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o  The Bookshelf Directories offer a very wide variety of stories.  o
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Singapore Girl - 1 (Mf, asian, prost)
by Friar Dave

***

     They say a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell. But I can't claim 
to be a gentleman. Besides, all bets are off when the woman -- 
     But that comes later.
     And -- oh, yes -- this is a true story. Really happened. Only 
her name has been changed. Not to protect her -- she did not need 
protection -- but to keep my ass out of court.
     I met June (not her real name) in a Laundromat in the 
Village. I had seen her there a few times and couldn't help 
noticing. For one thing, she was female and most of the clientele 
was male and gay. I had outgrown my homophobia years before and on 
the rare occasions when one of the guys cruised me, I told him 
(truthfully) that I was flattered and declined. Hell, how could I 
not be flattered? There were a lot of devastatingly good-looking guys 
around who were obviously gay, and someone had found me attractive 
enough to make a pass; I had to be flattered. 
     In a way, that was how June and I got to know each other. She 
overheard me talking with Jimmy, one of the other long-time 
customers. He was surprised at my equanimity when a newcomer had 
cruised me.  Jimmy told me what a lovely way it was to decline. I 
told him it was simply the truth. Amazing, isn't it -- that faggots 
should find the truth just as lovely as we unrepentant straights 
do? Golly, maybe they're almost human.
     June was decidedly female. She was only about five feet tall, 
with jet black hair in a pageboy cut framing a rounded, pretty 
face. Her black eyes, behind her eyeglasses, were wide for an 
oriental and if there was a fault to her face, it was that her lips 
were a bit too generous and lush. Some fault, huh?
     Anyway, about five minute after the chat with Jimmy, June 
asked me for help with one of the dryers. I've got a knack for 
mechanical things (heh!) and I was glad to have a way to get closer 
to her.
     She was wearing a light windbreaker, half-unzipped, over a 
loose white blouse and a pair of spray-on jeans. Her boots were a 
half-heel style that wasn't flat and wasn't high-spiked. She had a 
cute ass, but the way she carried herself, for all her perkiness 
and cuteness, wasn't inviting; businesslike.
     I jimmied the dryer and told her that I'd seen her there a few 
times. 
     "I've seen you, too," she said, forthrightly. June was, I 
would learn, very forthright in almost every way. "And I've had 
trouble with these machines before." She slapped the dryer and 
laughed. She had a great laugh. 
     I asked why she hadn't asked my help before.
     "I see how well you get along with the gay boys, I thought you 
were gay."
     "By that logic, if you see me getting along with a Puerto 
Rican, you should think I'm Puerto Rican."
     "But how can you stand the gay boys? I hate lesbians!"
     "I don't care who or what they sleep with if I'm not there. 
And since this is a Laundromat and not a waterbed ... "
     She laughed again. As I said -- a great laugh.
     In the course of conversing, between the two of us, we found 
some excuse for me to come back to her place for drinks. I arrived 
at ten p.m., hoping -- for she had a gorgeous ass.
     June occupied the entire third and fourth floors of a 
brownstone on Greenwich Avenue, not far from Tenth Street. In the 
sitting room on the fourth floor, over white wine on wall-lining 
sectionals, listening to some soft rock, she explained that she was 
the New York office of a Scandinavian import-export firm. About 
half of the third floor was offices -- she had her teletype and 
phones and files there -- and the rest of the third floor was a 
formal dining/conference room, a half-bath and a kitchen. The 
fourth floor, in addition to the living room new to America and alone, even with 
the advantages of a legitimate working visa and deep-pocketed 
financial backing. 
     Soon we were snuggled together under a blanket on the 
sectional -- as with all Village apartments, the heat was 
inadequate; I think it's a law in New York -- and then we were 
cuddling and then we were kissing. Her lips were as warm and moist 
as I'd imagined, and her kisses were just the right combination of 
passion and sweetness. Soon, she was straddling my thigh as we 
clinched and I could feel her moisture through her jeans and mine. 
I unbuttoned her blouse and mouthed her breasts through her bra. 
She was decidedly Chinese in that her tits were shallow and firm, 
with nipples that responded slowly -- but when they did, they were 
outstanding! I raised the bra to get at her bared breasts and she 
ran her hands through my hair as I licked and sucked at her tits.
     "Let's go to bed," she said. "Here, since I have to send a 
Telex at four-thirty this morning."
     Forthright and businesslike, op. cit.
     I agreed -- of course! -- but little did I suspect what would 
come next: June proceeded to prepare for bed as if she'd known me 
fore years. You probably know the routine: remove the make-up, take 
a shower (in her case, a shallow bath), etc.
     I was somewhat at a loss for what to do, so I hung around 
and watched it. All of it. (Well, almost all; even June didn't 
want to be watched doing Some Things.) As the make-up came off, so 
did the determined businesswoman face. She looked younger than her 
twenty-eight years; maybe twenty or twenty-one.
     But believe me, when she came to bed, it was worth the wait. 
She came into the bedroom wearing a robe and a flannel nightgown. 
(Remember: no heat.) 
     "Why are you dressed?" she asked, and quickly removed the 
robe -- and only the robe -- and slipped into the bed. She threw 
back the coverlet, comforter and sheet to expose half of the 
(queen-size) bed and patted the pillow. "Come on -- or did you 
change your mind?"
     I knelt on the bed, straddling her thighs, and laid myself upon 
her from above the covers as lightly as possible and began kissing 
her again. In moments, she was stripping off my turtleneck sweater 
and undershirt and fumbling with my belt. Every now and then, she'd 
caress my balls and my cock through my jeans and she'd squirm. 
     I slid to the end of the bed, stood and stripped -- and then I 
wormed my way under the covers, licking and kissing and nibbling as 
I went. I didn't bother removing her nightgown; I simply pushed it 
up to her waist. I grabbed her hips and pulled her firm ass to the 
edge of the mattress.
     Kneeling on the wide-planked pine floor I began to eat her. 
She shivered when I licked the insides of her thighs, and I could 
smell the sweet, healthy, lusty aroma of her cunt juices long 
before I reached it. I slid my hands under her ass, cupping her 
hard cheeks and lifting her towards my mouth. I dove in.
     Through the muffling of the blanket, I could hear her shrieks 
match her writhing as she came. And came. And CAME! Her juices 
weren't merely sufficient or ample; they were copious! She flowed 
and flowed and flowed.
     (Note: Some people will tell you that all oriental women are 
bald Down There. Not true. A few are, completely. Some have only 
sparse hair. But all have this in common -- in my experience -- 
What hair there is, is straight, fine and soft.)
     When I finally came up for air, the sheets were soaked, her 
cunt hair was soaked and my beard was soaked.
     June lay there and panted -- massaging her tits and rubbing 
her nipples.
     "Nobody ever did that before!"
     "No one ever ate that gorgeous cunt of yours?" I couldn't 
believe that.
     "Oh, sure," gone, removed and discarded at 
some point when my attention was concentrated far south. "What I 
want to do right now is fuck you."
     She lay there, fingers clenching her nipples, and seemed to 
tense all over -- and then she shivered, unmistakably cumming.
     "Ooooooo -- I like it when you talk dirty to me. What are you 
going to do?"
     I reached down and lifted her legs till they were on my 
shoulders. I was standing bare on the floor beside the bed. 
Remember: Her sweet, hot ass was at the edge of the bed. 
     I leaned forward, watching for any sign of discomfort. I 
needn't have worried; she was very flexible. My posture forced her 
legs back and her cunt higher. When my face was next to hers, I 
locked my gaze on hers. Her lovely eyes were heavy-lidded with 
lust. I reached down, took one of her hands in mine and lead it to 
my cock. My dick is about six inches long (this is, after all, a true story) 
and on the thick side. My cock was harder than it had ever been, 
even with that seventeen-year-old Homecoming Queen from Ohio. She 
grabbed and pulled on it, short strokes that told me of her hunger.
     I bent farther and kissed her lips, then her breasts.
     "What am I going to do?" I nipped her nipple lightly between 
my teeth. She shivered again. "I'm going to fuck you!"
     She was bent almost double, her thighs pressing her nipples, 
when I introduced the head of my cock into her cunt. She shrieked 
when I was halfway in; I slammed the rest of the way and ground our 
pubic bones together and she came again.
     "Say dirty things to me!" She gasped desperately.
     I obliged as I fucked her. I don't pretend to be a great 
lover; she was ready and eager to cum a great deal and she did, 
over and over again. When I finally relaxed and let myself cum, 
she was nearly inert -- except for her cunt -- and in a state of 
constant orgasm. When I collapsed beside her, I knew I had found 
someone special.
     Little did I know that so far, June had been as conventional 
as she ever got to be.
     [more]
