Secrets in Lace

Monday, April 22, 2013

Project: Passion. An Excerpt.

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Her heart faltered. She contemplated the unthinkable. In the soft evening air came the unmistakable pop and rattle of a small outboard motor. The place was deserted this time of the season.
She could do nothing, for the odds were it was nothing, probably just a fisherman or more likely two of them, out for an evening troll. They would go up one side and then go back down the other side of the lake.
The word troll stuck in her mind. Yes, an apt word. She could troll for cocks…there was nothing stopping her.
With a quiver in her midriff, Heather turned and bolted up to the tent. In the unlikely event that it was Braden, and that in spite of finding Heather not there and just giving up, he was coming after all, there were a couple of things she’d been putting off. If it wasn’t Braden, there was small likelihood of them coming ashore anyway. She could always get a little kinky later on and masturbation in the wilderness could be very good. It had enough temptation of its own. That was an idea she was more comfortable with…
Aware of the pun, she was too terrified to smile. Braden was coming ashore. It had to be him. Please God, let it be him. She raced to get ready.
Heather was quickly on a gravel beach, on the far side of a small headland, thirty yards from the campsite, as the sound of the motor built and built.
The logical conclusion was that it was coming straight towards her site. The lake narrowed at this point, widened out into a basin, and then there was a landing a mile and a half away on the other side of a small curving bay. A long range of low hills receded off to the southwest.
Her canoe lay on the beach, visible for several kilometres at least.
Heather stood, letting the Nair on legs, lower back and tummy do its work. She had never done this before, and after careful reading of the instructions, again with the terror at work on her system, was hoping she still had enough time. Her thoughts were all mixed up, in some ways she was hoping whoever it was would go right on past.
What if they stopped and it wasn’t Braden?
What if they stopped and it was Braden?
Could she really do it?
What if they stopped, and it wasn’t Braden, and what if she was all dressed up in the skimpy shorts she’d cut off from stolen jeans, and what if she had her lips done in that nice hot pink gloss she’d picked up that day? What if she wasn’t wearing any top and three teenage boys stepped out of a boat and decided this was too good a chance to miss?
What if a couple of horny and very hairy fishermen wanted her? Big arms and bristly whiskers. What about that, eh? It’s not like anyone around here knew her, or that anyone here was anything but a tourist from somewhere far, far away…she wondered how much of that actually went on. What if they laughed and called her a slut or a whore, and beat her up and left her for dead…of course she was just scared. She knew that. She was a big girl, she could probably take care of herself. It made for an interesting mental picture, though, runaway nun beats off attackers, but even so…even so. If it was a pair of lesbians in a boat, she would try and get them interested…she might be interested.
She’d heard of sexual tourism, but this was different. This was her and didn’t she have the right to try and act out a fantasy too? She wasn’t prepared to take a lot of abuse from anybody. Not if she didn’t have to…she could always dive in the tent. She would run off into the woods and not come back until they left.
These were all very good notions. She abruptly waded into the shallows and began rubbing the drying dirty foam off of her skin. Real women, normal women…surely she was a normal woman at some level, but they did this all the time. The impression was all new to her. Unlike shaving there was no need to go back and do it again. She popped up out of the water and staggered back up to the beach. The bottom there was all sharp rocks and she wanted a razor to do her bush and armpits again.
The motor noise sounded all too close.
With a stab in the heart, a stab of hope and a gush of anticipation, something that made her gasp for breath and wave her hands around in confusion, the boat was coming right towards her. It sounded like they were right there, as she brushed her teeth, applied the gloss, and threw on what little costume she’d had the nerve to arrange. Once or twice she had taken a bath with bath beads and lots of foamy, blue-coloured water. It always made her horny. It was a shame she couldn’t do that now. She could be waiting for him in a foamy blue bath. She loved how her body looked in the foam. Every part of her vision had its dark side. What if Braden had been lying about a few things? And what if he didn’t come, either? Now that all of her hopes and terrors, fears and desires were up. What if he brought a friend or two and they gang-raped her? Her face lightened at the thought. Heather was hyperventilating and moaning quietly, mouthing curses in her state. God, yes, rape me…but be gentle and do it slowly. One at a time please, boys. No! She could suck a cock at the same time. A big one. She could have slapped herself in her sudden rage, but controlled the impulse.
The motor was so loud that Heather couldn’t even think straight anymore.
She had wine in a cooler. Get the man drunk. Get them both drunk. That was a plan…men were easier to handle when they were drunk. She’d read that somewhere. Especially if all you wanted was sex. She’d laughed at the time, but that was what it said.
All dried off, in a pair of cut-off jeans, with rings on her toes and a silver ankle bracelet, her mom’s charm bracelet, clip-on ear rings, a black ribbon with a bow on it around her neck, with her lips done and her skin all smooth and satiny from the hair removal, Heather took a couple of deep breaths and headed back to her camp and the place where her orange canoe lay on the rocks like a beacon to any passing stranger. Topless was too terrifying. She ran to her pack and grabbed a black undershirt, the sleeveless kind, one she’d cut off just below the nipples, nervous that the thing would fall out of her packsack or something somewhere in the real world and everyone would know who she was and laugh. She put it on, grateful for its slight warmth as the evening was coming on and she was shivering and shaking like a leaf, taking the binoculars with her.
She had never felt less horny in her life.


Screened by shadows and a thin clump of cedars, Heather studied the figure in the boat. In this light it was hard to tell, but she was pretty sure a white face would have shown up.
It had to be Braden. Her heart began to thump deep in her chest. She ran up the hill and put the binoculars in the tent. Then she went back down to the shore to wait.
The man in the boat, God he looked big, gave a big white smile, waved and then half turned to do something with the motor.
It sputtered to a stop and the aluminum fishing boat, bows piled high with colourful nylon bags of camping gear, drifted maddeningly slowly towards the beach as Heather stood petrified.
Wrong shoes!
She still had on her neoprene surf slippers…too late now.
The smell of perfume, underarm deodorant and the taste of a dry red in her mouth was all she had to comfort her as she waited.
“Hi, Heather!”
“Hi.” Heather managed to get it out, barely.
She was so scared. The guy wasn’t fat or anything, and he seemed to be about the right age.
He had a shirt on, and shorts, and a set of aviator sunglasses. He was barefoot. His hair was short and he wasn’t dressed like a hip-hop artist or anything like that.
Heather waded out into the sandy shallows, guiding the boat in and steadying it as Braden got out.
“You look very nice.”
“Huh? Oh.” Heather didn’t know what to think just yet, but it was a start.
“Um, thank you. Braden.”
They took a look at each other, and she wondered what he thought. The guy was tall, taller even than her, and that was saying something. He was heavier too.
The mental picture of what this might look like if it actually worked thrilled through her and she wondered what was wrong with her breathing…
“Let me help you get this stuff out of the boat.” This was a nice safe subject and would buy a little time.
She concentrated on just breathing and not saying anything for a while. This had to work. It had to.
Braden gave her a casual little pat on the ass. Her nipples straightened up inside the tee shirt.
“Thank you. I’m sorry I missed you at the boat launch, but I got hung up in town.”
Heather said nothing as she still felt guilty at bolting. It hadn’t done her any good anyway, had it? She’d never had a man touch her there before. The shock was intense. The wind whipped around her naked skin, bringing a flush of new-found awareness. Her body was coming alive.
The pair of them worked at getting Braden’s tent pitched, surprisingly big but he’d rented everything at an outfitter’s and took what was offered. Heather felt Braden’s eyes upon her, but it was all right after a little while, and in their internet chats they had agreed beforehand that nothing might happen. If so, they would try to enjoy the outdoors and shake hands like friends when they left. The question of payment had never come up. She would have done it, though.
It would be a shame not to give it an even chance.
She had fantasized about it often enough, but there was every chance the reality would be totally different and not at all what she really wanted. They both knew that in advance. They were both adults, and in control of themselves.
They didn’t talk much at this stage of the game.

(End of Excerpt.)

The erotic novella Project: Passion is available on Amazon.

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