A Sex Story (with no sex in it)
By Vinnie Tesla

Jenny walked down the road, her full, perfect breasts jiggling gently
under her silk tank-top, her dark, plump nipples pertly distorting the
fabric. Other pedestrians remained unaware of this exquisite drama due
to the heavy cotton sweater she wore over her shirt, which shielded
the exquisite movements of her rotund bubbies from the eyes of the
ordinary observer.

As she walked, one full, smooth thigh slid against the other, as her
full buttocks swayed bewitchingly. Her crinkly black pubes, compressed
by her underwear, hugged the voluptuous curves of her labia majora,
while bifurcating them rested the rosy and intricate hairless folds of
her labia minora. Above her panties rose a faint trail of fine black
hairs, reaching towards, but never quite attaining, the thrillingly
yonic vertical slit of her tiny navel. These wondrous mysteries were
likewise concealed in a pair of baggy corduroys, and attracted nary a
glance.

As she entered the convenience store, the bell jingled faintly, and
Biff, the strapping young clerk, entirely failed to look up from his
monster truck magazine. His thick, uncircumsized member remained
flaccid, a fact evident to anyone who was to glance (though no-one
did) at its shape, clearly outlined through his snug
bluejeans. Evidence of his capacity for volcanic lust and earthy wit
was, for the moment, completely absent from his lean, clean-shaven
face. The force of his gaze, the scrutiny of his pale, penetrating
gray eyes was turned indifferently to an article on new developments
in rustproofing.

Jenny found the items she desired--a Snickers bar and a small
coffee--and brought them to the counter. His peripheral vision
alerting him to the necessity of action, Biff deftly slid the magazine
onto the cigarette display case behind him, and surveyed her purchase
with a practiced eye.

"I don't need a bag," Jenny murmered, her voice a warm and husky alto,
her breath redolent of the pink moist interior passages of her throat
and mouth, her full lips parting slightly as she spoke, to reval her
glistening and agile tongue within.

Biff leaned over the register, his strong and nimble fingers flying
across the keyboard in skillful motion. "Dollar forty-seven," he
growled, his mind consumed with desire to resume the abandoned
article. She proffered two ones, and he made change, his calloused
hand hovering over her delicate one for a moment as he dropped two
quarters and three pennies into her sensitive palm.

"Thanks," she murmured, as she headed for the door.

"Have a good one" he urged her, turning his lean and muscular torso
toward the waiting magazine.

Brief though it was, this encounter would haunt both of them for the
ensuing half-hour, redolent as it was of chances missed, of
opportunities squandered. But they would never see each other again.