These next two are works in progress, just the beginnings of a few thoughts and Ideas, advise, thanks.
"Now that is an offer I just cannot refuse", thinks Mark to himself. Viewing such a tiny bit of French pastry covered with mounds of whip cream, in all the right places, is enough to make any male's mouth water while another part leaks liquid as well. Knowing she could not understand a word of English, "Special Agent Mark Sheldon at your service, ready to serve", the words leapt out of his mouth faster than his pants were UN-zipped.
After all Mark was willing to do his all for God and country, which ever God or which ever country. A free lancer bought and paid for by which ever government had the price. This has been his life style the past twelve years and he was not about to change it for anyone. Or so he thought. Females were his stock in trade. Knew many, up close, personal, very personal in most cases. Then this French pastry came into his life. She was about to teach him more than a new language.
Six foot two, one hundred eighty five pounds of pure muscle. Ten percent body fat, complete set of bright shinny teeth, full head of burnt auburn colored hair covering a Mensa rating of 182. In a nut shell, Special Agent Mark Sheldon. Sure, all of that against little five foot one Cheri of Paree.............and the winner is.........but I'm getting ahead of myself.
Paris had been under the Nazi heel since 14 Jun 1940. 1944 would be it's release, after all Mark Sheldon was now on the scene. Sure, even the circulation weekly L'Illustration did not run this fact on it's front page because Mark was the only person on earth to know that he had arrived in Paris. He had recently completed his part behind the front pages of Europe in near by Rotterdam, undercover as always.
Dressed in full gear as a Gestapo agent Mark has played his part very well during the first week of his arrival in Paris. Now he was on a much deserved selfish twenty-four hour holiday. Spending it in the usual Special Agent Mark Sheldon way, with a very desirable female, in this case Cheri whom he had just met down stairs in the bar.
She was now laying across the very large bed as Mark strides up, taking his shirt off, slipping out of his shoes with each of the two steps towards heaven. Shirt had been removed moments earlier when Cheri had first entered the room from the bathroom. All that was left now were the undershirt and shorts. Standing along side of the bed he reached down, pulling his undershirt up over his head, with one quick toss it was on the floor. Cheri slid toward him, her legs slinking down between his and knelt between him and the bed.
She could see that he was an inly with a slight patch of belly lint laying at home. Reaching with her right thumb and index finger poised almost together, she gently as a butterfly's kiss removes the lint, flicking it towards the floor. Looking up at him her smile is vixen as a witch brewing her favorite remedy. Eyes not leaving his, her hands slide down his sides placing each thumb within the waist of his under shorts. Snail pace speed, temptation ease, she moves them down to his ankles. His manhood is alive, touching her chin.
Shall I continue ????? advise, thank you.
Aroma of freshly brewed coffee stirred Jake's memory awake, even raising his eyelids would be an effort, yet he tried. Through slanted vision he could make out his traveling partner Tom, squatting at the fireside, shifting hot coals.
Aroma was quickly out of awareness as the single crack from a rifle sends a round dead into the center of their large black coffeepot, aged by use. Tom screams in pain as the dark brown liquid is sprayed onto his face. Red hot embers thrown into the air from his probing stick head toward Jake who is in a matter of seconds wide awake, rolling towards his own rifle. Embers fall safely to Mother Earth as Jake returns fire in the direction of the single shot.
Tom took only a few steps and was into the small creek, up to his knees, splashing cool water onto his face before the second shot caught him in the back, right shoulder. The reaction of using his left hand to reach over to comfort the pain caused him to twist to his left, off balance he falls backwards into the stream. Even with water being only two feet deep his head went under, crashing onto a large boulder. Laying half submerged, half out of the water he was out of the line of fire.
Three shots rang out from Jake's Springfield from his vantage point behind the boulder he had rolled to. Those were random and only ment to draw the attacker's attention away from Tom. Sneaking a quick glance toward the mini stream containing Tom Jake knew that he must somehow get over there and pull him out before it was to late. Twenty feet seemed like a hundred yards when a friend is in danger but that distance must be covered quickly. Attention of Jake is called back into the view of an area where the first shot was fired from as he hears moans of a person in pain. One of his random shots had found a home or was it a ruse ?.
Moving his heard just enough for his right eye to see around the boulder Jake spots a body laying on the ground, not moving. With patience of a surgeon he very slowly moves to his right, one step, no shots being fired, no sound coming from the body's area. Another step and he is fully away from the boulder, crouched, weapon in hand, aimed. He continues the slow careful pace forward to the body. Reaching it, nudging it with the rifle barrel, no response. Jake reaches down to turn it over.
Splashing water calls Jake's attention away from the body, quickly turning he sees Tom's head rise above it's previous watery grave and his entire body turn to rest on a large rock. His heavy breathing assures Jake that his friend is still very much alive and struggling to stay that way. Quickly he rushes to Tom's side, pulls him even more away from the liquid that was to be his fate and onto more dry land.
Shall I continue ? Advise me, thanks.
This page and connecting pages: Copyright © 1996-2005 by Jack Leroy Bryson. All rights reserved. This site may be freely linked to but not duplicated in any fashion without my consent.
