Pocket Marilyn

I'm like Paladin in the old West; "Have Gun, Will Travel." My "Gun" isn't a .45, however, but my quick wit and silver tongue. I'm a trial attorney - a true shark. The only difference between me and a Great White, however, is that I only represent people, small companies, or charitable organizations that I think are "good guys." No Exxon-Mobils or casino owners as clients for me.

My traveling from court to court in different parts of the country doesn't leave me much time for romance, so I take it where I can get it. I had never really met anyone who knocked my socks off though - at least not until Phoenix.

I had a product liability trial in Phoenix for a poor schlep who was working with a power tool that blew up on him, maiming and disfiguring him. I was loaded for bear when the trial started on Wednesday. We picked the jury quickly and got through opening statements before noon. My opening statement went so well that from their body language I could tell that two female jurors were ready to decide in my client's favor already. I put on two witnesses after lunch, both of whom testified flawlessly.

Thursday morning, however, when court convened the judge announced that defense counsel had a medical emergency and that we would have to recess the trial until Monday. I knew that defense counsel was pond scum (actually I'm insulting pond scum in saying that) and that he was feigning an emergency because he had been killed by my opening statement, but there was nothing I could do about it.

Now what to do until Monday? I was fully prepared and didn't need any more study, so I thought I'd try and have a good time. My client was really dull but I felt obligated to spend Thursday night with him and his family, but Friday through Sunday I would be on my own.

I didn't know what to do in Phoenix - it didn't quite have the nightlife of L. A., and I don't gamble in casinos so visiting one of the Indian gaming houses "wasn't in the cards" (I love my own puns even though no one else does), so during the day on Friday I handled matters at my office by phone and email, Friday night I boringly went to a movie, and Saturday afternoon to a Diamondbacks game.

Saturday night I wanted more action. Wandering the streets of downtown I came upon an interesting looking spot just a block from my hotel. It seemed to be a hybrid dance hall, comedy club, and bar. It had obviously just recently opened and was ginning up interest by having unusual promotions and contests. "Tonight - Marilyn Monroe Look/Act Alike Contest," a large, colorful, but obviously handwritten, sign proudly proclaimed. Bizarrely in small print under the "Contest" placard was "Charity 'Auction' Afterward!" Contestants got in free, a modest cover charge of $20 for all patrons.

I laughed as one of the erstwhile contestants who walked past me into the venue was clearly a transvestite almost as tall as I am (6' 5") in his heels, and who probably matched my 220 pounds. Thankfully, other contestants were just as obviously nice looking women.

I paid my cover, got a sarsaparilla (that's what the guy in the white hat always gets at a bar in Westerns), and proceeded to mingle with the crowd. Given the dress of the audience I felt uncomfortable in my suit jacket and slacks so I went back to the hotel, quickly changed into jeans and a "cowboy" shirt with my favorite special T-shirt underneath, and returned just as the contest was getting started.

The five judges were picked at random with raffle tickets given to each patron when he or she paid the cover charge. One of the guys picked was standing right next to me - I could see the called number on his ticket. He was already drunk, however, and didn't notice or seemingly care. I gave him $20 for his ticket and was soon seated at the judge's table right in front of the stage.

What a hoot! Most of the contestants exuded personality, or were just drunk enough to be funny. Except for the transvestite they were all credible candidates and had a number of Marilyn's famous quotes, expressions and body language down pat.

I rated about half of the contestants equally at the top; I was going to have a hard time coming up with a winner, and from my kibitzing with the other judges (two guys, two gals) they were going to have a difficult time too. Then the second to last contestant was up, a petite woman who I quickly dubbed "Pocket Marilyn."

Pocket Marilyn was too short to be the real thing - probably only 5'2" even in four inch heels, maybe 110 pounds. But boy did she have the look down - and the chest and hip movements, and other body language, to go along with it. The entire crowd was mesmerized and quiet - except for an occasional laudatory "whoop" - as Pocket Marilyn sang "Bye Bye Baby" from the movie "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes." Many were convinced that she was the reincarnation of the "Blond Bombshell" herself.

Then the coup de grace; as Pocket Marilyn was sashaying off the stage an "assistant" turned on a floor fan, perfectly re-enacting the "upskirt scene" from "The Seven Year Itch," complete with Marilyn's exact facial expression and hand placement. Not only was the scene authentic, it revealed Pocket Marilyn's exquisite thighs!

I would have hated to be the last contestant following that performance. The last performer did seem to be intimidated, and relieved when her time was up. It took us five judges only about one minute to come to a unanimous decision on the winner - "Pocket Marilyn!"

As Pocket Marilyn graciously accepted her trophy and gift certificate I was thinking to myself "How can I get to make an up-close inspection of those glorious thighs" when the next phase of the activities started; the almost unnoticed - at least by me - charity "auction." It wasn't really an auction, but another contest. A $1000 donation to a local boys and girls club would get you the possibility of a date with the winner. Surprisingly the winner didn't really call herself "Pocket Marilyn" but did go by the obvious pseudonym "Mare Dee."

To pony up my $1000 I drew my credit card as fast any gunslinger had ever drawn his Colt, but three other guys were almost as fast. It was announced that Mare Dee would have a maximum five minute "interview" with each of the four of us to see who won the date, as the representative of the boys and girls club hugged Mare Dee, thrilled with the $4000 she acquired for the club. Being the good trial attorney that I am I knew that going last was a great advantage in making a "closing statement," especially since I had already made eye contact with Mare Dee during her performance. So I finagled the last "interview."

From a distance, and out-of-sight, I carefully monitored Mare Dee's reaction to the other three guys as each sat in turn with her at a table, drinking and chatting. Not really known for my humility I surmised that I was better looking than the other three, and certainly in the best physical condition, although I was somewhat concerned that they were all younger than I was. They were also all much shorter than I am; I had already identified as my main potential pitfall that I might be too tall for "Pocket Marilyn's" tastes.

With the information I was able to gather from observing body language in the other interviews, from the eye contact Mare Dee and I had made during her performance, from the personality she exhibited when on stage, and from her reaction to winning, I felt confident when it was my turn.

"Hi, Marilyn, I'm Blake," I smiled as I held her tiny hand between both of my meat hooks and gently squeezed. "That upskirt scene from the passing subway is one of my favorites in movie history although to be honest except for you being in it I thought that The Seven Year Itch was boring."

"Say, Blake, you do realize I'm not really Marilyn don't you?" Mare Dee laughed.

"What?" I said in mock disbelief. "How can I get my money back?"

"Too late," she giggled, "although I can assure you that in her present condition the real Marilyn is probably too skinny for you."

Mare Dee and I had a wonderfully flirtatious talk, as I grew more confident by the minute. I thought I had the inside track but wasn't positive, so I decided to pull out all stops and "go for it." Just as the five minutes was up I said:

"I want you to know that if you choose me and we end up really liking each other that you'll have more fun with me - because..."

With that I literally popped the buttons on my shirt as I ripped it open revealing the saying on my T-shirt "Attorneys have Better Motions!"

Unfortunately for Mare Dee she had just taken a sip of her drink before I revealed my slogan, and I thought she would choke from the liquid being expunged through her nose as she laughed uncontrollably. Management came over to see that she was OK; she recovered though she never stopped smiling, and went off to confer with the manager.

I became more and more thrilled as I watched Mare Dee go around to the other three contestants and give them hugs after disappointment appeared on their faces. When she walked over to me she fake sneered

"Don't get cocky because I chose you, Blake, you were just the lesser of evils."

"Poor girl," I replied, "I'll be sure to send you a sympathy card tomorrow," which I quickly followed up with "I'll bet you didn't eat before your performance; let's get something. Anywhere you like."

There was a restaurant nearby that Mare Dee enjoyed but rarely ate at. "I love this place, but it's normally too expensive; but if you can shell out $1,000 just for a date I'll bet you can afford it."

"I look upon it as an investment," I chortled as I bowed and said "lead the way."

A table was available at the swanky place Mare Dee chose but they wouldn't let me in dressed like I was. I had her go to the table, told her to order an appetizer, and ran back to the hotel to change back to my original clothes, turning back to smile as Mare Dee yelled "Keep your T-shirt on!"

The meal was wonderful - the company fantastic. We really hit it off, my sexually provocative comments blunted by her deadpan fake Puritanism, and my dry humor complemented by her infectious laugh and witty come-backs. After two hours we finally exited then took a walk around town and to an urban park. When there I lifted Mare Dee up onto a bench so that she was only a few inches shorter than I was and said "There, now I won't strain my neck anymore looking down at you," getting me a punch in the ribs.

"Hey, you have hard little fists, don't you?" I asked, smiling, then quickly continued "But soft skin," as I stroked the side of her face. Actually, I had long ago come to the conclusion that she was better looking than Marilyn with a body just as nice, though more compact. After we very gently kissed for a few minutes with our hands on each other's' shoulders I got direct.

"Since I saw the upskirt scene I wanted to get my hands on your creamy thighs," I whispered as I moved my right hand to her skirt.

"No action on the first date," Mare Dee giggled, "you'll have to take me out tomorrow to have a chance to inspect my thighs."

"That's a problem," I said. As I planted a soft kiss on a different part of her body between each word I continued "Sunday night I need to get to bed early for trial the next morning; and after next week I'll be gone."

The gentle kisses had the desired effect. "Do you really have better motions?" Mare Dee half kidding, half dreamily, asked.

With that I gave her an intense French kiss and got the desired passionate response. In short order we were in my hotel room. "At first be slow, please," Mare Dee said between strokes and kisses.

I gently removed her top, then bra, revealing two perfect pink mounds and dark nipples. I suckled one nipple and gently twisted the other, getting closer to heaven with each passing second. Mare Dee's sighs and moans were more solicitous than an engraved invitation, inspiring me to remove her skirt to reveal those silky thighs.

I knelt down and stroked, licked, and nibbled on her thighs as her moans got more pronounced and their pace quickened. Once I started rubbing my fingers over the camel toe highly visible through her panties her breathing took on an air of desperation. I put my thumbs on either side of the elastic and yanked her panties off in one quick motion then stuck my tongue into her glorious slit.

As I licked and flicked I tore off my shirt, disposed of my now even more favorite T-shirt, undid my belt, and pulled my pants and boxers down to my knees. My dick was so hard my boxers almost ripped, and it was twitching.

As I stood up I lifted Mare Dee - naked except for her high heels - up and squeezed her tightly to me as I planted kiss after kiss on her and she wrapped her arms and legs around me. As I collapsed backward onto the mattress - my pants and boxers now around my ankles - I pulled Mare Dee on top of me. She quickly moved her crotch next to my rock hard cock, squatted, held my dick with one hand while she supported herself with the other on my stomach, and gently lowered her soaking wet pussy onto my flagpole.

Every centimeter of penetration felt better than the last. She would occasionally stop to get used to the position, move up slightly and then down some more. After a few minutes I was completely buried inside her magnificent canal and we both were groaning like old pickup trucks climbing up a mountain road.

As Mare Dee unhurriedly rocked back and forth I grabbed the glistening orbs on her chest with my hands, and kneaded them in sync with her movements. I gently started pulsing my midsection upwardly as she continued to rock as we both enjoyed being coupled together. After several minutes of this bliss Mare Dee completely opened her previously fluttering eyelids, stared into my eyes, and intoned "Fuck me hard." I didn't have to be told twice.

I pulled Mare Dee's body against mine to bury her nipples into my midsection, and then started heaving upwardly and forwardly in increasingly long and intense strokes. Within two minutes I was screaming in orgasm as Mare Dee shuddered, convulsed, and then whimpered as she dissolved into a happy pile of sweaty cum-filled protoplasm.

If we didn't pass out we certainly became semi-comatose. I don't know how long it was before I regained awareness but when I did my cock was still inside Mare Dee's vagina, but now soft enough so that when I moved it popped out, resulting in simultaneous involuntary groans from both of us. I rubbed Mare Dee's bare ass, not knowing if she was truly conscious even though she sighed with almost ever stroke. To test her I pinched her butt. That resulted in an "Ouch," from her as she pushed herself up on my torso, and with a big smile said "Pinch my ass again and I'll squeeze your balls, big boy."

My reply of "Promise" got me an unpleasant testicle crush, which I responded to by rolling Mare Dee over and threatening to lay on top of her.

We had several minutes of edgy, though totally pleasant, pillow talk still flushed with sexual euphoria until we finally sunk into dreamland with Mare Dee's head on my shoulder.

We woke up in the middle of the night, she went to the washroom then I did. When I returned I unceremoniously turned her onto her hands and knees, licked and fingered her pussy until she was dripping wet and shaking, and then buried my sword in her scabbard in a single thrust. Mare Dee whimpered and groaned as I pounded the shit out of her, causing her to have a first massive orgasm as I stroked, and a second gargantuan one as I unloaded my balls into her. Both completely spent we collapsed next to each other apparently not to move an inch until we woke up after daybreak.

As we sat in the hotel restaurant eating breakfast the next morning we both had that "freshly fucked" look and sexually fulfilled glow that was obvious to anyone who ever had a real night of passion. We didn't care - we were only concerned with each other.

During our meal my mind - still awash in endorphins - had only two concerns. How was I going to concentrate on product liability during the trial tomorrow, and when could I again hook up with the sex goddess sitting across from me?