"Panties Red, Panties White"

Well folks, this follows as a natural sequel to my flasher called "Veronica's Knickers." It's set, as becomes obvious, in England. I've let the English wording stay mostly in much the way I'd speak it. I refuse though, to use "arse" when "ass" is, to me, such a pretty word ... my 'native' Nova Scotian lady seems to have taught me to say it quite well.


These two people are almost real to me now and writing the tale was quite a labour of love. So please enjoy their mutual discovery.






"Panties Red, Panties White"



by Julius
copyright 2002







The panties on his back lawn weren't wind blown this time, they had half a dozen clothes pegs clipped to them.

What choice did he have? He took them, dew-wet and delightful, round to her door.

From that moment it seemed that the control of his day passed to her.

She answered the door almost before his finger left the bell push. She looked beautiful he thought. Her hair, as much grey as copper, was almost to her shoulders. Her smile was radiant. She appeared dressed and ready to leave for somewhere.

"Thought I'd go out for the day," she said, as if reading his thoughts, "please say you'll spend it with me."

"Well I ..." he began, taken by surprise.

"Come as you are." She chuckled. "Let it be my treat, I rang for a taxi the moment you left your house. It should be here in a minute or two."






Twenty minutes later they were on a station platform, just like that. She was quite something he thought. Tall, almost as tall as he. She was too big by the standards of the day. The wide shoulders of a girl who'd swum a lot; the kind of figure he'd loved on film stars of a generation ago. She was a picture in the warm autumn sunshine. A white cotton blouse with short sleeves that left her freckled arms bare. Her blue skirt flared from hips to her knees. A broad leather belt, buckled and studded. She wore hose, he'd noticed in the taxi, he liked that. White shoes with just little heels. She carried a too-big handbag over her shoulder. Arthur was very proud to be the man stood next to her.

Veronica had shamelessly planned this. His appearance yesterday, panties in hand, had made her realise how attractive her neighbour was. She was lonely, mentally and physically and Arthur's (what a wickedlyold-fashioned name it was) presence in her kitchen had started throwing switches in her mind. The phrase "a day at the seaside" had popped into her thoughts and that was exactly what she'd decided on. A day at the seaside with Arthur, perfect.

Her liking for him had spiralled upwards from the moment they'd met. She sensed a gentleman, a gentleman. She'd buried one of the other sort last year. A tearless, almost happy day for her. Arthur was perhaps an inch taller than she. Bespectacled. Not much overweight, certainly no paunch. He carried his yearswell. More hair on top lip and chin than on his head, not all of it grey. She loved beards and hated hair-pieces. He was soft spoken and when he laughed, his eyes joined in.

She'd not slept well that night. At three in the morning the panties had fluttered into his garden and she'd thought a lot about what to do on the morrow.

The train arrived. She grabbed his hand and said, in little girl fashion, "Off to the seaside."


Her mood was infectious, he helped her in and then climbed aboard. The train seemed almost empty. She led the way through one coach after another, to the back of the train. They had the whole coach to themselves. She sat in the seat facing the front of the train and he took the seat facing her. The seats were singles on their side of the aisle with paired seats on the other side. She kicked off her shoes and rested her feet on his seat cushion between his thigh and the coach side. He felt her wiggle her toes, it was oddly intimate, he liked having her touch him. The train jolted and they were off. "This," she said, "is a very civilised way to travel." She smiled at him. A full lipped, dimpling smile that made him want to kiss her mouth.

Fifteen minutes later they were stopped in the countryside. A crackly announcement over the PA toldof problems with signalling and a short delay. The delay didn't seem to matter. A girl appeared pushing a snack trolley and they bought cheese and onion crisps and two tall, very cold, cans of lager. "I never drink before midday except when out with strange men," she told him in a serious tone.

The time slipped by, the cans emptied and they talked. Music and books, movies and food and they found that they had much in common. So much in fact that it all seemed a little uncanny. They spoke a little about their unhappy and empty marriages but seemed, by common consent, to be happy to skip the grey side of their lives.

The train jolted and began to accelerate.

He suggested a second beer and she happily agreed. He set off for the restaurant car. She leaned to watch him walk away down the aisle. She thought him perfect and wondered if this might work out. She was lonely, her bed was too big, the nights too long. He had a nice ass too and moved with grace. Just the one can had given life a pleasant buzz. This day could go on forever she decided.

When he appeared again at the far end of the coach her heart seemed to speed up and she realised with a shock how happy the sight of him made her. He grinned at her as he approached, a boyish grin that suited him. He popped one can and handed it to her. She declined the paper cup. She realised that she was just a little bit drunk. He opened his beer. They touched cans and he said, "To us and the day."

"Us and the day," she echoed, taking too long with the 'ess' of 'us' and giggling.

They sipped in silence for a while, watching the countryside race past. He sighed and sat forward with his elbows on his knees and looked up into her eyes. "I'm happy for the first time in a long time. This was a wonderful idea."

She felt her throat constrict. Her stomach seemed to flutter. That glow, so long missed, seemed to light between her legs. She knew then that she wanted him, wanted him very badly. A little bit of control snapped, it felt like shackles coming off. She wanted to laugh. Or did she want to cry? She wanted him to kiss her, touch her. He was so nice! A voice somewhere in her head said this man needed a nudge.

Then she heard a voice, hers, say aloud, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," and she giggled and handed him her can, then dropped her hands to her skirt.

Watching the hem of her skirt creep up was a sweet delight. She did it slowly, casting the occasional glance down the aisleway. The edge of the material moved upwards slowly. Her hose gave her legs an almost metallic glint in the bright sunshine that streamed in through the window. It seemed inevitable that someone would come, would oblige her to lower the skirt again. It reached mid thigh and to his delight darker fabric appeared. 'Let her be wearing stockings!' he prayed. Arthur was a stocking man. He shifted uncomfortably as his cock began to swell. Higher went the hem. She glanced down the aisle again, then at him. She smiled and walked her fingers down to the the hem and moved the skirt up again. Yes! A garter tip appeared on her left thigh, then on her right. A strip of skin, so white after the dark of the stocking top. Then a strip on the other thigh. The pain from his trapped cock was bothering him but he could hardly reach into his pants and ease things.

As more and more of her thighs showed he wondered if her legs went on for ever. She froze for a moment and he was terrified that the show was over. Somebody had moved into the coach or she was teasing him. Up went the skirt a little more, then a deeper shadow betweenher thighs, then a glint of white. She must have seen his expression change and realised he could see her panties.

"Recognise them?" she asked, her voice sounding deeper,"These are the ones you brought me yesterday."

He swallowed, his mouth was dry. The skirt moved again. More and more of the triangle of her panties appeared. The swell of her mound showed now and in the bright light a few errant, dark copper curls glistened. She let her knees fall slowly open, thigh skin peeling deliciously apart. He could feel his heart bumping in his throat as thighs, panties and skirt framed a small square of sweet, dark shadow. A cave that begged for exploration. Its roof was the narrowing, disappearing undercurve of her panties.

He squirmed in his seat. He saw her eyes flick to his groin. He knew she knew of his discomfort. Discomfort! God! How he needed to straighten and ease his poor cock.


She pulled her skirt down again. He almost protested. She smiled softly at him. "Your turn. Now you show me yours."

She propped an elbow on the armrest. "It's OK. I can see all the way down the aisle, lots of warning." She crossed her legs, calf on knee, the lifted foot moving slightly with the motion of the train. He let his eyes slide down the back of a nyloned thigh. It widened to the swell of her buttock and the merest white hint of those panties again. Did this woman have any idea what this was doing to him? Oh yes, she knew, one look into those eyes told him she did.

"Well?" she said. Just an edge of firmness to the word.

He stood slowly, very aware of the press and hurt of his erection against the front of his pants. He was very aware too of how that erection must show. He knew this would have been beyond him without the effect of the beer. She split her eye-time between the aisle and his crotch. Her tongue slid out and slowly licked her upper lip. It glistened and the gesture was oddly suggestive. He found himself unbuckling his belt.

To his great surprise he suddenly wanted to do it. This woman had bewitched him! He was about to drop his pants on a train, in front of a woman he'd not spoken to before yesterday. He undid the hook, caught the tag of the zip and slid it slowly down. He held his pants open and lowered them slightly.

She fought back a cry of delight. She needed a cock so badly and here was one just a couple of feet away. In full working order too, leaking splendidly and wetting the dark blue cotton with a beautiful round, dark patch. She felt a desperate urge to reach out and ease it free, to let it lie up his belly. She almost had to sit on her hands.

He groaned and reached inside the waistband and did the job for her. Oh but he was big. And it was so proud, a wonderful thick ridge pointing upwards and almost burrowing out from under that waistband. She knew her breathing had speeded up. She wanted to touch him, to feel that beautiful ridge with fingers, with lips. She'd not known a need like this for so long. It was almost a pain.

A small, fresh patch of wetness had begun to form at the new place where his cockhead rested. The door at the end of the coach slid open. She saw it, he heard it. He sat down suddenly, bouncing on the cushion. He frantically zipped up and they found themselves both laughing.

The ticket inspector looked down at them and said "Tickets Please." She produced them from her bag and he checked them. "We're making good time now, shouldn't be more than a half hour late."

They drank the last of their now warm and flat beer. She looked at him, "This stuff always makes me silly."

"I'm very glad it did, you looked very beautiful." he said softly.

"You looked rather splendid yourself." She told him. He blushed and she realised she could easily come to love this man.

She knew that she'd started something with her little display and wondered if she should follow her train of thought any further. Then she wondered if she could resist. Her head felt light and there seemed to be a giggle in her throat all the time.

Then she was on her feet. She leaned towards him and reached her hands up under the back of her skirt and wiggled and peeled her panties down off her ass, down her thighs. God! The sensation as they peeled away from her pussy, down between her upper thighs! She slid them down her legs and stepped out of them, first one foot then the other. She felt the chill of the air between her legs and realised just how wet she was.

She dropped them in his lap and said, "There, my panties, now give me yours."

She knew he'd blush, and he did. He picked up the panties and she watched him handle them. He stared at them. She wondered if he saw how wet they were, if he realised that it was because he was with her. He balled them up and slipped them in his pocket. "OK, but I'm not taking off my trousers out here."

He went into the toilet that was in the vestibule at their end of the coach.

He looked at himself in the mirror and smiled. What a wonderful woman she was, what a wonderful day. He slipped her panties out of his pocket. They were very wet at the crotch. He pressed them to his nose and mouth enjoying the scent of her, a heady mix of perfume and her essence. They were still warm from her body. He realised she'd worn these panties outside her garters, she must have done it so they would come off easily. Was he shocked or flattered? Both, but he was too aroused, too happy to care. She'd done it for him.

She was teasing him he knew but teasing herself as well. Taking them both down a road that he wanted desperately to follow. He wondered what her breasts were like. He'd glimpsed inside her blouse when she'd bent to take off her panties. A crowded bra, a deep, beckoning cleavage ... she was lovely!

He put her panties back in his pocket and unfastened his pants.

She waited impatiently for him. She pulled her skirt up round her waist and revelled in the sun's warmth on her legs. She glanced down the aisle and spread her thighs, opening herself to the sun. God, she wanted this man. She could feel her heart's pulse in every part of her body. She ached for him. She was almost frightened by the intensity.

She heard the door lock rattle and covered herself. He came out of the toilet and handed her his briefs. She felt a crazy desire to jam them up between her legs. She took his hand and looked up at him. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Why?"

"The way I'm behaving. I'm afraid I'll frighten you off," she told him, suddenly aware that tears were close.

He squeezed her hand and smiled down at her, "You couldn't get rid of me now if you tried. I've never had so much fun, never met anyone like you." He paused, "I'm only afraid this might be a dream."

Veronica's next move didn't really surprise either of them. She simply pulled her skirt up. He just stood and stared.

"It's rude to stare," she said quietly.

"It's rude to hike your skirt up on a train," he said in a rather shaky voice.

"I don't care." she said and opened her legs wide, hooking one over the arm of the seat, dangling her foot in the aisle. She looked wickedly exquisite. A strip of hair stretched up almost to her navel. He found the thought of her shaving herself oddly sad and realised how much he'd like to do it for her. The hair she'd left was long and curled and shone like polished copper in the sun. Her vagina was open, a sweet puzzle in a dozen shades of pink. It glistened with her wetness. His erection fought for its freedom in his pants. She silently begged him to drop to his knees and do something about the chaos that was surging inside her.

Instead he sank onto his seat and breathed out thewords, "God but you're beautiful!"

'Beautifully horny,' she thought. She moved her leg and lowered her foot to the floor. She dropped hers kirt back over her thighs and realised she was trembling. She'd needed him so very badly at that moment and was a little angry at her weakness. She took a deep breath and said softly, "Now, show me yours."

To her surprise he stood and slid his zipper down. She'd expected him to protest. He opened his pants and his cock was suddenly out for her to see. It was beautiful, every bit as big as it had seemed in his briefs. She heard herself say, "May I touch it?"

He stepped closer and she reached out and ran the tip of her finger down the underside, all the way from the tip to his balls. He gasped at the moment of her first touch. He shuddered, "Do be careful."

"He's not fragile is he?" she laughed.

"No, but I'm afraid I might, might ..., well might come if you touch me too much!"

She sighed, "How can I not touch him? He's so beautiful."

A bead of precum had appeared from the little slit and it glistened beautifully in the bright light. She touched her finger tip to it and drew it away. A gossamer thread connected finger to cock, a tiny bead half way along it, like a jewel. She thought her heart would burst. The strand stretched, thinner and thinner and then broke. She felt the tiniest chill at her wrist as it touched her. She put her finger to her lips, her tongue flicked out, quick and pink. She was tasting him! He groaned. His cock drooled.

She sat upright and leaned forward. She took the tip of his cock between her lips, a tiny, sucking kiss. She prayed he wouldn't come, she prayed he would.

He was in an agony of wanting. He looked down. Her eyes, open wide, peered up at him, the whites large. Her lips forming that beautiful kiss. The veins stood out on his cock, its skin so tight. His balls squirmed in their sac, he was a heartbeat from coming. She took her mouth away. His body went rigid. Another thread hung between his cock and her still pursed lips.

He breathed out the words, "I want you!" His knees failed him and he sat down heavily, his cock jutting from his open fly.

She stared at it and said, "I want you too."

She thought of getting up and straddling him, dropping herself onto him. Knew she had to. Her vagina was a silent, needing scream.

She didn't get the chance. The train started slowing, the PA announced that they were arriving at Blackpool and asked that they take their personal belongings with them.

The mood broke, they said nothing for a moment. She glanced down and giggled, "We'd better take him with us."

(cont'd)



*** *** *** *** *** **


Blackpool is a famous seaside town, north west of Manchester, where their journey starts from. My lady wonders if 'mature' people would behave thus on a train. Well, a railway carriage or coach is nearly 65 feet long, nearly twice the length of our house. At the end of a train in an empty coach he/she'd have plenty of time from the end door opening to make themselves "proper" before anyone would reach them. .... And these are two pretty horny folk I'd say.

"Veronica's Knickers"

a 100 word flasher by Julius
copyright 2002

This was "just a flasher" but I felt compelled to carry on with the story. So; I wrote two more full length parts with these characters. They will follow. Being a blog, the parts end up in a sort of reverse order.



The white panties had blown from Veronica's laundry line. He took them next door, knocked and asked, "Yours?"

She was an exquisite forty something widow, he a divorcee of fifty three.

She smiled, took the panties and offered him coffee.

The kitchen table was glass topped, her housecoat casually worn. He longed for what he saw and she saw in him what she needed.

Never a bed-on-first-date lady, she escorted him to the door fifteen minutes later. Neither wanted the parting, neither quite knew how to prevent it.

Briefer, red panties were on his lawn next morning.

"Daisy, Daisy, You Look Sweet"

a 100 word flasher
by Julius
copyright 2002



Reincarnation happens!



He remembers those long ago words: "I'd like to come back as a girl's bicycle saddle."



Now he is one. Today is their first ride. Her skirt betwixt him and her until the traffic light. Then a flicked hem brings them together. Her squirming weight is on him, the soft slip-slide of her thighs. Her warmth, she is so softly, silky warm!

At the next light she straddles him, both feet down, her dampening panties brushing him as she rolls the bike, backwards and forwards, moistening his vinyl, enjoying him.

At seventy-five there are worse fates!

"Naomi's Coming"

by Julius
copyright 2002



The back doorbell chimed a second time and then a third. Grumbling quietly Frank climbed the basement stairs to answer it. Gathering his anti-salesman aura about him, he opened the door and said, absolutely nothing.

"What a dish!" he thought. "Yes?" he said, after some delay.

"I've come to paint your stairs," said the dish.

After several exchanges the answers came. Frank hadn't been told or didn't remember being told that Naomi was coming to do some tole painting on the risers of the basement stairs. Frank's stairs, red carpeted treads and black painted risers. He'd redecorated the stair-well and was very proud of his work. Seemingly his daughter Joan, and Naomi from next door, had decided the risers were perfect for Naomi to practice her tole painting on.

Frank came very close to telling Naomi to go away and take her paints with her. His stairs needed no twiddly flowers painting on them. But Naomi had big tits and Frank was a sucker for big tits so he let her in.

Widowed Frank pretty much lived downstairs and his divorced daughter, Joan, lived upstairs. Sometimes he ate upstairs with her and the laundry room was downstairs but all in all they kept pretty much to themselves. The house was Joan's really so Frank thought maybe the stairs were too.

Half an hour later Naomi was busy with brushes and paints on the top riser. Frank had made coffee and was trying to decide which view of Naomi he liked best. From upstairs he could gaze at the generous swell of her breasts and the considerable cleavage between them. From downstairs her short skirt allowed him the sight of the backs of her bare thighs. There seemed to be any number of reasons to climb and descend his stairs and pretty soon Frank decided that the tole painting of stair risers was a very important part of house decorating.

Naomi realised that she was the cause of his journeys up and down stairs but she didn't mind. She'd liked Frank from the moment he'd opened the door. Where was the harm in bringing a little sparkle into his eyes?




Next morning Frank opened the door at the first ring. He decided that Naomi was every bit as dishy as he remembered.

He made the coffee and she set about the second riser. He told her he liked the painting she'd done the day before and she said that she was glad he liked it. He asked if she'd like to have the coffee in the kitchen.

He listened while she told about the couch potato husband who took her for granted and Frank thought the man a fool. Then she listened to a man who was lonely and thought him very sweet. They independently and silently decided it was a great shame he was old enough to be her grandfather.

With the morning half gone Naomi had finished the third riser and had asked Frank to come and see how it looked so far. He came to the foot of the stairs and admired her painting and her legs and told her, quite without thinking, that he very much envied herhusband.

Her tears took her by surprise. He was at a loss for what to do but slowly climbed the stairs and put an arm round her shoulders. She turned and clung to him and sobbed. It was a long time since anyone had held her. His erection delighted him and made him feel ashamed, both at the same time. It was a long time since he'd held a woman and it felt wonderful, the magic mix of soft and firm, the smell of her hair, of soap, of some subtle perfume. She felt his hardness against her and smiled amid her tears. Men went on being animals forever it seemed!

Neither slept too well that night. She lay next to her husband feeling lonely and when she finally slept it was to dream and it was of Frank that she dreamed, his gentleness, his hand stroking her hair, his soothing words, his sadness that he couldn't ease hers.

Frank lay awake and dreamed by turns. Yes, he thought of thighs and cleavage but he thought too how warm and soft she'd felt in his arms and the glow he'd felt as he tried to console her. His erection returned. He got out of bed, he'd never sleep now. He headed for the stairs on his way to make a hot chocolate. Half way up in the the dim light he stopped and gazed at the newly painted flowers and thought about her. What a shame, someone so young and soft and lovely being stuck with that doltish slob!

He was half surprised when she arrived next morning, just minutes after his daughter had left for the office. Her crying and his consoling might well have persuaded her not to come. He thought she looked a little flushed and nervous.

Naomi was nervous. She'd showered and taken extra care with her hair. She'd dabbed perfume here and there. She planned to surprise Frank this morning and, having made or half made these decisions, she was as nervous as a kitten.

She took her paints and brushes to the stairs and said "Yes please," to Frank's offer of coffee. He stood at the top while the coffee perked, watching her. He was enjoying the effects of her bra. It was one of those push-up affairs, too small and bought as part of an ill fated attempt to lure her husband away from the baseball. She'd worn it that morning for the first time in a year and she'd worn it for Frank.

Frank wanted to tell her how lovely she looked, how exquisite her breasts were. His eyes raised to meet hers and he actually blushed as he realised she'd caught him ogling. She swallowed, her mouth had gone dry. Her heart was fluttering, it seemed, in her throat.

They drank their coffee at the kitchen table again. She heard the drier clunk to a standstill and Frank got up and headed downstairs saying "Better empty the drier or else .... ". She wished her man would make a few more efforts like this.

When he returned to the foot of the stairs she was back at work. He gasped, she was knelt on a step apparently unaware of him. Her short skirt showed quite plainly that she wore no panties. The words, 'She's bare-assed!' bounced around in his head.

"What do you think?" he heard her ask.

What did he think he wondered. "What do I think?" he echoed himself. Then followed with "I'm not sure you'd like to hear what I think."

With total disbelief she heard her voice say, "I think you think you'd like to fuck me."

"I think I would" he thought. "I know I would" he said aloud, not sure he wasn't dreaming this.

"It took a lot of courage to leave off my panties this morning. Come up here, quickly, before I lose mynerve."

He moved slowly up the stairs and reached out. His hand trembled and then settled on the soft warmth of her buttock. "You realise I'm old enough to ........"

She cut in with, "You're gentle and kind and the last couple of days around you made me feel wanted and feminine ... and that's a beautiful novelty for this girl."

A near sleepless night had led her to this point, her need and her hunger, her loneliness. His warmth and gentleness had woken feelings in her that had slept for so very long. Suddenly the thought had popped into her head, the realization that she'd love it and that he'd love it. She worried a little that he might not be able to perform but why not try at least? So she'd risen early and showered and dressed as she'd dressed for her first visit. Then the fidgeting wait at the window for his daughter Joan to leave for work and the last-minute, impulsive idea to wriggle out of her panties. Then standing on his doorstep with the cool of the morning playing under her skirt; she'd almost run home. But here she was, flashing her bare ass at this sweet old guy and he was touching that ass with his hand.

A wonderful thing happened to Frank when he touched her ass ... he seemed to forget his years. He put his other hand on her and bent and kissed her gently at the top of her cleavage where fine, fine blonde hairs swirled at the bottom of her spine. She shivered. His cock reared, he ran his hands, oh so gently over her ass, touching, barely daring to believe. Her skin's sweet perfection made his heart ache.

"Are you sure about this?" his voice asked, husky with his nervousness.

"I'm sure." she murmured and moved her ass left and right.

She stood, turned and sat on the step in front of him. She reached for his belt and began unbuckling. It was too long since she'd done this for a man. She unhooked his waistband and slid the zipper down. His pants dropped to his ankles. He wore blue cotton briefs, Frank looked delightfully fashionable. The straining bulge made her take a deep breath, she needn't have worried it seemed. She hooked her fingers into the top of his briefs and peeled them down. His beautiful cock sprang free. 'He's beautiful,' she thought. "He's beautiful!" she said.

Frank's voice said "And he's very glad to see you." and Frank didn't believe he'd said it.

Naomi stood up again and turned back to face upstairs. Then she bent over, oh so slowly, and the invitation might as well have been shouted. Frank looked down at that wonderful erection and at her sweet ass and simply bent down the former and thrust gently below the latter.

She was wet, slick and wet. Need and anticipation seemed to be all she'd needed. She felt the head of his cock nuzzling at her and she bent a little further and pressed back a little and he simply slid into her. The proverbial hot knife into butter. But this wasn't cruel or sharp, this was blunt and hot and gloriously insistent. She grabbed at a step as his thrust pushed her off balance. She breathed an "Oh yesssss!" as he slithered into her heat with his.

How she'd missed this sweet filling, this scratchingof her deepest itches. Weeks, how many? No, months surely, since that clumsy couch-dweller had plumbed her depths. And he'd been too drunk that last time to function or to satisfy her properly.

She felt her blouse going up at the back and one by one the hooks of her bra being undone. Clever fingers those, she thought. As the last one let go she felther heavy breasts fall free and his hands slid round over her ribs. All the while she was blissfully filled with him, every slightest movement they made told of his presence inside her. His hands cupped her breasts and lifted them as if checking their weight and ripeness. Forefingers and thumbs took her nipples and gently squeeze-pulled. Two stabs of pleasure shot downwards into the hot glow in her belly. Half reflex, half intention, she gripped his cock and he grunted and ground himself against her ass.

Then he brought her to climax with slow thrusts and gentle twirling of her nipples. She didn't scream or thrash about, she simply boiled over. His cock withdrew almost all the way and then he thrust into her that last time and she just came, filling with heat and her entire body seemed to sigh in pure joy. He didn't come, he just sweetly eased her to the edge and over it.

Now, weak kneed and with tears flowing gently shewaited for whatever he wanted to do with her next.

His left hand stayed with her breast and nipple. His other strayed down over her stomach and found its way up under her skirt. Gentle, knowing fingers found her sweet, firm centre. At this point she became part of the music. Her next orgasm wasn't gentle or quiet.

She knelt on the carpet of the step. Chest heaving, breasts swinging gently inside her blouse. Her inner thighs were wet to her knees, she was overflowing! Herheart hammered in her ears, what had this wonderful man done to her?

She felt his hand on her shoulder, his other found her hand and then she was being led down the stairs. She followed mutely on wobbly legs. He led her into a room, his bedroom she supposed, he lay back on the bed, his bed, and held out his hands to her. She found herself straddling him and then lowering herself,taking him into herself.

Impaled now on that wonderful cock she found new strength. She ground her hips feeling his hardness stirring her insides. He slipped her blouse, then her bra, off her shoulders. She dropped forward onto her hands offering her breasts to him. They felt swollen and heavy, too heavy to be hers, his lips and teeth captured a nipple and she groaned. His hands slid down and held her ass, pulling her open.

Control slipped away and she began to use, to almost abuse, that beautiful thing inside her. She was doing the fucking now. She rode it mercilessly, making it explore her every corner, trying it seemed, to break it off and make it hers. She was fucking him, fucking him, making him fuck her. He was laughing now and joining her with thrusts of his own. She heard herself saying the most wicked things.

Then he hissed the word "Yessss!!" and his body tensed and thrust upwards almost lifting her and she knew that he really was going to be hers. She sat back now, all gentleness suddenly, and she milked him with her body, drawing him out, she felt each spasm, each spurt and answered with squeezes of her owns. Then she was coming too.

She collapsed onto him and sobbed her happiness into his shoulder.



A fifth riser got its flowers just five days later.



And then? Well, Naomi took half her husband's money and all of his car and now lives out west with a man barely old enough to be her father.

Frank? Frank moved too. Creatures like Naomi are the catalysts in human chemistry. He lives across town now. His new lady has a penthouse apartment and she's just about old enough to be his daughter.

Daughter Joan? She's looking for someone who'll paint the other seven stair risers.

"Stand and Deliver"

a 100 word flasher

by Julius
copyright March 2006




It was the heath’s most desolate spot.

A masked rider appeared ahead, waving a pistol. The coach ground to a halt. Ordered out, the passengers complied.

Women removed rings and necklaces, men emptied pockets.

The rider dismounted, motioning a tall young man to follow. They disappeared behind the coach. The remaining passengers were too frightened to move.

Minutes later the young fellow reappeared, struggling to fasten his breeches.

The rider ran a gloved hand over wet lips and stooped to gather the loot.



As hoofbeats receded someone asked, "Who was that?"

"Dick Slurpin, highwaywoman," said the tall man,smiling.

"Differing Strokes"

by Julius
copyright Oct. 2008



A straight guy and a gay guy sharing an apartment might seem a little strange but it worked. As far as housekeeping went, each had his strengths and weaknesses and the whole thing worked very well indeed. They'd been an “odd couple” for a year with little friction. Dates came and went but neither seemed to keep a partner for very long. Confirmed bachelors were they and seemed destined to continue so.



One evening, Alan came bustling in with two girls in tow. Orphans in the storm he called them. He'd met them in a gay bar. Pretty young things, they were obviously a couple. To Vic it seemed a shameful waste of cunt.

They were out of cash and had nowhere to stay. Alan had brought them home, two stray kittens.

“Is that OK?” he asked Vic after he'd explained they needed somewhere to crash for two nights, “they've only got their bus tickets.”

They were gorgeous. Why did they have to be lesbians?

But he said, “Why not?” Damn it, what could he say? Alan was too nice a guy to be for real.

Cynthia and Trish were quite overwhelming in their gratitude. Wonderful in the kitchen; Vic hadn't eaten so well in a long time. And really, they were fun to be with. Vic had never spent time with any lesbians before. He found Cynthia utterly beautiful; not that Trish was unattractive. Over and over he found himself wondering, 'Why?' But there was no doubting the love that crackled between the two girls, so he tried to just enjoy the food and their company.

Alan had no romantic inclinations and Vic thought, not for the first time, that gay guys maybe had more than a few emotional advantages. If only Cynthia wasn't so utterly delicious.




“What a waste.”

“Waste of what?” Alan queried.

“Waste of pussy. That Cynthia! And young Trish come to that,” he explained emphatically.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and thought he heard the door close quietly.

Alan grinned. "You straight guys think with your cocks don't you?”

“'Fraid so.”




Vic was sliding into sleep. They'd drunk too much wine with supper and then stayed up late watching a movie. Trish and Alan had cried shamelessly at the end and he and Cynthia had teased them gently for it. Tomorrow morning the girls would be catching their westbound bus.

His door opened quietly and someone sat on the edge of his bed. “Move over,” Cynthia's husky voice said.

Amazed, he did so and she slipped under the covers. “Cuddle up,” she said.

He moved closer. She had her back to him. He cautiously moved up against her. She was naked, as was he. Vic felt his cock rear unbidden. It fitted, as if by instinct, into the cleft of her buttocks.

She squirmed and gave a little chuckle, “I guess I should be flattered.”

“I'm sorry.” His voice said plainly that he wasn't.

“Poor Vic, you've got the hots for a lesbian.”

“Can't help it, you're a lovely lesbian.”

He moved carefully, his cock slid easily in the cleft of her ass. She was slippery there. He could smell the scent of Alan's hand cream from under the covers.

“You guys have been wonderful. Especially you, not bad for the only straight one in the crowd.”

“Easy enough, you two are very sweet.”

She wiggled herself against him, doing wondrous things to his rigid cock. “Go on then! You'll never get a piece of ass quite like this again.”

“Are you sure? I mean… you're, well, you're…”

“I'll just try to ignore you,” the chuckle came again, throaty and oddly sexy, “I'll focus on the cunt you say is so wasted.”

“I'm sorry, you weren't meant to hear that.”

“It's not wasted Vic, Trish loves it.” Her ass ground against him again. “Hush now, let's just do our thing. No hurry.”

Vic tried not to rush. When he slid a hand round and found her ample breast he felt her tense and she murmured, “No.” He slid the hand down and rested it lightly on her hip.

But how wonderful it felt to have his cock in that lovely cleavage. He fucked away blissfully. She moved in sweet counterpoint as her hand made love to her pussy. It wasn't easy holding back. When he stopped moving, her ass still ground against him in response to her own ministrations.

He'd watched her moving about the apartment with a proud grace. Those heavy breasts jostling inside her blouse, the exquisite ass that was now briefly his.

Here she was, with that lovely ass, teasing him, letting him play, making him wish. His cock was between those full, round buttocks, fucking them, he'd never dreamed.

When next he stilled his thrusting hips she stopped too. “This is our thank you. Trish is with Alan.” The chuckle came again; he felt it with his cock, “What do you suppose she's doing for him?”

Vic wondered too. But his body was more interested in where his cock was, what his cock was doing.

“I don't think I can hold on much longer,” he said sliding his cock slowly down as far as he dared, then thrusting up along her cleavage again. This felt like no other fuck he'd ever known. The sweet forbiddeness of doing it to this strange girl, this way. He loved her warmth, her sweet difference.

She was breathing hard and writhing with her own rhythm. Getting near he guessed. He humped against her, his cock thrusting, sliding with increasing urgency.

“Ready?” she asked.

“God yes!” he gasped.

“Go on then, go on!”

He felt her, heard her as her orgasm neared. He felt her buttocks tense, gripping him and then he lost it. He slammed against that lovely ass. Fucked that incredible furrow and then he was coming, squirting between the small of her back and his stomach. Gushing helplessly, wetting them both, emptying himself.

He heard her sob her way through her own climax, bucking back and forth against him, crying out softly in her own private ecstasy.




She stayed a while. His cock dwindled between her buttocks.

Finally, just when he thought she must be asleep, she said softly, “I'd best be going, sleep well Vic.”

“Goodnight and.…”

"Shh."

He wished she'd stay, wanted to ask, but knew she wouldn't.




Alan and Vic stood side by side watching the Greyhound move out into traffic. Vic saw Trish wave and next to him, almost too faint to be heard, Alan said, “If only I could find a guy with a mouth like hers.”

"Goodbye, Nymphette"

Yes it's mine and yes it's my most recent. It in no way reflects my attitudes about child molesting or the abuse of women - both of which I abhor. In fact I think it's the only "dark" tale I've ever written. I wrote it for an ERWA theme week.

A 550 word quickie,
by Julius,
copyright January 2009




There she went. To the bus stop, en route to her new, downtown, city job. Not on the yellow bus any more, the one that had taken her off to high school for so many, many mornings.

He watched her through his binoculars with special care this morning. He noted every detail as she strutted past and then, while she stood at the bus stop.

Flesh and fabric, that's what she was, flesh and fabric. The flesh that he could see and the flesh that he couldn't; the latter doing magic things to the fabric.

Roy was an expert on women's clothing. He studied it in catalogues, in stores and, as this morning, on the living model.

Katrina was eighteen today. The little girl was gone. Now Roy could legally lust. Legally lust, he liked the phrase but worried it would take away the extra titillation of illegality. He hoped not, it had been a long, lovely, illegal lust, the latest of many.

God but she was lovely. She stood there, with her long, coltish legs sheathed in nylon. Roy could see the sheen of it in the morning sunlight. The breeze pressed her short skirt against her girlish bottom, outlining it, even hinting at the divide between her buttocks. His erection seemed to throb. He wanted to stroke it; his cock that is. But he wanted to stroke that bottom too. Tight, round, surely it wanted to be stroked, spanked, caned, reddened then kissed and caressed.

"Turn, turn this way," he ordered her silently.

Turn she did! Not for the first time, Roy wondered if he had special powers.

Her jacket was unbuttoned and he could see the white blouse stretched tight over those young breasts. Breasts he'd watched develop, from pimples to bumps to bulges to now. Now she was big, perhaps too big? Her little girlishness was slipping so fast away.

He adjusted the focus on the binoculars. Yes! Yes he could make out the thrust of nipples, hardened by spring's chill, morning air. They beckoned him through blouse and bra. He licked his lips. "Soon my pretties, soon."

His cock begged for attention but Roy was a master of self-control. He told his cock to be patient, imagining his balls filled to near bursting with his white cream. He was ready. Katrina was ready. Roy groaned; Katrina, so ripe and so ready for the plucking.

The breeze flicked her skirt, showed a glimpse of thigh. He wondered what panties she wore today. He'd seen them all, seen them on the clothesline next-door, touched them, sniffed at them, peered at labels by moonlight. Perhaps she wore none today, what a treat that would be, she'd have hair now. God, his cock was hard, his balls ached. "Oh sweet little Katrina, I'm in pain because of you," he told the image in the lenses.

She raised a hand to sweep her copper hair from her face. Was that a wave for him? She seemed to look right at his window. He flinched, wanting to move behind the curtains but he knew she couldn't really see him.

The bus, the damned bus was there to carry her away.

The chloroform stood on the shelf. Today was the day. Tonight would be the night. She'd wake willing, he knew she would, she must. She’d writhe and squirm and beg and plead with willingness.

The bus roared past. Roy lowered the binoculars and smiled.

"Goodbye sweet nymphette. Hello woman-child"

"Dream Delicious"

The real Julius dedicates this 100 word flasher to the real Aspire.

by Julius
copyright 2004


The daydream returned in sleep.

I was her thong, lilac. I dreamt in colour!

Too tight, too small and threaded, delicious deep.

I was full of her curls, of her pouting lips.

I dived between her buttocks, I squirmed or was that her?

I felt her heat, her sweet humidity, I swam in her musky scent.

Then, moister yet, did she think of me? My pastel lilac darkened, there, at her sweet centre.

I prayed, "Touch yourself, through me!"

She did!

I came, wet-dreaming like a boy.

I gushed and curled, foetal, cupping her mound in my mind.

"The Lock-keeper's Daughter"

A 100 word flasher, written just after our return from holiday, I left the intro as it was writ:


Hello people. We're back, after nearly six weeks in England. Visa cards bled white! ... Four weeks spent on the canals.

The canals prompted this little tale. A lock? A piece of simple hydraulic engineering to raise or lower boats as the canal climbs or descends.

Lock-keepers are far rarer than they were. Restricted now, in our experience, to the River Thames. Nearly everywhere else you work the locks yourself.

When the boat arrives in an 'ascending' lock the view is all upwards for the occupants. Girls really should (or shouldn't ... please!) be careful what they wear and how they move.

Good to be back!


"The Lock-keeper's Daughter"
by Julius
copyright July 2006

Sweet-assed Sue, newly eighteen, often helped her lock-keeper father. Male boaters peeped up her little skirt as she worked around the lock. She liked that.

One day, she impulsively went pantyless. They really looked then. She loved that.

A week later her mother was about to ask, ‘How come no panties in the laundry lately?’

But Sue’s father appeared, brandishing a letter from his boss.

He was furious, “Just listen to this …

‘… numerous complaints.’

‘… suggest your daughter dress more modestly.’"

Sue smiled to herself, thinking of the thongs she’d bought.

“I’ll try daddy, I’ll try.”

"You Didn't"

A one hundred word flasher.

by Julius
copyright May 2006



Day dawned, Aspire’s birthday, I handed her the box.

“You didn’t!” she stared at the thing in her hands.

“I did,” I said nervously.

The crystal cock was longer, bigger-headed than my own and beautifully transparent. It had a fat, red vein spiraling around it, counterclockwise.

She handled it, looking awed and nervous.

I left to make coffee.




Returning with the tray, I stood gaping.

“You didn’t!”

Just the glass base showed, a porthole in her pussy.

Gazing up at me with slitted eyes, she squirmed on the bed.

Her voice was a feline growl, “Oh but I did.”