"Dare I ask?"
"The moon likes hockey players because they still believe the truth about it."
"Which is?"
"That it's made of Swiss cheese."
"You've just confirmed what's always been suspected—that hockey players are brain dead," she said with a smile.
He stuck out his tongue at her. "The virtuous virgins are the hockey player's reward for keeping the faith."
I'm playing a starring role in a fool's paradise, she thought. "No one will argue with that kind of logic, but let me make sure I understand. The moon was giving me to you."
"I don't know that 'giving' is what it was doing. Presenting you to best advantage would be my guess. How else can you explain how irresistible you looked in the moonlight at Pawleys Island?"
"I'm flattered beyond belief. From now on I'll only date when the moon is full."
"I told you, it was more than I'd dared to hope for. But Old-yellow was the wrong place for a fairytale princess to give herself to her lover for the first time—that's why you're here."
He's saying that to make me love him forever, she thought. "So maybe you're not the scoundrel I thought you were, but who'd have guessed that you're a blessed saint? And anyway, what makes you think that you and the moon can conspire against me, and then not tell me the rules?"
"I don't tell my hockey stick the rules, but I still expect it to play by them."
That made her laugh. He really is quite funny. "So now I'm supposed to tear off my blouse so you can dance with my polka-dots?"
"Why didn't I think of that?" he said before he kissed her.
"I'm sure you did." She undid the button on her blouse, freeing her breasts. "There, Very Bad Brad. Are you my happy hero now?"
"Not entirely, but hopefully soon." He changed the CD, pushed a button, and then caught her as she swept into his arms.
It was a dream come true when the seductive melody of Everything I Do—I Do It For You, enveloped them.
"Bryan Adams," she said as she swayed against him. Her polka dots, brushing against his shirt, responded. His arms wrapped around her, and he pulled her close. She slipped her hands into his back pockets, relishing his feel against her fingers. Then, her hips, acting on their own, swayed against him, in a shameless caress. "You Canucks are ganging up on me."
"By the way." His voice pulled her from her heavenly moments to more earthly considerations. "Shouldn't you call your father to tell him you won't be home tonight?"
"You're planning a sleep-over for me?"
"More like a pajama party, but without the pajamas. And I want to avoid hostile fathers."
"Smart. But you don't have to worry. I won't let him hurt you."
"How can I be sure?"
"Be good," she said with a grin as she poured herself another glass of bubbly.
"If you drink much more champagne you won't feel a thing when we embark on your maiden voyage."
She kissed his cheek. "That's what I'm hoping," she said, and then she kissed him some more.
"Don't be a fraidy cat—it barely hurts."
Betty-Jo stopped kissing. "How would you know? I thought I was your only virgin!"
"You are. But I've chatted with a few ex-virgins, and they tell me that, most often, the end of innocence is about as painful as skinning your knee. Problem is, skinning your knee comes as a surprise—goodbye to innocence doesn't."
"Surprise me then."
"If it's any consolation, what happens after 'goodbye', is heavenly: a voyage of discovery, an expedition to nirvana."
That cheered her a little. "Nirvana sounds alright."
"It's much better than alright. And because I like you, I've decided to take you there with me."
Betty-Jo wasn't terribly concerned about any pain that might accompany her loss of innocence—a tennis player, she had survived more than her share of skinned knees. But what did distress her, was the condition of her panties. They were a faded yellow color, with a shredding elastic waistband, and a tear to the right of her crotch. If Brad found the condition of my bra amusing, he's going to have a real yuck about the state of my panties.
She considered her options: she might make him take her home—she might come clean, and tell him what he was going to discover anyway—she might jump out of her cutoffs and panties, like an overeager nymphomaniac—she might go to the washroom, take off her panties, shove them into her purse, and then try to convince him that modern women don't wear panties—or she might let him discover the unsightly panties for himself, and suffer through whatever followed his discovery.
"You know," Brad said, "Lois Lane hung around Clark Kent for years, and never figured out that he was Superman. But in fairness to Lois, she didn't have much to go on. You, on the other hand, have witnessed my superhuman strength, and yet you refuse to believe. So I've decided to give you a demonstration of another of my super powers."
"And that would be?"
"My X-ray vision."
"I'll show you the location of your beauty spot, if I get to name it."
She was rattled. I don't believe this! She had a beauty spot, but only she knew its location.
"Agreed?"
"Agreed," she replied. But reluctantly, because only hours earlier she'd agreed to let Brad name her bear, and she had been telling him that she loved him ever since. He came to her, reached beneath her cutoffs, and fingered the inside of her right thigh. "How did you know?"
"I told you, X-ray vision. It pays to eat your carrots."
"To get X-ray vision from carrots, you must have scoffed down enough of them to put Bugs Bunny to shame."
"Guess what I'm naming my beauty spot? You'll love it."
"Why do I know I won't?"
"I'm naming it Please Do Me Brad, words I'll enjoy hearing almost as much as I Love Only You Brad."
"So when you ask me my beauty spot's name I have to say Please Do Me Brad."
He hugged her and grinned. "I love hearing you say that, but a touch more enthusiasm would be appreciated."
* * *
Brad was half-pleased, and half-annoyed with himself. Poor B-J, he thought, she must be beside herself. It was luck that had led to the discovery of the beauty spot that was high up on her inner thigh. When he'd watched her play tennis, he'd taken his video camera with him, and taped part of her match. At one point, she'd slipped, and her tennis skirt, for a brief moment, had flipped above her hips. Her beauty spot had been reveled, to his delight, when he replayed the tape in slow motion.
* * *
Superhuman strength? X-ray vision? How can this be happening to me a confused Betty-Jo wanted to know? But she didn't have long to consider the mystery of it all because Brad picked her up, and carried her toward the bedroom.
"Can you really see through my clothes?"
"Of course. Why do you think I'm so eager to get you into bed?" That tugged a smile out of her. At the bedroom door he said, "What's my beauty spot's name?" She refused to answer, until he slipped, and almost dropped her. "Oops, hope that doesn't happen again."
"Please Do Me Brad," she whispered.
"My pleasure," said the elated looking man-of-steel.
He put her down on the queen-sized, black-satin-sheet-covered bed. She lay back, and surreptitiously watched as he took off his pants, but his sheets were also vying for her attention. Feeling increasingly uninhibited, she moved sensuously against them, enjoying the caress of the satin against her skin. She had never before felt sheets like them.
"Where did you get these marvelous sheets? With a bed like this, I'm surprised that you need me."
"Those sheets and PussCat are all I've had to keep me company lately. It's an inviting bed, but it's been a lonely bed until tonight."
When he removed his shirt, she sucked in her breath, and held it. He was so lean, so hard. Such a primitive, powerful animal. "Do all women think their lovers are sexy? You're even better than the prizes they put in the Cracker Jack boxes." But she was unable to fully appreciate the moment, knowin
g, and nervous about what was coming next.
He left her blouse on, but undone. "Anyone as breathtakingly beautiful as you, should only be undressed by a lover," he said. But then, when he removed her cutoffs, and saw her panties, he ruined it—he started to grin.
I'm mortified beyond all repair, she thought, and there was no place to hide. She slid her fingers through her hair, bit at her lower lip, and looked away. Then he made it even worse—he failed to suppress a chuckle as he separated her from her panties. But in fairness, he immediately tried to make amends. "Put a positive spin on it. You're even better looking with your clothes off. And besides, there's nothing quite as inviting as a novice."
"Especially one you know you get to..."
She was attacked without warning. Her breath was knocked out of her, and her breast was savaged.
Stunned and unbelieving, she managed to roll onto her side, and draw herself into a protective shell. But her back was still raked repeatedly.
"Get that animal off me!"
"Stop that PussCat!" Brad growled. Abruptly, the attack ceased. "You're safe now B-J—but if I have to save a fairytale princess more than once in an evening, that princess is expected to provide a fitting reward."
She turned to face him. He was holding an angry gray and white cat above his head—and he had the audacity to grin at her. "Your reward will be fitting alright! But first I'm going to gut that mangy cat, and string my racquet with it." She stood up and started to get dressed.
"Calm down, and tell me your bear's name while I comfort PussCat. Look how you've upset her."
"How I've upset her!"
He cradled the cat in one arm, and rubbed behind her ear. "Let me find a comfy place for PussCat to sleep, then I'll make sure you're okay."
"Then you'll make sure I'm okay!"
"Behave yourself, B-J. You're a big girl, and you're fine. PussCat's a declawed, upset pussycat, not some saber-toothed tiger. I'll make introductions when you're both in more hospitable moods."
"What about a comfy spot for me?" she yelled after him.
When he returned he examined her closely. Then he kissed her where she'd been hurt. "Minor scrapes and contusions, but you'll live. I'm sorry. PussCat obviously frightened you."
"Frightened me! She scared the hell out of me! That vicious furball launched an unprovoked attack, and you act as if she's a savior or something. I'm surprised you didn't give her a cat treat."
He tried to hug her, but she wasn't doing hugging. "Actually, I did give her a cat treat. PussCat's a shrimp loving cat."
"I love shrimp too! But I don't recall you offering me any!"
"You didn't just save me from Godzilla."
That made Betty-Jo even madder. "So now I'm Godzilla!"
"No resemblance at all, and you I love like licorice. But to PussCat you're probably as big and threatening as Godzilla. That furball just risked her life for me, or at least she probably thinks she did. You risk your life for me, and I promise I'll find you more than a few shrimp."
"...I'm sorry. I was frightened. It's not every day I'm attacked in my soon to be lover's bed on my first date with him."
"I should be apologizing to you. You've had a scary date: an uptight former boyfriend, a dangerous coaster ride, and now, an unprovoked furball attack." He ran his fingertips lightly around her ear, across her cheek, down her neck, and then out to the tip of her breast.
She softened under his touch. "It's enough to make a girl stop dating and seek a life of tranquility and devotion."
"Don't be thinking convent just yet. He leaned back and contemplated her charms. "Did you know that Hymen is the Greek god of marriage?"
What's this all about? "Do I want to?"
"The ancient Greeks believed that a woman should marry the first man who makes love to her. What do you think about that?"
"Bad idea—especially in our case."
"This date hasn't been all bad for you. You've gained a bear and a rose."
"I thought that after you've had your way with me, no more flowers."
He laughed and kissed her. "Only no more roses. And remember, there's still nirvana."
"You realize you're in serious trouble if you're wrong about this nirvana thing?"
"I'm not worried. But I do have a question. Are you perchance a vestal virgin?"
"As opposed to your standard run-of-the-mill virgin?"
"In ancient Rome the vestal virgins guarded the hearth fire, and did the cooking. If you were a vestal-type virgin a complete makeover would be uncalled for. We'd want to do the virgin to nymphet change, but leave the vestal part intact."
She laughed as she bathed in the caress of his voice. "Turn me into a cooking nymphomaniac."
"Who told you every man's secret desire?"
"It's something you'll have to live without, at least the cooking part. Now if you were interested in a sweeping nymphomaniac?"
"Actually, that could work for me. Watching a woman sweep is a huge turn-on for most men, and I'm no exception."
"Who'd have guessed that you guys are so easy?" She brushed his lips with a kiss. "I'm an accomplished sweeper, who's willing to sweep whenever you wish. All you have to do is tell me where you keep your broom."
He embraced her, and then removed his pinstriped Jockey shorts.
Although inexperienced, she was experienced enough to know that Brad was excited to be with her. And the warmth and tenderness of his embrace, told her that he needed and loved her. But as if to provide confirmation, he grasped a handful of her hair, held her gaze, and whispered, "I'm certifiably in love with you B-J Chance, now, and for always."
* * *
Brad cuddled his princess, kissed her all over, and then freed his hands for a treasure hunt. He could feel himself being drawn in by her aroma, her taste, and her touch. He immersed himself in the wonder of her. On his satin sheets—loving Betty-Jo—he was happier than he had ever thought possible.
Finally, after a lingering caress, he moved over her.
"Be gentle," she murmured.
"I'm not sure gentle is best. Perhaps deflowering a virgin should be like taking off a Band-Aid. If you pull it off quickly, it's painless, but if you take it off slowly..."
"Has anyone ever told you that you have a way with women?"
"I try," he said. Then he took her head in his hands, looked into her eyes, and embraced her soul. "What is your bear's name?"
"I Love Only You Brad,"—low, throaty, eyes darting as they watched him.
"And the name of your beauty spot?
"Please Do Me Brad." Tense.
"Do you hear an angle choir singing loud hosannas?"
"Kiss me, and do it now—or you'll be the one hearing loud hosannas." He kissed his fairytale princess."
"Again."
"He kissed her more deeply."
"Now take your maiden!" she implored him.
He nuzzled her neck, licked her ear, then bit her lower lip, as he eased into a magic kingdom that was miles from Disneyland....
"So this is what heaven feels like," he said, and then, "How are you, once-upon-a-time virgin of mine?"
"Wonderful!" She held him tightly. "Having you in me is paradise. Only God could have created what I'm feeling—so full, so complete."
He was thrilled by his princess' delight. "Let's work on total euphoria." Then, while searching her eyes, he began to move inside her. "Making love with you is incredible. It's push-ups, with a sensational added bonus."
"'Two mints in one,'" she said. Then she kissed him—yearning, demanding.
* * *
Betty-Jo was experiencing an incredible awakening. Something strange and amazing was happening to her. The sensations Brad was creating, were totally new. Centered without and within, they made her whimper and moan. Is that me making those sounds she wondered, as her moans intensified? Soon they were mingling with her gasps of pleasure.
"Bad Brad....Yes! Yes! Oh yes! Thank you, thank you!"
He picked up his rhythm, slowly guiding
her toward her first, manmade finale. "You may be thanking me too soon," he said. Then he withdrew.
She clung to him like a woman possessed, straining to recapture his joystick—to no avail.
"Brad, please!" A sob caught in her throat. "Please go back. Why have you left me like this, all wet and wanting?"
Then he was in her, and moving once more.
What he had done to her had been the worst few moments of her life—until he stopped a second time. "I can't do this," he said.
-28-
BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN
Loony as Lemmings in Love
"What do you mean you can't do this!" Brad had created a Siberian delight and she was beside herself. She shifted her hips, dug her nails into his back, and clung to him with all her strength, forcing him to stay in her.
"I thought you loved me," she whimpered.
"I will always love you. But you can't 'force love to do the work of sex.'"
"Are you crazy? You want sex to do work for you?"
"What I want is a commitment from you."
"A commitment to what?" She was close to tears; afraid he would leave her again.
"To fidelity. I need a commitment from you because of what happened to Paul Simon when he was making love with Cecilia."
"You're not crazy—you're insane!"
"Cecilia broke Paul's heart."
"You mean when he got up to wash his face?"
"That part was okay. The bad part came when he went back to bed, and found that someone had taken his place."
She laughed and held him even tighter. "I can sympathize with Paul on that one—although he probably deserved it for some reason."
"For the next month I want you exclusively for myself."
She smiled up at her very bad lover. "You want a thirty day free trial?"
"Right. And I want it here in the comfort of my rented home."
"You want me to 'Come live with [you] and be [your] love.'"
"And behave yourself while I'm washing my face."
Her smile lengthened. "Why do I suspect that living with you would be like living in the old west?"
"The old west?"
The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever Page 11
