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looking like Claudia Shiffer


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Looking like Claudia Schiffer; M/f M/F m/F F/F by Ace It isn't always
easy. I never asked to look like this, and I don't want the credit or the
blame. I can't pretend that I never enjoyed the power and benefits that
come with the kind of beauty I carry; but I can also say that it hasn't
always made me happy. My life is dominated by it. It's impossible to
ignore, for me or for anyone else.

I first became aware of my overwhelming beauty when I was about 15 years
old. That was in 1989, when the real Claudia first made it big. When I
saw my own face staring at me from the cover of Elle magazine, I think my
heart just stopped for a moment. After that, it was impossible to live
through a whole day without someone remarking upon the similarity. I had
the face, that curl of the lips, those cheekbones, the eyes, and even the
hair; and that strange combination of the strong mature jaw combined with
the childish eyes and mouth. By the time I was 17, I also had the breasts.
I didn't like those big breasts I grew. I had been on the gymnastic team,
but after I grew those knockers, I had to give it up. They were
ridiculously oversized then, considerably larger than Claudia’s ever were.
Sometimes I hated the attention, other times I loved it. I couldn't walk
down the street without every head turning. I learned not smile back at
men; it often led to trouble. I had them camping outside my door.
Bothering my mother and stepfather, swearing undying love. They didn't
even know me, they just knew I looked like Claudia. Some of them were
twice my age. My virginity was such a prize that I still had it at 17 years
old; I was probably the only virgin in my school. I had barely even had a
date; the nice boys were intimidated by me, and I didn't want to go out
with any of the creeps who were constantly bothering me. I guess I was
frustrated, and I used to get it out of my system by what I now know to be
“Cock teasing”. It wasn't like I used to go flashing my naked breasts around or anything. I didn't have to, all I had to do was wear a nice
dress, a touch of makeup, some high heels and stockings, and smile. I
always made sure there were plenty of people around, and lots of daylight.
Good men would leave me alone, but the creeps were like flies on shit.
Creeps. Like Barry. Barry was one of the men I used to taunt subtly,
flashing him a secret little smile while walking past his house on a Sunday
afternoon. He lived down the street from us with his wife and 10-year-old
son. He was the kind of creep that thought all females should fall on their
back for him and his late model Porsche. Just one of many. Until I had
that little fender Bender with the damn Porsche. I didn't have my license
yet, so there was no insurance. I wasn't getting along very well with my
mother at that time [like so many adolescent girls], and I had taken her
car without asking. I was in real trouble. Naturally, I gave Barry my very
best imitation Claudia smile, as I had learned to do by then. But there
aren't many smiles that are worth 500 pounds. “Please,” I begged him,
“don't tell my parents… I'll make it up to you, I'll pay for the damage.”
Barry looked from me to his damaged car. “That's a serious amount of
damage, Claire. Do you have that kind of money?” “How much do you think it
is?” “It could be a thousand.” He guessed. The most money I had ever had
was about 50 pounds. He could've said a million and it wouldn't have
seemed like more to me. “Oh God! a thousand pounds?” There was an
uncomfortable moment of silence while Barry's beady little eyes enjoyed
themselves at my expense. “Well Claire, I'm really going to have to talk to
your parents about this. That is, unless…” “What?” “You know what,
Claire.” “What?” “You can stop with the innocent little girl routine.
You've only got one thing I want, and we both know what it is.” “Bloody
hell.” I said, looking away from him in frustration. But like I said, I was
the only 17-year-old virgin I knew. I was going to give it up one of these
days, just to get it over with. I hadn't decided with who yet, that was
all. So what if he was a creep? At least he probably would know what he
was doing. And it would get me out of this trouble I was in. “When and
where?” I asked him. “Right here right now.” He said. We were right
outside his house. “Jane and Julian are away for the weekend at my
in-laws.” He explained. “I have to go park my mother's car.” I told him.
“Go on.” He said, “And then you come straight back here.” I thought about
running away. But where would it get me? As I stepped out of my mother's
little Ford, he was standing at the foot of our drive. He turned and
walked back to his house, making sure that I was following. It wasn't so
bad. I had wanted my first time to be magical, I wanted to be in love, I'd
even fantasized of a virgin marriage. This was the grotty reality. He sat
next to me on his couch, and took my hand. “Now I don't want you to hate me
for this, Claire. You're a very beautiful girl, and it's not my fault that
I want you so badly. It's not my fault that you smashed my car either.
None the less, I want this to be nice for you, too. I know it's not a very
romantic way for a man and a woman to get together, Claire. But it doesn't
mean we can't be civilized about it all. Now I want you to relax, I want
you to try to just let all the tension flow out of you. Start by relaxing
your feet, then your legs, and then all the way up. That's the way.” I
closed my eyes and did as he instructed, and I found that he was stroking
my hands and forearms. And I found that I didn't mind; It was strangely
relaxing. I leaned my head back against the cushion, and closed my eyes. I
felt Barry's creepy lips touch my virgin mouth. Of course I had mixed
feelings; I was afraid and horrified, but I was also excited. He was a
man, my first man. I didn't have to worry about making the decision about
how far I was going to let him go; it was all already known. As far as
creeps go, Barry was a gentleman. He didn't pull my clothes off or go for
my young breasts for a while. He stroked my face and kissed me for a long
time. I became more and more relaxed, and despite myself, I have to admit
that I was actually enjoying his touch, at least a little. He stood after
awhile, and taking my hand, led me upstairs to his bedroom. I felt some
conflict at the sight of his wedding picture on the bureau. I stood still
as he slowly removed my clothes. His fingers traced across my sensitive
virgin flesh as he unhooked my bra, pulling the straps over my shoulders
and dropping it to the carpeted floor. I watched silently as he undressed
himself, waiting nervously for the first view of a live penis. I was
surprised at how big it was. Perhaps six inches by 1-1/2, and as stiff as
a piece of wood. Barry was not an unattractive man; he wasn't much taller
than me, and his hair was a bit thin. But he was well proportioned and
lean. Very gently, he embraced me. Standing in this married man’s bedroom,
I knew the naked embrace of a lover for the first time. His hard penis
pushed against the front of my thighs, my hard nipples ached at the touch
of his bare chest. His confident hands held me behind the shoulder blades
and at the small of my back, and he pulled our two bodies into contact and
kissed me gently. I was surprised to realize that I was looking forward to
feeling that hard masculine organ inside my young body. If he had asked me
right then if I wanted him to do it, I believe I would have actually said
“Yes”. He didn't ask, but he did do it. I lay on his bed passively, at
first, as his hands gently roamed across my body, as he kissed my breasts,
my belly, and my legs. I didn't resist him as he spread my virgin legs; I
waited with excitement as he lowered his head to my crotch. I can still
remember that thrill; the first time a tongue touched me there. Barry knew
what to do, and soon what few inhibitions I had had receded into the
background. It was horrible and wonderful for me as I felt a penis slide up
into my body for the first time. I suddenly had the feeling that there was
meant to be a penis there; my body was made to be penetrated by a man, to
be held and cherished. “Claire.” Barry whispered, “Claire, Claire, Claire.
You incredible gorgeous wonderful creature.” And he began. His confident
manly cock slid in out of my virgin body, ensuring my first experience
would not be a negative one. I had brought myself to orgasm before; I used
to masturbate all the time, to be honest. So I was surprised at how intense
the real thing was. And was again. My lover went stiff as he came, and I
felt the hot rush of male fluid into my body for the first time. I was
very aware of the dangerous nature of that fluid to me; I was frightened by
that danger, disgusted by the slime. Yet at the same time it was
exhilarating; my hormones were pumping, my juices were flowing, my body had
matured, it was time for this. I left quickly afterwards, leaving a
surprised Barry to figure out what to do with his blood stained sheet.

I was scared and confused for a while. I was sure everyone would be
able to tell at a glance that I was no longer a virgin. I was disgusted
with myself for what I had done; I should have never agreed to it, I should
have just faced the consequences of the accident. An older man, married with a child! Disgusting. Yet I wanted that feeling again; to be held and
loved, and yes, to be penetrated, to give and receive those wonderful
feelings. There was a boy whom I’d allowed take me out a couple of times; I
resolved that after the movie on Friday, he would have me. After all, He
deserved me if anyone did. But it just didn’t seem to work. He was fast
where he should have been slow; slow where he should have been fast. He
only just got it in before he came. I was left just as conflicted as I had
been the first time, but with frustration added.

Then Barry called me. “I’m going to drive into London tomorrow, Clair.
Would you like to come along?” How simple, how innocent. Just a drive into
the city. A middle aged man takes his 17 year old lover for a drive.
“Alright.” I told him. I entered his house through the back door, and sat
low in the car with a hat over my face as we drove off. “I’m glad you
agreed to come with me today.” He said. “I wasn’t doing anything.” I said,
“I was thinking I’d like to take you for a nice lunch.” “Ok.” We didn’t say
much for the rest of the drive. But I have to admit, I did like riding in
that Porsche. Barry took me into a clothes store; but not one like I’d ever
been into. There wasn’t much in there, just gorgeous dresses on
mannequins. “I’m looking for some really nice formal wear for my daughter.”
Barry told the saleswoman. It was like entering a new world for me as I
tried one outfit after another, a world that I’d only ever dreamed of. In
those dresses, I looked like the real Claudia; I was stunning, a world
class beauty. And I knew it, the saleswoman knew it, and Barry definitely
knew it. Several hours later, the small boot of the Porsche was packed with
several thousand pounds of designer wear, and I was walking into one of the
fanciest restaurants in London on Barry’s arm. I’d never felt like this;
so powerful, so wonderful. I was dressed like a fashion model in a daring
summer dress and high heels that made me taller than my date, and the best
looking woman in the place by a good margin. I was being admired by class,
and I loved it. We talked and ate as I soaked in the admiration of all who
could see me, throwing smiles about the stuffy old place liberally,
brightening up the day for a few lonely [but wealthy looking] men seated
nearby. “What do you plan to do, Claire?” Barry asked, “University?” “I
don’t know. I was thinking to study modeling… makeup and hair, you know.”
“Where?” “There’s Jocelyn’s hair and beauty near my house.” I said,
suddenly feeling foolish. “You should go to the top school here in London.”
I felt like a fish that had suddenly discovered water; this was the life
for me, first-class restaurants, designer clothes, and admiration. There
wasn't a woman there that wasn't dressed at least as well as I was, but
none of them had what I had. On the other hand, they were all wearing lots
of jewelry. As I continued to talk with Barry about the possibilities for
my future, I felt it all opening before me; I had been carrying the burden
of this face and figure for a couple of years already. Now it was time to
accept the benefits as well. That opulent expensive dress we had bought for
me left a lot of leg showing, and my overgrown adolescent breasts could not
be completely contained. I had never been so attractive, so overtly sexy,
and I was loving it. When Barry leaned his face close to mine, and asked me
quietly if he should take a room in the hotel upstairs, I couldn't refuse
him. The way he had gotten me into his bed the first time was utterly
despicable; yet aside from the initial coercion, he had treated me very
well. There was no coercion now. Just seduction. I wasn't seduced by his
body, or his face. It wouldn't be quite correct to say that I was seduced
by his money; but I was seduced by what his money was buying. The clothes,
the fantasy lifestyle. Later, as I relaxed naked on the hotel bed while my
lover worshiped my body as though I were a goddess, I thought; “Yes, I can
do this. I could live a life like this, and be loved like this. So what
if his body was not as pretty as it could be? He was absolutely mad for
me, and he’s treating me fine.” He kissed my feet, and sucked my toes.
Sensuously, his tongue worked its way up my calf, my thigh, and then into
my clit. It was nice, but he didn't linger there for long this time. He
ran his tongue up my flat young belly, up the curve of my left breast, and
kissed my nipple. He nuzzled my neck, and caressing my body with his
fingertips, kissed my mouth. I took his hard cock into my hand, enjoying
the feeling of potency, the complement of its emphatic arousal. But mostly,
I enjoyed the power I had over this man. I was just a middle class girl from the suburbs, from a broken home. Barry was willing to risk his
marriage and spend large sums of money to impress me, just so I would let
his poor old dick inside my body for a short time. Just so he could hold
me in his arms, loving me, enjoying the fantasy that he turned me on. It
wasn't completely fantasy; I was turned on, as I said. He made me come,
and it was wonderful. The orgasm released me from my guilt; if he made me
come, genuinely made me come, then I was not a whore. At least, that’s
what I told myself.

He phoned me again a week later; “I’m going to New York for a few days
on business. I was thinking you might like to come along.” “What would I
tell my mother?” “That’s your decision, Clair. If you want to come, you’ll
have to deal with it.” I did want to go. New York! The party city, movers
and shakers, glitz. I told my mother I was going to spend the week in
Glasgow with a girlfriend who’d left our neighborhood the year before.

I didn't quite understand at first what it was, this beauty thing. I've
put some effort into understanding it now. While most other mammals respond
primarily to scent, Homosapiens respond primarily to visual input. A male
is kind of block shaped; a female is curvaceous. Prominent breasts and
slim hips press a button in the male brain; “Female, fertile.” A smile from
the female presses the second button; “Mating display”. The male will
smile back involuntarily in response, initiating his own mating display.
The male will attempt to project whatever he thinks will be attractive to
the female; flex his shoulders, show a set of healthy dentures, display his
Porsche, credit card, and wallet. But with a figure like mine, with my
bright blue eyes, perfect teeth, clear skin and healthy blond hair, those
buttons are hit with a sledgehammer. The ridiculous breasts I had at 17
coupled with the incredible small hips [which I'm happy to say I still
have], tiny ass and long legs simply overwhelmed many males. Most them
would just enjoy the release of hormones and endorphins, and go on about
their business. But an unreasonably high proportion would just go ga ga.
Those ones would do anything for me, if they thought there was a reasonable
chance of seducing me, literally almost anything. Careers, families, civil
law all meant nothing to the poor idiots. As I said in the beginning of
this story, I didn't ask to look like this. No one consulted me. I can't
help it if I have an optimistic outlook on life, I can't help but smile
from time to time. It isn't necessarily a mating display. men please take

We flew Business class. Barry paid for my ticket that first time, but
his company paid for his. I felt like an American film star as the limo
driver held the door for me and I climbed into that huge American status
symbol on wheels. If only it had been Harrison Ford next to me instead of
Barry the machine tool executive. Still, I didn’t mind his touch, and I
enjoyed cuddling and kissing him during the ride into the city; making out
in a limousine, it was so exotic to me then. It’s difficult to describe the
exhilaration of it all; sweeping into the huge glittering lobby of that
hotel as if I owned the place, the diffidence of the staff adding to the
illusion. I was wearing one of the fabulous outfits Barry had bought me, a
padded aqua blue jacket over a matching skirt that didn’t descend too far.
The room was gorgeous, I was gorgeous, Barry was… well, he was ok. He took
me in his arms for a minute or two of nice snogging before heading off to
meet whoever it was he had to meet. It was a hot summer day, and I strolled
luxuriously down 5th avenue, walking boldly into shops that sold clothes
and jewelry an order of magnitude above what my anyone from my family could
have dreamed of owning. Even the women had to admire me, and one man offered to buy me a diamond. I smiled at him and said no thanks, as though
it would have been no big thing for me; but the episode left me excited, I
admit. There was something about New York that thrilled me; perhaps it was
just being so far from home for the first time, perhaps it was my
compromised situation, or maybe just that raw American energy I was
feeling; thousands of well dressed men and women, carrying their briefcases
and hurrying about their business. We had dinner in one of the hotel
restaurants with Barry’s customer. It was my job to look pretty as Barry
loosened Brian up before the sales pitch the next day. Looking pretty was
no problem, but I almost died of boredom from their shop-talk. I regretted
flirting with Brian when I felt his hand on my knee; I really didn’t know
what I should do, I didn’t want to blow the sale for Barry. I tried to
ignore it, and I was glad when Barry called it a night, as Brian’s hand was
creeping towards where it really shouldn’t have. Barry and I were pretty
worn out by the time we got upstairs to our room, and I was glad he didn’t
insist on sex when I told him I just wanted to sleep. Anyway, he screwed me
the next morning before heading off for his meetings. It was just strait
sex, and there isn’t a lot to say about it; but I remember that I liked it,
and I found myself happier with my situation afterwards. Barry made me
come once or twice, and I couldn’t help but feel warmer towards him when he
was through. It reduced the conflict I felt about being there with him.

I couldn’t resist the famous jewelry stores. Most people in them were
tourists and dreamers like me, admiring what we would never have. Well,
what they would never have. I already suspected I would have those
diamonds and pearls one day, and I wasn’t wrong. A man caught my eye.
There was something compelling in his gaze that I couldn’t quite put my
finger on. “My God, you’re beautiful.” He said, matter-of-factly, not
taking his eyes from my face. Somehow I appreciated anyone who could ignore
my oversized breasts for more than a few seconds. “Would you try these on
for me?” he asked me, indicating a pearl necklace and matching earrings in
a velvet lined box that was open on the glass counter in front of him. “I
want to buy them for my sister as a wedding gift.” He explained. I couldn’t
refuse; they were so lovely. “What’s your name?” he asked as he stood
behind me fixing the clasp of the necklace. “Claire.” I told him. I just
had to admire myself in the mirror with those pearls around my neck and in
my ears. It just made that small but huge difference to my look; suddenly
I had class. “Magnificent.” Said my new admirer. “I’ll take them.” He told
the salesman. I began to remove the ear studs, when he said; “Why don’t you
keep them on while I buy you lunch?” Kadir held my hand as we walked a
short distance to a nice restaurant down the block. I’d never felt so
confident, so sexy and wonderful as I did in my borrowed pearls. There was
something about him; he was just so amusing. We ate a light lunch, and
three hours slipped past as though they were minutes. Kadir rarely took
his eyes from mine, and often took my hand for a moment or two; and he
talked to me, and he listened to me, like no one ever had before. I was
quite taken, and with the charm he so obviously possessed he could have
easily had me that very afternoon. But he told me he had a flight to catch
to L.A., and he had to go to the airport. When I once more began to remove
the ear studs, he stopped me again. “No. Please keep them. Please. I
want to remember you wearing them.” “What about your sister?” I asked him.
“There are stores in Los Angeles. Don’t worry.” I gave him my phone number
in England before he kissed my hand and jumped in his cab. The experience
left me with a kind of happy glow; Kadir had been so charming, so nice, and
so generous; and he had wanted nothing from me. My faith in the goodness
of humanity was restored, a faith that had slipped away after my tits had
grown at 15. My naiveté did not last very long. We had dinner with Barry's
customer at the man's house. I can't remember his name; but I can remember
what he looked like. About Barry's age but about twice as heavy. I
remember that his wife was very attractive for a woman of her age. Either
she didn't notice that her husband couldn't keep his eyes off of me, or
pretended not to notice. I was used to it, of course, so I didn't think
much of it. I wasn't so mad as to let Barry know that a stranger had
bought me pearls, so I was feeling a bit inadequate in my schoolgirl’s
costume jewelry. The house was huge and opulent; I hadn't ever been in a
place like this before, and when our host asked me if I'd like to be shown
around, I took his offer at face value. As Barry had insisted, I had told
my host and hostess and I was 22; Barry said he could just about get away
with having a 22-year-old mistress. Anyway, my host showed me his study;
and he offered me some cocaine. “You've never tried it?” He asked. “No.” I
replied. “Well, it's time you did.” He said, “It's what the In crowd does.”
I knew that what he had said was true. I had never taken anything stronger
than wine before, but I so wanted to be one of the fancy people. I decided
to try it. I remember he offered me a small silver tube with a kind of ball
at one end that fitted comfortably into the nostril; the white crystals
burned my nose and made my eyes water. Then the rush came. It wasn't that
I couldn't see or hear; it was just that I didn't care much about what I
saw and heard. I was completely involved in my own self, at what was
happening inside my brain. Somewhere, I knew that I was being pushed down
over the desk, my dress lifted and my panties lowered. I just didn't care.
The chubby man pushed his penis into me without much ceremony. That wasn't
right; it was rape or something. I wasn't sure what I should do; I knew
that this sale was very important to Barry, and I didn't want to blow it
for him. But then I realized that this was completely out of order, and I
really should start struggling and complaining. I wondered if I should
scream; or perhaps I should just quietly resist, and try to disengage
without making a scene. But while I was still trying to figure things out
in my stoned daze, I felt the pulsing of his orgasm; the sometimes welcome,
sometimes disgusting feeling of being injected with warm slimy semen. “Oh
yes, oh baby, that was great, Claire!” He said, pulling out with a plop and
putting away his sticky penis. I just lay there, still confused as he
pulled my panties back up again, and dropped my dress down over my shame.
He put his arm around my waist as I stood up, and led me toward the door.
“Now be careful what you say in front of my wife, Claire. How long are you
going to be in town? We could get together again sometime perhaps. I
could keep Barry hanging on for a day or two…” I was absolutely stunned. I
wasn't sure if I'd been raped, but my possible rapist didn't even seemed
notice the difference between a willing and an unwilling woman. The
residual effects of the drug didn't leave me for some hours. I was awake
in bed late into the night, trying to make sense of it all with Barry
snoring beside me. It was a difficult game I played for the next couple of
days, one that I would eventually become good at. I flirted and stayed
pleasant, while carefully avoiding being alone with my chubby new devotee.
I managed to hold out until he had agreed to sign; but the man was clever,
I suppose that's why he was where he was. He agreed to the deal in his
office, and somehow managed to send Barry back to the hotel for an hour to
rewrite the contract, while I stayed with him. There was no way to avoid
the situation. I'd been flirting with him and stringing him along until
Barry would be able to make the sale. I didn't think it would come to
this, but here it was. I tried to stay calm as he took my shoulders in his
hands, and kissed me with my back literally and figuratively against the
wall. Well, I thought, I suppose it's more courteous than just pushing me
over and sticking it in. I knew this sale was very important to Barry. I
didn’t love him, but I felt I owed him some loyalty [although looking back
on it now I don’t know why]. And what the hell, I’d already been polluted
by this man, so it didn’t seem to make much difference if I just let it
happen again, I told myself as he held me tightly, fondled my ass, and
repeatedly violated by mouth with his tongue. “Shall I make us a couple of
lines, Claire?” I almost agreed. I hadn't been very happy with my first
cocaine experience, but I thought that if I snorted it again I would be
able to let him screw me without much bother. And as a young English girl,
I was brought up to abhor conflict and bother. “No thank you.” I answered
him. “Really?” He said, “Most girls just can't resist. It's really great
for sex you know.” I surrendered myself to his attentions, and let him run
his hands over my body. He seemed to really enjoy himself, and took his
time. He enjoyed kissing and biting my neck and shoulders, and of course
fondling my big adolescent tits. I did nothing to encourage him, but I
didn't resist as he undressed me. He was fairly well endowed, I remember.
It was really a shame about his weight, or it might not have been very
disagreeable. He laid me down on his coffee table, face up, and kissed me,
fingered my vagina, and sucked my nipples before he fucked me. Once more,
he didn't seem to notice my lack of passion. “It’s much better like this,
don’t you think?” he said, “You’re such a pretty girl, Claire.” What an odd
position to find myself in, I thought to myself; in a flash office in New
York, perched naked on a desk while a strange man had his way with me. And
even more odd; how was it that I didn't mind very much? Did I really want
sex with older married men? Perhaps I did, I thought, perhaps that's what
this was all about; perhaps I subconsciously had wanted this to happen.
The incessant pounding at my almost innocent vagina didn't seem so
abhorrent anymore; my lover's grip on my young body was all right. I
thought perhaps I might have an orgasm; but then he came hard, holding me
tightly, before I was satisfied. I had time to touch up my makeup and brush
my hair before Barry returned, and they signed the five million dollar
contract. I didn't learn until years later that Barry knew damned well
what his customer’s intentions were when he left me alone there. And that
Barry earned a 5% commission on the sale. I don’t know if Barry knew that
I had actually gone all the way with his customer for him; but he was
willing to ignore anything that would have compromised his big sale.

My mother didn't make much fuss when I moved out and into a nice little
flat in London that Barry got for me. I realize now how hard it must've
been for her. My mother had been a beauty herself, but like nearly every
woman alive, she was inevitably eclipsed by me. My stepfather’s eyes were
always on me when he thought nobody was noticing. I was used to that, it
was normal to me. But of course, for my mother it must've been hell. The
company that Barry worked for sold specialized manufacturing machinery. It
was a small company that sold small quantities of a very expensive item.
Barry was one of only two salespeople, and he had to travel extensively. I
nearly always accompanied him. I loved the luxury fantasy life of the
hotels we stayed in, the restaurants that we ate at. It was my job to flirt
with the customers. I didn't actually screw any of them again [except
once], but by looking gorgeous and opulent, blasting the poor helpless
fellows with my irresistible appearance, I gave Barry the edge he seemed to
need to gain customer confidence and close the sale. It's a strange thing,
but it's clear that human beings will trust a beautiful healthy person much
more readily than an ugly or unhealthy person. If I smiled at a man and
told him the Martians had just landed, I think he would just believe me,
remaining completely unaware that his brain had turned to testosterone
pickled mush. Sexually, Barry was all right. He was always attentive, and
his dick never failed. There was a certain spark that was missing, but as
I had never yet experienced that spark, I was blissfully unaware of it. I
was very lonely. There were four other apartments in the building I was
staying in, but somehow I never became very friendly with my neighbors.
The women were afraid of me, and I suppose the men were intimidated. I was
a kept woman, the mistress of an older wealthy man, and I'm sure everyone
knew it. Barry used to turn up in that damned Porsche and spend the night.
But there was one neighbor that I got to know better; a very handsome young man of East Indian origin. His name was Alex, and he was 15 years old. I
don't want you to think that I saw this gorgeous young hunk walking by and
just dragged him into my bed. We were friends for at least six months
before anything physical went on between the two of us. He used to stop by
after school, at first for a minute or two, and then for a cup of tea.
Somehow, I had missed my youth. I was only 18 years old and I was only
meeting and talking to much older people. Alex was like a breath of fresh
air. He had several brothers and sisters, and he liked the peace and quiet
at my place. He used to do his homework at my desk, and then we'd watch a
little tv or something. It was completely innocent, at first. We had been
watching something on tv in which a boy was going to possibly lose his
virginity; “What about you, Alex?” I asked my young friend suddenly, before
rational thought would have prevented me. “Has that happened to you yet?”
“No.” My poor friend stammered, embarrassed. I had never even thought about
it. He was like a kid brother to me, someone to care for. Suddenly I was
wondering what he would look like without his clothes. What it would be
like to hold him tightly against my body, what his tongue would feel like
in my mouth, what the sensation would be like, what emotions would be
induced by his young black hands against my pale flesh. It was wicked, so
deliciously wicked. I had never promised any commitment to Barry. He was
a married man, he didn't deserve fidelity. I remembered that fat customer I
had let screw me almost a year earlier. I had let him do it to me almost
for nothing, he had never deserved me. He hadn't even been nice. But
Alex… Alex was sweet, Alex was fine. Alex's young brown cheek was silky
smooth against my fingertips, his lips called to mine. His mouth was
sweeter than I could have imagined. His firm grip on my slim waist spoke
of a confidence that didn't seem to appear on his face. He was so
completely different, so utterly wonderful. and I was in charge, it was my
turn to be dominant. We proceeded at the pace that I chose to set. Indeed,
all I really wanted to do was hold him and kiss him at first. But then I
wanted more, and more. It goes without saying that my young friend was
more than willing. Although he was a virgin, although he was so very young,
Alex was already a very sensual person. His touch was gentle but firm, the
feel of his skin against mine was probably the most agreeable sensation I
had ever experienced in my life. Alex was black, very black. It was
something that had always frightened me, but with Alex it just added to the
allure. And his cock; it was big. Very big. It was a strange sight on
someone so young. At the time, I thought it was because he was black;
we've all heard about those huge black dicks. But I’ve been with several
black men since that time, and I'm sorry to say that none of them could
measure up to my young friend Alex. I took his wonderful young organ in my
hand; it was so hot, so firm, so wonderfully dark in my white fingers. The
wonder and delight on his face was magnificent to see; it made me hotter
and hotter for him. We worked together, carefully inserting his wonderful
manhood into my excited body. It was a moment so wonderfully sensual, so
filled with tension and pleasure; I was sitting on his lap on the couch in
my sitting room, holding his dark face between my palms, as we shared this
wonderful first time together, when my young lover exploded. We hadn't even
been doing it yet, but I had been on the edge, and the sensation of that
flood of hot virgin come took me over the point of no return, and I felt
those lovely waves of warm pleasure caressing my body. We made love for
hours that first time, and it was lovely. Alex was insatiable,
unstoppable. I remember being pinned below his powerful thrusting body for
what seemed like an eternity; a blissfully eternity of joy and orgasms, his
powerful young black penis causing shockwaves to ripple upwards through my
abdomen. By the time he came again, I thought I loved him. I didn't of
course, but the illusion was nice.

For the next couple of years I lived like that. Alex spent most nights
at my flat, unless Barry was in town. Space was tight upstairs where Alex
lived with his family, and his parents were very progressive types. They
were happy for their son to spend time with me, and I made sure he did his
homework and got to school on time in the morning. I didn't have much to
do. I would've liked to have a job, but Barry always wanted me to be
available to travel with him. We went on foreign trips at least once a
month, usually for a week or so. I took lessons in various forms of dance,
which I enjoyed. It was also very useful when someone [usually a customer]
would ask me to dance in one of those fancy hotels I always stayed in with
Barry. I studied makeup and hair, and I spent as much time as I could
swimming laps at the local pool during “lady’s” hours; I could lose myself
then, not feeling the eyes of hungry men or even the weight of my swollen
breasts. I suppose it sounds like I had all; Barry to pay the bills, and
Alex to satisfy me physically. But that's not how I felt. I felt a
certain emptiness inside; despite the pleasure of the first-class hotels
and restaurants I was treated to during my trips with Barry, and the
wonderful physique and love that Alex showered upon me, I didn't feel
fulfilled. There was no challenge in my life, and ultimately no future in
this lifestyle. I tried to get some modeling work, but I was told that
looking like Claudia Schiffer didn't make me Claudia Schiffer. In fact,
looking so much like a specific supermodel was not actually an advantage. I
would only ever be known as a Claudia look alike. I could have gotten some
good money posing for men's magazines. But I didn't want to do that, I
felt that I would be betraying Claudia. We shared a face, the face she had
made famous. Claudia doesn't do nudes, and as long as that's the case,
neither shall I. I did once get a job as Claudia's double. I got to wear
her clothes and get whisked from a hotel in a limousine while she snuck out
the back. It was completely wonderful; I was in seventh heaven for those
few moments in the lobby, while cameras flashed and I was a star. I never
even got to meet the real Claudia. I changed out of her dress, and
returned to my wretched life. My relationship with Barry was a strange
one. Sometimes, I wasn't sure if he liked me at all. I turned him on of
course, but I think he was feeling guilty about cheating on his wife.
Still, he always insisted I come with him on his sales trips. He said I
brought him good luck. The truth is, it was more than luck; if I was
sitting at the table in one of my designer dresses and my pearls, smiling
at a man from time to time, then he was happy to sit and listen to Barry's
sales pitch. The product was a good one, so the sales pitch was usually
quite effective. Then I'd often dance with the customer while Barry
pretended to do something important with the paperwork. I quite enjoyed it
all, even when they would hold me tight during slow numbers.

I made a party for Alex's 17th birthday at my flat. He got to invite
all his friends over and show me off; I put on one of my most expensive
outfits that I normally only wore while with Barry on the sales trips. A
powder blue Dior jacket and short skirt, heels and stockings, makeup and
accessories. The contrast between Alex and his school friends and myself
was just great fun, and we all enjoyed it. I played hostess and served
them all snacks, and then I changed into my belly dancing outfit and gave
them all a great show before sitting down on Alex's lap and giving him some
tongue. I have to admit that I never did get any good at belly dancing, but
on the rare occasions when I do dance for someone, it never fails to have
an effect! Naturally, everyone was very impressed that Alex had managed to
land such a prize as me. I changed back into more casual clothes, and we
all had a great evening chatting and laughing together. Most of them were
East Indian and black, like Alex; but there were one or two white people,
and an asian girl. The asian girl; her name was Sasha, and she was
ethnically Pakistani. I couldn't help but notice that her eyes always
seemed to follow me around. She had very pretty eyes. I believe that every
male has a little female in him; and every female a little male. I had
been so sexy that evening, more overtly sexy than I had ever been in my
life. She was turned on by me somehow. I didn't know then that she was
bisexual; I'm not sure that she knew herself. I sat and talked with her for
a long time. I really liked the girl, she had such a wonderful outlook on
life. And those wonderful huge dark eyes… Her hair was short, and very
thick and healthy. Her brown skin had an extra glow. I found myself
thinking that she would be a good girl for Alex. I was here being alluring
and sexy for him for his birthday, but for some time I had wanted to ease
out of our relationship. Alex was nice boy, and a good lover. But he
wasn't what I wanted; he wasn't quite on my level somehow. He just didn't
have the ambition that it would take to get ahead. The boys started
watching a football game, and Sasha and I sat in the kitchen talking and
flirting. I told her about Alex; what a fine lover he was, about his
endurance, and of course about his size. “But you’re so beautiful, Claire.
You could have any lover you want; you could have more than one!” I didn't
want to tell her about Barry. I did later, but I didn't want to right
then. I was embarrassed. We were leaning close together over the corner of
the kitchen table, speaking quietly of our secret little desires, of sex
and boys. I wasn't even aware at first that our knees were resting against
each other's; not until Sasha's little brown hand brushed across the back
of mine; until I noticed her finger tracing across my forearm in a way that
one girls finger does not normally trace over another's arm. The thought of
making love with her didn't come to my mind, not at first. But I found
myself excited by her touch, excited by the excitement in her young eyes; I
stroked her face with my fingers, and I felt a warm flush pass through my
body. Her lips were parted, gleaming with a hint of young saliva, inviting
me. Her short boyish hair somehow helped me lean forward, accepting the
invitation, the invitation to try the lips of a girl. We broke off after a
moment, neither of us sure what to do about it. “That was… nice.” I said.
My new girlfriend just smiled, unsure what to say. We continued chatting
easily, but something had changed subtly; the light touch of our knees no
longer seemed light. There was a certain extra something passing between
us. I liked Sasha a lot; I found her sexy, alluring, and exciting. But I
didn't think of myself as someone who could possibly make love to another
woman. I had enjoyed our kiss, and I tried to imagine the two of us
together naked; touching, feeling. The thought was not unattractive, but
then what? For me, sex without a penis was like trying to eat without
food. Don't get me wrong, I love the touchy feely forplay; but then I want
a good, hard, masculine organ to get in there and do what needs doing.
Sasha's cute little tongue just wasn't going to do the trick. At least,
that's what I thought. It turned out that I was wrong. When their football
game ended, the boys went down to the pub. Sasha and I did the washing up,
and then found ourselves cuddling together on the couch. I still had this
funny idea that I just wanted to set her up with Alex; I had been telling
her of his many virtues. But before long, our conversation had ceased as
our mouths found other things to do. I suppose somewhere in my mind, I
must've known what I was doing. But it was subconscious, below the
surface. In my conscious mind this was just a little experimental fun; just
a kiss, just another. Just the gentle caress of Sasha's fingers on my
breasts, just teasing her nipple with my lips. Slowly, gently, without much
bother, we were naked. Our thighs ground against each other's groins, our
breasts met as our tongues intertwined. Her milk coffee breasts were much
smaller than mine; but they were so new, so firm and pleasantly shaped. We
both started giggling as we toyed with each other, each taking turns
suckling at the other's breasts, enjoying these new sensations. And yet
still, still I didn't suspect how wonderful it would feel when Sasha's
little tongue would find my clitoris. I suppose it was largely the
excitement of a sensation so novel, so new. But her eyes shining at me so
brightly, her thick black hair between my fingers, her smooth brown cheeks
against my pale thighs were all so lovely. It wasn't the hot hard pounding
orgasm that Alex provided for me; not even the reliable but tepid one I
could expect from my sugar daddy, Barry. It was kind of warm and soft,
friendly and without the anticipation of the satisfying but threatening
injection of fluids that is the pleasure of men. I'm not very bisexual;
just a little, like I suppose most people are. It was a pleasant
experience, and I had no regrets. But I really felt the need of
masculinity, the smell and muscles of a man, the dominant energy and hard
penis. I tried making love with women a couple of times some years later; I
even allowed myself to be picked up by a real dike. I thought she had that
masculine energy I longed for, and I thought it would be fun to try my
little homosexuality experiment once again. She screwed me with a strap on
and everything, and it was a laugh, but I knew afterwards that I'm a lover
of men. I returned Sasha's sweet favor, and I enjoyed making her come. We
were still naked in each other's arms when Alex returned. It was awkward
for a few minutes, Alex had known Sasha since they were both preadolescent.
I invited Alex to join us in bed, an offer that I doubt any heterosexual
male could refuse. I wasn't really in the mood anymore; but I really wanted
Alex to screw Sasha. I really liked them both, but I needed to get rid of
them, really. Not right away, but eventually. It was great having Alex
between the two of us. He was so black and strong, so young and vital and
masculine. And of course, his big hard penis was what we had been missing
for the last couple of hours. I examined my heart as I watched my boyfriend
and my girlfriend kiss each other. There was jealously there, but not too
much. And there was joy, and satisfaction as well. They were both
beautiful, they deserved each other, I thought. I had no idea what kind of
trouble I was getting us all into. I was kind of shocked when Sasha opened
her mouth, and slowly lowered it over Alex's big black penis. I suppose
it's all really passe these days, and it’s something I've come to enjoy
now, but I had never done that. The thought of getting a mouthful of come
had always made me feel queasy. I held Sasha's pretty face in my hands, and
cuddled her while Alex gently penetrated her; while he made love to her
until the two of them climaxed before my eyes. Sasha and Alex both left me
to sleep in their own beds; Barry was picking me up early in the morning,
we were flying to Cologne for a trade convention. Alex knew about Barry,
but Barry didn't know about Alex. I didn't think he had any right to say
anything about it if he had known, but I preferred to keep my young lover
secret from him. I was 20 years old then, and I really cared very little
for Barry. I was bored of hearing about his troubles with his wife, I was
pissed off at every reminder of his comfortable life. I loved flying
business class and staying in first-class hotels, but the rest of the time
I lived in relative squalor, unable to even afford to wear the nice clothes
I kept reserved for traveling. I didn't particularly mind having sex with
him, but I wasn't all that eager either. I always got a bit excited by
putting on my “classy” outfits, and playing “Claudia” in airports and hotel
lobbies, so by the time he got me upstairs I'd always be fairly susceptible
to his salesmen's charm. I had learned to carefully apply makeup, to make
myself look about 10 years older. Barry was twenty years older than me,
and neither of us enjoyed the reactions we got, especially from customers.
By making myself look thirtyish, we were at least semi respectable.
Strangely to me, this didn't reduce the amount of attention I got from men at all; a 30-year-old woman with a 20-year-old body just seemed to be more
attractive to the poor testosterone powered creeps. We had one of the
machines that we sold set up at our stand at the convention, and I was
going to be handing out brochures and looking sexy. I was dressed to
attract company executives, with high heels and sheer stockings, a short
skirt and padded jacket that was opened to show a white blouse that
buttoned up to my neck demurely, but that did nothing to hide the generous
size of my breasts. I was used to being on show while traveling with Barry,
and it came quite naturally to me. I really enjoyed it, actually. I got
to play the tease in complete safety, and in those expensive outfits, I was
always treated with respect. Barry went off to check out the competition,
and I was left to look after the stand. I walked back and forth and smiled
and handed out brochures; someone started asking me technical questions.
He looked a bit surprised that I knew the answers. I was a bit surprised
myself, but then I had been doing this with Barry for several years. Soon I
had a crowd of admiring men around me, as I sat on our piece of industrial
machinery with my legs crossed and told them all why it was better than
what our competitors were selling. It was a kind of defining moment for me;
I was shining, I was a star. I wasn't Claudia, I was me. But I was
confident and in control of myself, I was probably going to sell 5 or $10
million worth of industrial machinery in the next day or two, and I was
loving it. And it was a moment that changed my life. Because Barry's boss
was there. I had met him once, but I didn't notice him standing on the edge
of my little crowd. They say sex sells. It seems to be true, even at the
level of multi-million dollar industrial machinery. Our product was
excellent, and our price competitive; but my looks definitely helped us get
the attention of the buyers away from the larger and more diverse companies
that were our competition.

I don't think it's my fault that Barry lost his job. His boss swore to
me that Barry was about to be fired anyway. I felt sorry for him at first,
but later I didn't regret anything. The fact was, I was doing half Barry's
work and getting hardly anything in return, unless you want to count sex as
payment. And it wasn't even very good sex.

I returned to London feeling triumphant and optimistic. It was my job
now, I was second salesperson for the firm, right behind our CEO. In
reality, I would be making most of the sales trips, and most of the sales.
With the salary and commission, soon it would be me driving the Porsche.
But first I had a few other problems to contend with.

young Alex was in a right state. “I don't know what to do, Claire.
Sasha's brother Ali is after me. He found out somehow that I'd been with
her.” “Take it easy, Alex. I'm sure it's not so bad. Every girl has a
brother or a dad who's going to get upset when she finds a lover. Everyone
has to learn to deal with it in the end.” “You don't understand, Claire.
Ali is the leader of a gang of Pakistani guys who dominate this area; they
have some kind of weird racial separatist agenda. He can't let me get away
with this. Now that he's heard about it, there's no way to stop him from
beating the shit out of me.” “Let's go down to the police station. We'll
figure out something.” “Forget it, Claire! Maybe that's what you would do
where you grew up, but around here we don't get the police involved. They
never do any good for any of us, and besides, if I talk to them about Ali,
I'd been even more trouble.” A Pakistani racial separatist in Britain; if
the very notion hadn't infuriated me, I'd have had to laugh. But it seemed
Ali was in charge of a group of young thugs who would retaliate against any
racial attacks by the white gangs in the area. I thought it was really
stupid of them to alienate the black community; of course, the whole thing
was stupid. But dangerous, nonetheless. I went to speak to this Ali
myself. After all, I was the one who had gotten Alex into this trouble. I
wonder if Sasha's brother knew that she had made love with me first.
Probably not, Sasha had confided in one of her girlfriends, who had then
told Ali about Alex; Sasha wouldn't have been so forthcoming about her
homosexual yearnings. I knocked on the gang leaders door on Sunday morning,
correctly guessing that I would find him alone. He was about my age, and
handsome. He looked momentarily surprised to see me; but the whole block
knew who I was, the girl who looks like Claudia Schiffer, and is often
picked up by an older man with a Porsche. And of course, most people knew
that my young black neighbor, Alex, was keeping me company on lonely the
nights in between. It was that kind of neighborhood. Ali couldn't help but
return my smile of greeting, and he let me inside. But then all of the
above went through his mind, and he did his best to scowl at me. “What do
you want?” He demanded. “I've come to talk to you about Alex.” I replied,
looking steadily into his dark eyes. “There's nothing to discuss. He has
dishonored my family, and he's going to pay for that.” “Oh come on, Ali!
Your sister is an adult, with her own will. She wasn't raped.” “How do you
know?” “Did she say she was?” “No. But that's not the point, the point is
that no man should dishonor my family, and that goes double for a nigger
doing it to my sister.” He was so livid, I thought smoke would come out of
his ears, and I wasn’t feeling totally calm, myself. “Because he's black,
or because it was your sister?” I asked him, skating on thin ice. “He
should keep to his own people. We should all keep to our own people.
Mixing black, brown, and white together brings trouble.” Ali said. His
little racist tirade infuriated me. Who was he to say who should love who?
It was bad enough that he was planning to do violence to a man his sister had chosen of her own free will; but now he seemed to be saying that my
relationship with Alex was also wrong. It may have been wrong, or may not
have been; but it was not for this young man to decide. “So you're saying
that if two young people feel attracted to each other, they should ignore
those feelings if they happen to be of different races?” “Yes, exactly.
God didn't mean for the races to mix; if he had, he wouldn't have created
us differently.” What a bastard, I thought. What a despicable asshole
racist bloody twit. “So for instance,” I said, “if I felt that I wanted
you, and you felt you wanted me, you would nonetheless say ‘No’.” “That's
right.” He replied. It's hard to explain why I did what I did then. I
think I was so angry, I wasn't thinking straight. I wanted to win this
argument, and I suppose I was just used to using my physical attributes. We
had been sitting on wooden chairs in his small kitchen, and I stood so that
my breasts were inches from his face, I looked down at him with my
irresistible blue eyes, the tangle of my blonde hair almost touching his
upturned brown face. “You're saying, Ali, that you would say no to me?”
“Yes.” He croaked, the sudden lack of conviction in his voice revealing the
lie. He was crumbling, and I wanted to obliterate this stupid idea of his
once and for all. I untucked my blouse from my trousers, lifting it up
over my breasts; I unhooked the front of my bra; slowly and deliberately, I
brushed one of my oversized white tits against Ali's brown face. He didn't
move, seemingly frozen in confusion. I suddenly realized what I was doing;
I didn't want to seduce Ali, I didn't want anything to do with him. I
hated him about as much as one could hate someone without actually knowing
them. I'd only wanted to demonstrate to him how ridiculous his convictions
were, I wanted to prove to him that he wouldn't be able to resist every
instinct in his being to satisfy his misplaced ideals. It was my turn to be
frozen in confusion. What had I'd done, why had I'd done it? Ali's lips
were brushing against my hardening nipple. His tongue circled, causing a
chill to run down my spine. His strong hands were on my slim hips, pulling
me down onto his lap. I had gone too far, I was in trouble now. What
should I do, how could I stop this? He looked up at me, his dark face
between my white breasts; a look of pure desire clearly written there. My
mouth was on his, but I don't know how it got there. Had one of his hands
pulled my head down to his face, or was it at my own instigation? A surge
of excitement and adrenaline flooded my body and brain. Ali's powerful
hands slid over my back and hips, tested the weight of my breasts, slid
across my ass and down my still clothed thigh. A gang leader; dangerous.
The alpha male; desirable. Violent, exciting, sexy, inescapable,
irresistible, bloody tasty. I held him by his short thick black hair, by
his cute brown ears, and I pushed my harlots tongue into his lovely mouth.
God, he was so wonderfully masculine. He wasn't like that white wimp
Barry, all cash and no flash, or even like sweet young Alex, my little boy toy. Ali was major. He sat me on the table, and my blouse was away,
followed by my bra. Ali's shirt came off, revealing his beautiful muscled
brown torso. His pants were open, his hard brown penis hot in my hands.
He kissed my shoulders and arms, my neck and breasts, my eyes and mouth.
I'd never felt this level of excitement, never. I wrapped my arms and legs
around him, I wanted to crush him with my desire; he laughed, and lifted me
onto his hips. He carried me to his bed. I needed to feel his cock in me,
I needed him to mate with me, dominate me with his overpowering male
energy. I needed to strip the rough edges from him with my femininity,
leave my mark on him and be marked by him. And his need for me was equally
urgent; yet we managed to resist for a while, reveling in the intoxicating
power of our primal desire, both of us betraying our ideals in a fit of
sheer brutal sexual need. It seemed like hours, days, years; finally, after
an eternity of tense excitement, of the most wonderful sensual touch play,
Ali rolled my willing body over; spread my long white legs apart; placed
the tip of his beautiful love tool at my waiting wet entrance. I think I
was coming before he was all the way inside; the power of this sex was
frightening, unprecedented. I looked into his handsome dark face,
mesmerized by his gorgeous brown eyes, his even teeth, his proud hook nose.
I hated him, I hated everything he stood for. This was horrible, how could
I be so attracted to someone so hateful? It was shameful, disgraceful,
appalling. My clitoris was pulsing as Ali's powerful brown penis
penetrated me again and again; I came, holding him tightly, crying softly
in his ear. And again. And again. I knew I shouldn't be enjoying this,
this wasn't the man for me; my man must be educated and wealthy, or at
least have very good prospects. I mixed with millionaire industrialists, I
was a big executive myself now; but there was no respite, no escape from
this wonderful feeling as my lover brutally drove me once more over the
edge. He was a powerful engine; a dynamo of sex, driving, pulsing,
touching, holding, penetrating. I couldn't resist him, his strength was
too much for me; I wanted it, I wanted him. When it was over, when my
hateful racist lover had finally flooded my waiting body with his seed,
neither of us knew what to do or say. We were both shocked at what we had
done; not that we had done it, but we had done it against our better
judgment. We had both lost control of our senses, succumbed to our baser
instincts. He didn't say anything to me, he barely looked at me as I
dressed and left.

I've never had sex like that again. I tried, I tried with Ali; but it
wasn't like it was the first time. I even gave him head, the first person
I ever did that for, but neither of us reached that level of ecstasy that
we had the first time. I did get him off that stupid racist trip, though.

I tried black men, asian men, old and young men. I tried women;
beautiful women, even ugly women. I tried to find someone that I really
despised, thinking perhaps that was what had made it so exciting with Ali;
I let myself get picked up by a biker. He was big and bearded and
tattooed. He smelled of beer as he fucked me, he swore a lot, and he was
perfectly hateful. He wasn't bad looking as a man, and it was exciting
once; but the second time, he did nothing for me.

Ali made an alliance with the black gang from the next street; he's a
community leader now, and he's thinking of running for City Council. Sasha
split up with Alex after a few years, and moved in with me. She cooks and
keeps house for me, and I keep trying to fix her up with perfectly good men that I don't want for myself, but so far nothing’s worked out. My breasts aren't as big as they were, but they still have excellent shape. I know it
may disappoint a lot of men, but I'm glad I don't have to carry those damn
things around with me anymore. I'm still bigger than Claudia, though.

I met Kadir again, the man who bought me my pearls those years ago.
He’s nice, he’s wealthy, and I like him. But in bed he hasn’t been able to
keep my interest; like the others, he excited to me greatly the first time
we made love, but was unable to excite me that much again. I managed to
get him into bed with Sasha, but I don't think it's going to last. I'm 26
years old. I have the body and face of a supermodel; last year I made half
a million British pounds in commissions and salary. Where on earth will I
find a match? How can I find a man who can satisfy me and is my equal?
Perhaps you’ll meet me one day; you’ll know me, I look like Claudia
Schiffer. Perhaps you’ll get lucky, and I’ll take you home; Perhaps you'll
even be the one. The one who can make me happy.

I’ve really enjoyed writing out the story of my life so far. perhaps
I'll write about some of my later love affairs in more detail someday, if
anyone's interested.

The rest of my stories are at;
and; [in plain text] This is
absolutely non commercial. but I sure do appreciate a little feedback!
Every week, there are one to two thousand downloads of my stories; and if
I’m lucky, I might receive one letter from a reader. Mail to;


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