Crossing 45th Street with Eva. We’re friends. Close friends. Like me, Eva bats from both sides of the plate. Her words. Not mine. Eva’s a baseball nut. Unlike me, she’s hot. Early 20s. Looks younger. Pert and pixie. Eyes follow her tight little ass where...
Years ago, I registered for a weekend workshop called “Tantric Yoga for Women” at an Ashram in the Catskills. It’s the kind of silly thing a single academic sometimes does with her spare time. Only it wasn’t so silly, after all. There were about a dozen o...
By my 17th Birthday, I was on the verge of outgrowing my C-cup. When people thought I was out of ear-shot, I heard words like "well-endowed," "nubile" and "voluptuous." But appearances, as they say, can be deceiving. Between sports, a part-time job and ho...
The summer I turned 17, my family moved to a McMansion development called Quail Run. My new neighbor Henry -- whose window faced mine across a narrow strip of grass -- was legendary for his resemblance to a young Brad Pitt. Unfortunately for me, Henry was...
By High School I had developed more curves than Mulholland Drive, while Sarah never wore bra--or needed one. I was the one that all the boys hit on, but Sarah was the sexual adventurer. She was the first to let a boy reach third base--and reciprocate wit...
