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'Hey, big spender, ' the words ran through my brain, 'this could be a big fish.' I wrapped the package and ran the credit card. He signed the slip."Anything else I can do for you, Mr..." I glanced at his card as I handed it back to him, "Bradford Walters?" Using the full name was a major breach of company courtesy policies, but no one else could hear me. It was also a hint for him to start a conversation."It's Brad," he said. "No, nothing else. I'm really just here to get a present for my special girl."Oh shit, oh shit, oh fucking, fucking shit! I'd been on my feet all day. Sales had been good but there'd been no suitable candidate to invite me for dinner. Still, I had to put on my best face."Wife? Significant other? Daughter maybe?"He laughed. "None of the above. My special girl is my kid sister," he said.Thank you, thank you, O Higher Power. This game isn't over yet. But he hadn't even asked me my name yet. Oh, of course it was on the name tag on my chest, and he was sure enough. However, since I was still a virgin, we decided that we might as well wait a few more months to take the final step – or, as Alan described it rather indelicately, “taking my cherry!” Now, three days after being married, my “cherry” was still intact and another man was rubbing the side of my breast with my new husband right beside me. Actually, I think having Alan right beside me added to the heat between my legs! While I certainly wasn’t thinking about that then, somehow, it seemed more erotic and a very small helping of forbidden fruit with him right there. As I said, I didn’t think of any of that then. I was just lying there with no will power to do anything – shocked, dazed, stupefied and, surprisingly, aroused. For most women, this would have been nothing, hardly worth noticing, certainly not traumatic, but, for me, a first. There certainly was no question that where his hand was wasn’t anything but my breast – there was no way that he could have mistaken that round bulge for.