[The first part is a memoir; the rest is lustful wishful thinking.]

With more than 2000 students in my college, I expected only 1% to be special. Even if half were females, 100 should be beauties. I only ever saw six total who were extraordinary beauties. I wanted to date and eat those six and a few runners-up. Two wore far too much makeup and were too pampered. I gave up on the one who wanted to be a flight attendant and worshiped. What a shame. We became friendly after that, since I wasn’t a threat to her plans, just another peon worshiper. The other beauty, I dated and wrote about, was Alicia in my Ali and Me series.

Carol was too aloof, maybe too picky, to deal with. I was still shy and pushing myself to befriend and hang with the elite. All these hot women said they wanted a reliable, good guy, but they only dated the bad boys who were risky and fun. That wasn’t me.

I found one extraordinary petite beauty, Reeta, who was down-to-earth, personable, friendly, relaxed, and approachable. All wonderful traits for a long-term relationship. Though gregarious, she always seemed just a bit flirty, yet had an innocent air that I yearned to corrupt.

Pushing myself, I flirted and challenged her as I fell under her spell. Her bright blond hair balanced her brilliant smile, while her petite nose supported the iridescent light beams from her sparkling light blue eyes. All those components assembled nicely into a classically defined image of perfect beauty. Why would she ever want to date me?

Somehow, her slim body drew admiration despite being flat-chested. I like the symmetry of slightly bigger than proportional mounds crowned with thick, tall, and tasty nipples. For lovely Reeta, a B or C cup would be ideal. Her shapely legs, pert butt, narrow waist, and flared hips met the requirements of The Science of Beauty documentary that I would not see for ten more years. Long before I knew of the golden triangle, my gut told me she was exceptional. For a long while, it was enough just to be near her, just knowing she knew me and enjoyed being near me despite my teasing her about being Lovely Reeta meeta maid.

One day, despite my heart racing and my blood pressure skyrocketing, I casually asked her out — on a real date. She accepted. Flattered, I played it cool, but she knew.

It was Summer; the days were long. I wanted to catch a sunset with her, so I met her early and nearly blew the date at her door in Queens. It was two steps up, so I waited on the sidewalk. When she opened her door, my eyes were at chest level. She was in a light blue, patterned, short dress with a surprising low-cut top. Expecting her to hide her flat chest, instead, two, small, half-exposed mounds, A cups, greeted me. Before my brain could restrain me, I stared wide-eyed and actually blurted, “Where did those come from? I mean, you look great.” Stupid, stupid me! I could see her reconsidering the date. Her brilliant smile dimmed for a moment, then recovered.

Wanting to impress her, I took her to a gourmet French restaurant in Manhattan. Between parking and the meals, that was a financial strain for a student. We chose to sit on the same side of the table. She was eternally effervescent, giddy, and so beautiful.

We ordered French Onion soup as an appetizer. They arrived still bubbling hot — much too hot to eat. After a few seconds of quiet nervousness, I faced her and said, “Listen. While we wait...” I leaned in; she leaned in, and our lips met for the first time. For a second, her soft lips pressed mine. A second later, her muscular tongue raided my mouth and wiggled around mine — quickly. My eyes opened and bulged; hers were closed. As she wrestled my tongue, she beat it round-for-round to a TKO. I couldn’t keep up. My thoughts drained as my heart raced.

I don’t recall eating dinner. Yet I do recall stealing more kisses from my heart throb. My next memory is holding her hand as I drove us to the North tip of Manhattan, to Fort Tryon Park. Shifting gears in my sports car became a challenge when I refused to release her hand. We shifted with both our hands. She ignored her short skirt resting near the top of her sexy thighs.

Just in time in the park, we walked to a wall overlooking a city canyon to watch the sun set over the Hudson River far below us. We seemed to be above some clouds, which added white streaks to the bright marmalade sky. I had my back to the sunset with Reeta facing it between my legs, her arms on my shoulders, her tiny mounds just inches from my face. She gasped, “That is so beautiful. Look.”