I studied that portrait thoroughly. She was a striking lady. Mixed race, with probably a lot of Columbian, or Porto Rican in her. Creamy skin with exo...ic features – high cheek bones and long straight black hair, big bold brown eyes and a generous smile that stretched across her face. But now, through their great big sliding glass doors, I had a clear view of everything. That lady in the portrait was no lady as she screamed with every thrust. She was a fucking fox. And I was glad to bare witness. "How did we get here so soon? I don't put out easily and don't allow third base access so quickly." She reached out and boldly clamped onto my groin, easily targeting my stiff, obvious dick. I managed not to lurch at her sudden touch. As she squeezed it and I scraped up and down her swollen labia, she added "Isn't it odd how easily we 'connected' over scars? I'm so oddly comfortable with you and never do this on a first date - certainly not in public." Yes. I feel like I've known you for ages.". What to wear’. pushing through the racks of clothing she stopped a minute to admire her favorite outfit. She had never worn it. It was an knee length Charcoal grey 1940’s pin up styled pencil dress and an suede electric blue pair of peep toe heels. When she bought the outfit it had cost her the equivalent of nearly two months of pay. Being that it was much more dramatic and attention grabbing than her normal style, she had never found an occasion to wear it. Instead leaving it in her closet. Wow. Just wow. Not wanting to beat around the bush now…I say: “Um, Amber. Why did you ask me to kiss you?” “Simple, I think I love you David. I think I always have. We are meant to be together, and if you really want to know what I want for my birthday it is to be with you…but I can’t.” Crap. “Why not?” I asked, hoping there is some simple fix to things. “Well, I am just not ready to be with a guy yet.” This was devastating. I called off the game and told her it was alright (which was a lie).