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I was about 30 years old and living in the planned community of Columbia Maryland. I had a large townhouse on the eastern edge of the city with three stories and quite a few amenities. The Jacuzzi tub upstairs came in handy occasionally for a fairly young single guy. I wasn't seeing anyone special and, like most single working people, found it difficult to meet anyone outside of work. And the work romance was too perilous, especially if things didn't work out -- which they never seemed to do.

This was the era of singles ads in magazines, before the advent of the Internet and email and cyber-dating. The most popular spot for ads in that area was the Washingtonian Magazine, which came out once a month. There were literally thousands of ads with every sexual combination you could imagine: men seeking women, women seeking men, women seeking women, men seeking couples. I invariably glanced through the women seeking men category. One had to be careful. The ads could range from truthful to slightly exaggerated to downright deceiving. A typical one might read:

Luscious swf, 5'4", 28,
Seeking man with no inhibitions
In DC area, no smokers, beaches,
Dining, fireplaces, and laughter

Now you knew this was a dangerous one to consider. The woman was quite precise about her age and height, but she didn't happen to mention her weight -- an oversight? No, if she were proud of it, it would be there. There was a good possibility this one was 5'4" and about as wide as was tall. Now if the ad had said "5'4", 120 lbs", that could still mean that this was not her actual, doctor-certified, current weight. This may have been her weight several years ago or the weight she is dieting and exercising to reach. She may actually be closer to 140 lbs. Don't they realize that the man will find out at the first meeting? It's a little hard to hide those 20 extra pounds. I was always puzzled about this until, one day, it dawned on me. These gals hoped that you would be so dazzled by their sparkling personality, so taken with their good cheer and glowing smile, that the weight thing would fade into insignificance and the romance would progress, girth or no girth. I have been there a few times. After the letters and the phone calls, after first date is set, and you finally meet and see her for the very first time -- the weight thing hits you over the head like a sledge. Your heart sinks. All that wasted Brut. But, ever the gentleman, you follow through with the date, never suggesting that the svelte "115 lbs" in her ad must have been a misprint for "175". You feed her and now she is probably 180. Ah well, just one more lost evening.

So, if you do answer an ad where the weight is questionable, in order to avoid embarrassing episodes, you learn to gently insinuate your concern into the conversation, but never ask her directly – that would be too rude. You say something like,

"I work out and take pretty good care of myself."

If she does as well, she will tell so you at this point. If she doesn't say then you persist.

"I like women who also stay in good shape."

Most get the hint and either ease your worries by letting you know they are not fat or else steer the conversation away from this forbidden topic, letting you know, in essence, that this is a matter they rather wish you would overlook. Even with such precautions, mishaps do occur. One woman I called who didn't mention her weight in the ad was forthright, if devious, about her tonnage. She told me,

"I am in great shape and men like my figure".

Well, you can't go wrong there and she was delightfully giggly on the phone, laughing at all of my devastating witticisms. So we made a date to meet. I went up to her door to pick her up for the dinner date. I rang and she opened. She was huge. She filled the doorway. I hoped that my face didn't betray my shock and disappointment. I was, after all, a gentleman. My heart sank. Now it was just a matter of getting through the next 3 or 4 hours, trying to smile, pretending to be interested. I wondered about that "men like my figure" remark. Then I realized; she was proud of her enormous chest and probably thought men would overlook the fact that her stomach protruded just as far as her chest did. I got through the evening, but on the drive back home, finally alone, I determined to be bold next time, if there ever were a next time, and simply tell the woman that I preferred a thin, petite shape in my amours.

Well, time passed and the last blind date faded a bit, so I allowed myself to give in to hope and read the ads again. Surely, the last time was a fluke. I did see one. It sounded pretty good:

Attractive DJF, 5'6", 115,
Looking for professional man
Who shares my interest in
Quiet times, travel, talking, and sex.
No smokers please.

No beating around the bush here for this girl. She may as well have put the word "sex" in bold 16 type, underlined in red. That is the word that I saw immediately. Most of them write that their goal is "romance" or "long term commitment" or even "marriage", but this one had her heart set on "sex". Moreover, she was thin. Even allowing for the 20 pound fudge factor, she couldn't be too bad. Naturally, I answered her first. She wrote back and gave me her phone number. She was interested. I called her and we spoke for a while. Her name was Ronnie, lived in northern Virginia, and seemed intelligent and witty. She made quite a few allusions to sexual matters during the course of the conversation. I remember she said,

"You are probably going to want to kiss me after you see me."

What a curious thing to say. It may have been true, but is bizarre for the girl to bring that up. Most are so demure about this type of thing at first. We made a somewhat provocative first date: a picnic during the summer. This meant hot weather and sparse clothing; a blanket on the ground somewhere private and a bottle of champagne to loosen up the scruples. And she was thin and unabashed about her interest in sex. It sounded perfect.

She lived about an hour away. She won my heart by suggesting that she drive to me this first time. This had all sorts of good connotations. Number one, I wouldn't have to drive the horrible Washington DC beltway. And if she got a little tipsy after the champagne and needed to relax a bit before going home, well then, we had my place right there. The date was set for Sunday afternoon at noon. I packed the picnic lunch – after all, she was making the big drive – chilled the bubbly and waited for her to arrive. This is always the nerve-wracking part – waiting for them to show up for the first time – and then getting your first fateful glimpse.

The doorbell rang. I opened the door and there she was. Just as advertised, she was medium height, thin, and had a quite nice chest. She was wearing a very short skirt, bare legged, with a halter-top, giving me a view of stomach and neck and arms and a lot of leg. Quite clearly she had dressed for action. One thing though, and this was my own fault for not asking ahead of time, I noticed that she was older than me. Quite a bit, as a matter of fact. She was probably in the lower to mid 40's range, with more emphasis on the "mid". True, her ad didn't mention age, but then my eyes and mind couldn't get past that all too prominent declaration of "sex". And her height and weight checked out so nicely. Oh God, not again: a blind date with someone who didn't interest me. How did I get into these situations?

"Ronnie, it's so nice to finally meet you. How pretty you look."

Lord, what a cad. What I was really thinking as I said this was

"Ronnie how old you look."

The older woman and I went on our picnic. We found a nice spot near the Columbia lake, spread out our blanket, popped the cork on the Mouton Cadet and proceeded to get pleasantly swizzled. I was not used to drinking during the day. The heat and the champagne produced a very pleasing buzz in me, and I think in her as well. She was a little coquette, touching and flirting and stretching out her legs and arms and chest just so to let me appreciate her assets. Quite the tasty morsel... Ah, if only she were 20 years younger. OK, at this point I'd take 10. I could not get past the fact that when I looked at her, I thought of my mother's friends. It was not a particularly exciting notion. We ate and talked and drank.

She stretched and writhed about seductively on the blanket, clearly taken with me. I should mention at this point that I was 6'2", about 180 lbs and had pretty well defined muscles from my hours at the Columbia Center gym. I usually wear contacts, but today, I had to wear my glasses. One of the contacts was scratched and needed to be replaced. I only mention this because it occurred to me that if I took off my glasses, maybe I could focus upon her charms more clearly, if you know what I mean. In the myopic, impressionistic haze that resulted, I could not see but could imagine the nice shape and bare legs and hard nipples through the halter-top. It worked to a degree. She leaned over and gave me a quick kiss, not too quick, lingering just enough to let me know she wanted more, that now it was my turn. But as we parted from the kiss, she was close enough to me that I saw her cute but too mature face again and this brought me down. I could not do this. There was simply no chemistry except for the alcoholic variety. I felt like I was kissing my mother.

The picnic blanket must have been lying near a patch of noxious weed of some variety. My skin began to itch and feel prickly. I told Ronnie I needed to wash off whatever I had inadvertently lain in. It was all right because it was time for the picnic to end anyway. The food was picked through, the booze was gone and our conversation started to lag a little.

So he picnic ended and we went back to my place. I expected we would talk a bit and then she would drive back to northern Virginia. I needed to get a shower fast and wash off whatever was irritating me. But Ronnie wouldn't leave. She stayed and talked and stretched and talked some more. I sat and squirmed and thought about the shower. Finally, I told her that I had to jump in the shower. This would normally be a pretty fair cue that I expected her to leave. But not to Ronnie. She said,

"OK, I'll wait for you."

By this time, I was getting desperate; so I excused myself, went upstairs, stripped down and got into the shower. I scrubbed my arms and legs and just hoped that I caught it in time.

As I was rinsing, the shower curtain parted and there stood Ronnie, nude. What could I say? She climbed into the shower with me. This was not a shy woman. I was a little embarrassed and said something lame like

"This is quite a surprise".

But now there was really no escape from this enforced intimacy. I couldn't very well jump out and leave her there alone. That would be rude. I did feel rather uncomfortable. She quickly moved to remedy that. Ronnie was not much into subtlety. She grabbed the soap, soaped up her hands and then went immediately for my genitals. She rubbed soap on my penis, my "beautiful prick" as she called it, and massaged me there with both hands, one hand on the tip, rubbing gently, and the other hand gliding along the length, cupping and ticking my balls as she got to the base. My God, no man can resist this. I began to harden up in her hands, to her delight. I should point out, modestly, that I am rather large in that part of my body, or so women have told me, and Ronnie was quick to point this out,

"Ooooh...it's so big and hard and beautiful."

While she massaged me, she looked at my cock and not at my face. Some women look at your face when they are doing this. Ronnie was thoroughly engrossed in my cock.

I took the soap myself and rubbed some on her breasts as she worked on me. She had overly firm breasts, obviously from some type of implant, but fine hard jutting nipples. I rubbed them as she rubbed me. What I was feeling and doing at this point was automatic, just responding to stimuli. I didn't really want to get intimate with Ronnie. But what she was doing to my cock could not be denied. I was thoroughly erect and began to throb under her very skillful ministrations. When she saw that I was ready, she stopped, looked up at me, and said,

"let's go into the bedroom."

What could I do? She had convinced me. After rinsing me off, she literally led me into the bedroom by my now very willing prick, holding onto it like a dog on a leash. She took me over to the bed and pushed me down. I lay there on my back with my prick jutting straight up in anticipation, ready for action.

Rather than getting in bed with me, Ronnie said,

"excuse me a minute,"

and ran naked downstairs. I assumed she was going for a diaphragm in her purse. But when she quickly returned, she was holding not a diaphragm case but a pack of cigarettes. What? Didn't she specifically ask for a non-smoker in her ad? She explained before I could say anything,

"I don't usually smoke anymore, and I don't like men who smoke, but before sex one cigarette is just soooo nice."

I told her that I did not like anyone smoking in my house. No problem, she opened the sliding glass door onto my private upper patio and went outside to grab a naked smoke. I was left lying there alone on the bed, aroused, erect, and getting mad. As she puffed away, minutes went by and I got angrier. I jumped off the bed, went to the bathroom and put my underpants, shorts and shirt back on and went downstairs. This was over. Soaped-up cock or no soaped-up cock, I was not going to wait on the bed for her cigarette break.

She came downstairs shortly thereafter and asked me what was wrong. I told her she seemed more interested in her butt than in me. The day was over, thank you very much. Ronnie had put on her shorts and halter-top before she came downstairs, but had not lost any enthusiasm. She tried to convince me to go back upstairs with her. But the spell was broken for me, and I was not going back upstairs.

"OK", she said, "then let me suck you here; Let me wrap my lips around your beautiful prick."

I kid you not, this is just what she said, the exact words. I was too angry and turned off to consider this, and said no. I was sitting on the sofa, fuming. She sat down next to me and pleaded with me.

"Please, I'm sorry. Let me take you in my mouth, please. Let me taste you."

She rubbed her hands on my thighs. She cajoled and pleaded. I was getting annoyed. How do I get rid of her? I was so tired of the begging that I finally just exclaimed, with some exasperation,

"OK, go ahead, if you want."

I knew that she would not be able to turn me on again, so great was my annoyance with her.

I should tell you that I often felt a little uncomfortable when women gave me the proverbial "blow job". I liked to be in control of sexual matters, enjoying fucking them and making them surrender themselves to the pleasure I was giving them. But I felt funny when I was lying there beneath them, having no control, completely naked and exposed, with them in the driver's seat. Sometimes I could not come this way, and sometimes I could not even stay hard, such was my level of uneasiness. So, I tended to avoid oral sex until I already had a sexual history with the girl – she had already come for me and felt my sexual power, so to speak. Getting oral too soon just made me feel uncomfortable.

Ronnie pulled me onto the rug onto my back with my head propped back against the front of the sofa. She pulled down my shorts around my ankles and then my underpants, exposing me to her. She smacked her lips. I was not hard at this point and was feeling definitely un-sexual. I was still angry, you see. Added to this, my old embarrassment about premature oral sex came back; I hoped she would see that I wasn't really interested and give up and go home. Not Ronnie. She took my soft cock into her mouth with no hesitation, no foreplay, and no waiting. She began to suck me. I took a deep breath and tried to endure, waiting for this to be over with, for her to get tired of vainly trying to excite me.

Ronnie was not an amateur at cock sucking, that was clear. Her mouth was warm and soft and experienced, persuasive, especially her tongue. She sucked and swirled her tongue all around the head of my cock. I was getting a little harder in spite of myself. I was angry with her, but my body didn't know that. I made no sound – not wanting to let her know she was affecting me at all. The firm but soft friction of her tongue against the top of my cock was insistent; it began to get to me. I clenched my teeth and told myself she was not going to arouse me. My penis and balls were not obeying my mind and responded to her tongue as pure biology. She sucked like that for a while until I was fairly hard and erect. My cock was not immune to Ronnie's charms, even if I was. I started to feel a little funny, not quite so bitter. I felt myself starting to yield, just a bit, so I tried to think of something else... the damn cigarettes, her leaving me while she smoked. But her mouth kept bringing me back with her caresses. She released me from her mouth and then ran her lips down the side of my cock, from the tip to the base, one side at a time, licking with her tongue as she went. She did this for a while and then took the cock head back into her mouth. I had to admit, her mouth did feel nice on me. She sucked and licked the head for a few minutes or so until I was completely hard, my cock engorged stiff with blood.

Ronnie then released me from her mouth and pulled back her head to admire her handiwork. I opened my eyes and saw that she was examining the stiff prick, relishing the sight of it, holding it up by the base so it stood straight up from my body. She looked at it and breathed,

"Ohhh... your prick is so beautiful and hard. I am going to enjoy this."

The she looked up at me, directly into my eyes, smiled, gave my cock head a little squeeze with her hand, and said, daring me,

"You are going to enjoy this. Just lie back, relax and enjoy it."

I tried to look defiant, but I was slipping. Then she went back to work. Her mouth was so sweet upon the top of my cock that I started to relish the sensations, my anger and resentment diminishing the more she sucked on me. She continued for a long time, wearing me down. I stayed as hard as marble. She alternated between sucking the top and then pulling her mouth away, washing the sides up and down with her wet tongue, slowly and carefully, not missing any of the cock flesh. She would then hold my, by now, extremely stiff cock in one hand, push it toward me to get it out of the way, and then titillate my balls with her tongue. My legs and thighs jumped when she did this. One time she even lifted my balls up and licked me in the area just beneath them. When she did this, my cock, which she was holding in one hand, stiffened up even more. My resentment faded away. My determination was evaporating with the persistent sucking, the licks, the kisses upon my most sensitive area. I lost track of how long she kissed my groin with her lips and tongue. It could have been minutes or it could have been hours.

I was starting to relax now, allowing myself to get into the sensations she was giving me. The previous animosity I had felt to her was lessening. There was such intense pleasure when she took the head back into her mouth that I had to look and see what she was doing to me. How was she causing such sensual delights? I noticed when her mouth left the tip for a second, for her to get a breath, her tongue was rapidly swishing back and forth, almost vibrating, so quick was the motion, across top of the head. This is what was killing me. The head of my cock was so ultra sensitive that this became almost unbearable. When she got this rapidly moving tongue back onto my cock, I saw stars.


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