“I like to be ... licked ... you know ... down there,” Franny said softly.

Her deep brown eyes were fixed steadily on me as she spoke, but they flicked briefly down toward her lap when she said, “ ... down there,” before they locked onto mine once more. Her look was bold, confident, a little challenging. As soon as my mind grasped what she’d just said, my body went limp, except for my penis, which reared immediately into an erection, my heart suddenly racing to pump blood.

For years, I had fantasized about going down on this beautiful girl-now-woman hundreds of times: with me with other women, or masturbating, or sometimes just sex-day-dreaming. So naturally, my prick would react immediately at any hint that I might actually get to taste her.

She and I had just finished a superb dinner at Café de Oro, a plush, cozy restaurant at the foothills on the edge of Denver. Franny— I usually called her Franny, only occasionally using the more formal and beautiful “Frances”— Franny and I had known each other for about five years. We had hung out together with mutual friends, mostly soft-core bikers like me. For a time, Franny had been the steady girl of one of my friends, Wild Bob.

Franny and I first met when she was only 18 (I thought! Read on.) and in her senior year of high school. She and a variety of girlfriends would sometimes skip classes and come by my place in the afternoon for a couple of beers and some laughs, and occasionally a toke or two of fine Columbian gold, of which I always had a supply. Toking was no big deal in those days in that neck of the woods; aahhh, the good old days, eh?

Back then I traveled widely in my work, but I enjoyed many weeks free at home. I never minded the girls dropping by. In fact, it was always a special treat because, after all, they were attractive and fun to have around. They behaved well, never acting nuts or making scenes, so it was both cool and fun. I was in my early thirties and pretty active sexually, so naturally I fantasized about all of them. But Franny, I obsessed about.

She was slender, with a nubile angularity, but a fine roundness of hip and buttock, and budding young breasts. She was Hispanic in heritage, with a classic beauty that reminded me of the celebrated statue of the head of Egyptian Queen Nerfertiti.

In later years, the actress Gina Gershon made her fortune with a similarly angular body and a unique mouth that could have come from the same beautiful mold as Franny’s. Moreover, Franny was spirited, always animated, with a ready laugh, and a quick, bright mind, and she was interested in just about everything.

She first came around my place late one spring afternoon with Brent, a young guy from her school. Brent hung around my place sometimes to watch Bob and me work on our bikes, which we did a lot. Brent was hot for Harleys and he learned a lot about them, helping us with this and that, even turning a wrench now and then. He knew he could always enjoy a beer or two at my place and he never abused the privilege.

Brent and Franny weren’t dating or anything; he was just her friend. But he’d told her about our bikes. Being as fascinated with big motorcycles as Brent, she’d asked him to bring her along to check out our rides. When Brent introduced us, I noticed a broad pink blush under their eyes and suspected that they’d gotten high on the way over.

Bob and I were doing a little maintenance on our choppers that day, and Franny got pretty excited at the sight of our bikes, which were pretty cool and sexy, I must admit. Mine was deep metallic green with gold and red pin-striping and a big “GBYBR” painted on each side of the fat tank (for “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road”); Bob’s was classic black with 24-inch springer extensions and lots of chrome. Franny wanted a ride in the worst way, asking us again and again. Bob and I were both leery at first because Franny looked so young; we could just see trouble.

When we finished cleaning up and were ready for a break, we invited Franny and Brent in for a beer, and to hear a new Eric Clapton album I’d just bought, “461 Ocean Boulevard.” Naturally, they took us up on our offer. To this day, that album of Eric’s always reminds me of Franny.

It didn’t take long for Bob and me to discover how much fun it was to have Franny around. Oh, yeah, she definitely had sex appeal, but that wasn’t all. Unusual for a young woman, she took an active part in conversations, was obviously intelligent and quick-witted, and she had a devastating smile and a pair of the deepest brown eyes any man ever got lost in. The four of us had a great time getting acquainted that afternoon, enjoying laughs and the music. Bob and I were both captivated with this young girl.

Afternoon soon passed into the coolness of a Colorado evening, and Franny began pressing us again for a ride on our bikes. My friend Bob, about 28, was obviously smitten with Franny. He also was a bit more adventurous than I, and he was the first to give in. When he did, I mentally kicked my own ass for hesitating, “You’re just too freakin’ slow, dumbshit,” I thought, really pissed that I had let Bob beat me to this prize. Nothing I could do then, though, except watch as they climbed on Bob’s scooter. She hugged up tight against his back, locked her arms around his chest, and away they roared into a months-long relationship.

At the time, I was dating Patty, an attractive blonde with a slight English accent that excited me. She was a good companion and lots of fun, but our relationship was just kind of a “placeholder” thing for both of us.

We were always doing things with our friends, and wherever we went, in all kinds of situations, Franny was there with Bob. So I got to see a lot of her - at concerts, campouts, bike rallies, you name it. My admiration for her steadily increased along with my regret for missing that first chance with her. Occasionally, something would happen to intensify my obsession with her.

One afternoon, for example, I was on my hands and knees doing some gardening, if you can call scratching around in gravel gardening. Franny and three of her girlfriends had come over to spend another of those afternoons hiding out from class. Bob was at work, and Franny was restless, I thought, acting a little edgy. Coming up behind me, she told me how thirsty they all were. “You gonna dig all afternoon, dude?” she asked. “How about a beer?”

I turned my head toward her, still on my knees. She was so close I could have kissed her leg (which I considered but thought better of). As I raised my eyes in the direction of her face, I saw an overall picture of a teasing young female, sun at her back, one hand on a hip, hips cocked to one side, head tilted to the opposite way. I lowered my eyes from the bright sun and stopped short, astounded at what I saw! I had a clear view right up through one of the loose legs of her denim cut-offs and saw she was wearing no panties. I was staring right at Franny’s little slit, hairless but for a tiny, well-trimmed patch at the top.