Thursday, September 20, 2012

On A Desert Island

Dawn ran her hand from my chest down to my jeans as we kissed.  She rubbed my stiff cock through the denim.  I was starting to worry that I'd pop my load before we even got started when Dawn backed off and said, "Let's get you back to my bedroom, OK?"
She stood up, not bothering to close her robe.  Before she turned I got a good look at her gorgeous, huge tits and her thick, wild, dark bush.  I followed her down the short hall to her room.
"You haven't even seen my room yet, have you?"
 "No," I said.

I couldn't believe what I saw when she opened the bedroom door.  She flipped the light switch, but rather than a harsh overhead light there was just a soft, warm glow from dim lights pointing up in the four corners of the room.  The room itself was dominated by the biggest bed I'd ever seen.  From the ceiling was some sort of netting suspended from a ring and extending to the corners of the bed.  It was like a scene in a movie with potentates and their harems. The bedroom walls were painted in a continuous mural that made it look like we were on a desert island-- sand, palm trees, ocean.  The bed spread looked like a polar bear skin-- it wasn't of course-- and there were about ten pillows in the room.  Other than a small dresser and a chair in the corner the only furniture in the room was that bed. It seemed more like a stage to perform upon than a bed.

"Man," I said, "this is amazing."
"I change it every few years.  Pretty crazy, I guess."
Dawn tossed the robe onto the chair and shook her hair before she messed with it with both hands.  She looked like a wild animal as she turned to me.
"Let's get you out of those clothes, baby."
I didn't argue the point and she helped me until we faced each other naked.  She reached out and took my hard cock in her right hand like she was greeting it.
"Uh, look," I said, "it's been a couple of months for me and, uh, I'm gonna cum so quick... I don't want to disappoint..."
"Ssshhhhh," Dawn interrupted me.  "Don't worry..."
She took me over to face the chair where she had thrown her robe.  She got just behind me on my right side.  She reached around and put her left hand on my left hip and with her right she began to stroke my cock.  She pressed her left breast against my back as she stroked.
"Mmmmm I love your beautiful, big cock, baby...mmmmm it's gonna feel sooooo good in my mouth...."
She didn't need to say any more.  I shot my load onto her robe on the chair.

"That was so damn hot," Dawn said as she used the robe to clean me up. "It felt so powerful holding your cock like that, Wil.  I'm so fucking wet!"

Then she parted the netting and jumped onto the bed.  "C'mon in, Wil. We don't have to be anywhere for the next twenty-four hours."

Wednesday, September 19, 2012


Dawn and I got out of the house and hit a few of her favorite shopping spots.  Shopping wouldn't be my favorite way to spend a Saturday afternoon back in my former life.  But being in a city bigger than the little town where I lived and worked now was enjoyable.  And Dawn and I were getting along well.  Plus, I knew that on a Saturday afternoon back there I'd have already worked all morning at the radio station and would probably be napping in the shitty trailer my boss provided for me before going back into town to do, well, pretty much nothing.  So, I certainly wasn't complaining about hanging out with Dawn all afternoon.  We even hit a matinee of "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest"-- the first movie I'd seen in months.

When we came out of the theater it was pouring.  We decided to head back to the house where the walk from the driveway left us both soaked.  I went into the room I was using at her house and got dried off and put on a dry t-shirt and jeans.  I heard Dawn go into her room so wasn't surprised that she wasn't in the living room or kitchen of her little 3 BR/ 2 bath cottage when I came back out.  I stretched out on the couch, closed my eyes, and immediately drifted off.

I woke up when I heard Dawn rattling around in the kitchen.
"Wanna beer?"
"Uh, no, I'm fine." I said.
She walked into the living room as I sat back up on the couch.  She was wearing a white cotton robe that was long enough to cover her ass as long as she was standing up.  She had tied it at the waist but it was open so widely above the waist that her tremendous cleavage was visible and, frankly, awe inspiring.  I felt my cock twitch as she walked towards me.

She sat down next to me, crossed her legs, and took a drink from a long-neck bottle of Olympia.
"So, tell me Wil, what did you think was going to happen this weekend, ya know, if Pam had been here?"
"Well, I'm not sure exactly.  I was just happy to be invited," I said.

Dawn smiled at me.  Her hair was wild like she had taken a bath towel and dried it off vigorously but didn't bother to brush it afterwards.
"You had some expectations, I'd guess.  What were they?"
"I'd hoped for the best," I said.
She shook her head at my reluctance to say anything definitive.
"Meaning sex with Pam.  Right?"
I shrugged and smiled.  "A guy can dream."
She laughed.
"You're funny.  You can say it, you can say, 'I was hoping to get laid.'  Hell you can say you were sure you were gonna get laid."
"I never would say that.  I don't assume stuff like that."

"That's sweet.  But I'll tell you the truth so you don't have to assume anything.  We were going to share you, darlin'."
I'm pretty sure I blushed when she said that. 
And then I stammered like an eighth grader.
"God, you have no idea, Wil.  Pam and I have been talking about this weekend ever since she discovered you."
"Discovered me?  Was I lost?" I said.
"Do you know that she was onto you before you even walked in her store?  No, you didn't know that-- I can tell by the look on your face. She heard you the first morning you were on the air and got busy finding out all about you.  It's a small town, baby, and my best friend Pam knows everybody and everything."
I sat speechless, although I'm sure my mouth was hanging open like an idiot.

"And, after the first time she blew you in her office, she called me and told me all about you, sweetie.  Of course I wanted some too.  And Pam and I always share."

I was absolutely stunned to learn that these two women, both about fifteen years older than me, were clearly as horny as eighteen year old boys.  Stunned and aroused. 

"But what if I'd said, 'No way... I don't want anything to do with this sort of wanton debauchery!'"
Dawn just smiled and shook her head slowly from side to side.
We leaned towards each other and as we kissed I brushed the little bit of robe covering her left breast to the side and cupped that magnificent beauty in my right hand.

Friday, June 15, 2012

A Hand Off?

Dawn and I were having dinner at a bar near her house.  Pamela wasn't with us and how that situation came to pass was something with which I was preoccupied.  Pamela had come to the house not long after I arrived.  She'd been off buying some food, wine, and beer.  The three of us sat around Dawn's living room.  Frankly, for me, it was pretty odd.  See, Dawn and Pam were longtime friends from college... I knew Pamela (barely)... and had just met Dawn.  So we were all getting acquainted when the phone rang.  Dawn handed it to Pamela after answering.  I figured it was Donnie, Pam's husband, checking up on her but it was quickly apparent that she was talking to Sandra, the woman she'd left in charge of her store for the weekend.  Pam acted pretty agitated when she hung up.  She reported to us that Sandra had told her she'd come down with a stomach virus, was going home, and wouldn't be able to work Saturday either.

After some discussion Pamela announced that she was going to drive back home so she could have her business open on her busiest day of the week.  Dawn was against it and kind of insinuated that, since Donnie was the wealthiest guy in the county, she didn't need to be so driven about her store.  I kept my mouth shut.  Pamela taking off pretty much screwed up whatever plans there were for the weekend but, on the other hand, I appreciated the fact that she took her work seriously.

I walked Pamela out to her Lincoln and she apologized repeatedly for messing everything up. I told her it wouldn't be a totally wasted weekend for me since I could get a place to stay in the city and then spend all day Saturday shooting photographs on the way back to town.  At that idea she got pretty upset.  She told me it was silly for me not to stay at Dawn's house and, also, that Dawn and I should hang out together like the three of us had planned.  I pointed out that I didn't even know Dawn and that she might not want me around anyhow.  She gave me a good-bye hug and said,
"Relax.  Dawn will be pissed if you take off.  Just have fun, Wil.  Don't worry about me."

When I got back inside the house I asked Dawn where I could find a good, cheap place to stay.
"Billy, don't be silly, you can crash here.  You can use the room Pam uses... or the couch if you'd rather.  Seriously, you can't leave too!"
"Well, OK, but only if you're sure.  I mean, we just met and I don't want you to be uncomfortable..."
She laughed.  "Let's go get something to eat.  I promise that if I decide I don't want you around I'll tell you to get lost, OK?"

That's how we ended up at the bar eating burgers.  What was puzzling to me was hard to put my finger on exactly.  I guess I wondered if Pam's store emergency was legit.  Did she engineer this whole weekend to set me up with her buddy Dawn?  Did she just hand me off?  And, if so, why?
Or was her employee actually ill and everything was exactly as she portrayed it.  I couldn't figure it out so I just decided to concentrate on having fun with Dawn.

Dawn was dressed for hitting the cowboy bars: tight boot-cut jeans, western boots, white cotton shirt tailored to accommodate her large breasts, and a dark Western-style jacket.  While Dawn was from "back East" she had definitely adopted the fashion sense of this city on the Eastern slopes of the Rockies.  She wasn't wearing a Cowgirl hat, but not because she didn't own a few.  We hit a few places and shot some pool, drank more than several beers, and eventually Dawn got me out on the floor to teach me how to two-step.  We had a great time.

Despite having a pretty good beer buzz I was a perfect gentleman when we got back to Dawn's cottage.  I chose "Pam's" bedroom over the couch and said goodnight.  I awoke to the smell of coffee on Saturday morning.  I could resist that for a while.  But then I smelled bacon cooking so I pulled on my jeans, dug a t-shirt out of my duffel bag and wandered into the kitchen.

Dawn was wearing a white #44 Broncos jersey that came down far enough to cover her nice, round bottom.  "Floyd Little?  Is that you?" I said.
"Damn right, sleepy.  Coffee?"
I fell onto a chair next to the little round table in the kitchen and tried the coffee.  My head was pounding.
"Need aspirin?" Dawn asked.
"No, I'll be fine," I said.
"Bacon and scrambled eggs?"
"Sounds good to me."
I watched her, thinking as I drank my black coffee...  It's true she's kind of plain and never more so than this morning I suppose... freshly scrubbed face... curly dark hair pulled back and tied off with something-- a re-purposed headband maybe ... not homely exactly, I've known homely and she isn't... just kinda plain... then again, she looked pretty damn good last night... 'course I'd had a lotta beer so... shit, who gives a fuck about that, look at that ass... and those great tits... you know Wil, if you're into that sort of thing...
"What was that?" Dawn said.
I snapped out of it.  "Smells good," I said, "the bacon and eggs. Nice to be here and not eating instant oatmeal before going to work on a Saturday.  I've worked every Saturday since I moved out here."
Dawn turned around and put a plate of breakfast in front of me.  She then put her hand on my head and rubbed my messy hair like she was roughing up a dog.  I looked at her and she smirked at me-- a look that said, "I know you were staring at my ass, fella. Like it?"  I smiled back.
"Eat up, we've got a big day ahead of us," Dawn said.

Friday, May 4, 2012

Howlin' Wolf

I was standing on the porch of a cute brick cottage and wondering if I had the right address.  The fact that Pamela's car wasn't in the driveway caused me to drive past a couple of times, but this had to be the house.  So I parked on the street, walked across the front lawn, and rang the bell at what was supposed to be Dawn's house.  Waiting for someone to come to the door I convinced myself that this whole thing was a bad idea-- I kind of hoped nobody would appear.  Then I could take off, find a cheap place to stay, hit a bar or two or ten, get up in the morning, and have a big breakfast at The Country Kitchen out on the highway before making the long drive back to my shitty trailer out in the middle of nowhere.  I'd brought my camera bag and there were only about a million photos to take on the drive back.

A photo safari sounded a good bit smarter than hanging out for the weekend with Pamela and her best friend since their freshman year at college, Dawn.  To start with, my relationship with Pamela was, well, kinda odd.  She was over ten years older than me and married to a guy more than twenty years older than her.  He was the biggest client of the radio station where I was the morning guy and a part-time ad salesman.  I sold Pam a tiny bit of advertising for her gift shop and went by the store every Tuesday at lunch time to service her account.  Early in the week her business was slow enough that she worked alone.  I'd get there right after she locked up for her lunch hour at noon.  Pamela had told me to never park in front of the store-- I figured she was worried someone would notice my van always being there during her lunch hour every Tuesday.  I'd knock on the back door around ten after twelve and she'd let me in.  Every week.

I never much worried about her husband, Donnie Scoggins.  Maybe because I'd listened to too many Howlin' Wolf records and had romanticized the notion of being Pamela's back door man... the men don't know, but the little girls understand.  Or maybe I was young, dumb, and unaware that I wasn't actually bulletproof.  And now Pamela was upping the ante-- meeting out of town at her girlfriend Dawn's house for the weekend.  No, this could go wrong a lot of ways.  Then again, it might go really well and I might just get laid non-stop for a day and a half.

The heavy wooden door opened and a woman stood behind the screen door.
"Hi, I'm looking for Daw..."
Before I could finish she said, "Billy, right?"
As I nodded she said, "You look exactly like Pam described you!  Come on in... sorry you had to wait on the porch but I just got home from work and couldn't get to the door right away... bet you need a beer, huh?"
"Sounds good," I said.
"Is Oly OK?"
"Sure. 'It's the water.'"
She came back from the kitchen with two cans of Olympia.
"Need a glass?"
"No thanks," I said.
We sat down and each took a drink from our beers.
"I thought I had the wrong address.  I expected that Pamela would beat me here and when I didn't see her car in the drive..."
"Oh, Pam-uh-lah got here before I got home from work.  She let herself in, looked in my refrigerator, and went straight to the IGA. I'm not as domesticated as our mutual friend... she always finds my kitchen lacking when she comes," Dawn said, "She'll be back soon, I'm sure."

Dawn was still in her work clothes.  She was wearing a plain, dark dress and the kind of shoes that can't make up their mind whether they're flats or heels. They look like somebody took a band saw and cut off most of the heel.  But even in conservative, unattractive clothes and boring shoes there was no hiding the fact that Dawn had a killer body.  Big-time curves on about a 5'5" frame. Seriously big curves.  Her hair was dark brown, so wavy it was almost kinky, and pulled back with some sort of a clip in the back.  Based on her olive skin tone I figured she was Italian.  I found out later she was about two thirds Greek.  She had a prominent nose and when she looked right at me I had the sensation that her eyes were ever so slightly crossed, as if they were looking at the end of her nose.

I was about half way done with my beer when Dawn said, "Ya know, I think we're going to just go to this neighborhood joint for dinner so you're fine in jeans and a t-shirt but I need to change.  Do ya mind?"
"Not at all," I said.
"I'll just be a minute," she said.
"Don't worry about me," I said.
"There's more beer in the fridge. Help yourself," she said.

I was sitting there by myself opening another Olympia and pondering how great Dawn might look in jeans and a t-shirt when I heard a car pull in the drive.  It was Pamela rolling up in a big-ass blue Lincoln loaner off the used car lot at Scoggins Ford.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012


I'm still around.  A warm spring has brought all sorts of distractions that keep me away from writing about those things that happened decades ago. 

Recently I've heard from some people who have discovered this place and have somehow managed to enjoy it.  The word "pleasure" actually was mentioned by a woman reader.

I know.  It shocked me too.

One of these days I'll get back to my tales.  The next post begins with me standing on Dawn's porch... a woman I hadn't met until she opened the door.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Hit The Post

Tuesday morning rolled around. As I was getting ready to go to work I was well aware that I was supposed to stop at Pamela's Place a few minutes after noon. Just a sales service call... review how the ads were working... change the copy if needed... pick up a check for that week's ads and, hopefully, a few more weeks in advance...   But, of course, I had a sense that something else might happen. So I made sure I was wearing clean clothes.  It was the least I could do.

While I was airing the 8 o'clock hour news feed from ABC Contemporary Radio I noticed the light on the control room phone was blinking. Nothing unusual there.  I did have listeners who could dial a phone ya know. They weren't all cows grazing out there on the range.   I answered it the way I always did by giving the station call letters “KCTW.”  Of course, I was versatile.  If I had a contest going I would say, “KCTW, you're the fifth caller!” and hang up.   I usually didn't go past the eighth caller as a winner since the first time I did a twelfth caller I realized that the same guy was the first, fourth, ninth and twelfth caller. That was kind of depressing.  But this particular call wasn't depressing. The caller responded to my “KCTW!” with “Billy? Is that you?”

I almost said something smart-ass but something about the sleepy female voice caused me to simply say, “Yes.”
“Mmmm you sound good this morning...”
“Where are you?”
“In bed... nice and warm... listening to your voice... thinking things...” she said.
“Sounds nice,” I said. I thought it was Pam but I couldn't tell for sure. It wasn't the first time I'd had a naughty woman call while on the air.
“I'm coming out of the news in twenty I need to put the phone down for just a second.”
I cued up “Cut The Cake” by AWB and listened for the news sign-off, made my flawless segue into the song and opened the microphone. I said something devilishly clever, gave the time and temp and hit the twenty-two second post like a seasoned pro. I made sure the mic was closed when I picked up the phone.
“I'm back,” I said.
“Wow, that was like going backstage. Cool.”
Now I was sure it was Pamela.
“Well, you know what happens to good-looking women who wander around backstage all alone, don't you?”
“Is it anything like what's gonna happen to a disc jockey who wanders into the back of my store today?”
I laughed.  She sounded very dirty.
“I think I'll end up an unemployed radio guy if I don't hang up right away,” I said.

She made a harumphing sound. “OK. But play a song for me.”
“It has to be something current.”
She told me what she wanted to hear. It was something I could play so I agreed.
Then she told me what she was going to do to herself if I played it next.
“Hey! Save some for me, Pamela,” I said.
She sounded so hot and bothered.
I hung up and cued the next record.
Going from AWB to the Steve Miller single that Pam picked I opened the mic, “Listen up cowgirls... everybody headin' out to make big money this morning, lemme hear a big Whoo-hoo!” The Hoo left my throat at :07 of “Take The Money and Run.”
Billy The Kid hit another post on the button. 
Lord, Top 40 radio was so much fun.

“Get in here, you!” Pamela said when she opened the back door of her store.
She lead me to the couch in her office. She had on a denim skirt, a white gauzy top, obviously no bra but lots of craft jewelry like she sold in the store-- necklace, bracelets, rings on several fingers.
I was leaning back in the corner of the couch and she was sitting to my right. She was sitting on her
left hip and facing me. She went right for my belt, unbuckled me, unsnapped me, and pulled my zipper down. I tried to get my hands on her but she fended me off. “Just relax, baby. I'll take care of everything today,” she said.

I was already stiff when she got my cock out of my pants.
A slight moan escaped from her mouth.  Her lips were slightly parted and the tip of her tongue was visible just behind her lower lip. She stroked me with her right hand for a while. Her eyes were locked on the head of my cock. She switched hands and tilted her head without breaking her stare at my dick. She was like a beautiful lizard sizing up a juicy bug for her lunch.

Pamela leaned forward-- but she didn't suck me. Instead, she flicked my cock head with her tongue a few times and then pressed her lips onto it-- a kiss. But she didn't take me into her mouth.
“God you're a fuckin' tease,” I groaned.
She smiled, still looking nowhere but straight at my hard dick.
“Feels good, doesn't it?” Her voice was a gruff whisper.
She started working it with two hands. Leaning forward she drizzled spit all over the head, got it on her left hand and stroked me quickly while she cupped my balls with her right. 

She kept on, slowly, until I was drained of cum.

Thursday, February 2, 2012


My boss was working in his office alone when I finished carting up Pam's spot and putting it in the control room. I tapped on the door and Bob waved me in.
“Hey! Pretty late in the day for my big time mornin' guy to be hangin' around,” he said.
I grinned back at him and told him the big news-- that I'd sold my first flight of ads.
“Well, excuse me, my morning guy slash sales guy! Way to go!”

He asked what account I'd brought in.
“That little, funky gift shop in town, Pamela's,” I said.
“No shit? That's great, kid! Waytuhgo.”
“Thanks. It took me about four or five calls but I closed it today. Got a check and everything,” I said.
“From Donnie?” Bobby said.
“Donnie? No, Pamela.”
He looked concerned.
“Is there a problem? I already gave Darlene the check and cut the spots. They start Thursday morning,” I said.
“No... no... go ahead. I'm sure it'll be fine,” he said.
“Good. Ya had me worried. Who's Donnie?”
“Donnie Scoggins. You know, Donnie Scoggins Ford... the ads you run every stop set.   Hell, you met Donnie right here a few weeks ago,” he said.
I did remember Mr. Scoggins. He had been shootin' the shit with Bobby in the office late one afternoon over drinks. Looked to be in his mid-50's. Bob introduced him as “our biggest advertiser.”
“Oh sure. I know who he is... I knew Pamela's last name was Scoggins... just didn't connect the two. I guess I thought Scoggins was a common name around here or sumpthin',” I said.

“Nah. Donnie's old man started the business... used to sell tractors and stuff too... he was the only Scoggins I ever heard of around here... left the business to Donnie when he died. Rough transition for a while, but it's goin' OK now... doin' real good 'cause he spends a lotta dough with us.”
“So I guess his daughter's learning retail to take over for him some day,” I said.
“What the fuck ya talkin' about, his daughter? They don't have any kids.”
“Pam's his daughter, right?”
Uncle Bobby snorted and then laughed loud and hard. He motioned for me to close the door.

“How 'bout some Jack?”
I nodded and he poured a double shot of Jack Daniels in each of two glasses.
“I didn't want Darlene hearin' us,”
We drank.
“Billy, I don't know what sweet lil' Pammy mighta told ya, but that extra fine piece is Mrs. Donnie Scoggins.
He laughed again and said, “Here, let me pour ya another... look like ya saw a ghost... or, hey, maybe you're just thinkin' of those tight fuckin' jeans she favors.”

I was stunned but got my wits together enough to say, “Uncle Bobby, what difference does it make to me that she's married... to Donnie Scoggins or anybody else?”
“Aw, don't bullshit a bullshitter, Kid. There's no way you've been in that store a half dozen times and it didn't pass through your brain that it might just be nice to get your end wet at Pamela's Place.”

He had a point. No sense in denying that.
“Well... that much is true, boss. But she's kinda old for me ya know... young for Mr. Scoggins I guess... but kinda old for me.  She is a looker though, I'll give ya that."
“You're what, twenty-two?”
I nodded.

“Yeah, guess she's got about eleven years on you. And Donnie's got twenty-one or so on her.”
We drank in silence. He poured our third double shots of Jack.
“She's the hottest damn thing on two legs around here, that's the fuckin' truth” he said.
Bob had a hundred mile stare going.
We drank some more.
“Kid, Scoggins Ford's our biggest account. I handle him directly.”
“I know, Boss,” I said.
We finished our drinks and got up to leave Uncle Bobby's office.
“You know, _______ is just a two hour drive west of here. Lots to do.  Lotta hot young chicks there,” he said.
“So I've heard. But my boss makes me work six days a week,” I said.
“That guy sounds like a real asshole!” he said as he slapped me on the back, “Hey, good work makin' your first sale. You're doin' great on the air too, Kid.”

In bed that night I was trying to clear my mind of all the stuff flying around in there. The alarm was set for 4:45AM. I had to be on the air at 6 AM. I needed sleep. But the thing that kept me awake was the idea that my boss expected me to fuck Pam Scoggins. I don't mean that he wanted me to; but he expected me to. I think that he was telling me that, if it was him, he'd sure as hell take a run at her.

It felt like he was daring me.  Which was weird because I also thought Pamela was daring me to fuck her.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Closing The Sale

I went back to the store to talk to Pamela a few times and she was always too busy to talk business. Meanwhile I was getting nowhere with my budding side career of selling ad time for the station. Thankfully I was getting good feedback from people, including my boss, about my on-air exploits. And that was, after all, what was really important. This sales gig was just a way to kill time in the afternoon every day-- to keep me out of trouble. Mostly the trouble I was staying out of was a 17 year old waitress at the diner. But if things didn't start looking up on the female front she was going to turn 18 and then I'd be out of excuses to keep from taking a run at her. Mandy was kind of cute. Sweet, sorta dumb, stacked, and cute.

I dropped by Pamela's Place for Gifts around 4 PM on a Monday.  Pam saw me come through the door and strolled over to me.
“Can you come by at noon tomorrow?”
“Yeah... but aren't you closed between noon and one on Tuesdays?”
“It looks like it's the only way we'll be able to talk and everything.   Just try to get here a couple minutes before noon so I don't lock you out, OK?” she said.

The next morning I got off the air at 10AM and spent an hour making sure I was ready to close the sale and get Pamela's ads on the air. Then I walked across the highway to the gas station and got a bag of chips and a Coke for lunch from their vending machines. Hey, my commission from a flight of spots for Pamela's Place for Gifts would just about cover two days worth of chips. (Clearly, this wasn't about the money.)

I washed the potato chip grease off my hands back at the radio station restroom and drove into town. After parking a couple doors down I popped into her shop five minutes before noon. By ten after twelve Pamela had the customers out, the door locked, and we were walking to the back room of the shop making small talk.

Most backrooms of retail stores are dirty, cluster-fucked places. This one was orderly.   She unlocked the door to her private office-- a room about 12 X 12 with a beautiful wooden desk, high-back chair, and a small couch. Pamela turned on the lights-- not the harsh overhead fluorescent but a floor lamp and a desk lamp. I was such a rookie at the time in the business world that I didn't recognize that everything I was seeing added up to someone who wasn't in business to scratch out a living.

I took a seat on the couch as she excused herself to use the restroom. The five minutes or so I waited for her to return seemed like a half hour. I'm not sure what all she did while I waited but she definitely had brushed her hair and freshened her scent.  Right up to that point I had seen Pamela as a very attractive, friendly, engaging woman. But, I figured her to be about ten years older than me and not really somebody who would have any interest in a fresh-out-of-college guy like me.   I had no problem thinking about her as an aid to my self-pleasuring activities, but that's not quite the same as thinking of her in terms of dinner and a movie. The idea of an older woman and a younger man together wasn't unheard of-- hell, I'd seen The Graduate back when I was in high school.  But, let's just say I understood the Katharine Ross part of that movie a lot more than the Anne Bancroft part from Dustin's point-of-view.   Then again, Pamela was way cooler, and younger, than Anne Bancroft.

She had me put the sales materials I'd brought along on her desk and I delivered my spiel as we stood side by side.   Pamela was to my right and when I asked her if she had any questions she leaned across me as she spoke and pointed at one of my charts using her right hand. As she did that her left breast pressed against my right biceps. I noticed but didn't exactly jump out of the way. In fact, I kind of held my ground. A few minutes later she did it again. She was out of questions then and said, “Well, you made the sale, Billy. Good job.”   She rubbed my back with her left hand as she said, “You can relax now.  I'll write a check for the first week of ads, OK?”

She walked around the desk, sat in her big boss chair, and pulled a folder out of the desk drawer that contained her company checks. “Three spots on Thursday, three Friday, and two on Saturday-- all during your show,” Pamela said.

She scratched out the check for the correct amount. She had been paying attention to my sales pitch.
I told her I'd call her later and let her hear the commercial I was going back to the station to write and record.   She smiled at me like she had a big secret that I couldn't possibly guess. Partly a smirk, partly a smile-- all very knowing.

She walked me to the front door of the store and unlocked it. Before she let me out Pamela said, “We'll take this one week at a time to see how it works out. Is there a problem with you coming here every Tuesday at noon so we can go over any changes to the ad copy... number of spots... anything else that comes up?”
“No. That's no problem. It comes under the heading of servicing your account,” I said.
She laughed out loud. I was embarrassed. I hadn't meant it to sound dirty.  I started out the door.
"Oh, and Billy... from now on park a few blocks away from the store and knock on the back door off the alley at 12:15... every Tuesday, OK?"
"Sure," I said.  I had no idea why I couldn't park my van in front of the store.  I figured she didn't want me taking a parking space that a customer could use.

Driving back to the station I felt like such a goober. I was even trying to talk myself out of the idea that she had flirted with me. I thought about how great she looked and smelled. I heard her voice. And I could still feel her tit pushing against my arm.  Soft, but not too soft.

I called her at about 5 o'clock and played the spot for her over the phone. She said it was good. Very good. She was all business. I assumed there were customers in the store.