This story is for readers over the age of 18 only, and contains explicit sexual situations and adult language. The writer is not responsible for any "discomfort" caused to the reader by this language and these situations.

©2001 by WILDBEARIES

FUTURE PERFECT - Section 7

There were only 3 weeks of shooting left in London, after which we planned to pass through Los Angeles on the way back home to Australia. Home to Australia - I really loved the thought of it by then. I was full to the top with hotel living, luxurious as that was, and I was more than full to the top with Diane Dimante.

The Saturday night of the Royal Command Performance was both a high and a low point of that trip. Colin's latest film, a new version of Wuthering Heights, was chosen by the King for the film that special evening. Colin, naturally, was excited beyond words about it, and had invited Russell and me to accompany him and his wife to the theater. Imagine my excitement when I heard that Russell and I were to be presented to the King! I wasn't sure what that involved - hopefully, nothing too stressful. Nothing beyond hundreds of flashbulbs going off, thousands of fans outside the theater - an ordinary evening. I was glad I wasn't showing much yet, that meant I wouldn't look like the Incredible Pregnant Hulk in the pictures.

I chose a dress that didn't make me look like a balloon, and which emphasized what Russell called "my feminine endowments" without being too bare. I looked at myself in the mirror once I was dressed, liking how the dusty teal taffeta shimmered and rustled. I wore it with a matching wrap knitted of silk threads with tiny iridescent beads like little drops of water scattered throughout. Russell came in just as I finished whipping my hair into submission. He grinned at me in the mirror, dressed except for his tuxedo coat. "Lovely," he commented.

I inclined my head, practicing being royal. He bent and kissed me right above my cleavage. "Oh, nice kiss," I murmured. He then handed me a long, flat box. "What's this?"

"A special gift for a special evening," he said enigmatically, fastening his kangaroo cufflinks.

I opened it. Yellow gold - a departure for his gifts to me - and the jewels were tanzanites, teal diamonds and lavender pearls. The gems were set in gold the shape of a branch of coral, and they hung from an unusual chain that looked like linked coral branches. He helped me fasten it in place. The pendant hit me just in the spot he had kissed. "I love it." I leaned up and kissed him. "I love you, too."

"Thank you, love," he said softly. "The feeling is mutual." He got his coat and I helped him adjust it, smoothing it over his thick shoulders. We stood looking in the mirror, me slightly behind him, my hands on his upper arms. "If we don't go right now," he commented, "we're not going to go."

"And why would that be, pray tell?" I knew why, but I liked hearing him say it.

He laughed a very lascivious laugh, and would only say, "You know." He bowed me out the door where the concierge gave us encouraging nods and smiles of approval, then we rode downstairs and were whisked away in a limo. Luckily, the weather was cooperating and it was a lovely evening, cool but not too cool. The area around the theater was jammed with limousines, traffic barricades, milling crowds of fans and reporters, plus the inevitable army of photographers, as well as the royal security people, Russell's security people, the theater's security people - well, there were almost more security people there than the whole rest of the crowd combined. "No doubt we'll be safe," he said as we got out of the car.

As soon as we were walking up the red carpet to the front of the theater, we were deafened by the shouting people. "Russell, Russell!! I wanna have your baby, Russell!" He looked in the direction of that person and laughed, saying "Too late!" I don't know how many pictures were taken - I was only able to see the round flashes for a long time after we got inside the theater, feeling half blinded. I stayed close to him, which he made easy by holding tightly to my hand and making sure I was right there at his side.

When a reporter he knew yelled out, "So, how's married life, Russ?" He laughed and pointed towards me, saying, "It's just great, mate - you oughta find yourself a nice woman like my Lynnie here and settle down."

I beamed at this, naturally, thinking that had just earned him something special for later. The film reporter for the BBC stopped us and interviewed Russell briefly, a very nice woman in her fifties who Russell told me later had always been very kind to him and positive in her reviews of his work. "So, belated congratulations on your marriage, Russell - Lynn," she said. I smiled and thanked her. They chatted about "Botany Bay" for a few moments, then we walked on and joined up with the group with Colin and his wife. We all sat together during the film, then, afterwards, stood in a receiving line in the lobby as King William walked down the line, greeting everyone.

He looked like his lovely mother, who had been an idol of mine, and I hoped I didn't come off as too much of a yankee when I curtseyed and called him, "Your Majesty." Russell bowed, all finesse, and they chatted briefly about Australia - which the King happened to love - and about films, another of his loves, then he passed on down the line and I could breathe again. "Oh, my," I said, wanting to sit somewhere and just think about my evening.

Colin and Russell had their heads together, so I knew there would be no quiet thinking for awhile yet. I was right. The four of us, plus Steven and Kate and some others from Dreamworks, were all going to a late supper. Actually, it turned out to be very nice, and I was hungry. I managed to wangle the seating so I was beside Kate and we giggled a lot while we ate filets en croute, fresh asparagus and spinach salad with raspberry vinaigrette. Kate asked how I was feeling since I hadn't seen her for a couple of weeks. "I'm almost over the morning sickness," I told her with great relief. "Except now and then it hits me out of the blue, and it's pretty uncomfortable."

She patted my hand, "Could be worse, Lynn. With our first, I was sick the whole damned nine months. I tell you, when I got pregnant the second time, I was really upset with myself until I realized I wasn't getting sick at all! I never got morning sickness at all with that baby." We laughed at the vagaries of Mother Nature regarding expectant mothers.

"Well, isn't this cozy?"

I looked up, recognizing the venom-dripping voice. Russell said tightly, "Diane."

She frowned at the brief acknowledgement, then, walking around the table, forced a place for herself and her date - a chinless younger man who was Lord Somebody-or-Other. Steven gallantly moved over, as did Colin's wife, so there was room at the table. She acted as though she had been invited, which she clearly had not been. Everyone was too polite to say so, however. Besides, a dispute in a public restaurant would not be good publicity, given that we had already been noticed and already had photographs taken from outside the restaurant through the windows.

Russell leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Stop looking daggers at her, love, you'll sour your stomach"

I giggled and squeezed his hand. Did I mention he was holding my hand under the table? He was, resting our interlinked hands on his right thigh. I had been naughty a couple of times already and teased him by moving my hand to more interesting locations, loving how he shifted uncomfortably in his chair when his cock got semi-erect inside his elegant evening trousers. I looked him right in the eye when that happened, wearing my most innocent expression. "I'll be good," I promised, "If she is."

"I hear you two whispering over there," Diane said, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke in my direction. "Must be something interesting. Or - dirty, maybe?"

I fanned the smoke away, deliberately keeping my gesture casual. "Oh, I'll never tell," I said enigmatically. Russell chose that moment to put my hand right on his cock and close my fingers around it. I inhaled some of her smoke and coughed, trying not to laugh hysterically.

She frowned, her normally elegant face looking like an old maid school teacher. "Mind he doesn't open the zip, luv," she sneered, "you don't want a picture of that in the Mirror."

Steven cleared his throat loudly and began talking animatedly with Colin about fishing for trout in Scotland. Kate, Colin's wife and I all stared at Diane. They probably were more cool about it than I was, but Russell told me later I looked the picture of Woman Protecting What's Hers as I calmly dashed my full glass of Chablis in Diane's face. "You don't want a picture of that in the Mirror, either," I told her, then simply leaned back against my husband as his arm came around me.

Everyone at the table stopped whatever they were doing and just stared from me to Diane and back again. Kate gave me a thumbs-up. Russell, always the gent, tossed a clean napkin to Diane. "Here, wipe that off before you drip on the nice carpet."

She flung the napkin back at him, stood up without a word, and flounced off, Lord Something-or-Other in her wake, wanting to know why they were leaving and who was that who threw the wine at her.

"That went well," Russell commented into the silence.

We all cracked up, laughing until we had to stop or risk being asked to leave the restaurant for being rowdy. I was still giggling in spurts as we rode back to the hotel, probably because I was overtired by then, but it was fun to just relax and laugh together, especially since Russ had such an infectious laugh. He always spurred me on with his giggling.

We rode up in the elevator, another giggle fit breaking out every time our eyes met, and I'm sure the other guests who were in the elevator with us wondered what was going on. Once we got to our floor, Russell bowed me out the door and informed the surprised looking group continuing to the next floors, "She told me a dirty joke downstairs, see?" I yanked him into the vestibule and the doors shut on some very curious faces.

He danced me down the hall in time to the music on the hotel sound system - I believe it was a waltz - then we went into our suite and shut the door. I flopped on the couch, my dress pooling around me, head flung back. "God, I thought I'd never get to do this!" I kicked off my shoes and groaned in relief.

Russell, always one to take a hint, seated himself on a foot stool and rubbed my feet. "Ahh, your feet are all puffy, love." He kissed each instep, massaging and rubbing while I sighed in delight. "I'm glad we're going home soon, I can take proper care of you there."

"Don't forget we're stopping in LA on the way," I reminded him as he tickled his way up my calves. He found the lacy tops of my stockings, then the satin fastenings of my garter belt and moaned theatrically.

"You know just how to make me suffer," he complained, looking put upon.

"Well, if you weren't under my skirt, you wouldn't have found them, now would you?" I lifted my silk skirt and let the fabric flutter down over him. He was kissing his way up my thighs at that point. "Oooh, er, that's nice," I managed.

"Thank you, we aim to please," came his muffled voice. He nibbled the inside of my thigh, then let out a chortle. "No knickers!" He emerged from under my skirt to throw me an appreciative look. "Is that just for me?"

I nodded, "Just for you. That's your treat for not minding when I threw wine on your girlfriend."

"Such a nice wife I have," he commented happily, and dove back under my skirts for the beginning of what was the first act in a very pleasant interlude. Act two took place in the shower, and the finale (he insisted on calling it the Climax) was in the bed, stark naked on top of the satin comforter. It, however, was too slippery so we ended up on the floor. After, as we snuggled, panting and replete, he asked, "You know what they call satin sheets, Lynnie?"

"No," I lied, "what?"

"Sex on the floor."

How to explain the way I feel about her, my Lynnie.

Let's see now. I guess we'd have to go back to that day in 2004 when I started getting phone calls from God and everybody telling me that this Yank sheila was in Sydney asking a ton of questions about how to find the farm, did anybody know for sure if I was even in Oz, had anyone talked to me recently - you know, the usual bullshit when someone's trying to get ahold of you and your friends call to letcha know so you can take off, or else be warned before they climb over the fuckin' fence and scare the cows. What intrigued me, and I guess you could call it Fate or Kismet or whatever, is that they all said the same thing about her: she seems sincere, Russ, maybe you oughta talk to her.

Now, I ask you! I thought they'd all gone daft, or maybe they were just tired of repellin' boarders after all that time. I dunno. I just know that I was going mental up on the farm. Once I got over - things - and got some rest, had time to sit and just breathe, y'know? Once I had been a normal bloke for a year or so, I hate to say it, but I was bloody bored.

I had finished "Botany Bay", Steven liked it, and we were even starting to talk about producing it. That meant I'd have to stir my stumps to fly over to LaLa Land and meet with the man. You can only do so much using the old email and the phone. And I have to be honest here, while I didn't much like Hollywierd or any of that shi - er, stuff (everyone tells me I cuss too fuckin' much, so I'm tryin' to stop), so even though I'd rather be staked over a termite mound at high noon during termite mating season, wearing wooden underpants, even a trip to California was startin' to sound good. I decided to go down to Sydney and have a look at her.

Course, I realized that I could walk around in Sydney by then without getting' waylaid by ten dozen sheilas on heat tryin' to grab a piece of me to take home to their mum. Hell, some of the sheilas were their mums! At any rate, where was I? Oh, yeah. I didn't want this Lynn woman to know I was checkin' her out because that would mean I'd have to meet with her, if only just to tell her to fuck off. I mean, leave me alone. Damn it, I DO try, y'know? Just pretend I don't cuss half as fuckin' much as I do, okay? I mean, I gave up smoking, I'd been damn near as chaste as a nun for over a year - ya gotta leave a bloke some vices.

So, I decided to hop on down, have a look at her, and if she seemed sincere, maybe I'd invite her up to actually talk. Bob at the agency in LA had told me he was retiring, and he had told me they'd put a sheila on as my rep, which hacked me off at the time, but then he'd said she was good and I wasn't to worry. I always trusted Bob, he'd never done me wrong, so I trusted his word about this Lynn Sykes. Only, somehow, in tellin' me about her, Bob never mentioned she was so fuckin' cute.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, right - so I hop on down, but I decided to disguise myself so she wouldn't cop to the fact that I was me, see? Besides, it was a laugh gettin' out the old makeup kit and tryin' a couple of disguises until I found a simple one that made me look real different. I decided to go as Ira Trenary, a git who I'd fired from the cavalry the year after I came back home because the hoon tried to put the moves on a really dear friend of mine - not a lover, a friend - who just wasn't interested. It was especially bad because he did this while she was a guest in my home.

I might be a selfish, randy bastard, but I will not tolerate a friend being abused in any way, especially when she had made it clear to the ass hole already that she didn't like him, wasn't interested, please leave her alone - he acted like that was foreplay or something. He actually entered her bedroom and tried to get it on with her, like he didn't understand that no meant no. I had canned Ira - with a huge severance check, I might add! - and not thought about him until then. I'd go as my former employee, tellin' her I'd help her find me - well, Russell - and that way I could get a look at her without tipping my hand who I was. I wouldn't even have to be nice to her if she was a witch.

I got hold of her, disguising my voice, and made arrangements to meet her in the bar at the Hilton. They knew me there, but if I had myself rigged up enough, they wouldn't tip to the fact that it was me and I could get away with it. Especially if none of the regs were on that night. That's why I went down on a Wednesday - most of the blokes who tended bar in the hotels were off on Wednesdays. It just worked out, y'know?

She was sittin' at a table by herself when I sort of sloped in off the street and had a look at her from the vestibule. I saw a ton of this wild, curly red hair - like one of those Pre-Raphaelite paintings, y'know? - and pale skin, huge eyes (I couldn't tell what color - just that they were big and beautiful), and it looked like she had great tits. I know, I know! I'm a man, bear with me. I like tits, so sue me! I put on Ira's walk and went saunterin' on over to talk to her.

I sat down, and she started askin' me questions about why I would betray Russell. That was the term she used, "betray", which I thought was kinda sweet. Like, she cared why this hoon Ira was rattin' me out, and if the reason didn't suit her, she wouldn't take him up on his offer to show her the way. I let her know that I thought it would be funny, and kind of dropped the hint ol' Ira was short on funds, so that when she slid this big packet of cash over to him, it would be natural for him to take it. Funnily enough, though, when I shoved it in the pocket of my jeans, her eyes sorta followed it, and she looked real disgusted with me, with Ira, that he would take money to betray me.

At one point there, she was obviously changin' her mind about the whole bloody business, and she made a grab at the money packet, so I nabbed her hand and sort of rubbed it up and down my crotch, just to see how she'd react. Man, she was really pissed off! Makes me laugh even now, rememberin' how sparks shot out of her eyes, she was so disgusted that Ira would take the money, even though she was real intent on getting up to the farm and meeting me. I let go of her real quick because I could see the bartender lookin' like he was going to call the cops on me. I liked the feel of her hand on my crotch, though. It had definitely been long enough since I got laid. Man, it had been yonks, once I got to thinkin' about it.

So I got this mate of mine with this old beat up Cessna to fly us in to that old airstrip outside of Coffs Harbour. I knew if we came in through the CH airport, some damn body was bound to holler out "G'day, Russ!" or something like that and the game would be up before it got started. Besides, I had some plans about seein' what this Yank sheila was made of before I let her in on the secret that Ira was me. It all went really well until it started pouring rain in buckets. I was driving up the back road, hitting all the chuckholes, rattling her teeth good and proper a few times - and she was just real patient about it, didn't whine or anything, and that impressed me.

I started casting my eye on her, y'know, lookin' at her sidelong when she wasn't lookin', and she was lookin' real determined. Seemed like she was scared shitless but she wasn't gonna let on, and she wasn't gonna gripe about it, well not much anyway. She had a really sweet face, miles of eyelashes around those huge brown eyes, and skin like cream satin. Then there was her figure. She wasn't one of those stick ladies you always run into - you know the ones - all bony everywhere except for this big rack of tits they bought from some plastic surgeon - she was a real woman. She had beautiful boobs, don't get me wrong, I was itching to see them up close, but she also had a sweet waist, beautiful round ass, and nice legs. And she was bein' nice to Ira, and I was doin' my level best to make him a real bastard - snapping at her, ignorin' her - you follow? She was just, to use an old cliché, nice. I needed nice. Hell, I desperately needed nice, especially if it came with that figure! I lost myself fantasizing about the sheila and ran off the fuckin' road, damn near tipped the car over! My plan to maybe teach this sheila a lesson had gone off in my face. It was too damned funny.

See, to disguise myself a bit, I was wearing two pairs of sweat pants under a pair of Terry's old jeans and my old green anorak that was way big on me. Once I had to get out of the Rover and check what damage I'd done, the rain started getting' all those extra clothes wet, and everything just sort of swelled up, and I felt like the fuckin' Michelin tire bloke! Add to that, I'd gotten trapped between the cattle chute and this big damned year old bull just two days before, and I'd bruised up my leg, so it fucking well hurt to walk more than a few steps. Served me right, I guess, I was gonna have to walk it a lot farther than I had planned, and she had this duffle bag that weighed about a thousand pounds, which I was carryin' for her. Well, I thought maybe that didn't fit with Ira, so I made her carry it. Actually, I made her dump out a lot of her stuff. It pissed her off, but I was real surprised that she actually did it. I mean, if you can get a sheila to leave her fancy knickers and her other claptrap behind, out in the middle of nowhere in the rain without cryin' about it - maybe she's a sheila worth knowing.

By the time we were circling the bottom paddock - I was taking her round and round because the house wasn't that far in from the back road and I didn't want her to think it was that easy to find it - my damned leg was killin' me though, so I hopped over the fence into the main paddock, and that was when I really made a bollocks of it and had her climb the fence. She was wet through by then, shakin' like a leaf, but she still went along with the plan and was actually going to climb that fence, barbed wire and all. I took pity on her and lifted her over, but she got her pants leg caught on the wire, landed against me - damn, those tits were incredible! - and my fuckin' leg just buckled, and down we went. Woopsie poopsie, on my ass in the grass, and she hits her head on a rock and passes out.

I thought I had fuckin' killed her.

My leg was cramping up, it was pouring rain, dark as pitch, and I ended up carrying her and her bag - which, thank Christ, was almost empty - all the rest of the way up to the house. I was talking to her the whole way, well, I was cussing, truth be told, telling her to bloody wake up, and she'd best not be dead - shit like that. When I got her to the house, I wanted to kiss the back steps, I was so glad! I got her inside, carried her to the guest bedroom, and dropped her on the floor by the bed. She doesn't know that part, even now. My arms were just too cold, and I was tired and sore from limping with her passed out, draped over my shoulder, and I couldn't hold onto her and figure out how to put her in the bed without knocking her head against the headboard at the same time. So I dropped her. Luckily, I was able to aim her a little bit and she didn't break her ass or her neck.

Of course, I had to get her out of her wet clothes, and I'll confess to this - I enjoyed seein' those tits up close - but man, she was just so cold, and so wet, and I was afraid she was catching cold because she had started sneezing while we were driving along Aronga Station Road - I just looked at her a little bit before I got her tucked up in the bed with an extra blanket. I felt like a bloody voyeur even looking at her that much, like I was almost raping her or something. I felt like she needed protecting, see? Anyway, I stood over her for a long time, making sure she was breathing okay. I even checked her eyes to be sure her pupils were even and all that shit, then I went to bed myself. I was beat.

I heard the shower runnin' the next morning, so I waited outside the bathroom door for her. Pretty quick, here she came, all eyes and hair, wrapped up in my old bathrobe, and she smacked right into me comin' out the bathroom door. She literally bounced off me, she hadn't expected me to be there at all, and I had to grab onto her to keep her from falling on her ass in shock. Her eyes got about this big, I swear. I think I really scared her, not smiling at her or anything. I think she thought I was going to toss her out on her bum right then. When I cooked her breakfast, she was so surprised, she had this comical look on her face - I think I fell in love with her right then. I mean here she was, in the middle of bumfuck Australia with the bloke she'd been so keen on finding, and she thinks she's trespassing and she's scared I'm gonna throw her out, but she decides to just brazen it out and not act as scared as she is. It was like feedin' me an aphrodisiac and a happy pill at the same time, if there was such a thing. I was fuckin' in love with her before she even knew Ira was me and I was Ira.

Then I had to figure out how to tell her I'd been having a joke at her expense without makin' her mad. I didn't want her to leave, see? I was really sunk. Like a trout flopping on a river bank, just begging to be put out of his misery. It was sweet and exhilaratin' and fuckin' pathetic. I was just pitiful. It makes me laugh now to think about it. But I was ripe for her to walk into my life just then, and here she came, and what did I do? Scared her silly, dropped her on her head in the rain, and fed her breakfast.

What I wanted to do was lay her out on the floor, rip my bathrobe off her, and show her what was what. Good thing I didn't. She started sneezing and coughing and she was obviously really ill. Instead of bedding her, I put her to bed with aspirins and juice and stuff, and took care of her for a couple of days. I was afraid she'd get pneumonia and die and I'd never get to know her, and it was very important that I get to know her.

Like I told you, I was mad for her already. My Lynnie. She's a hell of a woman.