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Message-ID: <28743asstr$981245404@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Maria1971@aol.com
Subject: {ASSM} Patricia Cruz - P.I. - Maria Gonzales
Date: Sat,  3 Feb 2001 19:10:04 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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<1st attachment, "PATRIC~1.TXT" begin>

If you aren't 18, or 21 if you live in a backwards
place, then go away : )

This story is copyrighted by the writer formerly known
as Maria Gonzales, AKA M-Go. Copyright 2001. Send me an
E-mail at Maria1971@aol.com and/or visit my web site
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/MariaGonzales/www

Patricia Cruz - P.I.

by Maria Gonzales

, 2000 - All Rights Reserved. Any use of this work 
without the author's written permission is strictly 
forbidden.

Patricia Cruz peered through her binoculars at the man 
lounging on the reclining chair, his eyes scanning the 
bikini clad women surrounding him at the hotel pool. 
The man stood and walked to the refreshment stand, 
returning with some kind of drink poured inside a half 
coconut shell, a plastic umbrella sticking out of the 
top and a plate of nachos, the cheese dripping off the 
plate and onto his hand. Patricia put down the 
binoculars and picked up her camera. It had a telephoto 
lens attached to it, and she snapped a few pictures of 
Robert Brody as he casually ate the nachos, licking the 
cheese off his fingers. After he finished his food, he 
stood and carried the empty plate to a nearby trashcan. 
Patricia snapped off a roll of film, showing him easily 
walking, he even turned once, twisting his back as a 
curvy, silicone, bottle blonde passed by him wearing a 
tiny bikini.

"So much for his disability," Patricia whispered to 
herself as she took another picture of the man bending 
over to pick up the plate that he had clumsily dropped 
onto the floor. He sure looked healthy to her, sort of 
handsome in that middle-age-mid-life-crisis-time-to-
buy-a-Porsche kind of way. He had most of his hair and 
only the beginnings of a small beer gut, the kind of 
man she loved to tease.

She snapped off a few more pictures, finishing the roll 
of film before she carefully replaced her camera in the 
camera bag. She pulled out a video camera and focused 
it on Mr. Brody as he talked to the lifeguard, an 
exotic looking woman wearing a simple red one-piece 
swimsuit. He looked up at her as she sat in the white 
chair, craning his neck so he could make eye contact 
with her. Patricia captured the entire scene on video, 
then watched as Mr. Brody jumped into the pool and 
effortlessly swam across the length of it before 
flipping underwater and returning, looking up at the 
lifeguard with a smile. He pulled himself out of the 
water and returned to his lounge chair, saying 
something to the lifeguard who ignored him. As he dried 
himself off with his towel, he glanced toward the 
beach, where Patricia's Jeep was parked.

Patricia turned off the video camera and returned it to 
the large bag. With a satisfied smile, she turned the 
ignition of her Jeep, drove off the beach and onto the 
main road. Turning the volume of her stereo up, she 
sang loudly and drove to her hotel, the Hotel de Oro. 
After carefully locking her rented Jeep, she carried 
bags into the hotel, stopping to drop off three rolls 
of film at the one-hour photo-finishing lab in the 
lobby.

Patricia took the elevator up to the third floor and 
entered her room. Picking up the phone, she asked the 
operator for an international line and read the phone 
number to her. After a few minutes, she heard the 
familiar ring of the American phone system and waited 
for somebody to answer.

"Thank you for calling Fidelity Insurance," a robotic 
female voice said, "Your call is important to us. If 
you wish to use our automated claim service, please 
press nine now. If you know your party's extension, you 
may dial it at any time. Press zero to reach an 
operator. If you do not have a touch tone phone, please 
stay on the line, and someone will be with you 
momentarily."

She tapped her fingers impatiently on the table, 
cursing the fact that on this remote island she needed 
to have an operator place a telephone call for her, 
then she had to wait to speak with a live person 
because this backwards island didn't have touch tone 
phones. Patricia listened to the recorded muzak which 
sounded tinnier and more pathetic than she ever 
remembered it sounding, but even having to deal with 
the antiquated phone system could not ruin the 
satisfaction she felt from a successful investigation.

As she waited, she pushed the videotape into a VCR 
already hooked up to another, and began copying the 
tape. After a few minutes, she heard a tired voice on 
the other line. "Fidelity Insurance, how may I direct 
your call?"

"James Rogers please."

"One moment please."

"Yeah," a voice answered from the other side of the 
line.

"Hi Jim, this is Patricia," she answered.

"Get anything on our... what's his name, Brady... 
Brody?"

"I've got ten minutes of video and three rolls of 
stills lounging at the pool, ogling the women and 
swimming in the pool."

"You'd think these people would be smarter than that. 
Just because he's on vacation he thinks he's safe. Good 
job, I'll approve your fee and it'll be transferred 
tonight. You didn't stay in an expensive hotel did you? 
El Hotel De Oro sounds pretty classy."

"Have you ever been to this place? Every hotel is 
expensive and has a fancy name. This is an average 
priced hotel. I first checked into a cheap hotel, I 
think it was called Hotel Buena Vista, but I was chased 
out by the giant cockroaches. They looked like they 
could put me on their backs, carry me out the door and 
into their nest."

Jim laughed loudly and answered, "I've got another job 
for you. We've followed this guy for three weeks with 
locals and can't get anything on him. Whenever he goes 
outside, he brings his walker. Our doctors examined him 
and think he's fine, but his doctors say he can barely 
walk. The X-rays and MRIs don't show any damage, in 
other words, he's faking it, we just can't prove it. He 
also claims that he is impotent, but even his doctor 
says that everything is physically fine with him, that 
it's all in his head."

"Great," Patricia complained, "A headcase that can't 
get it up. Where?"

"You really want to know?"

"Don't you dare tell me LA. You know how much I hate 
that place. I'm allergic to silicone."

"Not LA, not New York either. I like you, I wouldn't 
send you to either place unless I had to."

"Where then?"

"The Midwest. Chicago to be exact. In the middle of 
winter."

"Great," Patricia answered ironically. "Chicago... in 
January even. I'll make you a deal. If I can stay here 
a few more days, then I'll fly to Chicago."

"You've got it, just keep the expenses reasonable. I'll 
fax you the info."

"And I'll send the pictures and video tonight. I'm 
making a copy of the video right now, and the pictures 
are being developed. And just in case, you better send 
me the info about the Chicago job, I don't trust the 
fax in this place."

"Will do. And Patricia?"

"Yes," she answered impatiently.

"I'm still waiting for that nude picture of you."

Patricia giggled and answered, "Someday. Maybe I'll 
take one here and send it to you. Ciao."

"Later."

Patricia hung up the phone, turning off the two VCR's 
and placing the original in a large manilla envelope. 
She wrote the address of Fidelity Insurance on the 
outside and walked to the elevator, went down to the 
lobby and picked up the pictures. She carefully sorted 
the copies, keeping one set and putting the other set 
into the envelope. Stopping at the front desk, she 
handed the envelope to the clerk and signed a sheet of 
paper, approving the charge of mailing the envelope to 
a credit card belonging to Fidelity Insurance.

Patricia returned to her room, stripped off her denim 
shorts and tank top, pulling on a bright pink bikini. 
She pulled the shorts back on and went downstairs to 
her Jeep and returned to the beach where Mr. Brody was 
still lounging, ogling the women in bikinis. It seemed 
he had even convinced a young blonde to sit with him, 
or at least accept his offer of a free drink. He handed 
the drink to her, and she talked with him for a few 
minutes before smiling coquettishly and returning to 
her friends.

Patricia sat in the chair next to his, leaning back, 
and spread sun tan lotion over her already bronzed 
skin. She turned to Mr. Brody and smiled at him; 
through her dark sunglasses he could see him run his 
eyes up and down her body.

She reclined the pool chair, turned over and untied the 
back of her bikini. "Excuse me," she said to him. 
"Could you do me a favor and put some lotion on my 
back?"

"Sure," he answered as he stood and approached her. She 
handed him the bottle of suntan lotion next to her, 
making sure he got a glimpse of her naked breast as she 
rose slightly, handing him the bottle.

She felt the cold greasy lotion on her back, then his 
hands massaged the lotion into her back. She moaned 
provocatively and said, "I'm Patricia. What's your 
name?"

"John, John Brody. I take it you're here on vacation 
from the states?"

"And I take it you are too?" Patricia said as she 
turned her head and smiled at him. His hands had moved 
to her sides, and his fingers skimmed the side of her 
breasts. "Are you on vacation?"

"What other reason would I be here? I can't imagine 
what kind of job would bring somebody to this 
paradise."

"No? I'm here on a working vacation. So far it's been 
mostly work, but the next three days I'm on my own."

"Really? What kind of work do you do?"

Patricia propped herself onto her elbows, smiling at 
Mr. Brody as he stared at her naked, swaying breasts. 
"Insurance."

"Oh, you must be here about that hurricane that blew 
through here a month ago. It doesn't look like it's 
done much damage. If I were you, I'd refuse most of the 
claims as fraudulent. These damn people down here don't 
want to work, they just want to sit in the sun all day 
and get paid for nothing."

"I've had lots of experience with people who try to get 
away with stuff. False claims, faking injuries... stuff 
like that. That's actually my job, if you want to know 
the truth."

John Brody laughed nervously and said, "Really? That 
sounds like an interesting job." He glanced at his 
watch and said, "Look at that, it's already three 
o'clock. Time sure flies when you're having fun. I need 
to get back to my room, my wife's going to be looking 
for me."

Patricia turned over in the chair, letting her bikini 
top remain on the chair. He stared at her exposed 
breasts, his mouth opening in surprise. "Your wife? 
That's too bad, I was looking forward to getting to 
know you better." Patricia folded her hands across her 
stomach, pushing her exposed breasts together. With a 
wicked smile, she told him, "I am so sick and tired of 
being on this tropical island and having to work. Next 
time I accept a job for Fidelity Insurance Companies, 
I'm going to make sure I get an extra week to enjoy it 
before I have to go home." Patricia nearly broke out 
laughing as he stood, nearly falling as he returned to 
his chair wordlessly. "Oh, Mr. Brody... John."

"Yes," he answered hesitantly as he looked back at her.

Patricia jiggled her chest and smiled at him lustfully, 
"Have you ever heard of the phrase, 'busted?'"

Mr. Brody quickly grabbed his bag and walked away, 
turning back to look at Patricia occasionally. Whenever 
he did, Patricia smiled at him and jiggled her breasts. 
He glanced back a final time before he turned a corner, 
and Patricia raised her hands slightly, and as she 
jiggled her breasts a final time, she stuck her two 
middle fingers in the air. He disappeared quickly and 
Patricia pulled her bikini top back on and swam out to 
the buoy and back to the beach.

She dried herself off and followed John Brody's steps 
to his hotel. As she stepped into the lobby, she saw 
Brody stepping out of the elevator, an overweight woman 
yelling at him from behind. He could barely carry their 
bags as he hurriedly walked to the front counter. As he 
checked out and walked to the front doors, Patricia 
followed him and stood next to him as he waited for a 
taxi.

"Going home so soon, John?" she said, loud enough for 
Mrs. Brody to hear. "Too bad, I was really happy to get 
to know you so well." She reached up onto her toes, 
kissed him on the cheek and turned, walking back into 
the hotel. She could hear Mrs. Brody yelling at him as 
the glass doors closed behind her.

Patricia walked directly to the elevator and returned 
to her room. She sprawled out on the bed, deciding to 
sleep the rest of the afternoon before hitting the 
clubs for the rest of her stay, her body well rested 
for three days and nights of parties, dancing and sex.

* * *  * * *

Patricia stepped off the plane into the main terminal 
at O'Hare airport. The airport was well heated, but 
Patricia shivered as she glanced out the window and saw 
snow blowing nearly horizontally as the wind blew it 
around. She shivered again as she realized there was at 
least a foot of snow on the ground.

She claimed her luggage and tightened the belt on her 
coat as she stepped out of the airport into the blowing 
snow, and hailed a cab. The wind seemed to go through 
the fabric of her coat, and she swore to herself, 
wondering why she had left the sun and warmth of the 
Caribbean for this. The cabby helped her put her bags 
in the trunk and amazingly spoke English. After an 
uneventful, but long, drive as the driver struggled 
with the slippery conditions, he helped her unload her 
bags at the downtown hotel.

She checked into the hotel and walked to her room. 
After tipping the bellboy, she opened her briefcase and 
read the information James Rogers had sent her. The 
subject's name was Tyler Robinson and lived in an 
expensive condominium in Lincoln Park, an upscale 
suburb of Chicago. According to the reports, Tyler was 
fifty-one years old and claimed to be disabled with a 
bad back. He only went out when necessary and always 
used his walker to get around in. Local investigators 
had checked him out, following him around for weeks at 
a time, but could not catch him doing anything that 
could prove his good health.

Patricia realized that this was going to be a tough 
case. The subject barely ever went out, and when he 
did, he was careful. Her intuition on this case told 
her that Tyler was really injured, but her intuition 
had been wrong before, only once, but she knew she 
still needed to investigate him.

She looked through the rest of his file, scribbled some 
notes onto a yellow legal pad and dialed his home 
telephone number.

"Hello," she heard a man answer.

"Hello, my name is Patricia Cruz, and I'm looking for a 
Mr. Tyler Robinson."

"I'm not interested in changing my telephone company, I 
don't want to subscribe to your newspaper, I don't need 
aluminum siding, and I gave at the office," he 
answered.

Patricia laughed and answered, "I'm sorry, I'm not from 
a telephone company or a newspaper and I don't sell 
aluminum siding."

"OK. Who are you and what are you selling?"

"My name is Patricia Cruz, and I'm not selling 
anything. If everything goes right, I hope to be 
selling you something," she answered with a laugh.

"Sorry, not interested."

"Wait, don't hang up. I represent Fun Line Products," 
Patricia answered making up the name on the spot. She 
thought to herself that next time, she had to remember 
to plan things out before she called. "We make a line 
of products that you might be interested in. At least 
let me tell you a little about our products."

"You have one minute so make it interesting," Mr. 
Robinson answered gruffly.

"We sell a complete line of lifestyle products that are 
made and designed to increase..." Patricia pretended to 
clear her throat as she thought of something that would 
hold the man's interest, "designed to increase sexual 
appeal and lovemaking skills." Patricia made a funny 
face as she realized the corner she just painted 
herself into.

"Go on," Tyler Robinson said.

"It's hard for me to explain exactly how the product 
line works to increase one's sex appeal and lovemaking 
skills, but these products, designed in Sweden and 
available only through Fun Line Products Incorporated 
are guaranteed to work, with a complete ninety day 
double your money back guarantee. Would you like to 
hear more?" Patricia asked.

"Keep going."

Patricia Cruz took a deep breath and scribbled a note 
on the note pad in front of her, reminding herself to 
prepare better next time. "We can't discuss our 
products over the phone due to our agreement with the 
manufacturer, but if you're interested, I'll be in your 
neighborhood tomorrow and would love to stop by your 
apartment at whatever time is convenient for you and 
show you the entire line of products and give you a 
free gift just for agreeing to look at Fun Line 
Products."

"What kind of free gift," he asked, unable to hide the 
curiosity in his voice.

Patricia giggled, "I can't tell you over the phone, but 
it is a free sample of one of our products and is 
guaranteed to work."

"If you tell me what the free sample is, I'll agree to 
look at your stuff," he answered.

"Mr. Robinson, I can't do that," she said in her best 
telemarketing voice, "I will say that it is guaranteed 
to work miracles with any male sexual problem."

"I've tried Viagra and it doesn't seem to work for me."

"This stuff is better than Viagra, it's guaranteed to 
get you up," Patricia said cheerfully. "That is if that 
is your problem, if it isn't, it is guaranteed to give 
you a better and firmer... wait, you tricked me into 
telling you about the free sample," Patricia said 
coquettishly.

"Guaranteed to work, huh?" he answered curiously. "My 
doctor says my problem is all in my head, but I think 
it's related to a little accident I had at work, but 
the insurance company paid him off so they don't have 
to pay me for that too. All I have to do is look at 
your product line and I get a free sample, right?" he 
asked.

"Exactly."

"Can you be here at noon tomorrow?"

"Let me check my book." Patricia paused and shuffled 
the papers in her notebook, after a few seconds she 
answered, "Twelve o'clock is fine. Let me make sure I 
have the right address." Patricia read his address from 
the information James Rogers supplied her with, when 
Tyler Robinson confirmed the address, she said goodbye 
and hung up the phone.

She stared at the telephone in frustration, as if it 
was the phone's fault she had made up such a stupid 
idea to visit Tyler Robinson. "Guaranteed to get you 
up," she said softly and mockingly to herself. "How are 
you going to do that?"

* * * *  * * * *

Patricia Cruz freshened her lipstick in the rear-view 
mirror of the rented Honda. As she stepped out of the 
car, she straightened her short skirt and tugged it 
down. If the KY-jelly in the tube with the fake label 
applied carefully with the name "Fun Line Hard and Firm 
gel - Get it up nice and firm - 100% all Natural" 
printed by a laser printer and carefully applied to the 
tube couldn't get Tyler Robinson up, then she would 
have to do her best to get him up herself. She had to 
get on his good side, then take him out and get a 
picture and hopefully a video of him walking so 
Fidelity Insurance could prove that his claim was 
bogus. She didn't have a plan of how to exactly 
accomplish that, but she always worked her best when 
under pressure, except for rare instances such as 
yesterday on the phone.

She unbuttoned her blouse, showing as much cleavage as 
she could. She didn't really need the Miracle bra, she 
had enough cleavage with a normal bra, but the Miracle 
bra gave her porn star size cleavage and with the 
claims she had made about what was a normal tube of KY 
jelly, she needed all the help she could get to show 
Tyler Robinson that her product did work.

She went to the main entrance of the building. From the 
records supplied to her by Fidelity Insurance, she knew 
that the building held moderately expensive 
condominiums. She also knew through her own 
investigating, that Tyler Robinson, age fifty-one, 
almost never left his condo. His groceries were 
delivered by an Internet delivery company, and the only 
time he ever left his apartment was to visit his doctor 
or his lawyer. She knew by checking his credit card 
purchases that Tyler Robinson's home had to be 
decorated by fancy furniture, top of the line audio 
visual components, the best burglar alarm on the market 
and home to many holistic-all-natural healing devices 
and medicines.

She buzzed his room, and heard his voice answer 
bluntly, "Who is it?"

"Patricia Cruz from Fun Line Products, we have a noon 
appointment," Patricia answered in her flirtiest voice.

"I'll buzz you in."

Patricia waited for the door to buzz, and she stepped 
into the lobby. She walked directly to the elevator and 
within minutes stood in front of his door. She tugged 
her blouse down and pulled her skirt higher then 
knocked on the door.

"Come in," he yelled, "the door's open."

Patricia turned the knob and stepped into the condo. 
She furrowed her brow momentarily at the barren 
appearance of the condo, she had expected a lavishly 
decorated apartment filled with expensive electronics. 
Instead, the walls were bare and the only furniture in 
the condo was a big screen TV and a reclining chair 
where Tyler Robinson was seated, scrutinizing her. His 
dark hair had white streaks on the side, giving him a 
distinguished appearance. He wasn't attractive, but 
seemed to have a sort of aura around him that made him 
more attractive than he really was. Not that he was 
ugly, just normal looking. There was a faint smell of 
spray-can room deodorizer, a hint of vanilla in the 
air.

She smiled warmly and approached Tyler. "Nice to meet 
you, Mr. Robinson," she said as she extended her hand 
to him. He ignored her hand and nodded his head 
silently.

After a few moments, he explained, "I'm sorry I can't 
get up, but I had an accident at work last year and I 
can barely walk anymore. Of course, nobody believes me 
anymore, not even my damn doctor, and the insurance 
company wants to stop paying my bills, but I guess 
that's more than you want to know, isn't it?"

"Anything you want to tell me," she answered with a big 
smile, "I'll listen, but I'm really here to show you 
our new line of lifestyle products." She held up a 
large duffel bag and waved it. "In this bag, are the 
answers to your lifestyle needs." She paused for 
dramatic effect, smiling as she imagined James Rogers' 
face as he looked at her expense account and found 
nine-hundred dollars in sex toys listed under the 
miscellaneous heading.

"Where's the free sample?" Tyler Robinson asked.

"I can't give that to you yet," Patricia answered with 
a flirtatious smile. "I have to show you our line of 
products first."

"If you don't give me the free sample now. You can walk 
out the door right now."

Patricia frowned, trying to look sad and flirtatious at 
the same time, "If you insist," she answered as she 
unzipped a side pocket on duffel bag and pulled out the 
tube. "Let me tell you what this is and what it does. 
This tube contains one ounce of Fun Line Hard and Firm 
gel. It is guaranteed to work miracles. Women can use 
it on their skin, you know those places that tend to 
get a little flabby, like the bosom and tush, and it 
tightens and firms that area."

"Well, I don't need it for that," he interrupted, "I 
need it someplace else, if you know what I mean," he 
answered with a sly wink.

Patricia smiled shyly and answered, "Well, Mr. 
Robinson, it is guaranteed to work on that too." She 
handed the tube to him and smiled. "I'll leave that 
here for you to try out later and you can call me to 
order more when you realize the miracles it produces. I 
use it myself and have to say that it does exactly what 
it claims. I wouldn't sell a product that didn't work," 
Patricia said coquettishly.

"Pardon me if I don't believe you," he said gruffly, 
"but I've been taken in by many scams, all of them 
claiming to work miracles. When they don't work and I 
try to get my money back, all I ever get is the 
runaround. If you don't mind, I would like to try this 
product out before I see the rest of your products. If 
it works, I'll take a case of this and maybe get some 
of the other "lifestyle" products you have."

"No need for that," Patricia protested, "It really does 
work. I use it myself on my bosom and my tush, and it 
really firms and tightens everything."

Tyler Robinson untwisted the tube and said, "Unless you 
want to see me put this on, you better step into the 
kitchen."

Patricia stepped into the kitchen, discreetly grabbing 
her duffle bag. She quickly pulled out a video camera 
and set it up on a tripod and aimed it at Mr. Robinson. 
After a few minutes, he shouted out, "This crap doesn't 
work!"

"You have to give it a couple of minutes to work in," 
Patricia said softly.

After another few minutes, he yelled out again, "This 
is crap, it doesn't work at all."

"I don't understand it," Patricia said from the 
kitchen. "It's always worked before. Did you rub it in 
really good?" she asked.

"Yeah," he answered.

"Did you rub it all over your... Did you rub it all 
over?" she said, pretending to be modest.

"Rubbed it all over and it isn't working."

"Rub some more on. Maybe you didn't put enough on."

Patricia tried not to giggle and waited a few more 
minutes. "Still not working," he complained.

"It's always worked before. Maybe you're not doing it 
right?"

"Do you want to come out here and show me how to put it 
on?" he asked mockingly.

"I don't know," she answered timidly. "It's always 
worked before, maybe you got a bad batch or something."

"I think it's crap," he said brusquely.

"I'm sure you must be doing something wrong," Patricia 
insisted. "It's always worked before, that's the stuff 
that I sell the most and it pays most of my paycheck. 
Are you sure you rubbed it on really good, in little 
circles followed by long strokes?" Patricia said sexily 
and tried not to laugh.

"Come out here and put it on me if you don't think I'm 
doing it right," he yelled impatiently.

"I can do that, I think," she answered shyly.

"Well, get out here then. I don't have anything to 
hide." Patricia peeked her head around the corner and 
looked at Mr. Robinson. She couldn't see anything but 
the side of his head and his upper body. He turned to 
her and said, "I don't have all day you know. Are you 
coming or are you picking up your bag and leaving?"

Patricia stepped out of the kitchen and approached him. 
Feigning shyness, she turned her head away from him and 
stood behind the chair facing away from him. She 
watched him examining her in a mirror as he rubbed the 
gel on his soft penis; she pretended not to notice the 
mirror or his gaze. "You have to rub it in little 
circles then long strokes," she said meekly.

"I did that already. Now show me how to do it or you 
can leave and I'll call your supervisor and complain 
about how badly you sell their product and how you 
mistreated a crippled old man."

"But..."

"Then leave," he yelled.

She turned around, made a big show of pretending not to 
know what to do, then stepped to the side of the chair 
and turned her head. "Give me the tube," she said 
shyly.

He handed her the tube and she squeezed some of the gel 
onto her fingers. Turning to Mr. Robinson, she smiled 
at him and closed her eyes as she placed her finger on 
his soft penis. She opened her eyes as she massaged the 
gel in tiny circles and couldn't suppress a giggle.

"What's so funny?" he asked curtly.

"It's just that," she said with another giggle, "I've 
never actually done this before, and I've never... 
Nevermind," she said acting embarrassed.

"Never what?" he asked.

"It's nothing, really."

"What?" he insisted.

"It's just that," Patricia answered trying not to 
giggle, "I've never actually touched or even seen one 
that wasn't," she giggled again, "you know, hard." She 
stopped and put more of the jelly on her hand. 
Returning her hand to his penis, she began applying it 
in long strokes, grasping his penis in her hand as she 
slowly moved it up and down. It remained stubbornly 
soft.

"See, it doesn't work," he said.

"I don't understand," Patricia said with a confused 
expression. "Maybe you need some sort of stimulation. 
You don't happen to have any magazines or anything to 
look at do you?" she asked.

"Nope," he answered. "I used to have a lot of them, but 
since the accident they don't do me much good. See, 
still limp as cooked spaghetti."

Patricia got a frustrated look on her face and said, "I 
know this stuff works. I don't know what's the matter." 
She stopped massaging the gel onto his penis, moved 
back and said, "I really think you need some kind of 
visual stimulation. I know this stuff works. It keeps 
my bosom and tush nice and firm, and it's helped 
hundreds of my male customers."

Mr. Robinson frowned and said, "Well, it isn't helping 
me at all."

With a determined look on her face, Patricia looked 
into his eyes, she looked down at her chest. "See, it 
works really good on my chest."

"Hogwash, that doesn't mean it's going to work on me," 
he said, "and anyway, how can I tell it's not the bra 
making them look so perky."

"Mr. Robinson, if I didn't know any better I would 
think you were trying to get me to take off my 
clothes."

"You did say visual stimulation might work, although I 
think this stuff is garbage and doesn't work at all."

"It really works," Patricia protested as she glanced 
around the room, pretending to appear as if she was 
making sure nobody was watching. "If you promise not to 
tell anybody, especially my boss, I'll show you how 
good this stuff works on my chest. I could get fired 
for this you know," she said.

"I won't tell anyone, if you show me how well it works 
on your ass too."

"Mr. Robinson," she protested as she put her hand in 
front of her mouth in mock shock.

"Is it a deal?" he asked.

Patricia pouted, glanced down at his limp penis and 
answered, "OK, but remember you promised not to tell 
anybody." He nodded his head and Patricia looked at her 
blouse as she unbuttoned a button. Glancing back at 
him, she said embarrassingly, "Can I at least turn 
around first?"

"Sure," he replied.

Patricia turned around and felt his eyes on the back of 
her tanned thighs. Quickly unbuttoning the blouse, she 
stripped it off and asked, "Are you ready?"

"The bra has to come off too," he answered. "How am I 
going to tell that it's your tits that are nice and 
firm and not the bra holding them up?"

"Mr. Robinson!" she protested. When her protest was met 
by silence, she put her hands behind her back and 
unclasped the bra. Pulling it off her arms, she 
carefully dropped it on the floor and asked, "Are you 
ready, 'cause I'm not sure if I am. I've never done 
this before."

"You mean nobody has ever seen your tits before?" he 
asked.

"Well, no. I mean yes, but only my boyfriends and stuff 
like that. I've never actually shown them to a stranger 
before."

"I'm not a stranger," he said impatiently. "I'm your 
customer and if you want me to buy any of this stuff 
you better turn around and get my dick hard."

"Mr. Robinson!" she mock protested.

"Any day now," he said impatiently.

Carefully placing her hands over her breasts, she 
turned and looked down, pretending not to look at him. 
Looking down, she realized she was staring straight at 
his limp penis and quickly turned her head and stared 
at the wall.

"You need to move your hands," he told her.

"Do I really?" she protested. Mr. Robinson nodded his 
head, and Patricia looked shyly at him, slowly moved 
her hands to her stomach, and exposed her bare breasts 
to him.

"You're right," he said. "They're really perky. Jump up 
and down and let me see how they bounce.

"Mr. Robinson!" Patricia frowned at him and seeing the 
stern look in his eyes, she bounced lightly on the 
balls of her feet. She could feel her breasts bouncing 
up and down and feel his eyes staring at her bouncing 
boobs.

"They look great," he said. "But I'm still soft as a 
popsicle on the Fourth of July. And you still haven't 
shown me your ass either."

"Mr. Robinson," Patricia protested. She looked into his 
eyes and was met by another stern look. She shrugged 
her shoulders, turned and slowly hiked up her skirt. 
Bunching it up at her waist, she felt his eyes taking 
in her panty clad butt.

"All I see is underwear," he complained.

"But you can see how firm everything is back there," 
Patricia challenged.

"Sort of, but not very well. I'm afraid you'll have to 
pull down your drawers."

Patricia let her skirt fall back down, covering herself 
again. Moving her hands under the skirt, she tugged her 
panties down, past her thighs, past her knees and let 
them fall to her ankles. Stepping out of them, she bent 
at the waits, picked up the panties and placed them on 
top of her blouse and bra piled neatly on the floor. 
Sighing deeply, Patricia slowly hiked her skirt up, 
pausing as the hem reached the bottom of her butt. She 
turned her head and glanced at him over her shoulder. 
Mr. Robinson was intently staring at her bare thighs 
and didn't notice her looking at him.

"I can't do this," she complained as she let the skirt 
fall back down and bit her bottom lip, suppressing a 
giggle.

"Sure you can," he said. "You were almost there. All 
you had to do was move it up a little."

"Are you hard yet?" she asked.

"Nope," he answered. "Soft as a spoiled banana."

"I know this stuff works," she said as she unzipped the 
zipper on the side of her skirt. "If it's the last 
thing I do I'm going to prove it to you." Patricia let 
her skirt fall to the floor and stood in front of him 
naked except for the four-inch high-heeled shoes on her 
feet. "Anything?" she asked.

"Nothing." he replied.

She bent over, touching her hands to the floor. Through 
her slightly opened legs, she could see Mr. Robinson 
staring at her naked body. If this didn't get him hard, 
she was in trouble. "Anything?" she asked.

"Still nothing."

Maybe he really was impotent, she thought to herself. 
"Maybe you need some physical stimulation too, or maybe 
some more gel. Rub some on."

"It would probably work better if you rubbed it on. 
After all, you know how to do it better than I do."

Patricia covered her chest with her left hand and moved 
her right hand between her legs, covering herself the 
best she could. Not because she didn't want Mr. 
Robinson to see her nude body, but because she wanted 
him to think she didn't want him to see it.

She carefully knelt on the floor in front of him, and 
with her right hand, placed the tube in her left hand 
and making sure her breasts weren't exposed, she tried 
to squeeze some gel from the tube into her hand. The 
gel spurted out and formed a big pile in the palm of 
her hand. Carefully, she bent over and rubbed the gel 
onto his soft penis in a circular motion.

When his penis didn't respond, she removed her left arm 
from her chest, squeezed more KY jelly onto her hands 
and rubbed them together. She could feel her now 
exposed breasts jiggle slightly and looked into Mr. 
Robinson's eyes. He was engrossed by her jiggling 
breasts and she thought she felt his penis twitch, 
although she may have imagined it. Her hands covered 
with the gel, she placed both hands on his penis and 
slowly pumped her hands up and down. She could feel it 
harden slightly, and she continued her movements up and 
down his penis.

"It looks like it's beginning to work!" she said 
happily.

"Why, it is working a little," he answered happily.

"As Patricia continued to pump her hands up and down, 
the once hardening penis grew soft again. Patricia 
angrily looked at Mr. Robinson and said, "You're not 
letting it get hard."

"Listen, sweetie, I want this to work as much as you 
do. Maybe it's the way I'm sitting in the chair. Could 
you be so kind and help me into the bedroom where I can 
lay on my back?"

"The bedroom?" Patricia asked suspiciously. "Mr. 
Robinson!" She looked at him sternly then smiled 
softly. "It might help your circulation and get some 
blood flowing." Patricia stood, then acting as if she 
just remembered her unclothed state, she placed both 
hands over her exposed pussy, causing her breasts to 
move together with a jiggle, making them look even 
larger than they already were.

"I need you to help pull me out of this chair," he 
said. "Then you need to help me balance on the way to 
the bedroom." She nodded her head and held out her hand 
to him. "Not like that," he said as he sat upright. 
"You need to push me from the back first, then move 
around front and pull me up.

She did exactly as he ordered, and soon found herself 
with his arm around her shoulders, helping him walk to 
the bedroom. Once inside, she helped him lie on his 
back.

"Take off my pants and underwear," he ordered. "Then 
get back to work."

She pulled his pants and underwear off with a single 
motion and stepped back, shyly covering herself as she 
looked at his still soft penis. "I need to get the gel 
from the other room," she said.

"OK," he answered, "but hurry it up."

She went into the other room and grabbed the tube of 
gel, then went into the kitchen and carefully aimed the 
video camera into the bedroom, zooming the lens so the 
bed filled the frame. She pushed the record button and 
walked into the bedroom. She was sure that she was 
either going to find out he really was impotent and 
crippled, or she was going to get a great video of 
Tyler Robinson fucking her and hopefully using his 
legs.

When she returned to the bedroom, she made a big show 
out of squeezing the gel onto her hands. She knelt on 
the bed and began to stroke his penis up and down, but 
it stubbornly remained soft.

"It still isn't hard," she said dejectedly.

"Maybe I need some more visual stimulation," he said as 
he looked into her eyes.

"What else can I do?" she asked with a confused 
expression. "I mean I'm already here with you without a 
stitch of clothes on."

"Maybe a little show will do the trick," Mr. Robinson 
answered. "Keep doing what you were doing to my dick, 
but move your butt up here in front of my face and open 
your legs so I can see your pussy."

"Mr. Robinson!" Patricia protested. She continued to 
stroke his soft penis, vainly trying to get an erection 
out of it. After a few seconds, she said, "OK, but you 
have to promise not to touch. I'm not that kind of 
girl."

"I'll just look, I promise," Mr. Robinson replied with 
a mischievous smile.

Patricia turned and placed her butt next to Mr. 
Robinson's shoulders. Opening her legs slightly, she 
realized he could see how wet her pussy was. She knew 
she couldn't pretend to act like she wasn't affected by 
her display. Patricia continued to move her hands along 
his penis, and as she opened her legs a little more, it 
hardened a little, but wouldn't move beyond that stage.

"Maybe if you put one knee on each side of my chest, so 
I could get a better look at your pussy, it might get 
even harder."

"Mr. Robinson!" Patricia mock exclaimed as she 
straddled his chest. With her legs open wider, she 
could feel a warm breeze from the furnace hit the warm 
moistness between her legs. She smiled slyly and moved 
her upper body lower, allowing her swaying breasts to 
graze his stomach as she pumped his now rapidly 
hardening penis.

"By God it's working," he shouted. "I'm getting harder 
than a teenager in the girl's locker room!"

Patricia sat up, resting her wet pussy on Mr. 
Robinson's chest. "See! I told you it would work," she 
cheerfully shouted. "Do you want to see the rest of the 
products now?" she asked.

"Honey," Mr. Robinson said happily. "I'll take a case 
of this stuff and I'll buy whatever you want to show 
me, but this is the first hard-on I've had in over a 
year, you're not going to let me waste it are you?"

Patricia looked at him with a perplexed look on her 
face. "What exactly do you mean?" she asked hesitantly.

"I mean I have a hard on for the first time in a year 
and I want to put it to good use. Since you're sitting 
on top of me naked as a jaybird, I was sort of hoping 
that..."

"Mr. Robinson!" Patricia protested. "I'm not that kind 
of girl."

"C'mon. You're wetter than a catfish at the bottom of 
Lake Michigan anyway. Don't tell me you're not 
interested. Look how wet your pussy is," he said as he 
pushed his finger into her pussy, causing Patricia to 
gasp audibly.

"Mr. Robinson!" she said as he rapidly pushed his 
finger in and out of her dripping wet slit. "OK, I'll 
do it as long as you..." Patricia involuntarily moaned 
and continued, "as long as you promise not to tell 
anybody."

"I promise," Mr. Robinson answered.

Patricia moved her body down his body, and positioned 
her pussy above his hard cock. Reaching down with her 
hands, she grabbed his shaft and guided it between her 
labia. Pushing herself down, Patricia whimpered as his 
cock filled her. Leaning over slightly, she placed her 
hands on the bed for balance and began bouncing rapidly 
on him. She heard him groan loudly and his hips shook 
as he announced, "I'm about to shoot more come into you 
than a sailor that's been at sea for a year!" With that 
he pushed against her and groaned loudly. Patricia 
continued bouncing, feeling his cock grow soft.

Dejectedly, she pulled herself off him and pouted on 
the bed. "I was just starting to have fun," she 
complained.

"Maybe if you rub some more of that magic gel on me..."

"Yeah!" Patricia interrupted. She reached for the tube 
and spurted it on her hand and began to massage it into 
his soft cock. It instantly reacted and hardened. "Mr. 
Robinson!" she exclaimed. "It's working! I told you 
this stuff works.

She pulled her hands off his cock, lay back on the bed 
and spread her legs, saying, "Fuck me Mr. Robinson, 
fuck me good and hard."

He looked at her and shook his head slowly, "I would, 
but my legs don't work, remember?"

"But if you don't get on top of me and push your hard 
cock into my dripping pussy I'm going to just about 
die," she pouted as she pushed her finger into her 
pussy and moaned. "Please," she begged.

"I'll try," he answered as he rolled on top of her. He 
quickly pushed himself up with his arms and Patricia 
guided his cock into her pussy. As he began pumping his 
cock in and out of her pussy, he exclaimed, "It's a 
miracle! My legs are working again!"

"Oh Mr. Robinson!" Patricia shouted. "Fuck me harder." 
He increased his pace and his thrusts became more 
erratic. With a loud groan he orgasmed again, 
collapsing on top of her. "Mr. Robinson, you sure know 
how to make a girl feel good," Patricia purred as she 
gently pushed him off her.

"Mr. Robinson flexed his right leg and smiled at her, 
"You are a miracle worker. First you get my dick 
working again, then you get my legs working. I'll buy 
one of everything you've got in that bag of yours.

"Everything?" she asked as she stood and smiled at him.

"Yes, one of everything."

"Well come into the living room and let me show you the 
entire line. Since you're a special customer, I'll even 
give you a demonstration of our full line of vibrators 
and dildos for women. Just give me a second to get 
everything set up."

"A special demonstration?" he asked. "you mean..."

"For you, Mr. Robinson, yes, I'll demonstrate them for 
you. There is this fifteen inch dildo that feels so 
real when it slides in and out of my pussy. Just wait 
here a few seconds and let me get set up."

He stood and walked to her, but Patricia quickly moved 
to the other room and closed the door, leaving it open 
as she peeked her head through the crack and said, 
"Give me one minute, and I'll give you the surprise of 
your life. There's this one vibrator that feels just 
like a real cock when I slide it in and out of my 
pussy. It has this little thing on it that rubs against 
my clitoris and it vibrates so quickly. I almost come 
just thinking about it." She closed the door, then 
opened it a crack and saw him walking quickly to the 
door. "And no peeking or I'm leaving," she said as she 
closed the door.

"Just holler when you're ready for me," he shouted. 
"Fifteen inches? Doesn't that hurt?" he asked.

Patricia pulled her skirt over her hips and as she 
pulled the blouse on, she answered, "Oh, no. Not at 
all. You know what they say, the bigger the better. I'm 
sure you've heard that before with that gigantic tool 
you have." She tried not to giggle as she left her 
blouse unbuttoned, grabbed her duffel bag and quickly 
unhooked the tripod from the video camera, carefully 
folding it and shoving it into the bag.

She focused the camera on the closed door as he yelled 
from inside the bedroom, "Are you ready yet?"

"Almost," she answered as she jogged to the front door 
and opened it. Leaving it open, she refocused the 
camera on the door, giggled and reached into the duffle 
bag and searched for her business card. She placed it 
on the kitchen table and yelled in her sexiest voice, 
"I'm ready for you now Mr. Robinson."

The bedroom door burst open and Tyler's hard cock 
bounced as he ran through the doorway. He saw her at 
the doorway, her breasts still visible, the camera in 
her hand. His mouth opened in surprise as Patricia said 
in mock surprise, "Mr. Robinson, you can walk! Fidelity 
Insurance is going to love this tape I made."

He stared at her, unsure of what to do. His anger 
boiling over, he ran toward her. Patricia calmly ran 
into the hallway, hoping he would follow. He did, his 
erection subsiding. When he found her still taping, he 
ran to her. Patricia backed quickly down the hall, 
until she was backed against the elevator.

She turned and calmly pressed the down button, turning 
to him as he smiled menacingly at her, saying, "Give me 
that tape. Now!" he ordered.

Patricia shook her head slowly and answered, "Sorry, 
this tape goes with me. And I wouldn't take another 
step if I were you."

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"Try me," Patricia answered.

He smiled at her and stepped toward her. "Help! He's 
going to rape me! Help, help me! He's going to rape me! 
Help!" she screamed loudly as she pressed the stop 
button of the camera and quickly put it in her bag. 
Seemingly at the same instant, the elevator door opened 
with a ding and two doors opened and a large man and an 
elderly woman peeked out their condo doors.

Patricia screamed loudly again, a look of terror on her 
face, "He's going to rape me," she said as she closed 
her blouse and backed into the elevator. She pushed the 
"open door" button and yelled piercingly again. Out of 
view of the people looking out, she smiled at Tyler 
Robinson wickedly, opened her blouse, pinched her left 
nipple, jiggled her breast and pursed her lips, blowing 
him a kiss as the elevator door closed.

Tyler Robinson watched the elevator doors close, 
glanced at his neighbors, covered his balls with his 
hands and backed to his apartment, saying, "It's not 
what it looks like, she's a friend of mine, I didn't 
touch her..." As they stared at him, he turned and ran 
back to his apartment, slamming the door behind him.

He noticed the card on the kitchen table and quickly 
dialed the cell phone number listed. "Hello, Tyler," 
Patricia coolly answered. "How's it feel to be busted?"

"Please let me have that tape, I'll buy it from you, 
just tell me how much."

"Sorry, big boy," Patricia giggled, "I take that part 
back, I've seen jalape os bigger than your cock. Sorry, 
the tape's not for sale. Ciao," she said as she turned 
off the cellular phone and turned the key of the rented 
car.

Patricia unbuttoned her overcoat and blouse on the way 
back to the hotel, enjoying the cool breeze on her 
exposed breasts. At the hotel, she buttoned one button 
of the overcoat and walked to her room. She called 
James Rogers at Fidelity Insurance. As he answered the 
phone, she laughed and said, "I got him."

"You got Tyler Robinson? That's great, how'd you do 
it?"

"You'll see when you get the tape. You'll get to see 
something much more exciting than a nude picture of 
me," she giggled.

"Tell me more," he said.

"Maybe later, but right now I have a duffel bag of 
stuff I need to try out. I'll talk to you later. Ciao," 
she said as she hung up the phone, opened the duffel 
bag and pulled out a fifteen-inch dildo. "Now it's time 
I get to find out how this thing feels," she said out 
loud to herself as she stripped off her clothes and 
fell onto the bed.

* END *


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