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He was a friend of my friends son. “Hi Wendy,” he said, “fancy meeting you here.” He looked at me with hungry eyes, as he looked me up and down. I was dressed liked a slut, I had hoped I’d blend in here. The ultra short mini skirt, light tan tonight, and a tight black lycra top. No bra, and just a thong. I’d worn a raincoat when I walked out of the house, and got into my car. The coat was in the car, so I could hardly pretend I wandered in by mistake. Fuck, and this only my second night. “And you too, but nice to see you,” I said brazening it out. “Look Wendy, would you mind not mentioning to anybody you saw me here. It wouldn’t go down well……….” He left the sentence hanging in the air. “No, no of course not, I won’t say a word. We were never here,” I said walking him to a quiet corner, away from the stage where Julie was spreading her legs so the punters could get a better view of her shaven cunt, as she peeled back her outer labia. “So what are you doing here,” I asked. “Oh you. Tish, on the other hand, harbored deep sexual repressions, her frustrations with her fiancé growing as each day the wedding grew closer and she now realized she would be sharing her bed with a man who could not totally satisfy her. Put the two together, stir in a little desperation and she was ripe for the picking. He had of course been careful, straddling the line between too much aggression on the one hand which would have frightened her (that was why he had picked the library where she knew inwardly she could stop what was happening at any moment ) and her need for him to be the aggressor (she might be frustrated, but with her upbringing she simply could never bring herself to make the first move, thus she could assuage her conscience by telling herself he had "forced" himself on her). So he had confronted her, the "accident" throwing her mentally off balance, his eyes and voice calculated to continue to do the same while his lips, hands and body completed the conquest. The.
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