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We started talking. Apparently her name was Robin. We both downed quite a couple of Nightflames and I started to feel a little frisky. “So tell me, Robin. What did you want from that date of yours?” I asked. “Oh you know. I wanted to have a lovely evening. Dance a little. Talk a little. Maybe go for a walk.”“Come on, Robinnnnnn. Don’t give me that bullshit. You actually wanted some dick, didn’t you? A huge fat cock, am I right?” I teased her. Her cheeks immediately turned red. “N…no. it’s not like that. I’m not that desperate.” She stammered. “Don’t fool me, Robin.” I said, and I grabbed her knee. “You want to have someone to….touch you.” I slowly moved my hand upwards. I wanted to make sure she felt it creeping up on her. But I didn’t want her to look down and back away. I stared deep into her eyes with the most lustful, sexy look I could master. “You want someone to rub that little soft pussy of yours.” My hand was now reaching the hem of her dress. “Don’t you want someone to take. ” Still, I went ahead, determined to see it through. It seemed as if I had just left Brad, and here I was, about to see him again, for yet another fuck session. I really was’t sure about this. The morning dragged on, and as I was about to meet Brad, I summoned up my courage and resolved to proceed. Why was I making this sound like an ordeal to be endured rather than an experience to be enjoyed? Maybe because of the ambiguity inherent in the nature of the ‘date’, as well as my ambivalent feelings toward it. Anyway, as the time for us to meet approached, I was becoming more and more aroused at the thought of being fucked like a cheap whore. Why was this so arousing? Was there something intrinsically exciting about being treated that way? It seemed that there was, but what? I was determined to get to the bottom of it. At any rate, at least I had access to the experiences needed to find out. Well, no more time to ponder the deeper meanings of all this. I left the office with my wig in a.
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