This is the tramp who first got my attention by stuffing her pink panties in my pocket. When I got home, I found they had her phone number written across the bum. She later confirmed that she didn't write it herself. She said volunteers were everywhere.

This is the horny girl, playing innocent, who couldn't make it to the carpark from the bar, and begged me to take her against a tree, dropping her jeans to assist.

This is the slut who said my friends were boring, and delivered beer, half way through our poker games, stark naked, twice.

This is the devil who insisted on dressing up for Halloween, and then answered the door in her underwear. Red panties with a horned devil on the crotch. Just that.

This is the horny trollop who introduced me to her old friend and former lover, Diane, in our bed, and then made one of my fantasies come true. All weekend.

This is the girl with the voice who phoned me at the office to tell me she wanted me to come home, right then. When I couldn't, she told me she just wouldn't wait any longer, and didn't, but stayed on the phone.

This is the girl who bought a new coat, and then stood in the kitchen at home, in a maid's outfit, with a wooden paddle, to apologise. She insisted I punish her. Five times she had to be punished for that coat.

This is the show-off who took me swimming, and didn't tell me until we got there. Her striptease alone was worth the trip. I wasn't the only one who thought so, but I got to take her home.

This is the artist who wrote me a four page email, describing how she likes to masturbate when I'm not there. She enclosed photographs, in case I was confused.

This is the girl who unzipped my jeans under the table in a restaurant, and stroked my cock. I wouldn't have stopped her except my mother kept looking at me to see what was wrong with me.

This is the angel who abstained from orgasms for two weeks, to prove that she could, but gave me a handjob every other night. The same girl who woke me at four the next morning, rubbing herself frantically and claiming she couldn't wait any longer, just before pleading with me to help, in case she only managed one or two orgasms. I lost count somewhere around five. Yeah, both. Five orgasms, five AM.

This is the hussy who pressed the "stop" button in the casino elevator and gave me a blow job in full view of the security camera. And a standing ovation.

This is the outdoors-lover who teased me until I pushed her on onto the hood of a Porsche, lifted her skirt and found she wore no panties. She planned it, and I made sure her efforts weren't wasted.

This is the sports fan who made a bet that she could distract me while I was watching football. I told her that buying a vibrator was cheating. I never did see the end of the game.

And now, somehow, this is the girl who is spooned in front of me in our bed, naked and soft, warm and sleepy, her dark hair sprawling over our pillows.

I can't see her eyes, but I know they glitter wetly, mirrors of her happiness.

She pushes slightly towards me as I climb in, welcoming me to share the space with her, grabs my hand and kisses it silently, more love than lust, a welcome from the heart, not just the groin.

After kissing my hand, she gently places it on her breast, kneading it herself a little, letting me feel the nipple stand up and pay attention.

My other hand gently strokes the back of her neck, and over the slope of her shoulders, a caress really, not intended to arouse, more to affirm. It doesn't work that way though, as she shivers.

My body closes in behind hers, and I can feel her smooth warm skin all along mine, her hot little butt nestling in against my slowly hardening cock. She can feel it, and giggles quietly, before rocking a little, and then readjusting herself so it fits against her, fitting nicely in the space between her buttocks, hard now, and pointing straight up.

My hands wander carelessly over her body, 'accidentally' brushing over her nipples a few times, stroking her front and back at the same time, my hands on her face as she takes a finger into her mouth, my fingertips massaging her scalp before returning to the lower parts of her body.

I can tell by the position of her arms that her hands are exploring as well, but her own body, not mine. I love it when she does this. She would have made a point of letting me see in the past, but this time it's almost subconscious.

Her fingertips travel their meandering way down her stomach, over her navel and further south, stopping to massage her pubic hair a little, cupping the mound in her hands and sliding fingers down either side, deep in the creases at the top of her legs, down to the base of her labia. They don't stay there long.