
The 4-F Club, Part I
by Titslave

      About six months ago my bride Amy and I, in the mood
for risk taking, left the large consulting firm, Andersen
Consulting, and set up our own business.  We agreed that a
business partnership as well as a marital one was the way to
go. We targeted the human resources management market and
concentrated on diversity and harassment training for
managers.  We set up a home office in this suburban Chicago
community, with a handful of clients. 

      I first laid eyes on my lovely wife at a summer soire
in Lake Forest, Illinois, at a very fancy, lake front home
owned by a high ranking Andersen partner. I had been dating
actively but nothing clicked.  So I was standing around at
this somewhat casual event, chatting with a couple of tax
consultants who had just come over from Hewitt. It was while
one of them was raving about himself that I was struck - I
mean by lightning. I was pulled like a magnet to this late
twenty something, tall, very curvy goddess with short blonde
hair, big, penetrating brown eyes, and a stunning chest.
Her to-die-for large boobs - very round and full - were
perky for their size, almost pointing straight out, and
impossible to miss even under a loose fitting satin light
gray top.  She had long, shapely legs which she was showing
off with a short navy skirt and lace-up high heels. She was
talking to the host and his wife and stood sideways to me.
Not only did her chest bowl me over; her rump was very ,
stuck out saucily in back, and, as I was to learn, swayed
luciously when she walked.  Real competition for Jennifer
Lopez. I worked my way over to her, trembling.  I asked for
her number, wound up taking her home, and Amy was my wife
within three months.

      I am more of a knowledge person;  she has all the
magic and charisma. Amy is vivacious, and a gifted presenter
in front of groups. She dresses very fashionably. But in a
business setting she somewhat hides the breathtaking curves
of her body. Typically her professional wardrobe includes
jackets because of her quite ample bust, and to play down
her somewhat big, round derriere.  She is all business at
these presentations.

      Having said that, I must add that a few things have
happened since we met that have made me think Amy was not
always on a professional woman wavelength.  I have kept most
of my discomfort inside. I was crazy about her and convinced
myself that these occasional moments were minor.  The thing
is that, despite her abhorrence of stereotypes about women,
she isn't above some showing off to get what she wants.
Like I say, she generally dresses- and conducts herself - to
avoid calling attention to her breasts.  

      Last November I gave her a ride to traffic court for a
speeding violation. When her case was called she stood up
and, after sitting there for an hour, picked this moment to
take off her puffy, loose-fitting winter coat. To my
surprise she was wearing a skin tight brown sweater and
under it (as she explained later) a push-up brassiere.  She
had selected painted-on slacks for the occasion. The sound
of her high heels resonated in the quieting court room.  She
had on dazzling ear-rings and she had just applied some
glossy lipstick in the parking lot. She walked slowly up the
aisle and stepped up before the graying, bespectacled male
judge.  Her sweater made her look twice as stacked as usual.
She used this sexy voice - a voice that was new to me. The
judge's handling of the previous thirty defendants we had
sat through was quite rushed and bored - and unforgiving if
the citation was for a third speeding ticket. But even
though she already had two moving violations, he lit up like
a fly when Amy stood before him -  and he even said to the
husky looking man posted in the courtroom to keep order:
"Bailiff, can you imagine what we would get done if every
defendant who appeared in this courtroom was this sexy?"
The bailiff smiled and she smiled at him, arching her back.
Keep in mind there was a courtroom full of people, mostly
guys, and all eyes front - on Amy.

      The judge looked down at her, smiling, and furtively
glanced, wide-eyed, at her chest. Then he said, looking
again, this time for longer: "Nothing. We'd get nothing
done......Pay the court costs, no fine. You're on
probation."  The assistant city attorney, a young woman, was
puzzled.  "Judge, this is her third violation in four
months."  "It is such a pleasure to have a glamorous young
lady like yourself in my courtroom," the judge said to Amy -
or rather, Amy's breasts - ignoring the attorney.  "And I
would love to see you again," the judge continued, "but not
for another violation, OK?"   Amy stood up real straight and
said: "Thank you, your honor," smiling slightly. I could
make out her nipples under the sweater after she said it and
she had turned and come over to where I was sitting.

      "Well I see we're not above female charms to get the
job done," I half joked. We left the court house and headed
for my car.  I was disturbed to see her looking and acting
like this in front of another man - any man.  "One should
always look one's best in court," she said absently, her
cheeks red.  "Does that include showing off your body, not
that that particular, generous part of your anatomy needs to
be emphasized?" I chuckled sardonically as we drove out of
the parking lot.  "It worked," she said smugly, opening her
coat and looking down at her chest, "it always works." 

      Last Fall we went to an outdoor hotel pool on our
first training trip together, out in LA. She wore a yellow
and blue pattern bikini, quite daringly cut. Over it she was
wearing a terricloth robe.  As we showed our room swipe card
to the hotel staff guy sitting at a table at the entrance he
gestured toward wine we had brought from our room and said:
"Sorry, no alcohol in the pool area until five o'clock."  I
protested, complaining there was no logical reason for such
a restriction.  "It's the house rule," the 50-ish overweight
guy said firmly.  "Really?" she said.  "It's the rule," he
said.  She handed me her glass and walked closer to him,
saying, "Are you sure we can't?" She kept talking and slowly
undid the robe, then let it fall on the ground. "Well, they
don't like people to bring...." he stammered, his eyes
captivated by the sight of her bust, the bikini top's
triangular fabric covering little more than her nipples.
She leaned over to pick up the robe, putting a hand on hi
ulder as she did so, his face so much closer to her bosom.
For an instant I could have sworn she shook her tits
deliberately as she did this.   "Maybe an exception for me
and my husband?"  She sat on his table perpendicular to him,
so that her tanned hips and thighs covered paperwork he was
working on. Then she turned her upper body to face him and
leaned toward him.  I could not hear what she said, but
noticed him smiling as her hand caressed his face.  She got
up off the table and in we went, with our wine.  It was all
real casual for her.

      I didn't like this at all.  "Well, that's one way to
convince someone," I said, frowning.  "Worked better than
yours, stud," she said immediately, as if she had seen my
comment coming hours ago and had rehearsed her rebuttal.
Starting to read a book she said, "if this outfit looks
unacceptable to you I can change out of it."  "I am
uncomfortable with you using your body to get something," I
said.  "Would you be uncomfortable with your cock in my
mouth later?" she said.  This was not her usual way of
speaking.  "Well, of course not," I said. "Cause I know my
wearing this bikini is getting you hard, tit man."  Amy's
talking dirty was disarming and I dropped the subject - and
noticed how stiff I was in the crotch.

      She has done this kind of thing to get a table at a
restaurant, or to get a seat at a bar, and of course to make
an impression on clients or potential clients.  And once we
were out of cash when we came out of a restaurant and a
valet gave her the car back. For a tip, apparently, she
snaked her arm around the guy's neck - a very tall, athletic
Black guy - and kissed him on the lips. "Will that do?" she
said.  I stood there perplexed.  When we got in the car I
complained about it.  She smiled, her eyes looking through
me, and said: "He grabbed one of my tits."  I just stewed as
we pulled out.  She hit the brakes. "Want to go back and
beat him up?" she said, eyebrows arched.  "No," I said.  "He
really did," she said, eyes wider, examining me, "when I
French kissed him his big strong hand grabbed my tit."  Her
voice was deep, almost purring, as she were sexually
excited.    "No I don't want to beat him up."  She laughed:
"What would it take, both tits? What if he fucked me in the
ba at?  Would you just watch and complain?"  "Amy," I
protested, "just drive."  She chuckled and I switched the
subject to my ideas for a new seminar product we could sell.

      Two weeks ago we were on a state highway in a backed
up traffic situation caused by road work. She was driving on
this trip, and it was hot.  She had on a white blouse that
was tied in a knot just above her navel, leaving her middle
bare.  The traffic impediment was right in front of us, a
large bulldozer.  If it were to move, we (and the nine
million cars behind us) could get going. The two young,
construction worker type guys who were in the dozer had
gotten out and were walking around, oblivious to the
traffic.  She caught their attention and both walked over to
her window.  I got out on my side, stood and leaned on the
roof of our car and said to them assertively: "What's the
problem?  Can someone move that equipment out of the way?"
They glared at me and said: "Maybe."  I noticed them bending
and looking down into my wife's window and talking.  I
instantly felt an anxiety that would simmer every time she
acted overly friendly with men.  

      I slowly got back in the car and warily sat down, amid
laughter.   "So is it hot enough for you guys?" she said in
that bedroom voice she had employed at traffic court,
smiling and appreciating their lack of shirts and muscles
glistening with sweat.  All I could do was hear them and see
their chests and waists a foot away from the window.  "Yeah,
you?" one said, both of them responding to her affectionate
tone.  "Oh, yeah, I'm dying here."  "Well why don't you
unbutton that blouse?" the one said, "that'll cool off your
chest."  The other jumped in: "And you've got a hell of a
lot to cool off...."   "But if I cool off my chest, you'll
heat up," she grinned.  "You got that right," the other
said.  "Well," Amy said slowly, "my husband is here and I
don't think he would appreciate me opening my blouse."  They
leaned down and stuck their faces in the window and one
said, apologetically: "Oh yeah. Right."   I looked at them
and as they got back up, out of my view.  I stared at my
wife, l fearing that she would continue with this
flirtation.

      "But it is hot," she went on, doing a stretch, her
arms reaching behind her and resting on the seat, "and will
you guys move that thing if I unbutton myself?"  I panicked.
"Amy," I began.  "That sounds like a plan," one of them
said, "but is your husband against it?"   Amy smiled: "You
guys promise to move so we can get going?"  "Amy, we can
wait..." I said bluntly.  She was looking up at them, her
mouth now in a broad smile, and she slowly unbuttoned her
blouse.  She turned to me briefly and said, "did you say
something? I'm sorry..."  She kept looking at me almost
defiantly and pulled her blouse open, displaying a
provocative, black French weave bra.  She looked down at her
chest and then batted her eyes up at them. "That feels so
good," she smiled, her trim upper arms pushing her boobs
together. The sight of her deep cleavage was arresting.
"We'll move it right away," the one said, coughing and
elbowing his buddy. But they didn't step back from the car
for a few moments, and kept staring.  Nobody said anything.

      I put my hand on her shoulder and convinced her to
button herself up.  "Show's over," the one guy said to the
other as they moved the dozer, but not before they smiled
long and hard at my wife.  I was so disturbed by it I
couldn't speak.  But she reached her hand into my lap and
jacked me off while we drove, saying: "You have to eat my
pussy, like now.  Wanna go down on me?"  Her hand felt so
wonderful on my dick that I would have done anything.  We
found a dead end country road and got in the back seat.  She
seemed feverish about cunnilingus and practically climaxed
within a minute after I buried my face in her groin.  What
was she so turned on about?  I felt strange about that
afternoon for several days.

      In fact these occasions should have made me hate her,
and want to leave her, but that feeling lasted a day or two.
For the long term, they seemed to plunge me into an enslaved
obsession with her - and a daily apprehension about when -
no longer if - she would do this again.  Her exhibiting that
extraordinary body with other men drove me crazy.  I hoped
that these were bumps on the road in an otherwise fantastic
relationship, and I chalked her flirtatiousness up to some
personality quirk.  We were focusing on our business, which
we hoped would be going gangbusters before long.

      One of our clients had us doing occasional classes in
front of mostly human resources managers.  Most of the
trainees were females, with a few older guys.  The pay was
OK but the work was not steady.  Then last month a new
client asked us if we wanted to handle something different.
Instead of the usual crowd of HR and personnel types or
middle managers, this national company was anxious to train
low level supervisors.   This client had had a spate of
discrimination and sexual harassment complaints and hired us
to do a two day session with their construction supervisors.
Our first assignment was with a dozen or so construction
site supervisors out in San Diego. We were enthusiastic -
this was going to pay well.  We would get much more of this
work if the managers liked us.  But there was a catch:
three of the alleged perpetrators were in the group we were
going to train.   "These guys are total animals," the client
told us. "Apparently if they see a woman they want to do,
they d ."  That bothered me, but Amy welcomed the challenge.

      With the other groups we had done diversity for a day
and a half and saved the harassment for the second
afternoon.  For harassment Amy and I had a set outline we
followed: the usual discussion about what the law said
harassment was, what policies the company had in place, how
to handle potential complaints about harassment, and then
role plays.  She and I did several role plays: I acted the
male boss or co-worker part and she was the female
subordinate. Then we did the "how-to" of handling harassment
complaints at the supervisory level.  I wrote up a standard
agenda for the San Diego training.

      We got there the night before and, at the client's
insistence, actually met the three accused perpetrators over
drinks at the hotel.  They didn't seem all that bad, or
intimidating: Darnell was a tall, powerful looking
African-American, very friendly and articulate; Bob was a
blonde man in his early twenties, a frequenter of a health
club, judging from his physique; and Red was a southern boy,
deep voiced, and although somewhat intimidating, he seemed
kind. He never smiled and stared at us with bright green
eyes.  They were rugged, plain talking, outdoors guys who
made you gab more to fill in the space because they only
said what was necessary.  

      They seemed to be expecting two dullards and were
obviously impressed with my wife - she really is a knockout
- and became increasingly animated as we chatted at the
hotel bar.  It was clear from what they said that most of
the trainees resented this program and at the same time were
paranoid about getting sued personally.  So these three kind
of walked on egg shells with us initially, cautious about
what we were going to present them for the next two days.
Darnell finally said: "I know we have charges against us for
harassment, but none of these girls can say they were
harassed.  They were horny and hot.  They were enthusiastic
about getting laid.  Then they whined about harassment."
The other two agreed. 

      Amy had on denim shorts and a sleeveless white blouse.
I noticed how frequently the three men stole looks at my
wife's chest and, when she went to the restroom, her rump.
She was so busty she could never hide it, but it was really
something as we sat there.  Her blouse always seemed to be
tucked in, and her shorts were tight on her hips.  The guys
not only checked her out openly but gave each other knowing
glances when they did so.  A top-heavy woman in a tank top
walked by and Darnell looked at Bob and Red and smiled. "Did
you see that tank top, gentlemen?"  Red smiled: "Healthy
girl."  Bob nodded toward my wife's chest and said, "but not
as healthy as Amy."   "Obviously," I laughed, wanting to
develop rapport with these people, but instantly worried
after I said it that I was helping something along here that
I did not want.  Bob laughed at me and said: "Your wife has
gotta be a charter member of the F Cup Club."

      I was very uncomfortable with this indirect but
obvious reference to my wife's breasts.  There was silence
for a second.  I was expecting Amy to react.  When I frowned
and raised my eyebrows, Darnell said to me: "Bob tells it
like it is. Pardon his candor."  Amy laughed: "A girl always
appreciates a compliment.  And my husband can't act too
indignant when he just told you I was obviously healthy.
Anyway, just don't forget to compliment me when this seminar
is over and you send in your evaluations to corporate."  I
said teasingly: "Compliment me too."   Talking over me, Bob
said: "That lady's tank top was stretched to the damn limit
but it would never, ever fit on you, Amy."  He rested his
elbows on the table, leaned forward and stared, his chin
sitting on his palms.  Red emptied his Sam Adams and
laughed: "Uh never. No fuckin' way."   

      Bob said: "Amy, you should know that the three of us
are in the 4-F club."  I laughed nervously, trying to regain
control. "I got the F Cup club, but what's 4-F?  Something
to do with construction?"  Red looked hard into my wife's
eyes and said, slowly: "Find 'em......feel 'em.......fuck
'em........ forget 'em!"  The three laughed, and so did my
wife. "My God!," she cried, "at least you're honest."  "4-F
club members go crazy over F cup clubbers," Bob said, "right
Red?"

      I spoke up. "Maybe we should keep this on a business
level."  Another pause, then Red said, his eyes on my wife's
top: "Well then, ask your wife why she's tucked her blouse
in about ten times since we sat down with y'all."  He looked
over at me with a challenging, direct look in his eyes.  She
just smiled, so I was relieved when the drink was over and
she and I retired to our room for the night.  "Three
complete babes. My my," she said, as we walked to the
elevator. "What was that about tucking in your blouse?" I
asked.  "It kept coming out," she said. "it's a problem for
girls in the F Cup Club."

      "You know," she said thoughtfully, as we began to
undress for bed, "we should spend most of our time on sexual
harassment for this program."  "What do you mean?" I asked,
"the client wanted equal emphasis on both topics."   "Trust
me," she said, an odd eagerness in her voice, "we should
absolutely get into it tomorrow afternoon. Right after
lunch"  I was surprised. "You mean diversity only gets a
morning?  We would have to redesign the whole course."  "I
can take the lead on it, if you want" she said, seeming
impatient with my reluctance.  I asked her how we would fill
the time and she said not to worry.  "This is our shot with
this new client, in case you forgot," she said, looking at
me unsmiling, unblinking. Her eyes were powerful when she
stared like that, real serious and determined.

      The conference room made available to us was more like
a large living room, arranged so that the twelve trainees
sat comfortably in four large couches arranged with two end
to end and one flanking them on each side.  For the fourth
side of the rectangle of this lay out we had a long table
running parallel with the two couches running end to end,
with a flip chart and a desk and chair set up to the right
of the desk for our role plays.  There was a bar, a terrace
in this third floor suite overlooking a golf course, and AV
equipment.

      I had gotten there early the first morning to set up
and Amy joined me later, saying she wanted to look her best.
By the time she showed up the couches were filled with the
supervisors, and they were engaged in buzzing, laughter, and
chit-chat.  She walked in wearing a long, navy dress that
hugged her fanny and legs very snugly.  She walked carefully
and in little steps because the dress was so snug -
inappropriately so, it struck me.  She wore a red jacket,
its lower half buttoned - up to a point directly beneath her
bustline.  Rather than downplay her breasts, she apparently
was wearing a bra that lifted and pushed them against the
jacket so that their round massiveness dominated her figure.
Her boobs dramatically pushed the top of her jacket
outwards.  I was worried that she might relax at some point
later and take her jacket off - it worried me a lot.  She
had on high heels that laced up above her ankles, more
make-up than usual, more jewelry than usual, and a strong
cologn t was unfamiliar.  She was a man killer, and within
two minutes of her arrival no one was talking.  She walked
over to Darnell and immediately gave a warm hello, and we
got started late because she took her time learning the
names of each of the twelve men.

      I was surprised at how hurriedly she wanted me to get
through diversity training. My eleventh hour appeal to take
it into the afternoon went nowhere.  I did almost all the
talking in the morning and a few of the fellows seemed to
fall asleep, literally. Those that were awake kept looking
at Amy.  She frequently sat on the arm of one of the couches
and, to my chagrin, called me on a couple of points and
interrupted me, telling me to drop large sections of our
outline.  The tone of her voice and her grimacing were scary
and knocked me off balance.  After a few of these instances,
that were beginning to embarrass me, she turned to the men
and said: "I gotta keep him in line."  They laughed;  I
cringed.

      Our mid morning break was strange.  Since I had done
95% of the speaking I had expected at least one question.
When none of the twelve came up to me I went to them to
connect with them and chat.  But almost immediately those
that did not dash off for a bathroom break or cigarette
break clustered around my wife, who was still sitting on the
arm of one of the couches.  Disappointed, I went to use a
stall in the men's room down the hall and listened,
unnervingly, to one of the attendees say to another as they
stood at two of the four occupied urinals: "This guy is kind
of a weasel, right?"   The other said: "He's terrible.  But
his wife sure has a chest. Holy Christ!"  I thought of the
others at the urinals and in the stalls, and who could
obviously hear this.   They both started chuckling lewdly,
and their voices became loud. "Wish she'd take that jacket
off, that top button is carrying quite a load" one said,
laughing. "Maybe she'll show those fuckin' watermelons as
part of the s r," the other said.  Then I heard a voice from
one of the other stalls: "You guys talkin' about the girl
speaker?"  One of the urinal guys said: "Chester, is that
you?"   "Yeah, and if we stay on this topic I'll be jackin'
off in here.  She's got the biggest set of tits I've ever
seen, and she knows it."  They all laughed again, the two
first guys leaving, and continuing on with comments about my
wife that I could not hear clearly.

      During the second half of the morning Amy sat with the
lap top in the corner and prepared something, then went to
the business services desk of the hotel to get some handouts
copied.  I continued, boring them to tears apparently. 

      After the morning session concluded Amy and I took a
lunch with Darnell, Bob and Red. Red suddenly began to be
talkative, so much so that I could not confront her about
the way she acted toward me in the morning session.  It also
prevented me from hearing the quiet banter back and forth
between my wife and Darnell and Bob. I did notice that she
had two martinis at lunch, a first. I worried how that
looked.

      At one o'clock sharp Amy began the harassment section.
The room fell abruptly to a hush - a tense one - the instant
she returned to the room from lunch.  Normally she did a
fifteen minute intro and I did the nuts and bolts on the law
of harassment to try to scare them into complying with it.
She stood in the center of the space in front of the couches
and went into the seductive voice.  "Gentlemen," she said,
"I know how after lunch an audience tends to go into
siesta-land.  But this is too important a topic so I'm going
to do this."   She ever so slowly unbuttoned her jacket,
giving them a wonderful view of the upper half of her body,
and held the jacket out for me to take from her, as if I
were her valet.  Her sleeveless dress above the waist was in
fact a skin tight tank top that had an Audrey Hepburn bateau
neck, and the look was a blonde Hepburn with a pair of huge
boobs.  They were really out there - very, very sizable. My
eyes followed the line of their jutting out, then familiar,
but still amazing, continued jutting out as my eyes traveled
down her chest.  I was stunned to see her bare midriff.
This was unprecedented.  Her skin looked fantastic, her
color was Bay Watch quality, and her curled bangs sat
perfectly on her brow.

      The effect on these guys was stupendous. There were
raised eyebrows.  Buzzing and snickers.  Fidgety legs and
intense, unblinking stares.  She sat up straight on the
seminar table in front and put her hands behind her.  With a
slit giving the material badly needed slack, the dress hiked
up above her knees as she crossed her legs.  With a slight
smile she looked around at their faces. "For the next two
days we're going to be taking a hard look at sex in the
workplace, and I need you to keep your eyes on me."

      The tension she had just created was like an E string.
One of them called out: "Hey, no problem!  This beats the
shit out of this morning's presentation!"   The group broke
into dam-bursting laughter, and she smiled, the leg crossed
over the other subtly, nervously rocking up and down.

      Next to her was a pitcher with ice water and several
glasses.  As it became quiet again she turned to me and said
officiously, "Could I have some water?"   I felt like
saying, "You can't reach the pitcher a foot to your left?"
but not wanting to display annoyance in front of the group I
reached to another pitcher nearer me and poured her a glass.
I felt the tension return as I walked over to her.  She
continued to look at the men and merely held out a hand to
take the water.  Not even a glance at me and no thank you.  

      For the next hour and a half Amy went on about the law
of sexual harassment.  It was uncanny how attentive the men
were.  "The conduct has to be unwelcome," she said several
times.  Then she passed out questionnaires that were a
surprise to me. "Please be as candid as possible when you
answer these.  You don't have to put your name down.  The
information you give will be helpful to tomorrow's session."
She had me pass out the forms and pencils.  

      While they filled out the questionnaire, begrudgingly,
I tried to talk to her. "What is this handout?"  She said
nothing and gave me a two page document that asked these and
related questions:

"2.When you encounter an attractive woman in the workplace,
do you feel like (check as applicable):
	
__ smiling at her? __ touching her arm or shoulder? __
looking her over? __ asking her out? __ hugging her? __
kissing her? __ touching her breasts? __ touching her
buttocks? __ having her give you oral sex? __ giving her
oral sex? __ having intercourse with her? __ having anal
intercourse? __ having a gang bang with her? __
participating in a "double penetration"?

3. When was the last time, in a work-related setting, you
encountered an attractive woman that aroused you sexually?
(check as applicable)

__ a year ago __ a month ago __ a week ago __ yesterday __
today

4. When you felt this arousal, did you do any of the things
in listed in number 2? If yes, describe what you did.  

5. If the answer is no, describe what you wanted to do to
this woman.

6. Check what it was about this woman that aroused you
sexually:
 
__ Blonde hair __ dark hair __ red hair __ small breasts __
average breasts __ large breasts __ very large breasts __
long legs __ small butt __ round, curvy butt __ sexy voice
__ flashy dresser __ OTHER:
	
      "Amy," I protested, "I don't understand this.  The
only work-related contact they could have had with a woman
'today' would have been with you!"  "Trust me," she said, a
serious look on her face, "now would you collect the answers
and do a breakdown for me?"  I felt like I was her lackey as
I began to do what she asked me to do.

      As she resumed talking about harassment in the
workplace I swallowed hard as I read the responses.  None
were signed.  As to the question of what they felt like
doing to a woman they found attractive, each one checked all
the entries and some wrote words to the effect:
"everything".  And to my dismay each guy checked "today"
when answering number 3.  To number 4 they each wrote
something like "not yet" or "I'm hopin'!"  One wrote: "Ready
when you are."  To number 5 I saw answers like "everything"
or "as much as you can take".  I was beginning to get
anxious.  So it was no surprise, but still unsettling, to
read each response to number 6 and find them identical:
"blonde hair... very large breasts.....round, curvy
butt...... long legs....... flashy dresser....... sexy
voice."
