She was petite, with waist-length beautiful blonde hair. She had virtually no boobs, but after ogling her sweet butt, I couldn't care less. Workin... late one night, she made the first move by sliding up behind my chair and complimenting my work. We went out for a drink and she told me her long-term boyfriend wasn't treating her well. I played it cool, let her do the talking, but constantly thinking of her shapely ass in that tight skirt. Over the next couple weeks, I remained friendly but. Both of us kept up our maddening pace at school, sacrificing time together in the early years because we knew it would be returned to us when we were older. We somehow managed to keep our spirits high, to keep our love strong. The best part of those years were the nights after I'd returned from work, when I would find Nina just putting her studying aside, her body clad only in a long T-shirt. We always kept a bottle of cheap white wine in the refrigerator and we would often share a glass of it. As Carrie sat at her desk now her mind wandered away from the figures in front of her and back to the day before. Her prim little suit, high- collared white blouse and professional appearance did not betray the erectness of her nipples or the wetness between her legs as her mind drifted back to the previous day. One of her co-workers, a man she had been seeing regularly, stopped by her office shortly after lunch, laying a slip of paper on the edge of her desk, smiled with a question in his eyes. "I mean to ask, have you ever spoken with the other white women - or girls - about our... sexual habits?" June looked up at Magarshi. "Yes, I've heard that, ah, a few of the white wives have black men as their lovers," she said, trying not to betray the apprehension she was beginning to feel. Magarshi's laugh was deep and guttural, filling the small room. He brought his big hands together slowly in front of him, the fingertips just touching. "Well, let me tell you something," he said. "Over.