Amanda is a the kind of woman that I am helpless to resist. Tall, about 5'9", dark hair with high cheekbones, a narrow waist and hips, and a set of what I would later find out were 34 D's that make it impossible to maintain eye contact. The short black skirt and tight white T-shirt made a package that could stop traffic. She appeared to be about 30. I had long been looking for an arm ornament and plaything like her. About five years older than Amanda, I have never had trouble meeting women. I'm tall and thin, with preppy looks that work well in my pursuit of fashionable career women. In my job as an advertising VP, I meet these women in abundance. Amanda and I met at a mutual friends' roof deck barbecue. Her superior, bitchy attitude had me staring, and not hiding it well. Finally I managed the courage to approach her, asking if I could freshen her drink. Without hesitation she ignored the drink offer, instead directing me to the store on the corner down one block with instructions - Virginia Slims, hard pack. There was no hint of an offer of money as she returned to a conversation with a very tall rail-thin redhead. She obviously had no doubt that I would follow her instructions immediately. I was left speechless by her assumption that I would do her bidding, but could not help but follow the orders of this woman who was obviously comfortable giving men direction. I arrived back breathless from the four story climb. Amanda took the cigarettes from me without making eye contact or acknowledging me in any way. I waited patiently over the next two hours for her to be free so I could approach her again.
As she was leaving, my much too desperate invitation for dinner was dismissed with a derisive chuckle, and "If I nothing comes up between now and then." I was desperately aroused all week thinking of her.
Our Thursday night dinner date finally came, and I arrived at the restaurant 20 minutes early, and 50 minutes before Amanda. I nursed a club soda at the bar while I waited. Amanda arrived and was seated immediately, changing our table from non to smoking. She sent the hostess to the bar with my instructions to fetch a pack of Virginia Slims while she was being seated. The hostess was a sophisticated looking, tall waif-like blonde. She didn't hide her amusement at the way Amanda treated me.
As I looked furtively about the bar, she smirked and said, "There's a corner store two blocks down."
I dashed to the store, and my return to the restaurant was greeted by the same hostess. She gestured to my table and condescendingly observed, "Back so soon?". Her tone praised my swiftness in a way that was intended to mock me, and was effective. She apparently enjoyed treating men with same disdain as Amanda. Her small, but firm and high set breasts poked at the fabric of her fitted dress. She carried them with a confidence that said "Sure they're small, but I know you want them bad." My attempt at sneaking a quick glance was met with an icy stare. Her stare told me that we both knew two things for certain at that moment. Like any healthy male I found her desperately attractive, and that there was no chance that she would ever give me the time of day.
She reached under the hostess stand as she told a co-worker, "I'll be back in five." Cigarette case in hand, the hostess slid by me out the door, telling me in a tone dripping with insincerity, "Hurry along to your table, you wouldn't want to keep her waiting."
By the time I arrived at the table Amanda had ordered a bottle of wine ($42 I later found out), and never lifted her gaze from the menu as she held out her hand for the cigarettes. Tight jeans, heels, and a silk T-shirt. My member started to twitch just looking at her. She offered no explanation for being late, and I dared not ask. She opened conversation showing no mercy at all. "Julie tells me you used to date."
Julie was the host at our barbecue meeting. A medium height, top heavy blonde, she carries about five extra pounds. It took three torturous dates before I finally got her bra off. Her breasts were enormous, but somewhat saggy. Lying on her back, they tended to fall to the side in a manner that was not attractive. I was disappointed, but pushed on. Despite my disappointment, my hard-on was quite urgent, courtesy of a six week dry spell. Julie slid her mouth over my pole, and after three strokes I did an admirable job of filling the condom tip. Julie didn't press the issue of her getting off, which was good as I couldn't have been less interested as I reveled in my post orgasmic laziness. As Julie continued to make small talk, I did a poor job of looking interested while I returned to the movie on the television. Finally, she started to gather her clothes. I made a point of scooping up her bra for her, only so I could note the size, 38-DD. I had long made a habit of remembering my conquests by their bra size. Like any breast man, I have always known that this is the only feature that truly matters in a woman. I pride myself on never forgetting the vital statistic, from my first grope (Beth, 32-B) to my friends wife who I accidentally walked in on in the shower (Victoria, 36-C). I never called Julie after that, having gotten what I was after, and was thoroughly tongue tied when she called me 6 months later with a barbecue invitation. Just a group of single friends, most of them women, gathering on her roof deck. She cut me off when I offered a lame explanation about traveling alot, with a blithe "So I'll see you Saturday?"
"Julie tells me you used to date." Amanda's tone made it obvious that she knew, her face was expressionless. I babbled, hemmed and hawed, while she silently let me suffer. Finally, mercifully, she cut me off by signaling the waiter. "I'm having the salmon," she announced and closed her menu.
Conversation actually flowed easily from there, as the wine relaxed us, and we talked about hobbies, jobs, and favorite travel destinations. Dinner was excellent, although I was almost too nervous to eat it. Amanda's beautiful face had me enchanted, I found myself desperately wanting to touch her. Over coffee she talked about a trip to Lake Tahoe. Mid-sentence, she reached across the table and lifted my chin, unsmilingly pointing out, "My eyes are up here." Those 38 D's were merciless, and I was semi-hard most of dinner. The Tahoe conversation turned to conversation about casino's, and great gambling experiences.
After relating a few meager stories of my trips to Las Vegas, each one topped easily by Amanda's experiences around the world, I decided I needed a victory in this conversation. Gambling is a manly pursuit, and I needed to show this goddess that I was indeed quite manly. "Those glitzy casino's are ok, but real gambling is a bunch of guys playing high stakes poker" I declared as she started gathering her things to leave. This was a bold statement, and made under considerable duress as I was recovering from the blow of the $150 dinner bill I had just signed for.
"Bunch of guys?" she questioned, in a tone that was both doubtful and condescending.
"Yes, bunch of guys, poker is a mans game" I announced sounding nearly certain of my ground on this issue. By now we were in front of the restaurant, her red Miata was pulling to the curb.
The nineteen year old valet gently handed her the keys. "The car's all set, Ma'am," he said directly to Amanda's left breast.
Without a word she walked around and climbed in, put the car into gear, and looked over her shoulder into traffic. "Well ..." she said, in a tone that was obviously an impatient command to get in. I jumped in before the valet decided she was speaking to him.
