We hadn't known each other for more than a singe night. John had picked me up at a football rally Thursday night. He introduced himself by commenting on how pretty my name was. The next thing I knew, he had his hand under my coat

and was squeezing my knockers.

There was no way you could call me a virgin. As a nineteen-year-old co-ed, I'd bounced on my share of hard-ons. I had even had my ass pounded into the sand at one of the beaches and done a sixty-nine in a bedroll.

The chemistry was right between John and me from the start. We left the rally early. I went to his apartment with him. He unlocked the door and ushered me in. I had no will of my own. It was like my mom and dad, in Beverly Hills, hadn't taught me anything. College didn't matter any more. In less than a day I started to change my mind about being a writer. I started thinking about dropping out of school. I knew it was wrong, but he had that effect on me. I trusted him. Without knowing a thing about the man, I trusted him.

John shut the door behind us. He pulled me into his arms and ran his hands under the jacket. I shivered as his fingers traced my spine. His hands drew along my sides. I shivered again. They rode over the sides of my tits. I could feel my nipples stiffen and try to burn through the cups of my bra. John's hands didn't linger. They continued up. They caressed the balls of my shoulders. The coat fell from my arms.

It landed on the floor behind me. It was expensive and I should have cared, but I didn't. His mouth mashed against mine. His firm lips forced mine open. His aftershave lotion blended nicely with my perfume. His mouth tasted clean and fresh

as I explored it with my tongue. His licker flicked across my teeth, examining and tasting each in turn.

My boobs were mashed against his chest and I could feel the bulge in his pants against my tummy. His hands weren't idle. They stroked my long, red hair. He spent a short time getting used to the gentle firmness of my back and then wandered to my bottom.