I no longer remember how I first met Francie, but it doesn’t really matter any more. I think it was in a club, but I cannot for the life of me remember the club, and I don’t...for some odd reason...want to ask Francie.
Somehow, and I think a mutual acquaintance introduced us, we were immediately attracted to each other. The rest of that evening danced, drank and had a late night or early morning meal at a small diner that I knew in my neighborhood.
I have to admit that I had a half-erection just being around Francie. It could have been her perfume, it might have been something she did to my senses...I don’t know, but she was looking more and more appealing and friendly as the night and early morning wore on.
In those days I was a bachelor, searching for something or someone to make my life complete. I had been to bed with several woman, but I could not bring myself to settle down with any of them for more than one or two weeks...and that one was a real exception, Monica.
Monica turned out to be a lesbian...well, truly, she was, I think, bi-sexual, for she as a very hot number in bed, but she would not stay with me for the day, despite our good times in bed during the night, and our casual ways with each other. I had never known another woman who did not mind walking around my apartment with the lights still on, she dressed in nothing but her panties, me in nothing but a throbbing rigidity. She would pose and tease me until her own panties were damp and my prick was crowned with pre-cum before she would strip of the panties and climb on top of me with a muffled cry of “Oh, God I want a woman!”
Despite that strange plea, she would fuck like a mink, nipping my fairly large nipples with her teeth and biting little “love bites” on my neck. Some days after a session with Monica I hardly dared go to the office I maintained downtown. I did not want my secretary, a plain but well-built gal named Cindy, to laugh at me. I’d kidded her enough about hickeys after she’d had a hot date one night. She’d crack a rib guffawing if she could see my neck! Tie and dress shirt collar could be excruciating, I tell you.
Anyway, I must have been what the trade calls “cruising” when I met Francie. As I said, we seemed to have an affinity for each other. After the first night out together, we started making regular “appointments” (we called them—lovers have the strangest by-words, don’t we?) to gave dinnr, go dancing...but not to make love, ever in those first few months.
I suppose I grew more attractive to her, for God knows she became almost an obsession with me. She and I could talk about almost everything, althoughour philosophies did not match we could discuss anything without too much heat, and none directed at each other, ever. All this, after movies, a live show, dinner, whatever, we’d spend in my apartment, in the livingroom. For a long time I actually had no real desire...other than a normal rising of the appropriate member when we kissed good night...and those were some kisses!. Well, for eight months I didn’t get into Francie’s pants, is what I was truing to say.
Perhaps I should tell you what Francie...maybe you’d want to read what I...no, just Francie...looked like.
She was very tanned-looking, although I think she was just naturally dark, for her hair was almost black with funny highlights in certain places; she stood about 5'4", with a very nice figure, maybe about 36C-24-35. I know her hips were narrow, and she did not have a big butt, but she was definitely shapely. Francie had long legs, longer than most women I knew, but on her it looked good. She usually wore either dress slacks and a suit coat, with a white, blue or pale green blouse, sometimes with a cute pin on her jacket lapel...or she could wear jeans, which with her long legs were especially attractive...and very tight, showing off her rounded ass, which tough small was “packed.”
Shoot, I am about Francie’s height, maybe a half-inch taller...
what the Hell was she doing with a guy so short, you ask
...and for a guy I’m slim, small bones from my mother, I guess. I was very particular about my grooming and what I wore for any occasion, so perhaps that’s what got Francie liking me so much.
At any rate, as I wrote, Francie and I had a darn good time for eight months without going much further than an increasingly hot kiss good night, yeah, I’d touched and fondled her breasts a couple of times, and lately she had not objected.
So, here we are almost at the end of one of our dates, not yet ready to go to my place and launch one of our long discussions.
“Jack,” she said to me, looking extra serious, “I want you to take me home tonight. We have to talk about something really important to us both.”
“Oh?” said I. “Could it be about the two of us?”
“Well, try thinking about that while you drive me to my place,” she grinned. When we arrived at a pretty tony looking part of town, Francie said,
“Oh, and be sure you use the garage from now on. I’ll get you a sticker.”
What?
She directed us into this underground garage for one of the apartment buildings.
“We take an elevator from here, Jack,” she smiled, holding my hand. I could feel sweat forming on the palm she held. For some reason I was getting extremely nervous.
