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to announce that it should be here Monday, have a nice weekend. Oh, and don't forget to have my Cashier's Check ready to hand to the driver when he finally gets there.

Yeah, a Cashier's Check and a letter from my lawyer for breach of contract, asshole. Except I don't know any lawyers out here, because I just flew in myself three days ago, and the only things I have in my new house are, in alphabetical order: an ashtray, a few clothes, my laptop and a mattress.

Okay Chrissie, calm down. I remember what my mother used to say when things took a turn for the semi-disastrous: "we'll look back on this a week from now, and laugh about it." And maybe we will. But right now, I have two choices. I can stay in the empty house and seethe, or I can wander around my new hometown, and see what there is to see.

Which is how I found myself inside one of those junkstores that you never see anymore, the kind that disappeared around the same time as e-bay convinced everybody that they were sitting on a fortune in rusty nails and balls of string. The entire space was wall-to-wall mismatched bookcases, each piled high with teetering heaps of - what? Rubbish. Crap. Junk. Torn magazines, broken board games, armless dolls and chipped teacups. The sort of place, in other words, that I love.

Even the proprietor looked well-worn, an old man with a shock of white hair, seated in a wicker chair at a desk piled high with more papers, who glanced up as I juggled with a pile of old Nancy Drew hardbacks. "You doing okay over there?"

"I'm alright." In my mind, I was already trying to recall the dimensions of every room in my new home; match that with the size of the furniture I was shipping in, and figure out if there was any place at all I could fit: a beautiful 1930s radio set... a seriously distressed bedside table... a chest of drawers the size of a closet - oh, they knew how to make furniture back then, that's for sure. Now they just make disposable shelving, and I made a resolution there and then. No more chipboard, no more melamine, no more self-assembly superstore garbage. The moment that stuff comes off the truck (assuming the truck ever comes), it can go straight into the garbage. If I'm going to furnish a house, I'm going to furnish it properly. And this was the store that would get me started. Is that a four poster bed over there?

The old man was still speaking. "Well, if I can help you find anything, let me know. Not," he broke off with a laugh, "that I know where anything is, myself."

I smiled back at him. "Actually... I was wondering, do you deliver?" I explained about the move, and his smile just grew wider. "Sure, whatever you want. Scribble your address down while I'm thinking about it, then show me what you have your eyes on." He thrust a battered notebook towards me; "I'll send the boy over with the van. Tomorrow early afternoon be good for you?"

Now it was my turn to sound delighted. "That'd be perfect. Thanks so much."

I spent the rest of the day and the following morning walking through my vacant rooms, planning what was going to go where. Of course I'd done that already, but that was with my old furniture. The new stuff... the new old stuff... would bring an entire new complexion to the house; even the bedroom needed to be rethought. By the time my doorbell chimed a little before one, I'd even started thinking about redecorating the place with wallpaper. Paint? You can stick that with the chipboard.

The doorbell rang a little after one. I opened the door to six-plus foot of shyly smiling 20-something muscle, although my first impressions (he looked like Jethro from The Beverley Hillbillies) were shattered when he opened his mouth to speak. I've met Ivy League professors who sounded coarse by comparison and couldn't help but wonder how somebody who'd obviously been extraordinarily highly educated, wound up hauling junk for a rundown store in the back end of town?

I got part of my answer immediately. "My father said you'd be expecting me?"

I nodded and stepped onto the stoop alongside him. The van was piled high and, for a moment, I was shocked, Did I really buy all that? In the bright light of a warm fall afternoon, it looked a lot dingier than I remembered. An awful lot. Inside the house, though, its old luster returned - all the more so after I made a tentative swipe at a few of the pieces with some Old English. Jethro was doing pretty good as well, marching up the stairs with half a bed on his back, even calling down to ask if I wanted him to build the frame, hang the drapes, insert the mattress ....

We chatted while he worked. His name was Simon (although it certainly didn't suit him) and, far from Ivy League, he'd attended the same local school as every other kid in town - the demeanor that I'd put down to money and education came, instead, from having parents who placed good manners ahead of every other consideration in life. Bubbling beneath that so-polite exterior, though, there was a sense of fun that was all the more attractive because it was so unexpected. Like, for instance, when he tipped my old mattress onto its side, ready to heave it onto the bedframe, and quipped "I expect this old thing could tell a few tales?"

What did he say? For a moment I was caught completely off-guard, but I recovered myself quickly. "Maybe," I murmured. "But probably not as many as my kitchen table."

Now it was his turn to pause, but he, too, recovered delightfully. "I look forward to seeing it, then. I suppose that's on the truck as well?"

"That and the rest of my life," I sighed. "Whatever happened to customer service?"

Jethro shrugged. "What planet did you move here from? What does it matter to them if one customer gets pissed off? There's millions more where you came from, and even if every disgruntled victim banded together, there'd still be millions more who'd carry on using them. That's why I will never deal with a national company unless I have to. Shop local, because they're the ones who care about their reputation." He paused, and then, "tell you what, though. If you really are stuck, you could always come over to my apartment to watch television."

Ouch! Do really I look so pathetic that I don't even merit a decent chatting up? "Thanks, but no; I'll probably just stay here and..." I was going to say "read a book," but I'd already finished the three paperbacks I'd brought with me. He didn't know that, though, so I said it anyway, and was pleased to see a shadow of disappointment pass across his face. It matched the one that I was feeling - phrased a little less peremptorily, a night of TV would have been rather welcome. Especially if it ran late....

Funny thing about moving long distances, to a town you've only visited twice. You think you've covered all the bases - you've switched the phone and cable over, changed your address on your magazine subscriptions, arranged everything that you can possibly think of. But there's one thing you can't do till you're actually out there, and meeting people, and it's probably the most important of all. You can't call up a friend and go out for the evening. Or stay in.

"On second thoughts, though," I began. "I could use a television here. How about, once we're done with all this, we go back to the store, I'll pick out one of the TVs you have there, and then you could run it over later and we'll order in a pizza?"

His face lit up immediately. "Better still, let's order two. And I'll bring the wine."

Wine and pizza? Why the hell not?

And that, give or take a little friendly flirting as the evening wore on, is how I ended up spread-eagled naked on my newly-delivered four poster bed, with two fingers probing deep inside my pussy, and my mouth clamped hard around one small, well-formed nipple. My tongue was dancing, and I'd already noticed that the more sensations I sent coursing through his nips, the more he fed back through those long, hard fingers.

I couldn't wait to play that same sensation on his cock, although, as a light moan escaped his lips, I wondered how just long it would be before he even allowed me to glimpse it, let alone caress it. In the hour or so since we came upstairs, our lips locked together all the way from the living room, he'd made it clear that he wanted to remain in total control. Sure he encouraged everything I did, with a body that squirmed and arched to the slightest touch, but never once did he allow my hands to stray any further south than the waistband of the briefs that he was obstinately still wearing.

I wondered, at first, if there was something "wrong" down there, something he didn't want me to see. But the tenting of his underwear soon knocked that notion from my head, and he did so again when, positioning himself between my open thighs, he began to slowly stroke my pussy lips with the still-enclosed head of his cock.

I gasped, shuddered, cried out; he silenced me with a kiss and then began stroking himself across my body, shifting his weight and position as he maneuvered that tantalizing bulge across my belly, around my breasts, against my nipples. I inhaled deeply, catching my breath and hoping to catch a trace of his scent at the same time. He looked at me, then inched himself closer to my face. "Smells good, eh?"

"Come closer and I'll let you know," I answered, raising my head a little, but he jerked back. "Not yet," was all he said, but I swear, those words made me even hotter than I already was. But not so hot as when he slipped back below my waist and, ducking his head, enclosed my entire mound in his mouth, and started sucking me inside.

There was no finesse, no technique, no careful teasing out of the myriad sensations that a warm, wet pussy holds in store. But feeling my body being slurped into his was astonishing regardless, a sense of being rendered absolutely weightless at the same time as every nerve-end in the area cried out for its own special attention.

I writhed, half of me desperate to unlock his jaw and have him twist his tongue inside me instead, and half of me equally desperate to force more of my body into his face. But Jethro was relentless, sucking harder and harder, until I felt as if my entire pussy had been branded with a gargantuan hickey. Then he let go and as his fingers slid in, every fiber of my body relaxed and, totally without warning, I came, latching my lips onto his nipple as I did so, and then biting it hard as his fingers kept drilling me.

It was over as soon as it began, a shockwave that exploded, then receded so suddenly that it could have been a sneeze if it hadn't felt so fantastic. And when his head dipped again, for I'd swear he didn't even notice what had happened, I was ready for him. My legs wrapped around his neck, and my cunt was pressed so hard against his face that I wondered whether he could even breath - or if I even cared.

My hips bucked, riding his face while my hands forced his head down harder, and my breath was coming in loud gasps and cries. And when I felt it rising up inside me once again, I tensed every muscle while the pressure built and built; and then a scream and a cataclysmic shudder that almost sent him flying. The look on his face, though, let me know straight away that - like the cliché says - it was as good for him as it was for me. "That," he confirmed, as he wiped his dripping face, "was sensational."

I laughed. "I think you had a lot to do with it as well," I said - and it was true. Jethro not only enjoyed bringing me off like that, he let me know how much he enjoyed it, and that's the biggest turn-on of all. I looped my hands beneath his armpits, pulled him up towards me and, as we lay face to face, and I breathed in my juices as they dried in his hair, I traced my fingers down his body, through the matted hair that coated his chest, down the taut skin of his belly, and - finally! - beneath the band of his underwear.

He did not move, he did not struggle. Sitting up, I started folding back the fabric. He raised his ass slightly, and the briefs slipped away. What the hell was he hiding it for? His cock was hard, it was huge, it was beautiful. Now it was my turn to show him how happy I was.

I let my hand linger. I could feel the blood pumping beneath my palm, and the incredible heat that he was kicking out. My body ached to feel him inside me, but I'd waited a long time for this moment. I was going to savor it.

Slowly, I kissed his chest. I'm not normally a fan of heavy body hair, but somehow it matched my mood - new home, new furniture, new Chrissie. My tongue traced through the wiry forest, then slipped into the clearing at the side of his stomach. I kissed his belly button, tapping it with the tip of my tongue as I swirled a drop of saliva inside.

Now I could smell him, the thick musk rising from his loins. His cock twitched impatiently as I lay my head on his stomach, gazing down at the dark eye that gazed back at me. His helmet looked huge from that angle, a thick meaty mass, dark red staining to purple. I wondered how it would feel to bite down on it, and whether he would turn away in pain, or cry out in pleasure? Maybe later. For now, all I wanted to do was cherish it. And make it last for as long as he'd kept me waiting.

I turned; his eyes were glued to me, excitedly, expectantly. I flipped around, to crouch between his legs, traced my fingertips over his ball bag. He gasped, and I grasped his cock, sliding it up my belly and then bent forward to touch the tip to my breasts.

I worked up some saliva and let it drip from my lips to fall onto his glans, massaging it into the skin with one finger. My breasts aren't huge, but they are full, and they swallowed his shaft until just the head was visible above them. Clamping my hands against my chest, I rocked slowly, savoring the warm hardness against my skin, feeling his excitement building. How long, a voice in my head was asking, could he keep it up before he came - and where would he want to be when that happened?

He seemed to know exactly what I was thinking. Gently, he disengaged himself, then placed one had on either side of my face, looking at me with mock seriousness. "Do you mind that we're not at the kitchen table?"

"Quite honestly, I wouldn't care if we were on the bathroom floor," I replied. "Besides, it's always nice to try out a new bed when you first bring it in."

He laughed. "Well, we're certainly doing that. The question is, will the kitchen table be jealous?"

I sensed he was stalling. "Well, we could always pretend that nothing happened, and then once it arrives..."

"It's just that I didn't bring anything with me."

For a moment, I didn't know what he was talking about. I had his hard cock in my hand - he'd brought that, hadn't he? And then I realized... condoms. Wow, he was well-mannered. Most men would have just stuck it in without a word, and assumed the girl had taken care of everything. I thought for a moment - should I just say "what the hell?" Or should I bow to his considerate nature? "Yeah, maybe you're right. We should wait until the table gets here." But in the meantime... "in the meantime, we can hardly leave you in this condition, can we?"

He was still looking at me, uncertainty bright in his eyes, and I had another thought. He really didn't know what to say, let alone what to do. I flashed, briefly, on all that had transpired this evening - the peculiar way he'd gone down on me (I wasn't complaining, just observing); his reluctance to let me see inside his pants... I doubted that he was a virgin, but he was certainly inexperienced, and he was very shy as well. Well, there's only one sure-fire cure for that.

"Okay," I told him. "I'm going to do something now, and I think you know what it is. But, when I start, I want you to tell me exactly what it is I'm doing. Okay?"

His face a mask of bewilderment, he nodded.

"And then I want you to tell me if there's anything special that you'd like me to be doing. Agreed?"

Another nod, and I kissed his forehead. Sometimes, if a guy's this shy, it helps to make them "talk dirty" - apparently, it breaks whatever barriers might be holding them back . It can also be a phenomenal turn-on, especially if you know that what they're saying is something they've probably never uttered aloud before.

That's the category I'd have put Jethro in. But only for a few moments of disbelieving silence. Then, in a voice so shaky that I thought it might break, I heard him gasp.

"I don't believe it... please don't stop...."

"What am I doing?"

"You're sucking my cock!"

Hey, the boy's a fast learner!

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