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dizzy smile, and opened the elevator door. "Well, thanks again ... see you around! Maybe I'll buzz you next weekend, okay?" Without a backward look, she left me, throbbing there in the lobby. The taxi driver probably noticed me panting like a dog, and left me to my own bemused reverie. Needless to say when I reached my apartment, it took just a few tortured seconds until my penis, truly hard, was spurting a burning load over my bathroom floor. I slept fitfully that night, to say the least. My imagination worked overtime, as did my right hand. Thank God for Jergen's Lotion - the next morning, my room smelled like a cherry! I was so wrung out, I took the day off from work.

Zarah - part II - Zarah's Office

Several days passed while I tried to digest what had happened to me that night. I had been excited almost out of my mind, and this much intensity had to have a reason. I was bewildered, and questioned my masculinity. I felt as if I were a real sicko to get that turned on by someone else's helplessness ... and even worse when I remembered my own willingness to give up self-control! And through it all, the calm, intense face of Zarah remained in my mind as if it had been burned there. I felt angry, that I had been taken advantage of, and finally I summoned the nerve to visit the nightclub again, this time without Brenda. I arrived about at the end of Zarah's last show, and sent word backstage. My heart lurched again when the waitress led me back to that dressing room. Zarah was alone, this time in her street clothes. I felt almost physically ill with emotion. "James, come in, please!" urged Zarah in a concerned tone. "You are very pale ... is something wrong?" Still, I couldn't speak, I was so afraid that communication would begin to reforge that bond between us again. I hung my head in fear and shame, and did not meet her eyes. She handled it masterfully, rummaging around in her room, chatting idly to me about her audiences, packing up some things into drawers and cases, until she saw that I had recovered somewhat. "James," she began again, "you know that nothing can be mended until the damage has been examined. I feel sure I know the source of some of your discomfort, but my time tonight is short, and I think you're not quite ready yet. Why not visit me at my office tomorrow evening about 5:30?" She handed me a card which read

ZARAH BRADFORD, PHD CONSULTANT

and the address of a local motel. She looked at me intently for a moment, and said, "I have a suite there when I am residing in this city ... Yes, I think tomorrow at 5:30 will be perfect, we can spend some time together then. Please be prompt, won't you?" and ushered me outside. I saw her watching my car as I

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