by any means; not even larger than average—but they jutted straight out from her body in a way Kerry thought would give a statue a hard-on. Her nipples were dark, hard, and about the size of a pinky tip; the kind of nipples a guy could really enjoy. Her areolas were puffy and smooth—and Kerry’s ears were popping from the pressure building in his body.

 

He had long been rid of his underpants—she’d “shamed” him into that move within minutes of her own disrobement.

 

“So, whatta ya think about bein’ in a hot tub stock naked with a girl young enough to be your granddaughter?” she jibed—her head moving from side to side in cadence with her words and the music.

 

Kerry reflected on the young girl’s use of “stock” instead of “stark”; wondering what her reaction would be if instead of following up on the new invitation to move things along—he drifted off on a discourse about her misuse of the word.  But other brain cells prevailed, the ones coming from his lower brain, and he said, “I don’t really know that you are naked. I saw what I suppose to be your top and bottom get thrown up on the deck—and while I have accidental confirmation of the bra being the one you wore into the tub, who knows about the other? Might just have been a shoe-string you smuggled in.”

 

With peals of delight and much splashing, she instantly took him up on his truth or dare—whirled so her back faced him and lifted up completely out of the water. Then down again with lots more laughing and splashing back under water to shoulder depth. By now her eyes were riveted to his—and each had a smile from ear to ear.

 

 “Ahhh,” said Kerry, trying to recover from the sight of those beautiful buttocks of hers, “with that G-string thong you wear you might still have something on. Couldn’t really tell from that angle. How about a flip side view?” It was the best Kerry’s anxiety would allow him to come up with.

 

By now his voice was husky; he was major excited. And so was she. Kerry stared at her but saw a different view of her in his mind’s eye. She was laying back, her back arched, her feet together, pulled in, knees askew, blood-shot, mucous coated, inner folds of her vagina lighted by high intensity lamps. In his mind’s eye, she was older and made-up; lots of vivid reds and pinks. The vision’s arms were held tight against the sides of her chest, hands turned outward between her thighs; the pressure of her arms causing her gorgeous young breasts to squeeze together; nipples expanding in that special way that squeezed breasts do. Her look was benign; older than the real her; pouting, inviting, irresistible.

 

One particularly heavy breath of reverie brought him back to the here and now. She was looking at him with a grin that was part excitement, part malicious. “Glad to see you’re back,” she said observantly, “thought you were about to do your own laundry.”

 

He laughed. He had told her the joke when she was still a teenager. “It was a small load and I did it by hand!” was the punch line.

 

His sigh of return to the tub from the reverie was so pronounced; it was hard not to notice. She stared right at his eyes. “You do still like me?” she kidded—and then feigned looking through the bubbling water.

 

“Whatta ya think,? he said as he called her bluff and allowed his lower body to float up out of the water. It seemed to happen in slow motion—and Kerry was not sure of what caused him to accelerate on his own. Usually he waited for any woman he was with to okay each new move in small increments. The up-periscope move was very uncharacteristic. And Eloise actually gasped.

 

“Well, Miss Bigmouth?” Kerry questioned. “Was it something I said that caused you to go so quiet—or something I did?”

 

“Holy shit,” she said, “you really did think that was you on TV that time.”

 

“What?” he said laughing.

 

“That time we were watching sex education together and you though that faceless model’s contribution looked like your…billy club, I think you called it. Before Mom gave you hell. You remember!”

 

Yup. That was that time. He had forgotten the “billy club” remark. He decided that silence was his best bet right now. Let her decide what was happening…and what would happen. He was almost hoping that she’d scare off, because going though with what was happening was going to be a bitch to live with.

 

“You really are big,” she said in a different tone from what she had been using. Her enunciation was perceptively better; she was even sitting more erect; and her demeanor was decidedly more adult. Fact is, she looked a very young 25 right at the moment.

 

A few minutes earlier—in response to his challenge to show the front side, she had dipped her head into the water and then immediately stood straight up showing her incredibly mature body. The water had coursed down her face from her submersion—her eyes closed in protection from the it. She rubbed them; opened them; stared boldly at Kerry. Kerry remembered every moment of the next several; Eloise looking down at her own body; the slow, sensual movement of her hands down the sides of her body reaching the spot where less zaftig women have bony knobs—then steering her hands forward toward the thick mass of black hair that grew at the V of her body.

 

As she slowly moved back down into the water, she raised her eyes to his again—a mocking smile on her face. “Hope the old man doesn’t have a heart attack,” she said.

 

He hadn’t answered. He’d just cupped his hands; filled them with water; and poured it over his bent back face.

 

On the stereo, the Duke of Mantua was bemoaning the loss of Guilda in the classic area Ella mi fu rapita…his eyes were still closed when he felt her hand running up his leg to his inner thigh. Now it was he who hoped “the old man” would not have a heart attack.

 

He opened his eyes and stared at her barely willing to move. She was determined—and continued her upward movement to a point were the back of her hand was in intimate contact with the sac between his loins. His penis was so rigid it didn’t even come into play.

 

He reached out with his right hand and took hold of her forearm. They hesitated there together—neither moving in a conspiracy of uncertainty. She made a move as though to reach further, but he held her still. The moves were now his to make.

 

After a second or two he guided her hand up to the aching shaft—then almost immediately stopped her from any action that might cause the release he wanted more than breath. Her “happy ending” was now paramount—and had to precede any release on his part. She knew instinctively what he wanted…and relaxed the upper part of her body back toward the spa corner…stretching the rest of her body toward him.

 

The leg and thigh massage he managed to give her was probably not the longest he’d ever offered…but it was effective beyond measure. Her release was extremely intense…and seemed to last for ages. She had to use force to back his head and fingers away…so great the intensity of the orgasm. His came inside her after only five thrusts, but neither minded the short duration of activity.

 

Dealing with the consequences was something that would take place on another day. 

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Is it hot in here or is it just me? Smokin'.
Get off the Links & Write! Well done. R
Thanks Firechick...and thanks Marilyn. My wife thinks I ended the chapter too soon...that a bit more graphic detail of the actual "event" were needed. But I kinda like foreplay...and this was a sort of literary foreplay to a sexy scene.