They left Warren Ramsey's house party, together, in his rented car. Carla Reynolds snuggled up close beside him, as he drove, following her directions.

Arnie wasn't sure, exactly where he drove. He had belted down a couple of drinks, and he didn't really care. His impression was that he had driven south, possibly as far as Corona del Mar, where they had wound around through residential streets, arriving at her apartment house, in what seemed to be a very short time… Of course, he wasn't able to concentrate on his driving very well, anyway. Soon after he'd started off, Carla's hands were busy, again, down there, caressing and massaging his thigh, her hand moving up, slowly, tantalizingly… until her tiny hand was between his legs, her fingers teasing his throbbing cock to a fully elongated, aching erection. Then, expertly, she had found the zipper tab. The metallic sigh of the zipper was loud, in the car, as she lowered it… and her smooth, warm, lotion-softened hand wormed its way, knowingly, into his open fly, to find the hardened, throbbing shaft of his cock. She gasped as her exploring fingers found it and brought its turgid length out into the car.

"God… Arnie… you are a big man… in all ways… aren't you?" she crooned, lewdly.

Smiling to himself, glad that she was impressed with his more than adequate manhood, he told her, "Take it easy, Baby… it might go off in your hand!" The exquisite sensations that raced through him, at her touch, made him worry. Christ! It's been a whole two months… since I've fucked a woman!

"I'll take my chances!" she said, then asked, "Why the short fuse…?"

"You must not know much about prize fighters…" he grinned. "I haven't balled a woman… for two months… because of training for this fight!"

"That's terrible!" Carla sympathized. "You mean… you've had no sex… at all… in that time?"