Having her talk
about my book, listening to her ideas, and responding to suggestions,
was a lot of fun for both of us.
I actually think she understands what I’m trying to do.
45
So far the things Annie has said are right on the money. She seems
to realize what I am trying to do here and I am very appreciative of
her help as an unofficial editor. Just the right balance must be struck
between comedy and seriousness, Annie says. Let the grim truth
emerge naturally as part of the jokes, the satire, the wisecracks, and
the parody.
Annie agrees that it is tough balance to strike.
We were near the bottom of our second glass of wine when I
suggested that we go to a restaurant on Bay Street called The Manly
Mussel. Annie was more than agreeable.
Our beer-battered halibut, fries and clam chowder had not yet
graced the table when Annie began talking a blue streak about this
graduate program she is in at Case Western and the politics involved
in getting ahead in academia. From time to time I interjected with
appropriate responses.
After the food arrived, Annie turned again to my manuscript,
having read the copy I had sent her. She offered a wide variety of
additional observations.
Then the conversation switched back to the subject of her career. I
teased Annie mildly about her area of study, Romance Languages.
The simple truth is that I admire the hell out of her intellect, and view
the pursuit of an academic career as a truly worthy occupation.
I, of course, would have no patience for it, having expended all my
educational energy on my paltry little four year degree.
Smart as Annie is, what I dig most is that she is a hot babe of the
first order, and realize that I have yet to mention her most outstanding
physical feature, which happens to be a large and decidedly luscious
upper rack.
Annie is the proud owner of two hefty, solid, and very shapely
breasts. Atop each squeezable item is a pink and perfect nipple,
which I would have been happy to kiss and suck far past the ten
minute span she allowed me.
Nevertheless, we had good sex while she was here, the best since I
have known her. Only the regular stuff, though. Nothing too exotic.
She is quite conservative on that score.
46
My strategy with Annie and any woman of her sophistication is to
get her slightly drunk, make her laugh, feed her a delicious meal, and
then start kissing her with passionate abandon.
Thus it was with Annie, who returned my kisses after we came
back from the restaurant, sitting on the sofa in my living room/dining
room.
"You make me so hot, Patrick," Annie said.
I pulled Annie’s hand down to my crotch, gently, not trying to rush
things, but to keep them going forward.
"Feel this," I said.
Annie felt me, rubbing her academically inclined fingertips against
the swollen head, and then down along the shaft.
"Oh, yes, Patrick," Annie said, surrendering to more of my kisses.
"Oh, yes!"
Not too long afterwards, we were in my bed. Annie was on top of
me, my cock buried in her to the hilt.
Like a pair of windshield wipers, my lips went back and forth
across the milk white expanses of her lovely breasts, to kiss, lick,
suck, and generally anoint the tiny crowning points.
"Oooooaaahh..." Annie murmured. "Aaaaahhh..."
Oh, it was heaven. This went on, I estimate, for maybe ten, twelve
minutes, until Annie indicated that she wanted to roll off and get into
the missionary position.
"It gives me the best feeling," she explained.
"Okay," I said.
I got in between Annie’s soft thighs and eased my cock in about
half way. She is very sensitive upon penetration, as I have learned
from my previous times with her.
Gripping my hips on either side, Annie carefully drew me up inside
her, until I was sunk all the way. Then her hands grasped my butt,
gripping me tightly.
"Oooohhh ... ahhh ... you’re so big," Annie said, her eyes closed,
twisting her head from side to side, her nails digging into my
about my book, listening to her ideas, and responding to suggestions,
was a lot of fun for both of us.
I actually think she understands what I’m trying to do.
45
So far the things Annie has said are right on the money. She seems
to realize what I am trying to do here and I am very appreciative of
her help as an unofficial editor. Just the right balance must be struck
between comedy and seriousness, Annie says. Let the grim truth
emerge naturally as part of the jokes, the satire, the wisecracks, and
the parody.
Annie agrees that it is tough balance to strike.
We were near the bottom of our second glass of wine when I
suggested that we go to a restaurant on Bay Street called The Manly
Mussel. Annie was more than agreeable.
Our beer-battered halibut, fries and clam chowder had not yet
graced the table when Annie began talking a blue streak about this
graduate program she is in at Case Western and the politics involved
in getting ahead in academia. From time to time I interjected with
appropriate responses.
After the food arrived, Annie turned again to my manuscript,
having read the copy I had sent her. She offered a wide variety of
additional observations.
Then the conversation switched back to the subject of her career. I
teased Annie mildly about her area of study, Romance Languages.
The simple truth is that I admire the hell out of her intellect, and view
the pursuit of an academic career as a truly worthy occupation.
I, of course, would have no patience for it, having expended all my
educational energy on my paltry little four year degree.
Smart as Annie is, what I dig most is that she is a hot babe of the
first order, and realize that I have yet to mention her most outstanding
physical feature, which happens to be a large and decidedly luscious
upper rack.
Annie is the proud owner of two hefty, solid, and very shapely
breasts. Atop each squeezable item is a pink and perfect nipple,
which I would have been happy to kiss and suck far past the ten
minute span she allowed me.
Nevertheless, we had good sex while she was here, the best since I
have known her. Only the regular stuff, though. Nothing too exotic.
She is quite conservative on that score.
46
My strategy with Annie and any woman of her sophistication is to
get her slightly drunk, make her laugh, feed her a delicious meal, and
then start kissing her with passionate abandon.
Thus it was with Annie, who returned my kisses after we came
back from the restaurant, sitting on the sofa in my living room/dining
room.
"You make me so hot, Patrick," Annie said.
I pulled Annie’s hand down to my crotch, gently, not trying to rush
things, but to keep them going forward.
"Feel this," I said.
Annie felt me, rubbing her academically inclined fingertips against
the swollen head, and then down along the shaft.
"Oh, yes, Patrick," Annie said, surrendering to more of my kisses.
"Oh, yes!"
Not too long afterwards, we were in my bed. Annie was on top of
me, my cock buried in her to the hilt.
Like a pair of windshield wipers, my lips went back and forth
across the milk white expanses of her lovely breasts, to kiss, lick,
suck, and generally anoint the tiny crowning points.
"Oooooaaahh..." Annie murmured. "Aaaaahhh..."
Oh, it was heaven. This went on, I estimate, for maybe ten, twelve
minutes, until Annie indicated that she wanted to roll off and get into
the missionary position.
"It gives me the best feeling," she explained.
"Okay," I said.
I got in between Annie’s soft thighs and eased my cock in about
half way. She is very sensitive upon penetration, as I have learned
from my previous times with her.
Gripping my hips on either side, Annie carefully drew me up inside
her, until I was sunk all the way. Then her hands grasped my butt,
gripping me tightly.
"Oooohhh ... ahhh ... you’re so big," Annie said, her eyes closed,
twisting her head from side to side, her nails digging into my
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