I was stunned, to say the least. To think that two women had actually discussed me. To think that my performance in a romantic interlude had been the topic of several evenings’ conversation between friends. Actually, I was immensely flattered. And apprehensive.
And here was my way out; a way to clear the way for the already-scheduled meeting with my online friend. I could very simply be polite in my refusal to become involved. I could easily explain to her that last February’s activities were a one-time-happening. But I didn’t. Why didn’t I?
Simple. This woman exuded more sexuality than any woman I have ever met. She was so animal-like in her appearance - almost predatory - that I was mesmerized and agreed to everything she proposed. She explained she could only stay the afternoon since she was traveling into the city for another appearance that evening. This, of course, fell directly into the plan I had cooked up for the day, anyway.
We returned to our hotel and I led her to the room I had arranged. What was her plan for the afternoon? This was not a romantic liaison, as had been the one in Hershey. This was a deliberately planned afternoon of sex — simple, unadulterated sex. I honestly did not know if I was up to it. For the first time in my life, I had doubts about what I was going to be able to accomplish.
She wasted no time at all in giving me clues as to her intentions. She was wearing a beautiful beige cashmere business suit and removed the jacket to reveal a matching beige silk blouse. Her breasts were huge and stretched the silk to its limit. I could see the lace on the tops of the cups of her bra, also beige it appeared, contrasted starkly against her dark skin. I am not a breast man. I have never been a breast man, or boy, or teen. I much prefer a woman’s nether regions - those regions not seen by many, hidden from view until the woman decides to reveal them for her own reasons. But, in this case, I was stunned. My gaze could not be torn from those melon-shaped hills pressing for release from their lacy prison. I resorted to a juvenile phase and whispered, “Oh, my God!” She laughed and lifted them with her two hands and asked if I liked them. I responded in the affirmative, and she remarked that she had heard I was not usually attracted to a woman’s breasts.
I gave her the short version of what I did prefer and stepped closer to her in the thought that I would now take over the direction for the afternoon. No. It was not to be. She put her hands against my chest and told me to relax on the side of the bed, that she was responsible for the afternoon and that our mutual friend had described exactly how she should go about pleasing me.
Argue with her? You’ve got to be kidding! I sat down on the edge of the bed and simply watched as she removed the articles of clothing she had on. Small brown heels, straight beige skirt, (no stockings), half-lace cup bra, (a later peek while she was in the bathroom gave me the size of 42D), all laid carefully on the back and arms of the overstuffed chair at the other side of the room. Each trip to the chair and back to stand in front of me brought me to a higher state of rigidity and readiness, I must admit. I was totally enjoying the “show” so to speak.