Off the Coast of Somalia

It was something she did without thinking; no doubt, flashing some panty while crossing and uncrossing her shapely legs was as startling as it was exciting. This is Katie Couric and those are her panties. Wow! Even I can't stop myself from looking every time she flashes. It's quick enough of a flash that it doesn't appear that she's flashing her panty purposely, but knowing Katie the way that I do, she always knows exactly what she's doing, where she's doing it, how she's doing it, when she's doing it, and why she's doing it. I can only imagine those poor, voyeuristic men being taken advantage of by her exposing her panties while interviewing them for the first time.

She's certainly a sexy bitch when she's not being a nasty bitch. She was never a trashy bitch. Definitely, she's not the type of woman to go out without wearing panties, as do so many other celebrities, who flash more than their smiles when alighting from their limousines and cars. Katie loves wearing her sexy lingerie beneath her oh, too short skirts and she owns a lot of sexy lingerie to flash. She buys so much lingerie, that I dare say that lingerie is her fetish. Where some women love shoes, Katie loves lingerie. Don't get me wrong, she has dozens, hundreds of shoes, no doubt, but she has an entire dressing room of lingerie.

Every time I watched her on television giving an interview, whether she was sitting across from the President of the United States, a Senator, some businessman or criminal, I knew she was flashing them her panty. I suspect it was a sexual technique that she devised and used to catch them off guard hoping they'd be distracted enough to stumble and something that Sam Donaldson and Dan Rather were unable to do. Knowing the sexual animals that men are, she'd momentarily sexually excite them, so that they'd make a mistake and reveal much more to her during her interview than she was revealing to them by flashing them her panty.

"A bit over the top, you've come up with some crazy plans over the years, Saulski. Some worked while others backfired on you," she said with a smile before giving way to a look of impatient exasperation.

There's that smile. She always had the endearing smile, but I could see her mind going a mile a minute thinking what she'd say next while plotting her next move and planning her career strategy. Yet, I could see from her stare that she was more than interested. She was intrigued.

"What do you think, Katie" I said. "Do you trust me enough to give it one last thrust?"

"Okay," she said finally taking the bait and giving me a pensive look before speaking again. "What do you have in mind now? I can only imagine," she said with her trademark chuckle.

Suddenly, the image of kissing her while feeling her body consumed me with lust for her. I imagined stripping her naked, removing her blouse, bra, skirt, and panty, as she allowed me to do, so long ago, in a steamy Miami hotel room, one that the air conditioner suddenly died, filled my mind with immediate desire. Back then, we had as much fun taking a cold shower and washing the sweat off one another's body, as we had fucking and sucking in bed. I remembered that she had nice knockers with big, hard nipples, a firm, round ass, and a big bush. I wondered if she still had her bush or if she was shaved or trimmed. Making over her appearance to change with the times, as she had done when taking this news anchor position at CBS, I figured she was shaved.

I wondered if she improved upon her cocksucking skills since the time she sucked me off so many years ago. Only, I couldn't image her getting any better than she was. She gave me the best damn blowjob I ever had in my life and, I won't mention names but, I've had some good ones from some really hot models and movie stars.

"That's just the thing, Katie. I can't spill the beans, not yet, and your ticket to buy into my plan will cost you one million dollars in cash, upfront. I have expenses."

Suddenly I felt like Zero Mostel in Mel Brooks' original movie, the Producers, when he was seducing all those old, widowed women to get them to buy into his Broadway plays.

"A million dollars? Since when does my agent charge me for upfront expenses? We've always worked on the principle that you get me the work and I give you your 15% after I'm paid."

She was a savvy business woman and as tight with a dollar as she was with her lips whether interviewing someone or sucking off someone. She was a real professional in both her interviewing skills and her cocksucking skills.

"Well, this time is different, Katie. The million dollars is in addition to my 15% agency fee. It's going to take a lot of upfront money to put you back on top where you belong? I don't have the line of credit that I once enjoyed with the banks and everyone has their hand out not willing to play until I pay. Credit is tight right now; you know that better than most. You read the market reports daily." He patted her hand, "But I know that I can do it. I know that old Saulski can still take you wherever you want to go and place you high up on that pedestal where you belong."

"Are you sure whatever you have planned will work?"

"I guarantee it."

"How do you know?"

"I know because it's the latest and hottest thing presently in the news today."

Right up her alley, I watched her eyes light up with news stories flashing through her mind, no doubt, while trying to guess which I was using to benefit her career.

"In this bad economy, it wouldn't surprise me if you had me standing naked in an unemployment line or a home foreclosure auction to give me the exposure you thought I needed," she said with a laugh while taking pot shots in guessing which story I'd use to benefit her.

"You won't have to cue up in line nude to receive the kind of response you'll receive from my exposure. Current events will put you back in the public eye. You will be nude, though, nonetheless," I said with a dirty laugh.

"I'll be nude?"

"Oh, don't worry, you'll have plenty of company," I said with another dirty laugh.

"I don't know about the being naked part, Saulski. My body isn't what it used to be and I don't think the nightly news network would want their anchor being naked in front of their aging audience."

"They'll be other opportunities, new opportunities other than doing the news, when I'm done promoting you. Not to worry. We just have to be at the right place at the right time and I plan on using a little fictional theatrics to help make sure we don't miss our window of opportunity," I said with a laugh. "This time, Katie Couric is going to make the national news instead of reading the national news."

"You guarantee it?"

"I do."

"You mean; you'll give me my million dollars back if it doesn't work?"

"Now, you'll never hear me agree to give a client a refund, Katie. Let's just say after knowing me all these years, I've never steered you wrong. You'll just have to trust my judgment and me with your money."

Katie uncrossed and crossed her shapely legs, this time flashing me a prolonged flash of white panty. Without even yet knowing what the plan was, I could tell she was excited by my plan to put her back in the limelight. She'd probably blow me if I asked her nicely enough, but I was more interested in making money for her than wanting sex from her. She had taken to wearing very short skirts to show off her legs, the best legs in Hollywood, insured by Lloyds of London for two million bucks and I was tempted to unzip myself, pull out my cock, and fill her mouth with my passion for her continued success.

"Okay, Saul. I'll have my attorney drop the money by later in the day."

And so it went, I had 34 private meetings with each of my clients. Not all wanted back into the celebrity way of life and others were unwilling to trust me enough with a million of their hard earned dollars to buy into my master plan to put them back in the public eye, but enough of them agreed to make it worth my while. Those who didn't agree, I said my goodbye allowing them to break their contract and I gave them my highest recommendation for them to get another agent, should they be interested in working, again. To those who didn't take me up on my offer of renewed stardom, I gave them a blue Tiffany box with a little something to remember the good times we had. Some of those stars, who rejected my offer of renewed fame and fortune, namely Rene Russo, Catherine Bach, and Brigitte Nielson, didn't turn me down in my request of a quickie for old time's sake.

Of those who agreed to negotiate a new contract with me were Katie Couric, Raquel Welch, Ann Margret, Christie Brinkley, Kim Basinger, Pam Grier, Dolly Parton, Heather Lockleer, Shannon Tweed, Mimi Rogers, Meg Ryan, Lynda Carter, Cheryl Tiggs, Julliane Moore, Donna Mills, Michelle Pfeiffer, Sela Ward, and Andie MacDowell. They were the ones who were older and more willingly desperate to do whatever they could to reverse time and prolong their careers, long enough to make one last killing. Other than making personal appearances or doing commercials, some of them had not worked in a long time and they knew their days before the camera were numbered.

Eighteen stars signed up for my plan. Eighteen stars paid me a million dollars a piece; eighteen million dollars, more than enough money to cover all the costs of my plan, fix up my house, and buy a new Rolls Royce. Chump change if my plan worked, I stood to make 15% of every dollar my 18 senior stars stood to earn. I was back on top of my game again. Now the pressure was on me to produce and give my investors the results they wanted and needed.

The plan was to set sail late in the second week of July and the media had been made aware with press releases. With the banner hanging over the stern and the Paparazzi shooting hundreds of shots, my topless celebrities stars hung over the sides of the yacht blowing kisses to those wishing them Bon Voyage. Hey, just because I said that I wouldn't parade my mature, naked celebrities around the harbor didn't mean that I wouldn't parade my mature, naked celebrities around the harbor. I'm a Hollywood agent. You can't believe anything I say.

I wanted to have my plan in motion on July 14th, Nude Day, for a photo shoot that would show the world the naked photos of the still hot bodies of my stars. I told my aging celebrities that I was shooting them all nude to give them the opportunity to do whatever they needed to do, whether it was diet, exercise, and/or plastic surgery. I needed them to look fresh and vital and I took along with me a contingent of makeup, hair stylists, and lighting specialists to help hide their age while flaunting their bodies.

With my yacht loaded with food and medical supplies, along with celebrating National Nude Day and being naked throughout the entire photo shoot, I had posted a press release that I was taking celebrities on a goodwill mission to help those less fortunate. I had already made a secret deal to show my live video feed on HBO at $50 a pop and I expected to make a bigger killing than any of Mike Tyson's fights from selling copies of my movie. The stage was set to launch the careers of my celebrity stars again and possibly for the last time.

My final destination was off the coast of Africa, the Gulf of Aden, nearest Somalia, where the only thing hotter than the weather was the crime and where poverty was rampant and piracy was happening at a feverish pitch. Any Somali with access to a speedboat and an AK47 was taking to the high seas for profit. Only, I wasn't worried. The United States Navy, partnered with other navies the world over, were patrolling that part of the ocean. Only, a mere strip on my globe at home in my library, I didn't realize how big an area this was to patrol until we sailed through it and there wasn't a Navy ship to be seen anywhere on the vast horizon. Suddenly, I hoped I hadn't made an error of judgment by putting our lives in jeopardy.

Somali pirates were still taking ships and holding ships and their passengers for ransom, but they weren't hijacking as many as they were before Navy Seals shot and killed three pirates and after navy warships of the world routinely patrolled these waters and captured other pirates before they even had time to hijack. Nonetheless, just incase, I had my own plan. I hired a crew of missionary soldiers, the best of the best, ex-Green Beret, Delta Force, and Army Rangers to run the ship and an experienced Captain who was familiar with the area to steer and navigate it through any troubled waters.

I outfitted them with the latest in armaments, including laser guided missile launching grenades. Moreover, the yacht was equipped with very powerful engines that could outrun any pirate trying to chase us. No cost was spared to insure that my precious cargo, my once famous celebrity clients were safe. Only, I didn't tell my stars they were going to Somalia. I told them we were going on a cruise to nowhere. Having just returned from this area on assignment, it was Katie Couric who realized where we were, but it was too late. We were already there.

I had hired a crew of actors to play the Somali pirates. Unfortunately, out in the middle of the ocean, I didn't receive the shore to ship message that my hired crew of pirate actors were unable to rendezvous with the yacht. They had missed their flight connection and were now stuck in customs, half a world away, being questioned why they had a suitcase full of toy guns and plastic knives. Unbeknownst to me, I was on a road to financial ruin and deadly danger.

Fearing that they may ruin the party mood of my celebrity guests, I gave my crew of mercenary soldiers strict orders to stay out of sight of the passengers. I hired a real crew to serve the whimsy of my celebrity passengers, plying them with alcohol to make them feel luxuriously comfortable. I didn't want to worry my guests. I wanted them relaxed and looking young and pretty. I wanted the world to say, 'Wow, look at her. Did you see her? She still looks good. How old is she? No way, she can't be. She looks so much younger than that.'

I had the ex-Green Beret, Delta Force assassins, and Rangers posted above deck where they could keep a good lookout for my phony pirates, as well as any real pirates, should they show up, too. Like chum leaking a bloody trail to a shark, it didn't take long for the real pirates to notice a yacht sailing their waters. A speedboat with seven, genuine, Somali pirates onboard was dispatched with the GPS coordinates to the yacht. Of course, everyone but I and the missionaries thought the pirates were real.

"Rat-A-Tat-Tat," the sound of an AK-47 interrupted a beautiful day of lounging topless above deck.

Oblivious to world events, until it was just beneath them, Kim Basinger, Lynda Carter, and Shannon Tweed peered over the port side stern to see what the ruckus was. Their surgically enhanced but still magnificent boobs bounced in the sun, as they ran for the safety of their locked cabins. Much like how Rudyard Kipling's Captain Courageous appeared, but more like how Christian stood on the Bounty, I stood on deck with a handheld video cam already recording the action of their bouncing boobs and generous asses, as they made good their escape before refocusing back on the approaching pirates.

"Rat-A-Tat-Tat, Rat-A-Tat-Tat, Rat-A-Tat-Tat," the sound of gunfire disturbed the peace and quiet of the yacht, our little floating paradise of decadent luxury.

"This is great," I said while aiming my camera at the speeding boat trying not to miss any of the action.

"Rat-A-Tat-Tat, Rat-A-Tat-Tat, Rat-A-Tat-Tat," the pirates fired their guns of warning in the air again and the professionals I hired reacted; they were on alert should anything go wrong. Even though they assumed this was a boatload of actors, the authentic sound of gunfire poised them in readiness and positioned them to take immediate action, if need be. They were indeed a dangerous and scary lot of men. Much like pitting a squad of ROTC soldiers against a horde of Samurai warriors, a band of Somali pirates would have no chance against these experienced assassins.

The yacht was already dead in the water, anchored off the coast of Somalia. Not wanting to interfere with the shoot, as previously instructed by me, the Captain had cut the engine when he eyed the approach of the pirate's speedboat. He saw their wake before he even heard their gunfire and now he allowed them to take his ship when they tossed up a hook over the starboard side and away from the view of the shore. He was instructed to do this, to allow the pirates onboard and was paid handsomely for the trouble of having his yacht boarded.

Once aboard the yacht, in organized chaos, the pirates ran around the ship, breaking into cabins, and gathering everyone together. The men obeyed and the women all screamed. The pirates separated the men from the woman, all except for me. I told the pirates that I was in charge and that this was my boat.

Then, an odd thing happened, something that lulled the pirates into inaction and spared their bloodshed. They appeared more enamored with the identity of women captives than they were with their prized multi-million dollar ransom loot. For illiterate men who didn't know English, but for one who did all the talking in broken English, the Somalis appeared to recognize and know many of the celebrities.

Excitedly they talked among themselves when recognizing the celebrities on board. The only English they spoke were the names of the celebrities. I thought they were Somali actors who had briefly fallen out of character, after being enamored with the celebrity guests. Little did I realize that these men, genuine Somali natives, real pirates, had grown up watching old movies of these women and, now, here they all were face-to-face with them for their personal entertainment.

"Well, I must say, whoever cast you guys did a perfect job. You look and smell like the real thing," I said patting one on the back and nearly receiving a rifle butt in the belly before the leader of their gang stopped him.

I may have been fooled but my hired team of trained professionals was not. Using silent hand signals they had already devised a plan to overtake and kill their captors and take back the ship, that is, until they were herded down and locked away in the cargo hold. Fortunately for them, this was a yacht and not a freighter. They could easily unlock the door that confined them with a paperclip any time they wanted, but they allowed it to play out before killing the pirates and taking back the ship.

But for the small arms they had hidden on their bodies, separated from their weapons and facing men with automatic weapons, they decided to bide their time and lay in wait for the right moment to surprise them. Even with their Martial Arts and hand-to-hand combat skills, they weren't faster than a bullet fired from an armor piercing automatic rifle and didn't want to risk one of the celebrities being injured or killed in a ricochet.

I led the pirates to my quarters, the main cabin, where there was a camera and lighting already set up to show the world that this National Nude Day humanitarian cruise full of celebrities was overtaken by pirates.

"I have an announcement to make," I said before being shoved in the ribs with the butt end of a rifle. "Hey! That fucking hurt. Now, calm the fuck down and allow me to instruct my clients. You're taking your part a little too seriously," I said while rubbing my side.

It was obvious that the man who struck me didn't understand a word of English, but the leader of their group did. He admonished his man with an elbow to the face and then allowed me to speak to my celebrities.

"This was all planned for your benefit."

Some of the women laughed, others cried, and others verbalized their anger with me with a long list of expletives.