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Claire knelt up to slip her panties down, revealing a cleanly shaved quim,
again tanned and smooth, with pouting red lips. Tracy followed her sister
to reveal a neatly trimmed thick black pubic mound cut in the shape of a
heart, but with the lips of her sex shaved clean. They both shuffled over
to me and grabbing my shorts tugged them down to my ankles. The elastic
waistband of my shorts caught on my erection, dragging it down only to let
it spring back to slap wetly against my stomach revealing a swollen, very
thick, erect 10″ cock. Tracy started to lick and kiss my large purple knob
end, wetting it with saliva before easing into her mouth. My cock being
very thick with a large head, it filled her mouth, but her tongue and teeth
set to work, licking, nibbling and scratching what she could get in, then
suckling it like a baby does a mothers teat.

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We got on very well and agreed to meet the following morning to continue
our chat. No plans, nor even the original reason for the meeting had been
mentioned, so I went back to my hotel for the night to dream of them alone.

The following day we met in my hotel at about 10 o’clock, to go site
seeing. They lived about 2 miles from the sea, so we drove out to a cove
there. It was breezy but very warm, being mid September. The beach was
deserted, but we moved back into the dunes behind to get away from the
wind, and sat down on a travel rug to chat.

I had brought a picnic basket from the hotel, from which I took a bottle of
wine. We sat there drinking wine and chatting about almost everything.

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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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We pulled away from the curb and you asked if I liked sailing. Very
enthusiastically I said “oh, yes, I love sailing.” We headed away from the
high rises and toward the water. A short time later, pulling up at the yacht
club the valet came to take the car. He opened my door first and I stepped out
looking around carefully. I’m still breathless and all you did was smile at me
and kiss my hand.

You exit the car and open the truck removing a large duffel bag. Coming to my
side you casually place your arm around my waist and guide me toward the
marina. So many lovely boats are berthed here, which one is yours? You move
your arm to unlock the gate and I pass through first, waiting as you again take
my hand and lead me down the ramp. These ramps were not meant for high heels
and you are careful to go slowly. Finally we walk past several slips and come
to the last boat. A beautiful 45 foot, motor sailor. We climb the 4 steps and
you lift me over the side. “Welcome aboard”, my new friend. This is “The Last
Resort”. “Hope you like her”.

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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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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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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
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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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…