Inside The Gazebo

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Location: Central Michigan, United States

Spent a long career making lots of money for other people. Now it's my turn. _____________________________ Email:

Sunday, October 22, 2006

Bug Tails - "Bug Went Hunting"

Uh…Bug went hunting…kinda.

The plunk of acorns falling on the ground from two ancient oak trees was the only other disruption to the quiet serenity of the day. The accompanying disruption to the sound of falling acorns was the soft steady snores of old Libby, spread-eagle on her back, napping and basking in the warmth from the sun. A perfect fall day---temperature in the mid-seventies, unblemished blue sky, and the air calm as a sated woman.

Bug, sprawled flat on his belly, was snuggled tight against my thigh. Me? I was sitting on the top step of the deck thinking “man-thoughts”.

Two fat squirrels, one black and one reddish-brown scurried into view and hurried under the oak trees. Bug stiffened. A low growl rumbled in his throat. This ought to be interesting, I thought. The squirrels began to gather acorns. Libby continued to snore.

He hadn’t attempted to move yet, but Bug’s body was taunt as the waist band of a pair of too small underwear. I glanced down at Bug and saw that the hair on the back of his neck was bristled straight up. He was trembling too.

It didn’t take long for the squirrels to have their cheek pouches stuffed full with acorns. They rose up and curled their tails like squirrels do. Both looked around to survey the surroundings then scampered off in the direction from which they had arrived. Bug twitched. I put a hand on his shoulders and told him to stay…that the squirrels would return soon. He sighed, his body relaxed, and he leaned a little tighter against my leg.

Sure enough, about five minutes later the two squirrels reappeared. I felt Bug tense like a compressed spring. The squirrels chattered briefly to each other then resumed the gathering of acorns.

Bug launched! No threatening growl, no warning bark. He just launched himself from the deck and landed on the ground at a full run. The squirrels rose to their haunches and focused on Bug as he charged directly toward them. They separated. The black squirrel dashed toward the oak tree to the east, the red squirrel toward the oak to the west. Oh-ho, I thought, Bug has a dilemma!

You’re familiar with the phenomenon of being expected to be at two different places at the same time…aren’t you? Yep, when the squirrels separated at the last possible instant before Bug’s arrival, Bug’s head and shoulders followed the direction of the black squirrel and his hind-end started in the direction of the red. Ass-over-teakettle he went! He tumbled down the short grassy slope just beyond the two oak trees to disappear over the top of the seawall. I heard the splash and saw the small geyser of water when Bug landed in the lake.

I now think squirrels are capable of laughter. The high-pitched chatter that came from within the gold leafed canopies of the oak trees sounded like squirrel laughter to me.

Old Libby grunted, rolled onto her side, and continued to snore. Me? I went to see if Bug had learned how to swim yet.

Saturday, October 14, 2006


Inspired by a comment from December Quinn, on hers a couple of weeks ago.


We stood face-to-face. Her left arm rested on my shoulder. Her fingers traced pathways of pleasure on the back of my neck. Her eyes were locked onto mine. Our breath mingled and I hoped mine wasn’t foul.

I already had a hard-on when her right hand slid down my stomach to the front of my jeans. She squeezed and massaged through the fabric. Jesus, I thought if she wasn’t careful I’d come in my drawers. She halted the rubbing to lower my zipper. I wondered if she could read my thoughts.

Although difficult, I controlled my urge to fondle her voluptuous body. Through sheer force of my will, I left my arms resting on the top of her shoulders and continued to gaze deep into her smoky grey eyes.

My zipper down, she parted the overlapping fabric of my briefs, slid her hand through and wrapped her warm fingers around my throbbing shaft. I moaned, clenched my jaw and strengthened my resolve not to blow my wad...yet. She began slow deliberate full-length strokes. My legs began to quiver. I told her to be careful or there would soon be a sticky mess on the front of her black sweater. She smiled, I groaned. She leaned closer and gave me a soft kiss. Her tongue flickered into, then out of my mouth. She pulled slightly away and went down on her knees.

While licking the swollen head of my maleness, she unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned my jeans. She gave a quick tug and the jeans slid down my legs to my ankles. My entire body began to tremble in anticipation of her taking my tap-root fully into her mouth.

Her spittle splattered my erection as she snorted and barked out a loud roll of laughter. She flung her head back and almost went into raucous spasms. I wondered if I was really THAT small. My pecker drooped.

She stood and put her arms loosely around my neck. Still giggling, she managed to compose herself enough to say; “How old are those underwear? Good-god, the only thing holding them together is the air in the holes!” She spewed another fit of laughter, this time spraying my face. My dink was left dangling in the open, limp and cold. What could I say?

I placed my hands on her shoulders and tried to again look into her eyes. It was difficult---she shook from the laughter. When she quieted, I said, “Well, they are my favorite pair…my dress pair. My mom always said to have on your best clean underwear in case you have to go into the hospital.” I shoved my noodle back into my jeans.

Finally she gasped in a few lungs full of air and wiped tears from her eyes and cheeks with the back of her hand. I offered her my hanky. She snatched it and blew her nose.

“Well,” she said, “if you do have to go to the hospital, there won’t be any skid-marks visible. Not in those underwear! There’s nothing for a wet fart to stick to!” This time she sprayed her laugh-spit into the hanky.

With a sheepish grin, I said, “Um…I take it you’re no longer horny?” She thought that was hilarious too.

Tuesday, October 03, 2006


Kurt placed his hand on the back of Amina’s. His touch created a quick wave of pleasure that washed through her arm and into her heart. “What are you thinking about, Amina?” he said in a soft voice.

Amina continued to stare into the random kaleidoscope of images created by the campfire. Flames flickered to cast a dance of shadows across their faces. She sipped wine from a clay mug filled with a sweet-red poured an hour or more ago. Kurt tossed small twigs into the fire---the fragments of wood landed in the flames then flared like the strike of a match. Burning chunks of wood snapped and popped, spewing tiny geysers of sparks only to extinguish at the fire’s perimeter.

“Nothing much, “she lied. “I’m just watching the fire and letting its images play in my mind.”

Amina was trying to understand awareness that she would have great emotional difficulty when it became time to kill this man. Kurt was good, a gentle man. In the short ten days she had known him, she had become more than fond of him.

But, her mission was clear. There could be no turning back and the current circumstances with Kurt had provided for the perfect opportunity. The pickup truck, the small camper---they would give excellent disguise for her mission. She would be able to travel into the heart of the city without suspicion. In the interim, though, there was still this night and two more before her sacrifice.

“Entrancing...looking into fires and at oceans,” Kurt said. “A fire pulls your mind in, an ocean carries it away.”

Amina rolled her hand under his, palm to palm. “Funny you would say that,” she said. “Here we are, deep in a forest on foreign soil to me, gazing into this little fire. And my home, so far away across an ocean.”

A nearly burned through log rolled in the fire’s bed. Another shower of sparks rose and fell. The sounds of the shifting fire joined with the sounds of the night. She gave a gentle squeeze of his hand

Silent of conversation, their independent thoughts drifted away from the images of fire---hers to the bonds of her duty. Yes, on the third day she would kill him, she thought, then she would begin the journey to fulfill her commitment to God.

She would love him though…until then. Love him hard for now. Maybe God might allow her to love him for eternity. She smiled at the thought and from the warmth of the small fire on her face.