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I was twenty-six when Cheryl called and acted like we were old friends. We were from the same small town, a thousand miles away, and I didn’t think we had ever spoken. She was the most beautiful and popular girl in high school, the homecoming and prom queen her senior year. I was a popular athlete, but only a lowly freshman. When I began college, in 1966, I was surprised to see her on campus. I didn’t know she was a student there, too. I started to say hello, but she stuck her cute little butt up in the air, turned her back to me, and continued talking to her sorority sisters. Boy, did that hurt! After that, I snubbed her before she şişli escort could snub me. Now we were old pals. We had so much in common, growing up a few blocks apart, and she wanted to have lunch. Sure, I said, why not? I wondered what she looked like at twenty-eight. Probably fat and faded, the mother of several brats, living in the ‘burbs with dishpan hands and tired bouffant hair. She arrived at my apartment with a gourmet picnic basket. Shrimp on ice, duck pate, champagne, and she was more gorgeous than ever. She drove a Mercedes and although she had her longish dark hair in a ponytail, no makeup, in jeans and mecidiyeköy escort a t-shirt, she looked like a million bucks. And those big brown eyes, so happy to see me! I didn’t have much to say about myself. I was still a hippie, unmarried, and despite my degree in History, I worked in a restaurant kitchen for near-minimum wage. She had married a dentist several years older than her and though she was still childless she had a wonderful life. She couldn’t ask for more. Except one thing. “I don’t know why,” she explained, “but I can’t get pregnant. We’ve been to specialists. There’s nothing wrong with either of us. It doesn’t make sense. He’s a great guy.” She frowned, pouting sadly, and sighed. “He is so busy, he works so hard. Four, sometimes even five days a week. His only pleasure is golf. And bridge. He’s up at the crack of dawn almost every day and off to the Valley.” The Valley Country Club was the most prestigious one around here. “We get together, if I can say it that way, maybe once a month. Sometimes less. The last time was three months ago. He seems to like his golf buddies better than me.” She sobbed, a total loser. We were sitting on my ratty old couch. I patted her well-toned shoulder. She worked out. I didn’t. “There, there,” was all I could think to say. “There, there.” “Fuck me!” she begged. “Please! Please fuck me! Fuck me hard, you fucking hippie!” We were in each other’s arms in a dickthrob.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32