Walking down the street of Manhattan in front of Lincoln center about  6
p.m. with the some friend from the 23rd Street Pub after having steaks
at Rosie's on 7th Avenue, I catch your eye as you pass me in the streets
of New York.  You waking the other side of the street alone, me with my
friends.  I stop talking as they continue a conversation about the new
James Taylor CD, about the long lines at the Broadway Theater Ticket
booth in Times Square, about . well I didn't pay attention.

>From block to block I glance over to the other side of the street and
always see you there, pacing you time with our pace.  Looking over to
see if I was looking over to look at you.  How many times did our eyes
meet, when you didn't want to know you were looking over?  How many
times did we look away pretending to be looking at something else?  When
did we know the interest was mutual, the desire to meet the same, the
attraction equally strong, the lust was building. 

Arriving at 60th & 9th Ave. my group turns the corner but you stop to at
9th turn and see if I come back there, my friends left behind as they go
with an "Oh I forgot, I have to take care of .. ah . something."

I come  back to the corner and stop.  See you across the street standing
there as if waiting for the light, or for a friend.  I cross the street
to you and stare into your eye, a stranger approaching.

"Are you waiting for the light?" you ask.  "Or for me."

"I'm French-Canadian-American and my name is Ron." I reply, "Would you
like to go for a drink."

"Where?" you reply with a smile.

I take you hand in an impulsive movement and am pleased with the squeeze
that your fingers pledges to my palms.

We go to a local pub, and have drinks and laughs at ourselves and learn
that we both feel lonely these days.

"Could I have your telephone number," I ask in a sudden shy gesture. 
With a smile you hand open your purse and take out a piece of paper, and
write on it fold it up into a small square and put it I my shirt
pocket.  You leave.  

I finish my rum coke and lean back and reach in my pocket and take out
the folded missive.  In side I read with astonishment,  "My place, 1123
Avenue of the Americas, Room 714.  9 p.m.  Be late if  you like."

I was not late.  At 9, your door bell rang.  I stood there in a  beige
suit and a smile.  You there in a tight black dress, bare shoulders,
high skirt on it and sheer stockings, very high black shoes, and a grin.

"Where shall we go out tonight?" I ask.  

"We shall stay here." you smile.  "If that's Ok with you?" 

Without a word I walk in and you have a rum coke ready for me already,
adding ice.  I sit on the couch and you sit beside me, your hips
touching mine, your face looking up to mine.  Your smile gone, a more
serious look on your face, a softer feeling about your lips, a closing
of the eyes as I lean down and touch the tips of my lips to yours,
brushing there just to feel their warmth, but feel more than that.  I
feel a giving back of touch, pressing up and suddenly your arms around
my neck pressing my head down on yours, my lips tight on yours as your
lips part before I even think of pressing my tongue between your lips.

Somehow your hand is on my thigh, and mine resting on the silk of your
black dress.  I lean down on your body and pressed against the back of
the couch.  The passions that grew as we walked along the avenue find
immediate release and great massive unloosening.

I feel you holding my neck harder, my tongue, dancing in your mouth,
touching your tongue, resting on your palate, feeling the ticklish roof
of your mouth.  The hand on my thigh  cusps the center of my pants and
feels a rising here, a growing hardness that strains against the fabric
of my pants, as my hands zips down the back of your dress as it falls
from your shoulders down your arms.  

We release the griping desperate need for each other and find ourselves
standing at the couch.  You drop your dress to the floor, remove your
bra and cup your breasts in a shy gesture, then stand there naked but
for your panties, garter belt, stockings and shoes.  I awkwardly get off
my shirt and  undershirt, drop my pants, and shorts, fumble with my
shoes, caught on the pant legs, kicking of the shoes, falling on the
couch in . you smile.  "Just like a guy."  You kneel at the couch and
pull the mess of tangled pants and shoes and socks of me.  I blush like
a teenager, my cock standing like a teenagers.  

Sitting on the couch, a silly look on my face.  Naked, cock, and a
beautiful woman at my feet.  You smile and spread my legs, leaning your
face to my hardness.  You touch the erect head against your chin, your
cheeks, your neck, press your lips so lightly on the red knob of the
tip, then in a quick gesture, rub your face on my prick, your lips
parted, your tongue running up and town my shaft, a smile as you see me
lean back not looking and just enjoying the feel of your face pressing
my hard cock.

I raise you by the shoulders and place you in my lap and hug you close. 
We kiss deeply and completely for quite a long time before you feel me
position my cock to enter  you hot wet pussy.  I rest  you in my lap, my
hot cock, in you as you sit on me, your faces close and even on the
couch.  More kisses, and deep tonguing as  you wiggle your hips to feel
my prick deep inside your, throbbing and filling there.

I stand up and you wrap your legs around me.  Holding you in the air, my
flesh hugged by yours, I bounce you in my arms, fucking you as I hold
you, your breasts pressed against my chest, your mouth on my mouth, your
cunt filled with me as you feel the deep crashing of my love in your
body.

Carefully I lay you on the couch and continue the movements that have
kept us at a state of deep exhilaration.  I feel the need, the desire
for you increasing, as the depth of my balls becomes too massive to
withhold in me.  With long, slow stead strokes, my work my thickening
cock in and out of you with clear deliberation and never ending desire. 
See you lay on the couch, completely, lost in the feeling of my hands on
your body, my eyes on your pleasured face, my cock deep in your center,
my breath on your neck, my lips on your breasts, myself all yours all
yours and never not yours.

I see your body beginning to gasp as a whole.  I see your eyes disappear
behind your eyelids.  I see  you lips part and release sounds from deep
in your throat.  I see your mouth contort into frowns that look like
pain but are ecstasy.  I see you grab my shoulders and dig your nails in
my skin the pain making me fuck you harder as you orgasm makes me begin
to cum.

The deep filling semen in my balls, building up for the time I first saw
you walking down the streets of  NY give up there production, the wet
stick liquid they made, the loving results of our sex, the ending of our
deep passion, fills your cunt,, drips out as I pump harder, penetrates
of it's own accord.  

Feeling my probing your insides, you melt in an orgasm that is more than
physical pleasure, more than sex, more than lust and desire. It becomes
complete release, complete raising, a finding of a place inside you that
you did not know existed as it lifts you into complete abandonment of
all worldly desires and finds you shimmering in space.

The orgasm drops, for both of us.  We lay beside each other, on the
ample couch.  And wake in the morning, you in and out of the kitchen in
a demure dress, me in what is left of my shorts, a shower.  I take the
coffee you deliver me wordlessly.  And eat the buttered toast.  

I dress in the suit, quite inappropriate for this time of day.

"Goodbye, I hope to see you again, soon." I say.

"Wait," you say.  "Could I have your phone number."  A smile, no
make-up, no fancy dress, just plain, lovely you, with a smile and a
turning down at the corner of your eyes and lips.

I take a piece of paper and write on it...