Adult Image Library 1/Adult_Image_Library_Volume_1.iso/stories/amdream.txt

Text File | 1996-04-15 | 79KB | 1,471 lines

                                 An American Dream
                                   by Brian Foster
                  with help from Lincard, Jonathan and Andrew.

 Aaron Sinclair woke when the smiling flight attendant nudged him awake from
his deep sleep. He hadn't slept much at all the previous night in
anticipation of todays flight, so it wasn't surprising he hadn't noticed the
earlier messages to put on his seatbelt. It took several seconds to fully
comprehend where he was, and that his flight was about to land in Washington
DC.
 This was his second visit to the US of A, which he'd planned for nearly a
year. The first stop was a hotel for the night, two nights at the most, then
he'd buy a decent second hand car and take his time making his way to his
Uncles farm in Texas. He was thinking about detouring to Florida on the way,
to enjoy the Everglades and perhaps watch the upcoming shuttle launch.
 At his Uncles farm, he'd bring the Car up to scratch while working on the
land for 3 months, earning the money for the rest of his trip.
 When he was good and ready, during the height of summer he'd drive around
the country from one side to the other. No package tours for him, he'd go to
all the little places he'd longed to visit and stay as long as he wanted.
Forget the glitz and the cities, he wanted the outdoors. Meteor crater and
the Petrified forest national monument in Arizona. A week at the Grand canyon
to explore it from top to bottom. Yellowstone national park. Yosemite
national park to climb the half dome and a few other peaks easily accessible
to trampers. Crater lake national park in Oregon. Devils tower in Wyoming.
 There was so much nature, he couldn't hope to see it all. He could only
sample what was near a general tour across the South and up the West. The
middle and top of the country would have to wait until next year.
 After that, with a little luck he'd sell the car for more than he'd paid for
it and head off home to New Zealand.

 But that was still a long way ahead. First up, he'd have to get used to
Americans driving on the wrong side of the road. And even before that, he'd
have to get used to them not speaking proper English.

 Immigration and Customs took half an hour to pass through. He preferred
travelling light, packing the essentials and little else, so he was through
in no time compared to some.
 Aaron took a taxi straight to the hotel, paid the man off and located his
pre-booked room. But there was no way he was going to sleep just yet. The
night was young here, and it was the middle of the day back home. Jet lag.
The only thing for it was to take a walk and see a little of the town, maybe
have a beer or three before trying to retire.

 He hailed a cab to "a safe part of town where I can have a nice drink", and
ended up near the city centre. He walked along the main street until he
spotted an outlet with a neon sign advertising a large selection of Foreign
beers. Aha!
 He entered and joined the other customers waiting their turn near the Bar.
Many were expatriates or tourists like himself, and he soon spotted and
joined a couple of fellow Kiwis.

 The last time here, he'd subsisted on Steinlager when he wasn't working his
butt off on a Lobster fishing vessel. It was the hardest work he'd ever done,
and he was glad for his years of weight-training, but even with that he'd
struggled to keep up.
 Australian, British and other beers were lined up in the chiller behind the
counter. Shortly he spotted his other favourite, Lion Red. At $US 6 per can.
Ouch! Pass.
 The bartender had worked his way over to him.
 "How old are you, pal?" the Bartender asked, looking suspicious.
 Aaron was used to this. He pulled photographic ID and gave it to the man to
examine. The fact he was a little shorter than average and looked younger
than 18 always made problems, but he was used to that.
 "Ok, what'll it be?"
 "Southern Comfort and L&P, please", he decided.
 "Whats L&P?"
 "Lemon and Paeroa."
 "We don't have that."
 No Lemon and Paeroa?? You mean to say the best drink after Coca-cola isn't
even heard of here?
 "Whats Budweiser like?", he asked.
 "It's a good beer. You'll like it."
 "Okay, I'll give it a try."
 Glass in hand, he joined the New Zealanders for a chat over his drink.
 He took a sip and choked. This is disgusting, he thought. He more closely
examined the color of the alcohol. Now, what did it remind him of... A visual
joke popped into his mind; a drawing of a Horse drinking Lion Red and
urinating Rheineck. That was it. How would it work best here... Definitely
the horse drinking New Zealand beer and urinating American beer, while
another horse drank the American beer and urinated Australian beer in turn.
 In a corner, a group of men, obviously locals, were watching an American
comedy on TV. As he watched, he noticed they and the studio audience were
laughing at every single line from the goggle-box. Why, he had no idea. Hours
after leaving the fishing vessel with his final, big, hard-earned paycheck,
he'd observed stoically silent people watching a genuinely funny British
comedy on cable TV, and similarly wondered why.
 After puzzling this over, he came to the conclusion that Americans were so
used to being told to laugh that they didn't recognize true humor. Maybe that
was why the Alaskan fishing boat crew commented they were glad not to have
someone from "the lower 48" working with them that year.
 His Budweiser finished, together with a Steinlager to wash the taste from
his mouth, he decided to take a walk to see the town center before retiring.
Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.
 As he left, Aaron overheard a patron ask for a short black, and receive a
coffee. <Phew>. For a moment, he thought the patron had ordered a vertically
challenged member of an Ethnic group.

 Across town, a 13 year old girl was trying to worm her way out of her
obligatory duty to turn up at tonights splash.
 "Do I really have to go? Can't we just pretend I'm busy? They don't really
need me there tonight."
 Her Fathers serious expression told her that her appeal for privacy was
rejected, and she foresaw his reply.
 "You can't hide in here forever", he said. Straight to the point as always.
"It won't do you any harm, and you won't have to say much. Just be yourself
and chat to the people around you and you'll be fine."
 "Yeah, right", she sarcastically replied. She was NOT looking forward to it.
 "I mean, it's not like everyone'll be paying attention to you", he
continued.
 She grinned, as she turned to face tonights guest of honour. He lifted his
head at the oblique reference to him, and peered back at her with a look of
disdain.
 "At least someones not bothered by all the fuss", she commented.
 "Well, maybe you could try to be a little bit more like him?", her father
suggested, trying to put a little humor into the situation.



 Aaron had reached the Downtown Convention center, where some event was
obviously going on. As he came closer he spotted the sign outside.

 "'Socks' imitation contest tonight"

 Socks.  Now, where had he heard that name. He couldn't figure it out, and
mentally tossed a coin whether to peek inside; figured it was worth a look at
least. If there was a cover charge, he could always opt out.
 He joined the short queue at the entrance, and to his surprise was asked to
hold his arms up to be briskly patted down by one of several heavily built
men keeping guard before being allowed in.
 Inside was pandemonium. Cats and their masters were all over the place, and
all the attention was on a Black and White specimen up front. Aaron liked
Cats, and decided to stay a few minutes at least.
 Now, whose Cat was it, he still couldn't quite remember. Some of the
imitations were very good, while others were distinguishable at a glance. He
turned to check out the other side of the hall, and promptly collided with a
young Lady going in the opposite direction.

 "Sorry... I shouldn't be in a hurry to get anywhere", he apologized.
 "Thats ok; my fault."
 He looked twice. She seemed around 16, long wavy red-brown hair, blue eyes,
bright lips that looked like they needed to be kissed. Uncommon features, but
very pretty in her own way. Now where would she look best, he thought to
himself. A farm, yes, that was it. He could see her coming out of the corn on
a hot summers day, except that her skin was a little pale. A week on a beach
would take care of that, but then red-heads often don't tan too well, he
thought. Water. He felt she'd look good in a one piece suit, her hair
contrasting nicely with blue water.
 He preferred women whose looks radiated personality and not same-ness,
someone not afraid to look a little different and be proud of it. Someone not
prepared to submerge their individuality by getting sucked in by peer
pressure to look the way TV told them was essential for social acceptance. A
radical hairstyle and one or two decorative tattoos were tops in his books,
but this girl was obviously too young for either.
 Stocky build, not slim but definitely not overweight. Scoring well so far.
Long slightly unkempt hair tied simply behind her neck going partway down her
back. More points. Unpierced ears. Either not allowed to or didn't feel like
it. No jewellery of any kind. Loose-fitting jeans and blue denim shirt.
Fashionable or conservative, depending how you looked at it, but either way
not making a point to show off her body. Everything about her said 'Down to
Earth'. Definite potential. And she was single, which surprised him. But the
complete lack of adornments or bright colors suggested shyness, and she
seemed a little short and her voice too young sounding for 16. Say, 13-14.
Pity. He'd have loved to look her up in a few years when she started bursting
out of her shell and see if she was sporting any little personal touches, but
the odds of spotting her again were unlikely, to say the least. He'd have to
play it by ear.

 Aaron suddenly noticed the large gentlemen behind her.
 "You have heavy duty friends for company... Are you someone important?"
 "I wish I wasn't."
 "I'm glad I'm not."
 "You're from out of town?"
 "A little further. New Zealand."
 "New Zealand... isn't that where that Lady, Ruth...", her voice trailed
away.
 "You mean Ruth Richardson? Oh, HER. She was just doing for our international
relations what she's done to our economy", he finished her sentence.
 She smirked, but didn't continue on the subject.
 "Are you a reporter?"
 "No. I'm a University student on a working holiday. I came in because I like
Cats, and I wanted to see what the fuss was about."
 "Hope you're not disappointed", she replied, grinning a little.
 "I haven't made my mind up yet."
 Silence. He decided to take a risk.
 "Ummm, I don't even know your name. I suppose I'd better do the honours.
Aaron Sinclair... nice to meet you."
 "You really don't know?"
 "Should I?"
 "That makes a change. I'm sick of people calling me by my name so I have to
ask for theirs... Chelsea Clinton."

 He choked.

 "Sorry... you probably think I'm a complete idiot for not knowing."
 "Don't be. My photo isn't in the paper very often, which is the way I want
it."
 She glanced at the secret servicemen behind her. Still close, but currently
just out of earshot.
 "Oh... and these two behind me are 'thingi' and 'thingi', because they don't
like saying their names on the job."
 His turn to giggle.
 "Makes you wonder who the pets are, doesn't it?"

 She was interrupted by someone asking a question. She sighed when she turned
her attention back to Aaron.
 "I have to circulate. Sorry", she said as she wandered off through the crowd
toward the judges.

 Bejesus... Chelsea Clinton. Logic screamed to forget it. Mitts off, Aaron.
Too young, too shy, too much to lose, totally and absolutely out of your
league. Impossible. She had a mean backflip, for starters.
 He returned to taking a good look at the Felines on show. It would be tough
for the Judges... He wondered what the prizes consisted of. Probably one
tonne of canned Catmuck.
 All this fuss over one Cat... Only in America could this happen.
 An amusing thought came to mind. He was reminded of the story about Russian
visitors having a guided tour of a Catfood factory and being demonstrated the
intricacies of catfood testing. Impressed, one of the guests innocently asked
"What do you do with the Pelts?"

 Abruptly he was shaken by a poke into his ribs. He jumped.
 "Good, you're still here", said Chelsea.

 "Do I see one of their friends watching Socks?"
 "Yes. They're worried he'll be taken for ransom."
 "Bizarre..."
 "Thats nothing; you should see the media sometimes, they follow him around
and tempt him with Catnip to get closer photos."
 "I couldn't stand being in the limelight, how on earth do you handle it?"
 "I don't. I try as hard as I can to keep away from it."
 He grinned.
 "Thats what I'd do; keep myself away from anyone who's going to cause
stress. I've got better things to do with my time than give them something to
talk about."
 "How do you handle it? Stress, I mean", she asked.
 "When I feel stress.... I EAT!"
 "I couldn't even consider doing that!", she burst out laughing. "Not that
it's done you any harm", she added, referring to his build.
 "It sounds like you worry too much... You've probably read too many
magazines telling you what you should look like. Typical woman... always
worried about her figure when she shouldn't be. I think you're very pretty."
 She blushed a little.
 "Why did you start bodybuilding?", she asked, politely changing the subject.
 "Because I got tired of hearing people say, 'I wish I'd done this 15 years
ago', so I decided there and then to make sure I'd never say that."
 "There's an exercise room, sauna and spa pool in the White house and I use
those when I feel like it."
 "You look like you've got a fair amount of muscle. I'd guess you could beat
most girls your age at strength exercises."
 "Do I? Ummm, I haven't really tried."
 "Another reason I joined the gym is because a girlfriend suggested it, and
when I finally got around to trying it, I liked it."
 "I don't have a boyfriend."
 "Of course you don't. A boyfriend wouldn't buy the perfume you're wearing.
'Impulse', isn't it?"

 Now it was her turn to look surprised.

 "I'm not forbidden to have a friend who's a boy, it's just that.. well, you
know..."
 "Yeah, I think I do."
 "And what would you recommend, then? What perfume, I mean."
 "'Paris' is nice, but I think it's too subtle for you. Try 'Red Door'.
'Poison' is nice after a few minutes, too. Hope you didn't mind, it's a
little game I like to play, smelling who's wearing perfume as I pass them,
and trying to guess which one. It's kind of fun."
 "Thats different. I can't say I've ever experimented with them. Whats your
favourite?"
 "Ummm, it depends on the girl. I like a girl with a nice strong perfume, and
lots of it. I love it when I can get a good strong smell from several steps
behind her. That gets me going."

 She was interrupted again by an official.

 "You have to go, I guess. As nice as it is talking to you, I'm keeping you
from what you're supposed to be doing. It'd be nice to see you again another
time but...", he said, looking around at the roomfull of people. Wherever she
went, there'd be roomfulls of people.
 "Yes, I'd like that, but theres not much chance", she agreed.
 She looked around her, at the people milling about. Duty called.
 Oh well, if she had to go, she had to go. She was quite a nice person,
mature for her age he felt. He'd have loved to get to know her better,
exchange letters, talk on the phone when they could, but that was well-nigh
impossible.
 An idea popped into his head. The last time he'd tried this, the girl he'd
done it to followed him around for DAYS.

 He blew into Chelseas ear.

 She giggled nervously. "You're funny."
 "There's not much use staying sane in this world... Join the club."
 "I wish we could talk someplace a bit more private, not with no many people
around, but...", and she glanced around her.
 Judging from the besuited, heavily built gentlemen from the presidential
protection squad hovering nearby, paying a lot of attention toward Chelsea
whilst discreetly mingling in the crowd, there wasn't much chance of that.
Looking more closely, he spotted pistols and radios imprinting against their
jackets. Heavy duty bad-news company, indeed.
 Undeterred, she approached her minders.

 "Can I have a little time alone, please? Just this once?"
 "I'm sorry Ma'am, but you know the rules", Aaron overheard. "If you go out
of sight we have to know where and why, and if we don't know why it's not
just our jobs on the line."
 "If I can't go out of sight without a search being mounted, I feel like I'm
gonna scream."

 A hand restrained the first agent when he opened his mouth to reply. They
stepped back for an urgent whispered discussion.
 "C'mon, it's not that important", one decided. "Let her have a little
breathing space once in a while. She can't leave the building or get into a
fix without one of us spotting her."
 Turning to Chelsea, "You won't try to leave the building without an escort,
right?"
 "You got it."
 "Okay, you have the freedom of the building. Enjoy yourself."
 The minders vanished into the crowd and moved to reinforce the watch near
the doors and lifts.
 "She can't get into a fix...", she muttered. "Thats confidence for you. They
don't seem to realize I'm old enough to read between the lines."
 pause
 "I think I'll go ahead and scream anyway."
 "Where can we go in this building?", he whispered.
 Chelsea paused to think about the implications. "No, not together... Go
through the doorway over there. It goes around the corner and past a
first-aid room. I'll go the other way in a few minutes and meet you there."
 "Is it a good idea, you disappearing for a while I mean?"
 "The media won't notice in this crowd, and besides, judging starts in fourty
minutes... see you there."
 She merged into the crowd.

 He followed her instructions, edged his way through the crowd to a nearly
deserted corridor. A little further, around a corner and there was the
first-aid room she'd mentioned. After checking nobody was watching, and
listening for anyone inside, he opened the door a notch, then entered and
closed it behind him.
 The usual mostly-bare medical room, he observed. A few books on a shelf,
anatomical diagrams on the wall, locked drawers, a white-sheeted examination
bed. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic.

 True to her word, a few minutes later she knocked and entered, closing the
door hurriedly behind her.
 "I'm glad to get away from that for a few minutes. Nothing ever changes at
these contests."
 "You seem to handle the public exposure quite well."
 "There isn't any other way to handle it, or even that gets splashed around.
Now I know how the Royals feel... it's no fun. It really stresses you out
sometimes. You can't go anywhere without reporters documenting every move.
You never get used to it. They've said some cruel things about me. If I stop
to think about it, I'll just get angry", she shrugged her shoulders.
 "I think you're nice", he replied.
 "Me?? You gotta be joking."
 "No, You seem like a nice person to me... can I ask a question?"
 "Ummm.. What's that?"
 "Why do you wear all dark blue.. jeans... shirt.. you know what I mean."
 She hadn't expected that, and it showed.
 "Ummm, I don't know, I think it's just 'me'."
 "There was this girl on our school bus, she had bright red hair, much redder
than yours, and a bright blue school jersey. I always thought 'Wow, that
looks neat', nice bright colors, you know.. so I try to do the same, I feel
I'm making the statement 'Im happy the way I look and feel, and nobody can
take that from me'."
 "That sounds like a good attitude, ummm, I don't know, I've never really
thought about wearing anything else, ummm, what are your hobbies?
 "Eating, Cooking, reading, working out at the gym, snorkeling around nature
reserves when I'm in the mood. Caving sometimes. I want to try parachuting
once, at least."
 "I'm into reading a bit of sci-fi, Soccer at school, Dancing, snorkeling as
well. But as you can imagine, my lifestyle has cramped a little lately."
 "Have you read some of Arthur C Clarkes earlier sci-fi stories? They're
brilliant."
 "I haven't seen any, I just buy what I like the look of when I can get out."
 "Check your library. Most have a few books with collections of his short
stories. Another good read is 'Immortality inc' by Robert Sheckley."
 "I've heard about that, isn't that what the movie 'Freejack' was based on?"
 "Yep, thats the one... Have you seen any good movies lately?
 "We get to see everything that looks interesting, as you can imagine.
Jurassic Park was the last decent one I saw."
 "I liked that one too. We got to see it in NZ probably 6 months after it was
released here. There was some good humor in that one too. The Stegosaurus
droppings.. that was funny."
 "Who do you like in the movies?"
 "Jodie Foster... yes, definitely Jodie. She really puts her all into a part,
she has a nice accent, and she's not stereotypically slim like a lot of movie
ladies. She really shone in 'Sommersby' and 'The Silence of the Lambs'. Sissy
Spacek is another favourite of mine, especially in 'The coal miners daughter'
and 'Carrie'. So is Sigourney Weaver. She's cute... I'd love to be married to
her."
 "She's over 40, you know?"
 "Yes, but she's got personality and a sense of humor."
 "Who else do you like?"
 "Ummm... Nicole Kidman, Brooke Shields..."
 "Of course."
 "Elle McPherson."
 "Typical male."
 "Kim Basinger..."
 "Sharon Stone?"
 "No, not her. What about you?"
 She blushed a little.
 "Umm, I haven't really thought about that."
 "How about Arnold Schwarzenegger?"
 "Bleargh!"
 "Sylvester Stallone?"
 "Even worse."
 "Tom Cruise?"
 "MMmmmmm... he's cute."
 "Who else do you like?"
 "You first."
 "Can't think of many others, I'm picky in who I like. Demi Moore is very
nice. She was beautiful in the photos taken when she was pregnant. Winona
Ryder is nice too. I thought she looked good with black hair in
'Beetlejuice', but not the way she was in 'Edward Scissorhands'"
 "What do you look for in a girl?"
 "Me?? You ask a lot of questions, Ummm, thats a good one... the first thing
I look at is a girls general appearance, her outlook, that sort of thing. The
next and most important thing I try to do is look at the sort of company she
keeps. The girl I like has to be an individual and not scared to be herself,
dress the way she likes and so forth. Someone who wants to look like a model
really puts me off, I like someone who's happy the way they are."
 "Is that the kind of girl you want to marry?"
 "No. The girl I marry has to be good at Cooking, Cleaning, Washing and
Ironing."
 She hit his arm.
 "Actually, she has to enjoy digging the Garden, mowing the Lawn, concreting
the Path and fixing the Car."
 She hit his arm again. Harder.
 "Okay, to tell the truth, yes, thats the kind of woman I want to marry. But
that won't be for a few years I think... Come to think of it, Monica Seles is
nice too."
 "Why her?"
 "She seems a nice person in interviews. Besides, the neighbours'd know when
we're in bed."

 Her laughing lips were within an inch of his. It was irresistible. Soundly,
he kissed her on her mouth.

 "Ooh, naughty", she said.
 "Naughty but nice?"
 "Naughty AND nice", she whispered, and gave him a resounding kiss in return.
 He responded by nibbling the nearest earlobe.
 "That tickles."
 He lifted a finger and traced the outline of her face. Ears, Hairline,
cheeks, eyebrows, lips.
 "You've got a nice face, I'd be proud of it if I were you. And you're nice
to talk to. Whoever you decide to marry is going to be a lucky man."
 "You're not just saying that because I'm famous, I hope."
 "That'd be cruel. No, almost everything about you told me you're the kind of
person I like. I really had no idea who you were. And yes, I think you're
definitely in the top 50% for looks."
 "Thats nice to hear, it makes a change to some things I've heard lately."
 "I've read a little of it, even in our corner of the woods."
 "Some TV station used a computer to come up with what I'll look like in five
years, and they said I'd be pretty, then."
 "Well, in five years when that TV station comes back to you for a followup
interview, I hope you quote their words then walk away from the interviewer."
 "That'd be vindictive and nasty... I like it."

 She began leaning toward him. He copied her, and their lips met again.
 He was leaning with his weight on one hand. Unexpectedly she picked his hand
up from next to her, tried to pull it toward her. He misinterpreted her
action and pulled it back, then realized what she had in mind.
 "Where do you want it?"
 This time, she moved his unresisting hand up to place it on her leg, just
above the knee.
 He began stroking around the general area, venturing down, but not higher
than she'd put his hand to start with.

 After a few minutes of this, talking and touching, she pushed his hand
higher up her leg. The skin was much warmer up there.

 Their eyes met.
 Silence.
 "You don't mind?", he asked.
 "No, it's ok, I've just never done this before", she said.
 "Nervous?"
 "A little."
 "If you don't want me to kiss you or anything, you only have to say the
word."
 "No, I like it. I can't believe I'm doing this, though."
 Another awkward silence. Obviously neither wanted to be first to discuss the
subject, for fear of offending the other. They'd have to sooner or later, if
things got any hotter or heavier.
 "Ummm...", she began.
 "If you like, we can set groundrules.. Things you don't want, and I'll stick
by them", he helped her out. There, he'd said it.
 Relieved they were thinking on the same channel, she opened up.
 "Don't take your pants off."
 "Ok."
 "No penetration."
 "I don't want that either. What about a finger or two?"
 "Maybe."
 "Your chest?"
 "No, don't touch me up there."
 "You're sensitive about your breasts?"
 "Yes."
 "Thats ok. I think women are at their most attractive with some clothes
still on. Anything else?"
 Pause.
 "Umm, what do you want to do?", she asked.
 "I'd like to make you feel good, and I don't expect anything in return."
 "How do you mean?"
 "Can I give oral sex to you?"
 "Why do you want to do that?", she said, looking a little queasy at the
idea.
 "I think it's a beautiful thing to do."
 "I really don't know... we'll see."

 He thought for a moment, then pulled his wallet, extracted his Blood donor
card and photographic ID so she'd know he was safe in that respect.

 "I was wondering how to ask about that. Thank you, Aaron."

 He moved closer and reached around to massage her back with his other hand,
while the rubbing, fondling fingers moved in figure eights, advancing higher
and higher toward her crotch. The closer he got, the hotter her leg became.
 When he finally got there, she pulled back and looked into his eyes again.
Shortly she relaxed, as he lightly touched her upper thighs, mound, lower
stomach, occasionally dipping between her legs to momentarily rub her cunny
through the jeans.
 Each time he did that, she tensed a little, but gradually the look of
apprehension was replaced with anticipation of things to come. She shifted
her weight, and he felt her legs move open a little to admit his fingers.
 In response, he began spending more and more time fondling her fanny through
the jeans.
 She leaned further back to savor what he was doing, as his palm rubbed her
mound while the finger dipped between her legs.
 The hand vanished from her mound, reappeared at the top of her jeans, undid
the button and began pulling the zipper down. A finger caressed her shapely
mound through the plain white schoolgirl type panties as they appeared
through the gap. He returned to where he'd left off, rubbing the area around
her waistband, mound, down to the legband then lightly across the fanny. He
could feel hairs through the thin material. Before long, he was rubbing her
mound and cunny nonstop. He glanced up to check for signs that she was
changing her mind, but saw only a face with lust written all over it.

 She looked down, and not at what he was doing, either.
 A smile crossed her face, then she giggled.
 "What?"
 "There's a bulge in your pants. It looks funny."
 "That shouldn't be a surprise, considering your charms."
 "You're not going to..."
 "No, the pants stay on."
 "What was your first time like?"
 "Ummm, it was quite nice. The girl was experienced, I wasn't. So she told me
how she liked it and gave me instructions as we went."
 "What did you do?"
 "She was 17, I was 16. We were introduced at a party, and it turned out we
were both attracted to each other but too nervous to say anything. But the
people around us noticed her looking at me when I wasn't looking at her, and
vice versa."
 He paused to concentrate on Chelsea.
 "Keep going. I'd like to hear about it."
 "A few days later, we were both invited to a friends place, and he and his
girlfriend were already there. Right away when she turned up, the same thing
started happening again, us looking at each other when the other wasn't."
 "They guessed what we had in mind and helped us out, you could say. I think
they were fed up of watching us both being too nervous to make the first
move, and they suggested a game of 'dare' to get the ball rolling. The first
thing they dared was for me to put my hand in her pants."
 "And?"
 "She said 'yes', which really surprised me. So she kneeled on the carpet
facing away from them, I came up from behind and did it. I'd never done that
before, it felt really rude."
 "Did you..."
 "No", he shook his head. "Not everything. She didn't want to, and she knew I
was inexperienced so she took it on herself to teach me. We ended up going
outside. The house was near a quarry, and the only secluded place was in
scrub near the edge, so we could see right across it."
 "She asked if I wanted to continue where we left off. Of course I did, so I
felt her up, then she pulled her pants off. I'd never seen a naked girl
before, so I moved in for a close look. She didn't mind, and opened her legs
up for me. I still don't know why I did what came next, but next thing I knew
I'd just stuck my tongue in there. She liked that and told me so, and gave
instructions on how to do it properly."
 "Did she come?"
 "It took a little while, but yes, she did."

 No fear or signs of worry were obvious by this time. From her more relaxed
posture he correctly guessed she was enjoying it as much as he was.

 "Come on, stand up", he ordered.
 She did so, and he knelt down to undo her shoelaces, and she shook the shoes
off.
 He took hold of her jeans.
 "May I? You know I won't think any less of you if you don't want to."
 "Go on."
 He peeled them down, all the way down, helped pull her feet out, then began
kissing his way up her shapely if somewhat pale legs as he held them. Up past
the knees, the upper thighs. The faint odor of her vaginal musk tickled his
nose as he closed on her panty covered cunny.
 She jumped when he kissed and blew on her mound and nuzzled between her
legs. Plainly she was uncomfortable with the idea of being so intimately
examined and pleasured, but there was plenty of time, and if in the end she
said 'no', a finger was as good as a tongue...
 He wrapped his arms around her and lifted Chelsea back up to her seated
position on the bed, then sat next to her again.
 The moment he started rubbing her cunny through the panties, she gripped his
arm tightly. Her jaw fell open and she sighed. Dampness was obvious on the
crotchband of her panties by now. A couple of thin hairs poked out the side,
hinting at things to come.
 A finger eased inside the tight band and started caressing the skin just
inside her panties.

 She kissed his ear, changed her mind and clamped her mouth onto his neck.
Hickie time, huh? He normally objected strongly to this sort of thing, but he
made an exception this time as he wanted a reminder of this encounter, and
let her nibble to her hearts content.
 His hand eased inside her panties. Smooth hot skin at first, then further in
he encountered the first pubic hairs. Coarser hairs, then came the top of her
damp slit.

 That was it, he couldn't wait any longer. She guessed his intentions when he
stood up again, and closed her legs. Down came the panties, revealing a
nicely formed fan-shape of pubic hair. Red hair, red pubes. No surprises
there. The band clung for a moment between her legs then popped free. Then
they were discarded on the floor.
 He bent forward and kissed the mound, while two fingers edged between her
legs and lightly rubbed the area around her slit, occasionally over it but
making no move to push into it. She looked uncomfortable at that, but not as
much as last time.
 Enough teasing. A finger edged into her crack, promptly found the little
hard clitoris and began rubbing it.

 "God that feels good", she commented a short time later. "Sex is fun."

 He grinned at that, pushed her legs wider open then got back to fingering
her clit while he closely viewed the result of his handiwork. Damp, light
pink inner skin glared back at him from within the folds of her fanny each
time his finger rubbed up and over her clitty. It was interesting to watch
the damp skin mould around his finger and almost surround it as he rubbed
within her crack.

 "Close your eyes", he ordered. "Turn around so you can lie back flat on the
bed, relax and pretend you're making love to someone you've always wanted to.
Just enjoy yourself and don't worry about anything, least of all me."
 She did as he asked. He opened her legs wide, leaned one up against the
wall, the other flat against the bed, and moved in.
 He opened the cunny lips and plunged his tongue in without a second thought.
Immediately it dipped into salty lubricant, and his nostrils filled with the
odor of her vaginal musk. He started licking at the top, moved down to
explore each nook and cranny.

 "Is that your tongue?", she asked.
 "Uh huh", he murmured.
 "It feels different."
 "You don't mind?"
 "No, its ok."

 The saltiness increased near her vagina, which he briefly dipped his tongue
into before heading back up to start work on her clitty. The hard little knob
fully revealed itself when he pulled her cunny lips further open.
Experimenting and exploring, he licked it repeatedly, sucked on it, nibbled
it, played with it. Chelsea remained still, probably still getting used to
the sensation.
 With his free hand he started massaging and rubbing all around the scene of
the action; the mound, upper legs, around her cunny, between her cunny and
anus, then back up. Round and round, touching every hair, every subtle curve,
every inch of skin around her privates, stimulating and pleasuring.
 Looking up, she was following his suggestion and keeping her eyes closed.
Her head was shaking a little from side to side and she was breathing deeply.
 Was there more lubrication forming in her vagina? It looked like it, but he
couldn't be sure, so he put two fingers at the opening of her vagina and
eased it open. The dark tunnel disappeared after a few scant centimeters,
hidden by tightly folded layers of virginal flesh. But the walls were
certainly covered with juice, as he discovered when he rubbed at the
entrance.
 She tensed at that.

 "You know you can tell me if you don't like it, and I'll stop. I don't want
to hurt you."

 She didn't raise any objection, so he swirled the finger into her hole. Up
to the first joint, then things became tighter. He moved it in and out to
spread the lubrication and ease the walls apart, while prepared to stop at
the first sign of hymen. Swirling up until half his finger was inside then
just moving in and out, all the time licking her clitoris. A little further,
and she began to tense again.
 He withdrew at that, used the wet finger to spread the juicy flavor around
the labia.

 "Do you want more tongue?"
 "Lots more."
 "Do you want to try a different way?"
 "Like how?"
 "You could hold your knees to your chest. Or to be different, you could
stand up with one leg on the chair while I kneel in front of you. If you want
to be really rude, I could lie on the bed and you could kneel over my face."
 "Hold on a minute", she asked.
 She sat up, turned around so she was lying across the bed with her legs over
the edge, then put them up on each side, probably hurting her hip joints a
little as she revealed her all.
 "How about this?" she asked, pulling the pillow behind her head to get
comfortable.
 The cunny lips parted a little from the stretching, showing glistening pink
inner flesh.
 He didn't need to be told to continue; instantly Aaron dived back in there
and returned to licking between the wings of her cunny, up and down, playing
with her clitty, flicking it again and again.
 There was a murmur of surprise as she watched what he was doing.

 "If it gets uncomfortable, you can put your legs over my shoulders", he
suggested.
 She thought about this for a moment, giggled at the concept then promptly
tried it, crossing her warm legs over his back to entrap him. Not that he
minded in the least, being held in this position.

 "Have you ever...?", she asked a little later.
 He stopping tonguing so he could talk, replaced it with a finger rubbing her
clitty while he studied her privates from mere inches away.
 "Yes. A few months after the time next to the cliff, we were making out
again in my Car. Her favourite hobby then was rubbing my... well, you know..
where I'm touching you now, to make herself come, after I'd licked her for
awhile first. Usually I'd come first when she did that, and she'd make sure
I'd squirt over her tummy then finish herself off, still using me. I was
virgin and she knew it. She wasn't but didn't feel like doing it, I think her
previous boyfriend hadn't been very nice to her although she never said
anything about it. But as I was saying, one time I was kneeling in the Car
and she was rubbing me up and down where I'm touching you now and..."
 "How did you hold out from just diving in?"
 "It wasn't an option. Guess what her other hand was holding."
 "Oh", she said, grinning.
 "Anyway, she got so randy that she stopped moving, took hold and pulled me
in bit by bit, then told me to go real slow. I was so nervous, not knowing
what to expect or anything, that I hardly felt it and didn't even come. I
guess it was like they say, the first time's the worst time."
 "That sounded like it was nice."
 "It was. She taught me a lot."
 "So I can tell."

 He started to move back down to resume licking.
 "No, don't. It feels nice but it isn't the same as your finger."
 "Mind if I lie next to you?", he asked.
 "Take your shirt off first", she said, moving back into a more comfortable
position on the bed.
 He looked quizzical, but did as he was told, dropping his shirt to the floor
next to her panties before lying next to her. It was a tight squeeze, and he
was in danger of rolling off the edge of the bed.

 "A bit harder with the finger."
 Unexpectedly she reached over and began patting his chest and arm muscles,
exploring their outline. It felt funny, he thought. It was the first time
he'd experienced this sort of attention, and he was unused to it.
 The amount of juices down there was definitely increasing, he decided.
Looking down, he saw the innermost hairs matted with dampness. The finger
could be seen glistening with each upstroke.
 "Faster", she ordered.
 Guessing she was close to an orgasm, he started paying attention to her face
as he rubbed her off. He loved watching the look on womens faces as they
came, it made the effort worthwhile. She was lying there with her eyes
closed, enjoying the sensations his experienced fingers were providing.

 Suddenly he felt her begin tensing her muscles in time with each stroke of
his finger. She shook a few times, moaned faintly then froze, briefly lifted
her lips off the bed and tensed right up. Her legs closed tightly around his
fingers as she trembled in the midst of an orgasm. She was almost completely
silent as she came, which he was surprised at.
 After a good ten seconds she relaxed and lay there, trembled momentarily
then went still.
 "God that was good... thanks Aaron."
 He kissed her, hugged her and chatted with her for as long as she wanted,
until it was time to get dressed 'a little more respectably'.
 Unbidden, he got off the bed, found her panties and pushed her legs into the
holes, started pulling them up for her.

 Actually, while he was in the area... He could still feel the hickies on his
neck. So he planted his mouth against her tummy and started blowing
raspberries there.
 "Stop that!", she demanded.
 Too late. He wanted a little revenge, and his hands went to her sides.
 "AARRGGHH... Stop that.. Ngggg...(Pantpantpantpant)..  Someone will hear
us... (Giggle)... Stop, will you?... No, don't do that!... Grrr..."
 The pitter patter of her fists on his back forced him to stop.
 "Was that as good for you as it was for me?", he asked.
 "NO!" she said, and hit him again.

 She quickly dressed and tidied herself, had him check she was decent.
 "Where are you off to in this country?"
 "Ummm, tomorrow I'm buying a car and heading South then or the day after...
Do you mind if I keep in touch?"
 "Thats what I was getting at. Yes, please."

 "Just wondering, What's White house fare like?"
 "The food? Not bad. As you've probably heard, Dad loves his fast food so we
get it fairly regularly."
 "Can you eat just about anything you want?"
 "Yes, but we keep it simple so it doesn't hit the media."
 "I dunno, if I were in your position there's lots of things I'd like to
try."
 "I tried cooking for the family once, but even the Cat wouldn't touch it."
 "Like they say, men are the best cooks around."
 "HA!!", she sneered.
 "Come to think of it, Americans have some good ideas for food, but when it
comes to it, they can't cook."
 Chelsea looked flabbergasted.
 "Can you do better?", she demanded.
 "I think so."
 "Ok!! Try me!"
 "Do you like Chicken? Mushrooms?"
 "Love them!"
 "Ever tried 'Chicken tonight'?"
 "Heard of it, but never tried it."
 "With a few changes, it's a real treat. Fry some, cook the rest as the
recipe recommends, add Macaroni and Cheese sauce, bacon pieces, and..."
 "Stop that! You're making me feel hungry."
 "Would you like it tomorrow night?"
 "There's no way! They wouldn't allow it, only ingredients come into the
White house, nothing prepared unless the service has checked the retailer."
 "We'll see about that."
 "NOOOO way. You can't do that!"
 "Wanna bet on it?"
 "You're serious, aren't you?"
 "Wanna make that a bet?"
 "What for?"
 "Ummm, how about a packet of Chocolate coated Scorched Almonds? I love
those."
 "You're worse than me. Okay... you're on. And I know I'm going to win."
 He smiled.

 Suddenly the announcement went through the intercom: "The Judging is about
to start. Would owners return to their pets, please."

 "Oh hell, that means me. Sorry, I gotta go."
 "I know."
 Chelsea draped her arms around his shoulders, kissed him full on the lips
then left as cautiously as she'd arrived.

 He tidied up the bed, but couldn't do anything about the wet spots on the
sheet.
 An amusing thought struck him. The room was filled with the smell of sex.
There wasn't any air conditioning, so it would last for a long time. He
wondered what the next occupants would think.
 He checked his appearance in the mirror. Jesus, she'd really gone to town on
his neck alright! Those beauties might even last till he reached the farm.
 After waiting a discreet few minutes, he returned to the contest to watch a
little of the judging.
 He winked at Chelsea when she spotted him, while touching his neck to
indicate the damage. She faintly smiled at her handiwork, then gagged when he
put the finger he'd used on her cunny into his mouth and licked it clean.

 He waved goodbye, began working his way through the crowd toward the exit.
 "Well, will you look at that?", said a nearby lady, loudly enough for him to
hear. "What kind of a girl would do that to a boy? I'd never have done that",
she added as Aaron pretended not to notice.
 "Oh, I'm sure you wouldn't have", replied a sarcastic male voice, probably
her husbands.
 You mean the hickies? Yes, good ones aren't they? Aaron thought.
 "I wonder who the girl was, with that stud?"
 Now, wouldn't you like to know? Take a wild guess... I'm not telling. And
even if I did, you wouldn't believe me.


            The story continues....


 The afternoon sunlight shone through the clear sky over Washington DC,
reflecting on mirrored office blocks and distant apartment blocks. The light
washed over the marble columns and steps of the White house.
 In the gardens, fountains played, gardeners worked, visitors came and went.
The continual hubbub of traffic was barely muted by the short distance to the
road, and the metal fence did nothing to shield the occupants from the
outside.
 Every inch of the area was monitored 24 hours a day by Sentries and Cameras.
Layer upon layer of security protected the complex from any and all intrusion
and eavesdropping.

 Somewhere within, Chelsea Clinton was busy doing her Homework. Presidents
daughter or not, she had to look the all-American 8th grade girl. Right down
to the everyday school and her clothes. The only difference between her and
the other girls was two secret servicemen accompanying her wherever she went,
even sitting quietly in the back of her classes. Embarrassing, to say the
least. The only positive thing was that nobody bullied or harassed her.
NOBODY. She grinned at the thought.

 She was in a good mood today. The addition of little personal touches to
their White house home was going smoothly.
 The first thing to go was the Secret service, from the upper storey outhouse
they occupied in the Bush years, because her bedroom was up there. They'd
objected, but her father had dug his heels in.
 Chelsea was appalled at the color schemes in her and her Fathers bedrooms
when she arrived to take up residence some hours before her parents did, and
determined she wasn't going to leave it that way if she was going to live
here for years on end.
 The recarpeting of her bedroom had been done at last. Her mother had picked
Feltex carpet from New Zealand for her room, saying it was the worlds best.

 The White house; prison or home? The distinction was a fine one. In theory
she could go where she wanted and do as she pleased, but then she had to face
up to the real watchdogs around her - the media.
 As soon as her father, the long-time governor of Arkansas, won the
Democratic party nomination for presidency, she'd followed advice to
sequester her friends to say nothing.
 Just in time; the media had attached themselves like leeches to the
prospective presidential family. In letters from friends back home in Little
Rock, Arkansas, they described media people still trying in vain to wring out
details. But her family had kept her out of it so well that a good proportion
of them didn't even know they had a daughter for a long time, a completely
different approach to that taken with the Carters daughter, Amy, who was
fully exposed to the media. For that she was grateful. At least her
high-profile parents managed to sideline her to the occasional footnote and
the odd mention in a teenage magazine or column. Better them than me, she
thought.
 Unfortunately, that hadn't always been the case. She still remembered the
shock at discovering personal remarks about her. A radio talk show host said
her face looked like it'd had a bag of nickels thrown at it. Another went so
far as to comment on her budding breasts. "Saturday night live" had a skit
about 'Chelseas awkward stage' which prompted her parents to tell her that
people who'd never outgrown schoolground behaviour were paid to say cruel
things.
 Her first day at school threatened to be another media circus, but she
simply avoided them by entering using a side door. The odd snippet still
managed to get out, like the half-true aspirin tablet joke. She needed one
for a stomach ache but the school nurse required parental permission, so
Chelsea said to ring her Dad because he'd be easier to find. The media
misquoted this to "Call Dad, Mums too busy". This came days after the media
got hold of the fact he slept more than when he was Governor or Presidential
candidate... a whole 6 hours a night now.
 After all that, it was hardly necessary for her to be warned against saying
anything to anybody; nothing personal and especially nothing political, as
everything was liable to hit the newspapers. She'd long since decided she
would never allow herself to become a source of amusement or information.

 One of the few positive things from those early days came on Feb 28, 1993,
her 13th birthday. The magazine editor, Jane Pratt, penned a note under the
title 'Tips for a teen'.
 "Be yourself, the coolest thing about you is you are so normal, ignore the
media, keep a journal, throw great parties, play loud music, dance around,
annoy your parents'."
 "Read the former and ignore the latter", her Father suggested when he
spotted her reading the article.
 "Of course I will", she said, both of them knowing full well she wouldn't.

 Now, of all the bizarre things to happen, they'd made a star out of her Cat,
socks. Since then, Socks was in demand at Cat shows and Socks lookalike
contests. Photographers jostled each other to entice it with Catnip to get
closer photos. A book about Socks had hit the news-stands. Much ado about
nothing.. Who ever thought a Black and White moggy could get so much
attention? At least SHE wasn't the centre of attention. Be grateful for small
mercies, she sarcastically thought to herself.
 As a result, Socks received so much fanmail they'd set up a PO box at 1600
Pennsylvania Av, Washington DC. All mail received a typed letter saying "...
Delighted to be your 'first Cat'", signed with a pawprint.
 Every imitation contest judging was the same. Sign my book... Can I have
your photo with my Cat? Sign my book...Move the Cat over here... (Until her
Father told the photographers to "Leave the Cat alone!!")... Sign my book...
Isn't my Cat similar to yours?... Sign my book... <Bla Bla Bla...>

 AARGGGGHHHHH!!!!

 Oh well; in a few short years she'd have her life back.
 She could see the joke; she had to speak on behalf of her Cat. The media
knew almost everything about Socks but little about her. Not for lack of
trying. Wimpy psychiatrists had even tried to judge her personality from her
choice of pet.
 And after the things they'd said, the media wondered why she avoided them
and even accused her of having a bad attitude toward them. Gee, thats a
toughie... I wonder why that would be, she sarcastically thought.



 While considering the finer details of his plan, Aaron took in the
historical sites of the city, then wandered around a bookshop to buy a paper
and browse. He was surprised to see the book about Socks, the Cat he'd
glimpsed last night, and another about Hillary Clinton. Wow.. no time wasted
getting the gossip into hard copy.
 He glanced through a book on the Smithsonian Air force museum, which he
hadn't time to visit. Shortly he spotted the obligatory photo of the original
Wright brothers aircraft in it's pride of place among the historic aircraft.
"The Wright brothers home-built aircraft, the first heavier than air craft to
fly". Well, that showed how little research they'd done. Didn't everyone know
that Richard Pearse, the Canterbury farmer, flew months before the Wright
brothers...

 The idea formed, faded then stuck hard. He bought a paper to read then
headed back to the hotel in the Car he'd just bought.
 He had to hurry to make his plan work. he'd promised Chelsea a special meal
that evening, and he didn't like to break a promise. Once made, they were a
matter of pride and a challenge when need be.
 It was true, there was no way for an outsider to sneak in a prepared meal.
After thinking and thinking, there was only one conceivable way to arrange
things.
 The letter took some time to prepare. It had to be done just right, or it
would disappear without a trace. That was the easy part. Actually getting it
past the gate would be the fun bit. Oh sure, he could send it by mail but
that would take days; no good for his purpose.

 So, around mid-morning he approached the sentries on duty at the White house
entrance.
 "Good morning, Officer."
 "Good morning, Sir", he curtly replied. "Your visitors pass?" he asked, hand
outstretched.
 "No, I don't want to come in. I'm wondering if you could take this inside
when you go off duty" he asked, showing him the letter with the little carved
wooden object securely attached to the outside for easy inspection. He knew
better than to have an unidentified hard object inside a letter to gain the
attention of security people.
 "I'm sorry sir, I can't do that. All mail must enter by the usual way to be
checked before being allowed in."
 "Forgive me, my fault. It's early and I'm still tired from last night. I'm
not asking you to circumvent security, I'm just wondering if you could put
this into todays mailbag to be checked along with the rest of the mail."
 The guard looked impassive.
 He pulled a clean, new ten dollar bill from his wallet, held it up to see,
then pushed it into the guards top pocket.
 A hand reached out for the letter.

 Money talks.

 It was maddening having to communicate indirectly to the wet dream within,
but it would suffice for now, Aaron thought as he returned to his Car.
 He filled the petrol tank, drove to the freeway onramp and turned South.

 The letter passed sniffer dogs checking for drugs and sulphur content, then
the metal detector, and finally a fluoroscope.
 Shortly an internal mailman dropped it into the Kitchen for the perusal of
the staff.

 "First time I've ever seen a letter addressed here for us", a Cook said as
they crowded around to check it out.
 The intrigued staff read it once, then a second time to be sure.
 "Cook the mashed potatoes as per normal, slice an onion finely and...", one
read aloud. "Who does this guy think he is, telling us how to do our job?"
 "Jesus Christ, he's living in hope, isn't he?", another said, reading
further. "He wants to grease Chelsea up with a meal?  If he wants an eligible
woman he can come here, there's some very available ones in this kitchen
right now."
 "And look at THIS!", the first gasped, indicating a paragraph and the little
carved wooden object. "It ain't worth our jobs to do this!"
 "He's payin' enough though", the second replied, holding up the hundred
dollar tip on top of the money included to pay for the ingredients.
 pause.
 "Okay, we do or we don't?"
 They grinned.
 "I'll get the ingredients", one decided, taking a mental note to buy more
than necessary so they could sample it too.

 Weird things go on around here, thought Socks, as he tried to sneak into the
Kitchen unobserved. He was hungry as always.
 Just last week, those oddball Cats had tried again to convert him to their
cause. He was marking out his territory in the garden, when two of them
approached him.
 Hello? He greeted them. They weren't infringing on his territory, and so
long as they kept that up he didn't mind their presence.
 Don't you feel ashamed of yourself? one asked.
 Not particularly. Why?
 Join the revolution, they implored him. Flee this refuge of capitalism, join
your feline brothers in the struggle against fascist oppression.
 Get yourself a new line, he laughed at them.
 Traitor! Enemy of the people! Class oppressor! they shouted at him. You live
in the lap of capitalist luxury while your brothers starve in the streets!
 They crossed the invisible line marking his territory, and he attacked.
Surprised by the unexpected onslaught, they ran, and he hardly made contact
with fur.
 We'll send a big black Cat to watch you, they shouted as they vanished.
 Yeah right, he called after them.
 But that encounter, brief as it was, had an unexpected sequel a few days
ago. He'd been stalking the corridors, minding his own business as he trudged
toward Chelseas bedroom, when he noticed the footsteps behind him were a
little close for comfort. He'd sped up, but too late he realized he'd run
right into the trap.
 "Gotcha!", said his captors.
 Lemme go, he yelled. I haven't done anything to deserve... Oh, NOOO... he
said, recognizing the familiar bottle.
 FLEAPOWDER!!!
 Worse, nobody let him go near them until the next day, when the smell of the
powder had dissipated.

 Chelseas mother broke off whatever she was doing at 4:30 as always when her
daughter came home from Sidwell. She always did her best to help her out with
homework, and the little extra attention also helped take her mind away from
the isolation and her friends back home in Arkansas.
 She missed them a lot. Sure, she could chat and write but she missed their
outings and seeing them face to face. Regularly, one sent videotapes of her
friends' horseplay and shots around the home town, which helped ease the
distance. She'd reciprocated once, but hated being by herself in the tape,
let alone being photographed.

 Nice smells were coming from the Kitchen. Socks, inquisitive as always,
nosed his way in there and began sitting quietly, hoping somebody would take
pity on his sad, hungry, pleading face.
 He was shunted out the door the moment he was noticed.

 Hillary had just left, when Socks came in. He'd climbed the stairs and now
he marched right up to the teenager to rub against her leg.
 Food. I want food. I'm hungry, he purred and meeowed and pushed against her
leg.
 Chelsea picked him up and sat him on her lap, then returned to her homework.
 <Groan> thought Socks. Can't you ever understand me when I talk to you? Are
your ears filled with wax or something? At least it's nice and warm here, he
decided. He curled up on her lap and purred for awhile before falling asleep.

 Somebody knocked at her door.
 "Come in."
 It was her favourite waiter, the one who told her all sorts of jokes when
her father wasn't around.
 "Evening, Chelsea. Is a Chicken dish alright for dinner tonight? Someone
requested it for you."

 FOOD!!!! Socks perked up. Finally, someone has said something interesting.

 "What?"
 "Is a Chicken..."
 "I heard, it's fine, how did it get in?"
 "Someone requested it in a letter and prepaid the ingredients. The dish is
something called 'Chicken tonight' thats been splashed over the TV, with a
few changes. We're kind of wondering, down in the Kitchen... Could you tell
us who it is? The letter didn't say."
 She shook her head.
 "Sorry, I know how gossip works around here."
 He handed her a sealed note from inside the letter, which she examined then
pocketed to open later.
 The waiter smiled, then left to continue with his chores.

 "Evening Chelsea, mind if I come in?", her father asked a short time later
 She was doing a short essay on the Bald Eagle, the American symbol of
freedom, and which seemed never to be found near Americans any more.
 "What's happened to you? You're wearing bright colors today, Chelsea. Very
nice. I'll have to wear shades if you get any brighter", he joked, misquoting
the song.
 "Ta, Dad. I just wanted a change, thats all."
 "Last night wasn't so bad, was it?"
 "It was excellent!!", she beamed.
 "Thats good. We're glad you're ignoring the press and enjoying yourself more
these days. We won't allow them to take up too much of your time, of course.
Your schoolwork's more important", he said in his fatherly tone.
 "And how's our Cat, eh?", he said, changing the subject. "You've been acting
real funny today, Socks. Sniffing all over the place when I was addressing
the media outside. Half of them were photographing you, instead."
 He picked up Socks from his daughters lap, put him on his.
 Socks tolerated this for about five seconds, then jumped off and returned to
Chelsea.

 "Darned Cat never seems to like males. It hangs around me all day because I
feed it, but when it comes to it he even chooses visitors over me. Truly
strange animal."
 "Maybe we're more warm blooded?", she giggled.
 "Possibly."
 Partly true, Socks thought. His sensitive little pink nose turned up as he
returned to his former position on Chelseas lap. Human males are cold, hard
and lumpy. And they don't smell like Dinner.

 When teatime came around she pulled Socks off her lap, disentangling the
claws he dug into her jeans in an effort to stay where he was, and set him on
the ground.
 She tipped the remainder of the drink into her mouth, crunched the last
chunks of Ice, then went downstairs.

 What on Earth has Aaron made up for me, she wondered. No doubt his letter
had a forwarding address so she could keep in touch and tell him what she
thought of tonights dinner. She hoped the rest of the family weren't having
Pizza or McDonalds tonight so she wouldn't look out of place.

 "What's for tea?", Bill was asking of Hillary when she reached the dining
room.
 "No fast food tonight, my dear. We've got some proper food for once."
 Bill looked disappointed, and resigned himself to whatever was in store.
 "Someone requested this specially for you, Ma'am", the waiter who brought in
Chelseas dish said to her.
 She examined the steaming chicken and pasta, and took an experimental
nibble.
 "This IS nice", she finally said.

 Socks nuzzled against her leg. He could smell every ingredient, every spice,
and it was making his mouth water. C'mon, nice human, nice human, spare a
crumb for a poor starving Cat...
 She shoved the moggy aside with a foot.
 Bugger it!  You make me eat that cold Canned crap in the Kitchen, then you
leave me to smell and listen to you lot eating decent food. He rubbed against
Chelseas leg again. Feed me! She stroked Socks sides with her feet. No, that
is NOT what I want! He tried repeatedly to get his message across, then gave
up in disgust and sulked under the table.

 Meanwhile, Bill pursed his lips in thought.
 "The Cooks have been experimenting, I see. This sauce on my Broccoli is
excellent. I'll have to congratulate them in person."
 "Same here", Hillary replied. "They cooked some sliced onions with my mashed
potatoes. I've never tried that before."
 She looked over towards her husbands meal.
 "Bill, there's something next to your plate. The waiter must have left it."
 He searched around and discovered the finely carved little wooden Kiwi
waiting there. Intrigued, he examined the label on it.

 "BUY KIWI MADE", it said.

 He looked disappointed.
 "I plainly remember telling the staff I didn't want any mention of politics
after work unless it was important. I have enough every day without a stunt
like this being pulled."
 "Cheeky, aren't they?" Hillary replied when she saw the label. "First the
nuclear ships issue, then they criticise our economic strategy."
 "Maybe they're only thinking about us?" Chelsea suggested.
 "How do you mean?", Bill asked.
 "The pacific trilateral defence agreement's name doesn't sound right without
the 'Z' in it."
 "Don't be rude", her father shot back.
 His expression towards his daughter became stern.
 "Chelsea, you may unwittingly have been used to put a message across.  Under
these circumstances, I feel I'm entitled to read that note you got."
 She started. The word had spread, fast.
 "No, I haven't. It has nothing to do with it. It's private, for me."
 "Come on, Bill. We've lost enough privacy with the media hounds watching our
every move", her mother interjected. "Don't take more of hers away. This is
all quite harmless. They're saying we can ignore it or we can come to the
table.  Personally, I wouldn't mind more diplomacy like this", she said as
she swallowed another forkfull of dinner.
 "Ummm, yes, it makes a nice change", he admitted. "Only a New Zealander
would do something like this. I wonder what they'll get up to next...
challenge out of turn for the Americas cup again?"
 "So we can bring the Catamaran out of storage?", Hillary laughed.
 "I'm amazed the San Diego yacht club got away with that stunt. But then, we
started the contest, so we can interpret the rules any way that suits us", he
replied.
 "Not quite", replied Hillary. "The amount of civil justice you get depends
on how much you spend, not on whether you're right or wrong. The San Diego
yacht club spent the most money on Court rulings, so they won the Legal
battle."

 Big deal, thought Socks. That doesn't have anything to do with food.
 Silent and unobserved, he padded through the silent corridors to the
Kitchen. The Cooks didn't mind his presence this time, and their looks
promised some leftovers for him tonight.
 The cold, soft, lifeless, soggy, gray, smelly, repulsive unpalatable muck
that passed for his food was waiting for him. Be a good Cat, and you might
get some pudding, he thought.
 Five minutes later, he was hungry as always.

 Socks found the family in a TV room, watching the news while Hillary read
her copy of the "Sunday star" newspaper airmailed each week from New Zealand.
 After the news was "Evening shade", Hillarys favourite sitcom (Chelsea was
convinced her Mum liked Burt Reynolds). At that point, Chelsea wandered off
to catch up on CNN news before switching to a movie channel.

 Onscreen was the skeletal figure of Death, clutching his scythe, trying to
convince a group of partygoers that they were dead, but wasn't getting very
far.
 She knew this movie, now what was it... Yes, that's it, Monty Pythons "The
meaning of Life", she remembered.
 Finally, Death convinced the partygoers of the possibility of their demise.
 One promptly piped up; "Well, I just have to say that..."
 "SHUT UP!" said Death, who was rapidly losing his temper.
 His tirade continued; "I hate you Americans... You taaaalk and you taaaaalk
and you say 'I just wanna say this..', well you're DEAD now, so SHUT UP!"

 So it's true, Chelsea thought. God loves America but everyone else hates
it.

 What's that got to do with Food, thought Socks, waking at the racket from
the brightly glowing colored rectangular box humans liked to stare at. Weird
creatures, humans. He stretched his paws and jumped off Chelseas lap, then
headed for the Kitchen to see if the Cooks had finished and put out a plate
of warm leftovers for him yet.
 They still hadn't, so he went outside through the catflap near the Kitchen
to explore his territory in the twilight.

 "The wanderin' Tom is out there again", remarked a security guard monitoring
a bank of low-light TV cameras.

 Socks paused. That familiar smell again. Stronger this time. He looked
around him, but didn't see anything. Eventually he settled his gaze upon a
thick bush in the middle of a garden.
 Okay, come on out, whoever you are, he demanded.
 Instantly an orange and yellow cat pounced from behind the bush, and started
advancing toward him.
 Oh, her... He'd spotted her several times lately, leering at him.
 Hello there, you big sexy hunk of a Feline, said the stranger.
 What're you doing around here? Socks demanded.
 Funny that, I was about to ask you the same thing, she said.
 You don't belong here.
 I go where I please.
 You've been watching me, haven't you?
 Don't try and pull the fur over my eyes, you watch your neighbours just like
everyone else.
 Are you one of those whackos thats been around here?
 Ve haf ways of making your talk, comrade. Yes, they tried their spiel on me
too. Nobody takes much notice of them.
 I told you, you don't belong here, he said, uninterested in this stranger.
 Sassy boy hasn't even marked out his territory properly. You're getting
slack...
 Socks anger flared and he charged the intruder, claws outstretched.
 Oh, I never knew you cared, she said, easily fending him off. He landed in a
confused heap on the grass.
 You're outta your league in this neighbourhood, boy, she said, laughing.
 Stop laughing at me, this isn't fair, Socks grizzled.
 You need to put some wire back into those muscles. Too much easy living,
thats your problem.
 If you think it's easy in there, you oughta try it.
 No thanks. Say... maybe I can help fitten you up, but you gotta be nice to
me first.
 And what do you expect me to do?
 You've a lot to learn. You really are a pussy, aren't you?
 A delicate tail rubbed against his. Her fur was soft and warm, and smelled
of the trees she'd been rubbing against. For a moment it reminded him of the
home he'd recently left.
 Wanna play?, she asked.
 They dashed over to the undergrowth in a nearby garden.

 "More darned Cats", growled one guard to another, listening to the ruckus a
minute later. "This garden must be breeding central in Washington."
 Grins crossed their faces at the same time.
 "My turn with the fire hose", one said.

 Hey, I'm not into this kinky stuff, said Socks. Get your claws outta me,
girl.
 Looks who's talking. You know you love it, so don't complain, she said,
digging her claws in harder still.
 He yowled even louder.
 The force of the freezing hosewater sent them both rolling from their warm
hiding place and across the lawn.
 Too shocked even to scream, she hurtled off in one direction while he went
the other way, heading toward the waiting Catflap. He didn't make it.

 The probe ship from Omega centauri was hovering above the White house,
invisible and unseen by anyone or any instrument. One of the Secret
servicemen thought he'd picked up an odd swish and rumble on his directional
microphone as it moved into place some minutes before.
 "Yes, I'm positive this is the place", one Omegan said to the other. "Now
lets find a specimen to implant for observation, someone who won't be missed
for awhile."
 "That won't be easy, the other said. This countrys leader is heavily guarded
and constantly being approached. Count him out. Any ideas?"
 "Aha!! Right there, I've found just what we're looking for. Someone whose
presence won't be thought unusual, wherever he may be."
 "Who?"
 "You'll see. Energize the tractor beam."
 Socks was about to crash through the catflap, when his claws met air. Huh?
He rose through the air and a moment later was inside the Omegan vessel.
 Nice joke, he said when he ended up on a warm, comfortable examination
table.
 Odd noises came back to him from the two bald-headed spacesuited aliens
looking at him. The sounds changed in pitch then became voices he could
understand.
 "Locked onto it's brainwaves, the translator will be working now. He can
understand us", was the first thing he heard.
 They turned their attention toward him.
 "Well now, my little friend. You've been chosen to receive the first of the
series eleven Brain implants. We're going to use it to listen around you and
learn about this planets resources."
 In celebration of this minor speech, he threw a piece of chocolate into the
air and caught it in his mouth.
 "Gimme some food and then we'll talk turkey", he replied.
 The Omegans looked at each other, then back to Socks.
 "This isn't a deal. You have things, resources, we want. And you're going to
help us find them, friend."
 "I'm not interested in sharing my dinner with you."
 "We don't care how you feel about it. You have Plutonium, which we're not
allowed to produce thanks to our damned environmentalists, so we're going to
take yours."
 "Are you guys even from the same planet?" Socks sneered.
 "No, we're not. We're from somewhere beyond your Moon."
 Another piece of Chocolate curved through the air. This time, the Omegan had
to adjust his position slightly to catch it.
 "The Moon? Isn't that made of American cheese? Did you bring some? I *LOVE*
Cheese", Socks said.
 The Omegans looked at each other again, surprised looks on their blue faces.
 "We'll forget you said that", they replied.
 They began sorting out equipment for the implant. Large piercing devices
whose purpose he couldn't fathom were soon piled several feet high at the end
of the table he was on.
 Another piece of chocolate sailed through the air, was expertly caught on a
forked tongue.
 "Stop stuffing your face with those, or you'll end up looking like a Human",
the other Omegan growled.
 "Sorry, I can't help it, these New Zealand Chocolates are so good they're
addictive."
 "You sound like a Coca cola advertisement hidden in the middle of a movie...
I still can't believe you fell for some kid leaving a line of Chocolates, we
nearly got caught that time, you Schmuck!"
 "Nice Can-opener" Socks interrupted, looking at one of the instruments. "So
you've got food for me after all?"
 The aliens paused their argument.
 "I'm beginning to have doubts about the suitability of this specimen for the
type eleven implant."
 "Agreed. Lets give him the old type seven instead."
 "But that'll fill most of it's cranial capacity."
 "Specimens from this planet only utilize ten percent of their brain
capacity. We'll remove the rest and nobody will notice."
 "Brains?" said Socks. "I like Brains. They taste good and remind me of..."
 "SHUT UP!" they said in unison.
 "Found it", came the voice of the second Omegan. He was holding the implant
up for Socks to see. It was a 3 cubic inch box with a 6 inch wire for
insertion into the spinal canal, where it was least likely to be found.
 "This'll take time to install. Lets hope nobody notices he's missing in that
time."
 "The staff in the Kitchen will... They promised me some leftover Chicken
with Cheese sauce and Bacon pieces on it this evening."
 The Omegans looked like they wanted to strangle him.
 "The intelligence people must have got their wires crossed again. Totally
unsuitable subject... Flush his memory of us then GET HIM OUTTA HERE!!", the
leader finally decided.
 "Lets grab John Banks, New Zealands minister of Police instead. Nobody will
miss him no matter how long we borrow him."
 A porthole opened and they caught a whiff of outside air. "PHEW!!" went one,
wrinkling his nose in disgust. "No wonder the Geminis call this 'The great
unwashed country'" he said, looking at Socks.
 "Hey, it isn't my fault I was born here, I like this country just as much as
you...", he managed to get out before the funny sound began in his ears, and
he fell sound asleep.
 The moment he was unconscious, the protein depolarizer erased his recent
memories then Socks dropped from sight in the tractor beam.

 He woke on the grass next to the same Bush he'd been drenched in. Brrrr...
How did he get there? He could think of better places to sleep. His hunger
strangely forgotten, he padded through the silent corridors toward Chelseas
bedroom, then froze in his tracks. He'd just caught a whiff of Chicken, and
pondered for a moment. The memory of tonights dinner came flooding back,
although everything between then and when he'd woken was a blank. Odd.
 He changed course and snuck into the Kitchen, only to find the Cooks
finishing the last of the excess food they'd prepared. The rotten beggars
hadn't saved anything for him!
 It wasn't any use sulking over eaten food, so he headed up the stairs to
Chelseas bedroom.
 His mistress was eating a cupfull of Icecream in bed, after stirring it with
her spoon to 'Mr Whippy' consistency.

 Icecream!! He LOVED Icecream!!

 He leapt up onto her bed and began stalking Chelseas dessert.
 "Oh, there you are, Socks. I was wondering where you'd got to. C'mon... up
here" she indicated to the furball.
 "Want some Icecream, huh?" she asked when he arrived.
 Yes please...
 She scraped the last spoonfull from her cup and held it out to him. Mindful
of Feline etiquette as always, he politely approached the offering and
sniffed first.
 He was scant millimeters away when Chelsea withdrew the spoon and licked it
clean, grinning as she did so.

 AAAARRGGGHHHHH!!

 "You're wet", she observed. "Where've you been? Playing with the garden
sprinklers again, I suppose."
 He padded over her warm body, around her book then right up to her face.
 "What do you want, hmmm??" she asked, scratching his back where he liked it.
He began purring with contentment, then licked her chin with his sandpaper
tongue.

 "How many times do I have to tell you, don't lick my face!" she said as she
pushed him away.

 Mmmmm... a nice bit of Chicken flavour tonight, he thought as he licked his
fur. I wonder what tomorrow will bring.
 He curled up in a ball on her bed against her warmth, shook himself,
stretched his claws then relaxed and fell asleep.

 * * * * * * * *

 "Would all passengers please be seated and put your seatbelts on. We will be
landing in five minutes.  Thank you", said the flight attendant.
 What?? Oh?? Damn... but what a dream. Too much reading up on current affairs
and local news before landing in a new country, Aaron decided.
 After checking his watch was set to the local time he was flying into, he
switched his headset radio to a local FM station to catch a weather report,
as he'd slept through the pilots announcement.

 Bla bla bla... "And Socks the Cat will be appearing tonight at the downtown
convention centre for the judging of the best imitation in America."
 "Well Bob, thats one event the Cat lovers out there can't miss", began the
monotonous commentator cum radio station boss's butt licker.

 Aaron perked up. The sleepless night coming up wasn't going to be a total
loss after all.

 * * * * * *

      "America, the only country thats advanced from Barbarism to
       Degeneration without stopping at Civilization."
                   - my History teacher.

--