Past Encounters

Past encounters

Hi,

Something new. Been in my head for an age -- and partly written. Finished now and working on the rest of the series [of five]. Could be in Sci fi/Fantasy but it is about a Celebrity so here it is. Has anal at end so, if you don't like that, don't read that bit!

Vote and comment please. Thanks.

No. 1: Cyd Charisse

Where the hell was I?

More to the point - who was I? I certainly wasn't the guy staring back at me from the mirror. He must have been 6'2" and, I suspect, was what might have been called in the old days, something of a 'hunk'. Broad shoulders on a slim physique. Brown curly hair, brown eyes in a wide face. Strong nose, full mouth that seemed on the point of smiling and a square chin. It wasn't me -- but, shit, it was. Well it felt like me -- of that I was sure.

And clothes? I didn't have any clothes like this. I shouldn't think anybody did nowadays. Nowadays?

Never mind where and who! What about WHEN?

I'd just finished watching

'The Band Wagon'

with Cyd Charisse and Fred Astaire. She is one of my favourite Hollywood stars of the 40's and 50's. A great dancer with, as is said in England, legs that go up to her bum. I've been 'in love' with her for many a year -- too many. Or is it 'in lust'? I suspect that, when I first saw her in my early teens it was an innocent 'love'. The sort of feeling I felt for many of the Hollywood goddesses that graced the silver screen before the advent of the idiot's box in the corner. Now it's lust pure and simple.

To while away the evening I'd gone to the PC to drool over the many images that I had of her on the computer. One in particular was my favourite. A black and white shot of her in a, I suppose you would say, bathing costume though I doubt she could take it to water. As was the norm in those days for 'publicity' shots it wasn't terribly revealing of the 'important' bits but the 3inch heeled sandals showed her marvellous legs off to perfection. She was also wearing her hair in what was my favourite way, short showing her lovely neck and shoulders. Of course the bathing costume accentuated her figure; in particular her shapely hips.

I sat there lusting after this wonderful woman, wondering what having sex with her would have been like when suddenly things went blank. That's when I 'came to' I suppose in this office.

I looked around. It most certainly was not a modern office. Well if it was it was full of 'retro' equipment. Phone, intercom, everything looked, I don't know, fifties I suppose. I walked to the window and looked out.

Deep breath!!!

Well -- the when certainly wasn't 2012! Outside proved that. The cars were enormous and old. Well they weren't 'old' old actually -- and they were driving on the wrong bloody side! Shit -- this was becoming bloody scary!

Back to the mirror: I felt 'my' face. It felt like my face -- not the one in the mirror. It was 'me'. I pinched my thigh and felt it.

What the hell was going on?

I didn't have much time to think because, just at that moment a door to the side opened. I turned and . . . nearly lost it!

Standing there, as large as life, was Cyd Charisse dressed in 'that' bathing costume. My mind registered that it was red and that she looked -- well -- fabulous.

She looked at me, smiled, and said, "Hi," rather quizzically.

"Errr, errm. Hello," I managed rather weakly, "how do you do?"

"Why you're English," she said with a laugh, "you sound like David Niven." Well I probably didn't really but to an American perhaps I did. I just had time to realise that it was MY voice that was coming out of this mouth before I responded. And, boy, did I respond. I'm not quite sure how I did this but . . .

"And you are American," I said with a gracious smile. "The beautiful Cyd Charisse," and, with that, I gently took her hand and pressed the back of it to my lips. "It is a pleasure and an honour to meet you," I said flashing my best (well, OK it wasn't mine -- was it -- I was confused but things seemed to be going well).

She chuckled in pleasure. "You English -- you are so . . . formal."

"Aaahhh," I said, "but faced with beauty such as yours we have to put on a show." She laughed again. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound (dollar?). "I don't suppose, no . . . it's too much to ask . . ." Where was this coming from?

"Don't suppose what?"

"I don't suppose that you might find time in your busy schedule to have dinner with me tonight?" WOW!!

"YOU are a very forward young man," she said with a smile. I could see she wasn't angry but seemed almost flattered by my attention. I couldn't understand why -- she must have got that sort of attention wherever she went. I had a moment now to take in her beauty. So different from stars of today (sorry, 2012 -- heck what day is it?). Her lips were lipstick red, a luscious red that made them beg to be kissed. Her breasts were supported in the costume which was far more solid than one that might be worn today (here we go again!). I could smell her perfume, heady and aromatic, and bloody sexy. I felt my nostrils flare and my cock, forgotten until now, respond to this, thought to be, unattainable woman.

A sort of puzzled expression appeared on her face then, "I think I can manage that," she said finally after what seemed an age. "I'm staying at a hotel; pick me up at 7:00." A deep breath, where the bloody hell was I going to take her? I hadn't a clue where I was!

"I'm new LA," I said with a confident smile and hoping that I was right, "you book the restaurant. You probably know them well. Book the best mind," I added with a smile, "if I'm taking the most beautiful woman in Hollywood out to dinner I don't want to skimp!"

She laughed, "You English! I said you are a flatterer," and she prodded me playfully in the chest.

A look of feigned chagrin crossed my features, "I only tell the truth dear lady, the truth and nothing but the truth." This caused an even deeper laugh that pushed so many buttons in my (?) body. Would it be possible? Could all my fantasies come true? Well -- you never know. Things were moving on apace!

"I must go and get changed then off to another shoot. I will be ready for you at 7:00. Here's my address," she said over her shoulder as she handed me a slip of paper and left by the other door. I watched her walk away on those 3 inch heels. Her arse!!!!! The movement. Jesus Christ, her arse was . . . I don't have the bloody words.

Look, plain and simple, I'm an arse man. Well, I mean, I'm a 'woman' man and I like female arses. I like anal sex so that's what I look for in a woman. I also like 'shapely' woman not the thinner body shape that seems more popular today (look -- when I say 'today' I mean my 'time' -- 2012. OK?). Cyd was this in spades although she didn't have a 'bubble butt' so enamoured today it was flatter, more powerful I suppose. She was, after all, a dancer. She has wonderful hips and legs -- well I've already described them. Watching her walk away was almost enough to give me an orgasm standing there but I held on!

As the door closed I had time to take stock. What was happening? How did I know I was in Los Angeles? Hollywood? I couldn't figure it out, I just did. Now it was time to do some digging. There was a calendar on the desk. 5

th

May 1954. Deep breath; eyes closed; calm down!

OK. Calm now. Look in pockets. Trousers first -- I was wearing what seemed to be a very expensive suit that fitted perfectly. Money in one pocket - American money. Looked at the coins and knew what they were. How I don't know but it did. Keys in the other. Seemed to be hotel keys -- room 701. They had this big, heavy fob with 'ROYAL' stamped on. I hoped there was only one ROYAL!

Jacket next. Side pocket and a set of car keys with a number on. Didn't recognise it -- not surprising -- but it looked as if it might be a registration number. Not to worry -- sort that out later. Inside pocket contained a wallet. Lots of dollars, hundreds -- big bills. An English driver's licence in the name of Gregory Benson. Well that isn't my name but the photo was the same as the face in the mirror. Home address somewhere in a good part of London?

Right, time to move on. I left the office and went into the street. Although everything seemed strange I didn't feel strange. I felt normal. I hailed a passing Taxi and, getting in, said, "The Royal please." He didn't bat an eyelid and off we went. Phew! Only one Royal then!

The Royal was a very, very, VERY, plush joint. I was greeted with a cheery smile from the doorman and a, "Good afternoon Mr Benson." Curiouser and curiouser! As I passed the desk the clerk raised his head, "Hello Mr Benson, no messages." I nodded thanks and tried to hide my puzzlement. What the fuck was going on?

It transpired that the room was at the top, a penthouse room. Well not a room, a bloody suite of rooms. Lounge, bar dining area, bedroom, a bathroom you could hold a party in, and a great big balcony looking out over a park. Shit -- I hope I can afford this -- I thought.

Time now to try to get a handle on what was happening. I stripped off in the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. Well -- it didn't look like me but it felt like me. I touched myself -- well what I saw in the mirror -- and I felt my touch. The figure I saw was taller than me and slimmer. In fact he looked like a perfect specimen. Light 'six-pack', sloping shoulder, strong thighs. Almost an athlete. Add to that the square chin and strong face and I couldn't help but think that he looked pretty good. So, how did I, me, come to be in this body? And, not to be ignored, how did I come to be in California in 1954?

There was only one explanation that I could think of [other than a dream] and that didn't really 'explain': it was just a possible cause. I looked to my left wrist where the small bracelet was gripping my skin tightly. It was strange and it was the only thing I could think of that might, only might, be the cause. I'd brought the thing in a bazaar when on holiday in Egypt several years before my divorce. I rather liked it which is strange for me because I don't normally wear any sort of jewellery but this took my eye: almost spoke to me.

A very chunky gold bracelet with bars about half an inch long fixed together by loose gold links. There were five bars and each had a jewel about 1/8

th

of an inch across. They were all different colours and I liked the way they sparkled. I got it fairly cheaply, the Arab seller giving me a cock and bull story about it being 'cursed' or magic. I took no notice and parted with the equivalent of a few pounds -- a good price I thought. It was strange really because I simply forgot about it then. It went into my case and came home and then into a drawer. I looked at it occasionally but I hadn't ever put it on, other than before I purchased it. In truth, I didn't really know why I had bought it in the first place.

As it happened I fished it out of the cupboard just before I sat down to watch Cyd. I was having a clearout of some old clothes and there it was. I remembered it with pleasure then and slipped it on. It was quite loose and went on easily so I was surprised when I couldn't get it off again. It was tight to my skin just below my hand and next to the wrist bone. It seemed to have shrunk. The other thing I noticed was that the jewels seemed brighter. I thought that it was probably my imagination and there must be a knack in getting it off so I didn't take much notice.

Now, standing there in front of the mirror, I did. Mainly because I noticed that one of the jewels seemed dull. The other five were still the same, bright and shiny. I lifted my wrist to examine the bracelet and found that it was even tighter. In fact I couldn't move or even turn it at all. It seemed to be almost fused to my skin. It didn't hurt but I became aware of a slight tingling and warmth underneath the bracelet. Ever stranger, I thought. Could it be the bracelet? Was it really magic? Well, to be honest, just now I wasn't going to worry about what had caused this, just take advantage of it.

Here I was, in Hollywood, circa 1954, a rich, handsome Englishman who seemed to have the ability to charm even the most experienced of women so why not take advantage and worry about the cost later. Slipping on a dressing gown, very expensive silk, I did a tour of the apartment. I didn't recognize anything other than a photograph of the 'me' I was now in my passport. I had a large, and very expensive, wardrobe of clothes and the bathroom was filled with the most exclusive toiletries. I bathed, shaved, and dressed in the smartest suit I could find: combed my glorious head of wavy brown hair and took a deep breath. Picking up the phone I called the desk and asked them to order a taxi. Then I walked down to the foyer to see if I could pick up any hints from a chat with the desk clerk. I had to be careful though otherwise he might just think I was crazy.

I sidled up to the young guy behind the desk. "Hi," I said with a smile, "nice evening!" It was.

"Sure is Mr. Benson. Not driving tonight?" Phew! At least I could guess that the car was in the hotel car park.

"No," I smiled, "going out with a lovely woman. Don't want the bother of driving."

"You English," he said with a smile, "how do you do it?"

"Must be the accent," I laughed. Then an idea, "Any chance of a look at my bill. I might need to exchange some sterling."

"Sure thing Mr. Benson," and he ferreted away at the desk behind the counter and, in a few minutes, came up with a hand written bill. "All paid for in advance." Caught me by surprise really -- I was expecting a computer printout! I'd booked in just two days before and the figure was quite high but I knew I had that in my wallet alone and that didn't include the considerable bundle of bills in my room but that didn't seem to matter. How the heck could I find out how long I was supposed to stay!

"Thanks a lot," I smiled then turned as the taxi driver poked his head into the foyer.

"Taxi for Mr Benson?" I nodded and off I went. I handed the driver the paper Cyd had written on and we drove off. It wasn't far and, when we got there, I told him to wait. He seemed pretty happy to do that. I had noted the room number and in the foyer I used the hotel telephone to ring her.

"Hi," I said into the very old fashioned handset, "it's your date, Greg Benson." We I wasn't about to use my real name -- that could get extremely confusing.

I heard a laugh from the other end of the phone, "I'm glad you told me your name," she said, "it's always nice to know who I am having dinner with! I'll be down in a few minutes." I found a chair and waited. Well, it was more than a few minutes but the wait was worth it. She was wearing a red dress that dropped to mid-calf; not dissimilar to the one she wore in 'The Bandwagon' in the dance routine at the end. It didn't have the split that that one had but, heck, it was fabulous. It showed off her lovely breasts, her shoulders, and her neck. Three inch heels on her red shoes made her even taller.

I stood and bowed as she approached. "You look devastating," I said with a smile, "I am honoured."

She laughed in response. "I could get to like you," she said as she took my arm.

"I have a taxi waiting," I said as we left the hotel. Cyd gave the name of the restaurant to the driver and, in a few minutes we were there. He seemed very impressed as I paid him giving me a big smile and a wink. The restaurant was lavish -- to say the least. Vaguely Italian in style, it was fairly large but, I was pleased to see, had alcoves with provided a degree of privacy. The maitre d' seated us immediately and we began a most enjoyable meal.

Cyd was interested in why I was in Hollywood. I, of course, was not aware of any reason until I began to really think about it. "I work for Rank," I said as my mind provided the information, "at Elstree."

"Oh, the big Studio outside London?"

"Yes. I'm over to try to pick up some ideas." I went on to explain and to talk about some technical issues that I, frankly, didn't really understand. I just seemed to have the knowledge. Cyd listened intently and added comments in appropriate places. I managed, finally, to get her to talk about 'The Bandwagon' and Fred Astaire. That enabled me to continue to complement her throughout the meal. She was truly beautiful then -- well, to be honest, she was truly beautiful for most of her life but at that time she almost shone. I was becoming intoxicated with her presence and didn't really want the meal to end but, of course, it did.

As we waited in the foyer of the restaurant for our taxi she turned to me and smiled -- a smile which lit up my life -- and said, "It's been a lovely evening Greg, thank you so much."

I smiled back then I said, "It doesn't have to end Cyd. Come back to my hotel for a nightcap?" I was, well surprised to say the least. Where had that come from? It seemed that I sometimes worked on autopilot in this fantasy. What surprised me most was Cyd's response. She looked at me with wrinkled brow for what seemed like an age then smiled.

"That would be nice." Now I knew I had to remain 'cool'. Hey, look, I'm a man and she was fabulous. I had wanted to fuck this woman for the best part of 20 years -- and had done so many times in my head - particularly after the 'change' scene in '

Silk Stockings'

. Here she was, standing next to me, and agreeing to come back to my hotel room.

Well the taxi arrived and I said, "Royal." She turned and smiled.

"Mmm, I bet you have a nice suite there?"

I smiled back, "Yep, right at the top."

I was much more conscious of her body on the way back to my hotel. It took about 20 minutes and, for some reason, we sat closer together and I could feel the heat of her next to me. As we got nearer I felt her even closer and her head rested on my shoulder. I wasn't sure what was happening here or how it was happening, but I wasn't about to worry too much.

I paid the driver off and got another smile and wink from this guy then led Cyd up to my suite. I opened the door and followed her inside. I couldn't help noticing, even more so now, the wonderful swell of her hips and the glorious cheeks of her arse: the wide and strong cheeks of a dancer.

"This is lovely," she said as she looked around the lounge area and flopped down on the massive sofa.

"Drink?" I asked with a smile moving over to the bar.

"Mmm, thanks -- just water please." I found some in the fridge and, as I stood at the bar pouring the drinks, I found it difficult to take my eyes off this stunningly beautiful woman. Desire was increasing as I watched her eyes roam around the room. Suddenly I became aware of the bracelet on my wrist. I seemed to be vibrating, almost humming, on my skin when I looked at Cyd. As I felt this she turned slightly towards me and crossed those gorgeous long legs, displaying most of her thigh. Looking directly at me she smiled. I took a deep breath for that smile seemed to be one of invitation. I joined her on the sofa and handed her the glass.

She sipped the water then placed it on the table. Smiling, she turned towards me. "Well," she said, "now that you've got me here what do you propose to do about it?" I was somewhat taken aback and it must have shown. She laughed, "I thought you English were shy," she said.

I smiled back, "No, not shy," I said, "just a little overwhelmed by your stunning loveliness!" She laughed and moved nearer.

"Well you certainly don't forget how to pay complements," she murmured as my arms opened and she slipped inside. I kissed her then, her lovely red lips tasting of heaven. Again and again we kissed until, breathlessly, I said quietly but firmly, "I want you!" She pulled away slightly and her eyes met mine.