A Tall Tale

Submitted by Kevin:

A friend of mine (Betsy) set me up with Tracy, an illustrator for a small greeting card company.  Tracy was also very tall and was born in Mexico while her parents were vacationing there.  Now you have sufficient back story on Tracy.

Tracy and I were supposed to meet up at a restaurant, but she called me twice less than an hour before to inform me that she was going to be held late at work to deliver some new art.  The second time she called, she suggested that I meet her at her office, off of a main street commercial area.  We would be able to walk to a place from there.  Worked for me.  So far.

I found the building and made my way to her office.  I had seen a photo of her, but nothing had prepared me for how tall this Amazon was.  She had a head and a half on me at least, and I"m 5' 10". 

I could tell at once that this displeased her.

"Oh no," were the first words out of her mouth, followed by, "Betsy didn't mention?  I only date guys taller than me."

I pressed, "What, like guys in the NBA?"

"Pretty much.  I feel bad.  We can still hang out."

She showed me some of her artwork, which was pretty good.  Most of it was abstract and very colorful.  Tall and talented.

We went out to a Brazilian place for dinner, just around the corner.  The following conversation is essentially verbatim.

We had been talking about our families, our friends, this, that, and the other things, when she said, "I'm very sensitive down in my nether-parts.  I think it's because I'm Mexican."

She smiled at me and drank some water.  "Come again?" I asked.

She told me the story of how her parents were vacationing on a beach in Mexico when all of a sudden her mother's water broke and how she was born shortly thereafter.

"But I have super-sensitive lady-parts.  A lot of Mexican women do."

I asked, "But both of your parents were American.  You're not really Mexican."

"I was born in Mexico.  I'm Mexican."

"So where you were born, not genetics, is what makes you more sensitive to stimulation?"

She thought for a moment, then said, "It's really too bad that you're not taller.  We could have totally tested it out.  We may as well stop talking about it, though, since sex isn't on our menu."

I shrugged.  What else?

After dinner, we walked for a few minutes when she leaned into my face, within striking distance of a kiss, and she said, "It sucks.  It's been so long since I've even made out with a guy."

"I could stand on a bench," I offered.

"If you were taller, we'd have all kinds of crazy sex."

"Are you a virgin?" I asked.  I had to know.

Her happy manner died at that moment.  I had crossed a line.  She said, "I can't believe that you just asked me that."

I was already in the hole.  I dug deeper.  "It's just that you're so obsessed with talking about sex.  I was wondering when the last time you did it was."

That made her mad.  "I've had sex more often in a week than you'll have in your entire life!  I had sex six times last week!  With six different people!  Guys!"

Odd.  Hadn't she just said that it had been a long time since she had made out?  Maybe her kind of sex was kiss-less.

At any rate, this "date" was pretty much shot.  I said good night, and she seemed all too happy to take me up on my offer to end things then and there.

I asked Betsy the next time I spoke with her if Tracy was a virgin.  Betsy told me, "As far as I know."