The Achievers Club

A high school club for high achievers leads two members to romance--and one of them indirectly to a wild afternoon of carnal pleasures with the school's sexpot.

[Author's note: This is another of my stories that is heavy on plot development before the sex scene occurs. Take that as fair warning. If this does not appeal to you, don't read it. However, I think the build-up is worth the wait.]

Part One

It could be argued that my brother, Harold Stevenson, who is three years older than I am, should be credited with founding the Achievers Club at East Side High School. At the very least, he should be recognized as a co-founder with Mrs. Youngman, a beloved English teacher there.

As the story goes, during the first week of the 1975-76 academic year, Harold, who was well known as a brilliant student, was asked by Mrs. Youngman if he had signed up for any of the clubs or extracurricular activities offered by the school. She was surprised by his blunt answer. “No,” he stated. “None of them interest me.”

“That's difficult to believe,” Mrs. Youngman said sympathetically. “There has to be something here for you. You possess such a great mind.” She quickly found a complete list of the available school clubs and went over each one with Harold.

“You can eliminate anything to do with art,” my brother firmly said. “I have zero artistic talents, none whatsoever.” That eliminated the drawing, painting, and ceramics clubs. Harold also said that gadgets held little interest for him, which eliminated the photography and CB radio clubs. Harold was an average athlete, but a slow runner. That knocked out the cross-country running club and most of the school's sports teams.

“My pastimes involve using my brain,” he stated. “I like to read quality books, play challenging board games, watch documentaries, and have meaningful discussions. I understand there used to be a chess club here, but it ended years ago when the only chess-playing teacher retired. So, as I said, there’s nothing on that list that appeals to me.”

Mrs. Youngman was a compassionate soul. She told my brother, “It looks like people like you have been ignored, Harold. Let’s see if I can do something about that.”

The next day, before school started, Mrs. Youngman spotted Harold near his locker and showed him some notes she had brainstormed. It was the basis for a club that would provide members with intellectual games, but it also featured occasional films, readings, and teacher-led thoughtful discussions about world events and scholarly matters. She had tentatively called it the Achievers Club. “It would appeal to the brainy enrollees at the school, like you, Harold, ” Mrs. Youngman noted.

Harold liked the general idea, and said so, but he worried that “the school’s riffraff might dumb it down.”

Mrs. Youngman laughed and said, “The riffraff will quickly be scared off by the chess boards and the discussion topics. I can guarantee that.”

Later that day, Mrs. Youngman got official permission from the principal to start the club and hold its meetings after school in her classroom. It was advertised during the morning announcements. Within a week there were two dozen regular attendees—more than almost any other school club could boast. It met every day for 40 minutes once classes ended. The Achievers Club was undoubtedly a success. It was still going strong—flourishing, in fact—when I, James Stevenson, entered East Side High School as a 14-year-old in the fall of 1978. With the encouragement of my brother, it became a priority for me to join it and attend as often as I could. I seldom missed a meeting.

Part Two

I was one of about ten freshmen who showed up practically every day at the Achievers Club to play chess or Othello or Mastermind with likeminded individuals. If a discussion topic interested me, I listened and participated. Sometimes a teacher other than Mrs. Youngman would show up to share something with the group. One had recently returned from a vacation to Egypt and brought back some souvenirs that mimicked ancient times. That was kind of cool. Another time, there was a passionate discussion about capital punishment. I was definitely in favor of it. I brought the discussion to a swift halt when I noted, “Think about it: If criminals are in favor of abolishing the death penalty, how can it possibly be the right thing to do? Why would you want to be allied with them?” Nobody could muster any rebuttal argument.

In my final year of high school, when I was 18, Mrs. Youngman, still as enthusiastic about the Achievers Club as she had been the day it debuted, brought in an article from a psychology magazine about finding the perfect mate. Its author declared that the idea that “opposites attract” was nonsense. He wrote that the best chance for a long-lasting relationship was if both people had shared interests and values, and approximately the same levels of intelligence. Anything else, he wrote, was a recipe for disaster. The author’s thesis became a lively discussion topic!

I generally agreed with the writer, opining that all the club’s members would likely marry other smart people and avoid dimwits. Mrs. Youngman, disagreed somewhat, but liked the descriptive term “intellectual bantamweights” that I had created as a euphemism for low-IQ people.

Playing devil’s advocate, Mrs. Youngman spoke to me directly. “James, what would you do if a really attractive but not very smart girl approached you romantically? Would you reject her on the spot?”

“Oh, you mean someone like Victoria Gillis?” I asked.

That drew a big laugh from the 20 people who had gathered to hear Mrs. Youngman read the article.

“Let’s keep this theoretical rather than personal, James,” she cautioned me.

I smiled and replied, “You must know that Victoria is the ideal example for this discussion. She fits your description perfectly. Furthermore, she won’t be insulted because there is zero chance she’ll ever show up at one of our meetings.”

Victoria Gillis had attended the same schools as I had since the third grade. She was the stereotypical dumb blonde. We had been classmates occasionally. Her insipid questions and answers were the stuff of legend. When Pope John Paul I died suddenly in October 1978, she seriously asked our history teacher if the deceased pontiff had been a Catholic! Another time, in English class, during a discussion about a novel’s plot, she declared that a minor character had “faded into Bolivian” rather than “faded into oblivion.” I found that remark to be incredibly funny—and oh so typical of Victoria. I laughed so hard and long that my teacher finally asked me to leave the classroom until I had composed myself. That teacher was Mrs. Youngman.

Victoria’s sole redeeming quality was that she was undeniably drop-dead gorgeous. Standing 5’5”, she had the figure of a bikini model and a very pretty face surrounded by a head of long, curly blonde hair. Boys had pursued her companionship since the fifth grade. I would have been one of them, but I found her intellectual limitations too off-putting. I had referred to her as “Vapid Victoria” since the first day I encountered her at school and heard her speak.

Bill Samuelson, one of the club members, said with a grin, “James, I don’t think Victoria was put on this planet to play chess with you or design rockets. She has other redeeming qualities.”

I started to reply with, “Victoria might have other assets...”

“Might?” Bill interjected. “James, do you honestly think there’s any doubt about that?”

I chuckled and said, “Okay, I’ll concede that Victoria is a rather fetching example of teenage femininity, but there’s no way I’d ever want to spend my life with her as my wife—unless I knew I was going to die a week from Thursday. For those few days I’d have loads of carnal fun with her.”

That comment drew a loud laugh from most of the males, but only sour expressions from the dozen or so females who had gathered. When the noise subsided, I waved my right arm at the group and continued. “Seriously, I’d marry any girl here before I’d marry Vapid Victoria. I like the brainy type. The dumb ones only cause headaches.”

That comment caused all the girls’ expressions to change from frowns to smiles. A few of them briefly applauded me.

When the time came to vacate the school, Mrs. Youngman declared we had just had the most productive and fascinating discussion in the history of the Achievers Club—and it would be continued tomorrow, if we so desired. I was pleasantly surprised when three of the youngest female members, none of whom I knew, stealthily gave me slips of paper containing their names and phone numbers.

Over the next two weeks, I dated all of them. I found 15-year-old Sandra Battleford to be especially compatible, so we quickly became a couple. Sandra was not in Victoria Gillis’ league in looks—no other girl at East Side High School was—but she was very attractive to me, both physically and mentally. She had the two qualities in a girl that I most admired: she was intelligent and very feminine. That she was also quite pretty and affectionate were bonuses.

During one Achievers Club meeting on a Tuesday afternoon when we were supposed to be viewing a documentary about the Eiffel Tower, Mrs. Youngman abruptly shut off the projector after she noticed Sandra and me enthusiastically smooching in the dark instead of watching the film.

With obvious annoyance in her voice, the usually gentle teacher chastised us. “In case you two have forgotten, the motto of this club is ‘Expand your mind with like-minded students.’ There’s nothing in it about exercising your libido. Please leave now and come back tomorrow.”

We both apologized for our indiscretion, but we did leave Mrs. Youngman’s classroom rather ashamed of ourselves. However, our collective guilt did not stop us from finding a nearby science lab unlocked. Sandra and I entered it and proceeded with a personal biology experiment that had a very satisfactory conclusion for both of us.

Shortly thereafter, I walked Sandra to her house. It was slow progress because we stopped frequently to share numerous hugs and kisses. I told Sandra how thrilled I was to have found her through the Achievers Club. I emphasized that I thought she was the most beautiful girl in the whole school despite the fact that she was just a freshman student.

“James, am I more beautiful than that stunning blonde who’s your age, Victoria What’s-Her Name?” she playfully asked me.

I figured no matter how I answered Sandra’s question I’d be in trouble, so I gave her a large dose of honesty. “Of course, Victoria Gillis is a very desirable sexpot,” I noted. “Every normal male in this school would enjoy a romp with her, myself included. But you, my dear, are my dream girl: You are pretty, smart and fun.”

“What about sexy?” Sandra asked.

“Were you not paying attention in the science lab?” I replied. “Your feminine charms worked wonders on me, Sandra.”

Sandra gave me a devilishly cute, girlish smile and commented, “This isn’t very scientific of me, James, but I didn’t care about the cause—just the effect. What a wonderful effect it was! Thank you so much!”

Part Three

The next day after school, Sandra and I both sheepishly return to the Achievers Club. Our ejections the previous day—despite it leading to something wonderful in the science lab—had greatly embarrassed us. Sandra brought three dozen homemade cookies as a tangible way of apologizing to the members. When she told me she was going to do that, I brought a case of canned soft drinks for everyone to enjoy with the cookies. We jointly penned a personal apology to Mrs. Youngman in which we promised to stay true to the club’s purpose and “exercise our libidos” elsewhere. We were quickly forgiven. Bill Samuelson got a big laugh when he suggested that Sandra and I kiss some more because her baking was so good.

I looked at Sandra. We both looked at Mrs. Youngman. “One?” I asked.

The teacher faked being angry and said, “Okay...one!” Sandra and I embraced for a passionate smooch which drew a round of applause. Then all negativity was forgotten and things returned to normal in the Achievers Club.

About a week later, around noon on a Saturday, I got a phone call from Sandra. From the tone of her voice and the speed of her words, I could tell she was agitated about something. “James,” she blurted, “this morning I had an encounter with that bimbo from your grade, Victoria What’s-Her-Name!”

“Oh, you mean Victoria Gillis,” I said.

“Yeah, Victoria Gillis! You won’t believe what she said to me!”

Sandra explained she had just returned from the local shopping mall with her mother and little sister. All three had been enjoying a snack at the food court when she noticed Victoria was nearby. Sandra paid no attention to her. Instead, Victoria approached her and asked, “Is James Stevenson your boyfriend?”

When Sandra politely answered yes, Victoria brazenly said, “I’ve known James since the third grade. I think he’s gorgeous. If you ever get tired of him, I’ll gladly take your place and fuck him until his balls turn blue.” Then she abruptly walked away.

I couldn’t help but laugh at that anecdote. It was a doozy! Although I didn’t acknowledge it to Sandra, I took it as a huge compliment.

“I knew you’d laugh, James, but I don’t think it’s funny. First of all, I was sitting with my mother and seven-year-old sister. Under the circumstances that was hardly the time nor place for Victoria, a total stranger, to say that to me. Frankly, there is no right time to say that to me.”

“I can’t argue with that!” I told her. “How did your mother and sister react?”

My mom was basically shocked into silence—until my sister asked her what fucking was and if a man’s testicles could really turn blue.”

I tried to inject some levity to calm Sandra down a notch or two. “I hope your mother was able to answer your sister’s questions in a way a seven-year-old might be able to understand. I also wish I had heard her answer. I honestly don’t know if a man’s balls can turn blue from fucking. Want to do another science experiment tonight to find out?”

That stemmed Sandra’s anger momentarily. She laughed. “Okay, maybe I’m getting upset over nothing. But what unbelievable nerve this girl has to walk up to me and say it’s her desire to fuck you!”

I tried more humor. “Sandra, I don’t know Victoria very well at all,” I said, “but you have to admit she has great taste in guys and sex partners.” I could hear Sandra literally growl on her end of the line.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, I gently said to my girlfriend, “Okay, this incident has greatly upset you, and I understand why. I’ll be over at your place in about 15 minutes and we can discuss it. See you then.”

When I arrived, I was greeted warmly by Mrs. Battleford, who really liked me. She had worried that her daughter was too much of a bookworm and would never find romance. I proved that fear to be wrong. She also just liked me as a person. We embraced. I also hugged Samantha, Sandra’s little sister, who casually informed me that “some girl at the mall wants to fuck your balls until they turn blue.” Her mother was horrified, but I laughed loudly.

I decided to have some fun. “Samantha, do you think that’s even possible?” I asked.

“I don’t even know what it means,” the cute seven-year-old said. “Well, maybe I understand a bit, but not exactly. I guess I don’t really know.”

“Good!” I said. “Stay innocent.” I then lifted Samantha into the air to kiss her on the cheek. Sandra walked in while I was doing that.

“I have a problem now, Samantha. I like kissing both you and your sister. What should I do now?

“Kiss me, ” Samantha answered. “You can always kiss Sandra at school anytime you want.” I did, this time on the lips.

Sandra just laughed. “It seems every female in the city wants your affection.”

Mrs. Battleford chimed in, “Sandra, you are right!” and then she kissed me! “You are a real gem, James. Sandra, hold onto this guy forever.” Then she left the room followed closely by Samantha.

Now that we were alone, I eyed Sandra and said, “Time for some real kissing!” We affectionately embraced for about three minutes and then sat in the kitchen. Sandra was still irked over her earlier encounter with Victoria.

“Don’t let it bother you,” I tried to tell her. “You learned that Victoria is a little bit on the crass side, that’s all.”

“A little bit? She has no self-control at all, ” Sandra insisted. “I guess on some level I’m worried that you would prefer Victoria over me—and she’s prepared to make it happen. At the Achievers Club you included yourself when you said every boy at the school would enjoy a romp with her.”

“That’s no reflection on you, Sandra. Victoria is just overtly sexual, and men are wired for sex. It’s just like when I watch movies. When I see Raquel Welch, I want to screw her. When I see Marilyn Monroe, same thing. When I see Brigitte Bardot, I really want to fuck her—over and over. It’s just a biological thing for males. I love you, Sandra. I don’t love any of those actresses.” I felt compelled to say, “Besides, Marilyn Monroe died 20 years ago.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” Sandra said sarcastically. Then after a pause, she said something to me that was utterly extraordinary: “I think you should have your romp with Victoria. She obviously wants it. Then it will be out of your system and I’ll have you in both mind and body. What do you think?”

“Frankly, I think you are one totally nutty girl, but I love you, ” I told her sweetly. “If my having sex with Victoria Gillis is the only way to convince you that you and I belong together, I’ll do it.”

“Call her up and make a date,” Sandra urged me.

“I don’t know her phone number offhand. I know it’s written on the walls in all the boys’ washrooms at school, though.”

Sandra procured the local telephone directory. There was only one Gillis listed in it. Sandra even dialed the number for me. A female picked up on the fourth ring. “Hello, is this Victoria Gillis?” I asked. I got a positive answer.

“Hi, Victoria. This is James Stevenson from school. I know this is completely out of the blue. You spoke to my girlfriend Sandra earlier today at the mall. To make a long story short, I want to fuck you until my balls turn blue.” Victoria seemed quite pleased by that statement...and instructed me to pick her up at her house in exactly two hours.

Part Four

I had intended to take Victoria somewhere for a coffee at least or perhaps a full meal, but when she hopped into my car, she had just one thing on her mind. She quickly kissed me and said, “Drive to the Starlight Motel. You can book a room by the hour. I can’t wait. I so want to fuck you, James. I’ve been wanting to do this with you since we were 12 years old.” There’s something to be said about a girl who knows precisely what she wants—even if she’s not the brightest penny in the jar.

I rarely notice such things, but Victoria had doused herself in very sexy perfume. I complimented her on it. “I wanted to turn you on. This special fragrance always helps.”

I replied, quite truthfully, “Victoria, you could dress like a hobo and smell like a hobo, and you would still turn me on!”

During the ten-minute car ride, I found it amazing that Victoria didn’t think to ask me why I had suddenly called her or if I was cheating on Sandra. (I think she just assumed I was!) She just silently and gently caressed my thigh as I drove.

When we got to the motel, we had no trouble securing a room for two hours. I was optimistic to think I could keep the equipment hard for 120 minutes. A quick glance at Victoria, who was dressed sharply in a light-yellow blouse, a pleated black skirt, and sheer panty hose, assured me that multiple orgasms and erections would not be a problem for 18-year-old me. We were given the key to Room #7. “Lucky seven,” I said aloud. “How appropriate!” Victoria agreed.

We weren’t in the room for more than 15 seconds when Victoria sat on the edge of the bed and started to remove my belt while I stood in front of her. I took the opportunity to lovingly cup her breasts with my hands and then slowly unbutton her blouse. A frilly, white bra was revealed. “It’s imported from France, ” Victoria told me without my asking. “It lifts my tits, making them look bigger than they really are.”

“They don’t need any help. They’ve been big and beautiful for a long time,” I informed her. “Victoria, I was transfixed by your breast buds in the fourth grade when they poked against your t-shirt. Your nipples just about drove me crazy. By the end of the fifth grade, I often thought of devious ways of accidentally touching them.”

“All you had to do was ask, ” Victoria said with a smile. “A few boys who were in the seventh and eighth grades did just that. I liked it. It was fun! Anyway, here they are, James, for your enjoyment.”

Victoria undid the clasp and her French brassiere fell gently to the carpet, exposing her luscious goodies. They were excellent in every way. I played with them and squeezed them for a few moments, totally oblivious to the fact that Victoria had completely removed my jeans and briefs. I only realized the situation when she complimented me on my genitalia and erection.

“That’s a nice stiff cock you have, James. I knew it would be!” She began licking the shaft of my penis and kissing the head. It was a heavenly sensation.

“I just have to fuck those tits of yours, Victoria,” I told her. “I can’t resist.” I placed my stiff rod between her two prominent mounds. Victoria was experienced enough to know that a titty-fuck was sexiest by pressing her boobs together surrounding my penis for a tight sensation. I knew this could not go on much longer without a sperm eruption occurring, so I suggested we get fully undressed and meet in the center of the bed. We did, and I finally got the chance to suck on Victoria’s invitingly stiff nipples. “I should have done this seven years ago!” I told her between sensuous licks.

“You mean in grade eight?”

“No, we’re both in grade 12 now. Seven years ago, we were in Miss Connolly’s fifth-grade class. She had nice tits, too.” Even in the throes of passion, it occurred to me that Victoria couldn’t do very basic arithmetic in her head.

I was approaching the point of no return, so I quickly mounted Victoria, shoved my dick into her pussy—which was surprisingly tight given her reputation for promiscuity, and began ramming her hard. (For added fun, I pretended we were both back in elementary school, which made the situation even more erotic for me.) After about a minute, I fired a huge load of jism into her welcoming cunt.

“Good girl, Victoria!” I exclaimed as I panted.

“No,” she stated. “You did all the work in that fuck, so I should be commending you. Good boy, James!”

I kissed her for that comment. I found it odd that we had fucked like rabbits before we had kissed. I supposed that was a biproduct of lust rather than love. Being a typical 18-year-old male, my equipment did not stay in a flaccid state for long. Once it was revived, I told Victoria I’d fuck her while lying side by side. “Some people call this the ‘spoons position’. Did you know that?” I asked her.

“I don’t bother to learn those types of things,” Victoria replied. “I just call it fucking. I like any position as long as a boy has his dick inside me and makes my pussy feel good. I like your dick, James, it’s just the right size to please me. Come as often as you can inside me. Don’t worry; I took a pill.”

She didn’t have to say that twice. Screwing Victoria side-by-side allowed me to fondle her breasts freely while my dick did what nature designed it to do. Within 10 minutes I climaxed again. The sperm I expelled was not nearly as plentiful as it was for the first orgasm. I hope Victoria was not disappointed with that cum shot. She wasn’t. “Good one, James,” she commented. “You have a lovely dick, but you already knew that, didn’t you?” I didn’t know it, so I thanked Victoria for the compliment.

We had checked into the motel at 3:20 p.m., so the room was booked until 5:20. There was a clock in the room, but my eyesight was substandard when I wasn’t wearing my eyeglasses. I asked Victoria to tell me the time. “The little hand is just past the four and the big hand is on the one.” I surmised that Victoria had difficulty telling time on an analogue clock. I did the math. We still had 75 minutes left in our room reservation.

I wanted to make every minute count. This time I suggested to Victoria that she mount me and do the work. Again, she was a more-than-agreeable sex partner. She gyrated and bounced to her heart’s content—and to my content, too—bringing me to my third orgasm as I watched her tits jiggle. Somehow it seemed stronger than my second one.

I knew if I didn’t take a respite from screwing Victoria, my balls might indeed turn blue! I lifted her off my dick, embraced her, and kissed her softly in many places. (Of course, I targeted her world-class breasts. I would have licked them for hours on end if time permitted.) For a break, we got comfortable just snuggling together. I tried to engage her in general conversation, but it was soon obvious that Bill Samuelson was right. Victoria Gillis had not been born to be an intellectual.

When I told her I had met Sandra at the Achievers Club, Victoria said, “Oh, I know about that group. That’s where everyone plays chest.” I giggled and told her the game was called chess. “Playing chest is what I’m doing right now with your lovely tits!”

“Oh, I don’t know much about games like that. Is chess a new game?”

I quickly said no and changed the subject. When I asked Victoria what she liked to do for fun (other than fucking) she told me she enjoyed drawing and painting, but she didn’t think she was good enough to join either of those two clubs at school. I encouraged her to give it a try. “You might turn out to be another Renoir or Picasso, ” I suggested.

“Are those two of the club members?” she sincerely asked me. I just shook my head. It took great effort to suppress a laugh.

Somehow our conversation ended up focused on Victoria’s brief interaction with Sandra at the mall earlier that day. “James,” she confessed, “whenever I see a boy I am attracted to who already has a girlfriend, I make a point of telling her that I want to fuck him. Often the girl concludes I’m already fucking him—so they break up. Is that what happened with you and Sandra?”

“No, not at all. We’re still together.” I explained. “Sandra told me about the encounter at the mall. She knew I had always lusted for you, so she agreed to let me have a fucking date with you and get it out of my system.”

“Well, that’s very nice of her!’ Victoria declared. “Before we leave here, I’ll write her a thank-you note because it’s been a pleasure fucking you, James. I knew it would. Whenever I see you at school, my pussy tingles. It has been like that since we were in the fifth grade.”

Somehow, I mustered the energy for one last fuck before we had to depart the room. This one was doggy-style. I told Victoria that if I could come a fourth time—a big “if”—I would come on her face.

“Whatever makes you happy!” was her succinct reply. I pulled out of Victoria’s pussy at the appropriate moment and came fully on her face. It indeed made me happy.

I passed Victoria the box of tissues from the nightstand. As she wiped the goo from her cheeks and forehead, she said. “I’ve never understood why boys like to do that. I’d think that coming in a girl’s pussy would feel much better. Please explain it to me, James.”

“Speaking as a typical male,” I said, “most of us like to come on girls’ faces because we enjoy coming on girls’ faces.”

“Oh, that makes sense!” she amusingly said, not at all recognizing the circular reasoning in my statement. She was certainly living up to her longtime nickname of Vapid Victoria.

Nevertheless, Victoria was true to her word. She found a notepad and a pen and she wrote Sandra a thank-you note as well as she could. She folded it in half and put it in my shirt pocket.

When we left the motel, I asked Victoria if she wanted to go to a restaurant for a big meal to conclude our date. “Thanks for the offer, but I can’t accept,” she replied. “I have another date at 8 p.m. so I have to go home and get ready for it. He’s a good fucker, just like you, James. It will be a lot of fun!” Wow. I was rendered speechless.

After I dropped off Victoria at her house, I figured I ought to see Sandra. She happily accepted my similar dinner offer. When we were seated in a secluded section of the restaurant, Sandra insisted on hearing every detail of my sexual romp with Victoria. It was weirdly erotic telling the girl I loved about my adventures fucking a certified bimbo to four orgasms that same day. She seemed fascinated by it all and not the least bit jealous. After all, she had suggested it.

“Oh, I have something for you,” I remembered. “It’s a note from Victoria.” I handed her the folded piece of paper. She read it aloud.

It said, “Sandra, thank you for letting me fuck James. That was generous of you. I like fucking boys and I like James, so I’ve always wanted to fuck him since we were both little. He is good in bed. He has a nice dick. When you fuck him, I hope you always give him a good fucking. I think I gave him a good fucking today. Sincerely, Victoria Gillis.”

“Jeez!” Sandra declared. “That sounds like it was written by a second-grader.” I concurred. Sandra also pointed out that Victoria had misspelled ‘generous’.

There was a long pause before Sandra said, “I have to ask you a few questions, James: First, do you prefer Victoria over me?”

“Absolutely not! That’s an easy decision. Victoria is great in the sack, but you are the type of girl I want to marry someday. In fact, I think you are the girl I want to marry.” Sandra blushed, leaned across the table and kissed me.

Sandra picked up from where she left off with some rapid-fire inquiries. “I am skeptical about your exploits in bed today. Did you really ejaculate four times in less than two hours?”

“Yes!” I insisted. “I surprised myself.”

“Did Victoria make your balls turn blue?”

“I doubt it, but I honestly forgot to check!” I said.

“Do you want to go back to that motel after dinner and try for a fifth ejaculation?”

“Yes!” I declared. “My balls will turn likely turn blue at that point. But I don’t care.”