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All I can say is that this is a true story. We were living in Australia at the time, and I was a lecturer at University of Tasmania at Launceston.

Leprechaun

While my mind is apprehensively occupied with the momentous task at hand, Laura sees me approaching it from the wrong direction and with insufficient maturity.  As I wrestle with composition, style, and intrigue, she knows that I must myself be composed, affectionate, and circumspect, or I'll produce something that isn't good enough for my mandator.  Having received the required attributes and attitudes from the same authority, she sets out to redress the balance of my personality.

 

We close the doors.  We clear up all the little things that aren't nice to wake up to.  We drop our garments in the familiar places and bathe our bodies to make them ready for each other.  As we settle on our bed, a Land Rover pulls up and a trucker rings the doorbell.  So we talk to him, making no secret of how he has disturbed us, and he leaves with a key to our little farm.  We start the cassette from the beginning and hope for better luck.  We turn up the volume until we couldn't hear the doorbell if we wanted to.

 

This is no ordinary little affair.  Laura has brought a bottle of wine, and all her scented, mysterious oils are at the ready.  As I embrace her, she shows me that she wants more than just a Wham, bang, thank you, Ma'am.  The wine turns out to be rotten, but the oils are not.  Laura's body writhes with sensuality, my back loves the assaults of her fingernails.

 

The singer assures us that (s)he intends to taste her strawberries and drink her sweet wine--whoever she may be.  Much less poetically, but rather more tangibly, I do just that to Laura.  "Not so fast," she tempers me, as I begin getting carried away by the fascination of her approaching climax.  Laura titillates me with her hot lips and searching tongue, and I feel myself swelling and ready for our ultimate union.

 

In a moment, I go through the grandest of explosions inside her, protracting it for what seems like a marvelously long orgasm.  Returning to more methodical activity, we bring about her smile, making it last for ever and ever.  Finally, she's ticklish once more, and I expect some rest.

 

But more is to come.  Laura, directing the action, pours wine all over me, mixing it with sun tan oil, and our bodies feel like dolphins frolicking in the everlasting surf.  We massage each other, hug, and caress; we enjoy our sensitized nerve endings in a carnival of touch.  My face gets a skin treatment of sex fluids, and next I'm being massaged with chocolate pudding.  Some of it gets eaten, too, and soon after, our postlude takes the form of a very intimate shower for two.

 

Later, our bodies entwined in the lush green grass, I drift off into blissful sleep.  Upon waking, I find myself alone with my memories.  Laura is nowhere to be seen.  In the kitchen Maria is preparing dinner, a gleam in her eye and a twinkle in her smile.