NOTE: I hereby grant permission for all archiving and other uses of this work, public or private, free or paid, in any format whether existing now or to be invented in the future, so long as a copy of this note and credit to "theGreatxIam" is given and no alteration is made to the body of the work. Copyright 2002, theGreatxIam

Silver Surfer #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.

Oh, man, kissing Florence Henderson!

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