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AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

That's better. The reason I've not had anything out of
late is quite simply that I haven't been able to get into
the lab at night, and that's when my creative juices really
flow. So, here I am...all set with my pack of smokes, my
Mountain Dew, and my keyboard, and the only light in the
room is the glow from my monitor. (Yes, I can type in the
dark. It really bothers the other lab rats, but it's the
only way I can think. (Of course, it's great when they
come in, flip on a light, and hear a scream. Kind of makes them
feel guilty.)) Anyway, I have a couple real common questions to
answer, then I'll get on with the new story.

First : People always ask me if my stories really are
true. Yes, they are about 98% true. The only thing that makes
them fiction is the fact that I change some people's names. Not
all, just some. (As Eileen and Chris were quick to point out, their
names were not changed, as they occupied a rather large portion
of my life, and anyone who knows me would know that if I put
in another name, that I'd slip up somewhere.) (Ah...much better...
with my sunglasses on, even the glow of the monitor doesn't hurt
my eyes....) So, yes, they're all true. I've lived every second of
every story I've ever posted.

Second : (I have no idea what the fuck I was going to
say.) Ah, yes...my "subscription list". If you want on it, you
have to A) Write me and tell me that you want on, and B) If I
send you something, critique it. (You'd be amazed how much shit
that I write that never leaves this lab. The people I trust
get copies first, and if they don't like it - it's shitcanned.)
Now, there are some more benefits to it - you also get barraged
with A) Anything I find on the net and think is worthy of sending
out, and B) Interesting tidbits about my personal life, (like, for
example, last time I was supposed to get married.), which, as many
of my friends know, can cheer you up on a dark day because you just
know your life is going better than mine.

Third : No, I am not interested in selling Amway.

(Like I said, these are frequent questions in my box,
and I'm just answering them.)

Fourth : For some strange reason, people writing back to me
sound almost apologetic about sending me compliments. Hell, just run
right in there. Why do you think I write? It certainly isn't for the
money. I do it to get responses. If you want to flame me, be my guest.
I think that all criticism is constructive. If you think I'm too wordy,
say so. If you liked it - great! Lemme know. It's my main motivating force.

Lastly : One big thank you to everybody who told me how much
they like the stuff that I wrote, and gave me the inspiration to keep
going. Y'all are godsends.

Now, on with the story.

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

For only being a month and a few days into 1995, it certainly
isn't going well for me. I guess it's the last couple of months. December
was miserable, what with finding out that my (then) fiancee was fucking
someone else behind my back, finding out that my sister is coming to live
with me next month, (God help me. She moved out when I was twelve, and I've
been pretty happy at home since. (Read : the beatings stopped.) I went down
to visit her in Mississippi (I love to type that word!) and I wasn't there
20 minutes before the beatings started again. I didn't even have my luggage
(which the airport, for some reason or another, decided to send to fucking
Pittsburgh, and me to New Orleans), and wasn't having exactly a whale of
a time, and the beatings started in. First her, then mom, then dad, then
all of my brothers and sisters. AND WE WERE THERE FOR MY GRAMMA'S FUNERAL
AND THEY COULDN'T TAKE A BREAK FROM BEATING ME! Are you a salesman? $10 says
you're the youngest kid, too. You had to talk your way out of multiple
beatings daily. So, anyway, here I am, taking beatings for (gasp) not
taking care of my luggage, (these people are cunts. I'm sorry, all of
my relatives should just drop over.), in the airport, I'm tired, (because
I was dropped off at Cleveland Hopkins Int'l Airport at (get this) 7:00pm
the night before my 10:00am flight, because - there was no way for me to
get up there any later. My car was (go figure) in the shop, and all of my
friends have jobs, school, etc., and no one wanted to get a measly $10
for giving me a ride up to the airport.), I'm hungry, (I'd been so close
to broke for the last few weeks that I couldn't eat at the airport. (The
ATM would only let me withdraw $20 bills, and I had a whole $18 in my account.)
), and now I'm getting the shit beat out of me because the suit I was going
to wear to the funeral was in Pittsburgh. (Which is where *I* wanted to
be in the first place.) Anyway, though, that's why I hate my family. Well,
it's not the only reason, but it's a wonderful example.), (go back to
where it says next month, and continue on), and, oh, hey, wow, in two months,
my company is having a Price Hike. (Isn't that sweet of them. Bad enough
that I can't sell a fucking copier because canon charges too much for them
as it is, now I find out that in February, we're getting a price increase.)
So, December sucked. Then came the nasty break up, that whole godawful
Vanessa incident, (which I won't go into, if you don't remember it, mail
me and I'll send you the story), and along rolls the second of January and
I announce *A VOW*.

A couple of vows, actually.

Vow number one : I will quit smoking. Yeah, that lasted all of
21 hours. Not days, hours.

Vow number two : I will give up drinking. Working great. Haven't
had a desire to drink in over a month.

Vow number three : (This is the kicker.) I will engage in no
dating, sex, or related activities until January 2, 2000. Furthermore,
I will join Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous.

Fortunately, soon after, Kristen, my dearest friend in the world,
(Basically, someone who knows everything about me, hasn't deserted me,
and is even willing to take care of me, God knows I can't do it on my
own. (She's even gotten me to join a health club. Yeppers. Me. I seem to
have lost my youthful figure, and she wants me to get it back. (Actually,
the seedling spare tire didn't do much for me either way. But this morning,
I noticed that there was some fat on my legs (GOD FORBID), and that sent
me over the edge. If there is one part of my body that I *am* proud of, it
is my legs, and I'll be damned if they get fat.) Where was I? Oh, yes. Kristen.
She's a goddess. She found me, (much like Pitts), when I was at my
absolute lowest point in recent memory (like, the last 21 years), and
offered me a shoulder to cry on, a body to hug, and an ear to talk into.
And now, I've made it my life's work to do for her what I could have done
for Pitts, had the bastard not gone and died on me.)), sobered me up to
the idea of how long five years really is.

She made it quite simple. She said, "You and Brian will fininsh
the rummy game before that." That's a long fucking time. Brian and I
are playing a single game of rummy to (ready?) 1 million. We've been at
it since November, and are still plugging away at it. We're both up around
30,000 points. (He's actually got 4,000 points on me, but that's neither
here nor there, because we have a rule that if any player hits an even
multiple of 1,000, that player gets docked the greatest multiple of 1,000.
(i.e., you hit 100,000 and you're at zero. I was way up until I hit 40,000.
Now, he's up on me by 4,000 points. Ouch.))

So I edited that vow. 1 year.

And I was good, too. I really was.

The problem is, women can sense when you don't want to fuck them,
and, as best as I can figure, take it as a personal slight, and do whatever
they have to do to change your mind. The instant I decided to stick to
my vow of chastity, women came out of the woodwork. It was incredible.

The first night, we went bowling. No biggie, right? Ha. Three,
count them, three different women came up and asked me for my phone number.
(One of them asked if I was gay, but that's a different story. (I don't
understand it. No matter where I go, how I dress, what I say, or how I say
it, someone *always* figures me to be gay. Kristen was the first woman
to guess that I was straight, and is, to date, the only one who has guessed
right. It drives me nuts. Wherever I go, (especially tonight at the gym,
whoah!), guys hit on me. I've had friends get asked by people who didn't know
me if I was gay. (Ah! Another FAQ! I'm not. There we go.) Maybe it's the
purple Oakleys, maybe it's the somewhat feminine air that I have, but
someone *always* assumes me to be gay. It is starting to tick me off.))
One woman didn't even want a phone number, she just wanted to know if I
wanted to head off to the bathroom for a few minutes.

I have developed a new phrase. Whenever I find myself facing a
decision, I ask myself, "Would Kris berate me for doing this?" It's kept
me out of trouble.

So, after convincing them to go away, we headed out to Brown Street
Bar. Now, it's sort of a well known fact amongst my friends that with me,
drinking and pool do not mix if you have to play against me.

So, like an idiot, Keith buys me a genocide and challenges me to
a game. (Now, mind you, I've been bowling for about three hours, and I'd
celebrate finishing a frame with another fuzzy navel, and a long island
to celebrate each and every frame that I knocked down more than three pins.
(I had two long islands. Tell you anything about my bowling? I suck.) So,
I'm already smashed.) Being receptive at that moment, I chug the genocide,
and rack the balls. Keith breaks, and I proceed to ask him to make the
game more interesting. He said, "loser buys." I asked to see his wallet.
He should have known then....but....

So, after five more free drinks, (and I think that I even let
Keith have another shot at one point...yes, yes, I distinctly remember
missing a ball. It's because all of his were still in the way. He paid
and paid, but he only got to take two shots the whole evening. Heh heh heh.
And I'm even better at golf...), a familiar face walks through the door.

And what an attractive face it was, too. Mango (Margo. I call
her Mango) and I are friends after hours, but from 8-5 we are absolute
sworn enemies. You see, she works for the competition in my territory.
Every sale that happens in West Akron clear up through Sagamore Hills,
Twinsburgh, and (when we can get away with it), the lower suburbs of Cleveland,
goes to one of us. Actually, with the prices my company charges, vs. the
prices hers charge, all the sales in that area go to her.

So, we end up chatting, and, well, seeing as it's closing time
anyway, we go home together. (So much for another vow.)

Mango is about 24, (she's exactly 24, what's this about crap?), with
(can ya guess, can ya guess? C'mon, you know me well enough by now, who can
make me break a vow?), yep, you guessed it, this luxuriously long, wavy,
reddish-strawberry blondish hair that has the texture of silk. (I can keep
any vow, as long as it doesn't require me to put space between me and
a redhead. Guess I have to marry one, or I'll be in a world of shit, eh?)
She's chin height on me, (making her right around 5'2", which, as far as I'm
concerned, is perfection in female height.), and one of those figures that
give men whiplash in the malls and makes women turn all funny shades of jade.
(Even Kris was impressed, and Kris is a model herself. She's *real* picky,
and she even approved.) Her eyes are like big emeralds, floating in a
pool of milk. (Sorry, it's the best analogy I can think of at 4am. Where's
your brain then?) Very little makeup - she doesn't need it - mostly on
her lips - a brilliant, firey red, on those supple, pouty, oh, so soft
lips of hers. Simply angelic to look at. (Note - I said to look at. To
compete against, you'd swear up and down that she's Satan. I know I do.)
(You know, it never dawned on me before, but for a person who likes Christmas
about as much as I like getting kicked in the balls, I sure like seeing
red and green together. Hmmmm....)

Anyway, a beautiful woman, no doubt. In fact, the only person
not truly impressed by her is my mother, and that's because she possesses
the two things that I find most sexy in a woman, that my mother cannot
stand. 1) She has red hair, and 2) She has a New York accent. To my mother,
that's like scraping nails down a chalkboard. To me, it's like scraping
fingernails down my back. (I love it. I love it I love it I love it. (BTW -
if there are any single, redhead, New York women out there reading this,
drop me a line....:))) Hmm...I was where? Ah... anyway, she's hot.

And what a body. Thin shoulders, swooping down into what looked
like two very large grapefruits being smuggled in her bra, down to a
waist that I'd swear I could wrap a hand around, filling out nicely a
little further below, and legs that can only be compared to those of
(dramatic pause, doffing of hat) Kathy Ireland. (Hey, she's a goddess,
give her her due.) And the outfit that she was wearing, (or rather, taking
off as we entered her house), didn't do much for my vow either. A red silk
suit jacket, (I like it...) over a white, see-thru blouse, which is tucked into
her black miniskirt, covering black stockings, with black fuck-me pumps.
If there is a heterosexual man among us who could turn that down, please
check into your nearest optometrist.

What vow?

(For those who are wondering - she drove. I think drinking and
driving should be punishable by death. (In many cases it is, but unfortunately,
innocent people go too.) Since we work next door to each other, we decided
to just head out from her place the next morning.) (Think back, Jan 3 was
most people's first day back at work....and this was the second.)

We had our lips locked onto any place on the other person's body
that we could whilst we were (trying, at least) getting in the house. Things
were going great until I tripped over her dog. (I'd been over there plenty,
Drex doesn't even get up when I come in anymore. He's even older, (and lazier)
than my dog, so tripping over him is quite common.) Naturally, when you're
falling in the dark, you're trying to grab for anything that will hold
you up. Mango is about half my weight, so she went down with me, and poor
Drex took the brunt of the fall. (Poor puppy.) After getting a light on,
and inspecting the dog, (who was trying to go back to sleep, and unable
to figure out why he was getting prodded all over by Mango and me), we
decided to leave our hands off each other long enough to get to the bedroom.
(Oh, there was any question in your minds that I'd end up in bed with her?
C'mon...they don't call me Mutt the Slut for nothing. You should know better.)

This wasn't the first time we'd been together, so, knowing what
I like, she left herself for me to undress. (I like doing that. It's a turn
on. It's a big deal to me. (Even after countless women, it's still the
greatest thing....) Not the kinkiest thing in the world, but not entirely
innocent, either.)

With as long as I'd known Mango, I should have suspected that
our encounter wasn't chance. (During work hours, she stalks me. Whenever
I get done making a presentation and leaving a proposal with a client,
she follows through the door I'm leaving and leaves a proposal for 20% less
than I'm offering. (30% with the new price hike. Not that it will affect me,
nosiree bob. I'm marching in tomorrow and quitting. I can't compete anymore.))
The idea had crossed my mind, but was really, firmly etched in my mental
stone when I saw, carefully laid out, all the different things that she
wanted me to use that night. (I think she likes me, eh?)

I took off her jacket, and was greeted by a familiar sight of
the two biggest nipples ever to exist, hard as little steel girders. (It was
all of ten degrees out, and neither of us will consent that it's anything
but shorts weather until it dips into the negatives, so we weren't wearing
coats. Even my nipples were hard from the cold. (For those of you a little
further south- 10 degrees is a warm snap up here in the arctic wasteland
(THAT'S IT! THAT'S WHAT OHIO IS! WASTELAND! HA HAHAHAHAHA...I've been trying
to think of a way to describe it, and desolate hellhole didn't seem to cut
it, but WASTELAND....ah.....) anyway, in the arctic wasteland of Ohio, 10
degrees is nice. True, all the wimps still bundle up, but Mango and I both
had paper routes when we were young - mine in sunny Chicago Illinois, and
her's in (ready for this?) Minneapolis. (No, I can't spell. Leave me alone.)
I believe that's in Minnesota. (My geographical knowledge of places too cold
to support life 11 months out of the year is greatly lacking.) When I'll
actually break down and admit that it's cold, (usually around -5 degrees),
she's still wearing shorts. When I'll finally dig my coat out of the closet,
(-15 degrees), she's just starting to go for trousers instead of short skirts
and shorts. She and I should just move to Alaska and be done with it. (And
I know that all y'all reading this back home in Houston are shivering at
the thought of going outside in -5 degree weather w/o a coat, but up here,
it's normal. It's been said that Mango and I have no nerves, but that's
usually said by people from Georgia, who wouldn't know winter if it bit
them on the ass.) )Odd thing is, in a house between 60 and 75 degrees, I'm
colder than hell. Anything below that, I just don't feel it.)

(From big nipples)... for some reason, though, I don't think that
it was the cold making them that way... :) (Gee, I wonder.)

I surveyed the end table. Baby oil, check. Great.

I s-l-o-w-l-y- unbuttoned her blouse, and she slid it off her
shoulders, untucked it, and let it fall at her feet. I started nibbling
on her neck, just below the ear, letting her feel my lips, my teeth, my
tongue, all over her, her earlobes, her neck, her lips, her shoulders, (oh,
she goes NUTS when I nibble her shoulders, but shhh...don't tell her I
told you so.), and I unclasped her bra, and put it *somewhere*. (God knows
where it went, we couldn't find it later.) I sat her down on the bed, (ah,
a heated waterbed...and nudged her over on her stomach. I took the baby
oil and placed the bottle between the mattress and the sides of the
bed, so it would get warm while I started loosening up her muscles. (Anyone
who has a heated waterbed and *doesn't* heat baby oil, vasoline, KY jelly,
etc with it is a sadist, and is out to watch you squirm.) After about
20 minutes of kneading, pressing, rubbing, pinching, and what have you,
I finally got about half of the tension out of her shoulders. (We're
in copier sales. That's the hardest of the hard. We're stressed people.
Most days, we wonder what the body count will be when we blow.) I figured the
baby oil should be warm, and poured some on her. (With her bed at 90 degrees,
it didn't take too long to warm up.)

I've said many times that the most satisfying thing to hear is
a woman gasping because she liked something you did. But I changed my
tune after I started rubbing the oil in and she said, in that lovely
Bronx accent, "Gawd, I'm getting drenched from a backrub." I could've died
a happy man just then. Needless to say, I was pleased.

After about 45 minutes of getting the rest of her tension out,
I decided that there had to be more to her body than just her back, so
I unzipped her skirt, and pulled it off, followed by those lovely black
stockings which just happen to be the sexiest thing that a woman can wear,
don't let me ever try to tell you otherwise becuase I'd be lying.( Even Tina,
my ex-fiancee, could look sexy in black stockings. (And she didn't even look
sexy in leg-warmers! (You have to be really bad to not look good in leg
warmers. (Which reminds me, don't let me forget to tell Kris that if
she wears those damn things to the gym with me one more time, I'm
just going to have to fuck her senseless on the stairmaster.)))) (Gosh, get
the feeling that I like those things? Geez...) So, cracking out the baby oil
again, I proceeded to spend about an hour massaging the rest of the back of
her body.

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By this point, Mango was getting pretty hot. But, being like me
in so many ways, she was damned if she'd let me have all the fun, so, she
rolled me over, and started to strip me down. First she carefully tried to
decapitate me with my tie, then she figured out how to pull the thing off,
(Apparently, she'd never taken a tie off someone before.) (Yes, dammit, I went
bowling in a sportcoat and tie. Problem?) She removed my jacket, and casually
tossed it aside. (Silk sportcoat, tossed like a piece of lint. I had to really
force myself not to say anything. (Do you know how much it costs to get those
little fuckers pressed?)) Then she unbuttoned my shirt, playing with the
odd chest hair or two that she found on the way down. (I'm not a hairy guy.
Little patch in the center of my chest, and one hair by my right nipple that
grows about three inches a week. Fucking thing doesn't know when to quit. I
have to cut it every other day...(My arm hair, however, is finally starting to
grow back in, after an unfortunate incident concerning an epilady as a
Christmas gift to an ungrateful sister. (I didn't know they pulled the hair
out.) You can sort out what happened, right?)) She, with swiftness heretofore
unknown to me, depanted me, and left me naked on her bed. Not being one to
complain, I got comfy, and then she rolled me over on *my* stomach.

She put my arms up over my head, and told me to close my eyes.
Not knowing that she had taken my suggestion from last time I was over,
I was kind of surprised to see, when I reopened my eyes, that there was
a pair of handcuffs attatched to my wrists, with their chain centered on
an eyehook driven into the headboard. (I did that with my bed. There is
no way in hell anyone can pull one of those out if it's in right.)

It's a damn good thing that I have close to no cold receptors. She
left the room and came back with ice cubes, which she proceeded to rub all
over my back, some of them almost chilling me. Then she ran it down my ass
crack, and over my nuts. And, for the first time in a while, I experienced
a chill running through my body. And I started to shiver. And shiver. And
shiver. And, when she was sure she had a nutcicle to play with, she turned
the eyehook, causing me to roll over on my back. (It was that or be in a
shitload of pain, what would you do?)

She put the ice cube in her mouth, and proceeded to blow me. Wow.
Wow. That's the only word coming to mind right now. Wow. I mean, blowjobs
are great by themselves, but that sensation of hot and cold on your dick is
just....wow. I know it's not good for a writer to run out of words, but
the only way to describe it is wow. As her head bobbed up and down, and I
got closer and closer to the edge, I felt something cold actually inside of
me. I shudder to think how cold my nuts actually got, but what was about
to flow out of me felt like it had just thawed.

If this has never happened to you, DON'T LET IT. It will chill you
to the bone, (hee hee) and the ONLY thing that will warm you back up is
a scalding shower, while drinking a cup of cocoa. (Trust me.)

So, after firing a cold load, I asked, politely, to be uncuffed.
She thought that I was mad at her. No sooner did I have my wrists back then
she was snapped into the cuffs. (Revenge.)

I poured the baby oil (which had once again gotten *very* cold,
she keeps her house like I keep mine (circa 40 degrees all winter)), all over
her chest and *then* rubbed it in with ice cubes. (From what I gather,
that makes a person mighty chilly.) I thought her nipples were going to
burst. I've never seen *anyone* with THO like that....I loved it. But, being
the kind and gentle soul that I am, I decided to blow on them and make them
even colder. She wasn't going to let me have the satisfaction of hearing her
complain about it being that cold, (remember, we compete in *everything* we
do.) so I decided to just be the nice guy that I can be, and suck on them
for a while.

That broke the silence. [grin] She arched her back like a cat
trying to get you to pet a certain part, so I backed off (I am the world's
biggest tease. She didn't know if I was planning to actually make love to
her or not that night until after I started. I'm evil that way. Sometimes,
I just go over, get her as hot as I can, and leave. Pisses her off something
fierce.) and started kissing those beautiful, full lips of hers.

But, nature got the best of me, and I started kissing my way
down her body again. Working my way down her body, kissing, caressing,
stroking every baby oil covered inch until I got to her inner thighs. Hee hee..
(Show of hands, how many think that I gave her what she wanted right away.
All who put their hands up, read my older stuff. )

One thing I like about Mango (one of the MANY things that I like
about her), is that whenever I find my head between her legs, she always
smells so clean. (Ladies, I cannot stress how important that is. If it
smells and tastes clean, we could quite happily live down there. If not,
you can't pay us to go down on you. We'll come up with any excuse. We'll
bite the end of our tongues off if it smells bad enough. But we'll never
tell you straight out. Just a thought, if you can't talk him into going
down on you, try flavored douche. Don't laugh, they make it. You'll only
see the top of his head for the next few days.) This time, however, something
different caught my attention. And I had to laugh. Citrus fruit of some
sort, (I think it was orange, but since that section of the grocery store
is foreign to me, I can't tell the difference between an orange and a mango,
and she knows it, and she told me that it was mango flavored), a lovely scent
of mangos (I still say oranges), and although my intentions were to tease
the hell out of her, curiousity enticed me to taste and see if it was
only a scent.

It wasn't. (Yep, definately orange flavored.) I'd had strawberry
flavored before, but that was NOTHING compared to the taste of this. Instant
addiction. Ah, the taste of oranges mixed with vaginal secretions, sounds
gross, but every time I drink a glass of OJ (he's guilty), sorry, orange
juice, it makes me smile.

Another wonderful thing about Mango, she shaves her pussy. Completely
spear bald. It's great - no hair getting in the mouth. So, here I am, my
tongue deeply entrenched in this warm, orange flavored, hairless snatch,
drinking her juices, two fingers in her, my tongue darting back and forth
over her clit, my teeth occasionally nipping (lightly, very lightly), that
little fold of skin that I have no idea what it's called right up there
near the top, you know what I'm talking about. (And if you don't, why
the hell are you sitting on your duff reading this group instead of going out
and finding someone to practice the ideas I'm giving you on, eh?) She was
squirming, shaking, writhing, it was ecstacy. (She seemed pretty happy, too.)
She must be stronger than hell, becuase when she came, she ripped the eyehook
out of the headboard, and whacked me in the skull with her handcuffs.

I'm no stranger to pain, but this one caught me off guard. I let out
a muffled scream right into her pussy, to which it responded by farting
back at me. Had it not been for the blinding pain in my head, I would have
thought that endlessly humorous, but at that point, it was adding insult
to injury. Literally.

So, I uncuffed her, and we just held each other for a while, until
I could again uncross my eyes. She asked if I was mad at her. How could I
be mad at someone for an accident? I responded by kissing her deeply, and
that seemed to be all the invitation she needed to get what she was after.

I don't know about the rest of the world, but I know that if my
skull is in pain, the blood flow to the other head is somewhat limited.
So, here she is, straddling me, waiting for me to do her, and my dick is
being uncooperative. I've always wanted to be able to say, "Not tonight,
I have a headache.", and this time, I got that chance.

She was a little disappointed, but she eventually got to sleep.
We woke up about an hour later, eyes glazed over, staring at her clock,
wondering why the hell we thought we could have such a busy night and still
make it to work the next day.

So, we left messages in our bosses respective voice mail boxes, and
went back to sleep. Sounded good to us.

For the rest of the month, pretty much, we have trouble getting
chances to see one another. We have appointments ranging the whole gammet of
times, and just can't seem to get our schedules worked out. In fact, the only
time we really see each other is when she's fucking me out of a sale.

So here it is, Monday, January 30th, 1995. My $30,000 quota is about
$30,000 higher than my sales for the month. (I sold NOTHING.) I know that the
next day, I have a deal going down with a company that wants $85k in color
laser copiers. I also know that Mango and I are asking the same price. It's
a matter of who they like better.

I'll be the first to admit it, I'm evil. I know that there's only
one way to make my quota this month, and that's to fuck her out of the
sale. So I did.

I knew that with the last day of the month 24 hours away, Mango had
no more appointments that wouldn't involve closings, so that meant strictly
10a-4p slots. So, I invited her to dinner at my place. (I'm so sweet, aren't
I?) I took special care to set the clock in my room two hours behind. (i.e.,
it said 7:00 when it was 9:00. This becomes important later.) We eat, (I made
tortellini alfredo, her favorite. Mine too, for that matter.), and retire
to the bedroom. (We finally got a chance to see each other, we were going
to make absolutely sure that we got a chance to finish what we'd started.)

"I've been thinking about what you were going to do to me when
we next met all month.", she said, as she slid out of her dress. (She
didn't want to waste any time, apparently.) "Every night, I finger myself
to sleep thinking of you." (Just thinking about it gets me too hard to
think about anything else.) She stepped over to where I was, and whispered,
"I want you to fuck me like you've never fucked anyone before, right here,
right now." (And I don't have to tell you that it was no easy task to keep
from laughing when I pictured myself fucking her in the ear. I'm sorry, it
was the first mental image that came to me when she said, "like you've never
fucked anyone before". I've never done it like that, and it was about the
only thing I could think of that I *haven't* done. Then, it took even more
restraint to keep from laughing about how I was about to figuratively fuck
her, in a way that I was *sure* she'd never been fucked before. But, I kept
a straight face.)

I wasn't about to argue. I'm normally one who will argue with you
if you tell me that the sky is blue, but the words "fuck me, Mike", have
never, and will never meet with resistance when uttered by an attractive
woman. I'm argumentative, not stupid.

So, I stripped down, and we both laid down on the floor. Now, as
far as I was concerned, I wasn't done chowing down from before, so I started
my way down there. She wouldn't let me. "I didn't say eat me, I said fuck me."
What choice did I have, right? (The word no is not a part of my vocabulary.
I can hear it, and respond to it, but I can't say it.) Apparently, she thought
that I might get lost if left to my own devices, because she rolled me over
on my back, (she's strong) and in one move impaled herself on me.

Man was she wet. Any questions that were in my mind about her
readiness were eradicated. Back and forth she went on me, like she
was riding some wild stallion, (and in a way, she was. (E-GO E-GO!)), like
the fate of the world was dependant on her orgasm.

And WOW, from the sound of it, she wasn't too far off the mark.
She was bucking, screaming, biting, clawing - it was the most I've ever
enjoyed another person's orgasm. But, you see, to me, my partner's orgasms
are like potato chips. One is never enough. So, as she wound down, I
repositioned us so that she was on the floor, and I was atop her. I stroked
her hair, kissed her neck, her lips, her ears until I thought she was ready
for more. Then I slowly slid about halfway inside her. We gently rocked
back and forth, over and over, for about 20 minutes. Nice...I liked it.
Then she started really getting into it, grinding around, trying to get me
to give her the rest of me...so I did. All in one sharp move, too, the whole
thing, right to the hilt.

"Oh, God", she gasped. I couldn't help but smile. Judging by the
look on her face I guess she didn't figure on there being twice as much dick
to work with. She started moaning, telling me how good it felt, how much she
liked me being inside of her, and she wasn't exactly helping my self control
any. We came together in a cacophony of orgasmic bliss, and then she promptly
fell asleep. (During the last week of the month, when I'm that far behind
quota, I don't sleep much, so I got to listen to her snoring 'til the clock
said 7:00.

Now is when my plan to actually make some cash went into overdrive.
I hopped up, (she's a sound sleeper, she never heard a thing), showered,
got dressed, and woke her up. Now, remember, the clock said 7:30 at this time,
she and I had an appointment at 9:45...two hours, right? Wrong. I set the
clock back two hours. I had 15 minutes to get to the appointment. I told
her I had to get to the office, and she could let herself out.

I show up at the appointment. Two minutes to spare. I get the sale,
becuase when does she stroll in? 10:45, after she figured out that I fucked
her like I've never fucked anyone before. I wave the check for $83,048.29 in
her face, and tell her that dinner's on me. (On a $9,000 commission, it'd
better be on me.) Then I bolt out in a dead run to my car, and back to the
office.

I had already told everyone at the office what I had planned to do
to get this sale, so when the phone rang on my desk I put it on speakerphone.

"YOU SONOFABITCHMOTHERFUCKINGBASTARD!", was the shrill cry from
a payphone in lovely Cuyahoga Falls. Snug in my office in Canton, I knew
that if need be, I have a 45 minute head start toward Mexico....

"Speaking. How can I help you?"

"I told them what you did to me. They said, 'tough cookies, kid.
Business is business.' Please tell me that I'm more than business to you.",
she almost cried into the phone. I told everyone to get out of my cubicle, and
picked up the handset.

The truth is, she means a hell of a lot to me. She's a great woman,
and I don't want to hurt her. However, I don't want to starve, either, and
if she beats me out on every single sale, I'm not going to be alive for
too much longer. So, I told her the truth.

"You mean, I've nailed you on *every* sale?", she said.

"Yeppers."

She seemed to cheer up. "Oh, well, I've made a lot more this month
than you just screwed me out of, so I guess we're even."

Suddenly, my idea of not wanting to hurt her began to become shaken.
For example, if I could have found a way to do it through the phone, I
would have choked her. One phrase and she took all the wind out of my
sails. (Sales.) She knows me way too well.

"And, just to make sure we're on even ground next month", she
continued, "Dinner's my treat tonight. But, save room for dessert...."

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

And there it is. The latest in the saga of my life.
Pathetic, isn't it? Well, I've gotta run. This morning I
have an interview with the company Mango works for, and then
I have to stop by the office and quit my current job. (That price
hike is killing me.) It's what, 6:00am now? I've only been going
for about 24 straight hours. I've got appointments to run all
day, then Kris is taking me to the gym, and then Mango is coming
over for dinner. I've got a busy day ahead, and I need a shower.
So, I had to cut the story shorter than I thought it would be.

Goodnight all!

Thanks for your attention!

Muttley, the wonder dog