I knew I could stop him by acting cold, but I didn’t even feel a shred of ambivalence: this was what I wanted, to get fucked tonight. Soon he was massaging my nipple through my shirt. Soon our shirts were off and we were kissing on the couch.A few minutes later, we moved to the bedroom. I sucked him a bit, and he returned the favor, but it was pretty clear – both from the moves we were making and the memory of our last encounter – just what he and I wanted: fucking. He asked me what position I wanted, and since I’m a bit intimidated by his cock, I asked if I could ride him. He said okay.So he lubed up, slipped on a condom, and I put his cock at the lips of my asshole. Now this guy had one of those penises that, when hard, were so hard you could feel every ridge and vein up and down his shaft. When his cockhead popped past my ring, I could feel the ridge of his manhood jutting against the edge of my flesh. I sank down him with a groan, and he slowly began to fuck me. I had expect it. A business trip. Would you be so kind as to meet me for a drink Tuesday night at my hotel?’ My mind began to race at the thought of meeting her. That night I arrived early at the hotel restaurant, sat down, and ordered us both drinks – she had long ago told me the kind of wine she preferred. Although I had still never seen her face, I recognized her instantly when she walked up to the hostess. Her brown hair framed her face and caught the light, and her dress – a perfect shade of blue – stopped several inches below her knees. She always worried about her weight, but I just saw voluptuous curves. I stood up from my chair and waved to catch her eye. I watched her walk to the table, looking at her in the eye, but watching all of her, the slight sway of her hips, the tiny shake of her ample chest, listening to the click of her heels on the marble floor. She offered me her hand, perhaps a Southern ritual, and said simply, quietly, ‘It is so nice to finally meet you, Mr. Storyteller.’ We.
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