Amiga ISO Collection/AmigaDemoCD2.iso/ASCII/TEXTE/SEX/ADULTSHARE/A/ASS14761.TXT

Text File | 1994-03-26 | 17.6 KB | 375 lines

@BEGIN_FILE_ID.DIZ
**********************
Ok...more on Jeanine....
**********************
Legal Bullshit (tm) -
don't try to pass this
off as your
own, etc.
**********************@END_FILE_ID.DIZ


    Going to work the next day was, shall we say, unpleasant? I mean,
for starters, I had to leave Jeanine for a few hours. That was hell in
itself, but with the bruises on my wrists, and the fact that I spent
the whole night working up more of a sweat than I care to think of, well,
hey....I was tired.

    I've come to the realization that women can innately sense the
day that you find someone you like being around, and that's when they
all come out of the woodwork. Jeanine loaned me one of her cars until mine
was out of the shop, (I'd tell you what it was, but you'd be jealous), and
I went to McDonalds for an all out attack on my ulcers. Er, I mean, for
a Egg McMuffin. While I was going through the drive through, I saw that
a girl I went to high school with, who I had an *enormous* crush on was
working the window, and she damn near came out through the window to talk
to me. She told me to call her, and blew me a kiss as I left.

    So, I was on cloud 9. I had the perfect woman, and now, some of the
women I had previously lusted after were after me. Hee hee...what an
interesting turn of events.

    I pulled into the parking lot at my office, and went to clean up
a bit. (Yes, I dropped the damn McMuffin in my lap, OK?) I walked into
my boss' office.

    "Where the hell did *that* come from? I don't pay you that much.",
Jean said, obviously noticing that my little CRX wasn't in its usual space.

    "Uh, I borrowed it from my girlfriend. It's not mine.", I responded.

    Turns out, she was trying to track down some money that had
taken a walk, seemingly all by itself. So, she went over the paperwork
with me, and we tried to figure where it had gone, and why our checks were
bouncing. (One of them being my paycheck! Aaaugh!)

    To cut a long story short, my secretary had been slurping down money,
so I fired her. (And a good thing too. I had 4000 mailing labels that I needed
typed up by friday, and as of friday, she had typed 10. So, needless to say,
I had a lot of typoing to get done. :( Not a happy day.)

    So, I walk into the darkroom where my photographer seems to spend most
of his time, too see how things were coming along with the photo shoot we
did on a recent groundbreaking, and if I could possibly hurry him up so that
we could get the pics to the client ASAP. Well, it wasn't too dark in the room
for me to see that he was whacking off to pictures of my secretary...and not
in various stages of undress, like normal people would stroke to. Nooooo...
just pics of her "working". (I put that in quotes, because I can't for the life
of me figure out what the hell she was doing. It sure as hell wasn't work that
I was paying her for.) So, I fired him.

    After spending the rest of the day trying to find a new photographer
and secretary, it was finally 5:00, and I hit the door running.

    Jean stopped me.

    "Uh, Mike, are you forgetting something?", she asked.

    I opened my planner, and saw, to my horror, that we had a 6:30
appointment. Not good, since I had promised to be back in Fairlawn at
6:00. So, I called Jeanine, and told her what was up, and that I'd be there
ASAP, and she was cool with that....she told me that she had a surprise
for me. (And by her tone, I knew it would be good.)

    So, we took our client out to The P*b in H****n, (I can't mention
their name, either, because they'd sue the hell out of me.), and blew about
$120 on food that not only was disgusting, but overpriced as well. I stopped
at home afterward, and even the dog wouldn't eat what I had brought home.

    Needing something edible, and preferably in the form of complex
carbs, (hey, I need my energy), I made up some tortellini, and chowed it
down. Then, as I was heading out the door, the phone rang. Some moron
mechanic had to tell me that there was no way in hell my car would ever
go again, and I should call my insurance agency and just get a check, and
go car shopping, and he'd give me $50 if I'd sell him the car for parts.
It worked for me, so I told him I'd take care of it over the weekend.

    Finally, I was on my way to Fairlawn. (Happiness)

    I got to the house, and saw a note saying, "Come in and go to
our room." That kind of shocked me. "Our" room? It was too good to be true,
I thought.

    But I did what the note commanded. When I got there, I saw that
there was incence and candles burning, but no Jeanine. I looked over on
the bed, and saw a note.

    "Change into the outfit in the closet. More instructions in the
pocket."

    So, I put on the tuxedo I saw there, getting more and more inquisitive
by the minute. It was a long-tailed, grey tux, complete with white gloves,
black bow tie, black commurbund. (No, I can't spell, dammit.)

    I searched the pockets, naturally ending with the one that had the
note in it. It read:

    My dearest Michael,
        By the time you read this, I will be almost ready for
    you. You will find a top hat and cane on the counter top in the
    bathroom. Next note will be there.

    I thought this was getting pretty cool....so, I wandered in, put
on the hat, grabbed the cane, and admired myself in the mirror. "Pretty sharp",
I said. "Now I know why people always say I look like James Spader."

    Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw where the note was. It was
written on the opposite wall, in lipstick, no less, backwards, so I had to
read it in the mirror. Nothing if not creative, this time she wrote:

    Michael:
        We're going to Tangiers. (It's a restaurant) (That part
wasn't in the note.) There, we will meet up with a friend of mine. It's
your job to seduce her. Now, face left.

    My jaw hung limp as I turned to my left. There she was, standing in
the shower stall, (How I had not noticed, I do not know.) My jaw hit the
fucking floor.

    Her luscious long locks of red hair, looking freshly curled, hung
down over the front of her white see-through blouse, just over her breasts,
concealing the very hard nipples that showed through when she turned her
head. Her moist, full lips painted a vivacious red stood out against her
pale skin, and accentuated her emerald eyes. She wore a long black kilt, and
black stockings, with a pair of fuck-me pumps that I cannot for the life
of me figure out how she could stand up in. If God were to decide tomorrow
that the rest of my life should suck, I'd still consider myself the luckiest
man in the world, just because I got to glimpse that.

    After a few moments of open gawking, staring at the sensous smile
she beamed at me (She was pleased that I was pleased),, I finally managed
to find words.

    "Uh, Jeanine", I said. "I don't want to seem like a prude, God knows
I'm not, but as far as seducing your friend - two problems."

    "And those are?", she asked, her succulent pouting lips drawing into
a faux frown.

    "1 : I don't want to seduce anyone else. Not only am I perfectly
happy, but I can't keep up with you, let alone two! And 2: I couldn't
seduce a $2 hooker."

    "You seduced me, right?"

    "No. I didn't try. My mind is *still* reeling from the idea that
you'd have anything to do with me. I seem to remember you did most of the
talking, which is fine by me, because I didn't have to worry about saying
anything stupid."

    "Like what?"

    "Like whatever moron thing my brain comes up with when I'm in
the presence of an attractive woman. I think what saved my ass last night
is the fact that my brain went into shock from the fact that you were
talking to me. Really - ask anyone. I'm terribly shy."

    "You -shy? Hee hee hee...I realized where I know you from."

    Oh, God, I thought. End of the road for ole-Mikey-boy. I'm screwed.

    "You did open mic nite at Hilarities about two weeks ago. You and
some lanky geek named Jeff. And you're Mutt. Most of the jokes seemed to
be envy on Jeff's part of your reputation as a ladykiller. You can't
convince me that you're shy."

    I had to admit, she had me on that one. And that is *the* last time
I *ever* get on stage again. Five people really loved my bit. The other
450 stared in mute silence.

    "And Mike -?"

    "Yes?"

    "Don't quit your day job."



    So we finished our primping (She just *had* to adjust my tie about
15,000,000 times. If God is nice, I shall never have to wear a bow tie
again. (Of course, now that I've said that, I'm going to be forced to wear
a string tie somewhere. I can feel it.)), and headed out to the restaurant.

    We got to Tangiers, and went to our reserved table. She made sure I
sat with my back to the door, so I couldn't see this mystery guest when
she arrived.

    When I did see her, though, it was as though I had died and gone
to hell.

    "Y-y-yy-y-y-y-yyy-you two know each other?", I sputtered, spraying
my Chateau-Briand on the tablecloth.

    "Yeah. We went to school together, and have *always* been great
friends.", Jeanine said, grinning.

    Things started coming back to me now. *This* was *that* Jeanine?
Oh, NO! God *hates* me.

    "She always used to tell me stories about you. I called her this
morning and mentioned that I met someone who *had* to be you, same name,
same description, same *great* sex....and she wanted to see for herself."

    This was unfair. There was no question that I am still madly in
love with the girl who seated herself next to me. In fact, just the week
before, we had discussed with some seriousness the possibility of getting
together again. Now I was trapped - I couldn't choose one or the other.

    After regaining some composure, I eeked out a, "Hello, Eileen.
Howz it goin'?"

    Jeanine continued, "She told me all about your little conversation
last week. Now I'm curious, who are you more serious about? Me, or her?"

    "Easy answer, J. You. EOD.", I said, with absolute confidence that I
was not going to live through this conversation one way or another.

    "Bastard. What was that that you said last week?", Eileen said.

    When in hell, do as the hellions do, I always say. I chugged down
the rest of my glass of Chateau, and said, "Well, I gave that a lot of
thought, really. We don't deserve each other. You haven't pissed God off
enough to deserve having me back, and I, well, I screwed it up the first
time round, and don't deserve a second chance."

    Roll up your pants, Ladies and Gentlemen, it's too late to save the
shoes - the bullshit was getting deep.

    Jeanine cut in. "Prove to me that you've made the choice you said.
Do what I told you to do."

    I actually felt my brain cramp. "There's a thing called catch-22,
Jeanine. Whether I do it or not, I lose. I've made my choice, and I'm not
going to hurt Eileen in the process of proving my decision. I cannot."

    For some reason, God decided to take over my mouth. I would *never*
have said that. I would have reasoned, "Hey, either way I win." But God
realized there was only one right answer, and made me say it. And that
was it.

    "Very good. You've passed the first test."

    (She's sitting right here, looking over my shoulder, *again*. *You*
ask her why she did it.)

    We enjoyed the rest of our meal, bullshat, and were eventually joined
by Eileen's current beau - this really sweet guy, who, like almost every
other guy she's dated, is a blonde named Mike. (I think she goes for a
certain type, eh?) Jeanine invites them to come stay with us out in Fairlawn,
because hey, Cleveland is a hell of a drive after a bottle and a half of
Chateau. So, we all hop in the limo, and head home.

    Mike and Eileen retire to the west wing, and Jeanine and I go
to the East.

    "Did I mention how much a man in a tux turns me on?", she asked.
She had turned the slit in her kilt to the front, and was playing with
her freshly shaven, soaked slit.

    There are certain things which, although I'd like to have some
control over them, I don't, and this is one of them. Just the sight of that
made my knees buckle. I dropped to them, jaw agape, hat falling off to
one side, cane hitting the hardwood floor with a loud *slap*.

    With her free hand, she beckoned me over to her. I advanced, still
on my knees - when I had tried to rise, she had pushed down on my head.
Guessing that I knew what she wanted, I pressed my face into her mound,
slowly dragging my tongue over her engorged clitoris. She draped her right
leg over my left shoulder, and used me for balance as I held her up by
the buttox and massaged her pussy with my tongue. Although I missed the
lovely contrast of red pubes against that ghost white skin, I must admit,
it sure was nice not to have to pick any of them out of my teeth.

    I licked, sucked, flicked, nibbled, and basically face-fucked the
hell out of her, all the while she was making my face look like a glazed
doughnut. (Ok, I've spelled it five fucking times now, and *none* of them
look right. Could someone *please* e-mail me the correct spelling.)
Her juices dribbled all over my face, into my hair, into my ears, down my
neck, onto my shirt - I was in *heaven*. I think I was enjoying it more than
her. (She just said there's no fucking way. Nevermind.)

    Finally, she pulled her leg back off of me, and stepped back. Bracing
herself against a chair, (hee hee....I love it when they can't walk...ouch.
(I'm getting a helmet. I've been smacked in the head once too often writing
this.)), she unbuttoned her blouse and let it fall to the floor. Then she
unpinned her kilt, leaving only the black stockings and heels on.

    She claims that she's never seen a more keen look of lust in her
life than the one that crossed my face then and every time I've thought of
it thereafter. (Yes! I've found a woman who throws in as many 50 cent words
into sentences as I do! Hee hee...Tell her to marry me....she's like Kristen
in a straight woman's body, only slimmer. (Not that Kris is fat - or even
less than perfectly proportioned. She's just, well, proportioned to her bone
and bust size - both of which are large, so it makes her look like a, um,
halfback. She could beat my ass without breaking a sweat. (Jeanine says that's
no feat. :P``````)))

    She walked back over to me, and started undoing those funny little
buttons on my shirt. (Those things - if you thought cufflinks were a pain
in the ass, wait until you try having five of them going down your chest and
*also* having them on your sleeves. I'd like to find the misanthropic bastard
who....nevermind.) She took that Godawful bowtie and flung it at the window.
(And, subsequently out the window - she claims she didn't mean to.) She pulled
off the jacked and projected it towards a chair. And missed. I kicked off my
shoes, revealing what? C'mon, you all know me by now. Yes, Argyle socks.
I've finally found a woman who doesn't hate argyles. I'm telling you, she's
my soulmate. (Oh, and Sabina, a major raspberry to you for that nasty
"Find someone who can stand you" comment. I have. Can you say the same?
Will you ever be able to? I didn't think so.)

    She worked for about five minutes trying to figure the pants out.
Tux pants are funny....another person cannot take them off of you. It just
can't happen. So, I took them off, and here I am, standing in argyle socks,
my black silk Tazmanian Devil boxer shorts, (which matched the Taz tie I had
been wearing to work. I thought she'd appreciat it, and she never saw the two

together.), and an unbuttoned tux shirt. She said it was the sexiest thing
she'd ever seen. I made some stupid comment about just needing a pair of
shades and a bottle of zima in my hand to see what I pretty much look like
at any party. I regret doing that, and I apologize.

    She pushed me down on the bed, and rolled me over. She straddled
my back, and pulled my shirt over my head. I had a sense of what was going
to happen, so I smiled my fool head off. She leaned down and whispered into
my ear, "You were a good boy tonight. Good boys get rewarded."

    Worked for me. Hell, for a backrub, I'd pretend to be a dog if
someone wanted. (I'm a backrub slut. I'll follow *anyone* around for a
backrub.) She slowly glided her nails up and down my spine, sending a
shiver of delight through me. (Oh, she's laughing her ass off. I thought
about it, and it again made me shiver. She think's that's *so* funny.)


    She started kneding the muscles in my back, and for the first time
since I started working for this damned company, my shoulderblades didn't
touch in the middle of my back. (You want stress? I miscalculated the cost
of the business show I was putting on at the IX center by $135,000. Owie.)
Slowly, but surely, I felt again like a human being. (Very slowly)

    I don't really remember the rest of the backrub. And, kind soul
that she is, and knowing it was the first time in months that I'd had
a good nights sleep, she curled up beside me and napped as well. She knew
that when I woke up, I'd make it worth her while....

*****************************

Coming soon....part three: Satuday morning.

(Warning : I'm a gonna hop right into the steamy bit in part three. You might
not want to miss taht.)

Mike




--
+-----------------------+-----------------------------------------------------+
| Muttley, a.k.a        | "The comfort of the knowledge of a rise into the    |
| Michael P. Simone     | sky above could never parallel the challenge of an  |
| [e-mail]  | acquisition in the here and now. Here and now."     |
| [phone]        |     -Letters to Cleo, "Here and Now"           |
+-----------------------+-----------------------------------------------------+
        Muttley the Wonder Dog's House of Delights!
        http://nimitz.mcs.kent.edu/~msimone