Anna Joins a Dating Service

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Anna needs rough house sex.
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Miracle Match (MM) is an on line dating service. But more than that, it has field offices around the country for people who don't have access to the internet. People living in nursing homes, people in prison, and people who are still using 3-party land lines -- those humans living in remote areas or in caves. Andy Aldrich believed everyone should have a partner, that everyone needs love. It's market niche is society's rejects, sometimes known as deplorables.

The corporate staff consists of Andy as CEO, his current mistress, Gilda, as secretary, and an ex-con, Lou, with a history of extortion and insider stock trading. Translated, that equates to being a crook. Lou is the treasurer.

Andy employs 30 illegals, smuggled in from various countries -- especially the Czech Republic and Canada. Andy advertises on Google, with a monthly budget of $350. His website costs almost nothing, since he dabbles in HTML.

Miracle Match has no physical presence. You can't find it in a mall, or in the back of a warehouse.

It's located in "The Cloud".

For you folks who are not tech savvy, the Cloud theoretically is unlimited memory storage. For example, Google Drive utilizes cloud computing. It has over 1 billion users.

Clearly, Andy is not a ghost, and doesn't live in a cloud. He has a small office in his garage in Palo Alto, California. He lives in a $5 million home -- a little above the average home price for a home in Palo Alto.

He is married to a lovely woman, an Evangelical who speaks in tongues when she prays. She prays every night after dinner. For an hour. Out loud. That's why Andy works out of his garage.

Andy also employs Larry, a contract photographer adept in PhotoPro, for retouching headshots. A second associate, working 30 hours a week without benefits, Dorothy, is a struggling English major; she's hoping to publish her first novel on Amazon. Dorothy's job is to write profiles for subscribers, most of whom can barely read or write English. Many of them are high school dropouts.

When a woman like Anna wants to meet a man, her unedited profile would read: " I like to walk on the beach while the sun sets. Or sun rises. My hobbies are gardening, and reading books on philosophy. My favorite author is Friedrich Nietzsche. I am curvy and enjoy playing the harmonica." This would get zero response.

After editing, Anna's profile would read: "I am a big breasted woman who don't sleep much. I enjoy having sex all night, and go to bed when the sun rises. I am very open minded, like to suck cock, and masturbate every day ..."

This results in hundreds of responses.

Obviously constructing a dating service makes little demand on your ingenuity. Or honesty. People are lonely, they're tired of masturbating, and want to meet someone. Maybe anybody. They are willing to fork out $175 annually to become a charter member. Not surprisingly, Andy grossed over $5 million in the first 10 months of operation. It was even more profitable than running a megachurch.

Anna was one of MM's first clients. She lives in Cupertino, which is a stone's throw from Palo Alto. Well, OK, a couple of miles. People live in Cupertino because it has a great school system. This means you don't find gang bangers hanging around street corners. Everyone spends all their time studying -- preparing for the SAT's to get into Stanford, or Yale, or MIT. If you want to go to a state college, usually you don't need to prepare much. You can work at Whole Foods and still get admitted.

Recently divorced, and horny as hell, Anna needs to find a man. Not any man, because she lived in Cupertino. He had to be earning a six figure salary, be preferably Asian or Indian, and drive a German car not more than two years old. She would be humiliated to be seen in an American made car. Anna herself was originally from a small town in Northern India. I won't mention it here, because it doesn't matter. Really, it doesn't matter...

She is a beautiful woman, full breasted, and was tired of ordering vibrators from Amazon. The UPS guy was at her home more than her husband. She didn't know where her husband was, since he travelled a lot. So she divorced him. He was useless. She did get the house -- a 4500 sq. ft. home worth $10.2 million. She claimed he beat her, but since he was always traveling, he had no idea she divorced him. His attorney handled everything. There was a restraining order, but again, he was not aware of it. In essence, he made $350K a year, and didn't give a shit what happened at home. He was your typical Silicon Valley executive, working 16 hours a day. He didn't even know his car was stolen until one day he couldn't find it at the airport. He didn't trust Uber drivers. On his way home one night, he got a call from his attorney. His attorney essentially told him to check into a motel and he would explain later.

Since Anna was close to MM's corporate location, she called them and spoke to a rude Asian receptionist.

After a few minutes trading insults back and forth with the receptionist, she was finally put through to Andy. They spoke briefly and Andy agreed to meet her at a local Starbucks. Andy brought his photographer, Larry, with him.

It was easy to spot Anna, because at Starbucks everyone was either on a laptop or staring at their phones. Anna was reading a romance novel. Written in Hindi.

"You must be Anna," Andy said.

"Well, hello, Andy. Yes, I'm Anna ..." They stared at each other, Andy eyeing her big boobs, and Anna wondering if this guy was legitimate. Larry stood by, his camera hanging around his neck. You could tell he was a photographer. Photographers use cameras, not cell phones, for photo work.

Anna intentionally wore a sweater two sizes too small. She wanted to make a lasting impression. Larry didn't need to be told. He started shooting right away. Click, click, click.

"Oh," she said, looking down between her legs. "Why is he down there on his knees?" Referring to Larry, shooting up between her massive boobs.

"That's Larry, my photographer," Andy explained, smiling. He didn't want to admit that Larry functioned by conditioned reflex. As soon as he saw big boobs he'd start shooting. "I brought him along in case we'd need some headshots of you ..."

"Then why is he down between my legs?"

"Larry, get up," Andy told him. "I haven't decided to accept Anna as a client yet."

Larry murmured something that sounded like an apology. He reluctantly sat at the next table. Panting.

"Larry, take a break ..." Andy told him.

Anna spoke. "I'd like to meet someone special -- if you know what I mean. I checked out some dating sites, and they all seem to be the same. Professional men looking for professional women."

Andy listened.

"I want a Marlboro Man kind of guy -- rough, tough, outdoors type."

Obviously they're still smoking a lot in India.

"And a heavy smoker?" Andy asked. "I think the Marlboro Man died of lung cancer."

"Well, you get my point ..." And, lowering her voice she added, "He has to be a good lover ..."

"Any special kind of sex? Oral, anal, BSDM?"

"Goodness, no, not anal!"

"You've never been fucked up the ass? He blurted. "Pardon my French ..."

The dirty language triggered a pussy reflex. She felt a tiny squirt.

"Noooooooooo ..." she said, looking ready to cry. "But I could give it a try. I guess that's what everyone's doing these days." She watched a lot of Fox News.

Andy figured her perception of the world today was everyone is getting fucked up the ass. Maybe politically, but not on a first date.

"Not everyone," he said, correcting her. "Some people liked birching. That's popular in upper class families." He thought, continuing, "You have people who like being strangled, whipped, boiled in oil ..." He corrected himself. "Well, maybe not being boiled in oil."

"Oh, dear. I guess I'm out of touch", Anna said.

"It's all a matter of preference ..." he said. "Why don't you fill out a personality profile, and within a few weeks, you should have men contacting you." He handed her a blank application. "Are you limiting yourself to men only? We're getting some hot lesbians ...and transsexuals. "

She appeared stunned.

"Mail it back to me, with a check for $175," he said, smiling.

Larry looked disappointed that he wasn't going to do any more photos. Maybe he'd call her to arrange a photo shoot. In her case a simple head shot would not do her justice. Perhaps a few shots in lingerie, or a camisole. Or a wet t-shirt. Certainly not nude. He tried not to stare at her chest, but his hands were beginning to shake. He was losing control.

Big breasted women are always in demand. And someone who lives in Cupertino, with big boobs, well ... the mailman is going to be pissed, lugging all those sacks of mail.

(Wondering about Anna's photo shoot? Stay tuned in ...)

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