I'd put off calling Tony for many months because...I was chicken. Completely Big Bird® yellow.

        A brainy yet gorgeous man, who's nearly too handsome yet doesn't act it, a well-turned man, with a very neat, soft to touch, black musketeer / cowpoke mustache and goatee? An actor with a TV series, doing well in the ratings? Which all sounds a little too good, when you think about it. I do. I think a lot. Too much, I've been told, by practically everyone; except Tony.

        I was "chicken", because, lately, just thinking about him made my walnut brown nipples too sensitive and my swollen, "dewing" crotch overly self-conscious. I couldn't stop thinking about him; I didn't want to.

        "Sorry, my mind wandered," became my mantra at work and at the family's, as my mental AND body arousing, Tony preoccupations became entire reveries. Long, wide awake, Technicolor, dreamvisions of making love ... fucking — which is the same thing, with the right person. Loving ... fucking with my touch-starved — yet still particular about who touches it--skin against his hot, masculine-scented, dark body.

        Did I mention he has brains ... "real" brains ... and is a truly first-rate person ... in a devilish way? Even my irreverently crazy family and friends love him — all my favorite things in one man; scary, isn't it?

        Speaking of tongues, which we weren't, no one's ever kissed me better. I'd truly decided that electrifying kisses were only in fiction and other women's lies; so, what would I come to, if he ever got his softly whiskered, gently insistent lips and hot, articulate tongue down onto my peekaboo, light mulberry-shaded clit?

        My problem?

        Well, my dreams and mind, when all alone, have taken my body to ... great ecstasies, yet my same body has ALWAYS choked, in the clinches of unsatisfying "real" sex.

        In younger years, some of it was uneducated inexperience, misinformed by fictional hype and just being afraid to ... let nature run its wild course ... when a man like Tony ... or not so like Tony touched me. But, not all of it was in my mental head.

        Doctors really don't know everything.

        When puberty struck, about age nine, I'd get tingly just sitting next to a boy, then something.... I stopped tingling; skin, cunt, hell, I couldn't feel my own tits. Well, I could feel them; but, my body felt like I was being touched through a thick, Cleveland winter coat-some pressure but no excitement. That lack of physical arousal overtook me, without warning and stayed for many, many years. No matter the guy or my love interest.

        However, this past year and a half, since getting Tony chronically on the brain, despite eluding him, my physical ... malady has, just as mysteriously, left me.

        Masturbation aside, for me, getting wet, staying aroused or climaxing with a man, or simply getting two fingers comfortably inside me, let alone a man-sized dick ... had always been a problem. No matter how I tried to "relax", "let go", "try harder to get into the feel of things", or other such advice drivel. Usually male.

        Sorry, I bitch.

        Which all means, I was past overdue for a good fucking and really hoped I had a chance of getting something out of an intimate relationship besides feeling I'd been merely sterilely hugged. If I were going to fail again, after a riderless ... decade out of my disappointing saddle, I decided I wanted to fall from the high, strong back of this particular, blue-ribbon prized stallion.

        So, I'd choked up my nerve and phoned Tony, who sounded glad to hear from me and didn't mock search his mind and say, "Neale? With an extra 'e'?" Instead, he positively ... squealed. In a manly, gleeful way.

        Mention "Deliverance" and I'm stopping this tale right here.

        He sounded like he was trying to contain himself, and was "very glad" I called and "would be more than happy to meet" me at Piggy's on The Square.

        He's quick. In the unexpected, light rain, despite my being quite early--in my vain attempt to beat him there and acclimate myself before his arrival, he arrived first. Piggy's, unfortunately, had had a sudden kitchen sewage flood and was closed for the night. It, also, abruptly downpoured and was a long way back to his car.

        Mine was in the shop and all the cabs were ... elsewhere.

        Plus, the Square is wide open, without awnings. We got soaked, and it got cold. I'm lousy, healthwise, when I'm soaked and cold, and was considering that my girlfriend was right about "coincidences" and that "water means emotions".

        But, does that mean sewers mean deep, dirty, or backed up emotions? Or rain means heavenly emotions? Or, that my emotions were an uncontrolled mess, and "acting out in physical form" ... disintegrating my world; making me a drenched pussy, no longer dressed to impress, with nowhere to go, except back home?

        Home, however, was cut off by flooded streets, downed powerlines, and by police cruisers warding us off; therefore, the road to spare clothes and warmth at my gallery — "Neale's ... ALL NUDE Photos and Prints" — a few blocks from home was also off limits.

        By the way, there's a sweetly nasty, old couple, who come in biweekly to call me a "filthy pornographer". I get new stock ... biweekly.

        Anyway, I was trembling, Tony was afraid I'd "freeze and shatter into bits, like freeze-dried coffee", and suggested taking me to the only "safe, dry, no dress standards place" that wasn't off limits--his place.

        I sighed. Deeply.

        Not only was I now poster girl for "Les Miserables©," but my slinky "dry clean only," embarrassingly-stuck-to-me, silk blend outfit had died.

        Did I mention the snappy yuppie sedan that doused us both, especially me? A girl could get a complex, or something.

        Plus, I was on my way to the homebase of the one man (whose charmeuse shirt and linen slacks were sticking to him quite nicely) ... the one man, who made me so aroused and nervous, I could practically puke, or faint. Or both.

        How attractive and erotic is that?

                    * * * *

        Tony's new place suited him; masculine but not annoyingly so and smelled nice, instead of like a men's dorm or locker room with that awful, horrid reek not unusual to others' of his species dwelling places.

        He contemplated what I could change into; his sister had been staying over, but was gone now, and hadn't left anything useful behind; besides, we were "very different body types, anyway."

        Which he said in a very complimentary manner.

        He'd been thinking verbally, while rubbing my arms and back, as my chilled trembling shifted to slightly aroused trembling. I was glad he couldn't see my face.

        Oh, geez, a mirror!

        "Gotta get you out of these sopping clothes, Neale. You're not warming up fast enough."

        "That's what all the men say."

        Oh. I say stupid things when I'm erotically stressed. Tony looked at me — still a charmer, even drenched in acid rain — and silently, teasingly waggled his brows. Smart man, keeps his oddball comments to himself.

        I really have to learn that.

        "I'll get you something of mine to wear, if you don't mind."

        Mind, mind, why would I mind? I mutely nodded, as he showed me the bathroom.

        I'm not a shower person; but, I was so cold, I stripped right away and jumped in. I also forgot the door was cracked open, he'd meant to come right back; but, his phone had rung tons of minutes, well, probably only tons of cold, shivering seconds ago. He talked, evidently on a cordless, as his voice moved away, room to room, while I rinsed off crud and date makeup — he might as well see the real me, instead of smudged me.

        I was still a little chilled in the warm shower fog, then realized shutting the door would help, when he bopped in with a robe for me ... wearing only a change of boxer briefs.

        "A change", because they were dry, except where touching his rain dampened, delightfully lumpy, and becoming lumpier, masculine places.

        I stared. He stared. Until. I realized he had more to stare at than I did; he realized it too, and slipped out of the briefs.

        I had a quick vision of passing out, hitting my head, and missing everything, yet being very happy in self-inflicted death with what I'd seen of him. But, like my Mom's old Peggy Lee record sang, "I thought I'd die, but I didn't©," as he stepped in with me.

        We ... awkwardly, laughingly maneuvered around each other, as he rinsed off, while endeavoring to never take his eyes off me. And vice versa. Becoming self-conscious, I stepped back. He pulled me to him and I felt his penis, like hot stone against my belly — a sensation, I most definitely felt, which nearly stopped my heart, as blatant desire for him radiated through me, and his wonderful mouth clamped on mine, short-circuiting my ever too busy brain, as my breathing changed.

        Pleased with my arousal, he continued giving me his full attention, as his warm, strong, soap-lathered hands caressed me. Occasionally, he'd rub his body against mine. About when his attentions were becoming too much ... he rinsed me. I wanted to touch him in turn but held back....

        I'm an obsessive hesitator, until I eventually let go; then — BAM! I'm also an idiot, I was already naked and skin to skin with the object of my desire ... yet.... Maybe a lobotomy...?

        He noticed my ... indecision or he was just craving me to touch him, and whispered in my ear ... his hot breath and spectacular voice boring inside my mind.

        "Wash me."

        I thought of that same message fingerscribbled on dirty vehicles and mentioned it. I was stalling. He took my finger to invisibly stencil those words across his gently hairy, broad chest, then handed me the shampoo.

        We had to laugh, at a point, because there was far too much lather everywhere, as I made foam creatures out of him, while he'd splatter me with suds. But, when I abruptly became serious, and finally stroked his balls and magnificent dick with my soapy, lustful palms ... we rinsed off. And, he turned me around.

        His penis bumped heavy against the small of my back and top of my sensitive asscheeks. He turned off the distracting water, with its obscuring steam, as I used the tiled wall to support my "weak at the knees" symptoms. Tony stooped, and I instinctively raised up on my toes, as he pushed his smooth cockhead between my thighs, wetting himself in my lust. He moved between my swollen labia, to press deliciously against my clit, while his fingers combed through my pubes to massage my hairy mound ... giving me ... sensation from both sides.

        His cock moved back until my hungry, slippery cunt, without hesitation, gasped open to have him and I purposefully stepped back. My snug, yet, eager welcome pleased him. None of me resisted him, and he slid inside me, as I took him.

        No fuss, no muss.

        I felt his beautiful cockhead drag, full length, along the newly sensitive, slick, muscular walls of my vagina.

        It scared me! I adored it!! I'd never felt.... And, I'd, frankly, never liked the sound of a man panting and growling over me, until ... him.

        He nearly pulled out of me. I'd've cried or bitched very loudly, if he had.

        Even the vacuum his dick's absence left felt ... divine. He pushed in, a bit at a time. A little in. A little out. A little ... deliciously around. And around.

        I ... love ... screwing.

        He pushed on my G spot, again, outside and in, as I held his hand there and shoved and screwed back to have him completely inside me. He pumped and whispered to me, making me whimper for wanting him even more, before he became still, steadying himself against the misty wall tiles, as I, unrestrainedly, hardfucked back against him and his throbbing, very alive cock.

        Fucking was never like this. I ... love ... fucking Tony!

        I finally strained against him, clutching a deep growl from him, until his white lava and my own hot lust waters flowed from me.

        We bearhugged. His hard cock still in me, as his words, also, penetrated me.

        "I love you, Neale." I remained still; my body'd already answered.

                    —00—