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Every DJ Has a Fantasy

Category: Lesbian Sex
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Not every DJ’s done it, but I guarantee every DJ’s at least thought about it, if not actively fantasized about it, if not actually done it. I’m talking about sex in the studio.

I used to work the overnight shift at K___, a retro R&B station, but after a computer automation system came in, I was moved to evenings. Quite a promotion, they told me.

Slipped me some extra scratch to prove it. I don’t know. I still miss having the place to myself in the middle of the night. Nowadays, I voice-track everything from 12am to 5am and put all my energy into that crucial post-drive shift from 6pm to midnight. The show is great. Lots of production elements. Spectacular ratings.

But I miss the people you meet doing late night radio: crazy drunks who found a quarter on the sidewalk and spent it to request The Gap Band; insomniacs hoping that Lionel Richie will do what No-Doz can’t; (don’t get me started on the prison calls!) and lots and lots of the lonely and the broken-hearted.

Then there was that one caller.

“You’re listening to K___, your home of the sexiest, smooth R&B from the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s and ’90s. If there’s a disc you want Ms. Fantasia to spin, then you just give her a call in the K___ booth right now. Don’t make me beg for it, baby,” I purred. Immediately I noticed the flashing strobe out of the corner of my eye. The “beg for it” line works every time. “You got Kool and the Gang goin’ on K___, baby. Whew! It’s Too Hot.”

In a single fluid motion of my experienced fingers, I brought the mic pot down past zero and into cue and tapped the button to shut it off. With my right hand, I slapped the space bar on the keyboard, starting the recording on my audio software, then punched the flashing lighted button for the caller on line one.

“K___, what can Ms. Fantasia get you tonight?”

My computer screen showed the bright green of the wave forms as my voice was recorded.

“Mm, mm,” came the sexiest female voice I had ever heard—including my own. “That sounds like a tough invitation to resist.”

Chills went up my neck. I’d never had that reaction to a caller before, male or female. She sounded white, with the sweetest touch of Southern drawl. Her voice was shimmering and clear, like my old voice teachers had always tried to push on me before I sold my soul to rock ‘n roll and cultivated my husky, vixen-of-the-night persona.

I still don’t know exactly why her voice affected me so quickly. I wasn’t gay, of course. I mean, sure, I’d fantasized about it now and then, over the years, the unwelcome thoughts too kinky to be chased away until I’d come all over my vibrator. But here I was, my stomach turning inside out and a lump getting stuck in my throat and my clit giving an undeniable twitch. All from just a few words. I needed to get back into the phone call before I started stammering all over the tape.

“Uh,” I began. Not to promising. “That’s sweet of you, sugar,” I got out.

“I’ve been onto you all week. I only moved here a little bit ago and then driving home Monday after working super late I do a little surfing on the FM and oh, my God, I hear that voice and it hits me right in the breadbasket.”

“I must have been playing Barry White,” I said with a chuckle.

“You played Al Green, but it wasn’t his voice that made me cream, it was you.”

I blushed. The queen of sexy late-night radio actually fucking blushed. I wasn’t about to let some girl beat me at my own game. If it was flirting she was after, I’d show her some flirting.

“Hon, you’d better get a hold of yourself before you cause a scene. I don’t want to get blamed for my listeners’ ruined undies.”

“Ms. Fantasia, they’re already soaked. Your voice gets me going so bad.”

I’d heard that line a dozen times before, but always from drunken men, never from a sweet and sexy woman. My voice caught in my throat. The “Ms. Fantasia” persona dropped.

“Who are you?” I asked, not believing that those words could come from my mouth.

“Why, Ms. Fantasia, don’t you remember me? Or, should I call you Ms. Forgot-Her-Panties-At-Kappa-House?” And then, she giggled and my own panties were immediately soaked as a flood of sense memories washed through my mind.

“Tasha Mineo,” I breathed.

Back in college—this would have been in 198_, we were both students at ____ State. We didn’t know each other, but we wound up meeting at a fraternity party. I got so drunk, I never was able to form a real picture of what happened that night. All I really remember is the most knock-dead beautiful blond in the school on her knees with her face buried in my pussy— the source of those uncomfortable fantasies. My memories of the next day, however, are perfectly clear.

I was awakened by the telephone to find that I was naked, in bed, back in my dorm room, with no idea of how I got there and an awful hangover. On the phone was Tasha Mineo. It turned out she lived in the next building over. And she had my panties. She insisted on giving them back at lunch. I was horribly embarrassed. She didn’t help matters. Every time I asked what happened, she would laugh and scream “You really don’t remember? Dude!”

We hung out a few times after I recovered my underwear, but nothing kinky ever happened again and I never got her to tell me what happened. The next year, she scored some kind of athletic scholarship and transferred to another school. Now, here she was on the phone to my studio, getting me wet. How embarrassing.

“Oh, my God,” I said, in shock.

“Yep. It’s me. I’ve been listening to you ever since I moved here, and I finally decided that I just had to give you a hard time. There’s just something about you that’s always brought out the part of me that’s a wicked tease.”

“I’ll say! Hang on a sec. I gotta talk.”

I muted my old friend and potted up the mic just as the song started to fade. With an action that was more instinct than thought, I readied the next tune and announced it.

“Heading back to the 90s, baby, doing the Humpty Dance with Digital Underground.”

I fired the song and snapped my mic back in cue so I could talk to my sexy old friend. But first, I clicked the mouse on the computer play-list. No sponsors to read for a while, so I deleted the next break, buying a solid hour for chatting on the phone. I hoped my Program Director wasn’t listening.

“Hey, Tasha,” I said, hoping she was still on the line.

“Hey, sexy.”

“You know, if you’re living around here, we should get together. Catch up. Maybe lunch tomorrow?”

“I’m hopping a plane for St. Louis in a few hours, honey. Be gone a few weeks on business. But I tell you what: you let me visit your studio and I’ll tell you all about how you lost your panties.”

My mouth went dry. My heart skipped a beat.

“Yeah?” was all I could get out.

“Come on. I know how much it’s been bugging you all these years, wondering what happened that night. I’ll tell you the whole story.”

Among the many “rules of radio” are: never accept food from a listener, and never invite a listener into the studio—especially in the middle of the night. But this was Tasha! I just had to know what happened that night. Anyway, who ever got anywhere in radio playing by the rules?

Ten minutes later, I was punching in the security code to unlock the front door and letting in the woman whose voice had so thrown me off my game; all so I could find out how she had wound up with my undies at a Freshman frat party, when my deepest guts were already telling me the answer: in a drunken fugue, I had made love to her.

She looked older. I should have expected that but you never do, somehow: you always expect people to look exactly like they did the last time you saw them. She looked older, all right, but better—a lot better. Instead of a skinny college freshman looking for beer, sex and a way to pass the classes she was dodging, she was a fully developed, mature woman. Her hair was shorter and cleaner, a luscious shade of brown instead of the dyed blonde fighting off its roots. She’d gained weight, but it was in all the right places. Her breasts were the same, but she carried them better—with more authority. She had a tendency to let her ample C-cup tits bounce around, but now they were constrained in a bra that let just a hint of cleavage emerge from the top of a sexy but classy white blouse. Her legs emerged strong from her black leather mini-skirt. She wore a matching leather jacket and had a small, tan purse slung over one shoulder. Her smile as she entered the building was warm but wicked—that hadn’t changed at all.

We said hello in the lobby, but I could hardly think of a word to say in the elevator as we rode to the fifth floor. I just kept thinking that this was the woman who had seduced me when I was drunk. And this was the same woman whose voice had gotten me so unexpectedly damp. And this woman was standing shoulder to shoulder with me.

“You really never have remembered what happened that night we met, have you?” she said, letting the back of her hand brush gently against mine.

“Not really,” I answered, truthfully. “Just enough to know that you somehow seduced me.”

Tasha gave me the funniest shit-eating grin.

“You silly girl,” she said as the doors slid open. “You’re the one who seduced me!”

Okay, I thought, that’s not really possible, is it? I mean, if I was smashed and she went down on me, that was one thing, but me seducing her?

Before I could say anything, she marched down the hall, her tight ass swaying temptingly. She paused at the intersection and asked which way. I was still in the elevator. The doors started to close and I snapped out of it, darting through the sliding doors and walking down the corridor with as much confidence as I could manage.

“Wow,” she said looking into every corner of my studio. “I’ve never seen a radio station before. Do you really know how all of this stuff works?”

“Just enough to keep from breaking it.”

I pulled out a stool for Tasha and shoved the guest mic out of the way, then took up my customary spot in a manager’s chair in front of the board. She peeled off her jacket and dropped it on the counter, showing off her breasts. She perched on the stool with such perfect balance and poise I thought I was looking at a cat, not a person. She sat on the back half of the seat with her left leg on the top rung and her right crossed at the knee. I could see her thighs as far as the top of her stockings.

“So, you want to know what happened that night, do you?” she said with a mischievous grin. I nodded meekly.

“First off,” she said, getting suddenly serious. “You were the one who started with the ass-grabbing when we were dancing. I just started humping you back for kicks, you know? But when you leaned over and nibbled my ear, pushing your tits into mine, right there on the dance floor, I started to get seriously wet. Honestly, hon, what got into you?”

“I remember dancing, that’s all.”

“If you say so.”

I didn’t think her shit-eating grin could get any bigger, but it did.

“And?” I said, prodding her to continue the story.

“Well, these guys were dancing behind us, rubbing their dicks into us when we started kissing. Damn, you’re a fine kisser, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” I said, adding a grin of my own.

“I got so wet making out with you. I’m sure those frat boys were hoping to get their hands on us for some kind of lesbo orgy, but there was no way I was going to share you with those jerks. You were the one who seduced me, hon, not some drunken asshole. So I grabbed your hand and yanked you down the hallway and into the bathroom.”

“Okay, that’s ringing a bell.” I said. “I remember sitting on the toilet seat with your face in my snatch.”

“Do you remember how it felt?”

I smiled and blushed.

“Yeah,” I said, blushing and smiling. “I liked it.”

A shiver ran up my spine as the sense-memory of her tongue worrying my clit stabbed through me like a sharp knife through tender meat.

“I know you did. You came like a fucking freight train when I worked your g-spot.”

I closed my mouth to keep it from getting stuck gaping open.

“Oh yeah,” she said, leaning forward. “You liked it a lot. As soon as we were alone, you had your skirt hiked up and your legs spread and you were begging me to eat you.”

She took my hand in hers, sending a tremor through me. My pussy gushed. I could feel the wetness lubricating my swelling lips.

“I got down on my knees for you,” she whispered. “I did it in a second. You didn’t need to beg, baby. I licked your pussy from bottom to top, taking your unique taste into my mouth. You juiced up so nice, flooding my tongue. And when I sucked your clit, you went nuts, coming all over my face.

“I had to feel you come so I slid my finger into your cunt. I could feel you spasming around my finger. Oh God, it was sexy. I didn’t want it to be over so soon, so I curled my finger and felt for your g-spot. I couldn’t believe how easy it was, but, I guess when you’ve found your own so many times it’s not so hard to find your girlfriend’s.”

Tasha slid gracefully off the stool, still holding my hand. She crouched down until our faces were level, her knees against mine. She leaned to my ear and whispered with her hot breath.

“You went all stiff, at first. Then you started grooving on it. You came fast, squeezing my fingers hard, but I kept going. I worked your spot and licked your clit until you came again and again until you squirted. You gushed your come all over my face. Mm-mm, it was good.”

I closed my eyes. My heart pounded in my ears. My cunt throbbed in time. I was now desperately horny.

She flicked her tongue over the tip of my earlobe, then planted a quick kiss on my cheek and leaned playfully away.

“That was about the time you passed out.”

“Now,” I interrupted, opening my eyes and smiling. “At what point did you take my underpants?”

“You were passed out, honey. I needed to get you home. I stuffed your panties into my pocket so the frat boys wouldn’t get them and put them on their web site. I looked through your wallet until I found your address, then I took you back to your room and put you to bed.”

“After you took my clothes off.”

“Well, of course.”


“I just forgot about the panties.”


Tanya leaned close, her face just inches from mine. I felt her fingers land on my knee and slide just under the hem of my skirt. My pussy started a fresh round of dripping.

“Any of that ring any bells?”

My panties were soaked. I wanted her.

“Oh yeah, that rings my bells all right.”

Her hand slid boldly up my skirt and onto my thighs. Arousal washed over my body leaving goose bumps in its wake. I couldn’t remember all of what had happened ten years ago, but I was sober as a judge this time and I was determined to do something worthy of a suit case full of memories.

Our eyes locked together. Her hand continued to climb slowly up my thigh. I let my legs part slightly. She accepted my subtle invitation and closed the final distance between our lips.

Her soft lips closed some kind of electric circuit between us. My head swam up into the clouds. And then, as her tongue slipped between my lips, flooding me with her mellow taste, I felt her hand reach my center and press against my pussy.

I hunched my cunt against her hand, desperate to increase the pressure on my clit. Her deft fingers manipulated my pussy through my pantyhose, sending waves of pleasure from my pussy that I rode with ease.

I hadn’t realized how much I needed this until my juices started to flow. I hadn’t been laid in about two months and I’d been so busy, there hadn’t even been time to get satisfaction from my pink rabbit. It had been ages since I’d come and my pump was primed.

But I was beyond horny. Whatever it was on that drunken night so long ago that had broken to the surface and caused me to go for the ass of another woman was breaking through again—and this time, I was determined to remember every detail.

I wrapped my tongue around Tasha’s, kissing her back with all the passion I felt. I let my hands drift over her breasts, gauging their shape and texture. For an instant, I imagined myself sucking on her nipple and I almost came. Tasha leaned back and chuckled.

“You’re all wet, honey,” she teased, tapping her fingertip against my clit.

“Oh yeah,” I admitted. “I want to do it all, Tasha. I want to taste you.”

“Me first,” she said.

Tasha hooked her fingers in my pantyhose and tugged. I lifted my ass from the seat, letting her pull them down to my ankles. She slipped off my shoes and yanked my hose and underwear clean off. She flipped the hem of my skirt up exposing my sex.

She smiled as she inspected my cunt. I felt like I was on display for her. Her fingers toyed with my thin, black pubic hair before gliding over my clit hood and lightly brushing my outer lips. A surge of sexual energy arced through me.

“Eat me,” I whispered, spreading my legs wide for her.

Tasha dove into my cunt and devoured me with gusto. Her lips massaged my labia. Her tongue snaked into my hole. She kissed and sucked and licked my pussy until I was crazy with lust. My vagina clutched helplessly at her slick tongue as it stabbed in and out between delicate licks to my labia.

“Oh please, Tasha,” I said. I was hot enough that I was ready to beg for what I wanted. “Please fuck me with your finger.”

She moaned in acknowledgement and I quickly felt two fingers stretch my pussy open and slide their way into my wet cunt. It was exactly what I wanted. I drifted off into bliss and let her take care of me. She teased my clit with the tip of her tongue as she worked her fingers deeper and deeper with every stab. I could feel my stiff clit straining towards her from under its hood. Her pursed lips kissed the tip softly, then parted and slid down the short shaft in a slick, wet stroke. My eyes rolled back and my mouth dropped open in a satisfied moan.

“Oh yes, that’s it,” I panted as she started some serious suction on my clitoris. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the building pressure that I knew would soon have me coming on this lovely woman’s face.

She fucked my cunt nice and steady with her fingers as she sucked hard on my clit. I rocked my hips in time and rode her face ever closer to my climax. Then, as my tightening legs gripped her body, signaling my impending orgasm, I felt Tasha moan into my clit and I knew she wanted me to come.

“I’m gonna come,” I panted. “Oh yes. I’m ready. Make me come for you. Come on, baby. I’m right there. Do it, bitch. Do it now. Make me come. Make me come.”

A whine escaped my throat as I climbed closer to the precipice. My body tightened up. I grabbed the control board with one hand to keep from falling off the chair. Every time I thought I must surely be ready to explode, I found the tension ratcheting up even more. I started begging shamelessly.

“Please make me come,” I whined over and over, even as I wished that I could hold this feeling forever.

Then I felt her tongue fluttering over my clitoris and the battle was over. I tumbled hard into orgasm. For an instant, electricity coursed through me, making my hair stand on end. Then all that tension released in soul-searing waves that gripped Tasha’s pumping fingers. Her lips sucked hard on my clit, drawing me through the waves until I could take no more and had to gently lift her head from my crotch.

I struggled to catch my breath, but she was still slowly fucking me. I suddenly realized that my pussy was still straining against her fingers. I willed my muscles to relax and was rewarded with a fresh wave of well-being. I closed my eyes again as her intruding digits slowly withdrew.

“Mmm, that looked like it felt nice,” she cooed.

I opened my eyes and looked at Tasha. Her lipstick was smeared and her face was completely covered in my juices. I expected her to flash me that wicked grin of hers, but all I saw in her face was lust.

“Please, Ms. Fantasia,” she begged. “Won’t you please eat me?”

She stood slowly and began to take off her clothes. She unbuttoned her blouse, bringing a white lace bra into view. Her blouse drifted to the ground. A flick of her wrist unsnapped the catch of her skirt. She peeled the leather skirt back, bringing a sexy white thong into view. She bent over and pulled the skirt off, leaving her standing between my spread legs in her bra, panties and white thigh-high stockings. My pussy gave an unexpected throb of fresh arousal.

Tasha reached behind her back to unfasten her bra and I had my first look at her tits. Her skin was milky white, no longer tanning-booth copper like it had been in college. Her stiff nipples strained towards me. My mouth watered as I imagined myself sucking on them. Finally, she pulled her thong down her legs, exposing her neatly trimmed pussy in my radio studio. Her whispy blonde curls were such a contrast to my thick bush. I could see her lips swollen and protruding, dripping her delicate fluids.

I reached out to touch her body. I ran my hands over the soft skin of her belly, then let my thumb wander over her mound. She bit her lip and gave a quiet squeak as I ran my fingers through her hairs and massaged her pubis.

My left hand slid over her hip then around to the back of her thigh, before climbing the gentle hill of her ass. I felt her lean subtly into my hand as I caressed her cheek. I smiled at the encouragement.

I leaned closer to inspect her sex. Her sharp aroma stabbed through my brain, erasing all thought but a desire to taste her. I kissed her mound and let that scent take over. My mouth watered.

She backed away from me suddenly, making me briefly wonder if I’d done something wrong. Then I saw the glint of pure need in her eyes. She hopped up onto the table, perching her ass on the wooden lip that jutted out from the control board. She spread her legs wide in invitation.

I could see all of her, from her swollen, pink labia to the fold of skin that protected her tender clitoris. Her lips were so wet. Everything glistened with her dew. This was it. My moment of truth. I leaned in for my first taste of pussy.

The world seemed so still, like it balanced on the edge of a knife. Then, my world was her pussy. I wrapped my lips around her labia and drank deeply from her fountain. Her taste was so like my own, yet different enough to drive home the startling reality that I was eating another woman’s quim.

I drew my tongue through the cleft between her lips, getting to the source of her sweet juices. She quivered slightly as I made contact with her entrance. My tongue lingered there, feeling around her center, exploring every fold of flesh, drinking her intoxicating ambrosia. I closed my lips around her pussy in a deep soul kiss.

“Put your tongue in me, baby,” I heard her whisper between moans. “I want you to fuck me with your tongue.”

Those words shot through me, setting off a new wave of sexual desire in me. My tongue reached for her entrance and fought to open her doorway. She cried out as her cunt yielded to my insistent tongue, permitting it to slide deep inside. Her tight pussy squeezed my tongue hard but I kept working it around inside her, searching out every last source of those wonderful moans she kept giving out.

Her hips thrust into my face and I found I had to hold her legs tightly to keep her from slipping off the board. I pressed my face harder to her pussy and went to town on her, eating her out for all I was worth, licking her hole, massaging her labia with my lips.

“My clit, baby,” she said. “Do my clit. Hurry. I want to come.”

I pulled my tongue from her cunt, leaving it with a quick kiss, then replaced it with a finger. I slid my finger in carefully, slowly, unrelentingly past the squeezing muscles of her pussy until my knuckles pressed against her flest.

“Oh yeah, fuck me,” she gasped.

I let my finger slide in and out a few times, then remembered her clitoris. I suddenly found myself distracted from fucking her. It was such a pretty sight. I’d never seen a clitoris up close before. It seemed to strain against her hood; just the tip poked out a little. It was a little red, like her wet and swollen labia. The urge to draw it into my mouth and suck it like a cock was irresistible.

I extended my tongue and drew it in a circle around her clit, just grazing it slightly. Her entire body jerked.

“Oh fuck, honey, do that again.”

Already drunk on her fragrance and taste, I now thrilled at the power of my position. At first, I was virginal, unsure. Now, I knew where I stood. I could make her crazy just like I did men.

I circled her clit even more slowly, grazing it lightly and deliberately. I felt the tension of anticipation surge and build. I teased her again with another slow circle. She held her breath. I flicked her clit hard. She screamed. I gripped her thighs hard, holding her open and let my warm breath drift over her clit. Her body tensed up again, just from my breath. She was ready, so I gave her what she wanted.

I paused just long enough to flash her a grin and enjoy the look of lust and desperation in her eyes, then I dove in for the kill. I washed the flat of my tongue over her clit, giving it a good firm stroke. She grabbed my hair and pulled me to her pussy. I slipped my lips around her clit for a solid sucking. Her hips ground against me as I ate her out, sucking hard on her clit while massaging the hood with my lip and fucking her hole with my fingers.

I decided to find out if she was a squirter, too. I curled my fingertips and searched for her most sacred spot. I added pressure and soon found the rough patch on the forward wall of her vagina. The instant I pressed it, she convulsed. Her fingers tangled in my hair and pulled hard.

“What are fucking doing to me?” she cried. “Oh fuck! Don’t you dare stop that, bitch. Suck my cunt, baby.”

I sucked hard on her clit as I worried her g-spot firmly. She moaned in time with my motions, her breath coming in gasps, pants and desperate cries for me to make her come.

Her pleasure grew exponentially, quickly pushing her beyond any self-control. She went mad, bucking my face with quick, jerking thrusts of her hips. With a scream that filled the studio, she began to come.

Her cunt grabbed my fingers solidly as I kept touching her g-spot. She gripped hard, squealing and gasping with each contraction. Her grip on my hair loosened as she went slack, but I wasn’t satisfied: I wanted her to squirt.

I let her clit slip through my lips with a pop. She flinched at the sudden caress of her over-sensitive button. I grinned up at her, making eye contact.

“Want some more?” I taunted.

Without waiting for a reply, I flicked her clit again with the tip of my tongue. Her hands flew back to my hair, knotting themselves quickly into my curls. I pulled my fingers gently back out of her vagina. Her cunt grabbed hard at me. I slid back in slowly, fucking her as she began dripping all over again.

My fingers found her g-spot again and in moments she was coming all over my lapping tongue once more. I didn’t let up at all this time, sucking her clit and working her spot through one orgasm after another until her pussy was almost quivering from the constant bombardment of climactic contractions.

And then it happened. Just when I thought she couldn’t take any more, she exploded in a final, monumental come, squirting her fragrant essence onto my face. I lapped at it as best as I could, unwilling to let it go to waste, but enough splashed on my face to make me feel like I’d just hopped out of the pool.

Tasha went completely limp and I finally showed mercy on her, withdrawing carefully from her cunt and giving her clit a final, tender kiss. She reached down suddenly and captured my face in her hands, then she kissed me—deeply and lovingly. As our tongues danced together I tried to think if I had ever been so turned on before in my life. Was I in love? Was I a lesbian? I would have a lot of pondering to do later, but I shoved those thoughts quickly aside and kissed my lover.

And that was when the off-air alarm went off.

It’s a nasty scream of a siren designed to send a DJ ten blocks away into a panic. I was confused. Things went into an adrenaline-fueled slow motion. I was no longer aware that I sat with my face between the thighs of another woman, covered with her come. I fought back against the panic and tried to think rationally. Of course the off-air alarm was sounding, I couldn’t hear any music. But that was normal, because the mic was on.

Oh fuck.

The “on air” light glowed in the corner of the studio. Tasha’s hand rested firmly on the button for the mic. It was on. It was potted up. The mic was pointed right at Tasha’s twat—and my face. I had just broadcast myself giving cunnilingus.

That was when I almost died. I couldn’t think at all. I just stared at the mic channel and died.

I remembered my radio basics. First rule: never curse in a room with a mic. So much for that; I think “eat my pussy you fucking bitch” kind of took care of that rule. Time to fall back on rule #2: never admit a mistake.

I rose to wobbly feet—my come dripping all over my legs—and lifted Tasha off my board, dropping her in my chair. Her face, blissed out a moment ago, filled with confusion, but I was in damage control mode and she went to the back burner. I turned off the mic, fired a station ID and tapped the reset button on the alarm, finally ending the screaming siren. I cleared my throat, slipped on my headphones, and hit the mic button just as the liner ended.

“You’re listening to K___, your home of smooth R&B. Ms. Fantasia, your conductress of the night train will be back tomorrow night.” Mic off. “I hope.”

All Tasha could do was cover her mouth to keep her giggling off the air.

“I’m so canned over this,” I said with a laugh of desperation. “I mean it, I’m dead meat.”

“And would it still be worth it if you were?”

I thought back on our night together: the seduction, the orgasm, the taste of her pussy. I grinned and nodded. We laughed and laughed and laughed.

But you want to know the funny thing? I didn’t get fired. Nobody even noticed—at least, nobody ever admitted to noticing. My Program Director was asleep and didn’t hear it. There wasn’t a single phone call to the comment line or even an e-mail. The listeners seemed to take it in stride. To tell the truth, I was a bit offended—did I even have any listeners?

Then the next ratings book came out: my show was up two shares.

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