Vaguely, dimly, I sensed the alarm. Then I sensed dry sheets. Then, not wishing to press my luck, I rushed to the shower. It was just cleaner that way.

Mom was in the hallway as I strutted back to my room. We said good morning and touched briefly as we passed, then I sat on my bed and stretched. Mom went downstairs.

I thought seriously about getting dressed. I really did. But if Nadia was correct, I needed to remain naked during whole shoot for Bushie's. That would be from nine o'clock, when we assembled at the shop, until early evening, when we got back from the lake. And I was supposed to pick up Vivian in fifteen minutes. And Vivian would be naked. And Mom would be naked. And I'd been naked for essentially the past week.

Cautiously, I pushed my hard dick against my leg, and then against my abs. Neither position was even close to comfortable. Oh hell. I just stuck my feet in a pair of sandals and went downstairs.

"Adam, I thought we'd drive separately," Mom announced. "That way, after we eat, I can go straight to the office and you can take Vivian and her aunt straight to the doctor's. Is that all right?"

"Sure," I replied. "I was thinking of the Pancake Pit on the corner of Bottom and Loewe."

"That's fine," said Mom, and we slipped naked into our respective cars. Keeping my dick out of the steering wheel was getting to be automatic.

Vivian and her Aunt Marjorie were waiting outside when I got to the apartment complex. Compared to Wednesday, Marjorie had cleaned herself up quite a bit and wore a better outfit. Vivian, of course, looked the same as always.

Mom was waiting for us at the Pancake Pit. A naked waitress gave us our menus and took our orders.

Mom talked to Vivian about school, the pizza job, and the commercials. Vivian was surprisingly polite, or at least on her guard, much the same as she'd been at Bushie's: no ain'ts, no street talk, no snide remarks, no tough attitude. Vivian was talking to Mom the same way Mom talked to her customers. It was weird.

I learned a few things, too. For example, she'd already completed most of her high school requirements as a junior. Her schedule consisted of Honors Seminar, Communications, College English, U.S. History, Law, and Calculus. Honors Seminar was basically the smartest kids in school doing research, presenting reports to each other, and having bull sessions. Vivian mentioned moving around a lot and living with different relatives, but didn't dwell on it.

I tried talking with Marjorie a little bit, but she wasn't very talkative. I think she felt odd talking to a high school student about some of the clubs where she'd danced, and some of the things that went on there. The fact that I saw the same stuff every day in the school hallways didn't seem to make a difference.

At a quarter to eight Mom paid the bill, said goodbye, and headed to the real estate office. The rest of us packed up in my car and headed to Dr. Polk's. We arrived at eight o'clock sharp.

Vivian and her aunt checked in with Holly Dooley and then took a seat. I also asked Holly if there was any chance of speaking with Dr. Polk, Nurse Riesing, or Nurse Klaus while I was there. Holly said she'd see what she could do.

Nurse Klaus called Aunt Marjorie into the examining room first, and she seemed to get a real kick out of him. I guess she had a thing for guys with huge muscles, an Austrian accent, a permanent erection, and no body hair. For a few minutes that was scary, but it passed.

Vivian was next, summoned by Nurse Riesing. I don't know if Vivian was expecting another body-builder type, but she looked a little disappointed.

Aunt Marjorie was just coming out when Dr. Polk motioned to me from the door. Then, he motioned me to an examining room.

"Good morning Adam. How are you?"

"Pretty good," I replied.

"That fine, just fine. What seems to be the problem?"

"Well, since Thursday, if I don't have sex every so often, I have spontaneous emissions."

"OK, let me pull up your records. Ah, ah, Adam! I see you weren't completely truthful during our examination. Well, these are the kinds of things that can happen."

"Well, it's embarrassing. Once I came in class, and it got all over the girl in front of me. And if I have sex with one girl in the washroom or whatever, then other girls get jealous. And I don't want to be masturbating all the time."

"Adam, this kind of thing usually works itself out. Your prostate gland gets a little bigger, the muscles get a little stronger, and you can go longer between emissions. Because of the long-term effects, we like to avoid surgery in these cases. Is there anything else?"

"There no pill or shot, or anything I can take today?"

"Not really. There are some mediations that slow down semen production as a side-effect, but you wouldn't like the primary effects."

"Like what?"

"Loss of muscle mass, growth of breasts, widening of the hips... Need I go on?"

"No, I guess not."

"OK. For now, just watch the time. If you can't get enough girls to help you, either find someplace private or stand in front of the urinal or something. I imagine you'd hardly have to touch yourself. Is that all?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Fine, just fine. Have a good day," he wished me, and then he was off.

Vivian and her aunt were both finished when I returned to the waiting room. I dropped Aunt Marjorie off at her apartment, and then drove with Vivian to Bushie's Off-Road Shop.

Our timing, as it turned out, was perfect. I pulled into Bushie's at nine sharp. Otto was waiting, and introduced us to the director, production crew, the mechanics, and the detailers who were working the shoot. There were four detailers, and their only job was keeping the Jeep clean.

The Jeep itself looked fabulous. The custom paint job was a thing of beauty, and it had every mechanical or electronic gadget you can image. Vivian was all set to get behind the wheel but she only got to drive it twenty feet into a covered trailer.

At the last minute the 40-foot motor home pulled right up to where we were standing. Then, the side door opened and Nadia's head popped out. She was wearing an Aussie bush hat, brown camp boots, a short khaki skirt, and a canteen on a neck strap. And oh yeah, crocodile nipple shields.

"C'mon guys, get in," she invited us.

"This is for us? How'd you do that?" I asked.

"I talked Bushie into it," she replied with a smirk, as if that explained anything.

The inside of the motor home was even better than I expected. It had couches, easy chairs, satellite television, a DVD library, video games, a kitchen with a well-stocked refrigerator, a shower bath, and a bedroom complete with linens and video. The video had a remote that displayed the outside view from any direction.

"Now this is the way to travel!" I exclaimed. "Wouldn't it be great to have a rig like this for every tripef we take?"

Nadia smirked.

For a while we sat in the living room area, talked about what might happen later, and watched the scenery. Then Nadia and Vivian fell into a tirade of girl talk. I sat up with Rudy, the driver, for a while, then I went in back and tried the bed. Somehow I fell asleep, which was just as well. After all, I'd gotten up early and it was going to be a long day.

When I woke, Vivian was sleeping next to me. Fully relaxed and with her guard down, her face took on a much softer appearance than I was used to. Her eyebrows and eyelashes almost showed kindness, or at least inner peace. Her breathing went on and on, slow and steady.

Then the motor home hit a bump and Vivian's eyes opened. At first she showed surprise, then recognition, then comprehension. She didn't raise her head from the pillow, though, or shift in any other way.

For a couple of minutes we just laid there, feeling the road vibration and watching each other's eyes. Then Vivian reached for my back, hooked her calf around mine, and pulled me closer. I slipped my arm under her neck and pulled her inward as well.

For at least another five minutes we rode on like that, no longer seeing each other, but feeling. Then Vivian began massaging my neck, and I her back. I slipped one leg between hers, and she one between mine. And so we rode, another few minutes, another few miles, slowly tracing our own route against each other.

We kissed. At first it was she against my neck, then I against her cheek, then both of us around the mouth. Then the lips, open and deeply. Our tongues met and danced. We drew our bodies together ever more tightly, ever more passionately.

Suddenly the motor home slowed and took a sharp turn to the right. This pressed Vivian even more firmly against me. If it weren't for the guards on the side of the bed, we would probably have skidded onto the floor. But instead, the two of us rolled a quarter turn and Vivian was on top.

Vivian was clearly aroused. I could feel her wetness against my lower abs and I could smell it. Silently, she began rocking her mons against me. Slowly and gently I traced her back, her butt, her hips, her sides, her breasts. The motor home swayed, Vivian swayed, and the vibration of the road continued.

Time passed, then Vivian lifted her hips. She tried once, twice, and again to lower herself onto me, but each time the motor home swayed, taking us with it. Then, on the fourth attempt, with me holding my cock straight upright, she succeeded.

For a million years, the male of the species has been finding his true home inside the female. No other chamber in the universe is so exquisitely suited to its purpose. And so it was again, as Vivian slowly lowered herself onto me, around me, engulfing me. Then she began again to grind. Her slippery hidden tissues caressed my cock, her breasts skimmed along my chest, her sweat and her deep breathing warmed my shoulders and face. More rapidly now, I continued gently exploring her hips, her butt, her sides. I tried pressing her butt toward me, but preferring freedom of movement, she shook me off. Then I drew her in by the shoulder blades and ever so slightly, she moaned in pleasure.

Eventually, of course, I spurted. Then again, and again. Vivian, however, continued her grind. I felt juices, mostly mine, I suppose, but partly hers too, dripping across my balls, across my thighs, across my butt. But on and on she rocked until suddenly she stopped, gasped, and let out the deepest moan of all. Then she began taking huge breaths, began shaking, began a series of whimpers. Not only sweat but tears began falling on me -- tears of ecstasy and passion, or of surrender, perhaps, but certainly not of sadness.

Suddenly she took another huge breath and became completely rigid. Her whole body, yes, but especially her sex. It felt as if a human vise had clamped my pulsing cock, a vise exquisitely soft, and slippery, and undulating, but a vise nonetheless. Then she gave a final shout and fell limp.

The roll and sway, the vibration of the motor home continued. Eventually I opened my eyes, and there again was Vivian's strangely soft face inches from mine, eyes staring into mine, watching, wondering, questioning, observing. I supposed mine looked the same. Then she rolled off me and we both stared at the ceiling. And yes, there was a mirror. It was behind remote-control panels, but Vivian had apparently opened it while I was sleeping. She must have been watching the two of us in bed, naked together as we rolled down the highway.

Gently I rolled again toward Vivian. Silently, she raised her hand in restraint. So, dripping as little as possible, I stood and searched for some towels. They were in the closet. First I took one for myself, to stop the dripping, and then I threw several more to Vivian. Later, we both did our best to wipe up the bedspread.

Finally, Vivian moved toward the door. I blocked her briefly, holding her shoulders and watching her expression. Vivian gave me a pat on each hip, then spoke.

"Uh, look, this was a one-time deal, OK? No obligations."

"Sure. No obligations," I reassured her, then she was gone. At least she didn't call me Yonson.

The bedroom didn't look too bad, but even so I spent some time straightening covers, gathering towels, and closing up the mirrored ceiling. My dick, of course, was still hard as a rock. Or at least a high-pressure garden hose. I went to the bathroom, washed myself, undertook five minutes of non-sexual meditation, and took a pee.

Vivian had taken a Coke and a sandwich from the fridge, and was sitting up near the driver with Nadia. After taking some mineral water and an apple, I joined them.

"This is a far cry from the back seat of Dan's SUV, eh?" I remarked.

"That back seat had its moments," Vivian remarked.

"You're probably gonna kill me for this," I warned Rudy, "but how long till we get there?"

"Twenty, twenty-five minutes," he replied. "We're almost at the freeway exit."

Minutes later we left the freeway at exit 86, the same exit we'd used the week before on the way to Dan's cottage. We didn't pass the cottage, though, nor the town of Precipice Flats. Instead, we pulled into a forested area laced with dirt roads, streams, hills, and gullies. It was tough going with the motor home, but eventually we pulled into a clearing with parking places, picnic tables, and an emergency phone.

The cameramen, mechanics, and detailers all started getting their equipment unpacked and ready for work. Bushie, the producer Hilda Clipperd, the cameraman Len Scuver, and a local guide named Matt Chitty began hiking about and looking for camera angles.

Hilda was quite a picture in jack boots, a black equipment belt holding view lenses and light meters, and a black baseball hat embroidered with the words It's Showtime. She was tall and lanky, with long arms that she waved and motioned to emphasize her directives.

Bushie was, of course, dressed as you always see him in the commercials: hiking boots, a chest strap supporting a gunny sack, and his trademark Aussie bush hat.

Len and Matt were the only ones really dressed for rough country: steel toe boots, blue jeans, and long sleeved denim shirts. Nadia talked them into letting her tag along.

Meanwhile, the makeup people started working on Vivian and me. First they essentially spray-painted us a matching shade, then they stared working on our hair, eyes, lips, and so forth. It all looked overdone to me, but I guess it came out OK on camera. Even so, I was glad it was temporary.

"Hi, kids, I'm Ollie Chang, the chief mechanic," said a guy in baggy coveralls, wiping his hands on a shop rag. "Have either of you ever driven a Jeep off-road?"

"No," we admitted.

"All right. Now your Jeep is going to be set up the same as mine, here," Ollie explained, "Clutch, gearshift, standard pattern, transfer case. You have four-wheel suspension and split differential. Maximum angle of climb with a good approach and perfect traction is about 40 degrees, but that's pushing it. Now, who wants to try first?"

"I will," Vivian volunteered. Then she adjusted the seats and mirrors, fastened her seat belt, tested the clutch, spun the wheels, spit dust, and took off like a shot. Like a pro she threaded a series of sharp turns, mostly on two wheels, then she built up speed, spun a couple of 180's, and popped a wheelie on her way back. I'd never seen her so alive. Her hands flew in a blur across the steering wheel and gearshift. Her legs and feet jammed the pedals. The engine strained and purred. Eyes blazing and lips grinning ear to ear, she took air over a couple of logs and pulled a final 180, coming to rest just a few feet from Ollie and me.

"Whoo-oh!" Vivian exclaimed as she hopped out of the Jeep. Her face was flush with excitement and the rest of the crew, who had gathered to watch, gave her a round of applause.

"How..." muttered Ollie, his chin dragging in the dust.

"I used to race dune buggies on the Baja Peninsula," Vivian replied. Was there anything this girl hadn't done?

"I always wanted to do that," remarked Ollie.

"What, race the Baja? You should go sometime. It's fun," she replied.

"No, spin a 180. Or pop a wheelie. Or... What about you, Adam? I suppose you're an expert as well."

"Not exactly," I admitted. "You'll have to show me how to use a stick shift."

"OK, I guess we better go for a little driving lesson," Ollie stated, and I guess he was right. The crew drifted away to their normal chores.

It took me about ten minutes to get used to the stick shift, then I tried a few hills and gullies. That was kind of fun, except that Ollie kept telling me to speed up. After a while, Ollie got frustrated, took the wheel, and showed me what the Jeep could do. I probably would have been impressed, were it not for the sheer terror of taking air as we rolled over hilltops and bottoming out as we hit the stream beds. It was kind of like being on a roller coaster, except that if you weren't careful, you could steer yourself off the track. But if Vivian could do it, I wanted to do it.

Finally the producer, the camera crew, and the mechanics were ready. Ollie had each of us drive his Jeep through the course a couple of times, then the mechanics brought out the show Jeep. Vivian drove first, bounding over the hills and obstacles with abandon. Then the mechanics, detailers, and makeup people cleaned us up and we made another run. Altogether, we did four runs with Vivian driving and four with me at the wheel. Nadia kept bugging Hilda Clipper with suggestions, but Hilda just treated her like the pest she was.

I have to admit, Matt Chitty was just the kind of guy you want for a guide. When the crew began packing up their gear, Matt started making calls on his satellite link. Then, just as the crew finished, two four-wheel drive canteen trucks arrived, both overflowing with food and cold drinks. Not only that, but Bushie picked up the tab.

"Adam and Vivian, both you kids did great," Otto exclaimed between bites of an overloaded pastrami and swiss on rye. With Grey Poupon, no less.

"Thanks, it was fun," I replied, gulping down a Coq au Vin baguette. And no, I have no idea where Matt Chitty found those canteen trucks.

"Adam, I can tell you're quick learner," Bushie continued. "And Vivian, I can tell you now that I had my doubts. But you're everything Nadia promised. When people see you two flyin' through terrain the way you did this morning, some of 'em just have to get the bug. I'm very happy with the way this is going."

"Well, thanks. I'm glad you're satisfied with the work and the arrangements," I answered politely. Vivian's mouth was full of the prosciutto and pesto ciabatta she was eating, but she raised her eyebrows and nodded her head in agreement.

Bushie strolled off to check on the rest of the crew just as Nadia appeared.

"What's that you're eating?" I asked.

"They call it a muffeletta sandwich," she replied. "It's got hot capocollo, Genoa salami, provolone cheese, black olives, jalapeños, tomatoes, sliced onions, lettuce, olive oil, and tapenade, all on a long Italian roll."

"I don't even know what half of that stuff is," I remarked.

"Capocollo is a like a sausage made from cured pork," Vivian mumbled between bites. "Tapenade is an olive spread."

"I suppose you've lived in Italy," I remarked.

"Don't get smart, Yonson," she replied. "When you got a last name like Vivichelli, you grow up knowin' stuff like that."

"She's testy today," Nadia remarked.

"Why should today be any different?" I pondered aloud.

"Adam, I can't believe I did all this," Nadia said. "I really want to thank you for getting me involved."

"You have a talent. You may as well use it productively," I stated.

"Well, yeah, but just think; all this might never have happened. And it never would've if you hadn't got me started. And no one loses! Bushie gets his commercials, we get our money, Vivian gets the Jeep, everyone comes out ahead! Adam, I just don't know how to thank you."

"A dune buggy," I answered without thinking.

"What?"

"Ah, don't bug me. I'm sorry, I shouldn't talk with my mouth full. Don't bug me over this deal; that's what I said. Don't make a big deal of it. I didn't do that much. Things just fell into place."

"OK," said Vivian. Then she gulped down the last of her ciabatta, drifted across the parking area, and began talking with Ollie Chan.

Nadia smirked as she watched Vivian drift away. "You wanna go into the motor home and take a rest?" Nadia suggested.

"What are you suggesting?" I wondered.

"What would you like?" she asked.

"Some dessert," I decided.

As with the sandwiches, the canteen trucks had a remarkable selection of deserts. I took cherries jubilee, which the server ignited. Whipped cream was on the side. Nadia chose a delicious-looking chocolate mousse. The mousse usually came with white chocolate sauce, but Nadia asked the server to put the sauce in a separate cup. We each took a bottle of fancy imported mineral water.

"Now you wanna rest?" Nadia asked. "This stuff is gonna melt if we say outside."

This time, I decided to play along. Vivian was still talking with Ollie Chan, and the two of them seemed to be heading into the bushes.

Inside the motor home, Nadia didn't even pause at the kitchenette. Instead, she led me into the bedroom, closed the door, and pulled off the bedspread.

"It would be a shame if we spilled on this spread," she explained. Then, she removed her bush hat, skirt, and canteen.

"Here, let me hold that for you," she suggested, taking my cherries jubilee. Then, setting the desert aside, she pushed me onto the edge of the bed and told me to lay down with my knees over the edge. I took a pillow so I could watch what she was doing.

My cock, of course, was doing its usual Washington Monument imitation. But it got even harder as Nadia knelt on the floor and slowly dragged her finger across my balls, up my shaft, around the tip and back again.

"How're you doing, there?" she asked.

"Close. I'm always close," I replied.

"All righty, then!" Nadia exclaimed, reaching for the cup of white chocolate sauce. Then she really poured it on! The sauce, that is! On me!

Fortunately, it was only warm, not hot. But then Nadia started slurping. She licked my balls, my base, my shaft, my tip. Especially my tip. Then there was more sauce. More licking. The sauce was dripping down her chin, dripping onto her breasts, dripping down further and eventually to the floor.

Finally she took the tip entirely into her mouth, then a portion of the shaft. Her tongue was licking, licking, and her entire face was full of sauce. White chocolate sauce. Then I felt a spurt, and another, and another. Nadia swallowed what she could, but sticky white fluid nevertheless oozed down her chin, and it wasn't all white chocolate.

"There are towels in the closet," I volunteered after a minute or so. Using the fancy mineral water, Nadia wet one of them down then wiped up her face, my cock, and the surrounding area. Then, she laid back on another side of the bed, dangling her legs over the edge.

"Where's that cherries jubilee?" she asked.

"Right here. You want it?" I asked.

"Ooooh, yeah. Right on the lips,"

"Do you mean lips lips, or those other lips?" I asked, assuming I already knew the answer.

"Don't be coy, Adam. Those other lips. Hit me with your best shot."

So I did. I knelt in front of Nadia, much as she'd done for me. I kissed her nether lips until they began to ooze, then I dumped the whole dessert onto her.

"No hands, now," Nadia ordered, but I had no such intentions. Instead, I dumped on the whipped cream and began eating. At first, I could only work through the whipped cream, the cherries, and the sauce, but soon my tongue was within range of Nadia's opening. I could feel her labia rings as my tongue traced her opening up and down, forward and back, top to bottom. My face was covered in jubilee sauce but I didn't care; my only thought was to wallow in Nadia's heady mix.

Then the whole motor home trembled and lurched! Then it swayed and bumped! We were leaving! Of course, there was no chance of being left behind, but someone else was in the front of the motor home. And unless they were deliberately leaving without us, they knew we were in the back!

"Well, are you going to finish your dessert?" Nadia asked.

The next few minutes were difficult because the motor home kept swaying and lurching. It was hard on my knees and a couple of times I almost fell over. Slowly, though, I continued licking Nadia clean. Then I reached her upper folds, parted them, and sunk my tongue as far as it would go. I grabbed her soft tissue with my lips, drew her in, and furiously tongued her clitoris. Suddenly Nadia herself rocked, swayed, and lurched, almost knocking me away form her. Then she moaned, long and deep, over and over again, through three separate cycles. Finally she relaxed, opened her eyes, smiled at me, and then closed her eyes again.

The motor home swerved onto hard pavement and that time I did fall over. Then I stood up, found a clean spot on the bed, and laid back next to Nadia. With one hand I held Nadia's, and with the other I punched the remote that opened the ceiling mirror.

At this, Nadia burst out laughing. "Oh Adam, we are such a mess!" she declared.

"Look on the table, there," Nadia suggested. "Do you see the water, or did it roll on the floor?"

Fortunately, I saw it. The table had a recessed top designed specifically to keep things from rolling around in transit. I grabbed another towel, wet a corner of it, and slowly wiped up the remaining dessert. Nadia purred in appreciation. Then I dampened another corner and began working on my face. After just a second, however, Nadia took over. I think we both ended up a little sticky, but at least we looked clean. Nadia put on her little skirt and canteen belt, then picked up her hat.

"Are you just going to waltz out there?" I asked, somewhat amazed.

"What else is there? Hide in the closet?" she asked. Then, after announcing, "It's showtime!" she opened the door and strutted out.

As for me, I followed Nadia, striving to preserve as much dignity as possible. But it's tough when you're naked, erect, and recovering from a combination sex act and food fight.

"Are you kids finished eating?" asked Otto Bushman. He and the producer Hilda Clipperd were sitting across from each other in the main seating area. Other than us and Rudy, no one else was present.

"Is it OK to use the washroom?" Nadia asked.

"Sure, go ahead," replied Otto. "But one at a time, and don't waste water."

Nadia was first into the washroom, so I sat down with Otto and Hilda. Both of them had removed their equipment belts and hats, and I wasn't sure if that made them look stranger or straighter. It's not everyday you see people wearing only a pair of outdoor boots, at least not when you live in town.

"Where's Vivian?" I asked both of them.

"Oh, she's riding with Ollie," Bushie explained. "I think Ollie likes her. It looks like you kids opened up the sheets, eh?"

"Oh yeah, we did," I admitted. There was no point in denial; the bedroom door and the sheets were both obviously open.

"We can change them if you have another set," I offered.

"Naw, that's OK. I told Rudy to bring plenty. Did you find the towels in the closet?"

"Yeah, we did," I replied. This was getting strange.

"OK, hold on a minute," said Otto. Then he changed places with Rudy who, in what seemed to be a regular drill, went in back to straighten up the room. The motor home must've had an autopilot because they changed without stopping.

Nadia was finished in the washroom by then, leaving me to go next. I think Otto was being facetious about that one-at-a-time rule; the washroom was pretty small. Then again, it was bigger than the restrooms in airplanes and there are stories about those...

Somehow I got all the stickiness off and managed to take a pee, all in ten minutes. When I emerged, Nadia was sitting alone near a window, watching the scenery go by. Otto and Hilda were out of sight and presumably in back. You can presume whatever else you like.

It was early afternoon when we arrived at the second shoot. The location was the rocky beach where Vivian and I had been stranded the week before. To enter the preserve we had to check in with the forest rangers, and one of the rangers had to accompany us.

Of course, there was a trail between the beach and a nearby fire road. I couldn't believe we hadn't found it, even though it was heavily overgrown. The fire road was less than ¼ mile from the beach, and led in either direction to a ranger station. The trail was just a lot more obvious from the fire road, that's all.

There wasn't a whole lot of space where we could drive the Jeep, and of course the ranger wouldn't let us clear any rocks or foliage. So, for the most part, we just drove up and down the beach. It was fun for us creating huge sprays of water as we drove through the shallows, but not so much for the guys who kept the Jeep clean. Hilda, Nadia, and Otto stood in a group, quietly chatting about who knows what. At least, Nadia and Hilda seemed to be getting along better.

The third and final location looked remote, but it was actually in a resort. The filming showed the Jeep stopped with Vivian and me setting up camp, using GPS, talking on the 2-way radio, and so forth. We also shot some film using equipment from Game Gear and Garb. By that time, Nadia was giving as many instructions as Hilda Clipperd, and Hilda was loving it.

When the filming was completed everyone congratulated each other, then packed up their equipment in the biggest rush of the day. I guess they all just wanted to get home. The makeup people cleaned all the gunk off us, then one of the guys made a pass at me. I just told him he wasn't my type.

As we headed back to the motor home, I saw a beehive of chefs running in and out with pots, pans, serving dishes, and an enormous quantity of food. Vivian rejoined us, and we pulled out with eight people on board: Nadia, Vivian, Otto, Hilda, Rudy, me, and two chefs.

The chefs served a fabulous eight-course dinner: more than anyone could possible eat. At first, the conversation was mostly about the day's shoot. Otto and Hilda were both very excited with the results, and seemed to think more commercials and other forms of advertising were in the works.

To their great surprise, Otto and Hilda discovered that both of them had been thinking about using a dune buggy for some of the commercials. Otto had even spoken to Ollie Chan about it, and Ollie thought he could have a street-legal machine ready to go in less than a week. I nearly spit my rack of lamb but Nadia and Vivian just smiled silently. Oh, and Nadia winked.

When dinner was over the chefs wrapped the leftovers, cleaned the kitchen and dining area, and packed all their equipment into a resort van that had joined our convoy. Otto remarked that it was quite neighborly of the resort to feed us like that. Yeah.

When we left the freeway it was close to nine o'clock. I called my mom, told her I'd be going straight to Ben's party, and asked her about a couple of other things as well. Let's just say I was happy with the results.

At Bushie's, I caught up with Vivian as she waited for Ollie to unload the Jeep.

"So, are you going to Ben's party?" I asked.

"Maybe. Probably," she replied.

"Uh, look, I was talking with my mom a little earlier, and she's concerned about something you said this morning."

"What's that?"

"I don't know. She wouldn't tell me. But she wants to talk to you about it. Can you meet her at the real estate office tomorrow afternoon?"

"What time?"

"How about one o'clock? You have transportation now."

"Yeah, I do. Or I will, unless somethin' goes wrong in the next coupla minutes. All right, Yonson, I'll talk to your mom. You sure you don't know what this is about?"

"Positive."

Just then, Ollie appeared with the Jeep. Vivian was just about jumping out of her skin, but glanced over to Otto Bushman for final confirmation. Otto nodded, gave Vivian a little wave, and the next thing to happen was a squeal of tires and a cloud of dust. Vivian hopped three parking abutments and a couple of curbs just on her way out the driveway. Ollie Chang stood transfixed.

When I arrived at Ben's house the party was full swing. Everyone was there, eating, talking, playing volleyball, playing badminton, swimming, pissing in the garden, and screwing. Ben's four girlfriends from Outer Midlands dominated the volleyball game for a while, then begin rolling around with Ben. Under that onslaught, Ben seemed to lose his skirt, I mean kilt, but under such a mountain of nubile flesh it has hard to be sure.

Willie Fundeman had shown up as Cleopatra. Tess Palmer was dressed as Marc Anthony, and the two of them were going at it behind a wheelbarrow.

Owen and Rita showed up in running shorts that had no front or back; just a waistband and sides. Serena had Paul Aquino in tow.

Ethan and Caitlin were still paying off their tennis bet.

Olivia, Crystal, Kristin, Sandra, and Nadia were all standing in a circle and talking, as girls everywhere seem to do. Surely, I thought, this must be trouble. Then the starting lineup from the basketball team arrived and I didn't know whether to cheer or cry.

At eleven-thirty there was still no sign of Vivian. Nora Breeves, the captain of the cheerleading squad, stood on a picnic table and exhorted everyone to get naked and come along with her to streak Pioneer Park.

For some reason we all got in our cars and followed her downtown. Then we did two laps around the Conestoga, two laps around the fountain, and all peed in the bushes. That last part was Teah's idea. Ben had a pretty big crowd around him, but it didn't look like he was wearing his skirt. I mean kilt.

Back at Ben's house everyone was quick to pair up and find a secluded spot. Or a wide open spot. Or any sort of spot at all. For a little while, it seemed I would be the only one left without a partner. Then I heard the sound of tires hitting curbs and brakes locking wheels. Moments later, Vivian strolled into the yard.

"Looks like most of the fun is over," she grumbled.

"It would be a shame to leave so soon," I remarked.

"Looks like there's nothing left to do but screw," Vivian observed, scanning the area.

"Oh, I suppose we could walk around the block and have a nice chat," I suggested

"Get serious, Yonson," she prodded. Then she pulled me toward her, locked me in an iron grip, and bit my chest. Not hard, not bleeding, but not a kiss either; that's for sure. I jammed her against me and bit her neck.

"Uh, look, Yonson; this isn't gonna be too comfortable for me here on the asphalt. Even if I'm on top."

So we did take that walk, after a fashion. The lights were dimmed to almost nothing, and we almost tripped a few times: once when Ethan and Caitlin changed positions; once when Nadia's partner tried to bite her nipple shields, and once when Nora Breeves tried doing a cheer under Jerome LeBlanc. Eventually, though, we found a narrow strip of grass and fell into it. I'm not kidding, either. With both of us trying to land on top, we tripped. It's a good thing we didn't land on Serena and Paul, who seemed to be in the middle of a delicate operation.

As it turned out, we both fell on our sides. In a flash we grabbed each other, then each of us tried to roll over. Nothing doing. Then Vivian bit me in the neck and I jammed my fingers into her side below the ribs.

"You think you're gonna win this, doncha, Yonson?" she whispered, locking my leg.

"Who's calling uncle, uncle?" I asked. Then I grabbed her harder, swung my free leg for leverage, and rolled. I was over her for a second, then slid off and hit the grass. "Watchit," said Crystal, who was highly engrossed with a three-point shooter.

What transpired then was basically leg wrestling, with Vivian and me each trying to gain advantage. Our breathing grew heavy and sweat lubricated our skin. The night air was sweet and warm. A three-quarter moon cast an eerie light on the nearby clouds and the scene around us. We heard the whispering, grunting, and releases of the others around us.

"OK, you first," whispered Vivian, then she slacked off for the merest instant. I spun her under me, then captured her thighs between mine, and her ribs between my wrists. For a while we kissed and writhed. I let Vivian support my full weight, a burden she accepted freely.

Knowing I was close, I raised my hips and entered her. She was incredibly wet, and offered no resistance or caution. In and out I glided, around and around, high and low. My cock felt almost weightless, as if submerged in a perfectly matched, magical fluid, which of course it was. Then Vivian grabbed my shoulders, raised herself, and bit me again. And again. Then she began flexing her hips and inner muscles as well. It was heavenly.

So I came. Slow, massive spurts at first, then faster ones. On and on I pumped, feeling the pulse of my balls, my shaft, my tip, the sweet spot underneath. Vivian knocked my arms away and I fell on her, not dislodging myself, but only changing position. I could feel the sticky fluid building between us but on and on I pumped, barely thinking, lost in my sensations and those of Vivian against me. Then I slowed and stopped, Vivian still locked on my neck.

"Payoff time," Vivian uttered, then we quickly changed positions. Vivian found a towel -- I have no idea whose -- then wiped us down a little and fell on me. Forcefully she ground herself into me, her lips against my neck, her breasts against my chest, her sex against my abs. Back and forth she rolled, then up and down.

Softly it began to rain. It was a warm, gentle rain, lit by the moon and probably short-lived. It cleaned us; it slicked us; it caressed our skin. I held Vivian by her sides, feeling the strong muscles of her back as she swayed. Then I caressed her hips, firm and solid, cradle of her secrets. Then her butt, solid and strong, undulating with each motion.

The rain continued as Vivian lowered herself onto me. Her cavity felt different this time, softer, more relaxed, more open. But her mons was obviously the center of Vivian's attention; she ground it against me, working in all directions, undulating in rhythm with some internal pattern known only to her.

On and on she rocked until suddenly Vivian went stiff, almost motionless. Then she began trembling from head to toe, alternatively gasping for breath and sucking huge lungfuls of air. Then she moaned, long and slow, deep and earthy, passionate and uncontrolled. Then again, and again, and again. Finally she let out a thunderous whoop and collapsed on top of me.

The rain continued and we breathed the sweet moist air. Minutes passed with my cock still inside her. Then Vivian opened her eyes and we stared at each other a while longer.

"You wanna get cleaned up?" I finally asked.

"Where?"

"A dip in the pool ought to do it."

"OK, but be careful," Vivian replied. "This time I'm not jumpin' in to save you."

In the dark, we carefully tiptoed our way past the writhing bodies and found our way to the pool. There really wasn't space to dive, so the two of us jumped in feet first. For a minute we treaded water and rubbed ourselves clean, then we rubbed each other just to be sure. Finally we hugged each other and kissed, our mouths just inches below the water line, our waists, our thighs, our hips surrounded by the flowing water.

"What now?" I asked.

"I gotta get home. My aunt needs me," Vivian replied.

"At one AM?"

"I promised to bring home some dinner. I don't think she's had anything else."

"I'm surprised you waited this long."

"She's used to it. When I bring her a pizza from work, I don't get home until after midnight."

"Ben's gonna have a got a ton of leftovers, here. You ought to take some of it."

"Speaking of Ben, look at that! No wonder he likes skirts, I mean kilts, better than pants."

Ben was standing at the edge of the pool, still naked from streaking Pioneer Park. Someone had turned on the pool light, and the glow of it softly lit his body. I blinked and blinked again, but my eyes still presented the same image. Then Ginger and Heather grabbed an arm apiece and dragged him into the darkness.

I'm sure Vivian could have found her way, but I walked her to the Jeep anyway, seizing a plate of hamburgers and bucket of French fries on the way. Vivian thanked me, then I reminded her to be at the real estate office at one o'clock Sunday. Then, after we kissed once more, Vivian hit the ignition, bounded across the curb, and sped into the night.

Other people were starting to leave too, so I walked around and said goodbye to as many as I could. Ginger, Heather, Jasmine, and Lavi had Ben completely submerged. Dan waited by the car while Teah peed in the bushes, then they, too, were off.

When I got home, everyone else was asleep. As carefully as I could, I crept up the stairs, brushed my teeth, took a pee, and flopped onto my bed. I was tired enough to fall asleep in an instant, but I couldn't stop thinking about Ben. How in the world had he ended up with two cocks?

Many thanks to Bill Morgan for proofreading this story.