GIRL 82 ~ INFINITI GIRL
I stumbled upon Infiniti Girl in late June. She was a short-haul cargo pilot (okay, co-pilot) flying out of Newark. She might cover a thousand miles a day, but then return home again. Her cover picture on Match really grabbed me. I clicked to the detail of the photo, and I really liked it. She seemed slender and hot and she reminded me of - dare I name her out loud? - Girl 6. You can't beat that body! Slender and cute! Her face showed character of age, and seemed kind and loving. Her write-up was interesting as well. I liked her, I liked her a lot. Knowing full well that just because I like someone does not mean she'll like me back, I wrote her with no expectation of getting a reply. I decided to kid with her about picture no. 5, which was her dog:
*******************************************
Date: June 27
Subject: I have no idea what people put in this stupid box
Dear Infiniti Girl,
That fifth picture of you doesn't look nearly as hot as the other ones, but I do like the dog collar thing, very kinky! I bet it was difficult to pick out what your best feature is, wasn't it.
But seriously...oh hell, it's dating, you can't be serious!
Tonno
*******************************************
Her reply was a comment on the extremely sexual nature of my profile:
*******************************************
Date: Tue, 28 June
Subject: Re: I have no idea what people put in this stupid box
Dear Tonno,
After looking at your profile I am getting the feeling we go in a different order when it comes to relationships...
For me I need the emotional connection before I get physically involved...if that isn't there it just doesn't "work" for me...
You on the other hand at least put out that is first and foremost what you are about...
I am looking for more than someone to have sex with...and I am not sure you are...
Phoebe
*******************************************
In the old days of dating, I would consider this a kiss-off and I would have gone on. But I noticed she wrote quite a bit for someone kissing me off. I decided to try to salvage this:
*******************************************
Hi Phoebe,
Thanks for writing me! Funny you mention my profile. I didn't think anyone actually read them, but I'm being proved wrong daily. It's an ancient one from a long-ago appearance on Match when I was in post-marriage recovery and needed a sexual ICU. It snared this amazing incredible woman. It was much more difficult to get over her than my ex. I loved her, I wrote poetry to her, I asked her to marry me, we were star-crossed and taken apart by a nuclear divorce she had to fight. That was many moons ago. That said, if you aren't burning inside for the guy you love, if you don't lust for that one special guy in a relationship, I'm barking up the wrong tree, but then, I do that a lot.
Best regards,
Tonno
*******************************************
She eventually wrote me back that I'd gotten the date.
On July 3, the Sunday of a three-day weekend, I met Phoebe at Mediterra in Princeton. That restaurant has always been bad luck. The times I've eaten there for dinner the dates not only were disasters, but the bill exceeded $200, ridiculous for a first date dinner. But I figured the bar would be fine.
I waited for her in the outdoor courtyard, nervous for the first time before a date since January. I played with my phone, programming things, wondering where she was.
I looked up and saw her. She was tall, 5'7", with three inch heeled sandals, tight jeans, a tank top under a white linen blazer. Her hair was shorter than in her photos, and I love long hair, but it was gorgeous, a brunette streaked helmet that curled up at her shoulders. I watched her move, and it was obvious that she would be amazingly sexual, contrary to what her first email said. I stood and walked up to her, held her hand and kissed her cheek, smiling at her. The nerves got worse rather than easing. I found us a seat at the bar, and we ordered - Pinot for her, scotch for me, and I turned toward her.
Her knees touched mine at the barstool and she looked up at me and smiled this lopsided smile of perfect white teeth from thick sensuous lips, lips that made me think lewd thoughts of oral sex. Her eyes were denim blue and sparkled with excitement, and I think only when I looked into them did I realize that she seemed to like me as much as I liked her. My thoughts were confirmed when she stroked my thigh. I asked her to stand, to see how tall she was. When she did, looking up at me with this in-heat look, I put my hands on her narrow waist, and her eyes began to shut. On impulse I kissed her, tenderly but deeply, and she kissed me back, and immediately I could feel the tingle all the way to my balls and back. I wanted her sexually, but I wanted her emotionally as well.
After an hour, we decided to go get dinner, but the restaurants were closed for the Fourth of July holiday. I looked at her, ready to shrug, but something she'd said rang in my ears, something about how she was a girl of action. I asked if I could make her something. Hell of a risk, and this was no mere one night stand, this was an "A-girl," a girlfriend candidate. She smiled and agreed. We left her SUV in Princeton and took my Mustang back to Ranchero de la Serpiente, the townhouse (Spanish for Snake Ranch, but Snake Ranch is the old condo). Once there, I gave her the tour and nervously heated up leftovers for her. They were terrible, but she smiled and drank her wine.
The next risk - I took her to my bedroom and pulled her clothes off. Her body was spectacular. I ran my fingers over every inch of her, and when I touched her skin with my tongue, I could feel her tremble. Though she said it was her time of the month, and despite my confirming that, we played. I sucked on her, my finger touching her insides and tapping her tampon, and after that she sucked on me, her finger finding the opening of me and ramming deep inside me. It wasn't long before I was spurting a gallon of come into her mouth, and she swallowed every drop. What more could I ask of a girlfriend candidate?
We lay in bed, wonderfully satiated and naked and talked for hours, until the clock neared four in the morning, and reluctantly we got up and dressed. I took her to her Infiniti SUV and kissed her good-bye. I went home to my computer and took down my Match.com profile. I wanted to be exclusive with Phoebe. It felt final. Over the next few days, I wrote the women who wrote me and told them I'd found "the girl" and was off Match, hopefully permanently.
On the Fourth of July, Monday, the next day, Phoebe invited me over to her house.
Phoebe's house was a lovely townhouse decorated in blue. Dinner was steak on the grill and it was amazing, there on the deck in the sunshine. Phoebe was gorgeous and alluring. Afterward I took her upstairs and made love to her, and it was simply amazing. I slept over, and waking up with her and making love to her again was fantastic.
July 7, we went to a wine tasting party in Somerville. It seemed a meat market atmosphere, but it was good to be in a relationship. Wow, I thought, me in a relationship, a real one, for the first time since Girl 6.
Over the next week I saw her every few days, sleeping over at her house, making love to her. It was the New York City Sunday of July 17 that things began to unravel for us. Too soon Phoebe insisted I go in and meet her grown son for his birthday. I found myself at lunch with Perry, Phoebe's son, his girlfriend and Phoebe, the birthday celebration, and when the check came, Phoebe was gone. I picked up the check, but it seemed really odd that I was paying for her son's birthday lunch.
Her son clearly didn't like me, and supposedly he was the "mellow one." Phoebe had confessed that he and his brother came from two different fathers, but she declined to elaborate much, making me wonder if she'd had a marital infidelity in her first marriage. But what bothered me was that Phoebe's older son's birthday came and went, and she didn't do anything for him, saying that he'd be up on Friday July 22, and she'd catch him then. It seemed odd. Later, we had drinks with Phoebe's mom, after a sunglasses shopping episode in her mom's workplace in which Phoebe almost seemed to expect me to buy the $200 sunglasses she had fallen in love with. This time my wallet stayed in my pocket. We had a nice time with Phoebe's mom for drinks, but I found myself noticing the Amazon miniskirt wearing blonde waitress, which is unusual for me, because it just seems like if I'm in love, I don't see other women. Something about Phoebe was beginning to bother me.
The week after we didn't see each other until the 23rd. Phoebe had things to do, and Girl Zero was going to Cape May with her college pals from July 20 to July 23 while I watched my daughter. I won't let anyone I'm dating meet the baby. I don't want that for her, a revolving door of women in her memory. But at first Phoebe seemed like someone I could introduce to Girl Zero and Amanda, and my life would be normal for the first time in years. But in that interval, Phoebe seemed to get extremely emotional and upset. Perhaps she sensed me pulling back from her. Maybe she wanted me to miss her more.
Phoebe seemed to emphasize that both of us avoid touching ourselves. This "policy" would seem to be intended to enhance our sexual pleasure when we were together, but it also had the effect of making us - or at least making me - extremely horny upon being without her for a week. So Saturday July 23 was to be a big day of release for us, as we hadn't seen each other sexually since the morning of the 18th. That afternoon, she wanted to do errands. I told her she'd better meet me in the driveway, then, because if we were alone, it would be impossible to get out of the house. Instead I had to go in to find her, and I found her ironing naked. I tried to get her going, but she smiled as she said no, but she was doing almost anything to get me going, as if she wanted me crazed and horny. I complained about it, but she waved me off. After an hour of errands, she wanted drinks and dinner.
After Lambertville drinks and dinner at an Italian place there, we drove home, and Phoebe let me pull her blouse down and play with her breasts. It seemed stupid, like high school again, and this teasing reminded me of my less-than-wonderful high school girlfriend. Did she honestly think this would work?
Sex at the house wasn't as great as I thought it would be. I came hard in her throat - since when did she learn how to deep throat? I'd never been blown quite like that, and it was thrilling, but she'd hinted that she had taken classes in cock sucking, and it made me feel all the more manipulated.
That day and that evening, Phoebe began to talk about us moving in. It astonished me. I had told her I'd never wanted that. She began to complain that I wasn't available enough. She then went on to bitch that Girl Zero was too influential in my life. And that I spent too much time with my kids and wouldn't have enough time for her. When I woke on Sunday, July 24, it was to Phoebe saying we could always get adjoining townhouses with a door between them.
At dinner in Lambertville she finally opened up about her past relationships. I suppose she finally trusted me with the information, but what I learned in concert with the manipulation and her complaints about my children made me see this for what it is.
In my mind it was over. The question was - why was it over? And what would I say to people about it?
I suppose my press release on this would be:
* Infiniti Girl was tall, slender, athletic and cute
* She liked me on our first date and sparks passed during our first kiss
* Sex was dynamite with her
* She seemed unrevealing about her past
* It took a long time to get to her deeper layers
* When I did, I found some incompatibilities and concerns
* I reluctantly let her go and wish her well.
On Sunday, July 24, Phoebe left for a vacation in the Bahamas. I left her house at 11:30 in the morning after sleeping over. I was upset at saying good-bye to her, and before I left I remember looking at the stuff I'd brought over and put in a drawer she'd cleared out for me, and mentally I said good-bye to the running gear and jeans and shirts. I left and drove home, a huge headache looming as I turned over all the points above in my mind. Phoebe called perhaps a dozen times or more over the next hours, each call from her making my stomach clench. I knew I had to end it. At seven in the evening I walked to a bench in Princeton where the night before our first date I'd had an hour phone call with her, during which we'd crossed swords over philosophy. I didn't sit down, but stood as I rang her cell phone.
"Hello," she said anxiously. "Are you all right? You haven't returned my calls or picked up! You never do that to me."
"I've had a miserable headache all day," I said. "I've been under the covers waiting for it to go away. During my conscious moments I've been thinking." My tone was hard.
"What?" she said. "Are you dumping me?"
"Yes," I said. "I have to let you go."
"Why?" she nearly shouted.
"Phoebe, if in a week or two you still care about the reasons, I'll go over them with you, but I'm not going to get into it now."
"But why?"
"Listen to me. You need to know that this relationship is over. The reasons don't matter, but if they are important to you, I'll tell you later."
She started to shout, "how can you say you love me this morning and then dump me tonight?"
I hung up the phone. I walked down the street, feeling a hundred pounds lighter.
* * *
Six months later, I was Christmas shopping with Bat Girl (Girl 100, the girlfriend, "the One"), her son and my son.
Bat Girl had gone off on her own to check out furniture and the boys were somewhere behind me.
I was in a relationship, but my radar still is pretty sharp for a good looking woman, and its bells and warning alarms started going off as this tall brunette in tight jeans and high heeled boots maneuvered into weapons range, her hips swinging sexily. My eyes jumped from mile-long legs to hips to perky boobs to thin shoulders, back to legs, back to hips, up to the gleaming dark hair, back to boobs, back to boots, all in the space of a tenth of a second, and when I finally zoomed in on her face she was ten feet away, and it was Infiniti Girl, holding her jacket over her arm and a cup of Starbucks in the same hand.
For an instant I had a visual of her dousing me with the coffee, but I simply smiled and said hello. That impish grin came to her as her face lit up. I kissed her cheek. I asked how she'd been, if she were dating anyone. She said she'd just been in a relationship and it ended. I tested her. "Dumped him?" I asked. She hesitated as she answered. "Well..." I thought so, she'd been dumped, but my face showed nothing.
Finally I let her go with a "Have fun shopping." I couldn't resist letting my eyes roam on that body one last time, and I noticed she glanced just as lustfully at me. It was strange meeting a woman who has swallowed my cum, almost as if we were in a movie and we met for the first time off stage.
Bat Girl's son said, "Wow, who was that? She was HOT!"
My son rolled his eyes. "Dude, that chick was a psycho," he said.
Turns out Bat Girl had seen the whole thing. It's good when a woman is just slightly jealous. I got a great sexing that night.
I stumbled upon Infiniti Girl in late June. She was a short-haul cargo pilot (okay, co-pilot) flying out of Newark. She might cover a thousand miles a day, but then return home again. Her cover picture on Match really grabbed me. I clicked to the detail of the photo, and I really liked it. She seemed slender and hot and she reminded me of - dare I name her out loud? - Girl 6. You can't beat that body! Slender and cute! Her face showed character of age, and seemed kind and loving. Her write-up was interesting as well. I liked her, I liked her a lot. Knowing full well that just because I like someone does not mean she'll like me back, I wrote her with no expectation of getting a reply. I decided to kid with her about picture no. 5, which was her dog:
*******************************************
Date: June 27
Subject: I have no idea what people put in this stupid box
Dear Infiniti Girl,
That fifth picture of you doesn't look nearly as hot as the other ones, but I do like the dog collar thing, very kinky! I bet it was difficult to pick out what your best feature is, wasn't it.
But seriously...oh hell, it's dating, you can't be serious!
Tonno
*******************************************
Her reply was a comment on the extremely sexual nature of my profile:
*******************************************
Date: Tue, 28 June
Subject: Re: I have no idea what people put in this stupid box
Dear Tonno,
After looking at your profile I am getting the feeling we go in a different order when it comes to relationships...
For me I need the emotional connection before I get physically involved...if that isn't there it just doesn't "work" for me...
You on the other hand at least put out that is first and foremost what you are about...
I am looking for more than someone to have sex with...and I am not sure you are...
Phoebe
*******************************************
In the old days of dating, I would consider this a kiss-off and I would have gone on. But I noticed she wrote quite a bit for someone kissing me off. I decided to try to salvage this:
*******************************************
Hi Phoebe,
Thanks for writing me! Funny you mention my profile. I didn't think anyone actually read them, but I'm being proved wrong daily. It's an ancient one from a long-ago appearance on Match when I was in post-marriage recovery and needed a sexual ICU. It snared this amazing incredible woman. It was much more difficult to get over her than my ex. I loved her, I wrote poetry to her, I asked her to marry me, we were star-crossed and taken apart by a nuclear divorce she had to fight. That was many moons ago. That said, if you aren't burning inside for the guy you love, if you don't lust for that one special guy in a relationship, I'm barking up the wrong tree, but then, I do that a lot.
Best regards,
Tonno
*******************************************
She eventually wrote me back that I'd gotten the date.
On July 3, the Sunday of a three-day weekend, I met Phoebe at Mediterra in Princeton. That restaurant has always been bad luck. The times I've eaten there for dinner the dates not only were disasters, but the bill exceeded $200, ridiculous for a first date dinner. But I figured the bar would be fine.
I waited for her in the outdoor courtyard, nervous for the first time before a date since January. I played with my phone, programming things, wondering where she was.
I looked up and saw her. She was tall, 5'7", with three inch heeled sandals, tight jeans, a tank top under a white linen blazer. Her hair was shorter than in her photos, and I love long hair, but it was gorgeous, a brunette streaked helmet that curled up at her shoulders. I watched her move, and it was obvious that she would be amazingly sexual, contrary to what her first email said. I stood and walked up to her, held her hand and kissed her cheek, smiling at her. The nerves got worse rather than easing. I found us a seat at the bar, and we ordered - Pinot for her, scotch for me, and I turned toward her.
Her knees touched mine at the barstool and she looked up at me and smiled this lopsided smile of perfect white teeth from thick sensuous lips, lips that made me think lewd thoughts of oral sex. Her eyes were denim blue and sparkled with excitement, and I think only when I looked into them did I realize that she seemed to like me as much as I liked her. My thoughts were confirmed when she stroked my thigh. I asked her to stand, to see how tall she was. When she did, looking up at me with this in-heat look, I put my hands on her narrow waist, and her eyes began to shut. On impulse I kissed her, tenderly but deeply, and she kissed me back, and immediately I could feel the tingle all the way to my balls and back. I wanted her sexually, but I wanted her emotionally as well.
After an hour, we decided to go get dinner, but the restaurants were closed for the Fourth of July holiday. I looked at her, ready to shrug, but something she'd said rang in my ears, something about how she was a girl of action. I asked if I could make her something. Hell of a risk, and this was no mere one night stand, this was an "A-girl," a girlfriend candidate. She smiled and agreed. We left her SUV in Princeton and took my Mustang back to Ranchero de la Serpiente, the townhouse (Spanish for Snake Ranch, but Snake Ranch is the old condo). Once there, I gave her the tour and nervously heated up leftovers for her. They were terrible, but she smiled and drank her wine.
The next risk - I took her to my bedroom and pulled her clothes off. Her body was spectacular. I ran my fingers over every inch of her, and when I touched her skin with my tongue, I could feel her tremble. Though she said it was her time of the month, and despite my confirming that, we played. I sucked on her, my finger touching her insides and tapping her tampon, and after that she sucked on me, her finger finding the opening of me and ramming deep inside me. It wasn't long before I was spurting a gallon of come into her mouth, and she swallowed every drop. What more could I ask of a girlfriend candidate?
We lay in bed, wonderfully satiated and naked and talked for hours, until the clock neared four in the morning, and reluctantly we got up and dressed. I took her to her Infiniti SUV and kissed her good-bye. I went home to my computer and took down my Match.com profile. I wanted to be exclusive with Phoebe. It felt final. Over the next few days, I wrote the women who wrote me and told them I'd found "the girl" and was off Match, hopefully permanently.
On the Fourth of July, Monday, the next day, Phoebe invited me over to her house.
Phoebe's house was a lovely townhouse decorated in blue. Dinner was steak on the grill and it was amazing, there on the deck in the sunshine. Phoebe was gorgeous and alluring. Afterward I took her upstairs and made love to her, and it was simply amazing. I slept over, and waking up with her and making love to her again was fantastic.
July 7, we went to a wine tasting party in Somerville. It seemed a meat market atmosphere, but it was good to be in a relationship. Wow, I thought, me in a relationship, a real one, for the first time since Girl 6.
Over the next week I saw her every few days, sleeping over at her house, making love to her. It was the New York City Sunday of July 17 that things began to unravel for us. Too soon Phoebe insisted I go in and meet her grown son for his birthday. I found myself at lunch with Perry, Phoebe's son, his girlfriend and Phoebe, the birthday celebration, and when the check came, Phoebe was gone. I picked up the check, but it seemed really odd that I was paying for her son's birthday lunch.
Her son clearly didn't like me, and supposedly he was the "mellow one." Phoebe had confessed that he and his brother came from two different fathers, but she declined to elaborate much, making me wonder if she'd had a marital infidelity in her first marriage. But what bothered me was that Phoebe's older son's birthday came and went, and she didn't do anything for him, saying that he'd be up on Friday July 22, and she'd catch him then. It seemed odd. Later, we had drinks with Phoebe's mom, after a sunglasses shopping episode in her mom's workplace in which Phoebe almost seemed to expect me to buy the $200 sunglasses she had fallen in love with. This time my wallet stayed in my pocket. We had a nice time with Phoebe's mom for drinks, but I found myself noticing the Amazon miniskirt wearing blonde waitress, which is unusual for me, because it just seems like if I'm in love, I don't see other women. Something about Phoebe was beginning to bother me.
The week after we didn't see each other until the 23rd. Phoebe had things to do, and Girl Zero was going to Cape May with her college pals from July 20 to July 23 while I watched my daughter. I won't let anyone I'm dating meet the baby. I don't want that for her, a revolving door of women in her memory. But at first Phoebe seemed like someone I could introduce to Girl Zero and Amanda, and my life would be normal for the first time in years. But in that interval, Phoebe seemed to get extremely emotional and upset. Perhaps she sensed me pulling back from her. Maybe she wanted me to miss her more.
Phoebe seemed to emphasize that both of us avoid touching ourselves. This "policy" would seem to be intended to enhance our sexual pleasure when we were together, but it also had the effect of making us - or at least making me - extremely horny upon being without her for a week. So Saturday July 23 was to be a big day of release for us, as we hadn't seen each other sexually since the morning of the 18th. That afternoon, she wanted to do errands. I told her she'd better meet me in the driveway, then, because if we were alone, it would be impossible to get out of the house. Instead I had to go in to find her, and I found her ironing naked. I tried to get her going, but she smiled as she said no, but she was doing almost anything to get me going, as if she wanted me crazed and horny. I complained about it, but she waved me off. After an hour of errands, she wanted drinks and dinner.
After Lambertville drinks and dinner at an Italian place there, we drove home, and Phoebe let me pull her blouse down and play with her breasts. It seemed stupid, like high school again, and this teasing reminded me of my less-than-wonderful high school girlfriend. Did she honestly think this would work?
Sex at the house wasn't as great as I thought it would be. I came hard in her throat - since when did she learn how to deep throat? I'd never been blown quite like that, and it was thrilling, but she'd hinted that she had taken classes in cock sucking, and it made me feel all the more manipulated.
That day and that evening, Phoebe began to talk about us moving in. It astonished me. I had told her I'd never wanted that. She began to complain that I wasn't available enough. She then went on to bitch that Girl Zero was too influential in my life. And that I spent too much time with my kids and wouldn't have enough time for her. When I woke on Sunday, July 24, it was to Phoebe saying we could always get adjoining townhouses with a door between them.
At dinner in Lambertville she finally opened up about her past relationships. I suppose she finally trusted me with the information, but what I learned in concert with the manipulation and her complaints about my children made me see this for what it is.
In my mind it was over. The question was - why was it over? And what would I say to people about it?
I suppose my press release on this would be:
* Infiniti Girl was tall, slender, athletic and cute
* She liked me on our first date and sparks passed during our first kiss
* Sex was dynamite with her
* She seemed unrevealing about her past
* It took a long time to get to her deeper layers
* When I did, I found some incompatibilities and concerns
* I reluctantly let her go and wish her well.
On Sunday, July 24, Phoebe left for a vacation in the Bahamas. I left her house at 11:30 in the morning after sleeping over. I was upset at saying good-bye to her, and before I left I remember looking at the stuff I'd brought over and put in a drawer she'd cleared out for me, and mentally I said good-bye to the running gear and jeans and shirts. I left and drove home, a huge headache looming as I turned over all the points above in my mind. Phoebe called perhaps a dozen times or more over the next hours, each call from her making my stomach clench. I knew I had to end it. At seven in the evening I walked to a bench in Princeton where the night before our first date I'd had an hour phone call with her, during which we'd crossed swords over philosophy. I didn't sit down, but stood as I rang her cell phone.
"Hello," she said anxiously. "Are you all right? You haven't returned my calls or picked up! You never do that to me."
"I've had a miserable headache all day," I said. "I've been under the covers waiting for it to go away. During my conscious moments I've been thinking." My tone was hard.
"What?" she said. "Are you dumping me?"
"Yes," I said. "I have to let you go."
"Why?" she nearly shouted.
"Phoebe, if in a week or two you still care about the reasons, I'll go over them with you, but I'm not going to get into it now."
"But why?"
"Listen to me. You need to know that this relationship is over. The reasons don't matter, but if they are important to you, I'll tell you later."
She started to shout, "how can you say you love me this morning and then dump me tonight?"
I hung up the phone. I walked down the street, feeling a hundred pounds lighter.
* * *
Six months later, I was Christmas shopping with Bat Girl (Girl 100, the girlfriend, "the One"), her son and my son.
Bat Girl had gone off on her own to check out furniture and the boys were somewhere behind me.
I was in a relationship, but my radar still is pretty sharp for a good looking woman, and its bells and warning alarms started going off as this tall brunette in tight jeans and high heeled boots maneuvered into weapons range, her hips swinging sexily. My eyes jumped from mile-long legs to hips to perky boobs to thin shoulders, back to legs, back to hips, up to the gleaming dark hair, back to boobs, back to boots, all in the space of a tenth of a second, and when I finally zoomed in on her face she was ten feet away, and it was Infiniti Girl, holding her jacket over her arm and a cup of Starbucks in the same hand.
For an instant I had a visual of her dousing me with the coffee, but I simply smiled and said hello. That impish grin came to her as her face lit up. I kissed her cheek. I asked how she'd been, if she were dating anyone. She said she'd just been in a relationship and it ended. I tested her. "Dumped him?" I asked. She hesitated as she answered. "Well..." I thought so, she'd been dumped, but my face showed nothing.
Finally I let her go with a "Have fun shopping." I couldn't resist letting my eyes roam on that body one last time, and I noticed she glanced just as lustfully at me. It was strange meeting a woman who has swallowed my cum, almost as if we were in a movie and we met for the first time off stage.
Bat Girl's son said, "Wow, who was that? She was HOT!"
My son rolled his eyes. "Dude, that chick was a psycho," he said.
Turns out Bat Girl had seen the whole thing. It's good when a woman is just slightly jealous. I got a great sexing that night.