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B. B. Riefner

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· 38 titles
· 52 Reviews
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Member Since: Jan, 2010

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Books
· The Goatfooted Children-Excerpt 1 or Who's That Stranger in the Mirror

· The Goatfooted Children: Preface

· Three Stories: Satan-A Dog's Story, Truth in Nakedness & A Child Too Near

· Mind Travels

· Fox On Ice Skates Excerpt 2

· The Last Horseman Excerpt 2

· The Last Horseman


Short Stories
· Alien Encounter During Evensong: Part One

· Alien Encounter During Evensong: Part Two

· A Brush With Reality in the Key of B-Flat Minor

· The Ultimate Hit Contract Conclusion-Part V: It's Hidden Between the Lines

· The Ultimate Hit Contract - Part IV: And It's Not In The Index

· The Ultimate Hit Contract - Part III: It's In The Fine Print

· The Ultimate Hit Contract - Part II: The Devil Is Not In the Details

· The Ultimate Hit Contract - Part I: Initial Contact

· Nightmare By Enlightenment

· Swiss Francs From Heaven


Poetry
· My Four Horsemen

· Clashing With Love: Initial Encounter

· Mind Travels Ten-Two Poems

· Mind Travels Eight

· Mind Travels Seven

· Mind Travels Five - Three Poems

· Mind Travels Four

· Mind Travels Three

· Mind Travels Two- Three Poems

· Not One Single Regret

         More poetry...
News
· Danse Macabre Literary Journal Posts Riefner Novel Excerpt

· Going Round the Benz published by Danse Macabre

· Mind Travels and Three Stories: for Kindle Readers

B. B. Riefner, click here to update your web pages on AuthorsDen.
 

 

 



A Fox On Ice Skates- Excerpt 1
by B. B. Riefner   


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Books by B. B. Riefner     View all 8
· Three Stories: Satan-A Dog's Story, Truth in Nakedness & A Child Too Near
· Mind Travels


Category: 

Literary Fiction


B. B. Riefner

Join Street Norris'slippy glide through a series of dangerous, delightful but never deliberate situations which lead him to eventually grow up.

A FOX ON ICE SKATES

WHO AM I?

Forward. . . . We Hope?

 

    Paris Island, South Carolina is a swampy humid hell, populated by various viciously biting bugs, snakes and alligators which make it the ideal birthing place for United States Marines. There is another creature, the King of The Beasts, who resides here; and its name is Drill Instructor. To Boots this creature is only referred to as The DI, which is the Corps’ way for a Marine Boot to spell God with only two letters.

    Boot Camp’s sole purpose is to reduce all Boots to shivering clean slates and then redesign them into Marines. It’s titled Shock and Fear and the DI is the eraser. Sooner or later the Boot will be humbled and humiliated to the nth degree with the following exchange:

    Drill Instructor: Son! Do you know that you are as screwed up as a fox on ice skates?

    BOOT: Yes Sir!

    DI: Do you know just how screwed up that is, son?

    BOOT: No Sir!!!!!

    DI: Well, it’s so screwed up that you not only know who you are, you don’t know    where you are either, son.      

    BOOT: Yes sir!!!!!!

    DI: And that’s pretty damned screwed up.

    BOOT: Yes Sir!!!!!!!

    Well, believe it or not, some foxes are born on ice skates and can only function while teetering on those thin unstable blades. Foxes who have spent their entire lives on slippery surfaces. Street Norris, (for want of a better role), the hero of this novel, was born A Fox On Ice Skates. However, the DI is correct. Most foxes have never even seen ice or skates, especially the ones born and raised in Texas.

 

Preface . . . This Is All the Truth

OR

Looking Back On Most Of It

     For at least two thirds of this planet’s population, life begins and ends with waiting. The fetus waits for the shock of life and the pains of first breath. Then the infant waits to sit, stand, walk, run, speak words, then sentences, and run free. Waits to enter school, be allowed to play with the guys.

    By now you’ve got the point and if you haven’t, waiting is an endless process which consumes most ordinary lives. Graduation, lifelong employment, marriage, kids, a home, promotions, retirement, grand children and finally the fragileness of old age where one waits for the lasting relief from physical and emotional aches and agonies.  Life begins and ends with waiting!  Oblivion erases any knowledge prior to birth, and lurks just behind the finial surrender, even though billions devoutly insist we are merely disengaging from one stage before starring in the greatest drama…eternal bliss or anguish.

    So let us assume that birth and death are the two most catastrophic events in everyone’s life. And also that most of us spend our entire life span waiting for each phase of our lives to fade out and the anticipated next phase to fade in until the second catastrophic event occurs.   

     All the stages of waiting will be dealt with at a later date. Right now let’s move on to the obstacles in our paths. The highest, longest, thickest and most difficult to deal with is of course . . .Sex!!!

    If Freud is to be believed, sex is the major test which must be passed before we can move on. That, plus other areas we shall investigate later, ends up being our DEFINITION!  It actually refers to who we are, and that is a self awareness that most of us can do without.   But not if you are A Fox On Ice Skates.

The Dutch View on Sexuality

    ‘This sex thing must be a very important stage in a man’s development since we males spend so much of our treasure and time seeking gratification through it.’

Bas Vereeken Ph.D.

    ‘Women aren’t looking for sex, Norris. They’re looking for something much more satisfying but more difficult for us male scum to supply. Every one of them is out there searching for intimacy as well as sexuality.  But most of us male scum never learn that neither of the aforementioned ingredients has anything to do with the act of sex. And I’m now beginning to suspect that most of us also fear intimacy more than Erectile Dysfunction, and/or death!

WILLIAM D. O’Connor MBA

    Since we have to begin our searching for this sexual thing somewhere, let’s begin with Street Norris’ getting his initial lecture on The Birds and The Bees. Yeah. Let’s start there.

Sex-Ed 1

     The following event was a significant signpost on Street Norris’ march to adulthood.  For it allowed him to step free from the stranglehold his family held on him up to this event. It occurred the summer of his 21st year. It took place after 44 months in the USMC, two summers as a life guard on a very popular Atlantic resort where getting a girl in bed was like shooting  into a barrel over flowing with fish, using a double-barreled sawed off shotgun. This was also after a torrid eight month affair with a beautiful cheer leader whose only sexual inhibition was that she liked to do anything and everything, never in a prescribed order, but always in the dark.

    Two days before he went back for his sophomore year, Baltimore was suffering another steamy September week. Since this was before most homes were air conditioned, Street and his Father were sitting on the large wraparound porch smoking their after dinner cigarettes. Dad was one of those wasp-waist Prussian aristocratic Junker who wore a monocle even after he came to the USA in 1922. When a man wore one, he could neither frown nor smile.  If he did, it fell to the ground and shattered. So his Father’s expression was a constant detached calm. That artificial kind that a man needed when he was about to leap out of a trench and lead 200 men into a storm of machine gun and artillery fire.

    “I wish to talk to you about something very important. I assume it is proper since you are now an adult.”

    Street raised an already middle aged thick eyebrow. Usually they could sit an hour and his Father had nothing to say other than how much he had grown since the last time he was home. Since Street never came home for holidays or summer vacations, it had been over a year since his last visit, and he could hardly wait for tomorrow to be over at which time he could escape. As always Mom was a never ending interrogator; and his two maiden aunts were still the silent nodding members of the Greek Chorus.

    When his Father said, “I think it is the time to speak to you regarding certain sexual specifics,” Street had instant images of Joan his cheer-leader, lewd, and as always nude. Images of other one-night-only-ladies, especially the one who kept her knee high black stockings on for the entire marathon swarmed all over the porch floor.   The fluttering images of Joan’s sorority sisters, who came in a steady stream, determined to prove that Joan’s claims about his staying powers, both conventional and oral were either egotistical boasts or virginal fantasies.

    As he waited, he recalled he took an alarm clock out on a dark beach so that a certain blonde beauty wouldn’t be late meeting her parents for breakfast. Also scouting ahead to see if the tunnel under the main road at the university was clear so Joan could engage in her favorite breath taking, knee caving, forcing him to ear steering, version of oral manipulations. And crawling between a thick line of shrubs and the rough edged bricks of the Horticulture building and finding the Behind-the-Hedge-Hotel occupied, but taking Betty What’s-Her-Name in a doggie walk around anyway?

     “Women can be a delight to be treasured, even adored, but most of them remain a mystery when it comes to understanding their deepest feelings.”

    Yeah! You can say that again! At least until you get to the deepest feelings part, Father. Take Joan, my oversexed cheerleader. No, let’s take her sorority sisters who one by one marched me into empty cars or some dark places until their curiosities were totally satisfied. How I  had to prove to everyone of them I hadn’t a single inhibition once they had my head between their silk stocking covered thighs?  And do you agree that men are extremely tight lipped about their sex partners, well at least while the sex is going on? However, Father, I’ve discovered that women are much, much more open and willing to discuss our merits, dimensions, quantities . . . even our preferences and talents. It was Joan’s Big Sister leading the parade. Hannah Hyser made it very clear to me that she would not only like to verify Joan’s claims, but also see if I had the same abilities regarding some of her favorite indulgences. Hell, Father, two days after we split, some smart assed coed I‘d never met walked over to me in the hall and said , “If you’re as good with your tongue as Joan and Helga Dertz claim, I’d like to sign up!”

    Carefully William Frederick drew deeply on his unfiltered Chesterfield, and for a long minute stared into the Japanese maple trees shading the porch. Then he sighed and continued,

‘So, it has been my observation that if a woman smokes publicly, she will.’ There was another long pause…long enough for both to light new cigarettes…long enough for Street to begin wondering when his Father would open up. He was really interested in just how his father would conduct this lecture without dropping his monocle…figuratively speaking of course.

    Then suddenly he knew this was it! And his Father confirmed it with, ‘Is everything clear? Do you have any questions?’ And with that he snubbed his smoke, replaced it in the half crushed pack and went into the house. At first Street smiled, then gave a soft chuckle, then shoved his fingers into his mouth so his laughter could not be heard inside.

     The laughter almost subsided. Then he heard his mother’s demanding voice ask, ‘Have you spoken to him William? Does he understand?

    ‘Of course. We discussed everything. He understood. He’s a very bright young man. I am certain there will be no trouble.’

    ‘Let’s hope you are right.’ There was a fairly long silence and then his Mother added in the half disbelieving tone which could infuriate the gods of every religion, ‘Well, I hope you really got through to him. He’s got your family’s recklessness.’

    Suddenly a new alien inner voice possessed and repressed his silent laughter.  Hooray Mom! God bless your Germanic soul, Dad! At last I have gotten the real scoop on why certain ladies are attracted to me! I think I’m a chip off the old block!! Hell, maybe I’m a limb of the old family tree!!! Whoopee!

Sex-Ed 102

    Street didn’t want to come home for Christmas the following December, but he was flat broke and couldn’t find a single reason for spending almost three weeks alone in an empty dorm.  About ten o’clock Christmas Eve he was thanking the gods of sensuality for being home.

    “Jesus Christ! Who’d ever thought that sex could be this great, Street!” The compliment was accompanied by pants and fingers clamped about his jaws. Fingers which pulled his face deeper into the damp lush thicket of wiry, curly pubic hair. When he tried to work free so it was easier to breathe, Greda Hollman refused to allow the disconnect. It took all his life saving training to get sufficient oxygen until she spoke again. “Nobody’s ever gone to work with their mouth like that, sweetie,” she sighed and relaxed her grip. “Don’t move! Stay there just a little more.” He consented, but did manage to turn slightly so he could breathe normally.

    “Guess there’s something to be said for getting a college education, ain’t there?” she offered and cocked her knees so that his face was immersed in her flesh, scents and after wetness.  “How do I taste? I must taste pretty damned good, huh? You sure as hell went at me like I was a steak dinner or something.” He managed to stifle a laugh and reached up to press both her breasts against his palms.

    “ You taste like . . .’ He paused as he rolled on to his back and slipped an arm up to cup a breast which would soon sag under its weight, but just now was taunt enough to belong on a Center Fold.. “You taste even better than vanilla custard, Greda.  And if you don’t know it, that’s my very favorite dessert.”

    “Really?”  She raised on one elbow and reached out for his erection, “Well it looks like I’m about to find out what you taste like, darling.” As she pushed her torso up, and rolled over, the door to his bedroom opened and the light from the crystal chandelier hanging above his double bed created a muted illumination of their nudity.

    ‘Excuse me?’ his Mother half hissed, half gasped as her hand fumbled to find the switch again. Before she could, Street saw a stranger, mouth agape, eyes slitted, and face red enough to blend right into her lipstick, silently condemning both her son and the naked blonde still slightly bent over his loins.

    They didn’t exchange ten words as they dressed, and he escorted her down the back stairs, then out through the kitchen door. On their way through the large sun pallor, he saw the coats, hats and jackets piled on the sofa and three matching wicker chairs.

    After Greda’s succulent buttocks and legs slipped into the December night, Street joined the Christmas Eve party. There were still at least 25 or so guests, but the six downstairs rooms were large enough to accommodate the crowd.

    “Street Norris, I think you and I should have a few words about you-know-what,” Elizabeth Ellen Norris snorted five seconds after she wished the last guests a Happy Holiday and closed the front door.

    “Not now Mom. It’s late and I’m exhausted. Let’s save it for tomorrow shall we?” He was pleased by his blasé tone and its demand for equality. So was she. In fact she was so absolutely speechless at her youngest son’s response, she could only follow his mounting the stairs with a scornful silent glare.

    Greda was at the Rec Dance and didn’t even waste a hello. “Say, don’t I owe you?”  He waved it aside and was about to take her in his arms to dance when she added, “Can I ask a favor?” He nodded, slightly annoyed when she avoided his embrace. “Can we make that twice?”

    “Be careful. Two means that I get compound interest.”

    “That’s not good. Compound interest may choke off a major investor.”

    ‘”I kinda doubt that,” he offered and agreed to use her car. “I can’t drive,” he offered as she led him into the parking lot. Half an hour later they were both naked soaping each other’s organs in the shower of a local motel.

    “I’m tempted to pay off my loan,” she grinned as she took it in both hands and gave it a friendly shake. He promised the bank would be open before bending over and sucking a tart-tasty, nail hard nipple, until she was forced to lean into the shower stall wall. “Okay!” she whispered. “You’ve convinced me. Both of us,” she grinned as she dropped to her knees and reached out.

    “Street. Breakfast in fifteen minutes,” his Father’s German officer’s voice shattered Greda’s image like a machine gun bullet hitting a mirror. An erotic dream was a very uncommon occurrence. For a few breaths Street thought about skipping breakfast. That got a reluctant sigh.

    Sunday and holiday breakfasts required all males to be in suits or sport coats, with a shirt and tie. Ladies wore dresses, never skirts and blouses. Street was amazed when he found a sports coat and three pair of slacks in his wardrobe. The dresser held half a dozen shirts, all white with button-down collars. He picked one which did not require cuff links, shaved quickly and made his entrance with a full three minutes to spare.

    His parents occupied opposite ends of the formal table which seated eight. His two maiden aunts, Tilly and Sadie May, sat on his left. His oldest brother, Arnold and his wife, Eugenia sat opposite them. He chose to sit next to her. The table held two platters of eggs, one scrambled and the other sunny side up . . . his Father’s preference. There was also a large pitcher of fresh orange juice, as well as a heaping platter of sausages and crisply done bacon. On one side was a full house of toasted white bread accompanied by homemade assortment of jellies and jams. No one spoke even after he was seated.

    “May I please have some eggs, Mom?”

    “Street,” she replied without making any effort to pass the eggs, “I really resent your avoiding me last night. Your Father is also very annoyed,” she added as Street rose and reached out and began pushing scrambled eggs onto his plate. He was adding bacon when her question froze that attempt.

    “Street, why has college made you lose your religion?”

    “Mom! Come on. Please.”

    “Well, you certainly have forsaken or ignored your Methodist upbringing with all this drinking and acts of sodomy.” He had to admit that sodomy really invaded his calm.

    “Mom, I’m 22. Almost 23.”

    “Well then, please act it!” she exploded but regained her composure almost with her next breath. “Tell me, Street, did you ever believe in God?”

    “Of course.”

    “Well what happened to make you lose your faith?” He raised the platter of meat and filled his plate. Somehow he knew that wasn’t going to work, so he carefully reseated himself before answering.

    “I guess it was because she sucked me off, Mom.”

    “Street! Enough!”

    “You’re absolutely right, Father. It’s enough of enough,” he offered., then rose, and bowed slightly to Eugene whose mouth was frozen so wide he could see her tonsils as she glared at him.

    Ten minutes and three long blocks later he was seated in a booth by the large front window of Souffer’s Drug Store, sipping a cherry flavored Coke, staring out at Grace Methodist Church where the entire family, except his Lutheran Father, was a steady bastion of religious support. His aristocratic Prussian Father always claimed Methodism was, “A religion for the poor, the landless and slaves.” He calculated he would just about be through the large Coke before his Father arrived. It proved to be an excellent calculation.

    After William Friedrich Norris obtained a cup of coffee, he joined his youngest son. Only in the last year had he confessed to Street, “I came here because I did not want my two sons killed in another senseless war. At least only Fritz was killed in this latest insanity.’”Street had not responded to how much he missed his middle brother’s wild lust for eternal freedom and need to explore the planet and all its wonders.

    William carefully seated himself opposite Street, took a long pull before he offered, “Well, you have caused a major problem with your immature need to shock and embrace its blind hand maiden, rebellion.”

    “Sorry. I would have held back but sometimes…”

    “There are never that kind of sometimes. You cannot be a part of our house and abuse your Mother as you just did.” He paused, was about to take some more coffee and changed his mind. “You should have removed the Hollman girl. Gone to a car. Anywhere.” Street nodded, trying to understand how his Father could prefer black coffee.

    “So you must apologize at once, or make arrangements to live elsewhere.” This time he did pause, then went on. “Of course you are seldom with us.” Street tried to believe this was some kind of a silent pat on the back but failed. As he stared out the window trying to fit words into a proper reply, he watched THE TRIBE, as Fritz labeled the family, entering the church. Somehow he was absolutely certain that his Mother knew exactly where he was.

    “You’re right. I should’ve kept my mouth shut, and I’ll find a way to apologize by tomorrow.”

    “Excellent. It appears the university has beaten some sense into your stubborn skull.” Immediately his Father dropped the matter and began asking how he was managing, and were his grades up to his standards.  It was as if the previous conversation had been erased, much like an unsuccessful attempt to solve a difficult math equation which claimed to be the answer to all universal dilemmas.

      By early evening Street decided he would not apologize and was hitchhiking back to College Park. His only real regret?  Greda was not at home the three times he phoned her.

 

Sex-Ed 203

    Much later when he was collecting for a non-profit organization to help aid the development of Free Enterprise Systems in Latin America, Street met some really eccentric people. There were so many that he no longer doubted that wanting to change emerging economies from neo-feudalism to post Keynesian Capitalism attracted weirdoes like a freak show attracts non-institutionalized freaks. At the time, Street was forced to dwell among those who favored anarchy in its purest form. Those who wished to rid the planet of all politicians, snuggled among those who wanted to slaughter all the lawyers, and awash with fanatical Capitalists who all spelled peace, P-I-E-C-E.  Among this conglomeration, Andrew Jackson Theodore Grant was the weirdest duck of them all.

    Andy was a major player Street had met on four occasions.  Each time he passed Street a legal sized envelope containing $25,000 in hundred dollar bills. It was a nice hefty wad which always felt cold and clammy every time he verified the contents. It was hardly the cash which made Andy stand out.  It was the location and the circumstances or where and when he tendered it. Andy always insisted that someone meet him in Happy Valley, a unfitting nick name for an adult movie house. It always had to be a Thursday and at exactly two in the afternoon.

    All four times the place seemed entire devoid of customers. However in all meetings, after Street’s eyes became adjusted, he could see a few heads widely separated and hunched down so that it was difficult to spot them. The place was always as still as a Marble Orchard at mid-night. Andy was easy to find. He was in the same row, usually occupying the same two seats, eating popcorn he had bought beforehand.

    Street managed to discover some very pertinent facts about porno movie establishments through his Andy connections. They were always very dark, and they all had a disinfectant aroma which seeped out of every chair and made breathing difficult. Discounting the three Gay ones, there were a total of six in the D.C. area; three in Virginia, one in Maryland and two in D.C. proper.

    “You’d think they’d round it off to seven,” Andy growled during their second contact. “With just six straight houses, I gotta go back to one twice each week.”

    Well, that’s too bad Andy, Street thought. It’s really horrible how our real patriots have to go through a constant Hell in order to serve their country. Then Andy handed him the packet just as three naked and hairless males reached for a compliant and delighted equally naked female.

    The next to last time they met Street slid in beside him, declined some corn, and started to comment on the abysmal weather they were having. Andy placed a finger to his lips and whispered, “Not now, Norris. This is the best part.”

    The best part ended in a couple of minutes, and so did the first feature. As usual Andy excused himself while the credits and coming attractions rolled by. He returned just as the next masterpiece started. First making certain the middle arm was still in an upright position, Andy grunted softly, and lowered his three hundred some pounds. As the next feature appeared he snorted as he mouthed to Street, “That’s odd. They got a new one going. They hardly ever run changes this late in the week.”

    The new feature opened with two nude ladies in an oversized bed, reaching out for a slowly appearing male organ whose owner was really emaciated. Street was about to offer this observation when Andy interrupted violently.

    Hey! You up there in the booth. You see what you got on there?  You do see don’t you? You idiot! You got people with dirty feet! Look at their soles, you dope! They’re crummy! Ain’t washed in a month of Sundays! You got people doing the most beautiful thing on this earth with filthy fucking feet! Get it off! Get it off right now, or I’m leaving and never coming back! You hear me up there, you dumb uncaring bozo?”

    Andy turned, as he screamed, then rose and faced the projection booth.  As he shouted the last few words the film flickered and vanished in a series of vertical jerks and fades accompanied with a smattering of applause from a couple of seemingly empty seats. Andy handed over the packet as the film was being changed, and Street thanked him. In the covering darkness, he got up and departed, steeped in this new exciting knowledge that even porno hounds had some standards. After all, he too was anti stinky, dirty feet.

    It was almost a season later when he recalled a tidbit of Andy’s sexual lore. He heard it while trying to listen to Andy, counting the bills while sitting in the dark, and still paying some attention to the performing couple. ‘There’s only one fact you can bet on every time when it comes to women. No matter how many men they’ve taken to bed, no matter how many, and no matter how many times they’ve hooked  themselves a frog rather than a prince, they never ever forget the  guy who gave it to them for the very first time.

Sex-Ed Graduate Course 304

    That declaration became a silent, mocking ringing in Street’s ears the night he decided it would be fun to go to his twentieth high school class reunion. It began when he decided  he would also toss his name tag in the trash can as soon as he opened the envelope and began reading the pamphlet bringing him up to date, in a paragraph or less, on every located alumnae.

    Once inside the banquet hall it took about five minutes to be convinced erasing his identity was not such a good idea as far as his ego was concerned. Even with his hair down over his shoulders, and a beard slightly speckled with salt, there was no reason for his former blocking back, Bobby Huer, not to recognize Street Norris; or George Lipschlutz, the guy who use to share cheating off of Helga’s German exams with him. He blamed all their non-recognition on his newly acquired husky voice. After all he had sung the lead in The Student Prince. The operation to remove polyps, a non-cancerous growth from his vocal chords, had ended his rich baritone when he was twenty. Or maybe it was because he had added forty or so pounds of muscle and two inches to his height. Anyway, he was really hurt when he walked over and asked his very first real and rather lengthy sexual experience to dance.

    Her name at that time had been Rene Stoltz, but all the football players called her Rene The Fox, and the minute he saw her, he could see she still had that aura of sex clinging to parts of her. He verified his observation as he shoved his leg between her thighs and did a deep dip. Her flesh felt hot and eager, but that entire allusion went poof when she asked him who he was!

    Street told her that Alfred Butler, and Betty Hammond was his wife, knowing Betty was not there and Rene did not know her. As they separated she said, “You’re really a great dancer.”

    Just a coda about Rene The Fox.  Back in high school, she sported a marquee diamond that filled the entire joint on her engagement finger, and she drove one of the only four cars his classmates possessed. She was engaged to a guy whose father owned the largest chain of women’s clothing stores in Baltimore, and she selected Street as a sexual partner by waiting for basketball practice to end and offering him a lift in her 1941 Caddy convertible.

    She waited until she finished shifting and the calmly announce, “I’m really sick and tired of acting the semi-virgin while Mat’s away. I get so horny it’s not funny or bearable. So Street Norris, are you in the mood for some casual, hotly intense no-holds-barred-oral sex with a rich and very spoiled Jewish Princess?”

    It must have been all of ten seconds before he could sputter, “You bet I am!”

    She smiled, slipped a hand over to assay through his slacks, his already engaged organ  and mused, “Have you ever gone down on a chick?  Ever get into 69? I’ve never really care for it. Too much distraction. To me either person can really get the full enjoyment. I say take it all one at a time . . .  but once is never enough. So, how’s your tongue? Stick it out.’ she ordered this waiting for a traffic light. Slightly embarrassed, Street leaned over and obeyed.“Oh, my God! I picked a wonder tongue! I can hardly wait to get that thing working on me!”

    Since Rene had plenty of money their semi-weekly bouts were never held in anything short of Baltimore’s most expensive hotel, where Rene rented a room in advance, paid in cash and always entered alone. The Fox demanded she run the show.

    ‘You’re so damned different from Matt!” she squealed the very first time she straddled him, back arched and delighting in his fingers teasing her nail hard nipples with both hands., as she leaned forward and settled on his mouth. “He can’t get off unless he’s on top when we’re at it in 69, and I never do when we’re that way!”  She half hissed this as he began exploring the outer ridges and layers. Street could not help but wonder who allowed her to discover that she could achieve her goal when on top, but he never asked.

    The Fox liked them both to take a shower, ‘So we can get down to really dirty stuff while we’re nice and clean.” Once he had sated her with the Dirty Stuff, Rene turned her attention to a very considerate, consistent and complicated Tour Guide. “Just enough to really demand my full concentration, but not enough to make me choke,” she offered before she fulfilled her end of the Marathon.

    In late May they had just finished a session which really had them both close to exhaustion when she proclaimed, “It’s over, Street dearest. Matt’s due home this Friday, and even though I’m really going to miss this, I’ve got to get back to reality and Matty’s millions.”

    Street never told a living soul about The Star, but very shortly after Rene, and just before he ran off and joined the Marines, he had his first romantic sexual experience.

     He and a cheer leader named Betsy Hettenburger both gave up their virgin status under a thick woolen army blanket protecting them from the deadly serious swarms of mosquitoes.  The sweetest part of that memory was its location. They were stretched out on the 14th green, the most difficult hole on Mount Pleasant Golf Course. Mount Pleasant!! How could there be a more fitting name for the first real sex for both of them?

       

Sex-ed  Future Past Perfect

Shantel Can’t Tell

    Street had always used Kurt Benson as his ideal when it came to being a sexually successful male. No matter when he ran into him, Kurt always had a good looking piece of arm candy, and whenever Street managed to start a conversation with any of them, they were always  intelligent, successful and perfectly at ease with their beauty. At times he was amazed, for Kurt was just a little above average in everything from physicality to intelligence, and just one GANG shower after a pick-up game of basketball proved that part of him was also very, very average.

    A couple of years after he met him, Kurt told Street he was going to Mexico for several weeks, and Street agreed to drop by his place twice a week to water his plants. On his fourth trip he encountered Shantel because he had broken the watering jar Kurt had provided and went into the sun parlor seeking a replacement. There she was, reclining on an ornate Third Empire chaise lounge, her beauty highlighted by the soft, hot July sun.

    Shantel put every one of Kurt’s women to shame. She was wearing a two piece, bare midriff casual gauzy thing which both covered yet was indecently revealing. Street was so smitten by her physical perfection; his eyes could not decide where to begin their survey. Her hair, with its corn-flowered hue, thickness and length of her mane, finally became his focal point. Since it reached half-way to her waist on her back, and flowed over her large but highly arched breasts, they became his second fixation. He caught himself wondering what they did when she walked. The flatness of her mid-section was absolutely breath-taking. It could have been the lead-in shot for a SPA commercial. Her hips were full, perhaps slightly too much so, and he thought that they would spread later in life, but Shantel was not the kind of woman a man tried to visualize ten or twenty years down the road. Street always admitted he was a leg man and hers began just under those outrageous twins and ended more than three feet lower. Her sculptured thighs and  her strong athletic calves which gradually diminished into slim ankles adorned by thin black straps, were eye catching. 

    The high platform shoes probably made her five feet six. His eyes traveled back up her torso until they fastened on her long but not too slender neck. Shantel was a conglomeration of three races and embraced the finest facial qualities of each. Her high cheek bones, remindful of Lena Horn and Whitney Houston, promised eternal youthfulness. When that was combined with a complexion that would challenge a youthful Liz Taylor’s almond tinted eyes, her entire face cried out for caressing and adoration. Then, of course, there were her half parted lips, the upper     nearly twice the thickness of the most outrageous male fantasy. Its twin, puffed as though recovering from being bruised by brutal kisses, yet yearning for even more, all added up not only mystery but also sexual irresistibility.

    “You’re really something,” he muttered.

    “Hi. My name is Shantel. What’s yours?’”He told her and she said Street was a very sexy name. Then she asked, “Why are you here?’”He told her he was watering the plants, even though he could tell that she was the kind of woman disinterested in any activity beyond her own sphere of awareness.  Then she asked what he would like to do for fun.  Street told her that was none of her business, and countered by asking her what she considered to be fun.

    “Sex,” she half hissed and moaned. “I really adore sex.”  He noticed the change in her inflection because the moan and the hiss had vanished into blandness. She said the last sentence with about the same passion someone would use to explain how delighted they were that the trash bin was full. He asked her what type of sex she enjoyed the most, and as she began listing every type, position and variation and deviation, he got bored and picked up the introduction material laying on the coffee table. He skipped all the technical data, lubrication instructions  and insertion procedures and went to the last page.

    You have almost carte blanche in design. Select a height beginning at five feet but please use only even inches. You may designate anyone of the three races or any combination. Hair coloring and choice of complexion are almost limitless. The scope of your figure preferences is also totally at your discretion. Be as inventive as your desires dictate! Since you have selected the ultra-deluxe model, you will notice it comes with REAL HUMAN HAIR. You also have the complete run of our extensive wardrobe to choose from at no additional expense. The unique shipping for this model guarantees it will arrive in perfect condition and no assembly is necessary.

    Congratulations. We are so positive of your complete satisfaction, that if you are not totally satisfied you may return your order within ten days and we will refund up to 90% of your $2,995.00, depending on condition at time of return.

    So, ENJOY! Shantel has been manufactured to your exact specifications and assembled by our experts.. Her creator has supervised her detailing and approved her final inspection. You will find a list of audio tapes you are entitled to with your initial investment, but feel free to order as many as you wish. Be sure to indicate tone, any language and your chosen namesake.  We sincerely wish success with your relationship.

    May we leave you with one last thought? If you are pleased with Shantel we would like to remind you that she will be yours FOREVER!

    Street couldn’t resist the temptation to give old Kurt a real public going over. That thought lasted only as long as it took him to vacate the place. Kurt had never done anything nasty to him. In fact he was one of the nicer guys Street was hanging out with at that time. So he decided the best thing to do was just go back and remove the watering jug he had left in the room and let it all drop.

    While doing this he recalled the three choices a man has when he comes home unexpectedly at noon and hears the sounds of sex coming from his bedroom. Of course he can storm in and cause a terrible scene, and even try to beat the poor guy up. Then again, whose fault is it that there is someone else in bed with his wife or girl friend? See? So he has these three choices if he admits it is really his fault for her being unfaithful.

     He can go to the kitchen and mix a drink and leave the empty glass so she knows he knows, but never mention it again. Or he can mix three drinks, have one and leave the other two on the coffee table in the living room so the guy also knows he knows, but never mention it again. Or last, mix three drinks, have one and carry the other two into the bedroom and offer them to both! If the guy can drink it he has really got his act together much better than you do. So Street figured that Kurt had his act together much better than some of the other guys he had watched wreck themselves over and over again on the shoals of passion.

    About a year later Kurt accepted a position on the West Coast and Street often wondered if he took Shantel along or just stuffed her in a plastic bag and dumped her with the other trash?

    So after the Marines, the University, and several years of marriage Street Norris came to realize that his early sexual adventures were, to say the least, bazaar, even outrageously so. Those experiences laid the foundations for his views of the sexual act. He never fell into the trap with the little head telling the big head what to do, and he never had a Ball Buster make a run on him. And when he admitted this to Ian M. Lawless, who will become a very important blip in Street’s next life casting.  When he asked Lawless the same question, Ian countered with an even more flattering comment. ‘Well you could say that Ball Busters shied away from you because you’d never know if they were trying to bust your balls. They maybe could, but there’s no fun or joy in busting balls if the guy isn’t aware he’s had em busted is there?’ 

    When Street half objected Ian added, ‘Okay. Then let’s try this. You’re immune because you’ve never had any concerns about your dick.  Even though most normal guys always have something to worry about when it comes to their dicks, why should they or you? I mean, after all is said and done, why should you worry about your dick? There’s nothing anyone can do to change what you got.’ 

    So Street’s views about sex slowly evolved into this: Sex is either a bed with a woman in it or it’s a woman in a bed. It took a lot more time for him to have a satisfactory explanation which defined each one, and realize how each one was so different. And only after he encountered a Dwarf who believed that if she walked in the rain long enough it would make her taller.

Copyright©2009B. B. Riefner





Reader Reviews for "A Fox On Ice Skates- Excerpt 1"


Reviewed by Richard Arrington 2/14/2010
This is very good, I hope you do well with it.

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