Film Fini – 3

by Feather Touch



      Is this really what you want, to be left entirely to pornographers for everything?  Wal-Mart and we lot?  This by way of noting the final bankruptcy of FAO Schwarz, the premier retailer of toys for well over a century.  Dead at the feet of the Waltons.  Lord, what a sick country.  Philosophers through the ages have huffed or giggled at the thought of the vote in the market place, and, if they had everything to do with any form of religion totally wrong, they were right when it came to ye balloteers degrading themselves through short-sighted venality.  It is so precisely like letting the kids run the family the one analogy says it all.  Meantime, Ms. Stewart, according to Mr. Blodgett, is being gnawed at for trivial decisions regarding a minute percentage of her holdings.  A time or two along the way I believe I’ve anointed myself the only show it town; but I meant it facetiously, as part of a little ego package I use to spice up a page here and a page there; seriously, you aren’t meant to go stripping the country of every nuance of texture, facet of literacy, and iota of culture for my sake.  In fact, it’s border-line insulting.  What, I’m not good enough to play marbles with the competition?  As if.  No, gee, keep the place worth living in and let me face the challenge.  And should you become frustrated in my behalf, in trying to give what I already have, do it for yourselves.  Man does not live by porn, alone.  Thought for the day.
      
      Mark writes wondering, a, what planet I get my kids from and, b, who’s minding the women’s planet, since so many of them are here.
      
      I base my kids on myself and other family members fully conversant at age ten or so, and on the actress Haley Mills at the age she played “Pollyana.”  To this baseline I add about twenty percent, much as a science fiction writer adds a warp or two to hurry his story along, a corpse or two to punch up a mystery writer’s yarn, or a fuck or two if the scribe’s subject should be church and cleric.  Reviewing in my own mind, I don’t know if it’s as much a stretch making them erudite as I indulge in to make them nice.  In fact, it may be about one kid in a thousand who lives up to my standards, and, in the name of enough-is-enough, I’ll forgo asking whose fault that is.
      
      As for the third rock from the fun, isn’t it biblical?  Job’s search for one good man?  Wouldn’t it, at least theoretically, take most of the population of any planet small enough so its gravity wouldn’t squash life like a fritter to execute such a quest?  Add the poignant reality of there only being one of me, and the wonder is there aren’t twenty or so billion chicks down here delving and divining.  
      
      “Terret’s” turns out to be “Tourette’s,” another in a long list of specific proofs I was right in leaving school before wrecking the class average in Calculus.  I have an outty brain, not an inny, and am the self-same wizard who can’t figure out how to rotate an image in PhotoShop, nor, at the moment, how to use MSN Messenger to send a graphic; how to even get PhotoDeluxe to recognize the fact that I’ve downloaded it, installed it, registered it, and set Outlook as my default mail client.
      
      And a further only-show note, Kazaa seems to have Kazilched.  Even with a high participation rating, not a single file will download,  Every click ends up with “more sources” or hangs forever on “remotely cued.”  User number seems, if anything, to have declined over the last few months; barely three million, when Napster commonly had over eight.  Bright wrapper, no candy, as against my own paradigm which is to include enough nuts and premium ingredients to negate the need for any packaging.   Substituting protein for plastic, though I’ll have to admit using a plastic keyboard to suggest you either start doing as I tell you or use fifty cents to buy a piece of plastic clothesline with which to hang yourself.  It’s the pseudo synthetic age.  The guys in Iraq are being saved by synthetic body armor to face a pseudo life as maimed veterans and a future not particularly suitable to those who are fit as a fiddle.  Does this mean they should go without?  Shucks, what it means is they shouldn’t be there in the first place while our heavy weapons sit unused.  We face a determined and diabolical enemy, a billion insane Muslims, their jihad woven through campus and achieve-nothing intellectual community – a good definition of ersatz, if you ever need one – and we face that enemy from a rickety position in a tech reliant world that has little resilience and manages to remain in a state of hazardous confusion at the best of times.  Is it Allah’s will that we wear out every jet engine in the inventory on thousands of brutish mission for nothing?  The Muslims amount to an anvil dropped on the back of a shaky camel and we’d best be about killing them.  Operation Final Showdown a/k/a Survival.
      
      Seventy more images with the toy.  I keep writing Mark, a digital fellow traveler and happy owner of a Casio, also with a heavy background in working with film and video, rave reviews which is pretty bold for someone who’s never turned the function dial from Automatic.  Just spent an hour reviewing MS Messenger, even trying to boot it while I was signed in and online.  Zilch.  Thus terrorized, why would I want to go delving into the mysteries of the Elph?  It’s plenty sharp enough for 4 X 6 reproductions, the color is overwhelming, the exposure latitude all-inclusive (with a little help from “Deluxe”), and surely that must be enough.  Videos?  Sound memos?  I’d love it if it took one image at a time and had to be cranked for half an hour to do that.  
      
      Do we ever take time to sit back and contemplate how ragged the verge of sanity is in the escalating complexities of our time?  The only edge is that of the saw.  I mean where do you grab on to forty-seven year credit cards charging twenty-seven percent interest, without getting your fingers burned?  And if you set up a scale at a corner and weigh everyone waiting to cross the street, what’s that going to do for your equilibrium?   And a billion a day wasted on a madman who, with great support of his people, lit seven hundred oil wells on fire like a child smashing a toy coveted by his little friend?  You need a king who will come aboard and lambaste the living shit out of you, make no mistake.  You followed Jane and she led you up the hippie dream stalk, to me, fe-fi-fo-fum.  See how that edge, or lack thereof, I was talking about includes megalomania?  The funny farm?  Take your script kiddie, for example.  Billions spent on Viagra, yet this kid produces the most potent aphrodisiac ever conceived, and distributes it, as a side show, free, eliciting, in the process, personal responses, and we’re not talking just a few here, far beyond the influence of any god or gods.  And don’t go trivializing the issue by pointing out that the boy’s underwear section of the Sears catalogue has the same effect because you’ll do nothing but verify your own insignificance.  
      
      Being by so far the best is the enigma.  With all the privileges, opportunities, dedication, and practice I should, unless completely flat-footed in the talent department, be able to hit an occasional high note, a ringing perfection, but when it goes on, by the thousands of pages, with false notes amounting to occasional compositional errors, what then?  What does that mean?  Fiction or editorial, it makes no difference, it’s all there in every word.  The sun’s out, the day cool, the stainless steel toy radiates, yet the plastic keyboard holds fast.  The house is a mess, it couldn’t care less.  It just says stick around, bro, and look what I can do for you.  I’m hungry, it doesn’t care.  The laundry stinks, so what?  Eighty thousand a week may be half that, or eight, but zero wouldn’t faze it.  You stay the course and I’ll render perfection as it has never been approached.  Guy’d really have to be nuts to evade a siren call like that, especially if, running short on air for his own horn, he finds himself in the middle of a story.
      
      
      The mate did two things.  He held a wig toward the door and one to the lump in his bunk, looking modestly away as they were taken in hand by his young friends.  Giving them a minute, he stripped to his briefs and stood by the foot of his berth.  Again the sheet came down, again the door opened.  In far less time than it would take to render even a desiccated sketch of an account, the boys were standing shyly facing each other a foot apart, and their leader had moved to the same distance.  Sammy and Neil were probably in their last months of being able to get away with it, of still having a femininity enhanced by a girl’s flowing tresses and gossamer fabrics.  Both were long and smooth-legged, even the huge bulges in their bikini panties detracting nothing from their alluring appeal.  They were dressed for the upcoming show and by acclimation remained slightly apart as they returned to their seats and Joseph settled his computer on his lap and started the machine.
      
      Sammy giggled because his suit came first, the slim cutie wearing it his full equal in the light and luscious department.  But it wasn’t a fashion show.  After just a moment little Catty was joined by a pair of mid-teen athletes, and they weren’t dressed at all.  “That’s Phil with the dark hair and Bobby is the blond,” Joseph narrated.  “They’re cousins, too, not brothers.”
      Camera following, the three sat on a lounge at poolside, the backdrop prosperous suburbia.  “You’re really brave,” the pretty girl said.  “I thought super-dare was a pretend game and you’d come up with super excuses and throw me in the pool.  Something juvenile even though you’re both old enough to know better.”
      “We talked about it,” the sandy blond boy said, “because we knew we’d both get excited if we did it this way and we’ve never, you know, seen each other this way, but with Joseph here we thought we could control ourselves around you, and I guess we look like any other guys would after seeing you in that suit, so we decided to try it, but you can cancel the game if you want and we’ll go back in the cabana.”
      “Were you really embarrassed the first time you say each other that way?” the girl whispered in response.
      “Yes,” Phil said, “and we are with you, too.  Is it okay?”
      “Not until Joseph is the way you are, and you have at least my top off,” Catty said, reaching toward the camera while her handsome cousins unfastened her bra.  The camera followed what was happening starting with the photographer’s top button and then tracking  down until it stopped, waiting for the girl to finish with belt buckle, button, and zipper, then shorts and briefs.  By the time the shot was over, the boys had finished their work and the cutie sat back on the lounge, raising her hands high over her head.  The boys were tentative in their first hesitant touches, but the child’s soft whispers of welcome stimulated the pair and soon their hands were all over the taut young body with its jutting, cherry-size breasts.  
      
      “Bobby,” the girl said to her closest age-mate, the blond fourteen year old, “you and Phil are like art.  Would it be really freaky to ask you to try touching each other, like boys do, while I watch?  I want you to get me ready for my brother, I’m not trying to tease or anything, but I think you’re beautiful and I’d like to watch you, and especially if you touch Joseph, too.”
      The boys looked at each other for a minute, then stood and faced each other in front of both the girl and Joseph, seated on a neighboring deck chair.
      “Have you done it yet?” the sixteen year old asked his younger cousin as they stood, arms at their sides, almost touching.
      “A little,” Phil whispered, “with an older boy, Joseph’s age, but I guess it will be the same.”
      “Did you do a lot with him?” Catty asked, now on her knees and looking up at the tall, naked beauty with the black hair and fox face.
      “Quite a bit?” he acknowledged, coloring.
      “How about you, Bobby?” the bare-chested pixie then asked.
      “No,” the boy whispered.
      “I led with Mario, because I was younger than he was,” Phil said, “and the younger boy always leads, except at the end, and that’s when the more mature male lets it happen first, while the boy is still excited, because if you’re not ready for it, and it’s more than just being in the mood, it can be kind of messy and gross.
      “Mario told me that,” the whispering went on, “and told me to make sure anyone I was with knew about cumming off before it was too late, because eager kids are very exciting lovers and an older boy can suddenly lose control without even wanting to.”
      The sixteen year old let both his charges digest his words.  “Do you understand?” he asked after a few moments.  “It won’t hurt you or anything, and, after awhile, you’ll really like watching it happen, and even want it to happen at least on your tummy and chest and maybe even on your face, and with Mario, I even liked getting my tongue wet with his sperm, and then even taking his cum all over my tongue and letting it go down my throat, but not everyone is the same and you might be freaked out.”
      
      “How do I lead?” Bobby asked with a concurring nod from his female cousin.
      “By using your hands,” the older boy whispered, beginning to pant raggedly.  “By teaching me what you’d like when I touch you.”
      
      The mantle of leadership can fall easily and in a trice.  Take Bobby.  “Phil,” the boy whispered, “can we get like Catty is and touch our boners together before I use my hands?”
      “Yes,” the older male whispered, and both immediately emulated the girl who was in full display, chest arched and hands behind her head.  “Yes,” she also said.
      
      The camera caught every nuance; tilting up, it recorded the intense expressions on the three school-age faces, and moving down, the taut beauty of the muscular young bodies, the bare-chested mermaid in the immediate background.  Joseph was holding it at about two foot’s distance as the young athletes, both circumcised and highly aroused, approached within inches, one of the other.  The little microphone caught unmistakably their panting though their whispers were indecipherable.  
      “I knew it,” the girl whispered, “you’re a beautiful as two bucks, glowing seven-pointers, you’re the most beautiful thing, well, you know what I mean, I ever saw, the perfect thing, and I can die happy any time knowing I’ve seen it.”  Thus encouraged, the boys came carefully together, hissing along with the girl, then gently probing, chests arched, using careful thrusts of their muscular hips.  Bobby brought his hands down and cupped the definition of a one-pointer with his left hand, using his right to experiment with the teen’s heavy flow of seminal fluid, with wetting and stroking the flaring, dark-pink glans of his quaking older partner.  
      “Show Catty,” Phil whispered.  Bobby complied, his wet right palm now taking up a distinct rhythm with the sixteen year old.
      “See?” he whispered to the girl, “that’s how I want him to do it with me.”  As he spoke, he nodded to the gamin beauty, welcoming her. 
      “Get comfortable,” the experienced Phil advised the girl, “Mario taught me how to make it last at least a little while, and it’s easier, you know…”  He needn’t have said more, as Bobby had already retrieved a suitable pool toy and the girl quickly arranged herself, you know, ergonomically.  In a few moments the pair had returned to their powerful stallion and the girl’s hand was held by the boy’s as he taught her how hard to grip her glistening cousin and how deeply and quickly to stroke his hard rubber seven inch penis.  
      “Stay with me,” Catty whispered, and indeed she found the sensation of the fourteen year old’s hand added to the rigid heat of the older teen’s thick, straight erection highly erotic.  Phil coached, and in less than no time Bobby and Catty were able to hold him on a very hard edge, hot for his ejaculation as they were.  Joseph had used the camera with a simple and straightforward style, or lack thereof, obviously feeling at the time that the image of two handsome children masturbating a very young adult needed nothing in the way of enhancement.  The point-of-view moved slowly, and the eager hands worked together arousing the sixteen year old, then staying his ejacution at a tempo that might have fit a symphony.  Nor did they go mindlessly on, milking the scene as is the wont of the amateur, they let the set piece ride for ten minutes, then, on accord, began intensifying their gripping and stroking heavily.
      
      “Phil,” the girl whispered, “show me what Joseph’s going to do inside me, please!”  Thus cued, the senior male moved the camera back just as Phil whispered raggedly.  Catty’s arms flew back and she arched to Bobby who held their exhausted stallion against her right nipple.  No one missed it, that’s for sure.  A sea.  The child practically disappearing, so slicked was her little-girl chest with the splashing seed of the quaking young adult.  And it kept happening, later, counted from the camera’s replay, fourteen times, with almost as hot and copious cum near the end as his first urgent pulsing.  But it did finally yield to a flow, then a last small amount nursed free by Bobby, which child had now become captive of the panting female as she grabbed his powerful swimmer’s shoulders and hauled him bodily on top of her, at the same time swinging on the lounge chair and spreading her legs wide.  Phil, staggered, was not beyond use and he huddled over the young couple, reaching down between their waists to join the male with the thrusting little girl.  Bobby rose high on his arms and Joseph had moved in for a loose close-up, keeping the camera carefully to one side so Catty could look down between herself and her panting cousin.  Bobby moved gently but persistently and the microphone clearly caught the imprecations of the boy and her response that she was okay, words she emphasized by moving willfully against him with increasing determination.  With a yelp, a little blood appear and the couple froze for a minute, the female initiating experiments that she found successful, and having half her mate’s six inches inside her wet hotness within half of another minute.  Her cries were now without a hint of caution, and the child addressed her brother in fervent terms while reassuring Bobby.  The boy surged to the girl’s welcome and his sweating thighs buried against hers in moments.  They froze, quaking together, then the male yielded to the primal nature of the situation and took up a heavy, powerful rhythm as the girl’s arms and legs hugged him tight.  At interval’s they lay together, the feeling of each other’s semen wetted bare chest irresistible, and then the boy rose again so they could gaze down at themselves, Catty continuing to update her deathbed images.  
      “Pretend you’re my brother trying to get me pregnant,” the girl whispered.  Bobby, rose, lunged hard over her seventy pound body, and gazed down into her wide blue eyes.  
      “I don’t think it’s pretend,” he panted, rigid and shuddering in her hands.
      “Joseph, I can feel everything,” the girl said, now staring up at the camera.  “He’s doing just what Phil did.”
      Well, anyone would, but it was no time for quips and the future officer maintained his discipline, moving the camera quickly to the beauty’s wide-eyed face until it was again trained on the lower belly and thighs of the child.  Bobby’s semen was welling copiously from between them, the girl panting at the deep pulsing high between her slim legs.  He moved the p.o.v. back three feet to catch images of the male high over the female, her legs wrapped hard around his muscular waist, as his seed flowed from her thighs to the mattress of the pool lounge, with Phil smearing his palm in the spill so that he might masturbate on the writing children.  Instead of this final shot fading out in traditional manner, the camera had been bobbled a little when Joseph handed it to Phil, but the recovery was quick, and the image clear.  The twenty year old had taken the classic missionary position with his little sister, and the child just murmured yes, yes, yes as he took her steadily and for a long time.  And it was in his powerful arms the female had her first orgasm, hissing and lolling all but to the state of unconsciousness, only to find, on her revival, her athletic brother still wanting their child as much as she did.
      
      In the end, the timing worked out perfectly.  Joseph eventually did go rigid over his sister as she gently stroked his face, a look of soft contentment – of everything, nothing missed, and what was to come – on her pretty, school-girl face.
      
      The mate closed the computer and placed it in his locker.  When I say perfect, I mean perfect, because as he clicked the latch it was ten to nine, showtime.
      
      “Right on time, sir,” a midshipman chanted as they arrived at the hatch leading to the costume cubby at the rear of the stage. 
      
       “I’ve been thinking,” Joseph said as the stage manager left to attend to other matters, “how about we do school girls, and I’m the teacher, and you’re bored with the reading so I decide to be Mr. Nice Guy and let you practice elocution by telling me about the last movie you saw together.”
      Fitness for a job can be measured in different ways, one supposes, but the alacrity of response by one’s subordinates, their willing cooperation and enthusiasm, have to count for something, especially at sea.  This by way of saying Joseph was a good mate, able to adapt a script to the moment as well as being enough of an inspiration that his companions were Velcroed into the appropriate costumes in two minutes flat.  
      
      Hal approached, apologizing for still being in uniform.  “Radar’s clear and the wind’s moderating,” he said to his fellow officer, “and I see you’ve enlisted our castaway.”
      “Oh, sir,” Neil said, perhaps rehearsing his character a little, “we just didn’t have time to get started on reading, tonight, so he let us watch a video instead, I hope that was okay.”
      “The only rule,” the kindly officer responded, “is that everything has to be shared, at the right time, with those of the crew who might wish to see it.”
      “Plus keeping any ‘oh, sir’ stuff for pageants,” Sammy enjoined with a friendly wink at his stunningly beautiful age-mate.
      “I declare,” Neil responded, slipping into a drawl, “I’ve plumb gone and forgotten myself now, haven’t I.”
      “Comes of fighting off sharks and playing a role in a child’s bathing costume within four hours of each other,” Joseph comforted.  All nodded in agreement with the spontaneous words of wisdom, and Hal left.
      
      In a minute the middy returned with his clipboard.  “You’re on first,” he explained to the assembled trio.  “We favor non-derivative presentations, so new mates always open the show, along with new boys.”  With that he blew a short note on his boson’s pipe, and lo, a class appeared, most dressed in their shore clothes with perhaps five dressed as female students.  Yes, it was all very improv, but any storyline was bound to be predictable, so why not cut to the chaste?
      
      A bell rang, the murmur from the mid-hold subsided, and the stage manager cued the players.  The only scenery practical on a sailing ship were three chairs fastened to the deck at the rear of the stage.  Joseph took the center, Sammy on his right, and for several minutes they sat composing themselves.  There were none of the whistles and catcalls of a burlesque, and in fact just the opposite, an atmosphere of stunned silence, greeted the players and supporting cast seated on the deck around them.  No eye wondered, not lip curled, not tongue moved.  At the risk of badgering you with the perfection theme, it was now showtime.
      
      The middy had handed Sammy a book and he began reading from it, laying it flat in his lap after a minute.  “Uncle Jacob,” the raving beauty said, “it is interesting and all, like the beginning of a stupendous Texas barbecue, so much blood for the sauce, but could we finish Ajax tomorrow?”
      “Oh, please, Daddy, I mean Uncle,” Neil added, “I mean they were all fully human and fully alive to take each other so seriously, I mean with a world full of jesting and silly behavior, but couldn’t we finish it tomorrow.  My sister and I do love it, but we’ve had fifty pages…”
      “Now girls,” Uncle Jacob said, “you’ve been wonderful listeners, and I’m not your teacher, so we can give it a rest if you like, but I would like to spend the time practicing your diction.  You have fertile and active minds, and, while you communicate well, it is a skill that requires some practice at your ages, so, if we stop reading, how ‘bout if we have you tell about a common experience you shared, each in her own words.”
      “Does it have to be something real, or can we make it up?” Sammy asked.
      “As long as it’s intricate and rich in detail,” the ersatz teacher replied, “I’ll be satisfied.”  Both actors nodded happily.
      “Actually,” Neil took it on himself to explain, “the last notable thing Melinda and I shared was a movie.”
      “Oh, they do make some charming ones,” Jacob enthused, clapping his hands under his chin, “and who’d ever guess it, as helter-skelter as things are on the Coast.”
      “Constance,” the one child said looking at the other, “maybe you’d better explain.”
      “Well, in the first place,” Neil, playing the junior sister, said, “the prequel to the barbecue was left in the hands of other directors, our story was on a different subject.
      “Maybe one of the other children here, who have seemingly mistaken you for a teacher, would like to guess.”  The seated trio looked out over the stage, Joseph throwing in a double-take.
      “Well, my-my,” he said, again with a delicious little clap, “don’t the two of you young ladies have ever so many friends, and so quiet and attentive, too.  Why yes, by all means, it would be most droll to have them participate.”
      
      Several hands went up and the pedagogue nodded at a likely looking boy in the fourth row.  “Sir,” the youngster said, wisely remaining seated due to the motion of the ship, “are the girls going to tell you about whales?”
      “How about locomotives,” another kid chimed in, and then all relieved the rapidly escalating tension in the impromptu theater by making silly suggestions.
      Jacob let them continue with a benevolent smile, finally raising his hand to a responsive hush.  “Now we’ll just have to see, won’t we,” he advised, nodding to his pair of stunning nieces.
      “It’s a family story,” Belinda (Sammy) began, “and I’m afraid it doesn’t have a whale or a train, but it does have a pool and a cabana.”
      “There,” Jacob glowed, “isn’t that wonderful? and I’ll bet a lot of you little boys and girls have families, too.”
      He made himself easy to laugh at, so the kids played along, some in the audience joining in.  Be it noted they also hushed at the twitch of his eyes.  Again the teacher nodded to Belinda.
      “Well,” the girl in the sun suit said, “it’s an involved and complicated tale, and when it comes to telling such a story, in our family we always let the youngest go first on the assumption older listeners will be able to follow, where the lesser child might get lost.”
      
      “Now let’s all clap for such a good rule,” Jacob intoned, skillfully involving their audience.  Again, a look brought a fast stop to the merriment and the man nodded at wee Constance.
      “I know a lot of stories begin on a dark and stormy night, but this one doesn’t, is that all right Uncle Jacob?” the cutie-pie asked.
      “Well, sweetums,” the man cooed in reply, “ye hands have had their share of such an atmosphere readying our craft for night running in unsettled weather, so it’s most likely they’d respond favorably should you choose an alternate motif.”
      “Oh,” the girl minced, “they’re so wonderful I just knew they would.”  She looked around, beaming and gracious, her generous spirit plainly visible in her sweet face.
      “It was noon,” Belinda said, sisterly affection obvious as she took her little sibling off the hook.  “The sun was high and we’d retreated from poolside into the shadows of our garden.  It was there our handsome daddy found us, home for the day because it was a half-day Friday at his clinic.”
      “Where he teaches the intellectually astute,” Constance said, helping, in turn, her sibling, “to adjust their moral outlook to match the contemporary scene.  Bringing smart people up to date, that’s what he does.”
      “And does it very well, too,” Constance added in her turn, “in fact, he’s so improved his treatment he brought us home a disc of before and after video of some of his patients.  That’s the film I mentioned.  The one dear Belinda and I watched together.”
      “And the one you’re willing to describe as fully and graphically as Homer does his battle scenes?” the teacher, serious faced, asked the little princess sitting beside him.  He was rewarded by nods from both his angelic students, so let them continue.
      
      “That’s why we wore these costumes for our reading,” Belinda continued, “because these are what we were wearing when Daddy brought his laptop into the shady nook by the pool.  Here four beautiful eyes blazed up at the mate, his cue unmistakable.
      “Yes, well just so,” Joseph said, slipping from the role of Jacob, “where were we now.”  He rose, circled his chair, and again seated himself, pretending to open a notebook computer in his lap as his daughters watched his every move.  “Yes, of course,” he continued, pressing imaginary buttons, “it boils down to this, my darlings, and don’t you look lovely, fresh from the pool, it amounts to the fact that my research and counseling have rather brought things to a nub, a no-longer-refinable basic truth, and that, my dears, is that in this world there is only one thing suitable to the tendencies of addiction patent in all of us.”
      “Herb tea!” Belinda yelped with a clap of her boyish hands.
      “Body lotion,” her cute little sister enthused.
      “Well, maybe next year,” their senior harrumphed, a tear nearly coming to his eye at the sight of the crestfallen angels flanking him on either side.
      “But you’ve spent so much time on it, Daddy,” Belinda moaned on the verge of a whine.
      “You had to get it right, you just had to,” little Constance added, all but petulant and crying.
      “Darlings,” the father said gently, “science is getting things right, not pleasing even the dearest and sweetest angels a man ever got to call his own.  Truth, my light and my hope, and a thousand tears won’t change a word of it.”
      “We’ll try to be big,” Belinda responded, trying not to overdo the sniffling.
      
      “Yes,” Constance said, “and there are two of us, so your news should be only half as bad to each.”
      A bit early with the feminine logic, but we’ll let it pass, I guess it could be said, genderously.  The girls sat mute while their father continued poking at the laptop.  “I think the battery is low,” he finally said.
      “We get too much television, anyway,” Belinda noted.
      “Plus all day at school with computers,” her sister added.
      “So,” the two chorused, then Constance continued, “it would be better if you told us everything about your experiments and the hazards of addiction.”
      “And,” Belinda noted, “if there’s anything you can’t tell us, maybe you could show it.  Act it out like we do when we play charades.”
      “Why that’s a capital idea,” the oldest actor said, “just the answer, indeed.  You are such a bright pair, why I believe you’d understand if I scribbled it with a dull pencil on back of the laundry list.”
      “Oh, Daddy, you’re so silly,” squeaked Constance, “there’d be plenty of room on the front of our laundry list.”
      
      “If we even needed one in the first place,” the older girl said, adding a sober note.  Even the audience was taken aback by the thought and a murmuring sigh was audible above the hiss and surge of the running ship.
      “Well,” the father drawled, vamping for time, “what you have here is a capacity to communicate.  You’re an apt pair, as bright and retentive as you are lovely and alluring, so maybe we could try a case history or two and see how things go.”
      “Daddy?” little Constance said, “there’s one thing you should know before you start.”
      “What’s that my love?” the man said tenderly.
      “Belinda and I,” the girl replied, “well, we’re not all ears.”  
      No one tried to laugh, and it could also be said everyone tried not to laugh, which, as enlightened youth knows, is a far different thing than just getting it over with.  The young mate knew instinctively, for this was his first time on the boards, that a stern look on his part would but compound the difficulty of both cast and audience, possibly rendering some of the younger, more sensitive boys physically ill.  No, the thespian of the moment did not want to see sickness, so he maintained a benevolently neutral expression, his eyes wandering fondly to the pair of minxes sitting at either side.
      
      “The case of Hector Jeskell and Misty Slide,” he began several minutes later, “the former a thirty eight year old personnel manager for an engineering consulting firm and his ten year old daughter.  Subject, the former, called our offices approximately six weeks ago, scheduling an appointment for himself.  “Imagine being smart enough to deal with some of the smartest people in the country, even occasionally having to fire a credentialed genius,” he said in our first interview, “and not being smart enough for my little step-daughter, Misty.”
      “We leave it to the lord to work in mysterious ways,” I replied, “we get to the bottom of things here at Finally Clear Associates, and fathers and daughters, well, not to sound officious, but we clear those as a matter of course.  The pay is for a six week course, and you’ll want to sign a consent decree allowing full publication of any and all details of your case, and, in return, you get to live, if not forever after, at least with an intensity considered by other men of your intellectual capacity to be the extreme that is humanly possible, plus, a dozen copies of any book containing an account of your therapy.”
      
      So smoothly had Joseph segued into his story the better part of a hundred rapt faces hung on every word.  Spontaneously, the two beauties at his sides had found seats in his lap, two children from the gallery had replaced them, the entire cast had inched in closer, and the audience was threatening the proscenium.  Encouraged, the twenty two year old continued his role as handsome father and practicing psychologist.
      
      “How much is the treatment,” the executive asked, pulling out his checkbook.
      “I’m most careless about such things at times,” the doctor said, “did I say ‘pay”?  Well, I suppose I meant it, but we pay you.  You take Misty to a certain lodging establishment and we make a video of the ensuing therapy session.  Ten thousand in cash, up front, and ten percent royalty on sales of any film featuring you and your step daughter.  Twelve books, as I mentioned, because they appeal to the thirty percent digino audience, and the royalties, by the way, includes books on tape, also anticipated to do their share of heavy lifting in the marketplace.”  Here the actor indulged in a little ad hoc stagecraft, holding an imaginary contract toward the first mate who, now out of uniform, had seated himself in the wings.  Hal crossed to the three chairs, steadying himself on the heads of two or three boys, and knelt in front of Joseph, taking the papers from his hand, glancing at them, then signing with a pen he placed carefully back in a pocket that was actually some fifty feet away and hanging in his stateroom.  
      
      “Misty,” the older mate said to Belinda, “we need to talk.”
      “Daddy,” the girl responded, “you’re an angel to want me to learn with my real dad; not to get all freaked out and uptight about the things I want, and to want me to experience them with my natural father, but you’re more to me than he is.”
      “I just want you to be happy, darling,” Hal said, playing the father, “and I talked to a very special man today.  Step dads like me come and go, the feminists would have it no other way, and your real dad is your one and only.
      “You’re a loving and sweet girl,” the man went on, “and it should be the most special night of your life, but it should be with him.”
      “Then you should get your money back from your special man,” the girl pouted, “he gives dumb advice.”
      “What he did, sweetheart,” the actor said, “is suggest a change of scenery.   He reserved us a room at a secret lodge where we could hang out.  At age ten you don’t have to make any quick decisions, neither of us do, so we could talk it out fully.”
      “That sounds better,” the girl sniffled, smiling wanly.  She held out a timid hand to the young man and the two circled the bolted-down seats to indicate the passage of time.
      
      “Daddy,” Constance said, “you tell a wonderful story and I’m glad you have such nice patients at Finally Clear.”  There was a warm round of applause from the audience, virtually the first voluntary sound they’d made.  One of the gallery boys vacated the seat on Joseph’s left and the first mate and his exquisitely made over young sailor settled themselves, the female facing the audience, back to her tall, athletic father..
      
      “The least you could do,” Misty (Belinda/Sammy) asked, “is show me everything my dad will want.  You don’t have to do anything, just show me. If you want, you could even pretend I’m a boy and that you’re teaching me how to field strip a handgun or rig a pound of C4 with a fulminate of mercury detonator, you know, to begin with.”
      “Well, child,” Hal responded, “it’s obvious you know a thing or two about fuses, lighting fires, heat, friction, and any number of related topics.”
      “But that’s all explosive,” the child observed, “and for when I get older.  Right now I’m meant to be at the beginning stage, that’s what you have to teach me here, how it starts.”
      Man and boy took their moment.  
      
      “Oh, Daddy,” Constance sighed, “she’s so nice.  I hope their session had a happy ending.”
      “Well, darling,” Joseph said, “that’s why I brought the disc home for Belinda and you.  It was a special case, what with the involvement with the second father; usually it’s less complicated, just a man concerned over the growing interest of a cute daughter and wondering about options, at which point I stress the fact that if he stays slim and is nice enough, all ‘round, none are closed.  That leads to the lodge and the rote mechanics of editing and publishing the case history.”
      
      “Show me how he’ll start,” Misty said, “because I think you’re right.  He is the one and only, and I’ll spend next weekend with him, but first you have to teach me step by step.”
      “If it were me, it would be like this,” the first mate playing Hector, the executive, whispered as his hands went around the beauty in his lap.  Constance responded by wriggling suggestively against her handsome young father, and the man’s hands went gently around her sleek middle, just as the patient’s had around pretty little Misty.  Sammy continued in the lead, responding to Hal’s touch in such a way as to welcome more, with the psychologist and his daughter following avidly.  There was a mild shuffling amongst both the cast and audience and the featured players paused while the younger boys found older boys and the older boys found young men, finally settling in pairs and occasional small groups as the performance began.  Sure, the story so far had been a little convoluted and had lacked the elegance of finely crafted fiction, but an undercurrent of passion had played through any artifice or contrived ad-libbing, so that which lacked critical finesse still played to an engaged and attentive audience. 
      
      “How long will he do this?” Misty asked, moving her hands behind the handsome mate’s head and arching to his roaming fingers.
      “Seven or eight minutes for a boy,” the engineer said, “and two or three minutes longer with a female at your stage of development.”  Again, the line was imprecise and technically imperfect, but no one was dissuaded by the lapse.
      “H’mm,” the girl murmured, “it feels like this is all there could be.  That a girl would get pregnant just to say thanks.”
      
      “Many a tear has to fall / but it’s all / in the game,” ran through the head of several music lovers in the audience, and, indeed, the very act of maintaining one’s composure could turn to agony in the presence of morons on stage.  Composure ruled, though, and it was undoubtedly the intensity of the byplay between athletic young adults and coltish boys that exerted a disciplinary influence so profound that not a whimper was audible, to say nothing of the splash of eye water, though, to dot the last “i” and cross the last “t”, it could fairly be recorded that all eyes were Misty.
      
      “That’s very encouraging, darling,” Hal said, “be sure to remember it next weekend, for what a girl says, how she responds, her expressions of welcome and pleasure, are very stimulating, so long as they come from the heart and are not tricked up in the name of exploitation or manipulation.”
      “So I should tell him my heart raced to your touch,” the girl responded, “that your hands against my bare skin made me all electric and the feeling of you against me while I was sitting back in your lap filled my head with visions of stag and fawn and the thought of what you were about to teach me dumbed me down until I was nothing more than a hot, wet puddle of waiting.”
      “I doubt he’ll act indifferently,” Hal noted.
      
      “And how about when he finds out there were no limits between us?” the girl went on.  “That my submission wasn’t submission in any sense of the word, but a predatory desire for your use of me any way you wanted, whenever you wanted.  A passion to take everything of yours, to go after it, to get it, and to keep it hot within me, now and forever, and if I should bear you a daughter, that you’d teach her when she’s half my age, and her sisters, too?  Would that be manipulative or exploitive?”
      “I thing ‘effective’ is the word you’re looking for,” the mate advised his pupil, “though ‘extremely stimulating’ might also fit.”
      “Then show me what he’ll do next,” Misty suggested, “pretend I’m all in love with him, not with you, and you’re in love with me, so you want me to be perfect for him so he’ll make it perfect for me.”
      
      So well had Sammy captured the vagaries of the female mind in his spontaneous dialogue the entire company, and, in due time, all the ship’s crew, gave silent thanks for the maritime tradition banning women from the sea.  It was however, like its subject, great entertainment.
      
      “He’ll want to feel your developing breasts against his bare chest, darling,” the father said, “and to kiss you for at least ten minutes.”
      “Sitting in a chair?” the girl asked.
      “No, love,” the actor said, “he’ll get on his knees and spread his legs wide apart to position himself for you.  You’ll be on your knees in front of him.  Both of you will display, arching your backs, then move slowly to each other until you touch, perfectly.”
      “With my bra off?” the pixie stage-whispered.
      “Yes, baby,” her father said, “if you want to.”
      “And he’ll take it off while I’m sitting in his lap?” the girl next asked.
      “I would, in his shoes,” the man admitted.
      “And is he likely to be totally obtuse when it comes to any form of hinting or subtlety?” the girl asked.
      
      “While he’s conscious there’s always a chance,” Hal allowed.
      “Daddy?” the cutie queried.
      “Yes, darling,” he father whispered as he unfastened the child’s bra.
      “If he knows I’ve been completely wild with you, that it’s happened again and again until I’m wet and exhausted from loving you, and that it will be hot and full and wild and totally complete the moment I’m with you again, should our reuniting occur on a city sidewalk, well, will that help him remain conscious?”
      “Even some people in comas have moments of lucidity,” the kindly father explained, “so it’s something to hope for.”
      “Can I ask a follow-up?” the child wanted to know.
      “Yes, darling, of course.”
      “As far as the consciousness thing goes,” she said, “will it help him if it’s more or if it’s less.  If I have more to tell him, so as to keep him alert, or less to tell him, so he doesn’t go into some kind of altered state do to excess?
      “In other words,” Misty continued, choosing her words carefully, “if something more happens between us, something more than usually happens, something, to be a little more specific, that leaves my lips and tongue wet and slick, would knowing that was how I’d eagerly and willingly loved you be a positive or a negative influence?” 
      “It could enable extremism in either direction,” the actor replied, “it could result in his death, should he have the slightest cardio-pulmonary weakness, or in your violent rape, his savage and continuing use of your slim young body, fully conscious, indeed (at least he would remain so).”
      
      “Then can you teach me, now, Daddy?” the sweetie asked. 
      “Well, what about all your little friends, Misty?” the man asked in response.
      “They could go play the video games down in the rec room,” the girl said, “or darts, or pool, or swim in the pool, for that matter, so they don’t have to stay.”  The response of the theater goers was glacial, no one moved a cotton-pickin’ inch.
      “All right, darling,” the man said, removing his daughter’s filmy top, “I’ll get naked, we’ll touch, then I’ll lie on my back for you.”
      
      Both stood, Hal stripped out of the briefs that made up the costumes of all male players as well as the audience in the well-heated mid hold.  This done, he sank to his knees, the bare chested little girl immediately in front of him.  The adult positioned himself and the child moved closer, Joseph and Neil following suit.  The last inch took a full minute, the now gentle motion of the pitching bark scarcely noticed as the couple swayed to each other a millimeter at a time.  They touched first experimentally and tentatively, then fully, their arms eventually going around each other as they toyed with each other’s lips and tongues, finally fully embracing and swaying in unison, but adults’ erections huge and hot against the bellies of the lithe play girls.
      
      Sammy led, lying Hal back and quickly stripping out of his costume panties before he straddled the young adult’s muscular right thigh, his own hard swelling probing the thighs of the panting athlete.  Neil watched as the experienced boy cupped his partner with his right hand, and toyed with his right, wetting the flaring glans of the mature beauty and then leaning to him to experiment with his lips and tongue.  A minute of this, and he lowered to the long, thick circumcised shaft, first covering the swollen head, then taking substantially more, but certainly not all.  Quickly he set a rhythm the powerful muscles of his swimmers shoulder flexing in a deliberate beat as the boy set a perfect example for his friend.
      
      A miser would have felt safe opening his treasure chest on that stage, could have gone off to use the facilities without a twinge of angst in his coiled head.  Lingered to see if he could borrow a fiver from the towel boy.  Found a shoeshine boy who’d work without a tip.  Sequestered a generous wad of tissue in each pocket, and lined his trousers with paper towels, his treasure still safe and undetected.  Henry David Thoreau has written that he was never able to finish a really good book for sake of being off about what the book suggested.  These are vague asides presented in an attempt to add texture and resonance to the scene in the mid-hold theater.  Since young adults outnumbered middies and cadets by two to one, little attention was devoted by anyone to anything other than the closest possible emulation of the action on stage.  Nor was the literary lesson lost on the younger boys; the message of the play had been plain: that which is slightly delayed is greatly enhanced.  So the children proceeded slowly and carefully with their mature partners, first one, then the next, in a couple of cases, then the third, and then, again, with an interplay of touching, fondling, and whispering.
      
      Thus ended the second act, control reigning yet, adults easing children away from them, and coming back to their seated positions in response to the beauties on stage.  Misty, now naked, regained her father’s lap, facing the tall athlete as her father whispered to her.  Thus the stage was set…
      
      “Sammy,” Hal said, removing his lover’s wig and placing it carefully over the back of his chair, “you remember what comes next from your first voyage, right?”
      “Yes, sir,” the cadet said.
      “And you thought it rather important at the time, is that right?”  The boy nodded in agreement.
      “And something that should be shared with all the new boys?”
      “Definitely,” the thirteen year intoned.
      “And especially our friend of rowboat fame?”
      “Especially,” the boy agreed.
      “And you know you’d be better at communicating with the new boys your age than we mates would, don’t you?”
      “I just know it’s important for them to hear about it before they experience it,” Sammy replied.
      “Well,” the mate suggested, “why don’t you tell Neil, and the other newbies can gather around so they won’t miss anything.”
      “Seeing as how none of them are likely to be missed,” the boy responded, “that sounds like a plan.”
      
      Acting with considerable instinct considering their theatrical inexperience, the principal cast changed places so that Neil was sitting on Sammy’s left, both boys naked and still fully aroused, Sammy, though slightly the younger, displaying a fuller and more adult erection than his willowy friend, himself the size of an older teen.  “We have to talk,” he whispered to his understudy.
      
      “That would have been difficult a couple of minutes ago, but I think I can now,” Neil said.
      “There are actually two points that need to be covered,” the extemporaneous pedagogue noted.
      “Incredible,” the fisherman said, shaking his head in wonder.
      “Don’t be daft,” his friend cautioned, “I’m talking about abstract and academic points.”
      “Well,” his friend mused, “I guess I did have the glangible in mind.”
      “They’re important,” his friend prodded, kindly, “and not hard to remember, because they’re allied, one with the other.”
      “I’ve heard of that,” the twerp said, “cause and effect.”
      “But it can also be reject,” his friend responded, “what seems hot and steamy one moment, can, with a mature male, turn pretty shocking in an instant; what would have happened with Joseph if you’d kept doing what you were.  That’s what I have to tell you about, and the thing that goes with it is any feeling OF rejection is greatly compounded if you loose control first.  Sometimes this leads to a letdown and rapid, as in instantaneous, loss of interest, and, should this occur, and your mature partner then loses control, spilling heavily all over your body, on your face, or on your tongue, well, as the saying goes, forewarned is forearmed.”
      “So it almost happened with Joseph?” the kid asked.
      
      “You could feel him tensing and his breathing get fast and shallow, couldn’t you?” his friend queried in response.
      “Yes,” the boy replied, “and it kept happening faster and faster, and trying to satisfy him by, you know, being faster and harder, myself, just seemed to make it more intense.”
      “And it felt like something must soon happen, right?” Sammy said.
      “I kept being amazed that it hadn’t,” the boy responded. 
      “Well, you probably have a point there,” the cadet allowed, “but next time it will happen, all at once, and maybe with no verbal warning.  Just a sudden, hot surge in your mouth, very intense and salty, and in copious amounts that keep coming and coming, covering your tongue and leaking out for everyone to see unless you want to swallow all the flooding sperm, then we’ll all see your throat working and know what’s happening.  That’s why it’s important for it to happen with him before he helps the same thing happen with you, because it’s a love/hate thing and this is not the right ship to get off on the wrong foot aboard.”
      
      The castaway nodded solemnly in response to the forthcoming wisdom, his handsome face taking on a studious look.  “Do some boys,” he asked, “like to watch it happen before it happens in a more intimate way?”
      “That’s very common,” Sammy agreed, “and especially when the excitement has been a long time in building, leading to a more fulsome display very erotic to the eye of an equally excited juvenile.”
      “So I don’t have to be as wild as Misty until later?” the boy said, checking.
      “No such thing as ‘have to’ aboard the “Sweet Witch,” the young veteran noted, “but in essence you’ve got the essence.”
      “What I’ve got,” Neil responded, “what I’m lucky enough to have, is a beautiful teacher; a pair of beautiful teachers, almost the equal of my awesome partner.”  The boy then nodded, all four nodded, and the mature males were eased to the polished deck, with young boys from the gallery brought in to use as pillows raising the thighs of the mates high so all could see.  Neil and Sammy took their positions straddling the powerful legs of their athletes and, now experienced, began masturbating them fully and openly as the mature males panted and arched wildly to their intense stroking.  Performers delight in having an audience with them every step of the way, and if it was stroke of the way, the effect was the same, a spurring and impelling force palpable in nature and inimitably audible with fevered panting and whispering as a mass loss of control approached like a breaking tidal wave.
      
      “Daddy,” Misty whispered urgently, “pretend my daddy’s watching, show him how much you love me!”
      
      
Perfect climaxes are a literary specialty of the house and I hope you liked this one.  Operating budget, that bugaboo of entrepreneurialism, is depleted, no taxi rides, no pictures for the next ten days or so, but, with XP functioning flawlessly in spite of numerous blackouts and other challenges, perhaps I’ll find some other way to fill the time.  Again, thanks for the tremendous launch to this silly thing, and stay tuned.

Film Fini – End File-3

xxx

