Paging Leslie Thompson

I could see that in addition to all her furniture and stuff, there would have to be a lot of cleaning. So I offered the two men to call their wives or girlfriends and have them drive over to help out while we were packing everything and hauling it down to the truck.

Me and the guys moved everything out of the bedroom and kitchen and closets, piling it up in the living/dining room for packing.

Their ladies brought cleaning equipment and supplies for which I would compensate. After I vacuumed, Ramon started running the carpet cleaner in the empty bedroom while Gordo and I continued hauling down the remaining boxes and a few pieces of furniture to the truck.

Plus, once we are all finished, the women could take the men home, saving me the trip. That would be worth an extra tip in itself.

Gordo's wife, Rosamaria, was obviously from the same village/tribe. If these two were the same sex, they'd be considered identical twins, he's maybe an inch taller, she's a few pounds heavier. They grew up together, if you asked one of them a question about any subject, the other could answer without hesitation. If you asked the question while they were separate, they would give almost identical answers, every time.

The surprise was the other woman. Ramon's girlfriend is a short, stocky strawberry-blonde Bulgarian woman, named Lucind. I think thats how it's pronounced, she never objected to me mangling it. She just tells us ignorantly inarticulate Americans to call her Lucy.

During a water break, Ramon helped Lucy tell us her story. She had been sold to the international sex-slave trade, somehow she escaped. Made it across the Atlantic then failed the first time she tried to get into America. While she was stuck in Mexico for several years, she'd hooked up with Ramon. Learned to speak Mexican Spanish and a smattering of English vulgarities. A couple of years ago, they made it across the border safely.

I nodded my head and shrugged my shoulders at hearing of their journey north. Ramon hesitated and then in a doubtful voice asked "Senor Thompson, you do not object to illegals?"

U snorted at that "Yeah, like the way my ancestors made it was so much more lawful and righteous! They were political prisoners from another failed rebellion against the English Crown or more likely for sheep stealing and buggery of said woolies.

My grand-pa said it depended on how sober his grampa was when he was telling stories he'd heard when he was a boy.

They got shipped to America in chains and sold into indentured service. They murdered their boss, then raped and murdered his family. For which some local Mission Indians were blamed and massacred by a drunken lynch mob. Probably led by the same Thompsons!

Then my kin raped and pillaged their way across Virginia and into the Appalachian wilderness.

They were such utter lowlifes. During the War of Northern Aggression, the one thing that the partisans for the North and the rebels for the South could agree upon. Was to burn my great-greats out of their hovels. Sending the survivors skulking into the hills to rob and murder any unwary to come along."

Ms Leslie had made it to the Management Office before they closed and should have the remainder of her deposit returned without a too much of a delay.

Then I took everybody to the Scallion, a nice family restaurant on Sunblossom and payed them off with a good tip. Also, I gave them a business card from the property management firm I presently rent from. They are owned by one of my Uncle's companies. I think I actually impressed Leslie Jayhawker with that.

Enjoying a margarita while waiting for our food, I got my MacBook Pro out and booted up the video and audio downloads streaming in from Chet's party. While Mizz Thompson was busting a gut laughing, I explained the setup to everybody.

For our dinner entertainment? Fine dining pleasure? We all enjoyed not only the stripper but also Chet's mortified expressions as the Marion clone perfectly performed to my script. Even the waitresses were peering over our shoulders, shyly giggling at the raunchy view.

The fun ended for the groom's party when several of Newport's finest showed up to assist the Yacht Club management in clearing out the riotously drunken revelers.

Per my prior arrangements the stripper escaped, with the help of a couple of well-greased waiter, out across the docks as her formidably muscular bodyguard/girlfriend/pimp ran interference. I had pre-paid for two more nights for their vacation at the hotel.

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An Appeal To Your Prurient Tastes

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Our dinner party broke up about nine. I was to take Mizz Leslie back to the apartment complex, where we had left the truck locked up and parked. She had planned to spend the night at the neighbors to whom she had loaned her car.

But when we entered...Hoo Boy! The place was a stinking mess. Don't bother trying to tell me how neat and tidy gay men are. Frankly, 'the 'Boys in this Band' are filthy slobs and I didn't have to talk Mizz Leslie into not enduring a night in this pigsty.

I had carried her suitcase and overnight bag up. Just a couple of steps inside I turned to her. Leslie's face was weeping between a week of too much stress and this smell. Hell, this stench of frat-boys-gone-wild brought tears to my eyes.

I just hefted her bags and determinedly chivied her back out. As she locked the door, I firmly informed her she'll be spending the night at my place! She acquiesced with a silent nod of defeat and the pair of us returned to our vehicles. We switched keys again and then we caravanned out of there.

I led in the truck and she followed in my car and we were able to park in the driveway. Paul must be gone overnight, otherwise his monster Humvee would be blocking us out.

I had the woman take my room and instead of the couch I could sleep in Paul's bed. I was so beat, sleep was all I wanted. She looked grateful that I wasn't about to force myself on her good nature.

She said 'Thanks!" and mumbled something about how 'Men were always abusing her.' Really pathetic when I could see even faggots taking advantage of her when she had generously loaned them her car.

I vaguely remember dreaming about the look of horror on Marion's face as she laid in her honeymoon bed and watched as next to her the stripper rubbed her pussy into Chet's face. And then the stripper stuck her bald wet pussy onto Marion's face.

That dream woke me up with a raging hardon the next morning. I managed to rub it out in the shower, then dressed in an old boxing club T-shirt and gym shorts before I went to make some coffee.

That delicious smell brought Mizz Thompson stumbling out of my bedroom in an inadequately lengthed, thin cotton wifebeater/nightshirt that like to have froze my brain.

As her trembling hands grabbed my coffee mug off the table and she knocked it back like it wasn't scalding hot, I stammered "Buhh, doh, g goodt mornin'." I think my voice went up an octave or two as she was swilling down the coffee.

Holding the mug in both hands up to her face, she must have realized from where I was sitting down at the kitchen table and my goggling eyes, the view I had of her luscious body as the shirt she was almost wearing was riding up above her crotch. Giving me an up close knowledge that she shaves her ebony labia. Leaving a nice thick patch of curly above, shaved as an upside down crescent moon. And her fine bosom was also clearly outstanding!

"No, no. Please help yourself to the coffee. You're given me an even better wake-up call, woman."

She went from cranky sleepy angry to cheerfully playful in a flash as she realized that the growing bulge in my shorts made it obvious how much I relished being alarmed by her. But, without explicit permission from her, I wasn't going to try and take advantage aside from enjoying the view.

"Wakey, Wakey, Mister Windy." She snarked "God! I love that first shot of Hot Black Joe in the morning."

She poured herself another cup after refilling mine and handing it back to me. Giving me a closeup of her 'melon crop' doing so. I took a deep breath and a draught, to settle my rattled libido.

Then I said "You check and see if you have any clothes that will almost fit your damn fine form. Then we can go get some breakfast. Nothing here really worth eating. Paul and I have both been in and out of town this month and neither of us has had the time for groceries. I've already had my shower so help yourself. I put out clean towels on the sink."

"Thanks Windy. I think I can find something that'll appeal to your prurient tastes."

With that she sashayed back to my room. Deliberately I'm sure, allowing the nightshirt to ride up over her gorgeouss Black goddess ass. I could hear her laugh at the strangling noises I made watching her.

Once she was in the shower and my erection had flagged, I went into my room and put on clean undershorts, tan slacks and a dark pink polo shirt, socks and loafers. While my MacBook was retrieving messages and news clipping, I went out and checked the truck is pulled up far enough for Paul to park behind, if he returns before we do.

I was sitting at the kitchen counter speed-reading through a couple of days of junk and spam and then adding them all to my do-not-ever-bother-me-again file.

Leslie got my attention again when she walked from the bathroom to my room, with only a towel wrapped around her waist. She pretended that I wasn't watching those really good-looking bazoomas bob and weave as she walked past patting at her nappy hair-do with another towel.

Her nipples are large, poking out of dark puffy aureole at least a couple of inches in radius, black on dark brown on baking chocolate.

Ohh, Mammy! No wonder southern boys are always going on about their darkie wetnurses.

With tears in my avaricious eyes, I groaned "It ain't nice to tease the beast, Mizz Woman."

She smirked over her shoulder and replied "But it shorely is fun, Mister Man!"

A minute later my mind finally clicked on the symbolic significance of her upside-down crescent shaped 'moon' of sculpted pubic hair and I pealed laughter. Though I doubt if the Farmer's Almanac had 'golden showers' in mind!

In a few, she came out in an attractive cotton sundress. Bright canary yellow with a vertical band of blue flowers over green leaves, cascading down the right side. A matching scarf around her neck and a matching headband valiantly trying to contain most of her dreadlocks. A pair of strappy sandals and a large over the shoulder straw bag completed her outfit.

"Hot damn Mizz Leslie! Thats'a mighty fine purty you got goingon here abouts. I'ma goinna have tah take you somewhat better to eat upon then a 'Pup & Taco'. This amount of gorgeous would be wasted any where less then brunch at the Pacifica."

"Why thank you kindly Master Leslie. Ah gahl surely do 'precite hearin' ah...sinsearrrr compliment or three...dozen, from ah...ghentlermahn khaller."

We went out the door and as we're getting into my car, we continued our verbose sparring. Holding the door for her, I groused.

"Master Leslie indeed! Only in my best porn dreams. Jesus, Jayhawk, are you trying to get me into trouble with the PC vigilantes?"

As I got in behind the wheel and we both buckled up. She ostentatiously adjusted the strap between her tits and snarked with a chortle of glee.

"Every chance...can...I...get! You gotta earn your reputation as a divinely evil man when you're with me, mister."

I started the car, she smirked and asked in a not so innocent tone "Bye the bye Windy, what ARE your best porn dreams?"

I hesitated responding as I cranked my head around making sure I wasn't about to run over a neighbor's kid or a random bicyclist or worst, a dog, when I backed out into the street.

I steered towards PCH and the Pier while with my free hand speed-dialed the restaurant to get us a reservation. We lucked out, since a couple of parties canceled or never showed up and it was only a few minutes to get there.

"My BEST porn dream? That'd be tough to pick a favorite out of all my choices. I have a vivid imagination!"

"Ahh go ahead, gimme a sample."

I gave her a puzzled glance so she leaned over and put her left arm over my shoulder. Then her hand started to play with my stallion tail. While her right hand casually rested on my right thigh. She smiled feeling the goosebumps and a shiver running up and down my leg.

"A gal can learn a lot about a guy from listening to him dream."

I nodded at the good sense in that. I was enjoying the intimacy of her touch while I had to keep my hands on the steering wheel and my eyes on traffic. Jeez! She may as well had me in handcuffs and blinders!

"Well, I guess sticking it to ex-darlin' Marion and ex-best Chet last night has got to rank up there with the most satisfying. Hey, that reminds me. The dream that woke me up this morning with major timber. It was Chet and Marion lying paralyzed on their honeymoon bed while the stripper was grinding her bald pussy into each of their faces as the other had to watch."

"You Hillbillies just don't do forgives and forgets, does yahall?"

"Remind me sometime to tell you about the bloodfeuds by MY side of the Thompson clan. Oh, and I almost forgot, she's a squirter."

Kansas City Leslie shrieked with laughter as I did the punchline for my dream. We were laughing so hard I almost drove past the restaurant parking lot.

"Oh God, that is so hilaristurbing! As Alexandra Erin would put it."

Surprised, I blurted out "Hey! You follow 'Tales of MU' also!"

She eagerly confessed "I've been a big fan and regular subscriber for the last four years."

I admitted "I just stumbled over it a couple of years ago. I think I've read and re-read it three times already."

We got out of the car and took a moment to stretch and enjoy the tangy salt spray before we went to the entrance facing the lot.

Mizz Leslie giggled "Now I wish I'd worn my Magisterian University t-shirt."

" Or better yet, TWØ=<3."

"I had suggested to Mizz Erin that some of the T-shirt slogans she might consider offering, would be; Ogres don't do Reasonable! and Drows are Under Achievers. And Nothing says Romance like NecRomancey."

Mizz Leslie interjected "Oh, the NecRomancey one was already done by some D&D gamesters. In Europe I think. How about; Subways & Scientists or TWØ is just Too, Too Cute?''

We were laughing as we entered and the hostess took us right away. Leading us to an empty booth with the perfect view of the pier and ocean. The waitress brought us a carafe each of mixed fresh-squeezed juices and coffee as we continued chattering.

KayCee quipped "Is that a wand in your pocket? Or, are you happy to see me?"

And I re-quipped "Mack's Demon Daddy puts the Evil in DEvil...uhhmm...Iona's End Was Ironic"

She giggled again, then blurted out "Ohh wait, how about 'Dwarfs don't do Irony!'."

I decided to go for bust and I don't mean her fine tits...or do I? With a waggish lear, I offered "A naked Divine Nymph a day, will keep a smile on your face!"

She hesitated a second to work out the phraseology, just as I was about to jump in, she blurted out "An Evil Pitchfork will help you pitch a fit."

I countered with my worst John Wayne imitation "This Here Elemental Plane Ain't Big Enough For The Two Of Us, Demon Daddy!"

She riffed with "TOMU, putting the Smack on Mack and uhmm, uh, Demon Girls Are Smoking Hot!"

I retaliated with "Dee is Deliberate."

She smirked a droll "Mack wants into Nicki's knickers." A brief hesitation, then "Hey Alexandra! How long are you going to let TOMU Drag-on?"

Finally we ran out of ideas and took a moment to calm down from our laughter highs.

Sipping at her coffee, with a contented sigh, Mizz Leslie mused "It has been a delicious sort of frustration waiting for each chapter. She torments us with a deliberate leisurely pace of slowly unfolding the stories."

Then with a far away look in her lovely eyes "That leaves an unusual eager feeling in the pit of my stomach I do not get with a printed book. Kinda like very slow sex."

I nodded agreement with her observation. It really does feel like that to me also.

She wondered "Where do you think Alexandra is going to take the plot for Mack's Senior year?"

I shrugged with an expression of petulant ignorance on my face as I groused "Damned if any of my guesstimates have ever turned out correct. That was a real cliffhanger AE left us with for the end of Mack's Junior year. I know there is a whole lot of wild speculation racing around the blogosphere."

My belly rumbled, complaining too much coffee, not enough food! Loud enough to make Mizz Leslie giggle at my discomfort. In mock horror, I looked down at my stomach and tried to ventrilocast in a high pitch voice "Feed Me! Feeeeed Meeeee!!"

She rolled her eyes at my silliness as we got up to hit the buffet, and then she said "Yeah I know what you mean. I know she denies it but I still suspect Missy Erin skims through the blogs. Then she thinks of some plot twist that none of her fans suggested out of sheer cussed contrariness."

We went up and down the buffet counters. Returning with a nice selection of tasty treats for each of us. I was saying "Well, 'CER' entire life has been a mass of contradictions! Why stop now?"

While we'd sated our hunger, I had the waitress bring us flutes of champagne and orange juice, I keep forgetting what they call the drink, Mimosas?

We enjoyed digesting our breakfast with a leisurely walk out on the pier. As usual, a stiff wind was blowing. Distracting me and all the other males on the pier, watching Mizz Leslie try to control her dress from billowing up. Knickers or not? Go on, pretend you weren't wondering?

We briefly discussed the interesting new developments in the recently revived Other Tales of Aurelian University and Kegan with Alea. Arguing the pros and cons of the alternative history of the AUniverse versus the MUniverse.

Finally, Mizz Leslie was obviously getting frazzled by the constant wind up her skirt, so we went back to my car and headed for my place.

When we got there, I had to park on the street as Paul's monstrosity blocked the driveway, behind the U-Haul truck. So we went in and I introduced him to my new lady. Did I just call her 'My new lady'. Wow! I got it bad!

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The Goddess is in the Details

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Mister Leslie parks his Ford Hybrid SUV around the side of the house, what passes for a backyard. Overgrown trees block the view from the houses in back. Our garage blocks the view from the other direction. Paul pulls his Humvee into the driveway, blocking the view from the sidewalk and street. Mizz Leslie's old Toyota sedan is already parked in the street.

The two men go into the house and both come back out through the kitchen porch door. I was carrying a pair of folding chairs, a bottle of car wash and a six pack of beers. Paul had the new hose and a bucket of hot water with a large sponge.

Paul screwed the hoses together, so that they'd reach around my SUV. Then we sat, crack open a beer each and talked about the Angel's baseball game the three of us went to yesterday. Waiting, expectantly.

Like an African Aphrodite arising from the foam, Mizz Leslie comes sashaying out the kitchen door and down the stoop dressed only in a tiny scarlet monokini and a pair of three-inch heeled ballet-style strap-ons of a matching red shine.

Against her dark chocolate skin, peeking over the top edge of the singular triangle of cloth could be seen a crescent of dark, curly pubic hairs. With the rest of her crotch shaved, her outer labia mound prominent and her pudendal cleft clearly outlined. Both men's breathing got noisily irregular as their eyes bugged out and their pale faces flushed scarlet with instant lust.