Pricilla’s date with Roger had been fun. The two of them first spent an hour deeply engaged in thoughtful, stimulating conversation. Then they enjoyed Tai food and discussed the latest foreign films they both found intellectually challenging and fulfilling. It was a lovely, spirited evening of entertainment.

And Pricilla couldn’t have been more bored.

Not that she didn’t appreciate thoughtful, stimulating conversation and high culture. As a well-educated, refined young lady from Berkshire, England, she appreciated these things endlessly. But after seven months of dating Roger, she wanted more. Mostly she wanted to be fucked.

She craved the feverish urgency from an American man she’d been warned about when she left the UK. Just once she wanted a lustful glare from some husky man whose eyes couldn’t stop roaming across her body. Just once she wanted to abandon the dusty librarian persona she presented to the world. She wanted to be a wild, wanton harlot.

Roger seemed a likely candidate to release her inner harlot. This lean, boyishly handsome man appeared to be hiding an untamed brute beneath his wide-ride rimmed glasses and meek demeanor. But after seven months, he’d shown no trace of his inner brute.

“Would you like to come into my apartment for a cup of coffee or something?” Pricilla asked as they pulled up to her apartment building.

“Sure,” he answered.

Strolling from the car and into the apartment, Pricilla caught a glimpse of Roger’s sexy biceps. She had to stifle a moan.“ I had a really lovely evening, Roger,” she said, perching herself on the couch.

“Me too!” he said, joining her.

But something was missing. They smiled at each for several uncomfortable seconds, eyes darting, fingers tapping out a frantic tribal beat.

Maybe I should try the direct approach. Pricilla leaned back, stretched herself long across the couch. But the move only garnered more awkward stares. “So…” she purred.

Roger only smiled.

She smiled back again, reaching deep into her

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