Chapter 7

Amanda and I crossed paths in class, and out, from time to time. I smiled, inwardly, seeing her fine bust chastely hidden behind a tee shirt, her firm ass wrapped in jeans. One day, we each had a break in class at the same time. I was enjoying my sandwich, reading American Rifleman, and generally relaxing, with my brain on cruise. I sensed motion next to me, and tuned in enough to notice a smiling Amanda settling in next to me.

She started off. “Hello, stranger!”

“Well, howdy, ma’am! Are y’all new to these parts?”

“No, not all that new. In fact, I had a sort of welcome-to-the-neighborhood celebration, not so very long ago, and feel just like I fit right in, here! I’m wondering if there was some way I could show my appreciation for the warm welcome I received!”

I made as if to contemplate this thought. “Well, I have nothing on my calendar this weekend. What would you say to dinner and a movie, say, Friday night?”

She looked down for a moment. “Is that everything that you have in mind, space alien?”

“Well, I might like to invite you to breakfast, as well. May I offer you a choice? I could drive over to your place and pick you up, or, perhaps, hand you a bathrobe...”

She paused, as if to consider the alternatives, and asked, “So, how do I know you have a bathrobe that will fit me?”

“You don’t, well, not presently at least. You could, of course, find out, should you wish!”

Amanda drew back, just a bit, and appeared to regard me skeptically. “I wonder if you are simply scheming to bludgeon me with your formidable prod! You simply want to make sure that your ‘bathrobe’ fits earth girls! Although, to be honest, I never knew a man to call his tool, ‘a bathrobe’, before!” She impishly cast her glance about. “Is that a space invader thing, or some geezer thing? After all, you are so much olllderrr than me, and all!”

I smiled back at her. “Maybe, both? As for myself, well, I certainly would be interested in confirming my findings, although it certainly appeared, on our last adventure, that you found my prod very much to your liking! Besides, there is this entire ‘big johnston’ delusion of yours, that I really owe it to kharma to correct! Simply does not seem right to me, to allow you to wander through your life, with this sort of misunderstanding!”

She leaned against me, whispering, “Oh, no confusion here! Your tool is formidable, and fills me so nicely! I do have some experience with the males of my species, and, well, you ‘stand out’ in comparison!” She leaned away for a moment, and gave me a good-old-boy elbow nudge. “Get it? ‘Stand out’? Ya know, that’s kind of funny!”

She had me speechless, again. Capitalizing upon my silence, she continued, “So, until you regain blood flow to your brain’s speech center, why not consider the possibility that I may want to be your galactic plaything until Sunday night, Mr. Space Alien!”

Not helping my ability to form a coherent thought. The possibilities of a weekend of Amanda as my playmate shifted a significant portion of my cardiac output from my brain, to another organ entirely. This was Wednesday. That gave me 48 hours of distraction.

Friday evening, I picked her up, and we drove to a restaurant in the next county, unlikely to patronized by collegians. Amanda carried a gym bag, which she tossed into the back seat of my vehicle. To my raised eyebrow, she shushed me, with the admonition, “Now, you just pull your tongue back into your mouth, Mr. Wolf! Never mind what is in my duffle bag, you simply drive us to wherever it is that your scheming leads you to believe will lead you into my panties!”

I started to protest my innocence. Falsely, but protesting nevertheless, when she shushed me again.

“Hush, you! You promised me dinner and entertainment this evening, and dine me and entertain me you will! Shush! Hush! Not a peep, you space alien invader, keep your nefarious thoughts to yourself! I have things well in hand, so that our races may live in harmony, sharing a galaxy in peace!”

I closed my mouth with a “pop!”. Primly, she observed, “That’s what I thought!”. We set out.

The Atrium was a family owned restaurant which served, among other things, tetrazini so flavorful, so creamy, is was as if my very own mother had cooked it. Amanda admitted to Fazoli’s or Olive Garden as her previous dining zeniths, and had no idea what the dishes on the menu might be. I suggested my favorite (Yep, tetrazini), and ordered another for myself.

Dinner passed far too rapidly for my tastes, with good food, good company, and the eye candy that Amanda presented. I paid the tab, and walked her out to my vehicle. Buckling up, I asked her if she had considered any movie particularly likely to entertain.

I was watching traffic, as I wheeled out of the parking lot, and so did not notice that she had not responded for a moment. I asked her, again, and, again, silence was my answer.

I turned my head to look at her, to ask her, again, of her cinema preferences, but the question went unasked. I had not noticed previously, although I certainly noticed, now, but Amanda had worn a wrap style top. Similarly, her decision forego a brassiere had not previously made it’s way into my consciousness, but it was most evident that that particular garment was not a part of her wardrobe tonight.

She had simply released the tie securing her top, and, as I was attending to traffic, had shrugged it open, displaying her bosom in the late evening twilight. Fortunately for the ability of the other drivers to concentrate on the roadway, my vehicle was a full sized truck, seating her and her display above most others’ line of sight. In addition, given her pixie-like size, her shoulders were not particularly far above the lower rim of the window. Inattentive drivers likely would assume she wore some sort of off the shoulder peasant style blouse, if they noticed her shoulders at all.

I certainly noticed her shoulders, as well as the firm breasts properly lower than her shoulders. She squared those shoulders, sitting at attention, and asked, “What? Don’t the damsels on Barsoom have barzoombas? You are looking at me as if you had not seen the girls before!”

I looked for, and found, a side road to pull off onto, and thence onto the shoulder. I took a moment to collect myself. “Well, while the damsels of Barsoom certainly have barzoombas, and every space freighter makes a point of laying over there, so to speak, because of those barzoombas, as well as other attractions, generally the barzoombas of which you speak are not displayed along an active roadside. Star Command takes a very dim view of that sort of distraction to safe and attentive starfaring.” I sighed. “I worry about your race, earth woman, should you ever make it off planet and encounter The Federation. If this is the sort of shenanigans for which your people become known, you may have a very, very hard time of it!”

Amanda leaned towards me, and caressed my tuber, which had made his opinion of her shenanigans, very clear, and in unmistakable terms! With a sultry voice, she addressed my concern. “Oh, I am very confident that I will have a very ... very ... hard time of it. That’s kind of the effect that I am going for, you see. Now, do you think that you can safely navigate us to your home system, starfarer, with this as my wardrobe, or will I have to deprive you of the visual delights that you so, so, apparently enjoy, until we are home? Hmmm?”

I gulped. “Perhaps it would be prudent for you to shield your delights from unworthy eyes, until we are home. If I were to be weak, and gaze upon your loveliness, and, say, collide with another vehicle, the following conversation with the gendarmerie might be a bit, well, awkward will do for a start!”

She wrapped herself (mostly) up again, and we returned to our journey home. While I missed her firm bust, my driving was considerably safer that way!

As we had some time, yet, before I arrived at my apartment, I made conversation. “So, Amanda, is your wardrobe selection this evening a subtle way of telling me that I am going to ‘get lucky’ tonight?”

She grinned at me. “As if there was any doubt! No, to be honest, I do not think that you are going to ‘get lucky’ tonight. Rather, I suspect that you will ‘get lucky’ tonight, and tomorrow morning, and tomorrow afternoon, and tomorrow evening, and tomorrow night, and Sunday morning, noon and evening, such that you will be a worn out, dried out, shriveled up husk of a man thing, by the time that you crawl out of bed, and into some clothing, and drive my sexually satiated self back to my own apartment! That’s what I am telling you, mister!”

After a moment’s reflection, I risked a glance her way. “Any chance of some road head?”, I ventured.

She laughed. “Are you kidding me? What is that?”

“Well, sometimes, when a woman desires a man, and wants to show him that she desires him, she will take his generative organ into her mouth, and suckle it, and...”

Whatever else I was going to say was lost, when she again laughed out loud. “Oh, I do believe that I am familiar with the act that you are describing. Perhaps, you and I had shared it, ourselves, a time or two! What is the ‘road’ part of ‘road head’?”

I chuckled. “Well, sweetie, we are on the road, right now, you know...”

She gave me a wide eyed “O” of sudden understanding. “You want me to suck you off, on the road, while you are driving? Are you out of your mind?”

“Uh, no, not any more so than I suppose is my baseline. And, yeah, the thought of having you suck me as I drive is kinda hot!”

So, she gave me the stink eye. “Nope, nope, nope! Nope, noppity, nope, nope nope! Not here, not now!” Then, as if in an aside, she muttered, “‘Road head’! What the hell!!”

Apparently, she was not done with my continuing education. “Perhaps, you think such a thing would be ‘hot’! I, myself, suspect that this road head silliness would compare very, very unfavorably with fiddling with your cell phone as distracted driving! And, if you thought explaining what I was doing with my blouse open while you were driving would be awkward, what are your thoughts, assuming that you are having any, about explaining my blowing you while you are driving?”

I gave her a sideways prurient grin. “Well, sweetie, we’ll never know for certain, unless we conduct the experiment!”

She regarded me for a moment. I know this, because I saw her staring at me for a moment, from the corner of my eye. “You’ve heard of Albert Einstein, have you not?”

I allowed, “Uh, yeah. Heard of him alright. And...?”

“Well, Mr. Einstein conducted what he called ‘thought experiments’, regarding things that he could not experimentally test for himself in the lab. Since you, Mister Space Alien, are going to be unable to clinically test this ‘road head’ thing, you will simply have to conduct a thought experiment as to how such a thing might develop, and conclude!”

Amanda apparently decided that she would conduct a “theater of the mind” audio drama performance, with me as the audience. She twisted just a bit in her seat, and leaned over the console to place her lips nearer my ear. Then, she began to play quite the tune with my mind.

“So, Mr. Space Alien, it seems that you suppose that I would simply lay my soft young body across this console here, and reach over to caress your generative organ, admiring the formidable size your prod achieves once whatever alien erectile mechanisms your physiology provides have worked their magic? I suppose that you are thinking that I would nearly swoon over the prospect of this steely joystick plunging into my oily depths, that I would be unable to resist the impulse to release your belt, unbutton your pants, draw your zipper down, and tug your pants down toward your knees.”

“Once your throbbing beef baton was quivering in the night air, looking so yummy, and drooling all his dick goodness, you want me to slowly ... slide ... all ... your ... tool ... deeply ... into ... my ... soft ... lips ... and ... over ... my ... hot ... wet ... tongue ... and ... all ... the ... way ... into ... my ... little ... throat ... hmmm?”

She licked my ear, once, and it startled me, such that I jerked the wheel, briefly sending the truck towards the lane marker. I recovered quickly, and centered the vehicle again in the lane.

She drew back, and admonished me. “Do you see, now, why I’m not playing any ‘road head’ foolishness? You settle down, mister, or I will stop my little thought experiment!”

“Settling down. Ma’am! Right away, ma’am!” I adjusted “things” so that my dick would not continue to crawl down the length of my pants leg, which pinched things pretty hard, so to speak.

I think she muttered, “That’s what I thought!”, but I cannot be sure.

She picked up her narrative again, running her words into my ear, and up and down my tuber. “So, Mister Space Alien, the Damsels of Barzoomba apparently cannot show you the oral delights that I, as an exemplar of Earth Girls, can, hmm? Do their cleft tongues wrap around your joint, are their furry lips as pleasing to you space farers as my soft moist cocksucking lips are? No? Is that why you want road head? If I were weak, and succumbed to your wiles, would you wrap your hand in my hair, and pull me entirely onto your cum fountain? Would you fuck my mouth, fuck my face, trying to cram your entire man thing into my mouth, into my throat, so that you could shoot your wad directly into my stomach? Is that how you impregnate the Damsels of Barzoomba?”

My vision was starting to grow dim, as the majority of my blood supply was other than north of my clavicles. I shook my head, once, in an attempt to shake free of the hypnotic allure of Amanda’s sultry little tale.

She giggled. “It isn’t? Oh, you impregnate those Barzoombian Damsels when you ejaculate all over their faces? Or is it when they lick all your man juice from each others’ faces, is that when they conceive? Do their bellies grow all big and round, or do they lay eggs, so that egg laying does not take them away from sinful pleasures for too long? Does that mean that they can get right back to licking your joint with their prehensile tongues? You do know, starfarer, that we Earth girls can get all pregnant, and as our bellies grow and your new life takes form within us, we can still suck and fuck, and other wise knock your socks off? We can lick your jizm off of each others’ faces, and not conceive, we can lick it all up, and swallow every drop, and still be left wanting more!”

My vision had cleared, and I recognized the street upon which I had to turn, to get home, and away from this infernal Earthling’s ... er, woman’s damnable distracting teasing. I signaled for my turn, glanced in my mirrors, and made my turn.

I slowed considerably on this street, as it was residential, and the children did not appear to comprehend the disaster potential of dashing abruptly into the street. So, I had to account for it, and be ready for childhood impetuousness. Amanda sat a bit more upright, but she was not done weaving her magic upon my mind.