First of all, so you don't get the wrong idea, my name is Brent Wilson. No, I'm not a Brad Pitt or a Matt Damon. Not an Arnie kind of guy either. Not too skinny or to bulky either.

I'm a plain looking, nondescript fella you would pass on the street and then wonder if someone had really walked by you. Scruffed up, mildly dark brown hair, not quite morning bed-hair, but nearly so. I never can keep it in place. I don't like gels or perfumes for guys ... cologne... 'Man Scents' they call them ... either. It's just not me.

Average in height. Five feet, pushing seven inches. Not too tall or overly short. Nothing special. Even when I graduated from High School and College, I sat on the median. None of my teachers would remember my name. I was there but didn't excel. Average all the way around.

Even my girlfriends, not that I had a lot, see me on the street, look at me and get that, "Do I know him?" look in their eye. Then with a slight tilt to their head and a look away, they answer their own question by moving on. Just like they did with me.

My name should have been ... Joe ... Average Joe!

Not that any of that bothered me. No it didn't and doesn't. Nope. It might sound like I care as you read this, but you are wrong.

I'm quite happy and I do have someone now ... permanent! Chloe. The love of my life. Loyal. Friendly. And has a great tongue!

OK, I have a dog.

You say I need a 'Woman' in my life. Life's a bitch and so is Chloe. It doesn't matter to her how much money I've got. Nope. Not at all.

The only thing she needs is a good scratch behind her ears and a regular tummy rub. If women were so simple. I'd be a Sheik with a thousand wife harem. Well, maybe more than one.

Or maybe not.

Women like consistency. Home for dinner. Thursday night sex and always want to throw in Sunday late night oral so they can be on high spirits on Monday. Warm tingly cootch, echoing pleasure so as they sit in their chairs, legs crossed, they can squeeze their buzzers.

You've seen their smiles. Now you know why.

Now, don't think I hate women. On the contrary. I love women.

I know that I said my experiences were limited, but what does 'Not A Lot' really mean. Counting the girl a month ago, yeah I'm in another dry spell, she made the twenty-seventh notch on my bedpost.

Get REAL. No I don't take out my Bowie Knife and whack something off of my bedpost. Too messy. But I do keep a mental list. Hey, I'm a guy and guys DO keep track. Well sort of.

As I sit writing this, I got to number twenty-two and had to stop typing. I can't put a name or face to it. Sorry, 'Her!'

Bodies tend to blend together. All women have the same body parts. Hey, they're girls right?

Three sets of lips. YO! One set on the front of their faces and Dufus, they have TWO, between their legs. If you haven't counted them or sucked on them, you have way less experience than an 'Average' Joe.

Continuing the inventory, they have a bunch of holes. Just a few can be used as 'Innies' along with the primary 'Outie.' And girls ... Women ... can have all different bumps and valleys.

Curves abound all over the female body. Breast's size and shape varying with position. Lots of them have pencil eraser nipples. Now there is my preference. Something my pair of lips can latch onto. Flick with my tongue. Suck on. Mmmmm. Now that is one of my favorite parts. Goodness sakes. My mouth is watering as I type. Ah, the female breast.

So, anyway. I hope you can see that I am enamored with females. I just can't seem to find the 'One' who will put up with me. She eludes me.

No, I don't think I'm perfect. Far from it. Remember I said I was average! Just an Average Joe.

BTW: If your name is actually 'Joe' sorry. I don't mean to put you down. All of us have some name that another uses like I have. If you're older or have seen any of Jerry Lewis's comedy. Think 'Melvin.' After ruining that name, he really made a live TV apology to all the Melvin's out there.

So I apologize to all the Joe's out there in advance, if I have offended you. But, I should get on with my story. I just wanted to give you some of the background for what comes next.

Well, not next, but soon. I do have to tell you one itty-bitty thing. I may have described myself as average, but financially, I'm not 'AVERAGE.' Far from it.

Remember I mentioned that I couldn't remember who number twenty-two was, well, it was because of her that I'm filthy rich. Lottery! Weekly drawing. Fifty Million! Nice, eh?

Instant riches can have bad parts. Like being hounded by all the Cretins out there for some dough. That includes your Aunt's third Cousin, twice removed too. And her children. Leeches all.

So I had to move and get under the radar. Country place. Old farm. Way far off the beaten track. Yet not too far that life's necessities were impossible to locate.

So, that's me and why I am here in XXXXXXX.

Hah. I ain't gonna tell ya. Lest YOU come panting at my door, Buckie!

That's what I call the leeches. "Buckie!" Because that's all they want from me. That includes the women I've dated since my twenty-two.

I do remember something now about her. Yeah, my favorite, double identical digit, Woman. She was barely out of her teens. Ten years my junior and full of bubble. No not a 'Bubble Head.' Far from it. Plenty of spirit.

I'm sure we met at the local beer hall and danced a few together after downing my favorite, Sam and Jack. Samuel Adams Lager with a Jack Daniels chaser. Makes a guy ... Remember, I'm a guy! ... Makes a guy, quickly happy.

Yeah. That's right. She was sitting at the bar when I sat down two seats from her and she was actually drinking a Sam too. I lifted my glass to her after I emptied 'MY' Sam into a glass and tapped the bottle to it.

OK. I don't like to drink soda or beer from a can or bottle. I'm a glass man. Just my preference. Let me have my likes. I'm sure you have a bunch of yours. But I get away from number twenty-two.

Say, this is interesting. My memory has been jogged a little and more is coming back. Like her smile. Her sweet smile. Round yet oval face. Petite chin, stretching the roundness of her face gently downward.

Thin lips. Nice thin lips. Hey! Dufus! The ones on her face you idiot. Get your mind out of the gutter. Pay attention!

Those lips had a nice up-tilt at the end. Edging into a smile that became radiant when she wanted.

Bright eyes that told you there 'WAS' someone in residence. Steel blue eyes.

Eyes that when they looked at you they tugged at your heartstrings. Desire was beaming from them as she looked at me and tilted her bottle at me in return.

Slow music started and I shifted one seat over. She smiled at me, melting my heart. I tried to speak and nothing came out. A girl's smile can do that to you. If you have not had that experience, I can only hope that will someday happen to you. Men and women are meant to be together and well, that's why we have different bodies. We dent out where they dent in.

Magnificent dents. It's heaven when two bodies can fit together as they were meant to fit together. And, Hey! I remember her name. Kewl! Eh! Sam ... Samantha.

How that name rolls off my heart when I say it. How could I have even in passing forgotten that sweetness. 'Sam, ' if you are reading this, sorry. You are always in my thoughts. Bits and pieces are returning and it's not that I tried to forget you. But, well, briefness does that.

Well, my relationship with Sam was brief. But again I'm getting ahead of myself.

So, I had moved over a bar stool and as I tried to recover from that Steel Blue spotlight beaming at me from above that wonderful smile, she just said as she put her hand on mine, "Yes, I'd love to dance."

Not that she was forward. She was comfortable. Gentle. Soft.

Looking at my hands as I type this, strange, but I can still feel her softness as she took my hand in hers and we moved out into the slow dance.

Now, I don't know if you have ever experienced a slow dance with a new woman in your life. Or even an old girlfriend who doesn't want to get too close. There is a stiffness and rigidity to that situation.

Nothing like it with Sam. I politely put my arms where they belonged. She just melted into me and maneuvered herself, feet alternating with mine. Her right leg between mine. Her right hip steaming against my sex. Desire thermometer to boiling in an instant. I sighed.

If you have never made clothed sex on a dance floor, then watch 'Dirty Dancing.' That couple had it right. You couldn't fit a postage stamp between us ... from head to toe.

Her hip pressing against my sex and the top of my thigh, lifting her dress up and down, caught between us. We both gasped as we stimulated each other on that floor.

It's a good thing the following dance was a slow one because I never heard the first one end. My mind had wandered off somewhere. Pleasure replaced thought.

As the second dance ended, I lifted myself back into some semblance of thoughtful order. We just stood there, holding each other and doing some body checking.

My hands slipped down Sam's sides to rest on her hips. Our bodies lost that total contact and her head drifted a little away from mine.

"That was nice," she said to me. Her voice was sort of deep in a Gina Gershon way. Not too throaty, just deep enough to rattle a guy's brain with her speech.

She was a couple of inches shorter than me. I guess about five-four.

Hey ... Stop it!

Stop looking for flaws in what I'm telling you. Just take what I say and let it absorb.

I did say that I was "PUSHING" five-seven. If she was almost five-five then that WOULD be just about a couple of inches.

If you keep that up, I'm outa here.

So, back to Sam.