The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever (20 page)

"What happened to the part about 'it's
something I want you to give'?"

"Changed my mind."

"If you promise not to feed me to the killer
bees, I do have a few innermost secrets that might interest you.
One is, I've always wanted to be a fairytale princess, and now,
thanks to you, I am." His kiss made her feel even more
princess-like.

"That's a lovely secret, and if you tell me
my beauty spot's name you'll be given your reward."

"Please Do Me Brad."

He undressed, and then joined her. Soon her
soul was frolicking, while her body, responding to his demands, was
taking her on an incredible journey of sensory and ethereal
revelations. Deep inside, exquisite sensations gathered before they
radiated outward. Then she was capitulating—her innermost places
were opening to receive him. A pervasive warmth coursed through
her, just before the waves of pleasure sucked her breath away,
turned her insides to Jell-O, and made her crazy.

Eventually, the pleasure waves subsided,
leaving behind a pulsing that ebbed and flowed through her body
before it merged with her heartbeat.

A relaxed, thoroughly possessed, loving
feeling overtook her, and she snuggled against her lover, hands
leisurely touching and thanking. It was the giving that fulfilled
her—it was the giving that made her whole.

"You are one beguiling temptress," Brad said,
"every man's fantasy of what afternoon delight should be. And we
can use that fantasy to make us wealthy."

"How?"

"On Newfoundland's southern tip, at the head
of Placentia Bay, there's a fishing town named Come By Chance.
Problem is, the fish are gone."

"Then we won't go there."

"Indulge me for a moment, Temptress Cat. In
the fifty's and sixty's, the Europeans over-fished the Grand Banks.
They used huge ice-breaking draggers that dropped nets below the
spawning cod. Everything alive was killed when the nets were hauled
up."

She was paying attention. "So we're going to
start a fish farm?"

He ignored her. "With no fish left, the Come
By Chance fishermen now sit around with nothing to do. We'll set
you up in business there. Your slogan will be 'Come by Chance at
Come By Chance'. With your talent, a whole new tourist industry
will spring up. You'll be the town's savior, beloved by all." Her
mouth opened, but he put a finger to her lips. "Don't say a word,"
he continued. "I know what you want to know. We'll split the take
fifty-fifty."

"You toilet-duck!" Betty-Jo struggled to get
out from under him.

"I'm not just any old toilet-duck. I'm your
free-enterprising toilet-duck. So is it fair to assume you won't go
for a fifty-fifty split?"

"You're right about that! You want me to be
your rent-a-ho!"

"Please, Tawny. Ho has such negative
connotations. Couldn't we refer to you as my working-girl?"

The fool was grinning at her, and his voice
was caressing her. "You know which buttons to push to get me going,
don't you? I'm flattered that you think we could clean up with this
little venture of yours, but your share would be twenty-five
percent—tops, 'cause I'd be the working-girl doing all the
work."

"Now that you mention it, you should only get
twenty-five percent, 'cause you'd be the working-girl having all
the fun. And forget about quality. You'd go for quantity."

"Like a telemarketer?"

Brad smiled and kissed her. "More like an
assembly-line worker. But if you don't want to be an assembly-line
working-girl, all you have to do is say so. You can be a
comfort-girl instead."

"Working-girls and comfort-girls do the same
thing."

"True. But 'comfort-girl' makes it sound as
if you're participating in a nurturing occupation, like a teacher
or a nurse."

"Do you really think we'd clean up if I were
a nurturing comfort-girl?"

"You'd be the most popular Park 'n Fly in the
country. With your talent, we'd soon be stinking rich. Trust me.
But you could sing instead—you have a voice that's throaty and
seductive. We'd call you Chickadee Chance."

"I wouldn't mind being a singer. Chickadee
Chance—my name alone might make me famous."

"Problem is, your share would have to be cut
back to ten percent because singing doesn't pay as well as having
fun, and in bed you're already a proven talent."

"A proven talent. I like that." She got all
kissy and cuddly with him.

Later, she nuzzled him and whispered
shameless notions in his ear, until he was eager once more. "I
can't believe how much I love the look and feel of your joystick.
Am I allowed to play with it," she asked?

"Any time you want. I'm confident that it
will be my pleasure."

As Betty-Jo fooled around with Brad's
joystick, she asked, "How long do these things get?" Then she
studied him curiously.

"Depends."

"On what?"

"An African-American shaft is a foot long,
and, according to a U. Cal. study, the rest of us have one that's
five and one-tenth inches long, when it's excited.

She stopped fooling around with Brad's shaft
and sat up. "You're kidding!"

"Would I kid you about something as serious
as dick size? Everyone knows that white men can't jump."

"So you're telling me that black guys have
the big ones?"

"Everyone knows that."

"But is it true?"

"No idea. But tomorrow we'll find out. I'll
send you on a fact finding mission to measure all the
African-American guys you meet." He was laughing so hard he could
barely defend himself when she pounced.

"I love your joystick. It always makes me
happy." She took it in her hand and stroked it, thrilled at how it
sprang to life with her touch. "Is the average joystick really five
and one-tenth inches long when it's excited? And who cares about
the one-tenth anyway?"

"Who cares? Are you crazy, woman? Men measure
their things to the nearest hundredth. When the results of the U.
Cal. study were released, men breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Penis enlargement clinics saw their patient loads cut in half."

"They can make them longer?"

"Sure can."

"How much?" She blew in his ear.

"An inch is about the max. Problem is,
there's no guarantee that the bigger fellow will work, or even that
the operation won't kill you."

She stopped annoying his ear. "You should go
for it."

"What did I do to deserve a
loverosaurus?"

That made her laugh. "So how do they make
them longer?

"I don't know for sure, but I've been told
they take a two pound weight, tie it to the end of your dick, and
stretch the hell out of it."

"Doesn't that hurt?"

"It must. But perhaps less than when the love
of your life asks you if it's in yet, when you've already given her
all you've got."

She was fascinated. "If a guy has a small
one, how does his woman have any fun?"

"Lot's of people enjoy Trivial-Pursuit. But
perhaps guys with small dicks only date small women, so everything
works out. But in a pinch, or more accurately, in the lack of one,
there's a solution."

"And that would be?"

"American men love baseball—they all own a
bat."

"You're hilarious." She knelt above him and
pinned his arms to the bed—her breasts swayed temptingly just out
of reach of his mouth. "So how long is yours?"

"Why do I suspect you're going to harass me
until you find out?" She moved down past his stomach, took him in
her mouth, and bit. "Okay, carnivorous saber-toothed Tawny Cat.
You'll find a tape measure in the weight room. Top drawer, left
hand side, I think."

When she returned, tape in hand, she sat on
his legs with the object of her affection a couple of feet in front
of her. Then she pulled the tape out about two feet. She looked at
his joystick, then at the tape, and then, with a smile, at him.

"You're pushing your luck, lady."

She put her fingers to her mouth, and blew
him a kiss. "Really, I'm concerned. If your thing was a hot dog
you'd never be able to sell it as a foot-long." She had to stop
measuring, until she could stop giggling.

"Get your jollies while you can," said a
sheepish looking Brad, "cause your turn will come."

"Idle threats." She went back to measuring.
"And the answer is—seven inches. You know, it really is a fearsome
weapon to be pointing at a lady."

"Run girl! Save yourself while you still
can."

She gave his thing a tug. "Too late, it knows
where I live." Then she became pensive. "I wonder if the Fox's
boyfriend's thing is as long as yours?"

"Do you want to know how you can find
out?"

"Yes! How?"

"What, my curious Cat, will you do for me if
I tell you?"

"Whatever you want. This is so exciting, I
can hardly wait to tell the Fox."

"Something bad happens when you and the Fox
get together, and while I love naughty, certain types of bad scare
me."

"Don't be frightened. Bad will only happen to
you if you don't tell me how to measure Frank's snake, or worm, or
whatever it is."

"You have to know the expansion factor, so we
have to make love."

She lay on the bed and shifted her hips
invitingly. "Go ahead, Bad Brad, have your Tawny Cat any way you
want her."

Later, when she finally gave him his joystick
back, he looked at it with some concern. "I don't know what you do
to this guy. When I give him to you, he's strong as an ox, but when
you give him back, he's limp as my sox."

She laughed and hugged him. "Poet of mine,
with you the loving's so good you're lucky that I give him back to
you at all."

"Enough time spent contemplating the mystery
of what you do to my shaft. Let's get him measured."

She lay his shrunken joystick along the top
of the tape. "Three and a half inches," she announced.

"So now you have it."

She frowned. "Have what?"

"Your expansion factor."

"Oh! I see!" She was thrilled. "That would be
an expansion factor of two. But why do I need to know that?"

"If I ever get another live-in, remind me to
go for one with more intellect, even if I have to settle for one
with less sex appeal."

She swatted him playfully. "I still don't
understand."

"Not many men are going to let their
girlfriends measure them—especially if they have a small one. The
Fox can't just walk up to Frank with a tape measure and say, 'now
be a good boy while I measure your toy'. The measurement has to be
made while he's sleeping."

"Yes! The Fox measures Frank when he's
sleeping, then she multiplies his rod's length by the expansion
factor of two and she knows how long he'll be when he's up and
eager. This is so exciting!"

Brad looked concerned. "I've created a
monster."

She kissed him. "Stifle yourself,
Toilet-duck. This will be fun."

"You're in competition with the Fox?"

"No. I could never keep up with her. You've
heard of women who run with the wolves? Well the Fox thinks the
wolves are boring. She jogs with the wolverines. But it would be
nice if you were longer than her current wolverine.

"What if I'm shorter?"

"Then I'll see if she'll swap. Eyes are
important to her, and you have lovely eyes."

"You're a fickle one, Chickadee Chance."

She gave him a hug. "You don't have to worry.
We know that your joystick is the magic variety. I'll bet most
guy's joysticks aren't magic at all."

Brad looked pleased. "That's a nice thing to
say. And I'm sure you're right. Most guys' dicks are probably rude
and inconsiderate."

"I'm going to phone the Fox right now, and
tell her how to measure Franks'."

"Contemplating your little escapade has made
your pussy wet again," Brad said. "So it pains me to tell you this.
There's a problem."

"Oh?"

"The expansion factor thing doesn't
work."

"Why not?"

"Come here so I can hold you."

She crossed her arms. "Not till you tell
me."

"Then you'll never know." She relented, and
snuggled up to him, but her body remained tense. "Take a deep
breath and relax," he said. "I wish I didn't have to ruin this for
you, but men's dip-sticks don't all work the same way. There isn't
a constant expansion factor. Some guys have small ones that become
King Kongs when they're excited. Others have monsters that don't
get much bigger when they're primed for action. Sorry."

"You led me on!"

"True. But you were so excited about the
prospect of the Fox sizing Wolverine Frank that I couldn't find it
in my heart to deter you from your quest."

"You think I'm perverted. Don't you?" She
licked his ear and then bit his earlobe. "The correct answer is
no." He hesitated a moment. He's probably wondering what he'd look
like with only one ear, she thought.

"Is it safe to say that you may be, but that
a spoon-full of perversion is the spice of lovemaking. Of greater
concern to me, are your ethics."

"My ethics?" I'm very ethical.

"You agreed, that if I told you how to
measure Wolverine Frank, you'd do anything I wanted. Didn't
you?"

"...Yes."

"And all I asked in return was that you spend
some time at Come By Chance, picking up a few dollars while
cheering up the fisher folk."

"If you insist, I'll sleep with your fisher
friends. For unfathomable reasons, 'a woman will be anything the
man she loves her wants her to be.' But the only person I ever want
to sleep with is you. Perhaps you could think of some other way for
me to repay you."

Brad grinned at her "It would kill me if you
slept with anyone but me," he said. "I'd share my hockey stick
before I'd share you. I'm not like the guy who told his friend to
'feel free to use anything of mine that you want—except my
girlfriend, and my toothbrush—and I'm serious about my
toothbrush!'" She laughed and jabbed him playfully. "And it just so
happens that you can repay me with a measurement that interests
me."