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theGreatxIam

Silver Surfer #6:
This Is the Story of a Lovely Lady
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.

Tommy G., Pittsburgh

It is so rad that there are other guys who get off on
old stars. 

OK, so this is how I got started. Well,  it's actually
my only story, but now I got hopes. So, here goes.

First, I'm 18. And I love Nick at Nite. Like who
doesn't, right? And so when they had this contest and
the winners got a free cruise with Nick stars, I was
like, me for that! So I riff through the questions on
the phone-in quiz and the stuff after that and next
thing you know I'm packing for Miami.

Now, there are other shows on Nick and I suppose some
people really like them, but for me there's nothing
like the greatest TV show ever made. Which is the
"Brady Bunch," right? Naturally.

So I am, like, stoked when I hear who's going to be on
board.

Everybody at school watches the Bunch. Everybody who
matters, anyway. And most of the guys have their
favorite. Some of  'em go for Marcia, which is totally
bogus because she's so stuck up she's only going to go
with, like, the quarterback or something. Other guys go
for Jan, which is probably because all the losers seek
each other out. There's even one guy who says he has
the hots for Alice, but he's a stoner and I think he's
got her confused with Alice Cooper, who is actually
this old dude who was, like, a rock singer with this
whole Rocky Horror thing going on like, ages ago.

But a few of us with real taste worship the most
beautiful Brady of them all: Carol. Which is why I was
out of my head when they said it was for real: Florence
Henderson -- that's her real-life name -- was coming on
the cruise.

Yeah, she's married and all, but, I figured, her
husband's gotta be some old dude, right? I mean, the
lady herself is just this side of 70. So what are the
odds she's gonna pass up a shot with a guy who could
actually get it up? Meaning me. I ain't no Adam Sandler
or nothing in the looks department, but I'm in decent
shape and all.

The first day on board is kinda a pisser, on account of
they got us all scheduled with shit so you get your 15
minutes to meet all the stars and your 30 minutes to
eat lunch and there are these Nick people all over the
place so I barely even get a chance to see her. And in
the evening there's a party but I get trapped in a
corner with some old guy who must be out of it because
he claims he's been on every show ever -- I mean, "Love
Boat" and "Get Smart" and even something called "That
Girl." Yeah, right.

By the time I peel loose of this guy the party's over
and no Flo. There were some other chicks around,
though, and I spend a little time ogling the teeny
bikinis around the pool -- Erin Moran, the sister from
"Happy Days," that snarky waitress from "Cheers" -- not
the short ugly one, the one who tanked in the movies
(like she could replace the divine Miss Henderson --
not!), and the hotter of the two daughters from "Family
Ties." Between them and some of the babes who won the
cruise like me, I get a boner like a fencepost and I'm
tempted to put a move on somebody, but I swore I'd hold
off for Florence so I head to my cabin to slam the
sausage for relief. Only my bunkmate is there, a total
loser who must've stumbled onto the contest by mistake
when he forgot to turn off the tube after
"SquarePants." I have to head into the head to beat the
meatles but SpongeBob pounds on the door after five
minutes so I give up and go to bed with a major case of
blue balls.

Up the next morning and the john smells worse than a
fat kid's gym locker. I almost rip off a technicolor
yawn before the air clears. SpongeBob comes walking in
with his shirt already covered with breakfast stains
and doesn't even apologize when he walks past me and
lays down a major fartillery barrage. I yank on my
clothes like, pronto Tonto, and hi-yo the hell out of
there.

Up on deck, bingo -- no, not Flo, I mean most of the
oldies on board are playing bingo with some greasy
British dude babbling on. So I climb up to the top deck
to get away from the gab and maybe scarf some fresh
air.

It's pretty empty up there, a bunch of plastic deck
chairs and just a few folks lying around. I go over
toward one side to snag a chair but as I'm passing some
woman lying down with a big straw hat over her face she
reaches out and taps me on the leg and asks me for a
rum and Coke.

I'm all set to say get it yourself when she lifts the
lid and, yeah, it's Her! Mrs. Brady. In the flesh!
Well, mostly. I mean, all she's got on is a white
one-piece bathing suit, and it's cut high on the hips
and low in the chest and I'm, like, sproing! Paging Mr.
Allen, we've got a woody!

Florence is no Britney, but she sure as hell ain't bad
for an old broad. Overlook a few varicose veins and her
legs are fantastic. Her body's still got all her
curves, with nice-sized mounds spilling out on top.
Yeah, there are an awful lot of freckles on her chest,
and she's got some of that Ruffles-have-rrridges stuff
going on at her elbows, around the eyes and such. But
her smile's still 200 watts and, like the man said, in
the dark it don't matter if the pussy's gray. Or
something like that.

So, anyway, she squints at me and puts on a pair of
silver sunglasses. 

Then she's all, Oh, you aren't the waiter. But I'm
like, that's OK, I'll get it. And she's like, no, I
wouldn't impose, I'm sorry, that stuff. And I go, hey,
anything for Mrs. Brady. And she goes, no, really. Then
I go, 's OK. And she's like, that's kind of you, but.

It was all back-and-forth like passing around the check
at Denny's, you know? But finally we cut the shit and I
actually got to talk to her, and I was all, nice
weather, and she was all, yes, it is. Cool, huh?

Now, the only hitch was I had a tentpole in my shorts I
didn't want her to see -- not yet, anyway. So I'm
hiding behind another chair, moving my hands around,
trying to cover up, and that makes it tough to
concentrate on what I'm saying.

Florence, though, is, like, Miss Congeniality. Smiling,
friendly, even laughs at something I say that comes out
sort of like a joke. So it's like, no big shock that my
boner's going bonkers by now. Whose wouldn't, right?
Sexy older woman who's actually nice to you? I can
smell the Downy on the sheets already. I'm gonna get me
a Brady.

But just when I'm trying to think of ways to steer the
conversation in the right direction, some poindexter
from Nick bobs up and says Mrs. Henderson needs to join
everyone in the Mambo Lounge for some kind of meet and
mingle. Hey, like she isn't mingling already? And I'll
show her some meat. But the guy hauls her off. I try to
get into the thing, but some suit at the door says full
up so I book back to the room.

I spread out on my bunk to milk the snake, but no
sooner do I have the one-eyed wonder out than SpongeBob
comes barging in with a couple of other social rejects
he's scrounged up, and he says they're gonna use the
room 'cause they gotta hook up their iPods to share
Boyzone MP3s. I manage to stuff Mr. P. Niss back inside
my shorts and head out to prowl the decks again, with a
major case of nut crunch going on.

I couldn't find anyplace to be alone, so I just found
the videogame lounge and booted some twirp who was
bogarting Death Race, taking out some frustration on
innocent pedestrians.

It didn't help much; I still had a gopher in the hole
when I went back to the cabin. But SpongeBob and his
little pals were done, so I locked myself in the
bathroom long enough to have a cold shower before
dinner.

It was assigned seating, and I had some numbnuts bit
players that night. Even worse, they put SpongeBob with
me. He started in about my leaving wet towels on the
floor and didn't stop complaining the whole meal.

I skip dessert and walk out to the railing to stare at
the night, but the Sponge and his pussy of a posse
follow me. He'd made some crack during dinner about the
Bunch, and I'd made the mistake of defending the show.
So now him and his homo homeboys are dissing the Bunch
to my face, like a lot of little boys trying to tease
the one kid who's discovered girls don't have cooties.
I try to ignore them. But then one of the Sponge's crew
cracks on Florence Henderson and is all like Shirley
Jones is the bomb and "Partridge Family" rules.

Which is, like, so totally bogus. The Partridges stink.
And you ever see Shirley Jones these days? She's been
dipped in the ugly bucket for sure.

I don't want to get into that with these losers, but I
can't let the insults to Florence go by, of course. So
I carefully explain how she is the most perfect sitcom
mom ever, as well as a totally hot babe. And six times
the actress Shirley Jones ever was.

Naturally, they can't deny my arguments. So, instead,
they start whaling on me. With these wussies it's like
being attacked by a school of minnows, but you get
enough powderpuffs together and they can do a little
damage, so I back up against the rail and try to hold
'em off.

All of a sudden they back off as someone yells at them
to break it up. Sure enough, it's Florence to save the
day.

She's the prettiest cavalry you'd ever hope to see. Her
rose red dress, all ruffles and folds, flutters like
flames as she smacks all those doofuses on their
behinds and sends them off with a scorching that used
words I didn't dream Mrs. Brady would know. Soon as
they've scooted she's so close to me I can feel her
breath as she checks my face for damage. I've got a
tiny cut on the side of my mouth. She produces an
embroidered hankie and dabs at it, then moistens a bit
of the cloth with her spit and washes off the spot.
"Good as new," she says. "Are you all right? Does
anything else hurt?"

Well, yeah. My weiner is trying to rise from the dead
but my jeans are too tight. But I'm not gonna say that.
So I'm like, no, I'm OK. And she's like, good. "Do you
want to report this?" she asks.

"To who," I go.

"Hmm. I don't know. I've never ...  to the captain? To
Nickelodeon? If those boys try anything else ..."
I'm all like, no, it'll be fine. 'Cause I'm thinking,
boys? Those turds were my age!

But then Florence is all, good night, and, like,
booking. I figure, great, blown chance No. 186. But
then I get a brain flash and blurt out, "Except I can't
go back to my room."

She's like, what? And I explain that the leader was my
cabin partner so who knows what he'll do. She's all
ready to march down with me and I'm figuring, all
right! She'll let me bunk with her! But, of course, no
such luck. Earth to Mr. Brain, no fox like Florence is
just gonna invite some "boy" to sleep with her. She's
talking about how we can pick up my stuff and then go
to some guy from Nick who she says can hook me up with
a cabin left over because one of the actors ended up in
detox just before the cruise.

I'm trying to figure out what to do but my mind is
taking a synapse siesta so all I can do is walk through
it and hope old Sarah Bellum checks in with a plan at
some point. We grab my stuff, with SpongeBob snickering
and me trying to keep Florence from seeing my Brady
Bunch jammies. Then I chase her up and down decks until
we find the Nick guy and I move into the new cabin --
pretty cool, actually, bigger than the old one. 
But before I can put the moves on -- heck, before I can
think of moves to try -- Florence is all, like, good
night. It's, like, one dream about to pop up, it's
toast. 

Then I hear someone saying that he's still kinda
nervous and maybe a stroll on deck would help, and I'm
thinking, hey, nice line, why didn't I think of that?
And Florence says she will and I'm, like, whoa -- I
did! I did think of that!

So we're out the door and I lead her up to the top deck
again. This time, it's completely deserted. It's deep
night, but the stars are splattered all over and the
moon is full. We step up to the rail and look down at
the reflection in the water. The moonlight is all,
like, twinkling and glittering off the waves, like some
way-cool screensaver.

It's all quiet. Which is cool by me on account of I'm
not sure what to say. But Florence fills in by telling
me that she appreciates me sticking up for her with
those nerds. I'm all, nema problema, and she's all, no,
it was nice. So, being a gentleman, I stop arguing and
agree with her.

She starts in on how nice it is I'm willing to spend
time with an old lady like her and I go, you still look
beautiful to me. Which makes her smile. And then I tell
her about my favorite Bunch episodes, which naturally
are the ones where you saw the most of her. Which also
makes her smile. And we talk some more and look at the
moon and the water.

By now it's getting a little breezy and Florence
shivers. I'd have given her my jacket but I wasn't
wearing one. Which is why instead I put an arm around
her.

By the time I realized what I'd done, Florence had
leaned into me and put her head on my shoulder and I'm
thinking, thank you, Mr. Moon. Because I figure, like,
I did not have the smoothest rap in the world, so I
can't take credit. Must have been the scenery.

So we're cuddling, which is totally wild, and I'm
trying to figure out what to do next. And right below
us in the water, something jumps up in the air and
splashes back down. Dolphin, maybe, or porpoise, or I
don't know, do sharks jump or is it that people jump
sharks? Whatever.

What happens next is what's so smoking. Because
Florence, she has like this little start when she sees
the whatever. And she turns to me and starts to say
something, which I figure was gonna be "What was that?"

Only it comes out "What waaa-mmmph!"

Because, see, she was already leaning against me. So
when she turns her face to me, it's, like, right up in
my face. Like right there, you know. And did I mention
the moonlight? And that I have the hots for her?

So she turns to me and I plant my lips right on hers. 

Oh, man, kissing Florence Henderson! 

I didn't have time to think about it or nothing. I
mean, her lips were right there and I just puckered up
and went for it. 

It wasn't anything like I'd been afraid it would be,
like kissing your aunt or something. On account of
Florence was so old and all, I mean. But it wasn't like
that. I got her full on the lips, no shit. And, like,
held it there, not one of those drive-by peckings from
your cousin at a family wedding.

So it ends and I come up for air and Florence is
staring at me, eyes wide open, and I figure that's
maybe not a good sign. And she goes, "Well, I ..."

So I plant another one on her, because I don't think I
want to hear what was gonna come next.

And this time I slip my other arm around her, too, and
I hold her close and I can smell her flowery perfume
and even feel her heart beating against my chest -- or
maybe it was my heart -- and, I gotta confess,
something else happens too. I get stiff. Like never
before. I mean we're not talking woody anymore, we're
talking titanium steel. And it's prodding out the front
of my shorts and we're so close I know it musta been
poking her, like, right where it counts. Plus she's
squirming against me, which I figure has gotta mean she
feels it jabbing her. Which maybe is not such a great
move, so I get worried about what she's gonna say when
we come up for air. Which I decide to put off as long
as I can by keeping a liplock on her. And eventually
she stops squirming and even seems to be getting into
it. Well, at least a little. Anyway, instead of her
hands pushing into my chest a little like at first, she
slips them around my sides and even sorta hugs me back.
Which I figure can't be bad.

So, like I said, we kiss. Then we stop. And Florence is
still just a couple inches from my face and breathing
funny. And she says, "Well!" And "Oh, my!"

Which I don't have an answer to.

So I kiss her again.

This time she definitely gets into it right from the
start. I mean, she's got her arms around me and one
hand's going through my hair and the other kinda drifts
down and bam! Florence Henderson has her hand on my
ass!

So naturally I return the favor, which is my pleasure
because she's got a great ass, big but not all blobby,
just a good squeeze.

Up top, we got our mouths open and Florence slips me
some tongue. Double dittos from me, of course. 

And I figure, time to up the ante, so I take the hand
that isn't groping her ass and I move it up to her
side. And up again -- Yes! First contact! I can feel
the stiff ribs of her bra!

I squeeze -- still no feedback from Florence. I squeeze
again. She pulls out of our liplock, but only to nibble
her way up to my ear and Oh My Gosh! She puts her
tongue in my ear and, like, supernova time! I never
knew my ear could be so erotic. I am, like, blown away.
Without thinking about it I clamp down on her butt
cheek and pull her even closer. "Oh, shit," I say,
"that was fucking fantastic!"

Well, duh, you can guess what happens next: She pulls
away and goes, What am I doing? and We shouldn't and
stuff like that.

Right?

Wrong-amundo, Einstein.

What she does is, she laughs a little and says, "Hasn't
anyone ever done that to you before?"

I blurt out "No" and then I want to grab the word back
and stuff it into my mouth again because I don't want
her to think I'm some kind of geek. I mean, I have
kissed girls before. Tongue and everything! Only they
were just girls and I figure they must not have known
all the tricks that a real woman like Florence
Henderson would. And I figure she's gonna freak that
I'm such a dweeb and all.

Instead, though, she's really cool about it. She, like,
raises one eyebrow and cocks her head and goes, "You're
serious, aren't you? That's very ... interesting."

Which could mean interesting good or could mean
interesting weird, but at least I got a 50-50 chance,
right?

Then she looks me right in the eye and says, "Are you a
virgin?"

Aw, shit. I stare at my toes but I can feel her eyes
starin' at me so I just shake my head real slow.

I bet you're surprised, huh? Like, what's a guy like me
doing still a virgin, right? Not like I didn't have
chances or anything, but I was saving myself for the
right time.

Which is looking like it's gonna be right now 'cause
Florence kisses me again with some major tongue action
and says, do I wanna go down to her cabin? Like, duh! 

Next thing I know we're in her place. She tells me to
relax while -- I do not lie -- she slips into something
more comfortable. Which turns out, when she gets out of
the john, to be this thing that looks like all the best
pages of the Victoria's Secret catalog. It's all white,
which looks cool against her tan. Long kinda gown
thing, shaped like a bathrobe but real thin, almost
completely transparent. Underneath I can see this lacy
thing like one of Madonna's old bustiers (hey, I guess
I learned something from all that time watching MTV,
huh?). And attached to the bottom are elastic bands
holding up sheer white stockings, and she's wearing
shiny white shoes with really high heels.

Whoa, I say. You came prepared.

She goes, I always do.

Yipes! Mrs. Brady not only is a hottie, she's, like,
really into sex!

Which, I gotta say, freaks me out some, because I'm
thinking, what's she gonna get from a guy who doesn't
have any sack time? But she explains that she digs
first-timers 'cause we're eager to learn. And I am
thinking, hey, if my teachers looked like that, I'd
learn anything! Even algebra!

Now, while we're talking, Florence is taking my clothes
off, all slow and stuff so I don't half realize it at
first. But after she unbuttons my shirt she does little
kisses down my chest like butterflies landing on leaves
and I'm, like, go with the Flo, baby.

So, then, she pulls off my shirt and has me sit down on
a chair so she can take off my shoes and socks and I'm
just staring at her. I mean, like, I want to be all
cool about it and shit, but my brain is banging against
my skull yelling "Yo! Florence Henderson is gonna fuck
you! Yo! You, buddy!"

So it's kinda tough to keep it together. I have to keep
reminding myself to breathe and I'm wondering, should I
be doing something here? Flo must read my mind, or
maybe, like she says, she's done this before, because
she says without my asking that I should just relax and
she'll tell me what to do.

Which is, next, to stand up again. She sits on the
chair and apologizes for not kneeling because her knees
aren't what they used to be. Of course, I jump in to
say her legs look fine to me, which they really did.
She laughs, just like Mrs. Brady would, and strokes my
dick through my pants, which Mrs. Brady never would, I
figure. Then she takes my pants off, which I'm sure as
heck Mrs. Brady never did to no one 'cause I sure would
remember THAT episode.

So now it's just my briefs between me and full frontal
Brady and I'm glad my mom always told me to wear clean
underwear, though she was talking about emergency rooms
and not cruise ship cabins with a hot actress stripping
me.

Anyway, Mrs. B pulls my briefs down and my wang does
the wango tango right in her face.

I'm no Stud Manly, at least not compared with the guys
you see in porn videos or what you read about on the
Internet, where everybody's packing at least eight
inches and half of 'em have to swing it out of the way
just to tie their shoes. But Florence tells me I got a
good-looking cock, and while I'm still wrapping my head
around Mrs. Brady saying "cock," she bends down and
kisses it.

Oh, man, it's like, now passing wildest dreams,
unbelievable dead ahead.

I mean, Florence starts treating my prick like it was a
penis popsicle. She's licking it top to bottom and
kissing it all over and, and she even pops my balls
into her mouth -- one at a time, I mean. And what isn't
being licked is being stroked, and she's put some kind
of oil on her hands that feels real warm, and I am
absolutely going nuts.

I go officially round the bend when she kisses the tip
again and then opens her lips a little and lets the
one-eyed snake ride inside. Holy crap, like, I know
about blowjobs and I seen the movies and I even know a
couple guys who say they got them, but, wow, if they're
always this good how come everybody was so ticked about
Clinton? I mean, who can blame the guy for getting a
little mouth down south of the belt?

Because, I'm telling you, I had never, ever felt
anything as incredible as my cock head sitting in
Florence Henderson's mouth and her sucking on it so
hard her cheeks flopped inside out.

Well, I hadn't till she starts sliding her lips down
the shaft. I'm watching my meat pole disappear and all
I can think is how fantastic it is to see Flo's mouth
going down on some guy so close up, like I'm watching
HBO and they're pulling out all the stops or something.
But she bottoms out with her nose buried in my short
hairs and all of a sudden it's, hey, that's my dick
she's swallowing!

No big surprise, then, that a few more of those in
between some of that licking and sucking and it's time
for the countdown at Cock Canaveral. I tell Flo I'm
gonna go, but she just ups the pace and I'm in and out
of her mouth like crazy and I'm all hot inside and then
POW! I let go a blast from the fire hose and she takes
it all.

In fact, she keeps slurping and sucking until I am
empty and she still goes on like when you get to the
bottom of the Slurpee and you can't believe there isn't
a little more left. Finally I have to pull out and back
away because it's just too intense.

Florence, she pulls a face, but then she smiles and
goes OK, time for my next lesson. Would I like to learn
how to give her as much pleasure as she gave me?

Now, I know a trick question when I hear one, but I
figure, who am I to say no? So I'm all, sure, and
she's, let's get on the bed. So we yank the covers off
and she has me take her clothes off.

Which doesn't sound too difficult but, man, my hands
are trembling like a three-day bender. I get the filmy
gown thing off easy enough, but then there's this
contraption that's tougher to undo than a CD wrapper.
She helps me a little, though, and we get the thing
unhooked and unsnapped and unzipped and free of her
stockings, which she says she'll leave on. 

I'm so caught up in all that, it doesn't hit me until
everything's off and she's climbing onto the bed that
This Is Florence Henderson Naked.

You have to make allowances for age, sure. There's been
some continental drift, if you catch my drift. But
still, she is one foxy lady and I was already almost
set for the Second Coming.

But she was calling the shots, so I'm all, what now?
She gets on her back and spreads her legs and I look
down and, hey, it's pretty and pink. And I am not too
surprised when she tells me to get between her legs. It
doesn't taste as bad as I thought and Florence leads me
through what to do. I mean, imagine it, Mrs. Brady
going, yes, dear, now, that's my clit, suck on that,
and, can you push your tongue any farther into my cunt?
Man, Barry Willams doesn't know what he was missing.

So, anyway, I play the slit trombone for awhile and all
of a sudden the lights go out and the sound stops, only
it's Flo shoving my face into her crotch and wrapping
her legs around my head because she's coming like an
unbalanced washing machine, shaking and seizing and
wobbling all over.

All I can say about that is, thank you, porno, because
if I hadn't have seen it before I would have thought
she was about to collect her last residuals.

But she survives, of course, and she calms down and has
me crawl up alongside her and puts her tongue in my
mouth and eats her own cum juice, which makes my toes
curl. Then she lets me suck on her tits awhile until
she's good and ready, and she spreads her legs and has
me kneel in between with St. Peter pointing straight at
the Curly Gates.

"This is called the missionary position," she says, but
I'm worried it's gonna be the emissionary since I shot
my wad so fast when she sucked me.

Florence is all no, this time I should last awhile, and
I figure she must know what she's talking about. So I
do what she says and lay the head of my cock right on
her pussy lips. Already I'm feeling fine. Flo puts her
hands on my ass and presses down, telling me to take my
time.

At first it's no go, Jojo, but then I pop the whole
mushroom inside and this big neon sign starts flashing
in my head: "Not a virgin anymore! Not a virgin!"

I can't stop myself. I slide the sausage all the way
into Flo's oven so our crotch bones grind together and
then get to pumping like a bandicoot. She lets me go to
it until I have to take a break. Then she gives me a
lecture -- an illustrated lecture -- on how to fuck.

I learn the long, slow strokes where you get to pop out
and into her pussy all over again, and the quick, short
strokes like Morse code saying fuckmefuckmefuckmegood.
She shows me how, if I wiggle side to side a little, I
can give an extra jolt, especially to older women who
aren't so tight.

We do it with her on top and me holding her tits in
both hands. On our sides with her leg wrapped around me
to hold me in. Her on her knees and me behind, doing it
like the doggies do. I get a little curious about her
asshole, but she says no way, Homey don't play that.

Which is fine with me because it's all new and it's all
good. My dick is working overtime and loving every
second. Florence's cunt is hotter than a two-dollar
pistol and wetter than a nerd's bed after a nervous
night. And, it's not like I have anything to compare it
too, but the way she moves sure seems pretty spry for a
golden ager.

All this goes on for like an hour or so, which
apparently isn't what she's used to because she keeps
talking about how it's so good to have a young gun for
a change and stuff like that. She comes at least twice
more, maybe more. I'm not sure because there were times
she jerked and moaned but didn't scream really loud or
nothing. 

Anyway, she ends up making me stop, and she's all I'm
sorry -- I still hadn't discharged the howitzer a
second time, see -- and all, let me suck you off. Since
she's tired out.

But I just go, no, let's just cuddle. Mostly since I
don't know when I'm gonna get the chance to hold a
naked woman again. Well, bing-bing-bing, Good Answer!
Survey says, chicks dig cuddling. So I earn, like, mega
brownie points, and we lie there in each other's arms,
me copping feels and Flo kissing me all tender.

Eventually it's hey, you feel a chill? And we realize
the sheets are all soaked with sweat and other stuff.
Florence goes, guess if you go on a cruise you got to
expect to get wet. You know, all nice about it. But I
can see she doesn't like it, and she's not too keen on
calling someone to replace her sheets in the middle of
the night.

So I reach up and pull the chain on the little
lightbulb in my head and get an idea: She can come over
to my cabin.

We gather up our clothes and I stick a leg in my briefs
when Flo puts a hand on my shoulder. "Don't put your
clothes on," she says. 
Whoa. Go through the ship nude? "What's the matter,"
she says, "scaredy cat?"

Nobody outdares me. I'm the guy who snuck a dead mouse
into the cafeteria on Stir-fry Tuesday! So I'm all, no,
I'm not afraid. But when we do go out, I hold my
clothes in front of my cock, I gotta admit, while Flo,
she's holding hers at the side, letting it all hang
out.

We do the whole spy movie thing, creeping up to corners
and peeking around before we run across. My tube steak
is flapping around and turning from hardware to
software. Then I look at Florence's ass jiggling in
front of me as we sprint up some stairs, and it's
good-bye, Mr. Softee, hello Mr. Stiffee.

Halfway down the last hall we hear voices and freeze.
Flo points to a door marked "Crew Only" and we shove it
open and jump into the dark. Turns out it's, like, a
linen closet, with not enough room to swing a cat
unless you don't like cats.

We keep the door open a crack and hear the voices
coming closer and closer. Then they stop almost outside
our closet! I start to say something and Flo shushes me
and then she whispers that it's Marty Ingels. Who is
Shirley Jones' husband, she says, unless they finally
got divorced, which Shirley keeps threatening and then
backing off because Marty is an asshole but he gives
her great sex. "Her and half the other women in
Hollywood," Florence says, and sure enough we listen
and it isn't Shirley Jones out there, it's some woman
Flo says is a network executive, who's trying to get
rid of him.

But the exec's not having much success and it sounds
like they're going to be there awhile, so Flo closes
the door and goes, let's see if we can entertain
ourselves while we wait. And slips me some tongue.

We make out in the closet. I lick her all over -- a
little salty, from all that sweating, but not bad, not
bad at all. By the time I come up for air and we check,
the coast is clear and we run down the rest of the way
to my cabin.

I'm hornier than a rhino and Flo doesn't seem all that
tired anymore, so I figure we'll hit the bed for some
recreational biology, but she's all, I'm sticky. I pull
a face when she says she's gonna take a shower, till
she says that means me, too. I am okeley and dokeley
with that.

Only, we check out the room and it turns out there's a
bonus even Florence's cabin didn't have, a two-person
whirlpool. She's pissed that she didn't get one, but I
come up behind her and slide the pipe up the crack of
her ass and she goes, screw 'em, I got one now.

We fill up the tub and glide in and it's, like, majorly
relaxing. Then Flo taps a button and someone punches me
in the back with a cold fist and I almost do a reverse
swan dive but she pulls me back down. By then the jets
are warmed up and it's feeling better, and Florence
kisses me and it's lots better. 

She moves around to the opposite side, though, and I'm
like, what did I do? But she's not running away. What
she does is lay a foot alongside Mr. Johnson and say
howdy. Which, if I wasn't horny before, and I was, I'd
be randier than a tomcat in a room full of pussies by
then.

Just when I've got a hard-on like a baseball bat, Flo
takes her foot away. By now I know not to worry, and
sure enough. She floats onto her front and swims up
between my legs and holds her nose and Bam! Underwater
blowjob!

Florence has to bob up to breathe every so often, but
her hand keeps stroking me the whole time. I about
knock myself out thrashing around like a headbanger,
the feeling is so in-fucking-credible. I'm all Fuck!
and Shit! and Goddamn! And Flo keeps sucking and
stroking and the water jets are splashing and there's,
like, mirrors around the tub, so I'm watching her go
down on me like it was on widescreen, too. I finally
start to pump and she lets it spurt onto her face and
she comes up and kisses me with my spunk still on her.
Which would have made me go all yecch, you would think,
but really it's fucking sexy.

We sit in the tub for a little longer, then dry each
other off and crawl into bed together. I fall asleep
with an arm draped over her onto her tit.

Wake up the next morning with a weird feeling, dreaming
I was at home and my mom was gonna catch me with a
naked lady. Freaks me out until I realized it was
because Florence had a pot of coffee going. It was the
smell that must have reminded me of home.

I look around, though. Not home. Flo had pulled back
the curtains and the sun was pouring in. She's sitting
on our little balcony with a cup in her hands. And
still buck naked. I did not need my Wheaties to get
going.

So me and my dick stroll out to the balcony. Flo looks
up from her coffee and smiles and, man, it's just like
a scene from the Bunch, only so much better, and I'm in
it. It's so weird to think Daddy Brady didn't go for
the ladies -- I mean, Flo should be enough to make
anyone re-orient their orientation.

But, hey, his loss. We sit there on deck chairs, taking
some rays, Florence sipping her java. She casually
mentions that she'll have to go to her cabin later to
change before dinner and pick up a few things. Which
tells me -- sproing! -- that the rest of the cruise is
gonna be me and her and the horizontal mambo. Which is
certainly jake with me.

She sees the grin on my face and laughs that Mrs. Brady
laugh and goes, yes, sweetie, looks like you'll be
stuck with me. I blush -- and, when you're nude, it's
impossible to hide a blush that goes all over. She
laughs again, but nice. And puts down her coffee cup.

Yeah, you know what happens next. Wish I was as good a
writer as, you know, that dude who did the one about
the kid, Holden What's-his-name. "Catcher in the Rye,"
the book my school banned last year so all the kids
would read it. I bet he could really do it up good,
what it was like to take Florence Henderson into my
arms and kiss her and, like, almost waltz over to the
bed.

All I can do, though, is tell it like it was, when she
jumps backward onto the mattress and I get on my knees
and get between her legs. This time she goes, try it
this way, and she puts her ankles on my shoulders. I
have to get into just the right position, but when I do
and my cock prods into her snatch I'm all, hey! Because
now it feels pretty tight.

And, so, I do the deed, in and out, the usual. Flo's
box is hot and wet and I get so into it that we're
making the bedsprings play "Dueling Banjos" and I'm
running my hands all over her legs. Then one of her
feet slips off of me and she decides to take the other
one off to and we go into the regular missionary,
except she digs her heels into my ass, riding me like
heading into the final turn at the Kentucky Derby.

Truth is, I'm already feeling like a stallion because
Florence is all, Fuck me! Harder! Yes! Yes! and even
Shit that's good! -- which, coming out of Mrs. Brady's
mouth, is a total turn-on. And then she goes, You've
got such a sweet cock, honey, fuck me harder! Make me
come!

Yeah! Mrs. Brady! No lie!

So, sure, I really ram the rod into her, and her
fingernails are raking my back and we're kissing and
slobbering until we run out of breath and then kissing
some more. The mattress is heaving around and the whole
cabin smells funky and she's still, Don't stop!

Which, no way am I gonna, because I am, like, rock-hard
and flying on fumes, my heart pounding and I cannot
believe every time I open my eyes that I'm looking down
at Florence Henderson. 

Then she breaks off a kiss and says to slow down, so I
do, real laid-back, like, sure, anything you want. Of
course, my cock is screaming Do It, but, like, I'm a
gentleman, right?

And, plus, the slow stuff starts to feel good to me,
too, like instead of running past a pretty picture you
slow down and check it out, look at the details and the
brush strokes and all. I mean, I've been to museums.
I've got culture.

So I stick it all in and pull it all out but in slo-mo,
and Florence runs her fingers through my hair and pulls
me down to a long, deep kiss with a lot of tongue
wrestling. We're still lip-locked when she comes and I
can even feel it there, bam-bam-bam, then a really big
BAM and on and on. 

I wait until she's settled down and start to plow
again. I'm cruising, like a Detroit engine's pistons
ain't got nothing on me, when I feel the heat inside
and kick it up a notch. Florence has her eyes closed so
you'd almost think she was napping only her hips are
still yinning to my yangs and when I click into a
higher gear the ends of her lips curl up.

And it's close for me, so close I go even faster, then
I feel it almost there and pull waaaay out and
s-l-i-d-e back in, to the very bottom. 

A few of those and Flo's eyes pop wide open and she's
all, Oh my god! And I'm all, Yeah! Yeah!

And I come like a fucking volcano, man, like lava
everywhere, filling up Flo's cunt and smearing out. And
she's coming too, heels pounding into the mattress,
fists pounding my back. And we're both yelling and
screeching and shit! It was so totally awesome!

Well, the rest of the cruise went on like that, but you
get the idea, right? No, I never have seen her after,
or talked to her or anything. It wasn't like that.

But, well, I do see her, all the time, on the TV, of
course. And every time Greg walks out on his stepmom
with just a wave or some wimpy kiss I think, Oh, man,
bro, if you only knew. If you only knew.