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A rich playboy learns he doesn't want a fucktoy anymore.

Ponytails bobbing back and forth. Sweaty cleavage. Does it to me every time."

"What's the appeal for you? Not that I'm arguing. I can certainly see where you're coming from, but I'm a man. Tell me from your point of view."

His foot rub was like truth serum. Marissa wondered if he did this to all the women he was with and if it had the same unusual effect. "First off, I'm really not a lesbian. I wouldn't even say I'm bi, according to the strict definition. But there's just something about women's bodies. I think it has to do with the fact that I know they're not seeing penetration as the ultimate goal, you know? Not that I've got anything against penetration, you understand."

"That's good to hear."

"It's strictly visceral. Honestly, I know women are pains in the ass. Lord knows I'd never be able to put up with one in a relationship. But sexually, there's just something about sharing that softer type of gratification. And the payoff is tremendous. Considering what you said about male orgasms, I guess females cumming is exactly the opposite. I think it's one of the hottest, most erotic things ever. I love the way we arch our backs and grip the sheets and roll our heads to the side with our eyes clenched shut. To know you've brought about that feeling yourself is pretty hot."

"And you've just explained why smart men love giving oral so much. There's not much that compares to gripping your lovers hips to while she thrusts and twists in ecstasy."

"Mmmm. Your talk is going to get me in trouble."

"Better hold off on misbehaving. Our waiter's back. Do you know what you want?"

He released her foot as she sat up, straightened herself a bit and laughed. "Well, that's a loaded question. But for dinner, the Cobb salad will be fine."

The waiter approached and Nigel collected their menus to hand off. "I'll have a Johnny Walker rocks and the chicken Marsala, and the lady will have the Chardonnay and the Cobb salad, please."

"Very good. I'll be back in just a moment with your drinks."

Nigel leaned forward, again striking a confidential tone. "So, just how many women have you been with in these non-bisexual, non-lesbian rendezvous?"

"Are we talking real or imaginary?"

"Either will do for me.

"Real, just a few. In my imagination, dozens. Which would you like to know more about?"

"Let's start with the real," Nigel said, easing back in his seat. "I'm always curious about people's true-life confessions. Tell me about your first time."

"Oh, my god, it's so clich__. It was in college at a slumber party. Actually, not even a slumber party, because we were too old. More like just a sleepover with me and another girl. We'd been out drinking off campus, and her apartment was closer to the bar than my dorm. We were in no condition to drive, so we staggered back to her place. But it wasn't just hers. It was one of those swanky, three-bedroom places. One of the girls' dads owned it and the other two girls paid rent on their room and bathroom.

"So, anyway, we got to her place and we were still pretty lit. We'd both dolled ourselves up pretty thoroughly because the place we'd gone was way off campus and known more as a twenty-something bar, so we were trying to look more sophisticated. Looking back, I don't think it worked too well because all the guys who hit on us seemed to get spooked, like we were sixteen-year-olds or something. But we did look damn good - two 19-year-olds in short, low-cut dresses with backs down to just above our ass cracks and high heels. I'm not sure if we really expected to take anyone home that night, but when we got dressed we certainly kept that in the backs of our minds.

"Back at her place everyone else was asleep or still out partying, so we just headed to her room and flopped down on the bed.

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