You've probably never heard of Susan Wills. For, indeed, in the past ten years or so she's kept a very low profile. In spite of having had sex with over 1,500 men from coast to coast.

None of these guys knew, or know, her real name, either. They knew her by her self-imposed nickname, Ms. Susie Cream Cheese. She'd tell the men, when they naturally inquired about her odd name, "I'm the girl who's easy to spread! Just like cream cheese. Only a lot tastier!"

And spread her they did, over and over, this brown-haired, brown-eyed cutie. She stood 5' 5" in stocking feet and hadn't an ounce of fat anywhere on her shapely frame. Her breasts were perfectly formed, the nipples large and so sensitive they'd be called perky by anyone with any sense whatsoever.

Add a mouth that looked perfect for kissing (or sucking on something), an ass that jutted out in a twin bubble pattern, and you can see why most men would have the hots for her. I know I did. That's how I got her whole true and unvarnished story.

But she wasn't always known as Susie Cream cheese, no sirree.

In high school, the most a fella got from Susie was a titty feel or, if he was a really good boy, a quick handjob. Her pussy was off limits, Charlie, make no mistake about that. Susie was too concerned about her reputation in the neighborhood to go beyond a five-fingered assist.

In college, and far from her home turf, Susie had let herself have a tad more leeway. Leeway enough, you might say, to have her cherry popped. By a bumbling and fumbling nerdy type who answered to the name of Calvin Chauncy Cooler. Three Cee to his friends and Cee Cee or Cally to his family.

Now, what Three Cee, or Cee Cee, or Cally, take your pick, lacked in sexual finesse, he made up for by having just enough pecker length to bust her hymen. For keeps, dontcha know. And old Cee Cee, at twenty years young, admitted to her that he had just lost his virginity, too. You could say they shared the moment. And a cigarette, too. But not the future. For Susie dropped him quicker than you could say, ahem, Three Cee, or Cee Cee, or Cally. Take your pick.

Now, don't you go thinking that this mismatched coupling was an accident of fate or a sperm of the moment thing. Oh, no! This was a planned fucking by a master planner. Susie knew Calvin was controllable, being such a nerd and all, could do what was necessary, and wouldn't put up much of an argument when she lowered the boom on him. And she was right. Old Cal simply moved on, sorrier for doing so, but with at least one real fuck under his belt and to his personal credit.

Susie loved the freedom that being at college gave her and, with her hormones raging up a storm, intended to take full advantage of the situation. But first she needed to protect herself from getting pregnant. A thought brought to scary light when her next period after her Calvin fiasco was a few days late. So she tried a diaphragm. It was awkward and putting it in killed the passion of the moment somewhat, but she knew it was a necessity.

Now, being a master planner, Susie didn't go slam-banging into the college world, fucking here and there without regards for her personal space. Oh, no, she chose her men very carefully and, you guessed it, they were all the nerdy type. Men who, if they chose to spread nasty rumors about her, had very little chance of being believed.

And, proceeding slowly, she let only three such men try out her new diaphragm thingy. Once each, but no more. She was finding her way and testing things out. They could have used her patience and planning abilities for the Normandy invasion in World War two.

Then along came birth control pills and the sexual revolution. Well, lordy, lordy, you could measure the speed of light by how fast she got a prescription and had it filled. Susie felt, at the time, that mankind had introduced the pills and the new sexual attitudes with her specifically in mind. As she had said to her roomie, more than once, "A pill a day let's you fuck away! Hooray! Hooray!"

Susie tested the pill's efficacy on eight nerdy men in such rapid succession their heads are probably still spinning today when merely thinking about their encounters with her. But then, wouldn't you know it, she fell in love. The head over heels kind of love. And with the eighth nerd, no less.

His name was Gregory Wills. He was nerdy, to be sure, but somehow he seemed less so to a girl in love. Oh, yeah, he wore thick, horn-rimmed glasses, a nerdy-nerdy pocket protector, and funny, ill fitting, out of fashion clothing, but he was also tall and nicely built. Throw an 8" + boner with the ability to use it quite well into the mix and--voila! Love. Or close enough to it.

Thus far I've omitted any reference to oral sex, or as you pervs say, cocksucking and pussy eating. You see, Susie, in a decidedly prudish vein, was saving her mouth, and its sweet potential, for the man of her dreams. Silly goose!

While she had fantasized about sucking a dick, had even read up on technique, and had discussed the subject in great detail with her roommate, Willa, thus far the only thing to enter her mouth in oral giving fashion was a practice banana now and then. With the skin on, naturally.

Since, as they say, practice makes perfect, Susie was soon able to deep-throat the biggest bananas available from the supermarket. If 10" bananas could talk, they'd undoubtedly say to the rest of the yellow bunch, "Whatta mouth, whatta throat!"

That was the exact words that gushed out of Greg the first time she sprang her oral talents on him. He yelled them out just a few seconds before he blasted her mouth with his nerdy cum. A taste that Susie found to be unbelievably delicious.

Whether it was her love for Greg or not, the session firmly established two truisms in her brain: She loved sucking cock and she loved swallowing cum. Even more than actual fucking, which she found to be okay, but nowhere near as pleasant as a cock in the mouth. And her orgasms while sucking away were more intense than the ones she got from mere screwing

Whatever her sexual likes, she and Greg fucked and sucked like rabbits, right up to, and through, their elopement one fine weekend. One of those four-day long weekends. The B&B the Wills' honeymooned at had a marriage suite and the two of them saw nothing else the whole time there. To Susie, her Greg was an animal who matched her thrust for thrust. The new Mrs. Wills was in cum heaven.

However, heaven lasted only three months. Then Greg started getting tired. Very tired. Holding down a part-time job and with classes and all, the poor boy was whipped all the time. He'd come home to the little room they had rented over someone's garage and just collapse on the couch. He called it playing blob. "I'm bushed, baby, I just want to play blob tonight and watch some TV. OK?"

No, it was not OK. Not by a long shot and certainly not to a recently wedded hot and horny gal. Naturally, argument after argument ensued and the marriage went quickly on the old friggin' rocks of divorce. Goodbye, Greg, it's been fun, but I got some serious fucking to do. That, she told me, was loosely in her thoughts at the time.

Well, once again free, she fiddled around with a handful of guys here and there, with her heart not fully in it, until graduation day. She wasn't out of college even a week when she landed a job at a manufacturer of women's clothing. Right in the heart of the silk stocking district of New York City. As a trainee in the sales department.

She learned quickly and, with her natural planning talents, was promoted to assistant buyer in less than a year. She had found her career niche in life.

But, naturally, she still had volatile hormones and they spoke to her each and every day. "You need some fucking and sucking, girl!" they seemed to scream out. "So, go and get you some before someone else uses it all up." She wanted to, badly, but she had just finished reading Judith Rossner's "Looking For Mr. Goodbar" and it had thrown a fitful scare into her.

This allegedly true story of a plain Jane schoolteacher who trolls the seedy singles bars at night looking for sex only to die at the hands of a psychopathic killer, well, it was just too vivid and horrifying to Susie. A girl had to be careful.

When the movie came out, with Diane Keaton as the schoolmarm, Tom Berenger as the loony, and Tuesday Weld as her sister, Susie resisted going to see it. But when she learned that Richard Gere, that hunky hunk of a hunk, was also in it, she weakened and went to see it... with a girlfriend, of course.

The movie hammered the point home, even more so than the book, that a horny girl could get her ass killed... in a heartbeat... by indiscriminate sex with total strangers.

Unless...

Unless the playing field, the sex arena, could be controlled somehow. That eliminated singles bars of any stripe. Too dangerous by their very open nature, their willingness to let all and anyone pass through their doors. They made no attempt to (how could they and why should they?) keep out the riffraff, the hoi polloi and, most assuredly, your everyday run-of-the-mill psychopathic or sociopathic maniac.

Yes, singles bars sucked, but she knew just where some fairly safe places to meet men existed. She'd learned that little fact from attending out-of-town sales meetings for the company's buyers.

Hotel bars. With wall-to-wall men. Well-dressed businessmen in suit and tie. In town on business. Men who were probably married which made them even more attractive to her as there would be no sloppy breaking up scenes later on. And the out-of-town aspect fit in well, too. There would be no, "Let's start an affair!" crap. No crimping on her time, either. She'd be as free as a bird. With the chances of running into some lunatic very remote, if not damn near impossible.

The more Susie thought about it, the more she liked the idea. If she played it correctly, choosing only men from outside the state, she saw the possibility of ending up with her own personal stable of horny, dick-hard studs who would, while sexually agitated for sure, call her up from time to time to say they were in town and would just love her company. "Let's do (pant, pant) lunch. (pant, pant) I'm in room 1213 (pant, pant) at the Ramada (pant, pant) on 38th."

Oh, yeah, and they'd be more than hot to trot and glad to see her when she crossed their hotel room's doorway. They'd be slobbering up a storm just thinking about getting between mamma's thighs. No fucking sofa blobs here. And any potential blob that dared to pop up could be eliminated in a New York second.

All she had to make sure of was that no man ever had her real home address or home phone number. She'd give them a false name and a work phone number that only she would answer. Because she had her own private phone line at work (thank you, boss!) it would be easy to assign one of the three extensions, that she never used anyway, to her new name.

That's when the delicious idea of calling herself Susie Cream cheese came to life. It would telegraph to each man that all she was interested in was a fucking and not a long-term romance. If they thought her to be a downright slut, well, fuck 'em! Who cared? No one else would know but these men and herself. Could it, she thought, be any better than this? Yeah, but only if a place existed where she could order up a large-size cock with a big balls topping the way you do a pizza.

Thus emerged Susie Cream cheese, the EZ to spread girl. With a sure-fire plan that she knew could be honed to an exquisitely fine art. Thus, with this plan burning up her brain, she quickly added a new file to her computer. Not for phone numbers and addresses, but for men's' names and a limited smattering of personal data.

A brief physical description, their sexual preferences and even cock size would also be noted. In her own code, of course. Based on the ABC's, similar to the code she used for dress orders. Anyone stumbling across the file, which was named, simply enough, Buyer Meetings, would surmise it was just that, business shit--not even worth a second glance.

A = Anal. B = Blowjob. C = Cunnilingus. D = Dick size. There was no point in encoding Fucking with an F as they would all surely do that to her.

However, as time went on, she did add M = Missionary, DS = Doggy Style, and MOT = Me On Top. All three positions would simply be coded as ALL. And at one point, she also added HC for Heavy Cummer. Thus, a typical entry might be:

Tom, 6.1, Arizona, Hilton (34th), B, C, D7," ALL, HC. 4x.

The 4x, of course, meant they had gotten together four times. And, when a guy called on her extension, she would simply whisper, breathlessly, "Susie Cream cheese, how may I help you?" Giggling thrown in for good measure. At the same time she'd pull up the Buyer Meetings file on her PC's screen as a memory refresher--if it was at all necessary.

Although, at this point, she was eager and ready to try her ideas out and even knew the hotel bar she planned to start with, The Kensington, she was in no hurry. There were other aspects to consider first. And to plan out. So, when she got home to her cozy little apartment that night, she poured herself a gin and tonic and pulled out a pad and a Bic. And outlined her game plan...

Hotel Bars: Here she made a list of the six she all ready knew about. More were sure to be added later. She also made a note telling herself not to hit the same bar twice in any two-week period as bartenders pick up on shit.

Sit on stool at bar and wait. And, if he as no appeal to me? Simple -- Tell him I'm on my way to a business meeting, pay up and go to the second choice. She liked that; it gave her even more control over the situation. She could pick and choose at will.

If appealing to me and not inebriated, find out quickly --

1. Is he staying at this hotel and on business? If not, split.

2. Is he from out of town? If not, split.

3. Size his demeanor up. Happy-go-lucky or sad? Horny innuendos? Eager to be manipulated sexually? Can he take a sexual hint?

How do I get him to take me to his room? Perhaps -- "I've never stayed at this hotel before. Are the rooms nice? The view? Of the city?" Corny, but if he's at all quick-witted, it should do the trick.

And because I do, darling self, want to suck him off and have him unload in my mouth first -- I need a plan! Susie thought for a while and then hit on one.

She'd wear a Kotex pad! After the usual preliminary kissing and fondling, with him all worked to a lather from her playing with his cock through his trousers, he'd discover the pad soon enough.

Oh, he'd be disappointed at first, but she could handle that by telling him it was her last day and it would be coming off soon. Give him a light at the end of the tunnel. But, in the meantime, she didn't want him to suffer from blue balls, so some line, such as, "I'm sorry I got you so worked up, but what if I made love to you?" should work.

In case he was truly slow on the uptake, she'd punch home the message by kneeling down in front of him and unzipping his fly. Bold, but who cares? He would know in a second that he had a cum slut on his hands, but what guy would argue the point and say, "Hey, lady, if you think I'm going to let you suck my cock before we fuck, you've got another guess coming! Get off your knees and never darken my doorstep again!" Yeah, right! When piglets are born covered with feathers and owls are used for their bacon strips.

Susie even planned out the best day of the week. Friday, always on a Friday. This way, the guy willing of course, she could spend the night. And all of Saturday, too--if she chose. She could leave him on Sunday morning, right after a scrumptious hotel brunch in the room and a good Sunday morning fucking and split for home to take care of her personal things.

This would cover the initial tryst. If the guy called later on and was in town on a different day, well, she'd handle that on a case-by-case basis. After all, it was all hers to control, wasn't it? You bet your ass it was.

Because Friday was the following day, Susie poured herself another drink and studied what she had written. She was looking for flaws, possible problems, something that could screw her up. She wasn't worried about her ability to think standing on her feet, but she liked to preplan, just in case. You never know.

She saw nothing glaring, but what if a guy wanted her to spend a night, any night, and she didn't feel like it? Well, that's easy to handle. She could invent a boyfriend (even a husband!) and say she couldn't stay too long as she was sure to be missed. "So, buddy, if you wanna fuck me over the lunch hour, hop to it!" This phantom boyfriend could come, go, and even change into someone else if the scenario called for it. He could even be the jealous type, or not, according to her whims. Delicious!

What if the guy noticed that on the last time they met, her period was on a different time of the month? Do guys ever notice that crap? She didn't think so, but even if one rare bird did, she'd throw out the fact that she had a "rolling period." She never knew when the damn thing would hit. She liked that, too.

All that remained now was the doing. While she probed further for snares and traps, she fixed a frozen dinner, watched a little TV, did her toiletries, and went to bed. The excitement of it all, the immense sexual possibilities, forced her to masturbate herself to sleep. Her orgasm was stronger that night than any she could remember in recent months. Oh, yeah, world, here comes the new Susie Cream cheese! So spread the word as you spread the girl.

While it would be a tour de force on my part to fill you in on what Susie did sexually with each of the 1,500 men, it won't happen. Not because she only filled me in on a handful of men, but for the good reason that it would get tedious and very boring. So, if you will indulge me, I will tell you what she told me and no more. And no less, either.

Friday evening found her sitting on a stool in The Kensington, a midtown hotel bar, her Kotex firmly in place and looking as pretty as a picture. Having had her shoulder-length brown hair stylishly coifed at a midtown salon on her lunch hour, with a new manicure, new shoes and purse, she looked dynamite. Add a pale yellow, breast-hugging, nipple-popping shirt tucked into a sea green mini-skirt that displayed her shapely legs to their best advantage and, brother, put that tongue back in your mouth before someone trips over it.

She hadn't even sat there twenty minutes when a guy walked up and offered to buy her next drink. In the blink of an eye, she sized him up. Tall, nice looking, brownish-blond hair that was neatly trimmed, with a snazzy brown business suit that matched his eyes exactly. He also looked to be in his late thirties to early forties with broad shoulders that Susie could easily picture her arms going around. In a nutshell, she found him to be simply scrumptious. Scrumptious? Hell, she had to concentrate to keep from salivating on the bar nuts.

She accepted his offer as she swung around in her chair slightly so as to face him. Both of her cute little knees were now aimed directly at his crotch.

He introduced himself as Bart, Bart Phillips, from Houston, Texas. Susie picked up on the fact that he lacked the typical Texas accent.

"Hello, Bart, I'm Susie. But you don't sound like a Texan." She looked up at him with a sham look of suspicion on her face and one eye cocked. He chuckled, still standing and not moving into the stool next to her. He moved toward her slightly until he was just inches away from her knees.

"Hi, Susie, it's nice meeting you." He shook her offered hand gently. "And no, I wasn't born in Texas. My work put me there. I was born in Canada. Ontario, to be precise." He moved a tad closer to her. His upper right leg was now lightly brushing against her right knee. She could feel the human electricity from his touch and he was now close enough for her to smell his cologne. Light and nice. There was nothing heavy-handed about this guy.

Bart took the adjacent stool and moved it slightly toward her so that, as they chatted away, both his knees now slightly touched both of hers. Fully and with no pretense that might mean "Oops! Sorry, didn't know what I was doing." This man knew exactly what he was doing. Susie knew that fact, too.

They swapped a few lies with each other for a time and then Susie closed in for the kill.

"I've never stayed at this hotel before, Bart, so tell me, are the rooms nice and do you have a good view of the city?" The door was now open wide and it was up to him to come on in. Now, the way she'd said it and the look she had on her face when she'd said it, coupled with an obvious forward knee pressure from her to him, simply screamed out, "Take me to your room, you hunky fuck, and fuck the living shit out of me before I go crazy and start humping your legs!"

Well, he not only read the signs, he parried them.

"Well, Susie, that's hard for me to say as I haven't taken the time to notice yet. How about you coming up to my room and we can check it out together?" He smiled which left no doubt that he had her number. And, from the slight bulge in his trousers, she had his number, too.

"I'd like that, Bart. Let's pay up and you can lead the way. OK?" At times, the Let's-Fuck-Like-Rabbits-In-Heat mating dance is no more complicated than that. And the only way it could have been any easier was if she had a sign on her that said, "I fuck!" and he had one that said, "Me, too!"

"OK." was all he said. No more was necessary. Not for a Canadian.

They were hardly into the room when he locked the door and pulled her to him and kissed her. And not a kiss like one from your grannie, either. His tongue was all over the inside of her mouth and it was as hot as a tongue can get. She tongue-dueled him back and felt his hands go to both of her ass cheeks, squeezing, kneading, spreading the cheeks apart and pressing them together again. His hands were all over her ass as if he had done this with her a hundred times before.

He was on fire. As was Susie. Their kisses were just steaming along. Sloppy wet and hot as blazes. His right hand moved off her ass to go and fondle her left breast. She moaned and reached down to fondle his cock through the suit material. It felt as hard as nails as it throbbed in her grasping hand.

She felt the hand still on her ass going under the mini-skirt and working its way around to her front. Then fingers were finding their way into her panties looking for her pussy lips. The fingers were rough but with gentle overtones. She moaned again, squeezing his cock for emphasis. Then, Bam! The Kotex firewall made itself known to him. The predicted moment had arrived.

She breathlessly gave him her little song and dance "period" piece and fell to her knees in front of him. He signaled it was jake with him by putting a hand on each of her shoulders as she unzipped his fly.

She looked up at him and the look on his face was hard to read. He was smiling. A smile that could easily have said, "Go ahead, girl, I know you're one of those women who likes to suck a guy off first." But Susie didn't care. She was going to get to suck his cock and have it shoot in her mouth and that was the plan after all. Wasn't it?

She had initially thought of just taking his dick out and working on it, but now decided that she wanted to see more of him. She wanted to see his crotch hair and his strong, tanned legs.

She undid his belt, opened the top button, hooked her fingers in his underpants and trousers simultaneously and in one tug pulled them down to his ankles. He reacted by tossing his tie over one shoulder and rolling up the bottom of his shirt. He now stood in front of her naked from his belly button down to his socks. The sight of his large balls and hairy crotch with his very hard 8" erection sticking straight out into space made her feel swoony and quite giddy. She knew she was gonna love this. Oh, yeah, the plan was cooking along on all burners.

I remember the day I first met Susie Wills, but not too many of the minor details. It was at a cocktail party some chichi couple threw for sixty or more people. Their midtown duplex apartment was crammed with the artsy advertising world types. Art Directors, copywriters, Account Executives, PR folk, and so on. I came as one of the art directors because it was my chosen profession and, as such, I had a duty to attend every cocktail party I could get an invitation to. A self-imposed duty, to be sure, but a duty nonetheless. I took duty seriously.

I wasn't there ten minutes when I spotted Susie. Now, I always had my share of pussy seeing as how I worked with models day in and day out and they would throw themselves at me to get into a commercial of one kind or another. I never used my position to sway them into bed with promises of this role or that. I didn't have to.

On the contrary. I would tell them that I offered them nothing, no guarantees of a job, so if they chose to do me they shouldn't expect any favors. They liked the honesty so much they did me anyway. Many of them more than once. I was sorta cute looking in my way. Irresistible? Not at all. In fact, I was turned down eight times out of ten. Or, because I prefer to look at the glass as half full, I scored two times out of ten. That sounds better, doesn't it? Does to me.

Anyway, there I was, giving Susie the once-over. She was in her early forties at the time, as was I, and she looked simply delicious. She'd outgrown the mini-skirts and had a skirt on that came to just an inch or so above her knees. She had on very little makeup, just enough to enhance, and she looked, what's the word? Oh, yeah, natural. Just like the girl next door, whoever the fuck she is.

The pale purple blouse she wore told me that this lady wasn't wearing a bra tonight. Those nipples! They poked through that sheer fabric and aimed their twin guns right at me and, I swear, I almost ducked in self-defense.

As I said, I was getting my fair share of ass; some raving beauties, too, and it took a bit more than looks to get me aroused. Guess I was jaded. But looking Susie up and down did it in spades. I felt a bone come on so quickly it shocked the shit out of me.

Looking back I realize it wasn't because she was a sexpot, far from it, it was how feminine she seemed. Womanly, if you get the picture. Like Mother Earth, or the Earth Mother. Take your pick. She was woman personified, squared.

Well, I wangled a chat out of her and before long we were chummy as to old friends, or lovers, if you will. We had chemistry. And our joint chemistry came together and the catalyst was, "We're both over-sexed fuckers who can't get enough of the horizontal tango!" And, believe or not, not one word was even mentioned about sex, or even love. It just hung over us like a cum cloud.

After an hour and a half or so of melding, I asked if I could take her home. She said sure, she'd like that. So, we got into a cab and I gave the guy my home address, a fact she picked right up on.

"Art, I thought you said you were taking me home. I live at... "

I squeezed her knee as if to shush her and looked deep into her eyes. I mustered up the cutest, most innocent face I could manage. Shit, standing alongside me, a cherub would have looked like Charles Manson.

"I didn't say whose home, now did I?" I chuckled, squeezing the knee a bit for accent. "So, Sue, unless you have a cat or dog to feed, shut up darlin' and behave yourself and enjoy the ride." She grinned at me. Then she squeezed the hand I had on her knee and spoke.

"No cat, no dog, and fuck the damn goldfish!" That said, she reached out and pulled my head toward hers and planted a kiss on me. One of those kisses that says, "You just got lucky!" And I did. Did I ever.

In my apartment, the first thing she said was, "You have a cat!"

"I do? Where?" I looked around the room.

"Right there, on the couch." She sounded puzzled.

"Oh, him! I keep forgetting he's here as I've only had him fifteen years."

She laughed. "Schmuck! What's its name?"

"Sam doesn't like strangers to know his name. If you can pet him and he doesn't rip your arm off, that means it's okay for me to tell you his name. Go pet him and we'll see." She shot me a glance reserved for lunatics. Then she went over to Sam, knelt down, and started rubbing his big old head. I could hear him purring from across the room. She said to him, "Hi, Sam, now what's your name?" I laughed.

"Hey!" I said. "He likes you! You like him, Susie?"

"Yeah, he's beautiful. What's not to like?" Sam was beautiful. Sleeky black with evenly matched white stockings on all four paws and a wide streak of white down the center of his head. At almost three feet in length from his nose to the base of his tail, he was also quite impressive.