Hi, my name is Donna. I am twenty-two years old, five feet eight tall, and
I have long, naturally blonde hair. I’ve got bright, blue eyes and vital stats
of 36C-25-36. Now I may not be everyone’s ideal woman but I sure like to make
the most of what I’ve got, and enjoy myself.
     I used to have a particular fantasy, and I would like to tell you how I
managed to fulfil it – because I reckon there must be loads of other people out
there who have the same desire, only possibly they’re too shy to talk about it.

     My fantasy had brewing in my head for a while until, just after my
eighteenth birthday, while I was still at college, I got touched ‘down there’
by this guy at school. It wasn’t a passionate touch, or anything heavy. We were
just kissing one evening after school and he rubbed me with his thingy. I think
it was accidental, but as we had a falling out a few days later I never got to
know for sure. Anyway, that night as I lay in bed I remembered the softness of
his touch. I began to dream of a particular sensation, something that he had
started within me, something I longed for. As I dreamed, so the sensations
started happening in my body. The touch sent electric currents coursing through
my body, making my sex muscles contract, making me pant and gasp softly as I
reached one orgasm after another. It was the most incredible dream I ever had
and the next morning I vowed quietly to myself that one day I would turn that
dream into reality. 
     Anyway, over the next year or so I had a number of boyfriends – as you do
when you have a gap year and then hit University. Some lasted a few days,
others a few months, but none of them fulfilled the expectations of my dream.
Yeah, some of them were pretty good lovers, but I just felt something was
missing all the time – and it began to make me worry. I spent night after night
fantasising about that sensation. I could make it happen in my dreams – dreams
that sometimes occurred only a few hours after making love to some guy or
other. In fact, after such dreams I would waken to find the sheet on my bed not
damp, but wet with my excitement. I would be flushed in the face from the
excitement I had experienced in my slumber, and I would often wake up
breathless. Yet, when I made love to a man I largely remained inactive until
the moment of climax when I would feel something happen and lie back
unsatisfied while the man would reach his own peak and tell me how fantastic it
had been. As those years at University passed, I withdrew from the passion of
sex, sensing somehow that I would never experience my fantasy in anything other
than my dream world.
     As my foreboding intensified, so I began to lose interest. I would go to
parties and, on occasion, meet up with some guy or other. We’d go back to his
place and cuddle and then I’d switch off while he did his thing. I’d make the
right noises and so forth, and make out everything was fine, but deep inside I
went unfulfilled. That was until I was at one particular party where I met
Peter. Peter was tall, dark and handsome and we were instantly attracted to
each other, possibly because we seemed to be the only two people at the party
who were unattached. Peter had recently split up from his partner and was
looking sad. We chatted and danced and at the end of the evening I went off
with him.