Presley Goes Down Under

Chapter 1

Fletcher Jackson yawned his way across the near-empty supermarket parking lot, thumbs tucked into the shoulder straps of his backpack, black Acubra at a rakish angle hiding most of his tight blonde curls.

He wondered didn't American women have anything better to do? The supermarket had opened at 7:00 and already at 7:25 there were forty vehicles parked and more arriving.

The community was small, center of cropping farms, horse spreads and cattle ranches from what he's seen coming in yesterday riding an 18-wheeler driven by a surly guy who took Fletcher's last twenty bucks some 120 miles out. Arriving in the town, the driver showing very bad teeth simply said, "Get out."

Last night Fletcher had slept under a hedge and hadn't eaten. Now he was heading for the public restrooms adjacent to the supermarket to wash up before asking at the supermarket could he push trolleys for a couple of days? He needed to earn enough cash for a bed in a doss house and food for the table - er, to eat off a paper towel on a street bench most likely.

He noticed a woman struggling to lift a huge bag of dog biscuits on to the cargo tray of her red Ford F-150.

"Excuse me ma'am may I assist?"

"No."

"Just step aside ma'am and I'll lift it by myself. A neat-looking chick like you should be in the salon getting her finger nails done instead of doing hard yakka like this."

She paused and looked at him almost displaying interest. "What part of the world are you from, talking messed up English like that? "Yakka, a neat-looking chick; I ask you?"

"Since you asked ma'am. I'm from Australia where hard yakka means hard work and a neat looking chick means a lovely looking young lady. But with you frowning and panting, you're not looking at your best at the moment. But your body is the finest I've seen in a month of Sundays. While we are on the subject, may I say nobody has screwed up English more than Americans?"

"May I say something now?"

"Yes ma'am."

"And don't call me ma'am. I'm not married."

"Wow, with that declaration this could be my lucky day. You're not gay, are you?"

"How dare you!"

"Please don't get your knickers in a knot. My mom and sisters say I tease far too much for any woman to like me."

"Well at least someone in your family is focused and intelligent. Oh dammit, look what you've made me say, something quite insulting."

"Rein in baby, I'm not offended."

The fluffed-up woman looked ready to wop Fletcher one.

"How dare you call me baby; in this country that's an endearment used by a man to his lady friend."

Fletcher frowned.

"You grouched about me calling you ma'am, or rather prohibited me from calling you that, leaving me with few options."

She studied him carefully and said he looked like he'd slept under a hedge.

"I did."

"Now you are teasing again."

"I'm not, I promise you."

"When did you last eat?"

"Yesterday, breakfast time. Two pieces of toast and an apple."

"Omigod, help me load and then come with me. I'm Presley Stevens. You touch me and I'll knock you into next week."

"Understood ma'am. My name is Fletcher Jackson and I come from east of Sydney."

Presley glared but Fletcher handed her the eggs, his mind on the job, and with effortless ease lifted the supermarket trolley and tipped the load out relatively gently and didn't scratch the paintwork with the metal trolley.

"How did you do that," she gawked. "That was very heavy, my supermarket shopping for two weeks for a family of three plus that heavy bag of dog biscuits."

Fletcher chose not to answer, not wishing to offend her by discussing the dynamics of power lifting to somebody who probably thought a 4lb-pound pack of anything was a load.

"Hand me the keys Presley, cute name, and point me in the right direction."

"What, allow you to drive, you could be an escaped criminal?"

"American Immigration doesn't allow criminals into the country."

"Oh."

Fletcher had an idea about how to calm her. God she was uptight. He pulled out his wallet and showed her a picture of his mum with him at Sydney Airport.

"She's a lovely woman. God, look at her tan."

"Very trustworthy-looking, isn't she?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"And who looks a lot like her?"

Presley hedged but finally said that he did.

"I'm sorry for giving you a hard time."

Fletcher grinned and said, "Then I guess you are about to kiss me as an encore to that apology."

She hesitated so Fletcher kissed her lightly on the lips. She sighed and said she knew he'd do that and walked to the passenger side, handing him the keys as he slid behind the wheel.

"First, I must tell you about the braking system..."

Fletcher reversed and was off smoothly to the exit. "Dad drives one this exact model with right hand drive of course."

"Oh."

"Where to baby?"

"To Rigby's Diner. It's on the far end of Main Street. What did you just call me?"

Fletcher patted her thigh and told her not to worry, as it was only an endearment.

"You touched me," she shrieked. "I distinctly told you not to touch me."

"Cool it baby. I'm the guy like my mum who you were prepared to trust, remember?"

"You are a real smart-ass. You may only touch me with permission, do you hear?"

"Yes, okay, but don't take too long handing out permission."

Presley sat back and sighed, heavily.

At the well-patronized diner, Fletcher ate a generous amount of food and finished replete, having consumed two cups of coffee, a slab of thick steak, fries, two corn fritters and two pieces of bread. Presley had chosen a vegetarian breakfast wrap, consumed two glasses of water, and paid.

They drove to the ranch, Fletcher still at the wheel because Presley said she felt safer with him behind the wheel, occupied, while she struggled to get used to him.

"Will you lend me a few bucks? Mom promised to transfer $200 bucks a week to my American bank account for the first four of my five weeks in America and a thousand bucks on my last week, two hundred of that for me and the rest to spend on buying them really good presents for the family. The second installment is due Friday."

"You can do chores for me and earn money."

"That's even better. I'm not sure I could trust you lending me money."

Presley released a really big sigh at that weird piece of attempted humor.

"I suppose you are looking for a bed?"

"In the barn will be fine, Presley. You said at the diner your parents were away for two weeks?"

"Yes, with a week still to go. It's their first vacation in six years."

Fletcher said, "I repeat what I said in the diner that I'm sorry your school was closed under a centralization policy change, leaving you without a job. Look, come to Aussie with me when I return. There are plenty of openings for schoolteachers out our way."

"Fletcher, I don't wish to be rude, but I feel compelled to say sitting beside you in an aircraft for twelve hours means hell is likely to freeze over before I'd take that flight with you."

"Baby, I'll grow on you. I promise."

She just smiled, thinly.

Presley hadn't said it, but she'd been thinking Fletcher was the best driver she'd even been with and that included her steady-as-a-rock dad.

"What are you thinking?"

"Wondering when you'd intrude into my private thoughts," she giggled.

He squeezed her thigh and congratulated her on attempting to joke, err, for joking.

"I have been thinking of inviting you to sleep in the house."

"You mean sex?"

The 28-year-old flushed and squirmed in her seat and played with her long brown hair, her green eyes evading him.

Fletcher waited patiently.

"Yes, it's been sometime for me. We are rather isolated out here, Younger people tend to drift away and come back years later either sell their parent's property or to take it over."

"I'd love to have sex with you. You have a great body from what I can see of it and scrubbed up you may look rather pretty."

"Fletcher, shut up."

They continued in silence until she said, "This is our boundary on the right. The entrance is a quarter of a mile farther on."

As they turned into the gateway Fletcher said, "Originally, the land we can see may have been used for growing grain, probably wheat. Now irrigated, I believe it's used for hay production alternating with alfalfa cropping and the acreage land resting from cropping is used lightly for grazing those black cattle, two-year-olds, we're looking at."

"You know about farming?" she asked, quite astonished.

"I read and watch TV and talk to people out our way. I know a little about farming and as commercial light aircraft pilot, I fly over farms and have farming folk as passengers who only talk about farming and what they call 'the fucking Government'. I also have a degree in geography."

When she got her mouth working again, Presley asked knowing what the answer would be: "You are a college graduate?"

"Yes, a university graduate and a graduate of flying school."

"You continue to amaze me."

"Atta girl Presley, and until now you have continued to give me stick. Which side of the bed do you prefer?"

Presley doubled over howling in laughter and Fletcher glanced at her repeatedly bemused before she pulled out of it.

When recovered, she said, "I think I shall remember for the rest of my life that comment from a man I'd just met, asking which side of the bed I preferred."

"Way to go babe."

"This farm is 1778 acres and it's not the largest around here. You must understand that prices are not what they used to be. In fact, as a teacher my after-tax earnings were almost as high as my parent's net income off this land. The rainfall has changed over the years, the land becoming dryer, the water table is sinking and water rights and paying for irrigation have become big on-farm expenses"

Fletcher said the region where he lived was also dry.

"Do farmers there also live on the edge at times?"

"Too right love, especially in those years when the drought passes the 50-day mark and whenever passing the 100-day mark, all farming families can do is to pray for rain as the only option left."

"And you want to marry some unfortunate woman and raise a family in a region like that?"

"Hell yes. I was born in the area and have spent most of my twenty-nine years living there."

"I still can't understand why stay there?"

"Because I feel it's my home and I'm an integral part of my family's regional air passenger and air freight business."

"So, you'll chose to tough it out?"

"When you come Down Under, you may hear someone use the term, 'He or she is a little Aussie battler'. Originally. it was coined to describe the working class battling against the odds but it's now ingrained into the Aussie psyche and loosely refers to anyone who puts up a just fight."

"Drought or flood or bushfire-hit farmers and other people hit by severe weather conditions have this inner belief they are Aussie battlers fighting adversity and they'll either win or will go down fighting. Many have no concept of losing."

"You guys here in the US have your historic belief your War of Independence imbued you with strength to fight new adversities. We Aussies fight a never-ending battle against the weather. You'll love and hate Australia; the likelihood is that unless you are a moaning wimp, you'll feel more love/admiration than you'll feel hate/despair."

Presley nodded, as if understanding perfectly all of that outburst.

"You make it sound rather appealing. I've actually read quite a bit about Australia and its poisonous snakes and spiders and its crocodiles and man-eating sharks."

"Yeah, people write about those things but you'll have far more chance of dying in Australia in a road accident or falling down an abandoned mineshaft than being taken by a croc or nipped by a shark."

"You mean eaten by a shark, don't you?"

"Hell no. Most fatalities occur through loss of blood, the shark biting off a piece and then going yuk, don't like the taste of humans. Crocs of course are not discriminating but then they are only found way up north."

"Oh, you make it so sound safe and enchanting?"

Fletcher grinned and said she shouldn't tease him.

* * *

A couple of hours after dinner Presley came from the bathroom a little shyly. "Are you nude?"

"Yes."

She allowed her bathrobe slip to the floor without asking for the light to be turned out.

"Omigod."

"Does that mean you like what you see?"

"You have the body that some women would almost die to possess."

"Mom tells me that while dad urges me to eat more."

"Do you enjoy fucking?"

"Fletcher!"

"Okay, okay. It was just a question, the answer being of real interest to me."

"Yes, I do, very much. But it doesn't happen enough for my liking."

Fletcher jumped out of bed on to his knees and clasping his hands level with his chin, looked to the ceiling and said thank you.

Presley giggled but as he stood, she gasped, "Omigod!"

"Don't worry," he soothed. "It's not abnormally long and I have yet to have a female who was unable to accommodate my thickness."

"I've only seen horses thicker than that."

Walking over to clasp her, Fletcher soothed, "You have nothing to worry about. You have a strong frame and look to be a strong girl and surely you meant a pony and not a horse."

They kissed, showing no urgency, pressing together. Finally, Presley worked her tongue to urge him to open his lips and they were away, she pressing in to feel his erection against his thigh and as she heated up, she spread her legs and waddled into position to get hit against her lower belly. She reached down and began squeezing the fat cock and murmuring, "I want it, I want it."

But Fletcher had other ideas.

He spun her around and ran his hands over her breast and down her belly, one hand going lower and cupping her vulva, but not pushing in. Not yet.

She squirmed against him back-on, bending her knees a little and then straightening so that his erection traveled up and down her back slit. He timed his contribution to bend his knees to run the erection both over her anus and a little over her pussy.

They were really warmed up now; she had her arms up like a ballerina, back over his shoulders to clasp around the back of his head, her belly being pulled in and released in a fucking motion. She'd then pulled her arms back to guide his hands from gripping her shoulders to cup her breasts, dragging them over her small nipples.

Presley was now rolling her hips sideways and that told Fletcher pussy was in need of attention. Her hands stopped as did her breathing as he penetrated his fingers. Once they were slick with her juices, he slid them right in.

Her hand movements and breathing resumed again.

"Now, please."

Unable to deny her any longer, and deny himself, Fletcher turned her around and lifted her up, she gripping his arms to help stabilize her weight and to help keep them balanced.

When Presley felt she was above the erection, she grabbed it and aimed it to where she wanted it to be.

Fletcher began to slowly lower her and she felt her pussy lips being forced open but remained relaxed, knowing she was oozing natural lube. Gradually it fed in all the way and they paused for a breather.

Before resuming sex, Fletcher walked to the bed and taking Presley's wrists, gently lowered her and when she was on her back, she released her tight leg grip that rested around his hipbones.

"I feel fucked already."

"Is that a lovely feeling?"

"Yes, and what a sensitive comment for a guy, so understanding or so you make yourself out to be."

"I just want the very best for you. Off we go."

Presley rocked into his forward pumping and when they got their timing spot on, the pace gradually slowed and they were left with huge smiles on their faces.

When she felt her release looming, remaining in missionary position, Presley raised her legs and bent them from the knees to beat a tattoo with her heels on his butt.

Fletcher knew that meant pick up the pace. He soon had her gasping, as he thudded in as far as he could and going faster and faster until she fell into her release with a scream, a few seconds before he began convulsing.

He pulled out and she regarded him as a beautiful man by then as he sprayed her, allowing her to massage her belly and boobs with semen, giving her a lovely feeling of unity and the feeling of being loved, if only momentarily.

They were at it again in the morning and twice during the day including once in her dad's old jeep during the tour of the farm.

Presley cooked a roast beef dinner that evening.

They had consumed heaps of wine and she astonished herself by allowing Fletcher to fuck her on the table, amid her mom's best crockery, with no harm being done, unless of course, she got pregnant although this was the so-called safest time for her.

They haven't thought of discussing anti-pregnancy measures. Like most men, the brash Australian had left that responsibility to the female.

With great sadness, with the hitchhiker's short stay ending, they drove to town next morning. He found the money that his mother deposited, as promised, into an American bank with a huge network of branches, where he had opened an account. He withdrew two hundred bucks to reimburse Presley for her loan.

Outside the bank she took a phone photograph of Fletcher, he took one of her and they asked a passerby to take a couple of them both. All the images looked good and Fletcher expressed his pleasure about that again when they were in an Internet café and he had just sent copies of the images from Presley's phone to his mother in Australia.

"Oh, I'll love you doing that. She needs to know that you are meeting people."

"Well it's only fair that you have photos your mom should view of the guy who's fucked you on her kitchen table and who is the guy you might marry."

Presley gave a wee cry in the back of her throat and hugged him to bury her face in his should so he couldn't read her expression.

She drove Fletcher to the city limits and then came the hardest part, watching someone stop for her hitchhiker. They were an elderly couple in an aged Cadillac.

She ran forward to the vehicle as Fletcher was speaking to the driver and interrupted him.

"He's a lovely young man, I can vouch for him."

"I think I can see that dear," said the woman.

"He's Australian."

"We've already picked that," said the guy. "We have been there eight times."

They departed, Fletcher waving to her and until the car turned a bend.

Presley, tears running down her face, made a vow.

"If he calls me or emails me with a time and date to meet him to go to Australia, as soon as I have my Visa and other required documentation, I'll be there for him. Omigod, if I announce I'm thinking of going Down Under, um Australia, my parents will go ballistic."

Chapter 2

After spending a few days on the eastern seaboard and finding New York far more appealing than expected, having a couple of really entertaining days on Long Island with hot-hot twin sisters aged 35, both married but free in the daytime when their kids were at junior school and their husbands were away at work, Fletcher look a route south-west, adoring Miami and Dallas, to eventually end up back in Los Angeles.

The first night after leaving New York, he wrote a letter to Presley instead of emailing her, believing it to be more intimate.

After reading Fletcher's letter, Presley clasped it to her heart.

Her mom came in and found her weeping and fussed around her daughter who shook her head, said she was just emotional, and pushed the letter across for her mother to read and went out and sat on the porch.

Jessica came out and sat with her daughter.

"It's perhaps the most beautiful letter from a male I have ever read. It doesn't say so, but reading between the lines I take it you two were intimate?"