the story, continued ?
My question is answered soon enough. Once I pass through customs, collect my bag, and head into the crowd, it becomes clear there is no one to meet me. I stand, looked around, try to make myself seen, and not a soul comes up to me.
Not sure what my next step should be, I wander around the terminal for about 15 minutes. Then I have to go to the Men?s Room. I step in, find a stall, and sit. As I do, I decide to take a quick look at my Keliana magazine. As I flip through the pages, looking for the photo spread with the girl of my dreams, I come across a small envelope. Inside is a note from ?tienne.
?Go to the currency exchange window closest to where you came into the terminal. Give your name. All is arranged. Then take a taxi to Hyde Park, Speakers? Corner.? That?s all it says. I hurriedly finish my business and leave the lavatory. There will be time for the magazine later, I hope.
At the currency exchange window, I am given ?500 just for telling the man in the booth my name. No questions asked. I head out of the terminal to the taxi stand and get in the line. After waiting a few moments, a policewoman comes up to me, grabs my arm, and begins to move me towards a taxi that is waiting across the street, separate from the other cabs. Pointing, she says, ?That one is for you.?
Another policewoman? In London? ?tienne?s reach is international, I think to myself. She reads my mind. ?It is Keliana,? says the policewoman. ?Here in England, she is a national treasure.?
I get in the taxi and the driver turns and says, ?Speaker?s Corner.? We drive.
* *
London traffic is horrendous. Even though it?s after dinner time, at least traditional U.S. dinner time, the city is full of cars. It?s still light out, late this summer evening. Finally, we arrive at our appointed destination.
When I ask the taxi driver what the traditional tip is, he tells me there is no charge for the ride. Pointing out the window, he says, ?Go there.? I get out and he drives off quickly.
I head into the park. I recall reading about Speakers? Corner when I was in school, and aside from my quest for Keliana I?m curious about how it works. There are three small crowds listening to speakers. One man is standing on a soapbox -- literally, a soapbox -- and exhorting about 15 people to embrace the use of Esperanto as a solution to all the world?s problems. He doesn?t seem to be swaying any opinions. Another man is standing on a folding chair, and he is railing against the closing of a coal mine somewhere else in the country. He has two listeners, one of whom appears to be sleeping while standing.
I go over to the third speaker, who is the one pointed out by the taxi driver. A woman stands on a stepladder, and there are about two dozen in her audience. She is talking about the need for tolerance of transgendered people. I stand in the back of the small crowd, but she immediately locks eyes with me. As she continues to speak, she seems to be talking directly to me. I feel as if I know her.
Soon, she thanks the crowd for listening and everyone slowly disperses. I am left there alone, and she comes down from the ladder. Coming over to me, she gives me a peck on the cheek and takes my hand. ?Walk with me,? she says.
?What about your ladder,? I ask. She tells me not to worry.
As we walk toward the Marble Arch, I ask her if she is taking me to Keliana.
?No,? she says. ?She?s not here in Westminster. But in any case, there is a gentleman who you will see first.?
We cross Edgeware Road and head to the entrance of the tube station. She gives me instructions for my travels to King?s Cross, kisses my cheek again, and bids me farewell.
* *
When I step off the Underground at King?s Cross and head up to the street, I hear a voice call my name. It sounds familiar. I look around and find myself face to face with the gentleman from the adult bookstore back home, who rescued me in France.
?So, you have finally made it to London,? he says, with a smile.
I am anxious. ?Are you taking me to Keliana?? I ask.
?Not directly, young man. Remember, as I told you some time ago, there will be some effort required on your part.?
?What do you call everything I?ve been through so far,? I ask, a bit exasperated.
?Prelude, my fine friend,? he says, winking. ?Prelude.?
We walk to his flat, only a few blocks from the tube station. As we enter, he tells me that he will make something to eat and to make myself comfortable. It has grown dark outside, and I am tired. I flop down on the sofa and wait.
?There?s something on the side table for you,? he shouts from the kitchen.
I look, and there is yet another Keliana magazine, ?Anal Sex.?
?I would certainly understand if you would like to ? how shall I say ? be alone with Keliana for a few moments before we eat,? he says, coming from the kitchen and smiling at me. Then he points down the hall.
And he is right. I would like to be ?alone? with Keliana. I take the new magazine and the one I received on the plane and head to the room. I enter, find the pictures of Keliana inside both magazines, and lay the two spreads out on the bed. The minute I see her, I am hard. It won?t be a long ?alone time.?
With my pants down and cock sticking straight out, I begin to stroke myself. Precum oozes from the head of my dick, and I use it to work my hand up and down the shaft. I long for Keliana. I long for her touch. I want to lick her behind and stick my tongue deep in her hole. I want to worship her beautiful cock, take it in my mouth and pleasure her until she gives me a drink of her delicious juice. I want to kiss her with my cock deep inside of her. I want to kiss her with her deep inside of me. I want to wake up with her next to me and start all over again.
All of these thoughts, along with the pictures, have the desired effect. Within a couple of minutes, I shoot a long rope of cum over the bedspread. As the last of my jizz drips from my cock, I take it in my hand and bring it to my mouth. I imagine sharing our cum, me and Keliana, in a long kiss.
There?s a knock at the door, and the old gentleman asks if everything is okay. I answer, and he can tell from my voice that I have just pleasured myself.
?I suppose, then, that what is ready to eat out here is rather more dessert than a meal,? he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. The English have such a way with words.
I pull up my pants and find my way to the dinner table. As I sit, I sheepishly announce that I made a bit of a mess on his bedspread.
?No bother,? he says. ?It would not be the first time.?
As I sigh a sigh of relief, he says, ?Now, let?s eat. You have a big day tomorrow.?
to be continued ...
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