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Subject: {ASSM} A Rocky Relationship (MF, celeb) Silver Surfer #3
Date: Thu, 14 Feb 2002 22:10:04 -0500
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NOTE: I hereby grant permission for all archiving and other uses of
this work, public or private, free or paid, in any format whether
existing now or to be invented in the future, so long as a copy of
this note and credit to "theGreatxIam" is given and no alteration is
made to the body of the work. Copyright 2002, theGreatxIam

Silver Surfer #3:
A Rocky Relationship
By theGreatxIam

NOTE: They used to talk about Stagedoor Johnnies, the men who hung
around theaters with flowers and candy for the showgirls. Then women
and girls got liberated and got horny, and they called the starstruck
ones groupies.

But there are some of us who call ourselves by another name. We are
drawn to a special class of classy ladies, to those mature beauties
who appreciate a man who appreciates a vintage affair. We call
ourselves the silver surfers. And this is one of our stories.

Ron W., California

I haven't always been a silver surfer. In fact, every one of my
regular relationships has been with a woman my own age. Some of the
other surfers think that's weird.

But for me, the attraction isn't age. It's that these women are the
ones I grew up fantasizing about, the ones in my adolescent dreams. So
I can appreciate the beauty of today's sex symbols, but no one revs my
engine as much as the women who have been my masturbation partners for
decades.

Even at that, I probably would never have sought out yesterday's
stars. Who'd think those goddesses were attainable? It was only when
the bounty was spread before me that I joined the feast.

It started when I opened a small bed-and-breakfast buried in the tall
forests north of San Francisco. My wife and I planned to run it as a
way to supplement our regular salaries enough to let us afford that
dream location. We kept it simple and business was slow but steady.

Then my wife ran off to LA with a younger guy. I guess this life
wasn't her dream anymore. Anyway, suddenly I was in danger of losing
everything; there was no way I could run the B&B and keep my regular
job, and even if I could, where'd I find the extra cash? Our prices
had to be low -- we had no cable, no TV at all. No Jacuzzi. No fancy
restaurants or much of anything but trees for miles and miles.

In the end, that's what saved the place for me: its isolation. Being
out of touch may be boring for normal folks, but it's bliss for a lot
of stars.

An agent who happened on my place recommended it to two or three of
his clients, and it snowballed. Not only did I have no TV and nothing
to do, but I made it even more of a retreat. I pulled the radios from
the rooms, unplugged the phones, stopped my newspaper subscriptions.
Even if customers wanted to stay in touch, they couldn't: I was so out
of the way that cell phones couldn't get a signal.

I kept my own phone, of course. And soon it was ringing off the hook
as word spread. I kept raising prices and it seemed to only make my
little B&B more popular with Hollywood. I actually was able to quit my
job and devote full time to the place.

 I even cut back to only one pair of guests at a time so I could offer
maximum privacy.

Before too long I was catering to the cream of show business. The
guests were generally older -- old enough, anyway, for the excitement
of being famous to have worn away to the annoyance of being gawked at
wherever you went. But not so old that no one recognized them anymore.

Sometimes the star of the couple was the guy, of course, but over time
a bevy of women who had outgrown Hollywood's lust but not mine paraded
through my little corner of the woods.

They came in couples, though, so all I could do was watch and dream.
That was enough, though, to get my hopes stirring.

Then came the week I went beyond hoping.

The four-day booking was in her husband's name -- her husband du jour,
a nobody whose name I didn't recognize. He had the right references,
though, so I figured he have been married to somebody famous.

Famous wasn't the half of it.

She was on the passenger side of the 4x4 when it rolled up to my place
around 3 p.m. It's not unusual for the nobody guys who marry famous
women to insist on driving their own cars instead of using chauffeurs.
It may be one of the few manly things left for them.

He pulled up to the front door and I came out to greet them. You pay
my prices, you're going to get my best service. I opened her door and
held it as she stepped down.

All I'd seen through the window was the side of a big, floppy straw
hat that covered up most of her face, and the flowery top of a blouse
with puffy sleeves. When I opened the door, a shapely, well-tanned
foot in a strappy shoe with an inch-thick cork sole and a thick high
heel eased out. It was attached to a beautiful leg that stretched on
forever as the bottom of her short beige skirt clung to the leather
seat. My eyes crawled up to a firm but not overly muscled thigh, up
and up as her skirt was left behind and a pair of bright red silk
panties came into view. Then she swung her other leg down, two perfect
stems. As she stepped onto the driveway and patted her skirt back into
place, I let my eyes roam up to see what rose was atop those lovely
stems.

Wow. She had a body like I'd never seen. Curves that would make a
snake jealous, tits straining at her blouse.

I took it all in. Her skirt and blouse were like a second skin, but in
my head I was peeling them off to see the real skin underneath. It
would be tanned all over, I figured, tanned like her legs and arms and
...

I think I actually gasped when I saw her face. Even in the shade of
her floppy hat, her eyes twinkled above her chiseled cheekbones when
she spoke.

"Lovely view you've got here," she said, almost a purr.

"I hope you enjoy it, Ms. Welch."

"Mmm, I hope so too. It looks like you have."

I actually blushed, and I hadn't done that since I was a kid. But
after all, here I was talking to -- and gawking at -- Raquel Welch.
And she was even better in person than on the page or the screen.

In person I could see the luster of her smooth skin. Age had taken
away the roundness of her early years, but to me she was more
fascinating with her curves complemented by some beautiful angles.

I was embarrassed that she'd caught me eyeing her, but she'd let me
know without ratting me out to her husband, who came around to the
front door and flipped me the keys. I nabbed them and grabbed a
suitcase Raquel had gotten out of the back seat. "I'll hold these for
now," I said carefully to her husband's back, "and later I can show
you where the parking space is." Hey, I give good service, but I'm the
owner, not the bellhop. If Mr. Insecure is going to drive his own car
he can damn well park it.

Raquel chuckled a little and her husband's ears turned bright red, but
he said nothing. Just opened the door and went in, letting it close
behind him. She slipped around me -- it was a tight squeeze with
bushes on either side of the narrow sidewalk; for once I was glad I'd
forgotten to trim them back -- and opened the door. Even held it open
for me.

I showed them to their suite, told them how to work the hot tub,
explained about breakfasts and recommended some places for dinner.

Raquel paid attention, but he ignored me as he scowled at his
matchbook-sized cell phone.

"That won't work here," I told him.

"What? Were you talking to me?"

No, I thought, to the other jerk with a cell. "Yes. We don't have a
cell tower close enough for reception here."

"Fine. Just fine." He quickly scanned the room. "So where's the phone
hiding?"

"No phone."

"What the hell are you talking about? What kind of..."

Raquel interrupted his bluster. "It was in the brochure, honey.
Remember? We wanted some place where we wouldn't be bothered."

"You wanted someplace," he said. "How am I supposed to work if..."

"We weren't supposed to work," she said. 

I can't say I didn't want to take sides in this little spat, and you
know whose side I would have taken. But I did have a financial
interest here, not to mention the tradition of innkeeper's
hospitality. "If it's so important," I said, "you can use the one in
my office."

He snorted in reply. I took that as a cue to leave. A little while
later he stomped through the house and out to his car. I was ready
when he stomped back in a few seconds later, and I tossed his keys
over to him. "The parking spot..." I started to say.

"I can find it," he grunted. On his way back in with the luggage, he
didn't say a word. There's a private entrance to the suite next to the
parking space, but it's hidden by a rose arbor. I had pointed it out
when I showed them around, but if he didn't want to pay attention, not
my problem.

That evening they slipped out for dinner while I was at the grocery. I
was tidying the great room, where the big fireplace is, when they got
back. He stormed past me to their room; Raquel told him she had to ask
me about breakfast.

Instead, she apologized for her husband's behavior and asked again
about a phone. I said the one in my room was a cordless and they were
welcome to borrow it, but that was also my business line so I'd prefer
that it not be in constant use.

"Then I better not even mention it," she said. "I don't know why he's
so crazy about this. I'd hoped some time away from it all would be
good for him. And for..." She trailed off.

"Maybe it'll just take him a little time to relax," I said.

"I hope so," she said, but there was doubt in her voice.

"Did you have a nice time at dinner?" I was casting about for some way
to lighten the mood, but I also wanted to keep her talking to me. Hey,
if it was you with Raquel Welch, what would you do?

She gave me a sad smile.

"Something wrong? Did you go to one of the restaurants on my list?
They're usually reliable."

"Oh, the restaurant was wonderful. It was my husband. He got a little
upset when the maitre'd told him no cell calls were allowed. And then
on the way back he was trying to call and drive at the same time ..."

I winced. The roads around here are scary even at their best, in
bright sunshine. Trying to maneuver those curves and switchbacks at
night is horrendous for people new to the area. And with one hand on
his cell!

"Well," she said, "you can imagine. I offered to drive, but ..."

He poked his head out of the corridor that led to their suite. "How
long does it take to order our breakfast?"

Raquel excused herself and went to him. I went over to my end of the
house, wondering how much he'd overheard.

Breakfast the next morning was awkward. They hadn't requested room
service, which I deliver to the suite's vestibule for maximum privacy,
so I set up in the morning room, with its wall of glass overlooking
the garden. Every time I'd come out with tea or toast or whatever,
they'd be whispering, and they'd clam up as I approached. I've got no
problem with couples who want to be left alone -- I'm not one of those
chatty B&B owners who sees guests as a captive audience -- but this
was a little off-putting.

Still, I thought, it couldn't hurt to offer a few suggestions for
their day.

Yes, it turned out, it could.

Raquel seemed interested in the scenic picnic spots and the wineries
to the south, but her husband -- well, it was the first time anyone
had literally snarled at me. I apologized for bothering them and
retreated to the kitchen.

Even there I could hear what happened next; he was done whispering. He
wanted to leave immediately; she suggested giving it one more day. He
insisted; she pointed out that check-out wasn't until 1 (actually,
since they'd already reserved for three nights they could check out
whenever they wanted; I was still going to charge them the full bill).
He got a little snide; she sniped back.

Finally he delivered an ultimatum: He was leaving, period.

She fired back: She was staying, period.

With that, he stomped off to their room. She took one last swallow of
orange juice -- fresh-squeezed, of course -- and followed.

As I cleaned the table, I guessed that they'd settle things one way or
another with a compromise, and I played a guessing game with myself
about how it would come out.

I lost. Just as I was clearing away the napkins, he marched past with
one bag. A minute later I heard the 4x4 start up with a roar and
pepper the wall with gravel as it sped off.

I was still standing there, staring at the door, when Raquel came into
the room a minute later. She answered my unspoken question.

"He'll be back Sunday," she said. "He has some important work ..." She
looked into my eyes and broke off in mid-sentence. She turned her eyes
to the floor for a second and looked back at me, her jaw set. "So I
guess I've got a couple of days to fill. Any good hiking trails around
here?"

The best, I said, was a 15-minute drive away. I offered her my car,
even insisted, but she seemed reluctant. I remembered her last
experience on our roads; maybe she'd gotten a little spooked. Finally
I wore her down when I said I'd drive.

A few minutes later she met me outside. In plain white sneakers she
was a little shorter than I'd expected, no more than 5'6. But if
anything she was even more attractive than ever. She wore a
blaze-orange blouse completely unbuttoned, just tied below her clearly
unconfined breasts. With each step the blouse gapped and revealed the
alluring curves and the tantalizing valley in between. Beneath her
taut, tanned tummy she had on a pair of white cotton cutoffs that
looked sprayed on.

Yet there was no sign she'd attempted to be seductive. She moved
easily, swinging the carrying loop of some binoculars over her
shoulder and then adjusting the plastic visor she'd slipped onto her
forehead. She seemed entirely natural and unpretentious. I guess when
you've had a body like that for so many years, you forget the effect
it has on people.

In my case, the effect was painfully obvious. When Raquel walked
around to the passenger side of my car I quickly reached into my khaki
slacks and adjusted my rigid tool so it wasn't bent double by my
briefs. At least that took care of the painful part. But it didn't do
enough to conceal my condition. I could only hope she wouldn't look
down and see my bulge.

She didn't, or at least if she did, she didn't say anything. We drove
down to the trailhead and I let her out, arranging to pick her up in
about an hour. I put the car in gear and was just about to pull out
when I heard a yelp and looked over just in time to see Raquel's head
falling out of sight.

I threw open my door and raced around the car. She was already sitting
up, rubbing her ankle. When she saw me standing over her, she pointed
ruefully to a stone about the size of an egg on the ground next to
her. "I just tripped," she said, rolling onto her knees. "That's what
I get for wearing tennis shoes to hike."

I reached out to help her up, trying to keep from staring down at her
bronzed breasts almost completely exposed. She winced as she took a
wobbly step.

"Is it broken?" Without thinking, I'd slid an arm around her bare
waist. Her skin was warm and soft like a doe's.

"No," she said, "not even sprained. I just need to walk it off."

I held her for a few steps, but she grew steadier with each step and I
felt a little foolish. I pulled my arm back.

"See," she said. "Good as new."

"I guess," I said. "But are you sure you'll be OK?"

"You go on. I'll be fine. Besides, I couldn't pass up a chance to
enjoy all this." She swept an arm around her.

She had good taste. We were in a green cathedral. The trees soared up
to the clouds all around us, huge, straight pillars. The canopy is so
thick that the light gets filtered to the color of fresh limes and the
temperature is as much as 20 degrees cooler than in the Napa Valley,
sometimes even more. It was 92 in the valley that day, but amid the
trees it was almost chilly enough for a jacket. Of course I'm biased
because I chose to live here, but to me there is no more serene place.
The scale of the trees is so monumental that your cares and concerns
shrink beneath them.

All of the attraction of the forest swept through me as I looked
around and breathed the cool, clean air. How long had it been since
I'd taken a walk in the woods? Wasn't that why I'd moved here?

Raquel agreed to let me accompany her, and we set off down a winding
path. The trail was reasonably well-marked, so I had no objection when
she took the lead. And I got to liking the idea as I admired the view
of her from behind. Seeing her butt swaying was mesmerizing. I had
reason to be glad she was herself hypnotized by the scenery before her
when I realized my cock was tent-poling my slacks. Only by some
intense concentration was I able to get it under control, and I had to
repeat the procedure several times.

We'd been walking for some time and were far out of sight of the road
when we came to a spot where fallen trees blocked the trail. Raquel
tried to get over them, but her shoes couldn't get a grip on the huge
timbers. I scrambled up to the top and put out my hand to haul her
along. As we jumped down on the other side we clutched at each other's
hands, and we didn't let go as we marched on. It wasn't deliberate; it
just happened.

In the same way, awhile later, after the trail had begun to curve back
toward the beginning, we came to a spot where fallen branches and
uneven terrain made the going a bit difficult. We put our arms around
each other for support and just didn't let go. My hand was resting
just below her right breast. I could feel its weight bouncing lightly
onto my hand every so often.

We were both in good shape and the trail wasn't all that taxing, so
when we stopped some distance short of the trailhead it wasn't to
catch our breaths but to delay the moment when we'd have to return to
the reality of roads and car exhausts. We stood side by side, arms
around each other. Slowly we surveyed our surroundings, swinging our
eyes around.

Then came the moment we happened to turn toward each other. Our eyes
locked and I found myself falling into hers. Our lips parted. I could
feel her heart beating faster beneath my hand. I was sure mine was
doing the same.

Maybe it was a bird that ter-whitted in a nearby tree and broke our
concentration. Or maybe it was our minds snapping out a warning. But
whatever it was, we moved apart awkwardly and walked back to the car.

We may have talked on the drive back. If we did, my mouth must have
been on autopilot. All I was thinking about was what had just happened
-- what had almost happened. Raquel Welch was so far out of my league.
Had I only imagined the look in her eye? Was it all a dangerous
daydream?

As I returned to reality, I realized it was already after noon. Raquel
agreed with my suggestion of a deli that had a wide selection of
prepared food to go. We filled two bags with olives and crusty French
bread, pasta salads and fruit and a bottle of California wine.

The backyard at my place is enough of a clearing in the forest that
the sun can cut through and warm things up. With just enough of a
breeze from the trees to keep the temperature comfortable, it's the
perfect spot for lazing and sunbathing. While I set up our grazing
lunch, Raquel went inside to freshen up.

She came out in a red leather string bikini that made it obvious the
years had been very kind to her. I couldn't see a wrinkle on her --
and there wasn't much I couldn't see. Two triangles on her breasts
could hardly contain the magnificence of her mounds, and not even
leather could hide the stiffness of her nipples. The strip of leather
at her crotch barely preserved her modesty, and only tiny thongs
stretched around her hips. This was the Raquel of "1 Million B.C.," of
"Bedazzled," of "Bandolero" and "100 Rifles." This was the body that
had stained a million young boys' beds with the evidence of their
admiration.

And there it was on my own lounge chair. Tongue-tied doesn't begin to
describe my condition.

We sat together, eating grapes and reading books. When she turned
over, presenting me with her Botticelli behind, I had to bury my nose
in my book to keep from burying something else in her. When she
casually reached up and untied her bra string, I had to shift to
relieve the pressure on my cock, and	felt a wetness down below. I
looked down and saw a small, dark stain on my crotch. All I could do
was lift one knee to try to shield the stain from her view and wait
for the sun to dry it.

Raquel never seemed to notice the effect she'd had on me. She retied
her bra before she rolled over, just as nonchalantly as ever.

It was then she asked if I'd go to dinner with her. She already had a
reservation for two, she said, and at the restaurant they'd picked,
Friday-night reservations are not abandoned lightly. I accepted
quickly, of course.

We read for awhile longer and then I had to go do some bookkeeping.
Raquel slipped on her tennis shoes and as I entered the house I turned
back to see her doing aerobics. Her breasts were captivating as she
jogged in place. Amazing, I thought. She puts the sex in sexagenarian.

I kept busy in my office the rest of the day. Raquel was nowhere in
sight when I emerged in time to change for dinner. After a shower and
a shave, I walked into the great room at 6, looking dapper -- I hoped
-- in my best summer-weight suit, a tan number. I'd hauled out the
silk tie that had been the last gift my ex-wife had given me before we
split. This is a casual place, but we were going to one of the area's
finest restaurants. And, besides, it was Raquel Welch. The evening
called for something special.

Something special was exactly what I got.

I was pouring a glass of wine when I heard steps on the stone floor
behind me. I turned and held my breath.

Raquel's dress concealed far more than her bikini had, but its impact
on me was even more intense.

It was gold -- not yellow, gold. As shiny as the metal itself. A
Spandex halter top with a dramatic teardrop-shaped cutout over her
decolletage. The Spandex gave way to satin just above the hips, but
the fit was every bit as tight, the cloth hugging her curves in a
sheath that extended to her gold-sequined heels. A slit on the right
ran up to the top of her thigh, exposing all her bare, tanned leg as
she strode forward. When she stopped in front of me and twirled
around, I saw that the dress was virtually backless -- a deep scoop
revealed  the shadowed cleft at the top of her elegant ass.

It was as if a golden statue of Venus had come to life, flesh forming
from molten metal. I didn't know where to look -- not because I didn't
want to be caught staring; I was beyond that -- but because every inch
of her was so delectable. I will never forget the vision of Raquel in
that dress, just as I will never forget what followed.

I may have gazed upon her for a minute without speaking -- or it may
have been a month. When I regained my senses she was speaking.

"I said, is that for me?"

For a second I thought she was referring to my once-again obvious
physical reaction to her body. But she was looking higher, and I
realized she meant the wine glass in my hand.

I gave it to her and, with shaking hand, poured myself one. I lit the
big fireplace to take off the chill in the air that came with dusk --
though I felt distinctly warm, myself -- and joined her on the leather
couch across from it. The fire crackled and leaped as we sipped our
wine. We stared at the flames without speaking. When I turned back to
her, I was startled by an awesome vision. The reds and yellows and
whites and blues of the firelight danced on Raquel's shimmering dress
like a sensuous kaleidoscope. It was a form of camouflage, making her
body seem to flicker in and out of this plane of existence.

I spoke without knowing it; the thought came from my soul, not my
brain.

"You are so very beautiful," I said.

The words sounded tinny to my ears, some echo of a really bad pick-up
line. Abashed, I tried to retreat.

"Of course, you know that. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so
obvious. It's just ... just ..." I had no words left.

But that was all right. Raquel held a finger to my lips.

"Shhh. I know what you meant. And thank you."

Putting her glass down on the big oak-and-leather trunk that served as
a table, she bent forward and kissed me lightly. Even the merest brush
of her lips sent a flush of warmth through me.

She leaned back for a second and then moved toward me again. For a
moment that seemed frozen in time she stopped halfway to me, looking
deep into my eyes.

And then her eyelids fluttered and closed. She leaned forward and
kissed me again. That kiss lasted for several heartbeats. I know,
because I could feel each one thudding in my chest.

When this kiss ended, she didn't move away. Her warm breath caressed
me. The firelight may still have been dancing on her dress, but all I
saw was the sparkle in her eyes.

Tentatively I reached out to her, my fingers gliding over the smooth
fabric at her waist. Raquel took my hand in hers and drew it higher,
higher until it came to rest on the side of her breast. I trembled as
my fingers gingerly, and then more boldly explored that famous chest.
Her arms slid across my shoulders and we kissed, deeply. Her tongue
pressed into my mouth.

Both my hands were on her chest, cupping those incredible mammaries. I
felt her nipples harden under her dress.

I moved a hand to her back. The touch of Raquel's warm, soft skin was
even more arousing than feeling her up through her dress. So arousing
that it snapped me out of a reverie. I realized what I was doing. This
was Raquel Welch. The sex goddess of the Western Hemisphere. Even more
important, this was a married woman. I couldn't ... could I? I
shouldn't ...

"We shouldn't," I whispered in weak protest. "You're married."

"Not for tonight," she said, and reached behind her. With one click of
a snap the top of her dress fell from her neck. She peeled it down to
her waist.

And there they were. The most admired, least observed wonders of the
modern world: Raquel Welch's breasts. In the flesh.

What flesh it was. Not a trace of a tan line to mar their beauty, twin
globes cantilevered over a still-narrow waist. Surprisingly small
areolae but large, very erect nipples.

Nipples begging to be sucked.

Of course, I did. Raquel ran her fingers through my hair as I licked
and nipped and suckled. Her breasts were so perfect, so much the
ideal, that I could have spent an hour just enjoying them. But Raquel
wanted more.

She unbuttoned my shirt; I pulled it off. She unbuckled my belt; I
unzipped. We stood up together. Raquel waited for me to peel off the
rest of my clothes. I stood before her, completely naked, stiff cock
pointing straight at her.

Slowly, slowly she rolled her dress down. The thin bands of gold thong
panties came into view. The dress came down over the flare of her
hips. To the small triangle of gold nylon. To her well-defined thighs.
To the floor. She stepped out of the puddle of cloth and stood, arms
akimbo, legs apart. I couldn't wait any longer.

I knelt before her, hands encircling her legs, tongue tracing their
curves. I kissed my way up her thighs.

"That's very nice," Raquel purred. "Do you do this for all your
guests?"

"Only the very special ones," I replied, running the tip of my tongue
along the side of her panties. My hands fanned out on her flat stomach
as I buried my nose in the front of her panties, sliding my tongue
into the cloth above her slit.

"Oh, honey, do that again," she said. So I did. And again.

Between my tongue and her fluids, the panties were getting soaked.
That wouldn't do, of course. I grabbed them with my teeth and pulled
them partway down.

Raquel's bush was a neatly trimmed rectangle above her promised land. 

I was momentarily transfixed by the sight: Raquel Welch's quim. What
were the chances someone like me would ever get to see this, let alone
...

"It won't bite," Raquel said. "But it is a little hungry."

I bent forward and kissed, my lips on her labia. I suppose she tasted
like any other woman, but to me it was ambrosia, a heady mixture. Her
aroma filled me with a deep longing.

I buried my face in her crotch, licking her cunt, teasing her clit. My
tongue poked into her, drawing a sigh of contentment. I began to slip
it in and out, fucking her with my tongue. She grabbed my head with
both hands and humped away, forcing me deep on the down thrusts. With
my hands clawing at her ass, I alternated between meeting her hips
bump for bump and sneaking little pokes at her sensitive clit.

I was no pro at this. My ex-wife had a thing about hygiene and
wouldn't give or receive orally. I was going on instinct and a few
porn tapes from before the video rental places started insisting on
credit cards. But I guess I did OK. After about 15 minutes Raquel
began to tremble. Her knees squeezed my chest and she moaned
incoherently, the pitch rising and falling like a siren as she bucked
in an ebbing series of convulsions.

As they ended she staggered backward and flopped onto the couch. I
knelt in place, stunned. I'd given an orgasm to Raquel Welch!

It took a little time for my brain to process that. When it got that
out of the way, another realization dawned: I was incredibly horny. My
cock was putting all previous erections I'd ever had to shame. Hard as
a rock? It felt as if it had turned to stone, hanging stiff and heavy.

Raquel, sprawled naked on the couch, looked a bit dazed, but she
patted the cushion as she gazed in my general direction. "I can help
you with that," she whispered. In a haze, I crawled up next to her.

She had me stretch out on my back. My rod stood straight up. Raquel
scootched down on the couch so that her feet dangled off the far end
and her face was just an inch or two from my cock. She supported
herself on bent arms, her full breasts resting on my legs.

"Mmm, I like it when my man is already locked and loaded," she said,
and she licked her lips, making them glisten even more. "Would it be
all right with you if I had a taste?"

I smiled. "I think that's a good idea."

Her pink tongue snaked out and took a long, slow ride all the way up
my rod. I inhaled as she did, and held my breath when her tongue
circled the helmet, spiraling up to the very tip. All the air rushed
out of me when her mouth quickly came down, lips pursed, and engulfed
me.

Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked me in, and for a minute or two she
concentrated on getting more and more of my pole into her hot mouth.
Her tongue was tickling the tip of my cock as her lips massaged their
way downward. Then she formed a V with her tongue, easing me in like a
shoehorn. I watched in astonishment as my rod drove deeper and deeper.
The sight was so mesmerizing that it took the bumping of the head of
my cock against the back of her throat for me to realize Raquel had
swallowed my entire shaft.

She slowly slid me back out. My cock showed the crimson traces of her
lipstick. Her lips nuzzled the tip as her fingertips played along the
shaft, playing it like a flute. When she tilted her head and licked
down the underside of my rod, I arched my back involuntarily. She took
my balls into her mouth one by one while her hands jacked me off.

I was too near the edge to back off even if she had let go. "Oh, god,"
I groaned, "I can't hold it. Oh, god, Raquel."

Her eyelids snapped open and she stared me right in the eyes. Without
a word, she quickly took me into her mouth again. Down, down her head
went, until I was fully buried again. She bobbed up and down several
times and then I felt the waves of passion crest. A fiery stream of
cum gushed from me, erupting into her mouth once, twice, thrice. She
held me in her mouth as my cock subsided. When she pulled off,
smiling, a glistening strand stretched from her lips.

I felt like someone had let all the sand out of me; I could feel my
body's dead weight pressing into the couch cushions and I thought I'd
never move again.

Raquel crawled up, breasts plowing across my chest, but I could only
watch. Her hot lips caressed my neck, fluttered across my face, and I
closed my eyes, sure I would drop off to sleep.

But her breath washed over my eyelids and eased down. I felt the
pillowy pressure of her lips on mine. I tasted my own cum as her
tongue slid inside my mouth.

My eyes blinked open. My tongue met hers. My arms lost their
weightiness, rose to embrace her slim waist. And, yes, my cock rose to
the occasion as well. It swelled between her silky thighs as we
kissed, mouths open hungrily. My hands explored the smooth sculpture
of her back, then slid down to her rounded butt.. I kneaded their
yielding flesh as Raquel writhed above me. Our skin seemed searing hot
wherever we touched.

At last she broke our kiss. After a deep breath that made her nostrils
flare, she pushed herself up and drew in her knees so she was
squatting on my stomach. The firelight flickered across her skin like
butterflies and she cast an erotically wavering shadow on the wall. A
fine sheen of perspiration made her glow all over. This was the sex
goddess, Raquel Welch, and she was all mine.

."You are so beautiful," I said, lamely redundant. "I can't believe
this is happening to me."

"Can you believe this?" She reached behind and grabbed hold of my
cock. "I need this in me now. Right now."

Raquel rose up and maneuvered into position, running the tip of my
shaft up and down her wet slit. "This is going to be so good," she
hissed as she began to settle back.

"Do you feel it opening me?," she asked. "Can you feel how hot I am
for you?"

Indeed I could. Her pussy lips parted like butter yielding to a warm
knife, spreading open, rubbing her lubricants over my cock. They
closed down on the shaft and hugged it gently as I sank further and
further into her. Raquel was no virgin; her cunt wasn't the tightest
I'd ever known. But she could do things with her vaginal walls I'd
never experienced. It felt like a hand in a silken glove, squeezing
me, holding me, twisting round and round.

She kept up a running commentary. "Oh, yes, lover. Push it in. I want
it all in me. I want all your beautiful cock in me. Ohhh, god, that's
good. Just like that."

Raquel grabbed my hands and put them full on her bouncing breasts.
"Squeeze my tits," she sighed as she humped me. I palmed her boobs,
spidering my fingers all over them. "The nipples, the nipples. Yes,
like that!" Her tender buds were hard as they dragged across my hands.

She gave out a deep, guttural groan. "I've got to have them in your
mouth. I need your tongue. Suck my tits, honey."

I was eager to comply, sticking out my tongue to meet her mammaries as
she dangled them over my face. I suckled like a newborn, delighting in
her bountiful body. The tang of her sweat gave her breasts a tequila
tang as I licked them all over.

And all the while Raquel was riding me, sliding my cock in and out of
her juicy cunt. She had a way of combining the up-and-down with just
enough forward-and-back to send shivers up my spine. I'd never had a
fuck like this before. I would have told her so, but my mouth was
otherwise engaged. She did all the talking, a husky whisper like a
Mexican sunset.

"Give it to me, honey. Fill me up. I'm going to ride you 'til I ...
'til I ..."

Her words choked off and she pulled away from my mouth. Sitting
straight up, swaying slightly like an aspen in the wind, Raquel closed
her eyes and opened her luscious mouth in an O. She froze like that
for a few seconds. A flush rose between her breasts, growing deeper
red as she began to shake.

"Oh, that's so good," she said, drawing out the last word in a long
moan. "I've never ... not like ... oh, yes, baby, yes, baby ..." That
time her voice rose to a high-pitched squeal and she was bucking so
hard and fast I had to grab her hips to hold her down. Her pussy was
clamped on my rod so tightly she pulled me off the couch as she rose.
"Madre de dios, yes," she hissed between clenched teeth as the spasms
subsided, only to return maybe 20 seconds later.

The orgasm hit her in wave after wave, slowly easing. In the end she
collapsed on top of me, my cock still hard in her as her breasts
flattened against my chest and her silky hair cascaded down the side
of my face.

"That was wonderful," she sighed. And it was. But I was still stiff
and I couldn't resist sliding in and out of her tunnel a few times.
Raquel lifted her head to look me in the eyes, then planted a wet,
searing kiss on me. "We've got to do something about that," she
purred. She rose to her knees, my cock slipping out, and grabbed the
big, fleecy blanket I kept draped over the couch. Getting to her feet
a bit unsteadily, she floated the blanket to the floor in front of the
fireplace as I tossed three big logs onto the embers. They blazed up
at once, bright orange flames disappearing into the chimney as a
bracing pine scent filled the big room. It was pitch black now out the
back windows and I hadn't put any lights on; the only illumination was
the wavering glow of the fire.

Raquel stretched out on her back, a couch cushion under her head.  As
I looked back at her from the fireplace, she looked more ethereal than
ever, a flickering vision of sensuality. Raquel Welch nude in the
firelight: There is no more perfect sight.

I had flagged slightly as I worked on the logs, but one look at her
sexy silhouette, her legs spread wide, and my rod sprang back to full
erection. It waved side to side as I crawled over to her.

I kissed my way up from her feet, pausing at her musky cunt to lap her
opening and nibble on her clit. Then I resumed my journey, dick
swaying as I licked her stomach, drew wet spirals with my tongue to
the peaks of her breasts, nuzzled her taut neck.

At last my cock was nudging her slick slit. With a deep kiss I drove
into her, plunging to the root in one smooth thrust.

I held myself there for a full minute, savoring the moment, buried in
Raquel Welch's body. While my dick throbbed inside her our tongues
wrestled passionately.

At last I began to move and she to respond. Slow, like the shadows
that crept out of the woods onto my garden every afternoon, long
strokes when the sensitive knob of my cock felt every soft, wet inch
of her cunt, in until it could go no farther, out until just the very
tip was nestled in the folds of her opening, prying them apart all
over again to start it all over.

Raquel moved with me, her hips rolling in counterpoint to my thrusts,
squeezing every possible bit of penetration out of our coupling.

When I was certain her earlier blowjob had done the trick and my
retumescent rod wasn't going to end the party too early, I began to
pick up the pace. Raquel spread her legs farther apart, giving me
total access. Our crotches ground together with each stroke and she
twisted beneath me, sending wave after wave of ecstatic sensations
through my turgid cock and straight to the pleasure centers of my
brain.

I went even faster, short, sharp strokes that forced squishy noises
from Raquel's cunt. She drew her legs tight to hold on to me, her
heels digging into my ass, spurring me on.

Our kisses had morphed into licking and nuzzling and our hands were in
constant motion, as if we were determined to touch every square inch
of each other's bodies, to blend our flesh together. My ravenous
appetite for Raquel's body was understandable: This was the woman whom
every man desired, the enticing but unavailable, who showed off her
physical attributes in bikinis or not much more in movie after movie,
yet never unveiled her most sacred mysteries. Yet here they were at my
disposal. Of course I couldn't get enough of her.

As for her attraction to me, I could only presume it was the heat of
the moment. And it only got hotter.

I gradually realized that I was no longer running the show. Though
Raquel was on the bottom, she had me so tightly gripped -- her
fingernails were digging into my back -- that I couldn't move unless
she let me. More important, I had to move when she did. And she did,
bucking furiously, her head thrashing side to side.

"Fuck me, honey," she cried. "Drive that cock into me. Come on, lover.
More, more, I ... Oh, my god, dios mio, I don't believe it!" Her hands
clawed my back; I could feel a sting but I didn't care. "Good christ,"
she screamed in a rising pitch. "It's never been like this, never,
never, ne- ... Aiiiieeee!" One more time her body convulsed, seizures
that rolled through her so many times I lost count. Her thighs clamped
around my waist, holding me immobile, deep within her cunt, which
kneaded my dick in a vigorous rhythm.

By the time her orgasm subsided I was a wet noodle, limp and lifeless
-- except for my cock, still rock-hard. But I couldn't hold myself
over her anymore; my arms ached and they trembled alarmingly when I
tried to support my body.

I had no choice. I rolled off her, my cock reluctantly popping out of
her. But I stayed close, flesh to flesh. My arm rested across her
body, which was soaking wet. So was I, | realized. Sweat had matted my
hair to my forehead; whole rivers of it were running across my chest.

Raquel still had a glow about her, still looked awesomely beautiful,
but she was clearly worn out too. Her breath came in gasps for several
minutes before it returned to normal and she could muster the energy
to turn her head so we could kiss, gently. By then the sweat was
evaporating. The fireplace had only a few flickers and it seemed a bit
chilly. I suggested my hot tub and she agreed. We both groaned as we
got up, leaning on each other for support.

Moonlight was enough for us to make our way to the tub bubbling away
in a fenced-in patio behind my side of the house. I adjusted the
controls as Raquel pulled off the cover, and we both climbed in.

Ah, bliss. My muscle aches melted away in the hot, frothing water, and
the slight sting of chlorine in the steam cleared my head. At first I
just put my head back, closed my eyes and let the tub work its magic.
After a while, though, refreshed and reinvigorated, I opened my eyes
and gazed at my tubmate.

The silvery moonlight and the dark shadows brought the sculpture of
her face into high relief, like the Ansel Adams photograph of Half
Dome hanging over my bed. And her breasts, bobbing half-exposed, had
the sheen of seal pups off the California coast.

My erection had ebbed only a bit since our passionate session in front
of the fire, and this vision before me brought it snapping back to
life. So when Raquel stood up, water streaming down her curves in
ribbons of light, and turned away from me to reach for a towel.

I got up and went to her. My arms circled her waist. "That feels
nice," she said, settling back against my body. My cock, sticking
straight out, slid into the tight crack of her ass. "Oh," she
murmured, "what do we have here? Someone not quite satisfied yet?"

My face pressed into her neck, I whispered that we didn't have to do
anything if she was too tired. In response, she grabbed my hands and
pulled them onto her breasts.

Thank heavens she was willing. Standing there like that, skin to skin
with Raquel, her smooth flesh against mine from head to toe, I don't
know if I could have been gentleman enough to resist.

I didn't have to find out. Raquel writhed in my embrace, making my
dick ride up and down in its cushy valley. I brushed the wet strands
of her hair aside to plant feathery kisses on her neck. When I slipped
my tongue into her ear, she shivered all over though the tub's steam
was all around us. "I need you in me now," she commanded.

She bent forward, her pussy presenting itself as she slid her legs
apart. I took hold of her hips and entered her slowly.

In short order we were back in synch, my cock pistoning inside her
well-oiled cunt. Fast, slow, and all the speeds in between, we rutted
away. Time and again I would feel myself near the edge and quicken the
pace, rushing toward a climax, only to have the surge subside before
its logical conclusion.

Though my own body was frustrating me again and again, I did have the
consolation that my senses were on full alert, heightening the
physical experience to an extent I'd never known. It was like a
magnifying glass was at work on my nervous system. The ripples of
passion from my cock were so intense that each thrust down to the root
in Raquel's lush tunnel flooded my closed eyes with bright explosions
of purple, orange and white. My hands, caressing her back and sides,
seemed to be communicating directly to my brain cell by cell, so rich
was the sense of touch. Think of the best morsel of food you've ever
had and remember how it felt when the flavors melted on your tongue.
That's how every second of our lovemaking was.

And still I plunged and she responded, stroke for stroke. Sweat and
steam streamed into my eyes and dripped off my nose.

I had just neared the precipice one more time, in vain, when Raquel
began to moan. Her cries rose in pitch to a keening wail and she was
quickly struck by her most violent orgasm yet, an earthquake so
powerful its convulsions almost knocked me off my feet as I struggled
to remain impaled in her.

It took at least 15 minutes for all this to settle down. I managed a
few more slow, lingering thrusts in the meantime, but it seemed as if
my body simply would not provide me the release Raquel had enjoyed
repeatedly. Like a kid sated by a surfeit of sweets, I feared I was
going to have too much of a good thing. Burying myself in her cunt
twice more, I finally forced myself to withdraw. I waded backwards
until I felt the side of the hot tub against my legs and sank down
onto the circular bench that ringed the inside. I was, to my
astonishment, still erect -- but exhausted.

Raquel, with a heavy sigh, rolled over and let herself sink into the
tub's soothing water. She had a slightly dazed look on her face as she
told me nothing like that had ever happened to her, such a series of
orgasms in one session. I admit I was proud, but I told her I couldn't
imagine how any man could fail to perform at his utmost when his
sexual partner was the incomparable Raquel Welch.

To thank me for the compliment, she moved to my side and, grabbing my
head in both hands, kissed me deeply. After a minute we broke the kiss
and her hands skittered down my torso. She froze when her fingers
brushed across my still-engorged rod. Her eyes grew wide and her lips
formed a wide O.

Without a word she maneuvered herself onto my lap, facing me. She put
me inside her and, as I sat back, proceeded to fuck me one more time.

It didn't take long before I neared the edge. But this time the
sensations did not stop. They kept building, stretching out to a
minute, two, three. The pleasure was so intense it was almost painful
and still it mounted. I felt my cock growing impossibly thicker. A
moan, one long, loud sustained exhalation, ended in a hiss of silence;
I'd run out of voice.

Finally the fever broke. The dam burst. Cum coursed through my cock
and pumped into Raquel's slit, tremendous jets of hot sticky fluid. I
filled her cunt and felt the jism overflowing her vessel, squeezing
out around my dick and boiling away into the tub. It was an amazing
release, a thousand-pound weight suddenly lifted. An orgasm like no
other.

Even after my cock deflated Raquel and I sat like that, too stunned
and too tired to do anything else.

We eventually emerged, fingers and toes all corrugated with wrinkles,
and retired to my bed.

Raquel woke me the next day around noon with a blow job that rattled
my bones. We spent the rest of that weekend in one position or
another, raiding my fridge a few times just to give us the strength to
continue.

When her husband returned to pick her up Sunday afternoon, Raquel
moved slowly, legs slightly bowed. She blamed it on too much hiking.
He tut-tutted and told her she wasn't as young as she used to be. When
he turned to get in the SUV, she blew me a kiss and gave me a wink.

I don't know if she'll ever come back. But I'll never forget that
weekend. Since then, I've had many opportunities to take on older
stars, and I've never passed one up. For that, and for that wonderful
weekend, I shall always be grateful to Raquel Welch.

LLll???

-- 
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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