The Best of Peter_Pan
Sometimes things happen which are just supposed to happen. No great mystery. No point analyzing “why?” Paths simply cross and either you recognize the moment for what it is or you lack the necessary tools of awareness, settling instead for a weak smile at the girl behind the counter, as you pick up your groceries and scuttle unobtrusively out towards the parking lot.
I was never too proficient at scuttling!
Returning from a business trip to Canberra just recently, I had been looking forward to getting home and putting my feet up. The eight kilometer traffic jam on the Federal Highway just north of Fyshwick in the Australian Capital Territory, had not helped my cause – or I suppose, that of the unfortunate truckie who had overturned his rig on a sharp curve. They were still spraying foam on the wreckage as I inched past the police cordon. It was another two and three-quarter hours before I made the outskirts of Sydney, exiting the F4 freeway at Parramatta, a city that was formerly the administrative hub and seat of colonial government for the early settlers in the 1800’s.
Parched and nudging starvation, I decided I would avail myself of the services of one of the many licensed restaurants along the main drag. Incredibly at one point in Church Street there, one might stare in disbelief at more than sixteen four and five-star restaurants, literally adjacent to one another, lining both sides of the street…and all packed to the rafters. Italian, Korean, English, Indian, Thai, Aussie seafood, French, Asian….take your pick! One thing about Australia – not a country in the world has the range of culinary delights that are on offer there.
Craving of all things a mountainous burger, I figured City Extra was the way to go. Open 24/7, and themed along the lines of “The Daily Planet,” the menus are printed on paper much like an evening tabloid. Familiar with their offerings or more relevantly, their fully loaded “City-Extra burger,” the decision-making was inarguably simple. I didn’t need much convincing either by the petite waitress, to order ‘something from the bar.’ A glass of Hunter Valley chardonnay saw to that quite nicely.
It’s not common knowledge, but City Extra has a small private bar at the rear of the place that they open mainly on Friday and Saturday nights. It is an intimate little affair that caters for those who like their drinks mixed to perfection, the décor subtle and the mood ambient. The feng-shui was never better let’s say!
Appeased gastronomically and mellowed-out by the chardonnay, all memories of the Federal Highway were long suppressed. Paying my check I wandered into the bar area and sitting down on one of the four available stools, I figured I’d close out the night with a brandy crusta…or two.
I must have been nursing my drink for several minutes before I noticed the girl further along the bar. Seemed to me she was absorbed in some unhappy contemplation as she kept staring down at her almost empty glass quite obviously seeing something other than her drink coaster. Something in her demeanor held my attention.
Of indeterminate age, most likely in her early to mid twenties, she was tastefully dressed. Long dark brown hair flowed across her shoulders, contrasting vividly with the cream-colored cardigan she was wearing. My first impression was that she may have been of Chinese descent but at the point she turned around to glance at a news bulletin on the wall-mounted plasma tv screen behind her, I could see she was probably Eurasian and like many such girls – extremely pretty.
Catching my appreciative glance, she smiled warmly before lowering her eyes, as Asian girls are accustomed to doing.
I freely admit, that had not I the benefit already of considerable alcoholic indulgence, I would have simply smiled back at her, finished my drink and left the premises. Given additionally that she was way less than half my age, enjoying her own company and in no way seeking to upgrade that state of affairs, I really cannot explain why I asked if she would allow me to buy her another cocktail – or why she shyly accepted come to that!
Talk came easily. Her name I learned was Natasha, and she was a college student, least she had been. Various social and domestic issues had conspired of late to terminate that state of affairs so that now she was taking a position downtown to support herself. Altogether charming and well-educated, I discovered she was of part Italian parentage which accounted for her clear western accent, “aussiefied” that it occasionally sounded.
Sitting at the small booth that we now were, I was able to study her at close range – probably not as close as I would have liked if the truth be known. Her expressive brown eyes lit-up whenever she would emphasize a point and she had this rather cute habit of brushing that long hair away from her face as she spoke. I found her presence totally captivating.
We must have sat in that booth for more than an hour. I fielded as many questions from her as I asked. I guess by almost eleven pm. we were as familiar with each other’s lives as the average credit card company.
Eventually the conversation reached the inevitable plateau “Well this has been fun, what are we doing for the main course?” Seeing as I had never picked up a woman in my life and she quite obviously was not wearing any “make me an offer” signs, progress of any sort was akin to driving on a highway covered in black ice.
I have always been of the opinion that honesty up front cuts through the preamble.
“Natasha,” I said, holding her hands across the table – hands that she willingly donated to my cause I should add.
“At the risk of incurring damage to my left cheek, I just want to tell you that meeting you has been, well way more than a pleasure. I think you are the sweetest girl and although I can hardly expect the sentiments to be reciprocated – let’s face it, I’m old enough to be your father…probably your grandfather, I have an unquenchable desire to spend the night with you.”
For a moment those lustrous brown eyes considered their options. I wasn’t sure whether she was about to scream, call 000 on her cell or worse, break down in hysterical laughter.
I certainly did not expect her next move. Exiting the booth, she stood up, smoothing her dress down demurely before picking up her purse and holding her hand out to me. No words of any sort were uttered and yet she answered me with simply an expression.
It all seems so ethereally weird now thinking back on it, but at the time it felt almost pre-ordained. Just around the corner from City Extra sits the huge Crowne Plaza Hotel. You just know the rates are gonna be in the upper stratosphere from the Rolls Royces, Jags and Porches that are typically clustered about the entrance.
“Mr. and Mrs. Smith?” the reception clerk enquired nonchalantly, glancing at both my thinning hair and Natasha’s rear end.
“Henderson actually,” I corrected him, “and this is my daughter Estelle,” Natasha turned around giggling like a young teenager.
“Of course,” he replied, his expression creditably unaltered. “Will you be staying just the night Mr. Henderson?’
“For now – yes,” I replied, “We’ll see what transpires in the morning,” I added, handing across my credit card. Having satisfied himself as to the card’s validity, he returned my ID together with the electronic key.
“Room 383 - that’s on the third floor sir,” he enunciated clearly.
“It figures” I muttered. “Any chance of a bottle of champagne at this late hour?”
“This is the Crowne Plaza Sir,” he replied, visibly insulted. “We will have it up to your room immediately.”
He was right – we had barely closed the door when room service came a knocking with the prescribed nightcap!
Now I would not call myself a shy man even under the most threatening of female encounters…and let’s face it, my life has been littered with such tests of endurance. Natasha though presented me with an all-new playing field. Looking at her as she sat on the edge of that generously sized double bed, or to be more honest, looking at the hemline of her dress that had risen to a code-red danger-level by virtue of its brevity, I found myself wishing fervently to engage in some amorous exploration of that slim and youthful body. Still, first things first, we did have the small matter of a half-full bottle of ’94 Moet to address and the girl was clearly no shirker when it came to helping out with such chores.
“It’s making me giggly,” she confided, holding her glass out for a refill.
In close proximity to her face as I leaned forward with the bottle, I figured I would take the opportunity to lay some basic groundwork. It was only a light kiss I guess, but it met with little or no resistance that I could detect. If she was surprised by my forward behavior she certainly didn’t show it, returning my kiss with the softest and sweetest tasting lips it has ever been my pleasure to recall.
Not sure ultimately whether it was the champagne or the reckless spirit in me but I remember sitting on the bed beside her - both our glasses on the small bedside table - and just easing her back on to the covers. Now sexy lips are one thing, but being presented suddenly with two soft rounded breasts within fondling distance, can substantially alter one’s game-plan. I really felt at that moment, she could do without that light cardigan and set about its removal, after which the provocative nature of those pert little breasts was highlighted three-fold. The low-cut design of that dress aided and abetted the visuals no end.
I think I heard a soft gasp or three as I squeezed that which I shouldn’t. No way however, was I to be deterred from my plotted course and slipping a hand down her cleavage I discovered exactly what she kept inside that frilly little bra of hers. As smooth and as earnestly sexy as God has yet had the inclination to fashion, I surreptitiously eased the dress down until her bra was exposed. At the critical moment I then leaned forward and exposing her left breast - almost disrespectfully in hindsight - I suckled her like an eager infant.
No mistaking the gasps this time, she fairly wriggled in pleasure.
From her viewpoint, that wasn’t such a great idea either. What had appeared while she was standing, to be a shortish dress, was now a wholly provocative panorama. The hemline, more than two thirds of the way up her slim thighs, revealed suddenly a healthy segment of light green panties – quite obviously a close relative of that equally exposed green bra. Twin architects of my imminent misbehavior as it turned out.
Kissing her with what I hoped was passionate intent, I coerced her to turn over on the coverlet. Not only was the resistance factor at zero, she even kicked her shoes off rather delicately. Presented thus with one awesomely provocative young rear-end packaged with body contours, which at that angle were a delight to look upon, I could see a solitary zipper that ran its course from shoulder to her lower back – make that half-way down her bottom!
On the journey south, that zipper yielded up many a visual treat. Finely structured shoulder-blades, the clasp to a bra that needed freeing up, beautiful curves that melded into gently flared hips, below which resided those tantalizingly sheer panties that were in such obvious need of being pulled down themselves. For a few moments I simply took in the sights, allowing my fingers to trace their way along her spinal column, an action that begat many a giggle and wriggle.
It was but the work of seconds to extricate that dress so that the girl was left vulnerably spread there with nothing but her panties to provide some token modesty. The bra I had already tugged loose and discarded the far side of the bed. Kneeling alongside, I caressed her softly just below the shoulders, bequeathing then the lightest of kisses right the way down her spine. Tugging the waistband of her panties indecently lower and there is little point expanding on that aspect - who amongst you cannot visualize such a playing field? – I kissed her once more at the very onset of her pretty rear crevice.
Natasha turned her head and quite obviously as aroused as me, whispered, “That’s making me so hot!”
Tugging her panties down caused her to instinctively make a grab for them. The bird had flown the coop of course and she was left lying there, trying futilely to cover her bottom with her hands. It just rendered the visual aspect that much more provocative.
My self-gratification instincts were to spank her obviously but then I figured “WHY bother, when there is so much more of a constructive nature one might be initializing?”
Tugging her further up towards the pillow, midst small gasps of submissive expectation, I took up residence on the coverlet in such a position that I was able to part her legs sufficiently that I could see her privately furred terrain and the sexiest of moist clefts between her legs. Rather than give her cause to maybe show some opposition to my modus operandi, I began kissing her bottom cheeks fervently which I’m quite sure distracted her to perfection.
“Are you going to make love to me?” I heard her mutter barely audibly. It sounded to me like she was seeking some sort of assurance that this might be the case.
“That depends,” I answered, “On whether or not such an invitation has been issued. Rape trials take so much out of a guy, and anyway it’s not my fault you are such a sexy little girl sweetheart!” I began kissing the back of her thighs, even as I spread her legs wider.
I can’t be sure whether she was beginning to moan softly or simply that in my own desperation I was imagining what I wanted to hear. Either way, I was the possessor of an erection par excellence and needed solace – big time!
Shucking off my pants in near Olympic time, I gently encircled her waist and maneuvered the girl on to her knees. Spare a thought for the burning sensation suffered by my retinas at the unfolding vista. Her vaginal entry at this juncture so prominent, enforced procreation was a necessity. Slipping a finger up into the promised land, simply added a few degrees to the ground temperature. Wriggling her hips in pleasured response set in motion the evening’s festivities.
Entering her with an ease that comes of several decades’ illicit sexual harassment of the female fraternity, I was finding the experience much to my liking. Quite obviously not a virgin herself, despite giving every appearance of being such, she was thrusting back upon me with a vigor rarely seen, her vaginal muscles in total control of my immediate destiny. My hands smoothed their way across those fancifully curvy rear cheeks of hers, all the time maintaining a penetrative rhythm that was only ever likely to have the one short-term outcome.
“Come in me,” I heard her gasp almost painfully.
Never one to disappoint a lady, I found myself gripping her hips tightly even as I gained a release of monumental proportions – not so much in quantity I’m meaning, but rather in measurable satisfaction. Judging by her own seismic jolts, I remain of the opinion that Natasha scaled her own peak simultaneously.
I eased her back down on the bed alongside me. She seemed such a little girl somehow.
“That was exquisite,” I told her, “I hope you can forgive my poor behavior tonight sweetheart – they must have spiked my hamburger!”
“Oh do you want me to go?” she asked. Her words threw me for a moment. I hadn’t considered she might take them that way. I hugged her, trying my hardest to overlook the fact her pretty breasts were pressing up against my chest, disorientating me all to hell.
“Well no Natasha,” I muttered, “That wasn’t part of the plan at all. To be honest I was kinda hoping as I said earlier, that you might spend the night with me?”
She looked up quizzically. “Hmmm, well okay then,’ she giggled. “I suppose I could do that! Oh gosh,” she added quickly, “there’s stuff running out of me.” She glanced down between her legs as she spoke and I could see small strings of sticky white residue seeping between her thighs. There is nothing sexier than watching a girl slipping her hand down in that general area.
“I suppose I should have a shower first?” she half-volunteered.
“I really wouldn’t bother,” I grinned, tossing aside the coverlet and dragging her beneath the sheets with me, before extinguishing the bedside light.
Sleep came fitfully – mainly I guess because we had other priorities. When you find yourself with a naked girl astride you, her erect nipples teasing your rib-cage, sleep really isn’t an option. Fondling is however…even while you fuck her insensible. That alone pretty much took us through to 1 am. For a while we drifted off, but waking a short time later to find her asleep on her back beside me, brought out my baser Neanderthal urges.
Carefully discarding the covers I managed to part her legs without waking her. Fucking a girl while she is asleep is one of the world’s greater privileges. It is also an art-form….one I obviously haven’t mastered as she woke up mid-penetration.
“You’re being naughty,” she murmured. “How many times have you done this to me tonight?”
“Nowhere near enough,” I replied. “You want I should continue?”
“Yes please,” she giggled, spreading wider still.
I dunno - girls these days - they just got no self-respect!
© Peter_Pan 2008
Look out for "Girl from Nova Scotia" coming Friday week.
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