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Things could not have been any worse. I just graduated from a prestigious university in New York State with a degree in journalism. I wanted to write for a major newspaper, covering world events. The problem was it was the '50's and most, okay, all newspaper editors didn't think it was a job a girl could do.

I was pissed, and even in that era, that was a term I used and used a lot.

When I was young, my father washed my mouth out with soap because of my language. Language, I learned from him, a WW II veteran. My mother said numerous times, "Holly, you need to act and talk like a lady." That pissed me off, too.

My name is Holly Pelligrino. I learned to swear in Italian, too. That way only my family knew what I was saying. My dad washed my mouth out for swearing in Italian, too.

My advisor in college talked the editor of a small newspaper in Erie, Pennsylvania to hire me. Well, he talked the editor, into hiring me because I fucked that advisor.

Yes, it was the 50's and my high school and college girlfriends freely admitted that they were saving themselves for marriage. Not me. Junior year in college I started dating Rocco Gianelli. My parents thought he was god's gift. I thought his cock was god's gift. He thought my pussy, and eventually my mouth were god's gift.

So, when I complained and whined to my advisor, he tried to console me. "Professor Mann, I'll do anything. I may be a girl, but I can write. You know that."

"Holly, you were one of my best students, but you need to understand the realities of the modern world, but if you really mean you'll do anything . . .

"Anything." I wasn't thinking anything anything. Professor Mann must have been over fifty.

"Why don't we discuss this over a glass of wine at my apartment tonight?"

Now I understood. I smiled. "Professor, I think that's a marvelous idea. Shall we say, 7 o'clock?"

I've seen the way girls dress when they go out at night today. I thought I dressed sexy; sexy for the 1950's, but no one would think it was sexy today. My blouse was one size smaller than usual; it looked like my 34CCs were popping out and it was low cut; showing off some cleavage. My skirt was knee length; almost scandalous.

Professor Mann met me at the door with a glass of wine. How thoughtful. Maybe he thought he'd have to get me drunk to take advantage of me. He didn't. If he'd get me a job at a newspaper, I'd willingly jump in bed with him.

An hour later, after the professor had called the editor of the Erie newspaper, Jonathan Albright, we were in bed and I was thanking him with my mouth.

While dating Rocco Gianelli, I'd become very talented if I do say so myself. To Rocco's credit, he gave me lots of opportunities to practice. He didn't have to talk me into it, and neither did Professor Mann.

"Hmmmmm, hmmmmmm, hmmmmmm," I sucked. It was relatively easy compared to Rocco's long, fat Italian sausage. By that I meant, I could take all of it in my mouth.

I would have gladly swallowed his cum, however, "Holly, you are marvelous, maybe another time you can finish, but I haven't made love to a girl your age since I was your age."

Earlier, I'd taken off my bra for him, now I took off my sexy garter belt and stockings. Given my ancestry, you probably know that I had to

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