Paige Pockets Arnie

I'm one of those guys who can't pull a date: Babes who don't know me don't want to go out with me and babes who do know me fob me off with the same excuse.

It's pathetic, really but I get to watch a lot of TV which pleases my mom as she likes to have a shoulder to cry on when the hero chooses the slut over the really nice babe. Later in the movie I feel like bawling when the hero boringly realigns true to type and dumps the slut with the big tits and goes dozy on Miss Flat Chest who cutely knows all the answers.

Right now I'm heading to the bar for a chin-wag with my old mates Terry and Walton who're in the stage of being recycled – both having been dumped by their fast-track girlfriends. This happens to them occasionally and they come back to me to unburden their hurt and guilt and blab on about never going near a dame again.

I restore their confidence and make the introductions to some babes I happen to know are looking for a date, and on go the boys with stars in their eyes again.

I'm also matchmaker for another half dozen male friends and I have a couple of females who also seek me out looking for support when hit by hiccups to their love life.

One would think I was a professionally qualified relationships adviser. Actually what I know about relationships could be written on the back of a postage stamp, but I guess these days not a lot of people know what postage stamps are. But I digress.

I manage the Blue Sky Skating Rink – being well qualified for the post because I can't skate so tend not to desert my post to dance with skating queens. At least that's what the boss Mrs Marks tells me. She's an amazing skater, having done two Olympics in her youth which must have been a century ago.

But let's get on with it: This is how I, Arnie Strickland, finally got a date worth having.

ONE

"Hi Arnie," says Walton, sliding on to the bar stool between Terry and me. "Got anyone for me yet?"

"Yeah, the redhead at the table two from the corner."

Walton looks at her and asks why has Terry rejected her.

"Look at her chest mate, it's actually concaved." (Terry habitually exaggerates).

"I know her from the rink, Walton. She's got gorgeous legs; they go all the way to her ass."

The guys laugh, I get slapped on the back and the barmaid, laughing, hands me a beer on the house.

"Okay," Walton says. "Do it."

So I saunter over to this table of five babes hitching up my jeans as I go. The babes see me approaching so go into a huddle, whisper, and giggle.

I grab a chair, look at Irene and say "Hi, Irene. A space magically appears and I slide my chair in backwards and lean on the back – the signal that I'm not parking for long.

"That guy in the green jacket sitting next to me at the bar would like to meet you Irene."

The heads of the five babes turn as one. Walton raises his glass towards Irene but under the concentrated gaze of five pairs of semi-hostile eyes he heads to the safety of the restroom.

"I supposed to be waiting for Guy to come back from Hawaii."

"Guy's too short for you," says one of her friends.

"How tall is Mr Green Jacket?" asks Irene.

"Six two," I fib.

"Okay," says Irene. "I know you well enough to trust your judgment, Arnie. Tell him I'll meet him outside in ten minutes. What's his name?"

"Walton – Walton Peebles."

"That's a strong name, Irene," says one of her girl friends.

"Yes it is," she replies. "Irene Peebles – yes, I like it!"

The other four young women are strangers to me so I say to them: "Irene will vouch for me – she knows me from the skating rink where she's one of our skating queens. That other guy with us, he's also looking to rebound. Any takers?"

"Did he get her pregnant," asks a serious-faced older female with thin lips (not Terry's type at all).

"No, I believe she found him to be too possessive, giving her too much attention, worrying about her when she had a cold and spending too extravagantly on her."

All eyes look at Terry who thinking my pow-wow concerns only Walton, has his back to us and is stroking the barmaid's face.

"He looked awfully promiscuous," frowns Miss Thin Lips.

"Terry is blessed with a strong sex drive," I offer helpfully.

"Oh, I must have him," groans the rather short blonde but offsetting that is the fact she hangs rather heavily.

"He'll love you," I grin, looking at those breasts.

"Oooh," she says. "I'm Isobel, Arnie. "I'll go outside with Irene in ten minutes so please ask him to come out with his buddy and meet me."

"Well, thank you ladies. It's lovely having such a charming time in your company. I shall send the barmaid over to refresh your drinks with my compliments."

"Arnie, are you dating at present?"

I settle back on to my chair and look at this fourth young woman. With a comment like that obviously she's the most interesting person in the group; I really hadn't noticed her but being the shallow guy that I am, I guess that figures.

"Don't be silly, Paige," sniggers Irene. "No one dates Arnie."

"Arnie?"

"Yes, what's she says is almost true, Paige," I confess, not at all embarrassed because it's the truth.

"I didn't mean that, Arnie. I meant may I date you?"

Well, knock me over with a feather and pickle my toes. This babe Paige appears to be a really gorgeous little thing, stunning skin and rich auburn hair which may be original color.

The other four look at her and sweet Irene says: "Have you gone loco Paige?"

It's a defining moment, time to be authoritative. So I stand up and leave them, smiling at Paige and saying that I'll meet her outside in with her friends - they'll need time to finish their drinks so make it fifteen minutes from now. We all check the time.

I get back to the guys who have two drinks waiting for me. The barmaid leans over to listen in.

"You're in, Walton. But the deal is you have to be tall."

Walton looks at me rather oddly.

"I had to tell her you are six-two."

"Where do I get the other three inches from?" he gasps.

"Wear a hat."

Terry and the barmaid fall about laughing and I'm given another drink on the house.

I look over at the girls just in time to see Miss Thin Lips and the blonde heading for the restroom.

"Terry, I've chatted up the blonde for you – there she goes."

"But she's too short and..." He stops, obviously having caught sight of what her bra's holding up.

"Well done, Arnie."

"Pam," I say to the barmaid, "could you take over another round of drinks to that table - these two lucky lads will pick up the tab."

"Yes, Arnie? You know if I weren't newly married I'd be dating you."

Terry and Walton look at her as if she'd turned loco.

TWO

I escort the guys outside and a minute later Irene and Isobel come out and I make the introductions. It's a very happy moment, helped of course by the alcohol.

Irene initially takes a doubtful look at Walton who is only just her height but he rocks up on to his toes and she looks away satisfied.

Miss Thin Lips and the fifth babe come out with Paige. The other two walk off after casting envious looks at the two smirking couples; then Walton and Terry experience drop-jaw when Paige comes up and takes my arm.

"Bye guys," Paige says, signaling that she and I are moving off on our own. So I add my farewell, giving a superior smile to Terry and Walton. This is rather a proud moment for me because it's a real date.

The infrequent dates of my past had been blind dates or last-second dates at being partnered off by my two sisters to their friends. I'd only got to graduation with a date when Gloria Leversedge phoned me frantically on the morning of the big event after her date had impaled himself through his foot with an arrow and was hospitalized.

"Would you like dinner?" Paige asks. I certainly would, but I'd left my credit card at home and calculated I have less than forty bucks in my wallet.

"Yeah, pizza would be a treat," I say hopefully.

"Oh no, silly, I meant would you like to come home with me for dinner?"

I squeeze her arm with mine and say that will be lovely; she looks ever so pleased and says here's her car, that we should go in that to be together and she'll drive me back to pick up mine later (actually my car is at home).

I look up and see the expensive European sports sedan and wince, as my inner voice sneered, 'You're out of your class with this babe'.

But she walks us on to the next vehicle, a modest car not unlike my own except it's clean.

"I'm so happy you agreed to date me," she says, as she drives off – faultlessly I note as I do tend to be rather nervous when driven by females. It's not that I'm chauvinistic – it goes back to being driven for years by my mother who, putting it politely, is a daredevil driver. She boasts no one ever taught her to drive, and it shows.

"This is the first time I've been truly dated by a woman," I reply shyly. "I thought you were so courageous to make the approach in front of your girlfriends; they could have ridiculed you, in fact Irene almost did."

This handsome young woman – I guess she's around twenty-five – then says something really interesting.

"I'm not a bashful person and really asking for a date is like going shopping – 'I'd like a roast of beef please, four pounds will do nicely'," she giggles.

Organizing a date is no different to shopping in a meat market? Attempting to dismiss that as a ridiculous analogy I fail, and emit what sounds like a cross between a laugh and a feminine giggle. She glances at me and really laughs. This is turning out to be fun.

We then partner well to soup up the conversation.

"What do you do to keep yourself into expensive make-up and European shoes?" I ask, having noted those two excesses.

"I'm a media analysis currently working on

The Fourth Estate

on channel nine.

"That's interesting," I say casually, my head churning. In that case she knows who I am. Well, so what?

"This is a social outing, Arnie so I'm not out to talk shop, but I'm aware who you are and that you write the 'Arnie's Oddities' column (I write it Monday to Friday and it's syndicated by

Morning Update

to 128 other newspapers.

"So, is that the extent of your interest in me?" I ask, casting a hook.

"No, I was watching you in negotiation on behalf of your friends, wondering why a guy would want to do that for other guys. I saw how efficiently you operated, adroitly soothing your way around Irene who can be one tough cookie.

"I sat thinking I could be interested in you so when the opportunity arose I made my play, not knowing then that Arnie is Arnie Strickland the newspaper columnist."

"Very interesting, so may I ask what other plans do you have for me?"

"Answer this, Arnie, truthfully. What does a guy think when he goes out with a woman for the first time?"

I blush.

"The truth, Arnie," she giggles.

"Er, this could be a little embarrassing for you."

"Embarrass me, Arnie."

"He wonders how far she will go on the first date."

"Splendid. Now what am I thinking, Arnie?"

I turn, looking at the door handle wondering if I should make a run for it at the first opportunity. But that seemed rather juvenile. Instead I should use my brain and parry.

"I am too much of a gentleman to speculate aloud."

"Oh Arnie," she says, dropping a hand casually on to my thigh. "I knew you would not disappoint me. Seducing you will be so much fun."

I look at the door handle again, this time intently.

"Should I pull over, Arnie?"

"No, whatever for?" I ask, feigning surprise although I'm really am surprised she's on to me.

We drift into other conversation and arrive at her house, which is twice as big as and a little more upmarket than ours but I'm relieved it's not a mansion. She's already told me daddy is an industrial chemist and mom manages a pharmacy.

That last piece of information made my wonder if Paige has complimentary condoms in her handbag. (I have these inane thoughts like that allowing me to write unusual things that really interest people).

The Mikkelsen's advance with friendly smiles as we enter. Paige makes the introductions. Mom Mikkelsen – a bigger version of Paige with lighter auburn hair – welcomes me to their home and invites Paige and me to dine with them but Paige says she want to demonstrate to me that she can cook.

Mom's eyes widened at that; she looks at me and I can tell the jury is out.

Dad invites me to call him David and I can tell the way his eyes light up when I accept the offer of a beer that he thinks I'm a good guy.

Mom almost swoons when Paige says I write the 'Arnie's Oddities' column.

"Oh, I'm so honored to meet you Mr Strickland (she was calling me Arnie until now), you are a fabulous teller of stories in such succinct fashion."

Gee, thanks mom; very nicely expressed, I muse.

"You look nothing like your photograph at the top of the column," says dad, indicating he's at least a scanner of the column.

"No, they took that pic after we returned from three hours in a bar."

"You're the man," David grins, clinking bottles with me. Paige scurries across and hangs on to my arm proudly. I'm really getting to like this caper of dating and impressing the folks.

"How old are you, Mr Strickland?"

"Mom!"

"It's all right dear, I need to know."

"You don't need to know, mom – don't answer her," says Paige with a dangerous edge to her voice.

Mom squares her shoulders, and now looks menacing.

"I'll be thirty in November," I blurt, to avoid a resumption of the Range Wars.

Mom smirks at her daughter and says, "I just needed to know, Paige. I just needed to know. That's a very nice age, Mr Strickland."

I think how nice; I'm cruising through a very nice age.

"Five years difference is acceptable."

"Mom!" shouts Paige, her tone now bordering hysteria.

"Come on, Arnie," she says, dragging me by the arm. "It's time for me to get you your dinner."

"Goodbye, Mrs Mikklesen, David," I wave.

"Come and have another beer with me if she bores the pants off you," snickers David.

"Dad!" snarls Paige, pulling me through the door at almost a gallop.

THREE

"Well, you've met the parents," sighs Paige as if disowning them, shutting the door between the house and her extension, ramming home a brass bolt.

"This room is very sweet," I venture, knowing in theory how to defuse women.

"Oh, what a heavenly thing to say," she says, slamming against me so I get the four-pointer – lips pressing into mine, breasts squashing into my chest, pelvises roughly aligned and her knees pressing just under mine (I'm taller).

Why I couldn't feel our shoes touching I wouldn't know – perhaps one of us is bandy? I left that quandary and sated my emotions on the sweetness of her lips and inhaling her erotic perfume.

"Just a moment," she says, breaking the kiss. "I'll get a couple of pizzas out to thaw to have later then I'm taking you to my bed. Go through to the bedroom."

"I'd rather wait for you," I say nervously. It's already June and this will be only my third fuck this entire year.

"Oh, how chivalrous," she murmurs, eying me in what only can be described as the look of an impressed woman.

Paige runs to the kitchen and I hear her rooting through the freezer, the door slams, two pizzas thump on the bench and she's racing back and I take her in my arms.

"Mmmmmmmm," I go, kissing into the hollow of her throat, giving her time to catch her breath. I feel her shudder and she whispers 'Oh God' with her eyes closed and head thrown back, leaving me to think what an odd time to pray.

"Carry me to the bed," she whispers.

No problem but I do find her rather solid – a big-boned girl, methinks.

I place Paige at the end of the bed and she tugs off the bedspread and drapes it over a small sofa. She unzips the back of her dress and pulls it forward, allowing it to drop to her waist. Wowee – this girl has build, and I'm not talking breast meat. Her shoulders and arms are quite muscular and her trunk is beautifully toned, her belly as flat as a plate.

She sees me staring so says, "I work out four mornings a week, have done so for a number of years – but lately in not having a guy around I've been returning to the gym in evenings. Don't laugh at my legs."

She kicks off her shoes and pushes her dress over her hips and it lands on the floor. I don't laugh when I see what she means. Although Paige is not at all masculine in any other way that I've spotted, I can see through the silver sheen stockings she has the thigh and calf muscular development of a fit, lithe young man.

It's her turn to be nervous, her eyes searching my face but I'd deliberately neutralized my visage to minimize chances of reacting badly, having received that appeal not to laugh.

My brain speeds to feed my mouth with something supportive, and it comes easily.

"Paige, thin elegant long legs belong to very tall women; you are not a tall woman but rather a modernized version of stocky ancestors. Your legs have responded magnificently to your body-building efforts. I love the result, truly."

I let the sincerity show as I smile and see she appreciates that.

I drop to my knees, hugging her thighs as I kiss them. She snatches two handfuls of my hair and groans lightly. I know I'm in for a wonderful night.

Back on my feet I push her back on to the bed, catching my first concentrated look at her bra-encased breasts as she falls. The cups appear well-filled.

Carefully I pull off her hi-thigh self-supporting stockings, telling her I'm absolutely nutty about women in stockings, though most of my experience is looking at movies or stocking websites.

"Oooh, you filthy pervert," she giggles.

"Do you have dirty DVDs that you watch on this bed?" I ask, having earlier noticed the screen and integrated DVD player.

She turns scarlet!

"We can always watch one while we fuck," I suggest and her eyes widen.

"Yes," she croaks; I slap the side of her butt and say, "Good girl."

Gently I pick up her right leg and began sucking her big toe, staring at her but and smiling softly. I didn't have to wait long before I see her hand snake down and stay hovering over her panties while I ran my hand down the back of her calf.

It becomes too much, she groans, her hand slips down the top of her panties and she frigs her clit. Oh boy, my erection stiffens to maximum as I look at her: she'd turned her face sideways, closed her eyes and her mouth is open, her tongue dancing along her top lip. She appears to have slipped into a sexual trance.

What to do, I wonder, my meager experience showing. Stay put! yells my inner voice, so I keep on with my toe sucking.

A half minute later she opens her eyes and stops masturbating without showing any sign of having gotten herself away. Turning and looking at me with a very intense gaze, her blue eyes now very dark, she says: "Fuck me, Arnie."

No problem, I'm more than ready and reckon the appropriate thing to do is a slow, soft and loving conventional fuck, shooting into her and then staying in to soak and saying sweet things to her; she'll probably really like that.

Paige reaches under her pillow and pulls out a condom, holding it up for me to grab.

"As far as I know I'm clean, Paige and have not been active for three months."

She smiles sweetly and thrusts the package back under her pillow.

I reach up and pull down her panties. She pushes her bra down, freeing her breasts. They look real beauties, at a guess 34Cs, not that I'm a good judge of such things.

Paige raises her knees and spreads them; there it is, her vulva, totally shaven and already looking slick and swollen after our combined teasing.

I don't wish to keep her hanging after her partial fingering, so I kick off my shoes as she wriggles up the bed; I unzip and pounce. I will get my gear off later.