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Darts -- Part one
Posted:Jul 25, 2008 6:47 am
Last Updated:Mar 14, 2022 4:23 am
11976 Views

It's been while but here we go again....and yes still fiction.

Darts -- Part one

They were the only two on the dance floor. Everyone else was drinking, visiting, flirting, shooting pool or watching. They rocked side to side making a small circle on the dance floor sticky from too many spilled beers from weeks gone by. Occasionally they even stepped with the beat of the old slow song from his high school days. Make out music it would have been called. They weren’t, making out that is, though their embrace was tight. Her arms were around his neck and his encircling her waist. They were both very conscious of all the places on their bodies that were in contact with the other. They were also thinking of those portions of their bodies that weren’t in contact but wondered independently what that contact would be like. While they weren’t kissing their mouths were close to the others ear so as to allow their soft voices to be heard over the blaring jukebox.

“No way,” she giggled. “I won every game of darts I’ve played tonight.” She was grinning at the thought of how she had cleaned house at the dart game on the randy guys who have been struggling so hard to impress her tonight.

“Oh I saw some of your shots and they were quite good. But I’ve had some special practice myself. It takes a great deal of skill to allow my eight and ten year olds to beat me without them knowing I’m throwing the game.” He was coolly confident, not bragging. I’ve played round after round after round with them, just barely losing to give them another chance to pull out a victory. They seem to enjoy it so much more when they just barely beat Dad. It can’t be any more difficult to hit the right score once than the number next to the right score time and again.”

“You are so full of bullshit.” The burst of air and moisture as she uttered the B in bullshit tickled his ear.

“Well I can tell you’re not all talk.” His fingers splayed a bit more as he pressed her toward him for emphasis. “But those are fightin’ words when you challenge my darting authority.”

“You looking for a fight, Prof?”

“No, Katie. A bet.”

She could see this coming from a mile away. What was the bet he wanted? A flash of titty? A peek of pantie?

“What are you betting, Pro-fess-or?”

With out a pause he said, “Head.”

“What?” She had clearly heard what he said so close to her ear, but couldn’t believe what he had said. He was the shy one, the conservative one. He was the one they debated amongst the women of the group. Was he dynamite or a dud?

“The bet is head. You win at darts I eat your pussy. I win at darts, you suck my cock.”

They had flirted intensely on line, sometimes for hours and the implications there were always clear. But they were implications, innuendo, and double entendre. Rarely if ever had she heard him be coarse, vulgar or explicit. He certainly seemed to have gotten past that for this moment.

“Of course if you’re not up for an interesting bet, Katie, we could just make it for a drink.”

Win, lose or draw she knew to what she would be agreeing. But win, lose or draw she was sure he would back out.

She pulled back to stare intently into Prof’s eyes. “Done. Let’s play.”

She pivoted away from him, her skirt swirling about her legs, and strode to the dart game. “Can Prof and I cut in the next game, we’ve got a bet to settle.”

His heart skipped a beat. Was she going to announce the nature of their bet? He wouldn’t put it past her, but his new boldness was designed for her, not the crowd.

“What cha, bettin,” somebody leered.

“A drink. He wouldn’t buy me one so I’m winning one.”

“Ah hell, I woulda bought cha one.”

“Nah, it’ll taste better when I win it off old Prof here. Won’t it Professor?”

He smiled a sly grin knowing their secret was safe for the moment, “Oh, I think one of us is going to enjoy the drink…Katie dear.”

Prof took the first turn. He had seldom shot darts in a bar and certainly never with an audience this size. But he had played hundreds of games with his in their own basement and took pride in precisely losing game after game to them. He knew he did it best when he didn’t think about the shots. The three darts thudded into the board one after another in close succession. The computer game counted down a bullseye, a one, and a twenty in a grouping so tight they didn’t span the size of a 50 cent piece. The crowd crowed it approval.

Katie stepped to the line and with a measured flick sent the three darts on their way. She smirked as she moved forward to pull her shots from the board having scored only two less than Prof. “I am looking forward to your service, Prof,” she crooned as she passed close by him.

Prof stepped to the line. He was completely content with the proposed result of either winning or losing. But for all his calm, he was secretly very competitive. He wanted to win. His first turn was showy, but risky. Going for the bullseye meant risking catching too many low scores and she did know what she was doing with a dart. Prof smiled to himself as he thought, “I suspect she knows what she is doing with lots of things.” He went for the safe twenty wedge and scored: twenty, triple twenty, and twenty again. Whoops flew out from those watching the game.

“Ya better have your money ready, sweetie. He’s looks like a bald shark to me.”

Katie stepped to the line but her thoughts were not on the throws she needed to make. She pondered, “what made me agree to this damn bet?”

She made three careful throws…and was now behind by 26.

Prof crossed close to Katie as he moved to the line. He leaned in as he passed and whispered, “They would be rooting a lot louder if they new the actual bet, wouldn’t they?”

Three more of Prof’s darts whizzed toward the board for another brutal total. Each round widened the distance between their scores. Each round made it harder for Prof to think about the throws rather than the prize. Each round made it harder.

After two more exchanges of throws and verbal taunts Prof’s score had counted down from 301 to 51. Katie was sitting at 106.

Katie tried to shake him as he stepped to the line. “This is where the luck changes Prof.”

Prof smiled…

And threw…

Triple seventeen…

Katie’s mouth hung loosely open.

The few still focusing on the game cheered or booed, divided along gender lines. Prof handed his two remaining darts to the woman next in line for the game.

“Prof…what…I don’t get to play the winner.”

“Sorry sweetie. Katie and I are going to dance while I consider my drink order.”

Prof took the darts from Katie’s hand and passed them to another player. Her mouth was still gaping slightly at the single dart it took to finish the round. He took the same hand and led her back to the dance floor. He crossed to the far side of the dance floor even though no one else was dancing. Though the music was an upbeat old rock-and-roll tune, Prof pulled Katie back to him slow dance fashion and started to circle again.

He leaned in toward her ear to whisper, “Nice game.”
2 Comments
North Bound Exit 162, Part Two
Posted:Jan 5, 2007 8:25 pm
Last Updated:Mar 20, 2022 5:28 am
14007 Views

Here is part two. Thanks for the positive comments about part one. If you haven't read part one I would suggest you do. If you're such an unconventional type that you need to read part two first, go for it. It is the internet after all.

North Bound Exit 162, Part Two (and yes, still fiction)

Unlocking the door and holding it open for her felt oddly formal given the situation. The look in her eyes as she sank into the black leather seat was playful but with a strength behind it that was slightly disconcerting.

It’s funny how he wanted the walk around the Explorer to take long enough to make a decision but it seemed more like he had teleported directly to the drivers door. How long could he stand there and not open the door. What was she about to do? To offer? How should I explain to her……I’m not ready yet, to cheat you see….”

He opens the door and folds himself behind the steering wheel. She is sitting at the far end of the seat leaning partially against the door.

“You look afraid,” she grinned

“I suppose I am.”

“Why would that be?”

“I guess I’m afraid of what might be about to happen………or not happen.”

“Oh really, and what do you think is about to happen,” she said with a taunt in her voice.

“Well I suppose sex might happen,” he snapped feeling like he was being toyed with.

“And did I offer you sex?”

He paused, wondering if I could have misunderstood the situation. “Well I thought that……….”

“Relax, I’m not offering you sex. I was thinking of it when we agreed to meet but I’m not in the business of seducing married men. Besides I like you too much for that.”

“Great! Now I feel like I’m back in college and all the girls I’m interested in just want to be friends. I can’t win for losing.”

“Honestly, do you think you’re ready for an affair?”

“Damn, I hate perceptive questions.”

“Are you ready, dear?” her look softened.

“No.”

“Are you content with where you are now: chatting, flirting, blogging and reading those sexy little stories you like?”

“No, I’m not content but I’m not ready to . . .”

“I know you’re not but you want something else. You want to make your decision, get off your damn fence. Right?”

“Riiight,” he ventured

“Good. So drive. Head for the freeway, north bound if you please,” she requested.

He shook his head trying to make sense of his feelings. And, he did as he was told, driving the two blocks to the entrance ramp while she explained.

“So this is the deal. You are going to drive the 12 or so miles to the next interchange. There you will get off, …uhm I beg your pardon, …exit the freeway,” she smirked. “Pull around to the opposite side and reenter the freeway southbound. Returning me to my car in the restaurant parking lot.”

“And this exercise, in this time of excessive gasoline prices, is to accomplish what?” he playfully challenged.

“It is to accomplish a bit of fun, a bit of release for me that I’m not going to get in other ways, and to may be get you off……the fence.”

“Hmmm, well the second of those raises my pulse at bit,” he said as he drove the SUV up the on ramp, the acceleration pressing them gently into the seat.

“Well, it seems to me,” she purred, “that we are both getting excessive frustration and insufficient pleasure from your on line activities. Also you are getting a filtered perspective of what real women are like.

While her theorizing would ordinarily have stimulated his interest it was overshadowed by the way her fingers were gathering the material of her sleek black skirt in tiny increments causing its hem to creep slowly up her legs. Her eyes were giggling at the sight of him trying to divide his attention between the road rolling in under them at highway speeds and where his eyes wanted to be.

“So rather than tacky pictures, often poorly composed,” she critiqued, “I thought you should be reminded what the real McCoy looks like.”

Stretching the limits of his peripheral vision he flipped the cruise control on locking the vehicle dead on 55 miles per hour. The last thing he needed right now was to get snagged on the universally known speed trap along this section of highway.

“When was the last time someone you weren’t married to flashed you a long look at their thighs?”

“Never I suppose is the right answer,” he replied as he enjoyed the growing view that cut high across those thighs.

“Isn’t it funny how I’m showing you far less than you could see on any beach these days, but this is so much more erotic just because I’ve raised my skirt and you’re looking at what it was hiding? You do find it erotic, don’t you?”

He was finding it difficult to look composed. He was finding it difficult to be articulate. Actually, he was finding it difficult to breath. This would make an excellent substitution for a stress test at the cardiac clinic.

“Yes, it’s very erotic, exciting and beautiful.”

“How sweet and complementary you are. But what can you actually see while you’re still doing an excellence job driving,” she queried as she stretched her legs under the center of the dashboard.

“I can see a pair of lovely legs disappearing into the shadows of your skirt.”

“And can you see into the shadows?

“No.”

“How about now?” as she crept the hem higher and twisted slightly toward him.

“How nice you managed to coordinate your undergarments with your skirt. Very organized of you.” He managed to sound flip despite the dryness in his mouth.

“Not so much organization as the hope someone would be seeing my panties.”

“The view is lovely, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, but did you notice you’ve reached the interchange?”

As he swung onto the exit ramp he found it amazing the car remained on the road so far. It was like those times driving over a familiar stretch of road when you suddenly notice you’ve traversed miles with out actually seeing them pass by. In this case the terrain was not familiar, but it was scenic. He permitted himself a grin.

“What’s got you so amused? Oh and don’t stop, just take the south bound ramp.”

“You’ve got me amused, he replied”

“You find this funny?” as she slid her hands off the gathered fabric and onto her smooth thighs pressing down into the flesh.

“I’m just happy to find this at all.”

“Well I have imagined you doing the revealing for me.” she said as the car reached cruising speed once again. “But this will do for now.” She found it funny that the speedometer was set to just over 50, prolonging the drive ever so slightly.

“I’ve imagined something similar myself, a number of times.”

“Similar? What was different?

He licked his lips but didn’t reply.

“Did you imagine revealing something different?”

She tensed her shoulders and pushed into the car door.

“Something more?”

Her hips rose from the seat.

“Yes,” he answered barely above a whisper, “something more.”

“How interesting,” she said casually as she leaned forward, her hands extending past her slightly bend knees down to her feet.

They were now driving sedately down the road in the least consciously controlled car in the county.

“You do find it interesting?”

His answer was silence once again.
She settled lower in the seat, crooking her left leg slightly, resting it on the center of the seat. The fingers of her right hand extended upward twirling a scrap of black fabric about themselves.

“I find magicians interesting,” she said as she focused on the twirling fabric. “You know how they make a large move with one hand to misdirect the viewer's attention from the actions of the other hand.”

“Its, uhm, not working in this case,” his eyes shifting rapidly between the road and her left hand.

“Oh well, I’ll just have to practice my magic some more.”

“You are plenty practiced at working magic.”

“Oh there you go being sweet again. The exit is coming up.”

“I know.”

“Pity it’s so soon but a plan is a plan. Would you like to know another part of my plan?”

“Yes,” he said both fearing and reveling in the possible answer.

“Oh it’s just a little thing I read somewhere once.”

And with that she reached her left hand to the automatic window button. As the wind swirled around in the car her right hand released the wisp of fabric into the slipstream and it vanished. After a pause they both laughed out loud releasing the tension that had saturated the car. As the window closed again her left hand resumed its former place.

“Well I’m not sure we’ve achieved all of the goals of the plan,” she said in a hushed breathless voice, “but we’ve made progress.”

“The plan was meritorious.”

The traffic was more of an issue now that they were off the highway and moving toward the restaurant parking lot.

“You should be commended,” he said.

The word commended was followed by a faint gasp and tremor from her.

They were silent again as he drove the remaining block and turned into the restaurant. She extended her legs and slid up the door until she was sitting fully upright again. The puddle of fabric fell slightly down her legs.

“You work on that decision you need to make,” she smiled, opened the car door and swiveled out. “I’ll chat with you soon. Thanks for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome,” was all he could muster.

He watched her cross to her car, enter and pull away. He moved again only when a car wanting out of their parking space beeped at him. He pulled on to the freeway again, south bound this time. Countryside passed by without being noticed yet again as he mused that he was both closer and farther away from making his decision.
5 Comments
North Bound Exit 162
Posted:Jan 1, 2007 7:00 pm
Last Updated:Mar 18, 2022 3:27 am
13808 Views

North Bound Exit 162, Part One. (fiction folks!)

The diner was just off the Interstate. Easy off, easy on for both of them.

They had chatted and flirted on numerous occasions. It was entertaining and exciting and marginally naughty since he was married. Nothing very naughty had been happening in or near the marriage bed in quite a while. The step up to meeting for coffee was a big one even though he was sure nothing would be happening besides drinking coffee. The ladies were hardly stumbling over themselves to get at him before he was married, why would they now 20 years later.

There was just a little buzz of risk to go along with the buzz of some caffeine.

It was tricky recognizing her from her on-line photo as it showed only a portion of her face. However as she walked in the entryway her profile and hair looked very familiar. She scanned the tables and booths looking for a lone male in the prearranged leather jacket. She spotted the likely prospect looking intently at her and walked to his table.

“Nice jacket,” she said studying his bald head, “though the lack of hair line does help with the identification.”

He laughed in response.

“And your striking hair color must draw lots of attention, but was a dead helpful in making sure I’m not accosting the wrong woman,” he replied while rising from the chair.

“You call this accosting? No wonder you’re lonely these days.”

“Well, I’m better at ordering coffee than accosting,” he blushed. “Care for a cup? The Jamaican hits the spot.”

“Too late in the day unless they have decaf.”

It was awkward at first. Talking was such a different rhythm than typing, less time to revise ones thoughts before blurting them out. Gradually the conversation flowed more and more smoothly: jobs, families, comments about other diners growing into flirting, though not nearly as daring as when they were on line. They reviewed their opinions of other on line personalities: “Yes, she is sweet. No, he’s all talk. They are shy at first then totally hot.” She was speaking from personal experience, he from only a virtual perspective.

“So are you going to ever fall off the fidelity wagon?” she challenged.

He paused and then thoughtfully replied, “The likelihood seems to vary a great deal depending upon where I am and who I’m with.”

While only her eyes touched him it was as if she were running her hands across his body.

“Where and when is the likelihood high?” another challenge.

Staring back with equal intensity, “It’s likely late at night after protracted on line flirting with no real world counterpart.” Then with a glance downward, “I guess it is fortunate that the opportunity is low at that particular point in time.”

“And when is the likelihood low?”

“Funnily enough, he said with a shrug, “when driving to actually meet someone. I suppose the full implications become clearer then.

“You,” she said, “seem to be having difficulty deciding what you really want.”

“Oh, I’m quite clear on what I want” he said with a friendly attempt at a leer, “it’s the price tag that I’m uncertain with.”

Though in the chat room and instant messenger she had heard many titillating variations of the answer she expected to receive she still asked, “And what is it you want?”

“I want just a bit of charming, exciting company” he grinned matter-of-factly.

“No, you’re trying to be polite and charming rather than honest.” She contradicted him, “What you really want is someone’s mouth drawing hard on your cock and your cum spilling into their mouth.”

He succeeded in keeping the grin from growing into a gasp. He did blush as the older couple at the next table stopped talking to silently consider what they might have actually heard.

“I guess you win on being the most audacious one at the table.”

“Audacious is easy,” she quipped, “how am I on accuracy?”

“Pretty darn accurate it seems,” as he blushed again.

“But you’re not strong enough to act on what you want.”

“Either that,” he countered, “or too strong to act on what I want.”

“Fair enough,” she conceded, “but you need to get off the fence.”

“Agreed, but” he sighed, “acting on my wants is a one way street. Once I take it I can’t go back.”

“So are you looking for someone to seduce you, so you can blame them?”

“No. I know what I want to do and what I should do. They just don’t happen to be the same thing. I can feel good about myself and imagine everything I’m missing out on or I can be a louse and try all those things I imagine.”

She wasn’t prone to acting rashly but could be impetuous at times.

“Come with me, we’re going for a drive together,” she said as she rose forcefully from her chair.

“Look if this is an offer, I’m very grateful and sorely tempted.” the words stumbling out of his mouth, “but I’m not ready………”

“I’m not seducing you or even letting you touch me.” She declared as she leaned forward on the table. “Not that I wouldn’t enjoy you touching me. But you have a choice to make and not enough information to make it.”

She wheeled on her heel and strode toward the door. He scrambled to his feet, tossed a twenty on the table not being willing to wait for the bill and followed her out the door.

“What is this?” He gasped as he caught up with her. “What are we doing?”

“We are going on a drive, from this exit to the next and back. You are not going to touch me but you will be ready to make your choice when we are finished.”

He stared at her not comprehending.

“Well, are you going to show me which is your car?

He led her to the worn red SUV.

End of part one.
0 Comments
A Good Place to Stop?
Posted:Sep 4, 2006 1:10 pm
Last Updated:Mar 13, 2022 5:43 am
14191 Views
A Good Place to Stop?

I know the biking context is getting old but I haven’t hit on a new theme as yet. Furthermore, I find that I get a lot of thinking done while biking. The actual act of biking requires little mental processing so whatever capability that is left over moves on to other subjects. That happened a few trips ago. I’d been riding along at a good clip with spare brain power reviewing shopping lists, ’s schedules and enjoying being out in the woods on the trail completely alone. I started to wonder how secluded the trail actually was? I often ride for miles without meeting or passing a jogger or another biker. How much privacy might one truly have?

As I sped down the granite path I skimmed the sides with my eyes. Where could one sneak away for a bit of a lark? The daydreaming became more of a planning (scheming) session. I could suggest a bike ride. Secrete a small blanket in the saddlebags. Where could I lead her? This section wouldn’t work. The skinny pines had few low branches. You could see for a very long ways through the woods. Nope, she’d never go for it here.

I picked up my pace a bit as recreation changed to research. I moved into an area with more brush closer to the trail. Visibility is more conducive here but the trail passes through quite a bit of private property. There were fences and yards and sheds and toys flickering through the trees. The brush is thick enough to block the view but sound does carry.

Section after section flashed past. Too open, too close……..ugh, too wet and buggy. “Oh yeah, that will get her excited, tons of bug bites on her butt.

I was covering ground faster than I ever had, my legs pumping along without thought as my mind focused on finding just the right location. After traversing a section of city streets that offered entertaining albeit impractical alternatives, I enter a wilder section of trail. The trees are still rather widely spaced but with more brushes beneath them. The land has a bit more shape to it, slight rise and fall that limits line of sight visibility, at least at ground level. Hmm, how much cover is really needed? No need to mask a standing individual after all?

“Damn it, the bikes?”

One couldn’t leave the bikes on the trail without attracting undo ……..focus. “Mildred, I wonder who left these bikes? Do you hear something funny, Mildred?”

This, while a stimulating thought experiment, is getting demanding. The requirements are piling up: off trail access close enough to move bikes out of sight, far enough for sound not to carry back to the trail, brush to limit prying eyes but not so thick as to create a hazard of thorns, poison ivy and mosquitoes.

Proper timing was important too. It had to be late enough in the ride for her to be a bit winded and ready for a stop. Not too late in the ride so that I’d be completely sweated out.

Hmmm, how to get her to follow me off the trail? Come up with some teasing, coy lines? No, just walk my bike off the trail with an inexplicable, “you’ve got to see something.” Then how to suggest a romp in the woods? A long slow kiss of course. A small split of wine hidden in the blanket. Nope, better make it stronger, Long Island Iced Tea, better for the convincing.

Oh she’d think it cute and crazy, but would she go for it. Perhaps a bit of a dare might coax her?

“Oh, sure Menard’s works for you, but not a romantic glade?” Uhm, that’s another story.

“Come on,” flinging out the blanket over a clear space. Oops, note to self, add limited rocks and branches to the list.

“Come here sweetie, no , plenty of privacy, last warm day of the biking season. What’s not to go for?”

“But someone might see, or hear.”

“We haven’t seen anyone in miles or are you intending to be quite loud,” sitting on the blanket.

“Oh, we can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” taking her hand and drawing her down to the blanket. “And it will be lovely. It’s a great place to stop.”
4 Comments
BJ Court
Posted:Aug 29, 2006 7:38 pm
Last Updated:Jan 13, 2014 4:44 am
12335 Views

I need to give a slight update to the [post 459562] post I wrote a while ago. I was out biking the same stretch of road tonight. I didn't see any panties this trip but I noticed the name of one of the cross streets for the first time.

BJ Court

Ya gotta love exercise

Prof
2 Comments
Who's tough
Posted:Aug 26, 2006 6:06 am
Last Updated:Jan 11, 2016 6:34 pm
12035 Views

Three cowboys were sitting around the campfire out on the range. The first cowboy starts to expound on how tough he is.

"Why I'm the toughest cow poke in the whole state. Last week in the saloon three varmints tried to cheat at poker and I thrashed them all single handed."

The second cowboys says, "That tain nothin'. Yesterday a rattler spooked my best and I jumped down grabbed that snake and bit its head off."

The third cowboy didn't say a word. He just knelt by the fire slowly stirring the glowing coals with his penis.
3 Comments
Doing things differently?
Posted:Jul 6, 2006 4:43 am
Last Updated:Jan 10, 2014 6:28 am
11250 Views

So in a fun little post in Hydragenia's blog she asked what one thing I would do different in my life. My cheap shot at a laugh was, "Katie C. in my senior year of high school.
3 Comments

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