The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever (28 page)

He smiled and nodded. "At the U.S. Open,
beauties like Anna Kournikova play on the Stadium Court, while
higher ranked women play on the Grandstand, or the outer courts.
When it comes to women's tennis, sex appeal counts."

She frowned. "Men going bonkers over
honkers."

He laughed and kissed her, despite her
attempt to avoid it. "You could be a tennis superstar, a tennis
supernova. You could light up the tennis world like it's never been
lit before. What I'm trying to ensure is that you stand on your
stool, and grasp the fame and the glory that can be yours—if that's
what you want."

"A supernova?"

"Bigger and brighter than a superstar.
Eventually, some tennis playing lovely's going to say, 'I'm going
to bring glamour and sex appeal to women's tennis.' She'll become
an instant celeb. There was only one Elvis, one Monroe, and one
Madonna. If you have to imitate, you've lost your kick at the
superstardom cat, a cat that could be tawny colored."

"Tawny colored, eh?"

"Remember what the Bard said:

There is a tide in the affairs of [a Tawny Cat],

Which taken at the flood leads on to fortune."

"Did William really spake of a Tawny Cat
taking the tide on to fortune?"

"Bless you, child, yes! But there's a flip
side to supernovadom. People won't be able to get enough of you. If
you dress for success, a hundred million men are going to want a
slice of the most desirable woman in the world. You'll become
everyone's American princess—a public commodity, like Princess
Diana."

"That won't be a problem for me, because I'll
have you. I bet that if Di had you she'd be a 'Cuckoo for Cocoa
Puffs' happy princess too. Anyway, I've always been able to handle
guys who hit on me."

"Perhaps. But in the past, you were dealing
with amateurs—neophytes when it came to getting the women they
wanted. Among the 100 million men who'll dream of having you, will
be the rich and powerful. Men who have everything this world has to
offer—except you. And those men are adept at getting what they
want. What happens when you're invited to the White House, and the
President wants to show you his private etchings—and the allure of
older men."

"You're an older man."

"I'm not sure that one month qualifies
me."

"Allure or not, I'm too young for the
President. But Chrissy Evert dated President Ford's son. Maybe I
should be looking for President's sons."

"Why not, you carousing cat? Unfortunately,
while you're looking for President's sons, the crazies will be
looking for you. Look at what happened to Monica—stabbed at a
tournament in Hamburg by a guy who didn't like to see her beating
Steffi. Once you add Tawny Cat sex appeal to the equation, the
crazies will be drawn to you like poison ivy to campers."

Suddenly, she was worried. "What should I
do?"

"I wish I could tell you. What I want for you
is what will make you happiest. But if what makes you happiest is
supernovadom, then you must see yourself as an entertainer first
and a tennis player second. People are demanding to be entertained,
no matter what they're watching. Andre Agassi is one of the few
tennis players who recognizes the importance of showmanship. Garth
Brooks is another performer who understands that he's an
entertainer first. That's why he's the supernova of New
Country."

"Will you help me?"

He hugged her. "Of course. You'll never be
alone. I'll always be there for you."

"Promise?"

"I promise. If supernovadom is what you want,
I'll do everything I can to make it happen for you. We won't let
your dream pass you by while you're dozing."

"I would like to be a supernova, but I only
want to light up the tennis world if you're there with me."

"I'll always be there with you. Relax until
you've reached the round of sixteen in a tournament. Then we'll
undress you, before we glam you up a little. But it's not just
fewer and more appealing threads that will make you a celeb. I see
in you the potential to be a better player than Billie Jean,
Martina, or even your favorite."

"Chrissy," Betty-Jo said, before she gave him
her best French kiss.

"Your combination of talent and beauty, will
make you the biggest tennis sensation of all time."

"Do you really think so?"

"I know so. Now tell me your bear's
name."

"I Love Only You Brad."

"I hope so, Tawny person, because that love
will be tested when the hungry hippos arrive."

"Nothing gets to eat me except you, not even
your imaginary hippos. Now please, Bad Brad, finish doing me."

He looked at his watch. "In a minute. It's
almost time." She laughed at her mandarin, and urged him on.

Later she asked, "So, how close did you
come?"

"Missed by thirty seconds."

"Don't feel too badly, all you need is a
little more practice, and I'll make sure you get plenty of that."
Happy and fulfilled, she stretched for her lover. "You know, if all
Chinese men conduct their business while inside their concubines,
it's no wonder they're so numerous. Accidents are bound to
happen."

A Tawny
Mountain Woman Fantasy

Brad wanted Betty-Jo to play in the Canadian
Open, in Toronto, in mid-August. Canada's international women's
tennis championship was a Tier 1 event—the last big tournament
prior to the U.S. Open. Playing it would sharpen Betty-Jo's game,
let her meet his parents, allow him to attend the Sheik and
Belinda's wedding, and, as it turned out, make her the leading lady
in his mountain woman fantasy.

He was looking forward to a leisurely
three-day drive to Toronto, and apparently, so was Betty-Jo. They
got off to an early start on Thursday, and by two-thirty, she was
looking relaxed and sounding affectionate.

"Bad Brad," she said seductively, while
sliding her hand along his inner thigh, "if you stop, I'll show you
some scenery, the kind of scenery I know you like. Remember our
first night together. I was at your mercy, and you had the only
virgin you're ever likely to have?"

Brad's memory of his Tawny Cat, responding to
him for the first time, came frolicking back. "That's one evening
I'll never forget."

"Considerate as it was of you to deflower me
on a satiny bed, I missed out on loving in Old-yellow." She nibbled
at his ear, and then she bit.

"Did I ever tell you that I love it when you
play easy to get?" he asked.

"Today I'm especially easy. You owe me a fun
time in Old-yellow, and I feel like being taken advantage of now.
But you do have an option. You can make love with me now, or watch
while I strangle your ducky." She grabbed Lucky Ducky by its neck
with one hand, and his fully awakened manhood with the other.

"You're right. I've been negligent in not
extending our lovemaking to Old-yellow's reclining seat. And I'll
make it up to you. But please, don't hurt my Ducky."

She grinned at him. "If you make me happy,
your ducky stays healthy."

"There is one little thing. I'd appreciate it
if you'd wait until we get to West Virginia. I have this fantasy
about West Virginian mountain women, and it now looks as if you're
as close as I'm going to come to having one. Not that I'm
complaining." He ran his finger tips lightly across the nape of her
neck.

"Complaining? I'll be more fun for you than
your finest mountain woman fantasy. Your mountain woman is going to
take naughty to a whole new level. Stop Old-yellow so I can get my
suitcase."

Betty-Jo retrieved her suitcase, and climbed
into the back seat. "Let's see," she said. "A quality mountain
woman would wear cutoffs—no panties. Too bad though, it's difficult
to believe that a real mountain woman would shave her love
triangle. Perhaps you should have considered that before you played
Bad Brad the pussy stylist with mine. Then a real mountain woman
would wear her halter Daisy Mae style—just one strap."

Brad was beside himself. His princess was
creating his fantasy mountain woman right behind him. He started to
adjust the rear view mirror for a sneak preview, but the
ill-tempered mountain woman thumped him on the side of his
head.

Tawny Cat could be a great actress, he
thought. She can change her persona like a chameleon changes color.
With men you know what they are—boys, until they're ancient. Even
middle aged and proper princes contemplate becoming a tampon so
they can put their whole selves in. Granted,
in,
is a
wonderful place to be, but perhaps tampon time is the wrong time to
be there. Tawny, on the other hand, is impossible to label.
Sometimes she's a lady, a southern belle—other times she's a Tawny
animal. Day-to-day she's a gal, full of fun and loving, and
occasionally, she does that girlish thing, with a charm and
silliness that drives me crazy. Today, she's happy to be my tawny
mountain woman fantasy.

"No shoes on your mountain woman, City Boy,"
the mountain woman said, as she stretched her shapely leg, and
wiggled her toes on the armrest beside Brad's seat. "Long hair over
the shoulders, a barrette on one side, and perspiring. We mountain
women run around a lot, in the mountains and the back woods. Pull
off at the next exit."

The next exit was the Blue Ridge mountain
town of Bastian. Betty-Jo hopped out of Old-yellow, and ran beside
him on a deserted side-road. Brad grinned as he watched her run.
You haven't seen a mountain woman run until you've seen Tawny
sprinting along with only one overworked halter strap struggling
heroically to contain her cupcakes.

Half a mile down the road, she flagged him
down, and slumped onto the seat beside him. "Howdy, City Boy," she
said, "thanks fo' given a po' tired mountain-gal a lift. Ah jus'
don't know what ah'd ah done if you hadn' come along jus' now.
Lordy, ah mauht a bin et by a bar. But ah do feel safe with you."
She swung across the seat, pushed Fun into his arm, and nuzzled his
ear.

"The hell with West Virginia," he said as he
breathed her in. "Plenty of mountain women in Virginia—mighty fine
mountain women."

Perspiration glistened in the cleavage
between Fun and More Fun, and Betty-Jo's halter, where it covered
her polka dots, was sticking to her. He wanted and needed
her—badly. He reached for her halter strap.

"City Boy! What ah you doin'? Stop!"

"Gonna have me a mountain woman," he
growled.

"Lahk hell you ah!"

Betty-Jo was out of the car, and running
before he could grab her. She had a lengthy head start, but she was
running barefoot, so he finally managed to overtake her under a
Bigleaf Magnolia. She remained hostile. "Ged off ah me, City Boy,"
she snarled before she tried to knee him.

He flipped her onto her stomach, and spanked
her playfully. Finally, she implored him, "Stop, City Boy! Ah give
up. Have yo' way with me—whateve' you want."

Later, floating like a helium filled balloon,
he cuddled and kissed her. "Tawny Cat, what would I do without
you?"

She hugged him, and then ran her fingertips
slowly over his back. "Probably get one of those inflatable women
that they advertise in men's magazines."

"Probably," he conceded, "but somehow I can't
believe that a plastic doll would be nearly as much fun as
you."

"How could it be? With me you have your very
own amusement park, and a variety of theme parks as an added
bonus."

"My very own amusement park I understand and
love—but theme parks?"

"Sure. Where I'm a virgin, and you're an
experienced, I'll-teach-you-exactly-what-I-want guy, or I'm a Tawny
Concubine and you're my Mandarin, and most recently, where I'm a
Tawny Mountain Woman and you're a City Boy who has decided to take
advantage of me."

"Must admit, I've always liked theme parks,
but your theme parks—I love!"

Two days later, heading into Toronto on the
QEW, he was listening to new country on CISS FM, and considering
what his catnapping Tawny Cat meant to him. He had been well aware
that something important was missing in his life. But initially,
romancing the moth slayer had been a sporting endeavor, as much as
the need to fill the emptiness inside him. That changed with their
first kiss, because suddenly, the emptiness was gone—suddenly, she
lit up his life. 'You Light Up My Life' had become their song. It
was the song that he played most often when they were lounging
around, nuzzling or dancing. He would crank up their song, fire up
a candle or two, and savor his princess—her aroma, her taste, her
warmth, and her beauty. 'She dazzles me like the dawn, and comforts
me like the night,' he thought. Occasionally, he would pinch
himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

Tawny Cat was cheerful, loving, and frisky—a
marvelous quality in a woman when it's you she's being frisky with.
He was hitched to happy. The little things—her glance, or her hand
in his—sent waves of ecstasy racing through him. She wrestles with
my soul, and then plays hopscotch on my heart. I can't imagine my
life without her.

Return
of The Tooth Fairy

The phone rang as Brad and Betty-Jo were
leaving their room for the whirlpool at the Prince Hotel in
Toronto. Brad went back to answer it.

"Hi, Grasshopper. Your mother told me you
were staying at the Prince. Are we getting together while you're
here?"

"Sandra Manderville, seducer of innocent
youths from my past. Of course we are. How's tonight look?"

"According to 'The Rules', I need at least
three days notice."

"I'm still thinking dinner tonight:
seven-thirty, the Vista Room at the Ambassador Hotel?"

He glanced over at Betty-Jo. She was standing
at the door, her hands on her hips, scowled at him.