Calypso Ch. 00: Heat

"Yeah," Ella said, cigarette hanging from her bottom lip, "Sex butter. Can't have sex without it unless you're into friction burns. Starts thick, and the hornier I get, the thinner and faster it spreads. Sex butter."

"Just never heard it phrased that way before," I said, "I'm usually more focused on your tits when we're fooling around."

"Oh, I know," she rolled her eyes and lamented, "If you ever do land a full-time girlfriend you better have her teach you how to eat pussy properly or you'll never have what you need to grease your cob or butter her muffin."

"What can I say?" I glanced at her cleavage as she offered me a drag on the smoke. I inhaled, handed it back to her and after a moment added, "I have a one track mind."

"That's why I always win, mother fucker," Ella chuckled, cupping her large breasts in her hands and playfully jiggling them together, "Even when you're right, my girls say you're wrong. Get the point?"

"Both of them," I nodded to the obvious, twin tension points forming under the fabric of her bathing suit, "They're hard to miss."

"Horny fucker," Ella laughed, extinguishing the cigarette on the rock, 'I own you."

"Yeah," I said, gladly watching her play with her tits, "You and Maggie Secord both."

"You're pathetic," Ella finished her beer, shoved the spent cigarette butt into the mouth of the empty can and tossed it back to the beach where it landed with a tinny report, "You've got a serious tit fetish, Doug. You see normal titties, and you're like a goddamn puppy ready to play dead for a treat. You see big, fat titties and you might as well be a drooling, lobotomized slave. Tit fetish. That's the only reason why you were trying to get with Maggie Secord."

"She's got a great sense of humor," I replied, slightly offended that Ella would think me just that shallow, "Maggie makes me laugh."

"Bull shit," Ella pulled another cigarette from her pack, "Maggie's as funny as a broken tail bone. But her those boulders she calls tits bounce when she laughs just like mine do, and considering that her tits are bigger than mine, that's one fuck of an impressive bounce."

"I'm a victim of circumstance."

"You're a titty fucking freak."

"I won't deny that."

"Not that I blame you," Ella lit her smoke, inhaled and after a moment of thoughtful introspection said, "Would love to strip Maggie naked, oil her up and see how long it takes to make her sing like Madeline Khan in 'Young Frankenstein.'"

My mind automatically played with the idea of Ella and Maggie engaging in slick, naked lesbian activities. That was the sort of fantasy I had only read about in the forum section of the Penthouse magazines I kept stowed away under my mattress. It was the sort of erotic fodder seen in the worn out VHS pornos that my dad kept hidden in the back of his closet next to the gun safe.

"I'd pay money to see that," I said, leaning over and reaching to grab a can of beer from the water, "You videotape that and you'll make a fortune."

"No shit, right?" Ella laughed through a puff of smoke, "I could retire at twenty-five. If I wasn't going to San Diego for the summer, I might actually think about trying to talk Maggie into it, too."

"As long as I can film it," I handed her another beer, "SP mode, not EP."

"You still broken up over Maggie?" Ella asked, her cigarette clenched between her teeth as she popped the tab on the Coors can, "You haven't said much about it."

"There's not much to say, Dr. Ruth," I shook my head, remembering the awkward exchange between Maggie and I three weeks prior, "And I wasn't broken up over her. We weren't in love or anything. We tried dating, it didn't work out. She just wasn't into me. No harm done."

"Uh huh," Ella snorted.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Oh God, an 'uh oh,'" I closed my eyes, feigning annoyance though my curiosity was genuinely piqued, "What is that 'uh huh' supposed to mean?"

"Girls talk, Doug," Ella sighed.

"Yeah," I said, "No shit."

"Look," Ella began, taking another heavy swig of beer. She belched, chased the drink with another drink, and then said, "Maggie and I are friends. We talk."

"I'm guessing you know something I don't," I said.

"Maybe."

"Don't be coy."

"It wasn't that she didn't like you," Ella lowered her voice confidentially, "She was into you."

"So what was the problem then?"

"She's figuring herself out," Ella said, "She's been, you know, experimenting with a friend."

"She's been experimenting with a friend?"

"She's been experimenting with a female friend."

"She's gay?" I asked, "Who's the female friend?"

"No," Ella said, "Probably bi."

"She could have just said that," I said, "Who's the female friend? I'm dying here."

"...if you can keep a secret," Ella teased.

"You know I can."

"Heather Anderson."

"Leather Heather?" I laughed, "All chaps, riding crops and grins? Get the fuck out of here."

Last summer, a Polaroid of Heather posing with a riding crop and wearing nothing but leather chaps made the rounds after her then ex-boyfriend decided to take revenge for being unceremoniously dumped.

"I swear."

"Bull shit."

"If I'm lying, I'm dyin," Ella insisted.

Heather "Leather" Anderson was the daughter of the local vet, Doctor Alvin Anderson. I can't say that she and I were best friends or anything like that, but we were friendly and got along well for the most part when our social circles crossed paths. She was mostly known for her academic and athletic prowess alongside her strong, Nordic good looks. Blonde and athletically statuesque, her performance in athletics was as impressive as her nearly perfect GPA. She was also an accomplished horse rider, and her sense of style reflected that, right down to her now infamous leather chaps and the riding crop her father gave her alongside a bay Arabian mare for her sweet sixteenth birthday. The interesting twist was in the rumor that she had a fetish for all manner of leather undergarments, whips and floggers as well. I had never personally seen any proof of this, but my friend Brett Long, another rider of horses that had once dated Heather, claimed that she kept just such an assortment of leather implements in her bedroom closet. When I asked if he had allowed her to use any of those toys on him, Brett grew quiet and withdrew from the conversation like a man suffering from PTSD.

"Jesus Christ," I chuckled, more amused than wounded, "And while Maggie and I were dating? Seriously?"

"Right down to the straps," Ella nodded solemnly, her right hand raised in the air, "It's the honest to God truth, if Heather is to be believed, that is. And I'm pretty sure she is."

"Well shit," I frowned, "She could have told me."

"Don't let it fuck your day up."

"I'm fine," I said. Ella passed the cigarette to me. One deep inhale and a random smoke ring later, I added, "It's not like Maggie and I were married or anything. We saw a few movies, held hands and fooled around a bit. No harm, no foul, right?"

"Right."

I took another drink of beer, feeling genuinely amused at the truth of my short-lived relationship with Maggie Secord. We dated for no more than two weeks, and she had been pretty aggressive with me in terms of physicality. I had no complaints. All it ever amounted to was heaving petting and oral sex. We never seemed to seal the deal despite ample opportunity to do just that. We'd get to the moment of truth, and she would back out for one reason or another. Now it all made more sense.

"Besides," Ella added as an afterthought, "She thought your cock was too big for a virgin to handle."

I spit a mouthful of beer.

"What?" I wiped my mouth, "She did not say that."

"She did," Ella insisted, "And don't get a big head about it. I've seen your dick. It isn't the length, sweetie. Eight is what it is until a girl sees a nine. It's the girth that scared your little virgin off."

I found myself speechless.

"Fucking you is like fucking cucumber," Ella continued, almost exasperated that she had to explain it to me, "No offense, but sometimes I worry that you're going to tear something the doctors can't fix. Being on the pill is rough enough, but the idea of being split from asshole to clit is enough to make anyone nervous."

"This is a fucked up conversation," I shook my head, my ego stuck somewhere between a compliment and an insult, "I've never heard any complaints from you ...I got dumped because my dick was too big?"

"No, you got dumped because your dick is too thick," Ella brushed an errant strand of hair from her face, "There's a difference."

"Yeah," I muttered, "Well, maybe her pussy was too small. You ever stop to think about that?"

"How would you know?" Ella asked without missing a beat, "You're too busy sucking and fucking titties to notice vaginal specs."

"How would you know what it's like to fuck a cucumber?" I passed the cigarette back to her, "You're a veggie-whore, Ella. Cucumbers, squash, gherkins. Slut."

"I know about fucking cucumbers the same way you know about what it's like to fuck a dollar burrito," Ella fluttered her beautiful brown eyes at me, "You fast meal, hot deal Taco Bell man-whoring mother fucker."

I spit another mouthful of beer, almost choking.

"Goddamnit, Ella..."

We laughed for a bit at this, trading barbs about her pussy and my cock in relation to the Taco Bell menu until a yellow fishing raft appeared from around the bend of the river. An older man, in his late sixties near as I could tell, was sitting in the preformed plastic raft. He was decked out in multi-pocketed fishing vest and a rumpled fisherman's hat, complete with lures hooked into the band. The expression of honest contentment on his face made him look like a Norman Rockwell character come-to-life. As he drifted closer, I could see an old fishing pole, a beaten up tackle box and a blue drink cooler sitting comfortably alongside him. The old man noticed us and waved a friendly salute. He was likely on his way to one of the many fishing holes a few miles further down the river.

"Tourist," Ella whispered excitedly, a wicked grin stretching across her full, rosy lips.

"Ah geez, don't mess with the guy," I said under my breath as I smiled and returned the wave, "He's just looking to catch a few fish. The cast of 'Cocoon' is probably right behind him."

"He's definitely about to catch something," Ella informed me as she stood up on her feet, "Definitely."

It was then, as if by some divine intervention on my behalf, the radio began playing 'Addicted to Love.'

Ella paused, turned her head and glared at me.

"Palmer," I whispered.

The old man was now twenty yards away, his yellow raft cruising along at a lazy speed atop the moderate currents governing this stretch of the Sacramento River. His horn-rimmed glasses glimmered in the sunlight and he smiled broadly at Ella as she waved at him. That genial octogenarian's smile dropped into a gape of utter shock, however, as Ella started dancing in the sort of expert, grinding tease only a seasoned stripper could have appreciated. She hooked her thumbs into the thin straps of her bathing suit and slowly started pulling them down, her hips gyrating and swaying in perfect beat to the song.

"You're going to give him a goddamn heart attack," I said, trying to suppress a laugh. The old man stared at Ella, now fifteen yards away, a potent mix of unfettered joy and bewilderment etched on every line of his face. I said, "Seriously, if he dies it's on your soul."

Ella said nothing, her eyes fixed on the old man. The fabric of her blue bathing suit stretched downward over the top swells of her large, full breasts. The tan lines from wearing nothing but bikinis earlier in the summer were revealed for all to see. The rich tones of her dark, olive colored skin were broken by the lighter, pale flesh that had been hidden from the sun. I glanced at the old man, who seemed to have lost any sense of where he was or what he was doing. Ella gave her bathing suit a dramatic downward yank, manipulating the fabric in such a way that her breasts literally bounced free. Her nipples stood erect, her eyes transfixed on the old man.

"Jesus, Ella," I covered my mouth.

The old man was drifting directly in front of us now. He was close enough that I could see perfect white teeth in his open mouth, expensive dentures to be sure. The look on his face had transformed into that of a mind-blown child getting his first look at an honest to God candy store. Ancient, myopic blue eyes wasted not a single blink behind the thick lenses of his glasses, alive and filled with astonishment.

To my surprise, though it should have been no surprise at all, Ella continued to remove her bathing suit. She slipped the fabric down over her hips, leaning forward so that her breasts swayed gently as she jutted her ass out in a very specific and purposeful pinup pose. Her thick, black hair brushed in front of her eyes in wet swipes. After another moment or two, she was free of the bathing suit and casually holding it in her hand, still keeping in time with the song. The old man, now moving away from us on a downstream course, couldn't help but admire the tan lined framing of her pubic area. Within the pale strip of skin was a carefully groomed and shaped thatch of thick, black pubic hair.

"Caught anything yet?" Ella asked him playfully over the music, slowing her dance down to a subtle tease.

"No," the old man choked, the words tumbling out of his mouth, "No, not yet."

"Here," Ella tossed him her blue bathing suit. In one perfectly timed maneuver, as though his body were acting independently of his brain, the old man reached out with one hand and caught it.

Ella laughed and clapped for him.

The old man looked at the wet bathing suit, and then back Ella. A self-aware grin stretched across his thin features and after a moment he was laughing too. He held the bathing suit up in the air like a prize-winning catch.

The song ended and Ella stopped dancing. The old man gave her a round of excited applause.

"Good hunting," Ella called after him as his raft took another turn around the next bend and was gone. She stood there, hands on her hips like some kind of deviant nature goddess, an impish nymph, smiling and absolutely confident.

"Now he has a story to tell his buddies at Bingo night," Ella declared, "Trout or no trout, rainbow or otherwise. By God, he has a story to tell."

"Yeah," I laughed, "Until his wife Matilda finds your bathing suit in his tackle box."

"You only live once," Ella said and sat down beside me, comfortable and completely content in her nudity, "If nothing else, I just made his otherwise mundane day on the river a little more surreal and memorable. Just a little thrill, just because I'm that kind of girl. I bet he hasn't seen a naked woman in person since the Ford was in office. No offense to Matilda."

"Do you even know why you do the things that you do?" I asked, staring at her, "Like, at all?"

"No," she replied evenly, "And I don't worry about it much, either. It was a moment that he won't forget. I won't forget it and you sure as fuck won't forget it."

"You're going to get in trouble of these days."

"You worry too much."

I nodded and finished my beer.

"And based on how hard your cock is looking right now," Ella whispered in my ear, scooting closer to me, "I think you enjoyed that as much as he did. I think it turned you on."

I looked down and saw that my shorts were tented out, the outline of my erection clearly defined under the fabric. I had thoroughly enjoyed her performance, even if I did feel a bit embarrassed that she had toyed with the old man so brazenly. But then again, her brazen, Devil-may-care attitude was one of things I found so attractive about her.

"Robert Palmer music has that effect on me," I replied casually, "I know you didn't mean to turn me on."

"I should leave you high and dry for that," Ella nipped at my neck, "You and Robert fucking Palmer."

"So you did mean to turn me on?"

"I definitely meant to turn you on," Ella licked my ear and slid her hand down my stomach, her finger tips disappearing beneath the waistband of my shorts. She asked, "You want your birthday present?"

"Depends on the present," I turned my face so that we were looking each other in the eye, "What did you get for me? Is it wrapped?"

"I already unwrapped it," Ella brushed her lips across mine, her fingers wrapping around my cock and squeezing, "Question is do you want it right now?"

"Right here?" I asked, a rush of heat traveling through my body as she began stroking me in slow, purposeful motions, "What if the old man comes back? He could be coming back here right now."

"The only people I'm concerned with when it comes to coming right now is you and me," Ella released me and undid the fly of my shorts. She pulled the zipper down, exposing me, and whispered, "If he comes back, he'll have one hell of an encore to that striptease."

"It was a good striptease," I said, "Kinky."

"Yes I am," Ella smiled, rubbing the head of my cock with her thumb, pressing her body against mine, "Besides, I'm leaving for San Diego in a week. Not sure when I'll be back. You'll be off to Redding in the fall for Dr. Doolittle training. Life happens. If this is the last time we get to play for awhile, I want to make it count."

My lips met hers again, only this time there was nothing gentle about the kiss. She was right. Her display had turned me on, and all I could think about was showing her how much. We laid back on the flat top of the boulder, the sun streaming down in shafts of hot light through the green, leafy canopy above as we kissed. My hands found her ass and with one firm pull Ella was straddling me. Her pussy was wet and warm, sliding against my shaft in a hot foreshadowing of what was to come. Ella took my hands in hers and guided them in a sensual slide up from her ass cheeks, along her sides and finally to her breasts. She smiled, encouraging me to massage her and tease her nipples.

"Maggie doesn't know what she's missing," Ella breathed, "I fucking love how your dick stretches me out. That big, fat fucking cock filling my cunt up..."

After a few minutes, Ella turned and re-positioned herself, bringing her lips to my cock. Her tongue ran along my shaft, from the base to the head as she swung one leg over my face and presented herself to me. I knew what she wanted and I was more than happy to oblige her. My mind was spinning from the sensations she was eliciting from me. I found myself moaning into her pussy as I started to eat her out. Her sex was sweet and full, engorged and glistening. I kissed her rosy outer lips, my tongue sliding against the soft skin and fine hair that surrounded it. Grasping her ass, I raised my head and slipped my tongue inside her, exploring the slick interior and relishing the tart sweetness of Ella's natural flavor.

Ella purred, her voice vibrating against my cock as she sucked me deeper into her throat. If the old man, or anyone else for that matter, was watching I no longer cared. All I could think about was trying to focus on her pussy, doing my best to ignore the orgasm that Ella was already beginning to coax out of me. That familiar feeling of maddening pressure was growing from within the inner workings of my body, a sort of excited tingling that tortured me from the testicles on up. Ella gagged as she sucked the swollen head of my dick deeper inside her throat.

She wanted to milk me, as she had put it many times before, so that I didn't come too quickly when we started fucking. It wouldn't take long. Between the feeling of her heavy breasts rubbing against my stomach, the taste of her cunt and the oral magic she was working on my dick, there was an orgasm building up that would likely choke her if she wasn't careful.

Her tongue swirled around the head of my cock, followed by a grazing from her teeth.