Julie Chin

She first heard this sing-song taunt when she was five, but it took her a while before she realized it was not cheering her on.

Still, she stuck with it.

And by her mid 20s she was playing in an orchestra. Not a top orchestra, but she was on her way. Her parents, who had immigrated to the U.S. from Taiwan, were very proud of her artistic success. (And, yes, they were prouder of her Engineer older brother.)

Julie had indeed had some lovers, but they all were clumsy and young. Not at all like Warren Belloc.

Musicians are all horny and ribald -- so it seemed to Julie. She could hold her own in bandiage, though. "What are you, a queeb?" "What are you, a dyke?" Ha ha ha.

Yet she was unprepared for Warren Belloc.

He was a visiting conductor. It was like he could see the music, could smell and taste it. Six feet tall, counting his thick brown hair.

Full shouldered and narrow waisted. And very well dressed.

Julie herself was tiny. Under five feet, under a hundred pounds. Apple-ish tits. Whispy straight pubes. Leaf-shaped brown eyes. And masterful with a violin.

Small and shy, she found closing parties depressing.

Until the party for Warren Belloc.

He had been so professional the last four weeks, then he saught her out early and stayed with her all night. Drinking, chatting, drinking, chatting, drinking.

It was easy to get her up to his room: she was in drunken love. His words were soft and deep like his voice. His brown-gray wool suit was so unlike any other worn by a man who had embraced her.

Julie gave her mouth fully to his in the elevator. When his tongue pushed past her teeth, her tongue curled around and stroked it.

She melted in his arms.

Ping! He poured her melted self down the hall and into his room. When she heard the door lock she was able to stand. Warren looked deeply into her eyes.

"Let us make love."

"Oh, yes."

Again they kissed.

When he took off his fine wool suit and hanged it up neatly and carefully, she managed to maintain the spell; she was amazed by his fine silk shirt. So much more adult than the cotton things her peers wore.

With a small flush of shame she wriggled out of her red dress -- is was cheap. His large, skilled, soft hands stroked her all over, and again she melted -- this time onto the bed.

His large, strong, soft hands stroked her all over. She thrilled at his touch, being corny. Somehow he undressed himself while removing her bra.

He ravished her little pink nipples, and she loved it. She ran her fingers through his thick brown hair. He rubbed his dick on her leg, and it felt a bit small. Full gorged, but four inches. Oh, well. No big deal, right?

Julie was experiencing joy. Then he moved up and put his big shoulders in her face and his little dick in her warm, wet, ready twat.

Oh! He was in her! Warren was filling her! Sort of.

Warren was very smooth. He held himself up on one elbow while he stroked her with his free hand, then he would switch. It was wonderful, and Julie was building to a climax, but she found herself wondering if he was following a pattern. Maybe a syncopated one.

(He was actually doing Barry White.)

But he was slow and attentive and fully engaged. Her pleasure built and built 'til it burst like a levee. She made some soft high squeeks. It was wonderful. He apparently came too, as they cuddled and spooned and went to sleep. Julie felt very mature. She slept well and enjoyed the dampness in her groin.

Slowly it was that she woke the next morning. She was warm, but no longer embraced. Warren was sitting on the side of his hotel bed speaking on the phone.

"Uh huh...yeah...uh...uh...well, but...uh huh...."

Ok, so he was listenning more than he talked.

Julie wondered whom he was talking to, but started to drift back to sleep. Then she woke straight up. "No...no...tell Timmy I'll be home for his game," said Warren. "Yes...yes...I'll be home tonight.... Yes...uh... uh... uh...yeah...um... wouldn't miss a game."

He was married with at least one kid!!

She felt all cold. And humiliated. She slunk out of his hotel bed and gathered and put on her clothes. "That damned kid is all sports and no music," said naked Warren. "12 years old and can barely do scales." He went to the bathroom and peed loudly.

Deeply shamed, Julie slipped out of the room. She made her way home in the harsh morning light. Wearing her rumpled sexy red party dress, she felt like a slut.

On the bus she began to cry and silently sob.

Other people tried not to notice, for which she was grateful.