I Hate Redheads

There were also no rings on her left hand.

Anna was very charming -- she had my client, and the three other men at the meeting, eating out of her hand. Aside from her good looks she had a slight sensual accent that was hard to place. You would think from her name that it was Russian, but it sounded different than that. She also declined a vodka, which would definitely disqualify her from being Russian (ha, ha). She was obviously very intelligent too.

After the outline of a deal was reached my client asked me to continue to meet with Anna and draft up the details. She and I stayed in the conference room of the hotel where we had been meeting, which was the same hotel where my client and the other three men were staying (Anna was local) and hashed out the particulars. She was smiley and pleasant as we worked. Once it got time for supper, however, she asked "Why don't we go to the restaurant next door for dinner?"

"Don't you think that we should keep plugging away?" I replied.

With a pouty face she said "Come on Bryan; all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," and followed that with a devilish smile.

"She's a fucking redhead; stay immune to her charms," I chastised myself, but went to dinner with her anyway.

Anna had travelled extensively and was a great conversationalist -- and in an understated way also a real flirt. I wondered if there was something about me that redheads had an attraction to -- until they screwed me over, that is.

There was a problem with the dinner, however, despite the good food and great conversation -- Anna was drinking slivovitz. Not being a connoisseur of alcohol in general (I never have more than one beer or one glass of wine), let alone brandy, until that night I had never even heard of slivovitz before (I subsequently found out that slivovitz is 100 proof plum brandy). She oddly had two glasses with dinner and two glasses while I ate dessert and she drank. She seemed a little tipsy when we went back to the conference room -- where she polished off the last of a bottle of red wine that the group had when lunch had been brought in -- and in short order was almost worthless in helping me with the documents I was drafting.

After plugging away for another hour, despite lack of meaningful input from Anna, I did get the documents done that I needed to, and emailed them to my secretary for her to correct all typos and put in proper form the next morning, before our group was to meet again at 10 a. m.

Anna gave every indication of being a happy drunk when I sent off my email. There was no way that I was going to let her drive home -- which apparently was her plan -- so I got her a room at the hotel. She didn't seem able to make it to the room herself so I helped her up. I had just deposited her in the bed and with my back turned to her was making sure that everything was in order when I felt her arms around me and her hands playing pocket pool -- in my pockets.

I broke away from her, turned to face her, and said "Anna what are you..." I didn't get the rest of the sentence out because she was naked except for her panties. She must have been a quick-change artist -- and not as drunk as she seemed -- to have pulled that feat off in the few seconds that I had my back turned to her.

"Bryan, I'm so lonely; won't you stay the night with me; I promise that you'll enjoy it," she moaned in her sultry accent.

I tried to break away; I honestly did. However Anna and my traitorous cock had other ideas. As earlier indicated I hadn't been laid in three months and although Anna's body was not quite as good as Juliet's or Vanessa's, it was still at least a 9.8 on a 10 point scale. Especially intriguing were her asymmetric tits, one with a protruding nipple, the other a flat one. Also she had a sexy scent and her hands had already gotten my cock rock hard.

After my cock took over my brain it wasn't long before I had literally ripped her panties off and she was spread eagle on the bed with my tongue as far up her snatch as I could get it until she came with the force of a tropical storm. Not long after that she was on her hands and knees and my cock was pistoning in-and-out of her tight pussy at 60 mph while my hands played with her asymmetric tits, until just before I was about to cum, and could sense that she was too, I moved my right hand off of her smaller tit and shoved up thumb as far up her asshole as it would go. Her pussy clamped on my cock like a vice, she screamed, and I shot rope after rope into her anxious cunt.

The bitch wore me out that night. I was able to stumble out of bed about 8 a. m. feeling that I had just gone 10 rounds with Mike Tyson, and my cock was red and sore. Anna shimmed out of bed and we showered together, no real hanky-panky because our mating parts were worn out, however I did get a perfect look at her asymmetric tits and found them enthralling. After we dried off and she inspected the state of her clothing with a chuckle she said "Seems like the two of us did a number on my clothes. My dress and panties are ripped, and in any event I can't go to the 10 a. m. meeting in the same dress that I wore yesterday."

"How far away is your condo?" I asked.

"A forty minute drive -- longer in rush hour. Be a dear Bryan and when you go home to get changed," she knew that my condo was only a three minute walk, "could you buy me a new dress and panties? Please?" she entreated with her emerald green eyes. "If you do I'll forever be in your debt." The last line was delivered with a lascivious smile and a stroke of the side of my face. "Size six unless the sales lady says that they're cut large, then a size four," she continued.

In the only nearby clothing store that was open at 9:00 a. m., as a last ditch effort to gain some self-control I got her a cheap dress that was a yellow color that I thought would clash with her features and make her look horrible. I also got it in size 10 hoping that it would hang unattractively on her. I screwed that up too, however, since the size must have been mismarked because it fit her perfectly, and somehow the yellow color looked great on her. Despite how worn out my cock was I pitched a pup tent when she modelled it for me, asked "How do I look," and then laid a smothering kiss on me.

At the 10 a. m. meeting my client and the other three men were distracted by Anna's look and bubbly personality -- apparently intense sex really perks her up -- but we eventually got the deal done and everyone was happy. Anna offered to pay for the dress and undies that I bought her but I declined since I was getting a five figure bonus for successfully concluding this matter.

I tried twice to discourage Anna when she called me with poor pretenses, but when she showed up at my condo one Friday night about 6:00 with a bottle of wine and the makings of lasagna -- one of my favorite foods -- I couldn't deny her entry. Her lasagna was almost as tasty as her pussy, and by nine o'clock the next morning I knew that I was hooked.

And so began my relationship with the mysterious, exhilarating, out-there, international businesswoman Anna Karenina.

Next to Juliet, Anna was the most sexually insatiable, and fun (in and out of the bedroom) woman that I had ever been with. While she didn't have tits as fuckable as Vanessa's she made up for it with mouth and pussy talent. She did have a volatile personality, however, and I wasn't sure that she was someone that I wanted to spend my life with. She also travelled an inordinate amount on business -- I'm talking about two weeks out of every month, including to Europe and the Far East. Her travel was both good and bad; it was good because it allowed my cock and tongue to recover from their constant exploration of her body, and it was bad because I really loved exploring her body.

Despite her flaws, however, I was really starting to fall for Anna.

My relationship with Anna had lasted a few days more than my one with Vanessa had (not that I was keeping track) when as I left her condo one Wednesday morning, after an even more aggressive sex session than normal Tuesday night since she was flying to Europe for a week Wednesday night, she handed me a pre-paid FedEx envelope addressed to some company in Spokane, Washington. "Bryan, could you be a dear and send this out for me tomorrow -- not today. It would really help me out."

"Sure," I replied with a smile, tossing it into my briefcase and then giving her a smoking hot kiss while I toyed with her asymmetric tits, which even after five months still intrigued me to no end.

Wednesday was a normal day for me until after I ate in at my condo. About 8:00 p. m. there was a knock at my door and two guys, and one woman, in suits were at the threshold when I opened up the door. "Hi Bryan," the guy who looked to be the oldest said, "I'm agent Parks and these are agents Wilson and Compton (the woman); we're with the FBI." They all displayed their badges. "We'd like to talk to you about a matter related to national defense."

I was taken aback, but being the patriot that I am I said "Sure, come on in."

I offered them something to drink -- Wilson and Compton each accepted a 16 oz. bottle of ice tea, Parks declined. After we all sat down Parks asked "Do you know Anna Karenina?"

"Sure -- she's my girlfriend."

"Do you know what she does for a living?"

"She's an international business woman; she does all sorts of deals. I met her about five months ago doing a deal for a client of mine for heavy machine tools. Why do you ask?"

Parks exchanged glances with the other two and then said "There's no reason to beat around the bush with you, Bryan. We arrested her three hours ago for espionage."

"What the fuck!" I exclaimed before I could catch myself. "You mean she's a spy?"

"Yes; she and her Russian husband..."

"What the fuck!" came out of my mouth again. "She's married?"

"Has been since she started spying, we believe about six years ago."

I momentarily overcame the pit in my stomach and asked "Who is she spying for?"

"Russia, of course; didn't you notice her accent, and her last name from Tolstoy's book?"

"She told me that her slight accent was Serbian and that her Russian father had left her and her Serbian mother when she was six years old and she never saw him again, and never went to Russia," I replied. I could tell from their looks that they were skeptical. "I guess that I'm naïve," I sighed.

"Has Anna ever given you anything to hold onto for her?" Parks continued.

"As a matter of fact just this morning she gave me a FedEx envelope to send out tomorrow morning. I can show it to you but I can't let you open it without a warrant since she may claim that I was her attorney -- even though we don't have a written engagement agreement."

"OK," Parks nodded.

I opened my briefcase, got out the envelope, and handed it to Parks saying as I did "So you agree, not to open it without a warrant."

"Agreed," he replied. Compton and Wilson both stood up and looked at the envelope, writing down the addressee, and inspecting it in every way then could without opening it.

"We need to take this with us while applying for the warrant," Parks said.

"That doesn't do it for me," I replied. "You apply for one electronically while we're sitting right here, and I'll stay up until it comes in." I could see the three of them starting to squirm, but to sweeten the pie I said "While we're waiting with my permission you can search my condo -- including the closet where Anna keeps her stuff -- and my phone, although you can't touch my laptop because I use it only for business and it is full of trade secrets and confidential attorney-client privileged documents, including for contractors with the Department of Defense."

Parks immediately got on the phone but before he talked I said "Have the warrant include anything in Anna's closet so that you can take it with you." He nodded agreement. Compton and Wilson took off to search my condo -- it wasn't large and I'm a neat freak and had nothing incriminating so I wasn't worried about what they'd find. Parks and I sat and chit-chatted about sports for the next half hour while he perused my phone, until his phone buzzed. He opened up an attachment to an email and showed it to me; it was the warrant. I handed him the large envelope that Anna had given me, he put gloves on, and the he carefully opened it. His eyes got wide.

Just then Compton and Wilson returned. Compton had gloves on and three or four of what I considered to be non-descript items. "I got these from Karenina's closet," she said. I looked at them without touching them and said "They're all yours," causing her to put them in an evidence bag.

They all removed their gloves, shook my hand, and said "If anything else comes up we'll be in touch."

"One question before you go," I said. "What if Anna calls me and asks if the package was delivered?"

"We'll call you before 8 a. m. with the answer to that after we fully inspect the contents of the envelope," Parks replied; "Thanks for asking; that was a good catch."

As I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, I was a broken man. "She is not only a married cheat but a fucking spy," kept caroming around in my brain.

Since I couldn't really sleep, I got into the office about 6:30 the next morning. Parks called me about 7:45. "Hi Bryan; if Anna calls we do want you to tell her that the package was sent out and as far as you know delivered. However, it might be her attorney calling -- she already has one hired by the Russian Embassy -- in order to avoid having her call from prison recorded. If her attorney calls can you record the call for us?"

"No problem," I replied.

The attorney did call at 1 p. m., I did record it, and I did tell him that I dropped the FedEx package off at 8:00 a. m. "Why are you calling instead of Anna?" I asked.

"She's really busy right now, and I was talking to her on the phone while she's in Geneva and she asked me to call you so that she didn't have to make another international call."

A month later when I read in the newspaper about the US and Russia doing a spy swap, with Anna and another woman involved, I thought to myself "I fucking hate redheads!" and then said it aloud.

**************

THE REAL ESTATE AGENT

Over the next four months -- while purging Anna, Vanessa, and Juliet from my mind -- I dated only women who were blond, brunette, Indian, or black. None of them rang my chimes, and I didn't fuck any of them (to the obvious disappointment of two of them). I did see a young attractive redhead at a conference, but I avoided her like she had leprosy.

I had been doing very well financially and decided that I was tired of city living, and that I could work remotely two days a week, so I went house hunting in the suburbs. I contacted the major real estate agency in the area where I was looking to buy since my parents new the owner. When I talked to him he promised to assign his absolutely best agent to me. I met her the next Saturday at a four bedroom house in a good school district (although at the rate I was going I might never have kids).

I almost ran when she got out of her car and smilingly approached me; she was a fucking redhead. The only reasons that I didn't bolt were because her hair was a different shade of red than Juliet's, Vanessa's, and Anna's, and because she was probably ten years older than I was -- likely between 38 and 42 years old, I'd guess. Also, while she was nice looking she wasn't in the same league as the three redheads that had stomped on my heart.

After a deep breath, a forced smile, and a shake of her hand -- which didn't send chills up my spine like touches by the other three did -- in response to her greeting I said "Nice to meet you Mary Johnson; I guess that you've already figured out that I'm Bryan Van Pelt."

"Indeed I have," she chuckled. "You look just like Austin described you," Austin being the owner of Austin Real Estate (everyone called him by his last name).

She was very pleasant -- although all business -- as she showed me around the first house on her list. It was nice; I'd give it an eight out of ten for what I was looking for. After the tour as she secured the lock box she said "Why don't you ride with me around to the other houses; none is more than four miles away, and we don't need two cars. I'll drop you off here when we're done."

"Sounds like a plan," I smiled.

Mary was an interesting woman. She volunteered all sorts of information about herself -- in addition to doing a great job as a real estate agent -- the six hours (including a quick lunch) that we spent together that day. Her information included that she was divorced (she had no rings on), had travelled extensively (much more so than I had, but to two of the same places which we swapped stories about), seemed to be as big a college basketball (men's) and volleyball (women's) as I was, and seemed to have the same intense exercise schedule that I aspired to, but only achieved every other week. Unfortunately about the fifth hour we were together my old bugaboo -- attraction to redheads -- started to surface and despite my best efforts to suppress it with sunglasses on I started to look closely at her legs, ass, and boobs. "Very nice for someone ten years older than I am," I said to myself between bouts of guilt and self-flagellation.

The second to last house that we looked at was a winner as far as I was concerned. We went back to her office, worked up an offer $20,000 below the asking price, she transmitted it to the seller's agent, and she took me back to my car. As she dropped me off she moaned something about going home to eat leftovers. Before I could think correctly I had asked her to dinner and she smilingly accepted, and we made arrangements for what restaurant to meet at in 90 minutes.

I did my best not to make the meal look like a date, and for the most part I succeeded, although I became more concerned as time went on about how much attention I was paying to her various body parts, and how interesting and upbeat she was. We actually hugged goodbye, and I was very distressed when I slid into my car and noticed that my cock was at half-mast. "What the fuck is it about redheads," I lamented out loud. "Get your mind out of the gutter and start thinking with your brain, not your dick," I chastised myself.

Over the next two weeks I talked to Mary on the phone almost every day with offers, counter offers, financing, hesitancy by the seller, special concessions, etc., and even went with her again to see the house a second time to find out what the sellers were talking about with one of the concessions they were asking for. I don't know if Mary planned the meeting just before dinner on a Saturday, but it did result in us going out to eat together again, although this time it was more casual than the first time.

During this time I also investigated Mary Johnson online (I considered it paranoid to pay a PI). Unfortunately, with a common name like that it was very difficult to figure out what located information related to her, or at least one hundred other Mary Johnsons in our metro area. From her employer's website there was every indication that she was divorced, as she said, and I never found any information to lead me to believe that she was married, had kids, was a spy, had ambitions of moving to NYC, or any of the other things that had bitten me in the ass before.

Mary did a great job in getting me a final deal on the house that I wanted, made all of the arrangements herself for getting the utilities in my name, getting my stuff moved from my condo to the house, and a thousand other niggly little things. The Friday after I moved in Mary called me and asked "Is it OK if I bring over a little house warming present tonight, maybe about 6:00?"

"You don't have to do that," I replied, "you've been so great in handling things for me I should be giving you a present."