Chapter 2

Every morning at 6:00 am, John's bedroom stereo system blasts a local hip-hop radio station. He detests rap and hip-hop. In fact, he hates most music. The only music he really enjoys is classical and modern dance beats; he finds classical music soothing, and modern dance music reminds him of those clubs where hundreds of scantily dressed, nubile youngsters get wasted and grind their heavenly little bodies against their un-appreciating boyfriends. Since he can't stand the music from his alarm, he's quick to get out of bed and turn off his alarm. By the time he makes it to the minimalist entertainment system at the far end of his room -- minimalist in terms of design and space, certainly not in terms of costs -- he's sufficiently awake so as not to succumb to temptation and climb back into bed. Well, unless there's someone tender and sweet lying naked beneath the plush white covers on his king-sized bed. That's a rare occurrence though. Allowing young girls to spend the night in his upscale condominium, he has found, often leads to a host of problems, such as an inappropriate rushed dependence on him by the girl and the difficulty in explaining his overnight visitor to some of his more snoopy and inquisitive neighbors. That's not to say he doesn't ever do it, just that he is well aware of the potential problems.

On this particular morning, John awoke with feelings of sublimity that in an instant changed to feelings of deep sadness and disappointment. He dreamed of Tiffany that night. In his dream, he and Tiffany took the place of Kevin Spacey and Mena Suvari in the scene from American Beauty where Spacey crouches beside Suvari in the bathtub, she naked but for the concealing water sprinkled with brilliantly red rose petals. Just as John broke the surface of the warm water with his trembling hand, all the while staring into her gorgeous deep eyes, that damned rap music brought him back to reality, and this enchanting little scene fizzled into the foggy staggered memory of a dream.

"Damnit!" he said to himself staring into the vaulted ceiling above his bed. He was so close. It was a dream, but it was so real, perhaps because over the last few months Tiffany's beautiful face and sweet, cadent, young voice had become seared in his mind. "Somehow, someway, I must approach her outside of work," he thought to himself, if for no other reason than to ease his growing frustration and insanity.

John climbed out of bed, took a cold shower, ate a rather mundane breakfast, read the morning newspaper, and was soon zipping off in his BMW to the office. This morning, he decided to take a different route and drove by the Starbucks where his little angel would be working after a no doubt long and hard day at school. There was no point in doing this, he supposed, but in a strange way just seeing the coffee shop was enough to make him smile. "Only 9 hours," he thought to himself, "9 very long frustrating hours."

Entering the bottom floor of the firm, John was greeted by the usual blushing grin of Milana. Milana is a sweetheart, and actually quite a cutie. Her mother is 80-percent Spanish, so Milana has the characteristically beautiful, dark, full flowing hair, exotic lips, and long seductive eyelashes. "Mr.-- " "Excuse me!" he interjected with a smile. "Sorry, 'John, '" Milana said, again with a smile, an even bigger one this time, "Mr. Ropert called and wants to meet with you to follow up on a case you handled for him last year." "Okay, thanks," he replied, and proceeded down the corridor towards the elevator. John hated to think of himself as an old man. He hated it because he knew that, before long, his age would pose more of problem in trying to meet young girls. He took every opportunity to reaffirm or emphasize his "youth."

Ritualistically, he glanced at the mirror opposite the elevator and thought to himself, "I'm a gentle guy, just as caring, friendly, and compassionate as the next guy." Maybe that's what he wanted to see, or maybe he really was all those things. In either case, he wasn't going to let it bother him. Turning his head to his right, he noticed Walter quickly divert his attention to a jumbled pile of papers he was holding, as if he hadn't been looking at John or at something else in John's general vicinity. "Wonder what his deal is?" John thought as he stepped into the elevator and was carried away to his 10th floor office.

After 3 consecutive hour-long meetings, John was almost in the mood to take the rest of the day off. Whenever he goes weeks without the intimate companionship of a young woman, he gets in a slump and grows indifferent to his work. Of course, he's so used to his work and has garnished such a winning reputation that he doesn't have to kick and fight his way through his professional affairs. He can almost lull his way through without anyone knowing the difference. On the other hand, he's well aware that the more successful he is at his practice, the more opportunities he will have with young females impressed by his status and the luxurious places he can take them.

Last year, he took Marie, that chain-smoking teenage vixen he so avidly adored, to Hawaii for a night. Her parents were away for the weekend, and she was supposed to stay with a friend. In a daring move compelled only by his uncontrollable lust, he pretended to be her friend's father over the phone and verified the girl's weekend plans.

Marie was reclining on John's couch in his living room with her dreamy freshly-shaven legs draped over his lap while he made the phone call. He stopped dialing her mother's number for a moment as fear that they would be caught started creeping in. When Marie noticed, she assuaged his fears by rubbing her cute little socked foot slowly side-to-side against the inside of his thigh. The erection she thought he might have had quickly grew and removed all doubt from her mind. She smiled and slowly bit down on the side of her bottom lip. After a couple of seconds, the small morsel of lip she was biting down on snapped free and went back to its normal position. She shot her island-blue eyes down to her caressing foot, and then back to John's enraptured eyes. Suddenly he felt a bubble of hot poison burst within him as her little socked foot pressed into his groin. His lips separated by no more than a few centimeters as he quietly took a long deep breath. He was petrified, she was still slyly smiling. She pressed harder against his now-raging erection with her foot and then moved her foot so that his cock rested underneath the curves of her toes, between the balls of her foot and the tips of her toes. Lightly she clamped down on him with her toes, sending an almost electric shock through every nerve in his body. As if that wasn't sufficient, she began to wiggle her teenage toes against his big, hard manly cock.

Almost unable to restrain himself, he reached his hand underneath the calf of her right leg, the same leg currently applying pressure to his cock, and started to squeeze her tender muscles in his tight grasp. But she quickly pulled her leg away bending her knee and grabbing his forearm with her hand. "Nuh-uh..." she playfully said, stretching-out the last syllable with her pleasantly whining teenage voice. "Call her," she pouted, then frowned with softly tightened eyebrows and an exaggerated poochy lower lip. Listening to his baby's tender plea, and seeing more of her lower lip than usual -- a creamy pinkish-red lip, glistening sweetly with saliva, faintly resembling another pair of lips which he has on many occasions spent hours teasing, tasting, and caressing -- he gave in to her demands. Just as he was about to resume dialing, he turned to her and said, "Can I have one little kiss first, Marie?" "No, not until you call her!" she snapped. This was one instance where this lawyer wouldn't dare argue. He called her mother, and naturally pulled-off the impression very well; after all, he does that kind of thing for a living.

Still rampant with desire, he tossed the phone onto the floor after saying "goodbye" in a tone that only Marie would have perceived as rushed. "Bring those luscious little lips to me, sweetheart!" "Okey dokey, I guess you earned it." She often liked to play up the whole cute little girl voice, especially when she knew John was raging with desire.

With quickness unique to girls her age, she placed her hands against the seat of the couch and lifted herself as she jerked her legs beneath her, resting her butt against her heels. With her tummy pushed forward and her chest proudly pointing outwards and slightly upwards, she rested her hands on her own thighs and brought her face up to John's. He wrapped his hands around her face and shoved his tongue into her warm wet mouth. She had a hard time keeping up with his ravenous tongue. He pulled back just enough to suck her lower lip into his mouth. Biting-down just firmly enough to keep her lip inside his mouth, he brushed his tongue back and forth across her lip, and then prodded at her lip with his tongue, marveling in her softness and tenderness, and relishing the taste that was part Marie and part sun-ripened raspberry lip gloss.

His lips left her mouth and moved to her chin, then slowly down to the nape of her glorious pale neck, tickling her with warm breath along the way. As he savored the natural flavors of Marie's soft skin, his hands ran through her hair. She loved it when he combed through her hair with his fingers, scratching her head in the process. It gave her goose bumps, a reaction which John very much appreciated. Any reaction from Marie's body pleased John. He always found her growing body so precious. He loved the sparse raspy blonde hairs just beneath her hairline on the back of her neck. He loved the faint moisture that formed on the underside of her knees after a long car ride. He loved the clear beads of sweet that would form at the top of her forehead while they were having heated passionate sex. Sometimes a little droplet would descend from her hairline and travel down her nose, or down the side of her face.