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A rendezvous with Wonder Woman
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
A RENDEZVOUS WITH WONDER WOMAN
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I live in a fairly small town, with a population of just
under 7,000. Everyone here knows everyone else, we see the same
people every day at libraries, restaurants, movie theaters, and
other public places. But surprisingly, this town has all the
problems a big city has. The crime rate is high, the streets are
getting increasingly unsafe, and gang related violence that this
town had last year was the highest in the entire state. So it
was not surprising that Wonder Woman chose this town. Her first
appearance in this town was to rescue people trapped in a big-
arson related fire that completely destroyed a multi-storey
building. Most residents of the town were able to watch this
heroic act on TV. And what they saw was an enormously well-
endowed Amazon, rescue every trapped victim to safety.
I too watched the action on T.V., and I fell madly in love
with this Amazon. Every inch of her was a perfection. She was tall
with long and beautifully tanned legs. Her breasts were what you
could call a sculptor's dream, and like everything else about her
was enormously well-proportioned. The skimpy costume she wore was
hardly enough to contain them, and one could see the entire shape of
her granite hard nipples jutting fiercely out of her clearly visible
pink aureoles. I have a personal bias for lovely breasts, and she
certainly had plenty of those. Those of you who are not as great a
lover of shapely breasts as I am might not find these memoirs entirely
boring, for the rest of her voluptuous body was equally oozing with sex.
Her waist though was quite slender and her arms were muscular. Her slim
waist flowingly curved into broad hips that led to perfectly molded
buttocks. It was as though the best sculptors from around the world
had gotten together to mold her body, and they had spent years and
years in finally coming up with their masterpiece. Every part of her
seven big wonders, her sensuous lips, her breasts, her nipples, her
aureoles, her hips, her thighs, and her hard buttocks treaded closely
on the thin line between ampleness and obscenity, if you see what I
mean. Another micron more, and any of these wonders could be deemed
obscenely large. But any potent man could tell that her voluptuous
body stopped short of that extra micron. Where a steel armor would
have been inadequate to hold the sexplosion underneath, her paper-
thin single-piece outfit clinging to her body failed miserably. And
if you peered close enough, you could even see parts of the clit at
the junction between those smooth thighs, and you could tell it was
steaming hot, just waiting to erupt like a volcano. She had dark
brown hair, her eyes were dark and stunning, and her lips were
incredibly sensuous. She was supposed to be super-human, but yet
there was so much reality and humanness in her oozing femininity.
Every night after that I had erotic dreams about her, and I was so
immersed in thoughts about her that I even had trouble walking. Most
of my friends thought I had fallen sick, or had some kind of
psychological problem. My girlfriend certainly did not like my sleep-
talking, and in particular, what I was moaning in my sleep.
Similar incidents followed after that. She was rescuing people
from wrecks, from broken elevators, and from trigger-happy gangs. I
mean, Wonder Woman was rescuing people, not my girlfriend. And on
most of these occasions, TV crews were there to capture the events
live from their helicopters and I was able to watch them on TV. I
recorded every second of her appearance on my VCR. She would sometimes
appear on TV, advising people and addressing important issues. She
was always in that skimpy attire, with her firm nipples jutting out
a good three-quarter inch from her bra-less outfit. I was sure she
had no panties on either (these super-humans probably didn't believe
in such seemingly useless paraphernalia), and this was even more
evident when she bent to pick up something. As she moved, her rounded
buttocks swayed sexily, her hips gyrated slowly but sensuously, her
monstrous breasts seemed to bounce wildly, and every time she took a
deep breath, her nipples would jut out an extra half-inch from her
tight outfit, and it would seem like this was going to make her
costume tear to shreds and reveal her completely nude body. During
her interviews on TV, she sat with her legs crossed allowing her
costume to hike up and at times show glimpses of that steaming
junction between her flowing, smooth thighs. You could tell that
the interviewing TV reporter was sweating and had an uncontrollable
erection sitting next to her and was trying unsuccessfully to hide
it by moving his legs around. The TV camera-men did their parts too,
they would move their cameras over every part of her dazzling body,
pausing to focus on the alluring contours of her enormous bosom, then
moving them slowly across her golden legs. And every time I saw her,
I thought every part of her body was talking to me. Those erect,
proud breasts were demanding that they be caressed and fondled,
her ferocious nipples were dying to be licked and sucked, her succulent
hips were daring for the feel of warm hands around them, her super slim
waist and long legs were longing for the feel of a masculine body, and
that promised land seemed to be calling out for me. Or should I say,
yelling out for me?
Naturally, she was the talk of the town. She became a real-
life heroine to little kids, an icon or an idol to women, and every
man's sex fantasy. Every magazine in town seemed to have a picture
of her on their covers, and on the inside, pictures of this sex-goddess
from every possible angle to capture the magnificence of her erotic
body. I was by now a recluse, a man who needed serious psychological
help. Everything I did or looked at reminded me of this sex-goddess,
everything I smelt seemed to remind me of her wonderful feminine
aroma. I became a walking nightmare, an ejaculating embarrassment
to my friends and relatives. I lost my job, my house, my girlfriend,
and control over my life. About the only possessions I had were my car,
a sleeping bag, a TV, and that VCR...
*********** ***********
It was then that I decided I simply could not go on with my
life any more unless I met her. And so I decided to fake an accident.
It had to be some place where nobody else would see us. Specially
those TV crews, I wanted this to be a private rendezvous. I picked
the place, it would be this deserted mountain road, Soledad Canyon
Road, that was closed for most part of the year. I would drive up
there in my car. It was all well planned. I would hit a tree, and
act unconscious. It was extremely dangerous of course, but I wanted
to take the risk. For I thought I would die anyways if I didn't meet
her. The road was very narrow, and chances of my car falling over some
5000 feet into a deep ravine were extremely high. The next couple of
weeks I spent playing the scene over and over in my mind. I drove up
on that mountain road almost every day until I could decide on the
most romantic accident spot. I had carefully made cracks on my
wind-shield so it would break easily, I had loosened the bolts that
held the hood, so it would fall off easily, I had the front fender
mangled even before I went up on that mountain road. The plan was to
stop a mile before the spot and drain out excess gas from my fuel
tank, and leave me with just enough gas to take me to the spot, so
the impact would not cause an explosion.
And everything went exactly as I had planned. The collision
was perfect, but parts of broken glass did strike me on the face,
and I started to bleed a bit. Perfect! Actually, that wasn't enough!
I took a broken piece of glass and scratched my forehead. I wanted
everything to be picture perfect. And it was! I quickly got out of
the car, got my crowbar out and began breaking parts of the inside
of the car, the engine, the fuel tank, basically anything I could
find. I may have even been scratching my crotch at this point, I
can't remember now. Hmm, I wonder if Michael Jackson saw me doing
this before he made that video of his? I ran in to the bushes, and
there it was, the can of gas I had left behind the previous day. I
sprayed it all over the ground, threw both the crowbar and the gas
can out into the ravine and rushed to the inside of my car. I then
lay slouched with my head against the steering wheel and waited for
my tryst with destiny...
*********** ***********
I could already feel the warmth of her voluptuous body as I
clung to her as she pulled me out of the car. I could see my face
being buried in between her monstrous, pounding breasts, her sharp
nipples gently scratching my face. I rubbed my face against her ample
bosom, my mouth momentarily balanced on those remarkably firm nipples.
All those tapes I had played back a million times on my VCR of those
TV interviews were nothing! You couldn't get a closer view of those
sculptors' creations. I was engulfed in her wonderful feminine aura,
and I wrapped my arms around her slender hips. I had everything
mathematically figured out. She was around six feet tall, making
her about 6'4" in her 4 inch stiletos. I had her chest, waist and hip
measurements from a magazine (39-29-37). I was about 5'9", and with my
face pressed hard against her breasts, my arms around her slim waist, my
feet were just about touching the ground. I then started to move my legs
around just to verify my calculations, and they turned out to be perfect.
I could feel the softness of her beautiful thighs, and then I moved myself
slowly into her, and exactly as I had computed, I hit pay dirt. My groin
area coincided precisely at the point where her long legs met, and I could
feel the steam of her vagina passing on to me.
When she finally lay me down with my head on her lap, I could
feel the golden moistness of her bare legs filling me. She then lifted
my head a bit and pressed my face firmly on to her enormous breasts
probably to stop the flow of blood, and at this point I couldn't but
help opening my mouth and kissing all over her breasts, licking her
rigid nipples sticking out of the thin cotton of her attire. Even
though I couldn't look at her face, I could see her dark eyes smiling,
and she had realized my eternal love for her. She wanted me too, I
could see those sensuous lips longing for mine. I had practised this
so many times that I couldn't possibly go wrong. When we both got up,
she seemed taller than 6'4" as I found my eyes directly in line with
her bountiful breasts and it seemed like her nipples had almost
torn their way out of her thin top. I couldn't have picked a more
romantic place, the stars were twinkling and moonlight was flooding the
place. Before I knew it, with a ferocity that can only be deemed
super-human, she had torn apart my clothes and her fiery eyes were
demanding that I do the same to her if I valued my life. It was extremely
easy removing her clothes, it seemed like I was setting free an angry
wild tigress from its cage. She was, as I had always believed, wearing
absolutely nothing underneath that thin, flimsy attire, and I stared
for the first time at her complete, round, shapely breasts with
moon-lit nipples on flaming pick aureoles, her supple waist curving
into her broad hips, her beautiful naval making a focal point on her
magnificently rich, sun-tanned body, her long legs sweating in wonderful
perspiration, that soft lovely joint between her legs just fuming with
steam, her incredibly magnificent feminine smell seemed to engulf the
entire canyon, and then I heard helicopters....
*********** ***********
Damn those TV crews, how the hell did they get here ? I could
well sympathize with celebrities who say they are constantly harassed
by reporters. Don't they have anything better to do? Always looking
for that top story of the day. Get the hell out you bastards, she's
all mine now. Go back and rerun all those old incidents and interviews,
you can't have her any more. She's all mine. She's all mine. Wait a
minute, that feminine aura was gone now, what I could smell now was
masculine sweat, and it was disgusting. I could feel a hairy hand
grab my shoulders. This was getting ridiculous, I wanted to kill that
mother fucker. And then I heard somebody say "Be careful, you might
break his neck". And I opened my eyes. And it was the most disgusting
moment of my life. I was still slouched against the wheel in my car,
and these sons of bitches were trying to pull me out. There was no
trace of the Wonder Woman, all I saw was sickening cops, more cops,
and those god-damned helicopters...
^L
E P I L O G U E
For a small town, you could well imagine what a sensational
top story that made. If I am not mistaken, parts of the trial that
followed were shown on national TV. I know Geraldo has been calling
me up ever since asking me to be on his show. I think the jury bought
my story about the sleeping bag hidden among the bushes, the god-damned
gas can that just wouldn't fall down the canyon. They may have even
believed the crowbar bit. I even had convincing explanations for
the "Road Closed" sign that was missing and traces of blood spilled
all the way to the point where I had run to fetch the gas can. But
what got me twelve years in a high security asylum (from where I am
sending these memoirs) was this funny-nosed highway patrol officer
who testified that he heard me say:
"Wonder Woman, I've waited so long for this rendezvous"
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