A Sensuous Businessman

By Randall “Randy” Jones

The Sensuous Businessman is a richly erotic novel about the secret life of a well-traveled businessman. This book chronicles the erotic adventures of a senior executive as he rises up the rungs of the corporate ladder.
The story begins with a rather humorous episode in which the sixteen-year-old future businessman is caught between a rock (a warm vagina) and a hard place (a four hour erection). For his troubles, he receives his first lessons in soulful French kissing and unrequited sexual arousal that feels like appendicitis.
He continues on his journey through early adulthood when he finds the love of his life, only to labor through an abortive four-year marriage. During that marriage he tries to bring to life his Lady Chatterleys Lovers fixation.
We follow as he finesses his way through a rapidly expanding career and a series of steamy, erotic liaisons. Through two subsequent marriages, The Sensuous Businessman, who by now is a senior corporate executive, living the tenants of Bertrand Russells philosophy. He completely embraces the renowned Mathematician and Philosophers mandate -- Never let marriage interfere with your sex life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469155203

Randall “Randy” Jones

none

Book preview

A Sensuous Businessman

Randall Randy Jones

Copyright © 2012 by Randall Randy Jones.

Library of Congress Control Number:          2012901149

ISBN:                      Hardcover                      978-1-4691-5519-7

                                 Softcover                      978-1-4691-5518-0

                                 Ebook                            978-1-4691-5520-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

107323

Contents

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

PREFACE

INTRODUCTION

Part 1

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

Part 2

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

Part III

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

Part IV

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

Part V

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

Part VI

CHAPTER 28

APPENDIX A

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

M Y DEAR FRIEND and Internationally Renowned Artist, Pauline Ronald of Dayton, Ohio created the illustrations used in this book.

I met Ms. Ronald on LinkedIn while seeking cover art for a previously published book. In responding to my requirements for A Sensuous Businessman, Ms. Ronald’s challenge was to develop erotic illustrations that underlined the stories in the book, without having them be pornographic.

Her original line drawings have handily met that challenge. Moreover, I am eternally indebted to Ms. Ronald for her provocative, yet tasteful work. Her work can also been seen on the Fineartamerica.com web site, and at the New York City ArtExpo 2012.

Randall Randy Jones, November 2011

PREFACE

M Y NAME IS Randall Randy Jones. The purpose of this book is to show that there can be fun in the game of being a businessman. Not only can there be fun, but also a great deal of sensuality and sexuality. I had my first sexual experience at the age of five. I have not been the same since. I am over seventy now and for the previous few years, some of my most pleasant moments have been those fleeting memories of the women I have loved. In fact, some of them I have made love to and some of them I have just plain fucked. Over the years, I have learned how to do both simultaneously.

In my story that follows, I have used fictitious names and circumstances to protect my privacy and the privacy of those beautiful women who have been gracious enough to allow me into their lives. In some cases, I have used locations and other distinguishing characteristics to identify those lovely souls whose names I have unfortunately forgotten.

I made the decision to caste these memoirs in the form of an ongoing story. This story will unfold according to the year or my age at the time and the events in my business career. The story began in 1953, when I was sixteen-years-old. Since then, I have been intimate with about thirty-six women, more or less. Each of those experiences was a gift. Those lovely women have been of various shapes, sizes, and races and each of them have been beautiful in their own, unique way.

The reader, however, is forewarned that this story has been told using the adult language of love and lovemaking. In other words, from time to time adult language may be used to describe what happened. I believe that is important to the reality aspects of the story. After all this is a reverie about all the lovely women, I have fucked over the previous fifty years. It is not a bedtime story for teenagers, little old women or the faint of heart. It is a realistic look at the times and travels of a modern, sensuous businessman.

—Randall Randy Jones, November 2011

INTRODUCTION

I HAVE BEEN FORTUNATE to meet some very special women in my lifetime. It started with an illicit affair in high school and the notion that I could never get my fair share of love and sex. Ultimately, I found myself trying to compensate for this feeling of loss and non-acceptance over the previous fifty years.

The purpose of this book is to prove that one can experience joy and pleasure while pursuing business or a career. Secondarily, I want to share the results of living what Bertram Russell, the famous philosopher encouraged, when he said, Don’t let marriage interfere with your sex life.

I have had the unequaled pleasure and good fortune to have met and made love to about thirty-six women since I was sixteen-years-old. Each of those lovely women contributed their own unique expression to the sexual encounters we shared. Each of those intimate encounters made an indelible mark on my mind and body memory. In some cases, those sexual encounters lasted over a period of years and in other cases, they lasted only two or three nights, but they were all memorable and rewarding.

These memoirs are a celebration of all the women who have touched me profoundly, both spiritually and physically. I want to honor in some small way all those beautiful spirits who have shared the life lessons that we had to learn. I am eternally grateful for the generosity and wisdom that these women have shown by allowing me to be a part of their most intimate thoughts and feelings.

These stories are not some kind of ego trip or the result of male bravado. They are stories of one man’s life journey and the pleasures he shared with about thirty-six wonderful women.

—Randall Randy Jones, 2011

Part 1

The Early Years 1953 to 1970

Still Learning about Women, Sex, and My Career Path

Illustration-1.JPG

Illustration 1—A Double Feature With Bev

Illustration-2.JPG

Illustration 2—Blue Balls

CHAPTER 1

A Double Feature with Bev (1953)

B EVERLY (BEV) JOHNSON came into my life at the peak of my frustration with being one of the most popular kids in high school, without a girlfriend. It seemed that everybody was making out except me. There were all kinds of rumors about backseat adventures, but I could not even get a date to go the movies. Life was extremely frustrating until I met Beverly.

Bev lived in my neighborhood. By any stretch of the imagination, she was heavyset. She might have even been called fat. However, given my state of horniness, and all the rumors about her loose reputation, I was more than willing to overlook her weight. Bev was probably the originator of the Big is beautiful concept. Somehow, she knew how to use her weight as part of her sexuality and sensuality. Because of her reputation, I didn’t want to be seen with her, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to become one of her backseat lovers.

Rumor had it that Bev spent more time in the back seats of cars than in her high school classes. She was seventeen, about 5'2" and had dark-skin that seemed powdery on the surface. She did not fit anyone’s picture of a cool chick. However, she had a kind of sweetness about her that made her attractive.

One day, I saw her walking to the store near my house. Although I was very nervous about someone seeing me speaking to her, my sixteen-year-old hormones took over and thrust me into feverish conversation. I slipped a very casual invitation into the conversation by asking, Would you go to the movies with me?

Yeah, sure! She said to my surprise.

The moment I spoke, I thought to myself, "Oh my God, what have I done? What will I do if someone sees me with Bev? I don’t even have a backseat or a car to put her in." In about three tenths of a second, my surging hormones came to the rescue. The hormones said, "Take her to the movies during the week. No one will see you, not your buddies or her current boyfriends or anybody. You can pretend that the date never happened." So, my connection with Bev began with our double feature movie date and ended with a three-condom party after which I was scared to death that I had gotten her pregnant. That part of the story comes later.

Isn’t it wonderful how Providence takes care of fools and other unfortunates? All of my prior experience with dating came from a book with the message that I had to be the ultimate gentleman. I picked Bev up at her door. We caught a bus that took us to the Strand Theater. While looking over my shoulder, I paid for the tickets, hoping not to be seen by any of my high school buddies. As soon as we got inside, Bev nudged me to take the stairs to the balcony. Gosh, I had been to this theater hundreds of times, but didn’t know there was a balcony. I looked around, when we got upstairs, and we were the only ones there. She pulled me over to a seat right in the middle of a sea of empty seats. As soon as we sat down, Bev grabbed my hand and thrust it under her skirt. She wriggled and squirmed around until my innocent fingers were touching bare, wet flesh. This sensation of fondling a warm, wet vagina took my breath away. Just as I was about to catch my breath, she leaned over and thrust her tongue half way down my throat. At least that was the way it felt. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that the previews were still running. Wow, this was going to be a very long double feature.

That was the first time I ever spent four hours with my legs crossed, with a bulging erection, my fingers in a girl’s vagina and our tongues entwined. Life has not been the same since. About three-quarters of the way through this pleasant ordeal, I had the urge to go to the toilet. As I got up, I noticed a severe cramping kind of pain in my groin. It felt very strange, but I thought it would go away when I urinated. Urination only made the pain more intense. By the time I got back to my seat, I was beginning to think about appendicitis. I gritted my teeth through the rest of the movie. By now, a very large neon sign began flashing in my mind—appendicitis, appendicitis, APPENDICITIS, APPENDICITIS!! It grew bigger and bigger.

When we got out onto the street, I was very perplexed and in excruciating pain. Bev did not seem to notice and was wearing a pleased-with-herself grin like a Cheshire cat. My mind was racing a mile-a-minute. If we took the bus in one direction, we would get home. If we took the bus in the opposite direction, I could pop into City hospital and get my appendix removed. Alternatively, I could put Bev on the bus for home and I could take the bus to the hospital by myself. However, that would not be the gentlemanly thing to do, I reasoned. From what I had read, it was my obligation as a gentleman to take her back to her doorstep.

Finally, I decided to take Bev home and then jump back on the bus for City hospital. Maybe I could get there before my appendix burst. With that in mind, we started the hour-long bus ride to Bev’s house.

By the time we got to Bev’s, I could walk upright again. I felt brave enough to walk to my house, which was only a few blocks from hers. Since I was feeling much better, it seemed like a good idea to wait until morning to deal with my apparent appendicitis attack. Miraculously, the pain was completely gone the next day. It was hard to believe that I had survived an appendicitis attack.

Three or four years later, I found out what this apparent appendicitis really was. Talking to my friends verified that long-term sexual arousal without release was the real cause of that painful condition called blue balls (sorry, I still don’t know the medical term for this condition). The next time that situation occurred; I knew how to deal with it.

Most of my lovers since Bev have expressed their appreciation for the training that Bev gave me, especially the kissing apprenticeship. She also taught me a lot about appreciating the fact that sexuality could come in different sizes, shapes, and colors of women. My relationship with Bev lasted, on and off, for about three years.

During the week, especially in the summer, Bev would take a walk around the neighborhood. She would often end up at my front door and invite me to come out and walk with her. We would walk up the hill to a local elementary school that had a stairwell leading downward to a basement entrance. Once we got to the bottom of the stairs, I would back her into a corner, kissing her passionately and fumbling around under her dress. Many times, I would open my pants, pull out my erection, and slip it into her panties somewhere close to her vagina. We would squirm around in this position for a while until I ejaculated all over her pubic area. That was our dating scenario for almost two years. We never went to the movies again, but contented ourselves with these little stairwell rendezvous until the summer of 1955.

It was June, I had just graduated from high school and was headed to college that following September on full scholarship. In July, my parents decided to take my two young brothers and drive to Dallas, Texas for a three-week vacation. It was hard to believe that I was going to be alone in my house for three whole weeks. This was my chance of a lifetime, to get Bev into a bed, so that I could fuck her thoroughly.

My parents had hardly reached the city limits, before I was on the phone with Bev. I explained the situation and asked if she would like to spend an evening partying with me. She sounded as eager as I did.

One of the rules of life in the ’50s was that if you got a girl pregnant, you had to marry her. So to prevent that, I got on the bus and went to a drug store across town, where I could buy some condoms (we called them rubbers in those days). In the 50’s, condoms were a behind-the-counter item. You had to ask the pharmacy clerk for them. With my luck, there was a woman clerk behind the counter.

May I help you sir? she asked with her bright, cheery, blond smile.

Ah, yes. Could I have some, ah, some, prophylactics? I asked stammering to find any word other than rubbers. Thank God, I had learned one of the proper words for rubbers.

How many would you like, sir? she smiled back at me.

Why is this woman torturing me? I thought to myself as I tried to sound grown up, nonchalant, and sophisticated. How do they come? I asked, trying to hide the obvious fact that this was my first condom purchase.

They come in packs of three, six, and twelve, she said, prolonging my embarrassment.

I’ll take a three-pack. I said, while trying not to sound too ambitious.

I was so relieved when she finally handed me the three-pack of condoms. I plunked down the money and ran out of the store. I was so embarrassed that I felt like I wanted to crawl under the sidewalk. By the time I got to the liquor store, down the street, I had recovered. I bought a half-pint of cheap bourbon and caught the bus for home. This was going to be some party.

Bev came over about four o’clock the next day. I showed her to the couch and sat down beside her. She was almost as nervous as I was. "You want a drink? I asked, in a cavalier, Humphrey Bogart tone.

Yeah, that would be nice. She said.

I got some bourbon and coke. Will that be okay?

Yeah, that sounds good. She said trying to be as nonchalant as me.

I made us a couple of very strong drinks. It took only a few gulps for us to loosen up. I leaned over and kissed her the way she had taught me. She started heating up, and lay back on the couch. I seized the moment by sticking two fingers past her panties and into her vagina. She was soaking wet. After about an hour of this heavy petting, I took her by the hand and led her to my parent’s bed.

She was too bashful to pull back the covers and get into bed, but lay back with her feet dangling off the edge. While she was pulling off her panties, I proceeded to put on the first condom. It was twisted and ripped as I tried to position it properly. For the first time, I saw how difficult it was to put on a condom, while staring at a dripping, gaping vagina. I put on the second condom and dove between Bev’s legs. I made about three or four thrusts before I felt the condom start to slip off. I immediately pulled out and began fumbling with the condom to get it in place.

Just as I had almost gotten it properly arranged, the condom tore near the end and I put it aside. Poor Bev, I did not know anything about cunnilingus in those days, so I am not sure she was even close to being satisfied. The top of the third condom ripped off just as I pulled it into position. Out of total frustration, I picked up the second condom, tied a knot in the end of it, and put it on. Throwing caution to the wind, I crawled on top of Bev and fucked her like there was no tomorrow. I think she even had an orgasm as I filled what was left of the torn condom with a pent up load of semen.

She jumped up hurriedly, pulled herself together, and left. I never saw her again, but I sweated bullets the rest of the summer, for fear that, she might have gotten pregnant. That is when I formed my guiding principles of screwing around—Never fuck anyone you wouldn’t want to marry.

Bev and I had lunch together, about five years ago. We had a delightful time reminiscing about our times together. She gleefully took pride and total credit for teaching me everything I knew about sex. I did not have the heart to burst her bubble, but our time together was kindergarten. Over the years, I would like to think I have moved up to graduate school.

CHAPTER 2

Loss of Innocence—Affair with

A Married Lady (1957—Irene)

I WAS NINETEEN WHEN I went to Los Angeles during the summer of 1957. That summer, I stayed with my Mom and was able to get a job as a receiving clerk in a warehouse. This turned out to be a very scary summer. It was scary because I had just completed my second year of college and was sure my grades had not been good enough to retain my scholarship. It looked as if finishing college meant that I would have to stay in LA rather than go back home to school. It looked as if I was going to have to find a way to get into UCLA and/or take night courses for the rest of my life.

On weekends, I would generally mope around the house. In LA without a car, dating was practically impossible. One Friday night, Mom called a friend who had a younger brother and asked him to introduce me to some of his friends. His name was Johnny and he had a new 1957 Ford. He showed up with three women in the back seat. He was taking them to Long Beach Civic Arena to see the famous Coasters singing group. However, before we hit the freeway, we stopped at a liquor store to get some booze. One of the girls only drank sloe gin and the others liked malt liquor. I was so happy to be out on the town that I bought each of them one of everything they wanted. We pulled onto a side street and started drinking. After a few drinks, we cruised into another neighborhood. When we’d stop, the girls would turn up the music and jump out of the car doing the Watutsi on the sidewalk. We did this about three times before we got to the freeway. We were very lucky that the LA cops did not see us. That proves that Providence takes care of fools and misfits.

Drunk as skunks by the time we got there, the five of us staggered into the Long Beach Arena. The concert was already in progress and the crowd was jumping. The Coasters were fabulous. They put on an amazing show, singing all their popular hits. I kept trying to get cozy with at least one of the girls, but we were a group, which meant that coupling up was not allowed. We left Long Beach about 1 AM and headed back toward my neighborhood. By this time, everybody was ready to get some tacos so we parked near a corner taco stand across the street from a nightclub on the corner of Jefferson and Western. We got a bunch of tacos, sat, and watched hookers making deals with patrons going in and out of the club. The girls with us had fun commenting on the hooker’s outfits. This whole scene was eye opening for me, a kid from the country, who had never seen this kind of activity. When they let me out at home, one of the girls, Irene, said that she was going to have a party next week and that she wanted me to come. I was thrilled. I immediately jumped to the conclusion that this invitation was a sign of the possibility of having sex.

Johnny gave Irene my phone number and she called the following Tuesday. She had the most annoying way of calling me Randee. It seemed that she could string my name out for a minute or two. No one had ever called me Randee before. She said she was calling to make sure that I was coming to her party. I told her that I would, but I was not comfortable doing that because she was married. She assured me that there was no problem. So, I went to the party.

Irene was about nineteen or twenty-years-old. She was about 5'6 and weighed about 110 pounds. She was the kind of woman that could be called a skinny Minnie." The fact that she wasn’t particularly attractive didn’t matter to me. I was so horny that nothing mattered, but getting the chance to fuck her. I was thinking exclusively with my dick.

When I got to the party, she met me at the door with a can of malt liquor in her hand. She gave me the malt liquor and pulled