Randy Randy

We entered the break room for coffee at the same time. We smiled at each other, said 'Hello', poured our cups, and started to walk off in opposite directions.

We both stopped, shocked, and turned to face the other. We mirrored our dazed, quizzical expressions. WE WERE NOT DRAWN TO EACH OTHER! This was a rare occurance.

"Hi, I'm Yolanda. How come you aren't all over me already?"

"Mucho gusto, I'm Randy, and I was wondering the same about you!"

We immediately hit it off as friends. Yolanda was almost the only woman who didn't try to fondle me when we first met. I was almost the only person who did not hit on or grope her. Could it be? Yes! We were immune to each other's pheromones! We interacted with dignity. We could actually keep our paws off each other. Such joy!

Waves of palpable disappointment flushed through her office when we were seen leaving together. Oh no, the sex magnets are gone!

The chic receptionist followed us to the elevator doors.

"Where are you going? You can't leave yet! Please stay!"

She grabbed our hands and started crying. We gently freed ourselves and left.

I later heard that the receptionist had renounced the world and entered a Buddhist nunnery. Well, at least she did not kill herself.

Yolanda and I had a classic whirlwind courtship. No wining-dining in sexy dark ethnic eateries. No drinking and dancing in trendy clubs. No dates for theatre or opera or concerts. No romantic cruises. None of that shit. All those meant being around lots of people, people who would only gravitate to us and try to fuck us.

No, we luxuriated in isolation. We dined at drive-through fast-food joints, or on take-out Chinese or delivered pizzas at one of our apartments. Or we just had picnics, alone on deserted beaches and hilltops. We turned up the car stereo and danced by ourselves in those remote locations. Dancing The Twist means never having to touch. We took every lonely solitary pleasure we could find.

We rarely held hands, kissed, embraced chastely. But we didn't fuck. No sex drive.

Yolanda and I were perfect together!

Of course, our sexuality had not died. We were still superlatively horny. I was still randy Randy the pussy magnet, every waking moment. Yolanda was still the most desireable human female on the planet. We were HOT! Just not for each other.

We let each other know how much we appreciated our togetherness.

"Oh Randy, I've had the greatest evening! Thank you so much for not touching me!"

"Is my pleasure, Yolanda. Being with you is just so refreshing, so liberating!"

"I've never been with anyone like you before! With you, I can just be myself."

"Yeah, and we never have to clean up afterwards. Nobody sleeps in a wet spot."

We spent many happy calm chaste innocent hours together. Then we left our shared presence and returned to our libidous pastimes. After two hours of being close to Yolanda, I was ready to accept thrice as many offers, and so was she. We kissed each other's cheeks Aloha, went back to our daily lives, and fucked like weasels.

And very careful discrete fuck-weasels we were, too. We kept our affairs quiet, at least to the outside world. But we each knew what we were up to -- fun fun fun.

-----

We soon made our relationship more permanent and official.

We were sitting at a picnic table in an empty playground feasting on BK Whoppers and staring happily into each other's eyes. I finished my French fries and wadded the empty wrappers into a tight ball. I drop-shot the wad into a nearby trash can and dropped to one knee. I pulled the extravagant engagement ring from my pocket.

"Yolanda, I love you truly, like nobody I have ever met. Yolanda, I'm asking you to make me the happiest man in the world. Please marry me! Be my trophy wife, my helpmeet, my ticket to a well-paid partnership and a life of luxury for us both."

Yolanda cried out, "YES! YES!" and lustily kissed my forehead while judging the aesthetic qualities of the ring. Her eyes sparkled like the big star sapphires.

"Oh Randy Randy Randy, this is so beautiful! And it looks authentic, too!"

"I only want the best for you, baby. You deserve nothing less," I smarmed.

Yolanda held my hand tightly and looked at me adoringly. She blew me a kiss.

Our wedding was small and quiet -- necessary, for security. We got a county clerk and a justice of the peace, shriveled wheelchair-bound nonagenarians lacking the strength to make advances on us. Our vows were ambiguous. The bride wore plaid.

"Randy, do you take this hot bitch as your wife, and promise you'll never give her diseases or lawsuits?" the doddering JP asked, hacking up phlegm as he coughed.

"Fucking-A I'll take her, shit yeah!" I ejaculated.

"Yolanda, do you take this young stud as your husband, and promise not to bother him when he does his man-stuff?" he asked her, drooling over her visible cleavage.

"You bet your fur, your honor," she hummed seductively.

"I never bet my fur. Ain't got none left. Anyway, I now pronounce you, er, man and woman, or whatever you wanna be. Now, shake hands, and return to your corners."

We tipped him and left. He had a hard time getting up again.

We decided on a customized honeymoon. We could not fly commercially together due to near-riots when we entered crowded airports, so we chartered a flight to Puerto Vallarta. We took rooms in adjoining resorts. I fucked all the women around Villa Pancho and Yolanda fucked everybody at Rancho Deluxo. We always met for lunch.

We sat together in a private lunchroom on the fourth day and munched our shared crab cocktail. Bystanders peered through windows at us. The proprietors kept the doors locked so we could eat in peace. We chatted about our honeymoon activities.

"I had great fun last night, Yolanda! Y'know that convention of radical feminists over at the Rebozo Reale resort? I had all the interns and junior editors from Ms Magazine in my bed. Good thing it's Cal-king-size. Yes, they really are all bi!"

"How did you deal with the old bulls who actually run the organization?"

"I just had one of the it-fell-off-the-truck guys sneak a couple cases of fresh batteries into their convention office, and a box full of the latest dildos and vibrators. Those gals stayed busy with their electric toys the whole time. Of course, I had to pee on the boxes, to give them a stimulating dose of pheromones."

"Oooh, wow! Hey, the narco-trafficker cartels from Sinaloa and Jalisco are meeting around Mismaloya Playa. I got to nail all the cartel dons and most of their gals. Don Pedro Putaloa actually has a bifurcated dick. He gave me DP all by himself!"

"That's my gal! Was anyone sitting on your face while you were double-penetrated?"

"Yes, all nine of his wives took turns on me. The Panamanian girl sure tasted good!"

We were having a fine honeymoon. It ended all too soon, after the shootout. No, not between the feminists and the cartel bosses -- they all settled amicably.

Our chartered flight got away just before the explosions.

-----

Back in the States, we lived our usual lives, doing our jobs. Yolanda reported. I consulted. We took adjacent condo flats with a shared room for our chaste conjugal visits. We often just played parcheesi quietly, enjoying our respites from sex.

Yes, even a Pornomancer needs to take breaks.

Earlier here I said, "I was afraid I would be reduced to wearing an Iron Man-type suit, acting like a giant condom, to keep my pheromones from circulating." No, I didn't go that far, and neither did Yolanda. But we definitely needed shielding from the public when we were out together. Our mixed sex hormones were too potent.

Our solution: Bodyguards. I found a team of tall Armenian eunuchs who specialized in providing security for beauty pageants, celebrity nudist fests, 'entertainment' (hooker) rooms at political and religious conventions, etc. They protect us well in most public situations. They have only had to shoot a few crashers.

Sometimes we dispensed with our guardians and just flew blind. We returned every year to the playground where we became engaged. Once again, we sat by ourselves at a lonely picnic table and dined on BK Whoppers. But this time, we weren't alone.

A comely young woman wearing a navy business skirt-suit and black Nikes walked across the baseball diamond and under the jungle gym, striding directly to our table. She was tall, shapely, Oriental, and nervous.

"I was just walking by and I felt you, both of you. I had to come to you. I *need* you! Both of you! Please don't send me away!"

Yolanda and I exchanged glances and shrugs.

"Sure, why not? Okay, take off your clothes and lie down here on the table."

The woman quickly pulled off her skirt and top, revealing a dripping shaved pussy and large high firm breasts with wide dark aueroles and thick nipples. She laid down on the table, her legs dangling off the end. I dropped my trousers and moved between her thighs. I slid my big cock in swiftly.

"Oh yes," she moaned. Her moans were muffled as Yolanda lowered her naked vulva onto the woman's mouth. "Mmmmmmmph mmmmmmph," the woman muttered.

I pounded. The woman slurped. Yolanda wriggled. We all came, and came again. Just another usual encounter. Yolanda and I left the woman lying unconsious. I dropped a few BK French fries onto her flat abdomen as souvenirs.

"What would you like to do now?" I asked Yolanda as we walked away from our naked sleeping beauty.

"I was kind of thinking of a round of miniature golf. I could use the exercise."

"Sounds good to me. Yeah, let's tee off!"

We had so much fun.

-----

That's about it for my story.

Yes, I got the partnership, and good money. Six years later, I indeed had Eileen's desk and job. I was named CEO after I fucked her to death. Well, it was a brain aneurysm, but she was riding my cock at the time. She was fifty, and smiling.

Yolanda's pheromone levels seemed to increase over time. She had to stop reporting on events because the on-camera crowd antics were disruptive. She switched to one-on-one interviews with fashion leaders and movers-and-shakers, many of whom revealed much more than they should. MUCH more! Nobody could resist her, but me.

We have lived together happily and honestly for more than a decade now. We have both been intensely loyal. We have never cheated on our arms-length relationship by trying to sleep together. Our fuckmates take care of our animal sexual urges. Our marriage is stronger than that.

"Darling, I'm sorry, but I can't be with you tonight."

"What's the matter, do you have a bad headache or something?"

"No, a team of touring Chinese acrobats is coming over."

"Oh good, I'm glad you're feeling okay. Have fun now!"

"You're the absolute best! We'll play Parcheesi tomorrow then."

We need our bodyguards when we go out together, of course, like at events where my hot trophy wife is on full display. The Armenian eunuchs are like a steel condom around us. No crashers get past them. Well, only a few, and those are seduced and rewarded, till we cast them aside and move on to fresh flesh.

Yes, this is a perfect situation. Just ourselves, our pets (matched cheetahs), our guards, and our guests, however many will fit onto our huge separate beds.

We ARE living happily ever after. Y'all can be jealous. Bye now.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is dedicated to the real Randy, who deserves better. But don't we all?