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Judy and Laurel were hugging, in another comically bizarre "Dear Diary"moment. When they finished, Judy sat down on the couch and Laureloffered me a cup of coffee. "No thanks Mrs. Simons," I replied. "I'd just like to figure out whathappened and how we get back to our own bodies." I'm afraid I don't have good news to report," she replied. "Mr. Finkleand I have been watching the television reports come in. There's a lotof confusion yet, but it seems as though something happened globally.People all over the world have suddenly traded bodies at random withother nearby people."I glanced at the muted television and two burly men in flannel shirtsand workbelts sitting behind an anchor desk. Probably the two newsanchors had swapped with cameramen or lighting technicians or some othernearby techies."What are we supposed to do?" I asked."Well, they're telling us all to remain calm of course," Laurel said."And everyone is supposed to return to his or her own life. In order tosort out all the. I did not want this to be a second-rate climax to what had been an Oscar-worthy performance. I wanted to torture her with a slow, agonizing entry. Just as fervently, I wanted to pummel her pussy with the full fury of my passion. I wondered too what she wanted. In the space of the few glorious hours I had known her, I could not claim to know her. The danger of these encounters is that you don’t get do overs. Try it this way once, and the next time we can try the other. There may be no next time. This was the championship, win or whack off. Adding to the pressure, the clock was ticking. I knew she had a return flight and I had no idea how long I had slept. Damn that post-coital sleep gene. The cure for that is the next Viagra. I made up my mind. Slow first because there was always the race to finish at the end. As I was deciding, she read my hesitation and confirmed with soft encouragement, “ I want savor [she lingered on this word in a most satisfying way] every inch of you.” My.
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