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I did date on occasion my second year, but I was very particular. A man would get a good night kiss on the first date. If he asked for a second date, I'd allow him to play with my breasts.

That's all. If he fondled them like Mr. Hansen; if he knew what he was doing and there was a third date, he'd get more. However, there'd be no fucking until he demonstrated that he knew how to take care of my pussy with his tongue.

If he didn't know how or he didn't even try when I made it clear that's what I needed, I'd make some excuse that I had to get home.

I didn't have many third dates. That was okay with me, but there were nights when I cried myself to sleep. I wanted a lover bad; I wanted a good lover bad.

Numerous times I thought about calling Mr. Hansen and taking a bus from Dallas home to Mississippi for a weekend of fucking, sucking and having my pussy ravaged by his tongue.

I never did.

After graduation, I was offered a job at a hospital in Dallas and decided to get serious about dating. From my roommates and girlfriends in nursing school and my own experiences I'd learned that no matter what, I wasn't likely to get a second date if I was unwilling to fuck on the first one. I guess that's the way it was in the big city.

It was a decade of disappointment after disappointment. Maybe I was the problem. I mean I compared every guy with Mr. Hansen.

I compared the way they did my breasts, the way they ate my pussy, if they even bothered, and the way they fucked. None measured up. Finally, I compared the size of their cocks.

Like I said, I was disappointed. None measured up, and when it came to the size of their cocks, I mean that literally.

Sometimes I barely felt their cocks inside me, and as easily I'd learned to swallow all of Mr. Hansen's big cock, I had no trouble with any of the few guys I gave blowjobs.

To be honest. There weren't that many of them that I thought worthy of my mouth. On the other hand, I was still waiting for a guy who could do my pussy with his tongue like Mr. Hansen.

Fifteen years after leaving my hometown I decided to move back. Well, decided is not exactly true. My mom died and my dad was sick. I needed to come home and take care of him. There was now plenty of room in the big old house. My sisters were out on their own and my brother had his own place with Ira. My Uncle Theo and his wife now lived somewhere in Florida.

I was now thirty-eight years old, single and horny as hell.

TO BE CONTINUED

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