Discovering Desires:Erotic Adventures

by Harley Callahan

  Discovering Desires

  By Harley Callahan

  Copyright 2013

  Table of Contents

  In The Beginning

  A Little Background

  Gardening Angel

  Savannah Strings

  Savannah River Club

  A Great Ride

  The Lake House

  Swinging Vines

  Author's Note

  About Harley Callahan

  Amazon Edition, Licensing Notes

  In The Beginning

  Kevin Kingston Fitzwater popped my cherry our junior year in college at the University of Georgia. We met in a film study class, partnered on a project involving Steven Soderbergh’s smart and funny Sex, Lies and Videotape. My new buddy “Fitz” found a copy of the screenplay and was constantly trying to get me to act out the female parts while he pretended to “roll camera.” Fitz loved my full breasts and red curly hair. He made lame excuses for bumping into my chest as he zoomed in with his video recorder during and after class.

  Fitz was also on the UGA baseball team. One early spring evening, he stopped by my sorority house on his return from practice. After hopping the short fence, he strolled up the walkway to the historic brick, two-story mansion and whistled at me. He eased his tight buns down onto the third step. I was perched on the porch on an overturned vintage milk bottle box. I was also pretending to gaze at the sky while ignoring his whistling. I hated whistling.

  Fitz poked me. “Hey, Marnie. I’ve got some news.”

  I looked down at him and reached out to poke back. We were acting like third graders.

  “Fitz. Hi. Did you say something?”

  “Yeah. Let’s go celebrate. I’m starting at shortstop tomorrow!” he shouted to the rising moon, as he punched the air with his fist.

  “Hey! That’s great! First game of the season and you’re the starting shortstop. Finally. Can’t wait to pencil your name in the lineup book.” We had more in common than my boobs and the film class: I was the scorekeeper for the baseball team, and have loved the game since my childhood.

  “I’m batting eighth, though. But at least I’m starting in the infield.”

  “You’re batting first in my book, ha ha ha.” I grinned down at Fitz’ smiling face. His sweaty blond hair was matted to his forehead but otherwise he looked almost edible in those too-tight gray sweat pants. Tall for a shortstop, with quick soft hands, Fitz might be major league material in a few years.

  “What’s that you said about celebrating? Do I need to change?” Wearing a skirt and UGA sweatshirt, I sported the standard campus outfit for a contemporary sorority girl at the time.

  The great baseball beast pulled my right arm and forced me to stand up. He lifted me under the arms, carried me down the stairs to the sidewalk, put me down, and pointed to his belly. “Nah. Me starving now. Must have pasta. You. Come. Me hero,” he said, and then pounded his chest like Tarzan.

  “Right. Hero. Not even one game under your belt and you’re already snagging that line drive four inches from the dirt, inhaling the dust, loving the applause. Sheesh!” I pushed him. “Where are we going anyway?”

  “Dining hall. Best meal in town.”

  “Gee, you really are going all out for the special night, aren’t ya?” I teased.

  Fitz ignored me and we sauntered towards the dining hall where we both had meal plans.

  After uninspired plates of fettuccini alfredo and hard winter tomato salad, we walked toward the athletic complex. He held my hand as we climbed the football field bleachers. The sweet scent of fresh-cut grass mingled with Fitz’ clean tee-shirt smell and I inhaled deeply. On the field, the UGA marching band was practicing music and formations for an upcoming St. Patrick’s Day parade in Savannah.

  We sat down next to each other at the top of the deck, backed up against the announcing booth. He reached for my hand, placed it on his knee, and hummed along with the traditional Irish tunes, nodding his head from side-to-side. He seemed relaxed and content. Among his many quirks was a love for band music.

  I admired his strong forearm muscles and watched them flex as he stroked my palm with his index finger. Where our bodies touched, his skin felt warm. His breath smelled like the chocolate chip mint ice cream we shared for dessert. With all my senses thus aroused, my pussy involuntarily contracted and my panties dampened.

  Fitz and I had flirted often and I knew that he was attracted to me, and I to him, but I enjoyed the bantering and the chummy relationship. My girlfriends had related stories about sex ruining friendships and I didn’t want ours to go that route.

  Fitz moved his arm around my shoulder and hugged me. He dropped several fingers onto the top of my right breast. Giggling, I elbowed his thigh, brushing my arm against his obviously bulging crotch.

  “Eh, Marnie. Watch me precious jewels there, darlin” Fitz warned in his worst Irish brogue.

  “Oh, so that’s what that is? I thought you might still have a cup in there. It feels pretty hard and--”

  In a flash he ducked his face toward mine and we were kissing, sweet fluttery kisses at first, followed by open mouths and probing tongues. Minutes passed as we explored each other’s taste for the first time. I pulled back and his eyes searched mine; we both sought confirmation. As my right hand cupped his balls, I moved my chest closer to his. I rubbed his hardness with the heel of my hand, feeling the heat through his clothes.

  His confident hands moved down my back then stopped at the top of my ass, fingertips tingling over my exposed flesh, exciting me further. My hips thrust toward his. I wanted complete body contact.

  “Slow down, Marnie. Whoa. What’s doing here?” I didn’t answer and again our lips found each other. Even though I was a novice, I wanted to suck his cock, right there on the bleachers, but I also didn’t want to stop kissing him. Again I pulled my face away from his, blushing with arousal and carnal images.

  “Hey. Fitz,” I said, licking his salty taste from my lips.

  “Mmmm?” he muttered. Fitz looked at me half-lidded while he stroked the back of my head and twirled my long red hair. He kissed my forehead. “You’re as yummy as I imagined. So sweet,” he murmured into my temple.

  I didn’t want to break the spell so I said nothing and cradled his blonde curls as he burrowed into my chest. For many minutes, we clung together. Raising his head and gently pushing my shoulders with both of his hands, he separated us. As we broke apart, we stared at one another, breathless and wanting.

  Looking around and finding no one else so high up on the bleachers, Fitz slid his sweat pants below his ass toward his thighs and leaned further back into the shade of the wooden announcers’ booth. His stiff organ stood at attention, like the band leader on the field.

  I noted the obvious, “Looks like you’re ready to hit a homerun”. Fitz motioned for me to sit on his lap. Nervous and curious, yet aroused like never before, I inched my left hip up then slowly slid onto his thighs. We both faced the field. His hot sweaty flesh seared the back of my spreading legs and I loved it. His fingers explored my wet pussy from the front. My butt cheeks clenched and squeezed his wooden bat, which pulsed in return.

  “So what’s the game plan, Coach?” he whispered to the back of my head.

  “Um, no, yeah, well, hmmm. Hit and run? Hardly. How about a double steal?” I answered, as I reached between our legs, slid my panties aside, and slipped him gently into my waiting wetness, ignoring our surroundings. Feeling his hot thick member slide past my home plate, I gasped. I lifted myself off his thighs as he slid almost all the way out. But I needed him again deep, much deeper. I wanted my pussy to swallow him and hold him close but I couldn’t stop myself from rising and fa
lling onto his thighs again and again, squeezing my leg and ass muscles with each downward thrust. Fitz’ tight abs helped him rock his hips forward and back, and we moved together with his hot breath on the back of my neck.

  With one hand, I held onto a metal bleacher step, and with the other I massaged his balls, amazed at the volume of wetness surrounding us. My fingers slid onto my love bud and I nearly screamed aloud at the pleasure. I rubbed myself while Fitz thrust into me, and I was surprised how quickly I came. I know I shouted something because Fitz said “Shhhhh” into my ear, laughing. With a final upward push and a dozen short breaths, Fitz exploded. At that moment, the stadium lights slammed on in rapid succession. We were caught. Fitz was oblivious. As he slowed his rocking movements, I contracted my muscles and focused on squeezing every drop out of him.

  I had finally found the right guy to teach me how to play ball.

  A Little Background

  Many of my Kappa Alpha Theta sorority sisters married right after college. I was an attendant in fifteen weddings, and even stood as best man once. An avid recycler before the “green” movement even began, I donated the entire wedding garb collection to Goodwill. With a business degree, and a deserved reputation as a party organizer, I started a wedding planning business at a time when wedding planners were practically a requirement for affluent brides of the South.

  On a trip to Tybee Island, Georgia during spring break, I had spent some time in Savannah and uncovered myriad charming and unusual party sites. After I moved to Savannah, I encouraged several of my sorority sisters to get married downtown amidst the azaleas and the live oak trees with the trailing Spanish moss. I visited local caterers, inquired about organic foods, and even found a printer who was experimenting with soy ink. As the company grew, I developed a niche for planning creative, elegant weddings with natural, recyclable, and healthy elements woven into the event.

  Around the millennium, even though the business was doing well, I still needed to explore other earth-friendly venues, decoration materials, wedding attire, flowers, and even jewelry. Research was extant and fun, and offered many unusual opportunities for my second passion: sex in an observable, potentially-discoverable locale. The adventure with Fitz on the bleachers lit a torch to my latent coitus curiosity. I have learned since that flesh sessions in a public place heighten my pleasure in ways that bedroom tumbles do not. With no steady boyfriend, my daily work included scouting for carnal commerce.

  Gardening Angel

  Although yellow roses are my favorite, I try to steer my clients toward flowering plants and herbs for church and table decorations. Occasionally I become a table decoration myself.

  Two weeks ago, a new client came in for her first planning meeting. The wedding was seven months away, so we had plenty of time to work out the details. During the session she inquired as to my flower preferences, whether I thought short or tall arrangements were in style, and should she carry a big bouquet or just a few long stems?

  “Pip.” Yes, that was her name. I smiled. It was hard not to laugh. “It’s your wedding. I’m your wedding planner. Tell me what you want and I’ll try to convince you otherwise.”

  “Roses. And lots of ‘em. I’m a southern girl and that’s what we do.”

  I sighed. This was going to be more difficult than I thought.

  “Okay, I understand. But you know that they only last a day. And the growers in South America are dumping their roses on the U.S. market way below market prices. Cheap blooms from these markets are devastating the U.S. rose industry. It’s been hit hard by all this. It’s un-American to use roses, in my opinion.”

  “Well, um. Okay, I see what you mean.”

  Since I’m an avid gardener, I suggested she consider other possibilities which might last more than one day. Cut flowers always remind me of funerals, and besides, they’re just plain wasteful. Pip was curious yet dubious, so I offered to set up an appointment at my local garden supplier. She agreed. I called Reggie after she left.

  “Hey. Reggie. It’s Marni.”

  “Mmmmm… Marni.”

  “Stop it. I need to bring a client in and you have to educate her on flowering plants available in October. She wants roses and I want to talk her out of them.”

  “How ‘bout I talk you outta your pants and we go from there?”

  “Interesting idea, but I have to earn a living. How does Monday afternoon work for you?”

  “We’re pretty busy right now, being Spring and all. I guess I could squeeze ya in, if ya beg.”

  “I never beg, Reggie. This could be a big job for you; 400 people are coming to this wedding.”

  “Arlinda is gonna like the sound of that. Mondays are usually pretty slow, but I’m here by myself.”

  “Maybe I’ll come early.”

  “Does that mean you’ll come first, like last time? Then let me have at ya?”

  “Reggie. That was fun, I’ll admit. I’ll see you around three on Monday. Pip will be with me.”

  “You and–“

  “Don’t say it. That’s the bride’s real name, so try not to laugh when you shake her hand. She’s… uh, …delicate.”

  “She won’t be no fun then. See ya Monday.”

  Reggie hadn’t quite finished high school, but at twenty-eight years old he still had time. Not the most brilliant bookworm, Reggie had many other talents. Since he was raised on his granddaddy’s bamboo farm, he could make anything grow, especially the native plants he loved. Around the house he shared with his sister, he cultivated the tallest magnolias, the showiest camellias, a variety of ferns and azaleas, and a quarter-acre organic herb and vegetable garden. He had broad, strong hands and his fingers often smelled like rosemary, a scent that makes me swoon.

  Reggie’s wavy acorn-colored hair was pulled back in a red bandanna while he worked around his sister Arlinda’s garden shop. Tall, tan and beefy with a quick smile and an even quicker tongue, he was easy to spot when I stopped the Prius beside the green and white wooden building with the new sign: Gardening Angel. Cute.

  I was more than an hour early, but no other cars were in the lot so I assumed I had Reggie to myself. I couldn’t let him know that this morning’s ablution included lathering, rubbing, and a soft warm spray on my pussy from the hand-held shower head. Thoughts of hard, naked Reggie made me hot, and I tried not to pant as I stepped out of the car.

  He was kneeling near the ground, talking softly to a collection of plants. I couldn’t hear the words, but his mellifluous tone was sensuous.

  “Do you always caress the rosebushes with your words?” He reached around and grabbed my ankle, ran his hand up my skirted leg and around the top of my right thigh and across my ass. He slipped one finger into my damp pussy, then turned his head to the side and squinted up at me.

  “Marni. Bad girl. Do you always come to business meetings without any panties?”

  “Only when there’s a sexy guy willing to check and see.”

  Reggie withdrew his hand then stood and spun in one fluid movement. His left hand took hold of the back of my head and he pulled me closer as he bent down to kiss me. At least that’s what I thought he was going to do.

  “You look great,” he said an inch from my nose. He put two fingers from his other hand in his mouth. “And you taste great, as always.”

  I didn’t move, but poked his taut tee-shirted chest. “And you, Sir, are presumptuous. I was just making idle chit-chat while waiting for my client.”

  He checked his watch. “She won’t be here for at least an hour. Do you wanna see what’s new in the shop?” He reached for my hand. I hooked my hand in his and pulled him toward me. He kissed me sweetly, almost piously. I kissed back, hungry and insistent with a searching tongue.

  “Sure, why not? Anyone else around?”

  Reggie shook his head. “Don’t think so. But all the doors are unlocked, who knows?” We grinned at each other.

  We walked toward the building to the employees’ entrance which was on the back of the building, away f
rom the parking lot and the traffic. The first room was the cleanest stockroom I had ever seen. Reggie was meticulous and proud of his work.

  “What have you been up to, Reggie?” I asked on entry.

  “The usual. Plannin’, orderin’, gettin’ ready for our busy season.” He spread one arm wide to indicate the unpacked boxes of gardening supplies in the stockroom. I looked around then back to his smiling face.

  “I suppose that includes fertilizing, watering and, um, trimming?” I asked.

  “Yep. All that. Goes on all the time. But more often when you come around.” This time I moved closer to him and tipped my face up to his. “Are you gonna kiss me again or what?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Whether there’s an empty table in this room for me to put you on your back.” He put one arm around me and scooped me up; I felt like a bride crossing the threshold with my new husband. He set me down on a wooden table and walked across the room.

  “Hey! I might get splinters. And the door to the shop is open. Anyone could see us.”

  “Come on, Marni. I know you like the thrill of almost getting caught. Here. Scoot up while I run this under your ass.” Reggie returned with a roll of brown craft paper, which he set on the edge of the table.

  With the table covered and clean, I kicked my heels off, relaxed, and waited for further instructions. Reggie pulled what looked like a milking stool up to the table and sat down between my swinging legs. He lifted each leg by the heel, kissed my ankles, and set my legs on his muscular shoulders. My pussy was staring him in the face and she was ready for anything.

  After pushing my denim skirt up toward my waist with one hand, he spread my thighs with the other. My skin was tingling and sweat beads broke out on my temples. I said nothing as he began kissing my knees, moving up to my inner thighs. It tickled and even though I hate to be tickled, I didn’t stop his forward progression toward my love box.