As the first glimmer of sunlight filtered through the slit in the mini blinds the buzzing started. It was that plaintive, futile buzzing of a house fly attacking the window pane in its last dying hours. The fly did the same thing yesterday and all I could wonder is what's taking that fucking thing so long to die? I pulled the pillow over my head and tried to muffle out the noise it was making but it was no use. I had to put that thing out of my misery if I was going to get any more sleep.
Los Angeles doesn't start too many mornings with crisp clear air and brilliant sunshine. Perhaps this fly was doing me a favor by rousing me early enough to enjoy such a glorious morning. But with just three hours of sleep under my belt I couldn't have cared if I was waking up in Tahiti. I was beat and that buzzing was driving me crazy.
I climbed down the ladder form the sleeping loft and into the dressing room. By now the sun had risen to the level of the skylights and the brightness was over powering. There was no way I was falling back to sleep even if Angelina Jolie had given me a blow job. Even though I had set the coffee maker up the night before it still took a great deal of dexterity to find the appropriate button and push it. The fly was still buzzing and adding to its cacophony was the beating against the glass as it tried to pound its way through to the outside. I guess they never explained the physics of window glass in fly school. With a life expectancy of less than a month I guess some things have to be left out.
The buzzing and the beating needed to stop. As I was deciding how to assassinate this pest, the first waves of French roasted aroma wafted past my nostrils and gave me pause. I leaned my elbows on the counter and stared at the lines on the carafe. As soon as it hit "four" I was pouring that first cup and heading to my desk to end that miserable fly's life several hours early.
I sat down in my plush office chair and took a couple of airy swigs of piping hot joe. God, I love coffee. Good coffee. The really dark roasted powerful kind you have to buy in a specialty shop at great cost. It's one of life's pleasures I make sure I don't do without. If I have to do without sleep I'm not doing without coffee.
I took another swig, set my cup down, and picked up the fly swatter. I studied the fly on the window through the mini blind. It was working its way back and forth across the top of the last row of window panes jabbing at the glass every few inches. Fucking idiot! You'd think after the first 3,000 jabs it would realize it wasn't getting out. I pulled the cord and opened the blind all the way. The fly took off and disappeared behind me into the room. He'll be back...and when he does he's going to die. A bright beam of sunlight hit my desk and ran across the floor to my right. I swung my feet around and propped them up on the desk affording my left hand unobstructed access to the beam of light washing across the corner of the desk. That's where that fly is going to land I thought, outsmarting a thing with a brain the size of a dust spec.
I already had the fly swatter raised in my left hand when the fly landed there, then the phone rang. I ever so gingerly leaned into the desk and picked up the phone with my right hand and said into it softly, "hold on a sec...." My left hand drove the swatter home and what was left of the fly flew half way across the room and dropped to the floor. I went over and picked up the mangled corpse by its good wing and tossed it onto the waste basket. Then I picked up the phone again and said into it cheerily, "Good morning... To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?" I don't normally speak like that, but I was feeling kind of proud... even a bit superior. I could have been German.
A scratchy, sexy, little voice worked its way into my ear drum: "Is this Mr. Romano?" I told her it was indeed Mr. Romano. "I was referred to you by Ms. Sassin... Cathy Sassin?" Ahhh...my dear friend Cathy, if she ever knew how I lusted after her fine little caboose. Perhaps because we were such good friends I kept that part secret. "What would you charge me for a consultation?"
"A consultation?" I repeated, a little confused. Cathy was one of the top diet techs at Gold's, and a top trainer. "What do you want me to consult with you about?"
Her voice sharpened a little. "Oh, I couldn't very well discuss such a confidential matter on the phone. It is very personal. But before I waste time coming to see you I'd like to have some idea."
"A hundred-fifty bucks an hour," I said trying to dissuade her. "Unless it's something I can do for a flat fee."
"Well, that's far too much," she said tightly. The sexy rasp was almost completely gone. "It could cost me hundreds."
"Or even thousands," I replied.
"Oh, my.... I had no idea. I just want...."
I cut her off: "Where are you?"
"I'm at Gold's Gym... I just left Ms. Sassin's office."
"I'm right around the corner. Why don't you swing by and let me have a look at you. If you're my kind of girl you could end up with more than your money's worth."
"Goodness, no!" she shrieked. "I would have to know something about you first. Ms. Sassin already gave me your address, but I can't just come to your house. This is a very personal and delicate matter. I couldn't talk to just anyone. Ms. Sassin told me you would be the best one to speak with, but..."
"I love Cathy, but she's not always right. Maybe you should be talking to someone else?"
"Oh no, someone else wouldn't do at all." The sexy scratchiness was back. "You see Donald is a very jealous man. We went to see Dr. Philips together for the consultation and he was very concerned about the art work...."
"Donald?"
"Yes, Donald. My fiancé." Her voice tightened up again. "Not only were there paintings of nudes all over his office but he was having a drink at his desk! He smelled of liquor! Do you drink Mr. Romano?"
"I hate alcohol."
"Oh, good." She sounded relieved. "I don't think a professional should drink alcohol. I wouldn't care to avail myself of the services of any professional that drinks alcohol. I don't even approve of tobacco. Do you smoke Mr. Romano?
"Only marijuana."
I heard her windpipe snap shut on the other end of the line. "You might at least sound like the gentleman, Ms. Sassin assured me you were."
"Look, I don't know who you are or what you want. I'm not even half way through my first cup of coffee. Cathy is a dear friend, but I'm sure she has steered you in the wrong direction. Good-bye." And I hung up the phone. I should have left the house and gone to Joni's for my next cup of coffee.
Ten minutes later there was a knock on my door. I didn't bother putting on a shirt when I answered it. There she stood one step down on the landing looking square into my second row of abs. She didn't have to open her mouth for me to know who it was. And no one ever looked less like Rosie O'Donnell - she was a prissy little thing. All tight and compact, sharply dressed wearing a little outfit that couldn't possibly have been purchased off the rack. She was pretty alright, albeit played down with her hair pulled back, black framed librarian glasses and very little discernable makeup. In one hand she held one of those little tiny handbags that looked more like something a kid would use to play doctor (but would take a doctor's money to buy it). There was something oddly sexy about her, especially the way she smelled. "You are awfully rude on the phone, Mr. Romano."
"Yeah, it took a long time to perfect my manners."
She admonished me, "You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
I sized her up and imagined what wonders she was hiding under that outfit. "Alright, if it makes you happy." I held the door open wider, "please come in."
She folded her hands in front of her and clutched her bag for dear life. "Not until you put on a shirt," she said. Then her eyes shifted down half a notch, "and some pants."
I shrugged and let go of the door. I was wearing spandex shorts and caught her in the mirror at the far end of the house checking out my butt as I walked into the dressing room. This chick was wound tighter than mother Teresa but there was something that told me there was a volcano inside her ready to erupt.
I put on a long tee shirt and thought to hell with the pants. I held the door for her and escorted her to the dining room table, then held out a chair for her. She planted her round little booty on the last two inches of the edge, pushed her knees together tightly and rested that obnoxious little bag on her lap. She sat up perfectly straight and said, "You are awfully rough around the edges, Mr. Romano."
I sat in the chair across the table from her and slumped down so that my head rested against the chair back. I stared at the perfectly packaged little beauty across for me and doubted its authenticity. "Cut the act sister. They stopped making numbers like you in the 1940s."
If it was possible to sit up any straighter she did. "I assure you I'm not acting Mr. Romano. Where I come from women are raised to act like ladies."
"And from where is that?"
"Galveston," she said proudly.
"Texas?"
"Well of course Texas."
"Well, you have a pretty anemic little tongue. Where's the twang?"
She batted the most gorgeous green eyes from behind those sexy dark rimmed glasses and looked away. When she returned my gaze she said, "I went away to school in NY."
"Fordham?"
"No, Bard."
Oh my god. No wonder she looks so uptight. "So how did you meet Donald if you went to an all girl college?"
"Oh, mother introduced us. She met Donald while volunteering in Peru. He's a doctor you know. He went there on his own to administer to the poor."
Of course he did, I hate him already. "So, it was love at first sight?" She batted those eyes again and told me it wasn't. "Well then," I asked, "where's Donald now and does he know you're here?"
"Goodness no," she squeaked. "Donald would never approve of me calling on an unmarried man at his home, unescorted."
"Yeah, lord knows you might leave here without your virtue intact. It is still intact?" I asked.
She turned four shades of red and nearly blended into the jug of cranberry juice I had sitting on the table. "That's hardly a question that's any of your business."
"Well then what is my business? Why are you here and what do you want?"
She squirmed a bit on the edge of her chair and without parting her legs as much as to slide a sheet of paper between them, she raised one leg and crossed it over the other. She gathered her thoughts a little more and said, "Donald and I moved out here to California together after I graduated and we got engaged. Mother would never have approved of us moving in together, but Donald received a very generous offer at Valley Hospital. I couldn't bear to see him leave and move all the way across the country without me. Mother agreed after he gave me the engagement ring and we set a date, this June sixth."
I looked at her left hand, there was a ring alright. It had one of those micro dot sized diamonds that looked like it cost $35.00 on sale a Kay Jewelers. She saw me looking and covered her hand obscuring the ring. "Donald is just starting out. He has a very promising career. He's going to do very well."
"I'm sure he is," I said. "Now, are you going to tell me what you want or not?"
She fidgeted a little more and shuffled the strap of her bag between her fingers and uncrossed and crossed her legs the other way with the same sterile alacrity as she had before. "Donald works a lot," she stammered. Then she composed herself again. "He doesn't want me to work. We really don't need the income and I decided to start working out, you know, to do something healthy with my time."
I cut her off and finished her thought for her. It was agony letting her do it herself. "So you've been working out for a while and then someone in the gym suggested you compete in a fitness competition, so you hired Cathy to help get you ready for your first show, right?"
She looked at me surprised, like I had just told her fortune. "Well yes, that's right."
"Okay, so what do you want from me? Cathy is the best in the business. I'm certainly not going to move in on one of her clients."
"No, no, she suggested I come see you."
"For what?" As cute as this little Pollyanna was she was starting to get on my nerves.
More fidgeting, uncrossing and crossing her legs... "Well, Donald and I were looking through one of those magazines you write for - looking at all the fitness girls - and we noticed a lot of them have... um... well, they seem to have.... You know Donald can tell, he is a doctor..."
I cut her off again. This was agony. "Breast implants?"
Her knuckles were white from gripping her bag. "Yes, they all seem to have an augmentation."
"Yeah, so, you already went to see Dr. Philips."
"No, no..." she stopped me. "It's not that. Donald is very conservative." Coming from her that's saying something! "And he doesn't want me to get them. Certainly not from Dr. Philips, you know the nudes and all."
"Are you kidding me right now?"
"No, please let me finish." Her ass must have finally fallen asleep from being perched on the edge of her chair and she pushed herself back. "We had a terrible argument, Donald and I. He finally agreed to the procedure but he would only approve of a very small augmentation. He doesn't want me to look like a tart. He only agreed to 50 CCs."
I busted out laughing. "50 CCs? That's like not even worth it."
"That's what I tried to tell him."
"What did your mother say?"
Her voice tightened up like she got karate chopped in the neck. "Oh, no! Mother couldn't possibly ever find out. She would never approve."
"So, I still don't understand what you want from me."
"Cathy said that you have coached a lot of women for competitions in bodybuilding and fitness and you have some experience with women getting their breasts augmented. She suggested I consult with you to see what you thought."
I sat up and poured myself some Cranberry juice. After this volley I was seriously considering adding a couple of shots of Vodka to it. But I thought the trauma to little Miss Priss would be too much. "Would you like some cranberry juice?"
"No thank you."
"Well, my experience with breast implants is that women never get them big enough. That's not from my perspective because I don't think they could ever be big enough." She started turning red again. "It's from the women's perspective. They all seem to go through the procedure and then wish they had gotten them just a little bigger."
"What do you suggest is the right size for me?"
"It's hard to tell. You're wrapped up like a dead Egyptian princess. I'm going to have to see what you look like."
"Surely you don't expect to see me in the nude," she gasped.
At this point I didn't want to see her at all, let alone nude. "No, but can you take off that jacket and stand up and let me see what your body looks like? What do you have on under there, armor?" She finally cracked a smile. Her teeth were so perfect and so white they sparkled. She stood up and unbuttoned her jacket and took it off. She folded it perfectly down the middle and draped it over the back of her chair. She then stood a good distance away from me making sure she was between me and the door. She was wearing a very tight camisole and tailored slacks. Her body was fairly petite and she had some really good muscle tone. Her little delts were capped, her arms had a little vein running up her biceps, I'm sure her abs were chiseled, and that little butt of hers looked just like a perfect bubble. I had her face me and then turn to the side. Poor thing, she was flat as a board. "You really aren't starting off with much, what are you like an A minus?" I might as well have thrown a dart at her. She looked down and I thought she was going to cry. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I was kidding. You're body is smoke'n. You really have some incredible lines and great proportions, but you really do need some breasts to balance everything out. Especially with that round little butt you have poking out. I'm sorry, 50 CCs isn't going to cut it."
I was obviously telling her what she wanted to hear because her eyes perked right up. "How big do you think I should go?"
"550 to 600."
"Each?"
"Yes, each! You need a strong D cup to go with that ghetto booty you have. You have one of the roundest asses I've ever seen." Naturally she turned red again with that revelation.
After a long silence she put her jacket back on and buttoned it up. "I don't know what to say."
"You can say good-bye. I really have to get going."
"What about your fee?"
"My fee? Don't worry about my fee. Just tell Cathy it's a favor to her. But you do have to come back and see me after you get them done. I want to make sure I was right. That is, if you listen to me." I walked her to the door and opened it.
"I really feel like I should pay you for your time," she said. "I feel like it would be appropriate."
"I prefer being inappropriate. You're appropriate enough for the whole neighborhood." I didn't think she quite got that. "Anyway, it was nice meeting you." I held out my hand for her to shake it. "Good luck with Donald." She shook my hand, and smiled at me a little wryly. She held my hand a millisecond longer than necessary but enough to make me think. Then she turned and walked down the steps. I watched her walk down the path to the street and nearly got a woody. I could follow her for miles; that ass so was fine!
The weeks passed and I kind of forgot about my little visitor. The contest season was in full swing and I was wrapped up in my clients, work and training. I really didn't even think she would ever go through with getting her tits done; not with opposition from Donald and the puritanical mother she obviously counted on a great deal. That girl was rolled up tighter than pin joint and half as fun, or so I thought.
It was about mid day and I had just gotten out of the shower following a particularly brutal workout, when I heard a deliberate tapping at the door. I opened it wearing a towel and nothing else. She stood there like she had several weeks earlier, staring into the second row of my abs. She was dressed more or less the same way, but had a little bit of something far less demure in her gorgeous green eyes. Kind of like a leopard, or a minx, or something else slinky and sly. "Well, hello, Mr. Romano" and I said hello in return. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"
"I'm wearing a towel."
"I can see that," she said. I shrugged and held the door open and she walked passed me. Whatever it was that she was wearing nearly got me drunk as a nose full of it hit my brain. From my brain it went south and I started having problems.
"Ummmm.... Let me put something on," I said, and excused myself into my dressing room. It was definitely the same girl but something was different about her. Far more than the obvious protuberances she had muffled under her designer suit. She got her tits done alright, but the schoolmarm was conspicuously absent. "I'll just be a minute," I called out from behind the wall. "Please make yourself at home." I threw on a pair of shorts and long tee shirt and stepped back into the living room. She had indeed made herself at home. She had taken off her jacket and had splayed herself languidly across the arm of the sofa. A pair of the firmest ripest tits I'd ever seen strained against a sheer tank-top. There was nothing I could do but stare right at them.
"What do you think?" she asked me. That sexy rasp was back in her voice in full effect. She was nearly purring.
"Wow... yeah, they look good." I lied - they looked insane! "How big did you end up going?"
She slithered into a standing position and edged herself toward me on six inch stilettos. "You tell me, Mr. Romano, you're the expert." She stood up straight and turned to the side and then she tossed me a look you could have poured on a waffle.
At that moment I had to make a decision: I could either fall under her spell and act like a boob-struck idiot and start babbling and talking chopped salad. Or I could play the game and see where this would take us. "First of all, you need to stop calling me ‘Mr. Romano,'" I said. "That's my father's name. Next, if you don't stop looking at me like that. the next name you'll be calling is God's."
Her long auburn hair was pulled back which accentuated that sinful librarian look her dark framed glasses imparted. Her eyes were as green as ever but there was something in them that was making it very hard to keep my composure. "Looking at you like what?" she said as he creped a little closer to me. "I just want your opinion."
She just wanted my opinion like I just wanted a split lip. "Ummm.... What does Donald think?"
"Donald?"
"Yeah, your fiancé?"
"Oh, him..."
"Yes him. Or, don't you remember?"
She smiled and said: "The streets of the world are littered with discarded fiancés."
"Isn't that the truth. You find them everywhere these days, especially in the body biz." Obviously Little miss Priss had put her foot down and Donald went by the wayside. This babe had a banging set of 90s pointed straight at me. Any second those nipples were going to poke two holes in my eyeballs. "And what about mother? What does she think?"
"I don't care to answer that," she said with dignity. She slinked closer still. Her tits were right under my neck. "Are you going to tell me what you think, or not?"
I inhaled her scent and struggled to stay on my feet. She smelled like two strippers and an angel. "No... not yet." She moved a little bit closer and tilted her head back. I used a mental crow bar and pried my gaze up off her chest and toward her eyes, but it was too late. They had already rolled back in her head. Her lips were parted and so close to mine I could feel how sweet her breath was. Then everything stopped. It was like that moment before a symphony when the conductor taps on the music stand and holds his hands up poised. And when he drops them, in an instant 50 instruments erupt in unison and in perfect harmony. That was the moment I realized our tongues were wresting.
Several hours later I still hadn't answered her question. She rolled up on top of me in the bed and sat up straddling my chest. She put her arms up and touched them behind her head with a handful of her main. Those big brand new naked titties were sticking straight out in the most ungodly and lascivious way. Then she eyed me like a cat. "I'm waiting Mr. Romano..."
"Six-fifty," I said without hesitation."
She bit down on the perfectly manicured French tip of her pinky, wrinkled up her nose and looked down at me with the cutest smile I'd ever seen. "That's absolutely right, Mr. Romano."
"I told ya... Quit calling me by my father's name. And I told you what would happen if you kept looking at me like that..."A few minutes later she was calling Jesus' father's name.
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