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Having bought a “direct contact” magazine recently hoping to find
excitement and a steady mate, and desperate to broaden my horizons. I
replied to an advert in it asking for a gentleman or gentlemen to show two
girls a good time, any suggestions seriously considered.

About a week later I received a reply from the girls, who as it turned out
were sisters. They had received only two replies, both from cranks, so they
were very wary at first about my letter. I wrote back suggesting a meeting
to discuss their fantasy, giving my home number to show I was serious.

The following Monday, Claire one of the sisters, phoned me to arrange a
meeting for that weekend at a pub near where they lived. I booked a hotel
room at once, as they lived some 200 miles away.

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We settle on a bench seat aft and you gently place your arm around me, pulling
me closer. This time you kiss me longer and deeper. I feel your tongue enter
my mouth and press against mine. The feeling of electricity is instantaneous.
My tongue searches for yours and you cause a gentle pressure as we kiss for
several minutes. Placing my wine glass on the bench I reach to caress you with
both arms. Pressing my body against your chest you now know I have very little
clothing on. My nipples are erect and surely you can feel them through your
cotton shirt. You hold me tightly and continue the kisses. Finally you move
your head and kiss my cheek and then my neck. Oh, I love this so…

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Somehow I expect you to have a wide array of female apparel here, in various
colors and sizes. You tell me you can only offer one of your shirts, but since
it is nearing darkness no one will be able to see but you and I.

I can now appreciate the Van Husen commercials better. The blue oxford cloth
shirt felt wonderful against my skin. My upper thighs are covered by it and
the tails tickle me as I walk, barefooted of course. I have the sleeves rolled
up to my elbows and the top three buttons open. Hopefully you can only guess
that I have removed my bra, leaving me dressed in only bikini panties and your
shirt. You also change to tight often-washed jeans and a polo shirt, looking
spectacular. But then you’d look good in a paper sack, I’m sure.

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I must have checked my hair and make-up at least five times. The afternoon
which had previously been moving so slowly now seemed to stop entirely. Would
5:15 never come? Why was I so incredibly excited? Where would we go? Would I
be able to speak intelligently, this time? I kept fingering and sniffing the
flowers to convince myself this was really happening.

I dont believe in accidents

There seems no graceful thing left to do but thank you and to walk off. You
smile again, a great warming smile and wink at me. Promising to call me soon
you walk off. I move very slowly from the spot hoping you will in fact call,
very soon. Shopping is no longer important. I think I found what I was
looking for…
All afternoon it seems I fantasized about you. So hoping you’d call and
suggest a quiet dinner, or just a drink after work. Every time the phone rang
I jumped. To say I was unproductive was truly an understatement. There was no
possibility of running into you in the elevator, since you were 8 floors away
and used a separate bank of them.

Just as I was beginning to think you weren’t going to call the delivery boy
arrived. What incredibly beautiful yellow roses! And the card was special,
too. It merely said, “I Don’t believe in Accidents. Please meet me in the
same place at 5:15. TM.” My heart pounded, and the smile on my face was
described by a co-worker as bordering on obscene.

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Handing me my purse you also press your hand in mine again. I ask your name
and apologize for running into you. (Why do we always lie in these situations?)
You tell me it was your fault and take a card from your pocket, handing it to
me also. I notice your name, Trevor Brown. Business consultant. Not
knowing what to do or say next I’m relieved when you ask if you may call me.
Taking my own card and quickly writing my home phone number on the front I
answer yes, please do.

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Only now do I notice my purse had fallen and spilled on the sidewalk. You
release my hand and begin to pick up the lipstick, keys, wallet, loose change
and other sundries. As you pick up the open business card case I notice you
study the name and number carefully. You comment that we work in the same
building and perhaps we could have lunch sometime. My heart pounds and I
almost ask if now is too soon.

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The immediate reaction in my breast must have been noticeable to you too,
through the silk blouse. It was more than a desire to know you, it was instant
knowledge that we were destined to have a place and time together. You smile
and take my hand, asking if I am ok. I smile back, a slightly embarrassed
smile. Not so much for my clumsiness as for the thoughts running through my
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It is said the best measure of a man’s cock is his hands and fingers. Your’s
are strong and long and wide. This too intrigues me. I was thoroughly loved
just last night and do not understand the sudden stirring I am experiencing.
You lean down and look into my blue eyes asking again if I am all right. I
didn’t realize I had not yet answered your previous inquiry. Yes, I nod. And
unconsciously squeeze your hand tighter.

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A week passed and June came back earlier than planned —
because, she said, she’d missed me and was itchy for me.
Barbie had left for home two days before and I was randy as
I got over to June’s apartment at six. I had just sold a
piece and was feeling jubilant. As soon as the door was closed, she
got a liplock on me and the only thing that kept my cock out of her
was the aroma of broiling steak. She fended me off and we had a
delicious meal. I didn’t do it justice; I kept thinking of desert.
When we got upstairs, June wanted to tell me of the Special
Olympics regionals and I was more than willing to listen. But after
forty minutes, as we were closing doors and shutting windows (heat,
remember?), she suddenly turned to me and said, “Oooooh — I am so
itchy thinking of a big rubber dick.”
“I was surprised you could take that big dildo in your little
cunt,” I admitted.
“I told you my boyfriend-boss was very big,” she said.
“I thought you meant simply tall.”
“I don’t want to think about him,” she said. “I want to be
with you. We can always use that big rubber cock.”
I smiled sadly. “I didn’t think to bring it with me,” I
confessed. I was standing behind her and slid my hands under her
blue sweater to hold her nipples. She pushed her ass against me and
shifted impatiently from one foot to the other, her breath hissing.
“But — we can improvise.”
She reached back and rubbed my cock through my pants. “This
cock is so nice and hard — ” I bent and licked the back of her
neck. She shivered and said, “And this tongue is so nice and wet –”
“I want to fuck you — now!” I breathed into her ear.
That’s when I began to discover just how kinky this lovely
little Singaporean girl really was.

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But things were not perfect. For one thing, their periods
coincided. No big deal, I thought, since it didn’t bother me,
either for fucking or sucking. But June was uncomfortable and Annie
got cranky. And that was the least of it.
See, while June was about to be tied up with her Jaycees
project, Annie was about to spend two weeks visiting friends in
France. She was doubly annoyed at the timing.
I, on the other hand, had gotten used to fucking two or three
times each day, sometimes with more than one woman — and now I was
looking forward (if that’s the right term) to about ten days of
Doing Without.

I like doing things

She was also completely uninhibited. Annie would do anything
that felt good and anything she didn’t like, she wouldn’t do. She
could suck cock expertly, loved to be licked, enjoyed cock in her
cunt from any angle and enjoyed ass fucking. She was multiorgasmic
in the extreme and very vocal about it. She liked men, she liked
women, she liked threesomes, she had even enjoyed orgies.
When I was fifteen and jerking off, I would construct the
perfect sexual partner in my imagination. That image was Annie. I had
to wait till I was in my late twenties to meet her and discover
that reality could exceed imagination. Not only was she lovely,
incredibly sexy and sweet, she was smart and perceptive.
Of course, if this was fiction, Annie and June would have
drooled over each other at first sight and we all would have fucked
off together into the sunset. The fact was, though, that June
hated the idea of doing anything with another woman and Annie didn’t
find June attractive (Annie liked — and likes — women with larger
breasts and voluptuous hips and has a special weakness for long
nipples.) In a way, that was no problem for me, since — oddly
enough — being in bed with more than one woman at once has never
been one of my major fantasies.
In another way, it was a good thing. Considering how
passionate and sexual both women were, a man caught between them in
bed would have gone up in a puff of smoke. No cremation necessary;
by dawn, there’d have been nothing left of the poor bastard but
I should have been in pig heaven. Here were two women whom I
found tremendously attractive and felt the same way about me. For
one reason or another, neither was willing to assert a claim of
exclusivity on me. One was willing to get weird at the drop of a
dildo, while the other simply Liked Doing Things. And one of them
was going to be busy — and had a sore ass! — for a few days while
the other was more than eager to make up a little lost time.

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My game was to run it up in my head. (Not that tough, dividing
by sixteen and keeping a running total, once you practice it; try
it and see.) That scared customers who weren’t accustomed to using
those mental muscles. They only trusted calculators and adding
machine tapes. So I had this deal: If they wanted, I would run it
up on the adding machine. If I was wrong, they got the coffee free —
I would pay for it out of my own pocket. If I was right, they’d
pay a fifty percent premium … to me.
Few took me up on it. Those that did, lost — always.
Annie came in on a crowded Sunday and ordered two ounces of this
and three ounces op that and so forth. Ended up with six different
beans in the pound. When I turned to tell her the price, she said,
“Wait a minute — five seventy….three? Yes. Yes. Five seventy-
three, if you round up for a half-cent.”
That’s what got my attention. Then her face. I asked her if
she was half-Chinese and half-Irish. She had reddish-brown hair and a
fine boned faced. Her cheekbones were high and her eyes were
slanted. She explained that she was part Magyar — the result of
Mongolians overrunning eastern Europe Way Back When. Her face was
fascinating and her mind was terrific.
Her body was outrageous. Imagine a woman who’s just over five-
foot-one and weighs about ninety pounds. Sounds scrawny, right? No
way. She was very small-boned. Annie had absolutely beautiful,
perfectly formed, firm and sumptuous breasts. Her waist was slender
and her hips were narrow. She had a delectable little ass and the
tastiest cunt…

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She was working with the Jaycees (yes, they
exist and even flourish in the Big Apple) on the Special Olympics,
a sports competition for “special” children. Special meant
retarded, for the most part, and frequently, physically disabled.
In addition to her routine 60-hour-plus-4 a.m.-Telex weeks, June
donated her enormous energies and ingenuity to things like the
Special Olympics. The timing of the sore asshole, in a way,
couldn’t have been better. The program was going to greatly limit
the time we had together for the next week — and it was one of the
many reasons I was becoming more and more taken with her.

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Alice tried to hold still as Mark’s fingers followed the traces up her
legs to her sex. His finger went on onto her mound, and after a second, right
into her well fucked hole.

It was while Alice was trying not to react to the shame of such an
examination that Mark slapped her ass for the first time.

“Count them.”


And so it went to twenty-five. With each slap, Mark’s finger explored
more of her cunt. Then with his fingers in her hole, and his thumb on her
clit, Mark had begun the inquisition.

He had insisted on each detail of what she had done, leaving out only the
name of her partner. Alice was so relieved that she held nothing back …
for long.

At each new act, Alice had tried to hide how easily she had allowed
herself to be used by Dave. Each evasion brought not a new round of spanking,
but a new level of sensation on her clit.

By four A.M., weak with orgasms, Alice had told him every detail, save
one. She had not told him that she had gone down on him after he had fucked

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Dave had driven her home just before two in the morning. She had kissed
him in the car and walked up her steps to her house feeling very confused and
very satisfied.

Seeing Mark sitting in the chair in the living room had nearly stopped her

Alice’s dress was wrinkled to death. Even if she had stopped to use
Dave’s bathroom thoroughly, the dress alone would have shown what she had been
up to.

Mark stood up and asked if there was any point in his staying. Alice had
burst into tears.

Seeing Mark was a shock, but it had crystallized her feelings for her. It
was Mark she wanted, and she told him that.

“Mark, I know I’ve hurt you, but I do love you. I’ll do anything to get
you to stay.”

Mark had stopped. “Really? Anything?”

“Yes. Anything.” Alice had managed to get both sorrow and defiance into
her voice at the same time.

“If I stay,” Mark began, “I want an end to all your hangups about sex. If
you can screw around on me–”

“It wasn’t …” Alice began and thought better of it.

“You can stop telling me that things I want are dirty.” Mark continued.
“That’s the first thing.”

“O.K. Mark, just don’t leave.”

“Second, you can spend the rest of the week showing me that you’ve turned
over a new leaf.”

“I will, Mark, I will.”

“Third, You’ll have to pay for tonight, any way I think you should.”

Alice thought of what she knew of Mark, and decided that she could endure
anything that he might come up with.

“Whatever you think is fair, Mark. Just remember I love you.” Alice

“We’ll see how much. Take off your clothes.”

Alice had been afraid of this. The phrase, “Like a bitch.” now had a new
meaning to her.

She had turned her back to Mark and taken off her shirt. She hung her
shirt on a chair, thankful that Dave hadn’t been one for hickies. She took
off her wrinkled skirt with more trepidation. Mark knew she never went out
without panties.

“Turn around.”

Alice tried to look demure. It was hard. Not only was she naked, but
freshly fucked as she was, there were still traces of Dave’s come on her …
and dripping out of her.