This Girl is On Fire

She is the hottest woman I have ever known. Her body is so fine it should be listed in the Guinness Book of Records. If there were a Hall of Fame for tits, hers would be displayed there. If there were a gallery to exhibit great asses, hers would get top billing. I fell in love with her the first time I saw her, literally. I stepped back when I saw her and stepped right off the stage. I was so overwhelmed I backed right off the platform and almost broke my ass. People didn't notice me because they were too busy looking at her. We are probably lucky more people than me didn't back right off the stage.

She was the only one who noticed I had fallen off the platform, because she was the only one not looking at herself. She leaned over the edge and said, "Are you okay?" I was too embarrassed to answer and just gazed up at her, like the princess who just saw the footman with the glass slipper, she stared at me until I mumbled something about the first step being a doozy.

She smiled and held out her hand and I took it and actually giggled. I thought I had died in the fall and actually met my guardian angel. I should point out here that I am usually not very articulate around beautiful women with faces that give me wet dreams for weeks. Usually, I can't actually make cogent sentences. That is probably why I said, "Where did you from come?"

She just smiled and helped me up.

I knew her from seeing her around school. She played basketball at our community college and she does to basketball shorts what Charlize Theron does to a string bikini. She turns it into a masturbatory fantasy for horny marines and sex hungry college men. Did I mention she is the hottest woman I have ever known?

When I asked if she would like to go for coffee she looked at me as if to say, "I only have coffee after sex." She said, "Okay," which gave me weeks of jack off material. She said there was a Starbucks close, but I didn't tell her I was thinking more like in my bedroom. I settled for Starbucks and didn't even realize my drink was hot enough to melt lead and I drank it without pause.

I probably did permanent damage but didn't notice it until the next day. I actually must have made coherent sentences because she genuinely smiled and said nice things back. Like I said: "Are you real?"

"I am real glad you're not hurt," she said.

"Hurt?"

"When you fell off the stage."

"Stage?"

Our conversation went on like that and it's a wonder she didn't go running from the room screaming, "This is a crazy person. Quick, call the men in white coats." But she didn't and we actually had a second date. You call it a conversation at a bus stop. I call it a date. At the bus stop she asked me if I was the guy who fell off the stage.

I said, "Stage?"

The bus came, we got on, and even sat together. I was ready to call it a third date, but she took out a book and began reading. There went the third date. When she got off I was tempted to get off to, but then I'd have to pretend I was going somewhere and I could get lost. Our third date faded as the bus pulled away with her on the sidewalk.

When I carried my tray away from the cafeteria line, I looked up and saw her sitting alone with a tray in front of her at a table with plenty of seats. "Mind if I join you?" I asked as I slid into a seat before she had the chance to say no. "I am the guy from the... "

"Stage," she said, like it was an event on the best moments of the year list. "How is your head?" I wanted to say I had been practicing, but I just said it was fine. She smiled a glad-you-could-join-me smile and put her hand on my actual forearm. The forearm touch raised my pulse 20 beats and I looked down at her hand like it was a

100 dollar bill.

"You go to school here?" I managed to say.

"Yeah, and I play basketball," she said. It probably wouldn't have been good to say that I knew, that I had watched her practices, every one of them. It also probably would not have been good to say, which I almost did, that I loved her shorts. It would have meant that I loved the cute bottom and front the shorts covered up. I managed to hold myself in check and simply nodded at the basketball comment.

She said she was going to the library to study and I managed a, "Me too." She asked if I wanted to walk with her. A fourth date? I didn't speak, my tongue was tied, but I nodded and grinned like a raccoon eating bees. She gathered her books, carried her tray to the disposal rack, and turned to me. Have I mentioned that she is the hottest woman I have ever laid eyes on?

We walked side by side and I resisted the urge to take her hand. It took fifteen wonderful minutes to walk to the library and I hoped people thought we were a couple. Could this be a study date?

I made sure we "studied" at the same table, and for two hours I pretended to be reading. Out of the corner of my eye I watched her study and was disappointed when she finally closed her book.

"Got to go," she said. "I work at the bookstore," she said. "You going that way?"

"What a coincidence," I said. We walked side by side to the campus bookstore. Is this a fifth date, I wondered. Do you have sex on the fifth date? I left her at the door to the bookstore and turned to walk back the way I actually needed to go. I would have gone in with her, but I was already late for work, which I had chose to ignore to walk to the bookstore.

I made sure I "studied" again at the library, which I had only done once before in my whole college career, and I saw her there at the same table. Once again, sure enough, there was the girl of my dreams. "Oh, what a coincidence," I said. "Got to keep those grades up," I said, as if I ever really studied.

Instead of opening my book, I asked what she was studying. "Chemistry," she said. "You?"

"Geography," I said trying to come up with a subject as quick as I could, looking through my books to make sure I had a geography book. We forgot the books and began chatting. First thing, of course, was the weather, then I hit on a gold mine when I mentioned basketball.

Her eyes lit up and she clearly got excited. "That is my favorite thing to do," she said. "That and sex, of course." My antenna went up. I thought she just said she liked sex.

I almost said, "Come again?" Instead, I just looked like the celebrated deer in the headlights. She smiled at my moronic expression.

"I guess you don't hear a girl say that very often," she said.

"Not at all," I said. "I think a lot of girls like basketball."

She laughed and it was a beautiful laugh. "I love your sense of humor," she said. Better my sense of humor than my 'nothing,' which is what most girls liked about me. "Do you like it too?" she asked.

"Basketball?" I said.

"No, dummy, sex," she said laughing. I loved her laugh as much as I liked her view from behind.

"Oh," I said. "I can take it or leave it." She looked disappointed. "But I would much rather take it," I said. "Would you like to get coffee?" I said, forgetting everything about studying.

"I have to get to my second job," she said. "I work for the art department." I must have had a what-do-you-do-there look on my face because she quickly added, "I model. For the drawing classes. I am a nude model for the figure drawing classes."

Did I mention she is the hottest girl I have ever met? "You model nude?" is all I could say.

"Does that bother you?" she asked, the silliest of questions.

"Bother me? Oh, no," I said, imagining her posing in front of me. "How can I sign up? Is it too late for this quarter? You are a girl who likes sex and basketball, models naked, and works at a bookstore? Will you marry me?" I said, only half joking.

"What?" she said.

"Oh nothing. We have only had six dates," I said.

"What?" she repeated.

"Never mind. I just wanted to know if, after your modeling, if you'd like to get a bite to eat. You have to eat, right?"

She laughed that wonderful laugh again, the one I could listen to all night long, then she said, "I do have to eat. Would you like me to pick you up?"

Perfect," I said. "A girl who likes basketball and has a car.

What more could any guy ask for?" I said.

"And poses nude," she said, getting into the humorous spirit.

"And that too," I said.

"Give me your address and I will pick you up at what, seven?" she said, sporting that thousand watt smile. I wrote my address on a Habit Hamburger's recite and handed it to her.

"Be sure to make a lot of noise when you come. I don't want anyone missing that you are picking me up," I said. She looked confused but I winked and she realized my meaning.

"You want everyone to know you are going out with the girl who likes basketball, right?"

"Exactly," I said. I wanted to tell her I wanted everybody within three blocks to know I was being picked up by the hottest woman in the lower forty-eight, but I controlled myself and just felt it instead. I really did wonder if, while I wasn't looking, I actually did die and go to heaven. Other men dream of having this kind of luck. What had I done to deserve it?

I thought about printing up flyers that advertised that she was coming to pick me up and calling the tv news outlets. Probably overkill, right? She picked me up at 6:58 and I was seriously waiting at the window. I knew my roommates were watching as I got in her red Mazda Miata. Eat your hearts out, brothers.

We went to a fine restaurant and I actually picked up the check. I had to do everything I could to keep this woman interested. She ordered calamari and shrimp. How could it get any better? This woman was hot, she liked basketball, posing nude, having sex, and eating sea food. What could be more ideal?

I knew I had better marry this girl before the opportunity slips away. It was on our fourth actual date that she asked me if I wanted to stop at her house for snacks. I hope "snacks" was code for cowgirl, which she had let slip once that she loves.

Even though we both liked sex better than basketball, an assumption that was confirmed later, I still had not been physical with her yet. She was the Golden Fleece, the Macalister's Gold, King Solomon's Mines. She was the Treasure of the Sierras Madre, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, the person every guy dreams of.

When I followed her into her apartment, she began taking clothes off just inside the door. Having been comfortable being naked, she was nude before I could get my shirt unbuttoned. She pushed me to my back and climbed aboard in less time than it takes most people to undo their belt.

I slipped into her as easily as a warm poker slips into grease. I was moving in and out of her as she bounced above me. She put a hand on each of my hips to balance herself and continued jumping on me until she came with a rumble that rolled out of her like a thunderclap. She scooted up until her pussy was over my chin, then she mashed it on my lips, moving back and forth until my mouth was covered with pussy juice.

I drank, licked, sucked, and swallowed until I was ecstatic and she was ravenous. She must have come four times, screwed me from above, below, and from her knees with me behind her. I ate her like a wild man and fucked her as if my life depended on it.

On our tenth time together I asked her if she'd like to share an apartment. "I thought you would never asked," she said with a grin. "I really do like your sense of humor," she said. I didn't even mind that she didn't say, "dick, or "body", or the way you shoot baskets. Sense of humor was fine.

After we found an apartment without roommates, we moved in together and I found another reason to feel I am in heaven. Since she poses nude, likes being naked, she strolls around the house sans clothing and I get to see her bare body everyday, twenty-four seven. If it isn't enough to have a sex fiend girlfriend, I also have a naked one to look at all through every day.

Six months ago I asked her to make it permanent and we bought a license, paid the minister and took the vows. I am not sure why I am so lucky, but my favorite song right now is This Girl Is On Fire. Have I ever told you this girl is hotter than a boy scout's campfire. Mine really is a hot mama who I would not trade for a stack of Charlize Therons.