Topless Punch Line – Part 2

21 Temmuz 2022 Kapalı Yazar: analsex

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Teri”Going over Dawn’s today?” Aunt Denise asks without looking up from the newest Uncle Henry’s classifieds. The overhead kitchen bulb shimmers in her teacup and burnishes her auburn topknot. Framed in the window is one of those typical maritime days when cotton bales of fog ghost the peninsula, monopolizing the air with their wetsuit chill. “No, she’s got a dentist appointment in Brunswick.” And yesterday’s sun packed its bags and followed her, proving it must be a male. I zip the heather gray Boothbay Harbor sweatshirt until it pinches my neck, shivering but also nervous my heart’s sudden clunk might show through the t-shirt.Not because I’m not telling the truth; Dawn phoned a few minutes ago and said Doctor Teeth was able to squeeze her into a cancellation slot. It’s because when we finally dragged ourselves out of the ocean yesterday, there was Mrs. Sanders from next door cooling her fallen arches in the tideline, prescription sunglasses aimed straight at me.  Even though I’d done my best to re-don my bikini bra after Dawn Copperfield had made it disappear during the swim, I figured I was screwed. Screwed? You call that screwed? What could possibly be worse than Adonis – the cutest guy you’ve seen since Anton’s pop-icon pout melted your drawers – swimming close enough to see your goosebumps au naturel? Still, I’ve always looked up to my Yankee aunt, who’s never given me a reason to want to disrespect her. She had my back whenever she thought Mom was being too strict and even talked her into letting me go on my first date with Marc. Oh well, nobody’s perfect.So as you can imagine, I couldn’t taste a single bite of supper last night, waiting for the “I heard” Weejun to drop. But Aunt Denise chopped the salad greens and served the stuffed peppers and blueberry cobbler without a hint of deviation from her calm demeanor. That didn’t mean she couldn’t ambush me with it this morning, though. Grownups can be cagey like that.”I was thinking about taking the bike out,” I venture, hoping to wedge a few more hours between me and a possible lecture on beachgoing decorum. Or, heaven forbid, being sent back to the Hudson Valley to sweat out the rest of the summer tormented with Instagram feeds of Marc pawing Vicki’s beached whale behind. “Good day for a ride.” Aunt Denise sips her tea and flips a page. “Go for it. Tires might need a boost – you know where the pump is.””I’ll probably check out Nar bonus veren siteler and Churchill Pond. Need anything from the village?””No, we’re good. Lunch at one, if you’re interested.””I’ll be back before then.”***The blacktop’s smooth but narrow ribbon twirls eastward; the gentle scritch of pedals and gears announces my passage through balsam-scented peace.Dentist. I hope the top-thieving tart gets the drilling of her life after that stunt she pulled yesterday.I won’t lie; I’m still kind of in a spin at Dawn’s behavior. Even after what she told me about her risque games with rock-hard Jimmy Swift and the horny quarterback and the grab-ass druggist – pronghorns, all – to think her raging comeliness could include other girls is, well, disorienting. I mean, real girls, not just Marla the centerfold.But why me? The mirrors I’ve seen don’t show anything a girl like Dawn could possibly want. Not that there’s anything wrong with the individual parts. They just don’t add up to the elusive ‘spectacular’, especially these small boobies.Then again, middle-aged Mr. Danforth wouldn’t win any Mr. Universe contests, yet he got to see her naked lusciousness and feel the triumph of ejecting his seed between her wickedly talented hands. Disgusting.So why are you suddenly pedaling funny?How could she stoop so low?That’s not what you said when you stuffed that pillow under–Seriously? Stripping off and spreading her legs for a homely married dude more than twice her age?Makes you want to pull into the woods and do unspeakable things to the seat horn, doesn’t it? Oh, shut up and downshift already. Uphill grade ahead, remember?Is it some weird pheromone aura? Has she figured out I mount the self-serve Tilt-A-Whirl after wandering through a candy arcade of how she amuses her juicy bits? Does she think she can take advantage and play with me the same way she would with Jimmy Swift and Company?You didn’t exactly fight her off, you know.And you did like it when her fingers zinged your nips. Didn’t you?Uh-oh, panties getting slick again? Bad girl. Before I can drool or ruminate further, the monotonous conifer walls give way to Narwhal Harbor’s picture window on the sea. The inner monologue stills in awe.No wonder Hollywood came calling in the mid-nineties when it needed a coastal location shoot for a big-name chick flick. Aunt Denise had shared tales of tourist-snarled lanes, celebrity bedava bahis sightings and the Naval Air Station’s unprecedented civilian clearance for the actors’ Learjets to land.Thankfully, there’s no trace of Tinseltown’s hoofprints on the shingle-cottage tiara or the tranquil marina it crowns. The dock where Devin Blossner and Siobhan Raung traded banalities that passed for cinematic flirtation is now peppered with quarreling gulls. Motion breaks the village still life as I’m pedaling past the boatyard.My eyes swerve onto the denim-clad backside of a workman who’s directing a pickup driver. Helpless marionettes tugged by the whim of his gestures, they linger over the strength rippling from retracted tartan sleeves, then rise to trace the slowly emerging profile as he turns. Wow. Devin Blossner had nothing on this fellow, even in his prime, which was way before my time. Omigosh. It’s–CLANK. A jolt jars bone; the front wheel, having followed the Pied Piper of my distraction, has derailed over the ragged asphalt edge. Gravel and pavement smash into knees and forearms at ouch-miles-per-hour. Despite covered limbs all around, a slew of fresh abrasions convinces my nerve endings they’re under attack from a swarm of murder hornets. How could you be such an idiot? The rebuke scalds like intellectual napalm. One excruciating shuffle at a time, I drag myself off the stones and smack dirt from my pants. I can stand. So far, so good.Is that my pulse hammering at my skull, or are those approaching footfalls? Either way, sudden evasive movements are out of the question.”You okay?” The sound is pure masculine honey – Tupelo, not orange blossom. I look up from the rips in my favorite sweatshirt’s cuff, and a surge of lightheadedness nearly causes another collapse.Inches away stands the workman indirectly responsible for my wipeout – Adonis, looking scrumptiously rustic in casual clothes and talking to me as if he hadn’t seen my frosted nipples yesterday–Yikes!My face could boil enough lobster to feed the entire Bush compound from now until Christmas Prelude weekend. The road shoulder’s rubble suddenly demands unwavering scrutiny as I brace for the chauvinistic wisecrack that will knock him off his pedestal and cure me of this stupid obsession once and for all.”We have a first-aid kit and some bandages if you need them,” I hear instead. Kindness. Concern? Total curveball.Both knees deneme bonus wobble like tenderized veal, and wet ants of blood are crawling over my elbows.”I’ll be all right.” A bravado tilt of my head aligns his gaze with mine. Perhaps he’s been to Europe and is used to alfresco softcore nudity. In any case, he shows no signs of associating me with the receiving end of aquatic wardrobe sabotage. I can handle anything – even internal hemorrhage.”You took quite a spill there.” The celestial gleam of his eyes is stronger than my mere hazels can withstand. Rites of passage from twenties to thirties etch their corners with the devastating appeal of a man who smiles easily and often. As a means of escape, I reach for the handlebars and pull, only to discover the tire and the front brake pad engaged in a bump-and-grind instead of the usual do-si-do. Despair jettisons embarrassment. How will I explain the damage to Aunt Denise?Adonis adds a somber ‘Hmm,” followed with, “Don’t suppose you have a spoke wrench on you?”I shake my head, misery multiplying. “Want me to take a look at it?”My heart high-fives my rib cage. “N-no, that’s too much troub- ” “Well, you can’t ride it this way. Here. I’ll carry that for you.” His arms hoist the metal jumble with the ease of a groom bearing snow-white joy toward his honeymoon bed.O happy bike, to be borne by the weight of– “Okay.” Stunned and trusting as an imprinted duckling, I trail his two-handful caboose down the embankment and through one of the overhead doors. The harbor’s brine turns astringent with lacquer and wood shavings.Please don’t let this be just a post-traumatic hallucination…Inside the boathouse, he props the patient upside-down on a well-appointed workbench and promptly gives it the bedside manner. “Beautiful Raleigh.” Jealousy gnaws my gut as the crossbar receives his appreciative caress. “I’ve got a newer one, but they don’t build ’em like this anymore. Late 70s, is it?”No idea. “I think so.” I manage to stop myself before mentioning an aunt, a guaranteed passion-killer.”Might take a while,” he warns. “Need to be anywhere soon?”I shake my head. There’s no place to sit, but I don’t care. Just being near him is the best anesthetic for these cuts and scrapes. “Zan-dahh! You have a call.” A cigarette roughened bark rips the air, traceable to the septuagenarian secretary leaning from her office door. Clad in floor-to-ceiling khaki, she brays in the region’s nasal drawl, “It’s Dahh-see.”Adonis’ studiousness relaxes into a smile that lights the world. My knees deteriorate from tenderized to liquefied. “I’ll call back, Louise,” he reassures her, his volume robust. Manly. “Twenty minutes… thirty, tops.”

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