My Korean Hottie Ch 04

She read: Handbook of Mathematics. Introduction to Analytic Geometry. Advanced Topics in Linear Algebra. Elements of Calculus. Introduction to Non-Linear Statistical Analysis. Chaotic Numerical Systems. Introduction to Discrete Mathematics. History of Mathematics. Men of Mathematics. Change & Motion; Calculus Made Clear. On and on. Plus audio and DVD courses in Accent Reduction for Korean Speakers of English.

My tiny girlfriend, 4' 9", was devouring increasingly heavy-weight books on math on a daily basis. She was filling up flip-top notebooks and making up files on the computer. She'd stopped talking about her discoveries to me, except in the most general terms, when I showed increasing incomprehension. I cooked and shopped (she cleaned and did dishes, so it was 50-50).

Boh took a private driving course, where I paid cash, and was cautiously learning to drive in suburban San Diego, California. She'd given in, and now had a small closet-full of casual and sexy clothes, plus two 'small' custom bikinis ... small due to her petite size, but more so because of the amount of golden Asian skin displayed: one for actual swimming, and one for creating a long, slimy trail of male drool, as guys followed her along the beach.

She had her own credit & debit card, with $$ supplied by me, and her own driver's license for ID. She had her own e-mail account with gmail, too.

That's what started the question that led to my own background.

I remember she commented, looking up from the computer, about an Urban Myth she read on-line. It was the one about the Bristol Zoo parking lot:

- - - - -

From The London Times:

Outside the Bristol Zoo, in England, there is a parking lot for 150 cars and 8 coaches, or buses.

It was manned by a very pleasant attendant with a ticket machine charging cars 1 pound (about $1.40) and coaches 5 pounds (about $7).

This parking attendant worked there solid for all of 25 years. Then, one day, he just didn't turn up for work.

"Oh well", said Bristol Zoo Management - "we'd better phone up the City Council and get them to send a new parking attendant..."

"Err ... no", said the Council, "that parking lot is your responsibility."

"Err ... no", said Bristol Zoo Management, "the attendant was employed by the City Council, wasn't he?"

"Err ... NO!" insisted the Council.

Sitting in his villa, somewhere on the Coast of Spain, is a bloke who had been taking the parking lot fees, estimated at 400 pounds (about $560) per day at Bristol Zoo for the last 25 years. Assuming 7 days a week, this amounts to just over 3.6 million pounds ($7 million).

And no one even knows his name.

- - - - -

Boh said, giggling, "That's just so unbelievable. Everybody would know it was a fake. He not last a week! What? Hey, you, get up off the floor! You crazy man. You getting sick? Why you having trouble breathing? Why you rolling around on the floor? You want sex? No! What you doing? Why you laughing?"

I managed to get myself back under control, to say, "No sex right now. I'm just freaking out."

I added, "Do you want the short version or the long one?"

My Boh, nude, of course, giggled and pulled me up from the floor and led me out to the patio. There, she arranged pillows on the lounge, and said, legs spread wide open, reclining across my lap, "Gimme!"

So I started to tell why I laughed so long and hard.

- - - - - - -

"When things fell apart at home," I said, "it was 1970, and I was 2 months of being 18, in my senior year at high school. Just one more semester to go. I had a steady girl, Connie (herself just 18), but she was really prissy and up-tight, frequently talking about 'saving-herself-for-marriage' and 'Finding-Mister-Right'."

"Connie started insisting that we spend more time at my house, especially with my Dad."

"This was a trial, 'cause Mom was increasingly crazy, flipping back and forth between talking goo-goo baby-talk around me, like I was supposed to be five-years old, and screaming that I was an immoral, perverted, delinquent teen, scheming and plotting against her ... making her cry."

"As of the last two or three years, Mom cried whenever she didn't get her way on nearly anything. Then Dad would come in and punish me for making her cry, whether it was my fault or not. I tried to stay away as much as I could, but I had to be home sometimes, to eat and sleep ... and to transport Connie to and from our house, morning and evening."

"On that last day, things got really bad. I came home, after dropping Connie off to stay with my Dad, staying out all morning, to find that Mom had washed all my clothes in something like 10 gallons of bleach, so just about everything I had, except what I was wearing, was shredded, bleached rags and dissolved threads. Even my wool dress suit and leather shoes were slashed with a knife and torn apart."

"Instead, she'd laid out a little set of short-pants, a sailor-suit top, a cloth diaper and a pair of buster brown shoes and socks, that would have fitted a little kid of five. She'd also trashed all my books and music, and substituted Little Golden Books, like Little Toot, The Taxi That Hurried and Thomas the Tank-Engine."

"In other words, Mom had gone fucking nuts into little baby-kid fantasy!"

"When I yelled at her about what she'd just done, she went all goo-goo baby-talk on me again. She said that I was 'her muhdu's baby boy, her oochums-smoochums, witto boy, who needed his muhdu to do everyting for him, an' read to him from his witto baby-boy books, and even hold his witto pee-pee so he didn' mess hisself'."

"When I told her to start talking like a normal human, she flashed over into rage, and slapped me with her fingernail out, leaving four long bloody trails on my cheek. Then she screamed and said that I was thinking nasty, dirty, immoral thoughts and plotting against her."

"As fast as she could—but without any tears—she started to cry, loudly."

"Then Dad came charging up the hall, cursing, with Connie, my girl, close behind. Dad yelled something about me making mom cry for the last time, and, without any warning, he slugged me hard, twice, low in the gut, and then high, on my face. I went down, and he started kicking me in the gut and face, but mostly in the balls. I screamed, gagged and threw up all over myself."

"Last thing I remember, before he kicked me in the head and I was knocked out, was Connie, laughing like a fiend and telling Dad to kick me in the balls some more and make me throw up again."

"When I came awake, aching all over, terrible pain in my balls, with blood and vomit drying on my face and the floor, I heard Mom, crying and shrieking paranoid goo-goo baby-talk in the bedroom. She'd 'taken to her bed,' neo-Victorian' style, and was doing a combination of baby-talk and crazy, mad speech. I struggled to my feet, and managed to get to the door of the spare bedroom, when I heard voices there."

"Easing the door open, I saw my Dad, his pants down around his ankles, being sucked off by my not-so-prissy, suddenly ex-steady-girl. Connie, just 18 that last week, who was bare to the waist. As I looked and listened, Dad pulled out of her mouth, and then pinched and mauled her breasts, while she moaned and twisted her body."

"Then she stripped down naked, got on her back, and he started to fuck her on the spare guest bed ... and she humped him back, while Mom shrieked crazy things in the bedroom, not 30 feet away."

"I listened as Connie, still humping like a fiend, got Dad to say he'd take my car away from me and give it to her. Dad promised that and to take away all my savings in the bank, 'cause I was still a minor, and he'd give her all my money, too."

"I knew I had to leave. Right then. I packed the few things that Mom hadn't ruined, put them in my old Boy Scout backpack, grabbed up a light blanket and left the house where I'd grown up, probably forever. I took the bus into Point Loma, and got all my savings (a few hundred dollars) out of my account, and then took another bus into downtown San Diego. I got a cheap room for the night at the YMCA (they still had single-person rooms, back in the early-70's), using a phony name and age. It was homo-haven but I had a bed and a shower down the hall."

"Next day, still looking really beat-up, I was wandering around, trying to figure out a way to make some money, when an old guy called out from a parking lot booth. An hour later, I was working for him, for something like minimum wage, on a lot that had cars there for a flat fee, instead of by the hour. I had 103 spaces to take care of, clocking the cars in and out, taking money, putting out the FULL signs and giving out ticket-receipts. At the end of the week, nearly broke, I got 'paid'.

"The old guy, name of Max, figured out that I was pretty honest. So he sort-of let me know that he wouldn't be pissed if some of the receipts 'stuck to my hands.' He picked up the cash money once a week. After that week, he let me sleep in the booth in a home-made hammock (a bed-sheet, knotted at both ends, and roped-tied to the booth ends), making me into a sort-of free after-hours guard.

I started carrying a sharp knife and I knew where the shortened shotgun was. I pissed into bottles, dumped them down the storm drain and shat into a bucket filled with cat litter.

I only went to the 'Y' twice a week, for the exercise area, showers, a real bed and to get mail held for me. I ate cheap at the YWCA cafeteria. I bought an old, junked bicycle and fixed it up, so I could get around."

"I passed my 18th birthday here, sometime, but it was only just me and one cupcake from the Y cafeteria."

"Uh, Boh," I said, "there's a girl right about here in my memory. You want that I should skip this part?"

She grinned up at me, and said, giggling and wiggling over my lap, "Not on your teen-age life. She's not here. I'm here, now. Gimme it all. Tits, pussies and squirts."

So I told her about Midge, her Winnebago and how I lost my virginity.

"Sometime in the first few weeks (right after I turned 18), early in the morning, before the morning rush, I looked up and saw a Winnebago come to a stop just outside the booth. Today, you'd call it a Recreation Vehicle (RV) or a motor-home, but back then, people went Winnebagoing. Dumb word!

It was just a big, square box with windows, set on a bus platform. Clumsy and long. The driver wanted to know if she could park in several of the connected spots.

My trouble was that she asked about the connected spots while wearing skin-tight, 'painted-on' jeans, a bare midriff outfit and a loose top that kept flopping open, barely not covering a pair of nicely shaped smaller bare boobs with no bra."

"So, of, course, raging teen-age hormones kicked in, and I helped maneuver her into 5 connected spaces, close to one of the lot's borders with another building. That spot just happened to have a faucet (without a handle, which she supplied) for water, at the foundation of the building, and there was a grate to the storm drainage system right under the motor-home. The Winnebago's side door faced away from the booth, and Midge had put a big artificial potted plant in the passenger's side window. In fifteen minutes, she had water, a totally illegal connection to dump her waste tank, and I even plugged her 110v extension cord into the Parking-Lot's socket."

"All that for a little flash of tit and look-see for legs and butt. I figured I'd have to explain the loss to Max and take a cut in pay, but that didn't happen."

"Instead, after the morning rush, the remaining unused spaces were taken up with various cars. The drivers came to the lot, stayed a short while and left, only to be re-taken by the next batch. While Midge was parked there, the total Parking Lot receipts were about 20% greater than normal, even for missing the 5 spaces, and Max didn't say a thing."

"I will admit I was puzzled about this, for the first couple of hours, until I saw the sleepy looks of the guys that wandered back to their cars, after a visit to the lot. Then I put 2 + 2 together, and figured that Midge was an 'independent contractor' for sex ... a traveling prostitute."

"I had no experience with prostitutes or fucking a woman, since my ex-steady girl, Connie, would barely give me a few feelies and, only once, a minimum-touch hand-job. Even with Tijuana so close, between intrusive, paranoid, spying/crying Mom and Angry-at-an-Instant Dad, I'd never been there."

"I was still a virgin."

"That evening, as I was closing the lot for the night, I noticed that the potted plant was gone from the Winnebago's window. I knocked on her door, to tell her that the lot was closing, and from then on, I was sunk. She opened the door, having just taken her last shower, and greeted me wearing a pair of slippers, a big smile and an invitation inside. That was about all she wore."

"Another fifteen minutes later, I was eating a stir-fry and rice with her plus wine, sitting there naked with a huge boner, watching her nude body. Another fifteen minutes after dinner, and she was reclining on her bed, in the rear of the motor-home, lying on her back with her legs spread open, and instructing me in the fine details of a woman's anatomy."

"A short time after that, I was plugged deeply inside of her, her legs locked around my waist, trying not to pump like a madman, and listening-plus feeling her cunt muscles grip my cock-as she worked herself into her second orgasm, despite my inexperience and urgent need. I shot my virgin jism into her, as she talked dirty, screamed and came ... for real."

"Given that I was just a bit over 18 at the time, I was able to 'go' three more times in two hours, and she met all my thrusts and squirting with practiced ease. I slept with her that night, and all the other nights she was there in the lot."

"The next day, after all her customers left, she started instructing me in the ways a man can please a woman ... and the subtle way a man can tell when a woman is faking an orgasm. Which is, feel for the cuntal clutching as she screams and talks dirty, plus look at her nipples and at her eyes. If her pupils aren't dilated; if she doesn't clutch at your cock with her twat, inside; if her nipples aren't hard ... then something's wrong."

"Plus, if she keeps talking about 'waiting-for-marriage,' 'making-a-baby,' ''being friends-with-benefits' or 'meeting-Mister-Right,' use and keep a condom, don't let her get hold of the leavings and run the other way as fast and as soon as possible."

"Midge told me, 'I've been doing sex since I was sixteen. I do it lying down, sitting, standing, bent over a chair or a rock or a tree, in private or in public, one man or several, young or old, guys or women, in hotel or houses or apartments or here in my Winnebago. I charge for sex, so I can have it for free when I want to. I suck and I swallow. I take in in my mouth, pussy, ass, hands, face, wherever. I can do it all day and all night, and I just love doing it. I'd rather have sex than go shopping or have girlfriends. I just love it, and I'm gonna have as much sex as I can, for as long as I can in this life'."

"The 'hands-on' teaching went on during the late afternoons and nights of the next 12 days. Then, at the 13-day mark, Midge suddenly told me she had a 'feeling' and to disconnect everything. Telling me she'd be back, but she couldn't say when, she got the Winnebago out of the lot, and disappeared down the street."

"She was right, because, that afternoon and night, there was yet another 'sweep' by the very-corrupt Vice Squad of the San Diego Police, and there were black-and-white patrol cars all over the downtown area, for the next week."

I broke off, saying, "Boh, are you sure, really sure, you wanna hear about my teen years adventures with girls like Vicki and women like Midge. You said you wanted all the details, but, little hottie, it gets really explicit. I can just kinda not tell you all the ..."

My tiny Asian girlfriend, by now squirming around on the couch, with one little hand tugging at her right boob and nipple and the other hand buried in her own twat, gasped out, "Don' you dare. I wanna hear everything you do. Den I wanna do it to you. Over and over. I got dirty mind, you know I do, back when I a virgin. Now I got same dirty mind and I'm a crazy-mad-for-sex real woman. Cock-humpin' real woman. You tell me all the sexy stuff, right now."

So I said, "Midge showed up, again, about three weeks later." "She pulled up in the same Winnebago, and asked, oh-so-politely, if she could use five spaces. She asked, while wearing a sheer top and no bra. So I said, 'no problem, Midge.' A quarter hour later, her RV was parked in the same 5 spaces, hooked up with water, electricity and the illegal waste dump."

"But, when I went to tell her that she could open for 'business' any time she wanted, what I got was a lithe and very 'healthy' female figure jumping into my arms and trying to stuff her tongue down my throat. I told her that I had to wait to sundown to see her, and she said, 'Yes, yes, yes!'." That day, sundown-and lot closing-was a long time coming, subjectively."

"I closed and locked the gate, leaving the lot with just two vehicles there: my junker bicycle and her Winnebago. I cleaned up as best I could, went over to her door and knocked."

"Midge opened her door to me, wearing exactly two items, plus low slippers; a pair of thigh-high black net stockings. She had a mane of near-silver hair, a completely bald pussy and a new set of boobs that sat high on her chest, complete with puffy-aureola and stiff, half-inch-long nipples. I invited her to dinner, and she said, 'OK, but later, 'cause we've got to have sex right now'."

"The new boobs were the result of first-class, expensive surgery, she told me, while the aureola and nipples were the result of screaming lust and need to be sexed, fucked and used ... by me. She posed and teased me for a whole half-hour. I could still see faint scars, under her breasts. Dinner became pot pies in her tiny oven at 3:00 AM. The rest of the evening and night was spent in deep penetration and thrashing, squirting sex."

"The second time we did sex, after the first pounding and thrusting, after I'd gotten off and we'd rested, was ... near impossible to say how it was, even for a horny teen guy."

"Why?" giggled my girl, now getting pretty hot-and-bothered.

"Because Midge had given me what I think was the ultimate sex offering a woman can display, before a man uses her, oh-so-willingly, for sex."

"She lay on her back, totally nude, with her legs pulled up and spread, except for the fishnets, which hid exactly nothing. But next, my long-time lover looked up at me and slowly, deliberately, spread her legs wide open and up, in a V, exposing her womanly pussy lips. She arched her back, pushing her new, larger boobs up at me, the nipples quivering. Finally, she reached around, under her wide spread stiff legs, with fingers spread and extended, pulled at her vaginal lips until her cunt and stiffened-clit were completely exposed."

"I could see down into her love-tunnel a couple of inches. Saw the droplets of lubrication forming on the tunnel walls. Hear her gasping for breath, as her new boobs slowly bounced on her chest."

"I gasped out, 'My God,' my cock straining out in front of me, wanting to plunge inside her."

"Then she said, 'Look at me, lover. Tonight, it's all for you. Hell, it's all for you, every night, until I have to go. You listened to me when I taught you stuff. Really listened, and then proved to me you'd learned. OK, guy, this is my gift to you. This is about the only thing I won't do for my 'clients,' my johns. Look at what a real woman wants you to see. Don't just look, I want you to stare at me and my sexy body."

"I want you to lust over me. I want your sex, your semen seed, inside me. Want it, need it, gotta have it. Go inside, deep and hard as you can, and you don't come all the way out again until you're too limp to fuck. I wanna lock you inside for as long as you've got any hardness at all. I wanna be USED, used for our sex. I wanna be laid, right here and right now. Do me, right now. Go inside. Look at me, while I fuck back at you. This, with you, is what I live for. I'm a hot fucking woman and I wanna be fucked by you. You're gonna see me spread out and wanting you, every night. My tits are on fire for your sucking and touch. Hard. Inside. Fuck me, dammit Right now."