Naturally she never saw Roger again and it was a long time before she experimented with sex again.
Later on, when she was prodded by her body to have sex the results were equally as dismal. Her other boyfriends didn't have to contend with her maidenhead but that didn't improve their techniques.
They were all listless, lifeless and needless to say, Samantha never came. It was frustrating both physically and emotionally for her.
And now, returning home to live with her mother and take her proper place in San Francisco society; she wondered if she'd ever meet the man who could turn her on and make her come.
As the aircraft finally touched down at International Airport, Samantha moved back and forth in her seat, the vibrations of the plane stimulating her a little.
She knew exactly what she had to get from a man. It was like she had a check list already made up.
Sex was like a tiger. It was savage and had a veracious appetite that wouldn't be satisfied until she was limp from multiple orgasms.
Therefore a man had to be able to perform like that. But where was she going to find such a man within the narrow confines of her social circle?
Oh, she knew that a lot of the men were probably married to cold and or frigid wives and would love to get their hands on a sweet piece like herself.
But that didn't mean that their performance would be any good. So what was she going to do? Prowl the streets? Hardly.
When the aircraft finally braked to a halt and the engines were winding down the people stood up and began to collect their things from the overhead luggage racks.
Samantha looked around and stole a look at the man who said she needed some cock therapy. Maybe he was the tiger she was looking for.
But no, he wasn't He had that married, henpecked look about him, all talk and no performance. With a disdainful toss of her head Samantha walked by him and exited the aircraft.
Samantha's mother wasn't waiting for her. Her eyes searched the crowd of people that thronged through the main terminal.
Has she forgotten? Was she late. Samantha leaned down and picked up her bag, balancing it with the shoulder bag she was carrying and as she walked through the terminal she felt more than one pair of male eyes look at her ass as it moved beneath her skirt.
She was wearing a bra, her mother would have kittens if she wasn't and there wasn't any sense in starting of her homecoming with a domestic row.
Nevertheless, her breasts jiggled just enough to attract the kind of attention that made her feel pretty and desirable.
She made her way to the main entrance. Still no Mommy. She'd just about made up her mind to take a taxi when she saw the familiar looking Rolls Royce idling by the curb.
Airport cops were making sure that other cars didn't linger too long, traffic was kept moving but the Rolls just sat there like a rock.
A uniformed chauffer leaned against the right front fender but when he saw Samantha looking at him he stiffened and came towards her.
"Miss Harding?"
"Yes."
"I'm Cordova. Your mother sent me."
He opened the rear door for her, not being able to escape noting one of her legs as the skirt rode up as Samantha got into the back seat.
Then he opened the trunk and put her luggage in before getting behind the wheel. He was dark and his uniform was tight and his body looked hard and he was definitely young.
"Did you have a nice flight?" he asked politely as he steered the car out into traffic.
"It was okay."
An easy smile lit up his face, his teeth flashing. Their eyes met in the rear vision mirror and for a minute Samantha wasn't sure what had hit her.
Then she knew. It was the way he took complete control of the large car, the way he moved, the way his eyes looked at her.
It was everything and Samantha felt her breathing get a little faster. She nervously lighted a cigarette.
"Do you have any tiger in you Cordova?" she asked.
"What?"
"Nothing."
CHAPTER FOUR
Cordova handled the car with self-confidence and strength and he didn't hesitate to take chances. Several times when he darted in and out of traffic, Samantha felt herself tighten in alarm.
"Don't worry Miss Harding, I know San Francisco like the back of my hand. I was born here."
He gave her a broad smile as she looked at his reflection in the mirror. He addressed the daughter of his employer as though she was a long time acquaintance or a life long friend.
There was an irresponsibility about him that social strata could not thwart. He drove a car for a living but there was nothing wrong with that Because he wore social attitudes very lightly Samantha felt an empathy for him. Every move, every gesture he made served to confirm Samantha's initial response. That the man had some tiger in him.
But she wondered how the daughter of the very social Martha Harding of Nob Hill went about seducing the family chauffer in order to assess his sexual qualities.
For a while they rode in silence, the car purring along, receiving envious looks from other motorists as it imperially made its way down the highway.
Having nothing better to do, Samantha decided to use the time profitably by carrying on a series of very subtle flirtations, designed to test or ascertain Cordova's sexual awareness.
She put her hand into her lap, opening her legs slightly so she could have ready access to her sex mound. Then she put her other hand on top of that.
She leaned back in the plush leather seat. A long time ago Samantha had learned how to masturbate in class while sitting like she was now.
With both hands pressed over her cunt, she arched her hips upwards and then downwards. Her lower middle finger found her clit.
By massaging it and moving her hips she was able to produce a very stimulating feeling, one that was guaranteed to get results.
She wondered if Cordova knew what she was doing. After a few minutes she was sure he did. His eyes kept on flicking into the mirror.
Was there a faint smile on his lips? Samantha couldn't be positive but she thought there was. She regarded it as a good sign.
She half closed her eyes as if she was in deep passion, her lips parting slightly, her tongue coming out a little so she could lick them.
She felt her love button erect and wetness seep through her cunt. Then, without a bit of warning, the walls of her cunt contracted.
"Ahhhh," she said softly.
Cordova wasn't smiling any longer. He looked at her coldly, like he was sizing her up, appraising her, making mental notes of her strengths and weaknesses in case he needed it sometime.
"Did you say something?" he asked.
Samantha sat up in the seat, her tensions relaxed by the mini climax she had just experienced, wet warmth between her legs.
"Just talking to myself."
Samantha made no effort to remove both hands from her crotch, keeping one there, liking the way it felt.
"Where did your family live?" she asked.
"On the waterfront."
"Was he a fisherman?"
"Yes"
"Are you Spanish?"
"No, Portuguese."
And then she asked him, "Why aren't you fishing?"
"Common sense. My father died when he was fifty years old," replied Cordova.
"I see."
"He was broke and owed money and I didn't want to wind up that way myself."
"Are you so sure you won't?"
"Well, I might die broke and I may be fifty but I won't look eighty the way he did."
Samantha smiled. Compared to most of the people she had been associating with recently, his honestly was both real and refreshing.
She felt herself being drawn to his care free charm, his outlook on life which he had briefly told her about just a few minutes ago.
But most of all she was drawn to his sensuality that she knew was lurking beneath his tight, well fitting, tailored uniform.