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It was the summer of 1921 when my family first ventured to California for a family reunion. We had recently come to learn, by telegram, that our family tree had extended beyond our East Coast clan to include a branch of the Prescotts who now live in the up-and-coming town of Los Angeles. Uncle Neal had sent my father, mother and me a train ticket.
We rode the train for a week and arrived to meet the long-lost branch of our family tree at their home. It was a luxuriant Spanish-style estate populated with rose gardens and outbuildings that served as a movie studio. Our uncle Neal had started Prescott Studios ten years, and it had been the source of his immense wealth.
Neal Prescott was a self-made man who had the vision and good luck to be at the right place at the right time. He would foresee the birth of the film industry as it migrated from East to West. He dressed in understated shirts and pants. His only sign of opulence was the watch that he wore on his left wrist.
Calm, confident, with a wonderful sense of humor, Neal Prescott was the model for the twentieth century man.
The afternoon after arriving, there was a grand dinner for the twenty assembled members of our family, and I came to realize that there were cousins , aunts, and uncles who had made it this far west while our side stayed east since the days of the Mayflower. The dinner itself was a feast for all the senses and the first time I had ever had Bananas Foster. For decades later, I always recall that magical day at Uncle Neal’s whenever I have Bananas Foster, which remains my favorite dessert to this day.
After dinner found me alone on Uncle Jim’s living room sofa-except for my cousin Connie and her friend Vivienne who sat quietly across the room. Connie sat across the room on the other sofa and listened to the radio as the sun slowly set orange over the hedges to the far end of the estate. She half listened to the radio and half eavesdropped on the adults talking in the kitchen two rooms away past the dining room. I heard news of the world, the movie business, and laughter intertwined within a background of Jazz music. A faint fragrance of roses and eucalyptus wafted through the evening air.
I asked Cousin Connie to explain just how we were related and she detailed that connection by saying her father and my father’s fathers were cousins and so forth.
The living room was decorated all in gray and was offset by the green emerald earrings and light-blue necklaces that each of these ladies wore. The furnishings were all low to the floor, as was the style in those days. The cabinetry and bookshelves were made from Macassar ebony. The floor was covered in colorful carpets decorated in the art noveau style of the day. All matching sets of sofas, chairs, and tables were in gray. A tasteful Tiffany chandelier provided soft, muted light that was both warm and sparkling in certain places bahis firmaları throughout the room.
My Cousin Connie’s friend, Viv, was along for the party, and she showed an intense experience well beyond her twenty years. She rhapsodized about her recent trip around the world as a guest of the Prescotts. Connie and Viv had been friends since grammar school, and Viv was invited along this trip around the world.
She talked about shopping in Paris and Milan, skiing in the Alps, and her experience in the Orient, which I came to learn, was Bangkok, Istanbul, Tokyo, and Manila.
Viv slapped her thighs and playfully invited me to sit on her lap as if she would tell me her stories to a child. She wrapped the blanket around us both and we unabashedly cuddled. I felt as if I was taking advantage of her friendly side and was introduced to the first experience of ever being so close to a woman. Viv was the definition of flapper: her brown ringlets framed her beautiful face with big eyes under her blue sequined flapper hat. She wore a white blouse and stylish black pants. I assumed that this is how they behaved and dressed in California. This informal intimacy was the norm, so I played along as if I’d done it a hundred times before.
Viv and Connie exchanged stories of their shopping, skiing, golf, and automobile races all over the globe. But Viv alone relished in the secrets she had learned in the Orient.
I felt her warm hands on my shoulders and her breasts on my back. I smelled her perfume which enveloped me in a relaxing vanilla haze. She worked her hands down to my hips and playfully cupped my buttocks in an intimate yet innocent and playful manner. She placed her arm around my chest to better balance me on her lap. This was nothing sexual, just a woman holding her friend’s cousin.
She began to massage my buttocks in what I felt was a reward for her having company and meeting a young man from the East for the first time.
I suppose she was bored and perhaps was absentmindedly massaging me while she spoke. The music drifted in and Connie’s attention melted from us and more toward the kitchen conversation.
I then realized that Viv was enjoying the notion that she was massaging me under the blanket while Connie was just six feet away across the coffee table. Perhaps she revered the secret intimacy under the blanket as she was stealing the attention away from Connie.
Suddenly, she gently ran her finger over my anus. I was pleasantly startled, although it did feel good. I didn’t know if this was accidental or not, but I pretended not to notice or show any reaction, as I wanted it to continue and I wanted to know if she was doing this on purpose.
Viv continued to massage my hips and buttocks and again brushed a finger across my anus a few minutes later. Our secret was delicious. Or was this just normal how things were done in California?
I played kaçak iddaa it off as if this happened to me all the time and this was the norm for me. I pretended to be half asleep after the train ride I wanted to give the impression that all of this was OK with me.
I felt her breasts on my back and breathed in her delicate and exotic perfume.
A few minutes later, she slowly inserted her finger into my anus and I knew this wasn’t any accident. Was she trying to see how much she could make me uncomfortable and startle me with Connie right there?
I bet I surprised her by meeting her half way by moving my hips back to meet her finger.
Our conversation now became wordless. My breathing became shallow an in sync with hers. We were communicating but not with words. She teased me and inserted the finger deeper.
I wanted it more than she could possible realize, as I had a hernia the previous summer while lifting bricks and my prostate was always inflamed as a result of the injury to the groin. Her manipulating my anus massaged my prostate and erased the pain. The sensation was not only one of pleasure but also the absence of pain made it even more enjoyable. The particular positioning of her finger manipulated my body in a manner that separated the particular damaged organs that were tangled and irritating my nerves in that region of my midsection.
The absence of pain flowed over me like warm butter poured on my brain. The usual shooting pains that went from my groin and down my leg and up my back immediately disappeared with each inch she penetrated. It was as if the pain was a wave in a carpet and she smoothed it out and made it flat to interrupt the pain signals. Her movements were a medicinal practice, and I wondered if Viv was a nurse who instinctively and skillfully sensed my pain.
My penis was as hard as a rock. It stood out like a railroad spike, and my balls hung low and danced with the accumulated sperm. I wondered if this was Viv’s goal from the start to see if she could make me hard. But she made no motion towards or notice of my engorged cock just inches from her warm, probing hands.
She had to know she was making me hard, as my protruding cock raised the blanket on my lap. I wondered if it went unnoticed by Connie, and hoped she was oblivious to our secret under the blanket. I did not want to be discovered and then have this blissful state come to an end. But Connie didn’t seem to notice or mind what was obviously taking place across the room.
Later we made it to the porch, silently agreeing that we wanted to be in private to further explore together. The sun was setting further, the last rays of sun shone off the top of the orange groves. The air was heavy with humidity, her perfume and anticipation. I was drunk with sensuality and found myself in the perfect balance between excitement and pure relaxation. Time and the Earth itself kaçak bahis seemed to pause for Viv and me.
As Viv and I reconvened on the porch sofa, I again arched my back to meet her probing finger. I felt a sensation of diamond hard but with no edges deep within me which knew it must now be her thumb. This new sensation terminated all pain to and from my groin, legs, and back. I never wanted it to stop. I was in perfect harmonic balance between the two opposed states of arousal and blissful sleep. We balanced between the two worlds together. We were both travelers in innocence and deviance.
At that moment, I felt waves of an oncoming orgasm but I did not want it to happen as it would stop the love I felt from her hands.
Viv’s expert intuition met my movements. She seemed to know what I wanted before I did. But she didn’t let me get so far as to orgasm and slowed her momentum just short of the threshold of orgasm. She seemed to want my pain to disappear more than she wanted me to come for her.
She whispered, “This all used to be orange groves before Uncle Jim turned it in to a studio.”
We made our way to the mission chapel tower. The mission’s bell hung over the warm tile floors as if the bells were witnessing our rendezvous and waiting for their moment to ring in celebration of our moment together.
Vivienne continued to probe and manipulate my butt and anus with a dexterity that was intuitive and sensual. Her soft hands were warm and flowing with just the right rhythm and texture. I felt perfectly safe in her care and trusted her as if we had been together for decades.
It was then that she pulled the knotted emerald-colored silk scarf out of my anus in one swift motion…releasing the tension and forcing an undulating wave of pleasure and semen like a whip from deep within my loins.
Her secrets from the Orient were revealed. I wondered how such an innocent-appearing and refined woman would come to learn such secrets. She reached her hand around to catch my fluid as if a souvenir to admire and then giggled at the milky surprise left in her palm. We fell into a bundle among the cool green grass just over the hedges beyond the mission tower. I could almost hear the bells chime to celebrate our love.
Crickets chirped their approval in the distance.
She kissed me. My mind was as clear as the sky above, only dotted with the stars that I knew to really be diamonds. Jazz music and laughter floated from the kitchen as the party continued on, too consumed in its own revelry to notice our absence.
I heard Connie’s distinctive and knowing giggle from the living room.
It was over the next few months that I joined Uncle Neal’s studio and married Viv in this same mission where we first experienced our love together. As we exchanged our vowels, we gave each other a knowing glance to acknowledge our secret first encounter now etched in our minds and unknown to the gathered guests and family.
Vivienne remained the love of my life for sixty years. How could I not love a woman who so unselfishly sensed my pain and eased it upon our first meeting?
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