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I flew down; my first time on a plane. Back then, it wasn't easy. It took two days and even then I had to rent a car in Jacksonville. They didn't want to rent to a girl, but a few phone calls from UPI in New York got it done. The maps didn't even have this place called Cape Canaveral on it. The only hotel I could find was really a run-down, pre-World War II road-side motel.

I was the only woman there and the mom-and-pop owners were skeptical of my reasons for being there. A girl reporter?

They'd heard there was some strange stuff going on over at the Cape, but couldn't imagine that it was news worthy. "Missy, I'm going to keep an eye on you; I got a feeling you're up to no good. We won't have any of that stuff here," Mrs. Peterson, the owner said. She called to her husband, "Paul, you stay away from Room 17, you hear me. I'll clean it myself." I was sure she thought I was a prostitute.

You'll be disappointed to hear that there was no juicy sex story to tell. Well, not right away.

No other news organization or newspaper covered what was going on here in Florida, and those government people gave me limited access even threatening to jail me if I trespassed.

Every other day, I submitted a story. It was exciting. Mr. Hillsdale was right about the other part: it was indeed a vacation. For a girl from central New York, where it wasn't unusual to get five or six feet of snow in January, Florida was like nothing I'd ever experienced. I hadn't thought about that when I flew down here. I had to buy a swimsuit.

Ten days after I arrived at Cape Canaveral, I was back in New York. I'd formulated a plan. I was convinced that this N.A.S.A. thing was real. Yes, the United States could put a man in space and even on the moon. I needed to convince Jim Hillsdale to send me back to Florida as UPI's resident reporter on the scene.

It didn't go well at first. Jim was skeptical, as he should have been. I'd had it in the back of my mind what Mr. Albright told me, "Holly, If you're smart and discerning you should use it to get ahead." Of course, he meant my delicious pussy; apparently, a pussy like no other. At least Professor Mann, Mr. Marino and Mr. Albright thought so.

I threw it out there. "Mr. Hillsdale, I was in the room when Mr. Albright told you that I was the most delicious girl."

I think he was shocked.

"Until I can get settled as you know, I'm staying at the Uptown Inn. It has a lovely bar. Why don't we meet there at 5 PM?"

He stuttered. I'm not sure he expected what I was proposing, but I was just as sure that he knew exactly what I was proposing. I was confident that Mr. Albright would not have mentioned it to Mr. Hillsdale unless he knew he was susceptible.

"Ummm, I'll have to let my wife know that there's a big story and I probably won't be home. Holly, would I be right to tell her that I won't be home all night?"

I smiled. "All night, sounds about right." By the way, the fact that he was married didn't bother me. Mr. Albright was married, and his wife seemed to encourage him to find pussy where he could.

We weren't in the bar at the Uptown Inn more than a few minutes, "Holly. I've had reporters who are new in town stay here, but I've never seen any of the rooms. I'd like to make sure that I'm not putting you up in a dump."

I took his hand. The Uptown Inn only had two floors. I was on the second. We walked arm-in-arm up the stairs.

My pussy was already juicy. I'd never heard the word horny back then, but that's what I was. Horny for his cock in my pussy; horny for his cock in my mouth; horny for his tongue in my pussy.

I didn't have to wait long, and I don't want to say that I was disappointed. Jim Hillsdale's cock was nothing like Matteo Marino's long, fat Italian sausage. His tongue was nothing like Jonathan Albright's.

What he did have was a cock and a tongue. The last time I had a cock was Matteo's. The last time I had my pussy eaten was almost a month ago in bed with Mr. Albright. A cock and a tongue was what I needed. Forty-five-year-old Jim Hillsdale had the cock and tongue I needed.

He wasn't very romantic, but his average size cock fucked me good. The second time, when I got on top, and bounced, I was certain he enjoyed my tits.

In the morning, before we left for the office, I gave that average size cock a blowjob. After Matteo's, even though it had been a while, I was, not to brag, a great cocksucker.

"I see what Johnny meant about you," he smiled, as I wiped some of his cream from the corner of my mouth.

In the office, I was putting the finishing touches on a feature article I was writing on Cape Canaveral. Jim had his editing duties to perform, but found time to take me aside. "Mrs. Hillsdale believes I have a late conference and am staying in the city tonight. Holly, do I have a late conference tonight?"

"You do, and I suspect it'll go on all night." I smiled and my panties were damp in anticipation.

It didn't last all night that is. You know even the most virile of men can't last all night, but it did satisfy my on-going horniness (again, not a word used at the time).

In my hotel room, Jim took me in his arms. "Did you say, you were right in the room listening when Johnny Albright extolled your virtues?"

"I did say that, and I was in the room. I don't think he was extolling my virtues, he was . . ."

"If I recall, he said, ‘Holly is the most delicious girl you can imagine.' That's hard to believe."

I was getting out of my clothes by this time. Blouse, bra. Jim hadn't spent much time on them last night except when I was bouncing on his cock. Then my garter belt, stockings, skirt and panties. "It may be hard to believe, Jim. See for yourself." I got on top of the bed and spread my legs. "Not just see," I giggled.

Jim was not in the class of Jonathan Albright as a pussy eater, but he was good enough to have me begging for his cock; by that I mean he did make my cum and more than once.

And when I say begging, I mean, "please, let me suck it, Jim. My mouth wants your cock; my mouth needs your cock."

Fifteen minutes later as I was bobbing up and down on it; "Holly, if eating your sweet pussy gets you to suck my cock like that, I'll eat it all the time." To say I bobbed faster and faster would be an understatement.

When I finished, I crawled up to his chest. "Holly, I have to admit, I don't need an incentive to eat your pussy. Johnny Albright was wrong, it's not just delicious, it's the most divine pussy I've ever tasted. Like ambrosia."

"I'm so glad you enjoyed it. You know, Jim, it's yours whenever you want it, but Jim, wouldn't it be worth it for you to come down to Florida for a taste?" I giggled.

"You are a sly one." He felt up my tits.

"Speaking of going down." I slid down between his legs on my knees.

Over the next few days, Jim Hillsdale's tongue became best friends with my clitoris. "Scrumptious, delectable, sweeter than the sweetest Georgia peach," he mumbled with his face in my big, dark bush and his tongue in my pussy.

And that's how I ended up living in one of the nicest apartments near Cape Canaveral and it had a pool, too. A luxury in the 1950's.

Don't get me wrong; my work ethic was beyond reproach. Many of my stories ended up on the front pages of newspapers across the country with my by-line.

Some of my stories were the result of good old fashion reporting.

Others were the result of, well, see for yourself.

TO BE CONTINUED

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