Fran-Cy Free

”That was Rod Stewart’s, “Do You Think I’m Sexy,” as we round out another hour of “Rolling with the Oldies.” More sounds of the past in a moment. First, as the clock strikes 7, here’s the news, weather and traffic with newscaster Linda Crawley.”

Damn! I had forgotten to shut the freaking alarm, and this was my first day off, too, between school and work, in nearly two weeks. Hell, why shouldn’t I have a day off? Washington had a day off on his birthday, didn’t he? And I was so far gone into dreamland, none of the planes flying overhead from the airport nearby had dazed me for an instant.

Oh, as the tingling and itching sensations in my vaginal walls reminded me, what a wonderful land of dreams it had been, too.

Being ravaged and raped by the likes of Madonna, Meg Ryan, Joan Jett and a gang of female pirates apparently had brought enough juices flowing to form a wet spot the size of Lake Superior on the silk sheets Tawny and I used for this special occasion.

The worst pirate of them all, I laughingly thought, was the honey blonde cuffed to the headboard beside me. This “privateer” had stolen my virginity with that plastic dong of hers, and stolen my heart with her own heart of pure gold. This “buccaneer” was hardly a buck, though.

And, no, Rod, I don’t think you or any other male is sexy, not after comparing you to the Sapphic sophisticate beside me. She was the love of my life, and a teenage beauty queen whom I had loved all of my life.

Of course, when she first held me in her arms, it was the way your mother’s sister holds her newborn niece. The first kisses she gave me were chaste. They were the harmless little pecks on the cheek or the forehead she would give whenever she visited visit my mom, my two brothers and me.

The woman I called “Aunt Tawny” was hardly the vixen who would suck my tongue so deeply into her mouth, and hold onto it with all of her might with her own tongue and her teeth. She was like a “human Hoover,” the way she drew in every ounce of air from inside my throat.

No, those first kisses were hardly the way she kissed me most of the time since I came to live with her as I studied for my Bachelors in Psychology at the University of Syracuse. We had spent three years together, and I even gave my mother reason to let me stay by attending summer school to graduate one year early.

To me, Tawny was Venus incarnate, the proof that goddesses of sex, love and beauty indeed walked the planet Earth, as did her nearly identical twin, my mother. This Sleeping Beauty may have had her share of Prince Charmings before I came along, but, since our love bloomed into a nearly marital state, I was proud that no Prince Charming could compete with Princess Delight.

“Good morning, my angel,” I whispered as I leaned my hand over her smooth, shapely side to hold onto her left breast.

I just gently stroked it, my palm then resting over the areole. I had no desire to totally awaken this woman I held in my arms from her joys of la-la land, not yet, at least.

“MMM, you do have such velvety hands in the morning,” she whispered.

I separated the stretched out fingers on my other hand to run their way through her hair, as silken as the sands of Cancun. She took my left hand in hers and placed it at the entrance to her heaven of honey.

I splayed her lips open. Each digit seemed to touch off its own spark as they started to play softly on her canal. My hand was still too tired after the previous night’s adventures to do much more than touch that wet and wide opening , a true “Tawn-dora’s box.” But, somehow, they magically seemed to come alive with the sound of music—the soft moans of the woman of my dreams as she was having some dreams of her own.

“Happy Birthday, sweetheart,” she whispered, still not yet awoken to the splendors of the day.

She started to drift back into the land of dreams, a land where I had prayed I was her nightly guest, just as I was in the land of reality.

For me, all of this was truly a dream come true. Starting to drift back into “Slumber Town,” myself, I was content that my most prized possession was held captive to the bed by the manacles. But it wasn’t just the chained wristlets of silver that bound her. She was held captive, as well, by the love I had bestowed as often as I could ever since my aunt became my angel.

In my reverie, I reminisced about the phone call that changed my life. I could still hear the torrential downpour that sounded like war drums as the drops bombarded our skylight. You could hardly hear Mom talking to “Auntie T” on the telephone as they were discussing plans for my summer vacation.

“I think that would be a wonderful idea, Tawn. I know Frances would love it. And, she could always use the extra money for college, anyway,” Mom was saying over the phone.

“I will tell you and let you know…I know, honey, I miss you, too…I agree, it has been too long since you came down and this would be a wonderful experience. I’ll call you soon and let you know.”

Let her know what? What experience?

Mom was always the take-charge type. She had to be or the wolves on Madison Avenue, where my hardly sainted mater was Vice President for the ad firm of Dickenson, Thomas and O’Hegan, would have eaten her alive. From stories I had heard, it was my mom who had done most of the eating, so to speak.

Oh, she hardly slept her way to the top, coming from Vassar with a summa cum laude average. But, she knew her way to the top, whether it was through the executive boardroom or the presidential bedroom.

She even found her way to the altar on two occasions, including when she met my stepfather, an oil maverick from deep Texas and moved to his ranch.

Of course, knowing my mom’s voracious appetite and healthy libido, I was sure the oil wells were not the only thing that gushed. Nope, I was sure, mom gave a new meaning to this Texan’s idea of his “spread.”

Fortunately, her marriage and her move came after I began my studies in Syracuse. The day my aunt called, Mom was still the “Mad She-wolf of Mad Ave.” She never stopped taking charge of things, and that included my life. Without even talking to me, she was formulating plans to get the last kid still at home out of the way for the summer.

Before my grandmother passed away, Gran and my aunt used the money Gramps bequeathed them to run a “bed and breakfast” upstate in a small town called Caito. It was a wonderfully quaint community, the opposite side of New York state from us geographically, and the opposite side of the world socially.

It was always easy to spot her place on any New York Atlas. You followed Route 370 to the place where it turned north, and there, in the corner, sat the “Tawn and Country.” It was a perfect place for hiding from civilization, luxuriating in the summer sun and ski snow.

It was billed as “The Lair where we Care for the Maiden fare,” because the guests were all women and the atmosphere, as I would soon discover, was of love.

Peacefully, I was beginning to recollect in my dreams my introduction to joys I never knew before that initial summer at the “T&C.”

Amidst the cows grazing on the emerald pastures, often there were women, walking hand in hand, or, further off, in tents in the woods, unashamedly doing a special grazing of their own.

The troughs from which they drink may have been a stream, but not of water. No, this one was filled with a far more precious liquid gold…. the liquid of love. The sweet dream I was enjoying as I drifted into the Land of Nod started filling my own trough with the essence of Mother Nature. Droplets were beginning to collect and tantalize the area above my thighs.

Until….“This is Linda Crawley, reporting from Shadow Traffic. If you’re headed into the Midtown Tunnel, you can expect up to a 30-minute delay as a 5 car pileup is blocking 2 lanes on the Long Island Expressway.

”DAMN THAT RADIO! I pressed “snooze,” not “off!”

This time, I was fully awake!

It was hard not to hear the cacophony of plane engines, traffic on the Belt Parkway, and that freaking radio that destroyed my heavenly slumber. The sound was driving me to drink. Well, actually, Aunt Tawny had driven me to drink last night, my first legal drink in New York, and then some, as she treated me to a birthday surprise unlike any I had known in my life. That was before we continued to her friend, Stella’s, house near Kennedy Airport, where we would pick up my mom and stepdad.

I had nearly forgotten the sounds of the city life, so vastly different was the still of the county. These sounds that, once upon a time, I always took for granted were now driving me insane.

I thanked God that the other senses overcompensate for each other.

The sense of taste was incredulous. I nibbled on the back of my Sleeping Beauty’s neck, gathering tender strands of hair between my teeth. I could still taste remnants of the sweat that rolled down her head last night in the midst of the steamiest sexual entanglement we ever enjoyed. The taste of that sweat lingered on my tongue like a drop of claret lingers on the edge of a connoisseur’s taste buds. I couldn’t wait until it was my Juliet’s buds I was tasting.

That sweat blended in so well with the residual flavor of champagne and strawberries shampoo and the hot strawberry oils that Tawny had placed on the back of her neck, knowing I could never resist sinking my teeth into the utterly scrumptious skin behind her head.

And, the piece de resistance, that indescribably delicious remnant of female creme that she had picked up as her neck rubbed against my thighs when her face was lost in my love-haven during her favorite mealtime.

Last night’s “meal” though, was manna from the heavens. I never knew women could assume so many different positions. I had never realized how many orgasms I could reach even at the hands, tongue, tits, toes, toys and love-canal of a woman as experience and talented at Sappho as that she-devil laying curled up in a spooning position in front of me.

Half asleep, and totally aroused, I started crawling my hand inside of that cave of hers. Slowly, I started stroking her clit.

I took a deep whiff of the air around me. That sense of smell was as intoxicating as blackberry brandy in a springtime rain. It was the sweet smell of success. It was the smell of love that emanated from the source of our inner being, the mouth of river Nile. It mixed with the incense of cinnamon candles, the smell of leather from the Spandex pants lying beside our bed.

My eyes remained fixed on my beloved. Within my sight, Tawny was truly a vision. As my head was still encamped under her flowing locks, the stray hairs that tickled my nose and my ears as they fell over me, and inspired my teeth, were exhilarating delights.

The blazing sun, in its morning glory, added a soft golden glow to her summer-bronzed, perfect skin.

Nothing within view, however, compared to the heavenly darkness that greeted me last night as my face found the Sapphic Garden of Eden. That clitoral little snake that bid me welcome to the Garden was, as the Biblical snake was for Adam and Eve, too hot a temptation to resist. I, of course, bit into far more than an apple.

No Adam, however, would dare be allowed entrance into this Garden. Not anymore. Not after my love and I discovered the joys that once thrilled the female denizens of Lesbos. No, this Garden, this deep, dark, delicious Garden, was made for Madam, not Adam.

My eyes had a difficult time adjusting to the rays of light that blasted their way through the shades as I pulled away from the mane that adorned my beloved’s head. Her long, silky strands reminded me of the hairless lake of female crème upon which my eyes feasted the night before.

I lifted my head and looked, from stem to stern. I just stared, lovingly and longingly at the statuesque beauty beside me. The silver restraints around her wrists reflected the gold of the sun and the bronze of her suntanned hands and the headboard to which they were bound.

The flowered patterns among the wall were delightful now that the room stopped spinning. I would always remember this as the room where I finally reached the age of majority, the age of majority, 21 years after my lover and I met. Of course, when we arrived, in the wee small hours of the morning, I hardly noticed anything in the room but the vision now lain in front of me.

Yes, the taste, the smell and the sight of my Aphrodite- my “Sappho Aphro”-were wonderful distractions from the sounds outside. No matter how wonderful the appearance of my beloved and our environs might be, however, I knew no sense compared to the mind-boggling, soul-quaking, body-shivering sense of touch.

My hand was like a spelunker, searching the depths of the cave from which a fountain of youth was spurting, and exploring an area where my ears, my eyes, my tongue and my nostrils found happiness the night before.

My hands strummed upon her labia, stroking them back and forth, as an angel plays upon its harp. My nails slightly grazed the skin of her loving lips, my mouth beginning to kiss her hair in search of her auditory canal. Finding it, my tongue became a stiff rattler and feasted upon the inner layers of her outer ear. Her eardrum was washed with the splendor of my tongue.

One hand started to play with that little man in her boat. The other just held onto those hands that remained shackled to the bed.

Tawny started to sigh and smile. I quieted her far easier than I quieted her screams of the Banshee last night. I whispered in almost inaudible tones, “Shhh, darling. This is just my way of thanking you for your birthday surprise party. I just want you to know my princess just how much I love you. Oh, Tawny, I love you and if I could, I would so love to make you my wife.”

“MMM,” she whispered, loving that thought. “My angel, don’t you know I am all yours. Even without a legal ceremony, don’t you know, you already are my wife? Now, please baby, release the cuffs so I can show you how I feel.”

That air of superiority in our little cat and mouse game just turned me on a bit too much to surrender the control now. Neither of us was a slave to the other, yet both of our hearts were slaves to the next.

“No, my beloved. Later. I like the look of your hands halfway up the wall. I want to drive the rest of your body all the way up there.”

I pulled my hand out just long enough to turn my body around, and face her feet, still positioned behind her. My tongue, as a spider would creep along the intricate designs of its web, slowly made its way down the back of Tawny’s limbs.

I started in that erogenous area behind her left knee. I was amazed as to how well I was able to keep myself composed, because my hand was aching to do a swan dive between Tawny’s legs, and between my own.

I looked from behind her at the source of my happiness. My hand started to knead that tight, smooth flesh that covered her left rump. I was deliberately taking my time, as I slithered, like an electric eel making its way through the currents, down the rear, lower portion of Tawny’s splendid frame.

There was electricity alright. It was like 1,000- kilowatt towers, coursing through Tawny’s and my veins. We were creating currents of heat and excitement that could make the Chicago fire seem like just another outdoor barbecue.

My legs played footsies along the spine of my captive beloved, dragging my toes alongside her spine. At the opposite end of the spectrum, where my legs began, all was, indeed, not quiet on the western front.

I did all I could to keep that collection of bodily fluid within its bodily vessel. I was deliberately staying behind her, deliberately avoiding making contact, however much I ached for the touch of her frontal moisture.

I wanted Tawny to quiver and quake from desire. I longed to drive her into stark raving lunacy from her wanton lust for me and mine. She gritted her teeth, trying her level best not to show the mounting hunger for what ultimately would happen. I slid further and further down her body.

I nibbled upon her Achilles heel and her ankles as a rabbit would upon a fresh carrot. And as a carrot does, it did improve my sight. SO many things appeared clearer, including the target of my desire.

But. like Columbus on his voyages, was making the long way around the world. I was taking my time, denying myself and my lover the joys of reaching my destination for as long as I could.

I moved my feet off the bed and placed my knees at the foot of the bed and the foot of my captive bird.

I stared at Tawny’s “Jewel of the Orient,” a few feet above the toes I was about to suck. It glistened in the morning sun with dew drops that were running down her legs and flooding the sheets.

My master plan seemed to be working. I could hear the jangling of the metal upon metal at the other end of the mattress. Tawny wanted so much to touch those areas I was avoiding as I took her big toe, and licked its outer side before taking it into my mouth.

And, if the truth were told, I wanted to feel her expert hands just as much as she wanted to use them. I do not think I could have moved any slower if I was one of those cars stuck bumper to bumper on the Long Island Expressway, and Tawny knew it.

“You little she-devil, you. Oh, honey, I am aching for you to touch me. Please, can’t you hear it calling out for you to touch it?”

“Whose birthday is it? Now lay there and be quiet or,“ I commanded. Suddenly, without any warning, I raised my hand into the air and came down with a huge SMACK upon her derriere, ”I will make your behind, my kitten, as red as these toe nails I am feasting on if you start to whimper anymore.”

If I did not know better, from the tremulous shaking and twisting, I would have sworn Tawny was engulfed in some gran mal epileptic fit.

I held her foot in my clutches. I licked upon it. I sucked each toe as if it was a hard candy. I looked at the smile, and the tension in my angelic aunt’s face. I could feel the tension building to a crescendo within my own body, as well.

My maiden aunt writhed in anxiety, and exasperation, and lust. I had never exercised this kind of control over her before this moment, so I never expected her to react as she was.

Even without touching, Tawny was building up to an orgasm. It was obvious, from the way she contorted her mouth, trying to hold in the moment, she wanted to do all she could to let me savor my little game. But, a woman has to know her limitations. There was just so much delaying I could take. Except, I still wanted Tawny to journey to the edge of delirium.

Then, the idea struck like lightning.

I stood up abruptly, keeping her foot within my grip and force-fed it into my core. With Tawny’s help, and to her delight, as she wiggled her toes and pushed her leg harder into me, I rode that foot, playing it as if it were the dong we used the night before.

“Oh, Heaven, baby, that feeels so good inside of me,” I uttered between each heavy breath. “Tawny…Tawny…Tawny…Tawny, oh I love you, and I need you, baby. Spread your toes inside of me…Oh, Ohhh, Ohhhh,” I couldn’t stop crying.

I knew this would be my first orgasm of the morning. With her digits working masterfully, I kept driving them deeper inside of me. Her leg worked feverishly.

My aunt was doing all she could to try and break her wrists out of the cuffs. I knew she wanted to feel it, too. As soon as I was done with this action, the time would come to let her enjoy her part in making me the happiest woman on the face of the Earth!

Surge after surge of cum squirted its way into the entry chamber of my femininity. My knees buckled. My entire body quivered with joy. I honestly do not know which came stronger or more often, the tears of happiness running down my face or the river of love running down my legs.