My Only Talent Ch. 15


Then the subject changed to me, specifically, my physical conditioning. "Next semester, after you have done the marathon, you should do some non-running conditioning for core strength and flexibility. I got you into a class with Bob the Knob George, the best exercise physiologist in the state, if not the world. He normally only takes people he knows personally, but I vouched for you, and he agreed to let you register. I will send you the unique number for the section and you can log on to the registrar's site and add the class. Private students pay him $10K per year to train them, but you can get it for just three semester hours worth of tuition. Do everything he tells you too, even if you don't see why at first, and never miss a session with him. He is the best! And if he wants you to come to his lab for tests and studies, also do it without delay."

We finished our 15 miles plus sprint and cool down laps, and then Suzanne split to catch her ride to the away soccer games, one in Waco early Saturday morning and the later one the next day in Killeen. She gave me a very lingering kiss, and made me promise to be ready for her on Sunday night. I told her, quite honestly, that I was always ready for her, and always would be. She looked at me funny, then gave me a hug so strong I had trouble breathing, and not just because her arms were so buff. My runner's high then kicked in so strongly that my shower and shampoo (with conditioner, as Suzanne and Lara both doggedly insisted) was an almost psychedelic experience. At least I told myself it was only the runner's high.


Dwight had grown complacent, observing Suzanne repeat her routine over and over, so he returned to his car from his perch near the running track, intending to watch her car and the exit from her office for a few more hours until rush hour abated. He was lucky to have the monitors inside her office, as she quickly gathered up her stuff, threw it in her book bag, and picked up her soccer duffle and locked her door. Dwight did not have eyes on the hallway, and when she did not appear at her car, he went on alert. He was about to panic when she emerged from the front exit of the building and got into a waiting white van that Dwight had seen before. Soccer game somewhere then, he supposed. Dwight started his car and followed, a few car lengths behind, as the van headed south on Speedway, then turned left on MLK and then turned left again and climbed up the very short ramp and blended into the northbound lanes of the Interstate.

Suzanne was seated in the front passenger seat of the old van, which was equipped with huge rear view mirrors on both sides. Due to her father's profession, and her unusual multinational childhood, she was always very conscious of the traffic around her. When other kids driving with their dads were playing 'license plate poker' and 'find the next letter' on the road signs, she was playing 'spot the tail, burn the tail', and when she was a little older, learning to successfully trail people herself. She had subconsciously made the car following her before, but now she noticed it and its tradecraft very explicitly. It was moving up and back, interposing multiple cars, and moving from lane to lane well, and if Suzanne had been driving, she might not have picked it up. But as a passenger, especially with that giant outside rear view mirror, she had spotted it quickly. Plus the young guy driving it looked familiar.


My afternoon classes were also exam reviews, and I felt I was already prepared for next week. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the dorm room at my desk, checking off all my schoolwork to do's, and then beat feet to early dinner. My post run high was fading, and it was replaced by some serious hunger. It was steak night, so I stocked up on red meat, for the growing boy in me. I didn't see anyone I knew, but caught sight of two girls I hadn't seen before sending Suzie for me. I introduced myself to one, Nancy Bergeron, who was in the same situation as Ralph, having just moved into the dorm from a floor lounge at the last remaining girl's only dorm. She was gorgeous, charming, bright as a new penny, and gave me her mobile number. My cup runneth over. I didn't have to be at Peggy's until 8:30, so a nap was on the agenda, and I went to sleep immediately.

The alarm went off at 8:00 PM, and I quickly dressed, brushed my teeth, and walked to Peggy's place. The weather was very cool, my mood was very warm. I had been in a simmering horniness mode for more than 24 hours, and Peggy was now about to be the sole object of my affections. I got there with about five minutes to spare, and sat on the back steps that led up to her upstairs apartment. The law office that occupied the bottom floor of the house was all closed up. My phone beeped with a text message from Peggy – the tour group was running late, so she would be a few minutes later than planned. I replied 'no hay problema' with a :) <=8 emoticon. She texted back :) ~ which looked very promising.

A few minutes later I heard the distinctive exhaust note of her car, a parking space on campus being one of the few perks of her museum junior curator and tour guide job. She quickly stowed the car in the garage, and we walked up the stairs together, arm in arm. She locked the door behind us and said "I have to take a quick shower. I am really funky from walking all over campus and then all over the center with the tour group!" I laughed, took her hands in mine, and shook my head no.

She looked puzzled as I begin to unbutton her blouse, removed her bra and skirt, and picked her up by the waist and deposited her on the kitchen table. I pulled up a chair and sat between her legs, tugging on her panties.

"Oh, Robbie, I am really very sweaty and..."

She never got to say anything else, as I tugged her panties down, spread her legs, and buried my face between them. She was very aromatic, but my lizard brain was right at home, and I was instantly in a complete frenzy. Her hesitancy had disappeared, and her Suzie was signaling with rocketing intensity. I was plugged right into her, and my tongue began to scratch her right where she was itching. I was a gourmet at a tasting. She was funky, nasty, sweaty, bordering on the ammoniac, and I loved every molecule of it. Maybe it was latent demand from watching Ermie eat Millie, maybe it was Peggy's big strong legs and lollapalooza ass, but whatever it was I was up for it, literally and figuratively. I pushed her legs up into the air, and dove even further into her snatch. She reached out and grabbed my head and pulled it into her, just as I began to suck her sweet and fully engorged clit. She shook, and growled, and came, flooding my face with fantastic sauce, which I quickly made to disappear, and began to root for more.

She grunted and worked my head with her hands, and I sucked on her clit as she came again. "Yes!" she murmured. "Eat my dirty pussy!" My kind of girl. My kind of pussy, too. I was totally connected to her, and my every effort was tuned toward making her come again. I got déjà vu, and I wanted déjà three and four. Soon she shook again, vibrating at the waist, and I was rewarded with another tasty squirt. That was my cue. I stood up, threw off my pants and underwear, and positioned myself to enter her. But I stopped short and looked at her expectantly. Her eyes opened, and she smiled up at me coyly.

Suddenly she was in her Betty Boop character. "I think this wild man is going to fuck me, yes he is. Just use me for his pleasure. Ram that dick into me with no mercy. Yes he will!"

And I did. In one swift stroke I slipped all the way into her hot, wet, and totally wonderful pleasure palace. She put both hands on my buttocks, and squeezed as hard as she could.

"I knew it, I knew he was going to fuck me, and there's nothing I can do but just take it! This nasty man will crawl up on top of me and use all his strength to fuck me just as deep and as hard as he can. I just know he will!"

I did just that. I moved up onto the kitchen table, which luckily was a big antique with a strong and wide base, just like Peggy. I began a slow and inexorable drive to penetrate her fully. I started very slowly, pushing as deep into her as I could and putting as much of my weight and strength as I could into the effort. She spread her legs a little wider and let go of my butt and used her arms to grip the edges of the table. I shifted my weight right onto her center of gravity, and stroked a little faster. She opened her eyes and locked them onto mine, as I smiled what I hoped was a feral, yet loving grin. Her Suzie was my guide, and it was singing loud and dulcet tones that moved right into my brain. She began to use her big bad legs to meet my thrusts with their power driving her upward yet her pussy was yielding completely to me. It was an amazing ballet of coordinated lust, thrust, and tenderness, and it was dance I wanted to dance forever.

Her eyes went wide, her features twisted, and I realized she was about to come, after just a few strokes. She had a shocked expression on her face, as if she was surprised about it too, and then she lurched up into me and I felt her hot box grab my dick, hard. It pulsed one, two, three times, so hard it almost hurt, and her Suzie pulsed loudly and sweetly in perfect synchrony. I was reminded of when I took a nasty fall on the tennis court and then being inside a slammingly loud MRI machine that surrounded me while its pounding noises went right through me. Then a look of calm and peace spread across her face, and she smiled at me. It just made me harder and crazier, and I began stroking again. And she moved effortlessly to meet my thrusts. Her Suzie signal was almost like a percussionist keeping time to our movements, hitting a high hat cymbal just at the point of maximum penetration. It certainly was music to my ears.

Her Suzie said to pause for a few moments, so I did, and felt her powerful breathing move my entire body up and down slightly. A contentment signal soared strongly, along with a strong carrier modulated with a clear image of me fucking her again. I smiled at her, gave her a little kiss on the lips, and then fucked even harder, tuning out all thought of her Suzie and just concentrating on getting myself off as fast as I could. Every ounce of my weight was pinning her down to the table, every erg of my muscular effort was being used to thrust into her. I realized I was in the zone, but I wanted my release. I was pushing the same elevator button over and over and the car was not coming, yet. I tuned out everything else but my pleasure, and stubbornly pounded away at her. I felt the tide began to turn and knew it was now inevitable.

Just as I was about to shoot, I pulled out and squatted right above her face, finishing off in her mouth. She took me in with a vengeance and sucked me dry with a fervor I had never before experienced and would never be able to forget. I kept my eyes on hers as she swallowed my last few drops, watching her beatific expression in wonder. I had never felt so accepted, so satisfied, and so loved. I plopped myself out of her mouth, climbed back on top of her, and spread myself out to maximize our skin contact with each other. She began gently kissing my chin and cheeks, and sighed as she bore all my weight with ease. She hooked her legs behind my knees and drew me even closer to her, releasing her arms from holding the table behind her and putting them over my shoulders.

She stopped kissing me and began to giggle. "The big strong man fucked me, yes he did! In fact, it was the very best fucking this poor little girl has ever had. I won't be able to resist him anymore. I will just have to let him have his way with me anytime he wants, and do anything he wants! Yes I will!"

She paused. "Seriously, Robbie, that was beyond my wildest dreams!"

I kissed her neck. "Next time you are sweaty before one of our dates, maybe you should check with me before you shower?"

She giggled again. "I will probably think of you every time I get sweaty from now on. In fact, I may exercise a lot more just hoping the muscle memory will remind me of what just happened. But right now, Mr. Mean and Fabulous Fucker, I am going to take a shower and then we are going out for some food! Due to my changing schedule today, I had a half bottle of Zero water and half of a stale, dry bagel for lunch, and damn little for breakfast, too." She giggled again and easily rolled me off of her and toward the floor. I was lucky to land on my feet, and she was a lot stronger than I thought. All that lovely cushioning was hiding some wrestler muscles underneath.

I joined her in the shower. First we got very practical and very clean as soon as possible. Then I indulged in some ass worship until the hot water began to fade out. When I stood up to dry off she kissed me tenderly, and said "I know after dinner you are going to expect me to suck your nasty cock, aren't you? Yes you are. Urges, you know! I guess I'll have to do it." She was right on target. She kissed me again, wonderfully.


Dwight was in the parking lot at the International House of Pancakes in Waco on the interstate. Dwight had never had the occasion to go to Waco before. He could see Suzanne through the restaurant's picture window, seated with almost a dozen other girls at a big table, eating and talking. Apparently they were quite accomplished at both. These girls were all in shape, ran as much as Suzanne did, and they put away a lot of food to keep up their metabolism. Dwight would be surprised if any of them could talk as much as Suzanne, but they sure tried. The window was big and only double pane, with no inert gas in between, so the little laser mike mounted inconspicuously on his side mirror brought in their conversations pretty well. His backroom team had hacked and found only two room reservations at the nearby Budget Inn, so apparently they were staying six to a room. That was very frugal, sort of like agency domestic per diem policy.

His smart phone app suggested local attractions for him to visit, which was one way to pass the off duty time. He would probably have to miss the Dr. Pepper museum, but the Texas Ranger museum didn't look too bad. One of the mottos his agency trainers had adopted was "One Riot, One Ranger" and maybe Dwight could learn a little background on that phrase. When the girls finished their sumptuous repast and moved to the motel, Dwight was able to find a parking spot that commanded a view of every door to every room in the place. Of course, that was not much of an accomplishment since almost every parking space in the lot did too.


We went down stairs and Peggy opened the garage door and we climbed into her car. I noticed a big portfolio of drawings and lots of Art History books on the back seat. I asked her about her job and her major, and she launched into an extended description. "Well, I am an Art History major, about to be one of 3,000 or so graduates who chase maybe three real non-teaching museum jobs that come open each year."

She rounded the block from the alley behind her house and then turned east on 12th, moving patiently through traffic and red lights, but making better progress than she would have on 6th or 7th, especially on a Friday night. She continued, "Those three jobs can pop up anywhere in the world, with Europe most likely, usually as museum senior curators retire or die, and all the people in the hierarchy below them move up a step and a 'grunt work' job opens up for a recent graduate hire who will actually do most of the work."

She laughed. "But I do love the work, enough to keep pursuing such a low expected value path, apparently. For example, at the center right now, in between giving tours, I am cataloging a collection of very old erotic books that was donated by a recently deceased ESU alum from Midland/Odessa. He was a very rich oilman, and apparently his secret passion was collecting original erotica in Latin and Greek. Once his family figured out what all those books were, they couldn't wait to donate them to somebody, and not the First Baptist Church, either! They made ESU promise that we would never reveal the name of the donor, and that we would take physical possession of the collection as soon as possible. Some of them appear to be original manuscripts that no one has published anything about before, and that makes it all worthwhile for me. And for one of the classics professors, who is bugging me every day to finish my intake procedures so he can study them and publish papers on them."

"Do you read Latin and Greek?" I asked. Why were all the women I liked so much more classically educated than I?

"Yes. My grandparents came here from Greece, so they taught me, and I went to Catholic school that did Latin immersion. And my mother's family is from France, and she taught me French, and Russian which she studied in school, and I also picked up Italian and German via complete immersion on several semesters aboard, otherwise I would not have a chance at one of those three jobs even if I found an opening. By the way, after supper, I may experiment on you using some techniques I was just reading about this morning!"

Sometimes education is a very fine thing. We passed the hospital on our right, then turned right to go south on the Interstate access road, and then back east on 7th. The traffic around us was a eclectic mix of the "Keep Austin Weird" set in Smart Cars, Nissan Leafs, Honda Civics and little Japanese pickups with biodiesel bumper stickers; the SXSW and Venture Capital crowd in Fiskers, Teslas and Hybrid SUV's; y los vatos locos in tricked out lowriders with pneumatic suspension systems and illuminated wheel wells; and finally another group of just regular old traditional families out for dinner. But they all liked Tex-Mex food on the eastside on a Friday night, and Peggy pulled up to a crowded parking lto at a classic looking place right out of a location casting directors' notebook. To the untrained eye, it looked like the 'before' video from an episode of "Restaurant Impossible' except that at ten minutes to midnight more than two dozen people were lined up outside the door waiting for a table. My mom taught accounting classes for the hospitality management studnets at her junior college, and taught restaurant business rules of thumb to all us kids at the dinner table, so I knew that this kind of population pressure meant bar sales, a good per seat average, fast table turns, and solid profits.

"Oh, it smells wonderful!" Peggy exclaimed, after ducking her head inside the door to check the line inside. "The line is not bad compared to most weekends and the chalkboard says they still have cabrito! I guess the F1 crowd hasn't discovered this place yet."

Now she had my full attention. Cabrito, or barbequed kid goat, was one of my favorites, but restaurants seldom did it justice. I had it many times at my mom's friend's place down near Three Rivers. They butcher the young goat, marinate it in secret mixtures of wine or spirits, peppers, and onions, and then build a fire in a pit, wait until it burns down to mostly coals, and then wrap the goat in corn shucks (old school) or aluminum foil (new school) and bury it in the coals and ashes for at least twelve hours of slow cooking. Done right, it was moist, tender, and melted in your mouth. But most places managed to serve it overcooked, tough, and gamey. I told Peggy about it as we moved up in the line. She said she also had some fond memories of the place in south Texas, too, and patted my butt.

We finally made it up far enough in the line to get inside, and the interior was circa 1957, and classically decorated. Besides the paintings of Benito Jaurez, Cantinflas', and Flore' Sylvestre, there was even a framed and autographed photo of Mil Mascaras. It was flanked in the other place of highest honor by the ever venerable black velvet canvas rendering of JFK. Peggy pointed them out, and said "These were hung contemporaneously, with perfect provenance!" As we passed the cash register, the owner and founder sat behind the counter and eyed the line carefully, checking people out as they paid their tabs, and probably estimating what the incoming orders would be to give a little feed forward data to the kitchen. Behind him on the wall was his honorable discharge from the US Army, just after the Korean War. Three of the four waiters looked like younger versions of him. Next to his DD214 form there was a giant calendar, with the restaurant's name and address, and on each page, a different but always busty and bare breasted Aztec princess, with erect nipples and dark eyes, and a prominent Mestizo nose, just about to either ravished by hordes of warriors or become a human sacrifice. I had seen calendars like this since I was about five, traveling with my father all over south and west Texas on sales trips, and perhaps this early erotica had jump started my always strong attraction to Latina beauties and other dark haired girls. I also realized that my actual experiences with them had not begun to live up to my adolescent fantasies and current expectations.

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