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It would be more interesting if I could say that it started
out as a normal day, but it didn't start that way at all.
This is the story of how I met this fascinating woman, her
best friend, and her dog. The story also involves Brad Pitt,
but his involvement is sorta beside the point. Perhaps I
should stop for a moment. I'm sure he's NOT beside the point
to lots of the women who are reading this. Already, just at
the mention of his name and the prospect of his appearing in
this story, I'll bet at least a dozen of you have already
made adjustments to your clothing to permit easier and
earlier access when I mention his name again and particularly
if the story involves his taking off his shirt. We'll, if
that's all that's going to turn you on, then rezip your
pants. He's in the story, but not for long and he doesn't go
home with you, he goes home with...well, that would be giving
things away.

Since this story is about a big event in my life, you might
as well know a bit more about me. My name is Mike, I'm 37,
6'2", 175 lbs., long black hair, tied in back during business
hours. I run a bookstore in a medium-sized Mid-western city
(based on the non-coastal definition of "medium sized").
After getting shot and watching friends die in the service,
finishing college and working at a marine biology lab,
teaching high school and working with environmental groups, I
"settled down" to owning and managing this bookstore. I've
always liked bookstores. They attract interesting people,
and allow you to keep a roof over your head without
completely becoming an adult. Since this is a university
town, there's a market for all sorts of interesting stuff and
I don't have to depend on Jackie Collins and Stephen King
(Jackie? Stephen? Just kidding, OK? You are the LED of my
cash register, my bottom line, my cash cow, especially around
Christmas). This city, and my connections, are substantial
enough so that I can get promotional events from publishers
and authors. That's how Brad Pitt fits in. Mr. Pitt (OK,
Brad, I'm not calling anyone younger than me "Mr.") had
written a book on fly fishing in the wake of "A River Runs
Through It," and we'd met a couple years before. I got up the
nerve to call him and he agreed to fly in on his way to New
York for a book-signing event. After we'd finished for the
day I suggested stopping at a bar for a few drinks. He
demurred, in keeping with his desire not to be mobbed and
maintain some semblance of privacy. So we (Brad, me and his
bodyguard Barney) walked from the bookstore and I went into
the bar, leaving Brad and Barney outside talking with a few
normal people like normal people. Barney, by the way, is the
size of the other one, but is neither as upbeat nor as
unnervingly obnoxious as the purple dinosaur.

I noticed her almost as soon as I walked through the front
door. She was a regular in the bookstore, looking charmingly
clunky but also with an unmistakable concentration of
intelligence. She bought and had me order computer books,
"Bart Simpson's Guide to Life," a few cookbooks. You are
what you read. I'd always noticed her but never had the
courage to introduce myself or talk with her beyond, "That'll
be $24.95, ma'am."

So I walked through the door of the old "Brew and Barf,"
spoke briefly with a few friends sitting near the door,
looked around and there she was, sitting at a table across
the room with another woman who I recognized as one of her
friends. I didn't hesitate to wave and smile but after an
initial warm set of return smiles, I was faced with the
age-old "do you make a fool out of yourself - again" dilemma.
Hanging out with Brad all day left me with a nice false sense
of invincibility, so I strode across the bar, came up behind
her and briefly clamped my hands down on her shoulders.

"So, never seen you here before! Come here often? What's a
nice woman like you doing in a place like this? Any other
cheesy lines you haven't heard yet tonight?" Like I said, I
excel at making a fool of myself. I was in good form.

She said "Hi," I asked if I could sit down, we went through
formal introductions (Me Mike, You Amy, She Shelly) and began
stumbling through small talk. The stumbling included her
tossing her drink onto the floor, where it found it's place
amongst the sawdust and I don't want to think of what else.

These woman were sharp. They didn't play it up, and they
might have felt nervous being too intelligent around a man,
particularly when they did not yet know that I adore smart
women. But after talking about life in town, I got them to
talk about their work and from that point on I was Butch
Cassidy, asking myself, "Who ARE these guys?"

I was having a great old time. I felt very comfortable and I
had the impression the feeling was mutual. After a while,
Shelly got up and said she had to get home to ensure a clean
house for visitors the next day. Shel was a delight, but my
heart skipped a beat knowing that Amy and I might now be able
to concentrate more on being socially awkward one-on-one and
not caring about it.

I should note as an aside, that when Shelly left the bar she
literally walked right into Brad Pitt, who was still talking
with people just outside. She shrieked, "You're Brad Pitt!"
He laughed and within two minutes he was thoroughly charmed.
That night Brad Pitt was doing housecleaning into the "wee
hours" talking with Shelly while Barney sat in the living
room mumbling about how his employer was beyond his
comprehension. I don't want to say more except to suggest
that you take a look at the June issue of People Magazine and
to say that now, when Shelly has an orgasm and she's looking
into Brad Pitt's eyes, she's no longer holding a movie
magazine in her spare hand with his picture.

Back to the bar.

With Shelly's departure I was faced with the anticipation of
spending time "alone" with Amy, or at least as alone as you
get with friends briefly stopping by every so often; and also
the fear of screwing up big time. I suggested trying out the
video trivia games. She was slightly resistant at first but
after mutual, "we got through the SATs OK didn't we?"
stories, we grabbed one of the boxes and dove in. Of course
while she spent some time apologizing for not knowing much of
anything, she was, of course, very bright. Use of the video
terminals also required us to sit close together and I was
very pleasantly treated to almost constant thigh-to-thigh
contact, her scent (unfortunately in competition with the
cigarette smoke and Eau de Bud wafting through the bar) and
her wonderful habit of tugging on hy shirt sleeve or making
some other physical contact every time we got something
right. Since our areas of intellectual strength complemented
each other, that happened quite a bit. Earlier in the
evening I had been subconsciously aware of how much I wanted
more simple physical contact with her, and now that it was
happening I felt high. Hormones that had been sitting around
on "standby" were going onto "yellow alert."

After a while she complained about the smoke getting to her
and I suggested going for ice cream and fresh air. We went
across the street for ice cream and on our way out a friend
of hers came from behind us, surprised her with a "hello" and
he walked with us for a block or two. Then he excused
himself to return to his girlfriend at a bar, squeezed her
hand and she kissed his cheek. I felt a quick twinge of
jealousy ( not healthy at this point, huh?) or need and
attempted to cover it over by stumbling over, "Lucky guy."

"Well now, don't feel jealous," she said, as she gave me a
peck on the cheek. "There, feel better?" She laughed and
wiped chocolate from my cheek.

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We were standing in front of this alley and, I swear I didn't
really think about this before I did it, but sometimes the
Universe just tells you the right thing to do. I had a
vanilla cone and she had chocolate. I took her hand gently
and said, "I've got vanilla, but I sorta want some
chocolate." I took a lick of my ice cream, she took one of
hers I pulled her to me and I kissed her. Really kissed her.
She started to giggle as we exchanged ice cream and when we
parted we both were a mess: ice cream covered lips and chins
and shirt fronts. We looked into each other's eyes and, in
perfect unison said, "Mmmmmmm....ice cream."

We laughed and licked ice cream from our faces, fingers and
lips like ten-year-olds. For me, that kinda sealed things.
I had been feeling more and more comfortable and more and
more attracted, but something about the ice cream, the kiss
that was both playful and a bit nasty, and the sharing of the
thoughts of Chairman Homer, ensured that once we were
reasonably de-creamed I reached for her hand and didn't let
go very much after that.

We continued walking around town, looking in store windows
and talking, until she reported that she needed to pee, which
led to a decision to go back to her place. The offer and the
moment were still very real time, unplanned, not contrived.
I had no major expectations and felt that having many might
screw things up. But I also knew that I had to make sure she
knew that I didn't consider our meeting to be just another
casual evening. We got into her truck and, after a few
minutes of silence I jumped in. "You know, I had come to the
bar to meet some friends after this reception at the
bookstore, but when I got there and saw you...well I went
over and talked to them for a few minutes. They wanted to go
bar hopping and get all shitfaced but I didn't want that. I
went over to see if you were still there and I'm glad you
were. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable or
anything, but it's been really nice, and very strange, I'll
admit, to find someone who I can just be comfortable with. I
know some guys are jerks and some women are bitches, and I
can't find many people who I just enjoy being around, you
know."

She looked a bit awkward and part of me cringed about making
the statement, but then she said,"Well, I do know what you
mean. Shel and I are sorta that way but I've been surprised
at how well we've...meshed? I mean, I've known of you for
some time from the bookstore, but only really met you
tonight, yet it's like we've been friends for a while.
Weird, huh? But enough of the mushy stuff, I think we're on
the same wavelength, but I think I should warn you...I live
with someone."

In a second, my heart violated the laws of physics by
plummeting at faster than 33 feet-per-second-per-second. I
went for the Olympic stumbling transparent dork award,
"Oh...I didn't mean anything...well maybe I did but not
really, I mean I, hummmina, hummina...I," sounding like a
cross between Woody Allen and Ralph Cramden, as she snickered
and said, "Yeah, I live with my dog, Chelsea! Man, I've
sorry, but I've always wanted to do that to someone!"

My heart returned to better-than-normal and I kidded her
about being a tease (actually, I think I used the word,
"creep," but in an affectionate sort of way). She continued,
"She's a little hyper and loves people, just like her owner.
But she's the only one who humps legs."

"Darn!" I replied, laughing.

"I just thought I'd warn you before you saw this black ball
of fur flying towards you."

"Well, I'm a member of that union. My old black lab Rita
used to squirm into bed between an old lover and I after we'd
made love (her turn her to flash a look of mock jealousy),
roll over onto her back and expect to get a double belly rub.
Which, of course, she always got. We used to kid about our
'menage a pup'. When we cuddled on the living room couch
Rita would come over and plant a paw on my knee as if to say
to the woman, "Hey, he was mine first.""

She opened her front door and a medium-sized "Chien D'amour"
jumped all over Amy doing her "Oh Boy! Mom's home!" dance.
Then she started in on me and I decided I might as well
surrender to the doginevitable. I slid down to the floor
with her, played with her, scratched her behind the ears and
petted her while she licked my face, nuzzled me and looked
generally happy. The conversation went something like this:

CHELSEA: Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!
ME: Isn't she a good, good girl!?
CHELSEA: Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! (Tail wags faster)
ME: Yes! She's such a good dog!
CHELSEA: OH BOY, OH BOY, OH BOY! (Pins me to the floor and
licks my face)

While I was committing acts of unspeakable pup love on the
kitchen floor, Amy lit some candles, grabbed glasses, ice and
a bottle of Coke, turned on the stereo and said, "...whenever
you're finished with the dog..."

She lived in a nice place, which clearly reflected her mix of
intelligence, informality, earthiness and slight
disorganization. We talked while I checked out her
bookshelf (occupational compulsion) and amongst the computer
books, guides to Midwestern wildflowers, and some pretty
classy fiction, I noticed several volumes on massage.

"Does this stuff really work?" I asked.

"Well, for what ends?"

"Well just for relaxing and stuff. I've thought of going to
one of the people here in town, but never know if it's really
legit, you know? I'm only really interested in a backrub,
not anything else."

"At your service," she said, tabling her drink and rolling up
her sleeves. "I'm not a professional or anything, but I've
read my books, taken a couple of courses and I please my
friends. Beats $40 an hour."

My bluff, or innocent inquiry at any rate had been called.
"Uh...okay...uh what do I do.?"

"Whatever you want. If you want to keep your shirt on,
that's fine but then I can't use oil. If you want to take it
off, that's fine; hell, if you want to strip naked that's
fine and we'll do the whole head to toe thing. Just
remember, and this is the official volunteer massage rap:
that this is a massage, a gift I willingly give to you and
expect nothing in return, and one in which I hold strong to
respecting your rights and desires. A lot of people are
really uncomfortable about this stuff but there's really no
need to be. Like I said, it's your game."

"Let's stick with the back for now, eh?" still taken somewhat
aback, for all my talk about liking women who are assertive.

She positioned herself near the edge of the sofa and I sat
with my back to her, between her legs. She placed my arms
over her knees to spread my arms. I heard a squirt of oil
and a few second later I felt her strong, warm oiled hands on
the back of my neck. I felt a rush up my spine and my
shoulders immediately started wondering what the hell was
going on.

"Remember, now, this is much easier for me if you give me
feedback. Tell me if I'm being too light or too hard or if I
need to stay in the same spot for a while."

I think she heard me sigh contentedly. I'm sure she didn't
see me bite my lip.

Her hands were simultaneously intuitive, strong and gentle;
she literally flowed over and through my back, leaving
soothed muscles and nerves wherever she went. I felt pretty
comfortable to begin with, but as the minutes went on I felt
even more so, allowing myself to moan, grunt and even dog
whimper (Chelsea raised her head in question from across the
room; Amy laughed, gave me a light dopeslap and teased, "Oh,
stop!"). After moving down my back, back up again to my
shoulders, her hands moved around my neck and chin to my
chest. She massaged my chest and stomach, and I felt her
moving over me. I felt her warmth, her scent, her hair as
she began to envelop me. By the time she reached the edge of
my pants I was hard and I thought I felt her nipples in that
state as well. Her head was next to mine. I turned my head
and whispered into her ear, "Please don't stop," kissed her
ear and leaned my head against hers.

She moved further on top of me , moving me onto my back as
she unbuttoned my pants, undid the zipper and rubbed oil onto
the washboard flat of my stomach and then into my pubic hair.
I reached down and slid my pants down as she moved completely
on top of me. I reached around and held her denim-covered
ass in my hands and began to knead as her hands encircled my
cock, rubbed it with oil and stroked it, leading to an amazed
whimper on my part. I nudged my head under her and between
her legs, rubbing my face between her legs. She continued,
including a number of motions I suspected were unprofessional
as far as masseuses are concerned. I reminded myself to take
a look at her massage books later and see if they mentioned a
stroke involving spanking the palm of her hand with a man's
penis listening to the sound that makes and making a
lascivious "Oooo!" sound.

I moved and flipped her off of me, smiling dopility at her
and saying that "turn about is fair play." I told her I
didn't have her experience but I certainly felt motivated. It
was her turn to have a bluff called as I stripped off the
rest of my clothes while staring right into her eyes. Part
of my brain began a mini research project about the last time
I felt this great, and soon abandoned the effort as
pointless. She stood and slowly shed her clothes, and as
soon as she had done so - actually before she's removed her
socks - I took a step forward, took her into my arms, grabbed
her ass and rubbed as I kissed her long, deep and smooth.
She ground her pelvis into my thigh. I felt her need and
rejoiced in it.

Changing to repeated shorter kisses, I moved one oiled hand
in front between her legs and slid fingers over her mound,
which was already damp. She shuddered as my fingers slid
back and forth over her lips and clit and my other hand
rubbed her ass. She reacted through the hips grinding
against my hand and her lips and tongue communicating her
needs to mine. My mouth moved down to her neck and began to
lick and nibble and I slid one finger into her wet slit and
another from the other hand into her clutching anus. I
pulled up on my front hand to rub her clit hard as the oily
hand slid back and forth and my fingers moved in and out of
her. She held me even tighter and it was her turn to
whimper, moan, and breathe desperately through her teeth. I
felt her nails dig into by back and her hip movements became
desperate as she came against me, all over my hands. After
she stopped pulsing I removed my fingers, held her tight for
all I was worth and lowered ourselves to the sofa. She
whispered, "So sweet, so sweet.." into my ear and I melted
once again.

She led me to her bedroom, and we heard padded feet in our
wake and a slumping sound across the room as we moved onto
her bed. I placed her on her back and kissed her again and
again as I caressed her breasts. I kissed my way down her
body and, finally, slid my hands beneath her to cup her ass
cheeks and pressed my face into her musky wet cunt. I licked
her with long, slow, wet strokes at first, tracing her lips,
drawing them into my mouth and running my tongue, stiffened,
up and down the length. She reached down, took my head in
her hands, ran her fingers through my hair, pulled gently on
my ears as I ate her. She became aroused quickly and I
responded by licking her clit, sucking it gently, and
slipping a finger into her. She panted, squirmed, whimpered
and bucked herself up at my mouth. Finally she grabbed my
head hard, said, "That's it, that's it, right there, do it,
yeah, do it like that," pressed my face hard into her, as she
ground herself against me and came, loudly. I rubbed my face
into her wet cunt, still licking until she slowed and called
me "Baby."

I moved up on top of her and took her into my arms. She
reached down and wrapped her fingers around my hard cock.
She placed it against her pussy and began sliding herself
against my erection as she spoke. "I don't wanna break the
moment. There are condoms in the drawer, but I don't have
the energy to reach over and...yeah!"

I had already taken the hint. Instead of slipping inside of
her, I rubbed the length of my cock repeatedly over the
length of her pussy. She moved up against me, her eyes
glazed over and she moved her hands over my back and neck as
I ground down against her and kissed her. I rubbed my
slippery cock back and forth over her pussy again and again.
I felt her begin to shudder, she groaned "Oh shit!" loudly
and grabbed me down on her as she came. She felt me
tightening and her voice calling my name and whispering
"Sweet baby," pushed me over the edge. Several very large
spurts splatted over her stomach and breasts and quickly
became smeared over both of us as we held each other close.
As we rearranged ourselves slightly I heard a thumping from
the foot of the bed. I looked down and say Chelsea's wide,
happy dog eyes and the tail wagging against the floor where
she lay watching.

"Goddamn pervert voyeur dogster," was the last thing Amy said
as she nestled her head into my chest and snoozed.