A sideways glance in the mirror told me all was in place. I turned for a more thorough evaluation and felt myself becoming aroused as I noted the effect created by my choice of apparel for the night ahead. My black hair stood out vividly against my fair skin; the barely-there dress I had selected accentuated my curvy hips and full breasts. I smiled into the mirror; full glossy lips smiled back at me.

The card had simply read "Pamela," followed by a time, date, and address about twenty-five minutes away. The envelope itself smelled of expensive perfume and arrived on a Tuesday, three days after a call we had done together. After our boy toy had hung up, we had found ourselves still chatting. A natural blonde, 36C . . . I was a bit intrigued and, needless to say, surprised to find that the feeling was mutual. I confessed that I had never been with a woman before. She laughed in that throaty way she has and began teasing me, telling me I wouldn't know what to do with her. I found myself becoming more and more interested.

As I rang the bell, I was sure she would be able to hear the sound of my heart beating! But as soon as she opened the door, all conscious thoughts were forgotten. She was wearing an even more minuscule outfit than I was. I smiled at her as I tried not to stare at the outline of her breasts through the sky-colored silk of her slip-like garment. Clasping my hand in hers, she kissed my cheek to welcome me.

     Once inside, I commented on the beauty of the house, praying she couldn't tell that I was on the verge of hyperventilating. She waved a perfectly manicured hand (such long, shapely scarlet nails). "Furnishings courtesy of a few well-selected gentleman benefactors," she said. As my breathing began to return to normal, she led me to the couch. We chatted a bit, talking about things as mundane as the weather, then moving on to the topic of certain pet clients we share. I was finally starting to relax, trying yet again not to let my gaze settle on her breasts. I suppose I was trying a bit too hard. Her soft hands cupped my face, and she stared into my eyes.
     "Don't be shy, darling—look at me," she whispered as she slid her dress down.
     At this point, I was sure my face was the color of freshly picked strawberries! Yet I couldn't help but stare: her breasts were so soft, so round. Hypnotized, I leaned down to touch them with my tongue. I heard her groan. Taking my dress in her hands, she slid it over my head. I heard her moan as she saw the fullness of my breasts, my stiffening nipples . . .