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Over the next two years, Eliot Rascher found employment in the suburbs of Pittsburgh, Chicago and Michigan's Upper Peninsula. The jobs never taxed his intellect or were physically taxing. They were always stress-free.

He left when women started to get ‘clingy,' as he called it or complicated.

In the case of the sixty-three-year-old Mrs. Manley in Chicago, "EJ, why don't you quit your job and let me take care of you. I'd gladly take care of your impressive cock, just like I've been doing all weekend." What she'd been doing all weekend was giving him blowjob after blowjob. Periodically, she'd take it out and tell him, "I love to suck your big cock. Nothing gives me more pleasure than sucking your big, gorgeous cock. I've never felt more accomplished than when you shoot your sweet juice down my throat."

Mrs. Manley wanted to keep him and she could afford to. You know those automobile agencies with the loud mouth spokesperson on TV? "Hey there, this is Big Dick, at Big Dick's Auto, our sales aren't the only thing that's HUUUUUUUGE. Come on down."

Mrs. Betty Manley was the widow of Big Dick, who, she confided in EJ had a big ego and a big mouth, but his dick, not so much. On the other hand, she was now the owner of over seventy car dealerships throughout the Midwest. "Ever since I married him, I've yearned for a big dick. Now, I have one." She kissed his cockhead.

That was too complicated for EJ and it had nothing to do with her age.

Then there was forty-nine-year-old Honey Masters of Pittsburgh. That was her real name. The way she liked her sex was with EJ's tongue in her pussy. Her taste was delightful and he was obliging, but at the hotel where he did maintenance work and she was a manager, she couldn't help but brag to her co-workers, "he tells me all the time that my pussy really does taste like honey."

Another wealthy widow, Katherine McBride in Michigan was in awe of his cock, but it was his tongue that she just couldn't get enough of. "EJ, my late husband called me Kat. He was a wine connoisseur. He said that eighteen-year-old pussy tasted sweet like those wine coolers. He called me Kat because like fine wine, it takes a sophisticated pallet to appreciate the taste of my old cat. EJ, do you have a sophisticated pallet?" At the moment, fifty-eight-year-old Kat McBride was lying naked on her bed; legs spread; her huge bush cat anxious for his tongue.

It wasn't her age, nor was he turned off by her old pussy, it was that she looked up him as her go-fer. Out of bed, she insisted that he run errands for her, take her shopping. Wait in the car while she got her hair done. Less than a month after their first night together where he discovered the sophisticated taste of her cat, he disappeared.

Finally, he thought he'd found a home at a ski resort in New Hampshire doing general maintenance. It was a bit hectic during ski season, but once mid-March came things quieted down. In fact, between then and the long 4th of July holiday there were few people around and even fewer employees.

This was perfect. There was cleaning, painting, simple carpentry. Like I said, it was stress-free. The ski resort was upgrading to a four-season resort. The hotel was refurbished. There were hiking trails, a huge pool and playground were being installed; there was a lake with a beach, and workmen recently completed a dock.

All that changed when EJ made a simple but fateful decision.

It was a weekend in early May. Warm weather usually comes late in the White Mountains, but this year the past week had been unseasonable with temperatures in the high 80's. Even reaching 90.

About 4 PM on a Friday, he was in the middle of painting the snack shack near the new dock. "Mr. Rascher, finish up. I'm closing up for the weekend," said the manager on duty, Miss Sylvia Hartstone.

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