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Subject: {ASSM} "Tropic of Eros" Chapter 13 M/F, F/F
Date: Tue, 25 Nov 2003 04:10:06 -0500
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<1st attachment, "tropic13.txt" begin>
(Tropic13.TXT)
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"Tropic of Eros" - Chapter 13 of ??
|| (M/F, F/F and just about everything else) (\_=_/)
(:\Oo/:)
Written by: HighlanderJM - (c) 1998-2004 < _ ->
E-mail: HighlanderJM@hotmail.com ^ ^
Chat: http://messenger.msn.com - HighlanderJM@hotmail.com
Archive: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/HighlanderJM/
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PAMELA
Height: 5'6"
Weight: 120 pounds
Blonde Hair
Brown Eyes
Measurements: 38d-24-35
Age: 28 (bday: Jan. 5)
Hello boys and girls,
I'm Pamela, a natural blonde beauty with the
cool personality to go with it. I've been a
dancer for several years and LOVE IT!! I've
definitely achieved my goal of being the best
in the business. Trust me, once you've had
me, you won't forget me. I can handle a
party of six or 60, and I can promise that
everyone will have the time of their lives.
I've done shows for both guys and girls and
love doing them both! So if you would like
to enter my Bad Girl Playground, give me a
call and I will be there. If you want a two
girl show, I will bring my friend Bambi!
Ta Ta for now, Pamela xoxoxo
As I sat in front of my computer and read that little
biography, I shook my head and frowned inwardly. I had
been surfing the Internet for the past hour and though I do
not remember exactly how, I came across the website of the
Baltimore-area strip club that Pamela was employed at. It
seemed as if in addition to being a stage dancer who gave
lap dances, Pamela was also a _private party entertainer_.
"Your _Bad Girl Playground_, huh?" I asked outloud,
shaking my head. "And who in the world is Bambi?"
Just about the only thing that brought a smile to my face
about this specific web page was the photograph of Pamela
that went along with it. In the picture, she was smiling
and her vast, ample cleavage was on display. Pamela had on
a skintight black t-shirt with a plunging neckline and the
phrase _Got Milk?_ etched across its front. The photograph,
however, did not show anything below the chest. For a strip
club, I thought inwardly, that seemed all-too-typical.
At the bottom of the page, I noticed there were a pair of
hyperlinks. One read _more pictures of Pamela_ while the
other was _Pamela's customer reviews_. Hmmmmm...
Dear [Strip Club Name],
I'm taking this opportunity to thank your
company for once again making our most
recent bachelor party a huge success. My
friends and I have been using your company
for 10 years and once again we were treated
to an evening of great entertainment. The
young lady that made all of this possible
was the lovely and charming Pamela. She is
definitely a star in the making. Pamela is
a really sweet girl and left a long lasting
impression on all of the participants that
evening. I would go out on a limb and say
that if anyone who attended our party needs
an entertainer in the future, Pamela will be
their first choice. Everyone wished that
she was booked for two hours instead of one
because she made the evening a real success.
I would once again like to thank you and
hope to continue our association with your
company. Pamela made me look very good in
front of the guys. They cannot stop talking
about it being the best bachelor party they
ever attended and I owe it to you and Pamela.
-Tim (Nottingham, MD)
Pamela,
Thank you for making my boyfriend's 21st
birthday party a blast. Including me in
the show was great! It was difficult for
me to watch you dance and strip for Scott
at first because I love him so much, but
you wound up making me feel really
comfortable with it by asking me to help
with the show. Now his friends want to
know when I will strip for them again!
Gimme a call if you have anything in mind -
hahaha. Everything was perfect... thanks!
-Sincerely, Tanya
We would recommend Pamela to anyone wanting
the best performer for a live act. Pamela
is also a great actress who can role-play any
character that you want. She listens to the
instructions you give her, is very prompt in
returning your phone calls (she called within
minutes after I called [Strip Club Name] and
selected her), was early in her arrival and
had everything ready to go. Not to mention
she is even more beautiful and stunning than
the pictures on your website suggest. After
the show, the people at the party agreed that
Pamela bent over backwards (literally) to
please everyone and was very attentive. Even
her two bodyguards were totally professional.
Try Pamela at your next event. If you do,
you will be extremely satisfied.
An Adoring Fan
To whom it may concern,
I'm taking a few minutes from my lunch hour
to send a note about one of your entertainers,
Pamela. Last night, I attended a birthday
party for a friend of mine and Pamela was a
surprise guest. This note is not a critique
about her body, or how everyone got all riled
up when she arrived. It is more about what I
thought was a woman who brings respect to
_adult_ entertainment. I have been in more
strip clubs across the USA and abroad to fill
a lifetime, so I am not easily impressed. My
comment about Pamela is that I was impressed
with how well she conducted herself in a very
professional manner, as well as her sincere,
non-soliciting personality. Many dancers, in
my opinion, make it clear that it is all about
the money. Pamela was different because I
think she was successful in performing, being
genuine, very professional and mature, and was
compensated without blatantly soliciting. Let
me end this by saying that when I arrange a
bachelor party for another friend of mine come
two months from now, I will most definitely
call [strip club name] and request Pamela.
Thank you for reading... Joe
Pamela,
Just wanted to say thanks for coming out to
Irvington a few weeks back and putting on a
fabulous show for all of us. Everyone had
a great time (especially the groom-to-be),
and I hope you did as well. I also wanted
to apologize for the inappropriate remarks
made by one of the guys. Although Larry was
drunk, he had no business saying something
so totally ignorant and disrespectful toward
you. If it is any consolation, I think your
email address - Hot and Sexy - sums it up,
but it left out a few things like great
smile, great body, great personality, etc.
I think you get the point.
Thanks again for an excellent time, Dennis
I wish we had made Pamela and Bambi the final
act because their show was impossible to beat,
especially the sex toy/lesbian skit. They
worked together very well and had all of us
wondering if they were really together. Every
mouth in the house was watering. Bambi was
very funny and outgoing. Pamela dominated
the attention of any man that she set her
sights on. It's a good thing that we had a
30 minute intermission before the next show
because everyone needed to cool off. As a
final note, the pictures on your website do
not do Pamela justice. She is HOT HOT HOT!
Now I just have to get another of my buddies
married so I can book Pamela and Bambi again.
-Anonymous
As you can see, I clicked on the link for customer reviews
instead of viewing more photographs of Pamela. The reviews,
though quite complimentary of Pamela and her work, made me
feel sad and depressed inside. Pamela seemed to be too good
and too classy of a person to be flaunting herself to total
strangers in strip club rooms and on the party circuit.
As a member of Mensa, Pamela was also incredibly smart.
The 28-year-old was ranked on the Dean's List at the Maryland
university that she attended. Nothing against strippers, of
course, but Pamela did not seem the type to be cut out for
this line of work. From what I have gathered thus far in
nearly two weeks of being around her, Pamela was incredibly
warm and kind-hearted. She was not cold and abrasive, which
is another stereotype that goes along with her line of work.
Pamela was also - believe it or not - somewhat reclusive and
shy. I wanted to get Pamela to open up to me even more than
she already had. I wanted to know everything about her.
* * *
"Are you sure you want to do that for me?" I asked Pamela
a bit later that afternoon, wanting and needing confirmation.
"Do you really want to give me another lap dance?"
Pamela laughed and replied, "Of course I want to dance
for you, Jeremy." Little did Pamela know, however, that I
had baited her into a discussion about her career over the
past 30 minutes. After viewing her portfolio on the strip
club's website, I was overly curious about everything. Most
of all, I was curious as to why a beautiful and intelligent
woman such as Pamela had chosen exotic dancing as her career.
Pamela was much better than the negative stereotype that went
along with being a stripper. She was, in my eyes, an angel.
As we lounged outside upon the deck which flanked my
private suite, I offered Pamela a smile and asked, "Would it
be too much to ask if you were to treat me like a customer?"
"What do you mean?"
"I'd like for you to treat me like a customer," I told
her again. "I want you to treat me like a patron at that
club you work at in [city name]. I've never been to a strip
club before, so I have no idea what those places are like.
Well... I do have some idea, I guess, but not really." I
nodded my head and concluded, "You know what I mean."
"Like a customer, huh?" she grinned. "You want me to
take your money, too?"
"I want you to treat me like a customer," I reiterated.
"I want you to take my money, talk to me like you don't even
know me. I'm just a dollar sign to you." Pamela frowned as
I added, "That's how you said you looked at all of the guys
who come to your club. They have money, and you want it."
"I didn't look at ALL of them that way," Pamela countered.
"Some of the guys were really sweet. If a guy wasn't all
that attractive, but he was nice and friendly, and acted
like a gentleman, I would try to be extra nice to him in
return. Like, give him a hug after the lap dance ended -
and let him hug me too. I never did that for guys who were
mean, disrespectful or attractive."
"You only let the unattractive guys hug you after the lap
dance ended?" I confirmed. "Interesting."
"I figured they were at the club because they led lonely
lives. With some guys, you could really tell. They were
shy, afraid to make too much eye contact. Believe it or not,
but I can spot the 30-year-old virgin from a mile away. I
have danced for plenty of guys like that. I wanted to be
nice to them. It was all part of the fantasy."
"But you still worked them for their money."
"Yes, I did," she nodded. "20 bucks for a table dance,
25 for a couch dance and 35 for the champagne room, where
there was the most contact. Each dance lasted for an entire
song, and once about every half-hour there were two-for-one
specials. Two dances for the price of one."
"I bet you made a lot of money."
"Not as much as you'd think," she told me. "For every
dance I did, no matter if it was the 20, 25 or $35 variety,
I had to give ten dollars back to the club. On top of that,
the club got its flat house fee - $70." She frowned and then
added, "Some nights, business was really slow and I wound up
owing the club money."
I squinted my eyes. "How so?"
Pamela shrugged her shoulders. "The house fee - 70 bucks.
Even if I did not make $70 on any given night, I still had
to pay the house fee. I cannot count all the times that I
worked nine or ten hours and came up completely dry. You
work all that time and wind up owing your job money."
"That doesn't sound right."
"It's not right," she agreed. "But it's the way it is.
On the flipside, though, there were certain nights when I
actually took home $1,000 to $1,500 in cash. During a
routine night, though, I take home five or six hundred.
Those more than made up for the slow nights. Most of my job
is just sitting around and talking with the customers in the
club. We have to talk to them and be very nice in order for
them to open up their wallets. Oh... and when we dance on
stage, or on the side ledge near the wall, I'd be lucky to
get two or three bucks in tips. Usually, one guy would come
over and tip me. If I was lucky, it led to a private dance."
"You said it was a really classy place?"
"Oh yes, most definitely," Pamela answered. "I would've
never applied there if it was anything but. All of the club
employees were real nice and business-like, from the manager
to the house madam, the bouncers, the waitresses and even
the restroom attendants. I never had any problems, though I
did not particularly care for some of the other dancers.
But it's that way no matter where you work."
"What did you talk about with the customers?" I inquired.
"You said you had to talk and be real nice to them."
"It was a house policy. We could never be negative toward
anyone, no matter what they said or did. If they became too
unruly, the bouncers would step in and take care of them. I
had my standard list of questions for every customer. The
club's policy was if someone was interested in talking with
you, you had to ask four questions. Name, had they been to
the club before, where do they live and what do they do for
a living. We would chat for awhile and then, eventually, I
would ask if they would like a dance."
"Did you have any truly loyal customers? Guys who looked
at you as their favorite, and always sought you out?"
"I had my share," she grinned. "There was this one guy...
his name was Eric. He would come in once a week and plop
down $350 for ten lap dances from me in the champagne room.
It usually wound up being 12 or 13, because of the special
two-for-one deal every half-hour. I had to sit down and
rest once every three or four songs. Eric never seemed to
mind. We would just sit there and talk."
She nodded her head and added, "He was my favorite. Not
because he gave me all that money, but because he was very
depressed and lonely in life. He was incredibly sweet, too.
He was one of those 30-year-old virgins that I mentioned.
It felt good to give him that ray of sunshine every week. I
was the only dancer that he was interested in seeing. He'd
call the club beforehand to see if I was working that night.
If I wasn't, he would never come. Between all the dancing
and talking we did, he usually stayed for three hours."
"Did you ever think of meeting him outside of work?"
"No, that was my rule - don't mix business with pleasure,"
she answered. "Plus, if I did that and the club found out
about it - dating a customer I met at work - I would be fired
on the spot. Some strip clubs encourage that and some don't.
This one don't." Pamela hesitated before saying, "I did
break that rule once, though. There was this really hot
girl that I danced for one night. She even got me excited.
A customer getting ME excited happens once every two or three
years. Anyway, I met her - Stacy - in a hotel room after my
shift ended that night. But I was a lot younger then, and
much more impressionable than I am now."
"It doesn't sound like that bad of a place," I mused.
"It does have its drawbacks," Pamela offered. "As I said,
they are very classy and professional in the way the place is
run. Thus, consequences go along with that."
"What do you mean?"
Pamela frowned. "The fines there are outrageous."
"Fines?"
She nodded her head. "Yes, the place has fines. Like if
you are just ten minutes late for work, it's a $50 fine." My
eyes went wide as she added, "Then two dollars for every
extra minute until you arrive. Once I was 45 minutes late
and wound up paying $120 in fines."
"Wow..." I countered, awestruck. "Just for being late?"
She nodded her head once again. "Yes, just for being
late. It's SO ridiculous. And when it's your turn to be on
stage, you HAVE to be there at the beginning of the song. If
not, that's a hundred dollar fine. I could be talking with a
customer but if the D.J. calls out my name, I have to end the
conversation and be on stage. I have a 60 second window."
"No wonder strip club owners have so much money," I said.
"They charge you $70 just to work for them each night, take
$10 from every dance you do and then charge outrageous fines.
Does not seem to be a way to keep employees happy."
"There is also the $150 fine," Pamela added. "They have
never gotten me for it, though."
"What is it?"
"Dancers are allowed to smoke cigarettes in the club, but
only at the bar or at a table," she answered. "If any girl
is caught holding an open cigarette while out on the floor,
it is an automatic $150 fine. We can carry packs or cartons,
but not an open cigarette. I don't smoke, though, so they
have never had the chance to hit me up for that much."
"That's good," I nodded. "Smoking is bad for you. My
brother got lung cancer from years of second-hand smoke while
growing up. My mom always smoked. I can only hope that I
don't get cancer one day because of it, too. Her smoking was
not the main reason my brother got cancer, but his doctor
said it was definitely a contributing factor."
Pamela looked concerned. "Your brother. Is he... okay?"
"Dan is doing well," I nodded. "He beat cancer."
"Good, I'm glad," Pamela breathed.
"Do you actually like being a stripper?"
The blonde hesitated for a moment, then made a face. "I
always tell people yes, but the truth is, I really hate it.
But the money is wonderful. That's why I do it. I made
well over $100,000 in cash last year. It was tax-free, too."
"You don't report your income to the IRS?"
"No way," she answered. "Strippers are what is called
independent contractors. We don't get checks. We get paid
in cash. We are supposed to report our earnings, of course,
but I don't want to give up all the money I would owe in
taxes each year. If you do a background check on me, I have
been unemployed for the past nine years."
"You've been a stripper for nine years."
"Exactly," Pamela nodded. "The government does not know
that I am a stripper. They think I am unemployed. So why
should I report my earnings to them? I would probaby lose
30 or 40 grand a year. That would be foolish."
"Hopefully you never get caught," I offered. "I can see,
though, why the money would keep you there. $100,000 plus
per year... $2,000 per week, I guess. Tax-free, too. Nice."
"I endure a lot of verbal abuse there," Pamela told me.
"A lot of the customers each night get drunk and become
disrespectful. But the worst is on Friday and Saturday
nights. Though those are the best nights to make money, I
hate working them. There are so many 18- and 19-year-old
guys who come in. They are wild and unruly. They think
they can say whatever they want. I hate them."
I frowned. "Most of them, I'm sure, have no idea how to
conduct themselves around a REAL woman like you."
Pamela sulked and continued, "That job changed the way I
look at people. I thought that everyone, in the club or
even at the mall, looked at me as an object. Nothing but an
object. I lost all of my trust in humanity." Her lower lip
quivered as she added, "You're the first man, Jeremy, that I
have trusted in probably five or six years."
My body tingled as I asked, "Me? Why is that?"
"Just the way you treat me, and everyone else," she said.
"You're willing to sit and talk with me. I can talk with
you for three or four hours about anything, and you don't
even make a move on me. You're interested in me. And you
care about all of us here. That caring is sincere, and real.
I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it."
I chuckled and wryly told her, "Anyone would find it
interesting to know that a stripper likes to read books about
Egyptian artifacts and the mysteries of the Nile River." A
question that long puzzled me then popped into my mind. I
knew Pamela could answer it. "Why does the Nile flow south
to north, instead of north to south?"
"It flows downhill from the high mountains in Africa,"
she answered. "Very few rivers in the world actually flow
south to north, but the Nile is one." She paused and added,
"I would love to go on a trip down... err, up it one day."
"You're too smart and classy of a woman to have put
yourself through this stripping business for nine years," I
nodded, gently kissing the back of her hand. "One day very
soon, hopefully, you will graduate from college and become a
teacher. That is your career goal." I smiled and added, "I
bet you have a 4.0 grade point average in college... right?"
"3.8," she corrected me. Of course, I really did not want
Pamela to graduate from college. I wanted her to stay with
me on the island forever. I wanted ALL of the girls to stay!
"I was looking on the Internet and came across the website
for the strip club that you work at," I told her. "You have
a bio page in it. It says that you love being a stripper.
It also says something about your _Bad Girl Playground_."
"Don't pay any attention to that garbage," Pamela quipped,
making a face. "The club wants their customers to think that
we - the dancers - wrote those pages ourselves. Truth is,
their website guy wrote most, if not all, of them. I don't
get on the computer much but have seen what it says about me.
I was angry and upset at first, but it passed. That bio page
has earned me a lot of money since it's been online."
I smiled at her. "You're just a regular girl in a very
irregular job. Still, you're above that place. You're
better than that, Pamela. Much better. I want you to know
that, because I know it myself. You're better than that."
The 28-year-old took a deep breath and sighed. "It seems
like I've been an exotic dancer forever. In many ways, I
have lost my touch with reality. I find it so incredibly
difficult to trust others. It's hard in my line of work."
"Yet you trust me?" I smiled. "We have only known each
other for 13 days, Pamela. That's it."
"I just get this sense about you," she explained. "And,
believe it or not, but I've talked to Kristanna about you.
She knows you better than anyone else here, correct? You
have been friends with her for five years? Kristanna has
nothing but good things to say about you, Jeremy."
"I have nothing but good things to say about Kristanna,"
I countered. "She is a very special and unique friend."
Pamela glanced downward for a moment and pouted. She
took a deep breath and then made eye contact with me yet
again. "Stephanie made me mad earlier."
"What?" I asked, taken off-guard. "What happened?"
"Amy told me that Stephanie made the comment to her that
no stripper is to be trusted, and all of them are hungry for
money. Stephanie even went as far as to say that I am not
interested in you because of who you are, Jeremy, but
because of WHAT you are - a man with two billion dollars."
Pamela's brown eyes flashed as she shook her head in denial.
"It got me SO MAD! Stephanie has NO RIGHT to talk about me,
or say things like that, behind my back. NO RIGHT!"
"It does not surprise me that Stephanie would be the one
to say something like that," I frowned. "This is just my
opinion, of course, but Stephanie is a blabber-mouth. She's
said a few private things about Devon to the others, too."
I smiled and kissed Pamela on the bridge of her nose. "But
it doesn't matter, dear. Let Stephanie think whatever she
likes. I know what it is that you want."
"To get married and be happy in life," Pamela breathed.
"No one likes money more than I do, Jeremy - I freely admit
that - but all I have ever really wanted in life was to get
married and be happy. For a long time, I thought that day
would never come. I can't trust anyone. I... I want to
trust you, Jeremy. I DO trust you. But... but still, I
have my reservations. Being a stripper for as long as I
have has dulled my outlook on others."
"You and I are a lot alike," I whispered, rising out of my
lounge chair and stepping toward her. I dropped down to one
knee and looked into Pamela's mesmerizing brown eyes. "I
find it hard to trust anyone, either. The only person that
I can totally trust in the whole, wide world is Kristanna.
I have known her for so long. She has helped me so much."
"You can trust me, Jeremy," Pamela stressed, her lower
lip quivering. "I'd never hurt or wrong you in any single
way. And, though I know you probably won't believe it, I
could care less about your money." She shook her head and
added, "Being happy in life, and finding true love, makes a
person more rich than any amount of money ever could. It...
it is more important to me than anything else."
"Oh... I believe you," I assured her. "That is one thing
I am really good at nowadays. I can tell if a woman likes my
money more than she likes me. I've had a lot of practice."
"I've had more money than all of my boyfriends and
girlfriends since I started stripping," Pamela added. "Not
two billion dollars like you told Lindsay you have, but much
more than any of them, nonetheless. I know what it is like,
Jeremy. They want you to pay their car payment. They want
to borrow money, but never return it. I know all about it."
I laughed. "They want you to buy them a new house..."
"I'm the least materialistic person you could ever meet,"
Pamela said. "Aside from my car and penthouse, I don't spend
money on anything. I save it. I told you that I have over
$300,000 in the bank. All I ever do is stay home anyway. I
have always been afraid of the future. I want to save as
much money as possible. I don't know what's in the future."
"Sweetheart, you don't have to justify yourself to me," I
countered. "I know you are sincere about me. Not only am I
a good judge of character with this, as I said... but do you
remember that long and detailed questionnaire I sent you in
the mail after you inquired about coming here?"
"How could I forget it?" Pamela responded. "It took me
four or five hours just to fill it out. The questions on it
were hard and thought-provoking. What appeals to you more?
A, consistency of thought or B, harmonious relationships? I
really had to sit and think about some of the questions."
"That long questionnaire you filled out was put into a
computer, which processed all of your answers," I told her.
"All of the questionnaires - there were thousands of them -
were put into the computer. Matchmaker software, actually.
The computer took all the answers and matched them up with
mine. You and everyone else here - Devon, Trish, Lindsay,
Amy and Stephanie - scored in the top 20, compatibility-wise
with me, out of what was probably 10,000 women."
Pamela's eyes went wide. "THAT many women applied?"
"I thought the number was very low," I shrugged. "The
promise of $100,000 with a chance at $500,000 for what
amounted to a ten week vacation on a tropical island." I
smiled and added, "The questionnaire had 324 questions on
it. The computer processed all of the answers. It was set
up to automatically disqualify any woman who had too many
inconsistencies in her answers. It was also set up to
disqualify any woman, according to her answers, that it felt
was greedy, self-centered or money-hungry." I smiled once
again and patted Pamela's hand with my own. "This does not
say good things about your industry, sweetheart. But 263
strippers applied. You were only one of four strippers that
the computer thought would be a good match for me. Whether
it was because of money or something else... you were just
one of four strippers who weren't disqualified."
"Oh wow..." Pamela murmured, her eyes wide. "I did not
even know what was a good answer or a bad answer on that
thing. I just tried to be as honest as possible with my
answers. Can I... can I ask you a question, Jeremy?"
"Sure. Ask me anything you want."
"You said me and all of the others ranked in the top 20."
I nodded my head as she asked, "Where did I come in?"
"Fourth."
"Who was first?"
"Devon," I answered. "Devon was first. Trish was third.
Lindsay came in at number 11. Amy, 17. Stephanie, 20."
Pamela frowned. "The computer thought Devon and Trish
matched up better with you than I do?"
"There was only percentage points difference in the top
10 or 15. A hundredth, a thousandth of a point. That's it.
Devon scored a 97.682, if I remember correctly. You scored
a 97.674. One answer, one incosistency difference."
"Where did Kristanna come in?"
I laughed. "Kristanna did not take the test. She is the
one who helped me write the matchmaker software. According
to the computer, no one on this island would put money ahead
of happiness. So I'm really not concerned with the idea
that one or more of you are interested in me simply because
of my money. I think the computer did a good job. And,
aside from curiosity about who ultimately gets the $500,000
grand prize eight weeks from now - which is human nature, I
think - none of you really even care that much about money."
"You're a stripper, Pamela, and you admit you like making
money. But it doesn't buy happiness, and you know that.
The computer even predicted that about you in your profile.
You would give up your $300,000 in savings if you could find
the right man or woman for you. Your soul-mate."
"The right man," Pamela corrected me, giggling. "I may
enjoy being with other women, but I would never settle down
with one. I want a man. I want to get married and have a
family. That would be difficult to do with another woman."
"Lindsay came here solely because of the money," I said.
"She needs it for her family. But just the other day,
Lindsay was telling me how much she loves it here now. The
money is nice and all, but she would have even come here if
there was no money offered at all. She likes the island
that much. And aside from wanting to help out her family,
Lindsay is not a materialistic or greedy person. I think
what she told me the other day proves that." I grinned at
Pamela. "You know what else the computer predicted?"
"What?"
"That Stephanie would be a blabber-mouth."
"Oooooh... that still makes me MAD!" Pamela grunted. "I
cannot believe Stephanie would talk bad about me like that
behind my back. Tell Amy that I only want you for your
money!" Pamela took a deep breath and sighed. "If the
computer picked your top 20 matches, Jeremy, why aren't all
of us the same? I mean, in the types of people we are?"
"I like different types of women," I explained to her.
"I think you and Devon are very much alike. Almost equals.
But if you have different life experiences than she does, so
you react differently to certain things. But down-deep, at
the core, the two of you are almost equal. You and Devon are
both loyal, you both have a certain vulnerability that I
find attractive. And both of you want to get married more
than anything else. The others are different, yes. But as I
said, I like different types of women. I like women who are
confident and hard-working - Trish. I like total innocence,
almost a too-naive nature - Lindsay. Amy is a nymphomaniac.
And Stephanie is supposed to be a submissive."
"How long did it take to process 10,000 questionnaires?"
"About two months," I answered. "If you remember, it was
a _scan-tron_ test. All Kristanna and I had to do was drop
each questionnaire into the machine, and wait for the
computer to process the answers. It took five seconds."
"But you had to go through 10,000 of them."
"Yes," I nodded. "I trust, Miss Pamela, that you will
not tell anyone on the island anything that I say to you. I
have trusted you with more information about myself, why you
are here and how you were selected, than anyone else. I do
not want the others to know that I am searching for a wife.
Kristanna knows, of course, but not anyone else."
"Your secret is safe with me," she implored. "I promise.
But Amy is starting to piece the puzzle together herself."
"I know she is," was my response. "Amy was talking to me
about it the other night. But I dodged her questions. Amy
is not a bad person, or a blabber-mouth - like Stephanie is.
But I fear if Amy finds out the real reason why I brought
all of you to the island, she will tell everyone about it."
"Your secret is safe with me," Pamela reiterated. "That
is one thing about myself that I have always been proud of.
Tell me a secret, and I keep it to myself."
I tilted my head to the side and looked at her intently.
"You said you were afraid of the future, sweetheart. Why?"
"Because I can't strip forever," Pamela answered. "I am
going to college, studying education. But I am very fearful
all the time I spent in college may go for nothing. What
school is going to hire someone who stripped for nine years
to be a teacher? I have started thinking about that."
"Don't tell them that you were a stripper."
"It's a little more complicated than that."
"How so?" I wondered. "You said you are an independent
contractor. You have no job. Someone runs a background
check on you, it comes up empty job-wise for the past nine
years." I shrugged my shoulders. "The school would never
know that you were a stripper unless you told them."
"I'm scared that they would investigate that long gap,"
Pamela fretted. "I would think, of all places, that schools
are extremely thorough in looking into the backgrounds of
potential employees - especially teachers." Pamela hung her
head low. "I've worked so hard in college. I hope all of
that hard work was done for a purpose. I really started to
worry about this recently. You would think that a school
would be curious as to why someone claims they were totally
unemployed from ages 19 to 28, or 29 next year. I... I will
get my degree next year. I can't wait."
Stay with me on this island, I said inwardly, and all of
your problems and concerns in life would just fade away. I
would make it my personal crusade each and every day that
Pamela has a smile upon her beautiful face from the moment
she wakes up in the morning until she goes to sleep at night.
Pamela inhaled sharply, then momentarily closed her eyes.
"Hey, I was gonna give you a lap dance, remember? You wanted
me to treat you like a customer at the club where I work."
"I don't want you to dance for me anymore."
"Why?" Pamela asked, confused.
"Because you don't like it," I told her. "You said it
yourself - you don't like being a stripper. I don't want
you to do something that you are not in favor of, Pamela."
She shook her head at me. "No, it's okay, Jeremy. I
WANT to dance for you. You're not a drunken customer. You
are not a stranger. I know how much you enjoyed that lap
dance I gave you on Saturday. I want to give you another."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, positive," she confirmed. "Let me dance for you.
But I want to do it inside." Pamela placed both arms in
front of her body and shivered here on the outdoor deck.
"This island of yours can get quite chilly at night."
"Very well," I nodded, extending my hand to her. "Let's
go back inside - to my personal suite."
* * *
Five minutes later, our role-playing game of _Pamela the
stripper, Jeremy the customer_ had already begun. All the
stacked blonde did was retrieve a pair of high-heeled shoes
and a lacey ankle ruffle from her guest room, then return
to my own private suite and take off all of her clothing.
Now, she stood atop the nearby dresser with nothing but
the high-heels and ruffle on. The gorgeous young woman was
methodically parading her hot, luscious body about, gently
swaying and bumping her hips to an unheard rhythm. At the
same time, I pretended to be a customer - seated in a corner
chair and silently admiring her. I liked role-playing games.
Pamela's large, D-cup breasts shimmied back-and-forth as
she smiled and made eye contact with me. I nodded my head
and grinned at her in return, knowing there could not be a
more incredibly beautiful stripper in the whole, wide world.
Maybe not even a more beautiful WOMAN, period...
At 5-foot-6 and 120 pounds, Pamela sported a fabulous
figure that was home to some tight curves and awesome angles.
Those bedroom eyes could lure any man into her spell, while
that gentle, friendly smile hinted at a unique warmness and
sensitivity underneath. With that body, she had made a very
nice living for herself in the world of adult entertainment.
Very slowly, Pamela turned her back to me upon the dresser
and then bent over at the waist, offering me a tempting
glance of her round, tight ass. The 28-year-old wiggled it
about for a bit, then spun around on a high-heel and cupped
her breasts, her eyes again focused upon my face. I smiled
at her as my cock began to twitch within my shorts.
Pamela's hips bumped and undulated as she rolled her head
about, her long hair whipping every-which-way. Pamela then
cupped and squeezed her heavenly breasts as she danced and
swivelled about upon the sturdy wooden dresser in just the
pair of high-heels and lacey ankle ruffle.
Playing the role of customer, I slowly got up from my
chair and made my way over to the dresser. After I reached
into my pocket and pulled out a money clip, Pamela grinned
and then began squirming and bucking her hips about as if
she was in the process of getting drilled during sex.
I pulled out a single dollar bill and held it up for her.
Pamela smiled, then spread her legs and knelt down directly
in front of me. Her delicate, glistening pussy staring me
right in the face, I soon realized what the ruffle was for.
She grabbed one side of it and pulled it away from her ankle.
I promptly slipped the dollar bill into its rightful place.
"Thank you, sweetheart," she returned (using her standard
line at the club), flashing me a million-dollar smile.
"There's more where that came from," I grinned, offering
her another dollar. I slipped it into her ruffle again.
"Would you like to sit and talk for awhile once this song
is over?" Pamela asked, being overly nice and cordial. When
I nodded my head at her, Pamela made a _clicking_ sound with
her mouth and winked an eye at me. "It's almost finished."
She stood up and began dancing and gyrating upon the
dresser once again, but suddenly stopped and looked down at
me. "The song is finally over!" Pamela squealed, extending
me her hand. "Would you help me down, please?" I took her
hand into mine and held on tight as she stepped down onto a
chair, and then the floor. "Let's find somewhere to sit."
"Sounds good to me," I told her, as we took a seat at the
computer table. Now, I would get a taste of the strip club
experience. I had always been very curious about it...
"What's your name?" Pamela asked, in perhaps the nicest
and most warm tone I had ever heard a woman use.
"Jeremy."
"I'm Pamela," she returned, grasping my hand and shaking
it. "Most of the girls here at the club use stage names,
but I don't. My real name is Pamela... I am who I am. So...
have you been to this club in the past?"
"No, I haven't. Actually, I've never been to one of
these places before in my entire life."
"Really?" she confirmed, acting surprised. "Well, this
is a really classy club. Do you like it so far?"
"I like it a lot."
"Where do you live?"
I grinned and told her, "On an exotic, tropical island
off the coast of Peru. It's beautiful. Where do you live?"
"Oh, I live just outside of Baltimore," Pamela responded.
"Have you been working here long?"
"Nine years," she nodded. "I like it here a lot. It
helps put me through college, and pay the bills." Pamela
was being overly nice. I mean, OVERLY nice. I wondered
how many times she had this same conversation in the past?
"So... where do you work, Jeremy?"
"I don't work. Believe it or not, I'm retired."
"Retired?" she countered. "You seem awfully young to be
retired. What are you? I bet you're 30."
"Yes, I am. And I bet you are 28, dear."
Pamela smiled, staying in character. "I had some bad
luck tonight. I was caught speeding by the cops, going 92
in a 65 mile-per-hour zone."
"_92_?" I exclaimed. "You must have been in a hurry."
"Yes, I was," she replied. "I was late for work."
With any luck, I said inwardly, you did not have to pay
that outrageous fine, sweetheart.
"I could have been in a lot of trouble for going so fast,
you know, but the cop was nice. I had my [strip club name]
t-shirt on, and he said he and his buddies come here from
time to time. I told him I was already 15 minutes late for
work. He told me to slow down and be more careful. He also
bumped my ticket from 92 down to 80. That way, he said, I
would not have to go to traffic court, but I still had to
pay a fine." Pamela grinned and added, "I told him to come
up and get a dance from me sometime." The segue was set.
"How about you? Would you like a dance from me, Jeremy?"
"Yes, I would," I answered. Pamela smiled once again as
she stood up from the chair and extended her hand. I took
it, and then she led me to the middle of my personal suite.
"Since this is your first time here, let me explain that
a couch dance will cost you $25. Or we could go up to the
champagne room. It is really the best place, but runs an
additional ten bucks - $35. Much more contact there. I can
give you a table dance for $20, but it is minimal contact."
"The champagne room sounds perfect," I nodded.
As Pamela led me by the hand over to the large sofa near
the back wall - which would serve as the champagne room, I
guess - I pulled out a pair of twenties from my money clip.
I extended the cash to her, but Pamela shook her head and
retorted, "You don't have to pay me until the dance is over."
"No," I said. "Go ahead and take it. Keep the change."
"Thank you!" she squealed, momentarily leaning over and
grabbing the pair of dollar bills I had given her earlier.
She placed the total of $42 on the end table and then
motioned for me to take a seat on the sofa. "Spread your
legs for me, sweetheart," she requested, and I complied.
Pamela stepped directly between my legs and gently nudged
her tender knee and lower calf upon the aching bulge within
my shorts. She then placed her hands upon my shoulders and
vigorously shook her body, causing her large, firm breasts
to jiggle about a mere two inches in front of my face.
The enchantress leaned down somewhat and pressed her
upper torso upon my chest and abdomen. With both arms now
linked around my neck, she placed the side of her face upon
my heart and held it there for several seconds. Her fluffy
hair felt wonderful upon my own chin and face.
"How much does a _Pepsi_ or _Coke_ cost here?"
"$14," she answered, which caused my eyebrows to nearly
skyrocket. "They give you about three-quarters of a can."
"What about orange juice?"
Pamela giggled. "I don't think we serve orange juice."
My legs still wide, Pamela hooked her own legs over my
upper thighs and straddled me there. Her lovely, pristine
face hovered in front of mine for several seconds, her eyes
seemingly flashing in an exotic manner.
"I can't touch you... right?" I confirmed, my hands idly
resting at my sides.
"No, but I can touch you," she explained. "House rules."
Pamela turned to the side and slid off of my lap, and to
the side of the sofa. Now seated there, she draped her legs
across my lap and spread them far apart, allowing me an
unobstructed view of her sweet, intoxicating pussy. My heart
nearly skipped a beat as she reached between her thighs and
twiddled away at her clitoris with a single fingertip.
Pamela's next move was to glide down to the floor. With
her back to me, she got onto her hands and knees, with her
ass perched high - and staring me straight in the face. She
gyrated and swivelled her shapely hips about for my adoring
eyes in a somewhat lewd, suggestive manner, before slowly
turning around and rising up to her knees.
Starting at my crotch, Pamela snaked her cover-girl face
up my body - past my abdomen and chest, and finally stopped
at eye-level. She stared at me for several seconds with a
seductive expression, then tapped my nose with a fingertip.
Her face descended lower once again, and this time, the
goddess held it near my stomach. Her eyes never left mine
as she stared up at me, her right forearm now rubbing and
massaging the lump within my shorts. Pamela then wrapped
her arms around my waist and squeezed tightly, and again
snaked her way up my body. This time, however, she kept
her breasts pressed hard upon my torso.
Again at eye-level, Pamela placed her arms around my
neck and leaned her face in close to my right ear. I could
feel her warm, sensuous breath upon my ear, and then she
even blew into it - which sent absolute shockwaves of hot
pleasure shooting all throughout my body. An instant later,
I felt her tongue upon my ear. She licked it! Twice!
"Whoa... is that normal?" I asked, breaking character.
"Yes, it is," Pamela frowned, taking a step back and
nodding her head. "The manager likes for us to lick or
gently bite a customer's ear once, if not twice, each dance."
She then reverted back to our role-playing game and said,
"Would you like another dance? It will run you $35 more."
The game was over.
I brought Pamela into my arms and hugged her in a very
warm and caring manner. Then, despite the high level of
excitement she had given me during her performance upon the
dresser, and the ensuing lap dance, I came to a conclusion.
Still embracing her with both arms, I inhaled sharply and
declared, "I don't want you to dance for me ever again." She
pulled away and looked at me as I added, "Pamela, you're not
a stripper anymore. Not as long as you're on my island."
"What do you mean?" she asked, confused, making a motion
toward my crotch. "You're hard as a ROCK. You don't want
me to dance for you anymore? I don't quite understand."
"Just what I said," I told her. "You're not a stripper
anymore as long as you're on my island. I enjoyed the lap
dance, yes, but to be honest, I don't like looking at you in
that way." Pamela sighed as I added, "You are an incredibly
good and wonderful person. The type of person I have wanted
in my life for a long time. I am more interested in the
Pamela on the inside instead of the Pamela on the outside."
Perched in my lap with my hands upon her waist, Pamela
sagged somewhat and leaned back. "You... you're the first
guy who has ever said that to me, Jeremy." I smiled as
she cooed, "You want to know me inside more than outside."
"It's the truth," I assured her. "I do admit that you
are a very beautiful woman, and that is a major reason why I
noticed you in the first place last week. But it is not
what is keeping my interest. The person inside of you is
keeping my interest. I want to know more about the person
inside of you. I want to know everything there is to know."
Pamela placed her hands on either side of my face and
smiled at me, her head slightly tilted to the side. "I
want to know everything about you too, Jeremy." An instant
later, she pressed those red, moist lips of hers to my mouth
and offered me a tender, very pleasurable kiss. At the same
time, Pamela wrapped her arms around my shoulders and hugged
me. Our kiss, slow and languid, lasted a good 15 seconds.
It felt as if I had died and gone to Heaven.
"Hmmmmm... I enjoyed that," were my words once our lips
finally parted ways. Now looking into her luminous brown
eyes, I brought my right hand up and grazed the back of it
across Pamela's cheek in the most gentle of fashions. She
smiled in response and then, I kissed her again. This time,
our tongues touched and danced together in harmony.
"Why don't you put some clothes on?" I whispered, bumping
her nose with my own. I glanced at Pamela's nude form for a
brief moment. God, she was beautiful. Simply beautiful!
I then re-focused my sights upon her eyes and said, "Get
some clothes on, and we'll talk some more. I don't feel all
that comfortable talking to you without you wearing clothes."
Pamela snickered. "Then why don't you take your clothes
off, too? I'm sure you would be more comfortable then."
I lowered my head for a moment, then looked back up and
smiled at Pamela. "I just feel like talking to you tonight,
dear. That's all. I want to know more about you. I want
to know about your family. I want to know how it was growing
up for you. I want to know what life is like in Maryland."
"You want to know everything about me." Pamela smiled
and traced the tip of her right forefinger over and across
my chin. That subtle, simple move sent a wave of good
sensations coursing throughout my entire body. "I got news
for 'ya, buster. I want to know everything about you, too."
She snickered and added, "Wait... I just said that."
I grinned at her one more time. "I got some dress shirts,
some sweatshirts and sweatpants and the like over in my
closet. Go over and put something on... just enough to cover
up. I even got some big basketball and football jerseys. I
have always loved the sight of a woman in a football jersey.
I know that sounds strange, but it's the truth."
Pamela pecked my cheek with a kiss and giggled, then
pushed herself away from me and stood up. She glanced at
the nearby closet, then back at me. "It's not all that
often, you know, when I have someone asking me to actually
put some clothes on. In fact, you're the first, Jeremy."
I nodded my head and countered, "I think I might be the
first of a lot of things for you, sweetheart."
The 28-year-old pondered those words for a moment or two,
then flashed me another smile before turning and making her
way over to the closet. "You like your women in football
jerseys, huh? Let me see what I can find in here..."
It was at this exact moment in time when I realized that
I was actually in love with Pamela. Not the puppy love, or
the infatuation I felt for her last week after our first
sexual encounter. Not the spur-of-the-moment love that I
felt for Lindsay after she allowed me to shave her little
pussy the other day. This was true, honest-to-goodness love.
I could see myself marrying this woman one day, being the
father of her children, and spending the rest of my life
with her. The rest of eternity, in fact.
"How is this?" came her sexy voice as Pamela emerged from
the closet. She was decked out in a #28 Cincinnati Bengals
(my favorite team since I was born there) NFL replica jersey.
The black nylon fabric was the perfect contrast for Pamela's
long-flowing blonde hair and immaculate complexion. The
jersey was so big on her that it went down to her knees.
Smiling, Pamela spun around in a circle and modeled the
jersey for me. "Too bad you don't have a Ravens' uniform,
but I'm not complaining. All I saw was this and some NBA
Laker uniforms. I'm not that much of a basketball fan. I
would never be caught dead in a Kobe jersey, you know."
Suddenly overcome with a feeling of love and devotion -
women in athletic apparel was a fetish of mine, remember - I
stepped forward and grasped both of Pamela's hands with my
own. I kissed her and declared, "I want to be with you. I
want you to be with me." I kissed her again. "I'll be
honest, Pamela. I like this girl. I like that girl. But
I always find myself coming back to you."
"That's because I am perfect for you," she grinned. "And
you are perfect for me. That's why you keep coming back, as
you say. Remember what I told you Saturday night, Jeremy?
Have your fun. Explore, even. I don't mind. Sooner or
later, you will come to the realization that I am the ONLY
woman you need or even WANT in your life." Pamela kissed
me flush on the lips. "I don't mind you playing with the
others for now. I play with them too. But when you are
ready for a commitment, I will be here - waiting for you."
"I'm worth the wait," I said, echoing her words from our
discussion on Saturday night. "Nobody has ever said that I
was worth anything, Pamela. Not recently, at least."
Pamela stepped back, but held onto my wrists and thus,
extended my arms outward. She offered me a glittering smile
and cooed, "Take me somewhere."
"Where?"
"Anywhere. Somewhere in this big mansion that I have yet
to visit. I don't care. I just want to be with you, too."
* * *
Across from the exercise room was the home theater (not
to be confused with the OmniMAX theater located elsewhere).
Very contemporary in design, the home theater contained
customized leather seating to ensure maximum comfort while
enjoying a movie. Overhead, the black ceiling was in a
wave-like, undulating design and was filled with fiber optic
lights to create a starry nighttime effect. This fabulous
room also included a built-in bar and large popcorn machine.
It was perfect for what I had in mind tonight...
"Slushy?" I said to Pamela, handing her the cherry drink
made of soft ice. When she took the cup from me and sipped
its straw, I smiled and sat down in the chair next to her.
I grasped her left hand with my right and gently kissed it.
"Thank you," she said, motioning toward her drink.
"You're welcome."
"Is there anything to watch on the movie screen?" Pamela
asked. "Or do we just sit here and talk?"
"I have over 2,000 movies," I informed her. "If you like
it, I probably have it in the video room. Name a movie."
Pamela slumped down in her chair and placed her head upon
my shoulder. "I would rather just sit and talk, Jeremy. It
is so good to be able to relax... and just TALK. Not have
to worry about impressing some customer, or trying to coax
another $35 out of him or her. Just to be myself, and talk.
The only person who ever really listened to me was Candace."
"Your sister?"
"Yes."
"What can you tell me about the rest of your family?"
"My mom is 54 and my dad is 56," she replied. "They have
had some very rocky times in their marriage, but are still
together. I don't think they would know what to do if they
ever split apart, although they constantly fight and argue."
"Some older couples are like that," I nodded. "Your mom
and dad... what are their names?"
"Tom and Carol. I have two sisters, Paula and Candace.
Paula is 33 and married, has a few kids. Candace is 25. I
have told you about her before. Candace has been living at
my penthouse with me since she graduated from high school.
My grandmother, Genevieve, lives with my parents. She is 80
and is still in pretty good condition for her age. Her
husband - my grandfather - died a couple of years ago. They
were together for _57_ years."
"I'm sorry to hear that, dear," were my soft words.
Pamela shrugged her shoulders. "My parents did not want
Grandma to be alone, so they took her in two years ago. I
was going to offer to let her move in with Candace and me if
my parents didn't. Grandma... she devoted her entire life
to Grandpa. Grandma never worked, never did anything but
raise her kids and look after us, her grandkids. She loved
Grandpa so much. It almost killed her when he died. He
was, in many ways, her whole life. Everything to her."
"This may sound like an off-the-wall question, Pamela.
But what is your middle name?"
"My middle name? Annabeth. Why do you ask?"
"Pamela Annabeth," I nodded. "Pretty name. I could call
you PAP for short."
"PAP?" she wondered.
"Your initials," I reminded her. "P-A-P."
"Oh," the 28-year-old giggled. "Why ask my middle name?"
I kissed the crown of her head. "Just as I said, I want
to know EVERYTHING about you. What were you like before you
became a stripper? What were you like in high school?"
Pamela snickered. "When do I get to ask the questions?"
"Ask me whatever you want."
Pamela smiled again. "Okay, your questions first. What
was I like before I became a stripper? Believe it or not,
but I worked at _McDonald's_ from ages 15 through 19." My
interest level went up another notch with those words. I
could easily picture a young and teen-age Pamela working the
counter at a fast-food joint. Droves of men - young and old
alike - filing in to get a glimpse of the beautiful blonde.
Pamela laughed. "Would you like any fries with that?"
"No... but how about some sugar?" I asked, curling my
head and neck, and eventually finding her lips with my own.
"Hmmmmm... I love sugar," Pamela moaned after our kiss
reached its conclusion. With her cherry slushy still in
hand, I looked at it for a moment and came to a decision.
I snaked my head forward and stole a healthy sip from its
straw. Finding no problem in sharing her drink with me,
Pamela smiled and then sipped from the straw herself.
Feeling playful, Pamela snatched a handful of popcorn and
tossed it directly into my face. She giggled while doing so,
but then squealed in protest as I grabbed her slushy and made
a motion to dump it all over her head. I would never do that
to Pamela - or anyone else for that matter - but it was fun
to put a little scare into her nonetheless.
"You better not DARE do that!" Pamela warned me, grinning,
as she grabbed the plastic cup from me. "No more slushy for
you!" I took a piece of popcorn that was resting in my lap
and placed it into Pamela's mouth. She accepted it, but then
took some time to nibble upon my thumb and index finger.
When Pamela made eye contact with me, she and I gazed at
one another for several seconds. Then, without a word, the
young woman slithered out of her chair and settled down upon
my lap. With her back against my front, she tilted her head
backward and rested it upon my right shoulder. I wrapped my
arms around her stomach from behind and squeezed lovingly.
"Have you ever made out with anyone in a movie theater?"
"I can't say that I have," I told her. "You?"
Pamela grinned. "Not since I was 17."
When I kissed Pamela's neck, my nose came into contact
with her silky hair and I was rewarded with the intoxicating
smell of raspberry sorbet. Even this woman's choice of
scented shampoo was enough to drive me totally insane!
I nuzzled my lips against her neck and held steady for
about 20 seconds. Although I loved kissing Pamela's neck,
my primary focus right now was the smell of her hair. It
flooded my senses and made my head swoon.
"What were you like in high school?" I whispered, gently
nibbling at her earlobe with my lips. "A cheerleader?"
Pamela shifted about upon my lap and murmured, "Yes."
"I think all of you girls were cheerleaders except Amy
and Stephanie. Kristanna too, I guess. They do not have
cheerleading in her country." I paused and added, "What
else were you into while in high school, sweetheart?"
"Head cheerleader, graduated with honors," she replied.
"I was on the ski team, played softball. Part of the
Homecoming committee every year, the Future Homemakers
club, drama, choir. I did a little bit of everything."
My continual nibbling of her earlobe - combined with
occasionally blowing into her ear - was having a profound
effect on Pamela. Finally, she squirmed about in my lap and
then turned to face me.
Those brown eyes were smoldering with hot desire as she
said, "One thing I definitely have never done is have sex in
a movie theater." Pamela slipped her right hand between our
pressed bodies and ventured downward until she came into
contact with the hard, aching bulge inside my shorts. "I
want to have sex with you, Jeremy. Right now."
Pamela was shocked when, as she made a move to kiss ne, I
gently pushed her away.
"What's wrong?" Pamela insisted.
"Nothing is wrong," I answered, my voice calm and gentle.
"I don't... I don't want to have sex with you right now,
Pamela." Her eyes nearly exploded from their sockets as I
continued, "I just want to talk. I'm sorry if my kissing
and teasing got you worked up. I just... I want to talk
now. I've had such a good time talking to you tonight."
Still perched in my lap, Pamela sagged her shoulders and
stared at me for several seconds. She was still stunned.
"No one has ever turned me down before, Jeremy. No one."
"I can see why..."
Pamela gulped her throat and momentarily rolled her eyes
at me. I do not know if it was negative or not on her part.
Eventually, though, she nodded her head and offered me a
loving kiss on the cheek. "We can keep talking."
"If it's okay with you," I breathed, hopeful.
"You are still physically attracted to me... right?"
I laughed and shook my head at her worryful comment.
"Pamela, you drive me insane. Totally insane. Your face,
your body, everything about you on the outside. Trust me
when I tell you... I am WILDLY attracted to you physically.
I want to have sex with you hundreds... THOUSANDS of times
in the future." I sighed and shook my head once again.
"It's just... right now, I just want to talk. I know I may
sound crazy, but we have been having such a wonderful
discussion all night long. I... I want it to continue."
"Have you turned down any of the other girls like this
when they have tried to seduce you?"
"No... because none of them interest me like you do."
Those words seemed to make Pamela happy. Grinning and
laughing, it was as if she just now realized something.
"Am I crazy because I just want to talk to you?"
"No, you're not crazy," Pamela responded, placing a hand
upon my chest. She felt my heartbeat for several seconds
with that hand and surmised, "You're just a man in love."
<<<- End of Chapter 13 ->>>
==---- -- -- -- - --- -- -- - - --- -- -- --- -- - - - - --- -- ----==
"Tropic of Eros"
Author e-mail: HighlanderJM@hotmail.com
Author chat: http://messenger.msn.com - HighlanderJM@hotmail.com
Story archive: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/HighlanderJM/
Please let me know what you think of the story! Your comments
are the only reward authors like me receive for our hard work!
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