Hello. My name is Larry and I am a pussyholic.
I wasn't always like this. Most of my life I was an upright guy with a healthy interest in pussy, nothing more. I mean, it's a place to put your dick and not your face, right? You piss in a toilet, but you don't stick your head in. Simple. At least, I thought it was simple, until I met Jasmine.
I had seen her around the place I work for a couple of years. Not much chance to talk, since she was up in the main office and I was down on the loading dock. Nah, those two worlds don't collide very often. But I had noticed her coming in and out of the building, sometimes with her gaggle of girlfriends heading off to lunch. No brown bagging for that crew. I picked her right out of the pack. Hard to miss those nice, big tits - real movers and shakers. I even gave them a shout out a couple of times, but she just walked on bye-bye.
It was the company picnic that finally brought us together. Like one big family, as the bosses always say. The office boys had squared off against the loading dock guys in a "friendly" game of softball. While waiting for my next at bat, I drifted over to the picnic area to get some liquid refreshment.
There was Jasmine, standing next to the cooler and looking pretty refreshing herself in a flowery skirt and a hot pink top that simply glowed against her dark skin. She wasn't tall or stunningly beautiful, but she had something that called to me come to me. A little overweight? Maybe, but she knew how to use it. Her body never seemed to stop moving. Like the ocean, the waves just kept rolling. And her voice with that Caribbean accent (I took a cruise down there once, so I know) sailed over those waves loud and clear. Man, I wanted a piece of that island girl.
"Hey Jaz!" I shouted, using the nickname I'd heard her girlfriends call her. "Beer me!"
Jasmine's eye's met mine for an exciting second. A spark? Hard to tell as her gaze broke contact and began to look me up and down. Go ahead honey, check it out. Plenty of muscle and not a lotta fat. My one job perk.
I guess I passed inspection, cause she reached into the cooler, picked up a Michelob and then whipped the sucker right at my head. Shit, that bitch had an arm. I got my hand up in time to make the catch, but the slippery can went right through my fingers and whacked me square on the chin. I went down, out as cold as the can lying next to me.
Must have woken up quickly, and found myself staring at the sandaled feet of Jasmine. She has pretty toes, I thought. Why I thought that I don't know, because honestly, that's not a part of the female anatomy that I usually spend a lot of time thinking about. But I was recovering rapidly from the shock and my next glance snuck right up her skirt. It was dark, but I thought for a second, was she . . .? Shaking my head, I tried to refocus for a better view. Too late, she was already kneeling beside me.
"You poor boy," she said. "Are you OK? Can you stand? Do you need assistance?"
I just stared up into those big dark eyes, set in that soft round face, as I gingerly worked my jaw. Nothing broken. Tried to think of something to say, but all I could think about was how short her kinky black hair was cropped. For some reason, I always found that look kinda sexy. Since I couldn't say that, I just sat up and didn't say nothing, still working my jaw.
At that point, my buddy Lou appeared and told me I was up next.
"Can't do it." I mumbled. "Concussed."
Lou saw how it was, smiled and ran back to the field. They didn't need me to beat those office wussies anyway.
Jasmine helped me to my feet and brought me over to a nearby bench. "Maybe you shouldn't play," she observed. "You're not very good at catch." Then she laughed and for some reason I didn't mind a bit.
