Vintage Keliana (with story)

[smc]

the story, continued ?

Jerking off to the incredible pictures of Keliana in "Pleasure" and "Nylon Surprise No. 26? while wearing pantyhose and with a butt plug deep in my ass brings me to a new level of masturbatory frenzy. This time, my orgasm begins with a low, resonant moan, followed by a grunting like a feral beast, followed by what seems like an inability to catch my breath, followed by uncontrollable bucking of my hips as I lie on the bed with Keliana?s pictures in direct view, all accompanied by the most furious stroking of my rock-hard cock of my life, and finished off with a banshee-like scream and the shooting of streams of cum clear across the room. I can seem my cum dripping down the wall. I can even see steam rising from it, because it is just that hot. And I can also hear my mother?s voice.

?What is going on in there?? I hear her yell from down the hall. Shit, I woke her up. No, in truth, Keliana woke her up. Keliana, with her delicious nylon-clad legs. Keliana, with her delectable ass. Keliana, with her dark, beautiful, long hair and her deep, sexy eyes. Keliana. with her cock, the cock I long for, the cock I am saving myself for, the cock I want in my mouth and in my ass.

My mother, awakened by Keliana and her magical effect on me and my teenage hormones, is now coming down the hall. Time seems to slow, and suddenly I hear my sister, who must have also been awakened by my jizz-induced scream. ?Mom,? she says, ?he must?ve had a bad dream. Go back to bed. I?ll check on him.?

There is a dead silence outside my room. I am desperately trying to catch my breath and come down from my awe-inducing orgasm. Then I hear my mother say, ?Tell him to try to keep his bad dreams down to a low roar.?

Little does she know.

My sister knocks and opens the door. ?Bro,? she says, with a slightly demonic smile, ?you really gotta stop being such a loud pervert. Shhhhhh!? And then she is gone.

I wait until there is silence in the house again, make my way to the bathroom, and clean myself up. I return to my bedroom, wipe down the walls, put away my newest Keliana magazines, and fall into a deep sleep ? in which I dream of Keliana?s cock lying across my face, there for the sucking whenever I want. When I awake, it is clear that I had my first wet dream since my early teens.

* * *

Months go by, during which I visit the adult bookstore for many more Keliana magazines that become the catalyst for a regular series of enormous eruptions of cum all over my room. The old gentleman from England, who seems to be there every time I visit the store, takes me under his wing, guiding me to the best Keliana magazines and suggesting new toys to play with. Nearly all of the money I earn at my part-time job goes into the cash register at the store. I never complain.

My obsession with Keliana, though, is not the only thing occupying my mind. I will graduate from high school in only a few weeks, and before heading off to college I am going on my first trip overseas. Several of my aunts and uncles chipped in to buy this for me as a graduation present, and the trip will take me to Germany, France, and England.

One day, at the adult bookstore, I mention to the old gentleman that I will be gone for a month in the summer. He asks me where I?ll be going, and I tell him. ?You know, my young friend,? he says, with a twinkle in his eye, ?England is where you will find Keliana.?

?Yes, I know she lives in London,? I say, ?but I can?t imagine that I could meet her. I mean, she?s a big star. She?s one of the top models for magazines in the world. How could I possibly meet her? Why would she want to meet a kid like me??

?I think you might be surprised. But it would have to be a chance encounter,? he responds.

I remember then that when I first met him he said he once knew Keliana back in London. ?How does that work,? I ask.

?Ask me just before you leave on your trip. I will tell you then,? he says. I cannot wait.

* * *

Several more weeks pass, and I enjoy regular cataclysms of cum in my room, all thanks to the smoldering sexiness of my beloved Keliana. The day before I am to depart for Germany, my first European destination, I visit the bookstore. The older English gentleman greets me with a smile and hands me a new magazine, ?Sexual Fantasy.? It features Keliana sitting on a brick wall, naked except for sunglasses and sandals. Her cock, the object of my intense desire, the touchstone against which I judge all real women, is there in view. I cannot wait to get home and enjoy the full Keliana spread that I know lies within.

?This,? says the older gentleman, ?is a very special magazine. Once you see Germany and France, how long will you be in England??

?One week,? I reply.

?In London?? he asks.

?Yes, but I was going to tour the countryside, too.?

?Lad, listen carefully.? His voice lowers to a whisper, as if he is about to impart some secret. ?Keliana is sitting in one of London?s parks in this picture on the cover. I know it to be one of her favorite places in the city. That is where I met her. I cannot tell you where it is, because to meet Keliana, to be with Keliana, it must be a chance encounter. But I can tell you that if you are observant, and if you are truly motivated, you can find this place. It will take some time, but it can be done. Think of it as a test of your desire. How much do you want Keliana? How much do you want to be in her presence? That will be the measure, and that will determine your success. Keep looking, carefully, and keep your eye on the prize.?

I nod and thank him. My mission is clear. Yes, I will see Europe. But I will also find my Keliana.

to be continued ?

[shadows]

That's quite the story! It's going to be a novel shortly!

[smc]

Thanks for all the encouragement. I'll keep writing as long as Keliana keeps providing me with vintage magazines!

[smc]

The character you've been reading about will soon be landing in Germany, to begin his cross-European trip to find Keliana. Stay tuned, and thanks again to those of you who've expressed your support for continuing the saga.

[smc]

the story, continued ?

The day has come for my departure to Europe. I spend the day putting my room in order and doing the last bit of packing. My sister and mom are both at work, but are leaving early to have dinner with me and then take me to the airport for my overnight flight to Frankfurt. There is one particular task I must complete before they arrive home. I have decided that I can take only one of my Keliana magazines on the trip, both to encourage me to find more in the foreign lands and to allow plenty of room for bringing them back with me. Making the selection, it turns out, is not so easy.

This is going to require some very careful consideration. I spend a good amount of time thinking about the criteria I should use, but then I decide that I am wasting valuable time. Why let my brain get in the way of trying to answer what my cock and ass will surely know, and tell me quite readily? For this, I will need more room than the confines of my room.

With my mom and sister gone for the day, I decide that the living room will be my venue. I close all the shades and lock the door to the house. I take my ten Keliana magazines and place them strategically around the room. One is propped upon the easy chair, open to the Keliana spread. Three adorn the sofa, one with the cover visible and the other two open to Keliana. On the top of the piano, I create an erotic array of three more. Two claim the coffee table as their place of honor, and for the last two I bring in chairs from the dining room. Everywhere I turn, there is Keliana: her soft, silky, scrumptious legs; her enticing, appetizing ass; her astonishing, beautiful face; her long, extraordinary hair; and, of course, her delectable cock. It is a smorgasbord of Keliana, as if the gods had looked down upon me, seen the hardness in my pants, and decided to reward me with a sumptuous feast.

I run back to my room, strip naked, lube my own hole, and ram the butt plug in as deep as I can. I am as hard as I have ever been, and I being stroking my cock as I walk down the hall to the living room. The moment I enter the room, and see my array of Keliana magazines for the first time from that angle, precum streams from my hard cock. Some falls to the wooden floor, and some glazes my hand. I stroke my cock even harder. I move around the room, looking at the magazines. I have decided that when I cum, the magazine nearest will be the one that gets into my suitcase.

It takes only a few minutes for my cock to make its selection. Hot jizz spurts from me as I furiously pull on my erection, and I make a note to clean up carefully before my mom and sister get home.

* * *

Dinner is uneventful. My mother seems happy to see me go, for some reason. My sister is preoccupied. We finish eating, load up the car, and head for the airport for my overnight flight. When finally it is time to board the plane, my mother hugs me and kisses me, wishes me ?bon voyage? in the worst French accent ever, and reminds me to write to her and to my aunts and uncles who are funding my trip. My sister hugs me and then takes me aside. She reaches into her big shoulder bag and pulls out a small package, wrapped like a birthday present.

?Here, bro, something to keep you occupied on your travels,? she says. ?It?ll keep you company. Don?t open it until you?re on the plane.?

We embrace, and she tells me to have a great time. ?Don?t do anything I wouldn?t do,? she shouts, as I head down the gangway to the plane.

Once we are in the air, I hope to sleep, but I find I cannot close my eyes. The excitement is too great. I?m going to see part of Europe, and I?m going to look for Keliana in London. I recall the words of the old gentleman at the adult bookstore: ?Keep your eye on the prize.?

Suddenly, I remember my sister?s gift. I reach into the small bag under the seat in front of me, and pull it out. The middle-aged woman in the seat next to me, who has been drifting in and out of sleep, sees it. ?A going-away present?? she asks.

?Yes, it?s from my sister,? I answer. ?She told me it would help keep me company while I?m away from my family.?

?That?s very sweet,? the lady says.

I rip open the wrapping paper with nary a thought. Out falls ?Sex Inspiration No. 11,? featuring Keliana?s butt on the cover. Drool falls from my mouth. My cock springs to attention. The woman in the seat next to me screams.

to be continued ?

[bigjoe]

amazing stories! i wish i could write like you! i share the same obsession as you do for keliana! so it the queen or erotica!!

Woowwww !!! 5th photo : Bosphorus/Istanbul, Keliana and her beautiful body and her perfect uncut cock ...
I love this girl

[smc]

the story, continued …

As I’m sure you can imagine, a woman screaming on an airplane after seeing a hot girl with a butt plug bending over on the cover of a magazine is neither an everyday occurrence, nor is it something taken lightly by the authorities. Immediately, a flight attendant comes running up the aisle from the galley. I have hidden the magazine, but when she inquires about the screaming, something possesses me to pull the magazine back out. I show it to her and say, “I don’t know what all the fuss is about. This is mine, anyway.”

A combination of shock and awe erupts among the passengers seated in the rows ahead and behind my seat. The flight attendant grabs the “Sex Inspiration No. 11” from my hand, and as I struggle to hold on to it some of the pages rip out. A mother in the seat in front of me yelps as a page flutters on to her lap. It features a picture of a man with a shemale’s cock deep in his ass and another shemale’s cock erupting in hot splooge on his face. Her daughter in the seat next to her, who I estimate to be about 14 years old, laughs somewhat demonically at her mother.

A few pages go flying across the aisle, too, falling into the lap of a man who, upon closer examination, sports a clerical collar. He sits there, mouth agape, with several pages of advertisements in full view, featuring every manner of dildo. There are big black ones, curved ones, ones with soft, hanging balls, and ones with vibrating inserts. Within seconds, his eyes look to the heavens and he seems to be deep into what he thinks may be his last earthly prayer.

The magazine is in shambles. I do not even know where the rest of the pages have gone. All I know is that serious trouble is coming my way, because soon the co-pilot, adorned in his uniform and looking very stern, is looming above me and speaking to me in very halting English. I figure out that it is the opinion of the crew that I have caused enough of a ruckus to warrant an investigation, under German law, of interfering with the safe operation of an airline. I am warned that I will be interrogated by the police upon our arrival in Frankfurt.

I spend the some time in dead silence. The screaming woman who had been sitting next me now sits in a different row, and next to me is a member of the U.S. Marine Corps on his way back to his base in Germany. He seems as stern as the co-pilot, but after a while he smiles at me, and says quietly, “Don’t worry about the German cops. It’s all a formality.”

“It sounds pretty serious to me,” I reply. “Like a felony or something.”

“Yah, but Europe’s different, man.” He laughs a little as he says this. “They’re used to all sorts of things that we never see back home.”

“Like what?” I ask.

“Well … like …” His voice trails off. After a moment, he asks, “What kinda magazine was that, anyway?”

I’m not sure about answering. I think about it, though, and decide that he’s cool. “Special girls,” I say.

“You mean like a fetish mag?” he asks. “Wow, you seem sort of young to know about that kind of shit. Whatcha into?”

I repeat myself. “Special girls.”

“I like feet,” he says, with a wide grin. “I like toes. I like soles. I like lickin’ ‘em, and I like feelin’ ‘em on me. Know what I mean?”

“I like the feet on my special girls, I guess,” I say, somewhat sheepishly. “Especially one girl. But I never thought about feet in particular.”

“Exactly what do you mean by ‘special’?” he asks.

I really don’t know what to say. He presses me for an answer.

“Special in what way?”

I decide to bite the bullet. I look around to see whether anyone is looking, and I begin to whisper. No words come out of my mouth, so I point. I point to my lap.

“Oh, shit, you mean chicks with dicks?!” The Marine says this loud enough for others to hear, and before you know it, I am sitting all by myself in the back of the plane.

* * *

The remainder of the flight is, by the measure of the first part, quite uneventful. When we land in Frankfurt, I am admonished by the flight attendant that I will be met by the German authorities at the end of the gangway, before I get to Passport Control. As I make my way into the terminal, I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“Son, I think these are yours.” A man from the plane, who must have been sitting near me, hands me two pages from the inside of the magazine that had been torn apart. They feature Keliana in a photospread titled “Car Trouble” -- two pictures with accompanying text. “You should probably stuff them in your carry-on bag.”

The man whispers in my ear. “I took them in the lavatory with me. I sure would like to read the rest of that story!”

I don’t even look at the pages, despite that they feature my darling Keliana.

to be continued …

[smc]

the story, continued …

While Frankfurt is merely a transfer point on my way to Hamburg, I wonder whether it will, indeed, become my final destination in Germany. This thought is consuming me as I approach the man in what appears to be a police uniform who I can see at the end of the gangway.

“You are the young man who caused the problem on the plane?” he asks. It surprises me that he puts it in the form of a question, but I attribute it his facility with English. I nod in the affirmative, and he takes my arm, leading me down a hallway and into a small room, where another policeman sits at a table.

“Sit, please,” the second man says. I comply.

He does the talking. I find his English a bit difficult to understand through his thick German accent, but I listen carefully.

He begins by asking for my passport, and then for my name, age, and address in the United States. He spends an inordinate amount of time looking at my passport picture, and then at me, and then at the picture again, over and over. Finally, the interrogation begins.

“We understand that you caused a disturbance on the plane that put passengers at risk. Is this true?” It is difficult to take him seriously from his tone.

“No,” I reply. “All I did was take a magazine out of my bag, and a woman screamed. I did not realize it would be offensive.”

“Is this the magazine?” He puts the cover of “Sex Inspiration No. 11” on the table, and lays out an array of torn and crumpled pages, one after the other.

“Yes,” I say, and I can feel myself turning red.

“We received a complaint from the crew of the Lufthansa flight, because they said that you deliberately provoked a small riot on the plane.” He says this with a smile. “What was your purpose?”

I am finding this difficult to take seriously. “I did no such thing. My sister gave me a gift for my trip. I didn’t know what it was when I opened it.”

He looks at me and begins to snicker. “What kind of a sister gives her brother a magazine of this sort?”

The policeman who brought me to the room begins to snicker, too. ““What are you laughing at?!“ shouts the interrogator. "Warum lachen Sie?!”

They speak in German, and while I grasp a bit of it, I am pretty much at a loss. At the end of the brief conversation, the one who brought me to the room uses a word I do know from my tri-lingual Keliana magazines.

He points at me and whispers, “Schwanzlutscher.” It means “cocksucker.”

This angers me, not because I deny the accusation. I want so desperately to suck a cock, to suck Keliana’s cock. So, I haven’t yet become an “official” cocksucker. But it’s the way he says it that riles me. He says it with scorn.

My interrogator tells him to leave the room. Once he is on the other side of the door, the policeman smiles at me and says, “Do not let him bother you. He is a scheissekopf, a shithead.”

There is silence for a moment, and when I calm down, I ask the officer what is going to happen to me.

“Well,” he answers, dragging out his response. “That will be determined by whether you can pay the fine that I must impose.” The way he says this makes me think immediately that the “fine” is not something official.

“How much will it cost?” I ask.

“Oh, it is not money.” He pauses, and gathers his thoughts. Suddenly, he bangs his fist on the table. Shouting, he asks, “Where are the two missing pages from this magazine? Where is the rest of Keliana’s ‘Car Trouble’ story?”

He stares at me menacingly. I reach into my bag and pull out the last two pages that the man on the gangway gave me. He grabs them from my hand, and gathers all the pages from the table, shoving them quickly into a small satchel. He stands, puts out his hand, and looks me right in the eyes. “Let me show you to your connecting flight to Hamburg.”

* *

On the short flight to Hamburg, I spend most of my time trying to catch my breath. I feel as if I have dodged a bullet. While I have lost one of my Keliana magazines, and a gift from my sister no less, I am relieved that I am not in some German jail cell.

Finally, the flight arrives in Hamburg. I go through passport control with no problem, board a bus from the airport into the city, and search for the hostel at which I have a reservation. As I turn onto correct street, I notice a red neon sign: “Erotikshop.” It is directly across from the hostel, which seems rather odd. I enter.

There, on the very first rack I see, displayed prominently, is my beloved Keliana. I recognize her immediately, on the cover of “Fascination Nr. 2.” All is well with my world.

I hurry across the street to the hostel, my new magazine in my bag. At the desk, a young, pretty German girl checks me in and tells me the rules of the hostel. She speaks perfect English and uses a lot of British expressions. As I walk to the stairway to head to my room, she shouts across the lobby. “One more thing I forgot. I noticed you went into the sex shop across the street. If you’re going to do some wanking, try to keep the noise down when you …”

I am already on my way up the stairs, and can only imagine what might have been her last word.

to be continued …

[smc]

the story, continued …

I settle into the hostel quite nicely. There are very few people staying here, and it’s easy to find private places … something I was told would be nearly impossible in a hostel. This affords me the opportunity to pound my ass with the dildo I hid in my suitcase while I stroke my cock, aroused by the photo spread in “Fascination No. 2” that features Keliana. In deference to the young girl at the front desk, I muffle my scream when I cum by taking the dildo from my ass and deep-throating it just as the jizz shoots out of me. That’s a first. I like the feel of that veiny dildo, which looks just like a cock, shoved in my mouth.

* * *

With that refreshing, post-orgasmic feeling I’ve come to cherish seeming to wrap my entire body, I head out to explore Hamburg. I’m in this city because my uncle, who helped pay for the trip, thought I would like it and that it would make a good base for day trips to other parts of Germany on the train. Just before I left home, he took me aside and told me where I should go in Hamburg.

“You’re a man now,” he told me, “and you should go to St. Pauli and ‘sow your wild oats’. I had a nice girl there after the big war, just before I came home. She was my first. Maybe you’ll find your first, too, kid.”

Then he handed me some money for what he called my “side trip.”

I am laughing as I make my way to the red-light district. My uncle has no idea. Well, okay, he’s right that I’m a virgin. I went through high school too shy ever to ask a girl out. And then I found Keliana, and I lost my interest in any girl but her. I want her to be my first. I want her to be my only. I am a bit depressed to think how unlikely that is.

It’s a very nice summer night, and the walk to St. Pauli is a blast. I try to figure out what the signs in German mean, and I stop and look at all the buildings. They’re so different than home. Finally, I reach St. Pauli, and walk down the Reeperbahn, with it’s bars and sex shops and brothels. On Davidstra?e, street girls talk to me, even in English when I answer them. They ask me if I want a “date.” I remember the money from my uncle and wonder how to spend it.

I turn onto Herbertstra?e, where there are girls in the windows beckoning to me. I’ve never seen anything like this. But my heart is set on Keliana, and I know I won’t have my chance -- my one-in-a-zillion-chance -- until I find her in London.

Soon, I come upon another sex shop, with a “TV” display in the window. I notice magazines with special girls like Keliana, so I enter. To my shock, there at the front counter, is the same girl from the front desk at the hostel.

“Hey, it’s you, the American wanker,” she says. Quite a greeting. “This is my second job. What can I help you find?”

I’m embarrassed, so I tell her I’d just like to look around. I gravitate to the “TV/TS” section, where the real girls are, and begin to look for my darling Keliana. Suddenly, I feel someone behind me, and I hear a whisper in my ear. It’s that same girl.

“So, you like special girls,” she says, with a chuckle. “Any particular girl?”

I turn around, beet red. She is so close to me that I can feel her breath on my neck, which is as high up on me as she comes.

“It’s okay to tell me. I know everything in the shop. Why waste time searching when you can get what you want and go back to the hostel and pretend you’re fucking?” She says this with a smile. “I listened to you before, even though I could tell you tried to cover your mouth.”

I am ashamed and aroused at the same time. My dick is growing hard in my pants, and she’s so close to me that I’m afraid if it gets any bigger she’ll be able to feel it.

“Oh, come now, it’s okay to tell Grete.”

“Okay,” I say, “but please stand back a little bit.”

She laughs quietly and moves a few inches away from me. Then she looks down at the obvious bulge in my pants.

“How old are you?” she asks

I tell her.

“Now tell me who you’re special girl is, and I’ll find something for you.”

I decide to answer. “Keliana,” I say, “do you have anything with Keliana?”

Grete’s face lights up. “An excellent choice, sir,” she says, as she quickly flips through the magazines on the rack and pulls out a copy of “Young Love No. 1.”

Keliana’s face is not on the cover, but I recognize her beautiful girl cock. I’d know that cock anywhere. It is the object of my complete and total devotion, my overwhelming desire. I feel the precum begin to leak from my hard cock in my pants.

“You like it?” asks Grete. “Don’t you wonder who the other cock belongs to?”

“Yes,” I reply, “and I guess I’ll find out when I read the magazine. May I pay now?”

“Of course,” says Grete. “Follow me.”

I follow, but she doesn’t go the front counter. Instead, she heads to the back of the store. “I want to show you something really special.”

She leads me through a curtain into a dimly lit room and tells me to sit on a chair. She comes right in front of me, quickly lifts her skirt, and pushes her panties to the side. A small cock springs out, glistening with what I imagine must be precum just like what I can now feel gushing from my own cock.

“Maybe that’s me with Keliana on that cover,” she says, and laughs really loud. “Do you like it?”

to be continued …