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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.

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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 head. Horny sluts
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 hell. 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.

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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 ashes. 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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