Bridgette La Flume, is the only woman I have ever known who can use a fluent stream of profanity and make it sound like it was coming from the lips of an angel.
Make no mistake, Bridgette is no angel.
With a heavy aristocratic French accent, she was in full cry again, "John, John, make me come, I need to shoot from my pussy again. Fuck my hot, horny cunt hard and make my pussy sing."
My arm was beginning to feel like lead as I thrust my tired fingers back in her. She had squirted five times already and was in full cry for more, as I began to grant her wish.
Mrs. La Flume, is in her 40's now and a top writer for several European, women magazines. In her youth she had been a very successful professional tennis player, possessing a beautiful lithe body, making her the desire of many wealthy and powerful men.
After retiring from the circuit, her fame had gotten her a job, as a fashion reporter. Her gutsy tenacity and a razor sharp pen allowed her to climb to the top of her profession, on the body parts of people and businesses that she had carved up.
I had once been told by a Scandinavian friend, "Bridgette liked to have sex with her pen."
At first, I took that to mean that she had a proclivity for a particularly unusual sex act.
Despite my remarks, Bridgette and I have an understanding of each other and with, Mrs. La Flume, that's as good as it gets. After all, it was she, who dubbed me with the title of, "Americas Most Sexually Sought After Male."
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As I look back, I didn't plan my life to be like this. I had always wanted to have my own business and make good money. However, in a million years, I never would have dreamt, I'd make this much money this way.
I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start with a brief biography. That should give you an idea of who I am, or rather who I was, and you'll understand, exactly how unlikely it was, that I would ever be given any title, with the word "Sexual" in it.
My name is, John Drake. No relation to Sir Francis, though, my lust for exploring a new frontier, may have equaled his.
In High School, I was what the teachers called, an underachiever. "If John would only apply himself," they would say.
My parents called it laziness. The truth is, I was bored in school. Nothing there peaked my interest. That is, if you don't count girls.
Unfortunately, that was a one sided interest.
I dated infrequently, not being one of those, "popular guys," girls would just die to have a date with. As a result my sexual experiences were limited, to what I would call, self expressionism.
Upon graduating from High School, I had no clue as to what I was going to do with the rest of my life.
I was offered a choice by my father. "Either you go to a technical school and learn to be an auto mechanic; or, I'll take you down to the naval recruiter, to enlist."
I had no desire to be a mechanic like him, and I didn't wait for him to give me that ride. I got a lift to the recruiters office, in San Diego, from a school friend.
Big Al, as he was called in school, was a second string tackle on the Pine Valley football team. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, but a good old boy if there ever was one, with an infectious booming laugh that made you want to join in.
During the sixty mile trip to San Diego, we talked about, how we were going to be shipmates, see the world and get laid in every port.
He told me, that he wanted to be a gunner on a destroyer, just like his Dad, when he was in the Navy, back in the early 70's.
When we got there, the recruiter was great. He asked me what I wanted to do in the Navy. So, I told him, "I'd like to serve on a big destroyer as a gunner, in one of those big long guns."
The recruiter looked me square in the eyes and said, "Son, with your qualifications, where else could they put you." He smiled, as he slid the enlistment papers over for me to sign.
Three and a half months later, I found out where else the Navy could and did put me.
I was OJT (on the job training) as a mechanic, not on a destroyer, or any ship for that matter. I was sent to the motor pool at Lake Mead Naval Base.
First of all, who knew that the Navy even had trucks. Secondly, Lake Mead Naval Base is three hundred miles, due East of the Pacific Ocean and seventy miles to the closest body of water, of any kind. That being Lake Mead itself. Most guys, get transferred around in the military, that is, except for me.
Four years at the same duty station. If there ever was a guy that could fall into a bucket of tits and come up sucking his thumb, it was me. I was sure of it.
If you're wondering about Big Al. They assigned him to an aircraft carrier, as a flight deck crew chief, probably because his voice could be heard above the roar of any jet engine.
Oh yeah, I did get laid on occasion. It's hard to work that close to Las Vegas and not get laid on a regular basis. So, to be honest, it wasn't that bad of a duty station.
I did not re-enlist after my hitch was up. Instead, I went home and my Dad, got me a job as a diesel mechanic, at a trucking company. "C&R Transport", better known to its employees as "Crash and Roll Transport."
After four years of independence, I was not about to move back in with my parents, only to find my Mom, going through my things and my Dad, coming up with chores for me to do.
So, I got myself a two bedroom apartment, or "Bachelor Pad," as I preferred to call it. Eight hundred and seventy bucks a month, at the Taylor Arms. Not bad, for a just out of the Navy, twenty two year old.
I furnished the place, in accordance to every horny young mans dreams. King size bed, nice stereo equipment, big screen TV, lazy boy sofa and even some book cases and a kitchen table.
I also bought a few pots and pans, thinking, some good looking chick would want to cook breakfast for me.
I was considerate enough to buy several extra toothbrushes and a skimpy black lace bathrobe.
Yup, I was ready for the women.
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Shortly, after starting work on commercial trucks, I could see, that I was working on the wrong side of the truck.
