The Cabin at Lake GeorgebyBaxter72©
After many years of trying as an amateur writer, I finally had found a publisher who was interested in publishing a mystery novel I had written. The "gimmick" of the novel was that the detective who solved the mystery was a woman named Sherri Holmes, who used the methods of the venerable Sherlock Holmes.
The publisher invited me to his New York office for lunch, and we ate at a small French restaurant on 52nd Street.
"I like this idea so much that I want you to start thinking about a series starring this detective," he said, "That's where the money is—in series. Think of A is for Apple—or whatever the first one in that series was called."
"Sounds like a good idea."
"I want to talk to you at length about it, don't have that much time now. What are you doing this weekend?"
"Good. I like to get out of the city every weekend and go up to my cabin on Lake George. Why don't you drive up and spend the weekend with my daughter and me? She's a student at NYU but also likes to get away on the weekend."
"I'd love to."
"I'll give you directions. It's in a remote area of the lake, not easy to find."
"I used to be a Boy Scout."
"Good. Page, my daughter, doesn't have classes on Friday, so she usually goes up there Friday morning. If you want to go up on Friday, she'll be there. I'm sure she could entertain you until I get there Friday evening."
Little did either one of us realize what that "entertainment" would consist of.
He was right about the remoteness of the cabin. Most of the cabins around the lake did not have numbers, many of them did not have mailboxes or names outside, and his map truly led me to a remote area.
But according to the map, this dirt roar and cabin looked right. As a "cabin," it had been misnamed, since it was large enough to be a small lodge. A gray Toyota sportscar was parked in the driveway, and I assumed it belonged to his daughter. But still unsure that I was the right place, I left the car door open, walked up to the front door, and knocked. Nothing. But someone must be home. I walked around to the back, and there was that big beautiful lake. A wooden walkway led from the backyard out to a dock that was about fifteen foot square. On the far side of the dock was a small round wooden table and two wooden chairs. But my eyes were drawn to the near side of the dock.
A naked girl was lying on her back. Beside her appeared to be a white robe. At first I thought she was having some kind of seizure, since she seemed to be trembling. But then when I saw where her hands were, I realized what was going on. She was masturbating.
I had never seen a girl masturbate before, so I watched in fascination for about a minute. Then I crept back to the car, slammed the door loudly and slowly returned to the backyard. When I got there, she was standing on the dock and fastening the tie on the white robe. She was about five foot seven with short and curly reddish-brown hair and what looked to be, even with the robe on, a beautiful figure.
"Hi! You must be Don Baxter," she said.
"Yes, and you must be—sorry, I forgot your name."
"Page—just like in a book—Palmer."
I walked up on the dock and shook her hand. In addition to having a beautiful engaging smile, she also had a lovely face full of freckles. Despite the freckles, she looked to be about 22. I looked around. "I didn't disturb anything, did I?"
"Ah...no. Actually, you did a little. This place is so remote that I like to sunbathe in the nude when I'm here so I can get an all-over tan. So that's what I was doing."
"Gee, I'm sorry I missed that."
She laughed. "Better luck next time."
I liked her friendly attitude.
"That's why I keep a robe handy. I fell asleep while I was sunbathing one day, and when I woke up, two 15-year-olds in a canoe were parked about three feet away and enjoying the view."
"Yes. Did you bring a bathing suit?"
"No, I didn't think about it."
"There's some extra ones hanging up in the changing room at the back of the house. One of them should fit you. Or you can go skinny-dipping if you want. That's what I usually do."
"Don't tell me I missed that too?"
She laughed again. "Not yet," she said, with a hint of promise. "But if you turn around, I would like to go back to my tan, suitably covered. We can still talk."
"Better still, why don't I get a bathing suit on?"
When I returned wearing a tan pair of trunks, I saw that she had taken off her robe, spread it on the deck, laid face down on it, and draped a white towel over her bottom.
"Daddy loves your book," she said.
"Yes, I'm really going to enjoy working with him."
"We have a library in the cabin in case you want to find something to read."
"Maybe later, but right now, I just want to look at this beautiful lake. And you. You're a very pretty young lady."
She looked like she didn't have an ounce of fat on her. But she did have a lot of freckles. I thought how much fun it would be to count them all. "Are you an athlete?" I asked.
"Just tennis," she said. "But I play a lot of it."
I noticed a tube of suntan lotion on the table. "Would you like me to put oil on you?" I asked.
She turned her head. "Would you? I'm about due for it."
"Sure." I took the tube and straddled her nearly naked body. She had beautiful tanned skin. I poured some oil on her back and arms and rubbed it in. Then I got down to her lower back. "You said you like to tan all over. Do you want me to put oil anywhere else?"
She half turned again. "You wouldn't be offended by my naked butt?"
"On the contrary."
"Okay." And with no embarrassment at all, she pulled the towel off. I took a lot of time with her butt, which was only a little lighter than the rest of her. Then I did her thighs and finally, her calves and the soles of her feet. Boy, this was a job I could do all day.
"Thanks," she said, and I went back to my chair and continued to enjoy the "view."
About 20 minutes later, she reached over for the towel again. "Time to turn over," she said. "Close your eyes." I did. "Okay." I opened them. She had turned over, and now the towel was draped across her middle just below her belly button, and she was covering her breasts with her hands.
"Want me to oil you up?" I asked.
I was starting to get the feeling now that she was asking for attention, and I was not going to disappoint her. I got the tube of suntan oil, straddled her body again, and gently applied the oil to the contours of her lovely face, as she closed her eyes. Then to her tanned shoulders.
"I can't very well put it on your bosoms with you covering them," I said.
Smiling, she lowered her hands to her sides. She had beautiful breasts, small but lovely, with copper-colored nipples.
"Sorry they're so small," she said.
"They're beautiful, just right for a person your size."
She laughed. "You're the first man who has ever said that."
"I guess some people prefer quantity over quality." Gently, I applied the oil to her breasts, caressing them at the same time.
"That feels nice," she murmured.
I spent a lot of time with them, then moved my hands down over her torso until I reached her belly button. "All over?" I muttered.
"I guess." And she gently pulled the towel away. Her little muff was the same color as her hair: reddish brown. It was only about two inches wide, apparently trimmed for a bikini, and the hair was about an inch long.
"You're unbelievably beautiful," I said.
She laughed. "I would accuse you of trying to get into my pants—except I'm not wearing any."
"I love the way you're dressed." I rubbed the oil onto her belly...and then lowered my fingers into her hair. "I've read that the skin under an animal's fur is very fair and delicate, so I think you should have oil there too."
"You're the expert."
I did a really good job of rubbing the oil into her bush, tenderly but with increasing attention, until finally I took the chance of slipping my middle finger inside of her. She gave a little gasp. But as I had expected, she was warm and wet inside. Slowly, I slid it in and out.
"I'll give you a half hour to stop that," she muttered.
I fingered her some more until she was nice and juicy, then I got down between her lovely thighs and stuck my tongue in her.
"Oh God!" she cried.
And she came—almost right away. She tasted like peaches.
"I can't believe we just did this," she said.
"Neither can I."
"You may be a good writer," she said, "But you're and even better seducer of young girls. You've only been here an hour."
"I type fast too," I said with a smile.
"I think I owe you one."
"Yes, you do."
"Stand up and take that silly-looking bathing suit off," she said.
I did, which was not easy considering the size of my growing hard-on.
"Very nice," she said. "You're bigger than my boyfriend."
"Thanks to you."
She crawled over and took the end of my engorged cock in her mouth. She might only have been around 22, but she really knew what she was doing when it came to a blow job. She kissed and licked all around the head. Then she slowly licked the shaft up and down. Finally, she took the whole thing in her mouth and went down on it until her lips were pressing against my pubic hairs.
How much can one man stand? It was not long before I came in her mouth—and was delighted to see that she knew how to swallow every drop of it. Then she licked my cock clean.
"Let's go skinny-dipping," she said with a smile as she stood up.
"Usually, Daddy doesn't get here until around seven or eight on Friday," Page said later when we were sitting in the "great room" of the spacious cabin and enjoying a glass of wine. "And I don't like waiting that long for dinner. I'm not a very good cook, but I can make us some spaghetti or burgers for dinner around six if you like."
"Spaghetti would be nice."
"With crusty bread, salad and Chianti?"
"Sounds delightful." I watched her as she returned to the kitchen. She had changed into a pink jersey short sleeve shirt and denim cutoffs that were about as short as you could get and which showed off her lovely tanned legs. Also, it was obvious she was not wearing a bra under the shirt.
I was enjoying another glass of wine and watching the crackling fire that Page had started in the great stone fireplace at the end of the room when the phone rang. Page took it in the kitchen.
"Shit, shit, shit," she said as she stalked out of the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine from the bottle on the table.
"What's the matter?"
"This is just par for the course. Daddy invites someone here to meet with him, and then he's tied up in this stupid meeting and won't be able to come up until tomorrow morning. He doesn't like driving through the woods at night."
"So it's just you and I?"
"Yes. He said I should keep you entertained," she said with a glint in her eye as she took a sip of the wine.
"I imagine you could do that."
"I imagine so."
The dinner was quite good for someone who was "not a very good cook", and after it, we sat together on the couch polishing off the last of the Chianti.
"Well, I'm a good poker player, but you don't want to play poker with just two people. And I can play chess, but that sounds boring. We could watch a video movie together."
"What do you have?"
She went over to the bookcase. "Ah, Sound of Music."
She turned around with a mischievous smile on her face. "I have a couple of movies in my dresser that I and my boyfriend like to watch when he comes up here."
"Debbie Does Dallas."
"Now that sounds like a winner."
And it was. The only problem was trying to watch a movie like that with a beautiful girl young enough to be your daughter and thinking that you should behave yourself because she was, of course, "the boss's daughter."
"I read somewhere that men are turned on by watching, and women are more turned on by caresses," she said, as we watched Debbie perform with a football player in the locker room
"I guess that's true. Speaking of which---"
"I actually arrived a little before you thought I did this afternoon," I said, "And I saw what you were doing."
She opened her eyes. "Which was what?"
"Oh shit. Sorry about that."
"What were you fantasizing about?"
"My boyfriend performing oral sex on me. Because he usually doesn't do it—although he likes me to do it to him. That's why I said you were such a great lover."
"Thank you, I'm flattered. Did you finish your fantasy on the dock?"
"I found your performance to be a real turn on. If I had not been such a gentleman, I would have watched much more of it. I've never seen a live girl masturbate."
"But you would like to."
She fell silent for awhile. "Would you like to see me masturbate?"
I turned to her. "You're kidding."
"No, I'm not kidding. But I will do it only on one condition."
"I've never seen a guy masturbate. I'll sit on that couch opposite you. As I take off something, you have to take off something. As I masturbate, you have to masturbate."
"It's a deal."
"Let me get another bottle of wine."
She returned with the wine, poured us both a glass, then sat opposite me. Smiling, she pulled her pink jersey off, and as I had suspected, she was not wearing any bra. I unfastened my shirt and took it off.
Then she unbuttoned her cutoffs and pushed them down to her ankles. I unfastened my pants and took them off. Finally she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her white cotton bikini panties and pushed them down. And there was that lovely reddish brown muff again. I took my shorts off and put them beside me on the couch. As expected, I was already aroused.
"You look happy to see me," she said with a smile.
"I don't know if I can do it with an audience," she said.
"You can but try," I said.
After about twenty minutes, she stopped trying. "I don't want to have an orgasm this way."
"Neither do I."
"But I'm plenty aroused."
"And I'm on the pill, so you don't have to worry about getting me pregnant and having to marry me."
"So I suggest we might want to play a game of FMBO," she said.
"I just invented it. It's called Fucking My Brains Out. And since I had sex with you after only knowing you for an hour, it shouldn't take you very long."
"Sounds like a wonderful game to me. But first, I think I see dessert." I crawled over to where she sat, pulled her to me and engaged in that pastime she had so missed. She tasted so good that I didn't want to stop, but finally I did. Smiling at her, I gently insert my wet cock into her tight pussy. She was so warm and wet that I knew she was wrong about this not taking all night. It was going to take a long, long time to fuck her brains out, perhaps all night.
"I just thought of something," she said as I was thrusting in and out of her.
"What if Daddy changed his mind and decided to come up tonight after all? What if he walked in right now?"
"I would turn to him and in my best mystery-writer voice say: 'This is not what it appears to be, sir."