Page 74 of Knot Just for Show

“Oh? My nightingale agrees to sing for me?” I gush dramatically, passing the leather strap over the top of my head before passing her the guitar gently.

“As long as you promise not to run away afterwards if I don’t live up to whatever wacky expectation some barely warmed-up-noodling has set for you.” She shakes her head, settling the guitar strap over her head and strumming the strings gently.

“I swear I will never ever belittle you, as an artist—nor as a woman,” I swear earnestly, a hand over my heart as I switch positions with her—allowing her the makeshift stage as I take my place on the nearby daybed.

“Ok, I’m going to hold you to that though—Mr.Kreosote, sir.” Ursula flashes that dazzling smile at me, her honey colored eyes alight with anticipation.

She begins to pluck out a familiar melody that I almost instantly recognize, ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow.’

Tears are in my eyes before she’s through with the first few lines. By the time that Ursula’s moving alto makes its final refrain, “why oh why can’t I?”—I am gently weeping with the beautiful, pure tone of her voice—the theatricality of her facial expressions as she lovingly fashions each word with breath, tongue, lips and teeth.

It strikes me like lightning—like the fervor of a single key on a piano struck in an otherwise silent music hall; I am in love with Ursula Goldblum-Laskaris. She has consumed a lurking darkness that had been taking root within me, and in its place—something wonderful and new has begun to grow.

After spending the rest of the morning and early afternoon swimming, lounging, indulging in the delicious fish tacos and refreshing frozen drinks served as a beachside lunch, the production crew returns Ursula and I to a blissfully quiet, empty villa for the next four hours—until the rest of the boys will return home to get ready for cocktail hour and dinner.

Just as Kimmy and Timmy are about to leave—Timmy rounds back on me, manically tapping his clipboard.

“Ah shit dude, I forgot to touch base with you—Anna said she meant to mention it this morning, but forgot, but you’re cool to do a little DJ set tonight after dinner, right?” Timmy confirms as if there’s no answer I can provide other than ‘yes’.

The shock must register on my face, because Ursula, ever my champion it would seem, steps in immediately.

“Wait, you’re just springing a DJ gig in like—a few hours, on him right now?” Ursula crosses her soft arms under her massive breasts, sort of giving them an upward lift—and I couldn’t hate Timmy more for taking up valuable alone time with this blathering.

Timmy winces, at least having the decency to be embarrassed.

“I know, I know—it’s kind of a big ask and it was supposed to come from Anna on camera this morning but she forgot,” Timmy explains plaintively.

“Well, that sounds a whole lot like her problem,” Ursula grouses—and I can’t help but be even more endeared to her.

That being said, I know how this business works—and I want Kimmy and Timmy to get the fuck out of here, so I do what needs to be done.

“Yeah, don’t sweat it—I’ll pull something together, Nestflix is going to end up covering it with their own cheapo in-house music anyway,” I laugh it off, getting my own somewhat passive aggressive dig in there purely for the purposes of making myself feel better.

“Really?” Timmy beams.

“Yes, really! Now, you and Kimberly have somewhere to be—don’t you?” I remind him, arching a brow meaningfully.

“Yes, yes, we do—we were just going.” Timmy grabs Kimmy by the shoulders and steers her back to the sprinter van, wise to spare himself a backward glance.

“I have sand in places where sand should not be,” Ursula grumbles —pulling at the gritty lining of her bathing suit, just beneath her pendulous breasts.

“I think we should go rinse off in those outdoor showers,” I purr suggestively, moving into her personal space and hooking my index fingers through the belt loops of her denim cutoffs.

“Hmmm, that sounds like a good idea.” Ursula tips her face up and catches my bottom lip in her teeth playfully before letting it go.

I shoot a look over my shoulder at the camera crew—just in case they hadn’t already done the math on giving us a wide berth now that we were back at the villa.

We move past the big wooden door and through the central courtyard to the back patio, showers, and pool. I allow Ursula to get a few steps in front of me, watching her undo her cutoffs and step out of them—the denim left on the concrete floor as she wriggles free from the lycra spandex of her swimsuit—rounding the corner and out of my view.

Not wanting her to feel left out—I shed my already open Hawaiian shirt and swim trunks, my erection already strong, bobbing up and down as I quicken my pace at the sound of the running water.

I’ve been with women of all kinds—every shape, every color; butch, femme, hairy, sleek—‘barely legal’ to silver cougars. I can’t say that there is much that I don’t like—but I’ll tell you what I do like; bodies like Ursula’s—leagues of creamy white skin, thighs thick and soft; a high and chunky heart-shaped ass, heavy teardrop breasts with ghostly pink, silken puffy nipples—a cushioned pannus above that fat, juicy pussy.

I feel my cock twitch as I take in the sight of her.

“Fuck, you’re a goddess,” I breathe, my hand moving instinctively to my throbbing hardness.

Ursula’s gold eyes fix on me, lurid and hungry.

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