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Message-ID: <38992asstr$1035810602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "MikeC" <MikeC@NoSpam.nspace.net>
Subject: {ASSM} (new) James 61 (mf+ rom)
Date: Mon, 28 Oct 2002 08:10:03 -0500
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October 25, 2002
A foreword by the authors of the "James" and "Kelly" series.

Dear Readers,

This day marks a milestone in the ongoing sagas of the "James" series and
the "Kelly" series.  Today we, the authors, tie up a lot of loose ends that
you, our loyal readers, have been following for the past six months.

No, it doesn't mean the series are ending today, but the suspense and
anticipation of many earlier scenes become revealed in this joint release.

Today's installments portray overlapping events in the same timeframe, with
substantial crossover in characters.  Seeing the characters through the
other's eyes will shed some light and insight to this long build up.

It has been no easy task for either of us to keep all the details together
and in a consistent timeline and required constant collaboration over these
past six months.  Furthermore, "James" is a first person narrative while
"Kelly" is a third person story.  We believe this, too, is a first in adult
fiction.  Because of the complexities of writing two intermixed stories, we
cannot release chapters as often as we would like, but we take pride in our
accuracy and technical research.

Our thanks to those who have written encouraging us to continue with the
stories. Your letters of support are much appreciated during the lonely
times when writers reflect on the worthiness of their efforts.

We hope you enjoy these two chapters; "James 61" and "Kelly 09". As always,
your comments are most welcome and appreciated.

So, without further ado,
Enjoy!

Sincerely,
MikeC & NightHawk


(C) Copyright 2002. M.C.
All Rights Reserved.
All Reproduction for fee or profit forbidden.

Copies of my stories can be downloaded from:
<http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/MikeC/>

What do you think of the story?
Send comments and suggestions to MikeC@NSpace.net

   =============

James Part IX.
Soaring Visions


James 61

The Marina was bustling early Thursday morning. Brenda and Amanda were up at
the crack of dawn readying Gymbler for their trip South. At precisely 6:00
they fired up the engine and waited to be properly kissed for their sendoff.
   I was the last one out, having to shower and change again because of some
embarrassing stains Amanda left on me during my Flight Instructor's
examination. It was tough, especially the oral section, but we managed to
postpone our REAL vocalization until after the test.
   They took off to perfect flying weather, cloudless, calm and the air
still crisp from the night.
   At 8:00, Peter, the VP from InterCoastal and the Engineers rolled in, to
be greeted by Max and both Jules and Celeste as their original
'spoke-persons.' They appeared a little disappointed that Amanda was not
around but seemed more than satisfied after getting one look at Sara.
   Sara had revived the Spiderman outfit she and Amanda had worn with such
pride with the J-racer Neta and was letting herself be video'd with her
helmet on, after Jules had negotiated fitting recompense. They were also
being allowed to use the Wheel as a backdrop after assuring us it would be
featured prominently in the next two catalogues. In writing.
   "We are arranging to send our official photographers to the unveiling of
the Monster Cuddy." Peter told us, "They are unavailable at the moment."
   "You mean TKO?" Jules smiled, aware that Peter had no clue that Todd was
at Regan's at that moment.
   "That's right, you've met them, of course." Peter was spared further
embarrassment when Max called Jules and Sara to the phone.
   The engineers had applied a zinc-based alumina gel to slick the hull and
finished draping their sensors and recording devices on the boat when the
girls returned. Sara, grinning ear to ear did her fist-on-hip pose, "Hey
lowly mortal, say hi to the next Centerfold!"
   I looked at her, "Is it in 'Hot Doms in Latex?'"
   "I'll dom your cutie ass, my little sub-pastie!" She grabbed me in a kiss
and pinched me.
   "Damn!" JulieAnn lamented, "If only Kelly had called 10 minutes earlier!
I could've tripled your fees!" Warning Sara not to let her face be
photographed in case of contractual conflicts, she went searching for Peter.
   Sherri had been out making last minute checks on the course-marking buoys
which we had planted the evening before. I intercepted her as she got off
USS Dweebus and handed her a Max's Marina cap.
   "Jules says to wear this and to keep your face hidden. And try not to
look so gorgeous."
   She smiled brightly and kissed me, "Why thank you sir!" She pulled her
visor low over her brow. "How's this?"
   I looked at her and shook my head, "It just won't do, hasn't anyone
taught you how to look ugly?" I dabbed my finger in grease and smudged her
face with it, "That's better, now try to blend in with the boys."
   "That'll be hard!" She laughed, pulling up her top and waving her boobies
at me, "How do I explain these?" and ran squealing as I threatened them with
my grease-blackened fingers.
   She was draped and giggling all over Jules and Celeste when I went up.
"This is the man! Officers!" She pointed at me, "The bad man put his filthy
hands all over my body! Arrest him!" She hid behind JulieAnn, "Make him
promise to wash them before you let him go!" They broke out laughing,
leaning breathlessly on each other.
   Sara came up, as she waited for the engine to warm up, "What's so funny
guys?"
   "Oh Sara! Your boyfriend called me ugly and said I look like a boy!"
Sherri pouted. She grabbed Sara's hand and stuck it under her shirt, "Does
this feel like a boy to you?"
   Jules said, "I should warn you Sherri, this hot little number in the
Halloween costume is an international star!" Together they updated Sherri on
how Chuck Regan was sponsoring Todd's picture of Sara in a double page
foldout in the world's top boating magazine.
   Sherri sighed, clutching weakly on Sara, "I knew I wanted you the minute
I first laid eyes on you!" She looked at her with adoring eyes, "Can I be
your groupie chick?"
   "Wait a minute here, missy!" Celeste took Sara's other side, "I was here
FIRST!" She started playing with Spiderman's zip, "She promised to use me
horribly, didn't you sweetheart?" She had Sara exposed to her navel and
slipped a hand in.
   "Uh-oh, curtain time, guys." Jules warned, "Peter's looking like he's
constipated... And YOUR fans are getting restless, Sara!" Celeste's
construction boys had erected barricades and were acting as crowd control as
seemingly the entire county showed up again.
   "OK here goes..." Sara adjusted her outfit and slapped her gloves on. We
bussed her helmet for luck.
   We took Peter, his remote monitoring panel and the videographer in USS
Dweebus and followed Sara out on the course.
   On her first run, Sara averaged 84.9mph on the 5 mile leg and back again.
The boat was tracking well and showed no tendency to hull-ventilate.
   On her second run, Sara managed to improve slightly on her previous
results, which left a permanent grin on Peter's face. "Incredible! We only
expected 75 from you and you've got it beat by another 10!" Sara was
actually going over 88mph as she crossed the finish line, helped by empty
fuel tanks and perhaps a better warmed-up engine.
   Then, after offloading the recorded telemetry data, refueling and putting
another change of oil in the motor, Sara took one of the Engineers out for
another run, averaging 83.2mph.
   We handed the boat over to the engineers after that, but they were unable
to crack the 80mph barrier. "They have to learn to grind through the
marmalade!" Sara confided to Peter.
   "There's a mushy region around 79, where it suddenly feels like they're
about to lose control; increased latency, almost like swimming in jam, and
they're afraid to push past that." Sherri explained, and to me,
"Sub-critical cavitation." I blinked and nodded sagely.
   "But that's good!" Peter gushed, "Gives us a margin of safety! And
something for them to aspire to!"
   "And..." Jules added pensively, "An opportunity to establish a duly
accredited High Performance School at Max's Marina, wouldn't you say?"
   "Yes, no doubt." Peter sighed, "Send me the papers and I'll get it
approved."
   Max and the restaurant organized another BBQ self-serve lunch while we
helped the engineers collate their data. Peter took Jules' hand, "Thank you
for arranging this, and thank you for all your help, you've exceeded all our
expectations." They made more arrangements for Brookhaven before he shook
our hands and left.
   After lunch, we started preparing Gyro for her trip to sea. With just
days to go before her big unveiling at Brookhaven, we did not have a lot of
time.
   Celeste had been busily supervising the finishing touches on the Wheel.
The crew had finished almost 2 days ahead of schedule, but she still had to
stay until she could officially sign off on the project. We decided that
Jules would stay with her and fly out to join us at Brookhaven in a day or
two.
   With a longing look at CL1 and her opulent comforts, we waved goodbye to
the girls and headed out.
   As we cruised down the peaceful river, Sara and Sherri started replaying
the results of the test run on the laptop and we made notes on the boat's
performance.
   Then Sara spread a hydrographic chart on the seat, "Al suggested the 3
mile run on the channel from his marina out to the sea and back," She traced
it with her finger, "400 yards across, which is good; 12 to 21 foot depths,
so there's a slight chance of disruptive bottom shock. Still, it's
constantly dredged and has the best exposure for spectators. With a 1/2 mile
each for the flying start and coast down, the run can only be 2 miles each
way." She sniffed in disdain, "Can't even get the engine decently warmed
up... And we'll be done by mid morning..."
   Sara's voice was drowned out as we came up to the twin bridges at the
entrance of the river. There were 2 boats there with loud music playing and
giggling teenagers dancing for the benefit of the motorists. Seemed that
Sara's previous antics had started a tradition there. Sara and Sherri added
their efforts as we sailed past.
   "Now Al had some suggestions for the rest of the day." Sherri resumed
after we cleared the inner harbor. "And we agreed on this one: a 26 mile
outing to Drake's Island." Sherri pointed to a blank area on the map. "It's
so small and remote that it's not even listed and is supposedly a secret
known only to the Haveners. Al swore us to secrecy before he would gave us
the coordinates." She laughed and, in a stage whisper, "It's where Sir
Francis Drake buried the gold he could not carry for his trips back to
England."
   Sara shook her head, "Of course, even if that was true, over the last 400
years, the seas would have shifted the island up to 1/2 mile from the
original site. Anyways, Al's organizing it as an InterCoastal family outing,
with food and drinks and we can show them what Gyro is capable of in open
seas..."
   "Exactly! And no doubt you are just as eager to discover that for
yourselves... NOW!" I grinned as I pushed the throttle forward. It was a
statement of their inherent faith in my manly skills as a driver that they
did not even raise a protest. Surely it had nothing to do with their being
busy buckling on their life jackets.
   With a lusty howl the boat charged into the light waves. We navigated it
with ease and steering was straight and confident, the sea-wing providing
the hull with an unwavering grip on the water.
   Effortlessly we accelerated to 50 and Sara signed to our rear. The
unbridled roar of our engine had attracted notice and a few boats were
giving chase, including a couple of large multi-engined Cigarette jobs.
   I looked at Sara and she stared back. "I have to do this." I yelled over
the noise. She sighed and gave a faint nod.
   I held my speed until they were abreast before ramming the throttle to
the stops. With a throaty wail, the engine unleashed its full power and
leapt forward, pinning us against our seats.
   The slower boats dropped out as we entered deeper seas. We were actually
holding our own quite well until we crested a large wave; the sea-wing
broached and the props spun uselessly as we launched into the air. Momentum
gone, we slammed back into the trough with a neck-jarring crash.
   After that, I had to be careful to approach the larger waves at an angle
and lost further ground to the faster boats, although the wing was
apparently undamaged and continued to work well. I was further frustrated
when I hit the 'marmalade' at 79 - the steering was vague and unresponsive
but, knowing what Sherri had told me, I held on until the steering became
authoritative again.
   At the higher speeds, the leaders, twice our length and triple our
weight, were buffeted relentlessly by the waves. Sara and Sherri helped
navigate us around the larger swells and we actually began to catch up, but
then one by one they slowed, saluted us and turned back to the harbor.
   We gave each other grinning high-fives, but the quick jaunt had taken us
40 miles out to sea and emptied almost half our tanks.
   We filled up at a marina and headed straight out again. We wanted to take
a short detour to check out Drake's Island and still make it into Brookhaven
before six.
   Even though the boat's amazing top speed could whisk us there in under 2
hours, its fuel consumption would be astronomical and we would need to go
far out to sea to avoid traffic, where the Gulf Stream's current would be
working against us.
   We opted to stay with the intra-coastal waterway, following the
directions on the map. Peter's engineers had left a fuel-flow meter on the
boat and it helped us optimize our performance at a fuel-efficient speed of
48mph, which was already Jewel's top speed. At that speed we would be able
to reach our destination on a single tank of gas.
   "That was a crazy stunt, racing the offshore boats." Sara said softly.
   "Hmmm, maybe," I hugged her, "But it also shows how much confidence I
have in your handiwork!"
   "Thanks, I think. But maybe you could come up with better uses for your
machismo, hmmm?" She smiled faintly. "But mostly I hate to be reminded that
you could be hurt... And I wouldn't want that..." She leaned her head on me.
   "I know, love..." I stroked her cheek. "I'm sorry..."
   Sherri gave me a push out of the seat and slipped into it, "Go and show
her you're really sorry!" I took Sara down the stairs into the cabin, we
ducked into the little cuddy-space under the steps and nestled side-by-side.
   "Sorry my sweet - I didn't mean to worry you..."
   She kissed me softly and smiled. "I wasn't really worried, more like
concerned..." She bit her lip. "Please, just hold me?"
   Wordlessly I enclosed her in my arms and our bodies touched and melted,
fitting into each other in the warmest, most incredible space two people can
share. With her warm breath caressing me, I watched as her doe-soft eyes
closed and joined her in sleep.

= = =

"We're there!" Sherri called softly.
   I smiled at her as Sara stirred and stretched in my arms, "'Morning
sweethearts!" She kissed me softly and turned and kissed Sherri as well.
   "You know," Sherri laughed, "This is the first time I've seen you two
sleeping WITH clothes on!"
   "Well," Sara drawled, "After screwing a couple hundred times, it kinda
gets boring!"
   "No! Really?"
   "Of course not, silly!" She laughed, pulling Sherri on us, "If anything,
it gets better! But I was tired from this morning and James was nice enough
to let me rest instead of imposing his lust on me." She smiled and squirmed
against my erection, "Which we will put to good use... later..."
   Drake Island was formed when the sea and tide shifted sand gradually up
over a natural reef over thousands of years. It was about 4 miles long, a
few hundred feet wide at most, with 2 long sandy arms pointing away, forming
a deep, almost perfectly round atoll on its lee side, where Sherri had
dropped anchor.
   While most of the Eastern seaboard boasted similarly structured islands,
Drake was unique in that it was 11 miles from the nearest land, practically
impossible to locate without specific directions and GPS.
   We climbed to the top of a sandy hill on the center of the island, which
was about 50 feet high and sported palmetto and coconut trees as well as
sundry plants seeded by wind, tide and wildlife.
   "Wow!" Sherri whispered in awe as we stood arm in arm and looked down at
the wide expanse of white sand that fronted the island. It led to a shallow
trough-like lagoon protected by sandbanks 50 yards away, the result of tidal
erosion which shifted the shore about 1-1/2 feet a year. With the tide
coming in, most of the barrier was covered, but we could see waves churning
along it.
   "Look!" Sherri pointed back at our tracks as we walked down to the water,
"It seems like we're the only people ever to have set foot here." The smooth
white beach was completely bare of any signs of man.
   We stood ankle deep in the warm lapping waves and Sara stroked my chin,
"Now if you grow a beard, you can be Robinson Crusoe..."
   "And we can be your Girl Fridays!" Sherri laughed.
   "What about the rest of the week?" I asked.
   "You're on your own!" Sherri giggled, "'Cos Sara and I would be busy
making out. Right, honey?" She pulled Sara close and started kissing her.
   "Mmm, yeah," Sara sighed, "And if he makes us dinner, we may let him
watch!" Which was a great idea, since they had lifted their tops and were
rubbing their boobies together.
   "Hey, that's not fair!" I protested, "There's no food here at all!"
   "Except these little guys!" Sherri laughed, pointing at small crustaceans
burrowing in along the tide line. She picked one up, "Oh! Wait! They're
Horseshoe Crabs! They must've been washed in with the tide!" She waded in
and found a larger one, about 3 inches long and showed it to us; it had a
smooth circular fore-shell attached to a prehistoric spiny abdomen and short
tail, "It's not a crab at all, rather a distant relative of the spider, and
it's been around for like half a billion years!"
   "Hey, he looks like a Romulan Bird Of Prey!" I observed.
   Sherri nodded, "Yeah, whatever, but another amazing thing about them is
that their blood is copper-based, instead of iron. Dad's hospital uses it in
the Immunology department 'cos the blood has the most sensitive antigens
known; about 20 times better than human blood and 10 times that of rabbit.
It's used to detect and remove minute traces of bacteria or impurities in
drugs which may prove harmful to AIDS, chemotherapy or other immune-depleted
patients."
   Sherri turned her sample over, "See the green tracks here? That's their
blood."
   "Green blood? Then they're Romulan for sure!"
   Sherri rolled her eyes at me, but continued, "Once exposed to air, the
blood forms little gummy globules - and for a while it was considered a
delicacy. They even called it 'Green Caviar.'" Sherri laughed, she paused
and pointed to a small green-tinged puncture behind the legs, "See this?
This is where it was 'milked' for its blood. They take 3 cc's from each
specimen and then release them. Problem is that they're only supposed to use
the larger crabs, not these little ones - 3 cc's from this fella could be
fatal." Sherri sighed as she gently released it.
   We had reached one end of the strand and the waves were really roiling
ahead, "Wait, look! They're fish!" Sara cried, "Feeding on the crabs!" As
the tide rose, more and more of these giant rusty-colored fish were darting
in and feasting on the crabs.
   "Honey, remember the dish we had at Frank's?" I said to Sara, "The
Blackened Drum?" I pointed to the milling school. "That's what these are!
Red Drums!"
   "Shit! What are you guys waiting for?" Sara cried as she broke into a
trot back to the boat. "Move!"
   The Gyro did not have the array of fishing gear that Jewel boasted, but
we found a heavy rod along with Amanda's lighter one which still had her
hand-made lure attached. We carried them back to the beach.
   I baited the heavier rod and handed it to Sara, who caught a fish almost
immediately. Battling the explosively ferocious fish, Sara was dragged into
the wash before she could plant the rod-end into the sand, with the line
screaming out of the drag. Not having the mobility of a boat forced us to
tighten the drag even more than usual - the powerful Reds could run our line
out before they tire.
   Their reputation as fighters was fully justified as it seemed that as
soon as we managed to bring it near shore, it turned in flight again. After
the fifth try, which left us soaked and gasping for breath, I waded in and
gaffed it, a mean and ugly 15lb brute.
   Trying to catch their breath before tackling another big one, the girls
tried fishing Amanda's lure in the shallow water off the beach. With deadly
accuracy, they were able land four 4-pounders between them, 3 Drums and a
Sea Trout.
   As I cleaned and stored the fish, Sherri and Sara again hooked into a
monster which, despite our concerted efforts, still took a good 10 minutes
to land.
   After which, we had to leave - we were still a half hour from Brookhaven
and the fish would have to wait for another day.

= = =

Al had left us a note at the Marina with keys and directions to the condo
and a request to meet him at his office at the Convention Center. He was
busy setting up the weekend's activities, geared towards keeping everyone
busy and happy while their parents went golfing. He informed us that the
waterway had already been sectioned off and, starting at 9 the next morning,
we would be able to use it for testing. We made arrangements for him to come
watch at that time.
   Al invited us to stay for dinner but we declined; the restaurant was
already swamped with tourists and other diners, but we did drop off the 2
larger fish at the kitchen in exchange for cooking supplies.
   "What did you ask for?" I asked Sara as I carried a large box out to the
electric cart. "What was that about 4 peas in a pod?"
   She looked at me for along time, "I see, you must be a furriner. All true
Southerners know 4P's-To go! It's the secret to all our cooking! Cajun,
Bayou, Jerk, Railroad - you name it!"
   "I don't know that either!" Sherri said.
   Sara sighed, stroking her cheek, "You're still young, child, I will teach
you. But you---" She shook her head at me "--had better learn real quick!"
She looked furtively around, "Or they may revoke your citizenship in the
Confederacy!"
   She sat in the cart next with me and pulled Sherri on her lap, "4P's-To
go, my children, is what every chef learns at her Mama's bosom. Each letter
stands for a spice: the 4 P's, of course, then Salt, Thyme, Oregano, Garlic
and Onion!" She finished.
   "Pardon my asking, but which 4 Peas would that be?"
   "No way! You're putting me on! You don't know your 4P's?" Sara looked at
me incredulously, then sadly, "Are you without any redeeming qualities at
all? For your information, the 4P's stand for the 4 peppers: black, white,
paprika and cayenne!" She stopped and looked up, horror spreading on her
face and turned to Sherri, "Oh no! I fear--" She hugged her and whispered,
"--I may have given my heart to a... a damned Yankee!" She buried her head
in Sherri's bosom and sobbed.
   I stepped off the cart and went to their side. I placed my hands on their
shoulders, "Then I must inform you, I have to leave now..."
   "What do you mean, leave?" Sherri stared at me.
   "I am going, dear Scarlett, with the army." I deadpanned.
   Sara looked up from where she'd been leaving spit on Sherri's shirt, eyes
glinting, "Um, er, oh, Rhett!" She started, batting her lashes at me, "How
can you do this? Why are you leaving us?"
   "Ah'm thinking of the gallant Confed'racy, ma'am." I drawled, "Think how
ow'ar boys will be heartened by mah eleventh-hour appearance!"
   "Yeah, Rhett," Sherri grabbed my neck and shook me, hard, "How can you do
this? Why are you leaving us?" She did her belle of the South imitation and
it came out like 'Wha'r yew le-eevin us?'
   "Why?" I straightened and struck a heroic pose, eyes afar, "Because it is
a betraying sentimentality that lurks in all us Southerners! I could not
love thee, dears, so much; loved I not honor more!"
   I bowed deeply as they clapped and cheered.
   "I guess your ARE a true Southerner after all..." Sara said breathily.
She pulled me down and kissed me. And kissed me. Then Sherri did the same.
   Finally we separated, panting and gasping, "Honey, who's Honor?"


   =============

(C) Copyright 2002. M.C.
All Rights Reserved.
All Reproduction for fee or profit forbidden.

Copies of my stories can be downloaded from:
<http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/MikeC/>

What do you think of the story?
Send comments and suggestions to MikeC@NSpace.net

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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