129 lines
7.1 KiB
Plaintext
129 lines
7.1 KiB
Plaintext
Crystal's Persuasion
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My girlfriend Crystal is from the suburbs; malls, nice homes with lots
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of grass, and three cars in every garage (the Beamer for the kids,
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don'cha know). Me, I'm from the city; discount stores, row homes on
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pavement with aluminum siding and car alarms going off in the street.
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She's 25, and white. I'm 30 and black. I work with computers, and play
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music part-time on the weekends. She's an auditor for a brokerage house,
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and used to spend money on the weekends. We met while I was playing, but
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it took an unusual catalyst to get us together: my ex-girlfriend, Pam.
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Pam is drop-dead gorgeous, a walking wet dream. She's about five-
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four, with blonde hair (sometimes it's curly, sometimes not). She has
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bright blue eyes, and a slender, firm body that inspires thoughts of
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rabid, mindless marathon sex. She's a city girl, and works as a cocktail
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waitress at one of the clubs we play regularly at. Pam's aggressive if
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she sees something she likes. She's not afraid of anybody. Pam's been
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around the block a few times, and is wiser than her 23 years. She's
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almost the exact opposite of Crystal. Crystal played the coy little girl
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"notice me" game with me, while Pam... Let me tell that story first.
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I had been playing every other weekend at the club where she works for
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about three months. Being an average, under-sexed male, I noticed her
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like all the other men who walked in the club. I drooled, too.
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Unfortunately, I couldn't even try, since she was clearly off-limits.
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It's bad news for a band to piss off the staff at a club, and unwanted
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advances are the easiest way to do that. That will get you fired faster
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than almost anything else. One Saturday night after closing, I was
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waiting for the owner. Pam sat next to me, counting her money. I heard
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her say, "Excuse me, Don."
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"Yeah, Pam?" I tried to be nonchalant, but my heart started racing.
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"Why don't you just ask me out instead of looking at me with puppy dog
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eyes all of the time. I _am_ an equal opportunity dater," she said
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sweetly. My jaw bounced off the floor twice. "Let's do something after
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I ring out," she suggested. After all business had been taken care of,
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she and I walked out to our cars. That is where I found out what her
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definition of "something" was. Pam produced a rubber from her purse.
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("Just in case I meet somebody -- interesting.") She looked deeply into
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my eyes, and I got lost in hers'. "My place or yours? This is what
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you've been wanting, right?"
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We never even made it out of the parking lot. After kissing
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frantically for about five minutes, she and I climbed into my van. Pam
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pulled my pants down, put the rubber on me, and removed her panties. I
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felt her settle onto my erection. "You look shocked," she panted.
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"Isn't it what you expected?" She began to pump her hips, sliding
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ferociously along my dick. I had no brain; Pam's scent, her facial
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expression, and her enthusiasm were more than enough to make thought
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impossible. It didn't hurt that I was living out a most recent,
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extremely recurrent fantasy. I didn't care that Pam was essentially
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masturbating herself on me. It didn't last long, either. "Now that
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you've had the fantasy, will you call me next week? I think you're
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cute." She sat next to me, still dressed in her tuxedo top, miniskirt
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and fishnet stockings.
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"You're kidding, right?" was my response. "Why in the hell wouldn't I
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call?"
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"Because you already got what you wanted," Pam replied. That wasn't
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quite true. She had masturbated herself on me while I watched. That was
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considerably less than what I wanted. "So." Pam let the sentence drop
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with that one word.
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"Pam," I started, then stopped. "I'm sorry you're so cynical, but I'm
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not like other guys." I ran that back through my head. "I guess you've
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heard that before," I said sheepishly.
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"Uh-huh. But -- you are the first guy since high school to look at me
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with puppy dog eyes. Maybe you're not lying." Pam kissed me on the
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cheek. "Bye." She got out of the car, smiled and walked leisurely to
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her car. I called her the next day, and that began a six month romance.
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Much to Pam's pleasure, I was a much more active lover than I had been in
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the van. Our after-work van encounters continued; at first, they were
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the subject of gossip at the club, but then became accepted fact, hardly
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worth comment. For about five months, it was great.
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The last month felt wrong. The sex was still incredible, but
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conversation had dwindled to virtually nothing. Finally, we had the
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inevitable discussion. I brought it up over dinner one night. "It's not
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working, is it?" She looked up at me through surprised blue eyes.
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Lowering them before speaking, she sighed, "No..." She cleared her
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throat before resuming, stronger this time. "No, Don, it isn't. It's
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been fun, but you're right."
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"Anything I can do?"
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"No, I'm sorry, but I don't think so," Pam ruefully replied. "Please
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don't take this personally, but, I'm afraid I've gotten bored with you."
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She quickly added, "Except in bed. You're pretty creative, y'know?" She
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smiled sadly. "What you need is a nasty streak." Regarding me fully, she
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continued before I could say anything. "I mean, I'm about to go into
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diabetic shock, you've been so sweet. I guess I'm looking for the spice
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of danger."
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"A nasty streak? I just wasn't brought up that way. And I doubt that
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I can change, even for you," I stated.
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"See? There you go again." Pam patted my cheek and leaned closer.
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"You can't hurt me. I really do like you a lot, and I want to be
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friends." She paused. "Really, I don't think I could have this
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conversation with another guy. I think about all the times you made me
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laugh, and I value your advice. Can we -- be friends?"
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I looked at her with all the seriousness I could muster. There was
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hope written all over her face, and the entire apartment was silent. My
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voice was quiet, deep; grave. "Wouldn't this be a hell of a time for me
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to get that mean streak you just talked about?" Pam was stunned for an
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instant, then she read the laughter in my eyes and laughed herself.
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"That's why it's been fun," she chuckled. "I knew there was a reason
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I wanted to go out with you in the first place." Pam leaned over and
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kissed me on the cheek. Then she nibbled on my ear and whispered, "Wanna
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do it once more? For old times' sake?" It turned out to be more than
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once, lasting into Sunday afternoon. Pam is still a walking wet dream.
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Our discussion continued over coffee in bed. Pam explained, with
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loving care, exactly what she felt had gone wrong. If anything, I hadn't
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been possessive enough, and too acquiescent to her wishes. I asked her
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how she had become so wise in her 23 years. "Bimboism isn't terminal. I
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know, 'cause I used to be one. I'm smarter now -- I hope."
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I really care for Pam a lot. She's a good friend, and I learned a lot
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from her, especially after we broke up, which brings me to Crystal.
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