The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever

by Jennifer Tate

  Brad turned his attention back to Sandy. "She shares Canada with the Indians?"

  "So I've been told."

  "Beauty and money. I know it's a deadly combination, but let's get married anyway."

  Brad had barely finished his proposal when Belinda teetered over, and favored him with a wet, lingering kiss. He was uncertain whether Belinda's newfound affection for him stemmed from too much to drink, or from a desire to annoy Greg.

  "The trouble with women," Greg said, "is you can't live without them, and you're not allowed to kill them."

  Brad and Sandy both laughed.

  "We're leaving, Grasshopper," Greg continued. "I'll send the limo back for you. Linda, you need to get some sleep."

  "I need t' get some Gashopper," she replied. Then, clutching Greg, she wove her way back across the foyer, and down the stairs.

  "I need t' get some Gashopper," Sandy mimicked. "I don't swim in her toilet!"

  "Whaaat?"

  "You know the one—'I don't swim in your toilet, so please don't pee in my pool'. In other words, don't come onto my date 'cause I'm not moving on yours.... Sometimes I can be such a bitch."

  She says 'bitch', like that's a bad thing, Brad thought. Bitches can be fun. "Perhaps, Sandy," he said, "but cheer up. As Confucius would say, 'Better a diamond with a flaw, than a pebble without.'"

  Sandy gave him a sultry smile, and a lingering hug. "You are so sweet, but why do I suspect that you're humoring me for a reason?"

  He grinned at her. "You may be too tempting for your own good."

  "Grasshopper, I don't want to give you ideas that may never have occurred to you, if your mind was left to wander in the void on its own. But it's been years since Oscar Wilde said, 'the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.'"

  Brad looked into Sandy's eyes, and then couldn't stop smiling to himself. I've been handed an engraved invitation. "Why don't we go upstairs."

  As Brad and Sandy strolled up the broad circular staircase, his hand again did what seemed to be natural when Sandy was near—it slid down from her hip, to caress her cheeks through her dress.

  Since Sandy's allowing me to roam her derriere without protest, I have to believe that my invitation was correctly addressed.

  Brad hoped he appeared confident, even erudite, but he was nervous. He'd had some experience with women, but the ultimate goal for a rookie still eluded him. And Sandy he wanted—badly.

  She's hot, she's quick, she's playful, and apparently she's decided she likes me after all. But there are still obstacles. I'll bet even Don Juan wasn't perfect on his first outing.

  The Sheik had told him, "If some frilly's ignorant enough to give you a tryout, take it slowly and enjoy." That had sounded like as good a game plan as any.

  Four doors down the north-wing corridor, there was a guest room. An ornate door opened into a sitting room, which in turn opened into a grandiose bedroom, that was complete with Persian rugs, Tiffany lamps, red wallpaper, hunter-green baseboards and crown moldings. The focal point of the room was a king-sized bed, with a massive baroque canopy.

  If a guy doesn't feel like loving in this place, he'll never feel like it. "'Will you walk into my parlor?'" he said.

  "It may be dangerous in there. Especially if you get to be the spider."

  "I don't feel like a spider. I feel more like a trusting blue-tail fly who's being lured into a black widow's trap."

  She gave him a guileless smile. "It's probably just my black dress that's giving you feelings of impending doom. But hopefully you're not the kind of grasshopper that would allow one sinister dress to stifle his creative impulses for an entire evening."

  There was a problem with the paucity of locks on the door, but he solved it by placing the back of a chair under the door handle. "Good," he said. "Now nobody can get in."

  Sandy moved toward him. "And nobody can get out."

  "You're planning to take advantage of me?" Brad asked.

  "You mean of your inexperience." Sandy paused.

  He felt his face flush. "Hu...how did you know?"

  "In opening barricaded doors," she continued.

  "Damn you! You are a bitch!"

  She laughed gleefully, and then gave him a conciliatory smile. "Poor baby," she said. "You have to understand, 'women are like dreams—they are never the way you would like to have them.'"

  -16-

  BRAD RAIDEN & SANDRA MANDERVILLE

  Open Sesame?

  Brad was furious with himself for having admitted to his inexperience. I'm going to have to stay awake. Maybe Sandy is a black widow who consumes her partner following the mating ritual. Why don't I just wear a sign around my neck? Something like 'Still a Virgin—Need Experienced Teacher'. It occurred to him that there are things men hate even more than having to ask for directions. A lack of sexual experience had to be one of them.

  Actually, the two situations are similar, he thought. In both cases you don't know what you're doing, need help, but would immolate yourself before you'd ask for it.

  He tried to think of a fitting punishment for the too-cute-for-her-own-good Sandy. Then he remembered one. "Sandy," he said, "'did you know that you can't breath when you stick out your tongue?'" Sandy stuck out her tongue. "'OK so now you know that it's possible. Problem is—now you look like a dog.'"

  A smile crossed Sandy's face and stayed.

  * * *

  Sandy knew better than to trifle with the fragile male ego. Better make a concession—fast—she thought. "I'm sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?"

  "Take off your dress." Brad's tone was assertive.

  "You'll have to help me."

  "No, you do it yourself."

  She reached back, and unhooked the clasp on her dress, then—with a tug on the zipper, and a shrug of her shoulders—it was on the floor. She felt exposed and vulnerable—not at all like a dreaded black widow would feel. It also occurred to her that maybe women weren't like dreams after all, because Brad had her exactly the way he wanted her.

  Don't make me take off all my clothes while you're still dressed, she prayed.

  "Stay where you are and turn around—slowly."

  She knew how fantastic she looked, because she had deliberated on her lingerie selection, just in case the Grasshopper turned out to be better than expected. Her preference was for all white, the Snow White virgin motif. But she knew that nine out of ten men, if given a say, would opt for black. So she had gone with her black bra with the push up cups, the ones that barely covered her perky nipples as they thrust into the sheer silk fabric. Matching black bikini panties, a black garter belt, and black designer stockings completed her lingerie ensemble.

  When she finished her turn, she stopped and waited.

  "Put your hands behind your back." She did as she was told, and then watched Brad's eyes as they roamed over her. He took his time, seemingly enjoying his appraisal, and her discomfort.

  "If the Lord was to strike me dead this moment, I'd exit blissfully. You're stunning—impossibly seductive."

  She was thrilled with his assessment. "'If it's not seductive, it's not interesting.'"

  "You're definitely interesting. Now give me your badest kiss. ...No, keep your hands behind your back." She happily complied. She clasped her hands behind her back, tilted her head up, and kissed him—firmly, but briefly. "Sandra," he said, "who taught you how to kiss? Some angelic parson?"

  She knew what was happening; it was payback time for tricking him into revealing his sexual inexperience. She tried to pull away, but he held her against him, and grinned at her.

  "If you'd just kissed the Frog Prince that way the poor guy'd be begging you to turn him back into a frog. But not to worry, we'll get you some toads to practice on. Although on second thought, it hardly seems fair to turn you loose on unsuspecting toads. You wouldn't want to be responsible for disillusioning toads—would you?" For emphasis he pulled her hair, forcing her to look up, and into his eyes. "Would you?" he repeated.

  "No, I
wouldn't.... May I please have another chance?" She hoped she sounded repentant.

  "Why not. Everybody deserves a second chance, even impudent black widow types."

  She took off his jacket, unbuttoned his vest, and kissed him again. Her kiss was the hungry, wanting variety. Then her tongue started a leisurely journey around his mouth while her hand unbuttoned his shirt, before it worked its way down his broad chest and washboard stomach. It continued its methodical decent until it was cupping the rise in the front of his pants—there it rested, warm and questioning.

  "Pretty proficient for an almost virgin, wouldn't you say?"

  "Marvelous, absolutely marvelous. What do you mean, 'an almost virgin?'"

  "I've only been to bed once before, so you'll have to be gentle with me."

  "No problem there. I know nitroglycerin when I see it."

  "I'm that exciting?"

  "You're that dangerous," Brad said, as he maneuvered her onto the bed. "But dangerous or not, it's time for us to liberate you from your undies."

  "Us? I thought that was your job?"

  "I suppose it should be, but bras are even trickier than pantyhose. All guys know that. Women have invented secret ways to keep them on. They use a No-Pest-Strip or something. The most fiendish women wear bras that do up in the front, but they neglect to tell you. There are stories of guys committing hara-kiri after trying everything imaginable to release a front fastener from the back."

  She laughed and hugged him. "Buck, buck, chicken." she chided.

  "I admit it. Fortunately, I've developed a few useful moves in the area of bra removal."

  "And because I've been behaving myself, I get to see them?"

  He slipped one hand behind her back, and, pointing his other hand at the bed's canopy exclaimed, "Look! A bird!" She looked up, while he fumbled with the clasp on her bra. He managed to undo a couple of the top hooks, but the lower ones resisted tenaciously.

  She laughed gleefully at her inept want-to-be lover. "Grasshopper, that was pathetic!"

  He threw up his hands. "That's what happens when they send you to an all boy's school."

  "It has nothing to do with the gender of the inmates. What you should say is 'Look, a turtle'—give yourself more time."

  With mock dejection, he nodded his head. "Next time I'll go with the turtle, but if you're still interested, I happen to know a bra removal method that's foolproof."

  "Foolproof? That could work for you."

  "Does that mean you'd like to see it?"

  She smiled at him. "I'm up for a laugh."

  "But I must caution you, this technique lacks my usual finesse."

  "Downright ugly, eh?"

  "But effective." He placed his hands under the cups of her bra, pulled forward, and lifted up. Her full, firm breasts tumbled free of their constraint.

  "I thought the objective of this exercise was to get my bra off?"

  A pleased-with-himself looking Brad grinned at her. "It is. But bidding a fond farewell to your bra remains an ongoing operation."

  "You're idling on idiotic," she said when she realized what he'd done. The underwire on her bra was pressing into the swells at the top of her breasts. She knew she looked silly.

  I'm failing to put my best foot—or in this case, best breast—forward. She reached back and unhooked her bra. A victorious looking Brad attempted to control his laughter—without success. Nor was the humor of the moment entirely lost on her—it was time to concede graciously. "Touché," she said. "Now hold me."

  * * *

  The novice freedom fighter lay on the bed, and cuddled Sandy, willing his hands not to tremble as they played with her breasts. He was in awe of their beauty and texture. "Fabulous," he said. "'Satan's playthings. Created to feed infants, but employed to undo the defenseless adult male.'" He harassed a saucy peak with his fingertips, and then enticed it into his mouth.

  * * *

  Sandy was delighted with the attention her breasts were receiving. It's unbelievable how much men love these things. But that attention had focused her thoughts on a pressing need lower down.

  "What's this fascination you have with my sweater-puppies?"

  "Try not to think of them as your sweater-puppies. Think of them as boy-toys for me."

  "Right. Boys and their toys, but girls like toys too. Maybe if you were willing to be a toy-boy for me?"

  "Tell you what. If you can say toy-boy ten times, without fouling up, I'll be your toy-boy for the evening. But if you blow it, you have to be my boy-toy instead."

  "Toy-boy, toy-boy, toya-boya, toya..." Sandy's tongue tripped all over toy-boy at toy-boy number three. It was a failure with tragic consequences for her.

  "Poor, pitiful, Pop-tart. Now you're my plaything for the evening—forced to endure the outer limits of my depraved imagination."

  She sighed. "That sounds worse than a bed-full of cracker crumbs."

  Brad produced a euphoric grin, and went back to fooling with her breasts. "How much time do you spend playing with these beauties each day?"

  She smiled. "None. Boobs for Buddha doesn't allow it."

  "It's as I suspected—your sweater puppies are wasted on you. They're under-appreciated, underutilized, and desperately in need a breaststroke specialist, which, fortunately for you, I am."

  "A guy who likes to stay abreast of things," she said with a wry smile—but she was becoming irritated. He seems content to spend the rest of his life making like a titmouse, and given that I'm his plaything for the evening, he's entitled to practice his breaststroke on me—forever if he wants. "On a positive note, you've proven the naysayers wrong."

  "And which naysayers might those be," Brad asked?

  "Those are the ones who say that 'men can't focus on two things at once!'"

  That brought an amused chuckle from Brad, as he continued to play with his Pop-tart's breasts.

  So Sandy decided to use a little reverse psychology to move Brad along. "Grasshopper," she said, "play with my sweater-puppies for as long as you want."

  "Changed my mind. I know that you have other wonderful places where I can play."

  He removed her panties, patted her affectionately on the bottom, then took his time—seemingly content to contemplate the treasure he had just revealed. "No amount of money can buy a room-with-a-view that's finer than the one I have before me now," he said.

  This Grasshopper makes me so happy. If only he'd hurry. "Please Brad, I need you in me—now!"

  His elation was obvious when he gave her two thumbs up, and said, "You've been a good girl lately, and to get your reward all you have to do is open your legs." She responded hesitantly. "If that's as far apart as they'll go, it's hard to believe you're not still a virgin."

  She laughed despite herself. "You have to help me with this."

  He pointed a finger at her thighs, "Open Sesame!" he said.

  "That, I don't believe! Did you really think 'Open Sesame' would work?"

  "I can't understand why it didn't. It worked for Ali Baba when he wanted to get into the treasure cave of the forty thieves."

  That explains why you're having trouble. Your treasure cave is different than Alli Babbas'. It's more like Aladdins Lamp. It needs to be rubbed."

  * * *

  Brad grinned, and rubbed. Then he watched with delight as Sandy's legs parted. "You're right! It's working! I've released a genie, and it's granting me my wish." He could not believe his good fortune. Her genie had a heady, womanly aroma that utterly enchanted him. I could play with this genie forever, he thought, but he only played with it for as long as he dared, afraid that if he lingered too long, she would think that he was stuck in neutral or something.

  "Why do the genie and I have to do all the work, while you get to have all the fun?" he asked.

  She tried to close her legs, but she was too late—he had already positioned himself between them.

  "Knock, knock," he said.

  "That I don't believe! This is where you're supposed to go to work at creating ecstasy
for me, not start telling knock-knock jokes."

  He grinned at her. "Knock, knock," he said again.

  Her shoulders gave a resigned shrug. "I give up. Who's there?"

  "Yeah."

  "Yeah who?"

  He moved into a very receptive Sandy. "Yahoo I'm-in-you!"

  She tried not to laugh, but failed. "How can you be so delightfully absurd?" she said.

  How do you describe a physical and emotional experience that defies description? As Sandy's genie granted Brad his wish, he reveled in the wonder that had taken control of his body. And when she peaked it was with such jubilation that he knew he had orchestrated something incredible.

  After following close behind her, Brad leapt up on the bed and hollered, "Yes! Yes!" His fist stabbed at the canopy. Then he gave himself a standing ovation.

  "Unbelievable! Are all guys that pleased with themselves when they get lucky for the first time?" She tugged at the hair on his leg to encourage him to return. Then, when his celebration continued, she made her position clearer. "Listen, bright eyes, if you don't get back down here with me, I'm revoking your learners permit."

  He smiled down at his first-ever lover. "Favorite Pop-tart of mine, nothing you say can faze me now." But he quickly returned to her.

  She softened in his arms. "You did do well, Boy Wonder," she said.

  "Well! Just well? You know you've never had loving like that before. I've probably ruined all other men for you."

  "You are one self-satisfied grasshopper, but you do have reason to be pleased with yourself—you're definitely a keeper."

  "And you're my ultimate reward."

  She caressed him with her fingertips. "Damn it. I'm afraid you're addictive. To quote Oliver Twist, 'Please sir, I want some more.'"

  He was only too happy to comply, and before long she was making fervent love with him once more. Soon, her satisfied moans mingled with her enchanting aroma, before she shuddered as she approached her peak. Then, when she arrived, her body stiffened and shook as the jolts of pleasure radiated outward. He quickly followed, pushed along by his delight in her ecstasy.

  He held her in his arms as they wound down together. "You're the best Pop-tart ever," he said. "In fact, you're so much fun I've decided to ask your genie to grant me a third wish, which you may have guessed is the same wish as the first two."