'Really…' She could have cared less.
'Jesus Christ, my Jimmy's got a dick that would send shivers up your pussy. I mean, when I first saw it. I thought he was crazy, wanting me to put that thing in my mouth. But he grabbed hold of my head and kept pushing it down on his joint until my lips were giving his rocks butterfly kisses. And when he came, he was expecting me to swallow all of his wad. I don't know but I never really dug it before. I mean, spunk has such a flat taste to it that I'd rather spit it out, but Jimmy would have none of that. He held my head down on his prick while he was emptying his balls, and even with me screaming and fighting, he pumped it all into my mouth. After that, I go wild when I even suspect the prospect of a blow-job. Talk about pucker-power!'
Oh, God, Dolly was getting so gross. How could she have the nerve to talk about such things?
'But even before I do the blow-job, he makes me give him a good lick-down. Y'know, down the chest, around the balls and pud – because you save that for last – around his legs and I finally end up at his toes. Then he makes me suck on his toes for a while. Shit, that prick of his springs up like an inflated balloon. He must have some kind of yeast in his peter to make it stiff so fast.'
Sharon couldn't help frowning. It was so vulgar to hear those things…
'After I suck him off, he loves to do the corn-cob bit. Y'know, up my ass. And his cock's still hard as a rock. Talk about 7-Up! He'll turn me over on my stomach and start eating out my ass. Jimmy likes to do it natural. We don't believe in Vaseline or stuff like that. Makes my cunt too itchy. So he gets my asshole all wet and slippery with his tongue. Oh, don't worry, I wipe myself good before we do it. Jimmy would have a fit if I didn't. And let me tell you, when that rigid ramrod gets shoved up there, it's absolute heaven…'
'I think I better be getting back to my desk, Dolly,' Sharon interrupted. 'I have a lot of work to catch up on. It was nice talking to you.'
Dolly looked her over. 'Did I say something that got you upset?'
'No, I just have to…'
'Sharon, don't you like talking about fucking? I mean it isn't some sort of ugly thing.'
Sharon blushed. 'I know.'
Dolly laughed. 'Don't tell me you haven't gotten – Oh, come on, now, haven't you and your boy friend – Hey, what was his name?'
'I… I don't have a boy friend.'
'You don't! Then… Sharon, are you still a virgin?'
It was hard to keep smiling. 'I don't see anything wrong with it.'
Dolly was hysterical. She giggled so loud that Sharon felt like hiding. 'You're a virgin! I don't believe it! With your set of knobs! I always thought you fucked around, but you're still a virgin. Jesus Christ!'
Sharon fled from the ladies' room on the verge of tears. It was cruel for Dolly to laugh. Why was it such a big joke to save yourself for marriage? What was so terrible about it? Girls like Dolly were so foolish to brag about the things they did in bed with their boy friends. How could they be so proud of themselves for doing such sickening, crude things? What was so wonderful about sticking a man's penis into your mouth and having him ejaculate into it? God, the thought of it made her gag! Life had more to it than sex.
The deep voice of Gary Speele brought her thoughts back to reality. 'Hey, baby, how about a nice hot fuck?'
She frowned at him. 'Get away from me, Gary.'
'Awwww, honey, you never give me a chance. I could show you a great time with my fantastic eight-inch dong.'
'I got a better offer down the hall,' she sneered.
He was offended. 'Shit on you, kid. My pecker is the great Red Wood. Any broad that's gotten fucked by it has never complained, and let me tell you, bitch, I've nailed 'em all. Except you.'
'Such a shame I have to spoil your batting average, but I think I'd rather skip my innings with you.'
Too bad Gary was such a pervert, thought Sharon. He wasn't a bad-looking guy. That light-brown hair and smooth, handsome face might be a more lively attraction if he thought of other things besides admiring that thing between his legs. And the wonders it could produce. So what if she was a virgin? She'd prefer sleeping with someone she truly loved than doing it with someone just for lust.
Sharon brushed her long, fluffy red hair back and glanced down at her bust. Yes, she did have large breasts, or 'knobs', as Dolly insisted on calling them. But it didn't make her crave sex any more than it made her want to jump but a window from the thirtieth floor.
'So long, baby,' Gary waved off. 'Looks like you don't get a peek at this prime-cut. Like Adam in Eden. Or Busch Gardens!'
That construction worker was back again, the one that had been working down the hall and staring at her every so often. She was almost positive he was focusing his eyes on her chest. And even then, he was lowering them and observing the fold of her skirt between her legs. Damn it, but he was making her so nervous. She wished he would go away.
Gary had long since left. She laughed to herself. She didn't even notice him when he walked away from her. Did she want a nice hot fuck? Ridiculous, she pushed the thought aside and went back to work.
CHAPTER TWO
Marsha Stewart was leaning back in her comfortable desk chair with her feet kicked up and a manuscript resting on her lap. She dragged luxuriously on her Virginia Slim, glancing at the typewritten pages in front of her. She muffled a laugh when she spotted the author's name. Manfield Munchclit. Shit, they were still using THOSE kind of names on these porno stories, were they? Ashamed that they were submitting smut to a porno magazine and still wanting to be paid for it. Marsha wondered how far one of those guys would get if she had made the check payable only to Manfield Munchclit and not Norman Schwartz, whose name was listed beneath in parentheses.
Marsha Stewart was not a bad-looking woman for someone pushing forty. She had auburn hair and an attractive face. Her legs were long and slender, as was the rest of her figure. Marsha removed her sunglasses and placed them on her desk, rubbing her sore eyes. She often wore sunglasses indoors, especially with those Goddamn bright fluorescent lights. She reached out and pressed the intercom button.
'Yes,' came an unfamiliar voice.
'Isn't Miss Harris at her desk?' Marsha demanded to know.
'I'm sorry, Miss Stewart, Miss Harris is out,' replied the sweet voice.
'Where did Miss Harris say she was going?' Marsha was annoyed.
'She… uh… she went to the drug store,' said the woman at her desk. 'She had to… purchase sanitary napkins.'
'JESUS CHRIST, SHE'S ON THE RAG AGAIN!' Marsha shrieked loudly. 'She's always running out for Kotex. That's all I hear! With all that money she's spending on Kotex, I hope she intends to claim it on her federal income tax return!'
'Yes, Miss Stewart,' replied the voice.
'Tell her to get her ass in here first thing she gets back,' Marsha ordered her.
'Yes, Miss Stewart.'
Marsha scowled as she leaned back in her chair. That Carole Harris was good for shit, that's what she was! she fumed. She paid that girl seven hundred and fifty dollars a month to be her secretary, not to pretend she was Moses parting the Red Sea.
The manuscripts on her desk were scattered about recklessly. She snatched one up and started to read it, hoping to get her mind off her runaway secretary. The one she was reading was a love story about a nymphomaniac and a speedy-playing harmonica player, and how he was able to hit HER high notes. Oh, CHRIST! she grimaced, throwing it aside. What next!
A half-hour later, Carole Harris, tall, blonde and out of breath, came rushing into Marsha's office with a steno pad.
'I'm sorry I'm late, Miss Stewart…' she gasped.
