

the River and the Road

Mark Gross

Published by Mark Gross at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Mark Gross

Discover other titles by the author at:

http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/MarkGross

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends.

This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes,

provided the book remains in its complete original form.

If you enjoyed this book, please return to the above link

to discover other works by this author.

Thank you for your support.

the River and the Road

Chapter Ø

Prolog

Day Ø

Early in the afternoon, I descend from the Greyhound bus at the Crescent City stop on Front Street, looking out at the Pacific as I step down to street level. With my rucksack over one shoulder, I cross the street to the park, to have a look at the small harbor. This is protected from the open sea by a long, narrow, curved jetty on one side and a shorter, wider and more substantial one with a parking lot on it, on the other.

It is early May and the onshore breeze is cool as it sends low clouds scudding up against the coastal hills. I zip up my jacket and begin the short version of my standing stretch routine to get some blood pumping and work out the kinks of the long bus ride up from the south. After 10 minutes of that, I feel awake and loose once again.

I take a last look around the harbor, heft and shoulder my supposedly waterproof rucksack, turn and re-cross the street. It is the beginning of my self-powered journey, a new life and lifestyle, those initial steps in town alongside Highway 101. When I arrive at the intersection with Northcrest, a wide business boulevard, I turn left. I need to do some shopping, to outfit myself for the trip and for the new life I have planned.

My first stop is the bike shop/outdoor outfitter from which I pre-ordered my customized new "Old Paint" from. She is there waiting for me, a dull primer black touring version of a fat-frame mountain bike. She has 21 gears - 3 cogs up front and 7 on the back axle. Her gear ratios are chosen for spinning up long grades, pulling a load. She also has heavy duty front and rear disc brakes for long, controlled descents.

I will be staying on roads and paths most of the time, so there is no need for off-road equipment or heavier weight tires. Instead, I ordered low rolling resistance tires and heavy duty, thorn-proof tubes, to cut down on punctures somewhat. I expect flats to be inevitable, since I will be riding many miles on many different roads and since I will almost always be riding through the detritus to be found on the roadside.

I christen her Rain for several good reasons, the first of which is that I ordered her customized for it, as I am bound for a state renowned for lousy weather. She has full fenders, lots of reflectors and waterproof battery powered lights and flashers. For hauling cargo, she has heavy duty racks on both front and rear. Quick release panniers, also supposedly waterproof, are mounted to the sides of each rack. I also pre-ordered a frame mounted tire pump and repair tool kit, plus spare: tires & tubes, brake parts, chain, batteries and bulbs, etc.

To outfit myself, I pick up a helmet, cold-weather cycling shoes and a foul-weather bicycle suit. I will wear these over my usual clothing - jeans and tee shirts, maybe a hoodie for cool days like today. I also acquire a small storm-proof tent camo and camo tarp, a sleeping bag & pad, a rechargeable LED camp lantern and some waterproof satchels. I don't get any cooking gear or cookware, although I buy a collapsible fabric cooler, several water-bottles, some lightweight plates, cups and utensils, for I plan to get occasional hot meals from roadside restaurants.

Finally I conclude my business at the bike-outfitter shop. I pay with cash plus a large money order for the remaining balance for the items I had pre-ordered and for those few I have purchased on impulse. All told & totaled, it runs me well over 3 grand, spent just at the bike shop; but I have other items to pick up elsewhere. I ask George - the friendly and helpful bike shop manager that I had spent the last hour working with - to set aside and keep an eye on most of my new items and also my rucksack for a while.

Taking only my new mount and her lock, I ride over to the nearby Walmart. Rain seems stable and substantial beneath me. The familiar old floating-flying sensation, of rolling under my own power returns. It's unforgettable, as they say; just like riding a bicycle. In my guts, my lungs, my legs and my heart, I begin to yearn for the long road ahead. The trip over to Walmart is too short.

For the first time of many to come, I lock Rain up to the rack, then enter the store and walk over to the customer service desk. I go there to ask about my pre-ordered pickup item, a hard plastic shell, supposedly 100% waterproof, lockable bicycle trailer, made in Germany. As promised, it is there waiting for me, so I ask them to hold it a bit longer while I shop for clothes, first aid gear and packable road food, granola bars etc.

Including the pre-paid trailer, I spend nearly another grand there at the Walmart. When I walk the trailer and its' new load out of the store and over to Rain at her hitching post, I am struck by a sudden epiphany. I realize that, after one last afternoon spent actively doing my economic duty as a consumer; I am no longer able to travel as an entirely foot-bound entity. Once again I own more than I can lift and carry at one time, a somewhat unwelcome, but necessary condition.

With this newfound yet still fairly minimal horde of possessions, I believe that I will live more frugally on average and in total than I could have previously, with just my medium-sized rucksack and its' contents. I also believe that I will live a healthier and happier existence. I am determined to prove that to myself and to you, dear reader, over the course of this account. This will be an ongoing log of my travels and my new lifestyle as an intermediate tech nomadic vagabond.

After spending a few minutes attaching the new trailer to the new bike, I am ready to head back over to the bike shop. Pulling the trailer and its' load, it is immediately apparent that Rain is more workhorse than racehorse and the trip back is not quite so short. The small-town evening "rush hour" is nearly over by the time I complete the loading process.

I spend almost two hours carefully distributing my many new and few previous possessions among my seven supposedly waterproof cargo containers. Among the items that I left the bus carrying this afternoon is the 12 inch tablet/laptop hybrid, upon which I am recording my recollections of the day. As I write, I am in a motel; I rode Rain here immediately after I was done loading her and myself, down with stuff. I am digesting the plate of spaghetti I had for dinner and sipping from a pint of Irish mouthwash.

George recommended this nearby motel and also the restaurant, after I inquired about locally owned Italian eateries here in Crescent City. I came to this motel first, checked in and left the bike trailer and almost everything else locked in the room. I headed over to the restaurant, riding Rain with only my rucksack containing the tablet, my supply of cash and some other valuables,.

I readily admit that a spaghetti and sausage dinner is strange fare for a coastal town, but my upcoming itinerary will undoubtedly allow me many opportunities for seafood. I am beginning this new life with a strict budgetary regime; but I believe that I can compromise on this last night of my old life. I figure I might as well enjoy a hot meal; I know I will need the pasta carbs tomorrow. I am the engine that will propel Rain and her load out of town tomorrow morning, heading for an unknown and undoubtedly road-weary first campsite miles to the north, in colder, wetter Oregon. Among other things, I plan to determine how waterproof all my supposedly waterproof containers actually are.
Chapter 1

Day 1

I sleep in past 9, in order to avoid commuter traffic heading into and also out of town. I shower and check out and then Rain carries me to a brief stop at a diner. I pay cash for a quickly consumed cup of coffee & a breakfast burrito. Then I am on the road and away, spinning my way north, on Rain & in the rain. Yep, I promise that just thinking about heading to Oregon will likely make it start raining on you soon. From previous experience, I also know that after spending time in Oregon, the rain will follow you out of the state for a while - I kid you not.

Some time back, after living in Oregon for a decade, I took a road trip to Vegas. Stopping in Tonopah, Nevada for a Mexican lunch, a cloudburst made it necessary to dash from the car into the restaurant. Once inside, I found that everyone was standing at the windows, looking out. Inquiring about the reason for that, I was told that it was the first rain they had had in two years! I had apparently brought the rain to them from Oregon, where if it is not raining, wait two minutes!

ANYWAY, working my way out of Crescent City, I stay on so-called surface streets for a few miles; on Railroad Avenue at first and then on to Wonder Stump Rd. This was undoubtedly named for the age old question children ask wherever money is made from logging: Daddy, where did all these stumps come from? After turning onto and riding along Kings Valley Rd., I finally merge onto Coast Highway 101 just before it crosses the Smith River. This is fed from its watershed containing Jedediah Smith Redwood state park and some of the biggest, oldest trees remaining anywhere.

Shortly thereafter I stop in the town of Smith River at a market. I buy a prefab roast beef sandwich and a small carton of milk with a few dollars from my stash of cash. This is the first day of my new lifestyle, after all. My new motto is cash and carry from local businesses and private parties (http://www.taxcrackpot.net/). My one credit card is for last resort use only, for drawing cash if absolutely necessary and for purchases made from franchises and large businesses.

Coming out of the market with my purchases just after noon, I notice that the rain has stopped and the sky has lightened slightly, a welcome change. I ride on through fields and occasional banks of light fog; the highway turns to the west after bridging the Smith River. I stop again a few miles down the road at a liquor store and pick up a 1.5 liter bottle of Irish mouthwash. Booze is considerably cheaper here on the California side than in Oregon's heavily taxed state run liquor stores.

Packing my bottle away in the hard shell trailer, I remount Rain and continue, spinning my way almost due north now, as Hwy. 101 runs along the beach until it crosses into Oregon. Just before I cross, I make my last stop in California to eat my store bought sandwich and watch the surf at Pelican state beach. While I am eating, it starts raining again and it turns out that it will rain on me heavily the rest of the day. This is the usual welcome to Oregon, for new visitors and returning moss-backs alike.

After the sandwich I remount and head for the anti-climactic state imaginary line border crossing. I stop again soon thereafter, to gaze for a few minutes at the Welcome to Oregon sign and think about my past in this miserable state. The story goes that, at one point, an especially thick-headed governor had the sign changed to read "Welcome to Oregon, Please Don't Stay". I won't, I promise.

ANYWAY, after a few minutes of reflection I continue on. In thick fog and heavy rain, I soon ride on the bridge over the southernmost of western Oregon's many coastal rivers, the Winchuck. I would not swear to it, but I may have seen a sea-run cut-throat trout swimming through the deluge and the 100% humidity air. This big fish seemingly swam over, instead of under the bridge in front of me.

Leaving this vision from a Paul Bunyan style tall tale behind, I pedal on through the mist and rain. I arrive soon at the coastal town of Brookings, at the outlet of the Chetco River. I stop at a diner for a while to warm up, drink a cup of coffee and have a slice of blueberry pie. Although the weather and the state bureaucracy of Oregon sucks, the good people often somehow manage to serve a tasty cup of coffee and also grow an excellent crop of blueberries every year.

After a pleasant, dry hour indoors, I go back out to Rain and the downpour. After another hour and a half on the road, in the quickly gathering dark gray foggy dusk, I turn Rain into a coastal view subdivision in the making. I wind my way up on new roads with new curbs and staked out lots covered with many doomed trees, marked with colorful ribbons which foretell their destiny. At the top, I find a meadow in which I make camp. I use a small cluster of bushes for concealment from the possibility of a private security patrol, on the lookout for transient vagabonds like me.

Setting up my camo tent for the first time and covering Rain with her new camo tarp, I am confident that I will not be disturbed. It seems highly unlikely that any minimum wage paid security patrol guard will get out of his warm car in this deluge with his flashlight to find me. I settle down for an evening spent reading an ebook on the tablet while listening to a small FM radio on headphones. At times, the rain and wind become so fierce that I stop and listen to it pound upon the thin walls of my tent. It is an excellent tent and it stays dry within, despite Mother Nature's frequently repeated efforts to intrude, made throughout the evening and into the night.

Taking a short break from reading, on a spreadsheet I total up the days cash expenditures. My breakfast cost just over 4 bucks, lunch was about $5, coffee and pie set me back about almost 4 more, so including tips, the days debits were roughly $16 (http://www.cash-economy.net/). For dinner, I have some potato chips and some turkey jerky, washing them down with bottled water.

Although I had pedaled almost 40 miles, I did not have to buy any gas, nor did I have to spend anything for this rough camp spot. I did not have any monetary credits that day to offset my expenditures, but I felt that it had been a productive first day nevertheless. For one thing, this opus is off to a good start, two chapters totaling over 2500 words, with another day of travel and unknown events and thoughts in the offing, tomorrow approaching at the usual pace.

Later in the evening, I make a quick trip out to relieve myself on a poor, ribbon bearing tree. My cell phone, still getting a weak signal from a coastal tower serving the highway, tells me it is almost 10:30 when I shut off the LED lantern. I am snug, dry and warm in my new sleeping bag. After the day's honest exertions, I sleep soundly through the rainy night.
Chapter 2

Day 2

I wake up before 7, hungry and raring to go. It has stopped raining, but the morning is misty and foggy. I eat a granola bar and drink some water as I quickly break camp and pack up. I mount Rain and coast down the hill to the highway. A couple of miles up the road I use the rest room in Boardman state park to relieve myself, take a whores bath and brush my teeth. I'm bald, so every day is either a good hair day, or a bad hair day, depending on your personal perspective on baldness.

Feeling refreshed, but still hungry, I take to the road north once again, seeing visions of a diner. Any diner at all will do, likely in the town of Gold Beach, which is 10 or 12 miles up the road. Today's terrain is harder and slower than yesterday. The road is alternating between winding through the hills or close above the long beach, noisy with crashing surf. There are many more fir, spruce and coastal pine trees and few open fields.

When out of the trees and close to the beach, the wind is an ever present force. The southern Oregon coast is an area of wind energy resource, it always surprises me not to see wind farms on the hills or out at sea off the beach. The wind is especially difficult for me to deal with during the stretch through the Pistol River state park, along the winding mouth of the Pistol River as it cuts through the dunes to the sea.

The variable buffeting of the wind there demands my constant attention. I must make continuous steering corrections to avoid being pushed off the road, or even worse, into the path a car or log truck. The drivers of occasional passing vehicles do their best to give me lots of room on the road, a blessing to careful, courteous drivers everywhere. Finally I cycle clear of the open beach and happily head up the hill into the shelter of the trees. I climb slowly towards Cape Sebastian state park, where I stop for a breather and take a leak.

Rolling into Gold Beach a little before 10 am, I soon locate a real version of the imaginary diner which has been driving my feet. It offers customers wifi internet access, so with my tablet at my side, I happily settle in to a leisurely country breakfast with coffee, juice, eggs, bacon, sausage and blueberry pancakes. It is just past noon when I walk out to unlock Rain from her hitching post. My belly is stretching my shirt and I am newly up to date on the widely webbed world.

My email account is now cleared of the spam that always seems to swim past the anti-spam filters. Necessary replies have been sent and everything is just peachy with the world. Not only that, the clouds are clearing somewhat, visible little patches of blue sky can be seen poking through, here and there. It is a different world with a full belly, there is no doubt of that, even in Oregon.

Pedaling through town towards the bridge over the Rogue River, signs advertising jet boat tours up the river catch my attention. With the sun peeking down upon me, in a state of blissfully sated euphoria, I fall for their message. It seems ideal to spend a few hours sitting in a jet boat looking at scenery and taking pictures with my smart phone while I digest the heavy breakfast. I inquire about and purchase a ticket for the 1 pm afternoon jet boat ride, also getting permission to stow Rain in a locked store-room during my ride. My afternoon is set!

I grab my rucksack, check that my binoculars are in it, verify that my smart phone battery still holds a good charge and buy a root beer from a vending machine. I walk down to the dock to sit on a bench and wait for the afternoon's excursion to begin, supposedly in about 20 minutes. As I wait, others who have just purchased tickets for the same trip make their way down to the dock to join me.

Lo and behold, miracles still do happen, as three francaises (Frenchwomen) appear on the dock, chatting together in their native tongue. Although I can barely speak their language, I am capable of understanding them. I took more than 5 years of French in high school and junior college, almost 40 years ago. Eavesdropping on their conversation will be an unexpected bonus of my afternoon; if I can finagle a seat on the jet boat in front of them it will be ideal.

We wait for the boat to arrive and pick us up. I idly take in the scenery while I listen and try to decipher their chatter. At times it becomes difficult to keep a straight face, which might give me away. Using my smart phone to look up occasional words that elude me, I soon realize that they are three generations: fille, mere, et grandmere - daughter, mother and grandmother.

Glancing in their direction occasionally, I also realize that the daughter and mother are both good looking - I usually find Frenchwomen to be appealing in some way - but the grandmother is magnifique! She looks to be in her early fifties at most and in great, shapely shape. If you are familiar with French actresses, she reminds me somewhat of a cross between Fanny Ardant and Jeanne Moreau at that age. She has a strong, intelligent and expressive face and there seems to be a lot of healthy woman moving around under her clothes.

The jet-boat pulls up and docks, we are invited and helped aboard, ladies first, of course. I am easily able to find a seat on the right side of the boat, in the row directly in front of the three. There is only about half a load of tourists on the boat. It is a weekday and too early in the season to see a boatload on these tours. My afternoon is really set now; I am having trouble believing my luck! Then it turns unexpectedly. Grandmere (Foxy Grandmother) is tapping me on the shoulder!

I turn and smile, hoping to look both simple and naive. She smiles back and introduces herself to me in French! Her name is Elise Deschamps, not Foxy, the appellation my dirty old sexist mind has chosen for her. After a few long moments, it is apparent that she knows somehow that I can understand what she is saying to me. I must give it up and respond, in the best French I can muster, which is dismal.

All three of them crack up. I get red in the face and turn away, which causes more peals of laughter. Finally, I can take no more, stand up and go to sit in the back of the boat, more chuckles ensue. I have never been so thoroughly busted in my life; it is a horrible feeling, very embarrassing.

Soon the crew decides that the boat is as full as it is going to get, so we shove off and start up the river. I take my binoculars out of my rucksack and watch the shoreline as we move quickly upstream. The Rogue River estuary is beautiful, richly bustling with active wildlife in the cool, wet Oregon spring. After a few minutes, Grandmere Elise comes and sits next to me, apologizing in perfect English for having embarrassed me.

I ask her what gave me away. She says that she noticed me tapping on my smart-phone occasionally while they were talking and then realized that became a trend. While I surreptitiously watched them, she had also been observing me and figured out what I was doing. I complimented her on being so observant. She told me she had to be, since she has been an inspector for Interpol for nearly 30 years!

Then she asked me if I would come and join them; they hoped I would be willing to share my binoculars and also talk with them, in English, of course. In agreement, I stand and we make our way back to her little multi-generational family group. She introduces her daughter and grand-daughter, and I re-introduce myself, in English. This is too much for the youngest of the three, who promptly begins giggling again. Mere and Grandmere don't giggle, but just smile back at me.

Mere's (mother's) name is Jeanne Foret. Her fille (daughter) apparently isn't married yet, for she is Mathilde Foret. To get her to quit giggling I hand her the binoculars, which has the desired effect, she starts looking through them at the scenery. I turn to Jeanne and Elise and ask how they have come to be in this place, at this time.

Jeanne responds that her daughter - Mathilde \- is beginning at the University of Oregon in the fall. They have all come to help her to get established, well prior to her first semester and also to take a sightseeing trip together. This is what brings them here today, to see the beautiful Rogue River on a jet boat, everyone has told them they must, even if it is early and cold.

Looking around, I tell them that it appears that we will be lucky today. The cloud cover has continued to break up and we will likely get some unusual spring sunshine as the afternoon goes on. Elise then asks me the same question, namely: how I came to be on the jet boat with them on this day.

I tell her that I began an extended bicycle tour in northern California the previous day; that I had stopped for a big, late breakfast this morning in Gold Beach. As a result, my belly is much too full to ride, so it appears that I am sitting in this jet boat with them at this moment only through "La Forza del Destino". All three look back at me blankly for a moment, then comprehend that I am referring to Verdi's opera with the Italian translation - the force or power of destiny.

Simultaneously, I see them all thinking the same thoughts; does this "type" (informal French word for guy or dude) really think that destiny has anything to do with this random chance meeting? Then; which one of us is he going to make a pass at? The daughter falls for it first, turning and beginning to speak about it with her mother in French, at which time I smile at her and say - Gotcha!

This time, Elise, Jeanne and I all chuckle at young Mathilde. She turns a little red as she looks daggers at me for a moment and then smiles, although she does not giggle at her own expense. Suddenly, we are all fast friends and my afternoon is set once again!

And it is a fantastic afternoon, unseasonably warm in the spring sun. At different times on the shoreline, we see several otters, numerous deer and a couple of black bears. We also see a bald eagle and an osprey in an extended aerial dogfight after the eagle steals a fair sized fish from the osprey, in flight! The air battle goes on as the osprey repeatedly dives at the eagle, trying to steal the fish back. Screeching dirty bird words at each other, deadly talons on both large raptors flash!

My binoculars are passed around often and we take many pictures. I film the fierce aerial battle with my smart phone camera. This prompts Elise to give me her email address; she says that she hopes that I will send her the video as a souvenir. I tell the ladies about the famous western novelist and storyteller - Zane Grey - and his log cabin here on the Rogue.

After about 3 hours of boat ride, we are returned to the dock, at our starting point. In the parking lot the ladies make much of Rain and my name for her. I don't tell them the other reason that I call her Rain; that I had once known a beautiful, long-haired stripper who used Rain as her stage name.

ANYWAY, my three new friends and I must sadly soon part company. But first, I am given the opportunity to do some French style cheek kissing and hugging with them all as we say goodbye in the formal European manner. I promise Elise that I will email the aerial bird dogfight video to her ASAP. Then they stand in the parking lot and watch me as I ride Rain back up to the highway, Zane Grey style, into the sunset.

As I begin my late afternoon ride, I am looking forward to putting at least 10 more miles behind me before I start to look for a campsite for the night. I ride north across the bridge over the Rogue and turn west with the highway, heading downstream towards the mouth of that long, wild and scenic river. I feel unusually strong and alive; my heart pulses quickly as I begin to build up my spin rate and accelerate to a mile-eating pace on the road along the river. It never fails, the wonderful company of women brings my heart roaring back to life, always.

As I round the curve which turns the highway back to the north along the beach, it starts to rain again. I smile and pedal onward, looking forward to another rainy evening and night in my dry tent. I am thinking about Rain, the Lady Godiva-like exotic dancer, as I ride her namesake. I also relive how abundantly female Elise felt in my arms as I hugged her and kissed her intelligent, beautiful face.

Motivating power comes from such thoughts and also from the blueberry pancakes I had with my big brunch, so I spin on. 15 miles to the north, in the fading evening light from the western sky, I take a side road which leads me up a hill above the highway and the beach. Near the crest of the hill, in a concealed spot, I make my camp for the night.

Just drizzling and misting, the rain is not anything like the downpour of the previous night. After the camp is ready for my occupation, I sit on the pad in the tent to record my experiences on the tablet while they are still fresh. Accomplishing that, I have a bed-time snack of mixed nuts, cheese and crackers. Finally, I go outside again briefly and then retire early, with fond remembrances of the day.
Chapter 3

Day 3

I rise early, just after 6. Becoming aware of my own funk, I make a resolution to find a place to shower, sometime during the coming day. Looking at the map, I see that the highway turns away from the Pacific about 10 miles north, up by Cape Blanco, one of the westernmost points of the USA. As I recall from the energy alternative interests and research of my young adulthood, Cape Blanco is a regional wind energy resource (http://www.clean-green-scenes.net/). Sadly, it has been left undeveloped by the series of ignoramus boneheads who have ascended to so-called leadership in the politics of this back-asswards state.

Development of a wind and wave energy research park here could easily provide a large percentage of the needed power for the various small communities on the south coast. Once the concept is proven, it could be expanded to power Coos Bay \- North Bend, a slightly larger industrial community not far to the north. With further expansion of the facility, sustainable source electric power could then be transmitted inland. Transmission lines already connect this part of the coast to the much larger towns and cities inland such as Roseburg and others along the I-5 corridor.

Such ideas and planning from these mindless hicks is consistently outside of their ken. The recent history of Oregon is full of missed and squandered opportunities. If any thinking is done, it is short-term at best, wrong-headed & tight-fisted and completely lacking comprehension of the potential long-term return on such planning and investment. For a state with a history of great natural returns on agriculture and forestry resources, you would think that they would understand that in the future, as in the past, you reap what you sow (http://www.bowl-of-dust.us/).

ANYWAY, my mind is stewing with all that as I break camp, pack up Rain and ride her back to the highway in a dark thought cloud. Shortly the present forcibly re-introduces itself to me by the effort and resultant gearshift required to make an increasing uphill grade. The highway begins to climb as it turns to the east, around the flank of Humbug Mountain. Suddenly I am laughing out loud at the irony of my dark mood and thoughts, a curmudgeonly humbug returning to his mountain lair. Funky body leads to funky mind, you can quote me.

My mood improves further as I also become aware that it is not raining on me this morning. There are just bits of mist and fog here and there in the tall trees which have been left to grow in peace in the logging truce zone of this and other state and national parks. The idea of conservation and the beginnings of the implementation of the concept of zones of truce with nature was established through the long term vision of Teddy Roosevelt. His example of true leadership and foresight came about almost exactly a century prior to this writing (http://www.lip-service2.us/).

Once around the seaside Humbug mountain-hill, the road turns west to run close to the beach. On impulse, I turn Rain across the highway and conceal her and myself in some scrub brush. I strip down to my skivvies and run down the beach into the startlingly cold sea. I duck under and scrub myself briskly in the waves, then run quickly back up the beach. Completing these ablutions inside of three minutes, I towel off with my discarded jeans and tee shirt and don only the wet weather bicycle suit.

Within five minutes of my impulsive stop, I am pedaling again, warming up quickly from the effort. Feeling much refreshed, it is only a short ride into Port Orford, thoughts of breakfast once again driving my feet. In the center of town, I find another market; buy several donuts and coffee, juice and another prefab sandwich for later, turkey and swiss this time. In the park behind the market, I sit at a bench and consume my simple, sugary, high in carbs breakfast. It tastes at least as fine as the most expensive gourmet meal I have ever eaten.

After this refueling stop, I can feel the rush sugar and carb energy as I pedal my way out of Port Orford. I soon find myself riding on the bridge over the Elk River and shortly thereafter over the Sixes River. The road has flattened out as it runs several miles inland and the miles melt away behind me. I ride through the tiny dairy farming burg of Denmark.

This gets me to thinking about homesick Danes settling here on the Pacific some fifteen decades past. There are small remnants of such European immigrant farming communities to be found all over the west, like this one that is now little more than a roadside gas station & convenience mart. Many are completely abandoned, the immigrants' children having long since left home and few ever returned to stay. As for me, I just roll right on by Denmark and its' ultimately sad history.

To many, it is indeed sad to reflect back upon the angst of the 19th century agrarian cultures' decline. It fell to the fast paced greedy materialism of the 20th century "culture", fostered by the industrial revolution. Although interesting to reflect back upon, it is little more than a historical footnote at this point. That is true in spite of the wistful belief of many that it was the golden age, the good old days to which they dream of a magical return. Unfortunately for such dreamers, many bells have rung since then which cannot and will not be unrung.

After a never ending stream of such thoughts, quite a few road miles later I find myself stopping again in a city park in Bandon. I happily consume my sandwich for its fuel, having already traveled almost 40 miles from my previous night's camp. After lunch, I pedal on the bridge over the Coquille River, the northern border of Bandon, then the highway turns even further northeast towards Coos Bay.

I have a purpose and a destination in mind now, another motivation drives me and my load onward towards that. Less than two hours later, I roll into Coos Bay, stop and check into a room on the ground floor of a motel. It is located right on the namesake Bay that is the lifeblood of this sizeable industrial harbor town. Locally harvested Oregon logs and also milled and sometimes pressure treated dimensional lumber ships by the deep water ocean freighter load to points east. Freighters with various cargos previously also used to arrive into this port, most of their loads bound via freight train inland to nearby cities on the I-5 corridor.

I will have more to say about all that later. Right now I enjoy a welcome hot shower in my room, after plugging in my various rechargeable devices. I am preparing for my evening, the forethoughts of which were the motivator that led me to pedal about 65 miles today, about the same distance as I had traveled in the previous two days combined.

Among several reasons for my adoption of intermediate technology nomadic vagabonding as a lifestyle is women. With two ex-wives, I am now sufficiently wise that it is highly unlikely that I would again promise to play the extended version of the game with one woman. Even if I was a younger man, I might choose my recently adopted new lifestyle anyway, considering the state of the more mainstream choice.
Chapter 4

American Nightmare

The mainstream American Dream/Nightmare, as it has evolved for men, means being ready, willing and able to assume personal responsibility for any and possibly all of the items on the following list:

An underwater mortgage on a McMansion; expensive cars which most people could out jog through nearly gridlocked traffic; a career which demands the loyalty of a dog and offers the security of a canary in a coal mine; the necessity to sign your life away if anyone in your family should show the extreme bad taste to get ill; and to co-sign your life away in order to finance an increasingly expensive yet simultaneously also increasingly worthless and irrelevant education for your "treat you like you victimized them" kids. And in hindsight, if you are honest with yourself about both your and their situation, it is possible that perhaps you may indeed have somewhat obliviously and blamelessly victimized them (http://www.writing-on-the-wall.net/).

So best of luck to both you and to them if there are kids, as the continual worsening of the waking American Nightmare looms ominously ahead. After all, it is only remotely possible that they may be able to pay off their student loans and the mountain of their other accumulated debts plus the second mountain of accrued interest themselves. It seems a long shot chance, but it could happen that they will live and work lucratively and steadily from graduation to retirement age, blissfully paying off their life's nut, who knows to what purpose (http://www.bill-of-goods.us/).

Lastly, women in general and ex-wives in particular have their own special place on the above list. So after my second divorce, I began patronizing strip clubs. Sorry if I have offended thee, O arbiter of political correctness, mea maxima culpa \- undoubtedly and forevermore.

To an excessive degree, men's expression of their humanity and sexuality is being repressed. Politically correct feminism in particular and society in general are both going somewhat overboard in a backlash against hetero men. It is an ironic twist that we are being pushed into the closet, i.e. "gentlemens" clubs.

In a strip club after a few beers, we are allowed to be ourselves, to be human, to be men. Male hetero expressions in almost any other venue will usually bring a shitstorm of PC recriminations and liabilities upon us. Don't get me wrong, I strongly believe that the improvements in the rights and conditions of women gained by the steady march of feminism are greatly deserved and long overdue.

As commercially contrived as the relationship between a customer and a stripper might seem to be, in the face of all of the above listed items, it takes on the aura of a practical and economically realistic alternative. The subject reminds me of W. C. Fields quote on the subject of women in particular and marriage in general. He said: "Women are like elephants, I like to look at 'em, but I wouldn't want to own one."

Up until about a month ago, I believed that I was getting the best of both worlds, living with and loving a beautiful stripper, although an aging one in transition from that occupation to a new career as a cosmetologist. Suddenly however, things started moving around and disappearing from our shared apartment. I surreptitiously placed a few hidden motion sensing wireless cams in various rooms to find out what was going on.

The audio-video recordings from the cams showed me that my stripper with a heart of gold was sharing it, perhaps preparing to replace me with a younger model. Her partner in their naked workouts was a heavily tattooed young fellow who was apparently a kleptomaniac. Being a cougar on the prowl has its downsides, I guess.

Suddenly for me this was not the best of both worlds, but instead the last straw for the American Nightmare, from which I resolved to awaken ASAP. I kept this resolution and the hidden camera recordings to myself. I spent a couple of weeks getting my affairs in order. I was preparing for the death of my old life and lifestyle, planning for the subsequent rebirth of this new me.

I liquidated my assets, turning a sizable portion of my net worth into 1/4 ounce American golden eagle coins. I put the rest into a money market account at a credit union, which is the account from which my current and only credit card draws. The last thing to go was my paid-off car, the resale value of which I kept as a sizeable stack of cash, putting it into my new, supposedly waterproof rucksack as I boarded the first of several Greyhounds that teamed up to carry me to Crescent City a few days ago (http://www.fire-sale.us/).

As I left my previous life, I also left my ecdysiast former lover a note with some cash and a copy of the letter I sent to the landlord, giving my notice of termination of the rental agreement. I gave my fair lady permission to keep, sell, or give away the furniture upon which she and the tattooed fellow had been cavorting in my absence. I thanked her for however many days, weeks, or months she may have managed to keep faith with me.

To be honest, going into it I was familiar with the sometimes limited attention spans and boredom overcoming (unintentional) tendencies of exotic dancers specifically and women in general. So I hadn't really expected much from her and was more disappointed than hurt. On the video, it was sadly apparent that roughly active sex with the tattooed young fellow elicited facial expressions and vocalizations from her that I had not been aware she could, or would like to make.

But then I try to be a gentleman, both in and out of bed, which was probably my first mistake. Still, I identify myself in my own mind as a gentleman, so I emailed her copies of all the films, including her friend's light-fingered enterprises. I also promised her that I had deleted her x-rated reality-TV video files from my computer and I did so. I also talked with her briefly via cell phone while waiting to board a Greyhound bus.

She seemed sad to lose me, her sugar-daddy. She was apologetic for any emotional pain she had caused me, as well as grateful for the cash I left for her. I gathered from the conversation that she would be willing to give me a good reference to pass on to my next prospective wholesale squeeze, should such a reference be requested.

ANYWAY, I must return at last to the events of my evening in Coos Bay. After showering off the sweat and road grit, I fire up the tablet and write myself up-to-date on the day's events and narrative. I also catch up again on the www, transfer the aerial raptor dogfight video from my smart phone and then email it to Grandmere Elise. My last task is to bring the business portion of my email account up to date once again.

It is 6 pm, about 12 hours since I had arisen from my previous camp bed. Locking the trailer up tight to present a diversionary challenge to any other light-fingered souls, I hide the bulk of my cash elsewhere in the room. Then I ride an unburdened Rain over to a Mexican joint for a tasty and spicy meal. From there I continue to one of only two strip clubs on the Oregon coast, here in Coos Bay, walking in the door with great expectations.
Chapter 5

Hello Rosa

In most of Oregon's cities and towns - unlike most of the rest of the USA - the combination of full nudity and alcohol are allowed in strip clubs. Alcohol is served in this particular club, but for unknown reasons the dancers always wear at least a minimal something that conceals their so-called Door in the floor (Greatest film title ever!). The dancers do air out their mind melting mimis though.

So fun is there to be had, along with cold beer and I plan to have lots of both. The dark, angst-laden mental funk of the morning soon becomes ancient history. First, the cold beer gets my attitude adjustment evening started. Then, a good old fashioned T & A plus TLC therapy session finishes the job (http://www.scenes-from-the-petting-zoo.net/). When I finally walk out the door hours later, I am feeling happily well-adjusted once again.

Over the course of the long evening, about $250 moves from my wallet. Most of this cash goes into the hands of the five dancers that are in attendance. A smaller portion goes towards the cover charge, for my steady consumption of beer and for several glasses of wine for one of the dancers. I never buy private lap dances, but I always tip the ladies for the time they spend visiting with me, often also buying them drinks if they want to drink with me.

To save my overworked legs from having to jump up every other song, I urge the dancers to visit my carefully chosen booth after their 2-song stage sets. When they do so, I tip them at least a couple of bucks for their stage dance tip. Soon, the sexy strutting strippers in attendance have been trained to my ways and they almost always visit me after they are done on stage.

When they do so, they are often still wonderfully topless, some even provide me with a close-up shimmy and shake as I tip them - Lord bless 'em. I have been in strip clubs all over the US and Canada, so I know how to make things work for me. I almost always have a good time.

My strip club approach works out best when business is a little slow. The ideal situation for this approach is that there are too many dancers and/or not many customers in the club. Most, but not all dancers are primarily there to try to sell private lap dances, which is their usual route to fast money. Thankfully for me, there are almost always exceptions, including tonight.

Within an hour of my arrival, a plushly pneumatic Latina in her mid-30s and I find each others company to be both enjoyable and worthwhile. After the second of her trips to the stage that I have the privilege to watch, she approaches for her well-deserved tip. She gives me a big smile as her thanks, then asks if she can sit with me in the booth that I have staked out for the evening.

I rise to welcome her and ask if she would like something to drink. She asks if I will buy her a glass of white wine, which I do gladly, buying myself another beer at the same time. I estimate that about $150 of my evening's total cash outlay - and at least 4 hours - is spent listening to and appreciating sexy, short-haired, dark-eyed Rosa. During that time, I learn that she is a vibrant, vivacious and talkative woman and excellent company.

Returning to the booth with our drinks, I thank her for joining me. I give her the first of a half-dozen jacksons and encourage her to tell me about herself and her life. As I sit down, she smiles broadly, slides over next to me and kisses my cheek in thanks. Rosa is an unusual Latina dancer in that she has no visible tattoos, although I suppose she could have a very small one under her thong.

She also has no piercings, besides the tiny gold crucifixes she wears in her pierced earlobes. She wears a simple leather necklace with a substantial silver crucifix that sometimes hypnotically hides itself in her eye-catching, capacious cleavage. Like many Latinas, Rosa is Catholic. She tells me that she has three pre-teen children at home.

Rosa's wonderful body has served and still serves its purpose; she is obviously a healthy, fecund woman in her prime. She likes to talk about her children; it is her favorite topic. She shows me several pictures of them that she has stored on her smart phone. She has two rambunctious, troublesome boys and says that the youngest is her angel, a pretty six year old girl.

As a natural result of childbearing, when unsupported, her BIG bouncy brown eyes do sag somewhat; her ripe belly also shows a few stretch marks. She has dark aureoles and her nipples are unusual. They are thick and appear to be almost 3/4" long; they have obviously been used for their intended purpose, her babies have suckled and been nourished through them.

She wears a tiny black leather thong, pulled high on her full hips. She also "wears" a white, open top bustier-bra thingamajig. This intriguing heavy duty foundation garment definitely merits a complete description. It is remarkable in that it lifts and unites her copious chichis together on a structurally sound and well engineered platform, yet does nothing to cover or conceal them.

On each side of this shelf, scooped to better contain and stabilize her two titan tetas (tits; Sp. slang), a wide elastic strap rises to her shoulders and circles around the back of her neck. This strap provides the flexible support needed to support the outward projection of the platform. The elasticity of the strap damps down the bouncing movements of the considerable mass of her two heavy shoulder boulders. The width of the strap also prevents them from rolling off the outer sides of the platform during any sudden movements she may make.

This ingenious thingamajig presents her like a pair of pretty pound cakes side by side on a coffee tray. Furthermore, her bumpy brown buds project out beyond this heavily loaded balcony of bra-busters; her long, thick nipples look like the detonators on twin torpedoes. Seeing these, your mother would undoubtedly warn you to be careful; one of her dangerous long brown nipples might put out your eye.

Pushing herself up for display in this manner, Rosa invites and welcomes my admiration of these, just two items on the menu of her viewable, moving feast. During the evening that we spend together, I am blessed with the opportunity to drink and socialize with Rosa, gladly buying her several glasses of wine. I also happily listen to her and pay her the attention she deserves. There are not many customers and the club is fairly quiet this evening.

Responding to the tips I give her for her time and companionship, Rosa only leaves me to dance on the stage occasionally. The first time she does so, she graciously asks me if I have a preference or request for her dance music. I tell her that I am a longtime fan of classic rock and roll, so I ask her to ask the DJ to see if he can find Samba Pa Ti on the web.

I tell her that it is an instrumental tune from the Abraxas album by Santana. She smiles and says that she loves Devadip Carlos Santana, proving it by using his full name. She goes up to have a chat with the DJ and then exclusively dances to Santana's music, when she does dance on the stage, for the rest of the evening.

The four other dancers present in the club maintain their batting order rotation through their on-stage dance sets. They continue to visit us in the booth to get their stage dance tips from me. They spend most of their time either sitting at the bar texting, or visiting with the few other guys in the club, perhaps they sell a few lap dances, I don't know.

Since Rosa is keeping me company, I am not performing my usual strip-club job, which is keeping track of goings-on. When she does go up to dance and strip down, it is a highly entertaining show. Rosa knows how to work it and uses all of her ample assets to best advantage. To start, she playfully teases as she slowly takes her bustier off.

This is actually fairly simple; she merely unhooks a few hooks on one side of the thingamajig and then lifts the support platform out as pulls the elastic strap over her head. Of course, doing this re-subjects her bouncing, swaying heavy hangers to the laws of gravity and other physical laws related to the marvelous motions of voluptuous women. Continuing to actively dance to the music, she demonstrates aspects of these laws in various ways.

Finally she is done teasing and has stripped down to her crucifix, her thong, her heels, her friendly attitude and a winning smile. It is readily apparent to me why the population of Hispanics is growing so quickly - so many Latinas are so damned sexy. Each time Rosa returns to our booth after her strip tease dance, the show continues for me, close up & in reverse.

She puts her bustier back on and then artfully adjusts everything. In this, she has crafted a proper production, precisely placing & painstakingly plumping her platformed pair of pleasantly presented plush pillows, prepared for purposes of prurient perusal, no prudish Puritans please! Finally finished, she brings her hands behind her, draws her shoulders back and looks at me, raising her eyebrows with her question, silently asking me: How do her train-of-thought-derailing twins look? Perfect!

Then she sits her curvaceous caboose back down next to me, cozying up to my left side once more. Of course, I watch the entire process carefully, blinking as little as possible. Afterwards, I always compliment her on her beauty, thank her for showing me all that and more and give her a five-spot as her dance tip.

Occasionally, as she talks, I slide her a jackson for continuing to grace me with her presence. She always kisses my cheek in thanks and continues with her pleasant chatter. I keep my hands to myself; at times she touches my arm or my leg as she talks.

Rosa tells me that she is happily married and that her husband is career Army; a master sergeant currently on post in South Korea. She says that she works in the club so that she has her days to spend at home and with her children; her mother baby-sits her kids while she works. She adds that her income varies widely from week-to-week, averaging out to half-decent money, but is not as much as some other dancers make.

She says that she has difficulty competing with those who promote private lap dances by offering blowjobs in the VIP lounge. She informs me that some "dancers" also schedule "dates" for later, outside of the club. Rosa is not a prostitute, she is a devout Catholic; she keeps faith with her husband and with the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Holy Mary, she is an angel!

Rosa goes on to tell me that her husband will retire with a 20 year military pension in a couple of years. Then she will be glad to also retire from dancing, which she has been doing on and off for 12 years. Her master sergeant is a lucky man, Rosa is a special woman; I am sure that he is well aware of that. Her complaint is not unusual in my experience; I know that some percentage of dancers do become prostitutes, for various reasons.

After I give her the third jackson, she kisses me again and then tells me that she is going to give me a treat. She says that she is going to dance on stage one more time, but it is a special one that she intends just for me. She asks me to come up and sit by the stage to watch her and I gladly comply. First, as during her previous dances, she teases as she strips to her thong, crucifix and spike heels. She comes off the side of the stage to straddle me and give me a short motorboat trip.

Then Rosa climbs the pole; at the top, she pushes off on the ceiling, getting a good spin going. Showing remarkable courage and athleticism, she pulls her legs up and locks her ankles around the pole. Still spinning rapidly, she releases her grip and leans back to hang inverted and fully stretched out.

Her ankles, her buns and her hands grasp the spinning pole, which rotates in its two bearings, one at the ceiling, the other at the stage. As she spins, her crucifix and her massive milk makers are drawn downward by gravity and outward by centrifugal force. A long-time student of classical mechanics, I am fascinated by both the science and the graceful poetry of her various motions.

It is an awe-inspiring display of pole skill, taking my breath away. When she is upright on stage once again, I give her a standing ovation; she comes over to hug me. She is steady on her heels and does not appear to be dizzy at all, which is another amazing aspect of her athleticism.

I return to the booth and stand as she rejoins me; I give her dance well-deserved praise and thank her for the special performance. She kisses and hugs me again, then asks me to "help" her with the process of "re-dressing" herself in the bustier-bra production that I have already described. Working together, we get everything just right; I give her another jackson for a dance tip and for the profoundly pleasurable privilege of plumping her pretty pillows. Perfect, once again!
Chapter 6

Rosa's Test

A little later, the glasses of wine I have purchased for her seem to bring Rosa to a sensuous and languorous mood. As she promised, she no longer goes up to the stage in her dance rotation; she stays with me for the rest of our long evening together. Finishing another glass of wine, she turns towards me in our booth, cuddles up close and rests her head on my shoulder. She whispers in my ear that she is now comfortable enough with me that she wants to test me by teasing me.

Smiling, she caresses my arms, chest and legs with her hands almost continuously. At times, she also brushes her thick, erect nipples lightly on my left arm, raising my heart rate and sending chills of goose bumps all over me. We share several long, warm, wet tongue kisses. Caressing my leg, her hand briefly brushes against and then rests for a few moments on my willy, which is throbbing stiffly in my jeans in response to her teasing test.

Again she whispers in my ear, asking if I am enjoying her test of my willpower, or am I about lose control and grab her? I tell her that I don't often put up with this kind of torment for long, since I usually don't enjoy prolonged sexual frustration. I add that she seems to be a special case for me; she is such a sweet and loving woman that I willingly accept her enticing and also somewhat punishing test.

I kiss her again and tell her that, for now, I will not deny her the administration of feminine TLC she is laying on me. I am happy to suffer her soft seduction, to appreciate the power of her gentle assault. I add that I am certain to have wonderful round Rosa tinted dreams tonight and I will remember this evening with her forever.

She licks my ear and continues with her test of the strength of my will. It seems like hours, but is probably only about ten minutes before I lightly, briefly grasp each of her long, fat nipples between my thumbs and index fingers and ask her to please stop. I can't possibly take any more, she wins, I have failed her test but it feels like I have grown greatly as a result of the experience.

She giggles and she moves back slightly. I tell her that I definitely need another beer, just to occupy my hands; I ask if she wants another glass of wine. She says yes, so I give her a jackson and ask her to go up to the bar and fetch our drinks; I won't be able to stand up for a while. She giggles again and gets up; she briefly brushes her nipples on my nose and then turns, wiggles her cute culo (butt; spanish slang) at me and then sashays up to the bar.

It takes a considerable effort of willpower for the rest of the evening with her, but I remain a gentleman. I continue to do my best to keep my hands to myself. Lord, please bless Rosa; she is a sweetheart, Amen.

Things become even quieter in the club; I seem to be the last customer and a couple of the other dancers have also left. Rosa asks the DJ to play selections from Carlos Santana's music for us and he does. We sit closely together in our booth, listening and conversing quietly, both fairly high on wine, beer, sexual tension and our new, closely comfortable friendship. It is exquisite, profound and sublime to have met Rosa and to experience the pleasure of her company.

It is also highly unusual to make that close of a connection with a dancer so quickly. I have established friendships with several dancers over the course in my interactions with them. If they take the time to visit with me, eventually they realize that I have no other agenda than the simple pleasure of sharing their company while I ogle them.

They also learn that I am determined to treat them with respect. They work with so many men that try to take advantage of them and who disrespect them that I noticeably distinguish myself and eventually earn their trust and friendship. I think Rosa is unusual, perhaps because she gave me so much of her time and then subjected me to her test. I managed to pass, barely, so she started to trust me more quickly than is usual.

Many dancers are decent women like Rosa who do their best to hold fast to their morals and/or their promises. They still attempt to compete somehow in order to make their bizarre occupation work for them. The way that I approach strip clubs, I am lucky in that I often meet wonderful, beautiful, decent women like Rosa. Dancers who do sell happy endings don't waste much of their time with me after I explain that I don't buy private lap dances.

Just before midnight, we both switch to drinking ice water and start to sober up. I suggest to Rosa that it is fine with me if she wants to get dressed. She asks if I am certain; I tell her that I have been storing images of her fantastic form in my minds memory vaults all evening.

She smiles and goes into the dancers' dressing room for ten minutes, returning in a loose sweat suit and carrying a big canvas purse-satchel. She sits down close beside me once again, kisses me and thanks me for the suggestion. She says that she is warmer and more comfortable this way. Then she surprises me by inviting me to put my hands under her sweat suit; I discover that she is a naked, bald commando and that she is both warm and moist in there.

I explore her tantalizing topography, both mountains and valleys, for a few brief, extraordinary moments. I do not overstay the hospitable welcome her body gives my happy hands. I thank her for the unexpected and gracious gift of that wonderful opportunity to feel her.

She smiles and says that she enjoyed my gentle caresses and also thanks me for stopping without being asked to do so. Then we share a long and passionate kiss. Afterwards, we sit together, listen to the music and talk some more, coming down from our endorphin and alcohol high.

It is after 1 am that I give my new friend Rosa one last jackson, as well as expressing my heartfelt gratitude for sharing her evening with me and for her much needed TLC. Then I give her one more and ask her to give it to her mother, along with my thanks, for babysitting so that I could have the opportunity to meet and visit with her wonderful daughter.

We share a final, long, warm, wet kiss and a big hug. She thanks me for the wine, for tipping her and for treating her with respect, adding that she really enjoyed spending time with me. She giggles and then adds that she will also enjoy telling her mother about our evening together, no one has ever given her a tip for her mother before. I ask her to also give her mother a hug and a kiss, from me.

Rosa is a lovely and wonderful woman and I greatly enjoy the conversation and company she generously provides me. I found it to be an exceedingly pleasant way to spend an evening and there were no crimes or victims to be seen in my immediate vicinity. So, if your mind is open sufficiently to allow it, please give me a break and bear with me, for the story continues.

I walk out, get back on Rain and ride back to the motel, safely sober. I dig out and fire up the tablet and write these last few paragraphs about the evening and then turn in, after setting the alarm on my smart phone. It is a comfortable bed, a football field in comparison to my sleeping bag and pad. As I drift off, I sniff the scent of Rosa on my fingers and sleep well again, dreaming of her.
Chapter 7

Rat Race on Holiday

At six, my smart phone alarm chirps. To wake myself up, I take a quick shower and then dress and walk over to a nearby supermarket to pick up coffee, a frozen breakfast burrito and a frozen TV dinner. Back in the room, I microwave the burrito and eat it while sipping from the large cup of coffee. Then I set up the tablet and keyboard and get to work.

Besides writing ebooks, I operate a network of web-sites with my own various purposes and also host and publish web-sites for others. Check out http://www.2gener8.net to see what I am talking about. There is also a link on that web-page to my small collection of self-published ebooks at smashwords.com, including this one.

I do this work at my own pace and almost entirely via email; it is unusual for me to use my cell phone for a business related conversation. So taking care of business is what I am up to this morning. My plan is to work until almost check-out time, creating a couple of web-sites for customers and updating a few others - both my own sites and also those belonging to customers. Finally I send a few emails containing account statements, with adjustments for my activities on customers' behalf.

By 10:30 I catch up on all of that, shut down my office, then pack and prepare Rain for departure. I nuke the frozen dinner in the motel microwave and eat it. A few minutes before the 11 am check-out deadline, I am in the motel office paying cash for my nights' stay and surrendering the key to my temporary home-office.

Shortly thereafter I mount Rain once again and start pedaling north. My goal is a public park, where I can play the part of a more traditional vagabond for a while by taking a long public nap. I ride for several miles with the bay on my right, working my way through and past the downtown of Coos Bay on the hillside to my left.

Finally I arrive at a large park on a north jutting peninsula; from which the long bridge over the bay carries highway 101. In the park I find a bench and lock up Rain securely. I lay down the camo tarp, lay the sleeping pad upon that, lay myself on that, then wrap myself in the tarp and using a sweatshirt for a pillow, take my nap.

The traditional vagabond way to do this also involves using a pop bottle in a wrinkled brown paper bag as a visually suggestive prop, as noted in To Kill a Mockingbird. This enables any arbiters of morality who may pass by and observe me sleeping on the public bench to shake their heads knowingly and feel superior. I don't bother with that, for I don't believe that moral arbiters need any such props to help them to feel holier. It goes with the territory they have chosen for themselves, combined almost invariably with hypocrisy of one form or another.

I awaken about two hours later, much refreshed. Upon rising, it becomes apparent that stretching is in order, so I put about a half hour into an extended session, which really loosens me up well. Rolling up the sleeping pad and folding up the tarp, I repack Rain and set off onto the bridge. Although there are thick gray clouds, the days guaranteed spring rain is not yet falling. A steady breeze is blowing, although it is not overly forceful and does not hinder my ride on the long bridge over the bay, transporting me from the southern to the central coast.

The northwest quadrant of Oregon, still some 50 miles to the north, is where most of the population live and work. This southwest quadrant, in which I will remain tonight, comes in a distant second. The eastern half, colder in winter and hotter in summer, is way behind, population-wise.

Coos Bay is the largest burg on the entire Oregon coast, averaging somewhat under 20 thousand year round inhabitants at this writing. The coastal population during the summer is considerably higher, with hordes of tourists driving up and down this one narrow, winding highway. Many of these are turtle-tourists, piloting their recreational vehicles, their home away from home.

That is the reason I have chosen to make my way north in May, which is on average cooler and wetter than in July or August. If I wait until then, it will be much more dangerous to be riding a bicycle in the frustrating and heavy traffic. Most of the 350 mile length of coast highway 101 in Oregon is one lane of high speed head-on traffic in each direction, separated only by painted lines.

This invitation to vacation tragedy is choked in summertime with small trucks hauling beer and groceries and large, cumbersome RVs, many of these piloted by the aged. To this mix, add brave or perhaps foolhardy bicycle tourists and of course many cars and pickup trucks - these last often towing boats, dirt bikes or dune buggies. The drivers of smaller vehicles often impatiently take Catch-22 type risks for everyone around them, in order to pass slower, larger vehicles. Thus, they can more quickly arrive at the scene of their impending accident, of which there are many.

When the nearly ever present wind, frequent fog and occasional summer rainstorm is factored in, the traffic accident rate climbs even higher. Then as the nearly final straw, arriving on summer weekends and holidays is the additional traffic of multitudes of day-trippers and weekenders. They are escaping the heat of the heavily populated Willamette Valley about 80 miles inland - and so must be factored into the traffic accident risk equation.

The last straw is the presence and influence of social & recreational alcohol consumption on this already potent mix. The rat race on summer holiday is apparently still a race; these particular rats just believe that they have a better credit rating, for the moment. Rain and I will be safely clear by the time the race shifts to this track.

The southern part of the central Oregon coast through which I am now pedaling is dune country. Frequently, as I ride along the highway, rows of long, tall ridges of sand are between me and the Pacific. There are also many small lakes to be seen on either side of the highway. In western and especially coastal Oregon, ponds, lakes, streams and rivers are nearly everywhere. This is understandable given the incredible annual rainfall - often well over 100 inches fall each year.

I ride just over 10 miles beyond the Coos Bay bridge crossing, finding a hidden spot to camp near a small lake, next to a dune. As I rest in the tent while reading more of an ebook on the tablet, I notice that the wind occasionally sends showers of sand off the top of the dune onto the tent. After a while that stops, as the breeze abates, then the fog rolls in off the ocean, bringing mist and a steady patter of drizzle.

I suddenly realize that it is the first rain today and it has graciously waited until I have made camp to arrive. I have not had to travel in dampness or on wet road at any point during the day, the first time that has happened this trip. I hope that it is the beginning of a trend, but knowing Oregon, I suspect not.

I spend my evening alternating between snacking on pretzels, sipping Irish mouthwash, reading, writing and thinking. The clickety clack of a nearby freight train brings me out of a reverie. It also reminds me that I have more to relate in regards to the freight line serving the industrial output and harbor of Coos Bay.

A port and deep-water harbor is a valuable thing for a state rich in natural resources such as Oregon. If the state's leadership had any sense, they would value and strive to protect the infrastructure supporting it. The freight rail line connecting this Coos Bay harbor with the markets and larger rail network in Eugene, roughly somewhat more than 100 miles of track, is a perfect example of the vacuum existing between the ears of those leaders. It was built almost a century ago, at great effort and expense, through the difficult terrain along and over the Coast Range. As I have said, the rail line represents valuable infrastructure, a necessary and vital public resource.

For reasons that remain impossible to fathom, that rail line was allowed to be sold to a group of venture capital investors about a decade ago. Subsequently, during an even more than usually difficult winter, a series of heavy wind and rain storms caused many mudslides and tree falls on roads and on many parts of the rail line as it winds through Coast Range. Being a venture capital group they did what such groups do (http://www.corporate-citizens.biz/). Not surprisingly, they decided that they had another option besides spending the money to repair the damage to the rail line. Of course, such expenditures were necessary immediately in order to return the line to the service that it continually performed for the economy of Coos Bay.

Instead, the venture capital group decided that they could choose from their own menu. Under column A: piece out the assets of the rail line, including the land upon which it ran, selling the pieces to various parties and make a hefty profit on their initial purchase investment fairly quickly. Under column B: the immediate necessary repair costs, plus ongoing maintenance costs and the lesser, iffier, longer term, more labor intensive potential profits of actually operating the rail line.

The quick profit found under column A was naturally attractive to the venture capital group, who should never have been allowed to purchase the line in the first place. The freight rail line is obviously an infrastructure asset of considerable and ongoing public value. It serves the common good of the local region and the entire state.

While this was going on, of course there was no rail freight service to or from Coos Bay. The heavy trucks started to roll cargo instead, at considerably greater expense than the rail freight charges. The trucks kept on rolling, increasing the cost to do business through Coos Bay and starting to weaken the economic life of the industrial port and the city.

This was just the beginning of the completely un-necessary costs to the economy of Coos Bay and of the more generalized economy of the region and of Oregon, entirely due to the lack of intelligent and pro-active leadership. It took a firestorm of outraged public opinion at the stupidity of it all, several years and many millions of taxpayer dollars to buy back the rail line from the venture capital group. Then it was necessary to find millions more in taxpayer guaranteed funds before it was possible to begin the major project of repairing the accumulation of several years worth of damages to the line.

At that point the rail line had been several years lacking maintenance. Some sections of track were stolen and sold for scrap, many more slides and washouts had occurred, etc. At this writing, it will probably still be more than a year before they finally have the line returned to normal operating capacity, possibly hauling the same freight that it used to carry a decade ago.

Now however, things are different. The costs and interest payments to finance the buyback from the venture capital group, plus long deferred maintenance and repair costs must be paid. These are additional costs which must necessarily be added to the previous charges to haul the freight, back before this fiasco was allowed to occur.

Ultimately, all the unnecessary additional costs represent a leadership stupidity tax. These hidden taxes are present in many aspects of Oregon life, not merely unnecessarily inflated costs to transport freight between Coos Bay and the Willamette Valley. Many of the people of Oregon are openly proud of the fact that they pay no statewide sales tax. However, they are often unaware that they nevertheless must regularly pay such leadership stupidity taxes, in various ways that are hidden from their view. For another example, a personal one from my own previous life, please visit http://www.rentnerd.com.

Well, remembering and writing that story pretty much filled in my evening, I think I'll water the dune and turn in.
Chapter 8

The Deep End

Waking before dawn to sheets of rain falling on the tent fabric above me, I lay there listening to it, rising and descending to and from consciousness with the sound of the rain and the slow intrusion of the mornings light. Finally stirred to action by my full bladder, I rise and do my part to dampen the wet new day. After half an hour, camp is broken and packed up and I am on my way again. My consistent morning dream of breakfast is once again driving my forward motion along this long, fairly straight and level section of highway among the dunes and lakes.

In less than an hour, I ride into Winchester Bay, a harbor for recreational and commercial fishing boats at the mouth of the Umpqua River. I decide it is a great day for seafood, perhaps an omelet, perhaps some clam chowder. I turn Rain in to roll slowly towards the marina to seek inspiration for my choice among the boats and the smell of fish and of the sea. Finally deciding on the chowder option, I ride back to the highway. I stop at a bakery-deli there that boasts about sourdough chowder bowls in its window, along with their wifi access, another draw for me.

The food lives up to the boast; I also purchase a few fresh baked sourdough rolls for the road. The wifi connection and the tablet yield a pleasant surprise, among my emails is one from Elise Deschamps. She sends a thankful reply to my email to her with the attached video of the aerial battle between the eagle and the osprey.

The surprising part is that I infer, from her message, that she is somewhat interested in seeing me again, on her own this time. It seems that, although she gets along fine with her grand-daughter, Mathilde; on the other hand her relationship with her daughter Jeanne is strained. Mothers and daughters, what a combination!

At any rate she says she still has more than a week of vacation remaining before her return trip to France begins with a flight out of Portland. She is not willing to spend that valuable time in continuing the agony with Jeanne. She wonders where I am in my ride up the coast and she provides her phone number - which is actually a French cell phone number. This is definitely an opportunity to use my smart phone for its traditional purpose and I happily give her a call.

Our conversation is short and to the point. I tell her that I would be happy to see her again and to spend whatever time she wishes to share with me, exploring. I suggest that there is a pleasant resort hotel in Florence, about an hour and a half by car from Eugene, where my phone call finds her. It is also an easy, less than three hour bike ride from where I sit. I offer to call the hotel and reserve a room for each of us for the night, which she graciously accepts. I close with my fervent happiness at the prospect of seeing her again this evening.

Hot damn! I swear under my breath as I use the tablet to look up the number of the hotel overlooking the bay near the mouth of the Siuslaw River in Florence. This new lifestyle is continuing to show real promise! In short order my credit card has secured confirmed reservations for two adjoining bay view rooms for tonight.

Shortly thereafter, I am pedaling steadily north once again, reviewing French language and vocabulary lessons from nearly four decades prior in my mind as I ride. Just over two hours later I glide Rain into the parking lot of the hotel. The management is willing and able to allow me an unusually early check-in to the first room, on a weekday at the end of their long, slow season.

I roll Rain out onto the rooms covered balcony overlooking the bay, unload her somewhat and then cover her further with the camo tarp after locking her and the trailer together. I store some of my cash, the tablet and a few other items in the room safe, a welcome standard feature of this somewhat upscale hotel. I drink some water and eat one of the fresh sourdough rolls and then hit the shower.

After a brief nap, I stretch and limber up for a few minutes. Then I dress in preparation for the promised arrival of Elise around 4 pm and a subsequent evening on the town. From considerable time spent in the area in my previous life, I am familiar with Florence and what it has to offer, which is considerable for a fairly small town of under 10,000 souls.

At 3:30 I head down to the hotel lounge for a cold beer as I wait expectantly for her arrival. Just after 4 pm, she walks into the lobby. I rise to greet her; again in the formal European fashion we trade cheek kisses and a slightly stiff hug. We proceed to check her into her room and oversee the transfer of her bags up to her room, which passes her inspection. Taking in the bay view from her balcony, she spots Rain hiding under the tarp on my neighboring balcony and winks at me, a welcome first sign of playfulness and warmth in an otherwise slow start.

Who am I to rush things? Ultimately, she is here by her own design, whatever that may be, so time is likely to be on my side. A gentleman to the end, I bow out of the room with its big loud bed. I am happy to allow her such time as she may require; to freshen up from her trip and also to prepare for an evening out. I let her know to meet me in the lounge, where a glass of California's best wine, or some other beverage of her choice and I will await her arrival.

I walk back down to the bar and have a second beer. I am now fully and completely aware of the physical immediacy of a mature, intelligent, robust, magnificent and cultured woman of the continent, my date for the evening. Although a completely unexpected yet welcome twist of fate, this day has progressed in ways unimaginable to my earlier self, drowsing in the tent at dawn, listening to the rain. But Man O Man, am I ever in the deep end of the pool now!
Chapter 9

Head to Head

It is approaching 5:30 when she brightens up the lounge with her entrance. She is dressed in tight denim jeans and a Rogue River jet boat tours tee shirt under a short black leather jacket, her platinum silver hair in a pony tail! Well crap, I can comfortably handle this informal and approachable version of her. I breathe a sigh of relief and then whistle quietly at her to let her know the impact she has had upon me.

She smiles and walks smack dab into my arms, as I stand by the table. She grabs me and plants a big wet one on me, right on the mouth this time, a flashing bit of tongue in there, also. It becomes immediately and refreshingly apparent that she is not wearing a brassiere, either. Whatever was stiffening her up at first, she definitely ditched it in her room.

Then she sits down in the chair next to mine and asks me - standing there dumbfounded by her hot kiss - if I would please buy her a beer. Walking up to the bar, I suddenly realize that of course, this is completely in character. Underneath it all, this woman has had a long career as a LEO - a law enforcement officer - she's a lady cop. In the course of that career, if she has learned anything, it is how to relax with men. I know right away that this is going to be fun, big time.

I bring her beer back to the table and sit down with her, put my arm around the back of her chair, touching her neck and shoulder briefly as I do so and smile as I take a long pull on my beer. So - I say - welcome to Florence, it is a fantastically welcome surprise to see you again. She smiles back as she has some of her beer and says nothing.

So - I ask - do you like to gamble, perhaps play vingt-et-un? (21 or blackjack as it is known here). She smiles wider this time and says - Mais oui, monsieur, bien sur! (But yes, sir, of course). Then I ask - Are you hungry at the moment, would you prefer seafood, chinese, mexican, or perhaps a bifsteak?

She is quiet for a while, drinking more of her beer and looking out the wall of windows at the wide bay. I let the silence drag on; leaving the ball in her court, waiting to see what she will do with it. Finally she turns back to me and answers me with a question - Do I know why she is here? I haven't the foggiest and say so. Slowly and at length, she tells me.

She tells me that she is a widow, having been married for about 25 years, up until about 5 years ago. Her husband was a career soldier and later on, an officer in a covert French anti-terrorism brigade. According to the limited account she was given, he was killed during an operation somewhere in the Middle East. She has since found out through her own sources that he was in Libya, gathering intel about Qaddafi's secret efforts to manufacture chemical weapons, when things went south.

She says that she has been in mourning for her husband, whom she loved completely and overwhelmingly, ever since. This trip, a month long vacation, is the first time off she has taken since her husband's death. She says that watching me ride my bicycle up the hill out of the parking lot the other day had somehow awakened a part of her that she had thought long dead.

Furthermore, she says that my mention of La Forza del Destino had strongly reminded her of her first man. It is a European custom that young people often start their sexual lives with a more experienced elder. When she was 16 she had become involved with a much older man who was an opera buff and who was also a particular fan of Verdi's La Forza Del Destino. During her year spent with him, he had escorted her to that opera twice and they had listened to various vinyl recordings of it numerous times. She had taken my mention of it - random and in jest - as a message from her past with him, spoken directly to her.

I am completely hornswoggled by these personal and deep first blush revelations. The only way she could have surprised me more is if she had dropped trou and laid back, opening herself upon the table before me. I am left to say the first thing that my overloaded mind comes up with - Well, I guess we should get Italian food then! She immediately cracks up, laughing her ass off, perhaps somewhat hysterically for a couple of minutes and then drains her beer and stands, saying - OK, let's go for Italian!

So that's what we do. After a pleasant meal, which she insists on paying for, we go on to the local Native American owned and operated casino to play some blackjack, which she plays well, winning over $500 for herself. My skills are not quite so well developed, but I do OK, leaving the table with about $200 more than I sat down with. After that, I suggest that we head back to the lounge at the hotel where we started the evening, for I need to talk with her. She happily agrees.

Back at the same table, in a quiet and nearly empty lounge, we have what the French call a tete-a-tete (head-to-head). I open myself to her as she had previously done for me. I tell her an abridged version of the history of my relationships with women and provide more details of the most recent story, with my fair lady.

I explain to her that, as a result of that experience, I do not know how safe sex with me might be. I also tell her what I have learned to tell every prospective lover prior to the blessed event, namely that I have something of a performance block. It is a paradoxical psychosomatic concern. Once I sense that the pressure to perform is off; that the woman I am with truly does not care whether I perform or not, it is no longer an issue. Then things progress as nature intended, although perhaps with more tenderness and emotion.

In the light of all that, I suggest that - also in the light of what she has told me earlier - she consider the following proposition: namely that we spend the night together, not in a sexual way, but as closely physical companions. I want to play with you and your snuggle puppies is the phrase I use. She smiles at this and with tears in her eyes, she accepts, kissing me repeatedly. I settle our bar tab and we retire to her room. I don't have anything to add about the wonderful night which follows.
Chapter 10

Remote Surfing

I am awake early in the morning, 4 am or so. I immediately know from the buzzing of my nervous system that I will not be able to go back to sleep with this fleshy, warm, moist, cuddly, inviting and softly snoring companion. I get up, pull on my jeans, unlock her side of the connecting door and open it. I exit her room and enter my own with my key, unlock my connecting door and open that. I use the rest room and take a quick shower, then open the safe and fetch out the tablet, carefully writing the recollections of the previous day that you have just read.

Then I check my email and browse about on the web to catch up on the world. After a while I hear her stirring and go in to find her sitting up. She is looking as good as a woman in her fifties can look after a night of continual canoodling, many kisses and finally, sound sleep. She tries to hide herself under the sheet. I get back in bed with her, kiss and fondle her plush fullness and she relaxes in my arms. I ask her if she wants coffee, tea or juice, breakfast, what is her pleasure?

She says coffee please, so I go off to fetch a carafe. When I return, she is in the shower, so I leave the carafe and her cup on the table in her room and take my cup back to my room. I open up this story on the tablet at the beginning and sit back on my bed to entertain myself by quickly surfing repeatedly through the available cable channels on the TV. Give a man a remote and he will play with it; we like to operate the controls, don't you know?

ANYWAY, after a while she enters wearing only a towel around her head and joins me on the bed, cuddling up close. She thanks me for a wonderful evening and night and then, looking as innocent as a voluptuously naked mature woman can, asks me if I have made any plans for the day? I tell her that I usually don't plan too far ahead, but that if she wants, she is welcome to start by reading the current draft of the book that I am writing about my bicycle tour on the tablet.

She looks shocked for a moment as she sits up and asks - Am I in it? I say - Yes at the moment you are, pending and completely subject to your review and approval of all mentions of you, of course. Wanna read it? She solemnly nods her assent, so I hand her the tablet. Want me to order room service breakfast into your room?

She says yes, so I hand her the room service menu and she tells me she just wants some fruit and yogurt. I go into her room and use the phone to order that for her and eggs, toast, sausage and hash browns for myself. Going back into my room, I lay back next to her on the bed, cuddling with her some more as she reads. She sighs occasionally, says "Oh! la la!" a few times and gets to the end, the point where I stopped writing earlier, at about the same time as a knock on her door tells me that our room service breakfast is here.

I go into her room, hopping back into my pants as I go. I close her connecting door and accept and sign for delivery of breakfast, giving the waiter a five spot for a tip. After he leaves, I reopen the connecting door and announce that breakfast is served. She smiles sweetly as she rises, her fleshy body is wonderfully active as she joins me at table. Readers - in my lifetime, breakfast has rarely if ever gotten better than this.

After we have eaten I suggest to Elise that I would like to ask her permission to inspect her beautiful body in the daylight. I tell her that I want to more fully describe her in the book. I ask - Would such an inspection and description be acceptable to her? She smiles shyly and stands before me, presenting herself for my examination. She is incredibly indescribable in all ways, but I believe myself a writer so I will make the attempt for your benefit.

As I have said, she is in her early fifties, with medium length silver-gray hair. She is pale, between short and medium height and is on the plump side of voluptuous. I would not say that she is fat; she just has lots of flesh evenly distributed, as healthy older people often do. As we age, we sometimes need a little extra weight, that way we have something to lose if we get ill.

Elise has naturally gros nichons (big boobs; Fr. slang). They are large, round and fleshy and they do sag somewhat. After she grew them, she obviously used them to breast-feed her daughter, which does cause big, heavy, gravity-prone Isaac Newtons like hers to stretch, loosen and hang.

She has carried these two mammalian masses for almost forty years, after all. Gravity does its work on everyone and everything, eventually. I find her plentiful Pavlovs pups to be mouthwateringly attractive, tastefully, visually and manually, as is the rest of her.

She has a womanly, shapely, well-rounded derriere (ass), with no cellulite in it, which is unusual for a woman of her age. Her buns, her thighs and calves are all full of loose muscles. I compliment them and she tells me that Interpol requires that its inspectors stay in shape, so she has spent many hours on stretching exercises, exercise bike, treadmills and also with modern resistance weight machines. She adds that she likes to go for long walks, as do I.

My hands, lips and tongue are naturally drawn to her; it takes a deliberate effort to prevent them from reaching out to touch, kiss and lick her, but I quickly fail, she is irresistible. I begin my tender assault upon her as I continue my inspection. Her flesh seems to rise to greet me, then her smile confirms that her mind welcomes my attentions as well. She is a totally wonderful woman and I am completely aware of how lucky I am to be with her.

Like many mature women, she keeps a nice, full bush; however, unlike the stereotype for European women, she does shave her armpits. One does not see much pubic hair anymore these days, so I mention that and give her a compliment for hers. She smiles and tells me that she doesn't shape it as younger women do, but that she does occasionally trim and thin it down a little.

With a grin and a giggle she adds that she is considering shaving it all off, burning all her panties and retiring from Interpol as a bald commando. I laugh with her and inspect the region closely to imagine how that might look. I tell her that I think she will become famous in her new life as a bald commando; undoubtedly she will receive many medals for her actions in that capacity.

She giggles again. Like most French women, she smells great. She wears expensive perfume and seems to have perfected the art of wearing just the right amount of it in perfect locations.

At the conclusion of this supremely entertaining inspection, I am still sitting at the table. Elise is standing in my arms; my face is nestled happily between her nose warmers. Looking up into her intelligent, smiling face, I tell her - On behalf of the readers, I thank you for allowing that inspection and description of your person.

She rubs my bald head, a grizzly and hard third boob resting in the warm, moist valley between her two big, soft, friendly num nums. Then she says - I am enjoying your tour of inspection. I also think that you should look again, much more slowly and carefully this time; I am certain that you have missed some important details with your first inspection!

I tell her that perhaps we should make such inspections part of our daily ritual, but I add that I think it is probably time for a gentleman such as myself to change the subject. I kiss and taste her damp cleavage and nibble both of her big blueberry sized nipples and then release her. Then I ask her for her reaction to what she has read of my book.

She says she likes it, but has a lot of questions. I say that is understandable and repeat my promise to revise or delete any portion, including this inspection, according to her whim. She thanks me for that guarantee of personal editorial content control.

Then she surprises me once again by changing the subject herself. She says that she wants to accompany me, over the next few days, as I make my way north. I laugh, with a mental image of her perching upon Rains' handlebars. Then I realize that she means at my camp stops. I tell her that my tent is tiny and that the weather is typically cool and damp in my rough and hidden camps, without the eons old human comfort and warmth of a campfire.

Then I have an idea and offer it as a compromise. The state park system includes a string of campsites along the coast, with both RV and tent camping. They often also offer a few yurts to rent - rudimentary cabins. There are also communal rest rooms with shower facilities available. Would she consider something along those lines? She smiles and says - Yes, that would be an ideal compromise. I ask - Would she prefer to stay at just one for a few days, or just one night at each?

She responds by asking - Do I have a timetable, or am I traveling without itinerary? I tell her that without itinerary is the only way that I will ever travel forevermore, so staying in one place - if we both like it - will suit me fine. She agrees to that, so I get on the tablet wifi, locate a state park some miles to the north and reserve a yurt for three nights. Well, I say - That's done, we still have two hours until checkout time, what do you want to do now? She just grins at me from the bed.

An hour later we come up for air. I need a break and a second, much colder shower or the gentlemanly physical companionship idea is going out the window and into the bay. After my shower, we both dress and pack up, preparing for a change of scene and style. I suggest meeting again at a particular department store-pharmacy on the highway in Florence on our way north. They sell such things as zip together sleeping bags, inflatable air mattresses, charcoal for barbecue, etc. We check out of the hotel and proceed to that next stop, I on Rain, she in her rental car.

From there, I suggest that she go to see a movie while I make my much slower progress north. I further suggest that after the movie she stop at a supermarket and pick up some food, meat for barbecue, beer, etc. - basically provision us for the next few days - also a Styrofoam cooler for the perishables. She agrees and we part company for a few hours. I use my frustrated libidinal energy to spin Rain and her load up out of dune country and into the northern half of the central Oregon coast, the coastal bluffs, where the coast range drops off right into the Pacific.

About 30 miles of incredible scenery and narrow winding mountain cliffside highway later, I descend to the small bohemian coastal town of Yachats. 5 miles north of town, I roll into the state recreation site at which we have reserved a yurt. I check in at about 3 pm and start to unload Rain. While I am doing so, Elise arrives and we work together for a while, setting up our camp. She seems delighted to be playing house, no matter how rudimentary. She chatters on about the beautiful views to be seen along the coast on the way here. She also tells me that she really enjoyed the movie, the new adaptation of True Grit.

She has brought enough food to feed a platoon for a week, three Styrofoam coolers full with all sorts of different stuff, so we can eat in the French style. They tend to serve lots of courses, portions of this, then portions of that, we could eat all night long if we want. She also has a camp coffee pot, paper plates, plasticware, a can opener and some other generally worthwhile items to have if setting up house on a whim. Finally we have everything in its place, the new bed is inflated, the new sleeping bags are zipped together and Rain is locked and covered.

Then Elise looks at me with a big grin, telling me that she went back to the pharmacy after the movie. Then she shows me the box of condoms that she bought, doing her best to look coy and demure. It is full dark by the time we get around to lighting the barbecue and we are both incredibly hungry when, at last we eat our dinner. That's all I will say about that afternoon, evening and night.
Chapter 11

Hello Elise

Again I awaken early and completely. This morning she's already awake and doesn't let me out of bed. After an hour of that kind of fun we both must answer natures call. We jump out our warm sleeping bags and hop quickly into our jeans, shirts and shoes in the cold morning air. We run together to the restroom building and then I wait outside for a while for her to come back out. She is a woman after all; waiting for them goes with the territory.

Then we run back to the yurt, shuck our clothes and jump back into bed. Being well over fifty, I have sexual stamina sufficient to grab the tablet and write everything up to this point. She holds onto one arm and does her best to mess with my concentration as I compose an account of everything that happened up since I stopped writing, yesterday morning.

After I am done with that she starts asking me questions about everything she read yesterday. She asks me why I showed it all to her and let her read it. I tell her there are two reasons. First, it seemed a good way for her to get to know me quickly; and second, it only seemed right to let her know I was writing about her and offer her an opportunity to edit or delete her portion.

Then she wants to know what Irish mouthwash is. I get up and dig out the bottle and we take turns sipping from it; it's the breakfast of champions, don't you know. Then she wants to know if I really think she looks like both Fanny Ardant and Jeanne Moreau. I say - Yes, if you three were sisters, you of course would be the most beautiful and youngest one. She says - You are a diplomat monsieur, there is no doubt - and gives me a big wet one, also telling me that it is OK with her if I want to call her Foxy.

Then she is curious about why I am so down on the state of Oregon. I tell her that to understand that, she should read the info on my former business web site http://www.rentnerd.com/, which I bring up on the tablet for her. I tell her to relax in bed for a while and read that description and then also click on the link provided there to my free ebook, Tea for one.

I tell her that in the meantime, I will build a campfire, brew some camp coffee and then go out and kill a black bear with a plastic knife. We will soon have seared bear steaks for breakfast, which I promise to bring to her bed shortly. She feigns a swoon at my expression of manliness as I hop back into my clothes to go out and build a different kind of fire.

We spend most of the day alternating between this version of rough-it-in-camp style domestic bliss and illicit passionate rendezvous antics. The sun appears unexpectedly to the west over the Pacific in the late afternoon, shining from the horizon under the cloud layer. We take advantage, going out for a long walk on the beach.

After the sun sets we run into the frigid ocean for a quick skinny dip and then run back to the yurt to jump into bed and warm up. Luckily, there are hardly any other guests in the park to observe these shenanigans. It is still too cold and wet for most except crazy lovers such as us.

We are outside barbecuing chicken for dinner later when I look at her closely in the firelight, as she stares into it. She is wearing my flannel shirt, jeans and, incongruously, high heels. I suddenly realize that it took only 24 hours for her to convert herself from a chic, sophisticated professional woman of the continent to an all American, walk barefoot in the snow, biker babe. I resolve that tomorrow we will find some sensible shoes somewhere for her, maybe when we pick up some more condoms.

This thought reminds me of a joke which I share with her in bed after dinner. It goes like this:

A poor young couple gets married and must honeymoon and will also live at the farmhouse of his parents. After the wedding, the newlyweds do not emerge from his bedroom for several days. At breakfast the fourth day after the wedding, the grooms' father says to his wife: We have seen neither hide nor hair of them for four days, how are they surviving? With a knowing look, his wife replies - They're living on the fruits of love, dear. With a grin, her husband responds - Well in that case, I wish they would quit throwing the skins out the window, my ducks keep choking on 'em!

To avoid the common "lost in translation" problem with jokes, I use a readily available visual prop to assist in my rendition, which goes over well and draws chuckles from my audience of one. Afterwards, I mention that we will likely go into Waldport a few miles to the north the next day to pick her up some camp-sensible shoes and also another box of the "skins of the fruits of love". At this suggestion, things get really bizarre. She gives me a funny look, snuggles up to me and then says that we don't need them anymore, she loves me and does not care about the risk of STDs.

Well, beyond her weird lack of concern for her own health and welfare, her declaration of love is pretty fast. But what the heck, she is such a sweet woman that I'm willing to go all in, so I tell her that I love her too. I also say that because I love her, I DO care about the risk, far beyond the usual ethics of sex in relation to STDs. I am not willing to be a carrier agent that brings about her illness or death, or anyone else, for that matter.

She just smiles and says that I don't understand, that she belongs to me now and her life is mine, she lives to serve only me, body, mind and spirit; and so our fates are tied together. I am hornswoggled once again; she seems able and inclined to do this to me at least once each day. I lie there silently for several minutes, trying to process what she has said.

I begin to wonder about her sanity, thinking back over our entire interaction, looking for some sign of derangement or instability. I can find none. She is intelligent, unique and French, but she does not seem to be insane. Her ability to reason and employ logic is at least the equal of mine. I am lost, completely at sea.

I ask her - Where is this coming from? I'm sorry; in my experience this is highly unusual. I appreciate your declaration of love and that our fates have joined, but I don't understand how your life can become mine in the process. How you can exist only to serve me? It seems extreme and way beyond any usual expression of romantic love.

She smiles again and says - I must apologize, master, for confusing you and making you feel uncomfortable. Please punish me if it will help you to feel better! I am your slave; do with me as you please. Well shit, this just won't do, I am beginning to understand what is up, but I didn't sign on for this ridiculous Marquis de Sade crap.

I sit up in bed, grab her gently by the chin and say - Listen, I am not going to hurt you, or punish you, or any of that. Cause me all the confusion and discomfort you are able, I don't work that way. Really, tell me, where is all this coming from, are you putting me on?

Instead of answering verbally, she ducks her head under the covers and takes my unprotected penis into her mouth. As good as that feels, I take her by the hair and pull her gently back up to continue our incredible conversation. Laying myself on top of her, I look her right in the eyes and say - Look you, we are going to continue with this conversation and I want to know who you are, right now. She lowers her eyes from mine and murmurs - Yes, master.

Well then, where is all this master-slave stuff coming from, was it like this with your husband? She says - Yes, master. Throughout your marriage, you were his slave? She says \- Yes, master. Why? She says - My first master gave me to him and my husband accepted me as his slave.

Your first master, was that the old guy that liked Verdi and La Fortuna del Destino? Yes, master, still with her eyes downcast, tears in them. How the heck did you become an inspector for Interpol? She replies - My husband told me to study criminology at school, paid for my education and through his contacts, found me that job, master.

Well hell, what a fine mess I am in now. I had to close my eyes and rest my forehead on hers for a minute as she wept quietly. How many Frenchwomen were like this? I was beginning to wish that I had made a reference to Kismet, or anything but La Fortuna del Destino. But then I wondered, is this a gift horse, or instead just an incredible gift which I will lose if I look it in the mouth too closely? Will the next guy this sweet woman does this to be inclined to treat her well? How far does this slave to my every desire thing go?

Opening my eyes, I kiss her gently and wipe her tears. She smiles up at me again. I thank her for explaining and tell her I have more questions, if she is willing to answer them. She says - Of course, master. This master crap will take some getting used to. I have to ask first - Are you always going to call me master from now on? She says - No, master, I will call you whatever you wish.

Well, OK then - My name is Mark; please call me that from now on, unless you think that I am acting like an asshole, in which case you should call me asshole, does that work? She says - Yes, of course, Mark. So then I ask - This master-slave thing, will you do absolutely anything I ask you to do? She says - Yes, of course, Mark.

Well this is sounding better, so I tell her \- My idea of an ideal relationship between lovers is not that of one subserviently following the other, but instead each walking together, side by side, equals in all things. If I command you to try to do that, will you do it? She says - Yes, of course I will, Mark. Well heck, this might still work out in a screwy way, I may be able to make a logical end run around a trained acolyte of the Marquis de Sade.

It suddenly occurs to me that I may also be about to open Pandora's Box. If this woman really buys into the command that I am inclined to make, she could become a real pain in the ass, perhaps more than I could bear. I grasp her chin again, bringing it up until she lifts her eyes to mine and I say - Look, this is all incredibly fast, we have just been having fun so far, but it is becoming serious right now. You don't really know me, I can be a selfish prick sometimes, you know. She says - Of course you can, Mark, that is what a master does.

I don't buy that for a minute. I say - Well, how about you, aren't you selfish sometimes? She says - Yes, of course, Mark, but when I am being selfish you can punish me and I will learn to serve you better. Damn, this is getting complicated again. I ask her - Do you enjoy pain and punishment; do you get off sexually, on being mistreated? She looks down again and says - No, not really master, but I have learned how to be a good slave and to serve whatever pleases my master, including suffering through that.

Did your husband mistreat you for his own pleasure? She smiles and says - No Mark, he did not, he was good to me and I loved him especially for that. Well heck, things are looking up again now. Then what about the old Verdi buff, did he enjoy mistreating you?

She looks down again - Yes Mark, he did. It took him almost an entire year to train me to be his slave. He and his friends did many painful things to me and they enjoyed doing them. Finally, after a year I became pregnant with Jeanne and he gave me to my husband.

Did you have any other children with your husband? No, Mark, he was impotent. How did you get involved with the old sadist in the first place? A friend from school introduced me to him and after a night at the opera, I went home with him and he locked me in a cage in his basement. What about your parents, why couldn't they rescue you? They died in a car accident a short time before. As she reveals this, she starts weeping again.

Holy Shit, this is getting more complicated; I close my eyes again and rest my forehead on hers again. This seems to be a thirty year old case of forcible brainwashing and the resultant Stockholm syndrome, a strongly established behavior pattern. As intelligent and wonderful as she is, she is also well and truly fucked up. It could take decades of therapy to work this all out, if it is even possible.

I look her in the eyes again and thank her for answering my questions. I ask her if there is anything I can do for her; I don't like to see her crying; I want her to be happy. She lowers her eyes and asks if she may kiss my penis again. I admit that I have to think about that for a minute before I tell her no, I have to process our conversation - I need to sleep on it and we will talk some more in the morning.

She says - Yes, Mark - and we kiss and snuggle after I turn out the lantern. I am instantly intimately reminded that a warm, friendly, naked woman is not necessarily a problem.
Chapter 12

My New Pet Fish

Early the next morning I come awake, literally. She is taking advantage of my morning wood and I wake up ejaculating into her mouth. Holy Mary it feels good and simultaneously makes me mad as hell. Up until that moment I feel like I may still have an available out, she is not necessarily mine. Then, with that simple act of surrendering herself to sharing whatever my fate may be, she is mine.

It seems that a long dead sadistic French bastard is teaching me a lesson about La Forza del Destino from his grave. In an unbelievably ironic twist, with this act she enslaves me in the role of her new master. I suddenly realize that she has been continually working to this end from our first meeting. She has selected me to be her new master and has now made it happen. I want to smack her so bad, it hurts. But I do not.

I hold her, kiss her, thank her and then even things up, sexually speaking. Just as she believes herself to be my slave, I spite of these strange new circumstances, I will remain who I believe I myself to be, a gentleman. So in the passionate heat of our combined sleeping bags, I kiss her some more and tell her that I accept her as my slave and that I have one command, although possibly a difficult one. I tell her:

My command as your new master is that you do all that you can to walk beside me as an equal, to allow me to benefit from the gifts of your intellect and your spirit, to share with me your feelings and also to give me the gift of denying me anything and everything that is not your personal desire to give.

She looks me in the eyes and says - Of course, Mark, if that is what you want from me; I will do my best to serve you in that way. Then - being the trained slave that she has been brainwashed to be, she gives me - and herself - an out from this bizarre experiment of a relationship. She says that if she displeases me in her performance of that command, of course I can always give her a different one. I started this suddenly crazy trip with a bicycle and I now have a fish for a pet. Go figure.

So I tell her that it is time for me to get up, I want to catch up on my writing. I ask her if she is willing to drive about 5 miles north into Waldport and find some sensible shoes that she can wear around camp; and also pick up some coffee and pastries for breakfast. In assent, she gives me another kiss and rises to dress. I do the same, wondering what other amazing things can possibly happen this brave new day. As she goes out to the car, I sit down with the tablet to write all that has happened since I last wrote.

When Elise returns in her newly purchased moccasins bearing coffee and doughnuts, we sit quietly and eat. Once we finish, I tell her - I just wrote everything that we talked about yesterday and today in my book. Although you may consider yourself to be my slave, I have commanded you not to allow me to do things which are not personally acceptable to you. So what are your feelings about all this that I have written about you in the book?

She thinks for a while and says - I hope you will change my name and those of my daughter and grand-daughter, figure out some way to ensure that they may remain anonymous from your readers. If you can do that for me, I would be happy to remain in your book as you have chosen to write it. Is that OK?

It sounds easily do-able to me, so I tell her so and thank her for being honest. She smiles and says - Of course, as you have commanded, Mark. This is definitely going to take a lot of getting used to, probably for both of us. Then I ask her - How do you like the book? Do you think you might enjoy it; if you had not known me, but had just picked it up somewhere?

She says - Well I don't know, I haven't read what you have written this morning, that should be interesting! I hand her the tablet and ask her to please read it all critically and then give me her female perspective. I sit and drink coffee as I watch her sitting on the air mattress, reading about our recently negotiated personal truce in the battle of the sexes. At one point she starts quietly crying and I sit beside her, caressing her as she continues to read.

When she finishes, she puts the tablet aside and says - I did choose you to be my new master, on that first day, when you were riding away from us. I also know that in a sense, I have enslaved you, but if you don't want me, you can give me away like my first master did. I tell her that will never happen; that we may be serving each other for a long time. Finally, she asks me about the bicycle and fish reference, what does that mean?

I say - Well, there was a strident feminist, a woman who once said that "a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle". Her eyes go wide as she covers her mouth to laugh out loud and then says - Oh! la la!, that is a good one, I haven't heard that before! It makes me glad to see her laughing again, so I tell her that I want her to be happy and will do everything I can to make her so.

She thanks me and then tells me that it has been 30 years since a man has made love to her without a condom. She says that it will make her happy if I do that with her now. I ask - Is it possible you could become pregnant, or have you gone through the change? She smiles and says that since a year after the funeral for her husband, she no longer has had periods.

Well, I haven't had an invitation like that for a long time and I am not likely to refuse, so we did it, raw, there and then. Afterwards we spoon and sleep. The sexual pace and the daily diet of incredulity are sure to be too much for me soon, but what a way to go! It is mid-afternoon when I awaken to the sound of sheets of driven rain and heavy winds rocking our yurt.

I put on my pants and look out the door to see the coastal pines swaying wildly, lifting the earth around their roots, huge puddles of rain everywhere. It is a humdinger of an Oregon storm and it turns out that it will last for the next 18 hours. It makes me glad not to be trying to pedal through it and represents yet another great reason to stay indoors. I sit down to catch up on the story to this point and then return to our warm, moist and happy bed for the rest of the day, evening and night.

We still had some cold barbecued chicken leftover from the previous night's dinner, so we survive on that, on tidbits from the coolers and on the fruits of love, now the skinless variety. It is clearly and joyously apparent that my pet fish does indeed have need of a bicycle and vice versa, of course. Not a good idea to think about it too much, it is an analogy which only goes so far, then gets weird.
Chapter 13

Turning Right

The three nights for which we had reserved the yurt pass quickly, lost in the emotional and sexual whirlwind. During our last night there we discuss and make plans and as we arise this morning we implement them. First we wash three days of campfire smoke and lovemaking from ourselves in the communal showers. Then we load the various camping supplies, the sleeping bags, air mattress, etc. into the trunk of her car. All of that she will drop as a donation to the Goodwill store in Eugene, along with the leftover non-perishable food.

My mention of Eugene reminds me of another example of the leadership stupidity tax that Oregonians must pay in hidden ways every day. A few decades ago, Hewlett-Packard, at the time one of the best employers and most progressive companies in the world, wanted to build a large facility on the outskirts of Eugene. They were turned away! Then, a few years later, an Asian conglomerate, one of the worst companies in the world, wanted to build a huge semiconductor factory, also outside of Eugene.

This company was so draconian and heavy handed that, during labor disputes with their management in Asia, labor leaders have self-immolated in protest, choosing to die that horrible death in order to make a bargaining point! The state and community leaders in Eugene welcomed and gave this Machiavellian outfit huge tax breaks to build their plant! Several years later, the company shut down the plant and moved on, having made their profits and not having developed any real community ties or made any lasting contributions to the community. Stupidity Tax indeed!

ANYWAY, my nomadic vagabond voyage and life plans are changing in big ways, for we are heading inland to the Willamette Valley. In a couple of days we will be together again. Elise will be visiting today with her grand-daughter, Mathilde in Eugene. Tomorrow she will meet me in Salem for a couple more days before she picks up her daughter, Jeanne. Then they will drive together to the Portland airport, the first leg of their trip back to France.

After cleaning everything out of the yurt, I check out at the park office and we leave, heading north separately. We are going only 5 miles into Waldport, meeting there for breakfast. After breakfast I kiss her farewell in the parking lot and she turns back south on 101. We both will soon be heading east, Elise turning on state highway 126 that brought her to me in Florence just a few days before.

I head east almost immediately, from Waldport I ride on state highway 34, the Alsea Highway. This runs along the south side of Alsea Bay and then into the hills. The road stays close to the waters' winding course through the mountains. The watercourse was cut long before men chose to follow it as they built the road along it and name it, the Alsea River. Men almost always choose the path of least resistance, as the path they chose for their road follows the river.

It happens just like this the world over, the water does the work over eons and men take advantage of it to cut their trails, paths, roads and railroad tracks. After the work of men is done, the river and the road become yet another of many unified dualities, of nature and of ourselves, with which we contend. In spite of the work done by water over the ages, I have my work cut out for me today.

My goal is Philomath, where highway 34 connects with state highway 20. Hwy. 20 then leads further east to the city of Corvallis, where Oregon State University is. To reach Philomath, I will pedal about 60 miles over the coast range, many up and down grades, winding around through temperate rain forest, tree farms and hillsides of stumps - the long term agriculture of lumber. It is simultaneously beautiful and depressing, I know it well. It is similar to my old stomping ground, not far to the south.

I built a home there more than a decade ago, on state highway 36 near Triangle Lake, about 30 miles south as the crow flies. I have hunted elk in this terrain, in rain, snow, sleet and also occasionally in the heat of the sun. By the way, do you know the Native American word for bad hunter? Vegetarian. Although I am a terribly bad hunter, as you have heard from my diet, I do use my canine teeth for the purpose for which they evolved.

ANYWAY, after a few days spent lying about interspersed with an occasional workout for couples, the steady work of spinning the gears and putting some miles under Rain's wheels is welcome. I am blessed with a cloudy, cool, but rainless morning and I make the most of it. It is Saturday, so most of the traffic on the narrow highway is going in the other direction, towards a spring weekend on the coast. Once in a while an eastbound log truck and I must do a little negotiating as the driver works his lumbering (unintentional) way past me.

I retreat into my mind, working on processing and making adaptations to the changes that women have once again made in my life. The main idea to process is less than 12 hours old and must be discussed further with Elise. It seems highly likely that, with my French slave woman as my new love interest, my previous trip plan is defunct (de-funked?).

It had been my plan to continue north along the Oregon coast to Astoria and then head inland from there along the Columbia River to Portland and the Willamette River Valley. I would then turn south and eventually my route would turn to the west again, returning me to its starting point. Back in Crescent City, I would then continue south along the California coast as winter approached.

Instead of that plan, I believe that my bicycle odyssey will now take me almost 3000 miles this spring and summer, to Montreal. Elise, newly retired, will fly to meet me there in late August. She will be more easily able to adjust and adapt herself to a new life and lifestyle.

On the North American continent, Montreal is nevertheless a wonderful and modern Francophile city. There, Elise can share a semblance of her French culture and also speak her native tongue with many of the inhabitants. I can feel my mind and spirit convincing my heart to take on the task. If I have learned anything in my 5 + decades, it is to roll with the changes and that is what I plan to do. Roll and roll and then roll some more!

With these thoughts of rolling - rolling around in my head - the miles roll away behind me and progress is made. I ride into Philomath just after 3 pm, about 6 hours after leaving Waldport. I am deservedly hungry, so I stop at a diner in town for an early dinner, a double burger, fries and a chocolate shake.

Re-energized after my meal, I decide to push on to Corvallis, planning on rough camping somewhere off state highway 99W, which runs north towards Salem. This extra effort today will make tomorrow an easier and quicker day. I will likely see Elise sooner, or at least have some time to re-civilize myself before she rejoins me.

I ride for another hour, putting about 12 more miles behind me. I make my hidden camp within a stones throw of Hwy. 99W, in a clump of trees and brush which conceals my presence well. I have pedaled Rain and her load almost 75 miles today, over the Coast Range. It has been a long day and I am tired, so I turn in shortly after completing this description of my day on the tablet at about 8 pm.
Chapter 14

Disheveled Duchess

Lying in my sleeping bag for a while in the morning, I look carefully at the map for quite some time. Thus I arrive at the realization that the prairie schooner pioneers learned in much more difficult ways, in reverse. The Cascade Mountains are a considerable barrier, with few routes over or around.

Going the other direction on a bicycle, 150 \+ years later, it becomes interesting in a more academic way, as opposed to the nitty gritty survival issues of yore. The problem for me is the fucking interstate highway system. It is designed for highway legal motorized vehicles and most of it is off limits for bicycle travel.

Looking at the map, if I go up to Salem, I may be somewhat screwed (unintentional). It is possible that I am too far north, because I may have to go over the Cascades on Highway 20, instead of going around them along the Columbia Gorge. The Gorge route allows lots of long, easy uphill grades as it uses the cut made by one of the largest rivers in the world.

However, it seems to leave me on the wrong side of the wide damn river in several places, without a bicycle legal bridge across. Don't get me wrong, there are a number of helpful guides and maps designed for bicycle tours of the Columbia Gorge and its' waterfalls and other sights-to-see. However, if one is actually somewhat interested in traveling through the Gorge as a way of getting from A to B on a bicycle, it becomes more complicated.

I consider that I should perhaps stop heading north, change the plan and meet Elise in nearby Albany later today. If I pedal north to Salem I may have to pedal those miles back south again, if I have to head over the Santiam Pass on highway 20. Looking at that option more carefully, however, I realize that I am already way too far north for that. Highway 20 definitely heads south in a major way - in the mountains - as it works through the Cascades on its route towards the Santiam Pass.

Finally I decide to fuck it, stick with the plan and meet with Elise in Salem as originally agreed; figuring out my way east later. I eat a couple of granola bars and then break and pack up camp and pedal north on 99W, as I had planned to do yesterday. I am in the heart of the Willamette Valley now, on the west side of it and the Willamette River. The terrain steadily gets flatter and the road gets straighter, until I can see the road ahead for miles, without a turn. It is boring as hell, especially when considering the winding road and varied terrain I pedaled through yesterday.

This is heavily agricultural use land and the people living around here are salt-of-the-earth farming stock. For example, I go past a housing subdivision on my right called Adair Village, which is favored by Mennonites. These good folks are sort of open-minded, non-fundamentalist Amish, if you will accept a generality that goes way too far.

I just keep going, finally reaching the town of Monmouth, where I stop for a late farmer's breakfast. After breakfast, I turn to the east on state highway 51 which leads me toward the neighboring town of Independence. I love the names the Oregon Trail pioneers gave some of their Willamette Valley towns, my favorite of which is Sublimity.

I ride almost to the Willamette and then Hwy. 51 turns left, due north towards Salem, my destination for the day. Stopping there to look at the map, I decide instead to turn south for less than a mile, and cross the river on a conveniently located bridge. From there I pick up River Road, also known as the Willamette River scenic bikeway, my kind of path.

I am on the outskirts of Salem within a little more than an hour, looking forward to a cup of coffee and some time on the wifi. I find both at a cafe and settle in with the tablet, looking for a love nest where I can spend a couple of nights with Elise. I hit pay dirt quickly, deciding to go upscale after our most recent minimalist experience. I reserve two nights at a grand hotel in the heart of downtown Salem, directly ahead on my chosen route into town. Since it is the last time I will spend with Elise for at least three months, it seems worth the expense for the extra quality stars.

I call, make and confirm the reservation for arrival that afternoon and then call Elise as promised. She is happy to hear from me, looking forward once again to leaving her daughter's vague, plaintive recriminations behind her. She welcomes the news of our upscale reservations for tonight. She says she will be on her way within the hour, so I will likely see her again in about two hours. I can't wait and tell her so, but I also ask her to drive safely.

I spend some more time in the coffee shop taking care of business, check and respond to emails, surf around, etc. I also catch up - to this minute - on the book. Then I head out to Rain, climb aboard and ride north through the increasingly urban landscape and traffic for about fifteen minutes before I roll up to the hotel.

I check in, detach the panniers, tent-bag and the trailer from Rain and give them and a five-spot to the porter, asking him to deliver it all to the room. The bell captain puts Rain in a storage room, giving me a claim check for her. The night before I had removed the tall, tube-encased stack of gold coins from the seat tube and stashed them in my rucksack, which is now on my back.

I am soon established in the room, stashing my cash, gold and other valuables in the room safe in preparation for a much needed shower. The shower and a subsequent half-hour nap on the king sized bed work wonders. Afterwards I dress and head to the lounge to await the arrival of Madame, my French slave woman. It sounds good, but I am still trying to get my mind around it.

In the hotel lounge, the over-priced beer manages to taste like it is worth it. I quickly work through the first and am halfway through the second when Elise sweeps in, this time decked out like a fashionable modern duchess. She has taken my news about the quality accommodations to heart and dressed the part. Once again, without trying to do so, she makes me feel completely outmatched.

However, I quickly realize that with her, it is all an act that she has been trained to put on deliberately, in order to inflate the ego of her master. I suddenly don't give a damn how fancy she looks, I am just glad to see her. I let her know it; unabashedly launching an assault upon her carefully constructed, elaborate facade right there in the lobby. She melts in my arms.

I get her and her bags established in our room, which she inspects and approves. I suggest to her that my current plans for the evening include some time spent on the other side of the cultural tracks from that inhabited by her current attire. I suggest something along the lines of what she wore on our first night together in Florence.

She looks back at me for a long moment and says - Oh! la la!, we are going to a strip club! I will dress for that, monsieur! I am interested to see that for myself! Proving once again that she is an intelligent and perceptive woman, she has deduced my plans. I decide that she is also completely irresistible, so I give it up and pounce.

Finally I rise after a long interlude of smooching and wrestling. I stand and admire her in her newly disheveled state. She looks happy, although somewhat overwhelmed by my second assault upon her person, which was much more thorough than my first foray in the lobby. Finally she pulls herself together and tells me that she will need some time to unpack, freshen up and change, etc.

I promise her that I will wait patiently and head back to the lounge for my third beer. She joins me an hour and a half later; her moving motherlodes are barely contained within a little black dress. She also wears her black leather jacket and high heels. Once again, as her engagingly active body sashays towards me, I must whistle softly and appreciate the tight feeling in my chest that she elicits during such moments. Sitting down at the table, she asks for a glass of white wine. I fetch that and return to sit by her side, offering a toast to her beauty.

She leans in close and grabs my hand to tell me - Sorry I am so slow, monsieur, but it takes me a long time to trim and shave with your electric razor! While she says this, she guides my hand to her newly shaven and delightfully smooth, moist honey pot, sans (without) panties! She grins lasciviously at my fingers happy tactile surprise, the discovery that she has gone bald commando. She has taken the idea of a strip club evening to heart, big time.
Chapter 15

Bobbi, Shooper-Woman

Given these circumstances, I suggest that we take a look at the menu offered there in the hotel lounge. Together, we decide to share several appetizers - a couple varieties of dip, chips, hot wings and olive oil with bread. She wants a second glass of wine and I ask for a pitcher of water with our meal. I have a bellyful of beer already and I am not going to try to escort this sultry sexpot anywhere with a load on. I need to be ready to play my A game or I may have my hands full trying to keep horny assholes like me away from her all night.

After we finish eating we stand and head out into the night. I ask the doorman to hail a cab and in short order one arrives. Somehow Elise manages to gracefully get in without flashing everyone on the street. I ask the cabbie to take us to an upscale full-nudity-with-alcohol club located just off interstate 5, the main north-south artery of the West coast. I've been to this club before, in my previous life. Elise is all over me in the back of the cab, warming up to the spirit of the evening. When we pull up at the club, I ask the cabbie to wait a few minutes with his meter running while we check things out.

At the door, I ask the bouncer if we can take a quick look inside before we decide if we want to stay. He shrugs and says OK after eyeballing Elise for a moment. We go in and take a quick look around. As is typical, the music is loud and there are several scantily clad dancers, sitting at the bar texting. At the moment though, they are all looking Elise up and down, as is the bartender and the naked dancer on the stage. There are only a couple of customers; it is a slow Sunday night, just perfect for us.

I turn to Elise and ask - Well, what do you think? She says - I like the blond over there. I look to see a buxom platinum blonde, perhaps in her late thirties, standing at the far end of the bar. She seems to be doing her best to win a smoldering looks contest with Elise.

The blonde is minimally yet patriotically contained within a red one-piece slingshot swimsuit under a narrow blue & white striped tube top. She looks nearly prepared for a white collar job. She and all of her exotic attire is partially wrapped in a white pin-striped business shirt, unbuttoned and hanging open. All she needs to do is to button up, put on some grey pin striped trousers and a tie and she is ready to take care of biz!

ANYWAY, I interpret the response from Elise to mean that she has already approved of the club and has moved on to other subjects. I turn to the bouncer and ask him to lead Elise to a semi-circular booth that I point out, while I return to pay the cabbie his fare. Accomplishing that, back in the club foyer, I pay the bouncer my cover charge - ladies often get in free in strip clubs. Then I give the bouncer a jackson and ask him to watch our backs, I am getting too old for scuffling. He nods and says that he will.

I head over to Elise in the booth; where she has already been joined - at the hip - by the blonde, who introduces herself as Bobbi. I ask them both what they are drinking; Bobbi asks for a greyhound and Elise asks for the same. I go up to the bar, pass the bartender the ladies order and ask for a beer for myself.

I give him a benjamin and ask him to let me know when we have used that up, I may give him another. I also hand him a jackson for a tip, making the same request from him as I had from the bouncer. He smiles and agrees to help us stay out of trouble.

I head back to the table, first stopping to give the current dancer on stage a five-spot as I pass. She is a limber, lightly muscled and graceful dark skinned gal and definitely an accomplished pole athlete. She is high up on the pole, naked and upside down, spinning slowly and smiling at me. I watch for a few moments and then I drop my tip on the stage for her fearless Look Daddy, no clothes & no hands! gymnastic talent display.

I sit down in the booth opposite Elise and Bobbi, just as our drinks arrive. The ladies take their hands off each other and take a long pull at their drinks. Then Elise stands and comes around to my side of the booth, shooing me over with a hand signal and then sits down on my right, while Bobbi slides her curvy can around the booth until she is on my left.

Bobbi turns towards me and is lightly grazing my left forearm with her extravagant eye magnets. Elise grabs my right hand and brings it to her newly smooth, damp honey pot. I am now sandwiched between two aggressively sexy women, both doing their damnedest to get frisky with me. This just won't do. I give Elise a quick tickle with my index finger, then reclaim my hand from her sweet spot.

I get their attention by reaching around their shoulders and grasping each of them loosely by their far side ears. They stop cold, surprised at the completely unexpected part of their anatomies I have chosen to grab. I pull their heads in a little closer to mine and say - Listen ladies, as much fun as this is; it is not what I had in mind when I walked in here. I don't intend to spend the rest of the evening with an erection; prolonged sexual frustration is just not my thing.

I go on - I also did not come in here looking for a happy ending. Instead, I am here to admire beautiful women, including both of you. Think of it as Renaissance early soft porn/art appreciation. It eliminates the artist, the canvas and the censoring influence of the Catholic Church and includes fewer Rubenesque body types.

I add that - I am also building an appetite, for I plan to do some eating at home, later tonight. I wink at Elise as I say that last bit. I release their ears and Elise starts giggling, soon joined by Bobbi. Elise stands up and then sits back down opposite me and Bobbi slides back around the booth, ending up back next to Elise.

They each take another long pull on their greyhounds and then return to their friendly assault upon each other, which suits me just fine. Apparently Elise has played in this way with women before. I have a mental image of a fancy French salon full of horny old sadists and slave girls on leashes. She seems to be enjoying herself, so I slide Bobbi a jackson and she smiles back at me as she gooses one of Elise's full honkers. This is more like it.

I go into my strip club "I like to watch" mode, a la Being There, a funny film that I heartily recommend for adult audiences. I watch the dancers take their turns up on stage and then wandering the club afterwards, soliciting lap dances. When they approach me, I tell them I don't do that.

However, I always give them a tip for their stage dance and thank them for asking. I don't want them to feel rejected as they stand there exposed, naked or nearly so, in order to fulfill my adolescent fantasies and to pay the rent, feed their children, etc. Whatever their need is, I know it is much more likely that they are there for the money than because they might be nymphomaniac exhibitionists who enjoy being groped by all manners of men.

I also keep an eye on Bobbi and Elise as they get to know each other much better. Bobbi has been naked since she left us once, briefly and early on, to dance on the stage and strip out of her shirt, tube top and then the intriguing slingshot swimsuit. She is a real honey, with big, soft, natural moneymakers and a classically heart shaped hinder.

She has the well-toned, lightly muscled frame that is common among career dancers. She has a friendly, engaging personality and a great smile. She and Elise really seem to be hitting it off, while they continue to power down the greyhounds.

My fair Elise is beginning to glow, a pinkish flush of heat on her cheeks, neck and chest. Bobbi continually frees and caresses Elise's plump paw patties, which Elise less and less frequently tries to cover again. The dancers sitting at the bar, the bartender and the bouncer all seem to be enjoying the show, without actually staring too blatantly. Elise finally surrenders herself to Bobbi's hands.

She is now wearing her little black dress more or less as a belt covering only her midriff with the leather jacket pushed back off her shoulders. Eventually, they are making out like there is no tomorrow. In the short silence between dance tunes, I clear my throat and they come up for air. With both of them looking at me like an unwelcome interruption, I ask Bobbi - How much does it cost to go into the VIP room for an hour?

She smiles and says - I'll give you two a discount, say $200? I look at Elise, who looks back at me from behind heavy lids, well and truly high on the booze and the endorphin rush. I ask her - Does that sound like fun to you?

In reply, she stands up and tries to pull her mini-dress up and down simultaneously and ineffectively. She then grabs for Bobbi's' hand and is lead back to the VIP lounge. I conduct a classic military rear-guard action, happily following their twitching derrieres (backsides). Benefiting from golden hindsight (intentional) it occurs to me once again that I should have adopted this new lifestyle a long time ago.

Bobbi and Elise promptly get back into it in earnest on a low pleather couch, paying me no attention at all as I watch them take care of business. I have never been present for this kind of extended girl-girl party, so it is great to watch, in both the usual prurient way and also in a more clinical sense. For one thing, I notice that they communicate with each other a lot, in both verbal and non-verbal ways. They each guide the other, effectively using active communication and teamwork to reach several apparent climaxes.

Observing carefully, I learn a great deal more about what Elise likes in the process and file that away for later. Although she may be faking, it seems that Bobbi is having a good time too. After an hour and a half, they conclude their festivities. Bobbi helps me to put my Elise back into her mini-dress. Elise, well and truly plastered, just giggles, jiggles and wriggles herself back into it.

That done, I give Bobbi a long, friendly and mutually explorative embrace, then we share a wet smooch. Finally letting her loose, I hand her $240 and thank her for an entertaining and educational evening, definitely money well spent. She thanks me and then turns to Elise, saying - And Thank You! I shooped three times!

I ask Bobbi - What's that mean, shooped? I haven't heard that before, do you mean you had three orgasms? She says, dancing and shimmying in place - It's Salt-n-Pepa, I don't know how you do the voodoo that you do so well, it makes me wanna SHOOP!? Elise giggles and says - Me too! I shooped a few times too, thanks Bobbi!

As she is stepping into her 22nd century one-piece red slingshot swimsuit, shooper-woman Bobbi tells me that she hopes that I have built up a good appetite. Then she winks at Elise, who is still giggling. Similar to her grand-daughter, at the moment she can't stop giggling. I suggest to Bobbi that she should focus on what she is doing; it looks like it might be dangerous.

She stops and raises her eyebrows in question? I say - Look at the slingshot thing that you are harnessing your sweet ass into! If you slip at the wrong moment, you could accidentally slingshoot yourself right through the roof. You might find yourself lying em-bare-assed out in the parking lot, wondering what hit you.

Bobbi is chuckling and eyeballing her tiny, yet highly elastic slingshot, as we part company. So, with Elise glued to my hip, we make our way out of the club. A cab soon appears and we are off, on the way back to the hotel. She murmurs her thanks for the evening into my ear, saying that she is very high, which I am well aware. Then she asks me why I didn't want to be with Bobbi.

I tell her that I am getting old and my sexual energy is not what it once was. Twenty years ago I would have jumped at the chance to double up and would have done my best to rise to the challenge presented by two women. In my present circumstances, I believe myself lucky to have one woman who presents more than enough of a challenge all by herself.

During the short cab ride, we converse closely, whispering into each others ears. Elise kisses me repeatedly and I ask her - You seem to enjoy being with women, do you do that often? She says - Yes, my husband told me to, since he could not make love to me as men and women usually do. I guess you might say that I have been, how do you say? - a lipstick lesbian? - for the past thirty years. That revelation certainly answers some questions for me, but then I wonder aloud - Do you prefer women?

Elise smiles and says no, sex with women is friendly & fun and she likes them and it. But she tells me that she loves men and how their sexuality is such a serious expression of their masculinity. She loves how it makes her feel to be needed and to be penetrated by a man, a feeling she has missed for a long time, a feeling which recently became a need. She adds that she found herself needing to give herself to a man again and had chosen to give me that gift.

I am overwhelmed by the wave of tenderness and love that I feel for her and I tell her so. Soon we arrive at the hotel, I pay the fare and we make our way back to the room to spend the night watching late night television. If you buy that, I have a bridge near you available for an attractive one-time price, a special deal just for you.
Chapter 16

Elise, La Reine

Waking up in that big king sized bed next to a deeply slumbering Elise, I decide to take Rain for a spin. Elise will be hung over this morning, so the more sleep she gets, the easier that will be for her. I brought her several glasses of water last night before we finally slept, to keep her hydrated and hopefully to make her hangover easier, but she is going to suffer a little today, no doubt about it. I rise quietly and dress, leave her a note and slip out.

It is past 8 am Monday morning and the city is bustling with rush hour activity. I ride towards the river and then along it for some distance, then turn back, spinning hard for a while. I'm not sure why, I get plenty of exercise. I suspect that my lungs, heart and legs all are answering calls from my subconscious to gather in oxygen from the cool morning air and pump enriched blood up into my waiting brain.

Near the hotel there is a bicycle shop, so I stop there and surrender Rain to them for a tune-up, lube job and safety inspection. She is a machine after all and I will be relying on her to carry me a heck of a long way in the next few months. I walk back to the hotel and find Elise sitting up in bed, holding her head.

I bring her a glass of water and a couple aspirin and then give her a massage for half an hour. She groans happily as I handle her, loosening her up until she feels like a big bag of warm, moist jelly in my hands. Then I slap her quivering rump and ask - Coffee and breakfast for you, or just coffee?

She says - Coffee, yes, fruit and yogurt, maybe soon. I call room service and order hers and then also my usual breakfast: eggs, bacon, hash browns and toast. I have to keep fueling the machine if I want to keep up this pace, in more ways than one.

Once I am off the phone, I notice that Elise has fallen asleep after the massage. I cover her abundantly naked form with the blankets and wait for room service to arrive. Soon it does and she sleeps through it. I bring her a cup of coffee and caress her until she wakes up. I tell her to sit up & drink her coffee and she obeys. I sit and eat my breakfast, then bring her a second cup and coax her into eating a piece of my toast and some of her fruit.

After the second cup of coffee, she seems somewhat recovered and more alert, so I ask her if she wants me to run her a bath. She says - Mon Dieu, monsieur, c'est magnifique, mais savez-vous que je n'est pas la reine? This translates to "My God, sir, this is magnificent, but do you know that I am not the queen?" I take that as a yes and go in the bathroom to fill the tub for her.

I return to the room to find her standing naked next to the breakfast cart, eating her yogurt and staring into space. I walk up behind her, give her a hug and caress her lush hand warmers for a while as she eats and the tub gurgles behind us as it fills. For the moment, all is right with the world.

When the tub fills, I guide her into the bathroom and help her into it. We select some scented bath oils and soap from the selection that the hotel provides and I use them to make gourmet French slave woman stew. I withdraw, leaving Madame to soak happily in her bath for half an hour.

I fire up the tablet, check email and the news of the web world. Then I knock on the bathroom door and enter when she says - Oui? I let some water out and run in some more hot. Then I help her dunk her head and wash her hair, massaging her scalp thoroughly in the process. After rinsing the shampoo out, we condition her hair and rinse again.

By this time she is looking kind of pink and wrinkled, so I help her up and out of the tub, towel her off and wrap her hair in a dry towel, then guide her back to bed. I give her another glass of water and an aspirin, then suggest that she might go back to sleep. She is snoring gently within a couple of minutes. I go back to work on the tablet, taking care of business for a couple of hours while she sleeps it off.

It is almost 1 pm when I have done all the work I feel necessary. I take a shower and then climb back in bed with her. We nap together for a while and then she wakes me with kisses, saying that she feels much better and is now ready to serve me again. I tell her she can have a day off from slavery; that I just want to talk and make plans. She looks sad for a moment as she realizes that this is our last full day together, which is the reason that I want to have a confab.

Then she gets down to business, as we both sit up in bed to discuss our lives and how they might go from here. She tells me that she really likes the idea of meeting me in Quebec in August; that she has been to both Montreal and Quebec Ville several times, in the course of her work for Interpol. She says that she likes Montreal more because it is a modern city, but also likes Quebec Ville because it is more like an old French city, both in its architecture and its people.

I ask her if she is ready to retire; she is still fairly young to do so - only fifty two. She says - Oh! la la!, she is so tired of her work and is already wealthy, even before her own 30 year pension comes she has many good investments. She tells me that her daughter Jeanne married a man from a wealthy banking family.

Her son-in-law the banker took over her financial affairs after her husband died five years ago. He has done well investing her money, nearly tripling it in that time. With so much money, after a long career, raising her daughter and taking few holidays, she feels that she can afford and deserves a rest. I agree that it seems to me that she should retire and have some fun.

So then I tell her - You know, I am a simple man with simple tastes. I am happy riding my bicycle around the countryside, camping outdoors as much as possible, just traveling on the road most of the time. I dwell a great deal in my own mind and that can be exceedingly dull to be around; I know it and if you spend much time with me, you will know it too. Maybe you would be happier with a much more sophisticated, cosmopolitan, continental type who will keep you entertained?

She smiles and says - I know well how nasty those sophisticated, continental and cosmopolitan men that you describe can be. Many of them have become sexually jaded and must do cruel things to women, just to become aroused or to entertain themselves. I have spent days at a time locked in a dark basement room, chained up and gagged, sometimes alone, sometimes with several other girls, bored to tears at times.

We suffer through that and never-ending boredom to serve some sick fool. All merely so that he can imagine us, supposedly quivering with delightful anticipation. He thinks we tremble and hope that he might come down at any moment and torment us or rape us.

Or he may give us an opportunity either to torment or to play with each other while he watches. I have also been trussed up, gagged and thrown into the trunk of a car, then driven across half of Europe, to be among the featured attractions at a private soiree full of such mean bastards!

You seem happy to have good old fashioned healthy sex AND you treat me with tenderness and respect, hell - you treated me like a queen this morning! Go ahead, do your best to bore me to death if you want, if you continue to treat me so tenderly and with such respect I will love you forever! I can't argue with that.

So I ask her - Are we going to have an exclusive relationship? She smiles again and says - You don't really comprehend the concept of owning a love slave, do you? I shake my head.

She says - A love slave keeps faith with her master. My body belongs entirely to you, to do with as you please and to share as you please. I will only have sex with you and with anyone you give me to, or with whom you allow me to have sex, at your whim.

It suddenly occurs to me to ask her - Did you have sex in the club with Bobbi yesterday because you believed that I wanted you to? She shrugs and says - Of course, isn't that why we went there, so you could watch me do that? I reply - No, not from my perspective, I thought it might be interesting for you to experience the American strip club culture and fun for both of us.

I did not expect anything from you beyond that you try to relax and have some fun. She says - Well, I did have lots of fun, with Bobbi and afterwards, with you. The way my head felt this morning, I think I had too much fun!

Then she smiles at me and says - But you were paying attention while Bobbi and I were playing together, weren't you? I say - Well, some sayings are not always true, for example it is sometimes possible for old dogs to learn new tricks. She grins at me and snuggling close, says - Are there any other tricks that you have learned that you haven't showed me yet, puppy?

In spite of the short notice, I was able to pull a few moves out of my hat; they seemed to get and keep her attention. Afterwards, I return to the subject of exclusivity. I ask - While you are in France for the next few months, will you still be doing your lipstick lesbian thing - do you have a long term lover there?

She looks at me for a moment and then says - Yes, I do, but I will break it off with her if you tell me to. I can't imagine a circumstance in which I would tell anyone not to love somebody. I say - If you are happy making love with her, please don't stop, I want you to be happy. But are you sure you will be able to leave her in August for a new life with me?

She says, looking absolutely serious - I promise I will come back to you in August; I swear my life on it. Then I ask - How do you feel about me going to strip clubs occasionally as I travel? She smiles again and says - My master is always free to do as he pleases, with whomever he pleases, whenever he pleases. I reply - But that isn't what I asked you, is it?

She says - My feelings are the only things that I have that are mine, Mark. My only freedom is to choose to keep them to myself if I desire to do so. From my perspective you should do as you need to, do what makes you happy; I already know you well enough to know that I can trust you and that you will not do anything to hurt me.

Well, I guess that is about as clear an answer as I am likely to get from her on that subject. I don't do anything sexual with strippers. For me, it is mostly about drinking beer, watching them move around, talking with one who may be inclined to do so for a while occasionally, perhaps caressing her if she doesn't mind. My fair lady was an unusual and special circumstance, an experiment which I am not likely to repeat.

Knowing that Elise will be coming to Montreal to meet me in August will be more than enough to overcome any temptation that might come my way, in strip clubs or out. I get out of bed and take some time to write everything that has transpired since my last session, yesterday. When I am done, I hand Elise the tablet and ask her to read the updates since she last read, figuring that she may comment on this last paragraph above if she does not agree with it.

We canoodle in bed all afternoon, smooching, talking and planning, etc. Finally we are hungry enough to get out of bed, dress and head out onto the streets. We walk aimlessly arm in arm until we come upon a Chinese restaurant that smells really good from the street and which serves great food, living up to that aromatic promise. Bellies full, we wander around some more, until we inadvertently come back upon the hotel and decide to go in for the night. For our farewell, we share a wonderful night together; it leaves me with powerful memories of Elise which grace my soul for much longer than the next three months.
Chapter 17

Elise's Test Begins

We laze in bed for a while after waking early. Eventually we accept our inevitable defeat by the sands of time. We must rise to shower and dress at 8. Elise and Jeanne will fly at 4:30 pm from Portland to JFK airport in New York. They will spend the night in an airport hotel and then fly on to Paris tomorrow morning. We pack up our things and I see her off just before 9:30 am.

She is driving back south to Eugene to have brunch with Jeanne and Mathilde. Then she will drive north with Jeanne to the Portland airport, which is east of the city on the south bank of the Columbia. As we have promised to each other the night before, we don't say goodbyes but instead just say Au Revoir (until we meet again) and part company in the hotel parking garage fairly easily.

I head back up to the room to gather the trailer and the panniers which I have already packed in preparation for my own exit from the hotel. I call the bell desk for a porter to transport these things down from the room and hold them at the bell desk for me. At the front desk, I settle the bill and check out, then jog to the bike shop to collect Rain.

After a lube and tune-up maintenance by a skilled mechanic, a bicycle will usually seem to float for a while, until one gets used to the reduced friction and smoother operation of all the working parts. Unencumbered, it seems like I am flying back to the hotel. I am in a hurry, because for the first time in this new life, today I am on a timetable.

Under the curious gaze of the doorman on the sidewalk in front of the fanciest hotel in Salem, I reassemble and reattach the various load bearing containers to Rain. When I am done she is once again transformed into a cart horse. As I put on my helmet and step back into the saddle, the doorman asks - Sir, how far are you planning to go on that rig?

I can't resist telling him that I should be in Montreal by sometime in August, perhaps sooner. He whistles under his breath and says - Good luck to you, sir and a safe trip. I thank him for his good wishes and shake his hand before I pedal away.

My plan is to make it to the Portland Airport in time to see them arrive at the rental car check-in and then check their bags onto the scheduled flight. I just want to watch from a distance, unseen, for I don't want to upset Elise with a second parting. I want a few last glimpses of her before I pedal across the continent to see her again. It is about 50 miles to the airport and if I push it, I could make it there by 1 pm, well before they are likely to arrive.

I am sitting on Rain about 300 yards from the rental car return at 1:15, watching for her car with my binoculars. She pulls in at 1:50 and she and Jeanne soon board the rental car shuttle bus to the terminal. I watch them descend from the shuttle and enter the departure terminal. After checking in at the counter, they disappear into the depths of the terminal at about 2:45, the last glimpse I will have of Elise for a while.

I sit there looking at the map on the tablet and then pedal off to the east. I no longer care about the difficulties I may face cycling through the Columbia Gorge, I know that I will find a way. It turns out to be not as difficult as it first appeared on the map. A quote comes to mind from the Prussian military theorist - von Clausewitz - "the map is not the terrain". He was also the realist who originated the phrase describing the important battle concept, the "fog of war".

Following both the map and the terrain, that afternoon I pedal through the heavy late afternoon urban traffic on highway 30. I suddenly realize that, in my haste to see Elise off, I have forgotten to eat either breakfast or lunch. I stop for a while at a decent restaurant for a healthy meal. I eat a large dinner, prime rib and baked potato, bread and butter, lots of carbs for fuel.

Soon after, I am pedaling again, making my way east to Troutdale. There, I pick up the western end of the Historic Columbia River Highway and cross the old steel bridge over the Sandy River. The old highway is now mostly used as a scenic trail for slow moving tourists like me.

Traveling on that road and also, by necessity, on some sections of the shoulder of Interstate 84, my goal for tomorrow is to get to and across the Bridge of the Gods just west of Cascade Locks. It is a toll bridge; they charge bicyclists 50 cents to cross one of the largest, most powerful rivers in the world. That is for tomorrow; today I have made it this far and more importantly have also made my plan for the beginning of a major cycling endeavor.

I make camp near the Historic Highway, in the brush on the bank of the Sandy, on a frisbee golf course of all things. I hide my camp out of habit, although I suspect that it is not necessary to do so. Concealment is handy though, for I need to transfer the stack of gold coins from my rucksack back into their secure hide, inside Rain's seat tube.

Once I accomplish that, Rain is back to performing her complete function. She is once again a safe containing and concealing more than 3 pounds of gold coins, sealed in rubber tubing to prevent rattling vibration. Also within this packet is a lithium-ion battery powered gps tracking unit, in case she rides off without me.

After carefully completing that project, I spend some time in the tent bringing this account up to date on the tablet and then turn off the lantern at 9 pm, exhausted from the strenuous and emotionally charged day. Laying in the darkness, I wish Elise well on her long flight across the Atlantic, back to France from New York early tomorrow.
Chapter 18

The Bridge of the Gods

I emerge at 6 am to find a beautiful, clear, crisp morning. During the cooler months of the year, the relatively colder and denser air of eastern Oregon flows just above the water, following the downstream flow of the river west through the barrier of the Cascade Mountains. In the frozen depths of winter, this downhill cold air flow sometimes creates strong winds and brings difficult weather along with it quickly, freezing the damp, warmer air of the northern Willamette valley.

This causes sudden, fast-moving freezing rain and ice storms on these roadways, which also take this path of least resistance. The road follows the rivers course through the mountains. Today I am gratefully riding Rain gradually uphill and upstream through a cleft in the mountains that this powerful river has worn down and maintained over the ages. The Columbia Gorge was originally cut by the melt runoff of unimaginably huge ice-age glaciers.

It is an ancient route, followed by Native Americans for millennia and followed by Lewis and Clark and many of the pioneering settlers as they reached the end of their long and arduous Oregon Trail. For myself, I am happy to be leaving Oregon in a few hours on the Bridge of the Gods, for this back-asswards state holds some difficult and painful memories for me. There are a number of people living here upon whom I would hesitate to piss if they were afire. Most of them are bureaucrats, politicians and judges, but also a few ethically bankrupt individuals who claimed to me that they were engaged in "just business" (http://www.goldenkarma.net/).

I shake these dark thoughts off once again, reminding myself that I now have a newer, happier memory to take with me out of Oregon, for I met Elise here just a few short days ago. Remembering that event motivates me out of my dark reverie and I quickly break camp and get on the road east. As I pedal, my heart is soon pumping vigorously as it drives my legs, my lungs pulling in volumes of clean, cool air; I am transformed into a sunrise seeking machine.

The historic old road winds through fields and farms for a few miles, then begins to climb steadily and work its way closer to the river, the railroad tracks and the main highway. As I travel, the bulk of the mountains begin to crowd and narrow the available space for such paths. I am coming into the land of tall and beautiful waterfalls, the cascades after which this mountain range is named. Now, in the springtime, there are many full, rushing torrents falling off the slopes to my right.

The natural beauty of it all forces me to stop occasionally, to lose myself in the flow of water, the immutable, ever flowing fluid of life. The powerful flow of water is simultaneously analogous to eternal change, to the unceasing flow of time and to the power of destiny, La Forza del Destino. It is an effort to resist the hypnotic effect, to keep pedaling myself upstream, seemingly working in opposition to the flow. I stop and eat a couple of granola bars for fuel, promising myself a more substantial breakfast as soon as a suitable restaurant presents itself.

A little more than an hour later I pass Bonneville Dam, one of many hydroelectric dams on the Columbia, harnessing the power of its huge volume of descending water. This readily and continually available hydropower has been lulling the leadership of Oregon to sleep for decades. One of the forgotten realities of this supply of electric power is that it is limited. Of course, some years the rainfall and built up snow pack upon this huge, far flung watershed are larger than others. However, when considered as an average it will not tend to increase in any significant way, for it is a finite area and its average rainfall remains relatively consistent.

On the other hand the combined growth of the regional population and also the steady increase in electrical power consumption per person has increased the power demands of the region dramatically and consistently for decades. As I have described previously, so-called leadership has not pro-actively pursued other alternative, sustainable sources of power. The development of wind and wave energy resources would allow accommodations to the growth in power demand while also maintaining the relatively clean environment of the region, compared to other population centers.

I am soon brought out of these thoughts again, this time by my arrival at the Bridge of the Gods. I stop, pay the fifty cent toll and walk Rain across the mighty Columbia, leaving Oregon behind. As I walk, I resolve to stop thinking about Oregon for a while, to concentrate instead on where I am in the present and on where I am going. On the other side, I remount and continue my ride east on Washington highway 14, the Lewis and Clark highway. Soon I pedal into the small riverside community of Stevenson and finally find my breakfast, which is actually lunch.

I stop at a local brewery and chew my way through a thick dark beer and four slices of pizza. Then I walk Rain across the street and onto a pier that extends a ways out into the river. I sit silently on Rain at the end of the pier, taking in the panoramic vista around me while I start to digest my meal.

The river is wide here, but narrows considerably downstream to my right where I can see the steel trusses of the span of the bridge I had just walked across. The 2,663 mile long Pacific Crest Trail, for those who prefer to take their epic journeys on foot, crosses the Columbia on the aptly named man-made Bridge of the Gods.

The bridge is named after a land bridge described in ancient anecdotal Native American lore. Such lore is often believed to be fiction. However in this case it is geologically verifiable fact, which actually happened at least once in the last couple of millennia, formed by earthquake induced landslide(s).

The earthquake(s) broke off a shoulder of volcanic Mount Hood, a forested green bulk standing directly in front of me. A year-round snow covered peak, it shimmers in sunlight surrounded by the brilliant blue sky. I am lucky to be able to see it this day; the peak is usually obscured above the clouds that seem to want to live around it, drawn in by the forest.

The river was dammed by the landslide and a natural bridge existed for the natives to walk across for a time. Inevitably, the water backed up sufficiently to crest the bridge, eating through it and irresistibly working to move the huge mass of earth and rock away. Soon - in geologic terms - the river was back to flowing as it had, as if the massive shift and slide of earth and rock had not moved at all.

Such is the power of many western landscapes; the deep and broad workings of time are not as well concealed here from the view of short lived mortals. It took me an hour to wrap my mind around this scene, to store it away. Panning gradually with my smart phone camera would have been a royal waste of time, there is no way to encapsulate the impact; one just experiences it and brings what one can along with oneself afterwards. Finally, I turn Rain around on the pier and pedal back to the road, turning right, away from the afternoon sun.

Two hours later I roll into White Salmon, a logging town with a number of riverfront floating log storage yards full of soggy trees awaiting milling, or tugs to pull rafts of them downriver to other mill towns. A local bed and breakfast owner is happy to see my tired face roll up to his door, his lodging is empty except for me, his only midweek guest.

I am also happy to see him, in spite of the extra cost for his hospitality over that of a motel. There aren't any motels on this side of the river. There is a bridge nearby that goes over to Hood River, a larger town back in Oregon which has several motels, but the bridge is apparently closed to bicycles. Even if it was open, I doubt I would be able to motivate myself back to Oregon at this point, for more than one reason.

I have come 50 miles up a continual gradual grade today and against the wind to boot. I believe that I have earned a shower, then a comfortable bed upon which I take a short nap. After an hour, my host calls me down to dinner, which he has thrown into the bargain as an unnecessary enticement for me to stay \- a broiled chicken, mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables after a salad.

He and his wife - a retired couple who have worked their lives dreaming of buying this sort of business - are full of questions about my trip. They are vocally impressed at how far I have come and seem incredulous to hear that I intend to travel this way all the way to Montreal. However they provide some great information about the roads to the east and have much good advice.

All of this valuable information and the tasty and nourishing dinner combine to make the cost worthwhile. Shortly after finishing my meal I beg forgiveness for not having the energy to socialize and inquire after the wifi connection, which my host proudly describes as fast and reliable. I write this account on the tablet and then find that the wifi indeed has strong signal and seems fast as well. I make good use of it for another hour and a half, until finally I cannot keep my eyelids up any longer.
Chapter 19

Week 3: I will fight no more forever

The epic journey facing me is to be such a long one that I decide that I will summarize it for you. It would not serve the story well to provide you with a detailed daily accounting. That would become seemingly interminable accounts of days spent pedaling along different roads with many breakfasts and other stops for this or that.

Based upon the map and the advice given by the couple at the B & B in White Salmon, I decide to stick with Washington highway 14 along the Columbia - the Lewis and Clark highway - all the way to its eastern end. Hwy. 14 ends just before the river takes a long sweeping turn back to the north and west. From there I take some local roads, mostly north and east to Kennewick, Washington, where the Snake River merges with the Columbia. I arrive in Kennewick three days after leaving White Salmon, having ridden Rain 140 miles east in the process.

I have camped out both of the previous nights, so in Kennewick I decide to stay in a motel, for two nights actually. I want to take a day to rest and also to plan and provision my trip through the Rocky Mountains. I still have a considerable distance to travel before I reach them, but they are such a massive barrier that I know that I should approach them with a plan. I also need to prepare for colder camping, for the weather in the altitude of the Northern Rockies can still be volatile in early June.

I have spent the past three days approaching and then entering the vastly widespread country of the Nez Perce (Nose Pierced). This region was dominated by this proud tribe for millennia before they were systematically betrayed by the encroaching Americans. Eventually the remnants of the ancient tribe were defeated by broken promises and then relocated to Fort Leavenworth in Kansas.

But first, there was an epic 1200 mile retreating action, still of historic military renown, fought by several hundred warriors, women and children. The band was led by one of the most charismatic and intelligent leaders of the Native American peoples, Chief Joseph. When he finally surrendered to the US Cavalry, he and his band were within 50 miles of the Canadian border and safety, but over on the eastern side of the Rockies in Montana.

At his negotiated surrender, he famously said that he would "fight no more forever". The US cavalry leaders immediately violated the terms they agreed to in negotiating the surrender. The only real benefit that Chief Joseph gained was the prevention of the usual indiscriminate massacre of his people by the cavalry. Our government has been in the extortion business almost from the start, regularly making offers that cannot be refused (http://www.coyote-news.net/).

Chief Joseph's father, also a Nez Perce chief, had made a pact with Lewis and Clark. This treaty had assisted them in their journey through their vast tribal lands in the Northwest. Without his help and protection, their small, intrepid party of explorers would have almost certainly perished, never to be heard from again.

This early pact with the Nez Perce was honored by the large tribe. That resulted in a huge swing in favor of the likelihood of actually accomplishing "manifest destiny". This incredibly arrogant idea was claimed as justification for the expansion of the USA from coast-to-coast and the systematic displacement and genocide of native peoples.

For about 75 years, Americans were able to coexist fairly peacefully with the Nez Perce, who did their best to keep the promise of peace that was originally made to Lewis and Clark. In the late 1800s, the last of the vast Nez Perce tribal homelands remaining in their possession were around the Wallowa Mountains in northeastern Oregon. Finally, these lands became too attractive to the hordes of prospectors seeking gold and settlers looking for homesteads. They started to push on the Nez Perce, who were finally left with no option but to push back.

There is a great deal of despicable and sad history between Americans and Native Americans and this is one of the saddest and most despicable chapters. To me it is a strange irony that rebellious American youth of this Northwest region adopted the now widespread trend of piercing various parts of their body, including their noses. For example, it is an unusual experience for me to see a stripper who does not have at least one piercing. I see numerous strippers who have many, including piercing of other parts of their bodies which must be incredibly painful and perhaps continuously irritating, or at best merely inconvenient and possibly unsanitary.

There seems to be a continuing trend in which each succeeding generation of our culture is determined to shock the bejesus out the previous. One wonders what the next generation might do to shock their heavily tattooed and pierced parents. One possibility is a trend that I was recently made aware of by a young stripper, who was about to have this procedure done to the area of her chest above her pretty titties. It is called scarification; the skin is burned or damaged in some way so that it must scar. This is done to form patterns or images similar to tattoos, but is created not by ink, but by the bodies own reaction to the injury and damage done to the skin.

ANYWAY, the route I choose through the Rockies is ripe with Nez Perce history. I decide that from Kennewick I will cross the downtown bridge into Pasco, then take Washington highway 12 to state road 124, which heads due east to rejoin highway 12 in Waitsburg, Washington. From there, I will stay with highway 12 to and through Lewiston Idaho and on to Missoula Montana. There I will be nearly to the continental divide and an opportunity for some days of average downhill grades.

Three days after I leave Kennewick I arrive in Lewiston, about 135 miles further east. I have camped out for two nights, so again I decide to stay in a motel for at least a night. The trip has been uneventful and boring. Much of eastern Washington is somewhat level and/or mildly rolling, mostly agricultural land, with many large circles of cropland irrigated by giant wheeled rotating sprinkler structures fed by a central well.

Once you have checked out one of these, you have seen them all. Interestingly, in some areas, this type of agriculture is systematically lowering water tables that have built up over millennia. This makes drilling deeper and deeper wells necessary in order to access sufficient water. In some places, the limits of such "water mining" have been reached and the circle farms are dry and barren.

A good portion of my trip to Lewiston has followed the course of the Touchet River, taking me through the traditional summer meeting and trading grounds of the Nez Perce and other neighboring tribes. Lewiston is also a trading hub and interestingly, a seaport. It is the furthest inland point accessible to some ocean-going vessels from the west coast, due to the many dams and locks and also the depth of flow of water in the Columbia and the Snake rivers.

From Lewiston, elevation 750 feet, my uphill work will begin in earnest as I climb over the Bitterroot Range at Lolo Pass, elevation just over 5000 feet. It is on the border between Idaho and Montana, close to the site of the Battle of Big Hole between the Nez Perce and the US Cavalry. This was one of the major engagements of the Nez Perce War.

The cavalry surprise attacked the Nez Perce camp at Big Hole, charging in at dawn in early August 1877. As usual the cavalrymen were shooting at anyone who moved, including women and children. Take no prisoners were commonly their rules of engagement. The Nez Perce warriors regrouped, counter-attacked fiercely and drove the heavily armed but poorly led cavalry out of their camp.

The Nez Perce warriors gained both rifles and ammunition during their desperate counter-attack. This is an example of the trickle-up theory of small arms. Basically, this theory states that quality weapons end up in the hands of those most competent to use them. At that time, the Nez Perce warriors were among the finest light cavalry in the world, each of them truly an effective, autonomous and highly mobile army of one.

They pursued, encircled and pinned down the routed and dis-organized Federal military force, many of them civil war veterans, preventing them from re-grouping. The Nez Perce warriors kept the US cavalry pinned down for two days after sneaking in and stealing most of the cavalrymen's remaining horses the first night. Meanwhile the older chieftains, the women and children cared for their wounded and mourned their dead. Then they broke camp and made an organized withdrawal to the east.

Finally the Nez Perce warriors also withdrew from the Big Hole battlefield. The US cavalry force that had surprise attacked the Nez Perce camp were no longer capable of organizing a pursuit. There were many dead and wounded, most of their horses were gone, they were completely beaten. They stayed where they had been pinned, reduced to slaughtering and eating their remaining mounts, until US Army reinforcements arrived to help them.

The long retreat of the Nez Perce ended with a final battle and subsequent surrender, on Snake Creek near the headwaters of the Missouri, two months later. The well organized military retreating action fought by the Nez Perce is studied by military historians the world over. It is somewhat lost in history, having been overshadowed by the Battle of the Little Big Horn, which was fought in 1876, the previous year.

In their utter and complete defeat, Custer's forces were significantly outnumbered by the Lakota and Northern Cheyenne warriors. At Big Hole, the Nez Perce warriors and the cavalry were fairly evenly matched in numbers, although the cavalry were severely outmatched in leadership, skill, determination and motivation. The Nez Perce warriors were defending their women, children and their millennia old way of life from a dawn surprise charge into their peaceful, sleeping camp, after all.

In the '50s, the US Marines were forced to use some of the fighting-while-retreating tactics that the US cavalry were shown by their highly competent adversaries during the Nez Perce War. When the Chinese Army poured en masse across their border and into North Korea, the Marines faced a surprise attack and encirclement by a significantly larger force at the battle of Chosin Reservoir.

The breakout and subsequent retreating action that they were forced to fight there was one of the US Marines most costly, but finest hours. To this day the Marines refuse to call it a retreat, instead calling it an attack in reverse. As is often the case in worldwide military history, the Marines should never have been there in the first place. They were sent there - with typical arrogance and stupidity - by that power-mad war-mongering fame whore, Douglas MacArthur.

President Eisenhower had to remove MacArthur from command shortly thereafter. MacArthur wanted to escalate the conflict into a third world war, claiming he could defeat the multitudes of the Chinese army on their own doorstep, mostly by employing his boundless ego. This is yet another example of incomparable idiots in positions of authority and responsibility; assholes writing history.
Chapter 20

Week 4: Fish and Bicycle

I end up spending three nights in Lewiston, because the weather maps show a spring storm moving into and through the area that I intend to travel through. Having the opportunity to rest and stretch out some aching muscles by walking around town has helped me to prepare, mentally and physically, for the task ahead. In about two weeks I will be on the far side of the Rockies. It should take me four or five days to travel the 216 miles, all on highway 12, to Missoula.

I expect to be camping outdoors the entire trip; there are only a couple of tiny communities en route. A great deal of the trip is through the Clearwater and then the Lolo national forests. As a result, I am carrying more than the usual load of food. This is mostly quick to consume carbohydrates, with no preparation or cooking involved, for warmth and road fuel. I also have a fair amount of water, plus a water treatment device if I run out. I estimate that I may start the trip with about thirty-five pounds of additional load.

The morning I leave, I eat a big hot breakfast, having also eaten a large hot meal the afternoon before. I probably won't get any hot food again until I get to Missoula. As I slowly pedal through Lewiston, I am struck once again how much is named after Lewis & Clark, including the town itself. Their names are everywhere. I make a final stop at a supermarket to pick up a large hero sandwich, basically a loaf of french bread full of roast beef and cheese. It will be my lunch and dinner today and possibly my breakfast tomorrow.

I soon find myself in hill country, riding on the narrow winding state highway as it closely follows the wild and scenic Clearwater River. My chosen route closely follows watercourses all the way to Missoula. I will be able to wash up in clear, cold water anytime I choose. I will also be riding Rain past a considerable number of large, tasty trout. I have an instant mental image of Elise with eyes wide and her hand covering her mouth, as she laughs at the concept of a fish needing a bicycle.

Thinking about Elise for quite a while that day helps drive my feet onward. The following day I start thinking about the two strip clubs in Missoula, thinking about how good the cold beer will taste. I begin to ponder spending at least two nights watching the dancers strut their stuff. As a result of that kind of thinking, I make the trip to Missoula in four days instead of five and decide to reward myself with three nights there instead of just two.

Heck, I am making good time for an old fool; I need to give myself some rest in between these manic physical challenges. I can also put some time into catching up on my work on the tablet, there is bound to be some business waiting for me to take care of it. Lastly, I think I will enroll myself in an online conversational French course.

I pedal into downtown Missoula on the main drag, highway 12 also known as Brooks St., late in the afternoon of the 4th day. I am dog tired yet enthusiastic about my arrival at the same time. I find a reasonably priced motel just off the main drag and within a block of a strip club, so I can get off of Rain and stay off for a couple of days if I want, a welcome idea.

Another welcome idea, a hot shower! Of course I must stash the gold in the room safe first, so I unpack most of my things and put Rain and the trailer in a corner of the fair sized room. Tomorrow, I think I might find a bike shop and have them do another tune-up. For now, it's into the shower and a hot meal and then . . .

The nearby club opens at 6 pm and it is just before then that I walk up to the door, which I am able to open, but the bouncer just inside tells me they are not ready yet and asks me to wait. I tell him no problem and stand out in the parking lot for a few minutes. I see several dancers arrive, some in cabs, others park their cars.

All give me cursory looks as they walk past me into the club. Apparently this place enforces its punctuality rules somehow. Many clubs have problems convincing dancers to show up at the time they are scheduled to arrive. Managing dancers must be like herding housecats; or perhaps pole-cats if you will pardon the bad pun.

After a few more minutes the bouncer comes out and tells me that I am welcome to enter the club. He waives my cover charge for waiting, which is really unusual and seems like a good omen. I thank him, put a 5 spot in the tip jar by the entry door and then walk into the dimly lit club.

As always, I wait for my eyes to adjust to the dim light, it saves falling over the furniture. When I can see my feet, I walk over to the bar and order a shot of Irish mouthwash and beer chaser. My well anticipated evening has begun.

The music starts as I finish off the shot and pick up my beer. I turn to see a dancer standing right behind me; we are literally nose to nose. I look her right in the eyes for a long moment and she eyeballs me right back. Finally I ask her - Have you ever been to Alaska?

She apparently knows the joke; she just busts out laughing and pokes me in the chest with her finger. Then she says - Yes I have and no, I don't want to fuck! I reply - Well then, that completely removes the pressure and the sexual tension from this situation, doesn't it? She says - Yep, I guess it does.

So I say - Well then, how about stepping back a foot and introducing yourself - I can't back up 'cause the bar is right behind me. She steps back and sticks out her hand, saying - Hello, I'm Candy! I resist the 6 million stupid responses to that which she has probably heard 6 million times each and just shake her hand - Nice to meet you, I'm Mark.

I take a few seconds to eyeball the place and then say - I'm going to sit over there at that table close to the stage, Candy. You're welcome to join me if you want. I should let you know, however, that I don't buy lap dances, but I will tip you once in a while if you are willing to sit and talk. Then I wink at her and take my beer over to the table and sit down.

She stands there looking at the bartender for a few seconds and then turns and walks over to my newly acquired table and sits down opposite me. She puts her elbows on the table and asks - If you don't buy lap dances, what the heck are you doing here? I take a long swig of my beer and reply - I like to watch. Have you ever seen a Peter Seller's movie called Being There?

She says - Yeah, yeah, I remember, Shirley MacLaine was in it right? I say - Yep, that's the one. She says - So you're a voyeur? I say - No, I just like to hang out in strip clubs, drink beer and watch nude or nearly nude women dance, strut around, do their thing, etc. Sometimes I find one who doesn't mind talking with an old fella like me. It all works for me.

She says - Well then, I guess I'll go up on stage and dance for ya' - will that be OK with you? Suits me just fine - I reply - I promise I'll drink my beer and watch. She stands up, hops up on the stage and knocks off two songs, stripping off her tube top and g-string in the process.

She finishes her set with a naked bow and flourish, bowing to some invisible dude on the other side of the stage. I stand, applaud for a moment and sit down again. She hops back down and walks back to my table, holding her outfit in her hand. She sits down again as I hand her a sawbuck and thank her for her enticing and stimulating dance, adding - Happy New Year to you too.

She puts her outfit on the table and asks - What does that mean? I reply - I always say that when a naked woman touches her toes while facing away from me, simultaneously showing me the pretty pink place that I came from and what an asshole I have become. She laughs, saying - I guess it makes sense. The she asks - What do you expect for the 5-spot? I say - Happy New Year, you already earned it. She says - You're a funny old guy, aren't you? You should see me after a few more beers - I reply. On that note, I'm going up to the bar for another, are you thirsty?

She says - Yep, bring a beer for me, if you're buying. I go up to the bar and return with two beers, set one on the table in front of her and sit down with my second, taking a long pull and smacking my lips. She does the same, still sitting there as naked as she was born. For me, it really rarely gets better than this in strip clubs.

I'm the only customer in the club and there are several dancers, although the others must still be in the undressing room. On top of that, a naked dancer seems willing to sit and drink with me and listen to my lame repartee. I offer my beer in her direction and say - Cheers Candy, thanks for being friendly; this is a welcome evening for an old guy like me.

She says - Well Mark, you seem to be the only paying customer in the joint at the moment, so I'm yours - and salutes me with her beer, taking another long pull afterwards. The she asks me where I'm from and I have to say nowhere and then get into the long explanation of that with the ensuing barrage of follow up questions. That all leads us to about an hour of conversation, at the end of which we finally reach a conversational pause. She is still sitting there in her birthday suit. I show her a jackson and ask - Feel like getting up on stage again?

She shrugs her shoulders and says - Sure thing pops! - hops up and knocks off another 2 song set. She hops back down from the stage and sits down again. You are refreshingly comfortable in your own skin, aren't you - I say as I hand her the $20. She says - Thanks! What do you expect for this? I reply - You already earned it, Candy, just sitting there in your birthday suit and talking with me. So she smiles at me coyly and says - Then aren't you going to tip me for the dance? I laugh and say - No, but for that smile I'll buy you another beer if you want one. She says \- Sounds good! So I get another round for both of us.

By this time the other three dancers have all come out and have begun rotating through their stage dance sets. Telling Candy that I am a lazy old fool with tired old knees, I give her a couple bucks to tip them when they go up on stage to dance. Afterwards, they each come by the table to thank me and introduce themselves. It all works like clockwork as described for about another hour, still with no other paying customers.

I get inspired and ask Candy if there is a pizza delivery place nearby. She says yes, so I ask her to ask the dancers if they are interested in helping me eat a pizza if I order one. She does so and comes back to the table with a couple of the dancers, Sam and Lucky, who say that they would love some pizza and they all sit down at the table with me. I walk up to the bartender and ask him for a recommendation for a local delivery pizza joint.

He pulls a menu from under the bar and tells me that if I give him my selection and the money, they will deliver it here inside of about a half hour. I take the menu back to the table and we negotiate a half & half large combo pizza that is acceptable to the girls. I also get drink orders from my three new lady friends. I take the menu back to the bartender and give him our pizza order and the money for it and the drink orders, including another beer for myself.

A half hour later I am listening intently to an involved conversation that these bare-assed babes - all have innocently forgotten to dress after their stage sets - are having about some lucky young bastard they all three dated at different times. I am a happy fly on the wall, getting slightly toasted on cold beer and feeling thoroughly entertained, then the pizza shows up.

The conversation comes to a halt and we all dig in. We are now breaking bread together, an ancient social ritual often leading to friendship and good times. Finishing up in short order, there are only the usual last couple of slices left. I insist that Sam - the skinniest one - eat these, please.

She asks if she can put it in the refrigerator and bring it home to her son tonight instead. I say that sounds perfect to me and she takes the box away. She returns after a few minutes to give me a big hug and thanks me for the pizza. The other two stand and do the same, making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, more good times. Everybody sits down and the conversation begins again.

Shortly thereafter three younger guys enter the club. I lean in and tell the dancers - Go get 'em girls, don't mind me, I have been well entertained already. Without a word, all three stand up and head over to pounce on the three guys, who apparently have been in here before.

One of them actually buys me a beer and has Candy bring it to me, an unusual event in a strip club. Walking over, I thank them and offer them all cheers and a pleasant evening. Then go back to my table, continuing my journey towards my destiny.

Soon the fourth dancer - Sunny - notices that I am sitting alone and comes over to ask if she can join me. I stand and pull out a chair for her. She sits and thanks me for the offer of pizza, but says she had some for lunch and didn't want that much cheese in one day.

I ask her if she wants a drink - she raises her eyebrows and says - I'd like a shot and a beer back, but that's 7 bucks? I say no problem and get her that and yet another beer for myself. I am feeling pretty good by this time, but I don't care because I am on foot and only a block from my motel.

So when I sit back down Sunny knocks back her shot and takes a long pull on the beer. Then she stands up and comes around the table, indicating that she wants to sit on my lap. I let her.
Chapter 21

Elise's test gets tough

That is almost as far as it goes for me and dancer contact. Sometimes a friendly dancer might grab my hand and put it to one of her penis pullies. When that happens, I caress her girls a little, always a good time. Even with naked dancers, I keep my hands away from their pubic region and have only once been invited to do otherwise while in a club, by Rosa, if you recall. If they touch me anywhere in that area I politely ask them to stop.

Sitting on my lap is OK by me for a couple of related reasons. The music is often loud in these joints and I can't hear portions of most conversations, so I sometimes have to shout - What!?! It seems stupid but is necessary, if I am at all interested in the subject being discussed. I am half deaf in my right ear, so if they sit on my left leg, or to my left, I can hear better and conversation may actually occur.

So Sunny is sitting on my left leg and we have a nice conversation like that for a while. I'm holding on to her round, smooth, cool, left hip with my left hand, she is stroking my chest a little and whispering into my left ear. I've got her trained in what works for me, everything is great. Then I feel my willy start to respond to the situation. I think about the exact route for next leg of my trip, continuing through the Rockies, which does the trick.

Shortly Sunny decides to go up on stage and while she is dancing I bring her a jackson and thank her for visiting with me. She says it was her pleasure and then asks me if I would like a neck rub. She says she would be happy to do that for me after her set, as thanks for the 20. She finishes her two dance stage set and comes back to my table. She drains her beer and I ask her if she wants another. She says that after she rubs my neck she might have another round.

She moves her chair around behind me and gives me fifteen minutes of the best damn neck and shoulder massage I have ever had. I am as loose as a long necked goose by the time she quits. I compliment her on her strong and capable hands and ask her if she is ready for another round. She thinks about it for a second and then shrugs and says sure, why not?

I fetch a shot and a beer for her and another beer for myself and sit down. She knocks back her shot and takes another long pull on her beer. Then she comes back and sits on my left leg again. She says - If you start to get aroused again, I'll go sit in a chair if you want. Perceptive woman, Sunny is. She really is a woman too, older than the other dancers present, my guess is just past forty. She is still in great shape though; just slightly on the fleshy side with hefty hubba hubbas and only a little middle aged weight gain that she carries in her full fanny.

Sunny is a clean-shaven brunette, with fairly short hair, in one of my favorite current hairstyles for women. She is also naked, sitting there on my lap again. She doesn't show any of the telltales of having had kids, her belly is tight and her ripe and comely casabas are still fairly high; no signs of stretch marks anywhere. It is a bit unusual for a woman of her age, but not that unusual for an experienced professional dancer.

She has an infinity symbol tramp-stamp tattoo on her lower back and pierced nipples with UV reactive barbell piercings. I have observed this effect closely for some time, since they shine brightly in the clubs black lights and also move around independently as she dances and walks around the club. She also has a similarly brightly shining piercing vertically through the hood of her clitoris.

During this close appraisal of her physical attributes my willy starts to get hard again. She asks me if I want her to move. I tell her it's OK, I'll suffer through it somehow, I just have to get involved thinking about something else besides her wonderfully voluptuous body.

Sunny looks at me for a second and then asks me - Why? I tell her that I am involved with someone and I want to keep faith. She nods and hugs me, tells me she understands and appreciates that I am trying to be a good partner to a lucky woman.

I thank her for being understanding and to change the subject, ask her if she has any training as a masseuse. She smiles and says - Yes, she is only a few weeks away from qualifying for her Montana massage license. If she can get that going, she plans to phase out of her dancing career, she is bored and getting too old for it.

Of course I tell her that she looks great to me and will be able to attract attention for quite some time, which is as plainly true for me as the nose on my face. Some younger guys maybe not so much, although some of them are starting to appreciate cougars and MILFs too, so who knows. I do know several dancers that are over 50, although not many and tell her so. She asks me if I know a lot of dancers. I tell her yes, mostly in Oregon, but I have been in clubs all over the US and some in Canada as well.

She asks how this one stacks up and which club is my favorite. I tell her that this one is fairly clean and upscale for a relatively small city. She nods and says that the other club in town is really a dive. I tell her that my all-time favorite club is in Montreal, a fancy one with several separate seating areas, all leather furniture, a well designed strip club from my perspective.

ANYWAY, all this specific talk and questions from her take my mind off how damn sexy she is, which is probably why she is asking them. I give her another 20 just to show my appreciation for her company. I like her and she seems to like me, she is stroking my chest again. I give her waist a squeeze and tell her she's a sweetie, but she might be better off moving off my leg and sitting in the chair on my left side. I can still hear her that way but won't be so distracted.

She smiles and hugs me and sits down next to me as I requested, then leans over and kisses my cheek. Good times, like I said. I decide that I am starting to feel tired and also that I am definitely coming back to this place tomorrow night. I ask her if she is working tomorrow night and she says yes. I tell her that I am feeling tired, I had a long day and I think maybe it is almost time for me to head out. She asks me what was I doing today that tired me out?

Well, the answer to that has me sitting there talking with her for another hour. Finally she notices that I am about to nod off, so she asks me - Can I get you a cup of coffee from the bar? I say - No, I'm fine; I am only about a block from my motel room. She says - Oh, are you staying at the XYZ? I say - Yep, that's it. She says - Well, can you do me a favor? I say - Maybe, it depends.

She says she lives out in the boonies about 35 miles out of town and doesn't want to drive out tonight and then back tomorrow, so she wants to bunk with me. While I am trying to process this unusual and suspect request she keeps on talking. She offers to give me a full hour massage tonight and another tomorrow in exchange for putting her up. She promises to be good and looking at her, I strongly suspect that she will be, in whatever sense she means it.

After a fairly long pause while I consider her request and try to read what is going on behind her eyeballs, I tell her OK. I also tell her that she has to stay in the rooms' second queen size bed after the massage, or it won't work for me. She agrees.

She asks me to wait for ten minutes while she tips out the bartender for her percentage of a slow evening and then gets dressed. In the lingo of strip club culture, what is about to happen with Sunny is called takeout. It rarely happens to me, my fair lady was the last time; it was fun while it lasted, but did not turn out well.

She comes out in jeans, a tight black tee shirt, a denim jacket and cowgirl boots. Standing by the exit watching her approach, I am suddenly struck that this is one substantial, determined looking woman. Candy - sitting on the lap of one of the three young guys - leers at me and waves goodbye as we are leaving.

Sunny drives us the short block over to the motel in her jeep. We go together into the lobby and I pay the extra charge for the second person for the night. I also give the smirking night deskman the description and license plate for her vehicle, which is now parked in the motel lot.

We head up to the room. She gives Rain a careful inspection and says - You weren't shitting me, were you, you really rode that thing from Lewiston pulling that trailer over the past four days? I say - Yep, it weren't no shit. Getting into the cowboy drawl thing herself, she say - Goldern, that there is a horse and you are a wild Indian, aintcha?

I say - Well, that there bicycle is named Rain and she is kind of a cart-horse, like a Clydesdale. Most wild Indians would probably just shoot her and eat her, or maybe use her to pull a travois when shifting camp or hauling buffalo meat. As for me, I'm too old and tired to be a wild anything.

She says - Of course, I'm sorry, you are ready to get your massage and go to sleep, aren't you. She pulls a bottle of massage oil out of her oversized canvas purse-bag and says - I'll run this under some hot water in the bathroom and be out in a jiffy! She goes into the bathroom and closes the door. I open the room safe and put my wallet in it and then strip down to my skivvies and get in the bed by the window.

In a few minutes she comes out of the bathroom, naked once again, which is not really a big surprise, given that I have spent the last several hours appreciating her beauty already. However, she definitely has my complete and undivided attention in the small, private motel room. She pulls the covers down off me and tells me to turn over on my stomach.

She pulls my skivvies off and gives me a pat on the butt. She lays a towel down on my butt and then sits down on it. She starts giving me the best damn back massage I can imagine. I don't know if she did it for an hour or not, 'cause I am fast asleep within less than five minutes, I'm sure.

I wake up a couple of hours later badly needing to get rid of some beer. She is asleep in the other bed, sheets and blankets around her waist. I get an eyeful of her pleasant pair of plentiful peepers in the light from the bathroom. I go into the john and close the door and take a long leak. When I come out she is sitting up, with her arms crossed over her regal rack.

She asks me if I want to join her and I say \- I really am trying to be good and for good reasons. Please don't feel rejected because it is definitely taking a serious effort to do so. You are an incredibly attractive young woman and don't you forget it or let anyone tell you otherwise. She smiles and says - OK, it was worth a try - and she lays back down with her back to me.

I get back in my bed and lie there with the boner of a lifetime for an hour before I go back to sleep. I wake up about 8 am to find her up, still bare-assed, making coffee with the in-room coffee machine. We sit in our respective beds to drink the coffee and then she gets up and gives me the second massage as she had promised the night before. I stay awake this time, more than an hour and a half; it is great and much needed too. As I have mentioned, she has strong and capable hands.

She starts with my back and then spends quite some time working on the back of my legs, my hammies, calves and feet. These are all tight from all the pedaling up mountains I have been doing. When she turns me over to work on me from the front she lightly slaps my erection and then throws the towel over it and ignores it. She works all around it, but doesn't touch it again.

My hard penis is on the small side of average, but it is still the 800 pound gorilla in the room. Perhaps an even better analogy - like an old discarded bicycle thrown into a pond, with a ladyfish swimming around it, thinking about taking it for a ride. She doesn't do so because she has been told that it is not possible. For a guy who tries to avoid prolonged sexual frustration, it seems to me that I am getting more than my share.

However, by the time she is done I am as loose and relaxed as I can be. As she is sitting there like an abundantly ample angel on top of me, I tell her I am leaving in two days, but I would appreciate it if we could do the same deal once more before I leave. She says she will go home after work tonight but stay with me again the next, my last night in town, if that works for me. I say that will work just fine. After making that deal we rise, dress and go out.

I put the do not disturb sign on the door handle as we leave the room. I buy her a big breakfast which she chows down like a ranch hand. Back in the parking lot of the motel, she tells me her real name is Amy and that she is hoping to see me again at the club this evening. She gives me a friendly kiss and I promise her that I will surely be there.

The she leaves and I go back to the room to work on writing all this down. After finishing with that I ride Rain over to a nearby bike shop and walk back. I take a long nap in the bed that Amy slept in, pleasantly inhaling the various aromas of her recently present sweetness as I drift off. It is nearly 4 when I gradually awaken from a deep slumber, feeling much rested and renewed after the stimulation of the previous 24 hours and my exertions of the days prior.

I shower and then spend more than an hour catching up on business emails. I also send Elise an email update on my location and the current draft of the book. I am curious to see how she will respond to this latest couple of chapters. After I am done with that I am ready for my second Missoula evening, but dinner is my first priority. I walk out to have a big buffalo burger and onion rings, along with a soda which I refill several times with water in preparation for another night spent drinking beer.
Chapter 22

Sunny weather

I walk into the club, this time a few minutes after it opens. The bouncer greets me by name and welcomes me, shaking my hand and telling me that once again, the cover charge is waived. Apparently I made a good impression yesterday, guys who are willing to spend money are usually welcomed back. I walk into the loud club and as my eyes adjust, there is Candy standing right smack dab in my face again, smiling. She says - Did you have a good night last night, bub? & then she winks at me.

I give her an eskimo kiss, grab her by the shoulders, turn her around and give her firm friendly fanny a smack, saying - I am a gentleman, so what the fuck are you talking about? She laughs and scampers off, hopping up on the stage and jumping onto the pole. She is a graceful and athletic young woman, no doubt about that, kind of a saucy wench, too.

Well, having chosen to be a wench, she might as well go ahead and be a saucy one, go all out. I am grinning to myself at that thought as I walk up to the bar. I shoot my shot and take the first long drink from my beer; then I take a look around the club.

There are already a couple of other customers, things seem better than last night, commerce wise. There are also three other dancers present, none of whom I recognize. Candy is still on stage, so I walk up to the stage and sit down, putting a sawbuck on the rail for her.

She comes down off the pole and lays on the stage on her belly facing me, up on her elbows. Once again we are nearly nose to nose, she really seems to like getting right up into my face, it is somewhat disconcerting at first but I am also starting to enjoy it. I tell her - We have to stop meeting like this, the queen is getting suspicious.

She says - Oh, you're a KING are you?!? - I got the impression that you're more of a JOKER! I grab her nose and tweak it, saying - Yeah, I guess one fool can't fool another. She sits up, rolls back and then rolls forward; in one smooth move she is straddling me, sitting in my lap, naked as usual. She smells great today, she is wearing some perfume and her hair smells good too.

I tell her so and she smiles and gives me a big hug and a kiss, saying she is glad I came back for more. Sunny appears suddenly and sits down beside us. Glaring at me with faked rage, she says - Leave you alone for a few hours and you are cheating on me again, you bastard! Then she also kisses me, giving me some tongue while she rubs her double bubbles on my arm. I can already tell it will be another difficult evening to survive.

As I take a pull on my beer I ask them - Are we drinking this evening, ladies? Both say yes, please - Candy wants a beer, Sunny wants her usual shot and beer back. I stand up with Candy still draped on me; she locks her legs around my waist. I walk up to the bar and sit her up on it. I tell the bartender I'll trade this naked lady for three beers and a shot.

He looks at her for a second and says that it is a reasonable offer, but she can usually be had for just one beer. Candy slaps him lightly and laughs. I leave her and her beer sitting on the bar while I grab the other two beers and Sunny's shot and walk over to the same table I had occupied last night.

Sunny joins me, knocks back her shot, takes a pull on her beer and then assumes the position on my left leg. She gives me a big hug and a long, wet, sloppy kiss. She smells good today too, just like last night and her bed this morning, but with a little more perfume.

I run my fingers lightly up and down her spine and thank her for spending the night with me, for behaving herself and for the excellent massage. I tell her that I wish her luck in her new career as a massage therapist, but she will not need luck. She is expert at it and I will happily give her a glowing testimonial. She smiles broadly at me again and gives me another big kiss, then starts stroking my chest again.

Candy appears at my right side, pouting. She says - Why did you leave me on the bar? Then she says to Sunny - This one is mine, I saw him first! Although she appears to be saying it jokingly, I believe that there is some serious side to this.

I know from experience and from dancer anecdotes that they usually have a well defined understanding among them about customer ownership rights. I grab Candy around the waist and pull her in, nuzzle her nifty left nib with my nose. Then I guide her to sit down on my right leg.

I say - Look ladies; I understand how this works among you gals. Although I may be wrong, it is my strongly held belief that I own myself. If you two cannot accept this as a guiding concept in your dealings with me and kiss and make up right now, I will get up and leave. Well, the two of them laugh and take my suggestion to heart big time, going at it like long lost lovers, right there in my lap.

It seems that I have been the subject of a put-on, for these two are obviously old friends. After a couple of minutes watching this I start to get aroused myself, so I slap their fannies fairly hard, which brings them out of their clinch instantly. They both give me fairly wide-eyed looks as I tell them to get a room and give them each a jackson.

Candy unabashedly grabs my bulging willy in my pants and gives it a quick, hard squeeze, then says - Woke somebody up, didn't we? Sunny winks at me and then says - Spank me anytime, daddy! They both get up off me and sit down in chairs on either side; we all do some work on our beers. I look around for a minute, seeing that a few more customers have appeared while they have been keeping me busy.

I say - Things are better, business-wise, tonight. Sunny says - Yep, this place was unusually slow last night, just one old fart and three young guys showed up. The timing for this comment is fortuitous. I lift one ham off the chair and pass gas, they laugh and then a few moments later they both stand up and leave for a while.

Sunny goes up on the stage to dance and Candy to seek commerce elsewhere, somewhere less aromatic. After dancing, Sunny returns to the table and sets her bra and thong on the table, for she is now naked once again. She has another pull on her beer and sits back down on my left leg; Thank you, Lord.

I give her another twenty for a dance tip and for her continued company. She whispers in my ear - Are you rich, or what? I say - No, I'm just old and I don't have any kids to worry about, pay for their college loans, or bail out of jail. It doesn't cost much to support my nomadic lifestyle; I camp outdoors a lot and don't have to pay much for upkeep on Rain, especially compared to the cost of fueling and maintaining a car.

She says - Well, thanks for your generosity; usually I have to do other things for the money. I say I know that, but your company and the visuals are the way that I keep my old package economically stimulated, if you will pardon the pun. It is more expensive than taking Viagra, but also a lot more fun. She laughs and says - Yep, I bet President Obama would agree that you have an excellent plan for stimulating my economy.

I tell her that it is both entertaining and hypnotic to watch her bright UV reactive nipple piercings as they jiggle and sway when she dances and walks around. She leans back, gathers her jumbo jewels in both hands and brings her nipples and their piercings right up under my nose. She wiggles them back and forth and says - So you like these, don't you daddy?

I say - Yep, have no doubt that I do, little girl. She separates them and then leans in further, slaps me once on each cheek with her double whammies and then gives me an opportunity to go for a short motorboat trip, which I take advantage of. Dear God - Thank you, I love women. Amen.

We drain our beers and she gets up and buys us another round with my twenty. She knocks back her shot and we clink our beers as she sits back down on my knee. We smooch some more and she starts stroking my chest and belly. After a few minutes of this kind of torment I tell her that she should move over to the chair on the left.

She winks at me and complies. I look around again to observe that even more customers and a couple more dancers have arrived; the joint is definitely looking like a money-making concern. I turn back to Sunny and say - Things are picking up here, you don't have to stay here with me, if you want you should make hay while the sun shines. She looks around and says - I don't see any of my regulars here, the other girls can take care of these guys, I'll stick with you if that's all right.

I tell her it is much more than just all right with me and give her a kiss which lasts for about 5 minutes. Sunny ends up out of her chair and straddling me without any real awareness on my part of her making the move. She also starts grinding herself against me rhythmically, which I suddenly become extremely conscious of and we break. She whispers in my ear - I really want to get out of here, don't you?

I grab her hips and guide her back to her chair, saying unless you are hungry and want me to buy you dinner and maybe take in a movie, I think maybe we ought to cool it. My situation hasn't changed; it is just getting harder to stick to my principles. She laughs and says - I noticed that.

Then she says - I wouldn't mind dinner and a movie, though - there are plenty of dancers here and I'm sure the management wouldn't mind if I left early. I say - Well shit then, what are we waiting for? She goes up to the bar and has a brief convo with the bartender, gives him a few bills and then heads back to the dressing room. For the second time in two consecutive nights, I am to be the lucky recipient of exotic dancer takeout, an interesting development that could become a welcome trend.

Ten minutes later Sunny comes out of the dressing room wearing a tight red mini-dress, dress cowgirl boots and a short wool jacket, also red. Moments later we are out on the street in the cool Montana evening, walking arm in arm on the boulevard. After a brief walk we enter a brew pub steak house and take a booth near the bar.

The bartender comes around and takes our order, two steins of dark beer and a single, large medium rare steak with fries, which arrives shortly, sizzling on its plate. I keep busy slicing up and feeding Amy most of the steak. For myself I am content having a portion of the salad and some of the tasty & warm, freshly baked bread that they keep bringing to the table; the dark beer that they brew and serve is good also, going well with a few of the fries.

The small portion of the steak that I eat is tender and juicy - among the many things they know how to do in Montana is grow and prepare good beefsteak. I have a lot of fun watching Amy work her way through it. She has a healthy appetite and is endearingly appreciative of the minimal effort I am making by feeding her; she snuggles up close next to me in the cozy, private booth.

After a pleasant hour of that kind of fun we move on; she guides our slow route for a while until we arrive at a multi-plex movie theater. We enter, I purchase a couple of tickets and we wait for twenty minutes for a previous showing to empty out. Then we walk down into the now empty theater to sit in the center. We while away a half hour until the previews start and we slow down on the smooching.

We enjoy an English romantic comedy, somewhat out of place in the middle of the Rockies, but it is funny and cute and Amy chuckles frequently and laughs out loud a couple of times at the usual romantic plot twists. Afterwards we walk slowly back to the motel. I pay the still smirky night deskman for a second occupant for another night and she spends her second night with me; this time we share the same bed.
Chapter 23

Hello Amy

By an unspoken mutual agreement, we are only cuddling and petting, sort of greatly extended foreplay. She may have had a mystery achievement in there at one point, I am not sure. Eventually we spoon and my erection slowly and gradually descends as we drift off into a warm and moist sleep. My last conscious thoughts are that this new nomadic lifestyle is really working out well; I wish I had come up with it a long time ago.

The next morning I awaken early and hard, so I get up and go into the bathroom. A long leak resolves my problem, so I put on my jeans and open the safe to get the tablet. Amy is still sleeping soundly. I bring this account up to date and then check the news of the world on the web, not much exciting happening yet on this particular morning in the midst of these interesting times we seem to be cursed with (http://www.the-interesting-times.net/).

When I check my email there is a reply from Elise. She sends me her love and her thanks for the update on my location and the latest draft of the book. She offers her regards to Sunny/Amy and asks me to tell Amy that is OK with her if she wants to seduce me. She also gives her blessing and best wishes for lots of hot, wet passion. This love slave thing is incredible, it is difficult to believe that this wonderful mature woman is telling me and Amy that it is OK with her if we fuck like bunnies.

The instinctively jealous and possessive nature of women has apparently been forcibly trained out of her. It remains to be seen how real it is, but for now, I will take it at face value and give her the benefit of the doubt. I decide it is time to make a pot of coffee and do so.

The aroma awakens Amy, who stirs and then sits up in bed, rubbing her eyes as she accepts her cup. I wish her a wonderful morning and thank her for a wonderful evening. She says \- Wonderful, wonderful, but I am randy as a billy goat this morning, won't you please fuck me already?

I reply - It turns out we may be able to do something about that. I tell her about my email from Elise. She asks me a few questions about Elise and gets up and reads the email for herself. Then she drains her coffee cup and puts it down on the table, turns to me in the chair and kneels before me. I grab her sweet face in my hands and kiss her, then I ask her if she wants to go back to bed.

That's all the details you're going to get, she may be a stripper, but from my perspective she is still a lady and I am still a gentleman. I will say that we spend a couple hours making up for lost time. Luckily, she has condoms in her purse, or I would have had to make an emergency rubber run.

We take a breather a half hour before check out time. Amy is familiar with this motel and suggests that she has a couple of days off, would I be interested in moving our party to her place? I say why not and write down the directions she gives me. She dresses and prepares to leave, saying she wants to go shopping on her way home, to stock her pantry and refrigerator.

I hand her a benjamin for the cause, which she accepts after giving me a questioning look. I tell her it is for the massage she has promised me; since it turns out I will not have to put her up. I want to pay her a fair price for the privilege. She smiles and accepts it, gives me a kiss and a wink, turns on her heel and walks her magnificent fanny in its tight red dress out the door.

I have to scramble, but I get everything packed up and am out of the room & checked out a couple of minutes before the 11 am checkout deadline. Then I walk the trailer, with the panniers tied on top of it, the three blocks to the bike shop, eating a couple of granola bars as I walk. After completing my transaction there, I load up Rain once again and set off.

It is chilly and overcast this morning, so I have no trouble getting my motor running as I follow Amy's directions out to her place. Her cabin really is out in the boonies and also up in the hills above a little burg called Bonner, to the east on state road 200. I find this to be serendipitous, since that is my intended route for my upcoming continuing eastward travels.

A little less than two of hours later I ride up Amy's long gravel driveway. I see grey woodsmoke coming from her chimney stack, so she has apparently been home for a while. I park Rain and step up onto her porch and knock on her door, entering when she yells for me to come on in. It is already warming up considerably inside her small cabin; the potbelly woodstove in one corner is doing its job well.

She is moving around in the kitchen, fantastic aromas tell me that she is working on preparing some sort of stew. She is wearing only a pair of moccasins and an open flannel shirt. I walk up behind her and hug her, cupping her bountiful bubbies and giving them a squeeze with my hands. She makes a low moan in her throat and then leans her head back as I nuzzle her neck.

She kisses me on the cheek, and says - Leave me alone bub; I need to concentrate while I am cooking and besides, your hands are COLD! I release her and ask her if it is OK if I bring my luggage into her home and then put Rain on her porch and cover her with a tarp. She says - That's just fine hon, go ahead on that plan; lunch will be ready in about a half hour and I am keeping dessert warm for you, too.

I go back out to unpack Rain, putting the panniers and satchels on the porch. Then I carry them in to pile it all in the corner space behind her futon-couch. Back in her front yard, I unhook the trailer and lift it up onto the porch, doing the same with Rain next. I lock Rain's frame and the trailer to a porch support post and then cover both with the camo tarp, using a couple of bungee cords to secure the tarp.

I go back in and ask Amy if there is anything I can do to help. She says - Yep, grab my boobs and squeeze me again daddy, it will help me to keep dessert warm for you. I do so and she shivers, saying don't ever do that again unless you warm your hands up first, please. I warm them up by her woodstove and then go back to see if I can do better, this time.

It apparently is better; she moans quietly and turns in my arms, puts her arms around my neck and pulls me in for a long wet smooch. She says - Welcome to my home, sweetie. Please make yourself comfortable here, but first, sit down at that there table, because lunch is served!

I sit down and she brings me a big bowl of spicy goat stew and several slices of warm sourdough bread. She sits down as well, again right next to me on my left and we chow down on a tasty lunch. Dessert was good too. We shared a long lazy afternoon in her bed and then ate from the same menu for dinner.

After dinner she gave me a massage for a couple of hours and then I turned the tables on her for an hour. Although I am not a trained professional, I consider myself a talented amateur. I get some groans from Amy which indicate to me that she agrees with my assessment of my own skills at handling women. There's not much I will say about the rest of that evening and night.
Chapter 24

Warm Buns

The next morning I awaken early and hard again. This time Amy is awake and will not let me leave until we do something about that, then she goes back to sleep and I rise and dress. When I arrived the previous day, I noticed that she has a large pile of unsplit log rounds next to the side of her cabin, which has a good sized overhang on that side. The overhang covers and protects the remains of the previous winters stack of split, stove sized firewood.

I put an hour into putting her splitting maul to good use. Then I take a break to go back in to make some coffee and warm up some of her excellent stew and another slice of sourdough in her microwave. She sleeps through it, apparently liking to sleep in on her day off. After chowing down, I go back out to split firewood for about 2 hours.

Finally Amy comes out, again wearing only moccasins and her flannel shirt, unbuttoned but wrapped around herself with her arms crossed under her carelessly concealed caboodles. She watches for a few minutes and then says - my brother used to do that for me, but he had a different style. He was a little shorter than you are, but more heavily muscled.

He was all speed and power; you use coordination and economy of movement. The result is that you can split firewood at least 5 times faster than I can with the electric/hydraulic log splitter that I bought. I tell her that I have many long hours of experience splitting firewood, training myself to become a rhythmic and efficient wood splitting machine.

I tell her that her one piece 12 pound forged and welded steel splitting maul is way too heavy for her. She needs something like maybe a 4 or 6 pounder. I start to show her how she might use this heavy one if she has to, then she interrupts me, saying - Listen smarty, it is cold out here and you might have noticed that I am bare-assed?

She adds - My fanny is really cold and I want you to warm it up. She comes in close and wraps her flannel shirt around me. Grabbing her buns with my hands, I realize she is not kidding, her butt really is cold. I say - Yep, you are indeed bare-assed and your buns are indeed cold, so I guess warming them up is a good idea.

Letting the splitting maul fall where it will, I crouch down and put my right arm around her thighs, hugging them to my chest as I stand up. She shrieks in surprise as she suddenly finds herself draped over my right shoulder, her pale white ass shining brightly next to my right cheek. I carry her that way back into the cabin, slapping her fanny hard with each slow and careful step. She pounds on my back with her fists, calling me a number of bad words in response to my slaps upon her jiggling buns.

By the time we get into her front door, her butt is warm and bright pink with the flush of blood my left palm and fingers have summoned. She is also laughing so hard she is crying. I set her hot pink ass down gently on her kitchen table, which luckily she has cleared off. She looks at me through the tears in her eyes and says - Well, I guess I asked for that, didn't I? I say - Yes'm, you surely did, twice actually, if you recall - in my best John Wayne drawl.

Both of us being thoroughly warmed up, I am inspired and we begin a whirlwind gymnastic workout tour. We start on the table and also visit and utilize several other items of her furniture around her home, in ways that they were not intended. I haven't gotten that athletic with a woman for more than a decade and by the time I am spent she is looking at me with real respect. She says, you may be an old fucker, but you can indeed get wild, that is a fact!

I tell her that all the bicycle travel required by my new lifestyle is doing me a world of good. I am now beginning to feel like I am in the best shape that I have been in for more than twenty years. I also tell her that her massages are helping a lot, my muscles' memories of her strong hands will last for quite a while.

She smiles and hugs me and then asks me - Can you stay at least one more night? I shrug and say - Sure thing sweet stuff, this is my favorite kind of place and you are the hostess with the mostest, then we have another long kiss. We went back to bed for a while, smooching, canoodling and cuddling the lazy afternoon away for a second straight day. From my perspective, Amy's hospitality and her cooking are unrivaled.
Chapter 25

Same Old Love

Well, I am not a love machine, to be absolutely honest I never was. Sooner or later, usually sooner, I have to slow down. That evening I beg for a sexual cease fire, let's just cuddle and talk, please, please, please honey, I want to live to see tomorrow! Amy laughs and gives me a well earned break. We just talk for a while, I ask her to tell me about herself - for starters, how old is she?

Well - she says - I could get all huffy when you ask me that, but she just gets her wallet and shows me her driver's license - doing the math she is 46 years old! Holy shit, girl, you look at least five years younger than that, you are doing great! She smiles and says - I get lots of exercise in this job and I always try to eat healthy and get enough sleep.

Then I ask, well, how long have you been dancing? She tells me for about 12 years, since her first husband started cheating and then divorced her because she couldn't have kids. She looks sad with this revelation, so I tell her that not having kids is a plus in my book, they are almost always much more of a pain in the ass than they are worth. Then, to top the whole miserable experience off, when they grow up they hate you and treat you like warmed over shit. She laughs and says - Yes, I guess there is a bright side to everything and then she sighs.

I ask - Well, what about men, a beautiful woman like you must have a string of boyfriends all over town. She says - Yes and that's the problem, they are all boyfriends, none of them have shown the slightest inclination to grow up. They play with their toys, their pick-up truck rigs, their go hunting and go fishing in their boats. When she is with them she feels like just another toy, to be played with for a while, and then discarded for something else.

A couple of years ago she just got tired of it all and has been concentrating on the massage career opportunity since then. The boyfriends gradually quit calling her; she just sees them at the club once in a while. A few of them have become regulars, willing to give her money for a blowjob when they feel like they need a quick, easy release without the usual girlfriend drama and attendant romantic pretense. She says that she really doesn't mind that arrangement, it has helped her to save money for when she starts her massage business.

So then I ask her - Where is her brother? She starts to cry and apologizes through her tears. I hug her and she settles down gradually, telling me that he joined the Marines after 9/11/2001. He did several consecutive tours of duty, first in Afghanistan, then in Iraq and then got killed last year in Afghanistan. This place had belonged to him; he told her she could live here while he was in the military and gave it to her in his will, so last year it became hers.

So then Amy starts asking about me. I do what I usually do, since I am well over 50 and as a result it is a long story. I grab the tablet and let her read my story as per its on-disk stored web-sites, since she doesn't have wifi internet service out here. Then I show her a couple of the e-books I have published and tell her about the book I am writing about my trip. She says - That's right, I saw something about that in your email from Elise - then she stops suddenly.

She says - Am I in your book? I say - Yes, at the moment you are, but that's why I told you about it, I want to make sure it is OK with you. If you don't like it I can change it or leave you out entirely, it is up to you. She looks relieved and says - OK, can I read it? I say sure, but I want to bring it up to date first and then you can read it all the way up to this point.

She says - OK, I have a few chores to do, you go ahead and write and I'll read what you have when you are done. She gets up and does some straightening up, housework type things, takes out the trash, starts a load of laundry, etc. I work at her kitchen table for about an hour and a half at it before I am up to this point, then I give it to her to read.

She sits down on her bed to read. It takes her more than an hour. The story has grown to be much more than just a beginning, containing a huge change of plan and several subjects that I had no idea would be on the agenda.

When she is done she sits there for a while, thinking. Finally, I ask her if she likes the book. She says that she found it interesting to read, but she doesn't understand why Elise is still a slave. I say that it is difficult to understand, I am still trying to figure that out myself.

I tell her that love slavery is much different from actual slavery for forced labor and is also somewhat different from sex slavery. The European variety of love slavery is really a weird combination of Renaissance power politics and the battle of the sexes. It doesn't have much to do with money.

Asian love slavery I can't begin to speculate about, beyond to say that it seems to have some ritualized aspects, as does much of Asian culture. It may be the same story or it may be more involved, since Asian cultures are somewhat older. European love slavery is a complicated psychological power game that wealthy people with too much time on their hands get involved in.

They sometimes drag poorer and/or more vulnerable people into it, usually unwillingly. That is what happened to Elise when she was 16. For her the experience seemed so real that, from her young and helpless perspective, it did not seem like a game, it became her reality.

I tell Amy that Elise was forcibly brainwashed; she fell in love with her captor as a survival mechanism. She loves in those terms now; it was how she was taught to love. She has loved in that way for so long that she can't recognize any alternative. In some ways it is similar to the cycle of child abuse - abused children often abuse their own children and on and on it goes.

I tell her that it is tricky too - that by claiming me as her new master, she has enslaved me to play that game with her. Amy says - Yes, I understood that part and I think I understand why you are playing it with her; I just wish that you weren't. And I'll tell you something else, mister, if you were my man I would not let you play around with another woman like she is allowing you to play with me.

I tell her - Thanks Amy, I appreciate and understand that attitude. If we were together in a committed relationship I would feel the same way about you. On top of that, I would make sure to keep a black light on in the bedroom at night so I could watch your nipples wobble around in the dark. She laughs at that and at my attempt to change the mood.

But she won't let it change so easily, for she gets serious again and says - I know you are going to leave here - tomorrow, the next day, whenever. You go on your long bike ride to Montreal, mister, but you remember, if that silly French bitch gets too crazy for you, you ditch her and come back here to me. I've lived here all my life and I'm not going anywhere!

She looks at me fiercely as she is saying that, so I can tell that she means it. I sit down on the bed with her and hug her, telling her that the kind of love she is talking about is the only kind of love that is real. It is definitely not a game; it is as old as the hills and the rivers that run through them and I know it.

She sighs and hugs me back. We kiss some more and forget about everything else but the moment. It is yet another good night, but much different from previous few we have spent together.
Chapter 26

Unfinished splitting

I spend four more days there, falling ever more deeply in love with Amy. The weather forecast in the mountains to the east is looking miserable and things are so warm and loving with her that it is easy to stay. I go in with her to the club when she works, hang out with her there and drink too much and tip her and the other dancers for being naked and friendly with me.

The stack of cash from selling my car slowly becomes shorter. I talk the club manager into letting me use his office for an hour or so every evening to get online and check my email, do some web work, etc. He is happy to do so, since he is making big money from me.

I buy a lot of beer for myself and also many drinks for the dancers. Then there is the house percentage of their tips that the dancers pay him, for the privilege of attracting customers into his club. It is a strange business, that's a certainty.

For the moment, my online French lesson plan seems to be on the back burner. Out at Amy's cabin for at least three hours each cool morning, I burn off the beer by steadily working at splitting the big pile of firewood rounds. The stacks of split firewood are building up against the wall of her cabin.

I suspect that if I am able to work through the entire pile, there will be at least 10 cords of split wood stacked there. It will sit in the sun this summer drying out, then get covered with a tarp so the winter snows don't make it soggy again, cutting down its value as heating fuel. The Montana Rockies have a long and cold winter season. I hope that I can do my part to keep Amy's sweet fanny warm next winter.

We give each other several more massages and of course we continue with lovemaking, although not at the pace of the first couple of days. I begin to wonder about Elise and question my decision to ride to Montreal. However, I would not have come to Missoula and met Amy without it.

I also remind myself about my fair lady and my recent failed experiment with her, also an aging stripper, like Amy. The power of destiny continues to pull my strings, leading me on. I decide that I have to play my role in the bizarre opera with Elise, the voluptuous but not-fat lady who has yet to sing. I must continue on my cross continent odyssey, it is clearly my destiny to do so.

My last night, there is a favorable weather forecast over the mountains to the east. I tell Amy I will leave in the morning. She does not seem upset, just cooks me another excellent meal and gives me the wonderful gift of her sweet love for another night.

After a hot breakfast, in the cool early morning, in her flannel shirt and moccasins, she comes out to the fully loaded Rain and gives her a careful once-over. She tells me to be safe. She seriously and clearly repeats her assertion that she will be here and will happily welcome me if I choose to return. We share a last warm embrace.

I thank her for her hospitality and for her warm and generous love. I tell her that, whatever the future holds, I will remember her for the rest of my life. As I ride down her driveway to state road 200, I think it is strange that it is not Amy that is weeping at my departure.

Instead, it is my eyes that are leaking a trail of hot tears onto her long driveway. My last thought before I turn right, to the east on state road 200, is that I have only managed to split a little more than half of her big pile of firewood rounds. I promise myself to move heaven and earth to return here to finish the job before winter sets in, if Elise sets my heart free.

My next goal is Great Falls, Montana which is about 160 miles to the east and north, the entire trip on Montana Hwy. 200. I hope to arrive in three days, although it will likely take four, since it is a winding, up and down mountain road the entire way. I have good weather and am feeling strong after the long rest in Missoula. As a result, I roll into Great Falls late in the afternoon of the third day, only having to camp out for two nights.

There are a couple of strip clubs in Great Falls, but I decide to economize, spend only one night there and head northeast again in the morning. Playing with strippers can be lots of fun, but lately I have learned that getting involved with them can be painful in unexpected ways. I find a reasonably priced motel on the north side of Great Falls, have a hot meal, go shopping at a supermarket to restock and then spend a quiet evening in the motel room.

I bring this account up to date and conduct some web business. I send Elise an email about my current location and my near-term travel plans. I turn out the light at 9 pm and am soon asleep, riding a bicycle in my dreams for the first time.
Chapter 27

Roll with the changes

I awake early and am on the road by 6:30. I stop at a diner for a hot breakfast and also at a market for a large submarine sandwich, salami and swiss this time. By 7:30 I am pedaling on Highway 87, northwest toward Havre, Montana - my next goal, about 115 miles distant.

In Great Falls, Highway 87 is at the eastern side of the peaks of the Rockies, so I am now riding across a great, somewhat flat plateau. Great Falls is at about 3400 foot elevation, Havre is at about 2700 foot. Highway 87 runs alongside the Missouri River in places. It is a fairly easy trip to Havre and I make it there in two days, with only one night in camp. I am starting to average more than 50 miles a day and the terrain is starting to flatten and the roads straighten.

In the motel in Havre, after a buffalo burger and a beer, I find a reply from Elise waiting in my incoming email. She sends her love, telling me she is really starting to miss me. She is happy that I am on the road again, moving steadily north and east towards Montreal.

She says that she has been following my progress on the google maps on her computer at work. Some of her coworkers have noticed this and the story has gotten out. She says there is an office pool going on about the date I will arrive in Montreal, with a lot of side betting going on about the route I will take to get there.

Elise also says that she has convinced her boss to allow her to retire a month early by applying her remaining unused vacation days, which is really big news. She says she now will be arriving in Montreal in late July instead of late August. I am suddenly on a timetable again, for that is only 6 weeks away, 42 days. I have 42 days to pedal the 2,150 miles that remain. It is a damn good thing that my daily average has been increasing to over 50 miles a day, for I have to average at least that in order to make it.

I find all this to be obscenely funny, a bunch of Interpol agents and office employees in France betting and speculating about the slow progress of an old American dude on a bicycle, pedaling his way across the North American continent. I email her to let her know that tomorrow I will be crossing into Canada. My goal for the next day is to make it to the Trans-Canada Highway, which I think will be the safest route to Montreal.

In my email reply, I tell her that I am overjoyed about the change of schedule. I promise that no force on earth will prevent me from motivating my slow old butt to Montreal in time to greet her when she gets off the plane. I rise at 5 am with the goal to be in Swift Current, Saskatchewan the next evening, almost exactly 200 miles distant. I will camp this night on the rolling Canadian prairie.

The border crossing is rudimentary, literally in the middle of nowhere. Both of the lonely border guards seem happy to see me, just to have someone to talk to. The Canuck gives me a brochure about cycling the Trans-Canada Highway and wishes me a safe trip. She says that she thinks my idea that I will have a safer and faster journey in Canada makes a lot of sense to her. I just can't imagine trying to bicycle through the rusty, depressed iron belt along the south side of the Great Lakes.

I find a place to camp on top of a low ridge in the prairie, right by the narrow road that heads due north from the border crossing towards the major Canadian east-west highway. I have only seen two cars on the road all day, one heading north, the other south. When the stars come out it is beautiful, there is a slight breeze and no clouds. The night sky is extraordinarily clear, there are no lights on the ground anywhere, but a billion, billion stars illuminate the heavens. I stare at the light show for an hour and then sleep.

In the morning I am off again at dawn, munching a couple of granola bars, hoping to find a hot breakfast in Gull Lake, where I will turn onto Canada Highway 1. When I arrive a few hours later, I find that there are a couple of motels, but I don't see any restaurants, so I turn right on Highway 1 and just keep going. I am starving as I roll into Swift Current, a little after 3 pm.

After a large hot meal at a Greek restaurant close to my motel, I am so tired that I just vegetate. I watch some Canadian TV in the room. Two hundred miles of pedaling on the rolling prairie has burned me out. I have a real sense of being in a different country. The people I have met so far have all been both friendly and polite.

However, the roads are different, the road signs are different, even the dimensions are different - I am constantly doing kilometers to miles conversions in my head. We should have converted to the metric system 40 years ago, but not having done it back when they were talking about it when I was young; it sucks now having to do conversions in my mind. Oh well, might as well adapt, for in this world if you stop adapting, you are not going to survive for long.
Chapter 28

Don't push the River

The next night I am in Moose Jaw, another 108 miles under Rains' wheels. I take an easy day from there, only 45 miles to Regina, the capital of Saskatchewan. There is lots of money in Saskatchewan these days from the development of oil shale and other natural resources being discovered and exploited. It is fairly flat and kind of dull to travel through, so it is easy to keep going.

From Regina I make a two day, 225 mile jump to Brandon, Manitoba, camping out for another night under the stars. From Brandon, it is a one day, 134 mile pull to Winnipeg. I am frigging exhausted when I arrive. I have made reservations for three nights in Winnipeg; I know I can't keep up this pace without a rest break.

My hotel is downtown in the Winnipeg exchange district, within a block of the more upscale of the two strip clubs in the city. I separate 20 of my gold coins from my hidden stash, roughly 5 ounces of gold. I sell them to a precious coin exchange dealer for just over 8000 Canadian dollars. There are 1500 miles to travel in the next month, for July is around the corner. I still have a fair sized stack of American dollars, but I want to have a supply of both currencies available.

Over the next few days spent in Winnipeg, Rain gets another tune-up, the conglomeration of items I am hauling around gets individually reviewed, the stock of foodstuffs and other consumables I haul with me on the road is replenished, the laundry gets done. Every day I stretch for at least a half an hour and walk for an hour.

I work on the tablet on the internet for at least two hours each morning. I spend no more than three hours each evening in the strip club, limiting my expenditures there to no more than 250 Canadian per evening. I eat two healthy meals each day, getting lots of greens, vegetables and fish, cutting back on the red meat.

I am a thinking machine, re-adapting, re-training, and resuming the rhythm of that process mechanism, as I had resumed the rhythm of a wood-splitting machine in the face of Amy's wood-pile. As I sit in the strip club each evening, the mechanism is working on the idea of love. For the exhausted epiphany that I had as I rolled slowly into Winnipeg, the apparent ascetically earned culmination of more than 500 miles of hard labor, is that I have been punishing myself for love and I have to put the machine to work to figure out why.

I start with Amy and her dryly and fiercely expressed love as I left her. Sitting in the strip club in Winnipeg, I suddenly understand why she did not weep. After 12 years working in this environment, she is hardened to the flightiness of love.

Men come into the radar of her emotions for a few minutes, for a few hours, or for a few days, like I had. The only consistent element of the emotional interchange that she has with them, however long it may last, is that they always leave without a commitment in response to her emotional and physical generosity. They take what they want from the great bounty she offers and they leave.

Amy is a loving mechanism and has adapted her process to her own subjective experience of love. She shares her love with many, in series, each for a short time, drawing as much as she can from each, which is really not much. Her subjective love is the ancient, possessive instinct of all women who unconditionally love and live for their children. Not having had children, but still with that capacity and instinct, she unconditionally loves the many flighty men in her life, one at a time. She lives for the day that one will stay.

She only cries for her lost brother, who was the only constant replenishing source of love that she had in her life. She has chosen a new career in which she can express her love as a physical caress to any and all who may seek and value it. It will not necessarily be a sexual caress, which is for her both a healthy change and also much more likely to bear fruit.

So I see a hopeful possibility of happiness for Amy and her love life, through her upcoming career change to a much healthier one. I write her a long letter, tell her where and how I am and encourage her to motor on; better, healthier and happier times are ahead. I thank her again for loving me so well and tenderly and apologize for not being free to reciprocate, which I may live to regret even more than I do now.

Then there is Elise. Her own subjective experience of love has necessarily led directly to her own subjective expression of it. I can see only one reason that she is not completely insane. Serious mental instability would be the natural, understandable, usual result of the experiences she had beginning with her 16th year, that year of captivity and torment.

Following that, there is her 25 years of existence in submission to the will of her husband. Then 5 years of mourning and questioning her ability to be her own master. The only reason I can see that she is not insane, not lost in some perverse version of the truth according to the Marquis de Sade, is her daughter Jeanne.

The fatherless daughter she carried away from her captivity - and the unconditional love she was instinctively able to give - saved Elise from the insanity of her early forcible training as a sex slave. She may not perceive it yet, but she is no more or less a slave to love than anyone else. She loves, of course subjectively, as we all must and expresses it in the manner that she knows.

This is also as we each must, if we are lucky enough to have both that capacity and that need. It is our individual expressions of love and the manifest results of those expressions that are the only objective reality that love has. Beyond that, the existence of love is entirely within our own individual subjective truth.

So where, I now wonder, does that leave me? What is my own subjective truth about love? What is my capacity to express it and what objective reality will that expression produce? How can I possibly apply an objective thinking mechanism to my own individual, entirely subjective love life?

I can't, so fuck it! Don't push the river, you idiot, it flows by itself. My heart is driving my feet towards Elise and Montreal, so my head has to go with that flow. Amy knew that and accepted it and now I do too.

On my last night in Winnipeg, I record these musings in this account, bringing it up to this point. I send Elise an email, attaching the latest draft and letting her know that my heart is indeed hers to do with as she wishes. It is now clearly evident to me that I am a slave to her love and remain her obedient servant. I send it and turn in. As I drift off, I find myself looking forward to the continuation of my journey, tomorrow.
Chapter 29

Day Ø, Deja Vu

As Elise walks out of the deplaning tunnel from her flight into the terminal concourse at Pierre Trudeau airport in Montreal, my spirit and my story are both reborn to begin anew. She is smiling broadly and crying as she rushes into my arms, hugging me fiercely and kissing my face. We settle into a powerful embrace as we finally kiss again. Finally, I open my eyes to see a tall young redhead standing behind her, smiling and seeming to be waiting patiently and expectantly for us to break apart.

I stroke Elise's hair and neck as we separate from our embrace. She looks into my eyes through her tears and sees me looking behind her. She turns to see the young woman smiling back at us. Elise pulls herself together for a moment, wiping her eyes and says - Oh! la la! Of course, please forgive me. Mark, this is Lisette, my friend from Paris, she has come with me, she is with us now.

And she looks at me, expectantly, watching for my reaction. I don't know what to say, so I just extend my hand and say - "Bonjour, Lisette, bienvenue a Montreal, enchante de faire votre connaissance" - and shake her hand. She smiles back at me, at my lousy French ("Good-day Lisette, welcome to Montreal, I am enchanted to make your acquaintance" - an ancient and formal introductory phrase, left over from the decorous language of noble knights and fair ladies, I am sure.)

Taking my hand, Lisette pulls me into an embrace, kisses me full on the lips and puts her tongue in my mouth. As we break from this mind-boggling kiss, she speaks quietly into my left ear. She says that she speaks English well. She thanks me for my humorously sad attempt to greet her in her native tongue. I step back and look to Elise for guidance. She has me completely hornswoggled once again, dammit, I should have expected this.

Elise takes pity upon me, grabs my arm and guides me away from the path of other passengers still trying to deplane, leading me to a less obstructive position. We end up with my back against the wall of the concourse. Elise stands directly before me, hands on my chest and Lisette, standing off to one side, looks around at the hustle and bustle of the gate and concourse. Elise says - Lisette is the lover I told you about, Mark, you remember, I have been with her for three years?

Suddenly, all is clear to me. She has brought her lipstick lesbian lover with her! From Lisette's aggressive kiss I also realize that we are to be a menage-a-trois! As this realization dawns, of course my first reaction is to give Lisette an appraisal.

She is young, very young, perhaps twenty-five. She has short-cropped red hair and is dressed in a fashionable tannish coordinated pantsuit, velour or suede or something, suit jacket merely draped over her shoulders, a la Fellini. She has green eyes which are sparkling merrily at me as she understands fully my appraisal and appraises me right back.

For a woman she is fairly tall, maybe 5'10". She is wearing flat heels, so her height is entirely hers. She is on the skinny side - rangy perhaps, very healthy and athletic looking though. I see just a hint of small to medium peaches and erect nipples lifting her translucent blouse.

Smiling, she steps up beside me, grabs my left arm and squeezes my bicep, saying - Do you like what you see, Mark? I hope you do! Then she kisses me again, giving me more flashes of tongue which I reciprocate, this time. When we break, I turn towards Elise, now holding my right arm and she plants another long wet smack on me as well.

Working together, they pull me from the wall and the three of us continue arm-in-arm down the concourse. I am still somewhat propelled towards the baggage claim, we walk in European style, like we own the joint. Elise hugs herself closely to me, our hips are joined again as I put my arm around her waist.

Lisette still holds my left arm, massaging my bicep and forearm as she begins to speak into my left ear as we walk. It suddenly occurs to me how much of these past few minutes has been scripted, a set piece which these two have concocted for me. Lisette knows to be on my left side, to speak quietly into my left ear!

With that realization I stop. Perhaps I am going off whatever my portion of the script may be, I don't care. I turn to Elise and tell her - I need a beer. Then I resume my forward motion, leading the way this time, the two women in tow.

I lead them to a small bar further along on the side of the concourse. The bar is there to serve those who may need a drink, or two, before they fly. However, from my own perspective, I badly need a drink, because I need a few moments to find a solid place to stand. I order a beer, then remembering myself; I ask the ladies what they would like.

They each want a glass of white wine; they smile back at me. They realize well what I am doing. I am being a man, attempting to reassert my utter and eternal lack of control over events and also over the often merciless machinations of women. Transaction complete, we walk over to a small, tall, chairless table at which outbound travelers are meant to stand, drink their bracers, suck it up and move on to their gate and the fate they fear, whatever it may be.

I take a long swig of my beer, lick my lips and turn to Elise, saying - All right then, this is quite a surprise - forgive me please Lisette - but did you have to do this, this way, couldn't you have warned me? Looking at Elise expectantly, I notice that she is wearing her tight Rogue River jet boat tours tee shirt, jeans and leather jacket.

This is the exact ensemble that she wore for our first date, in Florence, Oregon, still no bra either. Her hair is different though, she has allowed it to grow since we were together, and it is a different style. I make a mental note to comment on it, soon. As I have mentally pictured her frequently in recent weeks, she looks hotter than July, although it is still July, come to think of it.

Elise and Lisette both are giggling for a few moments as I eyeball my French slave woman hungrily again at last. Finally Elise answers me - Of course I could have, Mark, but we wanted to see your face, to experience this moment, to share it with you, not wonder what you might look like as you read about it in an email in some motel on the road somewhere in Canada. By the way, I entered Lisette into the pool about you in my office and she won! She correctly predicted that you would arrive in Montreal on Rain three days ago, before 2 pm!

Feeling like Mr. Ed the talking racehorse I say - Well, what did she win? - and then add - It hardly seems fair, she had inside information! Looking somewhat stern, Elise says - No, she did not! Everyone had to commit to a square while you were in Missoula! She won 10,000 euros! I whistle and say - Heck, that's a lot of money, how many were in the pool? Lisette says - There were 100, each betting 100 euros.

But, I ask - How could there be 100 squares in the pool? My arrival could not have been one of that many possibilities! Elise smiles and says - There were a lot of possibilities that people chose to bet upon, monsieur. You might have tarried longer in Missoula and then left later and arrived late.

You might have turned around and gone somewhere else, no one could predict for certain what you would do. There were even several who predicted a date on which you would marry Amy. In an office after a thirty year career, there are always a few who will bet against one, n'est-ce pas?

Were they all reading my emails? Yes, monsieur, & the drafts of your book, too! I forwarded everything into a public folder on the office server! My co-workers want you to explain to me what "hornswoggle" means so I can email it to them!

Now I am once more at sea, completely hornswoggled again for the second time in three minutes. While my mind reels, I tell her that "to be hornswoggled" is a colloquial expression for being stuck on the horns of a sudden, surprising dilemma or problem. My private emails and rough drafts have been read by a crowd of at least 100 Frog supercops working in an Interpol office in Paris, unbeknownst to me.

I have poured out my heart, my thoughts, my philosophy and the events of my life to Elise as I pedal across a continent to start my life with her. My first, random and meaningless thought is to ask - Lisette, what are you going to do with the money? She says - We discussed that during our flight and decided that we will send it to Amy, to help her start her new massage business.

Well, this news makes it all better, somehow. I now feel like I have been raped, but for a good cause! At this thought I start to laugh, guffawing for at least two minutes, until finally my beer calls to me and I drain it down, walk back to the counter and buy another.

Walking back to the table, the two women watching my every move, I say - Goddamn it girls, this is going to be interesting! A Sante! (a toast, meaning - to health!) And I take another long pull on my second beer. The ladies finish their wine as they toast me in reply.

I ask if they would like another, they both say no, they want to get their luggage. I say - OK, fair enough, then I drain my beer, bring our glasses up to the counter, walk back and offer them my arms again. I tell Elise - her hip once again glued to mine - that I love her new hairstyle and she grins happily at me, squeezing my waist and my forearm.

We saunter together to the baggage claim, where I help the ladies collect a shitload of baggage. It must have cost a small fortune to pay the extra baggage charges. When I mention it to her, Elise shrugs and makes a completely French little noise with her mouth. Then she says - It is nothing monsieur, to spend a little of the money of a life's work to start a new one!

She adds - We flew first class, too, my colleagues paid for our tickets! It takes two cabs to haul us and their umpteen suitcases to the extended stay hotel suite in downtown Montreal. I have leased a suite there for a month, with a single, serendipitously king sized bed!

After the ladies have thoroughly inspected and approved the suddenly much smaller suite, their bags are laboriously transported by a team of porters into it. I leave them to unpack, install and freshen themselves and to adapt somewhat to their new surroundings. I congratulate myself for my forethought, for I have not unpacked my own possessions.

I know full well that Elise would just move them from wherever I might have chosen to put them, in my folly, to a more suitable location. I go down to the office to let them know that there will be an unexpected third occupant of the suite, Lisette. Elise's niece is the cover I decide to give this young woman, who apparently is part and parcel with the absolutely astounding package that is my Elise.

I am fairly certain that the management does not give a damn as long as they get paid their due; this is a somewhat European city after all. That done, I walk to a pub around the corner, where I have spent some quiet time in the past couple of days. I needed some time to rest from my extended marathon month, 1500 miles of unrelenting work since Winnipeg.

There are quite a few strip clubs here in Montreal, including my favorite, but I have not been to any of them since arriving in town. For the past three days I have had only one woman on my mind, blissfully unaware that there were actually two sitting up there. I drink a few more beers and wonder what other surprises the coming days might hold for me. After a couple of hours I wander back to the suite, knocking before I enter, to see what the ladies are up to.

They are both in robes, having showered after their frenzy of unpacking and arranging. The place has been hit by two French tornadoes and then rebuilt in my absence. They want to know what plans I have made for the evening, are we going out to eat, what is my pleasure? Apparently they have been waiting for me before they prepare themselves for whatever it is to be.

Struck by a sudden brainstorm I have one of my rare good ideas. I say - I know of a live jazz and supper club here in town. Shall I see if I can make a late reservation for this evening? They look at each other briefly, nod and say, almost in unison - Mais oui, bien sur, monsieur! (But yes, of course, sir!)

While I call and successfully make a reservation for three for 9 pm, the ladies scurry about gathering clothing, discussing fashion choices and color schemes in rapid fire French. Then, successfully reaching a joint resolution, they disappear into the large bathroom, closing the door behind them with a firm thunk. As much fun as that was to watch, I decide to have some more and reassert my masculinity as well.

I shuck my shirt, shoes and socks and then I open the bathroom door to sudden open mouthed surprise from them both, standing in their birthday suits at the double sink in front of the wide mirror. Excusez moi, mesdames - I say - barely maintaining a straight face as I walk behind them to the throne, set the toilet seat cover down and sit down on it. I wonder - How was your flight?

And I lean forward, rest my elbow on my knee and put my chin in my hand, like Rodin's statue of the Thinker, except my butt is in jeans. Of course I also raise my eyebrows convincingly, trying to sell the concept that this question is of serious interest to me. Meanwhile I feast my eyes upon the display of startled female pulchritude before me. Elise, my French slave woman, you are familiar with from my previous detailed description.

Lisette is definitely an athlete; it is now a confirmed fact. Her perky, pretty peaches are larger than I had originally imagined them to be, nipples erect and pointing upwards, as per Erskine Caldwell's obsession. She is a stone fox version of an Amazon and she will be a real challenge, I can tell.

She is standing there like a live female model of a companion to Michelangelo's David, a 22nd century Diana, proud and with absolutely no shame. She has no tattoos, no piercings and a nice clearly defined & closely shaven landing strip. She is also grinning at me like the cat that ate the canary. She knows without a doubt that I am here to get a close look at her and also knows that she will excel in any such inspection.

Finally, Elise speaks first. Oh! la la! - she says - You are a "type", monsieur. Can you not wait to see us naked until the moment when we are prepared to present ourselves to you? I say - Mais non, mesdames (But no, ladies), I am not a puppet to dance on your wires, or if I am, I am Petrushka, I have broken free.

At this, they decide they have only one option, to accept me and work around me as best they can. As she applies some powder to herself, Elise finally chooses to answer my question. She says that they had a good flight, only a little turbulence, but they were too excited to sleep at all.

Then she wonders - Do they serve coffee at the jazz club? I don't know - I respond - is the Pope catholic? Both giggle for a moment and then are silent once again as they realize that I have shucked my jeans and am opening the glass shower door.

I figure that it is only fair to give Lisette a look at me. She nods when I glance at her as I close the shower door and turn on the water. For an old man, after my long trip on my traveling exercise bicycle, I am now in fighting trim with hardly any body fat. Like her, I am also long and lean and somewhat athletic, proud of the shape I am in.

Although my penis is average at best, I have also learned from the example provided to me by hundreds of strippers that nudity is nothing to be ashamed about. Besides, I am certain that Elise has described my body in detail to Lisette. As I lather the old workhorse up, I hear that they have begun to chatter again, in French.

When I step from the shower and dry myself off with a towel, I seem to have been accepted somewhat into their private world of two. That was my plan, for I know that I must be accepted if I am to reclaim at least a portion of Elise from Lisette. I might as well start as soon as possible, before they get too settled in this new environment. They will be better able to accept me as an intimate part of their new world now, along with everything else they will adapt to in the coming weeks and months.

I hang the towel up to dry and in my birthday suit, I walk past them. They are already half dressed. I walk out into our bedroom to try to figure out where Elise has unpacked my clothes.

Shortly, they come out and we finish preparing ourselves for our evening out as a trio. Of course, I am ready long before they are. I give both an appreciative whistle when they look at me, ready at last, as if they have been waiting for me all along.

We sally forth into the Montreal night scene. The music, food and drink at the club are all excellent, just as I recalled it. I have a half rack of ribs, tasting just like my father made them. He went for a while to a culinary school in Geneva as a young man, before he immigrated to the USA after WWII and then opened a travel agency. The ladies apparently enjoy their first night out, but since they seem tired and jet-lagged, we make it a short one, heading back to our suite just before midnight.

It is a little awkward, getting into bed, but I end up on one side, Elise draped all over me and Lisette has the other to herself. I don't suggest shenanigans and no one else does either. Soon the two are sleeping soundly, Elise moistly breathing into my ear.

I lay awake for quite a while, relishing the return of my unusual lover to my arms. I realize that the feeling I have for her is so strong that I could have cycled 10,000 miles to be with her again. A sublime sense of peace and completion settles over me, my erection finally subsides and I sleep.
Chapter 30

Day 1

I come awake, again literally, this time it is Lisette who is consuming me. As I suddenly blast forth into consciousness, Elise, who is on her side propped up on her elbow watching, says - Good morning master, are you having fun? Yes, Elise dearest, I should have anticipated this, is all I can manage to say.

Then she laughs happily, leans forward and kisses me. The three of us wrestle around for a while. With some help from Elise I get even with Lisette and eventually I am well and truly done after maneuvering things to finally, once again make love to Elise. Lisette applauds as she watches us consummate our reunion.

The entire episode is screwy as hell, but also big-time fun. I can only imagine that it is like having a menage-a-trois with an incestuous mother and daughter, for that is closest analogy I can imagine to the relationship that these two seem to have. Afterward, I tell them that I have been taking an online French course and that I want them to continue my language education, in addition to expanding my sexual horizons.

They agree and we laze around in bed for a while working - with many giggles elicited from them - on both this and that. Then finally, we arise to dress quickly and wander out onto the streets of Montreal, in search of croissants and coffee. As we meander, they babble happily in French and I do my best to follow the conversation, asking questions about the vocabulary and phrases in use occasionally. Finally they get irritated, tell me to stop interrupting and just listen. I am a fly on the wall for a while, a role I can play to the hilt, always in my own way.

We eventually wander in a large circle, only to find a boulangerie - a French bakery, close by the location of our suite. We enter and have our croissants and coffee. Then Elise announces that we must next find her new bank, where her banker son-in-law has established some accounts for her. We head over there and Elise has a meeting with the manager, while Lisette and I wait. She generously suggests that we work together on my French and we do so.

After less than an hour, Elise emerges with the bank manager and introduces us to him. Lisette hands him the 10,000 euros she has won betting upon me. He excuses himself, returning shortly with a cashiers check for just over 13,000 US dollars, made out to Amy XYZ.

He also carries a thick wad of Canadian dollars. Elise takes the cash from him, signs a receipt and thanks him for his help. He promises to be of service in any way possible and we leave. I ask Elise - How much money did your son-in-law deposit in his bank for you?

She looks at me for a moment and then asks - Do you really want to know, master? I say - No Elise, I am only curious and only wish to know if it is your desire to tell me. She says - Well, I will tell you that it is a lot and that money really is not important for us anymore.

She adds - If you want to know more than that, ask me anytime, please, Mark. I decide that this is a good sign. Perhaps now, when I ask something of her that she really doesn't want to do, she may take to addressing me as master to let me know.

Then, before we leave the bank, Elise directs us to a vacant counter, takes out her wad of currency and carelessly divides it into three stacks, giving one to Lisette and one to me. I am amazed; shuffling through it quickly it seems to be over 10,000 Canadian dollars. I say - What is this for?

Elise looks at me and says, with a grin - I suspect you will give most of it to strippers, some of which will be as tips to them for playing with me and Lisette. I suspect we will help you to drink up some of it, as well. If you start to run low, let me know, there is more to be had for the asking.

I ask her - Well, can I reciprocate? She says - What do you mean by that? I tell her - I have about 100,000 dollars worth of gold coins in the room safe in our suite, maybe we can open a joint safe deposit box in your bank and store them here instead? She looks at me for a moment, then says seriously - It sounds like a much better place for gold storage than in the room or in Rain's frame, to me.

She turns and goes back into the manager's office. Shortly he has completed the necessary forms and we have a joint safe deposit box. She turns to me and says - Do we have any other business here, Mark or can we proceed? I respond - Well heck, I guess we have dealt with money matters enough for today, what else have you got in mind?

She says - Lisette and I want to do some shopping. Unless you want to follow us around and ask a lot of silly questions in lousy French, why don't you go get your gold coins and bring them back here? I respond agreeably - You ladies have fun shopping!

I can think of a million things I would rather do than that. I give & receive European cheek kisses and thank Elise for the big pile of walking around money. We leave the bank, heading in our separate directions.

I head back to the suite, open the room safe and pull out the tablet, bringing this account up to date. I put most of my now re-fattened wad of Canadian cash into the safe with the tablet and lock it up. Then I load up the rucksack with the gold coins and follow my French slave woman's instructions. The small mound of gold coins are finally installed where they belong, in a safe deposit box in a bank.

It is three in the afternoon by the time this is done and I am hungry again. I walk over to a sidewalk cafe that I know and have a smoked meat sandwich and a bottle of strong Belgian Delirium Tremens beer to wash it down. After lunch, I walk around the corner and up the stairs of the same building, into my world favorite strip club. I figure I might as well start working on becoming a popular regular, for apparently I am to become a procurer for a couple of lipstick lesbian Frogs.

It's a tough job, but somebody has to do it. At the bar I order a double shot of Irish mouthwash and put it to that use, cleaning my gums until they sting. In combination with the strong beer I had with lunch, I achieve a fairly quick attitude adjustment. Then I order a cold beer as a chaser and turn around to examine the situation.

It is still fairly early in the club, they have just opened at four, so things are quiet, I am the only customer and there are only a couple of dancers present, already looking a little bored. I take my beer and go to sit in a low circular leather booth around a small table, right in front of one of the small stages spread around the joint in different areas separated by short walls and planters. As I have said, the place seems to have been designed by someone who knows what they are doing.

Within a few moments, the two dancers have joined me. I am now the middle of a nearly naked sandwich. In my limited but improving French, I set to work describing to them how the strip club experience works for me. They listen intently, only giggling at me occasionally. Soon they are alternating between sitting on my left knee, whispering in my ear and teaching me French pillow talk.

One is Lulu, a very, and I do mean very, voluptuous and large dark skinned Jamaican woman. I have seen more than my share of human udders, but her puppies are more like two fully grown St. Bernards; they are the largest milk glands I have ever seen, anywhere, anytime. She has a lilting and intriguing Jamaican accent to her French. I could listen to her whisper in my ear forever and I tell her so.

However, when she sits on my leg I feel absolutely and completely inadequate. For one thing, if I was to put my hands on her, I wouldn't know where to start. Once started, I know that two hands just would not be sufficient for all the willing and loudly beckoning flesh this woman has. She is not fat either, not at all; she is almost as tall as I am and her voluminous skin is just full of healthy woman.

The other is Francine, a newbie dancer and very young, maybe 20 or 21. She is from Quebec Ville and does not speak much English. She wants me to work with her on her English while she helps me with my French, an ideal arrangement from my perspective. She has long, straight, jet black hair and is petite - a tight little body with an all-over tan and she is athletic to boot.

When she goes dancing on the stage, she is working and practicing on pole skills that other dancers have showed her. It is fun to watch, like watching a naked Olympian gymnast practice on an unusual apparatus, without a safety mat, I should add. She is about the size of a gymnast, too, almost 5 foot tall and might weigh 100 pounds after a big meal and a dunk in the pool that wets her thick, ass length hair; she is a cutie.

Soon both of this Mutt and Jeff pair of women are naked and it is revealed they are both also clean shaven. They have apparently decided to leave their minimal outfits on the table, putting them on and taking them off is just too much of a hassle. I must agree wholeheartedly with that sentiment.

After a while a few more customers arrive and Lulu spends less and less time with me, until I only see her when she dances. I ask Francine to go up and tip her and the other dancers for that. Francine stays with me throughout, other dancers have come out of the dressing room and the newly arrived customers have their hands full with them and vice versa.

Francine seems happy to keep me company and we continue our lessons, teaching each other the syntax and the vocabulary of love in our respective first languages. She occasionally goes up to dance in the batting order. I buy her several glasses of white wine and drink a few more beers myself.

I give her a Canadian twenty every once in a while and tip the other dancers a Canadian 5 spot when they come up for their stage rotation to dance and strip on the small stage. When they come down from the nearby stage to thank me for the tip, I ask them their names and use and re-use their names when they come back by again. It helps me to keep my aging mind and memory working on remembering them for later visits, probably soon with Elise and Lisette.

I am making a small initial splash as a generous and respectful customer, always a good start in a strip club. The dancers have to develop various survival and other business skills in order to last and be successful in their strange occupation. I am also putting some of Elise's cash to good use.

I am making new friends, keeping my aging libido and mind alive and expanding my knowledge of a beautiful but somewhat cumbersome language, all at the same time. I can't think of a more entertaining or productive way to spend a few hours while my ladies shop. Can you?

About 8 pm my smart phone vibrates and I answer a call from Elise, who asks - Where are you? I say - Well, would you care to guess? She says - Oh! la la! You have started without us. I tell her - Say hello to my new friend Francine, and I hand her the phone. They talk for 5 minutes in fast French, of which I don't understand much. I do hear Francine tell Elise the name of the club and where it is located and then Francine hands me back the phone.

Elise says - Say goodbye to that young Quebecoise and meet us at the Italian restaurant near the corner of ABC and XYZ in twenty minutes, will you? We are done shopping for now and are both hungry. I say - Very well, Madame and get off the line.

Francine and I stand, have a long hug and she kisses both my cheeks. She laboriously tells me in slow English that she looks forward to seeing me again soon and to bring Elise with me next time. I give her another 20 and head out, down the stairs and to the street, making my way to dinner.

It is a great meal. I have one of my favorite spaghetti dishes, just pasta and olive oil with a lot of garlic. When the ladies hear my selection they both switch theirs to dishes containing garlic as well. I will have to go for a ride on Rain tomorrow morning, to burn off the carbs and all the beer I have consumed today. Without the load to which I have become accustomed to hauling, I still have the sensation that I am flying effortlessly as I tour the city during such rides.

After dinner, we walk arm in arm back to the suite, where I am asked to judge a fashion show of the day's purchases of clothing. Then the show continues with lingerie! They each have quite a collection of French unmentionables, brought with them in their luggage.

They seem to have dozens of lingerie ensembles. They put on and slink around in every single one of these various revealing and seductive skimpies. A dozen Parisienne poodle strutters would not be likely to own more tiny, lacy outfits which conceal little and accentuate everything.

It went on for two hours; one would change while the other showed me all the various angles from which to appreciate her current flimsy nothing. Everything the two of them wore during the lingerie portion of their fashion show could be compressed to fit into one of my socks. It was easily more than 10 grand worth of lingerie.

As you might imagine, this continual display of French sexiness has an effect on me. Finally Elise decides to do something about that. Lisette sits in the chair alongside the bed and comments, in French. Everybody is a critic.

Then, Elise draws me from the bed and directs me to return to the chair that Lisette has risen from and the two of them perform, for each other and for me. I keep my mouth shut and watch carefully, learning as much as I can about what Elise enjoys. Finally, Lisette pulls me from the chair and Elise sits down in it. Lisette directs me to lie back on the bed and then she expertly puts a condom on me with her mouth and rides me like a bicycle. When I am done, Elise joins us on the big bed and we all cuddle for a while.

Then Elise asks me - So monsieur, how does that experience compare with your world favorite strip club? I say \- I must answer in English, I am afraid, my dear? She nods in assent. I say - There is no comparison, it is the difference between a nourishing and satisfying home cooked meal prepared with love and care which one is lucky enough to be allowed to devour and even have a second helping. I am suddenly thinking of Amy as I say this, missing her deep down in my soul.

After a long moment, I continue - As for the strip club, you get a prettified, multi-course gourmet meal with many small portions, basically just a taste here and a taste there. It is an expensive restaurant and you leave with your appetite intact and unsatisfied. They both giggle and Lisette says to Elise, in French - This one is definitely a diplomat, as you have told me.

I say - No, not at all, I am not being diplomatic, I speak the truth, as God is my witness. They both sigh and snuggle up to me; for the second time today I am the middle of a naked sandwich. In spite of the erotic possibilities of that, I am too old and am asleep within moments.
Chapter 31

Day 2

In the morning, I rise early again. After some time spent in the bathroom, I come out to dress and find that Elise has risen. She asks me where I am going - I tell her I am taking a ride on Rain, I need some exercise. She asks me - Will you do me two favors?

I say - Anything, Madame; I am at your service. She blushes and says - Lay off it a little, please. Just send me an email of the latest version of the book and then pick up some pastries and coffee for us for breakfast, perhaps in about an hour and a half?

I say - Fine, I will. I grab the tablet and slap her fanny as she is getting back into bed, winking at her as she turns to stick her tongue out at me and wiggles her pale, fleshy, curvaceous cul (butt; Fr. slang) invitingly. I leave and in the lobby I spend an hour updating the book to this point. I use the wifi to email it to her, then fetch Rain from the basement storage locker and head off for my ride.

Forty five minutes later, I leave a patisserie (French pastry bakery) about 8 blocks from our suite with my bag of pastries. Then I stop at a coffee shop next to our suite building for three large cups of hot coffee. With Rain, I ride the elevator, taking this promised bounty up to our suite.

Once inside, I find Lisette with a towel around her head looking tall, pink and lovely from a hot shower. I hear Elise in the shower, humming a French lullaby. Lisette dives on the coffee and pastries like she hasn't eaten in a week. I sit in the chair and watch her eat, getting sugar and crumbs all over herself. I can't help but imagine how much fun it would be to help her clean up.

Suddenly she becomes conscious of me watching and thinking such thoughts. She gets up and goes into the bathroom, telling Elise, who is getting out of the shower, that the horny old goat is back - in French. I yell to Elise - Well, at least I brought the coffee and pastries you ordered and I take Rain back down on the elevator, down to the basement storage locker that goes with our suite.

When I return to the suite, Lisette apologizes, saying that she is not used to living with a man. I tell her that she should not apologize, it is my own thoughts and habits which make me the guilty party. She was just innocently eating some tasty, crumbly French pastries wearing only a towel around her head. She giggles and says - Maybe I will eat some strawberries and cream sometime soon and we'll see how innocently I can do that.

I tell her - Nope, your innocence has been lost already, it is a sin to think about the act, you don't have to actually commit it, you know. She laughs and replies - No, that does not apply, I am not Catholic! I say - Want me to run out and get some strawberries and cream? I can be back quickly!

She grins and says - No, let's save that for another day, shall we? Elise comes out of the bathroom, also wearing nothing but a towel around her head. She looks at us both and says - What's all this about strawberries and cream, I just wanted coffee and pastries!

Taking a long look at these two beautifully nude Frenchwomen who are looking back at me, waiting for some sort of witty response, I suddenly realize that I should be eternally grateful, for someone is smiling upon me. I get up and then kneel down beside the bed, clasp my hands before me and bow my head.

They both start laughing. Then, realizing that I am serious, they join me in prayer. Kneeling before the king sized playpen we had christened the night before, we all silently give thanks, each in our own way. Then we get up and Elise eats while Lisette dresses before us.

I tell them - Listen ladies, I am an old man. Please don't take this the wrong way, these past two days have been fantastic and I will always remember them. However, at this stage I can do a lot better, produce a quality experience, if I have sex no more than every 4 days, 5 would be better. However, I like to cuddle and canoodle and am always more than willing to help you two get where you want to go in other ways.

So, if possible, I was wondering if you could allow me to play with the two of you at my own pace? I promise, I will be eternally grateful and the sex you do have with me will be better for it. They look at each other and shrug and Elise says - Sure thing, old timer. I fell in love with you because you didn't fuck me, not because you did.

You have consistently treated me with affection and respect. It is the quality of the lovemaking we share and the tender affection you give me which keeps my love glowing for you. I tell her that I certainly can't argue with that, in fact that river runs both ways.

Then I look at Lisette, who says - Don't look at me, I prefer women; I just play with dicks because the women I like seem to like them. So I tell her - Your brief days of playing with my dick in order to somehow accommodate Elise are over, is that OK with you? She nods. Then I say - Well then, I have an idea you may like. Let's have a light meal a little later this afternoon, maybe a chef salad, something like that and then head over to my favorite strip club.

You two can party with each other, with the dancers, whatever you like. I'll keep an eye on things, make sure that everybody misbehaves and has a good time. Afterwards, I'll also make sure we all get back here safe. Does that sound like fun? They look at each other and smile, saying that sounds like it might work out, let's give it a try.

Elise says that she has errands to run and Lisette volunteers to accompany her, so I hang out and take a welcome nap. I need to build up my stamina again. Three hours later I awaken from a deep sleep as they return, chattering with each other as they come through the door, laden with shopping bags again. I feel really rested, but just lay there and watch them as they take out their purchases, a number of what appear to be trashy streetwalker outfits. They have apparently bought them specifically for this evening.

Before they try them on though, they have a project which they immediately get to work on, right on the bed next to me. Lisette strips down as Elise comes out of the bathroom with my electric razor. I instantly know what's up and sit up to keep a watchful eye on the proceedings, supervise or even pitch in, if it seems necessary.

Elise first uses the trimmer attachment, then the electric razor. Finally she uses the standard razor that they use to shave their legs, with some hand soap. Then she applies some lotion, which almost starts another project entirely. When the job is done, Lisette looks at least 10 years younger, an incongruously tall short haired tomboy with no pubic hair at all.

Then the tables are turned and Lisette does the same for Elise, whose hair has grown back there considerably in the months since she shaved for our first such outing. When that job is done, they look at me and we all burst out laughing. I tell them - It starts small, but when the need arises, you'll be able to find it, hairy crotch or not. They laugh and then commence to trying on their selection of trashy outfits.

They want my opinion, but I tell them that they all look sexy as hell to me, but I think you are dressing to attract fish, not bicycles! They look at each other and shrug, Elise saying - Oh! la la! You know, when he's right, he's right. So they act as judges for each other, finally deciding on a black tube mini-skirt and a white tee shirt cut off just below Lisette's firm, gravity defying happy handfuls. For Elise it is a matching hot pink tube top and hot pants, at least two sizes too small for propriety.

Elise opts for bald commando, which in her ultra-tight hot pants form fits to her clearly defined camel toe, a topographic map of her outer vagina. Lisette wears a thong which rides high on her hips, well above the low slung tube mini-skirt, which most would consider merely a wide belt. Watching this display of frankly female funkiness, I am getting hard again and tell them so. Not because I want them to do something about it, just to let them know that their outfits will probably attract plenty of the attention they seek.

Both have purchased ridiculously high spike heels and seem to know how to navigate in them, which I have been told takes a lot of practice. With the heels on, Lisette is even more like an Amazon, probably at least 6'3". The two of them together look like a mother daughter streetwalker team. To accent the team concept, they now have matching long black sweater jackets.

When buttoned up, these will cover their trashy outfits and will keep them a lot warmer than their minimalist outfits could. Another advantage is to allow them to navigate in public with a greatly lessened likelihood of getting arrested or shanghaied off the street. However, I decide that we will not be making an intermediate stop for dinner. Instead we will have our salad in the cafe-deli on the ground floor of the club.

I grab about 2000 Canadian dollars from the stack in the safe and we head out. As the ladies precede me out the front door of our extended stay suites hotel, a cab pulls right up. The cabbie is no idiot; he knows full well when he is needed.

After the ladies get into the back, gracefully and without flashing anything at anyone on the street, I get in front and tell the cabbie where we are going. He nods and we roll off. 5 minutes later, we pull up to the door of the club. It has been open for several hours already and the bouncer doorman is there to open the cab door.

The ladies get out and he whistles quietly. I tell him we will be back shortly; we are going to the deli to get something to eat. He says - You know sir, both businesses here are owned by the same company. You can go into the club and order anything you like off the cafe-deli menu at the same price.

I say - I did not know that, I guess we'll go on up then, shall we ladies? They both nod, anticipating the club and the evening. I happily and watchfully follow them after I quickly tip the bouncer doorman a 10 spot for his excellent and timely suggestion. They work their way up the stairs, step by tantalizing step.

The house is rocking this evening, but we are lead by the upstairs bouncer to a small private alcove. It has its own small stage and pole and two small tables, surrounded by a large, low semicircular couch. I tip the bouncer a Canadian five-spot and ask him for a menu.

I ask the ladies what they will drink and they ask for a bottle of champagne. They leave their wraps in our alcove. Then, arm in arm, my mother-daughter hooker honeys leave the alcove to strut through the club on a grand tour of mutual inspection.

I go to the bar and order a large chefs salad and also a magnum of champagne for the ladies, to be delivered in a bucket of ice, along with a shot and a cold beer for me. That, combined with the salad we will share, burns over 200 Canadian dollars. However, my two lipstick lesbians will probably be working on the large champagne bottle for a while, even with help from strippers. I ask for some extra champagne glasses, anticipating that they will be needed and they are.

I come back from the bar to find the ladies are back from their tour and are dancing together on the small stage, laughing and touching each other as they do so. The champagne, my beer and the salad arrive shortly, so I pour for them and then we dig in. We eat for about ten minutes, finishing off the salad.

Elise and Lisette set back on the low sofa, joined at the hip, sipping champagne. I take the remains of our meal back to the bar, finding Lulu - winking at me as she sees me - and another dancer she introduces as Mercedes, sitting at the bar. Mercedes is a medium to tallish, lanky brunette, with improbably large mush melons, on an otherwise skinny frame.

She is topless, wearing only fancy high hipped translucent white lace panties, an ankle bracelet and high heels. If she has had a boob job, it was a good one, because they look real and magnificent, to me. Besides being large and full, her plentiful pink puffies also have large aureoles. She has narrow hips and a small, tight butt. I notice later that she is a little bow-legged and has an unusual carriage and gait that is fun to watch. She has a number of interesting looking small tattoos as well.

She looks like she has been around the block a few times, having fun the whole time; maybe 34, 36 years, somewhere in there. All in all, I conclude that this one is a real good time party girl, sexy as hell. In a house full of many sexy women her fine self is shouting silently but irresistibly at me. She has stood up and been smiling back at me as I take my time eyeballing her. Finally she lifts her arms and does a slow turn and then winks and shimmies as I quietly applaud.

I give each of them a Canadian 20 and tell them - there's a large bottle of champagne, extra glasses and my two lady friends sitting there in that alcove and I think they may be about to get bored. Can either or both of you fine ladies think of a way to help? Lulu chuckles and rubs me the right way, slowly and deliberately, as she goes by. The she says, in her engaging Jamaican accented French - Are those two sexy streetwalkers here with you, old timer?

Then she and Mercedes go into the alcove, where I immediately hear laughter and much French erupt. The eternal battle against feminine boredom is about to be rejoined, I think. I decide to have another beer and give it a few minutes, see what kind of interesting scene that I will walk in on.

After a few minutes spent considering the situation in the club, I finish that beer and bring a fresh one in to our alcove, finding Lulu and Lisette dancing on the small stage. Lulu and Lisette are both only wearing black leather thongs. It is fun to look at these two completely different, yet equally tall women. Lulu is built like an incredible female middle linebacker that no jock in his right mind would ever run past and Lisette like a female wide receiver that few jocks could out-run.

Mercedes and Elise are sitting on the couch; Mercedes is now also naked and is helping Elise to remove her tube top. I sit down and watch the festivities. Elise stands up, wriggles and wiggles then drops and steps out of her hot pants. She comes over to straddle me. She is now completely naked and is as always irresistible, but I manage somehow. I can hang tough when it is required.

Elise whispers in my left ear - Master, you are going to play with us tonight and you are going to like it. I want to tell her to lay off it, as she had said to me earlier in the day. Instead, after groping her bodacious boobs for a few moments, I grab her nipples and give them a little twist; she stiffens and moans. I tell her - You are forgetting yourself, slave, go back to where you were and play with Mercedes, now!

She says - Yes master, but please twist my nipples again before I leave. Instead, I give her buns a hard squeeze and then give her butt cheeks a fast slap with both hands. She squeals quietly, then I tell her - Slave, you should stop telling me what to do.

She leans in to whisper in my left ear and says - You know master, I like it when you slap my ass. My husband would spank me when I irritated him; it was the only contact I had from him, so sometimes I would irritate him on purpose. Then, leaning back she winks at me and says - I liked what you did to Amy, reading about it made me warm too, so please spank me again now and anytime you think I need it, master.

Then I twist her nipples again. Elise closes her eyes and moans again, saying - Thank you, master. She stands and turns; my two reddish handprints standing out on her pale butt cheeks. She goes back to where Mercedes has been patiently sitting, sipping champagne and watching while Elise and I work through our pretend power trip.

Noticing that I am eyeballing her, Mercedes waggles her eyebrows at me like a fantastically female Groucho and then winks, before diving back into the fray with Elise. I think to myself - Elise is a bit of a masochist after all, no real surprise there. Suddenly, Francine shows up and greets me warmly as I stand to say hello to her and give her a hug and European cheek kisses.

Now I have some company too, as we sit I pour her a glass of champagne and we re-start our mutual French/English lessons. I introduce her to Elise and Lisette. Elise is already getting busy with Mercedes, but Lisette clinks glasses with Francine. Soon Lisette comes down from the stage to sit beside Francine, who is now sitting sandwiched between Lisette and I.

Lulu continues dancing on the stage, holding her empty champagne glass. I stand up and refill her glass and everyone else's glass as well. Then I give each of the three dancers present in our private alcove a 20. I grab my beer and sit down again, but not as close as I had been to Francine, since she is now busy playing with Lisette.

Lulu comes down from the stage and drapes her large and voluptuous self over me. Instead of sitting on my leg she sits with her butt between my legs and leans her right side against me. I use my left arm to support her back, grasping her left arm around the bicep.

She leans in and nuzzles my neck while she grabs my right hand and brings it up to play with her monumental mommas. I am entranced with that indescribably delicious activity for a few minutes. Then she asks if I want a private party with her.

I say - I don't do that; adding that she is an absolutely amazing young woman. I tell her - In strip clubs I just prefer to look at women and caress them sometimes. I mention that my lady friends are here for the kind of thing she has suggested and that she should see if she can attract that kind of attention from them.

I tell her that it would suit me fine if she could draw Lisette away; I want to continue my French-English lessons with Francine. I suggest that she try to coerce Lisette, Elise and Mercedes into a private party right here in this alcove, I see that there is a curtain that can be drawn for more privacy. Lulu leans back and gives me a hot look, saying - I'd rather party with you, but I can try to make all that happen and then come back to see if you have changed your mind.

Lulu works her way around the room for a few minutes, conversing with the gathered ladies in her engaging Jamaican accented French and then leaves our alcove. I watch my two hot honeys getting acquainted with their new friends and drink my beer. Elise and Mercedes are soon joined by Francine and Lisette, the group gathering closely together on the long couch opposite me.

Lulu returns, pulling the curtain across the entrance to the alcove as she does. She ditches her thong and then straddles me, bounces up and down enthusiastically a few times to great effect and rubs her fantastic fun-bags against my chest. She tells me that Lisette and Francine are hitting it off and they want to party with Elise and Mercedes, a fact which has become apparent to me while she was gone.

She tells me that a three hour party, including another bottle of champagne, as much beer as I can drink and whatever else that could happen will be 1000 Canadian, including tips, stage dances - basically all inclusive. I ask her - well who and when do I pay? She says - You can pay me, 500 now and 500 after the three hours.

She tells me - I'll go out and give the 500 to the manager and bring back the champagne and a few more beers. I call over to Elise and Lisette - Mesdames, are we happy with what is happening for three hours? Both Elise and Lisette raise their heads from a busy looking pile of female flesh, nod their heads yes and then dive back in.

I tell Lulu, looks like you have a sale, but I must ask you to be gentle with me, I am old and fragile and I really just want to learn to speak better French. Perhaps we can cuddle if that is OK with you. Besides, those two over there are wearing me out.

She looks at me, grinning broadly, saying - Both of them!?! Mon Dieu, monsieur, you are a dog! What is your secret? Wait - tell me when I get back! I give her the first 500 and she exits, returning shortly with the promised second bottle of champagne and several more bottles of Canadian beer.

The first magnum is easily retired by refilling glasses and the new one goes into the ice bucket with the bottles of beer. I open my next beer and clink glasses with Lulu, who is idly watching Lisette and Elise play with Francine and Mercedes and with each other. Everybody over there is now starkly naked and there do not seem to be any rules of engagement in effect.

After making my refilling rounds I sit down and Lulu straddles me again. I am literally pinned in my seat by at least 200 lbs of naked Jamaican woman. A considerable percentage of her impressive mass seems to be T & A.

She says - OK, now tell me why does a skinny old white American dude like you have two hot lesbian Frenchwomen dressed like streetwalkers following you around? I tell her it is a complicated story involving a sadistic old dead guy, an even older Italian Opera, a bicycle, a river in Oregon, a stripper in Missoula and me, plus now also an Eskimo hottie named Lulu. She laughs and says - Funny old white man, I bet your sense of humor is in there somewhere too! I say - Yep, I guess it is.

I tell her - you know the ironic thing about it is, when I met Elise, that's the cougar over there. You see her, don't you? She's the one with her face in Francine's lap and her ripe canteloupes in Lisette's happy hands, while Mercedes is doing something interesting with her wet pussy?

Yep, that's her right there. She recently told me that she fell in love with me when we spent our first night in bed cuddling and I didn't try to fuck her. Lulu's eyes widen at this revelation. I continue - although just between you and me, we have done that a few times since then.

Also, she claims that she is my slave, while actually I think it is really the other way around. I take a long swig of my beer, inspired by the weirdness of my story. After I set down the beer, Lulu draws my hands back to her full, fleshy fanny, leans back, looks me in the eyes and says - Yes, old white dude, the whole thing does seem complicated, that is no lie.

Stop thinking about it all for a while and play with my ass instead, will you? She takes my glasses off and then leans her weight in even closer and starts rhythmically writhing on me, rubbing her B1 and B2 bombers all over my chest and my face. Meanwhile I massage, caress and squeeze her rump with my hands and pull her tightly up against me.

I look over her shoulder to see that Lisette and Elise are watching. Lisette is silently applauding. Then once again I am smothered with my face full of her jumbo brown ear muffs. I can't see for a while, but then who needs to see anything under those conditions.

After a couple of minutes of this, Lulu leans back again and says - So, you old white dude, what about me, do you want to spend the night with me and just cuddle? I say - Sure, we could do that, I can control myself - it would be fun. She looks back at me for a few seconds and says - You know I think you are right, it might be fun indeed. She gets up and sits down closely next to me, I direct her to sit on my left, as always. I pour her some more champagne and we clink glasses.

Shortly thereafter, the previously writhing pile of lovelies opposite us seems to be taking a break, it might be a timeout in their game, I haven't been watching that closely. Accompanied by Lulu, they all go out to the ladies room together, as women on group dates are inclined to do. I rise and refill everyone's champagne glass from the new bottle. After about 10 minutes they troop back in as a group, wearing only their high heels and smiles, all carrying their little evening purses.

I give everyone a welcome back toast with my beer, along with a low whistle of my eyes-wide-open acknowledgement and appreciation of the scene. Elise and Lisette are looking happy although slightly glazed, obviously high on champagne, endorphins and probably at least a couple of shoops each. We are all standing around the alcove, everyone smiling as they toast me in return.

Suddenly, for reasons I don't begin to understand, they all start giggling. It is contagious; it lasts for a couple minutes and then subsides. The gang of four take another long swig of their champagne, then friendly festivities begin again with changes of partners and position after their timeout for the bathroom trip.

After we sit down again, I turn and look at Lulu, then tell her - You can go over there and join them, it might be more fun for you than sitting here with me and talking. She says \- I really don't like playing with ladies that much, I will if you want me too so you can watch. If it is up to me, I would rather sit here, drink your champagne and talk with you.

I raise my beer to her and say - Now you are singing my song, sister! I live for sitting and visiting with lovely naked women like you! We each take a drink, then I excuse myself briefly to get rid of some beer. I suggest - Please, don't go anywhere, I promise I will return quickly, for I would dearly love to listen to you talk for a while.

When I return, I ask her - You sound like you are from the Caribbean, maybe Jamaica, is that right? She says \- Yes, I am from Kingston, mon, do you know it? I tell her that I believe that I was there when I was a boy, a long time ago.

I add that I have been to the Bahamas much more recently though, to Nassau. She says - Yes, funky Nassau, I been there too. I ask her - So what brought you to Montreal, then? She says - There are lots of big black women like me down there, not many up here, so there's more money in being me up here.

So I ask her - Well, what do you do for fun, when you are not working? She smiles and says - I like talking with old white dudes. I say - No really, be serious please, what do you do? She says - Well, I have four kids that keep me pretty busy; so I don't have much time for fun. I dig into my wallet and show her two hundreds. I tell her - OK, I'll give you these, but only if you promise to spend one of them on yourself. You must have some fun; do something that is just for you. Is that a deal?

She leans in and gives me a big wet kiss on the lips, then says - You are a sweet old guy, aren't you, mon! Thank you, I promise I will do that. She takes the two hundreds and then asks me what my name is?

I offer her my right hand and say - Pleased to meet you, my name is Mark. She shakes and then pulls my hand and forearm into the deep warm valley between and beneath her tremendous triple T tits. She says - My real name is Ruth, but please don't use it here, just please keep calling me Lulu, OK? I say OK, Lulu, you got it.

We spend a few minutes quietly in that pose, drinking and idly watching the ladies going at it on the couch opposite, my right hand and forearm happily still clasped and held in the warm moist valley. Then she lays her head on my shoulder and says - I am so tired and my back hurts like fire, my boobs are so heavy, can I just stretch out and put my head on your lap and rest, mon? I say that would be just fine, you do that.

And she did. Within a couple of minutes, in spite of the loud music and in the relative private darkness of our little alcove, with a lesbian orgy going on hotly opposite us, Lulu/Ruth went to sleep with her head in my lap, my left hand and forearm now clasped between her magnificent Mahatmas. We still had almost two hours remaining of our party, so I just sat there as still as I could and let her sleep, working my way through the beers and watching the ladies play. Finally the manager came, looked in, opened the curtain and then left again.

By then, the gang-of-four-game seems to have been resolved after a triple overtime; that resolution reached about 15 minutes prior. The four ladies are sitting closely together, quietly finishing off the champagne, talking a little bit, touching each other once in a while. Seems to me that their orgy may have ended in a tie, although maybe everybody won, it's tough to say. I caress Lulu's face a few times until she wakes up and looks back at me, then smiles.

I lean down and kiss her and she kisses me back. She sits up and I give her the other 500 I owe her. I give Mercedes and Francine 50 dollars each and ask them to help Lisette and Elise to get back into their streetwalker outfits and their sweater wraps. It is fun to watch, my two hooker hotties are pretty toasted, that is for sure. Finally, they are somewhat put back into a vague resemblance of decent order and we are ready to leave.

I walk them out of there, their high heels in their hands, my hands tightly holding their waists as we successfully navigate the stairs without a fall. As we get to the landing just above street level, I hear someone clapping and look back to see Lulu standing at the top of the stairs, smiling and quietly applauding my efforts. I quietly wish her good night and we make our way out onto the street and into a waiting cab.

This time, if anyone happens by on the street, they might see some pink bits as Elise and Lisette try to enter the back seat. I know I did. They end up kind of sprawling out back there, legs and arms akimbo, looking like a couple of discarded dummies from a streetwalker boutique.

Arriving back at our suite, I make them both drink three glasses of water and then help them undress, which is fun and also funny for us all. They crawl into bed and snuggle up to each other, as I am sure they have many times in the past. They are both soon snoring quietly.

I sit in the chair next to the bed for a while, drinking some water myself. I watch them breathe and sleep together, innocent in the dim light from the bathroom. After a while I shuck out of my clothes and get in beside them and am asleep in a few moments.
Chapter 32

Day 3

I am awake about 9 the next morning, my companions not so much. I go for an hour long ride on Rain, pushing it, forcing lots of oxygen through my system, my legs burning. Then, feeling somewhat refreshed, I stop and pick up croissants, baguette (a long, thin loaf of French bread), a couple of different cheeses, sausage and coffee. Returning with this bounty to the suite, I find Lisette sitting up in bed, looking a bit bleary eyed and Elise still snoring beside her. Observing my load, Lisette says quietly - Yes, my hero, coffee please!

I bring her a cup, which she drinks slowly, sitting in bed. Then she rises and goes into the bathroom. After she comes out, she is just standing there, still naked of course, looking around the suite idly and somewhat vacantly. I bring her a glass of water and an aspirin and she accepts both, saying - Yes, good idea, merci (thanks). After draining the glass she hands it to me, gets back in bed, spoons with Elise and promptly goes back to sleep.

I have my European brunch - slices of sausage, cheese, baguette and coffee. As I finish eating, Elise sits up and looks about somewhat disoriented for a few moments. Then she remembers that she is in Montreal, with me. She smiles and says - Yes please master, coffee!

As I bring it to her, she draws me down to clasp my face to her big bazooms and rubs my bald head with her hands. She says - Yes, you are real and I am glad of it! I kiss her and then give her the coffee, proud of myself for not spilling any during this exchange of affection. After she has some coffee, she goes into the bathroom and spends five minutes sitting on the throne and staring off into deep space.

When she returns, she sits at the table; naturally she is naked as usual, in case you have forgotten. I refill her cup and bring her a couple of croissants. She looks at them disdainfully, but soon starts nibbling at them and finishes them off.

Then I bring her an aspirin and a glass of water, which she takes and drains. She looks at me for a moment and then tells me I am good at helping people to acquire hangovers and then get over them. Then she gets back in bed, cuddles up with Lisette once again and goes back to sleep.

About eleven, Lisette wakes up again, now looking nearly as beautiful as ever. Healthy young people are maddeningly good at bouncing back quickly in the AM from the assaults that we tend to perpetrate upon ourselves in the PM. She gets up, sits with me at the table and has some more coffee and a couple of croissants.

Then she looks at me expectantly. I say - What is it? - I have no idea what it is that you want from me, girl? She says - I don't know either, now that you mention it. Then she says - Anyway, thanks for last night and for getting us back safe.

Inspired, she adds - It was a BLAST! I bet that I came SIX times! That Francine is a HOTTIE, I really like her! So then it occurs to me what it is that she had expected from me. She wants to gossip and dish with me about the events of the previous evening!

I tell her - You know Lisette, there is a big bathtub in there. If you run a nice hot bath with bath oils and lots of bubbles, I bet you will be able to get Elise into it with you. Then you two can have some fun girl talk while you soak!

She smiles at this thought, then stands, steps over to me and pulls my face against her firm belly while she rubs my head with her hands. Petting the old baldy seems to be a popular pastime this morning. Then she goes into the bathroom and starts the tub filling.

When she comes out again, she says - You know women, don't you, old timer - and then she gets back into bed with Elise and slowly teases her awake with kisses and caresses. Elise moans and then sits up. She hears the bath running and says - Oh! la la! Hangover remedy is a team sport now, n'est-ce pas (isn't it)?

We all have a laugh and then they head into the bathroom, leaving the door open. I lay in the bed for a while, trying to decipher their French as they chat and giggle together in the tub. Soon I drift off into an old timers mid-day nap, having accomplished my slave-to-love duties of service to Elise and her wacky Sapphic lover-daughter for the day.

When I awaken a couple hours later I am alone in the suite; they have left me a note on the table. They have gone out to run errands and walk around in the city; it is a warm and pleasant afternoon. I immediately have a clairvoyant vision of their return, bearing shopping bags. A half hour later I am sitting down at the table with the tablet, bringing this account up to date when my smart phone rings. It is Amy calling!

I tell her I am happy to hear from her and ask how she is doing? She says she is great, she is happy, she is coming to Montreal! I am speechless. She says - Mark, are you there? I say - Yes, I am just overjoyed and speechless with happiness at this news, but how did this happen? She says - I received a priority package this morning from Elise. There was a cashiers check for 13,000 dollars, a printout draft of your book and an invitation for me to come to Montreal and fuck your brains out!

And all is clear once again; the machinations of Elise, my love-slave drama queen are messing with me and now with Amy, big-time once again. I say - I am sorry that she is now meddling with you as well. Amy, are you sure you want to do this? It is kind of bizarre and wacky here and Elise seems to be trying to draw you into her drama!

She says - The hell with that, Mark! I'm a grown woman and can take care of myself! I haven't been out of Missoula for four years! I want a vacation and I want to see you and Montreal!

Please tell Elise I am coming with bells on, probably be there tomorrow! I ask her - Do you have a passport? She says - Yes, my brother bought me a round-trip ticket to Italy four years ago, to visit with him on one of his leaves!

Finally accepting that this bombshell is a fait-accompli (accomplished fact) by Elise, I tell Amy to call me again with the details of her flight and I will meet her at the airport. I tell her I love her and will be impatient until I see her again tomorrow.

She says - You know how to pick 'em, don't you, you sweet, lucky old bastard! I tell her no; it seems that I am just an old bastard. She laughs and says - I'll call you again soon - and hangs up.

I sit there and stew in my own juices for a while, swear under my breath and then finally just accept it. Elise just likes to mess with peoples heads and she is especially good at messing with mine. Ten minutes later, Lisette and Elise breeze back happily into the room, bearing the expected shopping bags, of course.

As they close the door, I point to Elise and say - All right you, you say you like spankings, well you have earned a good one! Elise drops her bags and says - Amy called, didn't she? I say - Never mind that, shut up, strip down and take your punishment, right now! And wipe that smirk off your face, you shameless drama queen!

She does her best to keep a straight face as she strips down. Lisette smiles, puts her bags on the table and sits down to watch. Shortly Elise is naked and standing there with her arms at her sides and head down. She says - I am sorry master, please punish me, I deserve it.

I sit on the corner of the bed and tell her to come over here, right now. I bring her down over my knees, her large pale white ass up and presented to my hands for punishment. I gently caress her fanny for a little while, teasing her. Then I tickle her side for a few seconds, soliciting giggles from both her and Lisette.

Then, while she is giggling, I suddenly give each of her butt cheeks 12 fast, hard slaps. She squeals at the sudden sharp stinging pain and is no longer giggling. Her pale white butt is instantly bright pink. I stand her up again, she has tears of pain in her eyes, but she is looking back at me with fierce rage. I tell her sternly - Dammit, you keep looking at me like that; I'll give you 24 more!

She instantly looks down and says nothing. I tell her, you may have enjoyed that, I don't know. But I will tell you this, if you unilaterally involve other people from my life in your screwy Italian opera antics again, I will leave you for sure, this is completely unacceptable to me! Do you understand! She says \- Yes master, I do. I say - OK then sin no more!

I look over at Lisette, who has removed her clothes while this has been going on. She now is standing there naked, with head down and her arms at her sides. I ask her - What the hell are you up to?

She says, with a smirk - Mark; Elise and I cooked up the idea of sending Amy that stuff and inviting her to come here together, so it isn't entirely Elise's fault. I probably deserve some punishment too. Besides, it looked kind of hot, would you spank me too, please daddy?

I say - You bet, I'll wipe that smirk off your face if you want, I'm angry enough to spank twenty women. Come on over here and assume the position! Elise, rubbing her hot pink fanny with her hands, grins and watches.

As I ordered, Lisette comes over and lays across my knees, presenting her tight little can for punishment. Without any preplay or warning, I immediately administer 24 hard slaps to her misbehaving butt as well. When she stands, her ass is also bright pink and she isn't smirking anymore either.

As she rubs it, I tell them both - well, you two get into bed and console each other for a while. It would be pointless to endure all that pain and melt that butter for nothing. But remember what I told you; don't bring other people from my life into this without talking with me about it first!

As they are getting into bed, I storm out for a long walk, to think about the whole thing some more. After I am out of their view I start grinning, thinking that was kind of fun! They definitely deserved it and I feel a lot better!

When I get back to the suite about an hour and a half later, we have company. Lisette and Elise seem to have finished doing what they undoubtedly did after I left. They are now dressing to go out. Francine and Mercedes have come over, apparently by pre-arrangement among them, made in the ladies room the previous evening. Francine has a note for me from Lulu.

Their plan is to go out for dinner at a Chinese restaurant; I am invited to tag along. After dinner, they will go together to a lesbian bar/club for a night of drinking and dancing, to which I am not invited. Thank you Lord for small favors, Amen.

It all sounds fine with me, so I have dinner with them, all four looking hot but stylishly so, not trashy like the night before. I have to smirk a little myself as I watch Elise and Lisette squirm in their seats, trying in vain to find something to sit on besides their sore asses. After a tasty meal, I put them all in a cab and they leave. I walk back to the suite for an early night. As I doze off I am looking forward to seeing and spending some time with Amy, just to re-introduce some normalcy and relative sanity into my life.
Chapter 33

Oh! la la!

I am awakened by Mercedes, who has come back to the suite with the other three. She has shucked her mini dress and crawled bare-assed into bed with me, to tease me into consciousness with caresses. She at least apparently has the good sense not to put her mouth on my penis, uninvited.

When I am sufficiently awake to recognize my unexpected bedmate, I greet her and thank her for awakening me so sensuously. We canoodle for a little too long and share a pleasantly passionate kiss. Knowing that this kind of stuff cannot be allowed to go on for much longer without the usual consequences, I sit up in bed.

The wall clock shows it is just past 4 am. The other three ladies have removed their evening wear and are waiting patiently to pile into the bed, which might accommodate four consenting and closely friendly adults on a good day. It is instantly clear to me that I will be a fifth wheel in this conclusion to what has been their long evening.

I get up and pull my skivvies and pants on over the erection that Mercedes has inspired. As I do so, the others begin to join Mercedes in the bed. Before Elise climbs in, I grab her arm and give her a hug, greeting my woman.

I look her over; she seems pleasantly drunk and somewhat glassy eyed. But she also looks happy and smiles back at me. It is clear that she has been having more fun tonight and this morning. When I have her attention and she is looking me in the eyes, I tell her that I love her and that I will see her tomorrow.

She nods in apparent acknowledgement and we share a warm, wet smooch for a few moments. Then I turn her back around so she is facing the bed and give her still slightly pinkish can a light swat as she gets in with the others. Lisette and Elise giggle as they are reminded of the spankings I administered to them, yesterday.

As I finish dressing and prepare to leave, I tell the collective mass of women now writhing on the bed that I will leave them to their own devices. They are to have as much fun as they can stand, but no more than that. I hear a few giggles in response and I leave.

I have an early coffee and a doughnut and then take a long ride on Rain in the cool morning air. Later I sit in a sidewalk cafe and have another coffee, watching the busy city bustle with life. I read Lulu's note, carried to me yesterday by Francine. It provides her phone number and invites me to visit with her and her four young boys, aged 4 through 9!

I have a light brunch in the cafe and slowly walk back to the suite. When I return at 1 pm they are all sleeping, piled in interesting and enticing positions, more or less as they were when they finished playing with each other, finally exhausted. I am strongly tempted to take a picture with my smart phone camera, but resist it successfully.

I leave again almost immediately, having returned Rain to her basement storage and picked up my pre-packed rucksack. I am bound by cab to the Montreal airport. Amy is arriving on the two o'clock flight from Chicago and I am looking forward to seeing her, now more than ever.

She deplanes right on schedule, grinning back at me as we embrace. She is wearing her moccasins and lots of denim - denim jeans, a soft denim shirt, a denim jacket. She could be wearing denim panties, although my hands tell me that she may have forgotten them at home.

After a long wet kiss I tell her I am really, really glad that she came. I promise to make sure that she has a good vacation. We walk together to the baggage claim, glued at the hip. We find her suitcase and take a cab back to the extended stay hotel, snuggling together in the back seat as if we had never parted. She says that she is very hungry, but only for me, for a long, late nooner.

I take her up to a second room that I have reserved this morning. It is two floors below the suite and its bed piled full of sleeping, snoring naked women. This second room is not a suite, just a somewhat smaller room, but also with a king sized bed.

Amy and I put it to good use for the rest of the day. Later, we head out into the night, walking to my favorite jazz supper club. We devour a couple of racks of ribs and share a great first evening together. About midnight, we head back to the room for smooching, canoodling and that kind of stuff.

We are both sleeping at 3 am when my smart phone rings. Groggily, I answer it. Elise wants to know where I am, have I left her, what is going on? I tell her - Hell no, I am in room XYZ just two floors down, sleeping with Amy after she has followed your instructions and fucked my brains out, thank you very much!

I add - Don't you remember I told you I will see you tomorrow? She says - Yes, I remember, but that was last night! No - I say - It wasn't, it was at 4:30 yesterday morning and it is now tomorrow, but it is too early for introductions. We are both sleeping here; will you let us return to that? She says - OK, sorry for the mix up, see you tomorrow, I mean today, I mean good night! And she hangs up.

Amy starts laughing; she has heard my half of this wacky conversation. She says - Elise is a handful for you, isn't she, you poor old man? I say - You don't know the half of it, sweetie, but you will, you will. Not knowing how prophetic that will be, we spoon and blissfully go back to sleep.

At 8:30 there is a knock on the door. I jump into my pants and open it. Elise sweeps in with a bathrobe in her hands, sees my rucksack and Amy's suitcase against the wall and says - Good, you haven't unpacked her yet. Then she breezes past me into the room, hopping into the bed with a completely startled, naked Amy.

Lisette ambles in past me, as I stand there stunned, holding the door. She says - Hasn't been four days yet, has it, you old dog - and then she climbs into the bed with Elise and Amy. There follows a brief blizzard of introductions, hugs and kisses among the three women. Then Elise looks around and says - Good, this is your room now, Mark! It has a nice big bed & will suit you fine.

Lissette chuckles as Elise then turns to Amy saying - Get up now, we'll move you into the suite with us, there's a big bed up there also, plus a walk-in closet and much bigger bathroom with a large tub, too. She stands up and physically motivates a still dumbstruck Amy out of the bed. Put this robe on! Be quick now, before he thinks of something!

Lisette helps and in a few moments, leads Amy to the door with her suitcase in one hand and her arm in the other. However, they are stymied in their attempt to make quick getaway. There is an elderly lady with a walker, going by slowly in the corridor. Lisette must stop abruptly; Elise walks smack dab into Amy's back, luckily they are both well padded. Amy giggles and looks back at me with a bemused and bewildered grin, eyebrows raised.

Elise looks back at me too, rubbing her ample airbags, impatient at the delay. Then she says - We will move her in, get her settled and pack your things. Then we'll take her shopping, but you wait for two hours and then come up and get your bags!

In the meantime, why don't you get some breakfast and take your vehicle for a ride, you amateur novelist! I still can't think of anything to say. Suddenly inspired, I lift and show her my right hand, waggle it at her, raise my eyebrows.

Seemingly enraged at the memory, Elise says \- You! Our asses stung for hours!! Asshole!!! On that note, the old woman is sufficiently past the doorway that Lisette is able to continue out of the room. She has Amy in tow, giggling at the sense memory of her attractive ass similarly stinging, with Elise right behind them, urging them along.

In the sudden quiet after this whirlwind, as the door slowly swings closed, I see that the old woman has stopped and is looking in at me from the corridor. I hear her say - Oh! la la! Then the door swings shut.

I stand there looking at the door for a moment, then look around at the room now devoid of female company. I sit down on the bed and put my head in my hands, muttering - Women! French women! They should name tornadoes after frigging French women! And I suddenly recall telling Elise, in our yurt in the campground near Yachats on the Oregon coast, that she should call me asshole if she thinks I am acting like one. She may be a drama queen, but apparently my French slave woman listens to me and remembers my commands.

After about twenty minutes I have sufficiently recovered to dress and follow her instructions. I take Rain for an hour long high speed chase of my always elusive demons. Then I stop for an American style breakfast, eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, hash browns, etc. Finally, I ride back and put Rain in her basement pen, take the elevator up to the vacant suite, still pleasantly aromatic with recent traces of French women. I gather my packed bags.

I take the stairs down to my new room and unpack. Then I take a nap and a shower. I suddenly realize that installing me in this second room is actually a typical Elise brainstorm. I can finagle my way back into her opera one woman at a time. I decide to call Ruth, who answers and says - Yes Mark, come on by if you want; it is just me and my boys here, as always!

I get directions, collect Rain again and ride over. It is a fairly small apartment, but clean and as neat as can be expected with four young boys and a working single mom. I am inspired by the four boys shyly examining me from behind their big mother - You guys want to go out for lunch? That idea goes over well with them - each calls out the name of a different restaurant.

Ruth and I settle on a pancake and waffle house a short walk down the street. I have a BLT and a soda. I watch as the four boys tear through their own various favorite meals at this 24 hour restaurant with which they are all familiar. They are curious about my bicycle, so I start telling them about Rain.

Immediately everything stops as they stare at me wide-eyed. I had not realized the impact that the idea of riding a bicycle completely across the country would have on four young boys. Ruth tells them to eat their lunch and grins at me. After we have finished making a hell of a mess at the table; I leave an extra big cash tip and pay the check at the counter. Ruth hugs me and thanks me.

We walk back to her place, where I ask her if she wants to take a nap; I will tell her boys a story. She hugs and kisses me again, as if I have showed her the stairway to heaven; then she says - Hell yes, please do. I sit on the end of her couch; Ruth lies down and puts her head on a pillow in my lap. She tells her boys to gather at my feet, to listen and behave, this nice man has a story to tell.
Chapter 34

Babe, Paul Bunyan's Blue Ox

She closes her eyes and is soon asleep, breathing quietly as I tell her small assembly of little boys the beginning of a long and imaginative story. Some of it is true, some of it I embellish and some of it is just a steaming heap of bullcrap that has dropped from the ass end of Babe, Paul Bunyan's Blue Ox. I'm sure you are becoming familiar with what I mean by now.

I start my tale with getting down off the bus in Crescent City, showing them on my smart phone Google map where that is and where we are right now. I tell them a lot about Rain, endowing her with magical qualities, incredible speed and a faithful cowboy's super-horse-like intelligence and personality. I tell them about Oregon, where it rains so hard that the fish swim through the thick humid rain-filled air OVER the bridge, which elicits expressions of doubt from the 9 year old.

I tell them about the flying battle for the fish between the eagle and the osprey. I show them the film of it that I have on my smart phone, after the oldest again expressed doubt. I also show them pictures of the bears and otters on the shore.

I tell them about the three funny French ladies I made friends with that day: the wicked, wacky Grandmother, the rich yet unhappy Daughter and the pretty, but silly Grand-Daughter who never stops giggling. I include portions of a long, multi-installment story that my father would tell my younger brother and me, about a friend of his that he called "Fred the mouse". We would hear a new installment of Fred's odyssey each time my father returned from his frequent travels. His trips were related to his travel agency business and his love - apparently a genetic trait - for "strange".

I told them about camping in the hills above the sea and about going skinny dipping in the freezing ocean among the icebergs and polar bears. I went on and on for almost three hours while Ruth slept and they listened, wide-eyed and with many questions. Finally I concluded with a promise to tell them more of the story on another day, if they thought they might want to hear more about my trip. They all immediately professed sincerely and vehemently that they wanted to hear more.

I caressed Lulu's face until she woke up. Then I asked her if it would be OK if we ordered a pizza. The boys all said, yes, pizza, yay, pizza, so of course she had to say OK. I told little boy jokes, the grosser the better, until it arrived about a half hour later. We had lots of fun eating, strings of cheese everywhere; you know how young kids eat pizza.

I had a blast and Lulu said she would be eternally grateful to me for the sleep she got and hoped that I would do something like this again soon. She said that she was beginning to appreciate how nice it was to sleep with me and gave me a big wet kiss. I said I would definitely come back again soon and gave her a long, friendly hug.

Then I said goodbye to each of the boys by name, shaking their hands and thanking them for entertaining me in their home. I went out to the street, unlocked Rain and rode her off into the sunset of those four boys' imaginations, waving my bike helmet to them as I pedaled from their view. Their noses were pressed against the window as they marveled at the crazy old white man that apparently was a friend of their wonderfully loving and responsible mama.

Down the street, I stop, put my helmet on properly and ride back to the suite; to see what sort of wackiness the wicked old grandmother is up to now. After putting Rain back in her basement pen, I take the elevator up to the suite and knock on the door. Lisette opens it for me with raised eyebrows, asking - Why am I knocking? As if the entire screwy scene this morning had not occurred.

Elise confirms this, as she rises from the chair to give me a big hug and a wet, sloppy kiss. Then she inquires about my day, meanwhile Amy comes out of the bathroom, grinning at me like the cat that ate the canary. Whatever is up, I don't have a clue, as usual. I sit down on the bed and say that I have been visiting Lulu, telling her four little boys a story while she slept.

I mention that I have already eaten more than enough today. I ask what they have been up to. They hesitate, then Amy tells me that first they went shopping and then spent the rest of the afternoon in bed. They have just risen less than half an hour ago.

She adds that they are all getting hungry and do I have any ideas? I tell her that I have lots of ideas, most of them involving mental images of three lovely ladies I know doing interesting things to and with each other. All three start to giggle, so I now know instantly what is and has been, up. Amy has been introduced, or introduced herself into the informal party pile of friendly female flesh.

I immediately suggest that given their apparent preferences, we should look for a seafood restaurant. This draws a moment of shocked silence and then guffaws from Lisette. Her laughter is soon shared by all as they decipher my implication. A drunken stripper-friend - putting it somewhat less than delicately, but expressing my kind of sense of humor - once suggested to me that there is a reason that they don't prepare and serve fish sticks for finger food appetizers in strip clubs.

Some women get tweaked if it is suggested to them that their vaginas naturally have a slightly fishy taste and aroma. It is the most powerful perfume of them all; I hunger for the taste and the aroma of a wet woman. I know her aroma includes pheromones which draw me to her.

It is all the work of Mother Nature and evolution. I believe that it is yet another indicator supporting the theory that most land based life forms - like us - evolved long ago, from fish. Our tendency to enjoy and appreciate the taste and aroma of a woman is also a reminder of events much more recent. By that I mean specifically the months we all spend immersed in our mothers' amniotic fluid. It is a sensory memory from our pre-birth and birth.

ANYWAY, Elise comes and sits on my lap and Amy sits next to me. They take turns giving me kisses. I imagine they are trying, in this pleasant way, to let me know that they are not planning to stick with a seafood diet exclusively. At any rate, I have somehow earned the sympathy of two women whom I intend to love for as long as I draw breath. Thus my so-called golden years may have some golden prospects after all.

Following from that thought, I tell them that I will next be available for enthusiastic and informal sexual relations in three days. So they need to draw straws or whatever to figure out who is the lucky girl. This brings more laughter and some speculation on exactly how they will determine that and also whether the lucky one is the winner or the loser. I tell them that I know that everybody is a critic.

I also tell them that if I don't have any takers in three days, I strongly suspect that Lulu will gladly sleep with me. This is especially true if I pay for a babysitter for the night and also finish whatever I do with her quickly enough that she can get at least 8 hours of sleep. I turn to Amy and mention that I think Lulu will become one of the first and best customers she has, if she wants to try her hand at a massage business here in Montreal.

Amy asks me why. Using my hands, I describe Lulu's massive momma mounds and also tell her about Lulu's back pain. I tell her that pain results from a combination of carrying those milkmaking mountains around and also from bearing the stress and anxiety of a single parent responsible for four small boys. Amy says the next time I visit Lulu she would like to come along, to see what she can do. I tell her that would be great; we'll do that in the next few days.

So then I turn to Lisette and ask her - What about Francine, you two seem to stick pretty close together, are you going to fan those flames, or what? She blushes and says - Yes, we have already made a date for tomorrow night, just the two of us \- and then she looks at Elise. Elise just smiles back at her like a happy mother hearing that her daughter has a new love interest; apparently there's no jealousy on her part in that relationship.

It seems that Elise is content to be a lipstick lesbian romantic butterfly, looking for and giving love and affection wherever she can. Strangely, her love for men is expressed in a more complicated and restricted way. I seem to be it for her as far as men are concerned, but somehow I am free to be like she is in my relations with other women. In fact she encourages my interactions with other women and seems to actively push them in my direction. I resolve to talk with Amy about this, see what she has to say about the idea.

While I am thinking about this, suddenly Elise pops up off my lap and says - OK, let's get seafood then, I am starving! I get on the tablet, locate a seafood restaurant on the web, lock the tablet up in the safe again and the four of us are down on the street and into a cab on the way to the restaurant in no time. Not being hungry, I have a bowl of lobster chowder; they have lots of large, tasty lobsters on the northeast seaboard. I could eat seafood all day, just keep serving 'em up until I ask you to stop; I'll wear a bib or use the bedsheet to wipe up between courses.

While we eat we discuss what sort of things we can do to make Amy's second full vacation day as interesting as her first. In jest, I suggest that we try to find a nudist colony; these gals seem to like to get naked. Maybe they want to do it outside in the warm and sunny August weather in front of God and everybody for a change?

This idea goes over surprisingly well and it is resolved that I will research the subject when we get back to the suite. Lisette is especially fond of the idea. She wonders aloud if she might start her date with Francine early by including her in this outing. We all say sure thing, but let's wait to see what we find out first.

For reasons of its own, my subconscious suddenly presents me with one of the mental images that I have stored of Francine, drawn from my extensive library of such images. As a result it occurs to me to suggest that Francine has an all-over tan, perhaps she already knows where we should go? I have not finished suggesting the thought when Lisette claps her hands together and dives into her purse for her smart phone.

After a brief conversation with Francine, she hangs up and smiles at me. She says that Francine knows exactly where we should go and she wants to come along; we can pick her up tomorrow morning at 11 am. I say - pick her up in what?

After a brief confab about that, it is decided that we will have to find a small passenger van to rent for tomorrow. We will need it, since there are currently 5 seats occupied on the count-me-in list for this nudist day jaunt and more possibilities to consider. I get right on it with my smart phone, soon finding an auto rental business in downtown Montreal.

I call them and am able to reserve an 8 passenger van that they will deliver to us tomorrow morning. So we now have a plan for tomorrow established. Everyone feels satisfied at the result of our collaborative teamwork and is enthusiastic about the outing. Hanging out with three women can be like trying to chair a committee, or moving an army through boggy terrain.

Then Amy wonders aloud about what to wear. We all laugh and tell her that you wear jeans or shorts and a tee shirt to a nude beach and take them off when you get there. With endearing innocence, she blushes and smiles, getting it.

She says that working as a stripper, she has gotten used to the idea of somewhat public nudity at work. However, to go somewhere outdoors with the specific intention of taking her clothes off as part of the fun of the experience seems weird. We all laugh at that strange idea as well, telling her not to be shy, she'll get used to it. The concept of telling a professional stripper not to be shy about taking her clothes off causes a few brief and sporadic fits of laughter which we have trouble leaving behind.

Finally, we decide to leave the restaurant and head back to the suite. Once there, in the elevator I tell the three ladies that I am tired and will get off at my floor and turn in early after working on this book for a while. That's what I do.

Soon thereafter, Elise knocks on the door, comes in and says that she wants to spend the night with me. She adds that Amy is content to bunk with Lisette and vice versa. I welcome her, saying that it reminds me of our romantic first night together, with lots of explorative canoodling and much unresolved sexual tension.

She looks at me coyly, telling me that is what she has in mind; she is looking forward to some unresolved sexual tension and then a quiet and restful night. I work for a few more minutes and then we turn in. We play enthusiastically; Elise has a sudden surprise shoop and then we spoon, watching some TV in bed like an old married couple. As I begin to drift off, my subconscious informs me that this is why Elise concocted the lightning raid that kidnapped Amy from this room this morning.

Although she is apparently willing to share me, she doesn't want to allow Amy to monopolize this room and me during the entire time of her stay. I make a mental note to discuss that idea with Amy the next time we are alone together, as well. I am pleasantly reminded that Amy represents a welcome, mentally healthy, stabilizing influence in my currently wonderfully wacky world.
Chapter 35

Do you think you can stand it?

The next morning I once again wake early, just after 5 am. I lay there, still spooning with Elise as she sleeps quietly. I am thinking about Mormons, wondering about what kind of things those old-time Mormon elders learned during their polygamous relationships with entire teams of wives. I bet those old bible-thumping bastards learned some hard lessons.

Then I wondered whether they had any Frenchwomen, even groups of Frenchwomen among their wives. Maybe the original Mormon prophet - the guy in Ohio or Pennsylvania or wherever that came up with the idea to merge Christianity with polygamy - had a Frenchwoman for a girlfriend. I'll readily admit that it was a silly chain of thought. However, it did pass the time while my morning wood throbbed between the warm, moist thighs of Elise, my French slave woman.

Eventually I get up, dress and head out for a walk. I go up to the suite first and look in there; Amy is awake, Lisette still sleeping. Amy waves at me from the bed and rises to greet me. I ask her if she wants to go for a walk and to get coffee and croissants. She is all for it, so I wait for a few minutes while she dresses.

I leave a note for Lisette and Elise in each of the rooms in which they are respectively sleeping, letting them know what was up and that we will bring coffee and croissants back with us when we return. We leave and as we walk, I tell Amy about the two mental notes that I had made the previous day to talk with her about - namely my attempts to understand Elise.

She says that she is well aware of what Elise had been working to accomplish yesterday morning and that she really doesn't mind. She is just glad to be here and to have a chance to spend some time with me, even if it is somewhat on Elise's terms. Amy agrees that it was strange how free and easy Elise is with women and restricts herself in that freedom to only women.

Yet she allows me complete freedom with other women besides herself. She says she will think about it and see if she can come up with something that might clarify or explain it. I tell her of my morning's musings about old-time Mormons and Frenchwomen; she chuckles at the thought.

I ask her about the upcoming nude beach trip \- she says she is really looking forward to it; she wants to go swimming in whatever body of water the beach is on, in the nude, with me. I tell her that sounds like great fun to me, too. We arrive at the coffee shop, go in, sit down and share coffee and croissants. She really likes the croissants, saying that she hasn't had them before.

I ask her about her business plans and she grins, saying that with the money from Lisette, she will be able to quit stripping and start massaging soon after returning from this vacation. She is really happy about that and really grateful to Lisette for giving her the winnings from her bet on me. She starts giggling; she says she is thinking about my comment in the book that I felt like Mr. Ed the talking racehorse.

Then she tells me that Elise seems really interested in her nipple and clitoral piercings. She says that I shouldn't be surprised to discover at some point that Elise has had similar things done to herself, with similar UV reactive piercings. I am suddenly struck by a fantastic image of spending a night in bed with these two voluptuous women, both with reactive piercings. It would be great fun to watch their 4 nipples glow, wobble and shimmy around in the dark above their similarly glowing clitorises. Seeking good guidance, go gladly to the glow!

I tell Amy about my illuminated thoughts, she grins and says - We should do that sometime SOON! Let's pick up a black light ASAP! So I ask her if she has any kinds of fantasies that she would like to share. She tells me that, like I said in my book, she just wants a man to stay with her. She hopes she can find one like that in the course of her new business, because she sure hasn't been having any luck with the guys she meets in strip clubs. Then she adds - Present company excluded, of course, I still have high hopes for you, you know.

I tell her that I am not fond of the idea of the long Missoula winters, if we were to be together, I would not want to have to deal with that for 8 months a year. She says she understands that, but she is a Missoula girl, she has deep roots there and wants to stay. I say - Well, that settles it; I guess we are probably going to be good friends and not long term committed and exclusive lovers. She looks at me for a while and says - OK then, it makes sense to me too, I can always use a good friend like you. I say - Well, I feel the same way about you.

Then she asks - Do you still want to make love to me? I say - I don't know, do you think you can stand it? She laughs and leans in and kisses me, saying - Whew, I thought that was getting too serious for a minute, but you sure straightened that out in a hurry!

I say - You know, it really is a serious question. The more time we spend doing romantic and sexual things together, the more difficult it is to separate. I cried as I rode down your driveway, you know. The last time I cried was when my mother died, nearly 20 years ago. I punished myself for leaving you by pushing it too damn hard, for more than a week afterwards. Amy starts to get tears in her eyes and says - Yes I know, I cried after you left, too, almost all damn day.

Then she adds - By the way, thank you for the letter you wrote me from Winnipeg. I have never gotten a love letter like that. It touched my aching heart; it was such a warm, close feeling to read what you wrote just for me. It also made me feel loved, to know how much you had been thinking about me and about us for a week; as you rode Rain all that way. I will keep your letter forever, you know that don't you? I smile and nod at her, reach out to touch her sweet, loving face, then I lean over the table to give her a kiss.

She continues - I had to stop crying later that day because I had to go to work. Candy told me that I looked like my dog just died. I guess it is a lot like a having a hangover, you know full well once you start drinking that you will suffer the next day.

But the beer just tastes too damn good and it makes being yourself so much easier that you do it anyway. Being romantically involved is the same way, you have to try to get used to and accept the suffering when it is over, because you feel so good when it is happening for you. And when it is not happening, you keep looking and hoping for it to happen again.

I think about that for a while and then tell her - You know, understanding your perspective, it makes me feel a lot less guilty about loving you. I love you too much to want to hurt you, but if you can accept the eventual pain of parting in exchange for the feelings we share when we are together, then I can too. That was why I was so pissed at Elise for inviting you here, I just thought it would subject you to unnecessary pain, pain that you and I had just gone through and now will have to go through again.

Now that I know that you think it is worth it, that makes it worth it for me, too. She smiles and leans over to kiss me again across the table. Then she giggles and grins again, saying - I laughed my buns off when Elise told me how hard you spanked her for doing that behind your back!

We get up, I buy more coffee and pastries and we leave, walking arm in arm back to the suite. We find Elise and Lisette there, happy to see us arrive bearing their breakfast. The four of us sit around the suite for a while, talking idly about nothing special, anticipating the day ahead.

Shortly, the call comes on my smart phone, our van had arrived downstairs. I head down and the delivery driver drives me back to the rental office. During the short trip, he shows me a few operational features of the van.

At the rental office I sign a few forms, insurance and the like. My credit card impression is taken in lieu of deposit and my drivers license and passport are examined. I leave in temporary possession of a fair sized motorized vehicle, a big step backwards, in my view, but unavoidable.

They don't make bicycles big enough for the crew I will travel with today. It is a nice enough van and will transport us all to our day in the sun adequately. It is a perfect day; too, it will be nice and warm at the beach.

I drive back to the extended stay hotel and park on the street nearby. Oh yes, parking issues, how easily I had forgotten them. I head up to the suite and find that the ladies are in a tizzy, Francine has called Lisette and it turns out that we must find bathing suits after all.

Francine wants to play beach volleyball with Lisette and vice versa. However, the volley ball courts are in the clothing mandatory section of the beach park. Damn, I think to myself, there goes that bit of fun - watching these women playing volleyball in the nude would have been sublime.

I tell the ladies - Calm down, we still have plenty of daylight, it is only just after 10 now. We will get our shit together, go down to the van and drive over to a store and buy some bathing suits, how long can that take? Oh! la la! - says Elise \- you haven't gone shopping with us, have you?

I reply - Well, you and Lisette must already have suits with you! You must have packed at least 5 bathing suits each in the mountain of bags you traveled with! She sighs and says \- Yes, but we want to help Amy shop! I tell her - OK, but some other day you can help her shop until you all drop.

I continue - You two Frogs will wait in the van and Amy and I will run in, find what she needs and run out. I am looking at Amy nodding my head in affirmation of this simple solution, she smiling at me and nodding back. No doubt she is imagining, as I am, some fun in the dressing room as she tries on a few skimpy little suits. Meanwhile I will do all that is humanly possible to help her to somehow fit her abundant assets into them.

I look back at Elise to confirm that I have resolved the problem and to get her to light a fire under it. However, in doing so I learn that I have a new iteration of an old problem, namely foot in mouth disease. Both Elise and Lisette are standing there together, hands on their hips, glaring at me. Elise diagnoses my problem for me.

It is time to straighten you out about this! WE are not FROGS, you mindless yankee upstart!! We are of a proud and ancient culture, WITH A VERY LONG HISTORY and have no resemblance at all to slimey green amphibians. Just because we occasionally will sample almost anything for its culinary potential, including FROGS, that does not make us FROGS, it makes us imaginative and curious, both signs of INTELLIGENCE!!!

I am immediately apologetic, saying - Of course, I must apologize! You know that I once caught and ate the legs of 15 small frogs, I was so hungry! It's a funny story; I'll tell you all about it at the beach. I am much more of a FROG than you two lovely francaises! (Frenchwomen) Will either of you kiss me to turn me into a prince, or at least forgive me? Perhaps we can go?

Lisette smiles and turns to Elise, saying - Even in a self-induced crisis, this old fool is a diplomat, he can do some fancy dancing when he needs to. Let's go, I want to play with Francine. Elise smiles back and hugs her, saying of course, we must make haste.

She adds - I will re-educate this idiot at the beach, we go! And exhibiting unusual organizational skills for them, they are ready inside of half an hour. Meanwhile I stand by the door and wait, as is my lot in life, apparently.

It only takes Amy a half hour, with my eager assistance in the dressing room, to try on several and select a couple of fetching little string swimsuits which must strain mightily to contain her big, bouncy bikini stuffers. We are only just over a half hour late picking up Francine. From there, our destination is Oka beach in the Quebec provincial park.
Chapter 36

Grand Tetons!

It is not far and so it is only somewhat past noon that we arrive. Francine, with the financial backing and urging of Lisette, has purchased and stocked picnic baskets, coolers, a canopy and various bottles of sunscreen for sun protection, numerous large towels and three large beach blankets. It appears we are prepared for a week on the beach.

Francine also has her own volleyball, one that appears to have spent some time being whacked around. This leads me to give her a new appraisal and also additional respect. Suddenly both her all-over tan and her athleticism have revealed themselves to be results of her true nature.

She is a petite beach bunny, this one. As we walk from the parking lot bearing our supplies and equipage for the day, she sees me re-appraising her and grins. She sticks out her tongue at me and then winks. I say to her, in a slow, exaggerated English teacher manner - And a good day to you also, Francine. She giggles.

I tell her, slowly and with difficulty, in my dismal French - I played a lot of beach volleyball when I was young, in southern California. How many players do you play on a side? She looks at me with disdain, saying - Only two, of course, with more it is just a party, not a sport! Ah, I think to myself, I have a fellow aficionado here, better and better.

I look over at Lisette, walking happily by her side, bearing a picnic basket and a canvas bag full of towels and lotions. I ask - Lisette ma cherie, please tell me, have you played two-man beach volleyball before? She shrugs and says - A little, but I played indoor volleyball at University for the team, we were regional champions! I bet you were, looking at her stretched athletic form with new respect as well, I bet you were. This is going to be interesting.

Still holding onto some vestiges of hope, I ask Francine - In the nude section of this beach, is there at least one volleyball net? She says - Yes, of course there are several, but they are not regulation and too many perverts gather to watch us play. I say - Yes, that is too bad; I imagine they would though, wouldn't they?

Then she hears the note of sarcasm in my words and turns to Lisette and says, in her native rapid Quebecoise French dialect - "Ce type, il est un pervert comme ca, n'est-ce pas?" (This guy, he is a pervert like that, isn't he?) Lisette looks at me, smiling and says - "Bien sur, ma cherie, il est". (Of course, my dear, he is) and they giggle together.

Francine turns back to me, deliberately bumps my hip with hers as we walk (she is wearing high heeled clogs) and says - Maybe we four ladies will play volleyball together on the nude beach, so you can watch, would you like that? I say - Francine, ma cherie, if you can make that happen, I will remember you in my will, I swear!

Francine and Lisette bust out laughing so hard they have to stop walking and put down their bags for a moment, hug each other and wipe their tears of laughter. They are laughing at the poor miserable old pervert who desperately wants to watch these four lovely women run and jump around in the sun on the nude beach volleyball court, in their birthday suits. Walking and talking together behind us, Elise and Amy catch up.

Once Lisette is able to explain what is so damn funny, both of them are ridiculing me as well. I respond - You know, it is possible that there may be some healthy, athletic young men on this NUDE beach, perhaps even playing volleyball. All four ladies shut up and pick up their bags.

I say - I thought so. This comment on the situation is made to no one in particular, for they are marching along with determination ahead of me now. I follow along, imagining that their rapidly twitching backsides are naked as they march. Old habits die hard, if ever.

Soon after a couple more beast of burden trips back to the van by yours truly, we are encamped on the nude beach. The canopy is up; the blankets are spread; outfits have been shucked and sun-block lotion is being enticingly applied, here there and everywhere. I can tell it will be an afternoon to remember and recount to my codger buddies in the old folks home. Extreme expressions of disbelief are inevitable.

We gather around the coolers and picnic basket, sitting in a semicircle on a blanket in the sun, facing out towards the beach. We tear into our lunch, our wine, our cold beer. I ask Francine - What is the name of this body of water? She tells me - "C'est le Lac des deux Montagnes". (It is the Lake of Two Mountains). I say - Of course it is, ma cherie, of course it is, looking around at the four pairs of hills in view.

The ladies start giggling at me again. I turn to Elise, saying - You know, the French, an INTELLIGENT and ancient culture, have put their stamp on many geographical features around the world. For example, during my long ride from Oregon on Rain in order to be here with you all on this extraordinary day, I passed not far from Grand Tetons national park! (Great Tits national park! I kid you not, that is the translation of the name of that beautiful national park, go see 'em for yourself).

I have the assembled ladies in stitches now. I continue - you know, there are a couple of towering twin peaks there. I imagine even now in the mid-summer, Mother Nature still has white snow upon her nipples, she must be cold and I shiver exaggeratedly. They all instinctively cup their nice neeners to warm them and start laughing again as they see each other do that and also see me appreciating the simultaneously shared act which I have deliberately inspired.

Lisette says - Well, Mark, maybe we will see some big cocks today! They all stare at my poor little willy. It shrinks further, in an attempt to hide from their derisive laughter. When things quiet down, she goes on - I wonder if there is a geographic location somewhere named petite coq! (little rooster). Touche (point scored) Lisette, well played, I must admit, well played - I reply as all the cruel ladies erupt into further laughter at my short comings (unintentional).

After lunch is consumed, Lisette and Francine go for a quick dip in the lake and then return to dry themselves off. Then they prepare for battle. Lisette assists Francine to put her long black hair into a loose braid.

They reapply sun-block lotion, then put on their sports bras, short shorts, bicycle caps and mirror sunglasses. Then they stand appraising each other and finally give each other a high five. Francine grabs her volleyball. They jog away to the row of regulation beach volleyball courts, on the clothing required section of the beach.

Overseeing this entire process carefully and then watching them dwindle in the distance, I turn to Elise and say \- As unlikely a pair as they appear, they are beautiful together, n'est-ce pas? She says - Yes they are; and I think Lisette is already completely in love. In our more than three years together, I have not seen her favor anyone so strongly.

I tell her - I bet the volleyballers who play on those courts are in for a shock. In two man beach volleyball, the combination of a strong tall and quick short player is formidable, especially if they are on the same wavelength. Later, I want to go over there to watch them play for a while, after they have a few games under their belts they will start to dance beautifully together upon the sand, I am sure.

She says - I will go with you, I want to see that too. But now, I must take my pale white skin into the shade. I think I will ask you for your tablet and will read your book from start to finish, see how it has developed from the beginning. I fetch the tablet for her as she stands, picks up her glass of wine and retreats her pale, exquisite, actively fleshy form to a blanket under our canopy.

I turn to Amy and say - Ma cherie, shall we swim together? She smiles and stands, so beautiful in the sun that it is breathtaking. She takes my hand and we stroll to the water together. As we start into the cool water, I wonder aloud - I bet the fish will be as attracted to your shiny glowing piercings as I am. You do know that they look a little like fishing lures, don't you?

She stops suddenly, releases my hand and hugs her abundant armloads, covering her nipple piercings with her forearm. Then she places her other hand over her vagina, covering her pierced clitoris. Now feeling somewhat protected, she urgently scans the water for any hungry and rapacious fish who might be lurking. I can't resist a grin, it is as though she has suddenly realized that she is naked in public and has become self-conscious, shy and demure, way too late.

Looking at me seriously, Amy says - They won't bite me, will they? I laugh and hug her to reassure her and say - No, of course not, before the fish swallow a lure they almost always nibble first, it will feel good! At that, I pick her up over my shoulder exactly as I had almost two months ago and wade - Amy is shrieking and laughing once again - into the appropriately named Lac des deux Montagnes. Those old-time French trappers named more than mountains after mommas molehills.

I give her butt a few light slaps and caresses as I wade, just for fun. Soon I am dragging her into depths that are over her head. I stand upon the sandy bottom as she wraps her legs and arms around me in a strong embrace.

We kiss and caress each other for a while. With her legs still wrapped around my waist, she leans back in the water and brings my hands to caress and play with her friendly, full floaters. Their buoyancy holds her face out of the water; effectively they perform as her own permanent, personal Mae West flotation devices.

We embrace again, I tell her to take a deep breath and we kiss. Then I squat and we sink under until we are sitting upon the sand at the bottom. We continue our kiss underwater for a long minute, our buoyancy slowly lifting us. Breaking the surface at last we gasp together, then swim out a ways and tread water for a while for the exercise. Finally, we swim back to the shore. As we leave the water, I ask her - Is your fanny cold now, by any chance?

I can warm it for you, if you want! I raise my left hand, waggle it at her and raise my eyebrows. She looks at me, her eyes go wide at the memory and she shrieks as she runs away, up the beach. I chase her around for a while, as we play joyfully, pretending to be innocent naked infants in the sun once again. When I finally catch her, I lift and carry her - without trying to warm her already incredibly hot fanny - back up to the canopy. We collapse together next to Elise on her blanket.

Elise says - That looked like a special kind of fun, you two are really in love, aren't you? Amy says - Yes Elise, we are, but I promise that I am not now and will never become a threat to you, we have resolved our battle. It is a negotiated stalemate and we have all three of us won, this very morning! Elise rolls over and embraces Amy, kissing, hugging and caressing her in thanks for her heartfelt reassurance and promise of non-competition for my heart and soul.

Then she turns to me, retaining Amy in a close embrace, saying - Alright you yankee diplomat, you have some work to do, tell me about the time you were so hungry that you were catching and eating little frogs. So I tell them both that story from my youth, four decades past.

In the summer of my 16th year I went for a vacation in Maine for a month, not far from here. It was my first trip away from home on my own, to an organized youth backpacking trip of about 15 kids of about my own age, only slightly chaperoned and guided by a graduate student hired for the summer for that purpose. Adding to the interesting complexity of the mix, about half of my companions had been given a choice by a delinquency court judge in Boston for their various offences. That choice was between either reform school incarceration or this hiking trip in the woods of Maine.

So this motley crew, me among them, was dropped off almost 250 miles south of the northern end of the long Appalachian Trail, a mountain called Mt. Katahdin in Baxter state park. For almost a month we hiked north, carrying our 60 pound backpacks containing tents, sleeping bags, food, etc. We were re-supplied only twice en route.

By necessity, the food we carried was mostly light, freeze dried stuff. When we were re-supplied, we ate spam and other canned food containing protein, but that did not last for long and then it was back to the freeze dried trail food. Day after day, we hauled our loads up and down a seemingly never ending series of steep hills and mountains. We were told later that, if we had tried to subsist on that diet while also continuing that level of exercise, we could have died of malnutrition in six months and I believe it.

Climbing Mt. Katahdin the last day I was about 10 pounds lighter than I had been and I was fairly skinny to begin with. I was also feeling much stronger, tougher and self confident. It was a great trip and a fantastic experience which I will take to my grave with many fond memories. About 15 days into the long hike, we camped for the night at a mountain lean-to shelter near a small high altitude pond, which resounded with the croaking of many frogs.

Being incredibly hungry, I was inspired to go hunting for them. Unfortunately, the frogs were not the big bullfrogs with large meaty legs of which the ANCIENT, INTELLIGENT French culture is so fond. No, instead these were small frogs with skinny little legs. Hunting the banks of the pond with flashlights in the dark with a couple of my hiking companions, I myself caught fifteen of the little buggers.

I killed them and amputated their scrawny hind legs. My fellow hunters and I took turns frying our individual little bounty of frog legs in a pan with a little oil over the campfire. Altogether I consumed maybe a tablespoonful of tiny frog hamstrings and thighs for all my trouble. It was among the smallest, best tasting and the most memorable meals I have ever eaten.

I am certain that I burned a lot more energy catching them than I gained by consuming them, but it is the first time that I actually hunted down, killed and prepared my own food in the wild. Come to think of it, it was also the last. As I have mentioned previously, I am a terrible hunter.

I have more stories to tell from that trip and other frog related stories to tell from my life, but that is the story of the hungry wild boy Mark and the little frogs. As I conclude this, watching Elise and Amy giggle together, I make a mental note to remind myself to tell some of these kinds of stories to Lulu/Ruth's little boys; it is definitely little boy material.

Then Elise gets serious, looking at me and Amy and says - I've been thinking while you told your story that I should have allowed you and Amy to stay in that room together while she is here. I think we should move her back there with you, Mark. I look at Amy, who shakes her head at me almost imperceptibly. I look back at Elise saying - That is typically incredibly generous of you Elise, you have a big and unbelievably un-jealous heart.

I add - However, although on the surface it is a grand Elise-type of kind and sharing gesture; on closer consideration its effect is unintentionally cruel. I have an alternative proposal which I think will be a healthier and happier one for all three of us. Both of them look back at me curiously and expectantly.

First, I think we should give the second room to Lisette. I suspect that we will see less and less of her and when we do see her, she will be glued to Francine. If they have a room where they can be alone together when they want to be, we will be able to see more of them.

As for us, I hope that for the foreseeable future we can be a menage-a-trois. If you two accept this proposal, I think we will have many glorious times together in the near future and beyond. Here in Montreal, in Missoula and in other places we might choose to travel together, when Amy can make time for other vacations from the thriving massage business she is certain to build in Missoula. So I propose that, when we get back to the suite, we move Lisette down and move me back up. What do you two think?

Amy and Elise look for a long moment into each others eyes and then kiss, a long sweet smooch, as if introducing themselves to each other as lovers. Then they look back at me and each raises one arm, beckoning and irresistibly drawing me to join them. In a long, tender and non-sexual naked embrace we cement our bond, there on the beach under the canopy. My heart nearly bursts with joy.
Chapter 37

Sun-Wind-Sand Dance

After a while spent - Amy and I drinking a couple of beers and Elise her wine - watching the activities on the beach and enjoying the summertime beach scenery, I suggest we put on our suits and break camp. I want to move it to the regulation volleyball courts a ways up the beach. I pull on my loose, knee length swim trunks and watch as Amy and Elise make entertainingly difficult attempts to stuff their unwilling, wobbling wopbopaloobops into their seriously stressed & straining bikini tops.

Finally, I return to my traditional beast of burden role, making three trips hauling everything and then setting it up close by a volleyball court that is vacant. As I am finishing this task, Lisette and Francine arrive, breathless and sand-encrusted, having completed their third game, apparently having won all three. Francine takes their caps and places them in the middle of one side of the court before us, thereby staking it as their territory, open to challenge by any who might seek to try to claim the court from them.

They brush the sand from themselves and drink water as they rest. Elise notices how pink the light skinned Lisette is beginning to look and applies generous amounts of sun-block lotion to her. I ask Lisette - Is there a tall, pale, red-haired Viking lord or lady in your lineage? She smiles and says \- No, my great grandfather was a tall, red-haired Irish drunk. I smile and say - Yep, some of those guys got around in France too, didn't they.

I turn to Francine and ask - What about you, you look like you might have some Native blood? She replies in French and Lisette translates - Yes, a combination of Iroquois, Inuit and French trappers conspired to produce me. I think it is the Inuit genes that have limited my height.

I tell the two young women that they are both outstandingly beautiful in their own distinct way, proof positive of the commonly superior results of genetic diversity. I tell them that they also look like a nearly unbeatable 2 man beach volleyball team. I doubt any male team could beat them, especially on the nude courts. They grin and toast me with their bottles of water.

At that, an athletic looking pair of young men throw their caps upon the volleyball court before us, issuing their challenge. As Lisette and Francine rise to do battle, they start speaking to each other in low voices. After a high five, they stride out to their side of the court, to put their caps back on and protect their staked out territory. A small crowd starts to gather.

I am informed by a friendly fellow oldster - a spectator who tells me that he frequently comes to watch these informal tournaments - that these two young men are the currently undisputed "kings of the beach". The crowd is interested to watch this contest between these two established local masters and the beautiful female mutt and jeff team that has appeared out of nowhere today and trounced all comers.

Instead of trying to provide a complete play-by-play of the extraordinary contest that ensues, I will tell you that, to my mind, it has three chapters. The first, I will call un-necessary chivalry, in which the young men appear to take it easy on these two new contestants, who are after all, just girls. They don't want to beat them too convincingly, thereby possibly eliminating any hope of a later social interaction with these two athletic beauties.

At the end of this first chapter, the girls are ahead 11 to 4, having easily adjusted to the power game these two tall young fellows play. Lisette plays close to the net; blocking many shots with the vertical leaping skills she has acquired playing the sport at her University. Incoming balls which get past her, occasionally at some velocity, are usually bumped up by an astoundingly quick Francine. Her bumps are also usually accurate placements, allowing Lisette to drive the ball back over the net on the second strike, instead of the customary third. It makes for a fast paced response that the young men have trouble adjusting to.

The sides are changed frequently, at cumulative score totals divisible by five. This equalizes over the course of the game any advantage that there may be to one side or the other due to the position of the sun or the force and direction of the day's light breeze. So at this score, 11 to 4, the sides are changed and there is a brief break.

Lisette and Francine are calm and collected as they join us under the canopy, brushing sand from themselves. Elise puts more sun-block lotion on Lisette as the two combatants still speak quietly to each other about their opponents and the progress of the game. The battle is shortly rejoined.

During the break, the kings of the beach have apparently decided that their earlier tactic of chivalry is uncalled for and seems likely to lead to defeat on their home turf. This is something that is not to be accepted, no matter the comeliness of the competition. This leads to the second chapter of the game, which I call finesse versus power.

The men are hitting the ball at their full force now and Lisette and Francine must adjust. They do so by slowing down the tempo of their response and substituting accurate shot placement for speed. Through communication and teamwork they seem to almost hold their own in the point scoring, losing control of a somewhat higher percentage of the higher speed incoming spikes than previously however.

When they do get control of the ball though, their third shot is frequently an especially accurate shot placement, difficult to block and really tests the ability of the young men to work together in defense. Since it is their offense which is their strong suit and which has almost always won their games in the past, they have trouble with the girls' display of grace and finesse. At a score of 17 to 13, there is another break and subsequent side change.

This leads to the third and final chapter of the game, which I call shock and awe. By the way, the game is to 21. The first team to reach 21 (or higher if necessary) with at least a two point lead is the victor. The crowd continues to grow as the rumor spreads that the supremacy of the kings of this beach is being tested by a couple of pretty girls.

After the break, the men are well aware of this rumor and are determined not to be beaten by mere girls. They pull out all the stops, making some incredible diving saves and exhibit truly enviable athleticism repeatedly. They gain a few unanswered points until Lisette and Francine start to respond in kind at the score of 18 to 16.

Francine is especially awesome in the speed of her defense, showing an uncanny ability to anticipate the direction of incoming spikes and then to dive and stretch her short frame out horizontally in mid-air. She intersects the speeding ball with her fist and it bounces up into the air for Lisette to gain further control of. Furthermore, after making contact, Francine always tucks and shoulder rolls out of her dives. As a result, she is quickly back on her feet and moving, anticipating where she should be in their continuing fluid dance.

In addition, both girls now have become targets of hard spikes aimed directly at their persons. This is a common tactic used in male on male games that is usually absent when playing against women. Having gotten smacked full in the face by a speeding volleyball that has been deliberately aimed at me numerous times, I can tell you that it hurts and is difficult to recover from quickly.

After this happens to Francine twice and Lisette once, a murmur of respect goes through the crowd, as neither allows it to set back their game. In fact it raises the quality of their play, also the usual response to the tactic in male on male games. It is a test of commitment, a question from an opponent - are you willing to risk having your nose broken to win? To the truly competitive sportsman, the response is always, screw you!

Apparently, the girls are feeling the same way. The crowd is hushed at 20 to 19 in the girls favor. If the girls can get the serve back, it will be game point, for points can be won only during your own service. After several long fiercely contested back-and-forth service trades later with no score change, the endurance aspects of the game are evident. Both sides are showing signs of fatigue and a resultant communication error by the men, called a husband-and-wife play, allows the girls to regain service and another opportunity for game point.

So it is Lisette's turn to serve, score still 20 to 19 in the favor of the girls, a game point. From the service line at back court, she leaps high in the air and delivers a real blast, a fast and well placed serve which the men are barely able to control. Somehow they do, then they send a fair spike back, right at Lisette's chest. This is a difficult shot to react successfully to. She jumps backward, simultaneously grasping her left elbow with her right hand.

The ball smacks her right wrist and bounces straight back, low over the net and the men have to dive and scramble in response. They do manage to get control and send another hard and accurate shot that seems to be destined to land in the back corner of the court. Once again, Francine seems to clairvoyantly anticipate it and somehow - impossibly flying horizontally at the height of her own gum drops like a superwoman with arm and fist outstretched - she intersects the path of the ball and it bounces high in the air about mid-court.

Lisette is already responding, moving back from her position at the net after attempting unsuccessfully to block the incoming shot. She runs back to support Francine's display of speed and athleticism, then seems to levitate towards the arcing ball, propelling herself almost three feet in the air. She pivots, pirouettes, one leg flying wide as she spins, lifts her right arm and brings her leg in, thereby gaining the rotational leverage to drive her fist into the ball at the top of its arc.

This sends it hurtling perfectly back over the net on only the second strike, out of reach of the desperate leap made by one of the men to block it and it lands in bounds, right in the corner, way out of reach of the desperate, futile dive made by the other young man. Lisette, having completely committed her flying body to the force of the spike, falls flat on her back on the sand as the crowd goes wild.

Francine, as always having rolled back up after her dive, is standing above her in the center of the court. She looks around in bewilderment at the roar of the crowd and then realizes that they have won, 21 to 19. She falls upon Lisette in a congratulatory embrace.

The two young men, awestruck at the incredible display of speed, athleticism and determination just displayed by mere girls, applaud also as they duck under the net to congratulate the girls on their victory, displaying the essence of sportsmanship. They help the girls to their feet and are invited to join us under the canopy for a beer. They happily accept, as a variation of victory which they may still be able to grasp from the jaws of their defeat.

The crowd starts to disperse with several calls of congratulations to the girls. Elise brushes sand from both girls and then applies moisturizing lotion to a now bright pink Lisette. She is going to suffer in the shower for a day or two, in spite of all the sun block that has been applied to her over the course of her long day in the sun.

I give the young men each a beer and tell them that there is no shame in their loss, they had chivalrously and un-necessarily spotted the girls a few points early on, not realizing that they were up against a couple of ringers. I told them that Lisette played on a regional university champion indoor team in France and that Francine is an experienced sand volleyball player. I also told them that they would likely have an opportunity for a rematch soon.

I did warn them that they should not let the girls sneak up on them again. This was the first day that these two had played together and that Lisette is not very experienced with the two man sun-wind-sand dance. On this news, one of the men said what I would have said in his position, a quiet "fuck me" as he eyeballed his newfound competition for the supremacy of this row of beach volleyball courts. The other fellow thanked me for the warning and asked where I had played. I told him on the beach in Santa Barbara. Both young men nodded, that arena is well known around the beach volleyball world as a fiercely contested one.

I told them that I had never played at the level they are playing at, but had greatly appreciated the opportunity to play against and also to lose badly to some greats of now distant decades. I gave each of them another beer, knowing that they had another hard lesson which they were about to learn from the girls and I left them in peace to learn it. I sat down again with Elise and Amy, asking them what they thought of the game. Both were impressed with the grace and beauty of it, glad that they were lucky enough to see such an impressive game as their introduction to it.

Lisette and Francine, sitting side by side drinking bottled water on the other blanket under the canopy, were polite enough to the two young men. However, they gave the young athletes no encouragement as they did their best to explore the possibility of interest in a different sort of contest. Unfortunately for them, they are barking up the wrong tree. After this becomes evident, they ask the girls for a rematch the next time they all found themselves on the beach together and the girls promised them one. They left, calling their thanks for the beers.
Chapter 38

Plenty of time for that when I'm dead

By this time it was 5:30, so we broke into the picnic basket again, finishing off most of the bread, cheese, and sausage that we had brought with us. Afterwards Francine, god bless her forever, suggests that we move back to the nude beach for the long summer evening. We do so, setting up the canopy close to one of the three non-regulation volleyball courts in the clothing optional area.

Then we commence once again with the beer and wine after we strip out of our suits. Francine and Lisette disappear into the lake again for a while. They emerge hand in hand after half an hour, looking much refreshed from their afternoon's exertions.

However, Lisette is bright pink everywhere except where her suit had covered her pale skin. Observing this, Elise says - Oh! la la!, ma cherie - and rushes to mother her, patting her dry carefully with a towel. Then she diplomatically gives Francine the moisturizing lotion to apply. Francine does an excellent job with this, also applying it to areas which do not appear to need it. This prompts Elise to suggest to Lisette that, for as long as she may want it, the smaller room is hers to share with Francine.

Lisette smiles and thanks her profusely, obviously pleased. She then suggests to Francine that they might put off their other date plans for the evening and perhaps retire in the room after that move and unpack is accomplished, when we return to town later in the evening. Francine says that sounds like a fun plan to her, but adds that she wants to play one more game of volleyball first and then turns and sticks out her tongue at me.

What follows should go down in the annals of history as one of the most purely prurient public games of volleyball ever played. First, the four bare-assed and beautiful women stand in a circle as Lisette and Francine teach Elise and Amy the niceties of bumping and setting. Soon the four are passing the ball around with a fair degree of success. I sit and watch the action like my life depends on it, while enjoying another cold beer. It is yet another story about the day that I will relate to my fellow codgers in whatever pasture I may finally retire to, in my fast approaching old age.

Then Elise and Amy express that they think they are ready to try to play a game. Lisette and Francine show them how to serve underhand and the game was on. Lisette and Francine both play with their left hands behind their backs throughout, which mostly limits them to simple upward fist strikes with their right hands.

I will leave the game to your imagination, only saying that I was stricken with a strong desire to avoid blinking, for loose Lewinskis were flying every which way. I desperately did not want to miss any of this awesome display of actively naked female pulchritude. I am certain that even Hugh Hefner would have been impressed, although I imagine that he has seen such contests before.

I also imagine that he is likely sitting in his trademark burgundy smoking robe in his mansion, drooling in his dotage as he daydreams about such memories. Meanwhile the many buxom blonde girls he seems to have living next door and his current crop of imported playmates cavort together in his pool and play naked volleyball on his backyard lawn. Undoubtedly there are flapdoodles flying every which way at his place as there are here, in this special moment.

Speaking of Hef and his smoking robe reminds me of several things. First, props to Hef for his incredible life and his lifelong signature business attire - red silk pajamas, red smoking jacket, pipe and a well earned continuous smirk. Second, after many centuries of fighting like cats and dogs, the French and the English have left each other with a great deal of shared history and vocabulary.

The French are particularly peeved about this, adding strange and unusual terms from the vocabulary of the English to their cumbersome yet romantically appealing language. For example, they use "shampooing" as their word for shampoo, and "le smoking" as their word for casual dinner jacket. Finally, it is especially strange to find all this language intersection happening in Quebec, an intensely French province in an intensely English commonwealth country.

ANYWAY, for me, watching this evenings naked volleyball spectacle left the experience of watching a stripper dance in the dust. Of course, Lisette and Francine still won handily, but I felt that it was myself and the crowd of mostly male spectators that gathered who were the true victors. By the time the game ended 21 to 9, there was a crowd of about fifty cheering almost continuously and indiscriminately, completely independent of any aspect of the scoring.

After the game we retire again to sit on the blanket under the canopy, although not for protection from the sun, which is rapidly descending towards the St. Lawrence River to the west. The canopy separates us from the crowd of spectators, who take the hint and wander off, undoubtedly grateful for having been there to see what they saw. The ladies have more wine and beer; I switch to bottled water since I will be driving us all back into the city in a while.

I profusely thank them all for the opportunity to watch them play, telling them that I will take every moment of the game to my grave. Francine says that it is not so bad to play naked like that in front of a crowd of mostly men, now that she has spent a few weeks dancing and stripping. She doesn't feel so shy and she has come to understand and accept that men are idiots.

I agree with her, most of us are simple souls, eternally grateful for and easily excited merely by the display of T & A. Elise admits that all the direct and vocal attention from the male crowd has actually made her a little wet. I immediately ask her if she wants to go for a swim and Lisette says \- Whoa there old timer, it hasn't been three days yet has it?

They all start giggling again and Elise comes to sit by me. She whispers in my left ear that all sorts of things make her wet. She adds that she wants to wait until three days have passed and the three of us in our new ménage can share our first date together. She also says that she very much wants to go with me into the lake.

I immediately pick her up in a sort of fireman's carry, her arms around my neck, walking thus with her down to and into the lake. I do not stop until she is light in my arms, lifted by the buoyancy of the water, with only her head and neck above the surface. We kiss for a while and then she grabs my erect penis with her free hand, the other still around my neck.

I ask her not to move her hand at all or we will have to wait another three days. She giggles and lets me go and we smooch some more. Then she asks me what would have been cruel about me and Amy sharing the room while she was here on vacation.

I explain that we had had a painful and difficult parting about six weeks ago and if we were to become intensely and privately intimate again it will be even more painful and difficult to part a second time. I add that Amy and I had discussed the subject just this morning, although it seemed like a week ago after this long and amazing day. We agreed that the possibility of becoming long term committed, exclusive lovers was just not in the cards for us.

I ask Elise if she knows how much I love her, how absolutely committed I am to her. She starts to cry, then she says that she is beginning to feel how strong my love is, although she is having trouble understanding and believing it. She adds that she previously thought that men did not know how to love, but instead merely felt pride of ownership and enjoyed having possessive power over one or more women. She kisses me and then says that she is completely in love with me too and is also committed to our love and to our new life together.

Then she says that she is starting to come around to the idea that she might need therapy to work through the strangeness of her life. She adds that she sees how the love shared by Amy and me as equals in a relationship is better for both of us than the dominance & submission of the two "relationships" that she had had with men in the past.

We share another long smooch and then we watch as the sun sets into the St. Lawrence. After it has disappeared, I release her and we swim around closely together for a while. Then we swim back to shore and walk back to the canopy hand in hand.

Lisette and Francine are cuddled together, perhaps asleep. Amy is reading the book on the tablet. She looks up at us as we walked into the canopy and grins. Then she returns to reading as we towel off. After I am dry I walk over and carefully prod Francine's tight, naked little butt with my toe.

When she turns her head to look up at me, I ask if she and Lisette are "pret a jouer maison" (ready to play house). She smiles and caresses Lisette's pale butt until she stirs. They both stand up, stretching their athletic young bodies like a couple of housecats after a nap. I have to make a low whistle in reaction to the sight and Lisette slaps me gently and say - Give it a rest, old timer!

I reply - Plenty of time for that when I'm dead. All the ladies start to chuckle. I add - Wait 'til we get to the car, I'll tell you about a fantasy I had running simultaneously while watching you all play volleyball in the nude. Lisette says - I'll bet good money that it has something to do with UV reactive piercings!

I laugh and say - Lisette! We have only known each other a few days and you are already living inside my mind, which should be frightening for both of us! More laughter results from that one. Then we dress and work together to break down and pack up our beach camp.

An hour and a half later, we are back in the suite. Amy and Elise are unpacking the things of mine we had just moved out of the smaller room downstairs, after packing up Lisette's stuff and bringing it down to her and Francine. As we had left them, both were humming happily as they set Lisette up in her new room.

With that completed, all three of us are happy yet also exhausted from the events of the first day of our new life together as a threesome. We strip and collapse together on the bed, sleeping soundly soon thereafter. It was a hell of a day.
Chapter 39

Hello Nancy

The next morning I awaken early and hard; my subconscious aware of my sleeping companions before I am. I find myself lying on my back, the middle of a sandwich. One of my arms is pinned to my side; the two women are draped all over me.

Elise's arm is flung across my chest and the rest of her leans upon my side, pinning my arm. Amy's leg and thigh are lying upon my belly, the tip of my penis thrusting itself through the crook at the inside of her knee. Both are breathing quietly on my neck from each side as they sleep. I lie there, as happy as it is possible for me to be, thinking about how great it would be to awaken like this every morning for the rest of my days.

Still, it takes me almost an hour to ever so slowly insinuate myself out from between them. I take maximum advantage of the occasions of their movements and adjustments that they make as they sleep. Doing a kind of slow motion mambo with two naked sleeping women, eventually I work free.

Standing next to the bed, I drink in the marvelous scene they create as they sleep. Gradually they unconsciously move to embrace each other in my absence. I am once again enchanted by my two sweeties. Finally I can wait no longer and go into the bathroom to take my first morning leak.

My erection subsides quickly as I fetch the tablet from the safe, set up at the table so I can work and observe them directly before me. My first project is to catch up on this account. That being done, I check and respond to my business email, then browse around on the web. I soon find what I am looking for, a massage therapy supply outlet here in the city.

I dress and leave. I walk to my first stop, a neighborhood pharmacy, where I buy a selection of sunburn ointments and pain reliever sprays. Then I stop at a coffee shop; get three large coffees and some croissants. From there I head up to the smaller, lower level room, knocking lightly on the door until a groggy and irritated Lisette opens it, loosely wearing only a towel and a scowl.

When she smells the coffee, she brightens up, then I show her the contents of the bag of sunburn medications and ointments. At that, she welcomes me into the room as her hero, although at arms length. The smell of coffee wakes Francine and she rises naked from bed and kisses me when she sees the croissants and the sunburn relief supplies spread out on the table.

In French, she tells Lisette that she is going to adopt me as her perverted old uncle, upon whose lap she will happily sit. She proves it by setting her cute little tush on my left leg as I sit at the small table provided in the room. Hugging me and still speaking French, she promises that she will work with me to improve her English while helping me with my French, but not right now, she is too sleepy.

After a few minutes - exceedingly pleasant for me - drinking coffee and eating croissants while sitting upon my lap, Francine rises. She negotiates with Lisette about the various sunburn remedies I have delivered and which they will try first. Finishing my coffee, I rise to take my leave.

I receive a big kiss but no hug from pinkly glowing Lisette. She has ditched the towel and is wearing only pale tan lines where her short shorts and sports bra had covered the private parts of her yesterday, during her day of volleyball contests in the sun. Francine kisses me and hugs me tightly.

I walk out for one of my big American style breakfasts and then return to the van, driving it to the address of the massage supply store. I spend an hour there, carefully examining several folding, portable massage tables, considering their various features and adjustment capabilities. I assume the position of the client on each, attempting to judge their relative comfort and adaptability to clients of different sizes. Finally I select one and then also shop for a dozen large towels, a selection of massage oils and lotions and a nifty little electric device for pre-warming them.

On the way back to the suite with this bounty, I stop again for more coffee and croissants, then park and bring my purchases up with me. Elise, sitting up in bed, smiles when she sees the coffee and rises to hug and kiss me. When she sees the massage table leaning against the wall by the door she claps her hands silently, then pats and rubs my bald head, indicating that she supports my thought and also my mornings activities.

She sits, eats a couple croissants and drinks her coffee as I set up the table, set some scented massage oil to warming and cover the table with one of the new towels. Amy has smelled the coffee and is beginning to stir as I take Elise's hand and escort her to the table. I signal to her with hand gestures that she should lie face down upon the table. I start in with the warm oil on her back and she groans quietly.

I speak loudly, saying - Amy, your first appointment is here and it's that bitchy drama queen. I've got her started but she wants you, now! Amy sits up, looking somewhat startled for a moment. Then she shrieks happily as she sees what is what. She hops up and hugs me, takes a quick look at the table and then laughs with joy at her gift from us.

I tell her to sit and have some coffee and croissants. I will do my worst on Elise's back, buns, legs and feet until she is ready to take over. As I start to work again on Elise's back with the warm oil, she moans contentedly. While I work on the wonderful form of my French slave woman, I tell Amy that the manager of the store suggested that she try out the table for a week. After that, he suggests that she come into the store to see the other tables available, in case she wants to exchange this for one with different features.

After she is done with her breakfast, Amy gives Elise a professional quality massage which lasts for more than an hour. Then Elise and I give Amy our best amateur efforts. Finally, Amy and Elise team up on me. Laying there on my stomach while they work together on my legs and back, it occurs to me to suggest that Amy may want to look for a table and towels that have a hole for my erection.

They both giggle. Amy says that all massage tables probably should have one, perhaps an oval slot to accommodate men of different height. I tell her - Well, I advise that you should supply that feature on any table you use for male clients that you will have, at least. The both giggle some more at the thought of Amy's male clients and their erections poking through her massage table.

After almost three hours of this, we are all so loose and relaxed that we fall into bed and make slow love together all afternoon. I think it has been three days, I'm not sure and don't really care. It wasn't a formal first date, but it came to an informal and seemingly welcome conclusion for all three of us. About 6 pm there is a knock on the door, I rise and open it clad only in a towel.

Lisette says - This is deja vu (already seen/looks familiar), what's going on in here? She walks in with Francine and both grin as they see Elise and Amy sprawled languorously upon the bed. Lisette says - different rooms with similar ideas today, I see.

She turns back to me at the door and says - Well you old dog, I bet you have worked up an appetite! Can we help you get these two sleepy sexpots dressed and then take them somewhere and feed them? Don't suggest seafood again by the way, I've had plenty of that already today! After a few moments, Francine figures out what she has said, gasps in surprise and then laughs!

Then Lisette notices the new table, leaning folded against the wall and says - Oh yes, massages! I can see what inspired you three. That is a nice table! If my skin wasn't so hot and sensitive, my aching muscles would really sing a happy song under a good strong massage!

I hop back up on the bed, slap some nearby lazy lady fannies, once with each hand and say - You get these two up and dressed, I'll watch and maybe take a well-earned nap. When it looks like about 5 minutes 'til they are really and definitely ready to walk out the door, wake me up please, Lisette? She says - Sure thing, old timer, you deserve a nap and god knows you need your beauty sleep!

Lisette and Francine get to work coaxing the two lazy, liquidly, loosely languorous ladies out of bed. I knew it would be a task so I let somebody else do it. Francine has a brainstorm and suggests different restaurants, wine lists and menu items in French, with Lisette translating for Amy's benefit. I can see my sweeties start to perk up at the thought of food and drink.

Sometime later, Lisette tickles me awake and says - All right, rise and shine, 5 minute warning, we're going for Mediterranean food! I sit up to see that they are all dressed up for an evening out on the town, so I hop into my duds and 5 minutes later we are out the door and on the street. We take the van to the restaurant they have selected, get settled into a booth and the evening is underway!

After we order and our drinks have arrived, I start by asking Lisette if she knows who Pele was. She says - of course I know who Pele is, you idiot, I'm French! 99% of the French people follow the global sport over which he ruled like an immortal for two decades and the other 1% are not really French! Why do you ask such a silly question!

I say - Well then, it might interest you to know that I once saw him play, live and in person. She is immediately interested, as are Elise and Francine. Of course Amy says - Who the heck is Pele? What are you talking about? I smile at her and say - I'm talking about world class soccer, sweet stuff, what the rest of the world knows as football.

Elise says - Of course it is football, you don't touch the ball with your hands in America, do you? I smile at her and say - No, not soccer balls we don't. Do you want to hear the story, or what? Lisette says - Of course, we have to, that is our job, to listen while you tell us your stories. It is your job to tell them and also to put lazy smiles on the faces of these two grinning hotties every few days, isn't it?

Well, I say - It was towards the end of Pele's career, I was a youngster and my dad, he was Swiss - Elise and Lisette simultaneously make their little French mouth noises in reaction to this news - he took me to see an exhibition game in which Pele would play. As a young man, my dad was a semi-professional goalie; he played for the Zurich Grasshoppers.

Elise says - Probably more like the bedhoppers, knowing you and Swiss men and football players in general. I look at her for a moment, patiently and pointedly waiting to see if she has more to add, finally she gives me a hand signal to continue with my story. Our drinks arrive and I take a pull upon my whiskey sour before I continue.

My dad told me that he played in the first soccer match held in Berlin after the war; he said the place was so bombed out it was like playing on the moon. Anyway, he takes me to this exhibition game and it is amazing luck for me to have the privilege to watch Pele play. Although aged as far as football players go, he was still a fantastic athlete. Toward the end of the game, he hit a flying scissors kick into the upper right corner of the goal from about 30 meters out.

One second the ball is passed across the field, flying at about 8 feet over the grass, the next he is suspended in the air below it upside down, kicking the bejesus out of it. Then he dropped on his head and shoulders on the field. The goalie is caught completely flat footed, without a hope of getting anywhere near the shot, he doesn't even try. The ball flew like a bullet from Peles foot into an upper corner of the net.

I look around expectantly, until Lisette says - That's a nice story, old timer, is there a point? I reply - Funny you should mention that, because there is. When I saw you drive that winning shot yesterday into the corner of the opponents' court, spinning and shooting from high in the air as you did, I was instantly reminded of seeing Pele make that shot, out of the blue, forty years later.

Lisette smiles as I continue - Now I don't want to give you a bigger head than you already own. I am not saying that it was a feat on the same level as Pele produced there. He was a god of his sport and you may yet develop into an immortal of yours, we shall see. I am merely saying that seeing you make that shot reminded me of that moment and that kind of world class athleticism.

I want to toast you and also the equally amazing Francine here on the great victory that your first day playing beach volleyball together has produced. I hope to have the privilege to watch you play many more such games. It was a game to remember for a lifetime. I raise my glass to you both!

Elise and Amy say - Amen to that! We toast the two young lovers, who are looking kind of embarrassed but happy at the attention. Then Elise changes the subject by asking Lisette how her sunburn is doing. She replies that she had been in some pain, but that the first aid pain reliever spray that I brought to their room this morning made it easier to bear. Elise grabs my hand under the table and gives it a squeeze.

Lisette adds that Francine had been regularly spraying her with that stuff and then later, also rubbing in skin burn ointment as well. She looks at me and thanks me again for bringing it to them this morning. I say - It was a privilege to be there to see that game, it was the least I could do.

I tell her that, in my playing days, I knew a pale skinned lady who would play in a loose, light, filmy and somewhat translucent white pantsuit that covered her body completely. Underneath that, she wore a lightweight white full body leotard. She also wore a white cloth cap, somewhat similar to that worn by the French Foreign Legion in the movies, with flaps covering the back of her neck.

This unusual outfit protected almost all of her pale skin from the sun, except her bare feet. It was also erotically enticing to watch her play, for the flow of the loose outer pantsuit highlighted the grace of her movements. The ladies listen to my description of this woman from the past. Lisette brings up the notion which is obvious to them all, how attracted I had been to her. With a sly leer, she asks - Well, old timer, how well did you know her, what was she like out of the suit?

I grin back at Lisette and say - I admit, I did not know her as well as I would have liked. Sadly, I never saw her out of her suit, but there was a problem. By the way, her name was Nancy and she suffered from a sad condition that British bachelors call marital thrombosis. In other words her husband was a clot.

Laughter spreads all around as this old limey joke is figured out by the ladies. I continue - Nancy was happily married at the time and I would not be surprised to find out that she still is. She was the kind of catch that only a fool would consider releasing and she was too smart to marry a fool. Heck, she was too smart to have anything to do with me!

So Lisette, to answer your question, I only knew her well enough not to expect victory whenever I had the opportunity to play against Nancy and her clot of a husband. She was petite, only slightly taller and heavier than Francine. She was graceful, beautiful and also fairly quick, but not nearly as athletic.

I have never seen anyone, male or female, project themselves to fly horizontally through the air at the height of their own nipples like Francine did yesterday. It was astounding Francine, I will never forget it. Looking over at her as I say it, I can see that Francine is smiling as she thinks about the relative concept of flying at the height of ones own nipples.

Like you and Francine, Nancy and her tall husband complemented each other well. They had excellent chemistry and communication. So they were formidable both on and off the volleyball court, as are you two beautiful young spirits.

At times, it felt like it was an intrusion of privacy to watch them do their free-form improvisational dance together on the sand. I am certain that you two will continue to improve in that regard as you play together more. You already were performing magic together out there yesterday; it was a pas de deux, a ballet for two! Those two young men that you beat yesterday may not realize it yet, but they have been demoted to princes of that beach, which has new rulers!

Long live Lisette and Francine, reigning volleyball queens of Oka beach! And I toast them again, thoroughly embarrassing them even more. All right Mark, enough of your pontificating - says Elise as our dinners arrive. Then she adds - If Lisette turns any redder from her sunburn and the blushes of embarrassment that you are causing her she will look like an apple!
Chapter 40

Unchaste Belt

As we start to eat, Elise drops one of her patented bombshells - I have been thinking that it might be time to start looking for a house! We need a big one, with space for us all, where we can spread out, play and also work. Amy needs to have room for her massage studio; I think Lisette and Francine will be joining her in that business.

Maybe we can get Lulu and her boys to live with us. I want lots of yard space for a garden and a greenhouse so we can grow flowers and vegetables. We should start looking around for such a big home for us to live in together!

Jaws drop around the table in stunned silence. Fantastic, I think to myself, she does this to everybody, not just to me. I keep quiet, waiting for the stunned silence to end. I expect many loud protestations of individuals - who have been left out of the decision making process of their own lives - to begin. Surprisingly, everyone just keeps eating their dinner, apparently thinking about what Elise has said.

Finishing her meal first, Amy says - Well, if that is how it will be, I need to be able to go back home to Missoula at least once a year, for at least a couple of weeks each time. Now I am completely hornswoggled once again, but by Amy this time! I tell her - I will gladly keep you company there, even in the winter, whenever you want my company.

Please just allow me to leave after no more than a couple of weeks during the winter. My old bones complain too much in freezing cold weather. Elise pipes in - We should buy a big 4 wheel drive SUV with lots of seats and room for luggage. That way we can travel around together, go anywhere we can drive, in almost any weather!

Then Lisette asks no one in particular - I wonder what is involved in becoming a licensed massage therapist here in Quebec? I make a mental note to research the subject on the tablet. Elise then suggests considering an expansion of the business concept by possibly eventually including acupuncture and/or aroma therapy as well.

Amy replies that she has already looked into the aroma therapy idea and has also considered offering her clients one-on-one stretching and self-massage classes. With that the four are off, creating an interesting sounding and healthy business model out of whole cloth. This new enterprise may have just been kicked into reality by my frequently astounding Elise.

I can only watch in amazement as the power of a suddenly established matriarchy starts flexing its muscles. Long live the queens indeed! At a pause in the conversation, I look at Elise and have to ask her - How did you get Lulu into this?

She says - You two seemed to become close friends the other night, it was surprising to see her asleep there with her head in your lap a little while after she smothered you with her huge breasts. She should not have to raise four little boys on her own. We will help her with that, you can bore them to death with your stories and Amy will play with them and will massage Lulu's tired back!

We should go to visit her tomorrow! Why don't you call her! Maybe she will want breast reduction surgery, that might help her back problem! I can only look back at her in amazement, grab her hand and give it a squeeze, while Amy just grins at both of us, shaking her head at her meddlesome new sister-lover!

After I am done with my meal, I obey her instructions, calling Ruth and asking if she will be home tomorrow, maybe around lunchtime again. She says - Yes, please visit again, I need the rest! I tell her I will be bringing several people in a van, we can all drive somewhere for lunch.

She asks who else is coming. I tell her - Elise, whom she remembers from the club, me of course and our friend Amy visiting from Montana. She is a masseuse and she has a new massage table that she wants to try out on your back. Ruth says \- Yes mon, you come, you bring whoever you want!

I'll be here and you can tell my boys stories while your Montana friend rubs my poor aching back, you bet I'll be here. I tell her goodbye and hang up. I look to Elise and inform her that her wishes have been accomplished. She and Amy will meet Lulu's boys tomorrow and Amy will meet Lulu and massage her back.

I also inform both Elise and Amy that Lulu's real name is Ruth; but in the club you must call her Lulu. Elise nods and squeezes my hand again under the table. Then she reaches a little further and gives my penis, inside my jeans, a couple of strokes as well. The matriarch seems to approve of me, praise the Lord wherever she may be.

Amy smiles and asks - What club? Elise tells her - Mark's favorite strip club is here in Montreal! Francine adds \- I work there and met Mark there! He came in alone the first time, only a few days ago. He helps me with English while I help him with his French, sitting on his knee!

Amy grins as she looks at me, saying - Yep, I sat on his knee when I met him too, it is kind of fun, isn't it? Strangely - she adds - there was soon some French style stuff going on for us, as well! Lisette chuckles and says - Why don't we go over to the club after dinner, see if there is any more French style fun to be had there?

I tell her that if we do, we need to stop back at the suite first, to get some cash out of the safe, but she says - Don't worry about that! I have lots of cash! She pulls a big wad of bills out of her purse to prove it. Then I ask her - Is that what you want to do, with your sunburn? She smiles and says - No, I think I won't party this time.

She adds - Maybe I'll sit on your knee and teach you some more French. I guess I am the only one here that hasn't had a chance to sit on your KNEE yet! Then she leers at me. I guess I'll help you keep an eye on these three sexy ladies as they party with some hot dancers!

I ask - Well, what about the trashy outfits, don't you want to wear those? Lisette shrugs and replies - Not necessary, I think, we will all be bare-assed soon enough. I look at Amy and ask her - Are you game for this? Do you want to be a dancee instead of a dancer, for a change?

She smiles and says - That actually sounds like it might be fun, I'm game! I look at Elise, who immediately smiles back at me, saying - You know me; I don't remember ever having had too many shoops in one day! Everyone laughs at this revelation.

Lisette hands me about 2000 Canadian, telling me that I did a great job managing the transaction last time. I shrug and put it in my wallet, which is now bulging with currency, the way it should be before you head to a strip club. I tell her that it is always easy to spend other people's money, to which she agrees readily.

Well - I say - I guess that's our plan for tonight then, we are going clubbing again, let's go! Inside of half an hour, we are established in the club in a slightly larger private alcove than our last trip. I have my beer, there is a magnum of champagne on ice, the ladies are shucking their evening wear and smokin' hot dancers are popping out of the woodwork! Soon Amy, Elise and Francine are getting busy in two piles with Mercedes and a couple of other dancers.

Happily, Lisette is sitting on my knee; she has stripped down to her pink skin and pale tanlines. She has made me promise not to touch her sensitive sun burnt skin, still leaving several other interesting - and always sensitive - areas available for me to caress occasionally. She is drinking champagne and keeping an eye on Francine. Elise and Mercedes are forming their own private party, perhaps starting something that suggested itself during the previous outing, in one pile.

In the other, Amy and Francine seem to be getting along well together, both with each other and with the other two dancers. One is Fanny; she is aptly named, for she does have an outstandingly abundant heart shaped fanny. I have seen her before. On my first day in the club, when I first met Francine and Lulu, Fanny came out of the dressing room some time later. I watched her dance a couple of times and she introduced herself to me after Francine brought her my tip.

She apparently does not remember that meeting now, which is not surprising, for dancers meet many men and undoubtedly forget the vast majority of them quickly. She is petite but not quite as short as Francine. She also has a great deal more flesh on her, not fat, just plentifully plump.

Fanny also has colossal knockers, although they are not natural. There is a slight ring of scar tissue around her nipples, often left by breast enhancement surgery. Beyond that barely noticeable sign and their size, it is otherwise a great looking boob job. Her bulky babaloos hang, sway and move quite naturally and attractively with her.

Like that first day, she wears a black corset, which she keeps on the entire evening, since it does not impede access to anything except perhaps her navel. Her corset is cinched up tight, so her abundant flesh pours out both above and below. Somewhat like Amy, she has piercings through both nipples and also both major lips of her clean shaven pubic region.

Interestingly, her earrings and all of her various piercings include tiny hanging bells. She wears a loose string belt of beads, pearls and little bells. She also has ankle bracelets on both feet, also bearing little bells. With all these dozens of small bells ringing enticingly as Fanny moves around, it would be difficult to lose track of her anywhere except in the loudly reverberating music of the club.

The second, new dancer, is Marta, a pretty platinum blond with a Scandihoovian accent, possibly from Amsterdam or Copenhagen, someplace like that. She may be Dutch or Danish, I am not sure. I have not seen her before. She also has exceedingly large and blatantly fake blimps which stand up un-naturally firm and high. However, they complement and round out her full figure well, since she also has a large, bulbous, globular derriere (backside).

Marta is wearing a wide black leather belt which looks uncomfortably tight. Attached to the belt is a tight, stiff, wide strap-thong, also black leather, which integrates into her belt front and back. Another clever and intriguing aspect of this strap-thong is that it has an integrated smart phone holster.

This holster is riveted to the strap-thong in a location that the rivet seems likely to get Marta's attention whenever the phone vibrates with an incoming call or text. Marta's flesh pours out and around all this tight black leather. She also wears a tall, heavy collar and several wide straps around her wrists and ankles.

All of this leather that she is wearing has small steel rings riveted in various places for obvious purposes related to the possibility of binding parts of Marta to each other or to other things, perhaps to prevent her from answering her phone. Happily, I do not see any signs of bruising anywhere on Marta's considerable expanse of pale flesh. At first inspection it does not appear that she has been mistreated recently.

This outfit does create a highly suggestive erotic effect. This is undoubtedly her intention and possibly also a statement of her personal predilections, although it could also just be some sort of strange fashion statement. I make a mental note to try to visit with Marta sometime in collusion with Elise, for I suspect they share a common kink.

Elise likely once wore gear like this herself, involuntarily, during her year of training to become a sex slave. Soon after her arrival in our alcove, Marta is helped out of the tight, wide strap-thong by Fanny, who lays it - and with it her phone - on one of the small tables in the alcove. This frees Marta's clean shaven vagina to breathe and scent the air with her pheromones. She may not notice the vibrations of incoming calls/texts from her smart phone, but that is not likely to be a problem.

Marta will be busy doing things which it is considered a faux pas (socially unacceptable act) to interrupt to answer calls for a while. Like Fanny, there is an impressive abundance of Marta expanding out from below the wide and tight belt which compresses her waist a great deal. With these two somewhat artificially abundant & absolutely attractive dancers, Amy and Francine have much to fill their hands and mouths with and are doing their best to get to it all.

Soon thereafter it is Mercedes who approaches me, to negotiate the cost of the party. I think Mercedes senses, as I do, that we are destined to be good friends. Elise follows along behind to visit with Lisette, carefully, while business is conducted. Mercedes smiles broadly at me and sits her sweet little party girl tush on my left leg, immediately after it is vacated by Lisette.

We share a tantalizing tongue kiss, then Mercedes guides my hands to her terrific twin testicle tighteners. After a few minutes of allowing me the great pleasure of caressing these and their wide pink aureoles and nipples; she gets down to business. She whispers into my left ear, someone has apparently coached her to do so, I suspect Elise in this case once again.

She offers the same deal as last time. Three hours for 1000 Canadian, a second magnum of champagne to be delivered after the first is gone, more beer for me and the services of her own fine self and the other two dancers present in whatever capacity, all inclusive. I give her 500 and she leaves, returning shortly with some more beer for me.

I somehow endure a lightning assault in which Mercedes straddles me and pummels my face for few moments with her gorgeous pink grapefruits. Then she takes Elise's hand and leads her away to continue their personal party pairing. Lisette returns to me, once again carefully seating her sweetness on my left leg. Then she whispers into my left ear.
Chapter 41

French Lesson

She asks me if I would please tease her and touch her, carefully, for a few minutes. Elise has apparently got her motor started while Mercedes was busy working and playing with me. Eventually, after a tender episode and her resultant nearly silent yet sublime shoop, Lisette and I resume quietly watching the others. Finally it occurs to me to ask her - So, what did you study in University?

She smiles and hesitates for a long moment, then says - I majored in women's studies and minored in business management. I recently received my masters degree in women's studies. I may decide to go back for a doctorate, I don't know yet.

Sweet Hairy Jesus! I am stunned speechless which grows into a long silence. This goes on until she asks, grinning like the Cheshire cat - Finally don't have anything to say, old timer? I look back into her cool green eyes and say - How can I possibly say anything, when anything I could say will be wrong? Lisette guffaws at that, saying - You are usually a lot of fun to hang out with, nothing is wrong with that! I thank her and leave it at that.

Lisette is clearly too intelligent and well educated for me to venture an autodidacts opinion about anything related to women or the battle of the sexes with her. I suspect this is why neither she nor Elise has unveiled this bombshell to me. After another long silence, she says - You know that I like what I have read of your book, right? After I read it I knew you would be able to accept the big surprise we had in store for you, the idea that I was to be included in your reunion with Elise, when we arrived from France a few days ago.

I ask her - Well then, tell me what do you think about Elise? She shrugs and says - They broke the mold after my sweet lover-maman (mommy); she is very special. You decide that she must be absolutely crazy and then you recognize instead that she has somehow arrived at a practical and progressive idea from her unusually skewed perspective. I say - Amen to that, you seem to have hit that one on the head. I ask her then - Then what do you think about the idea of going into business with Amy and Francine?

Lisette replies - That is a great idea that Amy has, it is definitely a woman friendly type of business. It has a lot of possibilities for diversification, growth and enlightened business practice. These are all concepts that I find to be both interesting and attractive.

I think that everyone and especially women should consider working for themselves; self-employment is the highest form of employment! (http://www.opportunities4small.biz/) She adds - I am definitely in, with both feet, assuming that Amy does indeed change her life plans to that degree. That is one of the reasons that we sent her the winnings from the pool on you, to encourage her.

She goes on - It is too early to tell whether Francine might decide that she wants in. In spite of you and Elise pushing us together, we are taking it slow. After all, we only just met this week, as long and full a week as it has been. By the way, thank you for giving up the small room downstairs, we are really enjoying our privacy.

Francine says that her room-mate, another stripper, is a kind of a slob. It doesn't seem to have been a huge sacrifice for you to have to move back in with Elise and Amy though. Then she winks at me and gives me a long hot kiss with a lot of tongue interplay involved.

After a while, Lisette continues - Francine did tell me that she doesn't like being a stripper. She would prefer to do something different, so maybe massage or acupuncture or something like that might appeal to her. She is only 21, a bit younger than me, so she is uncertain about making big plans and I don't blame her, four years ago I wasn't either.

These three years with Elise have calmed me down; it has been a great relationship for me. I am suddenly compelled to ask her - Did I spank you too hard? She smiles and replies - Elise was right, our asses did sting for hours, but you were right too. When we got into bed together after you left, we were both extremely hot and wet and also unusually bonded together by that shared experience.

We were warmed up & ready to go and feeling emotionally tender together at the same time. I am tall and strong for a girl. I have never had anyone handle me as physically as you did just with your right hand. It definitely made an impression on more than just my poor pink ass.

You also made your point; we should have talked with you first about inviting Amy here. I don't blame you for being angry. However, I definitely won't ask you to spank me again when you're angry like that. Maybe we might try it again some other time when you are in a playful mood and perhaps also hungry for some of my seafood, or for strawberries and cream. If you play gently and well with me, you might earn a French lesson! Then Lisette winks lasciviously at me.

Then she thanks me for telling the story about seeing Pele play, for my description of his scissors kick and for the compliment of comparing that kick to her game winning leap and spike. She tells me that she is looking forward to going shopping with Francine. She wants to put together a full coverage outfit similar to that I described as worn by Nancy, the lady volleyballer that I had known in California. She thanks me for that suggestion to her.

Lisette says she really wants to play more volleyball with Francine on the beach in the sun. I tell her that sort of outfit should enable her to move freely while preventing the sun from burning and damaging her lovely pale skin. She will soon become famous as the beautiful, flying, whirling dervish of Oka Beach. She grins and gives me another hot wet kiss.

Then she asks - Are you ready for a French lesson? I nod in agreement and so she begins my lesson with the conjugation of a few verbs and then a vocabulary of body parts. I will always gratefully remember this lesson from her.

Lisette brings my hand to each of the parts \- for me to name and learn - on her own body. All of her is warm to the touch. At times she grimaces slightly as my hand touches the especially hot pink parts, those that have been burned by the sun, that is.

My hands' touch upon some other parts of her elicit another kind of response. Learning French with Lisette is good fun, I recommend it. She is patient and a good teacher. She goes back frequently and tests my memory of the recently covered words to reinforce the lesson.

Bien sur (of course) she rewards me with baisers langue (tongue kisses/"French" kisses) when I use the correct noun & article gender. This is an especially difficult to remember aspect, but worth the effort. Gender and sex is nearly everywhere in the romantic French language and culture.

We pass an erotic and educational couple of hours in that way. She breaks once with the others as they troop out together as a group. They go to and from the ladies room, in their birthday suits and high heels, clutching their little purses. While they are gone I am reduced to using my imagination to speculate about the scene there. This is the only place here in the club where they have anything resembling personal privacy, to which they go, somewhat ironically, as a group.

With many such marvelously intriguing women to learn to converse in French with and to try to understand, I inhale Lisette and her lesson. I only interrupt her occasionally to top off the champagne glasses, including hers. Since I will be driving, I quit drinking beer after a while and fetch a few bottles of water from the bar.

After partying for almost two and a half hours, the group of ladies finally breaks down into distinctly discernible individuals again. The motley crew of six of them are sitting closely together in a row facing us. All are naked except for Fanny's corset and Marta's arrangement of various straps, her choker and her wide, tight belt - although her strap-thong with its intriguing smart phone holster remains on the table.

Due to the way they are all sitting, it is not apparent to me at the moment that, like many modern hotties, all six are clean shaven, one of this groups few shared outer traits. Francine stands out the most from the group, without any effort made on her part to do so. She is petite; has extremely long and straight hair; is totally and deeply tanned; is athletic with no extra body fat; and she is the only one with small, firm, erect, cute and pretty pucker producing perkies.

Sitting next to Francine and contrasting entirely is Marta. She looks exotically different from the rest due to her impossibly high Hindenburgs and all the black leather snugly strapped around her pale body in various places. Next is the lanky Mercedes, like the rest of the six she has pale skin, but has improbably plentiful puffy pink plushies for her light frame. I know well that she grew them herself, for she has generously and graciously given me an opportunity to play with her pleasingly parabolic pair this evening and I have taken advantage.

Mercedes is also special for her intriguing carriage and slightly bowlegged gait, part and parcel of her narrow hips and tall, light frame. Fanny is sitting next to Mercedes, with the pink scars around her nipples as the only telltale revealing that her wobbly water melons are augmented and not as natural as they look. She also uniquely distinguishes herself from the group with her tight corset and all her pretty little bells tinkling together as she moves.

Amy and Elise are sitting together next to Fanny, talking quietly together as they watch me conduct this extended appraisal of their row of companions. Suddenly, in unison they each flip me a double bird. Lisette and I collapse together in laughter. Apparently my two sweeties are not content at the moment to have their individual outer uniqueness cataloged in my mind and in this account, so I relent.

Each of this line-up of lovelies has her legs crossed in the same way and in the same direction. Each bounces her spike heeled right foot in the air as women seated thus often do. I remark to Lisette that, if their line of bouncing feet magically fell into rhythm somehow, they would look like a burlesque troupe which is about to break into a raunchy song and dance number.

She watches them for a moment and then giggles at the mental image I have suggested to her. Sadly, they disappoint me and do not suddenly become a 22nd century burlesque team performing revealing standing alternating left and right high kicks. Instead, they just sit and talk, drinking champagne, caressing and kissing each other occasionally.

Finally the manager opens the curtain. It is time for my four ladies to put their evening wear back on so that we can head home to our respective beds. Mercedes approaches me and I give her the remaining 500 that I owe her plus an additional 50. While we are completing this transaction, she slips me a wadded up note that she has secreted somewhere, god only knows where. I stash her note in my pocket.

I give Fanny and Marta each a 50 as well, receiving hugs and kisses from them both. I make a mental note to add them - as an artificially augmented yet still engagingly voluptuous team - to my fantasy black-light volleyball league roster of teams. Of course, UV reactive nipple piercings are a necessary minimum qualification for a prospective team's entry into my fantasy league.

In my ever active imagination, Amy and Elise have already been voted into the hall of fame in that league. In reality, Elise still has to acquire those minimum necessary accoutrements, which Amy already exceeds, with the exciting addition of her similarly pierced clitoral hood. According to Amy, Elise is considering having the painful, yet erotic procedure performed. She and Amy may one day actually compete on a darkened and black-lit volleyball court instead of only in my imaginary fantasy league.

Amy is pleasantly potted; Elise not as much as previously described excursions and Francine hardly at all. For such a petite woman, she has a youthful athlete's capacity for processing alcohol, for she has been drinking champagne with the rest. Once Francine has helpfully assisted in dressing her, I hold Amy to my hip as I walk her out of the club and down the stairs.

The club valet has our van waiting. I tip him, help Amy into her seat and buckle her in. Once all are similarly installed, our happy little group is soon on our way home with yours truly at the wheel. Back in the suite, Elise helps Amy to undress, they both drink the glasses of water that I bring to them and they are soon snoring, wrapped together on the bed in the endearing embrace of sated party girls.

I strip, pulling the note from Mercedes out of my pants first. In the light from the bathroom, I unfold it to read that her real name is Jane and her phone number is ### - ####. She suggests that she and I get together and smoke some opiated hash, drink some whiskey and listen to some old rock and roll, electronic jazz or space music at her place sometime soon.

This sounds like a fantastic idea to me, so I fold her note back up and stash it in a cranny in my wallet for another time. I turn out the lights and get into bed, spooning with Elise who is spooning with Amy. Good times.
Chapter 42

Volleyball Visionary

I find as I rise to consciousness in the morning our positions seem to have been maintained through the night. I have a much easier time dis-engaging myself - only physically, for I am permanently engaged emotionally - from my still softly slumbering sweeties. I decide that I need some exercise, so I dress and fetch Rain for a long ride in the cool air of the early morning.

After gliding easily for a while to warm up, I begin to push the pace, gradually building to a sprint. I maintain this for as long as my protesting legs can bear, then glide easily again until I can begin the sprint again. My heart pounds and my awareness sharpens with the exertion, until I finally am fully alert and alive with anticipation of the day.

Appreciating the city, I glide around for a while until I decide it is time to return Rain to her stable and head for the shower in the suite. I find that my two lovers sleep on. After the shower I update this account on the tablet, respond to a few emails, do some other work and then just sit and watch them sleep for a while.

Finally my stomach tells me that it can wait no longer, so I walk to purchase croissants, a baguette, cheese, sausage and three coffees. Then I return to the suite with this bounty. The two begin to stir as I eat my breakfast, watching them.

Amy finally sits up first, looking a little under the weather. She is moving into her late forties after all, hangovers get steadily more cumbersome as we age. I bring her coffee and sit with her, holding her as she drinks.

Finishing her cup, she lays her head on my shoulder and closes her eyes. I caress her hair and cannot help but tell her, quietly, how much I love her. She smiles and kisses me, still with her eyes closed to the light of the morning. Finally she stirs again, rises and goes into the bathroom.

When she returns, she refills her cup and grabs a couple of croissants, then sits back next to me on the bed. After a while she remembers and smiles at me, saying - You had fun with your pretty red-haired French teacher last night, didn't you? You were a willing and attentive student.

She adds - I believe that I actually saw you petting your teacher in her special place! I grin back at her, admitting that it was not school the way I remember it, not at all. She says - I guess I will have to start receiving my own French lessons from Lisette, Elise and Francine, since I will be staying and building a business here in Quebec.

I feel so happy at this news of her decision that I feel like I may levitate and float towards the ceiling. Then I am inspired and review Lisette's entire lesson of the previous evening there for her, touching her as I quietly name her parts, trying not to wake Elise. She repeats the name of each of her parts several times, working on the somewhat difficult way that the French express their words somehow partially with their noses.

In spite of her hangover, she seems to enjoy the lesson as much as I enjoy reviewing it with her. After a while, Elise starts to stir and then sits up beside us. Apparently she has been lying awake with her eyes closed, listening to Amy tell me of her decision and also to my review of Lisette's lesson. She smiles at us sitting in the bed next to her, and says - Yes Amy, you and I will have our own private French lessons.

Then she says - We will all share lots of endearing French pillow talk together. She turns to me and adds - You are becoming especially expert in the vocabulary of the anatomy of women! They both giggle. Then Elise kisses and embraces us both, wishing us bonjour (good day). I bring her coffee and croissants in bed. We seem to have become a team, united to try to change the world in our own small way (http://www.change-thegame.net/).

I am inspired by the poignant poetry that their bounteous bosoms collectively suggest to me, as they tremble and sway somewhat independently of the larger movements of these two wonderful women. I am further inspired by the gleams of sunlight flashing from Amy's three piercings. These inspirations combine and lead me to suggest that they might bathe together while I describe their membership, as a team, in the hall of fame of my fantasy blacklit volleyball league.

They both smile and agree, so I rise to run them a nice, hot bath with lots of bubbles and scented oils. Once they are installed in the bath, with moans of pleasure and contentment from both as they enter and start to settle in, the water of their bodies merging with the hot soapy water in the tub. I begin with my description. They both lean back and close their eyes in appreciation of the warm water and the aromatic bath oils.

I start with the field of play. To my mind, this is best located in a climate controlled indoor hall with a high ceiling and a completely matted floor. The mats would be like those found in a gymnastics hall, to protect the athletes from fall related injuries. Fluorescent tube black lights surround the hall at the top of its four walls and on the ceiling, during play this will be the only source of illumination.

Small UV reactive spheres are implanted into volleyball net and also closely spaced along the boundary lines in order to demarcate the field of play. This is proportionally about 40% smaller than a regulation indoor volleyball court. This better enables 2 person teams to cover the space, which will help to create longer and more stimulating back-and-forth exchanges of volleys.

Surrounding the court, the floor rises at a gradually increasing grade to the walls. The slope allows spectators a clear and unobstructed field of view of the action on the court, over those in closer rows. Perhaps the seating is bean bag chairs or something similar, it doesn't really matter as long as it is soft and comfortable.

The softness aspect is especially important for the inner rows, closest to the action. This will cut down on the possibility of injury in case an enthusiastic player leaves the court lines chasing after an errant ball during play. Further safety for players includes thickly foam padded net support posts, or perhaps hanging the net by cords attached to the walls instead of posts rising from the floor.

Player enthusiasm can be encouraged by increasing the relative compensation paid to the winning team members over that of the losing teams. This creates the motivation for the players to actively compete and put more energy into running and jumping around. This is the actual point of the game for the spectators. Games might be shortened to 11 points, or 15, to allow the possibility of tournament play, increasing the variety of the scene and the interest of the crowds, who will undoubtedly be mostly men.

The regulation volleyball is either painted with UV reactive paint, or has the small UV reactive spheres imbedded in its seams, or both. Only female players are allowed to play in the league. As I have previously described, they must have UV reactive piercings in their nipples, or perhaps some sort of removable UV reactive jewelry attached to their nipples in some way.

Additional UV reactive piercings in other locations on the persons of the players are encouraged. UV reactive jewelry such as earrings, anklets and belts are added to the players' outfits. Small tinkling bells on any and all piercings and jewelry are included, to increase the sensory depth of the spectacle by adding the sound of the tinkling of the bells as the players move and compete.

Another aspect is that all UV reactive elements of all piercings and jewelry are color coordinated for each team. For example, I suggest to Elise and Amy that they might choose green as their teams signature color. All their piercings and jewelry can be made to contain UV reactive elements which glow green in the black lights.

At this point I conclude my description, in which I have been somewhat lost in the idyllic and fantastic consideration of it. I look to Elise and Amy for their reactions. They are both studying me somewhat critically. They seem to be wondering if I may finally have gone around a bend from which I might not find my way back. They are also smiling, a good sign.

Elise turns to Amy and asks her - exactly how much did that piercing through the hood of your clitoris hurt? Amy says - I must be honest, it hurt like hells fire! There is also a slight risk of cutting through a nerve and diminishing sensitivity. On the plus side, it provides a continuous and pleasantly heightened sensation afterwards; at least it has for me. I am always much more aware of sensations from my clitoris and also my nipples, even right now.

Amy goes on to say - it makes me feel sexy and partially aroused almost all the time. I become fully aroused more quickly and reach my climax more easily. It is especially pleasant during sex with a skilled partner, or when the piercings are touched with a vibrator.

I have shooped just by touching my nipple piercings with two vibrators! I also change the piercings sometimes. It is easy to do and there are many varieties of them which have all sorts of different aspects.

Elise asks - Did you have all three done at once? Amy answers - Yes, I did, I wanted to get the period of soreness of all three areas over and done with all at once. Some say that they get an erotic thrill from the sudden, extremely sharp pain and so do each one separately, but that didn't appeal to me. Elise looks at me, saying - Mark, this all sounds like fun to me, we'll make it happen!

She adds - But if it is OK with you, I am going to work with Amy on this, we will go shopping together. We will present my newly pierced self to you as a fait accompli when it is done. Maybe we can have a black light party date for the three of us after I am over the soreness. For our next date I think we will see what happens here in the dark with a black light. I want to see what Amy's piercings look like in that light and what happens as she moves around, you make it sound so fascinating!

Then Elise adds - You know after we accomplish that, we might investigate whether we could rent a hall and outfit it as you describe, get a few other players and sell tickets to a tournament! It sounds kind of hot! If it catches on, we could build a hall and create a new and erotic variant of the sport of volleyball!

Amy, embracing the idea, cradles Thelma and Louise in her hands. She says - On top of that, it could become a different, less demeaning and exploitative way to make a little money. This might compensate us for perpetually having to carry around these heavy, swaying, jiggling bags of fat.

We have to put up with breast obsessed idiots like this pathetic old fool staring at them, using silly names for them and making fun of them! Elise says - Right on sister! They clap hands in a high five and both turn to stare at me.

After a few moments Elise says - Here's an idea for you, old timer, why don't you take your hyperactive and perverse imagination and get lost for a while. Please close the door on your way out. I want to run some more hot water in this tub and share some girl talk with my newfound sister!

I realize that there is no way I might turn the situation around, my invitation has just expired. I will not be able to sit and drink in the scene of these two as they rub-a-dub-dub their double DD dugs in the tub anymore today. I leave in a blue funk. Women! You show them a creative idea and they treat you like you crapped in their hats! I lie down and take a nap, sounds of muted derisive laughter from the bathroom ringing in my ears.

They wake me up a little later. They are getting dressed and preparing to go to visit Lulu/Ruth and her boys. It is just after 11 am and time for me to get up so I can drive the van over there and continue our day. As I am getting dressed, their derision continues as they ask me when I will begin poking holes through hypersensitive parts of my body in order to cater to their fantasies?

I ignore them, knowing that there is no way I can rationally justify any of this. All I can hope for is that their generous and compliant natures will continue to allow me my admittedly silly adolescent fantasies. Heck, why else would women put up with all the incredibly idiotic, perverse and unhealthy things that men have done to them over the ages in the service of their own fantasies?

Why would the creator have given men dicks, balls and imaginations, if she hadn't intended for us to have the driven need to use them all simultaneously? Her intent seems obvious, within something vaguely resembling reason; men get to do what they want to women. In return women use that desire as a handle with which to motivate and/or manipulate men.

They get us to do the work necessary to produce virtually all of human progress since we moved down out of the trees together. Although it is merely a slang cultural term, the concept of the vaginal wrench should be introduced in the first chapter of Anthropology 101, as far as I am concerned. Supporting my point, as is my lot in life as their beast of burden, I get to hump the new massage table out to the elevator, out to the van and pack it away.

Amy does help by carrying the massage oils and their associated warming device. Elise carries the towel. In the van on the way there, they recognize my funky mood and quit making fun of me. They talk instead about how much fun we will all share together in bed with the black light and their UV reactive piercings. I believe that this may have proven my point, whatever it may be, I have lost track of exactly where I was going with this.
Chapter 43

Hello Ruth

I brighten up further as I begin to ponder the stories I will tell Ruth's boys. Those little guys will certainly appreciate my creative genius and I will finally get the respect I deserve, there is no doubt. We soon arrive at her apartment and introductions are made. Ruth's boys are Pierre, Yves, Paul and Thom, in order from oldest to youngest.

They are all over us as we are welcomed into Ruth's home. Amy's eyes widen and she grins and giggles when Thom, the youngest, comes and hugs her leg. If I was his size I would do the same. He looks up to ask her questions; somehow he senses her desire to interact and play. They want to know about the stories I will tell them; they have suggestions about where we will go for lunch. They are all over the map as their young minds hop around like fleas in a glass box.

We end up driving to an Italian restaurant so we can watch them play with their spaghetti. Amy is positively glowing with joy as we return to Ruth's place afterward. In Ruth's bedroom, she instructs me to move Ruth's bed over slightly to make room for her to work around the massage table.

I set everything up in there and Amy, Ruth and Elise shut themselves away, while I sit in a chair in the living room with the boys at my feet. I start by reviewing the events in the saga of me and Rain as told up to the previous stopping point. The boys call out various important aspects of the story which I may have forgotten as I continue.

Pierre, the oldest boy, hears Ruth groaning at one point and stands up, looking worried. He knocks on her bedroom door, apparently well trained to do so. Then he goes in when Ruth answers. From where I sit I can see her in there, lying naked and face down on the massage table with a towel over her impressive derriere (ass). She talks with Pierre through the padded face rest hole in the massage table.

He bends over slightly to look up into his mothers face. She promises him that she is OK; these nice ladies are not hurting her. She is feeling better and better every minute. She tells him to go back and listen to my story; she wants him to retell it to her later. Satisfied that his mother is safe and unhurt, he returns and Elise shuts the bedroom door behind him, smiling at me as she does so.

I congratulate Pierre on his attention and his concern for his mother, telling him it is the job of real men like all of us to look after and protect women. All four look proudly back at me, knowing that we will all live up to our manly role. I resume my story recap and have soon started in upon previously uncovered ground. I have their rapt attention.

I am off once more into that magical realm of imagination, creativity and fiction. Young children like these four boys and older children like yours truly often visit this realm in their minds. Doing so can enrich the often ordinary and sometimes depressingly gray-shaded world.

Fred the mouse checks in; Rain flies me from peak to peak along the watercourse of the magic river; the wicked French grandmother is up to her wacky tricks; the always giggling French grand-daughter is about to start college; the waterfalls in heaven cascade their white clouds of mist to earth; the Bridge of the Gods flies over the giant rushing river and the magic snow capped volcano sticks its peak into space, holding up the moon. I may have had more fun than they did, I am not sure.

After about an hour and a half, Amy and Elise come out of Ruth's bedroom and quietly shut the door. Ruth has fallen asleep while they work, so they have come out to play with the boys, too. I promise the boys that I will continue the story next time and Elise and Amy bring out their surprise. They have some cookie mix and want some help from the boys to make cookies! I look in on Ruth, who is snoring through the face hole in the table.

I decide to lie on her bed and keep her company and am soon in dreamland myself. Somehow the two of us seem to share a restful vibe. When I am in close proximity to her I feel the presence of a peaceful, friendly spirit. As I am drifting off, it occurs to me to wonder if I might get more opportunities to sleep, just to sleep, with Ruth if she and her boys do come to live in the new house that Elise wants to buy.

I find it to be a pleasant thought and it eases me from consciousness. I awaken some time later to find her joining me on her bed. She is still naked, so I disrobe also and we crawl under her covers. I spoon with her, my right arm clasped by her hands to her gigantic jugs.

My penis throbs, erect and ignored, although she squeezes it between her thighs. It soon subsides and we drift off once again. Not a word has been uttered between us; we just are completely relaxed together, as if we have been sleeping together for years.

Some hours later it is dark and Elise wakes us. She says they have taken the boys for a walk and also for dinner and ice cream while they are out. They have been back for a while and they think it may soon be time for Ruth to put the youngest to bed.

Ruth rises and dresses. She goes out to her boys to talk with them about their day. We all hang out in her living room as one by one; all four of the lucky young fellows are put to bed. They all receive good night kisses from their mother and her new lady friends.

We sit around in her living room for a few minutes and then Amy suggests that Ruth and I go out for dinner. She says that she and Elise will stay and hold the fort in case one of the boys gets up and wants comfort or anything else. So that's what we do. I take Ruth out to the jazz club, where we have a couple of drinks and then we each tear apart a full rack of ribs.

After dinner, Ruth tells me that Elise has suggested the idea of Ruth and her boys moving in with us, all to live in the big house she will buy soon. She wants to know if Elise is crazy or just a friendly saint. I tell Ruth that I think that Elise is actually a friendly saint who is a little crazy, but in a good way. I promise her that I think it is a good idea and that I will gladly die before any harm comes to her or her boys while I am around.

She starts to cry, so we leave, to sit in the restaurant parking lot in the van. She sobs in my arms for a half hour, huge racking sobs interspersed with great gulps of air. Finally she is spent, only sighing occasionally; then she tells me that she is OK to go home. Back in her apartment, Ruth sits down next to Elise and hugs her for five minutes. She thanks her profusely for her generosity and kisses her in acceptance of her offer. It appears that Elise's household matriarchy will now also include a large Jamaican woman and her four small boys.

I feel a weight of responsibility descend upon my shoulders, but it feels like it belongs there and I welcome it. I know that we have not really accepted a burden, that Ruth and her boys will contribute positive power and give greatly to our growing tribe. I now feel, deep within my bones, that Ruth is a loving spiritual presence who will surround us all with her wise and simple old soul. She will provide both comfort and guidance to any and all of us who are somehow troubled or burdened.

As we are leaving, Ruth hugs and kisses us all once more and thanks us for the marvelous afternoon and evening. Amy thanks her, smiling with happy tears, for sharing her loving family with us. I promise Ruth that we will keep her closely informed of any news and also that as we start house hunting; we will pick her up to look around with us. We will value her input and hope she will be generous and vocal with her opinions. Ruth has tears in her eyes again, but she promises she will be alright and we leave.

We are all silent as we drive back to our now obviously temporary abode. When we get back to the suite we quietly discuss an early rising and a search on the tablet for local real estate. I suggest that we need to find a buyers agent. Elise says that she will call her banker in the morning for his advice on neighborhoods to consider and for a few referrals to buyer's agents.

Then Elise asks me how I came to be sleeping naked in bed with Ruth. So I tell them the details of what transpired as I have related it above and why I think it happened. Both of them start to giggle at the seemingly incongruous absurdity of a healthy and still sexually active man just wanting to sleep with such an abundant and obviously ripe and fertile young woman.

I remind them that it seems to me that Ruth feels the same way about me. We are two adults who are relaxed and comfortable with each other and seek to nap together like kids in kindergarten. I am a nappy old man who loves the close company of women. Ruth is a tired single mother who appreciates the comfort of my company in bed without the usual mountain of associated sexual bullcrap.

Then Amy says - We seem to have found somebody for Mark to sleep with in between our date nights! Elise and Amy hug and kiss each other as they realize that means that they are to become much more than just sisters sharing the love of a silly old man. They will be regularly intimate lovers in their own right, spending many nights alone in bed together. Amy tearfully tells us that her heart is full of love.

She has never felt so happy and fulfilled as she feels right now; at the opportunity she will finally have to express her love of children with Ruth's boys. She is overjoyed to also suddenly find herself to be part of an extended family and so many loving relationships, after having lived alone for so long. We all get weepy with her and so we strip to get into bed, hugging and kissing each other in our newfound bliss. Soon we sleep the sound sleep of happy yet emotionally drained people who feel the prospect of great things ahead.
Chapter 44

Masher!

Waking up as the middle of another naked sandwich between two sleeping beauties who are again draped all over me, I decide to lie still for a while and let them sleep. The previous day was so rich with things to think about, I figure I could probably lay there and just think for a week. I might eventually arrive somewhere in my mind in that time, maybe not.

For some reason, mostly out of the force of an analytical mental processing habit, I try to sum things up. Instead of only having frequent open-relationship lesbian sex with her mostly lesbian sort-of-daughter Lisette, the fully bisexual and lifelong love-slave and occasional spanking appreciator, Elise will now be having frequent, open-relationship lesbian sex with her perhaps only somewhat bisexual sort-of-new-sister Amy, who may probably still prefer to be my mutually monogamous wife with us living in a usually frigid sort-of-hell where I would probably need to spray myself down with WD40 just to be able to get out of bed.

My part of this mix is that I will usually be sleeping with and NOT having sex with Ruth, a 200+ pound Jamaican MILF and single mother of four. Then, once or twice a week, I will have a planned date and sex with the two sort-of-sisters, one of whom is now my open-relationship-sort-of-wife Amy and the other is Elise, who may get therapy so that she can stop believing herself to be my open-relationship-love-slave and perhaps then graduate to also become my open-relationship-sort-of-wife, graduating me to a sort-of-bigamist.

It does get somewhat more complicated than that. Elise only considers herself to be free to have open relationship sex with women. She actively keeps pushing me towards having open relationship sex with other women, any of whom may somehow become additional love slaves for me, at least in her mind. All of these multiple open relationships are nonsensical ideas in terms of the ethics of sex when considering the possibility of introducing STDs into the stew of multiple partners that almost everyone is having.

Furthermore, Amy may finally and understandably decide this is all insane and go back to Missoula at any time, returning there to try to find a monogamous, sane polar bear man. However, in spite of the complexities of the situation, I believe that all of this may be kind of a step in the right direction for all of us. It also has a good potential to become stable if we can figure all this out, sooner rather than later. At least everybody seems to be keeping an open mind, thank god wherever she is.

I still have to figure out where Mercedes/Jane fits into all this; hopefully she has some good hash. The more I think about all this the more I can use a good smokeout. Once I have had an opportunity to get good and stoned, I decide that I will need to talk with Amy some more and also try to pick Lisette's brains. We really should figure this multiple open relationship quandary out and at least try to cut down a little on all the extra play going on. I just don't know what would be the best approach.

Another thing to consider is having a sex-relationship therapist analyze the situation and let everybody know the risks we are all taking, instead of trying to convince everyone myself. Yet another possibility is to print out several copies of this thing I am writing and let everybody read it and come up with their own ideas; at least let them know what I am thinking. I decide that is what I am going to do first opportunity I get, after we get the house hunt process rolling.

With gentle caresses, I wake up my two sweeties, telling them to rise and shine, we've got work to do today. I tell them that, if they let me up, I'll go get some coffee and croissants. Elise can try to contact her banker. Amy can go and see if Lisette and Francine want to hear about the latest developments, perhaps also involve themselves in the day's proceedings. I ask her to call me to let me know if the two young lesbian lovers want me to bring coffee and croissants for them as well.

Finally I can get up, so I give them both a kiss and rise, dress and walk out the door to get breakfast. Amy is in her robe, carrying her phone, right behind me. I have a quick bit of fun with her in the elevator as we descend the two floors. Hugging her from behind; I have her robe hanging open; am giving one of her hefty honkers a goose with one hand; am tickling her clitoral piercing with the index finger of the other hand and am nuzzling her neck while she nibbles my ear and has one hand behind her back and down my pants, squeezing my willy.

Then the elevator door opens and the old lady with the walker gets to say - Oh! la la! - again. I look up and disengage my hands from Amy as I wish the old lady a pleasant - Bonjour Madame. Amy, red-faced, finally manages to pull her hand out of my pants. Thankfully she does so without bringing my willy along in her panic. She pulls her robe closed and rushes from the elevator towards Lisette's room. The old lady slowly gets on the elevator and gives me a bright and cheery - Bonjour monsieur! - in reply to my greeting.

We ride to the street level and I hold the elevator door and then the lobby door for her as we slowly and eventually make it to the street. I am walking up to the door of the nearby coffee shop when Amy calls. She says that Lisette and Francine DO want coffee and croissants and WILL be up in the suite when I get back. Then she calls me a MASHER! and hangs up.

I return to the suite bearing breakfast for all. There, I find that Lisette is the only one besides yours truly who thinks that Amy's story of my mashing of her in the elevator and her subsequent embarrassment is funny. Meanwhile I am on everybody else's shit list, even Francine, which is surprising and also interesting to me.

In my defense, I mention that it is likely that, for the second time in several days, we have reminded an old lady of life in days past. Also, we have given her something to talk about with her cronies for as long as she can remember the story. At that, both Amy and Elise start to laugh. Of course, Lisette already had realized and appreciated that. Francine tells me to try to act more like an adult in public and in the elevators. She says that it might have been a priest standing at the door.

I begin to understand her point of view. I promise her to try to act like a grown up in public in the future and I mean it, she does have a point. To illustrate to Francine that I get it, I say - She's right, a celibate priest - seeing what I was doing to Amy and seeing Amy in all her glory - would likely be hard pressed to get that image out of his mind.

I would not want to be responsible for a man of god having a crisis of temptation and subsequently losing his religion and/or his faith, just because Amy is so beautiful and I am such a horn dog. Amy smiles and kisses me for expressing my belief that seeing her like that would be likely to cause such a thing to happen. Apparently I am forgiven, which will hold as long as I am able to behave myself. I try to move on, by turning to Lisette and asking her - Well, what did you two do yesterday, eat seafood all day? Lisette is up to the challenge, replying - Yes, we had some, but not in the elevator!

So I have to try another tack to change the subject. I turn to Elise and ask her - What did your banker have to say? She replies - He will call a personal friend who is also a buyers' agent and ask her to call us. I am waiting for her call. That response doesn't take us anywhere for long enough. I just grab my coffee and a croissant and sit on the bed to polish it off. Amy, still in her robe, sits down next to me and tells me that she is not mad at me anymore, we are OK.

I ask her if she wants to read the up to date version of this account when I get it done sometime this morning and she says - Sure, I'd love to! Elise and Lisette both say that they would as well. I finish my croissant, fetch the tablet and set to writing, while they all sit on the bed and talk about what kind of house or whatever they might like to live in. Apparently my best choice for a subject change would have been to brightly ask - Well, where would everybody like to live? Everybody has all sorts of things that they want to say about that. Live and learn.

So I have finished the update and Amy has been reading it for a while. Elise gets the call that she has been waiting for from the buyers' agent. She makes a date with this lady to meet for lunch. The immobilier (real estate agent) is a bit surprised when she finds out that there will be five or six adults coming to lunch with her, but she adjusts. I call Ruth and ask her if she wants to join us for the meeting. She says no, she'll wait until we have a list of properties to consider and then ride along for the tour of those.

Amy sidles up to me and quietly asks me if she can come along when I go to visit Jane aka Mercedes, she wants to smoke some hash too. I tell her it will probably be OK; I'll have to ask Jane. Maybe I can offer to give her some cash to compensate for the value of the hash we all smoke up.

I tell her I am thinking about asking Ruth if she wants to come too. At that Amy says - Well, if you want to do that, I would rather baby sit with her boys than smoke hash. I can always smoke some hash another time. Maybe you can get some from Jane that we can go off and smoke together?

I promise her I will move heaven and earth to get some hash so we can have our own little smokeout. It sounds like great fun to me. Amy then tells me she really doesn't care how crazy things are here. She really feels loved and wants to see where this will take us all, she is committed. I give her a big kiss and a hug. Without any conscious effort I am inside her robe with her once again; it seems to have fallen open all by itself. I suddenly realize that the room has gone silent.

I look up as Lisette clears her throat and says - I don't know, but it seems to me that Mark and Amy have something they would like to share with the class! I tell them all \- Read the tablet, catch up on the book, then tell me what you think. Amy is just telling me what she thinks right now, leave us in peace! In fact, do you and Francine need anything from your room for a while? They look at each other and then Francine gives me the key, smiling and wishing us a pleasant private time. Elise is already starting to read as Amy and I leave.

It is difficult to resist mashing her again in the elevator on the way down, but I do and am kind of proud of myself. I am also disappointed when there is no priest at the door when it opens again. Stepping out of the elevator, Amy sheds her robe, grabs the room key out of my hand and is sprinting bare-assed down the hall before I can begin to react. I do manage to collect myself fast enough to pick up her robe and rush pell mell down the hall after her, arriving just before the door swings shut. I am in the room and on top of her on the bed in a flash.

We spend a couple of hours smooching, canoodling and talking before Elise knocks on the door to let us know that we are wanted up in the suite again. She inquires whether it is now necessary to reset the three day "next available date with Mark" clock. I tell her that my seed has not been issued this day and that I am still hoping for a black light party date with them both soon.

She grins and gives my dick a honk. I jump into my pants and Amy puts her robe back on and we go with Elise back up to the suite. In the elevator, it is Elise who assaults Amy this time, with a similar effect.

Amy is naked once again when she knocks on the door of the suite, Elise and I walking behind, grinning and laughing. Once inside, I give Amy back her robe. She smiles and tells me that, due to the suddenly growing popular demand for access to her body, she is becoming a nudist. I tickle her briefly and ask her if she has been enjoying her new life in Montreal so far as she giggles.

She hangs her robe on the hook in the bathroom, then returns to the main room with its big bed. She sits in the middle of the bed, looking very cute there, sitting bare-assed in a room full of fully dressed people. I shuck my clothes and hop up there with her; a newly naked Elise soon follows.

Shortly we are all together in the all-together, sitting on the big bed, which is getting crowded. It seems to be time to buy a big house and also a big living room set. Perhaps Amy is right, maybe Elise should just buy a nudist camp.
Chapter 45

Playing House

Apparently everyone, including Francine, has read the entire book while Amy and I were having our private canoodle party. All are interested in talking about my concerns about multiple partners, open relationships, STDs and the long term stability of our little tribal family. I suggest to them that these issues are not likely to be resolved in one conversation. In fact I suggest that everyone should think about them some more before we have our first in-depth conversation about it.

I also suggest that I have two methods for working through difficult questions. First, I spend an evening describing them in the greatest detail I can, in writing. Second, I sleep on them shortly thereafter. Often, my subconscious will suggest something as I return to consciousness in the morning.

Lisette nods at me when I glance at her after this one. In addition, I tell them that the more perspectives that we put into any issue the better. I am hoping that everyone - I look at Francine at this point - will try to contribute their thoughts on these questions.

We just look at each other for a while. Then Elise asks me point blank - What are you going to do if Jane wants you to fuck her? I tell her - I don't really think that's what she wants, unless you have asked her to seduce me? Elise shakes her head.

I tell her - I think Jane just wants a male friend who won't try to take advantage of her. She is so damn sexy that I'm sure that if she wants to get laid she can find some one to help her with that inside of five minutes no matter where she is on the planet. For some reason, I just think she likes me and she senses that I like her too. If I have learned anything in my time on this world, it is that one should be selective in who one chooses to like and especially to make love with.

However, I also think that you should love everyone you can, which is a different proposition to making love with them. For example, I love everyone in this room. I only want to make love with Amy and Elise though. I am happy to caress Lisette and Francine, help them to shoop if they want, but that is just sex play, that is not lovemaking.

For another example, I have also fallen in love with Ruth. I have discovered that I sleep with her easily and well, but I mean just sleeping. At my age, being able to get a good nights sleep is really something to appreciate. I have slept with her three times now, most recently we were in bed and naked and I had an erection. That was an involuntary reaction to her though, I really just wanted to sleep and so did she.

After it subsided we both went to sleep and slept soundly for almost six hours, spooned together. It was lovely and sweet and also restful for both of us. I would be happy to do that with any of you. It is an especially pleasant thing, to share a nights rest with someone with the tacit agreement that sexual intents, agendas and tensions will be ignored.

What I want to do with Jane and which I expect she wants also, is to relax, get stoned, party, maybe relate on some intellectual or social level or both. You can never have too many friends and there is no such thing as too many different points of view. Everyone is richer for sharing with others.

I know that Elise had a long career in law enforcement and I suspect that she takes a dim view of drugs as a result. However, I also know that she has an open mind. I would like to smoke some opiated hash and drink some whiskey with her, also with Ruth and Amy.

Amy has told me that if Ruth is involved, then she would rather baby sit with her boys than get stoned. That brings up another subject related to this new house. I think we need to have some space where we can allow ourselves to do private, adult type things.

We will soon be living with 4 small boys. A pile of naked writhing women just back from a night spent dancing at 5 am will not combine well with a boy coming down from bed early because he is hungry for his breakfast. Neither will a smoke filled hash den.

I think we need to make plans and space to include adult type activities in our new living arrangements. Perhaps we need to find a house that has an elevator that doesn't go anywhere and that anybody shorter than 5 foot can't push the call button to open the door. Everybody giggles at this and Francine says that she just barely makes that cut. She wants to make sure that she can still reach the button; she wants to get on that elevator once in a while.

I know that was a long and involved answer to your question, Elise, but I think you got it. I won't fuck Jane, even if she asks me to, because it would not be sexually ethical to do so. As I have said, I don't really expect her to suggest it and I don't plan to bring it up myself.

So I hope you will trust that I mean what I say. Elise says - Of course I do, Mark and I hope that you know that I don't mind if you do fuck her, if that's what you want to do. I just was curious because, with your stated concern about sexual ethics, STDs and multiple partners, it would seem contradictory. Now I know that you really mean what you say and will try to live up to your own words. That is one of the reasons that I love you so much, because you try so hard to do the right thing while also are serious about having fun.

We sit there in a naked circle for a few more minutes. Then it seems like a good time to break and get ready to meet the immobilier for lunch. So that's what we do. Real estate people are boring as hell; I won't go into the details of that. Inside of a week we found a house that we all liked, it was actually a big old mansion with servant's quarters in back and a smaller house next door. Since Elise paid cash, the deal closed quickly and we moved in a few days later.

It was almost 2 million Canadian for both. Elise just bought them both, paid full price and didn't bat an eyelash about it. Amy told me later that Elise had showed her a spreadsheet summarizing all her various accounts and investments, the bottom line showed about 85 million, she thinks it was euros. Either way, as long as it wasn't pesos or lire, 85 million is a lot of money.

As Elise had said, it is a lot and we don't have to worry about it any more. Amy told me that Elise was concerned that I might object to the money if I knew where she got it. Most of it was inherited when the old sadist died; apparently he believed that Jeanne was his bio-daughter. It had grown considerably through investing by Elise's husband and then her son-in-law in the decade since then.

I don't really give a damn, as far as I am concerned, she earned it and more during the year she was a sex slave. Someone should have strung that old bastard up by his nuts for what he did to her. The money is small compensation for her year of torment and for most of her adult lifetime spent brainwashed, still believing that love, torment, rape and slavery somehow belong in the same sentence.

ANYWAY, as far as the living arrangements in this big new house are concerned, I sleep in a small bedroom in the servants' quarters, with a big bed and a dresser. Ruth has slept with me for most of the past few weeks. The rest of the servant quarters will soon be converted into Amy's massage studio combined with my own small office space.

I have been doing some of that work, with the help of an electrician and a plumber. Ruth helps me with the carpentry, she learns fast. I don't doubt for a minute that she will learn all I can teach her and then will swing a hammer and cut a board to length with the best of them.

The second house next door, a somewhat smaller two story affair, is the adult playhouse, kept locked with keys inaccessible to the boys. Jane - previously known as Mercedes \- may end up living on the upper floor; we are still talking with her about that. Possession of drugs on the premises is a concern that Elise has hired a lawyer to think about for us.

The big house has three stories plus a full basement, twelve bedrooms, six bathrooms, a big kitchen with a huge dining room and a large parlor-living room on each story. This is all the space we will ever need, I hope. Amy and Elise share one large bedroom. Lisette has another; it looks highly likely that Francine will be moving in with her soon.

We have created a distinct apartment on the second floor for Ruth and her boys. However, the two smallest - Paul and Thom - have taken to sleeping with Amy and Elise in their big bed. They say that they are scared of the monsters in the closet. Amy and Elise are loving it and have taken to hiding their mammalian monsters in matching flannel pajamas. These two voluptuous vixens look damn cute, in an entirely different way than the boys do in their superhero PJs.

Ruth's apartment includes a good sized parlor-living room which is the boys play room. It will soon be their homework/schoolroom/computer room. We have installed a big wall bed there for whenever Ruth is not sleeping with me. There are also two bathrooms and four bedrooms. This will eventually allow one bedroom for each of her boys. They are still small and their two bunk beds are both in one of the bedrooms, for now.

In the adult playhouse, we have put in several low sectional sofas around the perimeter of the largest room. We expanded this room further by knocking out a wall, replacing it with a pillar. We set up dim lighting and lots of nooks and crannies. This allows for conversations and little parties, canoodling, smooching, piles of nakedness, adult type films and music. There is a fairly large open space in the center for dancing. So far we have had a couple parties there, most of the strippers we know came to the second one and things got kind of wild.

Ruth, Amy, Lisette and Francine are taking turns with babysitting duties when we have these parties. Amy especially is more interested in playing with the boys than in seafood (unintended). I was right; she is only lesbian in the same way that Lisette used to play with dicks. Amy will eat seafood when that is on the menu, but she mostly wants whatever time she can spend with me.

However, Amy has been starting to become somewhat romantically involved with Elise lately. I don't think there is much of a lesbian thing going on there. Instead, they just like each other and help each other to get to sleep if there is something that needs to be done.

Jane took them shopping for shooping tools. They now have quite a selection of vibrators, dildos and other interesting toys. Sometimes I stay late into the night with them just to watch them play together with their toys, which ones do what and how the ladies respond.

We have had a few black light dates, the first one at the suite and then several more here in my bedroom; they are awesome. Elise has worn UV reactive nipple jewelry that they found somewhere. I spent these nights watching her jewelry and Amy's piercings move around; in the dark their dueling banjos have minds of their own. We usually dance and play around for a couple hours and then . . . well, you know, it's great, we do what adults do when they love each other and want to make each other feel good.

Recently Amy helped Elise through the pain and soreness of her new piercings, so my first black light volleyball team is nearly ready. During the big stripper party I talked with Fanny and Marta about my concept for the new sport. They were both interested in the whole idea, although Marta surprised me, saying that she doesn't like piercings.

I will look for UV reactive nipple jewelry for her. There is all sorts of interesting stuff available out there on the web. I will email her some pictures from the catalog sites and see if she likes anything. Marta is kinky as hell; she just doesn't want things poked through her sensitive bits. Concerning Marta and Elise, bondage and submission; that's another story that I'll get to a little later.

Ruth is also really interested in the black light volleyball league. She now has had her nipples and clit pierced. Ruth will go shopping with Amy for UV reactive piercings as soon as her soreness subsides some more. Surprising Elise, Ruth says that she doesn't want a breast reduction, since her back is doing much better. For one thing, her huge heavy humdingers have paid her bills for a long time. Also, her little boys are used to how bodacious Bert & Ernie are, shrinking them down could confuse them.

I am secretly overjoyed about this, since I get to sleep with her, with her wonderful Winnebagos, with her altogether incredible body. Also, when she is in the black light volleyball league I am sure she will be a star attraction, besides adding her true athletic prowess to the game. We set up a grass volleyball court in the backyard. Francine and Lisette have been practicing with Elise, Amy and Ruth, working with them on the fundamentals of bumping, passing and setting.

Amy and Ruth are a workout couple now, every morning they exercise together religiously. I have taken some of the first videos of their workouts. I think a big part of Ruth's back problem was fatigue and stress. We have been sleeping and napping together a lot and her fatigue load has gone way down. Many adults help her to look out for her boys now, so her worries in that regard are just gone.

That means that Ruth is back as a big, strong, healthy young woman. She is working hard with me on a slew of projects. We have started fencing off a vegetable and flower garden for Elise, Amy and likely Francine to work and plant with winter veggies after we get it tilled and fertilized. Next summer we will build a greenhouse for them to plant with vegetables and flowers.
Chapter 46

Don't think of a monkey

Another interesting thing that Ruth and I are doing is what I am calling the Kama Sutra of sleep. I frequently get erections when sleeping and cuddling with Amy, Elise or Ruth. Ruth ignores them, but sometimes it takes a while to subside, at times keeping us both from sleeping.

Surprising me with the idea, one night Ruth suggested that we experiment with positions where we might try to sleep with me inserted into her, not just between her thighs. No thrusting of course, just my erect penis in her wet vagina. With me on top of her the desire to thrust was extremely difficult to overcome and kept me awake.

However, with her on top of me, her knees drawn up to my sides, her vagina just swallows me up. Also, her weight resting on top of me pretty much makes thrusting ineffective and is also too hard on my old back. Completing the process of working herself into this position, Ruth places one of her hefty hanging hush puppies in each of my armpits, rests her head on a small pillow on my left shoulder and then relaxes her weight on top of me.

I love to listen to her Jamaican accented French as she whispers in my left ear while we rest and relax, coupled together. We have long, quiet conversations that way, most of them happy and some of them fantastically funny; Ruth has a great sense of humor. If things get too wacky, she has to make an effort to avoid moving around too much when she laughs, or unplanned events may occur.

We also spend a great deal of time smooching, she is an accomplished kisser and has been teaching me how to kiss properly and to maximum effect. I am not joking, she has introduced me to a performance art form that is new to me, both Amy and Elise have thanked her for expanding my horizons in that regard. In the smooching arena, just winging it is not the way to go, it is better to find an expert and have them teach you the ropes.

ANYWAY, Ruth and I have quickly become extremely close and loving in many ways. However, we just don't do anything that most folks would consider normal sexual intercourse. While we are coupled in our nightly Kama Sutra of sleep, my erection throbs and grows, then subsides and grows again, moving inside of her as it will continue to after we sleep.

We both have some really interesting dreams while this is going on. Without the ability to thrust, the ejaculation that we both want to avoid isn't likely to happen. We have some ideas for other positions to try, but so far this one is working the best.

Interestingly, in that position, Ruth could also get things going by moving around. She says that she doesn't have an overpowering urge to slide herself up and down upon me. We have slept like that at least 10 nights now. My arms naturally rest on her thighs and I loosely grasp her butt with my hands; as I mentioned, her luscious, luxuriantly liquid lungs fill my armpits.

This fairly low center of gravity embrace is stable enough to maintain itself through the night as we sleep. I have woken up in the middle of the night a few times, just laying there for an hour or more while my penis grows and subsides inside her warm and wet vagina with the sensations and with my thoughts. It is an interesting way to try to meditate.

Many have heard of the difficult meditation exercise: Don't think of a monkey. Meditating on that without mentally picturing a monkey is extremely tricky. Well forget the monkey; let me tell you about my meditation exercise: Don't think of a warm, wet vagina while inserted into one.

That is several exponential orders of magnitude harder (unintentional). Imagine me there on my back, somehow not thinking of - or stepping away from awareness of \- my erection as it is throbbing inside the warm, wet vagina of Ruth. There she inescapably is, a large and exceedingly voluptuously voluminous woman lying on top of me, coupled with me. If I continue to "not work" at it, I may attain Nirvana one of these nights, just laying there with my penis inside of Ruth and with my mind on some other plane (http://www.two-kinds-of.us/).

Another interesting aspect of the Kama Sutra of sleep is waking up. At my age, I am blessed in that I still frequently wake up with morning wood. Sleeping this way with Ruth, it is there every morning, throbbing happily inside of her.

She tells me that it is this time of our nights together that is the most difficult for her. She sometimes finds herself involuntarily beginning to move around as she rises to consciousness. She adds that it is wonderful when she finally is fully awake and can feel my heart actively pulsing, both inside of her and through her chest, welcoming her to the new day.

Ruth and I have smoked out several times with Jane/Mercedes now. We smoke her opiated hash, drink whiskey and listen to music. I was right; Jane has shown no interest in having sex with me. She says that she just likes me because I like women so much, since she does too.

Strangely, I don't think she identifies herself as lesbian or even bi-sexual. She is just a sexual animal and a party girl by nature, always seeking to have as much fun as she can stand. Once in a while I have some fun imagining Jane, abducted by aliens.

I am sure that if she found them remotely attractive in some way she would party with them too, just to see where it might lead. So Jane likes to party with Elise, Lisette and Francine. She seems to be becoming somewhat romantically involved with Elise. They all go dancing often and end up in a pile next door in the adult playhouse.

Jane likes sex with men too, but says it has always turned into way too much drama for her. She says once she starts up with some guy he becomes possessive almost immediately and ruins it for her and thus for himself. She uses several varieties of vibrators and dildos as penis replacements, so she is kind of a fish that has easily adapted to life without a bicycle. She is especially proud of a big rubber dildo that has a suction cup on the base. She likes to carry it around in her apartment; sometimes she playfully threatens Ruth with it.

We got so stoned and drunk once that she showed me and Ruth how much fun she has using it to have sex with her refrigerator. It was funny as hell, kind of sexy too. Ruth and I just stood there, jaws dropped, while with her face down on her kitchen floor, Jane and her fridge went at it.

With one hand rubbing her clitoris, she rocked back and forward on her knees as the big dildo, jutting low from her refrigerator door, fucked her doggy style. This went on, faster and faster, deeper and deeper, for five long minutes until . . . well, you can imagine the names she called her refrigerator. I will tell you that, for Jane, a hard Amana is good to find, I have seen it with my own incredulous eyes. I suggested to her that she might consider cheating on her fridge with her washing machine, load him up and put him on spin cycle, see where that might take her.

So it seemed obvious to me, given that her needs are being met in the relationship she has with her big Amana, that she merely saw me as a male friend she could get high with. It works for me on many levels. For one, she has a good source for excellent opiated hash.

I gave her a bunch of money to compensate her for all the hash that Ruth and I were helping her to send up in smoke. She said it was too much and gave more than half of it back. So I asked her if I could buy some so I could smoke out with Amy, give us a chance to make love together with Elise while we were stoned. She just gave me some and loaned me a hash pipe.

I have also smoked out with her alone. We got fairly stoned and drunk, then she said she wanted to rest. At her request, we stripped and lay down together, curled up on the couch. She slept for an hour and I played with her hair. She held my erection in one hand while she slept, but didn't do anything with it. It was somewhat like sleeping with a skinny version of Ruth.

I think she and Ruth talked about our Kama Sutra of sleep experiments. Jane probably wanted to try it, to test my willpower when my inhibitions were lowered. I suspect she wanted to see if I really could resist the urge to try to fuck her.

There she was, absolutely beautiful, sexy, naked and accessible, right there in my arms, both of us a little drunk and stoned to the bones. Of course the temptation was there, but it wasn't any real trouble for me not to act on it. It was a simple, profound pleasure for me just to be there and share that.

Why make things so much more complicated? Besides, I know she doesn't want me for a lover, but I really want her for a friend and she seems to want my friendship too. Since then, when we are getting high alone together or with Ruth, we usually don't wear anything but a silly grin.
Chapter 47

Reach out and touch someone

I want to get back to the subject of Elise and Marta and bondage - that is showing the potential to become kind of interesting. One morning Elise and I were talking about her various new sex toys. I reminded her about Marta's leather belt outfit with the strap-thong and the smart phone holster riveted to it. She hadn't noticed that particular special feature of the strap-thong, but she was interested enough that she told me that she wanted to talk with Marta. I called Jane.

Jane brought Marta over to the adult playhouse a few hours later. Marta was wearing her belt and strap-thong with its custom smart phone holster instead of panties under a denim mini skirt and loose blouse. Elise easily convinced her to strip down to just the belt.

She stood there with her super-sized silly cones and her bulbous round butt, wide belt cinched down tight around her waist. Marta willingly turned around slowly for us like a submissive slave at a bondage fashion show. Actually, I guess she kind of was, especially from Elise's point of view.

Elise was completely awed by the entirety of the device. She told me that she does not understand why she did not notice it during the party we had that included Marta at the club a while back. She asked me to tie Marta's hands together behind her back with my shoelaces, securing them to one of the steel rings hanging from the belt at the small of her back for that purpose.

Then Elise tried to put her fingers under the strap-thong. She raved about how tightly the stiff, wide strap-thong sealed Marta's privates from any access. She pulled Marta's smart phone out of its holster.

Elise carefully examined the large stainless steel rivet securing it to, and through the strap-thong, right on top of Marta's clitoris. She was enthusiastic about how the phone just hung there in its holster, waiting for a call to come in. Then she asked Marta for her cell number.

At Elise's request I called it several times. We watched as Marta moaned when the phone vibrated. She was only able to swivel her hips in helpless response to the phones vibrations traveling through the rivet and stimulating her clitoris.

I watched as Elise and Jane played with Marta for a while that afternoon. Marta seemed to enjoy it. Elise was especially revealing of herself and her own imagination, by some of the things she did to Marta that afternoon.

Elise seems that she may be reverting to a kinkiness that could have been her only entertainment during her long and difficult 16th year. A week later, a package arrived from Europe containing a belt just like it for Elise. It also contained an accessory holster customized for Elise's smart phone.

Elise is eagerly waiting until her new piercings are not sore any more. Then she wants to start experimenting with me and Marta and bondage. One of the larger rooms in the upper level of the adult playhouse will be perfect for it. There are a couple of exposed ceiling beams, with lots of potential to make a kinky playroom.

Elise definitely seems to have some strongly submissive tendencies and preferences. She wants to explore what my imagination will do with and to her as she is tied up, maybe also with or to Marta. Marta is all for it and keeps bringing me pictures and drawings of different devices to which they both can be bound, hung from, spun around on, the ideas just keep coming out of both of them.

To start with I think I will probably just tie them together with their belts on and their hands tied to their sides or maybe just hang them from the ceiling beam. When Elise is wearing her belt, I found that I am able to adjust things so that the rivet for Elise's smart phone rests right on top of her new clitoral piercing when the strap is cinched tight.

When the smart phone vibrates like that, the piercing will be pinned tightly between her pubic bone and the metal rivet for the holster. The vibration should pass right through those pieces of metal and directly into her clitoris. It gives a new meaning to the old slogan - "Just reach out and touch someone", doesn't it?

Then I'll just go watch TV, call and text their smart phones for a while, then stop for a while. I'll let 'em feel those vibrations at random intervals, wonder who might be calling them and when the next call might come in. Browsing around on the internet at several BDSM catalog sites with her one evening, one of the interesting things that Elise also responded to were these wire frame contraptions that could be used to stretch out her nipples. I guess you would call them a special purpose piercing accessory.

This piercing insert interacts with the contraption, basically a larger ring and framework that rests on the breast around the nipple. It exerts a continuous pulling force on the nipple through the piercing. Elise told me just looking at the picture of it made her wet, so I ordered a few varieties of them for her. Looking at the photo myself, I was reminded of lovely Rosa in Coos Bay and the long nipples projecting from the ends of her substantial, sweetly swinging senos (breasts; Spanish).

Since like Rosa, Elise also has large, luscious, loose, lazy lactoids, I mention Rosa's amazing foundation garment to her and the description of it in the book. I suggested that she might consider getting something like that for herself. It would support and present her like two tremendous teardrop pearls on a half shell and also project her nipples and their new stretchers in an interesting way.

Elise demanded an immediate and fully descriptive review of Rosa's bustier-bra thingamajig. She was so intense about it I thought she wanted to pack up and fly to Coos Bay to check 'em out while Rosa is wearing them. Considering that thought for a minute; I would love a chance to see Rosa.

It would be great to visit with her for a while. If I am lucky, she might possibly want to test my willpower again, I hope I can somehow pass once more. I will never forget the marvelous moments during which my hands were permitted to explore her warm, moist, fleshy torso, inside her sweat suit.

ANYWAY, Elise told me that just imagining the bustier-bra/nipple piercing puller conceptual combination concept made her so hot and wet that she needed immediate attention. We summoned Amy and we all went into my bedroom for a while, turned it into an emergency room for one of our spontaneous this-can't-possibly-wait dates. Having a sexually active imagination and a good memory pays off at times. Thank you Rosa, for the memories of your mammaries!

After I was conscripted for another session of complete, detailed description for them, Elise and Amy went shopping for bustier-bra foundation garments a few days later. I imagine that Amy's jumbo globular hemispheres are still sufficiently high, firm and tight that they wouldn't really gain anything from a structurally engineered support system designed for heavily hanging hooters like Elise's. However, Amy may decide to buy one or more just for effect, who knows.

Although Amy did not pick out one for herself, Elise bought 5 different varieties of bustiers-bras. She also had one custom made out of black leather, to match and complement her belt. She spent over three grand on them all. Then she put on another lingerie fashion show for me.

Wearing any of them, Elise's two big bulky bouncing berthas are presented like conversation pieces on a coffee table. Since then, she tells me that I get cartoon popeyes every time I discover that she is wearing any of these enticing garments. Then her projecting nipples reach out to grab my fingers; soon they have launched themselves into my mouth for tasty licks, kisses, sucks and nibbles.

ANYWAY, Elise's new piercings soreness should be gone soon. She'll be able to put on one of her new bustier-bras, then I'll put a couple of nipple stretchers on her projected pointers. Then we can cinch her into her new belt and put her smart phone in its strap-thong mounted holster. The combination of all these erotic accessories will probably keep her attentively interested for hours.

There are also variations of the strap-thong which do not have smart phone holsters. Instead, they have several mounts and adjustable positions to which one can attach plugs, dildos and vibrators of various kinds. The idea is to attach both a vaginal vibrator and a vibrating butt plug to the strap, put them both where the sun doesn't shine and cinch the strap-thong tight to the wide belt that it attaches to front and back.

So, in order to thoroughly occupy my kinky French slave woman; I would insert the two vibrator-phalluses that are mounted to the strap-thong into her orifices. I would cinch the strap-thong up tightly into her belt, after verifying that the clitoral vibrator was in full contact with her clit piercing. Then I would tie Elise's hands behind her, to the steel ring riveted to the center of the back of the belt, as I had Marta. After that is done, then its time to put her new nipple pullers on. Finally, I turn all three vibrators on really low and she is all set, basically entertaining herself, left to her own devices (intentional).

She might be able to walk out of there like that if she could turn the doorknob using her hands somehow, although they are securely tied together back by her tailbone. However, if I were to tie her two leg straps together and also tie them to her belt and cinch them tight, she would be completely unable to stand or free herself. Then I would tie the back of her belt, her hands and her feet together to a rope hanging from a hook in the ceiling beam.

With a little tension on that rope, she would have no choice but to lie there face down - upstairs in the adult playhouse - and squirm. Until I returned to release her, it would be uncomfortable for her. For one thing, her full French fuck-mes and their nipple puller frames would be crushed into the rug.

If I pull the ceiling rope tighter then she would be suspended. Perhaps only the piercings through the tips of her super sensitive slightly swaying substantial swingers would then rest upon a block of ice. Her heat would slowly melt it and create a chilly pool on its surface, further cooling the blood flowing to her nipples from her hotly pulsing heart.

They also have radio controlled vibrators, so we are back to a further variation of the idea. Suppose now that Elise is trussed up alone in the adult playhouse while I am watching TV next door. Even better, I am lying in bed under Ruth with my erection throbbing inside her. Meanwhile I think about the effect that the radio controls in my hands are creating for Elise. She is over there in the dark, squirming around and moaning as the 3 vibrators hum - or stop humming if I am teasing her - on her clitoris and inside her.

Or perhaps I have both Marta and Elise set up like that with both of their various vibrators hooked up to the same remote. I could hang 'em spread eagled from the ceiling, waiting together and hoping for the next commercial. During each commercial, I decide whether I might, or might not, try playing with the remote control for them instead of channel surfing with the TV remote for a while. To vibrate her or not to vibrate her, that is the question.

All of this makes me and my imagination sound nasty, but I am not actually going to do any of this stuff. I'll just describe it here in the book so Elise can read it. Then she will understand that, in my mind, I am not any better than that sadistic old bastard. You know, the one that liked Verdi's La Fortuna del Destino and who enslaved, bound and tormented her with pain for a year. The only real difference is that - while I may think about doing such things to a woman and perhaps even get hard thinking about it - they stay in my mind; I would never actually do them.

I have better things to do with my time and I wouldn't want to hurt or even cause a woman discomfort with any of this crap. Besides, you do one nasty thing and the next time you want to do something nastier. It's a vicious cycle - the process of becoming jaded and inhuman - which explains why there are so many horribly inhumane acts being committed upon the persons and spirits of women on film, so sick jaded fools can pay to watch them displayed on the internet.

Instead, don't have sex for a week or more and then just do it the old fashioned way. By then your need will be likely to overcome any twisted thoughts you may have. Then wait another week or more and do it the old fashioned way again - you know, tenderly and with passion and love. Loving sex is not about coldness and nastiness like you have read in my descriptions above. Where sex is concerned, quality is better than quantity. The less you have, the better it is, for you and your partner(s), your hearts, your minds and your souls (http://www.suggestions-manual.net/).

ANYWAY, getting back to our intertwined group of lovers, my concerns about STDs and sexual ethics seem to have been dismissed by the ladies after some discussion. Most of us are aware of the risks, but we often are in denial. Or perhaps we just aren't prepared to accept that losing the bet will inevitably happen to us, if we live in such a way that we stack the odds against ourselves. Women can almost do whatever they want with their own bodies now, at least to a larger degree than ever before, in quite a few cultures.

So they want to do what they want to do, now that they have that freedom and power. They have fought for so many generations to take ownership of their own bodies. True, there may be a low percentage risk of illness or death due to unprotected sex with a new partner, or a familiar partner that has had sex with another partner on the sly, like my fair lady had done to me. However, to give up that hard won freedom is just not acceptable for many women after that long struggle. As I said, many women have given themselves permission to live as they please now that they have assumed that authority over themselves.

So we party on. As I see it and as far as Amy, Ruth and I are concerned, the biggest risk sources are Jane and Elise. Within the few moments necessary for me to commit myself to monogamy with her, Amy's heart, body and soul would become mine and vice versa. I believe that I am much more likely to impregnate Ruth during the Kama Sutra of sleep than I am to acquire an STD from her.

Jane and Elise party with so many different people that there is a much higher mathematical probability of their bringing something that we don't want into our group and our home. Ultimately, the thing that brought us together - Elise's heedless and needless self-sacrificial lack of concern about acquiring an STD from me - is possibly now going to break us apart. Elise seems to have the same "throw your fate to the winds" attitude about the possibility that her free and easy lifestyle choices could introduce an STD to me and/or Amy, which I might then pass on to Ruth.

What is different is that Elise has the power to do something about that possibility, but apparently chooses not to. I refuse to be a slave to - and inevitably a victim of - that kind of Catch 22 thinking and so suddenly I am free. Tomorrow I will give Elise back to herself. If she doesn't like being her own master, or still hasn't learned how, then she can give herself to someone else.
Chapter 48

5 years later

Well, the more things change, the more they stay the same. There has been a constant swirl of changes around the lives of this little group of women and yours truly, but the core group that was beginning to solidify in that first month has stayed. When I tried to set her free, Elise did what love slaves do. She complied with what she perceived that I required of her.

I now believe that her submissive nature prevented her from acting independently, that she was waiting for me to be masterful and direct her. At any rate, Elise, along with Amy and I, finally went to talk to a professional, a sex & relationship therapist. This lady got so intrigued and involved in our group that she brought in a small team to consult with us and with her, to try to figure things out.

Right from the start, the therapist agreed that, given the size of our extended group and its freewheeling activities, STDs were inevitable. She told us that the only realistic thing to do was to reach an agreement with everyone - within a somewhat limited and identified circle - to only have dangerous/unsafe sex within the circle. Everyone must also promise to fess up if and when, they went outside. That, combined with regular testing of everyone in the group for STDs, would control and reduce our risks to more acceptable levels.

She also wanted to start regular group counseling sessions with Amy, Elise, Jane, Lisette, and Francine, since they were all so closely intertwined in various sexual and emotional ways. She began long term individual psychological counseling sessions with Elise, in an attempt to work through her love & sex slavery brainwashing. After a couple of private sessions with me, she and the committee behind her decided there wasn't much they could do for me, I am too set in my thinking.

As I explained to a couple of the therapists, I have several basic issues with psychiatric medicine and the art of psychology as they now are practiced. First, many of us human beings used to care and lived our lives accordingly, but now most take the pill for that. Second, if you are not neurotic to some degree, then you are not paying attention. Third, the state of mental health medical science is limited entirely by the fact that they are only able to try to address the symptoms. Like most of the rest of us, they themselves are in denial about the disease.

Many - having their eyes wide open and paying attention to the deteriorating state of things and the accelerating de-evolution of society - are in one of two states of mind, or possibly both. Either they are going batshit with worry about the future for themselves and their loved ones or they are about to go postal with rage (http://www.going-postal.us/). After I let the shrinks know in direct terms that I was too concerned with the diseases of society to allow them to try to address my own symptoms; they just concentrated on trying to help the women around me.

ANYWAY, we had to work out who wanted to be in our highly sexed little party group and how the whole thing would work. We ended up with seven. Jane may be a surprise member on the list for you; she lives with us in the big house now. Ruth, Francine and Lisette are also in, no surprise there.

And of course there's Amy, Elise et moi (and me). For the last few years, we have all only had dangerous/unsafe sex with each other, with only Jane going rogue for one free-wheeling fling. At times it seems profoundly bizarre to me, yet polyamory \- or whatever you may choose to call it - apparently is working for us.

In her fling, Jane had some sort of pre-arrangement with Elise to which I was not a party, although I was peripherally a party to the parties that Jane had as a result. I'll explain that later. We all have had continuously clean monthly test results since the testing started, knock on wood that trend will continue. Of course there is a lot more to the story of the seven of us and the sexy love, or loving sex that we share. I will get to that, but first there are other interesting developments to report.

About a week after the meeting of our group \- in which we worked out the above arrangement - something suddenly seemed to click for Lisette. She apparently had an epiphany and as usual, I suspect the handiwork of Elise as a catalyst in it. As a result of her brainstorm, Lisette called Elise, Amy, Francine and yours truly together for another meeting.

She proposed forming a non-profit business entity with the primary purpose of assisting Quebecoises (French-Canadian women) in general, and single mothers in particular, to survive and thrive. She wanted to also have a secondary purpose of creating and/or supporting businesses that were owned and managed by women. She suggested that we should call this new non-profit enterprise Mélange, a French word meaning mixing or blending.

Lisette thought that the income for Mélange could be generated using virtual sex and technology to manipulate money out of the pockets of men. With a smile at me, she said that she was going to make this happen by employing a school of fish to ride virtual bicycles. She meant that men, out on the internet, were the bicycles. And that is basically what happened.

To explain it directly and in depth would not be much fun. Instead, I will do it another way, by describing how a number of individuals lives are involved in the manifestation of Lisette's brilliant plan. All are at least peripherally involved in our group, starting with the oddest woman out.
Chapter 49

Marta and the VVV league

To sum up where Marta is at, I would say that she is testing Elise's theory that it is not possible to have too many orgasms in a day. Serving her submissive nature, Marta prefers that these are manufactured for her and upon her in as many kinky ways as possible. She tells me that she is having the time of her life and frequently wants me to participate in making her shoop in whatever ways I can dream up.

She frequently tries, in her own unique ways, to show me her gratitude and recognition of the technical know how that I have applied to make her strange and lucrative lifestyle choice work for her. Elise requires that I tell her about everything that I occasionally cook up for & with Marta. There are some things that Elise subsequently wants me to do with or to her as well.

Over the past 5 years, Marta almost exclusively has had her numerous sexual encounters via remote controlled mechanisms, operated mostly by men via the internet. As they are doing whatever they are doing to Marta, they closely view her on web-cams from multiple angles, in many different and sometimes highly unusual locations, with audio. She has become a nearly entirely virtual sexual entity; she mostly has sex remotely, through and on the internet.

By the way, she usually sleeps in her own room on the upper level of the adult playhouse next door. That bedroom is basically her bondage bedtime stage, completely covered by numerous web cams and microphones. But the entire world seems to be her stage set.

Marta spends almost all of her 24 hour day on web-cam and mic'ed up. At any point in her day she is either shooping or soon to shoop again. Whenever she goes somewhere, Fanny frequently goes along, at times leading Marta on a leash.

Accompanying them there are always at least two female AV computer techs following and filming them with web-cams, along with a security team nearby. The female techs and the security people are all usually single mothers who are employees of Lisette's Mélange. They have been trained for their jobs with Mélange non-profit funds.

Marta also spends a great deal of her time wearing the leather belt and strap-thong outfit I first saw her in, although that has gone through numerous style, comfort/health and technical improvements and revisions. Elise bought the Dutch company that makes them, mostly for a few patents they held, their customer and distribution channels and also to eliminate them as potential competitors. Lisette's Mélange now markets a wide variety of the belts worldwide under the brand name Oh!Belt

Of course, there is an extensive model line variety called Oh!Belt-KeepingFaith which fulfills and then adds to the traditional design purpose of such belts. They are designed to be used specifically as high-tech chastity enforcement belts. These include audio monitoring and web cams, with views to front & rear, built in to these models of the Oh!Belt.

The belt wireless comm system also enables video-audio monitoring of up to six additional external web cams. As a result the remote controller can unlock the strap-thong in a totally monitored way from anywhere out on the web, allowing the wearer restroom breaks, device changes etc. This cyber-age implementation of the age-old purpose of chastity belts is only the beginning of the multitude of high-tech features now offered by these interesting new millennium garments.

Tens of thousands of many models of Oh!Belts and multitudes of accessories are manufactured in a Mélange owned and operated factory here in Montreal each year. This facility is staffed mostly by single moms and other women employees of Lisette's Mélange. I spend some of my time working on Oh!Belt related product development.

Marta, Fanny, Jane, Elise and Amy gladly help me with product testing of the belts and all the umpteen devices and attachments. Quite a few of these are of my own initial concept and design. Any and all resulting new patent rights belong to Mélange.

Out in public, both Marta and Fanny are almost always wearing the wide belt and its strap-thong underneath their clothes, instead of panties. So when Marta goes out with Fanny and their web cam crew to have a drink or get a meal, or to go shopping, they are often shooping at the same time. Since they both spend so much time wearing their belts, each has many.

They own several model varieties. All are individually customized and fitted precisely to their bodies. Most of theirs include the long term wear modification option, which allows plenty of ventilation so that their over stimulated vaginas may breathe and stay healthy.

We still manufacture the belts out of stiff black leather for those with traditional tastes. But we also now have model varieties that are made out pre-shrunk woven fabrics such as canvas-linen, cotton and even hemp. This adds easy care wash-ability and also comfort for those who are inclined to wear them all the time. Most models are designed to accept various specifically designed accessories, such as to assist the wearer during her menstrual cycle. This includes a belt microprocessor timer function, to remind the wearer when it is time to make changes in order to maintain her vaginal health.

There are also several belt model varieties that are rated water-proof to 5 fathoms. This allows them to be worn in the water as bathing suit bottoms, when snorkeling, or outdoors in rainy Oregon. We also have one model line specifically for hot weather wear, which includes a small, quiet crotch-cooling fan!

As Marta goes through her day and night, doing whatever she is doing, even just sleeping or trying to, any one of numerous possible combinations of remote, internet controlled devices mounted on her belts strap-thong may be doing a wide variety of things to the sensitive parts of Marta under her belt, by remote control. At any particular point in time, the attachments to the strap-thong she is wearing may also have been pre-selected for her by a client. During the appointed and prepaid time period, that client will be remotely operating her devices through the internet.

Meanwhile Marta goes about her usual business. Or perhaps she follows his instructions in terms of her travel and locations. Her security handlers don't allow her to stay long in public places where there are children around.

This is due to the fact that she is prone to suddenly and for no apparent reason begin to act strangely and vocalize in unusual and unacceptable ways for a public setting containing children. When she starts whooping and shooping in public when there are only adults around, people see her ever present web cam crew and usually conclude that she is an actress. Like the lady in the restaurant booth in Meg Ryan's classic fake shoop scene in When Harry met Sally, the female bystanders likely want to have whatever it is that Marta is having.

The wanker on the www that is operating her devices may also have temporary exclusivity of her web cam and audio feeds during that time, if he has paid the extra charge for that privilege. So he has chosen and operates Marta's Oh!Belt devices. Online, he watches and listens to the effect he is having on Marta by doing so. He may also be talking with her on her smart phone at the same time.

So Marta shoops her way through life, with the denizens of the virtual world operating the controls and watching. She also spends a portion of her day bound to one of a variety of fancy contraptions in a sound and video booth, an AV stage set. She usually sleeps, wearing her belt and devices, in monitored bondage in her upstairs bedroom in the adult playhouse next door.

Marta's favorite bondage AV stage set is designed to look like a high tech alien spaceship brig. It contains a large variety of "alien" mechanisms for doing even more different kinds of things to the helpless human female abductee - Marta plays that role - also by remote control. Needing a location for a considerable number of these AV stage sets, Mélange purchased a large warehouse.

We have been steadily filling it with multiple style variants of AV stage-booths. Each booth has many web cams, most of which can be remotely controlled to move on their articulated arms, focus, change angles etc. These are designed to aid the viewer in getting the various ongoing activities of the scene just right in their minds as it is being played out, sometimes according to their direction.

Fanny is also always in the booth with Marta, playing the role of her dominatrix-tech, similarly wearing a strap-thong belt and her own remotely controlled under-the-belt devices and also externally mounted attachments. She sets up the various remotely operated electro-mechanical devices that can do various things to Marta and moves them around as required. She also helps Marta get in and out of her many different staged bondage predicaments when a change of scene is ordered and paid for by the virtual audience. I'll elaborate about all this later.

Marta changed her mind and did end up getting nipple and vaginal/clitoral piercings. This came about when she heard how much loud bondage fun Elise had one afternoon. Elise just kept begging me for it and so, like a good master, finally I relented.

She was wearing her belt and smart phone, upstairs in the adult playhouse. She was unable to answer the multitude of incoming vibrating smart phone calls from everyone in the big house next door, who just kept trying to reach her; it was great fun for all. She was literally tied up and could not "take calls", but she did respond in her own way, with many loud shoops.

So Marta asked me why she wasn't having that much fun while similarly bound and had incoming calls. Sidebar note to experimenters - this is much more rewarding for the bound call recipient and less time consuming for callers if you turn off the feature on her phone that automatically forwards incoming calls to voicemail after a set number of vibrations/rings. To further tantalize the call recipient, set the phone to repeatedly notify of any voicemail and/or text messages, by providing her with more vibrations as reminders at some regular interval.

ANYWAY, when I explained to Marta that the stainless steel phone holster mounting rivet was in direct metal-to-metal contact with the piercing through Elise's clitoral hood, which was compressed against Elise's pubic bone by the tight leather strap, she understood instantly. The next day Marta had her clitoral hood, both of her major vaginal lips and both of her nipples pierced.

As a result, Marta also sometimes wears the same kind of wire frame nipple piercing puller contraptions that I got for Elise. She also often wears the strap-thong version that accommodates her smart phone in its intimately located holster. Thus, she appreciates receiving frequent calls from her clients, some of which she answers. When answering such calls in public, it is fun to watch the startled reactions of adult bystanders as Marta suddenly lifts her skirt to "quick draw" her smart phone out of its crotch mounted holster.

She usually just lets the phone vibrate until the caller hangs up. Marta spends almost 24 hours of each day in the warm glow of a wide variety of multiple stimulations. The portion of her brain dedicated to monitoring her nerve endings and sexual sensations is working non-stop at keeping her happy. She has many, many orgasms every day, often having them while she sleeps. Her dream life must be at least as incredible as her waking life.

Some of her personal web-cam client-fans come to her through the fan base she has built as a player in the black light Voluptuous Virtual Volleyball league, the VVV. She is one of the most popular players, although she is a liability to her team-mate, in terms of scoring. However she does bring in big bucks to the team through the standard player contracts. These share of a portion of her individual income - from the game time rental of control for her devices - with her team-mate, Lisette.

You heard me right, Lisette \- the Mélange non-profit CEO (Chief Executive Officer) - plays in the league, wears the same high tech belt and associated gear as all of the other players and is Marta's team-mate. As I described, the VVV team-mates share a portion of what they each make individually - from their individual fans rental payments for the control of their various vibes - with each other, since their success is a team proposition.

With the help of Elise, it was Lisette who had the earth-shaking (unintentional) idea that the VVV players all wear a specially designed belt as standard league gear. The diabolically brilliant twist that Lisette and Elise added to my fantasy blacklit volleyball game concept was the strap-thong belt and several specific accessory attachments. At this writing, there are about 200 teams, comprised of mostly single moms, under contract with Mélange. There are lots more teams of ladies wanting to join, on the waiting list for our "belt camp" try out schedule.

ANYWAY, each of the VVV players' belts has two high tech - internet remote controlled - actuator-vibrators mounted to their belts strap-thong. One is vaginally inserted, the other rectally. These are combined with a custom vibrator doing its job while pressed tightly against their pierced clitorises. All three of these remotely controlled devices may be active while they try to play volleyball!

Of course, the rest of the game closely follows the original fantasy which I have previously described, so the players play in the gloom of ultra-violet darkness, barefoot and otherwise nude. They wear custom VVV approved UV reactive nipple piercings and UV reactive body jewelry in their team color. They also wear lots of tinkling little bells spread around their persons.

The belts and strap-thongs the players wear are a special Voluptuous Virtual Volleyball version with exactly the same devices on all of the players, in an attempt to be as fair as possible. They include colored LED lights spaced around the circumference of the belt that blink when one of the remote controlled vibrators on that particular player is being operated. These belt device activity indicator LED lights blink faster when each of the other two devices is activated in turn.

Lisette tells me that the belt and its actuator-vibrator attachments create at least 6 additional dimensions to playing indoor volleyball. She says it also adds an unusual kind of mental concentration and focus aspect to the sport which leads to some interesting twists to the game.

The two remote controlled electro-mechanical actuator-vibrators that are inserted into the players vagina and rectum are different from each other and are specially designed, multiple capability devices that respond quickly to remote controls in all three dimensions. At the remote operators' direction, they can expand and contract, thrust in and out and move around within the players in ways that no human penis could or ever will.

The vaginal vibrator also has a curved finger branching off from the base. This is designed to allow it to wander around and tickle the area immediately around the inside of the pubic bone, kind of a g-spot hunter, with its own separate controls. Skilled remote operators - who set most of the other controls to a steady rhythm pattern and then concentrate on operating this control along with the clitoral vibe - are able to elicit interesting sudden movements and vocalizations from players in response to their efforts.

In spite of all the stimulation that may be happening, or which may suddenly and unexpectedly start at some point during their game, the players learn, adapt and manage to play on. Players are motivated to find some way to "play through the pleasure". They get a big winning team bonus if they do manage to win. If they finish the game and lose, they also get a smaller consolation purse.

However, the rules of the game state that if a player is laying on the mat writhing around for more than the allowed individual 90 second time out, that team defaults the game and loses any potential for major income from that particular game. If she is able to get back on her feet prior to the time limit expiration, then as long as all players remain on their feet, play resumes. After her time out that player must remain on her feet for at least 120 seconds, or the previous 90 second clock starts again.

After the 120 seconds on her feet, if she needs to, she can lie down and writhe around while a new 90 second time out clock begins. It is important to note that the losing team must complete the game in order to receive the losing team consolation purse. There is no purse paid for default, just a base rate paid to each player in the defaulted team for showing up and giving her best effort.

The winning team prize purse for the quarterly tournament championship best-of-five games is frequently over 20,000 Canadian, split equally between the two winning players. The consolation purse for that same series would be 8,000 Canadian, again split between the two losing players. That is above and beyond whatever they each individually made from the rental of the controls of the three remote controlled devices under their belts and also from rentals of the combined video-audio feed from cameras that follow them individually, along the audio coming from their neck mics.

The tournaments are not sudden death elimination; instead they involve multiple games to 15 points among many teams. A fairly complex statistical method is applied for determining a teams advancement to higher levels in the tournament, combined with the last minute addition of a few teams that had been eliminated but have been added back to the next tournament round roster by voting from internet fans.

It may sound like an extremely exploitative way for women to make a living, but many single moms - who are often former strippers - are moving to or visiting Quebec from the US and Europe and almost anywhere. They try to make it through our rigorous "belt camp" training try outs. If they make it, they then sign the standard VVV league players' contract and become Mélange employees.

They arrive from all over the world and do their best; they are seeking both the pay and also Lisette's outstanding, single-woman-with-children-friendly support & benefits. These women often tell me that they much prefer to try to play volleyball through a series of remotely generated shoops for big money than working at their prior occupations. Often, they had struggled when trying to deal directly with male bosses or customers or both.

Many of the VVV players worked previously as strippers, trying to extract chump change from men in strip clubs without prostituting themselves. The single moms often were forced to risk prostitution arrest or contracting STDs in order to feed, house and care for their children. For them, the choice to try out for the VVV is easy to make.

Plus, a lot of the women say that they really enjoy it and the evidence of that is obvious to be seen. Many of the games include at least one 5 minute random group time out. During such time outs, all four players can suddenly mutually agree that they have to roll around on the mat, perhaps stimulating their nipples and sometimes trying to shift the stiff, wide, tight thong-straps around, get their fingers in there somehow. I have never seen that work, the straps are extremely tight and are actually locked onto the women during play; they can't take them off unless they decide that they cannot continue to play for some reason.

When that happens, they may decide that they have to push the "Fuck this/I can't possibly stand another orgasm/I'm out of here" button recessed into the side of the VVV belts power disc. This button commands their belts micro-processor to disable itself. As a result, the vibrators instantly stop and retract to their "at-rest" size and shape. Also, the micro-processor is no longer in wireless communication to/from the virtual world. However, according to the VVV rules their team defaults instantly when either player gives up, with no purse at all paid to them for that game.

They can either try again another day, or Lisette will try to find another job for them if they want, or help them to set up a small business if they want that. For purposes of maintaining proper vaginal health, the players can only play one game per day. However, they can play as many consecutive days as they like and some do indeed seem to like to play.

ANYWAY, during these up to 5 minute group time outs, all 4 players from the two opposing teams will often just roll around on the mat. As they do so, they may also be alternating between moaning, giggling, swearing and whatever other vocalizations they each may tend to make while they are shooping. Recently, with greater frequency, the games have also become chaotic in other ways for a while at some point in play.

Players may suddenly pile together, kissing and caressing each other, tickling each other. There is a viral video circulating on the internet of four VVV players dancing in a barefoot burlesque kick line in the blacklit darkness. Their UV reactive piercings and anklets glow brightly as their big BFF bouncers also dance and hop around every which way and their belt activity indicator LED lights blink faster and faster.

That's another of the many good reasons we have for adding more courts and going to two or perhaps even three 4 hour shifts of game schedules per 24 hours. We will then also be able to accommodate the additional teams that have been trying out, qualifying and then signing up to play. With the extra capacity and shifts, we would be able to schedule more games and have more extra time between games.

We apparently need to allow the extra time for more of these entertaining spontaneous game breaks, in order to accommodate such occasional incidents of remote controlled over-stimulated feminine chaos. Also, the additional shift(s) will permit more viewers in Europe and on other parts of the planet to participate due to their own time zone and work scheduling issues. After all, the VVV is only available on the www (world-wide web), so we might as well take advantage of that fact.

In Lisette's remarkably business astute variation upon my fantasy, there are no spectators physically present on each of several sound stage black-light illuminated volleyball courts. However, we have had nearly 1 million present online, watching one of the quarterly tournament championship games. We currently have games running continuously four hours each night, all managed and operated by teams of well-trained single moms, of course.

There are dozens of web cams in each court, many of which can be remote controlled by viewers, for a rental fee, of course. There are also several cams that automatically and closely follow each player's movements around the court. Another set of cams automatically track the ball from the proper distance to allow spectators to actually follow the volleyball game.

There are quite a few fans who watch VVV as a sporting contest; I understand that some idiots even wager on them. While entertaining to watch the games in this way, I would not call a VVV game a fair sporting contest because of the interplay and intervention of the remote controllers doing their thing out on the web. There is no reason to expect a fair outcome, so it is indeed idiocy to place bets. That has never stopped gamblers before, however, so I guess there is no reason that it would stop them now.

ANYWAY, the individual player tracking web cams allow a fan to choose to concentrate on watching his favorite. Or, alternatively, to concentrate on any one of the other three players on the court, by choosing between the several cams which exclusively focus on and track each player. AV recordings of all the many video feeds can also be purchased and downloaded for any particular game or championship series, for those who like to replay and review the action from many angles.

Games such as the tournament championships - in which all four players belt activity LEDs are blinking at the highest speed during most of the game - are also often the longest games. The players have great difficulty keeping the game in mind when all three of their actuator-vibrators are being simultaneously remotely operated, possibly each by a different operator, perhaps in a different part of the world. They also take more of the personal 90 second breaks, which they can take as often as they need to, as long as they follow the rules that I described previously.

The wide leather belt has a flat, round lithium-ion battery & processor housing mounted to the front that contains the electronics and provides the power necessary for all the actuator-vibrators, LED lights, two way wireless communication of control signals and audio, etc. There are a couple of wireless personal sound-mics mounted to the leather collars on each player. That way subscribers online can listen specifically to whatever vocalizations that particular player may be making.

Of course, there are also a number of mics interspersed around the walls and ceiling of each court. These gather all the various collective sounds of all four player's activities, vocalizations, bells, etc. It is a rich auditory experience as well as an incredible visual one.

I am the only male spectator allowed to attend these games, clad in black from head to toe so that I am not visible to the many cameras in the darkness in which the game is played. You do remember that the game is played in the dark, illuminated only by black lights, right? Of course there are a couple of similarly black clad single mom referees at each game to keep score.

The referees also keep the game moving as best they can and deal with any possible injuries. There are actually few injuries; we make sure that everything is well padded (unintentional). The referees also track time-outs and team defaults due to a player's inability to continue, which does happen occasionally and understandably.

I rarely miss attending the championship games of the quarterly tournaments. These are played between teams of determined and focused women who have learned to play competitive volleyball in the dark. While they play these often hard-fought contests, their belt activity indicator LEDs are blinking rapidly and they are being stimulated like mad under their belts, here, there and everywhere.

The visuals and the sounds that fill the courts are awe-inspiring. This one enterprise, the black-light Voluptuous Virtual Volleyball league, is bringing in millions. Lisette is doing great things for women with this income, through her skilled and dedicated management of Mélange. Good money is being made and divvied up fairly and with complete accountability, since it is a non-profit enterprise.

The single moms - who learn to play volleyball well and then also are able to play through the pleasure - can make excellent money for themselves and their children. The league also directly advertises, drives and influences the sales of various other models of the strap-thong belts and their wide variety of accessories and attachments. This is another cash generating source, used for supporting the Mélange non-profits' underlying raison-d'etre (reason for existence).

Returning at last to Marta, she makes a lot of money just from of her VVV activities. However, she doesn't play the game well at all. When her belt device activity indicator LED lights start blinking fast it produces results for her that will stop play.

The athletic and determined Lisette often tries carry on by herself, hitting incoming balls back in one strike if she can. Because of Marta's tendency to surrender herself to her shoops, she and Lisette default often. As a result their team usually doesn't get far in the tournaments.

This is OK with Lisette; since she is the CEO I think she deliberately chose to team up with Marta for that reason. She needs to avoid the appearance of a conflict of interest, since she is such a good volleyball player to begin with. Just for yucks during one game, to test her ability to focus, I pre-paid for exclusive control of all of both Marta's and Lisette's actuator-vibrator devices and tracking cameras. First I went to work on Marta, soon having her rolling on the mat, moaning.

While Lisette tried to play on and then just stood there watching Marta after the ball fell out of play, I went to work on her. She did her best, but I got to her. Shortly she also was rolling on the mat, giggling in frustration and moaning. It took some skilled remote controlling, but I stopped play four times during that game. Finally Marta caused a default when she was unable to get back up to her feet within 90 seconds of leaving them.

Amy, Francine and Elise sat by the computer in my little corner home-office in the converted servants quarters of the big house. They watched while I did this, giggling at poor Lisette's pleasurable predicament. I told Lisette later that it had been me driving her mad.

At first she forbade me to ever do it again. Then she changed her mind and told me to go ahead, play with her anytime. Of course, she changed her mind after she realized that the things she was doing with the money made by entertaining multitudes of idiots like me in that way was the point of the entire enterprise.

Even the least competitive teams make excellent money in exchange for little time expended. In addition to that, Mélange offers all the single moms and women who play the game with training for real jobs. At their option, they can choose to seek training for work within the non-profit organization. Many of the VVV players also hold down other Mélange jobs.

Lisette can also help them to train for - and place them in - jobs among the many women owned and managed partner businesses that Lisette supports and nurtures. Lisette has also encouraged and helped a few enterprising VVV players to start their own businesses, providing pre-planning, consulting and even very low interest start-up loans. On top of all that, Mélange provides free child-care/pre-school, alternatives to public education for them and their children, financial planning and budgeting assistance and housing in secure apartment buildings if they want it. Lisette works a lot of long days managing all this, I'll get to her later.

Marta - although not technically one of our STD-free seven - is included because she is part of the group in a manual, safe-sex only way and also a virtual sense. It seems to me that Marta's subjective reality is almost entirely virtual. Her huge, firmly erect and blatantly unreal zany zeppelins tell the tale. Even her large, globular, bulbous ass looks unreal, although it feels real enough, lots of firm, tight muscles in there. She tightens her gluteus maximus up when she begins to shoop, so her large round buns get frequent, often nearly continual toning exercise.

Marta is a woman that has been redesigned, remanufactured and dedicated to the order and whims of men. Like many women of the past, she is a fish that does not swim for herself. She has entirely surrendered her body and her life to as many bicycles as may want to make use of it, in almost any way they desire. Unlike most women however, that use only happens remotely.

In some ways, it is as if she has willingly surrendered herself to a controlled continual gang rape. In exchange for her surrender to that, she gains her kinky submissive thrills, multitudes of shoops and also piles of money. This income is continually, electronically, automatically being transferred into her well managed accounts, even as she sleeps, moaning and twitching. Is she a sex slave, a sex addict, a fully functional economically producing & consuming capitalist unit, or all of the above?
Chapter 50

Jane and her new Mercedes

Jane's exquisitely fine self just kept popping up, making herself useful or adding her own practical party girl twist to any interactions that our group had with her. She lives on the top floor of the big house with us in what had been the smallest of the three old-time parlors. We converted it into a customized studio apartment for her by adding a 3/4 bath and a dead bolted door with an out view peephole. This provides her with necessary, easily maintainable party girl privacy.

It also somewhat protects and ensures that Ruth's boys don't get any early, unscripted and unplanned sex education, should they stray to the third floor of the house. That is unlikely, because Lisette and Francine have their own customized living space on that floor also. We have installed a somewhat boy-proof door at the stairwell leading from the second to the third floors.

Jane and Elise frequently party together sexually and on the dance floor. Lisette really likes Jane too, especially impressed when she heard the refrigerator story. Jane resists such classifications, but most would say that she is bisexual with a preference for sex with women, because she just doesn't like the drama and possessiveness she gets from men, no other reason than that.

To my mind, Jane is an unusual and interesting sexual entity that does indeed resist classification. She has tried or will try almost anything. She seeks out and enjoys many sexually related activities.

She will do the really kinky stuff with someone she likes, but she doesn't dwell on or get obsessed with the kink. She is not perverse, which I see as a mental neurosis or a psychosis, depending on degree. Jane is mentally healthy; she just has a female Casanova's approach to sexuality.

She likes sex, often, with as many partners as she can find who like it too. But she doesn't seem to believe in classically expressed romantic love and doesn't accept any such offers. In fact, there are two common, direct ways to quickly lose Jane's interest and the benefits of her friendship.

The first is to try to get possessive with her, to attempt to restrict her sexual freedom for your own benefit. The second is to tell her that you love her. From Jane's perspective, the second is just a ploy used by some as a preamble to the first.

She likes to party with hash and booze. Things don't always have to be sexual with her, not at all. She'll sit around quietly and talk for hours, or she'll rock out to any of several her favored music genres while smoking hash and drinking whiskey. She has a fantastic sense of humor and has a seemingly bottomless treasure trove of incredibly raunchy jokes.

She'll answer a knock on her door naked as a jaybird, allowing you thirty seconds to make her smile or she'll close it in your face. She's game for anything at least twice. If she is in the right mood she'll often give whatever it is a third chance, even if she didn't like it the first couple of tries.

When Lisette's efforts started to turn the VVV into something real, Jane saw it as a possible ticket out of exotic dancing. She had been stripping for about 15 years. She sees it as mostly an acting gig in which she must make men believe that she enjoys heavy petting and pretend sex with them, in exchange for their money. She is bored with it, the pretense and the pressures she gets from men.

So she talked Fanny into teaming up with her. They started practicing their volleyball skills with Francine and Ruth on the grass court in the backyard of the big house. The experience of training Jane and Fanny actually helped us to develop the orientation and training process for prospective new teams. I'll explain more about that later.

When we started talking about exclusivity, Elise wanted Jane to be in the group so she could continue to play with her sexually and easily talked her into it. Elise promised Jane that she would do everything she could to keep her happy, buy another refrigerator for her if she wanted it. As usual, Jane had an easy and practical response to this offer, saying that if it didn't work out for her, she could always move on. As usual, she was right. It must work for her, because she is still here.

Saying that we both deserved a Vegas vacation, more than four years ago Elise shipped me off with Jane, for 10 days just after New Years. This was apparently a final outside-the-group fling for Jane and also her "good master" gift for me. After we arrived at the McCarran airport near Vegas early the first afternoon, I followed the detailed instructions I had received from Elise.

I directed the cabbie to take us to the Mercedes-Benz dealership in Henderson, nearby. I asked Jane to wait outside with our bags, telling her that Elise had some business for me to conduct that would only take a few minutes. I went in to the dealership sales office as pre-arranged by Elise and her banker and signed a couple of documents.

Then the sales manager and I walked around to the side of the dealership, where I accepted delivery of a new SLK class 2 seater convertible in metallic blue. It was waiting there for me, apparently Elise had special ordered it with fully tinted windows. I got in and fired it up, drove around the front to Jane, still standing there. Opening the trunk, I loaded our bags and then handed her the keys. She looked at me blankly for a moment and then asked me what was up.

I told her the car was her gift from Elise, showing her the title in her own name. I said - Elise asked me to let you know that, if you were so inclined, it would suit her just fine if you would fuck my brains out. Grinning like the Cheshire cat Jane said - Well hop in honey, let's go get a room! That's what trips to Vegas are for!

Eventually I convinced Elise that I had enough trouble resisting the many charms of women without her efforts to present them to me as gifts. I did eventually succumb to temptations that were offered this time. I was able to stand firm (unintentional) until after we left town. We didn't gamble much, but we had a Vegas style blast, mostly in strip clubs. Sin city has some large & fancy ones.

Jane has several long-time friends with benefits (FWB) that live in the area. We also visited and partied with them, in their private homes or apartments; much hash went up in smoke. I watched her party in various ways with several piles of strippers/friends, sometimes just one, sometimes three or four, always having her usual new-fashioned good time.

I did my own strip club thing too. I ogled many and talked with a few dancers who were willing to sit on old pappy's left knee. Of course, I trained them to whisper in my left ear. As is my wont, we would converse and some were willing to share caresses. Meanwhile I kept an eye on Jane, making sure that she misbehaved. She did a great job and did not need my lack of adult supervision at all.

In the early mornings, as we returned to our suite after our long Vegas nights, I kept putting her physical advances off. I told her that I wanted it to be special for us; in so far as the fucking-my-brains-out idea went. She was usually zonked by that time of the morning, so I would just insist that she drink some water and worry about me another night.

We would usually end up spooning the morning away in the king sized bed. It is kind of an unusually limited use for big beds in such suites in Vegas. This is especially true considering that the ultimate party girl was my bedtime companion.

I spend a lot of these hours lying awake; listening to her breathe and mumble in her drunken sleep. My penis is erect and happily throbbing in its moist home between her bowl-legged thighs. Mostly I think volumes about Elise, my French slave-woman and her endearingly wacky habit of giving me hot women to play with.

Jane and I don't play in the in-suite hot tub, either, another unusual misuse of the premises. She slowly rises to semi-consciousness in the early afternoons. By then, I am up, have stretched out and ordered and eaten my room-service breakfast. I am ready to play my part in her always revealing and entertaining show. It quickly becomes an established, interactive daily ritual for us.

Sometime after noon, Jane sits up in bed and starts in with bitching and moaning about her head. At this point, it is my job to listen, quietly commiserate and most importantly, avoid introducing bright lights or loud noises. I bring her my sympathy, an aspirin and a couple cups of coffee in bed.

After the first cup she retires into the bathroom for a little while. When she returns, she sits on the bed, staring blankly into space while she sips her coffee. I give her a scalp massage after she finishes her second cup, mostly to get her to finally quit bitching about her headache.

She thanks me with our first kiss of the day and then asks me, with the same lewd and devilish grin each morning, to shave her. I use my electric razor and always do a careful and thorough job. Then she grants me the exquisite pleasure of giving her entire body a rubdown with warm scented massage oil. Once she is totally relaxed, I slowly, tenderly, manually help her to her first mystery achievement of the day; her favorite hangover remedy. She kisses me again, thankfully.

Finally she rises, to soak her sweet self in the whirlpool hot tub for a half-hour and drink a mimosa or perhaps a screwdriver. Then she spends a half-hour working through her incredibly flexible, indescribable yoga routine, naked of course. Next, she puts on her first outfit of the day. This is a micro-string bikini; it doesn't really cover, contain or conceal much of anything to speak of, but accentuates her instead.

It is basically three medium sized triangular postage stamps and a few thin leather shoelaces. The tiny top two triangles are crocheted yarn, a wide open mesh of the exact same reddish pink shade as her nipples, which poke invitingly through the mesh. They are basically there to hold her nipples and perhaps to keep them warm. Her large pink aureoles are not covered at all by these little triangular nipple holders.

Her thong bottoms are tight and pulled high on her slim hips. The soft leather triangle at her crotch is jet black and is surrounded by her pale flesh. She has chosen this miniscule two piece combo suit well; it could easily fit into a small shot glass.

At last, we leave the suite; she "wears" her suit and steep, high heeled clogs. I wear baggy knee length trunks and flip flops and carry my swim goggles. I follow her intriguing bowl-legged tight-assed high heeled gait down the corridor to the elevator. If she stepped off into an empty elevator shaft I would undoubtedly follow her over the edge before I could awaken from my hypnotized reverie.

As she makes her grand entrance into the greenhouse pool-cafe-bar area, everything halts. Every man present who still possesses a pulse must stop breathing and watch. She struts - absolutely shameless and seemingly oblivious - to her chosen chaise lounge seat in the sun. There, she unties the three bows on her suit; there is one at her back and one high on each hip.

Now she is not "wearing" her suit. Instead, it is merely draped upon her, so that she may shift the strings occasionally to prevent those pesky tanning lines. Then she graciously allows me to thoroughly coat the front of her pulchritudinous form with buttery suntan lotion.

I order some light lunch - a chef salad, some bread, some chips, perhaps guacamole and/or spinach dip. I swim a few laps, stretching my muscles out and processing oxygen through them. Then I sit and eat while, as always, I keep an eye on Jane and also on her impressive competition. As she drove her new Mercedes into town from the dealership, Jane suggested this hotel for us. She has been here before and knows that it is party girl high command, Vegas chapter.

She lies out, sitting up and toasting her front half lightly in the winter sun for almost an hour. She has a couple of greyhounds or a margarita, nibbles on the salad, has some chips and dip. Then she is ready to turn over and stretch out flat, toast her backside for a while.

To watch her turn over - while she makes minimal attempts to retain a remote semblance of public modesty - is awe-inspiring. I would walk for a week just to be there to see it. Then I am granted permission to butter up her back, buns and legs while she naps for 45 minutes. By about 4 she is ready to go back to our suite and I follow her up.

There we shower together, share some kisses and a little manual warm-up play. This gets our heart rates up and the endorphins flowing around. Afterwards, with a towel around her head, she decides which of her tiny mini-dresses she will wriggle, jiggle and juggle herself into and does so. She spends a half-hour in front of the mirror in the bathroom, and then chooses her heels.

Eventually she is done. She turns to me and asks my opinion merely by raising her eyebrows. It never fails, she is stunning, an absolute knockout, Helen of Troy, a woman for whom one goes to war in a heartbeat. Of course she is well aware, but I tell her so anyway and then we head out.

Of course, it goes without saying that she always goes into battle as a spike-heeled bald commando. In the course of the previous highly entertaining five hours she has revived herself, with my grateful and watchful assistance, back into party girl fighting shape. She is now ready for this evening's bout, coming up next.

When our time in Vegas is winding down, Jane tells me that she wants to stay on this schedule during our trip back to Montreal. She suggests driving through the night, sleeping in the mornings and early afternoons. We can hang out in strip clubs in the late afternoons and evenings and then drive on again. It sounds like a great idea to me, so I get on the tablet, plan out, reserve and confirm the trip stops based on her suggestion, creating a cross continent city-to-city strip club tour itinerary.

On our last day in Vegas, we check out of our hotel, have brunch and drive over to her favorite club, where she has a goodbye party with several of her Vegas FWBs for a few hours. About 6 we go out for a quick meal and then hit the highway in the early evening winter darkness. As the first rest stop approaches, Jane asks me to pull in and park a distance away from the rest of the vehicles, in the shadows.

Then she pulls her minidress over her head, slips out of her high heels and looks at me expectantly, now buck naked. She says - All right bub, strip down, you and me are going to have some fun, I will accept no excuses or substitutes! I decide, what the heck, might as well get this over with now.

I haven't done it in a car for quite a while \- christening this new 2 seater Mercedes with Mercedes ought to be interesting. So I step out and quickly shuck my clothes in the cold darkness. Then I hop back in after throwing my clothes on the floor in front of her seat.

Jane is feeding several discs into the CD changer as I do so. She expertly uses her hands on me for a few minutes. When I am fully erect, she uses her mouth to put a condom on me, a pleasantly effective way to start safe sex. You may recall that Lisette did that to me as well, the first and only time that we had full-on intercourse, soon after we met.

Then Jane straddles me and leans back against the wheel for a moment. One leg at a time, she pulls her legs behind her shoulders and tucks her feet behind her head! Having often watched Jane's lusciously limber form working out, I was well aware of how flexible she is.

However, I had no idea that she is a contortionist and apparently an expert one. She does this amazing pretzeling of her self with practiced ease. She ends up looking strangely comfortable in the highly suggestive position that she is now in before me.

The she asks me to hold her ankles locked together with my left hand and to grab the black headband that I can find laying in her seat with my right. She instructs me to wrap it twice around her ankles, elastically binding them together and locking her into this engaging contortion. That accomplished, she has now become a fairly compact and alluring bundle of hottie. In this position, she could easily be zipped up into a large suitcase or duffle bag if the need were to arise.

Her slim little butt is resting on the seat between my thighs; her shoulders are curled forward, pressing her large pink tipped love decoys together towards my chest. She put her hands on the seat on either side of my hips, lifts herself up and in one smooth and deft motion she impales herself upon my suddenly overjoyed erection!

Now coupled with me, she slides her hands and forearms behind me, around my waist and compresses her soft sexy speed bumps against me. She snuggles in, about as close as she can possibly get without actually sharing the same space. We really are friends with benefits (FWB).

She is tilted slightly to the left, with her chin tucked in below the left side of my face and her curled shoulders and arms below my armpits. Then she whispers into my left ear. I can easily hear her over the classic driving road rock she has on the CD. Think Golden Earring \- Radar Love, you'll know what I am talking about. She says - I call this road trip Kama Sutra, you and Ruth have inspired me!

It turns out that all that was preliminary, for next Jane really surprises me. She says - OK, we're ready to roll now, drive! I look blankly down into her face, so close below mine, until she repeats her command. Naked, fully copulated and dumbfounded, I turn the ignition, shift into gear and drive out of the rest stop and onto the highway. Once we are settled into our lane, I set the cruise control at a few mph under the limit, knowing that I absolutely do not want to be stopped by the cops in this condition, news at 11.

As I settle into driving mode, I find that I am in the sublime state of having a contortionist hottie tightly coupled with me. Yet my hands, arms and legs are free to move as necessary to drive safely. I can also easily see the road ahead; Jane's bound feet and ankles are just to the left of my view. I put my left hand low on the wheel and hug her against me with my right arm. As my penis throbs and pulses within her, I say - You know, I could drive all night like this!

Jane giggles and says - Sometimes you can be such a dumbshit, you know that? Driving all night like this is the idea! I am going to slow fuck your brains out, keeping you and your willy awake all the way across the country!

Not knowing what else to say or do, I pull the seat belt around us both and we are now safely continuing on our road trip, in more ways than one. I lean my face down to give her a kiss, she lifts and tilts her head sweetly to receive it, yet another thing we can do safely in this position. I know this for a fact; we shared hundreds of exquisite kisses during that trip.

Simultaneously combining safe sex and safe driving techniques, who could have imagined it? I make a mental note to remind myself to tell this story often. It has definitely become a highlight story for my codger buddies, at least as magnificently unbelievable as any of the others.

Through the dark night we travel closely coupled, tunes blasting, her kegel muscles working occasionally to keep my penis stiff and pulsing hopefully within her. She is almost continuously moving slightly, my exotic, erotic dancer - my very own sweet Jane - dancing to the fine, fine music. She rubs her dual doozies against my chest, sometimes leaning back a bit and teasing me, dragging just her large pink aureoles and pierced nipples across the skin of my chest and belly.

We share this position for hours and for many marvelous miles, talking together, listening to the music, being as close as FWBs can possibly get. About every three hours we stop at a rest stop and she uncouples from me and unpretzels herself. She pulls her tube minidress back on over her head, makes a couple of quick decency adjustments and slips into her heels.

Then she sashays her exquisite, bow-legged, slim-hipped chassis to the ladies room. With her unique gait topping off her improbably fine self, the situation for any lucky guy who might have the opportunity to see her walk by is either stop and watch or stumble and fall. I stop and watch, then I pull my jeans on and go to take a leak, my penis still hard from hours of her carefully measured stimulation.

Before she gets back into the car afterwards, she does a few minutes of enticing limbering exercises, deliberately showing me everything there is to see in the process. Then, both back in the car after we have answered nature's call, the entire wonderful re-coupling process begins anew. That complete, we head back out onto the highway.

At the first hints of daylight, she uncouples from me and then unpretzels herself and flings the empty but well-used condom out the window into the early dawn. Then she gets back into the passenger seat for the first time in a long and tantalizing night and wriggles into her minidress. I pull into the next rest stop and get dressed as well.

She struts into the ladies room again to freshen up. After a few minutes, she returns, prepared for our arrival at our next hotel in the city which we have been approaching through the night. In our new hotel room, spent, we share a hash bowl and some Irish mouthwash. Then she climbs on top of me and we join in the Kama Sutra of sleep.

In spite of the erotic possibilities of this repeated exquisite coupling in the hotel beds, I was exhausted by the driving and the continual stimulation. So I slept, usually staying hard, through each morning. It is unimaginably fantastic both to travel and to arrive with Jane in her Mercedes, although she never did let me come.

We always stayed in nice hotels in the cities we stopped in, all of which I chose because they had well-reviewed strip clubs. Since it was mid-January, we partied our way across the country on a looping southern track and then up the eastern seaboard. The third night, we drove across west Texas from El Paso to Dallas, much of the interstate highway having an 80 mph speed limit.

We coupled and rode through that cold and wonderfully clear night with the convertible top down, the windows up, the driver's seat warmer on and the cabin heat on maximum. We rolled on for hours, watching the clear, wide open Texas skyfield, rich with multitudes of bright stars. To keep her warm and comfortable, Jane wore a pair of my cotton tube socks and I tucked a beach towel around her and held it in place with my free arm, to protect her exposed back and legs from the cold breezes of our high-speed passage through the night.

Soon after we entered Texas and had cruised through El Paso, out in the desert she murmured in my ear - Is it just me, or is your willy especially hard and perhaps even a little larger tonight? I thought about it for moment and then suddenly realized - Of course it is, Jane, haven't you ever heard of the world renowned Texas effect? Heads are always bigger and harder in Texas! She laughed, producing all sorts of interesting muscle contractions within her contorted body for me to enjoy.

Jane rode me through our long nights together, crossing the continent. We traveled east much, much faster than I had ridden on Rain, a year and a half prior. We stopped for two nights in NYC. Jane memorably enjoyed takeout well past dawn one night in our hotel room with two breathtakingly beautiful, bald Ukrainian strippers. They were completely indistinguishable identical twins; two gorgeous young sexual doppelgangers; anatomically correct window dummy look-alikes; intriguingly shaved head-to-toe and with engagingly cute accents to their halting English.

Adding further to the absolute novelty of these two, neither had a tattoo or piercing anywhere except their pierced ears. Occasionally one would come up for air and come over to sit on my knee. I was thus generously allowed the great privilege of trying to converse with them and also of caressing and examining them both closely.

Come to think of it, it could have been the same twin several times; there is no way I could possibly tell them apart, maybe only one of them liked me. However, Jane later confirmed my observation that their wonderful exteriors were completely as they were born. She said that neither showed any sign of man-made attempts to embellish their Ukrainian mothers' cooking at all.

Like many eastern European women, each of the twins had titanic twin twofers of her own. Both also had perfect heart shaped asses which any Renaissance porn dog nude portrait artist would have gladly died for an opportunity to paint. It was a highly entertaining show which lead me to many excellent visual and auditory experiences and also to quite a long train of thought. I happily sat in the room's armchair through that long night, eyeballing the three naked party girls writhing together on the king sized bed.

I did my job, keeping the whiskey flowing and the hash pipe full, pondering the state of the globe while I watched them have fun. They showed me what the New World Order (NWO) looked like, what it had evolved into, two decades after the collapse of the Soviet Union. It looked blow-your-mind hot, moist, lazily languorous and incredibly expensive. That unfortunately sums up the high end of the current state of things.

I'm certain that those two ultra-sexy young Ukrainian women do their high dollar work regularly for the entertainment and benefit of the ultra wealthy manipulators of the global financial hub, there on Wall Street in NYC (http://www.9tea9.net/). Jane, speaking the international language of party girls everywhere, talked them into coming back with us to our hotel suite after their club closed. She offered them only continuing girl-on-girl-on-girl fun and the combined, directly related promises of opiated hash and an eventual room service breakfast with champagne. My attempts to relate the story of that night will add yet another extreme doubt inducing chapter for my codger cronies.

It now seems evident that the ascendancy of the New World Order in the 1990's has lead to the de-evolution of global society over the past two decades. We now live in a world that is enslaved within the ethically bankrupt grip of unrestrained capitalism. This demonic money machine - the proverbial Great Satan \- freely expands almost everywhere that it chooses, through its insidious exploitation of the selfish aspects of human nature.

The New World Order follows closely on the heels of high tech militarism, supposedly applied in the name of democracy. It is maintained by gps cell phone tracking; ever present digital video surveillance with facial recognition algorithms and multidimensional database mining; selective law enforcement and ubiquitous corruption. Most of humanity has become just so many different people in the same device . . . nice, nice, very nice!* (http://www.coyote-news.net/). *RIP Kurt Vonnegut.

99% of the human race has been reduced to the status of chattel (http://www.new-serfdom.net/). Some are further reduced to the status of livestock, perhaps even these young Ukrainian girls, if they had been deceived or kidnapped from their home, which is more common than you might expect. Their youth, novelty and great beauty may save these Ukrainian twins, at least for now, from the rawness of the experience of life as livestock. Many less fortunate human beings are now bought & sold & smuggled into indentured labor servitude or sex-prostitution slavery in service of the first world, a fact of life in New World Order capitalism. (http://www.ethically-challenged.biz/).

ANYWAY, once we arrived back in Montreal, Jane made quite an elaborate production of returning me to Elise and Amy in my bedroom. First she thanked Elise profusely for her new Mercedes-Benz. She also promised to thank her again with much teasing and many waves of long delayed shoops, during several upcoming Dominatrix & slave sessions in the bondage room of the adult playhouse. My kinky French slave woman Elise grinned and shivered excitedly at the prospect.

Then Jane asked me to strip down and sit in an armchair and she stimulated me with her hand for a few moments. Then she used her mouth to put a condom on me for the last time in our sexual relations. Once I was ready, she contorted herself and we coupled as we had in her new car.

Thus she demonstrated her road trip Kama Sutra to my lovers. Then she stood me up and she presented me to Elise and Amy as their incredibly well entertained lover. She also told them that we had shared the Kama Sutra of sleep in our hotel rooms on the way back.

Leading me by my stiffly erect willy; she handed me off to them along with an explanation of my situation. She pointed out to my two lovers that standing proudly before them was a three thousand mile, three week long, thoroughly over stimulated and completely incomplete erection. At this conclusion of her presentation, both Elise and Amy were in stitches.

But let me tell you, Jane wasn't joking. Elise, Amy and I shared three consecutive days partying with IT before things returned to normal. Our first night reunion party was a hell of a hootenanny; it had been at least twenty years since I felt that virile. So Jane gave me a hell of a gift as well. As I had requested of Jane in Vegas, her fucking-out-of-my-brains out was special for us all.

Jane and Elise played it safe for a while, as per instructions from the couple's counselor, until after Jane got a clean bill of health the next month. So she apparently did not bring anything back with her from the many piles of strippers she played with, except her sly & saucy grin, yours truly - also grinning - and her new Mercedes convertible. On occasion, Elise does manage to hornswoggle me in a good way.

Since then, Jane has not strayed from the magnificent seven. So she now restricts herself to full on dangerous/unsafe sex only with us in our hot little group. Mostly it is with Elise, Amy, Lisette and Francine. Even I have had the raw experience of Jane's delights, but I am getting ahead of myself.

Jane is not ambitious or hungry for money, content to just play VVV whenever Fanny wants. She does just fine with her income from that activity, which consumes little of her time. Jane also keeps an eye on Marta over in the adult playhouse. She has expressed her opinion to me, to Fanny and to Elise, that Marta is crazier than a shithouse rat and needs close monitoring in case she finally goes completely around the bend.

Jane is concerned that this breakdown likely would not be noticed by the denizens of the virtual world in which Marta mostly resides. Her fear is that they would happily and blindly continue to remotely manipulate, watch, and listen to the not significantly changed behavior and vocalizations of a bound, blind-folded and gagged woman who has lost her mind. Elise, Fanny and I see her point. We all do our best to monitor Marta's mental health and emotional state as much as possible.

Jane spends a lot of time in the adult playhouse, either with Ruth and I, smoking hash and drinking whiskey, or with Elise, Lisette and Francine before and after one of their lesbian dance club nights. Sometimes she and Ruth get into Jane's Mercedes convertible and disappear for a few hours. When Amy and I used to take our occasional trips to Missoula, Jane and Elise bunked together.

Jane has her own studio apartment, but she likes to play with Elise as much as possible. They are extremely close and probably in love, in their own way, of course. Elise and Jane also frequently shop, dance and party with Lisette and Francine.

As I have said several times previously, Jane is a good time party girl. Knowing Jane as well as I am privileged to, I imagine that she would say with a sly grin that a woman needs a man like a fish needs a refrigerator. This does make a weird kind of sense from the silly perspective of a dirty old man's hash pipe daydream.
Chapter 51

VVV "Belt Camp"

As I said previously, we start with simple volleyball skills training and drills. The trainees start just wearing regular clothes, tee shirts and shorts, plus sneakers on the grass court. Then we introduce them to the smaller practice VVV court, with the mats etc. We let them experience and familiarize themselves with the game environment, with the lights on and their clothes off. They practice and develop their basic volleyball skills some more.

Then we turn the lights off, turn on the blacklights and bring in the volleyball that is specially adapted for UV play. This major change requires adaptation, but most are able to adapt within a couple of hours. Soon they are back to using their new skills in the darkness, to control the bounce of the eerily glowing white ball.

If they are still into it, at this point we suggest that they start preparing themselves for the necessary piercings, if they don't already have them. To play in the VVV they need to have their nipples pierced and Lisette's addition of the Oh!Belt has added the requirement for a precisely located vertical piercing through their clitoral hood.

We give them a couple of days to think about that while we introduce them to the belt, the strap-thong and the actuator-vibrators. Without turning their under belt devices on yet, trainees play barefoot and topless except for UV reactive nipple jewelry, other jewelry around their ankles, little bells, all the extra features that take further adaptation. Their current biggest challenge is to get used to playing volleyball while wearing the belt with its two actuator-vibrators inserted into their two orifices and then fully extended to both maximum length and girth.

At this point, after that extension, none of the vibrators are active under their belts. The players just have to try to get used to their presence on or within their bodies, as well as the belt and strap-thong. The stiff and extremely tight, 6" wide leather belt and the 3" wide and also equally tight and stiff strap-thong with its devices inserted always cause attrition losses. At this point, because of the belt and also some ladies fears of the upcoming piercing, we usually lose one team in 6 - about 15%.

We begin filming those that choose to persist, not on the internet but instead just for training purposes, so they can see what online viewers see. They observe that the darkness gives them a degree of anonymity. However, it also reveals the absurd way that their unfettered titan twin tatas can be seen to move around, as if each had an independent mind of its own, bless 'em.

Then it's time for an actual game while someone, usually yours truly, introduces them to the capabilities of the three vibes. The powerful combination of the clitoral vibrator and the g-spot hunting finger on the vaginal actuator-vibrator usually knock out about half of the remaining teams. At this point, we're down to about 4 of the 10 statistical example teams we may have started with, just to give you an idea of the attrition rate that we are experiencing these days.

By the way, when I say it knocks them out, I mean they are just having too many stimulations and too much shooping fun to be able to play volleyball. It is difficult for many to stand up, keep their eyes open and focus on the ball at this point. For those who can't find a way, we give them the belt which they have been trying to master. Then Lisette tries to find them another type of job if they want one, or they go on their way.

For those who can still play ball in some fashion, it is piercing time and after that painful day they return to just playing volleyball - naked in the darkened practice court - while the soreness dissipates. After several weeks they have healed and also have begun to get used to wearing basic metal piercings in those now extra sensitive areas. By this time they are also starting to feel competitive with their volleyball skills, so we begin pitting the teams against each other for scrimmage games. The prospective new players are definitely showing newly developed esprit de corps (team spirit) and some sports-womanship is developing at this point, if they didn't have it already.

Eventually both team members piercings are completely healed. They receive and install the custom clitoral piercing and the team colored nipple piercings. Then we give them their newly custom made and fitted belts and a pair of specially designed (by yours truly) wireless handheld remote controllers. We tell them to take their belts home for a few days, get used to the process of putting them on and taking them off. They have to help each other with this; the VVV version of the Oh!Belt is designed to lock them into itself.

The strap-thong is cinched tightly into place from the back and then latches itself electronically, so the team must work together to prepare to play. Besides learning how to put the belt on, they spend more time wearing them and try out the controllers on each other. We instruct them - for the purpose of maintaining proper vaginal health - never to wear their new VVV player's belt for more than two hours at a stretch or cumulatively more than three hours in a day.

It gets much tougher for them to concentrate because of the greatly enhanced effectiveness of the customized clitoral vibrator combined with their new customized stainless steel piercing, inserted vertically through their clitoral hood. Because of the piercing, their clitoris becomes hypersensitive. The clitoral vibrator is cradled within the piercing, resting in fully effective contact with both the piercing and their clitoris, all tightly compressed and trapped against their pubic bone by the tight strap-thong.

Many of the VVV players wear this unusually shaped piercing as a badge of honor, proof that they have gone through and survived our "belt camp" training regimen. The matched pair of the vibrator and the special clitoral hood piercing now combine as they are designed to do. They work their special magic on the players' newly hypersensitive girl-power button.

The VVV player-prospects now have at least a week of private in-home training to work and play through together as a team. They are instructed to try to carry on conversations; do housework; basically try to do anything physical that requires both movement and concentration. Meanwhile their teammate is doing her damnedest to remotely sweep them off their feet, which is both easy and entertaining for the newbie team.

This is another place and time that team spirit is developed, since they are usually together in private. They are taking turns doing their best to remotely pleasantly surprise each other, make each other shoop, a real icebreaker. Numerous times, I have been invited and allowed the great privilege of watching the charming, exciting and chaotic equivalent of a high tech pillow fight between newbie VVV team-mates.

The two gals frantically work each others handheld remote controls, shrieking and giggling, whooping and shooping. Each is trying desperately to overcome the others ability to operate, thereby achieving victory. This pleasurable contest of wills also further develops the players ability to work through the extremely stimulation rich experience while simultaneously learning to appreciate it. This is an absolute necessity for their success in the VVV league.

After watching a few of these wonderful contests, the experience caused me to suggest to Lisette that she consider manufacturing and selling a new line consumer Oh!Belt, a home play kit, if you will. These kits are selling like hotcakes; each kit contains two belts and two of the handheld wireless controllers. This combo is ideal for BFF-FWB gals who may want to play together in this way.

Elise and Amy have lots of fun with the kit that I bought for them. Sometimes they have "pillow fights" without me, sometimes I just watch. Other times I operate both of their controls while they play together, kissing and caressing each other in areas to which the belts do not prevent access.

This led to another brainstorm about three years ago and also ultimately led me to land myself in big trouble. I designed and built a master remote controller which has the capability of simultaneously and identically operating a possibly unlimited number of belts. It also over-rides the "Fuck this/I can't possibly stand another orgasm/I'm out of here" button.

My blunder was that I could not resist making a reality of the fantastical mental image I had related to the capabilities of this master wireless remote controller. In an auditorium were assembled and seated a large group of nearly all the VVV league players. Also present were most of the ladies in our household. All the assembled women were wearing their regulation VVV league belts.

I had asked them to do so in the email I sent, requesting their attendance at the meeting. The plausible reason I invented for calling the meeting and for asking them to wear their belts was that I had some comfort related design modifications in mind for the league belt. I told them that I wanted to talk with them about their comfort, so I asked them to wear the belt under their clothing, instead of panties.

As Lisette was winding up a fairly long and boring opening speech about the current financial status of Mélange, I switched on this newly modified master remote controller. I gave the assembled 200+ women a quick wireless clitoral wake-up call and then I went to work on them all in earnest. The result was wonderfully synchronized and thus bizarre pandemonium of the highest order.

This large auditorium full of voluptuous vixen volleyballers unexpectedly found that they had a new chain of stimulations, sensations and experiences to share in a precisely sequential way. I will leave it to your imagination to do its best to paint a picture for you of the incredible scene. I will say that, for me, it was sublime.

After about four minutes of the orchestrated wackiness that ensued, my fantasy made real was brought to an abrupt end. Lisette, recognizing that this sudden strange chaos had to be my handiwork, applied immense willpower to overcome my expert remote manipulations of her belt devices. A reminder, these manipulations were exactly like those simultaneously and synchronously happening to all the other lushly lovely ladies present.

During these richly intense and all-too-short four minutes, Lisette gave what I consider to be a remarkable display of her true mastery of the diabolical belt. She demonstrated to me that sexual athleticism can also be a mental attribute. I later explained to Lisette that I felt that she herself bore some degree of responsibility for my actions.

In concert with Elise and her fairly perverse kink, Lisette recognized and acted upon the real possibility for potentially lucrative application of the belt to my fantasy concept of blacklit Voluptuous Volleyball, as she had read it fully described in drafts of this book. Anyway, in those four minutes Lisette recovered from the shock and surprise. Then she gathered her willpower and somehow overcame (unintentional) my most expertly and lovingly applied remote control work.

She made her way the distance from where she had been standing at the podium to where I was sitting in the back corner of the auditorium. She grabbed the master controller out of my hands and smashed it to the floor. The strangely musical cacophony of 200+ geese being intensely, intimately and continuously goosed in synchronicity stopped, replaced by a moment of stunned silence.

Then Lisette slapped me silly, a single swift sweeping strike with her open hand to my cheek and temple that had me seeing stars for about a minute. After this mighty slap resounded through the now quiet auditorium, she called me a short sequence of bad words in French. Then gasps, giggles, and swearing in several languages erupted from the assembled women.

Then there was about five minutes of laughter, as waves of it rose and fell throughout the auditorium. My all-too-brief, valiant, inspired career conducting of women as instruments seemed to be over, this orchestra no longer playable as a group. Needless to say, the reactions I received from this large collection of hot honeys that I had just sneak attacked were mixed.

Some came and hugged and/or kissed me, thanking me for their sudden release (unintentional) from the boredom of Lisette's speech. Jane, Elise, Amy and Fanny later asked me to do it again for them all in the adult playhouse, SOON. Elise asked Marta about it later and reported back to me that she didn't have anything to say one way or the other; it was just another day at the office for her.

Francine let me "talk to the hand", giving me the silent treatment for a week. The ultimate, long lasting result was that I was no longer invited nor permitted to attend league meetings. I felt this to be a small sacrifice in relation to the value of the experience. This is yet another anecdote which my codger pals will vehemently disbelieve as I recount it to them, in coming days.

Many of the other ladies let me know in no uncertain terms that I had some work to do to get back into their good graces. Nearly three years later, after much expenditure of money and time by yours truly, a couple of the VVV ladies still have not forgiven me. They continue to give me the cold shoulder no matter what efforts I make to seek their forgiveness. However, I was able to mend fences with the rest, spending several months personally delivering flowers and chocolates.

Once the word got around that I was determinedly seeking forgiveness, there were many who received those gifts with good humor. Yours truly offered these "good sports" dinner and a picture show as well. I had numerous good times and also received re-education during these "back-asswards dates". By that I mean that the hot-n-heavy stuff happened first and remotely with the group. Then the usual date preliminaries happened individually, with some, several months later.

The entire debacle, starting with Lisette's slap, was a nerd-meets-numerous-outraged-hotties learning experience for me. I would definitely not do anything like that again. The forgiving ladies who accepted my late date offers almost all made a point of explaining my sins to me, in detail, over dinner. Ladies, I swear, I get it, now and forevermore. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

Any of you want to do it, as a group, again? Please notice that I'm asking first this time. I'll rent a charter bus; take you out as a group for dinner. Let me know if you want me to order your meal for you. Please don't forget to wear your VVV belts and make sure that the battery is fully charged.

We'll call it our mystery achievement date. I'll pick a restaurant where they have a really big ladies room so you can all go "freshen-up" together, to talk about me or whatever it is you all do in there. After dinner, we'll go to a movie, a chick flick, I promise.

During the movie, I will try to visit with each of you long enough to have a brief, silent wrestling match or a bit of canoodling, whichever you prefer. After the movie, as our bus driver, I will drive us up to a scenic moonlit overlook and conveniently "run out of gas". Then I will expertly and soberly fiddle about with you all together simultaneously, synchronously and remotely under your belts with my master remote controller.

Decide what "our song" will be and sing it for me, don't be shy. After everyone is happy, smoke 'em if you got 'em. Then, one by one, I will drive you all home. I'll walk each of you to your door, ask politely for a kiss and a hug, or accept a handshake.

It's up to you, I can take no for an answer. Amy and Elise - who have reserved their seats on the bus already - will be taking care of my nightcap. So our date is over; you can go in and wash your hair if you want. I guarantee a follow up thank-you-for-the-wonderful-evening call the next day.

Please provide your work or cell number. RSVP* soon ladies, if you want to go out with me (notice I did not say come, I may have some class after all), seats on the magic bus are limited and they are going fast. *RSVP is an acronym for the French phrase - repondez s'il vous plait (reply, if you please).

ANYWAY, I have been sidetracked again for a while, but let's return now to the newbies and their progress through "belt camp". At this point they are fully aware of the diabolical nature of the belt and all its devices. They also have their new customized clitoral piercing installed and cradling their clitoris in its little chassis, to which they must also try to adapt.

With everything working together as designed, most newbies at this stage are having a great deal of trouble accomplishing anything except lots of shooping. However, they have come a long ways (unintentional). They are game people to begin with or they would never have considered trying out for the VVV in the first place.

So then it is back to the practice court to test it all in scrimmage games, pitting the newbie teams against each other, with unseen local operators in full remote control of their devices. At the controls are yours truly and three other guys who have convinced me that they deserve the privilege. They have also earnestly promised that they would never . . . ever do anything to cause me take it away from them.

I train these guys, showing them what they can try in order to determine the particular personal combinations of stimulations that will get the newbie gal that they are assigned to remotely control to lie on the mat and roll around helplessly, moaning and giggling. Of course the guys enjoy it; it is an unpaid volunteer position for which there is a waiting list. After a few of these scrimmage games, we eliminate about half of those remaining.

So, if we are lucky, we have 2 teams remaining out of the 10 we started with. From each of the two teams we lost, at least one of the gals just was not able to function at all while being competently remotely manipulated. She does get to keep the customized belt that has been specially fitted to her as a consolation prize.

It may seem like a cruel process of elimination, but we want to set them up to succeed, not to fail. We deliberately introduce them to the complex difficulties of VVV, the intense game of Voluptuous Virtual Volleyball. They have to come up with their own methods of coping so they can play the game and have a chance. Strippers are our most common source of VVV prospects and if they are experienced at that, then they have already adapted to one of the strangest occupations in the world, so VVV is not going to be too much of a shock.

We usually end up with a few extra gals who have completed the training, but have lost their original intended teammate to attrition. We hold a meet and greet party with several of these extra unpaired ladies. They try to hook up with each other so they can form a new team, get a chance to play and to make some money. Once they do hook up, we get them to scrimmage a few times again.

If they can function at all and are game, we then introduce the newbie teams into the VVV real-time play schedule. They are quickly off and hopefully running and jumping around on the courts, their terrific tee-tees flying around as they do so. At some point you just have to pitch the pairs of puppies into the pool, so to speak.

Hopefully they will make it through the further tests that some of our loyal and committed group of internet subscribers like to throw at newbies. If they can actually finish a few games without defaulting, the good money they make from the losing team consolation purses will motivate them further and they will have a chance. From there, they have to figure out what it takes to win.

During games, customers who are fans of a particular team or player will buy control of their faves opponent's devices and mess with them during play, deliberately trying to help their faves. Until the newbies can acquire some fans who will do the same for their benefit, they must try to overcome that disadvantage. They have to learn fast and just keep trying. One of the things that human beings and especially women are good at is adapting, which is probably why they tend to live longer. Even difficult things get a little bit easier after a few experiences, even if they are considered failures.
Chapter 52

Milking the Cash Bull

Anyhow, Jane and Fanny helped us put together our first training course and were among the first few teams to play the new sport. They are both so sexy and also different from each other, yet each has such soft, sensational, swaying snuggle pups; they were and remain popular with their large fan base. Each has many individual fans and their team has many fans as well.

After a while, many of the guys out there began to master the VVV web site software as well as their new remote controller boxes, which communicate with their computers wirelessly. However, by then Jane and Fanny had gotten sufficient experience to enable them to make the adjustments necessary when playing against these more highly skilled remote operators. Playing through the pleasure became more difficult and in addition, the teams against whom they tried to compete started to get tougher. But Jane and Fanny got tougher too.

They are both making really good money, mostly from their devoted fan following and so both have happily quit stripping. Although neither of them is athletic nor competitive by nature, they do manage to put together a few consecutive wins once in a while. However, during tightly contested games in which their belt activity LED indicator lights are spending a lot of time blinking fast, they will often toss in the towel.

They then lie down together on the mat and start caressing and kissing each other, until the 90 seconds has passed and they have defaulted. At that point their VVV game is over and the court lights come back on. Jane and Fanny will then carry on with their fetching girl-on-girl play after the lights come on.

This allows whoever it is out on the web that is in control of their under-belt devices at the time to continue to participate together with them in that way. With the lights on, subscribing fans can now see more and continue to listen. Meanwhile they kiss, caress and respond vocally to the continuing barrage of stimulation they are receiving and reacting to, happening under their belts. Their loyal fans love it and them.

Their post-default activities started a trend among other teams. Many also began to try to continue to entertain their fans in similar ways whenever their games are terminated early and the court lights have come back on. As a result of these frequent & fun-to-watch post-game shows, we rarely get requests for refunds from customers who have prepaid to view games that have subsequently ended in default.

In fact, it is likely that sometimes fans will deliberately work to cause their fave team to default, so they can watch their post-default party antics and take part, remotely. We did have to make some software changes to protect underage viewers from seeing this kind of stuff happening after the lights come back on. Interestingly, when only the blacklights are on, the video of the small and active points of light emitted from the jiggling nipple piercings on the tips of the player's independently minded bouncing Betty Boops is not considered adults-only material. However the accompanying audio is.

As a result of this, the VVV web site allows free, audio-less viewing of many of the games. This limited free access interests and entices prospective new clients to buy subscriptions. This initial purchase allows them to also receive the general game audio. Lisette, brilliant as always, has chosen to price the startup subscriptions at a minimal level for a 1 year subscription. Her pricing strategy for these entry level subscriptions was genius, as millions of these cheap startup subscriptions have been sold.

From there, those who can afford to add other features to their subscriptions choose from a menu that can quickly add up to a hefty monthly charge. First they purchase the remote controller + software kits. Then they start listening to specific players' neck mic audio feeds.

Next they start renting some time controlling some of the remotely aim-able and focusable cameras. Finally they rent some time at the controls of one or more of the players devices. At that point, they are often hooked and happy to keep paying good money each month to monkey with the VVV players under their belts, listen and watch closely what happens.

In that way, the fans pay to become "players" in the VVV games and in the VVV players' lives as well. As I mentioned, at times some of Fanny and Jane's loyal fans will spend a lot of money messing with their opponents to try to help them win games that they would not have been able to win otherwise. As you can see, at that point VVV becomes an even more highly interactive game in which the fans may choose to become intimately involved.

While she is Jane's VVV team-mate, Fanny is also a team-mate to Marta in their bondage Dominatrix-slave "games". With me running a distant second, Fanny is also Marta's most direct personal contact to the real world. Fanny is definitely not as bananas about bondage as Marta.

Fanny just likes to make money that way and through the web cams which follow the two of them everywhere. Fanny now has quite a number of her own web-cam fans who follow her activities and who pay her well for that remote yet personal and private privilege. She has developed and learned to enhance much of her web fan clientele and resulting income, following Marta's example. In her strange and kinky way, Marta blazed the trail which many of the VVV players are now eager to follow.

As I have mentioned previously, Fanny operates and adjusts many of Marta's bondage contraptions and associated remotely controlled mechanisms. Fanny works as the dominatrix-tech for Marta in one of our bondage studios. This involves moving Marta from one bondage predicament to another and/or making changes to the various high tech remotely controlled vibrating/fucking machines and/or their high tech remotely controllable multi-functional attachments. All of those devices do many varieties of those sorts of things to one or more of Marta's orifices and/or her external anatomical parts.

Fanny looks great in the dominatrix model of the Oh!Belt while she goes about that work. This model is designed for quick changes among a variety of modular snap-on/snap-off remotely controlled external strap-on actuator-vibrators, including several double versions. All of these high tech electro-mechanical phalluses can be seen to move in various fascinating ways, when they are visible. They are usually not visible for long, since - once she has snapped one or more of them onto her belt - Fanny then will usually insert them into one or more of Marta's orifices. In doing so, she is following directions provided to her by the remote operator, who is paying to play the role of Absent Master.

So it is Fanny's job to follow the device choices made for her coming in from the web. In response, she snaps the selected device(s) onto the front of her strap-thong and clips in the retractable power lead from her belt's battery/control/wireless communications pack. Then the guys on the web can control and manipulate them, watching and listening to the results of their efforts to produce responses from Marta.

Fanny may also be instructed to thrust in and out, move around and do other things to Marta, either with her hands or with any of a large variety of handheld implements. Fanny receives these instructions via text, telephone or two-way internet audio link. They come in from whoever it may be that is remotely controlling and directing both her activities and the various devices in use.

Fanny manages to get her Dominatrix/tech duties done effectively on Marta's behalf. This is in spite of the fact that the guys watching often also choose to remotely stimulate Fanny herself via the devices under her Oh!Belt. Meanwhile she is trying to work on and for Marta.

Fanny copes and concentrates fairly well in spite of these distractions. She has become somewhat used to working through it all during her time playing with Jane on the VVV courts. Besides, Marta is bound and is not going anywhere, so there is time if Fanny needs to take it.

ANYWAY, Marta & Fanny have welcomed me into their close friendship. They have become BFFs during their long and lucrative association. They work together for long hours in front of the many web cams in one or another of the various bondage web cam studios.

Fanny is entirely hetero and is merely acting out the role of a dominatrix. Marta is entirely submissive to any and all who seek to dominate her, male or female. She really enjoys being used for the pleasure of others. The two often travel around together in public.

Sometimes Fanny leads Marta on a leash, with the web cam crew following and filming them. Each is wearing their Oh!Belts under their clothes. They are being watched and also manipulated by the wankers on the web as they shop; eat meals; go to movies; go to bars; wander; and have fun. Meanwhile, their bank accounts are growing by the minute as they do all those things, shooping around.

There are a number of VVV teams who are Marta & Fanny wannabe's in various ways. They also want to extend and further entertain their fan base and make more money, through developing team activities off the courts, in AV booths or in public with web cam crews following them. A few teams are closely emulating Fanny & Marta's bondage kink as a Dominatrix-slave pair, hoping to also cash in on the kink the way that Marta and Fanny do.

Sometimes a couple of these teams will share a set with each other and/or with Marta and Fanny. This creates a more populated bondage dungeon set with an even wider array of combinations and activities. I will only say that things sometimes get kind of wild during these group bondage parties and leave it to your imagination from there.

Other VVV teams are going more mainstream. Some hang out in AV booth sets that are decorated as girl-girl room-mate apartments, with activities available for observation and remote participation along those less kinkified lines. Five years into this noble experiment, the VVV ladies are still seeking and experimenting with new ways to milk the cash bull. Lisette and Mélange help them in that pursuit; in every way she can improvise.

Recently, knowing of my strip club patronage history, some of the VVV gals approached me with an idea which they asked me to talk with Lisette about. They want Lisette and Mélange to open some sort of a club here in Montreal. These forward thinking VVV players wanted someplace where they might be able to actually meet with their fans in a real face-to-face setting which would allow them some degree of security in those meetings.

Lisette, Elise, Jane, Amy, yours truly and a few of the VVV ladies who brought this to me have been meeting about this idea. We have been trying to figure out what such a club might look like. The ideas being discussed are all intriguing to me; a female designed and managed variation on strip/gentlemen's clubs; restaurants; dance clubs; karaoke bars; health clubs; massage and aroma therapy; all sorts of different ideas are on the table right now. I may have more for you on how this plays out in a later writing, since discussions are at a preliminary stage at this time.

ANYWAY, I am sidetracked once again and must return at last to my sweet Jane, specifically in regard to her "Amana" fixation. The Oh!Belt high tech snap-on strap-on electro-mechanical phalluses make even the longest and fattest plain old penis (POP) - or even Jane's big suction cup refrigerator dildo - sadly inadequate in comparison. Ironically, most of the ladies tell me that it truly is not the size that matters; it is up to you to decide whether they are being honest with me or not.

However, some of the various phallus models are available in sizes that are fairly large in terms of their at-rest & ready-to-insert dimensions. From there, they can be controlled to further extend and expand themselves into attention getting dimensions, both length-wise and/or in girth. What matters \- what seems to keep 'em coming back for more - is their multi-dimensional probing movement and pulsed expansion-contraction capabilities.

Furthermore, the belt microprocessor is able to wirelessly receive, store and produce combinations of these movements in various patterns, pulses and rates. Each Oh!Belt strap-thong allows snap-on attachment of two of these external strap-on electro-mechanical phalluses. In addition, various types of external vibrator-probes can also snap-on and be adjusted. These allow simultaneous stimulation of the clitoris of the recipient of the Oh!Belt wearers attentions.

As a result of all of their extensive capabilities, functions and combination possibilities, these Oh!Belt devices enable operators to make the earth move for the ladies, over and over again. This is yet another depressing hint of the loneliness of the high-tech future for us bicycles. It will become even more difficult to convince fish that they still need us for something, anything at all.

Elise, Jane and Amy helped me to work through a number of experimental prototype versions of the many snap-on strap-on attachments to the belt. They tirelessly and enthusiastically tested everything over and over. Ultimately, through these efforts, we arrived at the most effective and useful designs and features.

Finally I completed my series of improvements and we produced the ready-for-prime-time design versions of the devices that are used in our web cam studios now. They also sell like hotcakes off the Mélange web site. Elise owns a drawer full of the high tech strap-on attachments. Elise, Jane, Lisette and Francine all give me rave reviews. Sometimes these four will put them to use when they get together in the adult playhouse following one of their all night lipstick lesbian dance club parties.

It is worthwhile to note that a remote control operator is not necessary. All Oh!Belt devices - either internal under the strap-thong or snapping onto it externally - can also be directly controlled wirelessly by the wearer in self-help-plus mode. This can be accomplished with either a computer/tablet running our Oh!Belt remote controller software, or a smart phone running our app.

Amy says that the earth moves for her big-time and things just keep on shaking when she is sandwiched between Elise and Jane, who both wear their Oh!Belts. They each have one of the external electro-mechanical phalluses snapped on. With yours truly controlling these two super-penises that Elise and Jane are thrusting into her orifices, Amy gives keeps me informed of multiple, long lasting shoops.

Meanwhile, Elise and Jane also vocalize, letting me know that they are also enjoying the efforts I am simultaneously making to remotely manipulate their own devices under their belts. During one such session with these three sexual "players", it suddenly occurred to me that I was playing the ultimate video game, with fantastic & literally real 3D graphics. The "game" also provided me with nearly instantaneous real time audio feedback, allowing me to keep track of the "scoring".

As a result of this realization, I am now several generations into development of a computerized master remote control console with greatly extended capabilities. This control console automates control of multiple Oh!Belts, each with multiple devices. It can produce and store many patterns and rhythms of motions, basically becoming a controller-synthesizer.

Through these development efforts and through my increasing mastery of this "game", I enjoy myself immensely. I am also doing my best to fulfill my duties as a lover to several healthy women at the glorious peak of their sexuality. Through the use of these high tech surrogate mechanisms, I also stay within my own limited performance schedule. At this point I am told that I am still providing quality work during my weekly date with Amy and Elise, in which I am directly involved, nothing remote about it.

Once a week performances are currently my clear quality control limit though, since I am nearly 63 and am often aware of every year. Every morning I give thanks for awakening yet again into this highly sexually charged environment, ripe with hot renaissance women, during my so-called golden years. However, my capacity to produce sperm and testosterone is gradually and inevitably slowing down. I still don't need any assistance from pharmaceuticals, I am proud of that.
Chapter 53

Multiplication

As I suspected, Ruth had talked with Jane about our Kama Sutra of sleep experiments. I am going back in time about two years with this story. A couple of years after we began our experiments with the Kama Sutra of sleep, Ruth told Jane that she wanted to get pregnant again.

Ruth has always enjoyed being pregnant and really loves babies. She told Jane that she wanted to have my baby, but that she didn't want to make it happen through her own movements while I was asleep with my penis inside of her. Of course, in a house full of women, there are well established channels and patterns of communication, so Jane told Elise about Ruth's desire to have my baby.

I love women, but readily admit that they do sometimes exhibit some fairly irrational thought processes. I don't care; I can be at least as irrational myself sometimes. Just because you have a mind that works for you in one way doesn't mean you always have to use it in that same way.

I remember a Jack Nicholson movie in which he portrays the character of a nasty, highly neurotic romance novelist; As Good As It Gets is the film. Jack has what many consider a great line, which I see as a totally misogynistic, cheap shot. A gushing fan of his novels - a secretary - asks him how he writes women's characters so well. Jack replies that he thinks of a man and then deducts reason and accountability. This is a steaming heap of bullcrap dropping from the ass end of Babe, Paul Bunyan's Blue Ox.

First - there is no one in this world as accountable as a single mother. Second - it was men, supposedly holding positions of great responsibility and public trust, who invented the term "plausible deniability". No one who feels the need to apply that term can be correctly described as possessing accountability as a character trait. Last - reason is a matter of degree, an absolute which is not achievable by any single human being, who must necessarily reside within their own world view which is built upon their own subjective truth, a great deal of which has nothing to do with reason, but instead with reasons (http://www.ayn-rands-truth.net/).

Men do not by any means hold an exclusive ownership card to reason. As far as I am concerned, to write for a woman's character, one thinks of a man and adds at least 20 times the capacity for unconditional love and about 10 times the capacity for compassion that a man has. Then subtract a bit of the capacity to reason during her pre-menstrual days every month, when she is distracted by pain or discomfort and understandably may be in a bad mood.

During their mid-life crises however, men's capacity to reason often flies out the window, sometimes for several years. I know, for I have been there and perhaps am living through that still. So it is kind of a wash in regards to comparing relative reasoning capacity between men and women, averaged out among many individuals and over their life spans.

ANYWAY, getting back to my story, Elise then talked with Amy about the desire that Ruth had to have my baby. Amy was immediately and completely in favor of the idea of Ruth getting pregnant. She really wanted a baby in the house to love, nurture and to play with.

She directly approached Ruth about it. Scheming together, they cooked up a plan which was irrational yet also totally effective. Amy is knowledgeable about muscles and exercise etc., from her studies and research in massage therapy. She started including kegel exercises for Ruth's vaginal muscles in the buddy workout sessions they were doing twice daily. They also started studying Ruth's menstrual cycle closely, in order to time when her ripest night would be.

To make an already long story slightly shorter, one morning I blasted into consciousness, my stiff and throbbing morning wood being effectively milked by Ruth's vaginal muscles. She was lying still and motionless on top of me, as we had agreed was necessary to prevent my ejaculation - which she had just deliberately caused - from happening in the first place. Technically she is correct, she had not moved her body; she had just expanded and contracted her kegel muscles around my stiff and throbbing penis until I came.

I didn't think much of it at the time. It was an even better way to wake up than blasting into either Elise's or Lisette's mouth had been and that had been absolutely incredible. I had no way of knowing that Ruth had caused it deliberately, or that she was at the peak of fertility in her cycle.

I apologized and we cleaned up; I was a little embarrassed. It had been quite some time since we had had one of these little "accidents" during the Kama Sutra of sleep. We just moved on from there, a few days later I had pretty much forgotten about it. Three months later, all of the women in the house were steadily acting more and more strangely, as for moi (me), I was clueless as usual.

I asked Ruth one morning why her belly was pressing so hard upon mine in our usual sleeping position. It was compressing my bladder and I really had to take a leak. She sat up on top of me and grabbed my ears with both hands and said - Because I'm pregnant, mon!

She added - For a guy who stares at women all the time, you are as blind as a bat, can't you see my baby bump! Discretion being the better part of valor, I kept the obvious retort to myself. In that position, all I could see were her immense momma bomb mammaries, hanging there. Moving them aside slightly, a small belly mound was exposed. My first thought was that the baby in there would not have a thirsty infancy, not at all.

So I was well and truly hornswoggled by the machinations of women once again. Once everyone knew that I had finally been clued in about the big household secret, I was also told that it had been a deliberate conspiracy. I felt like spanking Ruth, Amy, Elise, and Jane, all of them for a while. But I would have had to start with Ruth. She is too damn big and was too damn pregnant for me to consider taking her on. I had no choice but to accept it.

Well, about a month later, apparently after a bunch more machinations behind the scenes, Lisette and Francine sneak attacked me out by the grass volleyball court. Ruth drew me there supposedly to play in a pickup game. Instead, Ruth just stood, watched and laughed as Lisette and Francine assaulted me, trying to wrestle me down.

They were claiming that they were going to strip off my shorts and spank me out there in front of god and everybody. I supposedly deserved this as punishment for my remote control assault on 200+ women simultaneously. As I have described, that assault included all the women in the house except Ruth and had happened the week before. Of course, I didn't invite Ruth to that surprise party because she was several months pregnant at the time.

Well, they did manage to strip my shorts off and Lisette did manage to give my butt a couple of good whacks. However, I was getting pretty sweaty from the exertion of wrestling with them and became slippery as a result. I held them at bay by tickling them and using some other dirty tricks which I won't describe, because gentlemen are not supposed to do those kinds of things to women unless they are invited to do so.

I will say that I felt justified because I was trying to defend myself against a staged surprise attack. By temporarily discarding that particular ethic I managed to wrestle them to something of a stalemate in spite of the fact that my dirty tactics also pissed them both off. During this time, I noticed that we had a small crowd gathering to watch the contest, the other women of the house had gathered as well as Ruth's boys.

Well, I know allies when I see 'em; I called out to the boys - guys, we're having a tickle fight and I'm losing, please help me out. Well, that was a brilliant stroke, they jumped right in and the tide was turned. Soon the whole famn damily were rolling around tickling each other and giggling.

I escaped, found my shorts and put them back on. I stood and watched for a minute, trying to catch my breath. Then Francine broke free, walked up to me, poked me in the chest with her finger and said - I'll start talking with you again, forgive you for raping me in the auditorium, but only if you give me a baby too! Lisette and I want to have a baby!

Well, I stood there for a couple of minutes, hornswoggled once again, then finally said - Well, have you been doing your kegel exercises? She laughed, saying - Sure, been doing 'em for years. I can grab onto your little cock and hold it with my pussy until you beg for mercy.

So I replied - Well, to start with, do you have the iron will necessary to lay still on top of me all night with my huge, throbbing cock inside you, without succumbing to the powerful temptation to move about and enjoy it? Then, after you have experienced that long, wonderful and tantalizing night - that you will undoubtedly remember forever - can you milk my even larger morning wood with your little snapper?

I added - Of course, I will understand completely if you decide that you must practice. I'm sure that you want to get it right before you reach the peak of your fertility cycle. She shrugged and said - I don't need any practice, but I am sure I can do all that, if that's what it will take.

In my masculine, much larger than infinite lack of understanding of women and their ways, I asked - Well, when is the peak of your cycle? Francine said - I'm on it, you idiot, that was what this was all about, we wanted to spank you, then hold you down and tickle you until you agreed to have sex with me today and give me a baby. If you hadn't cheated and brought those four boys into it against us, we would have done it too!

I said - Listen Francine, as much fun as I'm sure it would be to do that with you, I know that is not the way you roll. You obviously prefer seafood exclusively. So I guess Ruth will sleep in her room tonight and you and I will see how long it will take for us both to go to sleep with my huge, hard cock throbbing inside you. And by the way, you two weren't anywhere near winning our wrestling match!

Then she sucker punched me in the solar plexus, not just poking me there with her finger. It was a good solid shot for such a small woman. I guess it was her way of getting even with me for twisting and pulling her tender, sensitive pierced nipple while we were wrestling.

She pointed her finger at me, laying there on the ground trying to breathe, saying - When are you finally going to grow up and behave, old man? I'll join you in your bed tonight. Get ready to have your world rocked tomorrow morning. My LITTLE SNAPPER, as you call it, is going to drain your lucky low hanging nuts dry, old timer! With that she turned and waded back into the tickle fray, which was still going on, all over the grass volleyball court.

The next morning, I blasted into consciousness again, being milked like a cow attached to a machine. Thanks again, Lord. It had been a long and unbelievably tender night in which my happy penis felt right at home, snugly fitting inside Francine's tight little vagina, just pulsing away for hours. In addition, both her long dark hair and pretty, perky plums with their dark pierced nipples just kept calling out to me to stroke them.

Then of course there was her firm round little tush. At least I got to hold on to that all night. She is just 95 pounds of beautiful, petite & athletic French-Canadian-Native woman, that's all I can say. As a result of the long conversation that all her cuteness had with me that night, it took me at least four hours to go to sleep, mostly spent listening to her quietly snore into my left ear.

I really could grow accustomed to waking up that way every day, if there was any possible way I could live up to the pace at my age. Francine continued to use her kegel muscles to squeeze my slowly shrinking penis for quite a while. Finally, I said - Good morning Francine, I think that's all there is, there ain't no more. Besides, I need to get up to take a leak!

Her vagina clamped down on my dick immediately and tightly. She was right; I wasn't going anywhere unless she either let me go or she went along for the ride. She said - I want two promises from you, old timer, if you want your little rooster back. I said - Francine, you have my complete and undivided attention.

She said - First, when I have a baby, it is mine and Lisette's. If we decide to tell our child who his or her father is, we will when we decide the time is right, but that is up to us, is that agreed? Then she squeezed down on my willy even harder. It still felt good, but I think she just wanted to let me know that she could. I said - I can understand and agree to that, Francine. What's next?

She said - I want you to promise me that you will never, ever take control of my belt again for any reason. I could have killed you last week; you know that? I really feel like you raped me and every woman in that auditorium! Can you promise me that?

I said - I promise I won't, Francine. I will be eternally sorry that I made you feel like you had been raped. I will try to act my age, I promise you that too. At that, Francine seemed satisfied so, at her request, we did a coordinated roll on the bed.

Once she was on her back, she gave me a long, wet, friendly kiss. In an unusually and perhaps overly formal way for the circumstances, she thanked me for my sperm. Then finally released my willy from her tender trap. She slid one hand over it as I slowly withdrew from her. Then I was finally allowed to rise and take my long anticipated leak. When I came back out of the bathroom, she was doing a head stand on the bed, leaning her tight little butt against the wall.

From that position, she told me that she had slept well and that the Kama Sutra of sleep was a sweet and pleasant way to pass the night. I sat on the bed and talked with her about not much for a while. It was fun to converse while closely observing her in a naked head stand; I could have sat there with her for hours.

Finally she thanked me again for doing my part, saying that she hoped she was pregnant, but if she wasn't she would be happy to try again. She seemingly effortlessly lifted herself out of her headstand into a handstand, then brought her feet down to the bed and stood upright. With one hand over her vagina to keep my little swimmers in her pool, she asked me to wrap and tuck one of my large bath towels around her.

Of course she wanted to maintain modesty and propriety as she made her way through our home, back to the bedroom she shares with Lisette, just in case she might run into one or more of Ruth's boys. That done, she left, with her clothes in her free hand. As I made my bed, I noticed that there was no sign of a wet spot anywhere. Francine's little snapper is an efficient man milking machine; none of my ejaculate was wasted!

I felt so used. No matter what these women may think, I have feelings too. I am a person, not just a sex machine. However, for a little while at least, I also felt like I have a purpose in life, even if it only required about 30 seconds of exquisitely pleasurable non-effort to fulfill, in my sleep. Bicycles everywhere, rejoice and give thanks!

I had a brief and interesting interchange with Lisette that morning. I think she was pissed at me because she was disappointed in herself because she didn't have a penis with which to impregnate Francine. Being the fool that I am, I went ahead and exploited the situation. I said - Well, Lisette, how about you, are you tired of the seafood diet too, perhaps we can get together and stew up some coq au vin (rooster cooked in wine) tonight?

She looked at me like I had just crapped in her hat and said - Remember this right hand, old timer? You know your eyes rolled back in your head for a few seconds last week after I walloped you with it. I got lots more of that kind of stuff for you, just keep on cracking wise and I'll be happy to give you some. And then she winked at me, sort of maliciously, I felt.

ANYWAY, Francine got pregnant the first time out. That means that I am batting 1000 at the moment, at least as far as impregnating women who are ready and willing. One of my little swimmers made it to home base on my first ups both times. I guess there must be a few left after all.

There were two little girls born into this big home within the next 9 months. Of course Ruth's & Amy's little girl arrived first, her name is Babette. Amy has claimed co-mothering rights. Ruth has reared enough infants that she is more than happy to let Amy do as many of the baby care duties as she wants to take on. And Amy wants to do everything and anything that Ruth lets her get away with, so it is an ideal arrangement for them both.

Lisette & Francine's little baby girl is Mabel. The new babies are a couple of little cuties and they will be absolutely and completely spoiled by all the women in this house fawning over them. Unbelievably, even Ruth's normally rambunctious boys are walking around on tiptoes, not wanting to wake the babies! Amy is on cloud nine, smiling all of the time. She hasn't mentioned wanting to go to Missoula once since they were born.

During the second half of Ruth's pregnancy she slept in her own bed. As they usually do during Ruth's regular dates with the moon, Elise and Amy took over Ruth's Kama Sutra of sleep "duties", taking turns trying to sleep while coupled on top of me. For mysterious reasons that nobody was inclined to enlighten me about, Jane was included in these "duties". Jane wouldn't tell me, although once again I suspect the hand of Elise and I definitely was not likely to complain. The only thing I know for sure is that it had nothing to do with Jane wanting to get pregnant.

So this exquisite nightly entertainment went on until a few months after Babette was born. When Babette started drinking expressed breast milk at night from a bottle, Ruth finally came back into my bed. So for about 8 months, I got a lot less sleep, not sleeping at all during the nights spent coupled, now dangerously raw, with Jane. Even with Amy and Elise, it was hard, almost all the time. I snuck in a lot of daytime cat naps, knowing that I would be able to catch up on my sleep when Ruth returned to bed with me.

When Ruth came back, of course her already humongous baby feeders were even bigger, imagine that! For the first few weeks after she returned, the sheets under my armpits were soaked with her milk in the mornings. I told her that the next time she wanted to get pregnant, just tell me.

I told her that I would be happy to break my always somewhat flexible rules once or twice for a good cause. So we could make love anytime she wanted, I'm sure it would be fine with Elise and Amy. Heck, Amy would probably watch and applaud, squeeze and massage my nuts for me at the moment of truth. I also told her I was glad she was back, I needed the rest.

She giggled quietly for a while in my ear when I said that. A lot of women would have felt insulted, thinking that I didn't find them attractive. Ruth knew exactly what I meant. She also knew how long it had taken me to learn how not to think about how her bodacious, bountiful body felt all over me and also about how my throbbing erection felt inside of her.

She knew better than to think she was not attractive to me. Together, we had learned a lot about the Kama Sutra of sleep and understood how it worked for us. She and I are close, spiritually; we are on the same wavelength somehow. I don't question it; I just appreciate it and am thankful to have her in my life.

To my mind, Elise, Amy and Ruth are the triumvirate of matriarchs ruling this house. As they rule, they complement each other well in making all of our lives rich and happy. I think that is one of the reasons that Ruth does not feel that Amy is trying to steal Babette from her. They trust each other, knowing that they all completely and unconditionally love all the children in this home, even childish old fools like me.

Ruth and I know that whenever she is sleeping on top of me, Amy is in Ruth's bed. Babette is sleeping in her arms. Amy happily feeds her Ruth's breast milk from the bottle when Babette gets hungry. Whenever Babette cries, Amy is up and walking her up and down, up and down, for as long as it takes, rocking her and sweetly singing her a tender lullaby until she goes back to sleep. Amy will sometimes also gladly give Francine a break for a night or two, taking a bottle of her milk and baby Mabel into her bed as well, so that Francine and Lisette can catch up on their sleep, or share an adult new-parents night out.

Ruth says that both she and Francine feel special about the way that they had gotten pregnant, calling it the somewhat-less-than-immaculate conception. She let me drink her warm milk a couple of times, once from each. Ruth's milk tasted the same from both of her popeye pony kegs. I enjoyed it but I like beer better.

This mother's milk episode happened in the adult playhouse, with Jane, after we shared some hash and Ruth's first whiskey in almost a year. Jane said that she didn't want any; she had tasted Ruth's milk after her youngest boy - Thom - was born and remembered it. I may have mentioned previously that Jane and Ruth are good friends and that they have known each other for a long time.

ANYWAY, they both got a long stoners chuckle at my suggestion that I might ask Francine if Daddy could sample a little bit of her milk too. I had actually been thinking about that possibility, seriously considering risking getting slapped silly by Lisette once again. Francine's angel food cupcakes had swelled while she was breastfeeding. My always watchful eyes had observed that they were noticeably much fuller. They were moving around somewhat independently too, like the much larger ying-yangs of the other ladies in the house always did.

Jane asked me if I wanted her to continue coming to my bed, to keep alternating with Ruth, helping with the Kama Sutra of sleep. I am certain that Jane was well aware that for me, this was a heavily loaded question. I dodged it; I left it up to Ruth.

Ruth came through for me, saying she always slept better with me than alone, so we left it at that. I was simultaneously both relieved and disappointed. I never got any sleep on the long, exquisite nights that Jane lay on top of me, with my boner of a lifetime pulsing inside of her. Since she is one of the magnificent STD free seven, it was no longer necessary for me to wear a condom, dangerous/unsafe sex making things more difficult still. She didn't seem to get much sleep either.

It was one of the toughest tests of will of my life. If I had been 5 years younger, there is no way I would have passed it. Jane might have gotten pregnant too, but not in anything remotely resembling an immaculate way. In an intellectual sense, Jane can be a little perverse sometimes. I think she likes to tempt me, to make me suffer, to test my ethical resolve. So far I would say it is a draw.

I haven't lost; I never did start thrusting away into her while she was on top of me. It would have been so easy and so much fun, part of me will regret not having done it forever. My back and the rest of me would have happily been up for it. Jane is not a hefty woman like Ruth, not at all.

I haven't won either however. As I said, I never did actually fall asleep with her. It was all I could do to battle with myself to keep from losing, hour after hour. I am not saying that I did not enjoy it, because I definitely did.

Although I was not thrusting myself into her, my erection was throbbing inside her for endless hours. My sweet Jane was naked; lying coupled with me; on top of me in my bed; all night long; every third night; for months. She is an incredibly attractive and sexy woman and I like her a hell of a lot. I will always remember that long stretch of highway under the stars in Texas, where heads are bigger and harder. Jane is my best adult friend in the house, because I love Ruth, not just like her.

Of course, Ruth's boys are my buds, we bullshit 'til the cows come home, but they aren't adults, there is that between us and it always will be, since I knew them when. Pierre, the eldest, is a little confused about the relationship I have with his mother. So am I, so I don't blame him.

Pierre knows that Ruth and I sleep together almost every night, although he may not know about the Kama Sutra of sleep. He knows that I am his baby sister Babette's father. He also knows that both Amy and Elise are sort of married to me.

He is also somehow aware that I am Mabel's father. Kids find out and figure out that kind of stuff. Adults just don't realize how well they can hear and how much time they spend listening. He is just not sure where his mother stands in all this. This puts his own position in the house into question, but only in his own mind.

I consider my relationship with Francine and Lisette to be a good friendship as well. However, my episode of arrogant stupidity in the auditorium, which prompted Lisette to slap me, set our relationship back somewhat. I suspect they are also concerned about my eventual interaction with Mabel as her biological father. However, I am determined to fulfill my promise to Francine in that regard.

I am overjoyed that both Mabel and Babette have such wonderful loving women to nurture and raise them as parents. I am sure they will continue in that role long after I am gone. At this late stage in my life, I never thought that I would willingly become a father, biological or otherwise. That has been a huge swing in my life since this story started.

Like many, I have an incredible respect for Lisette and what she has accomplished with Francine's constant help as her life and business partner. I am also happy for them both, in that they have found a version of sexuality that works for them. They are happy together and love each other deeply.

Lisette and Francine share lipstick lesbian dance club evenings, trips for shopping and shooping parties in the adult playhouse with Elise and Jane. Before Mabel arrived on the scene, the four have also traveled together to New York and the Caribbean. Lisette and Francine took Mabel to France to show her off to Lisette's family about a year ago. Elise and Lisette still have an incredibly close mother-daughter type of relationship, Francine has just moved in between them romantically.

My menage-a-trois with Elise and Amy is and has been fantastic. Sharing the Kama Sutra of sleep with either of them is always downright comfortable. At this point we are like an old married couple except that there are three of us; I feel like I am married to somewhat incestuous and very sharing sisters.

I don't sleep much with them coupled like that though. I lie awake most of our long nights together just from the sheer pleasure of it, sharing that motionless coupling with them. I love them so much my heart might burst if I think about how sweet and wonderful they are for too long; as I listen to one or the other of them breathe quietly into my ear.

We can't sleep in that position on our date nights though. My libido is always spent after a date with my two lovers. My completely satisfied little willy wouldn't be able to stand up to be counted if my life depended on it.
Chapter 54

Ruth and Francine

I put these two greatly different women together for a few reasons. First, they are a VVV team. Second, they both spend a lot of time with me. Lastly, they both love children and have both borne a child of mine.

In combination with Amy and the great love that all three share for children; we come to the story of their combined efforts on behalf of Mélange. Early on, Amy was fascinated at my ability to weave steaming heaps of bullcrap into flights of imagination capable of entertaining Ruth's boys for hours. She suggested to me she wanted to record these sessions with a video camera and then use them to write children's books.

Out of the blue I had another one of my who-knows-where-that-came-from epiphanies. I suggested to her that the stories could easily be written into hypertext combined with art, still pictures, video and audio files. This would allow them to be viewed with lots of leaping around and possible varieties of sub-plots and interactive choices by the children in terms of the direction they wished the story to take.

Amy looked silently at me for a long minute after I laid that one on her, then said quietly - Can you show me how to do that on your computer? I said - Sure thing sweetie, no sweat. I showed her the HyperPublish Pro software (this is real software folks, visit http://www.2gener8.net for a link) that I use frequently for my own network of web sites. I showed her how to create links to web sites, picture, video and audio files, etc.

This is all easily doable with the software without learning any web page coding at all. It took a few hours and then Amy was off and running. Soon she was working with it, using it to turn my stories into shareable entertainment for other little kids.

It quickly turned into a sizable project; Ruth and Francine were soon working on it with her. Sometime prior to that, Ruth and I converted the full basement in the big house into a suite of offices for Mélange. Lisette and Francine each have private offices there. Now there are also several cubicles with networked computers that Ruth and Amy use when they are working on hyperpublishing their stories for kids.

They have already hyperpublished quite a selection of children's books that pre-school and elementary school kids can play with on tablets, smart phones and computers, as they learn to read. Tablets running these stories are used extensively in the Mélange operated preschool/childcare, which is open 24/7/365. Ruth and Amy spend many of their mornings there, playing with the kids, watching and learning how they navigate the stories. They use this knowledge to adapt and fine-tune them to the manner that kids are inclined to use them.

For a first attempt, Amy herself created one of the most popular of these works. This is an epic continuation of the modern western story I began telling Ruth's boys on the day I met them. Amy tells it from her own perspective, starting with my narration to her of how destiny brought me to first meet her in Missoula. Then, after our sad parting, it continues with my trip into Canada, my letter to her from Winnipeg and our later joyous reunion in Montreal.

It concludes with a censored for children version of our happily-ever-after life together since then. The story is popular with little girls, for its female perspective and attendant romantic aspects. It also appeals to little boys, for the mountain of long distance bicycle adventure bullcrap dropping from the ass end of Babe, Paul Bunyan's Blue Ox, provided by yours truly.

Amy came up with the title, calling it the River and the Road. I really liked this title and with Amy's easily obtained permission, decided to use it for this grown-up version of much the same story. It similarly contains a Coos Bay freight train-load of a different sort of bullcrap, this adult version of an extra-tall tale which you are reading now.

Francine supervises a small staff of translators who work on reproducing the stories in several languages. Ruth videotaped me telling stories to her little boys for a couple of years. She also has artistic talents, producing her own illustrations for the books, as well as working with contract illustrators. Ruth has a rich imagination and has learned to let it out to run wild. She learned how easy it was from watching and listening to my many bullcrap sculpting sessions with her boys.

The hypertext stories are not published in print, only electronically, so there are no costs associated with printing or production. So beyond the labor costs of production - Amy, Ruth and her illustrators and Francine and her team of translators are all on Lisette's payroll - there is minimal overhead and so Mélange makes their product available on the web for free. Thus, Mélange also works to entertain and educate kids almost anywhere with free-form, interactive, multi-media stories woven out of whole cloth by yours truly, Amy, Ruth and Francine.

By the way, all this began more than four years ago. Elise saw the early versions of what was being produced and was much impressed. It prompted her, in combination with other still obscure motivations, to send Jane and I off to Vegas for our fling. Back then, Elise was still pushing other women at me, which I have since convinced her to stop doing. I have enough trouble resisting the myriad charms of an entire world full of alluring women already without her making things harder, thank you very much.

Getting back to Ruth and Francine again, they also work together as a VVV team. Francine plays because I think she sees it as a challenge. She perceived a challenge to her partially because of all the chesty women that were joining up. She didn't want to feel left out because itty bitty baps are smaller than theirs. The second part of the challenge for her was to challenge men to make her feel good with the devices under the belt and inserted inside of her.

Francine is fierce in her homosexuality and believes that, because it is usually men that are operating the controls, they won't be able to affect her. She believes that she will be able to play volleyball through it, win all the money and steal the boobie prize for herself. That fierceness is the reason that I think she was so pissed at me about my sexual surprise party for the 200+ women in the auditorium, calling it a rape.

One - it was obviously a man at the controls. Two - she, like the rest of the women in the place except Lisette, was putty in my hands. Francine was helpless, twitching and moaning in harmony with the rest of them. Three - the rest of them were all the great gazonga-ed girls that she wants to prove that she is better than.

She teamed up with Ruth, in spite of Ruth's obviously monumental milk-shakes, because she likes her. Francine has a serious nature. She likes and respects Ruth for taking responsibility for raising 4 kids on her own.

Francine also greatly loves children, which is why she was able to put her pride aside and get what she needed from me. She detests the fact that men are the only source for that. I suspect that the list of men like me that have somehow found themselves lucky enough to have been invited to insert their penises into Francine is short, perhaps less than a handful.

Another reason for Francine to team up with Ruth is that she knows that, in volleyball, the combination of a tall, strong player and a small, quick player is formidable, as I have mentioned before. Francine has an extremely competitive nature and still sees VVV as a sport, which it only minimally is. She wants to win and so she thinks teaming with Ruth will help make that happen.

Francine would obviously prefer to team with Lisette, but understands why she can't. They would win too many games, which would look bad because Lisette is the CEO of Mélange and also general manager of the VVV league. Lisette does feel like she has to play in the VVV for ethical and player morale reasons, she just can't win often.

Ruth and Francine actually do make a powerful team. They have won several of the quarterly tournaments. This happened for several reasons that I can only speculate about, but as usual, I think I am right.

First - Ruth is an incredible vision, moving around in the dark. The bright illuminated spots on the UV reactive piercings through the nipples on the tips of her pendulous pillows swing around in the dark. Observing this in the darkness of the court, one wonders in awe whether there is a woman there, or perhaps it is just two giant Godzillas ganging up to trample terrified Tokyo. It is truly mind boggling to watch, there is no effective way to describe it.

Second - little Francine, her pert pair not swinging around at all, but instead moving at incredible speed around the court in reaction to the movement of the ball, is also astounding to watch in her own way. Unlike the voluptuous players, whose meaty, beaty, big & bouncy bristols wobble around independently, Francine's little muffins fly around the court because she is. Another thing to bear in mind is that the players all have UV reactive anklets on as well.

Francine - used to playing through the drag of the sand on the beach - is super quick on the mats. She performs dives, shoulder rolls and other gymnastic moves to make plays on the ball that the other players just don't make. Her glowing nipple piercings and anklets are seen to be spinning through the air, flying around the court.

Remember also, we are talking about a league comprised of predominately fleshy women with bountifully bodacious boobage; it is the Voluptuous Virtual Volleyball league. Most of these otherwise marvelous women just don't move that fast or athletically. There are exceptions to this of course.

For example, we do have a number of former cheerleaders playing for the VVV. Some of them can be fairly athletic. Of course they also have plumply plush pom-poms. In addition, they often display highly engaging esprit de corps (team spirit - appropriately, the direct translation is spirit of the body) as they move relatively quickly around the court.

ANYWAY, although her terrifically tasty twin titbits don't jiggle and bounce, watching Francine's little points of light blaze and roll around the court is eye-catching in other ways. This is different and so stands out and attracts the attention of viewers. There is no other player in the entire VVV league who would even consider trying to dive and stretch themselves out, three feet off the floor, to punch the ball.

This causes the ball to bounce back up in the air for Ruth to control further. Meanwhile, Francine recovers from her dive with a graceful shoulder roll and returns to play almost instantly. Francine does all those things without hesitating for a millisecond. As a result, watching Francine and Ruth play VVV games is different than watching any of the other teams.

The guys on the web often get distracted into actually watching their game and forget about the controls. Without the www wankers monkeying around and manipulating the devices under their belts, Francine and Ruth can play the game unhindered. They are always going to win that kind of contest. Even a couple of athletically busty cheerleaders can't compete in that game if their fans forget to try to help them.

So that's how Francine and Ruth move up the tournament ladder a level or two. They make excellent money from their winning team prize purses at the lower levels. Then they move up into the level of play where the fans make a big difference. There are a number of different VVV teams comprised of two incredibly appealing sexpots.

These sexpot team-mates often apply their beauty and also PR skills to attract and interact with a huge fan base. Their fans will do everything they can to interfere with the play of their faves opponents. When Francine and Ruth have risen to playing against these teams at tournament level, they are forced to try to adapt to the interference that the rabid fans bring into play. Everything about their game must change.

Francine slows way down as her indicator lights are now blinking rapidly almost all the time. The guys are deliberately working to try to get her to default. In the process, they have effectively eliminated her athleticism.

She can't possibly concentrate enough to continually keep her eye on the ball and react to it. Her clitoris, vagina and rectum are constantly being stimulated by devices that demand the attention of larger women than herself. However, both her competitive nature and her dogged denial of the power of men over her don't allow her to lie down and surrender to their assaults upon her sweet little body.

She just becomes stubbornly determined to stay on her feet and do whatever she can to help her team win the game. Listening to her individual audio feed, she is often standing in one spot moaning as she has her umpteenth orgasm. Meanwhile, she is also talking to Ruth about where the ball is coming over the net next and who will try to get it. So Francine is being severely tested at this level of tournament competition.

Ruth, on the other hand, is just coming into her own. Ruth just doesn't give a damn. They can do what they want to her nether regions, she is going to win the game and get that winners purse. She wants to save enough money to put her kids through college, no matter what Elise tells her about that being taken care of.

Her size and bulk help her. She is not going to fall down easily, either from multiple shoops or someone actually thinking they might try to tackle her. She also doesn't moan or make other noises in reaction to what is going on under her Oh!Belt. The guys don't get any feedback at all from their efforts to distract her and so they get discouraged and eventually give up.

So these two hardly ever default, because Ruth doesn't fall to the floor and Francine refuses to. They just doggedly hang in there and sometimes they win. They win often enough and their default ratio is so low that the statistical analysis often helps them advance to even higher levels in the tournament.

At the top levels of the tournament, their differences from the rest of their competition start to help them, big time. For one thing, the more heavy Honeydews that you see, the more they start to blend together and the thrill is lessened. So either you get excited to see a little gal like Francine, who is so completely different from the rest of the women in the league that she becomes interesting for that reason alone. Or, you see a huge gal like Ruth, who lifts the leagues largest lungs by far, in a league populated by voluptuous women. It is the VVV after all.

So in the tournament championship games, suddenly Ruth and Francine have more fans of their own on their side. These guys, including yours truly, often try to help them by over-stimulating their competition. This evens out play; of course Ruth and Francine are still also being over-stimulated by their opponents fans. However, when things are equalized, their determination and athleticism often win the game.

So Ruth and Francine win tournament championships occasionally and make good money almost all the time by winning a fair percentage of their games. Since they have never defaulted, they always get at least the losing teams' consolation purse. They have also started to build a fan base of their own, hampered only by the 2 + year break they took to have and be with their babies.

Since they are the mothers of my only children, I am their biggest fan. I never, ever miss their games. However, I watch from the computer and work the controls as much as I can to help them. It is a blast. Once they were playing a tournament quarterfinal game against Jane and Fanny.

As always, I chose to help my two mommas, by doing my best remote control work on Jane under her belt. She soon surrendered to the sensations of my simultaneous remote control assault upon her various parts. Fanny laid down with her on the floor, caressing Jane's marvelous moo moos and kissing her, as these two do when they have decided to give in to the sensations and default.

Later, Jane laughingly confronted and busted me. She said that she knew almost immediately that it was me that was messing with her under her belt. She has a lot of experience with my skills and methods from her parties with Amy and Elise while I play them all like a video game.

When Francine and Ruth are involved in their VVV contests, I keep my promise to Francine and I never ever stimulate her, even just for fun. Instead, for kicks, I sometimes buy the control time for her devices and leave her unmolested. This allows her to work her athletic magic and I happily watch as she does.

Other times, as I did with Jane, I buy control time for her opponent's devices and stimulate them. Sometimes I am so effective at this that they default and my two faves, Ruth and Francine, win. I have never purchased any control time or stimulated Ruth in any way as they play. l don't know why not, come to think of it.

Perhaps it is because our relationship is the closest thing to a traditional marriage that I have. We sleep together almost every night; we share Babette as our child together; I am helping her raise her boys; we are close and share a strong bond of love for each other and for the children in the house; but we don't have sex for fun. She fulfills the role of my traditional wife in the household.

It is the usual way of such relationships that she does not find me particularly appealing, sexually. She seems to love me in just about every other way that you can imagine besides that, though. I love her in all the ways that she allows me, except that, since she does not want or require it of me.

So that leads naturally to the idea of spending lots of time together and how both Ruth and Francine share that with me. Of course you are well aware of how much time I spend with Ruth. Except during her period, she sleeps on top of me six nights a week, non-sexually coupled in our sharing of the Kama Sutra of sleep.

She also works with me when I am doing construction or maintenance projects around the property. Ruth and I worked together to build the greenhouse that Elise, Amy and Francine grow flowers and vegetables in almost all year long, for just one example. Pierre, her oldest boy, now frequently helps us with our projects - he is an eager learner and also is very coordinated.

I also spend a lot of time with Ruth and her boys; we take them places and show them things. We have fun, go fishing, play volleyball on the grass court in the yard or football (soccer) together, etc. I try to be a male role model for them, an eccentric uncle.

When we go somewhere on a family type outing, Ruth acts like she is my wife, taking my arm, asking for my opinion, deferring to my decisions, etc. I know well that she is faking that whole bit all the way and that all the important decisions related to her boys are hers and hers alone. We all have a good time and hopefully the boys are learning how to act as men should.

Francine is my little shadow, although she usually precedes me, unusual for a shadow. Between three and five mornings a week, she and I ride a tandem bicycle to business meetings around the city. If the weather is cold and rainy, we ride in a little two seater electric car.

If the weather is really bad, we stay home and play hooky with the kids. We are on the tandem most of the time, she is in front, steering and swearing in French at the traffic. I am in back, doing my best to provide motive power without spending too much time watching the muscles in her cute little buns pulse, right in front of my nose. God, I want to grab and squeeze them sometimes, please help me resist, Sweetheart.

For that and other reasons, I would prefer to ride the pilot seat. However, my eyes and reaction time are not what they once were. So we decided together that we would be safer if Francine steered us around town. She is absolutely fearless when it counts and we have so far never even had to put our feet down to avoid an accident. A few times, I have to admit I have just closed my eyes and hoped for the best.

We are there to be Lisette's proxy representatives at the meetings. Francine does the talking for Lisette, I usually just listen. There are two fairly rare circumstances in which this situation is reversed. The first is if the conversation involves technical ideas or issues and is in English by some necessity.

Although Montreal is in Francophile Quebec, most of the business is conducted in English. More than half of Montreal's population now speaks English as their first language. Quebec Ville is more heavily French speaking, but that has been gradually decreasing as well.

However, there are still parts of the Quebec countryside where the folk only speak French. Francine has fairly well mastered English, except the technical vocabulary. My French is much improved as well. In the listening role I usually fill, I understand almost everything that is said.

The second circumstance in which I must take the lead in speaking for Lisette is also rare. At times Lisette is forced by some necessity to do business with a male dominated business or a male asshole bureaucrat or politician. In that rare case, Francine would not be accorded the respect she deserves as Lisette's right hand and highly favored proxy spokesperson.

The two are entirely on the same wavelength, it is uncanny sometimes, probably has something to do with their shared seafood diet. During such meetings, I get to speak with the male assholes. Meanwhile Francine quietly pretends to be my eye-catching and efficient assistant.

A number of them have surreptitiously tried to hire her away from me, hoping to chase her around their desks, I imagine. Good luck with that one, guys, watch out for her straight right to the solar plexus. I can speak the language of the good old boys just fine when it is necessary. However, it is also fine with me that Lisette is determined to avoid doing business with them as much as possible.

On business meeting mornings, first Lisette, Francine and I attend Amy's early morning workout session with Ruth. Then at about 7:30, the three of us meet and talk about the Lisette's agenda for the meetings which we will attend on her behalf. After these early sessions with Lisette, Francine and I ride to breakfast somewhere in the city before our first meeting of the day, which is usually scheduled for 9. We review the agenda of subjects to be discussed and prepare ourselves for the meetings while we eat and drink coffee.

In the early afternoon, usually between 1 and 2, we meet again with Lisette and share a light lunch in her basement office. We give her a summary review of the content of the morning's meetings. Francine still does most of the talking. I just speak up if I - through my application of active listening skills at the mornings meetings - have heard and formed a different perspective to things than Francine expresses.

Through these efforts, Francine and I help Lisette to run Mélange, now a large and still growing concern. Since we travel around the city for her and spend our time at these necessary but frequently overly-long and boring meetings, Lisette's time is saved. This enables her to run things directly and hands-on from her office, almost all the time.

By 2 pm or before, this part of my productive effort for the day is usually complete. I usually take a nap, often with Ruth napping on top of me. Some days Ruth and I play with her boys when they get home from school, after our nap.

Other days I play with my three lovers - Amy, Elise & Jane, remotely if it is to involve more than kisses, caresses and canoodling. Some days Elise wants me to play with her and Marta, doing something kinky remotely, or remotely kinky, depending on your perspective. Ruth still doesn't party with the ladies and as you know she doesn't really have traditional sex with me.

I have asked her if she feels sexually unfulfilled. She says that she had more than sufficiently fulfilling sex play for a lifetime during her affairs with the fathers of her boys, four different men. I have also asked Ruth if there is anything I can do for her in that way. She looks me up and down and shakes her head, making me feel completely inadequate. Of course I am inadequate in comparison to her abundantly magnificent femininity.

It lets me completely off the hook with her, allowing me to be the man I am, a relief. In my inadequacy I don't feel too bad for myself, there are not many men that would be masculine enough for her. I do feel sorry for her, but she seems happy with our life and never complains about anything, so what is there to do?

Amy, Elise and I flew with Ruth to Jamaica about 3 years ago. We all had a lot of fun dancing and shopping in the marketplaces. We also sent a lot of strong ganja up in smoke with several of Ruth's old friends.

She didn't try to hook up with anyone there either. She seems to have given up on romantic love. While she may not be fulfilled in that way, she appears sufficiently happy with the familial love she has and which she and her boys share with us. This big old home is so full of love; it sometimes seems that it may burst at the seams.
Chapter 55

Lisette

Francine and Lisette are a tightly self-contained little world of their own within the house, with Mabel the shining center of their life and their love. They are like a planet that circles a sun, upon which the rest of us reside. It is different, our little tribe, but it works. It seems to have the stability necessary to last, so we all hope for the best and stick with it.

Both intelligent and determined, Lisette has come into her own over the past five years. She is a parent and a partner in her Quebec civil union with Francine (partners in Quebec civil unions almost fully duplicate the rights of partners in marriages). Lisette works hard at running her Mélange, but she also knows how and when to play. During the season, she and Francine play beach volleyball at least once a week, definitely always on Friday afternoons, unless it rains.

Elise, Amy, Ruth and I are often there. We sit under the canopy with Mabel and Babette and watch them, cheer them on. They claim the court with their caps and usually reign over it as their well defended domain until they have had enough. They rarely lose and thus keep the court.

Their game has evolved into a fluid, graceful ballet that they perform nearly silently together with the ball and the wind. Lisette wears her translucent loosely swirling white outer pantsuit, mirror sunglasses and white kepi-style cap with long canvas flaps covering her neck. She only needs to smear sun-block lotion on the tops of her feet and her ankles to protect her pale beauty from the sun.

Her brilliant white outfit is eye-catching erotic beachwear. This is true even for a beach strolled by beautiful Quebecoises in tiny string bikinis, or further down the sand, they wear no suits at all. Lisette carefully shopped for filmy, nearly see through fabric for her custom sewn outer suit.

The sheer white inner suit she wears is a skin tight see-through body suit that she orders from an online lingerie supplier. All one sees is hints of her athletic goddess' body within this combination of suits, but they are strongly suggestive hints. Any men who try to challenge these two have their work cut out for them just to keep their eyes on the ball, let alone react to it and send it back.

The first time she wore her new outfit in the sun at the beach, she did a turn for me and winked, asked me how I liked it. I gave her all three thumbs up, producing some giggles from my lady friends. Then I asked her - you know that it would add a kinky twist to your healthy sex appeal if you would just wear your black VVV belt underneath that outer suit, don't you?

I immediately added - And if you let me monkey with a remote controller; it would keep both of us entertained and give your competition a chance to win! She stuck her tongue out at me. Francine still wears her serious sports bra and short shorts. Unlike Lisette, she does not express her sensuality on the courts, only her determination to win.

Lisette has adapted well to playing in the sand. She regularly performs jaw dropping world class athletic feats similar to the spinning, leaping spike that she demonstrated for us 5 years ago. Also a super-woman, Francine is still flying around the court, her petite athletic body returning to its pre-Mabel fighting trim soon after she gave birth.

On these group outings, after they are done kicking butt and taking names on the courts, we shift the canopy and our group over to the clothing optional beach. Then we all strip down to play in the water like naked infants once again, even Mabel and Babette, the naked infants. Sharing a blanket with her VVV team-mate Ruth, Francine lies out in the sun, maintaining her all-over tan.

I keep company with my two pale lovers and Lisette, Mabel and Babette. We laze on blankets under the canopy. I keep a close eye on them and any other lovelies who may appear in view, my lifelong avocation. When they return from a swim, I occasionally ask each of my lady friends whether they got a thrill from the fishes nibbling on their three piercings, gleaming brightly in the sun.

During the traditional French holiday month of August, Lisette goes onto a half schedule at work. So they play more often and take little trips with Mabel. They spend more romantic time together as a fully committed married couple, which is what they are.

Especially during the first couple of years, the pace of consistent effort that Lisette exhibited once Elise started pouring money into Mélange was enviable. It made me feel as old as the hills, to see the energy she committed herself to expend on something she believed in. She sculpted a masterpiece and then gave it life. She pictured what she wanted to create in her mind and then made it manifest.

Since then, she has been steadily chipped away at her sculpture, until her work of entrepreneurial art began to breathe with a life of its own. Now she skillfully and artfully works to help it grow and evolve. Only 5 years in, I can see that it will live on for long after she lovingly sets it free.

The mixture of her Mélange is the key to its success. She starts with an aggressive fund raising model. It focuses like an arrow targeted at the bulls-eye of virtual service to the varied and sometimes perverse fantasy lives of men like yours truly, on the internet. Every income generating opportunity that arises from that service is considered carefully and exploited to best advantage.

Like Francine's kegel muscles milked me dry, Lisette milks the cash bull with the callous determination of a mafia don. She uses technology to ride millions of men on the internet like she once rode her goddess-like body upon me. She is a confirmed fish that expertly rides many bicycles, because it is necessary to achieve her goals.

Then into the Mélange mix flows her highly evolved and ethical social conscience and her absolute and unwavering championship of women. The income generated by Mélange goes to serve women in almost every way imaginable, from employing them; to hiring their firms; to child-care and pre-school services; to financial planning and budgeting services; to low interest business startup loans; to housing; to education; the list just goes on and on. Lisette makes a boatload of decisions every day, every single one she makes puts women in general and single mothers in particular first in its implementation.

Second on Lisette's priority list is Quebec and Montreal. She believes strongly in spending money in the service of local needs first. She now has thousands of business friends around the city and in the province. She has consistently chosen them based upon their shared commitment to her two driving goals.

In Lisette's mind, serving the needs of Quebecoises (French-Canadian women) serves Quebec. She is absolutely correct in this opinion and this goal. The results she has generated over the past five years are proof positive of that. While Francine and I travel the city for her, Lisette spends endless hours on her speakerphone, making things better for the women of the province.

The players of the VVV, who many would consider to be greatly exploited in almost every way imaginable, love her and love it. They know from direct and intimate experience that they work where the rubber meets the road. This is true in the enterprise and in the battle of the sexes, as it now has moved onto the recently created battlefields of the virtual world.

These women have been exploited before, usually by male dominated businesses, by men. They have consistently been used and left diminished by those transactions. They know that Lisette is not working her buns off for her own gain. She is doing it for them and for the thousands of women working around them, directly and indirectly, in the enterprise, for the enterprise, for women like them.

They know why, like them, Lisette has had her own clitoral hood and her nipples pierced. They know why, like them, Lisette inserts the two actuator-vibrators protruding from the strap-thong into her vagina and rectum, then cinches the strap-thong down tightly. They know why she padlocks herself into the VVV regulation players belt that she conceived to serve their common purpose.

They know why Lisette steps out onto the court and plays the game. Meanwhile the men on the internet take the outrageous liberties which she allows them to take. They monkey with her body under her belt and she puts up with it, as they do, in order to serve their common purpose. They love her for it and for everything else she does. She leads from the front and they respect her for it.

Lisette runs Mélange and the VVV league like a queen bee runs a hive. All of the worker bees understand and are united in their common purpose. They exhibit unusual unity for a bunch of women who might ordinarily descend into feuds, workplace bickering and general bitchiness. Anyone who has ever spent time around a bunch of hot women, such as in a strip club, knows that trying to unite them in a common purpose is like trying to herd housecats.

Lisette consistently rewards them well for what they do, making their lives and the lives of their children better at every turn. So the housecat hotties fall into step and herd themselves, returning her service to them with their loyalty and their appreciation. When Lisette clocked me in the auditorium with her open right hand, the slap resounding in the sudden stunned silence after she smashed my master remote, the assembled women of the VVV did one more thing together in synchronicity.

They laughed at me, derisively putting me down on their list as just one more pathetic man among millions, my actions driven by my silly fantasies. They laughed at me; they laughed at all the other idiots that had fooled around with them under their belts. They laughed in their appreciation of the traditional application of feminine justice that Lisette had soundly dispensed to the side of my head in her enraged reaction to the common experience they shared that day and had all lived through many times before.

Once again, some foolish man had taken outrageous liberties with them that he had neither the right, nor received their invitation to take. He had immediately been slapped silly for doing so. It went on for a while; they had a lot to laugh about. Many like Francine felt violated and some were seriously enraged, like Lisette. Others like Jane both enjoyed it and thought it was hilariously funny, but ultimately, I was literally the butt of the joke.

In their minds it was all back on me, along with all the multitudes of other monkeys asses out on the internet. We are using technology to extend our adolescence and limit the expression of our humanity by spending our time and money remotely manipulating women's private parts. We watch and listen while they hop around topless in the dark.

Meanwhile, they are doing their damnedest to play volleyball anyway, bound into their belts and into the service of a worldwide web of wankers. Women have been putting up with this kind of crap forever. They have adapted to it, they are used to it and they are good at working through it to accomplish their goals.

They manipulate us as well, sometimes mercilessly if they believe that it is necessary. The battle of the sexes goes on. In spite of the changes seen and gains made, on the nitty-gritty levels it is still fiercely fought. There are many horribly treated victims, mostly poor women and their children.

So that is what is in Lisette's Mélange. The first ingredient is the determination of women to make improvements in their lives and the lives of their children. The second ingredient is the exploitable foolishness of men, that exploitation providing the cash flow to fund those improvements. The VVV league is a team of women using technology to lift money out of the pockets of many thousands of individual men, one at a time.

Working as a team, they are successful at it and are individually and collectively reaping the rewards, more and more every day. It is great fun to watch, both the game and the enterprise. I watch and appreciate the sublime beauty of it all, this Mélange of Lisette's well educated imagination and Elise's sex slavery made manifest.
Chapter 56

Elise & Amy

The two great loves of my life are also volleyball players, although they don't play professionally for the VVV. Instead, they play for fun and for my enjoyment of their beauty as they play. As I have said, they often wear their own customized belt models, but they don't own VVV belts.

They choose their Oh!Belt models for their designed purpose and for their desired sex-play intentions from the variety that they each own. However, they only wear them for me to control and manipulate so that I may give them pleasure. They do not wear any belt when they are playing volleyball.

For Amy, her various customized belts represent another way we can share sex together as a couple, or as a threesome with Elise, or as a foursome with Jane. This allows us to extend our sharing of that pleasure. Our menage-a-trois now makes love together once a week, nothing remote about it.

These frequently planned and always anticipated days & evenings include varied out-on-the-town entertainment, the jazz supper club is among our favorites. They usually end as parties in my bedroom, in which I have blacklights permanently installed. That way I can watch Ruth's UV reactive nipple and clitoral piercings as they move around in the darkness six nights a week and Amy's and Elise's on the seventh. It's a tough life, but someone has to live it.

ANYWAY, alone or in any combination, Elise, Amy and often Jane have dangerous/unsafe sex, sometimes involving at least one of their many belt models, usually with me at the controls. This may happen several times in one day, when they are feeling randy, which is actually fairly often. These lovely women are at the peak of their sexualities after all, while I slowly coast Rain into Death Valley.

Since we are lovers, I improvise at the controls to express my love and do my damnedest to keep them happy in every way that I can. For Amy, the ways we put her belts to use are just another simple and creative extension to our ability to express the romantic love we have for each other. For Elise, it is a lot more complicated than that.

Elise, expressing her kinky sexuality, spends many hours upstairs in the adult playhouse's bondage room, which now has a one-way mirror looking into Marta's bedroom. There, the two of them share their kink. At least once a week, Elise also spends all night up there, listening and watching Marta through the mirror as she lies like that in the bright AV stage lights.

In her bedroom with many cameras, Marta lays bound spread-eagled on her back on her firm white leather platform bed. She is gagged, blindfolded and wearing her Oh!Belt and the wire frames pulling her nipples by their piercings. Marta's belt is powered by an adapter cord from an AC brick plugged in under her bed.

This is necessary since the belt battery pack would not have the capacity to operate her devices all night long. Her fans take turns through the night, controlling them from the web. Marta twitches, convulses and moans into her gag as she shoops repeatedly, in & out of her restless sleep.

Elise - whom Jane or I have bound to something or other that she has chosen from Marta's varied array of such contraptions - wears her own customized bondage belt model and nipple piercing pullers. She also wears the bondage model, in black leather, of the foundation garment the lovely and unforgettable Rosa wore in Coos Bay. This version, as well as the others, are all manufactured by Mélange and marketed under the brand name: Oh!Belt-SuperBra.

The breast bondage SuperBra that Elise likes to wear when she is bound lifts, separates and points her twin rocket launchers at about 45 degrees from each other. As the Offspring rock-rap tune lyrics go: You Got to Keep 'Em Separated! Each of her plush plentiful Pointer Sisters is laced into its own leather cradle, with black leather straps on each side running around the back of her neck to similarly support the other twin sister.

Each cradle also has a strap from beneath that ties it to her Oh!Belt. The result is that Elise's hefty hottentots don't hang, instead they are cradled, bound and supported by laces and straps. Wide black laces run over the top of each of her fabulous fleshy funbags through riveted eyelets, binding it in place in its cradle, like an open toed sandal tightly holding fat, swollen foot.

Flushed with blood by the pressure, it really does look like her plump pink plushies are laced into shoes. Her distended projecting nipples are thus pressured into pouring themselves out the open end of each of these tight new "shoes". Elise is very fond of this garment, which individually subjects each of her sensitive strapped-in sandbags to somewhat extreme bondage.

Although she would like to, Marta can't wear this bondage model of the Oh!Belt-SuperBra. The breast implants inside Marta's grandiose Goodyears are not compatible with the compressive pressure that model puts on Elise's natural nose cones. We sell all of the SuperBra models with a warning disclaimer about the risk of popping or creating leaks in the saline or silicone pouches that are implanted into many of today's women's chests by over-pressuring and stressing them.

ANYWAY, returning to the bondage predicament in which Elise - as well as Tweedledee and Tweedledum in their tightly laced shoes - find themselves. They project outwards from Elise at exactly the same angle no matter how her body is oriented in space. This is due to the system of straps and supports that connect parts of her bondage model SuperBra to her Oh!Belt.

It is strange to see this gravity defying structural effect when Elise is hanging inverted from the ceiling beam, another of her bondage predicament preferences. She says it stretches her spine and makes her back feel good. It also makes her face, neck and chest turn reddish pink as gravity pulls her blood down into them.

For Elise, the effect of the entire Oh!Belt-SuperBra garment is crowned by the additional sensation achieved by her nipple piercing pullers. Sometimes she also wants me to hang little weights from these. As she struggles and convulses in her bonds, they pull her nipples around in various ways, stimulating her further. My French slave woman is a kinky one, there can be no doubt.

There are accessories to the Oh!Belt-SuperBra which add nipple vibrators, powered via the straps connecting to the belt and remotely controllable through the belts microprocessor. Amy has a less kinkified model of this brassiere. I am able to remotely generate shoops for her with only her nipple vibrators, by alternating the stimulation her pierced, hypersensitive nipples receive.

Under Elise's belt are devices that either she or I have chosen and which I control, remotely and wirelessly, from wherever I am on the property. While I go about my business, I listen on a headset to her gag-muffled vocalizations as she reacts to what I am doing, or not doing, to her. She and I are always in communication. First of course is the physical communication via the devices I am manipulating under her belt. Second is the audio comm; I have placed at least one microphone near and/or upon her.

I communicate to her with the speakers, usually to remind her whether or not I have granted her permission to shoop in reaction to my manipulations. That is one interesting difference that may exist between men and women. Elise seems to be able to control and hold back her orgasms using only her will, in spite of the ongoing barrage of stimulation.

In a multitude of various Kama Sutra of sleep sessions with Ruth, Jane, Amy and Elise, I have never had the sense that was possible. The only control that I seem to have, with their cooperation, is to limit the stimulation. If that is not possible, then I am a goner, I am going to come (intentional).

Using the bondage room microphone, Elise tries sometimes to talk to me through the ball gag that is strapped to her head. I rarely have a clue what she is trying to say. However, I always reply the same way.

I sternly tell her that the reason that she is gagged is that slaves do not speak to their masters unless they are invited to do so. She loves it; she tells me so afterward. When I finally do give her permission to release her pent up flood, she sometimes vocalizes waves of orgasms into her gag for five minutes.

Since they are also lovers, Jane occasionally closely shares this experience with Elise. I use a master remote to control both of their devices, so Jane's belt simultaneously does the same things to her as are happening to Elise. However, Jane often adds her own personal bondage predicament preferences and variations and also adds her own muffled voice to the auditory experience for me. I frequently hear them singing, moaning or shrieking a synchronized duet into their gags.

Elise really enjoys the anticipation of being teased, the building tension as she waits for me to do something, anything to her. So I leave her up there and let her wait, giving her a little goose of this or that occasionally, just to keep her heart fluttering and her tension high. Then, every once in a while, perhaps in the middle of one of her long nights spent watching wistfully as Marta twitches and convulses continually, I go to work.

First I listen to her for a while, to her anticipation and rapt attention as she waits and hopes that I will do something to her, soon, so that she may also moan, twitch and convulse. Then, suddenly and out of the blue I will spend a few minutes, or a few hours, giving her all of my attention and remotely applied skill. I manipulate Elise towards a rising crescendo of climaxes.

After much general experience remotely controlling and stimulating many women and even more specific experience with Elise, I can use the remote to play her like a violin. Lying in my bed, my erection throbbing stiffly inside Ruth as she sleeps, I listen on the headset to Elise (and sometimes Jane also) moan happily into her gag as she convulses against her bonds in the upstairs bondage room of the adult playhouse next door.

Other times, at the request of both Jane and Elise, they interact for real together as Dominatrix and submissive, while I play my own role as Absent Master. They make realities of roles that are only acted out for the cameras by Fanny and Marta, although they may seem to be real to Marta, I'm not sure. Jane wears a dominatrix model belt and works over Elise with various devices selected from the bondage contraptions, vibrating/fucking machines, snap-on strap-on belt devices and hand held implements that are similarly in use in our bondage studios.

Elise sometimes watches what the men on the internet are directing Fanny to do to Marta, takes notes and then gives them to me as a script from which I improvise. I control any and all of the mechanisms in use and converse with Jane, through the wireless mic and headset she wears, about what to do to Elise now and what she is going to do next. Of course, I also do my best to keep Jane entertained by manipulating the three devices under her strap-thong while she works on Elise.

At times, as I listen to Elise's gagged shrieks and ecstatic moans, it is difficult for me to control myself, to stay where I am at my computer in my small office. It is strongly tempting to run over to the adult playhouse and get into the action. But I don't, I do this stuff for them because I love Elise and want to entertain my friend Jane, not for my own entertainment.

I don't really want to get into S&M, bondage, love or sex slavery or any of that with Elise. I basically just humor her and cater to her kink because I love her. It seems to be a permanent and active part of her sexuality and her imagination.

Elise is the only one in the house, besides the children, who is not actively working at some productive enterprise, at least to some degree, with Jane following a close second. Elise has earned her retirement and enjoys it immensely, in many more ways than just her kinky sexuality. She still goes to visit her therapist twice a month. God knows what they are doing there; she never talks about her sessions with me.

Elise spends a lot of time gardening and playing with the kids. Mathilde, her grand-daughter, has come to visit a couple times a year, during holiday breaks from her U of O curriculum. Mathilde will probably be coming to Montreal to live soon. Her graduation day approaches and she wants to go to work for Lisette and Mélange.

Almost every weekend, Elise and Lisette, often accompanied by Francine, Amy & Jane, do all they can to fulfill their roles in capitalist economic terms as consumers. In other words they do a great deal of shopping. Amy never did start a formal massage business, although she frequently puts her training and skills to use informally.

We did set up a massage studio in the converted servants' quarters of the big house, where my bedroom and small office is. Ruth and I built four solid custom massage tables of oak and leather, with erection slots, in her studio. We also built a large wood-fired hot tub inside a gazebo just outside of her studio and a sauna room extension off of one wall. Ruth has become an excellent finish carpenter, much more patient and meticulous than I am.

Amy will frequently give massages in her studio to VVV players, Mélange employees and of course, us. Just about anytime we ask her for that, she is able and willing to put her strong hands to work for our benefit. Her manually applied magic will often loosen Francine's and Lisette's tight, aching muscles after their beach volleyball contests.

Amy now leads a twice daily workout for any and all to attend. She and Ruth are always there together religiously. They have a simple yet evolved buddy system workout that includes stretching, calisthenics and simple yoga positions. I attend regularly just for the privilege of watching the women exercise in their little outfits in the summer or leotards and leg warmers in the winter.

I am also happy to participate, if an odd number show up. Francine and Lisette frequently join them for a least one session a day. Elise and Jane are often there for the afternoon session. Jane always impresses me with how limber she is. It is big fun for me to watch them together, my buxom and plump Elise and Jane's slim and improbably chesty form, working on each other.

Marta and Fanny have started attending Amy's afternoon workout, always staying slightly separate, with their web-cam crew. They don't wear Oh!Belts for their workouts, but do wear sexy see through leotards or thongs and tube tops. As always, they are putting on a show for the virtually present world wide wanker fans and also for me. Of course I am actually present and also as always, I keep my eyes wide open all the time (RIP Johnny Cash & June Carter-Cash).

Beyond those productive activities, Amy works in the garden and the greenhouse; she works for Mélange hyper-publishing children's storybooks; she plays with Babette and Mabel and with the kids at the pre-school/childcare. She cooks her signature stews, which are always spicy, rich and especially excellent with fresh baked sourdough bread or baguette. Amy is almost always smiling and full of love and tenderness for everyone in the house.

I often watch her surreptitiously for a time as she glows through her day, flitting from this to that, joyfully. She is finally, truly a fulfilled and happy woman. Several times each spring, summer and autumn, she and I will load up the tandem bicycle and Rain's trailer and ride off for a romantic long-weekend getaway.

We camp out in the woods, or stay in a country cabin, or travel from one bed and breakfast to another. These are our weekends of shared relative sanity, a reminder of how simple and intensely happy life can be with just two. As I have mentioned, since the blessed arrival of babies in the house, Amy's thoughts of Missoula are forgotten.
Chapter 57

The Natural Marxism of Polyamory

Amy loves me and has learned - perhaps from Elise's example - how to accept that I love her the best that I can in my own way and also similarly love others. She was upset, jealous and troubled by her thoughts of the road trip back from Vegas, during which Jane and I were coupled for many hours and miles. So Amy was distant from me for while.

As has become the usual response of our group, she sought and received comfort from Ruth. Jane told me later that Amy had struggled and tried in vain to put her feet behind her head. It is not something that is easily done, especially in middle age.

It is also somewhat necessary to be built for it, as Jane has proven that she is, but Amy is not. So Amy will not be sharing her implementation of Jane's road trip Kama Sutra with me, in spite of her apparent strong, short-lived desire to do so. But Jane would not be able to ride a tandem bicycle off to a long weekend camping in the woods.

Amy and I joyously share the sublime and peaceful quiet of this pastime, especially during the breathtakingly beautiful multi-colored autumnal display of the Quebec woods. I am sure that Jane would be bored shitless and completely rebel against the physical effort demanded from her by the bicycle (unintended). Within a couple of hours, she would be spitting with rage, demanding immediate return to the city.

There are many flavors, manifestations and experiences of love that each of us has our own unique capacity to offer to others and some degree of need or desire to consume. This leads to what I call the natural Marxism of polyamory. A group of open minded and emotionally flexible lovers can become deeply romantically intertwined and share a healthy polyamorous relationship. When it works, each offers the others one or more kinds of love according to their capacity to do so and each receives love according to their individual needs and desires, an amorous paraphrasing of Marxism.

At least once a month, we all gather in Amy's massage studio for a night of manually working each other over. Marta and Fanny usually join us, leaving their belts and also their web cam crew behind. I especially favor interacting with Marta during these long sessions.

By the care for her that I try to show with my hands and through the close attention I pay her as we talk, I do my best to make her feel the direct and tender loving concern of a man who cares about her. I believe that she does not get enough of the real sensations of direct physical and social contact with other human beings, residing as much as she does in the virtual world. In a sense Marta seems to have willingly surrendered herself into a distantly remote and virtual version of Elise's 16th year, economically enslaved in sexual service to thousands of online masters.

I try to remind her, at least once during each of our long conversations, that she can easily choose to disconnect herself and be free. Like 99% of the world's population, Marta remains a slave partially through her own compliance and complicity (http://www.9tea9.net/). Marta always smiles at this and tells me that she knows her lifestyle is unusual and may seem unhealthy, but she is happy with it for now.

Sometimes Marta tells me about her plans for retirement. She should have a comfortable one because she is becoming wealthy. Elise also became wealthy, partially as a result of her long enslavement, first as a sex slave to her cruel, sadistic old kidnapper-master and then as a love-slave to her husband.

Fanny and Marta often sit closely together with me in the hot tub or in the sauna and we converse and caress each other for a while. The other ladies know and understand what I am doing and usually give us some privacy. Of course they know and trust that Marta, Fanny and I are not having dangerous/unsafe sex, although we do sometimes engage each other in manual sex play.

These two share many remotely generated orgasms in the course of their work together. They tell me that it is a welcome change for them to have a man who is physically present show them tender affection, hands on. Of course, I don't spoil my appetite for my weekly dates with Amy and Elise. However, Fanny and Marta do sometimes tease me by playing a safe yet difficult game of brinksmanship with me.

It is always a lot of fun for me to share this time with these two extra plump and artificially voluptuous women. There are no cameras, no belts, and no remote controls. It's just us in our birthday suits, in direct contact, playing, laughing and talking, being ourselves.

In some ways, my interactions with them during these long massage party nights are similar to the strip club experience for me. The major difference is that no currency is exchanged and that I also am not wearing clothes. We are just FWBs having fun. They were both strippers when I met them, but they were happy to give up that occupation.

However, they are both still experts at schmoozing with men, an integral part of the stripper job description and a habit that they have happily not let slip away. Fanny does it because she likes men. She has had several boyfriends over the past few years, but likes to keep things casual with them because she is independent minded with her own goals in life. Marta does it because she knows that I love the close companionship of women. She wants to serve me in that way, as that is her nature.

ANYWAY, during these group massage parties, which usually last long into the night, our extended group gathers in the massage studio, the hot tub and the sauna. We drink, smoke hash and rub each other down. These are our nights of pleasuring the collective flesh.

We share that all together, without restriction of relationships or concern for passing each other anything but happy muscles and joints. I love it, for I am allowed to lay my hands upon and to do my level best to give pleasure to anyone and everyone. Francine, Lisette, Fanny, Marta, Jane, Amy, Ruth and Elise all happily allow me the opportunity to joyfully massage them and they in turn also work on me.

In my services to Elise's kink, I have finally accepted the role of phantom of her long-ago master, who has learned benevolence. My reformed incarnation of his previously nasty spirit has ditched his sadistic tendencies to torment her with pain and subject her to rape by strangers. It makes me happy to be able to serve her desire.

I am willing to give her all of the kinky pleasure that she wants from bondage, getting spanked, being teased interminably, tormenting her with pleasurable sensations and all that kind of stuff. I don't get anything out of it except the profound joy of serving her needs and desires. In that way, although she still calls me master during this play, I remain a slave for and to her love. Perhaps like Ludwig Von, my heart beats Fur Elise (For Elise; Fur Elise is one of Beethovens most popular compositions).

I toy with her mind and body as she wishes, solely for her own pleasure and enjoyment. I enjoy the obvious pleasures of massaging all these lovely women and also my opportunities for manual sex play with Marta and Fanny. Of course I always look forward to my weekly hands-on date with Elise and Amy. I greatly enjoy my remote controlled partying/gaming with Elise, Amy and often Jane. I live for all my nights with Ruth, as well as Amy and Elise, sharing the Kama Sutra of sleep.

There is one other activity which floats my boat these days. That is the implementation of the idea I described to Amy and Elise five years ago as they lay in the tub, looking at me like I was off my rocker. At least a couple of times a month, as darkness approaches in the late afternoon, Amy, Elise, Jane and Ruth and I go to the practice VVV court.

They play volleyball together in the dark while I watch. Elise and Jane are one team, and Amy and Ruth are the other. Nobody is wearing tight leather belts, strap-thongs, no remote controlled vibrators, none of that stuff. In fact, none are wearing much clothing at all.

Of course, they do wear their UV reactive piercings. They also wear necklaces, earrings, anklets and strings of pearls loosely around their waists, little bells here and there, whatever. Elise usually wears perfume, she is French after all. We turn the lights out, the blacklights come on and they play volleyball!

They are competitive, I keep the score and they care about it, but they are not there to be athletic. They are giggling, they are having fun playing! As for me, I am having big fun as well; I wander around the perimeter of the court. I watch the incredible display of flying, jiggling, bouncing, independent minded, big, bigger & biggest breasts doing all those wonderful things.

After a couple of games we dress and go out for celebratory dinner and drinks, discuss the games and relax. Often afterwards we end up back in the adult playhouse to drink some more and smoke some hash. Elise now smokes hash with us also.

In fact, she often gets fairly drunk and stoned. Elise then may decide not to go to her and Amy's shared bed for the night. Instead, she gets down on her knees and begs Jane to go upstairs to the bondage room and dominate her. Jane usually just rolls her eyes and assumes that role because she also loves Elise in her own way.

I am not sure how deeply involved Jane is in the kink. I believe that it is just another expression of her ready-for-almost-anything approach to sex. The altered state provided by the booze and the opiated hash brings them both to a somewhat different place at a somewhat different pace.

If the two choose to go up to the bondage playroom upstairs to do that, Amy, Ruth and I go to spend the night together in my big bed, smoking more hash and drinking. We play with the remote controls for Elise and Jane. We listen and watch closely for reactions from both of the puppets on our strings as we try different things to make the two kinksters happy.

If we can, we buy up the control time for Marta's devices for the night. Then we just let her sleep in peace. The first time we did that Amy wondered whether, when Marta woke up unusually well rested and alert, she might find it to be an especially kinky thrill not to have anybody stimulating her in any way.

Taking that thought further, I suggested instead that Marta might wonder if the entire internet was down, finally giving her a day off; allowing her to take off the silly damn belt; pull the vibrators out of herself; leave her web cam crew behind and live for a day in the real world like a real person. Or perhaps she might lay there and worry that the world had ended while she slept and nobody was going to remember to come and help her out of her bonds, let her get out of bed.

Then Ruth suggested that most likely Marta would just wake up feeling horny and wish that someone would start playing with her devices, soon. Thinking about that cracked us all up for a while. After these long wonderful nights, eventually Amy, Elise and Jane end up piled in bed together and Ruth and I go out for breakfast.
Chapter 58

Mi . . Mi . . Mi . . Mi . . .

So at last, of course, here I am. I'm getting old and am tired, but my sexual imagination and my passionate admiration of and love for women live on as if I was still 16. I worship women and live for their close companionship on intellectual, emotional, spiritual, physical and sexual levels. It is the travel that I appreciate most, arrival is an anti-climactic conclusion to the dance, the interplay of sexual tension.

For me, the ultimate expression of this is to be found in the Kama Sutra of sleep. Hanging out in a hot tub or in a sauna with a friendly naked woman on my knee runs a distant second. Visiting a strip club and finding a dancer willing to visit with me, sit on my left leg and whisper in my left ear comes in third. Bear in mind that I would happily walk for days for an opportunity for any of these sublime pastimes.

Ruth and I have frequent Kama Sutra of sleep conversations. These sometimes last for quite a while, as we wait together for my erection to subside. She asked me once, whispering softly into my left ear, if I believe in God and Heaven.

I told her that as far as I am concerned, I would only want to go to Heaven if God is indeed Female. I imagine that She is, for reasons too numerous to elaborate. If I am allowed entrance, admittedly a long shot, upon my arrival I hope She might be willing to sit on my knee while we listen together to the songs of the angels.

Perhaps She will also converse quietly with me. Like all of Her children, I do have many questions. I hope that She will enlighten me by whispering into my left ear. In the wonderful wisdom of Her creation of Heaven on Earth, men are intelligently designed to worship women and women are intelligently designed to worship children. I wonder if She uses other designs for Heaven on Her other worlds.

I told Ruth that any other version of Heaven would likely disappoint me, after the life I have had the extraordinary privilege to live in this house over the past five years. Ruth thought that was funny, her convulsions of laughter lead to an unexpected but exceedingly pleasurable result. This might easily have caused her to become pregnant again, had she been cyclically ready for my suddenly ejaculated bunch of little swimmers.

Such things do happen accidentally on rare occasions. Our implementation of the Kama Sutra of sleep is not perfect and my willpower is limited, I am only a man after all. Still, that night was a rare one in which we slept spooned, my willy unexpectedly spent.

As far as my ever-active imagination goes, Ruth helped me to put a crown on this long strange trip of a story. She indirectly helped to make manifest the subject of yet another of our quiet united conversations in my bed. My bed is really our shared marital bed, come to think of it. This conversation happened something more than a year ago.

Ruth, as usual, was on top of me and that night my penis just kept throbbing inside her; my wood would NOT subside. Finally, she whispered in my ear that she wasn't sleepy either, did I feel like talking? I said - Yes please. So I told her what I had been thinking about that was causing my erection to be so stubbornly active.

I had been remembering the incident of the auditorium and my orchestration of so many women's voices with the master remote. I had also been thinking about Elise and Jane shrieking to beat the band into their gags when they come together as I stimulated both of their g-spots and clitorises with one remote controller while they were bound. In addition, there was my simultaneous remote control manipulation of Amy, Elise and Jane seeming to become a video game, in which their individual vocalizations in reaction to my gamesmanship helped me to keep score.

ANYWAY, all three of those lead me to come up with a concept that I call the G-spot choir. Basically several women would be bound, lying back spread-eagled on individual platforms at 45 degrees, arrayed in a circle around me. I suggested, in a tongue-in-cheek way, that I knew some women who might be interested. Ruth giggled softly into my ear, having learned from direct experience not to laugh too vigorously while we are coupled thus.

So the women would be naked except for their belts, noise canceling headphones and blindfolds. The blindfolds would help them to concentrate upon their tactile sensations. They would not be gagged, since I wanted them to sing!

The room would be blacklit, so I could watch their UV reactive nipple piercings move around. The trembling of their sweet shakers might tell me something about where they each were in their level of excitation. I would be seated in the center, at a dimly lit console which contained individual controls for their devices.

The control console would also enable me to join their individual controls together in several simultaneous combinations of two women or more. All controls could also be joined into one, producing the totally shared and somewhat choral results that I had found so intriguing in the auditorium. Memories of that fantastic experience had eventually stimulated my imagination to come up with this idea.

I would ask the women to respond vocally to my remote control manipulations of the devices under their Oh!Belts. I was looking for them to use their voices to interpret the sensations and feelings that they were having voluntarily, but not with language. Basically, I wanted them to sing their emotional impression of the sensations as they had them, so that I might experiment with playing them as musical instruments.

Women often vocalize during sex and orgasm. However, they may limit their vocal expressions out of shyness or artificially augment them to make their sex partner feel appreciated. I wanted the G-spot choir members to sing only what they felt and sensed. I also wanted them not to hold back from doing that freely.

Ruth lay there for a while thinking about it and then told me that she had always enjoyed singing. She gave my still throbbing penis just one hard squeeze with her well trained vaginal muscles as she said it. I thought - All right, this might go somewhere!

By that time I was well aware of the route that my many screwy ideas took as they traveled around the house. Sure enough, Ruth told Jane about the G-spot choir, Jane told Elise, Elise told Amy. Elise also told Lisette, since the auditorium incident was involved and it had caused us to come briefly to blows.

A week later, Lisette approached me out of the blue and asked me to include her in my G-spot choir plans. This was doubly good news to me. First, I didn't have such plans yet, but I sure as shit did immediately thereafter. Second, it meant that it was apparently OK with her for me to be manipulating her sexy body remotely, at least in the interest of attempting to create music.

I found out later that Lisette had been in the choir at University and that she has an excellent voice with a good range. It turns out Ruth does too. The others singing voices are not shabby either. The really big surprise was Marta.

She noticed the spread eagle bondage platforms that Ruth and I were building for the project in the adult playhouse and asked me what we were doing. When I told her, she asked if she could sing in the G-spot choir too. She also told Fanny about it and Fanny approached me sometime later to ask if she could sing too.

It turns out that Marta has a sweet voice. She also is excellent at improvising her vocal reactions to her sensations, turning them into wordless harmonic expressions. So somehow, Marta is a natural for applying the concept of employing a woman as a musical instrument.

Just for yucks, Ruth and I built an eighth spread eagle platform. I hoped that since Lisette was involved, Francine would hear from her about my preparation of an extra platform. Francine might perhaps thus be charmed into singing too.

If this hope was realized, it would mean that she might finally have forgiven me for violating her in the auditorium. I was hoping for her forgiveness. After the fourth session, Francine approached me, sweetly and shyly, I thought.

She said that she never in a million years imagined she would be asking me to, but she wanted me to play her like a fiddle too. She wanted to sing along with the rest. Lisette had told her that they were having a lot of fun and that singing their sensations while shooping added exciting extra benefits that had to be felt to be believed.

It turns out that Francine's voice has the highest range of them all. So she is a great addition to the G-spot choir Mélange (mix). I sometimes call on her clear voice for brief, higher octave solos. One thing that might explain the G-spot choir members perception of some added benefit from singing is that full throated vocalization creates sound waves that travel within the body also.

This might add to and feedback upon their stimulation and sensations. Also, singing and music stimulates the brain, which is already being stimulated by the sexual sensations it is receiving from the many nerve endings within their bodies under the belts. So that's my guess why they might perceive some extra benefit from it.

By this time, Pierre was old enough and usually responsible enough that he could be trusted to keep himself and his brothers out of trouble for a while. Babette and Mabel were still infants, so they shared a crib that I set up for them in the large downstairs lounging room in the adult playhouse, where we held the early G-spot choir sessions. Amazingly, the two babies would spontaneously vocalize at times too. They were not crying, just making happy and somewhat musical sounds, maybe because they heard their mommas voices singing and wanted to join in.

After Francine joined the group, I asked them all to visit with Marta individually. That way she could demonstrate her un-innocent yet natural way of expressing her sensations while the guys on the internet were stimulating her. We got some strange email inquiries from some of Marta's fans who saw some of these one-on-one vocalizing sessions that she had with the choir members while she was on web-cam, as she almost always is.

The idea behind these one-on-one sessions with Marta was related to the idea of the noise canceling headphones and also to the reason that I wanted my "instruments" to be bound. I wanted their voices to be the only reaction to my "playing them" that they could make. I also wanted them to express themselves independently, without hearing and reacting to the vocal expressions of the other women around them.

I was seeking their own natural and individually expressed reaction, which I was already getting a perfect and natural example of from Marta. After she individually demonstrated that to them, I was soon getting what I was looking for from them all. By the tenth session, I felt like I was beginning to create something that had some musical qualities. There was also an unusually powerful emotional vibe beginning to develop during these performances.

I recorded the twentieth session, which went on for almost a half-hour and which I modeled after Ravel's Bolero, with its gradual, intensely inevitable buildup to a crescendo. It was magical. I played the recording for the chorus as a group in the big party room downstairs in the adult playhouse.

They were left speechless by the effect of their combined voices, the way that I had grouped them and also had them singing back and forth to each other in a musical conversation without their awareness of that. The final crescendo was powerful. They were all responding together to the master remote control for the last five minutes.

During the crescendo, everything that I was doing was happening to all eight of them at exactly the same time. This produced a real chorus of their combined voices. It was awesome to listen as together, they reached vocally for their climaxes and then grasped them joyously.

In addition, in my final edit of the recording, I mixed in some of the sounds the two infant girls made at times during the performance. This added a strangely appropriate and tender touch to the sounds of the group of women singing their sensations. After sitting and quietly listening to the entire recording three times that day, Amy and Elise have called me master maestro at times ever since. It is kind of an inside joke among us three.

That was six months ago. As of 2 months ago we have 60 of the VVV players as well as the eight original and now experienced ladies singing in our newly formed G-spot choir-orchestra. I have been experimenting with using a portion of this much larger group of instruments as a rhythm section. I ask them to just hum along with their clitoral vibrator as it actively pulses a rhythm to their group. Remarkably, I am able to get them to hum recognizable tunes in this way. This led me to an experience worth relating in some detail.

I sit in the blacklit darkness at the dimly lit wireless control console as I play my group of assembled "instruments" with the master remote conducting them all as one. I listen and watch the glowing, trembling nipples of 68 spread eagled beauties. Together, they loudly hum along to the tune - Why don't we do IT in the road?

This is an old, short and simple Beatles tune, which I am able to get them to hum along to, in response to the vibrations I wirelessly send from the master remote to all of their clitorises. As you might imagine, my friends, this experience is a blast of mind numbing proportions! However, it took several tries before we could work through the short, simple tune in one take.

This is because Marta suddenly recognized the tune which she was humming to herself at one point during my first stab at it. She started laughing out loud instead of humming. I was forced to stop, turn on the lights, take off all 68 headsets and give them all a conductor's talking-to. I told them the name of the tune they were all humming, to prevent more such interruptions. In response, I received several infectious, ongoing waves of disrespectful giggles in response.

After a couple of attempts to be increasingly stern with them, which did not help at all, I had a brainstorm. I merely pointed out to them that they were NOT going anywhere until they got it RIGHT. Suddenly they realized their predicament and my absolute authority over them, until I let them out of their bonds. As a result they finally managed to stifle their infectious giggle fits.

Then, since the jig was up as far as the tune was concerned, I left their noise canceling headphones off. Using the master remote and their clitoral vibe, I managed to at least minimally conduct them as they hummed the well known classic blues rock tune all the way through.

After I let them loose, I played the recording of their humming in the background, with a recording of the Beatles singing their song in the foreground. The tune and their hummed addition to it sounded so right that they forgave me for my threat to leave them in bondage. I bought the entire wonderful chorus/orchestra coffee and pastries anyway, for having so graciously given me the joy of the experience. It cost me more than $700 Canadian and was worth every penny.

In the cafe, Marta approached and sat her magnificent, tightly Oh!Belted globular ass on my knee. She thrust her firmly upright fake ya-yas, barely encased within her tube top, right under my nose. She said that she wanted to thank me; she had had more fun humming along with her vibrating clitoris and with the chorus girls than in a long night of continuous remote-controlled shooping while bound to her bed.

Then she added that she had never tried it, but that she was ready to volunteer. Not sure what she was talking about, I just said - Huh? She leaned in and whispered in my left ear - Why don't we do it in the road? . . . No one will be watching us . . . Why don't we do it in the ROAD?!? I laughed and thanked her for her blatant, set-it-on-my-knee-&-put-'em-in-my-face RSVP, but that I hadn't really been issuing invitations for sexual road hijinks.

Then I told her that I was not sure, but that it seemed likely to me that the Beatles had been asking it as a rhetorical question. It was probably not really a suggestion for alternative locations for adventurous souls such as her own abundant self. Inspired by a sudden, ancient memory, I added that she was not alone in seeing the song as a realistic, suggestive question.

Jimi Hendrix may have seen it that way as well and suggested his answer with Crosstown Traffic. Then I asked her - during our next G-spot choir-orchestra session, should I see if I can get everyone humming along to that tune? She chuckled, which started much of her to jiggling around in interesting ways, I noticed.

Then she really surprised me by whispering "Tire tracks all across your back, I can see that you had your fun" from Jimi's tune in my ear. At that, she raked my back through my shirt with her fingernails, winked and got up off my knee. Marta seems to have a fine sense of humor and apparently also knows classic blues rock tunes quite well. She may not be batshit crazy, after all.

When I told Jane about this episode later, she suggested that one could interpret do-it-in-the-road to mean do-it-in-a-car; which may not be a rhetorical question after all. Then she winked at me, since she knew that she had reminded me of our long coupled trip back from Vegas. She and I may have indeed done-it-in-the-road, across most of the continent. Jane added that her previously stated concerns for Marta's mental health could have been unnecessary, or perhaps premature.

ANYWAY, for the purposes of orchestrated arrangements, another group of the choir-orchestra endowed with voices in the mid-to-lower octave ranges have similarly become a sort of background percussion section. This group produces a syncopated response to their sections remote controller. It signals coordinated thrusts combined with expansions & contractions of the two actuator vibrators in their vaginas and rectums.

It is also hypnotically entertaining to watch their bound, stretched out torsos pulse and convulse together as a group, in reaction to these major stimuli. The results are deeper and more powerful vocal and also visual effects. This is especially true in comparison to the higher pitched results that are produced by the variable humming of the clitoral vibrator or the probing explorations of the g-spot hunter.

Of course, at times during my arrangements, I have the entire chorus of 68 singing together as well. They sing wonderfully, in full throated reaction to the combined effects of the master remote manipulating all of their devices together. These powerful group harmonies result when I conduct them with "finely tuned violin" work with their clitoral vibrators, combined with the g-spot hunter fingers on their vaginal actuator-vibrators.

As ideas occur to me, I have been modifying and improving the control console, which in its current iteration has evolved to include wireless multi-frequency signal synthesizing capabilities, the ability to produce automated signal patterns and progressions and also to record and store long combinations of the control signal sequences that I generate by hand. In that way, the console can act something like a player piano. It is a further development of the "game" console I described earlier.

In other words, the control console is thus now a computer which allows me, working alone, to build complex progressions on top of previously stored series of signals. I can easily imagine a day in which the G-spot choir-orchestra includes hundreds of "instruments" working together to create involved orchestrated musical productions, perhaps also accompanying divas as they sing their operatic arias.

These have only been my earliest works as a fledgling conductor-musician. I am only just beginning to explore the musical possibilities of fiddling with these wonderful instruments/musicians who so graciously allow me to do so. As usual, my imagination has jumped way ahead of the current reality. It is already exploring the incredible idea of an operatic production, perhaps even La Fortuna del Destino!

You may recall that it was my long-ago mention of this grand classical opera which triggered the storied series of events that has lead to the shared destiny of myself and this loving home full of wonderful women. The power of destiny has brought us all to this place. Here, I now have the great honor and privilege of spending my declining yet gleaming golden years, loving, admiring and caressing them, directly and also remotely.

I'm sure that at some point in time I will undoubtedly be reduced by the experience to merely drooling excessively and they will have to move me to a home. I hope my nurses and caregivers are all plumply cute. There, during rare lucid moments in which I am not lost to the reveries of my imagination and my memories, I will tell my eager codger buddies selected juicy excerpts of this story. Of course they will not believe any of it. Of course I don't give a damn whether they believe me or not.

I am sorry, dear reader, it appears that I have become sidetracked yet again, which has been happening with greater frequency lately. So Lisette tells me that she wants to develop the potential of the G-spot choir-orchestra further. She wants to bring in voice coaches and have voice exercise training for the choir and practice a lot more.

She thinks that within a year we might be able to start selling studio performance video albums of selected recordings, each of which seem to have a unique and improvisational nature. We had 10 AV techs (single moms employed by Mélange of course) shoot a video of the third rehearsal for all 68 that we had last week, while we also made a high quality audio recording. The exposed teeth of the women react with a white glow to the black lights as they sing.

Of course you can see their UV reactive nipple piercings move around and tremble enticingly. This happens as they sing and also when their bodies convulse and spasm on the spread eagle platforms as they all come together. The result was a video that was sublime in its beauty and their combined song is emotionally intense; it really grabs you by the guts.

It was only our first attempt at producing a musical piece of value, the large choral/orchestra group has only just recently formed and I have a lot to learn. I am uncertain whether I should take a class in music theory or just wing it, floating where the wind takes me, as I have my entire life. I make a mental note to ask Amy what she thinks.

The time has come to close this account - a perhaps-less-than-explicit, yet undeniably adult extra-tall tale with a black & white theme (Ø shades), about the battle of the sexes as it is now and will likely soon increasingly be contested, on a shifting battlefield in the vague landscape between the real & the virtual world. This mostly fictional yarn has largely written itself and so bears perhaps-less-than-deliberate similarities to the large steaming heap of bullcrap that piles up behind the ass end of Babe, Paul Bunyan's Blue Ox - with these last two ideas:

The first idea is a mental image of a naked and magnificently voluptuous diva singing the finale of a grand operas closing aria. She stands exposed in her glorious fullness, alone in the dim spotlight at the center of the ornate classical bedroom stage set, belting her heart out into a handheld microphone as she dramatically collapses to the carpet and dies of love.

The diva is accompanied by a choir-orchestra of a hundred women, bound spread eagled and wearing only blindfolds; noise-canceling headphones and wide, tight leather belts with strap-thongs. All are trembling and convulsing in the throes of their full throated vocally expressed climaxes. They literally come together in their hundred simultaneous little deaths which they have shared with the great diva, now lying seemingly dead on the stage, in the spotlight. Near silence descends and the lights are suddenly and dramatically cut as the grand opera is over, for the fat lady has sung.

But in the blacklit darkness of the orchestra pit, multi-colored UV reactive piercings in two hundred exposed nipples glow brightly. Two hundred full breasts can thus be seen to actively sway, bounce and tremble as the instruments/musicians gasp and breathe deeply, recovering from the great emotional efforts and heated physical demands of their performance. The audience erupts to their feet with long waves of thunderous applause and many shouts of Bravissimo!

The second idea is the suggestion that of course fish don't need bicycles, that women don't need men, but that we can sometimes make beautiful music together, even if it kills us.

fin

(the end)

. . . . . . .

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading this story. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did as it poured out of my admittedly bizarre subconscious over the course of several weeks in the late summer of 2012.

If you did enjoy it, please consider purchasing Scenes from the Petting Zoo. You will find it at the link provided below. The project of co-authoring Scenes from the Petting Zoo was a five year research/re-education/re-awakening/re-creation of myself which directly lead my subconscious to spew/compose this story, the River and the Road.

http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/MarkGross

I dedicate this book and my life -

- to my wife, Jeri \- for whose constant, precious love I live each day - right backatcha, sweetie.

- to my muse, Bobbi \- for your ancient, generous soul somehow sparks the paper tiger within me to compose my rage against the machine, on this machine - my dear friend: wherever your wacky life leads you, please stay in touch, I want to keep writing!

- to single mothers everywhere - your unconditional love is humanities saving grace and your assumption of accountability continually re-creates hope for society.

- to "Lisette's" everywhere - you know who you are, please keep on doing your thing, including slapping idiots like me silly, literally or figuratively, whenever we need and/or deserve it.

\- and last and positively most Bountiful -

- to the Universal Mother:

\- who tendered her eternal Spirit in Birth to her Daughter -

\- thereby creating this Universe and her new Self and -

\- within whose unconditional tough Love all living beings bathe and are nurtured -

\- growing our spirits and returning them to her Grace through the unimaginable eons -

\- until at last her Daughter/Herself, is Pregnant and -

\- ready to Birth a new Daughter/Universe, again.

Sincerely,

Mark Gross

http://www.2gener8.net/

. . . . . . .

