Channing looks over at Loni as she opens beer bottles, pours whiskey, and flirts with the customers. It is that kind of joint, with no frills or fancy cocktails, just people grabbing a few beers and maybe a rack of ribs after a heavy day at work. Channing and Loni had a history, but it wasn’t serious. It never is with Channing.

Loni is poetry in motion; her long brunette, curly mane falls down her checked shirt. Her tight blue jeans look like they’ve been sprayed on. And with a sharp pair of cowboy boots, which could do some damage. You didn’t want to mess with this girl.

Channing kept looking her way; he couldn’t wait for Loni to get off work, so he could get her off about half an hour after that.

Channing is a thin, scruffy-looking individual in his work jeans and T-shirt. His long, wavy, scrapped-back dark brown hair looks like it needs washing, and he has three-day-old stubble.

So far, it had been a pretty shit day for Channing; his electrical business was going under, and he was only days away from losing his truck. He needed more relief than a few beers at the bar. He starts to forget about his troubles once he gets Loni back to his apartment.

Her lips are perfect, and her brown eyes have a wicked glint in them. Channing couldn’t wait to taste her as they kissed. His mouth moves down her neck as he undoes her shirt and bra. Her tits are a good handful, and her nipples rock hard as his tongue slides over them and his teeth softly bite.

Loni undoes his jeans, and soon his cock is hard and rubbing against her. As they fall on Channing’s old bed, he pulls her jeans and knickers down. One thrust, and he is penetrating her pussy. They were fucking hard, both achieving their orgasmic goal.

Exhausted, sweaty, and satisfied, they fall flat on the bed. Followed by a shared cigarette out of the bedroom window. They watch the bright lights and bustle of downtown Los Angeles in the distance while they blow smoke into the night air.

Their naked bodies entwined, Loni soon falls asleep while Channing lies wide awake. Unable to get to sleep, Channing gets up and walks over to the Kitchen, which is only at the other end of the room in his small studio flat. He grabs a bottle of water and walks back to the cigarette window, lighting up as he goes.

“Good evening, Mr Channing,” a voice calls out.

Channing looks round to see a smartly dressed old man sitting on one of the kitchen chairs. He has white swept-back hair and a trimmed moustache and spectacles.

“Who the fuck are you? How did you get in?” Channing says, spinning around.

Aware he is naked, Channing grabs a pair of boxers from the laundry basket and slips them on as he walks towards the grinning old man, who had got more than an eyeful of his cock.

“I am sorry, please don’t be alarmed. It is Dexter, isn’t it?” the man continues.

“Only my mother ever called me that. Everyone calls me by my surname, Channing.”

“Well, Mr Channing, I am sorry to disturb you,” the man says, getting up.

There is a retirement home a block away; Channing figures he must be from there. His studio wasn’t the most secure; there wasn’t anything worth stealing, so he never bothered.

“Who are you?”

“Call me Maurice,” the man says as he walks towards a sleeping Loni.

He stops and looks at her beautiful, naked tanned body. A white sheet barely covers her dignity. She moves as Maurice watches her, and the sheet falls away, giving the men a glimpse of her trimmed, satisfied pussy.

“Look, Maurice, move away from her. Let’s get you home,” Channing says, pulling him back.

“I am sorry, but it will take a lot to get me back home,” Maurice says, walking to the other side of the room.

“That’s a nice poster,” Maurice says, pointing to a print on the wall of eighties pop legend Vicky Farrah.

Vicky Farrah had been one of the most influential singers of the eighties. Channing’s poster showed an infamous image of her in a black dress leaning against a red Ferrari. It was one of those iconic images that had been used everywhere.

Vicky had died at twenty-seven in a boat crash in 1989. A friend’s yacht had hit some bad weather and capsized on some rocks. Others had died that day, but Vicky Farrah was the name they remembered. Her early tragic death had made her even more famous than when she was alive.

“Are you a fan?” Channing asks.

“Who isn’t, my boy?  And you must like her to have her picture?”

“Yeah, she had some good songs.”

“But died before you were even born?” Maurice says, glazing at the image. “If you could save her? Would you?”

“What are you talking about? She died thirty-four years ago. And I was alive, just!” Channing protests.

“Answer the question, my boy. Would you save her?”

“Yes, of course, but I can’t. Now let’s get you home.”

Just then, Channing is distracted as a naked Loni gets up and starts walking towards them.

“Who are you talking to?” she asks.

“Don’t be scared, Loni. I am just taking this guy home.”

“What guy?”

Channing turns but the old man is gone. Startled he wonders if he has been imagining things. He looks down at Loni’s perfect body. She pulls him close, and they start to kiss. Channing takes her back over to the bed. They roll around kissing and caressing each other. Channing pulls off his boxers and pushes his cock back inside Loni’s pussy.

Loni wraps her legs around him and spins around, so she is on top. She violently pumps Channing for all he is worth. She starts screaming. Channing lets go and starts cumming. He keeps going, he feels like it’s an ‘out of body’ experience and the best orgasm he has ever had. He feels lightheaded as he just keeps cumming. Semen is shooting up all over Loni’s body, dripping off her tits and running down her back.

This isn’t normal, this amount of semen is crazy, but Channing just can’t stop. He feels like the insides of his body are being shot out through his cock. It's like an uncontrollable hose. The dark room is suddenly filled with gold light. Channing feels like he is going blind.

“Remember, Channing. You said you would save her,” Loni whispers.

These are the last words Channing hears as he passes out.

Channing wakes up in his bed, but Loni is nowhere to be seen. ‘That was one fucking weird dream’, he thinks to himself.

He gets up, and searches for his cigarettes and mobile. He can’t find his phone but spies a packet of cigarettes on the floor. He picks them up and looks around. It’s his apartment, but the furnishings are different, the TV is smaller, and the cooker looks old. He finds some jeans and a shirt, but the jeans feel like cardboard; he gets dressed and goes outside. He studies everything around him, the cars, and the clothes people are wearing.

“What day is this?” he says, stopping a girl in the street.

“Friday.”

“Thank you, I thought I was going crazy.”

“It’s Friday 12th May 1989.”

Channing stares at her; he has somehow travelled back in time thirty-four years. He walks back over to the stairs to his apartment.

“Are you Dexter Channing?” a woman says, walking up to him.

“Yes.”

“My name is Liv, I am looking for an electrician. My boss will pay well if you could come over today. I work for Vicky Farrah, you know, the singer.”

“Are you ok?” Liv says as Channing stands dazed.

Liv is a beautiful blonde with shoulder-length permed blonde hair; she is dressed in a blue jumpsuit and pink heels.

“He is perfectly fine,” a voice says, joining in the conversation.

Maurice, looking the same as he does in 2023, walks over to them.

“How is later this morning, my dear?” Maurice suggests.

“Perfect,” Liv replies.

With that, she walks across the street, gets in her Mercedes, and drives off.

“What the fuck is going on? Who are you?”

“It’s not important who I am,” Maurice says sternly.

“Why me? And how I am stuck in 1989?”

“All you have to do is save Vicky Farrah. Then you can go back.”

“Fucking hell! How am I supposed to do that,” Channing says, sitting on the stairs.

“You’ve just been handed the perfect opportunity; she’s looking for an electrician,” Maurice replies.

“For fuck’s sake!”

Channing discovers he has a van in the eighties and tools. Realising he has little choice, he drives over to Vicky Farrah's mansion.

Her house is out in the hills on the other side of LA. It is an older property with a long drive, a big swimming pool, and bad electrics, it seems.

Liv answers the door and walks Channing into the main house.

“Olivia, is that you?”

“Yes, Vicky. I got the electrician with me.”

“Fuck, wonderful.”

Suddenly, she is there in front of Channing, alive and well. Vicky Farrah looks just like her pictures. Long dark hair, tanned skin, and wearing very little. A red boob tube wrapped around her chest. Her flat stomach going down to a pair of small, tight denim hot pants, the top button left undone and the zip coming away showing even more flesh. Her legs are bare, with a pair of wooden high-heeled mules on her feet. Channing can’t quite believe Vicky Farrah is here in front of him.

They walk through to the main living room. Channing watches Vicky’s rounded arse as she walks, the bottom of her arse cheeks hanging out.

“We’re having a party tonight and the DJ is setting up in here. Last week when he was here he kept blowing the electrics, please can you take a look?” Vicky asks.

“Sure,” Channing replies.

Her voice is like silk, and he imagines her singing her pop hits. She looks at him as he stands frozen on the spot.

“Are you OK,” she asks.

“Yes, I am good, don’t worry, I am sure I can fix it,” Channing says, snapping out of it.

Unconvinced, Vicky leaves the slightly odd electrician to it. Channing soon figures she needs a new fuse board, and it’s an easy fix once he has the part. Vicky is surprised and grateful; she doesn’t just pay for his work but invites him to the party.

Only a few hours later, Channing is back in Vicky Farrah’s mansion, dressed in a white suit, feeling like he is in an episode of Miami Vice. He immediately bumps into Liv, who looks lovely in a grass-green cocktail dress, black stilettos, and long black gloves. She puts a large glass of rum in Channing’s hand as she pulls him through the packed-out house.

“Welcome to the party,” Vicky says, joining them, looking stunning in a short pink sequin dress and neon yellow stilettos.

The mansion is full of Hollywood life, young starlets, and budding singers. Several rums in, and Channing has lost sight of Vicky in the crowd. He heads outside, where he finds her and Liv hanging by the pool. Giggling, they hand Channing a polaroid of a vagina. Channing looks down at it, a few freckles, a small labium, and some neat dark brown pubes.

“It’s a game we play with new friends. What do you think? Me or Liv?” Vicky asks.

“Um, you?” Channing says, guessing.

“Wrong, it’s not me. I am completely shaved down there,” Vicky laughs and walks off.

Her dress is short, and Channing can see her micro black G-string as she heads over to a group of squawking freeloaders.

“She loves showing off. Wearing the smallest dress with underwear made of string. She wants you to think about what it would be like to fuck her. What do you think?” Liv says seductively in Channing’s ear.

“I am just hoping the DJ’s sound system doesn’t blow the place up,” Channing replies.

Channing finds it hard not to notice the increasing number of naked people in the pool. There is wet tits and pussy everywhere. Liv unzips her dress and lets it fall down her body. If she didn’t have it before, she has Channing’s attention. She then kicks off her heels and pulls her pink panties down her legs.

It was Liv’s pussy in the picture, Channing confirms as he inspects her naked form. She smiles, pulls off her gloves, and jumps in the pool’ pulling a fully clothed Channing in with her.

Liv isn’t the only naked girl getting his attention as a few others grab on. The white suit becomes see-through as it slings to his body. Liv and Channing start kissing as people splash in the pool next to them. He grabs her arse under the water and more than enjoys the moment. But this isn’t what he’s here for, and he resists further temptation to go and find Vicky.

A disappointed Liv is soon consoled by a naked dark-haired, black stranger called Jeremy, who swims up to make his introduction. His cock soon finds its way into Liv’s pussy.

Channing grabs a poolside towel and dries off a bit. He then heads towards the bedrooms, searching for some dry clothes. Unfortunately, all that is on offer is a selection of shiny silver suits left over from a video Vicky shot for one of her singles. At least there is a more than one size.

Without finding any kind of shirt, Channing just puts on a silver blazer and trousers. He spots a packet of cigarettes on the side. He goes out on the bedroom balcony and lights up.

“Escaping as well?”

Channing turns to see Vicky sitting in a dark corner.

“Just a quiet moment; I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, I had the same idea. We have these parties almost every week; I barely know most of these people,” Vicky says, swigging from a champagne bottle.

“Then why have the party?”

“Why not? What else am I going to do? These people all want to party with Vicky Farrah. Isn’t that why you are here?”

“Nah, I’m just in it for the DJ’s sound system.”

“And stealing my clothes?” Vicky says, peering at his outfit.

“I can explain this!”

Vicky laughs and walks over to Channing; she takes his cigarette, puts it in her mouth, she takes a drag. The smoke blows in his face. Channing takes the cigarette and puts it out. Then he pulls her close, and they start to kiss.

“Come with me,” Vicky says as she takes Channing’s hand.

She guides him back through into the next bedroom, which happens to be hers. They fall back onto the bed, rolling around in a veracious embrace. Their legs entwine, Channing grabs her thigh as she rubs her bare legs along his shiny trousers. Vicky can feel his hard cock digging into her; she pulls it out. Then she rubs her hand along his stiff member. Channing moves further down her body and pulls her G-string down her legs, and she kicks off her heels. Soon her underwear is flying through the air.

“Told you it was shaved,” Vicky says, lying with her legs open and pussy on display.

Channing takes off his jacket and moves down, planting kisses on her thighs before moving back up and licking her slit. She loves seeing a guy’s head between her legs, such a turn-on. His tongue is soft, and she loves the feeling of it lapping her pussy. It isn’t long before she starts to cum.

Vicky gets up and unzips her dress. It drops to the floor. She then gets back on the bed and pulls Channing’s trousers down. He kicks them down his legs. She straddles his naked torso. His cock finds its way into her wet snatch. Her legs wrap around him as he pushes deeper inside. Vicky moans as his cock drills into her. She cums again, a flood of wetness fills her pussy as Channing releases his load.

“We should head back downstairs,” Channing suggests.

“Why, we have everything we need here. Over there is a fridge with some wine in it, on the side are glasses.”

Channing gets up and pours them a drink, then hands a glass to Vicky, before joining her back in bed. He puts his arm around her. She is inquisitive and asks Channing about his family. Altering some of the dates, he tells her the truth about his malfunctioning clan that he never sees. He then changes the subject to ‘her,’ afraid he might slip up. He enjoys getting to know this beautiful handful.

“Tomorrow, we are going out on my friend Jennifer’s boat, ‘The Blue Flamingo,' we are heading up the coast. Want to come?”

“Yeah, sure, that sounds good,” he replies.

‘The Blue Flamingo,’ Channing suddenly remembered that name. He had almost forgotten why he was there. That was the yacht that would kill her, and tomorrow was 13th May 1989, the day she died, unless he could do something to stop it.

to be continued.........