But it was not one-sided.

Rebecca, as a woman, was every bit as desirable as Bill was as a man. She was twenty-seven years old. She had a thick mane of rusty red hair and that hair framed a lovely, sensual face. Her eyes were green, slightly tilted, almost feline. Her mouth was wide and her lips were full. Her cheekbones were high, her chin was firm.

Her body, if anything, was even better.

Rebecca had big, firm, thrusting tits, the full globes capped by stiff nipples that – because she never wore a brassiere – pushed out in twin peaks outlined against the tight sweaters she usually wore, giving visual evidence of her constant readiness to have those nuggets fondled and mouthed. She stood and walked with her back arched, pushing those delightful tits out before her, well aware of the effect that she had on any man who looked at her – and certain women, as well.

She was tall.

Her legs were long and shapely, smooth and unblemished and were designed to spread and to fold themselves around a man's flanks. Her torso was slim and willowy, her belly slightly rounded and her hips flared out into a platform of love. Below that smooth belly and between those sleek thighs, her pussy was hot and juicy. Her pubic hair was as fiery as that of her head, a triangle of glowing, curly coils like a burning bush surrounding her crotch. Her cunt was creamy, big and hot and wet – but gifted with skilled muscles so that she could tighten her hole around even the thinnest prick and pull and suck just as if she had a secret mouth inside her loins, dragging the jism from a man's cock and balls by the suction. Her clitoris was large and vibrant, like a little cock almost as it pushed out, stiffening, ready to be rubbed and sucked.