Chapter 10
Best in the West
Having said good-bye to Scott, T found that the flight I was due to take back to London had been delayed for four days. Without letting Scott know I was still in town, I telephoned a friend of mine in San Francisco. Lionel wasn't exactly a lifelong friend. He had in fact been a passenger on a flight I had done to Rome and back. He was on the aircraft on the return flight to London, and we'd managed to chat, as the flight was only half full (which was most extraordinary for a charter). I liked him immensely at first sight. He was a very cool gentleman. He was American, impeccably dressed, tall, and dark with a broad nose and a brilliant toothpaste-ad smile. His hands fascinated me most of all. He used them a lot when he talked, and I couldn't take my eyes off them. His fingers were as long and elegant as super-luxury-length cigarettes, the nails manicured to perfection and scrupulously clean. In the course of our conversation I asked him what he did for a living and was not surprised to find out that he was a surgeon. He had a fine, deep, very educated voice with only the faintest hint of an American accent.
We had swapped names and addresses and extended reciprocal invitations to each other. I had hoped our friendship would blossom into romance in London, but he was catching another flight straight home, and I had to content myself with the thought that I would get to San Francisco soon to see him. I was glad that he would be delighted to see me and have me stay with him as a guest as long as possible. My heart was beating in my breast at the thought of seeing Lionel again and of all the lovely things we would be doing to each other. For there wasn't the slightest doubt in my mind that he was as eager to get my panties off as I was to take them off for him.
I stepped off the aircraft and hurried to the arrivals hall as fast as my feet would carry me. I saw him immediately, head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd. He brushed his lips across my forehead in greeting, and I went moist all over at the nearness and smell of this divine man. He grabbed hold of my small overnight case (that was all the luggage I had for my three-day stay), took me by the other hand, and led me out to his car.
I looked at his strong masculine profile as we drove at high speed along the roads, which were as steep as mountain slopes. He was even lovelier than I remembered. We flashed past cable cars packed to overflowing with people hanging precariously from all sides. I had already fallen a little in love with Lionel, but absolutely head over heels in love with San Francisco. It was a joyous, vibrant place teeming with all sorts of humanity-people of every color, race, and creed. The sight of the gigantic Golden Gate Bridge took my breath away. The magnificence of its superstructure looked as though no mere mortals had built it, but rather that some giant god had brought it down from the skies and carefully and lovingly put it in its resting place. The shops and restaurants abounding on Fisherman's Wharf were a delight to the eye and an onslaught to the senses. I was deliriously happy with so much loveliness next to me in the car and such pulchritude all around me. Things were looking more than a little bright. I was dazzled by everything.
We arrived at Lionel's home, which was as impeccable as the man himself. All the rooms were a blend of white and brown with an occasional flash of yellow or orange. What is very unusual for a bachelor abode, there were flowers in each room, all toned in with the color scheme. Lionel showed me to the guest room and told me to make myself completely at home. It was early evening, and unfortunately he was on night duty and had to leave me, but he had managed to get a couple of days' leave so he would be entirely at my disposal. He kissed me good-bye gently on the lips and let one of his fine hands brush almost accidentally over my left breast. My nipple immediately shot up. I was surprised to see it hadn't pierced a hole in the thin material of my T-shirt. Then he left, leaving me with one nipple up and excited, and the other neglected, down and sad.
I made myself completely at home as he had instructed. I had a shower, wrapped myself in one of the enormous chocolate-brown towels, and went to the refrigerator. It was packed with all sorts of goodies. I made myself a light, fluffy cheese omelet, a mountain of green salad, and opened a half-bottle of some delicious dry white wine. I settled myself in front of the large color TV and had a marvelous evening flicking the remote-control switches from channel to channel. The wine made me sleepy, and I crawled in between the sweet-smelling yellow sheets. I let my hand stray down between my thighs and started imagining it was Lionel's exquisite hand and fingers that were playing with my pussy. As I worked myself up, I thought of how Lionel's body must look when he was naked. I pretended he was there with his skin gleaming like satin in the soft lighting. He was like some proud warrior-the last of a great race. In my reveries he was commanding me to spread my legs and play with my pubes and push my fingers deep into my juicy love cave while he watched, silent, erect, and proud. Soon I was moaning and thrashing about in the sheets as my body became totally committed to the fingers that were working within my cunt. It seemed as though I had hours of pleasure before I went into the final throes of orgasm. I was wrapped in a dark, warm blanket of sensuous self-indulgence. My body started to vibrate as I came and kept coming thinking of Lionel. When I was done I opened my eyes expecting to see Lionel standing over me, but I was quite alone. I drifted off to sleep and I dreamed wild erotic dreams of Lionel.
I was awakened at eight in the morning by the sound of someone entering my room. For a moment I thought I was back in my New York hotel, and the waiter was bringing me breakfast. It wasn't a waiter, but Lionel, the center of my erotic dreams, bearing a tray. The only garment he was wearing was a short white towel (and a smile) tied around his torso above which his ebony chest and arms gleamed. He deposited the tray on the table by the bed and bowed low to me and said, "Have brought missy breakfast. Missy wake up now, please." He laughed with wicked glee and came and sat on the bed beside me.
I looked at the tray. He passed me a huge half of an orange which had been cut like a grapefruit. I was very thirsty and gulped down a large segment of orange. It was ice-cold and fiery hot all at once on the back of my throat. Lionel was watching my face intently.
"You've doctored my orange," I blurted out accusingly at him.
"Yes, indeedy," he replied.
"What did you do to it?" I asked with great interest while I gobbled up the rest of the orange at terrific speed.
He got off the bed and left the room and returned with a mighty syringe. He approached me as though he was going to stick it in me. I cowered under the bedclothes.
"It's okay," he said. "Don't be alarmed. It's not for you. I just fill the syringe with vodka and inject it through the skin of the oranges. Then I put the fruit in the fridge over night and eat them in the morning," he explained.
"I know," I said. "Don't tell me you like to start the day with a bang," I added.
"You bet your sweet ass I do!" Lionel replied. "Move over and let me into your bed and between your luscious legs!"
In my haste to accommodate him I dropped my orange to the floor. It tasted fabulous, but the thought of Lionel's bold black tool penetrating my pink lower lies was much more thrilling. With a graceful flick of the wrist he dropped his towel. I bit my lips so that I wouldn't yell for joy at the sight that confronted me, but he only allowed me a fleeting glimpse of a sizable tool and a wiry black tuft before he slid with deer-like grace between the sheets. His flesh was cool and firm against my warm body. It was like going to bed with a beautiful sonnet. Every movement, every touch was executed with ease, elegance and skill. The antiseptic smell of hospitals still lingered on his body, but it blended beautifully with his own sensational unique fragrance.
He wasn't too rough or too gentle. He led, and I followed. He threw back the sheets. What turned me on immediately was the color of his skin against mine. After my week's "rest" in the south of France I had a reasonable tan, but as his black limbs entwined with mine I resembled a pale arum lily. His superb hands closed over my breasts. I lay back, hardly able to move, so overcome was I at the sight of his hands going over my body at long last. He touched and stroked every hillock, vale, and deep valley until I was a quivering wreck. His soft skin slid over mine with all the ease of a serpent slithering through the grass. I put my hands on his buttocks. They felt like two smooth firm apples.
Lionel lay on top of me, breathing kisses of fire into my ever-ready mouth. His hands pushed my hair back from my forehead, and his tongue slid down my throat. It's very true that the unusual or the unique is often more exciting than the norm. Everything was a new sensation with Lionel. His cock had by now found its way between my thighs. It felt as though it had been spun by silkworms, but it also felt as though its base was embedded in a Brillo pad. As with the contrast in skin colors, the chafing of his wiry pubes against my soft satiny ones was making by blood boil over. I must be fair and say that part of my great excitement was due to the fact that he was and felt totally different from any other man I had been to bed with. All my senses were heightened. What could have been an ordinary lay became an exceptional one. He wasn't the most superb lover of all time, but he had fantastic fluidity of movement. Everything coordinated and clicked.
He moved down and spread my legs apart. I wasn't really interested in whether or not he had perfected the art of cunnilingus. I was too turned on by the sight of his black head and face wedged between my translucent thighs to care what he did with his tongue. As it happened, his tongue did a great job, but the thought of the tip of his purple-headed penis pushing into my rose-pink cunt was becoming too much. I'd waited all night for this moment. I put my hand down to his cock and gave it a tug which brought his head up and his body over me. I parted my legs until I thought I would split in two halves and lay back and waited. He no sooner entered me than I came, gulping in great gasps of air. He held me close until I had finished, and then he started toward his own pleasure peak.
Never once did he jerk or thrust too violently. like a well-oiled piston he moved silently in and out. As his cock reached its full penetration I felt the rubbing and rasping of his wiry tuft against me. It would leave me briefly, then grind and grate against me. I put my arms around his neck and pulled his mouth to mine. I kissed, licked, and sucked his lips. Then I ran my fingers down his strong black back until I reached the rise of his buttocks. With faster movements, but still as graceful as ever, he rode until he spewed forth into me. He stayed on top, and after a few minutes of perfect peace and solitude he withdrew and lay panting at my side. Then he picked me up in his arms and carried me to the shower. He soaped and hosed me down all over, aiming the strong jet of water straight between my legs. I cried out as the cold jet of water shot up me. Lionel pulled me to him and gave me a wet kiss. Then he dried me with great care, and I sat on the edge of the tub watching him as he dried his magnificent body.
We both dressed in jeans and T-shirts, and Lionel made us some coffee and eggs. Over breakfast we discussed what we should do with the golden day that lay ahead of us.
"I know," he said. "Would you like to go sailing?" he asked.
"I'd love that," I replied.
He made a phone call to a friend who had a boat, and he said we could borrow it with pleasure. Therefore we set off with a picnic lunch and a few bottles of wine. We went to a marina situated near the Golden Gate Bridge. I know absolutely nothing about boats except that they make me sick with the slightest of rolling motions. The boat Lionel had borrowed was a super-luxury speedboat with a closed-in cabin all done out with navy blue carpet cosseting ceiling, walls, and floor. There was a long curved settee which was very soft to the touch. It was made of a deep navy blue leather.
We sailed all day on a sea as smooth and unwrinkled as Lionel's ass. Then we returned to our mooring. We sat and talked and drank until midnight. We found we had run out of ciggies. We were both in the mood for more cigarettes and wine. I noticed that the lights in the boat next door were on, and a great cacophony of music was blaring from the portholes.
The boat was one of the weirdest sights imaginable. Its decks were covered with plants and flowers. The curtains were a chintzy mess of multicolored flowers. It made me think of the African Queen. At any moment one might expect to see Katharine Hepburn or Humphrey Bogart appear on deck. Lionel said he would go in and ask to borrow twenty cigarettes until we could replace them in the morning. I watched as he disappeared into the bowels of the boat.
Suddenly he dashed back out, but with no cigarettes in his hand. "Quick, Fiona!" he exclaimed. "You must come and have a look at this."
All I had on was a white shirt of Lionel's. We went onto the boat together. I went first down the steep ladder that led to the large saloon. The scene that confronted me was nightmarish. I stood stock still and looked around the large cluttered smoke-filled saloon. The flower theme had been continued there with even greater gusto than on the decks. The decor was a horrific mess; the curtains, cushions, and carpets were all of clashing floral patterns, and a potted plant stood on every available ledge. They obviously thrived on this sort of atmosphere.
The people there were even more extraordinary than the decor. There was a sprinkling of elderly would-be hippies, including a very strange Englishwoman in her forties called Vinnie. She looked so out of place one could picture her at an English garden party on a softly undulating green lawn with the pungent smell of new-mown hay in the air. She would have looked much more at home seated in the shade of a spreading chestnut tree, presiding over a silver teapot, bone china cups, and wafer-thin cucumber sandwiches instead of sitting drunk out of her mind on this floating greenhouse.
There was a dark girl sitting cross-legged on the floor at a low table. In front of her was a small polyethylene bag containing a quantity of pot. She never said a word or smiled, but sat rolling joints and passing them out to the waiting hands with all the speed of someone doing piecework on a factory floor. There was a white-haired elderly American who was grabbing the joints with the same eagerness I might grab hold of a cock which appealed to me. Vinnie was also having a deep drag whenever the opportunity presented itself. I stood very close to Lionel and was delighted to see that, like me, he refused to partake of the pot.
There was an assortment of young people dancing together. Mostly, though it was hard to distinguish, boys were dancing with boys and girls with girls. One pair ,of girls were particularly outstanding in their appearance, movements, and behavior. Their pussies appeared to have been stuck together with glue, but their sensuous, lithe, almost boobless top halves swayed and gyrated to the pounding rhythm. The butch number had on very tight jeans and a man's shirt, and her very short hair was blow-dried back off her high-cheek-boned, haughty face. She drew on her joint like a man. Her partner was one of the sexiest movers I have ever seen. She was as slim as the slimmest of reeds, with an abundance of long dark hair flowing down her back. The front of her long blue dress barely covered her tiny breasts while the back of it started well below the crack in her bottom. I was fascinated as I watched them kiss each other full on the mouth and caress each other's pert pink nipples.
I took a quick look at Lionel and saw from his expression and the way he was clutching his glass he was terribly turned on. I dropped my eyes to his jeans and saw his cock was almost through the tight material. When I reverted my eyes reluctantly to the girls they were naked and rolling on the floor. They were in the sixty-nine position, and the bull dyke's fair head was at work between the bird's legs while she in turn was eating her partner. Their sighs of pleasure were barely audible above the blare of the music. They both came up for air, and the butch lady got on top of the slim girl and kissed and caressed her boobs.
"Isn't it simply spiffing," said Vinnie in a loud, frightful English voice and immediately plunged into her pot.
By now the dyke had her fingers right up her lover's cunt. The other girl was turning and tossing. She grabbed the hand that was giving her pleasure and forced it further and further inside until I thought she would suck the whole arm up. As fast as lightening-like a conjuror producing a magic stick-an enormous vibrator appeared in the other lesbian's hand. She roughly turned her over and jammed the thing up the cunt where her hand had been. As she repeatedly rammed home the vibrator, she masturbated herself.
I looked around. No one gave any outward signs of enjoying this happening. They all sat or stood with completely bland and bored expressions on their faces. I looked back at Lionel. He was having the time of his life. The sight of the bulge in his pants was turning me on. Everyone started to do their own thing, and now there was a daisy chain of fellas in a cocksucking circle. Watching them didn't do a thing for me, and I noticed after the first cursory glance Lionel never once gave them a second look. I couldn't get over the fact that there was no excitement and joy. Always having gotten so much fun and happiness out of sex myself, I found it upsetting that although all the people there were doing what pleased them most, there was no real rapture. Then-motions were almost mechanical. One could have stumbled into a toy shop where all the wooden dolls had been wound up and kept going until they ran out of steam.
Lionel made no attempt to get in on the action, and there was no way I wanted to share his divinely proportioned body with anyone, male or female. I threaded my arm through his so that he would remember my presence and remember my cunt which had given him such a warm welcome that morning. I looked at my watch. It was one a.m., so it was yesterday morning since I had been so beautifully laid and been sucked by him. I began to get agitated. I wanted him. but not here in this sad, seedy atmosphere. I suddenly had a desperate need for some fresh air. Before I could pass this wish on to Lionel, somebody came up behind me and took a firm hold of my left tit. I started involuntarily at the unexpectedness of this action. I never knew if the hand that was feeling my breast was male or female, for Lionel turned with an expression of horror at what was happening. He grabbed my hand and ran through the smoke-filled forest of funny foliage.
We didn't stop running until we gained the comparative safety of our boat. Lionel locked the door and turned to me. We both started to giggle simultaneously.
"Wow, what a lot of weirdoes!" I said. "That high-falutin' Englishwoman sitting with one eye looking one way and one the other shouting. 'Absolutely sniffing!' made me split my sides," I continued, giving his hard cock a playful tweak. "You're nearly splitting your strides. Did those lezzies turn you on?" I asked.
"You can see they did," he said, "but the thought that after watching them I was going to fuck you was an added bonus."
True to his word, he stepped out of his jeans. His superb tool was immediately visible, as he was wearing no underpants. I fell to my knees and greedily gobbled at his spirited stick, shafting it into my mouth in the same avaricious way a monkey might gulp down a banana. Oh, but he tasted and smelled much better than the finest banana. I bore down on him until his prickly pubes were irritating the end of my nose. I withdrew a little so that I could look up into his face. He looked down at me and flashed his white teeth. Erotic thoughts flooded into my mind. I was a slave girl giving my powerful black master the taste of pleasure he had commanded.
"Hold on, honey," he said. "I'm about to shoot my wad down your throat, and I want to be inside you." I let him go, giving his manhood one last tender lingering lick.
He pushed me to the floor and pushed up my shirt until it was a tangled mass around my neck. He entered me urgently, but as gracefully as always, and boy, was I ready! His mouth met mine. Our skin and bodies became one body which had all its own thoughts and feelings concentrated in one area. It was a joyous, loving, memorable fuck, nothing akin to the sad clockwork figures fornicating next door. We rose and fell together. Suddenly I let go. All I was conscious of was Lionel's black body and his scorching red rod searing into me. I thought my cunt had been penetrated by one of the hot rays from the sun itself. We came crying out together, wallowing in our combined rapture.
The thrill, passion, and sheer abandonment of our bodies given to each other for each other's pleasure had spread an untold feeling of joy through us. We awoke together, still lying on the floor, to a brilliant sun-basked San Francisco morning. We showered and went to find a place for breakfast. After breakfast we went back to the boat to pack up our few belongings and to return the pack of cigarettes we had borrowed from the African Queen. As we approached the boat we could see the only occupant appeared to be the amply proportioned Vinnie. She had managed to cram a few of her many folds of white flesh into a tiny floral (of course!) bikini.
"Co-ee-ee, luvs," she bellowed. "Jolly fine morning, I say, what?"
She was sitting in a chair with a Bloody Mary in one hand and a large bowl of beans balanced on her plump knees. She was still as soused as a newt, for she was trying hopelessly to cut the beans up with a pair of scissors. As the other hand was in perpetual motion to her mouth, she was having no success with the beans. Trying very hard not to laugh, I plonked the ciggies in front of her and thanked her for a delightful evening.
"Drop by any time, luvs," she said.
We got our things, and we walked away to the echoing strains of Vinnie's high-pitched "By-ee-ee!" As soon as we were out of earshot, we collapsed with laughter.
"I must say I like that old biddy. She's obviously happy sunk in an alcoholic stupor forever," I said, and he replied, "She's certainly quite a character."
All too soon it was time for me to dash off to New York and back to the grindstone. Tony was very sweet and helpful on the return flight. The other two girls still went in fear and trembling of him, and he was vile to them. They couldn't for the life of them understand how I got on with him and actually liked him. Silly cows! We fed and watered the passengers and put them to bed for the night sector back to London.
I was on duty and must have dropped off to sleep sitting on the jump seat in the galley, for the next thing I knew, one of the passengers was shaking my shoulder. He apologized for waking me, but the man next to him was having an epileptic fit. I grabbed a handful of paper toweling and ran down the darkened cabin. Sure enough, this fellow was foaming at the mouth and turning the most terrible color. I twisted the towels around to form a hard band and managed to get them between his teeth. He was thrashing about. I couldn't move him to a place where he could continue to thrash about without hurting himself, as there was just nowhere for him to go. So I padded the arms of his seat with blankets and moved the two other passengers next to him into the forward compartment. I sat with him, and without restraining him I tried to make sure he didn't come to too much harm. Gradually the thrashing ceased, and the foaming stopped, and he fell into a noisy sleep. When he awoke about half an hour later, he knew nothing about his fit. I gave him a drink of water and kept a close watch on him for the rest of the flight. We landed in the early hours with no further incidents. Tony and I swapped phone numbers so we could get together sometime.
When I got back to the flat, the other girls were in a great state of excitement.
"A black limousine with a chauffeur and a sheik in full regalia has been calling here for you four times a day for the last two days!" Jackie exclaimed. "All the neighbors have been hanging out of the windows watching every movement. What have you been up to?" she asked.
"Nothing," I replied. "Did he leave a message?" I asked.
"Only that he'd keep calling until he saw you, and he left this parcel for you," she answered, handing me a small heavy parcel. They all crowded around while I proceeded to open it. Out fell the familiar gold bracelet. I dropped it on the table in disgust. The others grabbed it and examined it minutely and said it was worth a small fortune! I didn't care, and I wasn't interested in Fahid and his friends. I left it with them and went to bed, but I was awakened about six p.m. by the sound of the doorbell ringing.
I sleepily put on a robe and opened the door. There was Fahid flashing his gold teeth at me.
"Hello," I said.
"Did you get my gift?" he asked.
"Yes indeed," I replied. "Hold on a moment," I said. I went into the kitchen, picked up the bracelet, and plunked it into his hand. "I'm very tired," I said. "I've just arrived back from New York, and I need plenty of sleep because of the time difference," I explained.
"I'll call for you tomorrow," he replied, "and we can lunch together," he added.
"Thank you, but no," I said, but he was very persistent.
"I insist! You must come," he said.
I thought to myself, how the hell am I going to dump this odious little man? He was clinging to me like a vine. "Okay," I replied. "I'll have lunch with you tomorrow, and then that's it!" He smiled and left.
The next day I got out of bed and wearily dressed for lunch. At one p.m. the doorbell rang. The chauffeur bowed and said, "I've come to collect you, miss."
I got into the back of the car, and off we drove. We pulled up outside the hotel, and the chauffeur accompanied me to a fabulous suite on the top floor. The door was ajar, and Fahid was sitting there with his shirtmaker, ordering thirty-six pure silk shirts to take back to Kuwait. Eventually we were served an exquisite lunch. The conversation was stilted at first, but the more I talked with Fahid, the more I realized what a highly intelligent man he was and a great conversationalist, too. When the waiters had left us with our coffee, he motioned for me to sit on the sofa beside him. I went across the room to him, thinking that this is where I would have to start fending his wandering mitts off my body, but nothing of the sort happened. He had a proposition to put to me. He had a house in Geneva, Paris, and Kuwait and was just about to buy a property in London off Park Lane.
"Come and have a look at it," he implored.
The house was quite fabulous and included everything one could ever have needed-a superb drawing room, an excellent dining room, six divine bedrooms (each with a private bath), a sauna, an elevator, and staff quarters, as he intended keeping a permanent staff. He visited the UK only a couple of times a year, and his proposition was that I should live in the house and any of the other houses in Europe. I would be free to have anyone I desired and to entertain whomever I wished, provided I made myself available to him on the odd occasion he was in England. A Maserati would be delivered to my doorstep in the morning, and the facilities of an account at Harrods to purchase whatever I wanted would be placed at my disposal.
We went back to the hotel. I was quite fond of this funny little fellow by now, but not in a sexual way. I couldn't bed down with him for all the oil in Arabia! The gold bracelet was pressed on me again. I declined once more, thanked him for a marvelous lunch and told him very firmly that I liked him, but would never, never consider being his mistress. He took the news too calmly.
"We'll see about that," he said.
"Look," I said angrily, "I've made up my mind. I'll certainly have lunch or dinner with you anytime you're in town, but bed is definitely out of the question." I said my good-byes and left.
I got back to the apartment, and the girls were all agog to hear what had been happening to me. They said that I was mad to refuse his offer. They said that they could come and live with me in the lap of luxury. I said that that would be great, but only on one condition, that we all took it in turns to be his lay! They were horrified by the idea and backed down immediately so that was that. I've never regretted it for a single moment. I had refused one of the world's richest men because I didn't imagine him physically. In spite of all his worldly wealth and fabulous possessions, he simply wasn't for me. When I gave myself to somebody, I really go overboard in my own sweet way. I never did like sand in my pussy, and there was sure to be sand on his cock. He pestered me for a few more weeks, but I've never heard from him since. I often see his name in the newspapers, so I guess he managed to stock his London harem to his satisfaction.