Danielle 10

(Authors note: teenage morons looking for a quick stroke story, please go somewhere else.)

I had a really shitty day.

My secretary quit, to move to Texas with her new boyfriend. Somebody clipped my brand new Porsche in the parking garage, denting the hell out of the passenger side door and both fenders. One of my clients, the Avengers, tore up the hotel they were staying in. And Ozzie Schmuck, the drummer for Snakepit, got busted for coke and can't make the Australia tour.

I'm a talent agent, although on days like this one, I wonder why. Probably it has to do with the money I make, and the chance to know and hobnob with a bunch of talented and famous people. I won't drop a lot of names here, but a lot of them are people you know and admire.

I represent actors, musicians, and a couple of sports stars. In addition to promoting them and setting up appearances, I act as father confessor, ego stroker, and sometime psychiatrist. It's the rock stars that give me nightmares, but they generate such huge sums of money, I put up with it.

My name is Jack Ingram. I'm forty-two years old, still single, and presently unattached, just having broken off brief relationship with an up-and-coming film starlet. She wanted marriage and babies, and that's not in my plans right now.

I keep myself in good shape, running daily and working out in the gym three days a week. I'm 6'2", about 180 pounds, kind of lean, but well muscled. I've got coal black hair that curls just a bit over my collar, blue eyes that betray my Black Irish heritage, a slightly crooked nose that I broke in a college football game, and chiseled features, with a deep cleft in my chin.

I live in a nice, rambling house in the hills above Malibu, constructed of lots of redwood and glass, with a huge deck cantilevered over the hillside that gives me a distant ocean view. It's nice and secluded, with no neighbors in view, and I like it that way.

After the day I just had, all I wanted to do was have a drink, plop my ass in my favorite chair, and let the rest of the world go to hell. I poured myself three fingers of Chevas, kicked off my shoes and socks, flipped on my big screen TV, and sat down to watch the Dodgers play the Giants.

By the fifth inning, I'd downed a couple more Scotches, the Dodgers were kicking ass, and I had tuned out my work life for the rest of the evening. Then the phone rang.

Fuck it, I thought. Let it ring. That's why God invented answering machines. Then I heard the voice on the machine.

"Hi, Jack, this is Nicole..."

I'd recognize that sultry voice anywhere, and I scrambled to pick up the phone.

"Hey, babe, how are you?"

Nicole and I go back a few years; ten to be exact. She will always be the love of my life. We were together for five years, and at the time we thought it would be forever. She was an intern, working in the E.R. at the UCLA Medical Center, when I dragged myself in there to get some stitches put in my leg. Some clown had cut me off when I was riding my bicycle, and some jagged metal on a guardrail had ripped an eight-inch gash in my calf.

She was beautiful; hell, she still is, with auburn hair, milk-white skin with a face that belongs on a cameo, and deep green eyes. While she was stitching me up, I memorized her nametag, and the next day I showed up on her doorstep with a limp and a dozen roses.

She was a single mom, with an eight-year-old daughter, Danielle. She'd gotten knocked-up while an undergraduate student, and broken up with her boyfriend before she ever knew she was pregnant. She never told the guy, and never saw him again.

To make a long story short, we moved in together, and I'd never been happier in my life. Danielle was a sweet child, and we'd talked about me adopting her when we got married. Then tragedy struck her family, and our life came unraveled.

Nicole had come to UCLA from a little town in Iowa, where her father, a G.P., ran a clinic that served the whole community. Doc McGinty suffered a stroke, and Nicole went back to nurse him through his recovery.

Doc never recovered enough to resume his practice. Nic ended up taking over the clinic and helping her mother take care of him. She ended our relationship when she moved back, because she knew I could never adjust to life in the Corn Belt. I don't even like to eat the stuff.

It broke both our hearts when we split, but it never would have worked, and we both knew it. We've remained great friends ever since, and there isn't anything I wouldn't do for her.

"Jack, I've got a big favor to ask you."

"Ask away, you know I'm always here for you."

"Danielle graduated from high school this year, and I promised her a summer in California for a combination graduation and eighteenth birthday present."

"Sounds great! Maybe I could take her to dinner some night when she's here."

"Well, there's a little more to it than that. She was supposed to come out with her girlfriend, but Lindsay's parents had second thoughts and they won't let her go. I don't want her being in L.A. all by herself, and I was wondering if she could maybe stay with you?"

I was silent for a moment. Shit, that's all I needed was some giggling teenager running amuck in my house all summer. This would really cramp my style. But this was Nicole, and I couldn't say no to her.

"Sure she can, Nic. I've got a nice guest room. She'll be welcome." Welcome as ants at a picnic.

"When will she be coming?"

"In a week. I'll email you her flight number and arrival time. And, Jack, thank you."

I poured myself three more fingers of Chevas, and plopped back in my chair. The Dodgers had blown a four run lead in the seventh inning.

Let's see, the last time I saw Danielle she was thirteen; a gangly pre-pubescent, with braces on her teeth, and little bitty bumps on her chest that would become breasts some day.

My car came back from the body shop the day before she arrived. I have a love affair with this set of wheels; it's a metallic silver boxster spyder with a 325 horsepower engine and six-speed stick shift. It goes like a bat out of hell, and sticks to the road like gum on your shoe.

I got to the airport in plenty of time, and hung around the gate, waiting for her arrival. After five years, I didn't know if I'd recognize her; maybe I should have held up a sign with her name on it.

I kept watching as people came down the concourse, but I didn't see anyone I recognized. My attention was diverted by this pair of legs coming out of a short black skirt. My eyes roamed higher, to a pair of hips that swung provocatively when she walked. Higher yet, to a magnificent rack encased in a blue chambray blouse, unbuttoned enough to show a modest amount of cleavage, and long auburn hair that hung down almost to her waist, with a gentle curl on the ends.

As she got closer, I could see her face. It was Nicole's! Nicole's face on a body that would stop traffic. She was a stone fox. Actually, she looked like Megan Fox.

She glanced over the waiting crowd, and finally spotted me. Our eyes locked, and this gorgeous smile spread across her face. She broke into a run and hurled herself against me, enveloping me in a giant hug. Her firm breasts pressed against my chest, and she planted a big kiss on my cheek. I felt a little tingle in my loins, then my brain flashed a big HANDS OFF!

"Hi, Uncle Jack. Thanks so much for letting me stay with you."

"My pleasure. Wow, you sure have grown up. And by the way, let's drop the 'uncle'; just call me Jack."

"Okay, Jack. I know you're not my uncle, anyway."

"We didn't fool you, huh?"

"Not with all the noises I heard coming out of Mom's bedroom."

"Oops."

She grinned at me. God, she had a sexy smile. Maybe it wouldn't be that bad a summer after all. At least I'd have plenty of eye candy.

I took her luggage tickets and we headed for the carousel. She had brought four large suitcases that were not going to fit in the Boxster, so I hired a taxi to take them to the house.

My car blew her away. It's a total chick magnet, which is one of the reasons I bought it. My mother didn't raise any foolish children. The top was off, as it usually is, because it's a pain in the ass to put it on. It's completely manual; you have to dig it out of the trunk and stretch it over the roll bars, and it usually leaks anyway. So I try not to drive it in the rain.

It started up with a throaty roar, and I couldn't resist laying a little patch of rubber when I pealed out of the access road to the airport. The only difference between the men and the boys, is the size of their dick and the price of their toys.

As soon as I could, I cut over to the Pacific Coast Highway. It's a beautiful drive, and I thought sure Danielle would enjoy it. She had pushed her hair over her back, and it was streaming in the wind. When the sun shone on it, the auburn color was streaked with red and gold.

The sun was setting as we pulled in my driveway, and we walked out on to the deck to watch it go down. A few clouds scudded across the horizon, tinged with purple and orange. We watched as the glowing red ball descended toward the horizon, then slowly dropped out of sight over the edge.

All of a sudden, there was a bright green flash that lasted about two seconds, right where the sun had gone down.

"Wow, what was that?" Danni asked.

"That was a green flash."

"Yeah, well, that was obvious. What causes it?"

"It's some kind of an atmospheric light refraction that only happens occasionally. I don't remember the whole scientific explanation. This is only the third time I've ever seen one."

"It was awesome." She was standing right next to me at the railing, our arms brushing against each other. I felt a little current of electricity.

"Jimmy Buffet wrote a song about it. The native Hawaiians believe it brings you good luck."

"Well, let's hope it brings US good luck." I wondered what she meant by that.

Danielle was starting to yawn. She was still on Midwest time and a bit jetlagged. Before she went to bed, she gave me another big hug, lingering just a bit longer this time. I watched her from behind and she walked down the hall toward her room. Legs. Hips. Ass. Luscious. And off limits. Sigh.

I had done up a load of laundry, and I was putting some fresh towels in the guest bathroom. It was nice to see the counter lined with girl-stuff for a change; cosmetics, body lotion, perfume, and whatever else those little vials and jars contain. And there was a light green compact-like thing that contained birth control pills.

I couldn't resist peeking in the laundry hamper, and there was some of the sexiest underwear I've ever seen.

In the morning, I woke to the smell of coffee brewing, and bacon frying. I climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of well-worn Levis, and carefully pulled up the zipper; I was going commando style, and didn't want to get anything caught in it. I didn't bother with a shirt or shoes.

Danni was whipping up some eggs in a bowl, with a wire whisk. She was wearing a pair of cutoff shorts and a tee shirt. SHORT shorts; so short the bottoms of her ass cheeks were hanging out. As she whomped on the eggs, her curvaceous butt was wiggling in time with her arm.

Her tee shirt was torn off at the bottom, exposing her taut belly and a cute little jeweled dangly thing hanging from a navel piercing. The tee was tight on top, clinging to her magnificent rack. She's not huge, probably about a C cup, but they look terrific on her svelte frame. She had her hair tied off in a ponytail with a rubber band.

She turned away from the stove and gave me that

wonderful smile.

"Hey, I like the look," she said.

"What look?"

"Bare chest, low slung jeans, tousled hair, stubble on the face. You look like a character in a Nora Roberts romance novel." She took her hand, and ruffled it through my mat of chest hair, like you'd muss the hair on a little boy.

"You read romance novels?"

"Among other things."

"There goes my cholesterol count," I said eyeing the bacon on my plate. She'd made bacon, a western omelet and fresh squeezed orange juice.

"I live in Iowa; everyone in Iowa eats part of a pig for breakfast."

It suddenly occurred to me that I didn't have any bacon in the house. No fresh oranges either.

"Where'd you get the bacon and oranges?"

"You needed a bunch of stuff so I went to the market." The nearest market is six miles away, down a twisty mountain road.

"How did you get to the market?"

"I took your car. The keys were on the table by the door."

My CAR? My PORSCHE? NOBODY drives my car. I don't even let the valet parking attendant drive my car; I park it myself. She could see my distress, but I swallowed hard and didn't say a word.

"Don't worry, I've been driving a tractor since I was ten."

"A Porsche is not a tractor."

"No shit. It is soo hot! I went through the S turns at eighty and didn't slide a bit."

Aaaaaarrrrggggghhhhh!

I had a whole big list of touristy things to do with her, starting with Disneyland. Danielle turned out in a pair of designer jeans, that looked like they were painted on, and a low-cut crop top that displayed an ample amount of cleavage. The cleft in her butt was visible, and the seam in the crotch disappeared into a perfect camel toe.

She was aware that I was checking out her charms, and kept this sly, sexy grin on her face. She made up some excuse to bend over in front of me, so I got a great view of her succulent breasts, encased in white lace. I unconsciously wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, just in case I was drooling.

Danni skipped through the park like the eight-year-old little girl she was when I first met her. Except for the body, of course. I have to admit, I turn into a kid myself; you're never too old for Disneyland.

She loved the thrill rides; Splash Mountain, the Matterhorn Bobsleds, and Space Mountain. She clung to my arm and shrieked, along with everyone else, then looked at me with her beautiful smile when we reached the bottom of the descent.

When the holograms popped out of the dark in the Indiana Jones adventure, she threw her arms completely around me, her firm breasts pressed into my chest. She held me like that much longer than necessary, after the scary stuff was over.

We had dinner at the Blue Bayou Restaurant, just outside the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, and stayed after dark for the fireworks. She stood in front of me, and I had my arms around her shoulders. One hand inadvertently fell on her boob, and I left it there.

Before we left the park, she pulled out her iPhone and took a picture of us; Danni wearing her Mickey Mouse ears, and I had on a Goofy cap with the floppy ears hanging down. We had our arms around each other's waist.

"I had a great time, Jack," she said when we arrived at home. She put her arms around my neck, and pulled me into a goodnight kiss. A long kiss. A delicious kiss. Her full lips are so soft and supple. I think I had dents in my chest where those delectable tits pressed into me. My dick was at half-mast.

We went out for dinner the next evening. I was taking her Spago and then to Johnny D's, a hot new nightspot. Sure, I was showing off a little bit, but why not? I wore a pair of grey slacks, a light blue oxford cloth shirt, and a blue blazer. I topped it off with a Jerry Garcia necktie.

My heart skipped a beat when Danielle came down. She was wearing a red mini-dress that looked like she'd been poured into it. It was low cut with spaghetti straps, skin tight around the waist, with a flared skirt that stopped above mid-thigh. A strapless bra lifted those luscious tits up high, with enough cleavage to make me pant like a dog on a hot day. She was drop-dead gorgeous.

"Does the fact that your tongue is hanging out mean you like the dress?"

"Oh yeah! Almost as much as I like what's in it."

"Are you flirting with me?"

"A little bit."

"Jaaaack?" Uh oh.

"Yes?"

"Can I drive? Please, Jack? Pretty please?"

"Not with those high heels on."

"What heels?" She kicked the shoes off.

I can't fucking believe I reached into my pocket and handed her the keys. Nobody drives my Porsche.

Danielle fired it up, and revved it a couple of times. I love the roar of those tuned exhausts as much as a Hell's Angel likes the sound of his Harley. She backed out of the garage, whipped it around, and punched it. There's about a mile of straight road before you come to the curves.

A Boxster will do zero to sixty in 4.9 seconds. It's got enough torque to slam you back in your seat. It's got enough torque to make your asshole pucker up.

The speedometer topped 100 when she got to the first turn, a tight 270 degrees that bent to the left. She tapped the brakes, then dropped three gears at the entrance to the curve. Heel-and-toeing the accelerator and brake pedals, she hit the apex of the turn and punched it, upshifting into the straightaway. Like she said, she barreled through the esses at eighty, with no drift at all.

She cruised through he rest of the turns, and there are a lot of them, like Danica Patrick on a road course in an Indycar. Normally, I would have shit my pants, but for some reason, I was as calm as a clam. She pulled to a halt at the stop sign at the end of the road at Highway 1, and flashed me a big smile.

"Damn, that was fun. I think I had an orgasm."

"Do you have a lot of orgasms?"

"Only with my fingers," she said with a cute little pout. "But I hope to change that soon." She looked at me and batted those deep green eyes.

"Are you flirting with me?"

"Yeah." She grinned and pulled out on the highway, laying down a good hundred feet of rubber.

As I suspected it might, Spago impressed the hell out of her; doubly so when the maitre'd addressed my by name. As he escorted us to a cozy corner table, Danielle attracted a host of admiring glances.

I ordered a bottle of Donatello Chardonnay, nodded approval, and the wine steward filled our glasses. He wasn't about to card anyone who looked like that. We drank our wine and engaged in small talk.

"Where the hell did you learn to drive like that?"

"Video game. It's got every road course on the Grand Prix circuit on it. I have a console with a steering wheel, pedals, the works."

I ordered the Maine Diver Scallops, served with French black truffles and hearts of palm. Danni had the grilled Colorado lamb rack. We were in the midst of eating, when a gorgeous blonde in a cocktail dress leaned down into my face and gave me a quick kiss.

"Mmm-wah. Nice to see you, Jack."

"Hi, Maggie. I'll send that new contract out to you next week."

Danielle sat there with her mouth hanging open. "My God, that's Margaret McNeil. I just loved her in 'The Proud Ones'. She's one of your clients?" I nodded humbly.

Dinner finished, we moved on to Johnny D's. It was gaudy and it was loud, just as you'd expect a hot dance club to be. We got a table and ordered a couple of margaritas. The music had a throbbing beat, and strobe lights cut through the air, flashing and freezing the dancers on the floor.

"Do you dance, Jack?"

"Sure do." She took me by the hand and led me out on the floor. New dances change weekly, but you can make out by basically getting out there and shaking your booty. And, man, did she have a booty to shake; tits and ass, jiggling and bouncing and shaking to the frantic beat of the music. I was mesmerized just watching her.

I took her hands in mine and we boogied in and out for awhile, then I flung her out away from me and twirled her around. Her short skirt flew up in the air, revealing her slight thong and her gorgeous buns for anyone who was close enough to see. I was plenty close enough.

When the band shifted into a slow number, I took her in my arms, and we swayed to the music. We held each other tightly, and her heady perfume assaulted my senses. My hand slid down the small of her back and rested on the rise of her ass. We took a break and went back to our table.