Sweatshirt. And... “You’re not wearing a bra, darlin’,” he said. “You know what that does to my mind...”“You and your imagination, buddy...”“Look, darlin’, you’re a cute blonde college girl and I’m a middle-aged guy and YOU are the kind of stock from which fantasies are built.”“Smooth-talkin’ devil,” I said. My next kiss sort of explained things. “Bra’s an impediment. I feel natural like this.”“I feel something myself...”Maybe I shouldn’t be so forward, but hey, sometimes ... I reached down.. So I always went to her place or paid for a cheap hotel. I rarely used my real name and lied about where I worked. Maybe it was a bit paranoid of me, but I could see one of my sluts showing up where I worked and making a scene. Sometimes I would meet a woman who refused to admit her craving to be used like the cheap slut she was, but it happened so infrequently that I did little more than show my disdain for her before seducing another. I was addicted to finding and seducing women. I would. More

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