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My stories are in the form of a memoir. The tales are first of the protagonist growing up in his parent’s guesthouse, then progress to the time when he was an hotelier and culminating with him as sailing ship captain. I have collected them in a series of volumes entitled The Intimate Intercourse of a Hedonistic Hotelier, A Memoir. This story is from Volume I, with the title: The Early Years, Tantalizing Tastes.

However, memory is a faulty device, as any trial lawyer will tell you. No two witnesses to any incident relate the same series of events. Memories are colored by experience and imagination. I have been blessed with a surfeit of both.

As I write this memoir at the start of my eighth decade of life, I find the memories of some of the events related have dimmed. I find though, as I continue to write, many of the memories burst forth like a climatic crescendo in a welcoming grotto of pleasure.

Though these stories are, for the most part true; I freely admit that some of the stories are “more true” than others. Some indeed, are downright Walter Middy-ish. I can say, however, that all the stories are based on true events. I have changed the names of the participants to obscure their identity and to give them plausible deniability, if they so choose.

Rest assured dear reader. All of the sexual participants mentioned or alluded to in this story were eighteen years old or older at the time of any blissful encounter!

******

“Yabut, I want you to be a gentleman and take Aunt Aggie’s niece for a drive and show her the island. Here’s some cash, take her for a burger and a movie later. I’ve even thrown in an extra dollar for gas.” My father told me as I washed the breakfast dishes, handing me six dollars, a five and a one.

“Yeah But… Daaaad… I was going to call Heather tonight. She misses me if I don’t call.” I whined.

“Don’t worry, Yabut. You’ll both survive. You didn’t see her much the whole month of May, as I recall. You survived. I’m going to give you the rest of the day off… after you finish cleaning up the breakfast mess. Now you go enjoy yourself.” He used his impeccable parental logic.

‘I didn’t know that he had noticed I was on a Heather hiatus in May. I hope Heather’s folks didn’t tell him Heather was on restriction from me for our missing curfew. He didn’t mention it… so I guess he didn’t know why I wasn’t seeing Heather for the whole month.’ I frantically thought.

Heather had recently started to work at the Fernwood Raspberry Farm. She worked very hard with long hours, so she was often exhausted when we were together. With the summer rush upon us at the guesthouse, I was exhausted too.

My dad gave me the day and evening off, which I appreciated, but I would have rather used the time to make love to Heather. Taking some strange girl on a tour of the island was not my idea of a good way to spend my time.

“Aunt Aggie” wasn’t really my aunt. Actually, she had just recently become a close friend of my parents. Agnes Luter was a recent divorcee from St. Petersburg, Florida who was staying with her daughter Julie in Port Arbutus, to help Julie care for her young daughter. My mom was also from Florida hence the instant affinity. Julie’s husband was a navy pilot. Aggie’s son Bobby had also recently joined the guesthouse staff as a gardener.

Aggie’s niece decided to come for a visit with her Aunt and cousins for a week. She was due to head back to St. Pete on Sunday. Why my dad chose me to be the tour guide is anyone’s guess, though she was about my age. She had graduated high school the year before and I had graduated earlier in the month. I had visions of her as being a plump, pimply girl and dumb as a post. I must admit at the time I had a decided anti-southern bias. This was possibly gained subliminally, due to my New England heritage. My great-great grandfather fought for the Union in the Civil War.

Aunt Aggie was to bring her niece by about noon and I was to have her back about ten or eleven that evening according to my father. Basically it was a ten hour tour with a movie thrown in.

The Love Bug was playing at The Arbutus Theater. That was the only movie theater in town. The Love Bug was a Disney movie, staring Dean Jones, about a sentient VW Bug. It was not high on my watch list. Indeed it was another movie Heather and I would have skipped on our weekly “movie nights” that fortunately had evolved into “fuckie nights.”

It was Summer Solstice and the weather was beautiful. I decided to give Aggie’s niece the full north island tour. I planned on starting the tour at the “Top of the Islands,” a small mountain with a road all the way to the summit. It was located on the island just to the north of Baker Island. It gave a spectacular view of the Strait, the surrounding mountains, and the collection of emerald isles scattered between the two mountain ranges. I was not too jaded of a teen to enjoy the view.

After the breakfast “clean up,” I went to my cottage to clean myself istanbul escort up for my “date.” I looked longingly at my bed, the rumpled covers exposed the cum stains on my sheets. I changed my bed once a week; now usually on Friday’s, so I could make love to Heather on reasonably clean sheets. I was hopeful I’d hook-up with Heather this Friday evening.

Taking advantage of the free-ish afternoon, I changed my sheets a day early. I could use my old method of cumming into Kleenex tonight after my “date” to keep the sheets pristine for a Heather love bout the next night. I often would put the cummy tissues in the Franklin stove as kindling.

When I got back to the Guesthouse to meet my drudge of a date, Aunt Aggie was there with a very attractive redheaded beauty. She was wearing a blue striped, light cotton sundress which accentuated her fine figure. It came to a couple of inches above her knees. Her bright red hair fell to her shoulders. Wow, how lucky can a guy get? She was the very antithesis of the pimply, pudgy putz I was expecting.

Indeed, I have had a thing for red-headed girls since 1957 when Sybil, a cute little red-headed girl in New Orleans, and I would play jacks together. I often dreamed of what it would be like to take that game a little farther as I got older.

“Jacques, I’d like you to meet my niece Barbara Louise O’Reilly.”

I was speechless, “Uh… Umm… Ah… Hi. N, na, nice to meet you Barbara.” I stuttered.

“We call her Barbie Lou, Jacques. It’s the way of the south.” Aunt Aggie corrected.

“Uh… okay… Hi Barbie Lou!” I stuck out my hand.

“Ah’m pleased ta meet y’all, Jack.” She dripped a greeting in a southern drawl.

She held out her hand with the back facing up. I wasn’t sure if I was to kiss it or take it and shake it. I gently shook it.

“Okay, now y’all run off and have a good time. I’ll see y’all back here no later than eleven. Ya he-ah?” Aunt Aggie instructed.

“Yes Ma’am. Will do!” I said.

I escorted Barbie Lou to my 1957 Ford coupe. I opened the passenger door for her and she got in. I got in the driver’s side. She pretty much hung to the far side of the car. I tried to think of something to engage her in small talk, trying to break the ice a bit.

Originally I held little hope for the evening. I now was hopeful she might prove as friendly as Karla, another southern belle I had enjoyed kissing a year and a half before. Karla was from New Orleans, Louisiana, and proved to be quite friendly and very experienced. But as a beautiful young woman, with red hair at that, I was a bit tongue tied with Barbie Lou.

“My Dad said you’ve graduated from high school.” Dumb opening I know, but I couldn’t think of anything else as we drove north after a pregnant silence.

“Yes, Stonewall Jackson High on the shores of Tampa Bay, class of ’68. Where’d you graduate?”

“I graduated this year from SHS. Sixty nine… so fine!” I said, and then blushed at the double entendre.

“Yeah, for me…SJHS, sixty eight, not so great.” She intoned, remorsefully.

I don’t think she got it my innuendo. She clearly was not as experienced as Karla.

“Uh. Yeah. What’s with your High School being named for a rebel?” I asked.

“Don’t y’all know Stonewall Jackson? He was a war hero. Didn’t they cover that in yowr history classes?”

“I know who Stonewall Jackson was. War hero? I don’t think so. He was a rebel! He fought for the Confederacy. They were traitors to the United States! The Civil War, Barbara Louise!” I don’t know why I used her full name.

“You mean… the war of northern aggression. You’re a damn Yankee! And yes, he was a rebel; that was our high school mascot. During football games at halftime one of our boys would ride a horse around the track with the rebel battle flag. GO REBELS! YEE HA!” She said firmly, and then shouted out her team yell.

“But, as a southern lady, Ah won’t hold your ignorance against you… Yankee.” She said in a more conciliatory tone except for the Yankee part, which she sort of spat out.

Rather than argue who was the more ignorant, I decided to leave the discussion there. We crossed the Flon Passage Bridge from Baker to Perry Island and drove to the top of Mount Lawrence.

We got out of the car at “The Top of the Islands.” The view was spectacular. I pointed out the various islands and mountains. You could see from Mount Puget on the Northeast all the way to Mount Chatham on the Southeast and the Olympic Mountains to the Southwest.

“Wow Jack! That is a mighty fine view.” She said as she walked close to the edge of the sheer cliff.

I winced and said in a near panic, “Barbie Lou please step back! It’s a long way down.”

“It’s okay. Ah don’t mind. Ah kinda like living dangerously.” She said as she leaned over the edge. “Wow! That is a long way down! C’mer Jack. Come see.” She encouraged.

“Um… no thankyou… I’ve seen it. It is about a thousand foot drop, ya know.” escort istanbul I said staying well back.

“Yoh not a fraidy cat, are ya?” She prodded, and then said, “Yankee?” under her breath with distain.

“Uh… no… but I don’t… I don’t like heights… or cliffs that much, for that matter. I’ve got a lot more to show you. C’mon, let’s get going.” I said defensively.

We got back in the car. I turned off the engine to coast down the mountain. With gas now up to thirty-five cents a gallon, every penny counted. We headed back to Baker Island.

Our next stop was the bridge over Flon Passage. We stopped at the island in the middle of the bridge and we got out to look at the swirling waters below.

“My god Jack, that is impressive. Where does all that water come from?” She asked.

“It’s mostly tidal, though a bit of it comes from the Salish River.” I explained.

We went into the Flon Passage State Park and I showed her West Beach where there were some sunbathers on the sand. It being a Thursday there weren’t too many people out in spite of the nice day. It was warm, almost seventy-two degrees in the sun.

“No one’s swimmin’ in the ocean.” She observed. “How come?”

“The water in the Strait is about fifty degrees year round. It’s a bit too cold for swimming without a wetsuit.” I explained. “They do swim in Coccous Lake over there; it warms up to about seventy-five in August.” I pointed to the sandy beach and the lake beyond where mothers with small children were lounging. We then took a hike to the top of Eagle Perch, a basaltic pillar overlooking the swirling waters of Flon Passage. By now it was early evening and we were getting hungry, so we drove to Port Arbutus.

I took her to the Beefy Barn for the special “Beefy Beefet;” which was a combo consisting of a small hamburger, vanilla shake and fries. Not bad, all for a quarter. It was like getting the shake for a penny! We then drove to Swan Beach Park at the end of Swan Road to eat our “dinner” and watch the sunset.

We got there about seven-thirty a good hour and forty minutes before sunset. We took our bag of food and walked down the beach toward Quail Point. We sat on a driftwood log and gazed at the Olympics and out the Strait. We watched a schooner sail towards Gardner Harbor. I would later find out she was the Huntress. I sailed on her some fifteen years later in preparation for my merchant mariner’s license.

The setting sun sparkled on the water. I was enjoying my time with this attractive woman, in spite of her ignorance of the Civil War. I also reveled in the fact that though I wasn’t likely to be going to get any nookie this evening, I had at least made a tidy profit.

‘The money Dad gave me would have just covered the gas, movie and food. By not going to the movie, I saved two and a half bucks. By going to the Beefy Barn instead of Freddy’s Fast Food Drive-in, where the girls in their cheerleader-esque outfits came to the window of the car to take your order on roller skates, I easily saved another two bucks. Heck, I made almost as much by taking Barbie Lou for a ride; than I would have had I worked my full shift in the kitchen!’

“Whatcha thinkin’ Jack.”

This pulled me suddenly out of my avaricious calculation. It also brought to mind she’d been calling me the wrong name all this time.

“Uh… oh, nothin’. Ah… but…Barbie Lou…?”

“Yes?” She smiled sweetly, with an expectant look on her face.

“Umm… My name is not Jack… it’s Jacques. You know like Jacques Cousteau, the inventor of SCUBA.” I explained.

“Oh, my stars! Ah’m so sorry, can you ever fo’give me, Jacques.” She expressed in sincere horror.

“It’s no big deal really. Lots of people screw it up.” I said trying to comfort her. “Let’s just enjoy the Solstice sunset.”

I took her in my arms and gave her a comforting hug then a kiss. I was surprised at the favorable response. I put my hand on her bare thigh and kissed her again. She again responded favorably. I eased my hand up her thigh to the edge of her panties. My cock started to respond filling my briefs. She kept kissing but eased my hand back down.

“Now Jacques, Ah am sorry, but Ah’m not sure Ah’m ready for you to take such liberties. Ah do like you. But we jus’ met. An’ we really do need to get to know each otha better furst.” She said after the kiss as she moved slightly away from me on the driftwood log. She gazed surreptitiously at my crotch.

“You are right, of course. I didn’t mean to be so forward. I just got a little carried away. I’ll tell you a bit about me and then you tell me about yourself.” I said as my penis reduced to closer to pre-arousal size. “I’m a Scorpio, that’s kind of a sexy sign, you know.”

I then told her the story of my growing up as an Army brat and living around the world. I stated that we moved every two years, precluding the development of lasting friendships.

Then I told her how when we moved here; that I istanbul escort bayan was repeatedly kicked out of my room so it could be rented out; how I was forced to work at the family business. She seemed sympathetic to my plight. She gave me a compassionate pat on my thigh.

“Now, tell me about your life and your high school. What are you doing now that you graduated?” I said after my tale of woe, ever hopeful her sympathy would bear fruit.

“Ah certainly didn’t have as tragic a life as y’all. Ah’m a Capricorn, born on January 13th, that means Ah’m loyal but shy… ’til Ah get ta know ya, that is.” She laughed and possibly being a bit facetious about my “tragic” life.

“Ah grew up on Tampa Bay. Ah go swimmin’ mos’ ever’ day, yeeah ’round. Ah guess you could say Ah’m a Tampa Bay Gal. Ah’ve got girlfriends Ah’ve had since kindergarten. It was a pretty normal life, donchaknow. My Daddy works fo’ tha Post Office. When Ah got my diploma, Ah got a job. Ah took a business course in high school. Ah work at Winn-Dixie. Ah’m a casher. Ah dun know what else t’say really? Ah graduated from Stonewall Jackson High School. Ah guess Ah already told you thaat… Oh! Ah was Home comin’ Queen my senior year.” She continued.

“Homecoming Queen! That’s pretty cool.” I said enthusiastically.

“Well yes, sort of. Usually it’s the head cheerleader, a’ course. The Quarterback, as usual, was the Homecoming King. But Tommy and Cindy were havin’ a spat. An’ Tommy thought Ah was kinda cute, Ah guess. So he had the team vote for me. Ah wasn’t even a cheerleader. He just wanted to practice the tradition on me.” She said shyly.

“The tradition? What do you mean?” I asked confused.

“Well, yeah. Since the late fifties, Ah think it was. It’s been a tradition at Stonewall Jackson High that the Homecoming King and Queen have sex on the night of homecoming. The team takes a collection and they rent a motel room. Usually the King and Queen are boyfriend and girlfriend ana’ways. And the girls are cheerleaders, so they’re not virgins, ya know. But Ah wern’t a cheerleader, so it was my first time.” She blushed and looked away.

“Really? You felt you had to do it?” I was incredulous.

“A’ course! It was tradition, after all. Ah couldn’t let the school down, now could Ah?” She said sincerely.

“Uh… yeah! Ya could! Did you even like the guy?” I asked.

“Not much. He was pretty full of himself, but he was kinda cute. Lots a’ girls were envious of me, Ah guess. But it did hurt a bit, at least the first time he did it.” She said.

“He did it more than once?” I asked, ‘Of course he did. I would have fucked her five or six times if it had been me.’ I thought looking at the beautiful redhead beside me.

I may have thought that then, but it really was little more than high school student-body sanctioned rape. So now I’m ashamed I thought that way, back then.

“Yeah, twice… the second time wern’t so painful, Ah guess a’cause a all that slippery gooey sperm n’all. But, Ah don’t want to talk about it no-more… Ah’m getting kind of cold.” She said.

It was about nine-fifteen and the sun had dipped below the horizon. We didn’t have to be back at the guesthouse for another hour and a half, or so. This talk about sex was getting me kind of excited, ‘Even though she didn’t seem to like it the first time… Maybe I could give her a better experience. Or at least we could make out a bit more.’

“Yeah, it is getting kinda cool. Would you like to come over to my cabin? I could light a fire.”

“Y’all have a cabin?” She asked with interest.

“Yeah, by my Aunt and Uncles house. Wana see it?”

“Sure!” She said brightening up.

Thinking of her saying she’s a “Tampa Gal” and remembering a cigar ad in my Uncle’s Playboy Magazines, I thought, ‘Maybe I can Hav-a-Tampa!’ smiling to myself.

We walked back up the cobblestone beach hand in hand in the twilight. We got back into my Ford coupe and drove the two miles to my cabin. When we got there, I showed Barbie Lou around. The cabin had a small kitchen, small living room with a couch, a chair and Franklin stove. The bedroom was barely large enough for the queen sized bed. There was also a small bathroom with shower.

I took Barbie Lou in my arms and gave her a kiss. She welcomed and returned the kiss. I think the privacy of the cabin helped to put her at ease. I lit my cummy tissues in the Franklin stove. The cum kindling fire sprang to life. We sat upon the couch. For a while we just looked at the fire, then each other.

“The fire is kind of symbolic of a solstice bonfire.” I commented. “It’s kind of a Celtic tradition, you know.”

“Ah’m Irish. That’s Celtic in’t it? What are some of the otha’ traditions?”

“I’m Scottish Celt. Yeah the Irish are Celtic too.” I said. “Uh, well… there is the tradition of honoring the Male Sun God as he enters the Female Earth God at Sunset. So… Celtic young men, representing the sun and young Celtic women, representing the earth, have sex on Solstice just as the sun enters the earth.”

“Ohhhh… yeah… Ah get it. That’s fascinatin’, Jocques.”

I wasn’t sure how she’d take to the fertility angle… but she did seem to like to follow tradition. I was kind of making it up as I went along. But, I think I was pretty convincing.

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