I was pleased with myself as I removed my new identity papers, credit card, and cash from the safe deposit box that I had set up nine months ago in anticipation of what had happened. While pleased I wasn't slapping myself on the back because it's what I expected of myself. You see, for better or for worse, I'm a fucking genius. A test pegged my IQ at 180, but I was trying not to do too well on it. Being a fucking genius has been – in my view – my best and worst characteristic since I was a child.
Before my fifth birthday I already had the vocabulary of a graduate student. My favorite nursery rhyme was my own version of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star:"
Scintillate, scintillate, globule vivific!
Fain would I fathom thy nature specific,
Loftily poised in the ether capacious,
Strongly resembling a gem carbonaceous.
My intellectual attitude, bordering on haughtiness, got my butt kicked in elementary school – especially since I was two to three years advanced – until the other kids figured out that I had the cleverness to get revenge on them and had no inner voice telling me if something was over-the-top.
Anyway, so here I was now, Brad Gensler, complete with driver's license and a fake recommendation letter from a previous employer. Although I got my Masters in Physics by the time that I was sixteen, I developed an interest in working with my hands and found that I had a talent for machining exotic materials to within a thousandth of an inch. They don't let just any clown put threads on beryllium copper pipe, for example, when it costs more than a hundred dollars a foot and the threads have to be ultra-precise. I worked two years as a master machinist and "that would be a good profession to pick up on now," I thought to myself as I emptied the safe deposit box. A job in physics would be too high profile.
With my new identity and a one day audition where I showed what I could do, I quickly got a job as a master machinist. I found a small apartment that was more than reasonable, bought a used car, and went looking for pussy – something that I hadn't had in months and that I missed so badly that I was trembling just thinking about it.
While I didn't mind paying for pussy, it was more fun to hunt it. I went to a local meat market and got lucky with Sarah in two hours and six minutes. Well, it wasn't really luck since I had a technique that rarely failed if the woman had any slut tendencies (why would she be at a meat market if she didn't?), one that had actually been scientifically proven to work. The steps are simple to say, harder to execute: approach, show value, attract, rapport, hard-to-get, extract.
Once, in a low key manner, that I had impressed Sarah with my humor and intellect, I turned my back to her slightly, and broke eye contact. When she asked me questions, I did not appear anxious to answer them, and in fact she had to repeat two of them because I feigned that I didn't hear them. I talked slowly. Once she took on the role of pursuer I acted shy but completely in to her, including once chuckling "Is it possible that a plasma hot chick like you could be interested in me?"
Sarah turned out to be perfect for a first fuck in months. She had a craggy sloppy cunt and big sensitive nipples, and best of all she was really anxious to please – and please me she did. My dick was red and sore, and my balls ached, by the next morning. What a nice piece of ass, able to satisfy my normally constant urgings for a couple of days.
After two weeks of picking up a new slut every third day I decided that it was time for a relationship. I like pickups, but a regular piece is better if it's prime. You don't get prime relationship material at meat markets, but you do in health clubs. The approach is different in health clubs too, and you need time.
Since the job I had was piecework, and since I made decent money just doing my quota, I only had to work about four hours a day at my machinist job, more only on special occasions such as when there were rush projects. This gave me plenty of time to join two different health clubs. I was able to determine within two weeks when it was optimum booty time in each venue and adjust my schedule accordingly.
I wasn't looking for pretty faces – although that certainly would be a great bonus. What I was looking for was someone who previously obviously had a great body and was making a concerted effort to get it back to the way that it was. This was my goal for a number of reasons. First, that would give me the opportunity to really charm them and endear them to me since I knew just how to play a combination of unwavering encouragement and tough love; second, women in that position would be most available; and third, I was most interested in a woman's body first, then intellect, then pretty face.
I had great success at Planet Fitness, having met three great prospects within the first two weeks. One – Connie – was a little "over-qualified" but since I think that I'm better than anyone else I focused most of my attention on her. It was only after constructing a perfect progression and with what appeared to be reciprocal interest on her part that I found out that she was married. She never wore her rings during workouts, and the first time that we went out together for a drink after a workout one night she was wearing what had every appearance of engagement and wedding rings on her left hand. I asked about them.
"Yes, I'm married," she said with a diabolical grin while resting her hand on mine; "but I want you to understand that if my attraction to you grows from what is a great start that it won't make any difference to our relationship."
That was NOT what I wanted to hear. Even though I consider myself better than everyone else, what I don't do is fuck married women – my past history precludes me from doing that, as does my most moral and unwavering ethical precept – you always keep your word, especially when it comes to sex.
While I didn't immediately terminate my "date" with Connie, and acted normally for the next half hour, I cut things short. I did give her a kiss on the lips while squeezing her because she looked so fucking delicious, but it was definitely a "good-bye" kiss.
"Damn shame," I growled to myself when we parted. Not only was she a consummate cock-stimulator but now it meant that I had to cool it at Planet Fitness for a while. I quelled my disappointment by finding a call girl that looked a little like Connie and paid for an overnight visit. Even though the three fucks over the ten hours that we kept company were with condoms, they were highly enjoyable since in my mind I was fucking Connie.
Since I had to at least temporarily give up on the two other women of interest at Planet Fitness to avoid Connie, I started more serious looking at L. A. Fitness, the second health club that I had joined. While my initial two week review there did not turn up any good prospects, I made a more diligent examination and found two possibilities. The first wore her wedding rings – she had forgotten she had them on since they interfered with her workout – the second time that I interfaced with her. Although I remained very friendly with her, that ended my interest. The second woman I only came across when I went at an odd time. Her name was Sharon, and she had all of the necessary things that I was looking for, without being "over-qualified."
Sharon was recently divorced, no kids, two years older than I was, about ten pounds overweight, and determined to get back to her optimum weight. While she had a fairly challenging job, getting in shape – and the weight loss that it would entail – seemed to be her primary goal in life.
It was obvious that if Sharon was ten pounds lighter that her body would not be just "smokin' hot" but "plasma hot." She was also clearly bright, and the fact that her face was completely ordinary didn't bother me in the least.
I modified my work schedule to be at the health club the same times that Sharon was, and we shortly became workout partners, and we both adjusted our schedules so that they completely meshed. I encouraged and complimented her while at the same time refusing to let her beg off when she shouldn't have, even one time bringing her to tears. It was the night that I brought her to tears with my tough love that our relationship changed from a repressed sexual one to a no holds barred one.
I comforted Sharon when she sobbed. After she calmed down I apologized. "I'm really sorry I was so hard on you Sharon; I guess I pushed 'tough love' too far."
"No...you were right Brad. I shouldn't have tried to wimp out. It's just that it's so hard to try and get my body to look halfway decent again."
"Sharon, you're way more than halfway decent already – in fact a light year more," I replied staring into her still slightly teary eyes. She smiled; I gave her a quick kiss; that was all I could do since we were still at L A Fitness.
"Would you like to get dinner after we shower?" I asked.
"Come to my house and I'll make it for you," she said, her eyes suddenly turning from teary to smoldering.
I followed her to her house. We were inside no more than seconds when we went after each other. We pawed each other naked within a few minutes. I turned her upside down and held her pussy at the level of my mouth and started tormenting her clit with my tongue and lips as she did her best to suck my rock hard flagpole while she played with my testicles. After she quivered so hard with an orgasm that I almost dropped her, I turned her right-side-up, picked her up, carried her to the couch in her living room, planted her ass on the cushions while holding her legs apart, and buried my cock in one thrust.
I was banging down into her sweet snug pussy as she grabbed her own tits and massaged them. The sight of her manipulating her own mammaries while licking her lips at me as I stroked in and out was too much, and I blew my wad in record time. No matter, she had her second orgasm as soon as the first squirt flushed her vaginal walls.
By the time that we separated and came down from our climaxes, we were both sweaty. We took a shower together, playing with each other's' parts, and ate a simple meal, still naked. Then we "watched" a movie, which consisted more of me sucking her tits and she playing with my balls, until we were both ready for another round. We retired to her bedroom and fucked each other to sleep.
Within two weeks I had moved into her house but only after we had both committed to being exclusive. I really enjoyed living with Sharon. She was intelligent and fun, and one of the best sex partners I had ever had. Also, within five months of when we started living together her body had returned to the plasma-hot version of its earlier years. That was both good and bad.
