The Gift of Her Naked Patriotism

The Gift of Her Naked Patriotism

     A giant star spangled cake sits in the middle of the living room. Its red, white, and blue icing tempt me to taste. But what pops out of the cake is even more pleasing to my senses. My second cousin Portia opens the secret door and jumps up waving her bikini flag bottom for the men in uniform. She dips her finger into the frosting and licks it suggestively and the men clap. A serviceman approaches and sucks the frosting from her finger. Then she offers him her cake coated thumb which he uses like a pacifier with a big smile.
     She says, “Who wouldn’t want to squeeze my tush? But the next best thing is to own a pair of my very own panties. I’m raffling one off for free. Just put your name on a slip of paper and drop it in the jar. I wish I could give each and every one of you a pair but there are times when a girl feels naked without them and I wear only the best which can get pricey.” The side section opens and I escort her out of her castle of sugar.
     My second cousin Portia wears a string bikini for our Fourth of July party. She explains, “Johnny, the reason for me wearing the stars and stripes with just enough to not be indecently exposed is because it is the middle of a hot Louisiana summer. Also, there are soldiers on leave here and I wanted to give them some eye candy as a gift for their service to our country. Hey, could you stand below me while I climb the ladder to reach for some vodka? It is way up there.”
     “I’d be glad to.” Her flagged bottom waggles in my face like she is beckoning me to touch.  
     She says, “My goodness I’m so sorry, but I’d feel much more secure if you’d put your hands on my derriere to steady me.” This new twist has me in near heaven. So, of course, as a gentleman, I lend my protective hands to the cause of steadying her. Finally, she steps down the rungs holding the bottle and I grip her by her waist as she makes her descent.  
     After several more drinks, my eyes get glassy. She says, “Hun, let me get you some more punch and rum. You just sit at the table and let me serve you.” The simple act of a woman serving me, a man, is so beautiful that I can’t help but accept her offer even though I’m already way past tipsy.
     Portia says, “Out of gratitude for your family’s long history of enlistment in the armed forces, I will be your Geisha Girl today, just without the kimono.”
     I reply, “You look dressed for the Geisha’s bedroom duties.”
     She curtseys. “Well, my labors of love aren’t limited to serving tea.”
     “Do you mean you’ll entertain me with your eloquence in the art of language?”
     “Why settle for the pool when you can have the beach? You would be amazed by my Zen and the art of cousinly sensuality.”    
     I say, “Let’s go to Florida!”
     “I’ll take you there but would you like a jello shot to go with your punch?”
     “Maybe just one more for the road.”
     “Here let me spoon feed it to you. I live to serve you, master.”
     “You are my waitress and nurse one in the same.”
     “Of course, dear cousin, it is my pleasure to perform the role of your wife as well. I’ll be your June Cleaver anti-feminist.”
     “Oh, I love it but really, I have to stop. I’m already plastered.”
     “Let me get you some coffee then. I’m really getting into this handmaiden role.” She serves the brew with a smile and wipes the spillage from my face.
     She has a wicked eye gleam. “Let me take you to my place and get you sobered up. You can’t drive like that and I don’t want your maw and paw seeing you like this. He might reconsider giving you his old pickup and you’d be left with that ole rust bucket Camaro. I would feel guilty for leading you into intoxication.”  
     We arrive at her place and she unbuttons my dress shirt leaving my chest bare and sweaty. She says, “You really look wasted. You need a shower. If you don’t mind, I’ll just strip those clothes off and get you into the stall.” When she takes hold of my zipper, I take a deep breath. She slips my slacks down and any vestige of my modesty is gone.  
     She leads me to the shower and turns it on the warm side. She makes me lean over spread-eagled with my hands on the shower wall. She says, “Johnny, you need stimulation to get your blood flowing so you’ll sober up. Purely in the cause of getting you sober I’m going to give you a double whammy.”  
     She proceeds to spank me with one hand while grasping my penis with the other and using her velvety hand to pleasure me. With one loud slap resounding like a firecracker, she grabs a clump of my hair and positions me with the spray pelting me into tropic desire.
     Embarrassment makes me turn my back to the geyser of rain until my tower of Pisa leans and bows down like a knight before his Queen. But Portia summons me to rise with a well-placed knee to my buttocks so that there is no escape for my manly massive from the steam-driven heat of hot water shooting like Niagara Falls after centuries of global warming but mine is a man-made shower. So again, I feel the liquid fire of my Lady of the Lave who coaxes me to stand. She turns me about-face for my cock to defy its marination in alcohol and salute her old glory bathing suit. She inspects my male gear like a female drill sergeant readying her man for action.
     She says, “Oh now my beach outfit is soaked. Do you mind if I slip out of this? Hey, I’m kind of soused too. I know a great way to get both our circulatory systems pumping. Do you know what 69 means?”
     I say, “Sure, that was the year the New York Mets won the World Series.”  
     She says, “Batter up bucko.”