An early experiment and it shows. This was going to be the start of a series that never got off the ground, in part because it’s pardon the expression, a one-trick pony. -M
WM—Healthy, clean, handsome, IQ165, offers procreative services to responsible women. No strings. Legal, medical, and privacy guarantees. Serious inquiries only. Personals Box 34092
The IQ thing is no boast, really. I have a few dozen patents under either my name or those of cooperatives that I head. They are certainly lucrative, but most are for industrial processes that wouldn’t interest you. You likely haven’t heard of me. I spend the necessary small effort to stay out of spotlights.
I have an adequate sense of the marketplace and how my ventures figure in it. This means I don’t and won’t lack materially or financially. Nevertheless I charge significantly for my ‘services’. Had I been more normal, I suppose I may easily have fallen into the “International Playboy” or “Decadent Aristocrat” stereotypes—and from the introduction above, I’m sure you still have your doubts.
The ad might easily look like that of a gigolo or some kinky swinger. It’s neither. Eccentricities, by and large, go with the territory of genius. Needless to say, false humility is not one of mine. My particulars run to the sensual world. I love women. I love making love to women. I love impregnating women. It is the single thing I have enjoyed most intensely and consistently in my life. I have the means to indulge myself, and this, though it may surprise you, is the most successful route I have found so far.
* * * *
‘Amy’ almost backed out on our first meeting—at a reasonably posh hotel in Seattle (not where she lived). It was almost as tacky and awkward as a bar-pickup and she nearly ran after a strained introduction. Once the dry legal business end of the arrangement is complete, the women I go with are no longer ‘clients.’ The word is too economically slanted, and does not do justice to the true nature of our interaction. ‘Lover’ also doesn’t fit, certainly at the sometimes awkward or uncomfortable get-to-know stage, if there is one (some arrangements don’t have that at all). Amy was the woman I’d come to meet, and that was pretty much it, for now. I have learned how to put my new acquaintances at ease. Over a drink or two and light conversation, Amy built her courage up enough to move forward.
We went to my hotel suite. I had set it up well, with candles, dinner in, wine and music. Amy was surprised that ‘business’ was not the first order of the night, and relaxed as we sat down.
She was a twenty-eight-year-old romantic who ‘had not yet found her soul mate,’ but ached for a child. Amy was petite but curvy, with long straight black hair tied back, framing a strong, heart-shaped face. She wore a lovely long crimson dress, which managed to squeeze sexiness out of its conservative cut—a gutsy choice that implied her decision had been reasonably firm even with the late skittishness.
After a fine dinner and a conversation that progressed from niceties to art to philosophy, we walked out on the town and danced at an excellent club I had researched. I dance well enough to make up for an inexperienced yet enthusiastic partner, and our adroit recoveries from precarious moves elicited more than one delightful laugh. We moved across the floor with purpose and passion. When I held her close to me, exploring the contours of her magnificent body as the night progressed. I felt her growing heat and she mine—the fact that all this was an elegant, very drawn-out foreplay was never lost on either of us. We spent much time looking into each other’s eyes, or murmuring into each other’s ears as we sailed across the floor. I literally swept her off her feet. We closed the hall down.
We walked back to the hotel high and breathless, holding hands like teenagers. We got into the suite, and I kissed her as the door closed. She melted into me. Her dress fell to become a red fabric puddle around her ankles, joined shortly by her equally red lace bra and panties. Her breasts were lovely—I know numbers and cup sizes pretty much by eye—or feel—but such technical detail is tacky, don’t you think? Suffice to say each pretty bosom was just more than a gentle handful. Her aureoles were a stunning, dark red-brown, and her smallish nipples had been hard long before I saw or touched them. Her bush was also heart-shaped, apparently naturally, and as I brushed one hand across her left breast and the other down her belly to the juncture of her legs, I found her slick and hot already.
My clothes followed hers to the floor, and then I was kneeling between her legs, my mouth level with her sex. Amy’s nether lips were the same rich color as her aureoles, already puffy and engorged with anticipation. She tasted unusually sweet. As my tongue set to work, her legs bowed and she began to push her hips to me. She leaned back against the closed door of the suite as her hands tangled in my hair. My hands caressed her sides and ass, then held her to me as I brought her to a shuddering orgasm.
I stood and caught her as she let herself stumble, weak-kneed. I carried her to the bed and lay her down in its center, and kissed her on the lips so she could taste herself on my mouth. I then moved down to her feet. Amy was still breathing hard from her climax, her chest rising and falling beautifully. I locked eyes with her, them took one ankle in each hand and slowly opened her legs. I pushed them apart and back, bending her knees, opening her to me. Her vulva parted slightly as I spread her, glistening and inviting in the dim light of the room. My hands let go their grip, and she held herself there as I caressed up her legs to her thighs and waist while I moved forward on the bed. Without once looking away from her eyes, I found her entrance with my cock and pushed gently in.
Amy’s eyes widened and dilated as I sank into her, and she moaned as our bodies came completely together. Mine narrowed as her tight heat enveloped me and I started moving slowly in and out. We stared at each other this way as I moved within her. Soon her hips rocked up to meet mine, and her eyes began to glaze a little. I broke the stare and lowered my head to suckle her breasts, sliding my hands up to knead them as well. Her back arched and her body began to buck under me as I continued sliding in and out of her—quickly, but gently.
It did not take much longer. I felt my full balls tingle and the lightness spread inside me, and I lifted my head to again look deep into her eyes. They were teary with lust, desire, and need. I felt my own climax rise, my body beginning to stiffen, my cock swelling larger.
Amy stared back at me and said, “Yes.”
I came. I sank all the way in and gushed into her, my nerves firing erratically and randomly, until I was empty and she was full.
Finally, I sank down next to her, my deflating cock slurping audibly out of her still gently clasping pussy. We drifted, arms and legs somewhat entangled, dozing into the wee hours of the morning. We awoke once before dawn and coupled again. This time I took her from behind as we looked out on the late/early lights of Seattle through, and our faint reflections in, the picture window.
We had room service breakfast, then made love one last time in the shower, her legs wrapped around my waist and arms around my back riding up and down on me in the blasting water, me gripping the metal bars on the shower wall to avoid slipping and breaking our necks. We kissed passionately as I released, my seed pumping into her thirsty womb.
We said good-bye at the suite door, Amy back in her dress, me in a hotel robe. Six weeks later, a letter informed me the contract was complete.