PART 1
I blush characteristically as Alyssa approaches the sound booth.
Together with by best friend Chris and cousin Diana, I operate the booth on Sunday mornings, keeping the performance of the praise band crisp.
The whiteness of Alyssa's skin seems almost political, I think, as if only a Republican would have the gall to be so pale in an age so interracial.
She has almost as many freckles as pores; an asset that's as much to blame for my erection as her breasts, which are perfectly pale and palely perfect.
I suppress, of course, my urge to push her down onto the cheap gray carpet of the large Sunday school college classroom floor and rub my throbbing cock on her downy back until it feverishly ejaculates. It seems I'm always suppressing urges.
Geek-like, I gawk at her womanly movements as she nears me; the tilt of her hips, the bob of her voluptuous ass, and the casual, American swing of her ashen, freckly arms.
I allow myself to fantasize, imagining myself cuffed to a stall in the church's ladies' room, as Alyssa's hot piss gushes from her pussy onto my humiliated face, other church girls giggling at my weakness and emasculation as she removes a tube of lipstick from her purse, writing WIMP on my hairless chest between my man boobs.
I know, though, that as a born-again Christian, she'd be unlikely to do such a thing, however much I might crave it.
She's well within two feet from me and her perfume extracts a dribble of pre-cum from my cock.
"Hello," she says in a sing-song voice, looking me up and down with an eyebrow raised, so I'll know she sees my pitiful erection.
