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Busty Babes 2
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Busty Babes - Vol 2.iso
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1monica.txt
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1993-10-08
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25KB
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418 lines
Almost every college freshman I knew or heard of was cooler
than me -- not to mention that they all had lost their cherries.
Except me. Hell, I hadn't even gotten a good case of stink
finger, unless you can count scratching your own ass.
Instead of spending that first year getting out there and
copping some actual pussy like the rest of the known world, I
continued doing what had occupied my last year and a half of high
school: shooting up at the dark ceiling at night, aiming between
the legs of the hovering mental image of a writhing, moaning,
very erotic Monica.
My roommate Darrell never gave up. Every couple weeks he would
try to get me to go out with a friend of a friend. `Guaranteed
squat' or `Best head in Lambda Chi' he'd tout with enthusiasm.
But I always found a reason to go to the library or stay in the
dorm. Yeah, I know how crazy that sounds. Go figure. 'Course, I
didn't end my freshman year screaming and trying to tear the
urinal out of the wall when I took a piss like Darrell did. I
guess it's true that God takes care of angels and idiots, and I
know that I'm no angel.
I had no idea what had happened at home since I had left for
school, but the atmosphere between Dad and Monica when I came
back for the summer was, for the first time in my awareness,
uncomfortable. After the first few days, Dad seemed to always
have to work late, and Monica and I just sort of had to look
after each other in his extended absences.
I didn't mind. I continued to worship the heavenly body my
father had somehow hooked into marriage during my junior year in
high school.
I remember the Tuesday with perfect clarity -- like it was this
morning. Monica lay on a deck lounger in my favorite peach
bikini, baking to a gorgeous bronze while hiding behind
sunglasses and a magazine. I spent an hour hiding my boner while
keeping my face turned toward her, staring from the tiny slits of
my squinting eyes. `God, you're wonderful,' I kept zapping her
with ESP. I couldn't see her eyes, but pretended that she was
watching me with a matching hunger. And receiving my messages.
"Warren's going to Cleveland this afternoon," she said
suddenly, wetting a finger on her pink tongue to turn a page of
her mag. "For a two-day seminar. Did he tell you?"
"Nah," I mumbled. I turned and sat up, then slid into the
chill water of the pool in a single motion. When I came
sputtering up near her chaise, I grinned at her. "Course, it
won't be like I'll miss him -- no more'n he's home these days,
anyway." It wasn't a kind thing to say, but Monica didn't
comment.
I made a few laps and got fairly presentable before climbing
back up on the deck. Then I sat there beside Monica, kicking the