Chapter 1

"Me?"

"Hey, I'm just a 28 year old guy, you know, didn't have a girlfriend, hadn't had a girl in Gods knows how long well, 8 months if you hafta know just pretending it didn't matter; that football and basketball on the TV were the most important things in life. Putting on a good front, ya know?"

"Well, it seems some of my closer friends did know. They cared enough to try to do something about it. Of course I didn't know it at the time. In fact, it was quite a while before it dawned on me that I'd been set up for this. They made it appear that I was needed, plying me with a couple drinks to loosen me up as it were."

"'Say When' Gwen managed to convince me. Her earnest sincerity was impossible to ignore. 'Brief' Bernie helped me dress for the occasion. Actually he handed me my clothes. I put them on, no help required. Bernie wasn't my manservant. Nor was Gwen my maid."

"'Say When' came by her nickname honestly enough. Ten years earlier, Charlie Mitchell had her pants around her ankles in the back seat of his father's Lincoln. Thing was, Charlie couldn't find Gwen's pussy. He was poking and pushing until finally, you got it, he told Gwen to say when he was close. It was a giggling Gwen, with three or four martinis in her, who told the story on herself that got the nickname started. It never seemed to bother her, so I figure she must have liked the tag."

"'Brief' Bernie's nickname is easily understood. His premature ejaculation at the high school prom prompted his date, one Gladys Dirking to tell all her girlfriends. Bernie claims she was blabbing to them before he'd put it back in his pants."

"Anyway, I pushed his hands away, telling both of them emphatically that I was fully capable of dressing myself. As I slipped into my suit jacket Gwen got in my face, straightening my tie, and saying: "She needs to get out. Maybe you do too," "I don't know about you, really, but she definitely needs to get out."

Brushing imaginary lint from my lapel, she continued as though talking to herself, "It's Friday - date night, the girl has to get out and you've got to help us boost her ego back up after a devastating romance gone wrong.

And so there I was an hour later, after climbing four flights of narrow stairs in a narrow, brownstone on 44th Street knocking on Apartment 4B and trying to catch my breath. I heard her footsteps coming to the door. Gwen had told me she was good looking, but I wasn't prepared for the strikingly beautiful girl who opened the door, put her hand out and with a nervous smile said, "Hello, I'm Maggie. You're kind of late aren't you, for a first date and all."

I stammered out a profuse apology, "I... I... I almost didn't make it at all... my friends, my so-called friends... they kept delaying me. I think on purpose, so you'd be mad at me. I'm terribly sorry about being late," I ended lamely.

She kept staring at me and I went with the truth and babbled, "And I... I'm not... I mean, I wasn't prepared to meet someone as breathtakingly beautiful as you."

I was on the road to recovering my poise. She broke off the eye contact and glanced down at her hands.

"Well," she said, "you're off to a pretty good start now that you're here," her renewed smile was still nervous.

I still have a vivid memory of that first impression of her. Her shoulder length, champagne-colored hair was combed straight back above a smoothly rounded forehead in sort of a lion's-mane effect. She had high prominent cheekbones that slanted her eyes just the tiniest bit. But beneath the short, straight nostril-flaring nose, her mouth loomed out at me; it was her most attractive feature. Wide enough that it seemed to go all the way across her face although it didn't, and the full, sweet upper lip was so unusually short that it appeared unable to cover a perfect set of prominent upper teeth. Below the long, full lower lip was a tiny cute jaw and chin that further accentuated the mouth. And when she smiled, even nervously as she did now, the entire room seemed to light up. I would learn later that Maggie was embarrassed about her mouth and considered her Italian nose her best feature. Ahhh, but apart from her face, her figure was enough to drive men (and women) crazy with desire.

I don't know if I can adequately describe her body in words. There was something about her shoulders, which were unusually wide and square, and formed a long line that tapered down from them to her waist, only to flare out into a pair of high-assed hips. And above all this rode the slender neck and high small head of a goddess.

Actually, she needed the wide shoulders to support the big full globes of her breasts thrusting out in the tight black dinner dress. Her calves were perfect, her ankles strong and delicate. In the tight dress there was just a suggestion of her mons if you saw her just right. In heels she was just a hair shorter than I, standing straight, carrying herself high off her hips, the slender neck extended to carry the small head, in the manner of a Jamaican woman carrying a market basket on her head. This girl was the most beautiful woman I had ever met.