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I knew I had to accept innocently as though I had never been asked for a date in this fashion before in my life. I accepted and we agreed to meet a t seven that night to go and see the newest movies and then we were to go for ‘coffee’ to discuss. I knew that we probably wouldn’t really drink coffee, but I still had to keep the act. The night had gone well, we saw some drippy romantic movie that made me want to puke with its gross misrepresentation of what a woman wants in the end. However, that is another story to be told later on in life. On to the end of the date: we went for ‘coffee,’ but we somehow decided that a crowded coffee house was not the place to truly discuss what we felt. Apparently, his apartment was to be the ideal place (that wasn’t my idea, dear readers, it was his entirely). We arrived at his small apartment with our Styrofoam coffee cups for appearances only. I walked through the door and began to see many potential sexual situations. The soft, brown sofa, the. Wanting to appear as old as possible under the circumstances, I dressed with care for the appointment with the realtor. After pulling on a pair of mocha slacks, I spent several minutes trying to chose the right shirt and ended up selecting a pale yellow pull-over that would go with my ivory colored silk sports jacket and light brown tasseled loafers; and of course, no socks.I was seated and waiting at the appointed time. Ms. Konstanty had yet to show. A friendly waitress brought me a glass of ice tea; and from my vantage point I studied the women coming and going, trying to guess which one was Ms. Konstanty.Several attractive women came by, but failed to enter the restaurant. Perhaps she'd been delayed by a last minute caller, or had been kept late by another prospective buyer. Certainly she wasn't going to stand me up. That would be most unprofessional. But why didn't she call?Then a stunning blonde got out of a Mercedes convertible, revealing a great deal of leg and thigh. If this.
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“Cut off? Why? That’s awful!““In the old days it was for religious reasons,” said Bob. “Nowadays some people think it makes the penis easier to keep clean.”Julie put her hand back on the organ and “operated” it again.“How hard could it be? I could get that clean with just my hand. You wouldn’t even need a washcloth.”“And I hope you do that many times in the future,” quipped her father. “I was surprised, a little while ago, when you put your mouth on it.”It was a gentle reminder that she had put her mouth on it, and might want to do that again.Maybe it was because the situation had become somewhat academic, allowing her passion to cool. Maybe Julie was simply tired of wrestling with her emotions, including the jealousy she was ashamed to feel for her own little sister. Maybe Bob’s harebrained scheme to get his daughters to think about things, instead of just reacting to them, was actually working. For whatever reason, Julie Carpenter got tired of trying to force the world around her,.

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