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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.