Prequel


By Katzmarek
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Author's Note.
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This is basically a true story, certain things have been made up, however, and names, changed. Suffice to say, she WAS Israeli, and pretty much as described.


This work cannot be used for profit without the Author's express permission in writing.

It is a work of erotic fiction, so if you are not permitted to read such material, you have been warned. (K) (C)
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Not long after leaving school, in 1972, I was playing in a band called, 'Swipe.' We played what we called 'Progressive Rock' but what our critics called, 'a horrible noise.'


In the summer, from December here in this hemisphere, we gathered a bit of work peaking in March when the Universities opened. By the end of that month work died away to nothing as winter approached.


So to get us through until the next gig, we all took on temporary jobs.


The Labour Department sent me to the Post Office, a large Government department, then, that ran the telephones and CB Radio as well as the postal services.


They were equiping the country with new telephone technology, to whit, a Japanese NEC crossbar exchange. 


The building where I was to work, was purpose-built and brand new. We had to lay all the cables and buzzbars first before the equipment was fitted. This was because everything had to be dustfree when the system was hooked up. Any piece of grit in the wrong place and you could end up ringing Alaska instead of Auckland.


It took us about 3 months to lay all the cables on the overhead racks, there was a hell of a lot of them. Then came the boring job of fanning all the wires out in sequence, tying them up at precise heights from the floor.


The wires were all coded with colours, dots and dashes. Blue dot being the first and highest from the floor, two blue dots next and so forth. It was monotonous and boring.


At the time I was gobbling a lot of LSD, I was high practically every day. Suffice to say I was immediately struggling with the task.


"Hey man what's purple man?"


"There's no purple," the supervisor replied.


"Shit man, it looks purple to me. No, fuck it, it's green now, whoa the dots are moving, that's freaky!"


Needless to say I was the first to be 'downsized.'


At 19 I was still a virgin, despite my earnest efforts. I suffered terribly from shyness at school, especially when it came to the opposite sex.


My only girlfriend hitherto, if you could call her that, was a Samoan/German Jehovah's Witness girl. We walked home from school together, I carried her books and we 'dated' at the school dances.


I never did get to hold her hand, even, let alone take her to the movies. Nope, her first date wasn't going to be until she was 16 and only with a chaperone. I never made the distance, being a form higher, I left school before she did and we lost contact.


Drugs lowered my boundaries and made me the life of the party, or so it seemed to me at the time. But I still went home alone. They left me in such a state, however, that I didn't care.


The people who came to work at the telephone exchange came from all walks of life. They were mostly sent there from the Labour Department, hippies, students, backpackers, dopers, new immigrants, transvestites and the flotsam and jetsam of the seventies.


Of course most of us gravitated towards our own groups. The transvestites were all 'ship girls.' I guess business was slow because they had to take jobs to augment their income from the Japanese shrimp boats. They stuck together and provided a bit of colour to the workplace.


All of us dopers naturally hung about together as well. 


One woman became part of our group. Her name was Leila, a short, big breasted Israeli, and Dave, her boyfriend, a bushy haired, bearded hippie dude.


The goods-service area at the back of the building became our lunch time haunt. It was rarely used at the time and was the perfect place to smoke a bit of dope before going back to the grind.


One lunchtime, I noticed that Leila looked a little quiet. Not her usual ebulient self.


"Hey! you out of it today?" I asked her.


"No," she replied, "Dave's leaving and I've got nobody to sleep with."


Now if I'd been a bit more confident, well a lot more, I would have immediately volunteered myself. But in those days it never occured to me that a woman might find me attractive.


"Shit, sorry," was all I could think of saying.


In those days bras were entirely optional and Leila rarely wore one. Her large breasts therefore jiggled under her top at the slightest movement, they fascinated me.


"Would you like to come for dinner tonight and hang out?" she asked.


That was an unmistakeable invitation, even for me. Nevertheless I thought of what my mum was making for dinner on Thursdays before answering. Thursday's had to be sausages so I said ok.


Fot the rest of the afternoon I was trembling with anticipation and self doubt. Did I really read the situation right or was she just being friendly? I didn't want to make a fool of myself.


This was in the days of women's liberation and radical feminism, remember. I would have been mortified to have been branded a 'male chauvinist pig' for putting my hand in the wrong place uninvited.


To some extent, the whole feminist thing had thrown guys like me into the sexual wilderness. I just didn't understand the protocols anymore. Priding myself on being a liberal lefty I wanted to do the 'right' thing but I was constantly in terror of making a political mistake.


"I'm MORE than a sexual object. I have a BRAIN, pig!"


I was in terror of hearing that line.


In truth, I never had any trouble in getting along with women at an intellectual level. I remember talking practically all night to a beautiful blond student who told me all about her job as a masseuse. She even invited me for a free private massage but I was still too scared of making a 'mistake.'


Anyway, I called home to tell my mum I wasn't going to be home for dinner. Surprisingly she was quite happy for me to 'get out a bit.' She was getting worried that I didn't seemed to have any social life.


After work, Leila climbed on the back of my Yamaha 250 motorcycle. 


Now, as I said before, Leila was a big girl in the chest department and the Yamaha didn't have a big seat. Therefore I was blessed with having her large beauties snuggled cosily against my back. Her arms wrapped themselves around me tightly. If nothing else happened, the ride was worth it.


Leila was not a natural pillion rider. When we leaned into the corners, she tried to pull the bike upright by leaning the wrong way. With her holding me, therefore, she was dragging me upright too. This lead to some terrifying cornering as the bike staggered around the bends.


Leila's apartment was typically hippy. Beanbags, Che Guevara posters, incense holders, dirty dishes and a stereo consisting of a couple of dayglo-painted guitar amps.


The odd guitar lay about and sweet smelling long-hairs and flowery women were arrayed about in various states of doped-out bliss.


Leila and I picked our way through the lounge over ashtrays, dishes and prone bodies to the kitchen.


A dreadlocked Rhodesian/Zimbabwean girl was cooking up some lentil stew in a large pot. The spicey aroma blended with the Indian incense into a heady  mix.


For a guy from the working class suburbs, the exotic surroundings made me very uncomfortable.


After a couple of puffs of some 'weed' I began to relax a bit.


The three of us ate our stew at the kitchen table. I was dimly aware of the lounge gradually emptying of bodies, there was some 'gig' somewhere most of them were off to. That left Leila, Rosa the Rhodesian, and me.


After the meal, Rosa announced she was off to study and disappeared into the rabbit warren of a house. Leila asked me if I wanted to blow some more dope but I declined. I didn't want to get too stoned in case I had to ride home.


We sat in the lounge, Leila finished off a couple of 'roaches'. I sat in a single dusty armchair, not next to her, in case I'd got the wrong 'message.'


Eventually she sat looking at me with a cryptic espression. Sighing, she got up and said,


"Do you want to come to bed?"


"Sure!" I gulped.


I stood up and she took my hand, leading me through the house to her 'pad.'


Her room was bedecked with silk screens that hung down from hooks on the ceiling. On an old dresser there was an old, ornate brass 'hookah' pipe.


Her bed was clean and made, covered with a rug sporting Persian designs.


Leila turned on a red bedside lamp and switched off the main, overhead light. The room shimmered with the pink, eerie glow.


She quickly pulled her top over her head and I was graced with the sight of her bare back, dark pink under the light. She turned to face me and smiled and my mouth went dry.


There in front of me were her magnificent large breasts in all their glory, standing proud from her chest and topped with crimson nipples. Transfixed, I watched them rippling in front of me for a few seconds.


"You like them?" she asked, running her hands over them.


I nodded and swallowed.


"Are you going to get undressed?" she enquired, arching her eyebrows.


"Sure," I said as confidently as I could and began to fiddle with the buttons of my shirt.


Seeing my nervousness she moved up to me and took over. Her breasts were inches away and I wanted to feel them. Seeing me staring, she gave them a little jiggle and took my hands in hers.


"Here," she said and put my hands on either side of her globes.


Well that was the first time I'd ever got to feel real live tits and they felt fantastic! Warm, soft and smooth, I ran my fingertips all around them, my thumbs rubbing her puckering nipples.


Having got my shirt open, Leila smoothed her hands over my skin before reaching up to me with her lips. Her mouth brushed mine in a chaste first kiss then siezed my lips and pushed them apart.

I soon cottoned on and opened my mouth in response. Her tongue insinuated itself inside and sought mine, I was instantly erect.


Her dark hair hung loose about her shoulders and I pushed my hands up into it to feel the texture.


I tried to match the rhythm of her mouth as she kissed me but I felt awkward and clumsy. My erection had got stuck in an uncomfortable position in my tight jeans, I wanted to adjust it but I was shy. After a while it became too painful so I surrepticiously pushed my hand down to make a correction.


She caught my movement and giggled.


"Why don't you take them off?" she suggested.


The obvious solution hadn't occured to me. Ludicrious as it may seem, I still wasn't sure if it was 'ok.'


Schooled as I was about sex behind the bike sheds in well-thumbed copies of 'Playboy' magazine, I shudder now on how inadquate my 'education' provided me. I was caught up in the notion that sex was something the deeply committed and/or married did.


When our 'spunky' drummer or 'mysterious' Indonesian bass player got off with some groupie girl, I thought it 'sluttish' and 'nice' girls didn't do those things. Leila re-defined what 'nice' actually meant.


Leila was bright, bubbly, exotic and totally liberated when it came to sex. She went after anything she wanted, seemingly unconcerned with 'morals' as my upbringing defined them.


I undid my belt and lowered my jeans. They pooled around my ankles, snagging on my bike boots. I hopped to the bed and struggled with the laces. I soon had them in a tangle.


Leila bent and assisted me in the struggle. With her help I freed them and she pulled them off my feet.


All this time her breasts dangled from her chest, distracting me from the task.


Leila giggled all the time, telling me that men can't undress themselves without a woman's help.


Having shed myself of my jeans and boots, Leila smoothed her palm over my erection and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of my underpants. Easing them carefully over my cock, she smiled as it sprung free.


Her arms encircled my lower back and she pressed her twin mammaries to my crotch. Humming, she proceeded to give me my first 'boob job.'


My hands roamed over her back as my cock nestled into the valley between her breasts. She kissed and nibbled at my chest and tummy, licking my own nipples and washing her thick long hair over me.


The feeling was exquisite. She shuddered as I drew my fingernails lightly up her back.


"Oh, do that again," she cooed.


Her tongue inched down to my navel. She swirled it all around and sucked the little flap of skin just above it. My cock lodged just under her jaw and she pulled back so that it stood up in front of her face.


"I like cocks," she told me, studying it.


Now I'd read about blow jobs in 'Playboy' but didn't imagine women really gave it willingly. It was just something that men like to have done, or so I thought.


Leila nursed my dick as if it was some tiny baby animal. Her thumb swirled around the tip and spread my precum down its length. One palm behind, she stroked it lightly with her other hand.


When she put her tongue on the tip, I jumped at the sudden burst of sensation.


"Sorry!" she said.


"No, no!" I replied, "I just wasn't expecting it."


"You like?"


I nodded weakly.


Leila continued to lick my penis like it was an ice-cream, but with increasing fervour. As she bobbed up and down her breasts grazed the insides of my thighs.


Only my, now receding, nervousness prevented me blowing my load all over her face. It certainly wasn't my skill or experience.


After a while, Leila suddenly stood up and took me by the hand. Pulling back the covers she indicated for me to get in.


Shuffling over against the wall, I watched her as she took down her panties. She had a magnificient thatch of dark hair that petered out down her thighs. I'm reminded that hippies don't shave or wax their legs.


Leila turned around and sat herself in the bed next to me. You could say she had a 'Rubinesque' figure, all curves, and all in the right places.


Laying down, she took my free hand and draped it over herself. She pressed into me with those mounds of flesh, all warm and exciting against my chest.


Leila caressed me expertly, with just the right amount of pressure. She kissed me with increasing passion, on my mouth, chest and nipples. Her tongue tickled and teased its way down to my cock. Coming back up she said,


"Now me!"


"What?"


"You do the same to me."


"Oh, sure."


Well, I did my best. I spent a long time on her chest, for sure, licking, sucking and teasing her the way she did me. Her nipples felt marvellous, so I spent a while exploring.


"Ouch!"


"Sorry."


"Yeah, fine but don't use your teeth, OK?" she complained.


Instead, I flicked them with my nose and tongue, she seemed to like it.


At last I arrived at the top of her pubic hair. I was convinced by now what I was expected to do, but wasn't sure as to the execution.


Leila spread her legs wide and pulled apart her nether lips. The aroma of her overwhelmed me.


"Here! see?" she said, pointing to her little knob of a clitoris.


I dipped my tongue in there, after taking a large gulp of air, and touched it.


She started and her body tensed.


"Ooo, yes there... uh... do it more."


Another gulp of air and down I went again, this time giving her clit a good massage with my tongue. It was jaw-breaking work but it seemed to have had the right effect.


She shuddered and ground herself against my mouth.


"Oh baby... uh... oh fuck!harder... faster!"


My jaw was aching so I grazed her with my teeth. She reached down and pulled my head up, dragging me on top of her. Her pussy left a damp streak down my torso.


She was on the pill and sexually transmitted diseases weren't high on the horizon then. Therefore she had no hesitation in fishing for my cock and wedging it between her legs.


After I stabbed around ineffectually for a second, she directed it into the warm cavern of her pussy. Man, it felt great!


As I moved in and out of her she encouraged me to grind myself against her pubic bone.


"Grab my ass!" she said hurriedly, "move like that... yes!"


She guided me into a kind of sliding motion over her while I pulled her arse tight. It brought our pubic bones hard together and seemed to stimulate her very well!


It also lessened the friction allowing me to hold on longer. Nonetheless I felt my orgasm approaching.


"I'm... going to... shoot... soon," I gasped.


"Go on, go on," she urged, "go faster... it's ok."


I did, sensing I was about to blow I thrust myself quickly into her. Leila's mouth lay open, soundless, her eyes screwed shut. 


My orgasm seemed to go on and on, much better than when I jerked off. I felt myself almost 'milked' by her warm moist tunnel.


My lady, however, hadn't finished. She grabbed my hand and pushed it between her legs, guiding it to her button.


"Rub it," was all she said.


So I rubbed as directed until she stiffened.


"Keep... going!"


I resumed and a sound came from deep within her throat, a sort of growl. Her thighs squeezed my hand tightly and she jerked her hips. Damn! she had strong thighs.


At last she relaxed with a whoosh, flexing those thighs and grinning ear to ear.


I extracted my hand with difficulty while she smiled at me and shook her tits.


"Is your hand alright?" she asked laughing.


"Yeah, just got a little squashed."


"Sorry, hee hee, it could have been your dick!"


I shuddered at the thought.


She grabbed my hand and turned away from me, pulling me against her back.


"I like this," Leila said, " so cosy. Is this your squashed hand?"


"Yes," I murmured.


"Aw, poor baby," she said, sucking each of my fingers in turn.


"I can taste myself, not bad!"


"You're wierd," I told her.


I couldn't honestly say whether I liked cuddling her, now slimey, body. I was hot and needed to fan myself. I told her I had to go to the toilet and climbed over her and out of the bed.


Coming back, still buck naked, I heard a voice behind me and froze.


"Hi!"


It was Rosa the Rhodesian and she was naked too! Slimmer than Leila, her smaller breasts perched higher on her chest, black aurioles on ebony skin.


She breezed past me and into the bathroom.


"Doesn't anybody around here wear clothes?" I asked Leila.


"Why? Oh Rosa, you mean. Well it's hot and we're all friends aren't we?"


"I guess so," I answered, "I'm just not used to it."


"Do you want to fuck her too?" Leila enquired.


Flabberghasted, I could only mutter no.


"Why not? She would if you asked her. She likes you, she told me so."


"What? She does? I mean... I need to get home... mum ah..."


"Why? I thought you were going to sleep with me. Don't you want to?"


"Sure!" I stumbled, "mum will wonder where I am..."


"How old are you?" Leila asked in surprise.


"19."


I knew I was losing this round. It DID sound silly that a 19 year old had to check with his mother before staying out all night. In fact, I knew it would be okay with mum, I was just finding the whole scene too wierd. My male ego won out in the end and I decided to stay.


"Good! ROSA?" she called.

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KATZMAREK (c)