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Disappearing as far south as he could. EJ chose Houston, Texas. It was the fourth largest city in the country; he thought he could easily disappear and maintain his anonymity.

He created a new identity. He was no longer Eliot James Rascher of Lincoln, Nebraska. His fake driver's license and other ID claimed him to be Robert Smith of Appleton, Wisconsin. Who could be more anonymous than Bob Smith?

In Houston, he answered an ad for a maintenance man at the Johnson Space Center. "Bob" thought that being right under the noses of those NASA people would be a good cover. His duties were the same as the janitorial job at the country club in New York and in New Hampshire, among other places: he pushed a broom, picked up trash. He was surprised that the background check did not discover anything unusual. He even was granted a security clearance which allowed him to clean rooms where America's secret space plans were discussed. He was just Bob Smith, high school graduate from Appleton.

It was as easy to pick up women in Houston as it had been in New York. In New York, there'd been white girls, black girls, the occasional Latina or Asian girl. It was the same here in Houston, although it seemed more often than not he found himself in bed with a black girl or one whose parents came from Mexico.

Those twenty-something Mexican girls were delightful in bed. Sometimes, he couldn't understand a word they said when he was fucking them. He couldn't understand a word they said when he was eating their young, sweet pussies.

He thought it was funny. These women spoke perfect English until they were having an orgasm. It wasn't all that different from eating Miss Hartstone, Dr. Obeke or any other woman. "Juanita, I've never eaten Mexican before, but I find your pussy delicious."

"Senor Bob, you can have a second helping if you wish," Juanita giggled, "but my pussy is hungry for your big burrito."

Juanita was twenty-years-old. Language wasn't a barrier at all. He learned to understand Spanish for ‘keep fucking me,' ‘your tongue makes my pussy sing,' ‘I'm in the mood to suck your cock this morning.'

Not that it mattered to Bob Smith; pussy was pussy. Here the Mexican girls, the black girls, the Asian girls were as easy to meet and fuck as anywhere else.

If you recall, it was Dr. Victoria Obeke from Africa, his professor when he was still a teenager who taught him to love eating pussy. From then on, whenever the opportunity presented itself he made it a point to gorge himself on black pussy, and he was very good at it; at least that's what those black girls and women told him. Their exact words were "Eliot, my black pussy can't get enough of your tongue. Eat me some more. Eat it all night."

Dr. Obeke was an excellent teacher; she'd be proud of him.

He was content and his job was stress-free; just the way he liked it. Once a month, he'd have a fucking, sucking, pussy eating weekend, without any future commitment. Usually twenty-somethings like himself, but on occasion an older woman like Lenora Davis or Adriana Cook back in New York. Like I said, black, brown, white, it didn't matter.

Esmerelda was in her late forties, a widow. She owned a coffee shop near his apartment and where he stopped in daily. Within a few weeks he was having Esmerelda's pussy for dinner, and she didn't seem to hesitate to suck his "el grande."

Sundays she'd skip church to get on her knees. Of course, EJ, although not a church-goer reciprocated. After a few weeks, he felt as if Esmerelda was getting too comfortable, and things might get too complicated. He moved to another part of Houston, nearer his work.

It happened without warning, and he couldn't help himself. He was cleaning a small auditorium where a meeting was still in progress. As usual, he was like a light fixture, an empty chair or a dirty coffee

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