She was a little more mature than I'd first thought, at least eighteen, with straight shoulder length blonde hair and pale white skin. Her face was rather ordinary with icy blue eyes set in square Germanic features, pleasing but not spectacularly beautiful. She was fairly tall, probably 5' 10", and quietly muscular, with a tiny waist and flat stomach. Her breasts were the size and shape of half-baseballs.

The thin fabric of her purple tank top clung to her breasts as if sprayed on, clearly outlining her upturned nipples. The tank top ended just below her breasts, leaving her midriff bare. Her tight blue jeans rode low on her hips. In back, two symmetrical holes frayed into the fabric a few inches below her waist revealed tiny white patches of buttock.

My penis was already swelling as I imagined putting my hands and mouth on her lithe body. I doubted if she'd developed much sexual technique. She was at the age when she could please a boy simply by opening her muscular thighs and letting him into her tight young pussy.

Leaving the parking lot, she walked to the edge of the curb, spread her legs, tilted her hips, lifted her chin, inflated her chest and stuck her thumb out. Any man driving past that didn't get a hard-on at the sight was probably dead. I jumped into my sports car and pulled out into the street, stopping beside her. "Going north?" she asked.

"Sure am!" We both knew my answer would have been the same if she'd said she was going to China.

"Great!" She was grinning as she climbed into the passenger seat and gave me directions to her house. Her name was Tracy. As we were driving to the freeway, she mentioned she was finishing her freshman year in college. She looked so young I had trouble believing that, so I asked her a few questions about classes and quickly concluded she was telling the truth.

"So, what's your name?" Tracy asked. "Bob Johnson." "Cool!" she answered with a slight giggle. "This is a nice car," she said, leaning back luxuriously in the bucket seat. "I'll bet it's a real babe magnet."

Her eyes were wide, she was breathing hard and she couldn't seem to take her eyes off me.

Her gaze wandered from my face to my muscular arms and chest, down to my flat belly, lingered on the stiff fabric of the shorts concealing my crotch, checked my legs and moved back to my face.

"Bob, I just realized," she announced. "You're older than you look. Almost thirty." "But you're in really good shape . . . for an old guy," she continued.

"Ever heard 'Use it or lose it?'"

"Those are cute shorts," she said, eyeing the bulge in the fabric.

"It's just stiff cloth. They always look like that."

The index finger of her right hand was slowly circling her left nipple. "Yeah," she said huskily. "Turn right at the next corner. It's the fourth house on the left. You can park in the driveway. Dad's in Chicago until Friday and Mom works in San Antonio and only comes home on weekends."

"Mom and Dad are cool," Tracy added casually. "They arranged for me to get on birth control when I started dating boys."

"You want to come in?" she asked after we'd stopped. "I can fix you some ice tea or something."

I followed Tracy through a large living room dominated by a concert grand piano and into the kitchen. She stopped in the middle of the floor and turned to face me. "Should I take my top off now?" she asked directly. Her tone was neither playful nor angry and the expression on her face was neutral.

Halting about three feet away from her, I responded, "Why should I want you to do that?"

"So you can see my tits," she answered. "You've been looking at them every time you had the chance while you drove me here."

"They are beautiful tits," I admitted, "and it's hard to stop admiring them. But I'm more interested in your pants." She took another slow deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it out with a sigh. "Okay," she purred, smiling as she stepped toward me, "I DO want you . . . real bad."

She put her hands up to my cheeks, put her open mouth hard against my mouth, her body flat against my body. Tracy's tongue stroked mine. Her breasts were pressed so tightly against my chest I could feel her nipples hardening. Her loins ground against mine.

I slid my palms down to cup her buttocks, placing an index finger over each bare spot in her jeans. Her eyes snapped open and her pupils widened in surprise at my steady gaze.

She put both hands on my hips and pushed me a few inches away, just enough to put her hands between our bodies. She unzipped my shorts and reached inside. "No underwear," she muttered as she explored. "Oh God!" she exclaimed an instant later. "You're so big and hard!" She caressed me briefly, then withdrew her hand. My stiff member followed it out my fly and stood at attention for Tracy's inspection.

"That's a real monster," she gasped, staring admiringly. "I can't wait to see how much cream comes out of it."

"You're not going to see it shoot," I stated flatly. Tracy's gaze snapped up to my face. She regarded me with shocked eyes. "You're not going to see it," I repeated, pausing significantly. "You're going to feel it."