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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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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.
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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The ways of love are many, or so they say. And I have been very attracted to many men. Some I have known, in the Biblical sense, others only glimpsed from a distance. Why can a stranger seen only briefly start the electricity flowing through my body? Why can the thought of new hands touching my breasts make them so excited? What activates the hormones, when I observe a man walking toward me with obviously large equipment? And why did I see you and know immediately that we would become lovers? Walking around at lunchtime, looking for a new dress to ease my depression I bumped into you, literally. I was looking in the shop window and you were reaching into your suit pocket when it happened. I almost stumble and you reach to steady me, brushing my breast with your open hand.

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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 what was wonderful about her was her sweetness and compassion. She loved my delight in licking her cunt and found it simply amazing that I wasn't fixated on her tits. (I'd gotten over my big-tit cravings when I was 17. See, I had this cousin, the same age -- But that, as Conan's biographer would say, is another tale.) So Barbie was coming to stay with me for a few days while she visited friends in the city. I filled her in (in more ways than one. Heh.) on what I'd been up to and we made love a lot. She reveled in waking me one morning with her mouth locked on the tip of my cock and sucked me off, drinking me moaning dry and then sprawling on me and kissing my lips with my own cum on hers. We slept again, till nearly one in the afternoon, and then made love, with her on her face and a pillow under her hips, and then drowsed till dark. I can still feel the wonderful weight of her breasts pressed against me and the firmness of her ass under my fingers and the wet heat of her cunt against my hip and the slightly salty -- from perspiration -- taste of her ear when I kissed her awake that night. I went out and bought the fixings and prepared an odd dinner of broiled filet of sole, mashed potatoes and steamed asparagus. Then we went back to bed and made love again. Barb, wherever you are, you are precious. If you are not happy, call me and talk to me. You saved my life and my heart and I want to do for you.

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I had seen her around the building from time to time. She had a sweet face and a placid demeanor and seemed like a nice, plump girl. I had no idea what kind of figureshe had, since she always wore big, loose mu-mu dresses. At about 2:30 a.m. on the second night of the blackout, after we had killed about two-thirds of a bottle of cheap red wine that she'd brought, she announced she really would prefer to stay with me rather than risk waking her roommate (whom I'd always found more attractive) by coming home late. Between the emotional shock of the breakup a few weeks before and my weariness (an hour of sleep at a time was rare) and the wine, I thought it sounded reasonable -- and no more than that. But in the darkness of my bedroom, I felt something against my face, then something else. I stood and lit a candle and discovered Barbie had absolutely enormous breasts. "Where did THOSE come from?" I'd demanded. She'd laughed -- gently, as with everything else -- and beckoned me back to bed. I was rather unprepared for the body so carefully hidden under the loose, oversize dresses. Imagine a woman who's five foot tall, has 32-inch hips, a twenty-five inch waist and a bra labeled 32-D ... and who overflows the brasierre's cups.

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True, the day before she headed for JFK and her transAtlantic flight, Annie and I lolled about in bed for about eighteen hours of sexual bliss. True, June stopped by the very next day, flipped up her skirt to reveal her pantyless cunt, grabbed her ankles and winked at me upside down between her knees. But that was going to be it. Ahh well, I figured. I needed to spend more time at the Selectric. And in a pinch, there were always the Palm Sisters and Fond Memories. Hell, what was ten days? I told myself. It could be a very long time, I told myself. To my amazement, on the Thursday night that Annie left for France and June left for Albany, I got a phone call from Philly: Barbie Shelton was coming to town. I had known Barb for about four years, at that point. She'd lived with Bertha, also an NYU student, in the same building as me during the Great Blackout of '77 and had come down to keep me company. Bertha knew I had just had a very bad breakup and was going -- quite literally -- crazy. Barbie saved my life. No shit -- I was seriously contemplating suicide when she decided to take me under her wing.

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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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