Chapter One

Among the many things I used to be, one of the most foolish was an atheist. This wasn’t a matter of strong conviction. It merely seemed the default position for one who’d never encountered anything the least bit supernatural. Then along came Julia, the hottest chick I’d ever picked up – or who’d ever picked me up.

Seeing her for the first time at an across-the-city nightclub made my mouth water, my heart pound and my knees go weak. After that, I was completely captivated. For weeks, I haunted the place, desperate for every glimpse.

Normally I’m attracted to either sculpted Amazons or mobile little sprites. But this was the exception that eradicated the rule. Of utterly average height and build, Julia was still head-to-toe outrageously gorgeous.

Her tiny waist accentuated by flaring hips and a bulbous ass, just as her hard flat belly made her big pointy tits so much more prominent. Revealed by her various skimpy outfits her arms and legs were firmly muscled and her exposed skin without a mark. Her very short but still incredibly fetching hair was shiny as fresh tar, while her coffee-colored eyes mediated between that glossy black and the brownish bronze of her lively, lovely face. Big straight teeth flashed a shocking white when she bared them, and her diminutive nose made a perfect contrast to her strong jaw and haughty cheekbones.

Vibrant and abandoned, she dominated the dance floor. Her singular beauty and hot Latin passion were madly intoxicating. Every guy in the place competed to be her partner. I couldn’t believe it when after a month or more I finally found myself dancing with her one blessed Saturday evening.

Slim and wiry, barely an inch taller, I’m of European descent. Yet somehow, I’ve escaped the white-boy curse of being rhythmically challenged. The neighborhood girls taught me how to dance growing up, and I’m actually quite good at it. Still it was all but impossible to keep up with this incredibly alluring dervish.

Bumping and grinding salaciously against me, undulating like water and whirling like a top, she had me panting like a dog (and lusting like one too) in seconds. Yet for half an hour Julia kept this up, pushing my stamina and arousal far past previous limits. Finally, I seemed to pass some private test. When the last song lapsed, she gave me a satisfied smirk and clasped my hand even tighter.

“Come on, boy. Buy me a drink. I’m Julia.”

“Mark,” I managed, hardly able to credit this development. “I’d love to.”

She drew me after her toward the bar.

Clearly a respected regular, Julia forced her way to the front. Space was made for us, and she pounded her free fist down.

“Shots!”