Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
No. 61 Tuesday July 25, 1995
alt.stories.erotic alt.sex.stories
D R E A M G I R L S S T O R I E S
watermelon moon
Part Four
by Andrew Roller
Chapter Three
The lonely man's apartment was lit by a single lamp. He dumped
Willette on a couch and she watched as he ran to a metal cabinet. He
fished in his pocket for keys and opened the cabinet. Outside Willette
heard shooting. She knew if the cops who had pursued her couldn't stop a
car in time they would lose in any gun battle to the terrorists.
"Can you shoot?" the lonely man said to Willette. As she listened to
the shots outside he had returned to her and was pressing an Uzi into her
small hands. Not waiting for an answer, the lonely man released the Uzi
to her grasp. Then he picked up a set of plastic ear protectors and fitted
them over her head. In his own hands he held a massive machine gun.
"Get behind the couch," the lonely man ordered Willette. She
scrambled up over the top of the couch and landed behind it. The lonely
man took up position beside her.
"We'll only have one chance at this," the lonely man said. "Wait 'till
they're inside. When you see me raise my gun and start firing, you fire
too." He looked over at her. She felt small and inexperienced in his
presence. Which, in fact, she was. "Just make sure you're aiming in the
right direction," the lonely man added. Willette nodded mutely, her eyes
wide.
"Get down! I hear them coming!" the lonely man hissed. He forced
Willette's face down against the floor and crouched over her. Suddenly the
front door to the lonely man's apartment burst open. A hail of bullets
splattered the room. The single lamp was snuffed out in a shattering of
glass. Bullets tore through the back of the couch.
Willette felt the lonely man slither off her. She watched with
terror stricken eyes as he edged his way toward the end of the sofa. A
moment later and he had poked out the barrel of his gun. He fired.
Willette heard screams and rolled herself to the opposite end of the
couch. Suddenly, timidly, she stuck out her Uzi. Keeping her head behind
the couch, without looking where she was aiming, she began shooting. She
heard more screams, cursing, in Arabic. A moment later and all was
silent.
"Sir?" Willette called out in a trembling voice. She still didn't know
his name, and 'lonely man' seemed like an insult. "Sir? Did we get them?"
"There will be more," lonely man said, rising to his feet. "We must
hurry. We haven't much time." He strode forward and aimed his gun at a
computer sitting on a desk. "Get down!" lonely man called over his
shoulder to Willette. She crouched back down behind the couch but kept
her eyes on him. He fired into his computer. The machine exploded in a
shower of glass. The lonely man kept firing until the computer was
nothing but a hissing pile of shards, still charged with electrical current.
"Sir, what's going on?" Willette asked the lonely man as he strode
back over to her and seized her by the arm. He lifted her to her feet.
"I've been tracking those fuckers for a long time," the lonely man
said. He pointed to walkie talkies lying by the terrorist's dead bodies.
"See those? Their friends know where we are." An Arabic voice spoke
from one of the walkie talkies. The lonely man raised his machine gun and
fired at the walkie talkie. It blew apart like so much butter.
Willette tried not to look at the dead bodies as lonely man led her
from his apartment. A small crowd had assembled outside, mostly in
bedclothes. Peter and John were there, standing in their underwear.
Lonely man waved to the onlookers. "Nice night for some target practice,"
he said, waving his gun. The people shrank back. The lonely man opened
the door to his car and pressed Willette into the driver's side. He jumped
in behind her. A moment later and they were rushing out of sardine row.
In the distance Willette could hear sirens.
A long drive followed, with many shortcuts and switchbacks. Lonely
man seemed to be a pro at driving. Willette wondered what other hidden
talents he had. She glanced over at his arms. They were lean, but
muscular. Despite appearing to be around 30, his stomach was flat and
hard. He still displayed a full head of hair. His face was set in a look of
rigid determination. His eyes seemed less sad now. Or perhaps Willette
was only thinking they were. Willette shivered at the coolness of the
night air, at her predicament that had unwittingly thrust her into the arms
of the man she knew she loved.
"Sir?" Willette asked the lonely man in a meek voice, afraid she
might disturb his driving, get them both killed with her curiosity. "Sir,
what's your name?"
"Dick," the lonely man said without taking his eyes from the road.
"At least that's what they call me in this country. My real name is
Genesserat Al-Hatam El Sabah." Willette gulped. For a moment she feared
she had gone from the frying pan to the fire.
"Th-that sounds Arab," Willette stammered.
"It is Arab," Dick said. "I'm an Arab. I moved to America after the
situation in Kuwait was resolved. Now I work for the police department
here...in a special capacity, of course."
"NÑnegotiating to get hostages free," Willette interjected hopefully.
"Yes, and doing research on various groups around the world that
pose a threat to us here in America."
"Like those terrorists that kidnapped me?" Willette asked. Dick
laughed.
"You must be the successor to the Perils of Pauline," Dick said. "I've
never seen any girl kidnapped twice in less than a month. But then that
first incident was just a weird fluke, a stupid kid with his dad's gun who
had gotten burned once too often by his schoolmates. These terrorists,
they're different. They're here to stay."
"Wh-what do you mean?" Willette asked, struggling to stop the
trembling in her voice.
"You'll notice we aren't driving to the police station," Dick said. He
looked over at her. "You know why?"
"No," Willette said quietly.
"Just before you arrived tonight I learned a startling fact.
Researching files by modem with my computer. Those terrorists, New
World Order? They've infiltrated our police department!" Willette gasped.
"And if you think that's bad, they're in the FBI too, at least I think so. I
didn't have time to track down that end of it before you burst on the scene
with your pursuers."
"IÑI'm sorry," Willette said.
"No! It's not your fault. God, no! I've just got to set you down
someplace and ask you some questions about your former captives and
then find a safe place to stick you."
Willette reached out her hand and touched Dick's bicep. "IÑI want to
stay with you, sir," Willette said.
"Huh?" Dick kept his eyes on the road but his attention was clearly
on her. "Well, you're stuck with me right now, and me with you. But once I
find a safe place to let you off I can assure you, there's no way you're
staying with me. That's absolutely out of the question. I destroyed my
computer, but there's still other stuff on New World Order in my
apartment. I wouldn't doubt it if the very cops employed by New World
Order aren't the ones who go through the stuff in my apartment tonight. If
New World Order's men don't get there first. When they find out what I
know about them they'll want me deader than anyone else in the world,
even our president."
"Wh-why?" Willette asked. Her hand was still on his bicep.
"I'm Arab," Dick said. "I know their language, I know how they think.
That's one reason why their case was turned over to me when they first
were discovered. No doubt the CIA has files on them too, but, all modesty
aside, I'm the best when it comes to this sort of thing, even if I am only
employed by the city police department. One of the reasons I kept this
local job here is so I would seem more innocuous. One doesn't expect a
mere hostage negotiator who does a little research on the side to know all
that much. But I do."
A bit later they pulled into a motel. Willette found herself sitting
on the edge of a bed, her Uzi in her lap. She still wore only her panties,
and her heels. Dick sat on a small metal chair near the bed, and began
methodically taking apart his gun.
"Don't clean your gun until I get mine clean," Dick said. "Can't have
both of them down at once." Then he looked up. For what seemed like the
first time that night, any night, really, he suddenly realized just who she
was. "God! You don't even have any clothes on!" Dick cried. "Forgive me,
I'm so used to working with other policemen. Policewomen, whatever.
How can we get you some clothes? Do you feel safe with that gun in your
lap?" Willette nodded. She didn't want Dick to think of her as just a
frightened little girl.
"I'm fine," Willette said. "You just clean your gun. We can get me
clothes later."
"Well, put that blanket around you," Dick said, pointing to the
bedcover folded across the end of the bed. "I feel like a criminal just
looking at you."
"I'm 18," Willette protested, even as she obeyed Dick by reaching for
the blanket.
"That's nice," Dick said. "Have you even graduated from high school
yet?"
"Next month I will," Willette said, unfolding the blanket. She set the
Uzi aside, on the bedsheet next to her thigh. She wrapped the blanket
around her and shivered. Her feet still felt cold.
"I'm sorry about this," Dick said, returning to the cleaning of his gun.
"I should do better by you, but I'm in a tight jam. This motel isn't much
safer than my apartment was. It'll just give us a little breather so I can
get these guns cleaned and ready for more action. Then we're going to
have to steal somebody's car and do a lot of driving."
A little later they were both back on the road, having permanently
borrowed the automobile of some slumbering motel guest. Willette was
still in her panties and heels, but with the blanket wrapped around her
now.
"Dick?" Willette asked the man beside her.
"Yeah," Dick grunted, not taking his eyes off the road.
"WhoÑwho will help you?" Willette asked.
"Help me? You mean, fight the New World Order? I don't know.
Probably nobody. I don't know who I can trust."
"You can trust me," Willette said quietly.
"You? Well of course I trust you," Dick said. He patted Willette
reassuringly on her thigh. "Your skin's cold," Dick said. He looked over at
her. "I'm worried about you. We've got to get you a hot bath and tucked
into bed."
"Don't worry about me," Willette said. "I can shoot my Uzi at those
crooks and I can keep warm in this blanket. Some of me, anyway. And I
want to help you fight against New World Order. At least, I don't want to
see you get killed by them."
"I don't want to see me get killed by them either," Dick said,
returning his eyes to the road. "But I'm even more worried about you."
"Well, don't worry about me," Willette said, and she leaned over and
rested her head on Dick's shoulder. "You can protect me, and I can protect
you, and together we'll both come out of this alive." Willette gave a sigh
and closed her eyes. A moment later she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Four
"It's hard for me," Dick said as he sat on an overstuffed chair in a
hotel room they had checked into.
"What's hard for you, Dickie?" Willette asked. She had just stepped
from the bathroom. She was dripping wet and totally naked.
Dick rose and walked over to Willette. He took her by the arm. He
walked her back to his chair and sat down, putting her on his knee. Now
she was getting somewhere! Dick looked at her sternly.
"One," Dick said. "My young wife was killed by New World Order. In a
terrorist attack, several years ago, in the Middle East. You're not going to
get killed by them too. Two, your running around naked and inviting me to
sleep with you and take showers with you and stuff like that is starting to
get to me. I am a man, you know."
"I know that, Dickie," Willette said softly.
"I swore never to have anything to do with women again until I'd
taken revenge on New World Order for my wife's death," Dick said. "And I
haven't. But, and this is point number three, you're not even a woman."
Willette frowned, clearly offended. "Well, I apologize for that," Dick
continued. "Sure you look like a woman, but you just turned 18 last month.
And you won't even be able to drink in this state for another three years!"
"I could move to another state," Willette pouted.
"There's precious few of them left where an 18-year-old can drink,"
Dick said.
"I've been drinking since I was 10," Willette said. "So there." She
stuck out her tongue.
"If you were my daughter I'd slap you," Dick said. His hand drifted
down to her bare thigh. "And spank you, for drinking at such a young age."
"Perhaps you should, Dickie," Willette said. "It is very naughty for a
little 10-year-old girl to be drinking, isn't it? Especially when she knows
she's not supposed to?"
"Well, now that you know my condition I only want one thing from
you," Dick said. "Stop running around naked, O.K.? Wear a chador or
something." He rose and slipped her off his knees. Willette stood and
brushed back her blonde mane with her hands.
"This is the way God made me," Willette said, thrusting out her
breasts impudently.
"I'd put you over my knee right now but I know that's just what you
want," Dick said.
"It would give you pleasure to see my little nude body squirming on
my lap, wouldn't it, Dickie," Willette asked. She put her hands on her hips
and gave them a little wriggle. "Then you would be violating your promise
to your wife." Suddenly Dick slapped Willette hard across the face. She
reeled back from him. Tears welled up in her eyes. She put her hand to her
injured cheek.
"I take my promise to my wife very seriously, little girl," Dick said.
He advanced on her, and Willette retreated. Her back pressed up against a
wall. "When I find someplace I can dump you I'm going to dump you, hear?
And until then I expect you to dress reasonably modestly, to preserve my
sanity and keep every man in town from reporting that we passed through."
"Yes, sir," Willette said, tears streaming down her face.
"And don't call me 'sir,' Godammit! I'm not your master, I'm not your
boyfriend, I'm not anything to you! I'm just Dick. A cop. A lost old cop
trying to reap some small measure of justice in an increasingly fucked up
world." Dick turned away. "Drinking at age 10! I can't believe you
American girls."
Willette said nothing more to Dick that afternoon. She sat curled up
in a corner, reading a glamor magazine, furtively looking up now and then
to watch Dick as he plotted their potential escape routes on a map.
Occasionally he would write on a pad of paper supplied by the hotel. When
writing, he seemed to be drawing a lot from memory. As if trying to write
down passwords, access codes, relationships of people and telephone
numbers before he forgot them. Sometimes Dick would just sit and stare
out the window, oblivious to Willette, who sat in a corner just to one side
of the window. The previous day Dick had given her some money to buy
clothes. Perhaps the reason he was so upset was because she had spent
half his money on lingerie. Perhaps that was why he had chewed her out
so fiercely two hours earlier. And slapped her. Willette knew he had not
meant to do that. She could see the regret in his eyes even as he drew
back his hand from her face. But she had been sassy about his wife. She
wished she could experience love as deeply as Dick obviously had.
That night, at dinner, Willette could stand the silence no longer.
They were seated in a lovely section of the hotel's restaurant that was lit
only by candles. The waiter had seated them in a small booth, although
Dick had asked for a table. The waiter had said the only tables were in the
smoking section of the restaurant. Dick had looked at Willette, and she
had nodded her head no. "Non-smoking, sure," Dick had muttered to her.
"I'm sure you've been drinking since age 10 but haven't ever touched a
cigarette in your life."
Willette looked up at Dick. He seemed somber as he cut his steak.
He looked down at his plate, cutting vigorously, almost as if the steak
were a New World Order terrorist. As soon as he had put one piece of
steak in his mouth he quickly chewed it and, without looking up, went for
another.
"Dick?" Willette asked. The man didn't answer. "Dick?" Willette
asked again. "What did your wife look like?" Dick looked up. He looked
exasperated.
"You're just not going to let me alone, are you?" Dick asked.
"No, Dickie, I love you," Willette said in a hushed voice. "And if that
makes you slap me again, so be it." Dick slumped back in his chair. His
eyes softened.
"My wife looked just like you," Dick said. His eyes gazed steadily at
Willette. The blonde gulped.
"Some wine, sir?" a waitress asked, suddenly bouying up to the table.
Dick looked up at her.
"Your finest," Dick said. "Bring me your finest."
"Just one glass, sir?" the waitress asked, taking down his order.
"No, two," Dick said. "She's 21."
"Of course, sir," the waitress said, and hurried off with his order.
Willette gulped.
"Your wife looked just like me?" Willette asked.
"Yes," Dick said. There was no resistance left in him now. "Just like
you. Same eyes, same hair, same...body. Same age, too. I married her
when she was just 18. She was an Ex-Pat in Jordan and I had a great job
there. Then New World Order struck."
"HowÑhow old are you now, Dickie?" Willette asked.
"Thirty-five," Dick replied. "Though I probably look younger. I was
twenty-nine when I married my wife. We had a great two years together.
She died at age 20."
"Did you have, did you have any children?" Willette asked.
"No," Dick said. "We were still enjoying just being with each other."
"I see," Willette said.
There was a tension between them when they regained the hotel
room. The conversation at dinner had turned very intimate. Dick had
spoken of his relationship with his former wife, Diane; Willette had talked
of past affairs with boyfriends. When they entered the room it was clear
they were not the same two people who had left it. Both of them knew
what Nature now expected of two virile young people left alone in a hotel
room. Nature cared nothing for dead wives.
"I don't think we should sleep here tonight," Dick observed.
"Dickie," Willette said softly. "I know we're safe here. Safe from
the TERRORISTS." Her emphasis on the word 'terrorists' was not for
nothing.
"You heard me say we'd be safe sleeping here tonight, did you?" Dick
asked. "Well, maybe I've changed my mind." Willette walked up to him and
pressed herself against him.
"Changed your mind, Dickie?" Willette asked. "For what reason?"
"Well, giving you a good night's sleep is more important than any
concerns I may have," Dick said. His hand brushed Willette's hip. "Alright,
we'll stay here. You're right. We'll be safe from TERRORISTS here for the
night."
"Thank you, Dickie," Willette said. She lightly kissed his chest. She
wished his shirt wasn't in the way. "And if you need to keep me up for any
reason, don't hesitate," Willette said. Dick gave a sigh.
"Try not to wear any lingerie that's too revealing," Dick breathed.
"I'll try, Dickie, I promise," Willette said. She kissed his chest once
more and then stepped back.
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