Punky's Diary, 4/13/07

"No, because you were and you got through it, and you don't even mind talking about it," Charlie said all at once. "Which proves you're over it. I...knew you didn't still have any leftover affects from that. I mean, my people wouldn't have even allowed me in that club if they hadn't run checks first."

"You're fucking kidding me!" I said, probably too loud.

"I know, I know, invasion of privacy," Charlie said, but my privacy had been 'invaded' so often I didn't actually care about that.

"No, no," I told her. "I'm just thinking this really is like James Bond double-oh-seven shit, isn't it? Fucking cool!"

So Charlie's staring at me like I'm some freak or whatever, but whatever, you know? Then she blinks and grins.

"You are such a doll, I just want to bite you to bits." she says, and so of course, me being me, I get instantly horny. I mean it's not totally my fault because Charlie's voice had been so earnest and sexy when she said that shit.

I defy anyone to not get a tingle to hear that kinda stuff coming out of such a sexy pair of lips, you know?

Anyhow...so then Charlie stands (she's nearest the fire), and simply lets the towels and her robe and everything just slide off her and down around her feet. She's standing there totally bare in this lady's living room, and then she reaches her hand out to me and I'm going 'WTF! What if Marta gets up or something?' and Charlie has this smile like 'There's nothing we could do that Marta hasn't already seen,' so I stand, go to Charlie, take her hand and get swept up in a kiss that has me breathless in like a second and a half, and then my towels and everything else are being pushed down and a moment later I'm standing there naked, pressed up against a naked Charlie, and well, you know how shit goes after that happens.

So we wind up writhing and turning and twisting and undulating and gasping and moaning on a 'rug' we made out of the towels and robes, right in front of the blazing fire, while the storm stalls above us and keeps the house shaking with thunder. It's like the storm between Charlie and me is equal to the storm outside so the outside storm is stopping to watch us.

And with all the firelight and stuff Charlie looks so soft and femme and inviting that it's stupid. I mean okay like I've mentioned several times, I've mostly been with chicks in my life (including my wilder days with all those guys, but it was still like 70/30 chick/dude back then) and so pretty much I know chicks, right? But here's this chick who is awesomely beyond any chick I've ever been with. And it's not like she's even playing or shit like that. I mean guys just can't act that well, you know? And they sure as fuck don't look that chick most times unless they've gone through the whole treatment thing and the operation.

And so here's this bio-dude who is more chick than bio-chicks I've been to bed with and the more we go on with stuff, the more I want to.

God Charlie's amazing, but in front of the fire like that?

Fuck.

So we're smooching and licking and touching, and my nipples are sticking out and her nipples are sticking out and we're both all out of breath and tense and turned-on and whatnot, and then snap on go the kitchen lights down the hall and Marta pokes her head out and sees us all tangled and twisted together. I should know because I happened to be underneath Charlie at that point, her nipple between my lips, gazing off in that direction.

"Oh you two—so cute together!" Marta says, and then she yawns, fills a glass with something that sounded like milk when it was splashing in, clicks off the light and shuffles back down to her bedroom. I'm frozen in place, but then Charlie's sucking my shin again and I blank out and go back to sucking her nipple.

It only happened once, but after that I wasn't really worried about being discovered or seen.

Charlie and me fucked each other's brains out till nearly dawn. She even got this dildo she'd left there years (or months, I wasn't asking) before, and I used it on her and made her cum that way. She was on hands and knees with her cock trapped between her thighs, and she spurted all over the backs of her thighs and calves.

Like, normal, right?

So then we went to sleep and didn't get up until it was almost noon. Marta had let us sleep and had even pulled the curtains closed for us. When Charlie called out for her there was no answer, but when we got up to explore, we found that there was breakfast made and waiting in the oven for us, another pot of cocoa that needed only to be reheated, and a little note from Marta.

"Gone to town for shopping," it read in beautiful script. "If either of my favorite babies need anything, you know my cell-phone number Missy! Love, Marta."

"I guess you pass the Marta Test," Charlie said after I'd read the thing and handed it over to Charlie. "Well, c'mon then, let's eat before seeing you draped in blankets gets me going and I wind up having my own 'favorite baby' for breakfast!"

So we ate and it was probably one of the six best meals I've ever had in my life. We finished the cocoa and then Charlie made a pot of coffee and when we were done we peeked out the front door to see how beautiful and bright blue the day was. I wanted to go right out but all we had were the robes; our actual clothes were about half a mile away in the main house.

"We could make a mad dash for it," I say, and Charlie pushes me on the shoulder.

"I just ate, Punky," she says. "I don't feel like 'dashing' anywhere. In fact...."

Then she hugs me from behind and I don't feel her robe, and then her hands undo my sash, and she slips my robe off, and now it's her bare front against my bare back, and not only that, but she pushes her cock—which is totally hard—between my thighs as I'm standing there still gazing out the front door, and I look down and see the head of her thing peeking out from between them.

It looks sorta cute actually; that spongy, bulging head showing.

So then my body sorta goes off on its own and I lean forward, shutting the door and my ass tilts back and my back arches, and then that 'harmless' looking little one-eyed monster pulls back and slips completely effortlessly into my snatch. I'm like melted butter down there! It goes in partway then pulls back and I lean more and my pelvis rolls, and on the second push it enters me all the way.

So of course I gasp, right? And then I moan and gasp and moan and on and on while Charlie takes me by the hips and really gives it to me. And I mean she's fucking me mercilessly and hard, with her thighs slapping my butt cheeks and everything, and I spread my feet a little further apart and she's making me cum over and over again—all in the space of like a frickin minute and a half!—and I'm cumming and remembering some of the other cocks that had been in that same part of me, and once again I realize that this can only be a chick with a dildo on behind me because a guy never ever fucks like this.

Afterwards we both got the sponge and paper towels and stuff to clean up what had squirted out of me so freely—and I mean freely—and when everything's nice and normal again and we have our robes safely on, we hear a car and Charlie recognizes it and we both jump up to go help Marta.

Just as Charlie gets the door open Marta comes in with groceries and stuff and Marta says there's more in the trunk so, Charlie goes to get it. She looks like some pretty Elf in her hooded gray robe, but just as I'm about to follow, Marta catches my arm gently. I turn and look at her.

"Smells like you girls have been going at it in here," Marta says with a twinkle in her eye. "But from the look in my baby-dove's eyes, it's more den jess humping and grinding, you know? I just wanna say 'thank you' to you, li'l Miss, for making my Charlie alright. Nuthin' I ever done made her look so happy...."

Then Charlie came stumbling in with bags of groceries and I grabbed a bunch and Marta took more. We all collapsed laughing at the table, but Marta, before anything else, reached in one of the bags and pulled out some brand new clothes.

"I knowing you ladies gone out without your duds," she says, and she hands tee-shirts and shorts to us both. "Don't have Missy's special under-things here wid me, but...maybe you two could practice abstinence long enough to make it back to the main house?"

When she laughed, so did we. She was so right though, Marta was. It was a little embarrassing being so obvious, but it was true that since we'd met, Charlie and me had been going at each other nonstop. Charlie thanked Marta with a kiss and stood right there trying her things on while I wanted to visit the bathroom to change.

"Oh g-wan girl," Marta told me. "Ain't like you got nuthin I never seen before; seen and appreciated." She gave me this wink that made me feel all warm and glad inside. "It's why I'm still cherishin' the thought of when my wet nursin' this sleek bodied lady here turned into other things when she was of age—she's more woman than any ten I ever been with...."

Okay, new information—maybe too much.

But it wasn't exactly an ugly, gross mental picture, if you know what I'm saying. So I stripped right there in front of her and held the tee-shirt up like I was looking at the label, and let Marta get a long look at me if she wanted. I knew that even with 'ten' she'd spoken of, I'd be able to scare her off, but as I wriggled into my shirt and finally looked, Marta was all smiles. She glanced at Charlie.

"Same with this Punky of yours too, Missy," she said to Charlie and Charlie laughed.

"Yes, you certainly have passed the Marta Test," she said to me, and she looked so perfectly like The Tourist with her ultra short shorts and totally loud tee-shirt and cap that I wanted to ask her for a date right away.

Then I was dressed and with the flip-flops and hats and sunglasses, Charlie and me looked like we'd just stepped off the same tour bus.

"My little sweeties!" Marta declared, and then Charlie said we had to get back, Marta saw us to the door, and then two mostly-geeky looking chicks were walking across the still soggy grass back toward the main house; their rubber flip-flops flip-flapping away.

"Marta's so adorable," I said after a few minutes of walking.

"She thinks the same of you," Charlie said.

"If...I hadn't been here, would you have...?"

"Probably not. I'd probably have just stayed in my room and sulked and felt sorry for myself like normal." Charlie answered. "Come out to pull a couple of meetings with the execs, then gone back and sulked. I guess Marta kinda knows our time is over with, but...I don't regret a moment of it."

"I don't see how you can." I said. "I mean, she's like totally beautiful and...not that old, yah?"

"No, she's forty-three I think—yah, forty-three.

"Beautiful."

"I know, but...she's right about you."

"Huh?"

"Being gorgeous," Charlie said, and I looked away. I'm still not used to it—being thought of as beautiful or pretty or anything else. Fuckable maybe. I mean, nobody ever seemed to have a problem fucking me.

But 'gorgeous.'

"Oh that," I said, and then we were getting near the house and I dropped it.

We stayed at the house for another three days, all without the domestics pretty much. We made our own bed, cleaned up any residue of our unending passion, made our own meals, and pretty much lived together as any newlywed couple might.

Torrid sex—lots of it; watching television or something from the vast library of DVDs; more torrid, wet and nasty sex; more television or getting lost in the vast library of actual books; licking pee of each other's feet and jamming toes into each other's bung-holes; a nice omelet; sleep; waking up and kissing and licking each other's legs until I'm squirting; torrid, unbelievable sex with Charlie's dick in my ass, then my dildo in hers; playing tennis wearing just shoes; torrid sex right on the court; and on and on.

Then on the afternoon about 4 on the fourth day, we were watching the international news while eating vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce.

Well, we were feeding each other vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce with our toes, actually.

Long story.

Anyhow, there was a news flash and there was a sorta blurred out version of that one picture of me and Charlie on the beach that day. The presenter was speaking French so Charlie translated.

"He's saying the story just broke in some small paper in Germany," she's telling me. "It's like those tabloid things. And...there's my name...heiress to the blah-blah fortune, long rumored to be transvestite—"

"—Oh god, please with this transvestite shit!" I say.

"Shush, Punky!" Charlie says. Then, "—vestite, was proven to be such by blah-blah reporter from the blah-blah blah paper. Yay! It's happening!" She looked so happy I decided to drop my bitch about them calling her a 'transvestite.'

"I so hope it works," I said.

"Me too!" Charlie said, and she was so distracted, she brought her own ice-cream dripping foot to her mouth and licked her toes clean. Then she looked up and I was just staring.

It was one of the sexier things I'd ever seen, to be totally truthful.

Charlie quickly dipped her foot back in the tureen of gloppy ice cream and sauce and held her foot up to my mouth. I was still staring her in the eyes, wondering if I'd seen what I'd seen and whether I'd get to see it again, even with cold vanilla dripping on my bare chest.

"I'm...pretty flexible," she offered.

"No shit," I said.

Then I grabbed her sticky foot and cleaned it for her. She did the same to mine and a moment later we stepped into our flip-flops, gathered up the big plastic sheet we'd positioned ourselves on (so as to not ruin the carpet in the living room with ice cream drippings), and squeaked and squished our way to the main bathroom where we switched that same news channel on while we took the tureen of melted ice cream and chocolate sauce in the sunken tub with us.

That really was the first time I'd ever had a cool douche, and for sure never with ice cream and chocolate sauce.

I'd also never had anyone lick the stuff out of me before, and when Charlie held up this turkey-baster/douche thing—or maybe it was an enema bag?—I got a shiver all down my spine. She had me turn around and sucked some of that stuff up from toward the top where it was warmer, pushed the nozzle up my butt and squeezed. I shivered and came and everything between my legs was dripping. But then she handed me the thing and I did the same to her. When she suddenly let a bunch of chocolate and vanilla spurt out her ass, I was reminded again that I was going to have to get my shit together (so to speak) and work out a way to do this same thing with some other liquids we frequently deal with. For right then though, it was just all ice cream and chocolate.

After that we ladled cool, melted ice cream and chocolate all over each other and then spent the next hour or so writhing around in a gooey, sticky mess. Funny though towards the end we'd pretty much completely cleaned each other off, though a nice hot shower guaranteed that.

Then we filled the tub and soaked while we watched various channels covering the same story.

Like Charlie herself has said, she's a minor celebrity, but when the media's hungry for anything and they're fed just the right thing at the right time, it can be incredible.

And this was.

The very next morning one of Charlie's execs—like a guy 40 years her senior—brought in a huge pile of magazines and tabloids from all over the world with her (and my) picture on them. A lot of those were totally x-rated and showed everything, including us humping in that 'dingy little hideaway' one of the writers described it as.

I hated that. I really loved our little cabana-bungalow-thingie!

"God they're just like vultures," Charlie said almost to herself as she thumbed through some of the stories. "At least they're printing the text we 'sent' them! It's perfect!"

Me? I was gazing at that one picture of me and Charlie in bed, remembering how that was and how totally mindless I'd been.

"Punky?" Charlie said. I looked up from my memories.

"Huh?"

"I said," she obviously had to repeat, "We'll see how things go for the next few days, okay?"

I nodded but I was still thinking about the ice cream orgy the night before, and the way I could still taste actual chocolate this morning when I poked my tongue in Charlie's butt-hole.

I got a nice warm shudder thinking about it.

But I blinked and cleared my mind a little and started leafing through some of the English publications, and though the wording was different, the main points were all exactly the same.

"Charlene Athenridge, heiress to the multi-billion dollar Athenridge fortune, long suspected of in truth being Charles Athenridge, has been exposed in a series of candid photos today.

"Caught in a secret tryst with her lover on Grand Bahamas, the proof is, as they say, in the pudding—the pudding being what is shown hanging from 'Charlene's' crotch during this uninhibited nude display on one of the world's most popular public beaches."

I stared at the picture; even with it all grainy and shit, I just loved looking at Charlie's clit. Didn't matter where, or when. Makes my mouth just go into an 'O', you know?

Then I continued to read.

"'Well, we've suspected it a long time,' a woman, who wishes to remain anonymous, said. 'And now that the story's out, we can all breathe a sigh of relief.'

"Charlene, or 'Charlie' to her closest friends, is a top fashion model, though her family's income and net worth allow her to work on a limited basis, not otherwise being seen in public. For nearly six years she has paraded on the public stage, modeling for various designers without ever hinting at her true gender. When contacted, these designers, including the world-renown Marco, refused an interview.

"Another model, when asked, replied, 'No woman should be that beautiful. It's a travesty!'"

I looked around for Charlie, who was still reading.

"Hey!" I said, holding up the paper, "They put my quote in too!"

"You're now internationally published," Charlie said waving back.

Then the executive guy brought in another box of different publications and was about to leave when Charlie asked him if he would like to stay for breakfast. He politely declined, and then—we were alone again!

I got up and went over to where Charlie was sitting, still in her robe and house-socks. It was quite a walk actually—about 75 feet—but then I was there and she looked up and smiled this inquisitive little smile. The morning light was doing its magic again, though even the sunlight at high noon did the same with someone with as beautiful a complexion as she had. For just a moment I stood there gazing at her.

"What...?" she finally asks, and I'm so melted inside I can't even speak. She shows me the paper she's reading and it's more like mail than a publication. "Well, since I have you here, the National Inquisition is willing to pay Estelle six-hundred-thousand for the negatives of her photos; what do you think?"

I snap out of it and kneel at Charlie's feet. She has them up on the ottoman.

"I'm thinking, 'hold out'? maybe?"

"They won't wait for long," she says. "I'm not a big-ticket item. Here today, old news tomorrow. I'm thinking six-hundred-K will be nice pocket change for Estelle and the others; a little added bonus to what I'm paying them. All that photo touchup, the real negs and the fake negs, our little Argentinean 'mole' in that first publication to break the story; the French connection, which will be coming up in a few days."

"But if they take it, they'll be sued when 'The Truth' comes out."

"Yes, that's right," Charlie says, "But the stories within the stories within the stories have Estelle completely out of the picture. God I love this—makes life interesting!"