index


Message-ID: <50464asstr$1108293004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: roguewriter@hotmail.com
Mime-Version: 1.0
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 12 Feb 2005 23:54:29 +0000 (UTC)
User-Agent: G2/0.2
Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com
Injection-Info: f14g2000cwb.googlegroups.com; posting-host=141.153.195.184;
   posting-account=3eHrBQwAAAA9c0-5QjSKPlmkXOTWG9kk
Subject: {ASSM} story: A Death, Baked Bob, and the Personal Ad (F/F) (2/4)
Lines: 1229
Date: Sun, 13 Feb 2005 06:10:04 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

A DEATH, BAKED BOB, AND THE PERSONAL AD
By Rogue Writer

(F/F, oral, anal, exhibitionism, jewelry, drugs, tattoos, piercings,
food, bad accents)

DISCLAIMER - This is a fictional story to be read and enjoyed.  If
you can't read, stop reading.  If you can't enjoy, stop reading.
If you don't like any of the story codes mentioned above, stop
reading.  If you can't stop, it's not my problem.


Part 2 - Baked Bob To The Rescue!


I lost my job three months later.  By that time I didn't care, which
was probably a good percentage of why I got fired.  I would show up
late, blow deadlines like they were suggestions, and get belligerent
with my bosses.  Oddly, none of that was enough to fire me. The
combination of screwing up a major project and my co-workers noticing
that I seemed 'medicated' earned me a boot out the door.  The happy
pills did a great job of keeping my mind off of Monica.  Unfortunately
they kept my mind off of everything else as well.

No one at work had any sympathy for me about the death of my lover.  It
wasn't because they were callous; fact is they didn't even know
Monica had ever existed in my life.  When I got the job I had a strong
sense that coming out at work would impede my chances of rising up in
the company.  Monica said I was putting my ambition ahead of my
self-confidence.  My response was that I was working in a very
competitive field, where anything can be used against you and even your
best friend would sell you out.  But now the fact that I didn't come
out was working against me.  Maybe if they knew what I was going
through, what I'd lost, company management and my co-workers might
have given me another chance.  Maybe.  I wasn't really worried
though.  For now, I could get any job and still be okay.  The rent on
the apartment was cheap enough, since Monica and I had been trying to
save up for a house.  Now all I had to save up for was my next stash of
happy pills.  Life had become so simple.

Baked Bob sent me to this grief therapy group he found on the Internet.
 I sat there in a circle with ten other people who'd lost someone,
all of them still grieving.  One woman had lost her husband over seven
years ago.  Seven years and she still couldn't let go.  It drove me
crazy listening to her drone on about how much she loved and still
missed her husband.  I felt a vicious anger towards her as well, but I
couldn't exactly put my finger on why.  The rest of the people there
weren't in much better shape.  They all cried on and on about what
they were missing.  When it was my turn I had a hard time talking.  The
seven-year woman told me to let it all out because it feels good to
talk to someone about it.  That made me even more angry, I felt like
she wanted to hear my sorrow so she could feed off of it, like she fed
off of her own pain.  When the meeting was over everyone told me they
hoped I'd come back next week.  I couldn't imagine why.  I went
there to find an answer to my pain and all I found were people
wallowing in it.

I spent my nights hanging out at Renee's, partying and enjoying
carnal pleasures, but during the day I had nothing to do but sit around
the apartment.  It wasn't hard as long as I had my pills.  They took
the pain away, or kept it from getting too bad when I had what I'd
dubbed a "memory fit".  Thinking about Monica and the times we'd
spent together, the laughing and joking, the disagreements, the
experiences and traveling we'd shared, the problems we encountered
living together, the sex, the things we learned from each other, the
loud screaming arguments and the quiet, tender moments we spent
cuddling.  Sometimes I thought about what the future would have held
for us.  The worst was those moments when I realized how permanent the
situation was.  I would never hear her laugh again, or see her smile,
her pout, or her funny face that she used whenever I was sad.  Moments
like those were just devastating.

It was during one of those particular moments when I decided to try and
watch a movie to keep my mind off of it.  The pill I had just taken
wasn't strong enough to keep my sadness at bay.  I wasn't sure what
a second one would do, and I wasn't looking to find out while I was
alone in my apartment with no one around to call for help.  So I
decided to use a movie to transport my thoughts elsewhere.  Looking
through the DVD's I came upon an unmarked case, and suddenly felt
dread slither through my body as I remembered what it was.  But I had
to watch it.  There was no way I wasn't going to watch it.  I put it
in the player and paused for a moment.  I reached for the pill bottle,
stopped myself and hit the play button.

The screen went from black to showing our bedroom.  There I was, lying
naked on the bed with Portisehead playing in the background.  Then the
picture shook like there was an earthquake.

"You sure you know how to operate that thing?" I asked, followed by
a laugh.

"Shut up!" Monica said from behind the camera.  "I just want to
make sure I have the right angle."

"Do I get a close-up?" I asked in a mockingly hopeful tone.

"Only if we want to break the lens."

I grabbed a small pillow and threw it to the left of the camera.
Monica shouted, "Hey!" and ran into the picture, herself naked, and
jumped on top of me.  We smiled at each other for a moment and suddenly
started kissing, small, passionate kisses building up to a full
open-mouthed kiss.  My hands ran up and down her backside as our bodies
pressed together and our legs moved about like we were doing some slow
dance without a floor.  Occasionally our mouths would pull apart but
our tongues were still playing with each other.  Then Monica pulled
away and traced her tongue along my jaw line.  She wrapped her lips
around my chin and let them slide away as she pulled back, straddling
my stomach as she sat up.  Monica looked down into my eyes as her arms
stretched out, letting her fingertips play on my nipples.  I remembered
that moment, staring up at the serious look on her face and wondering
what she was thinking.  I was about to ask when she leaned down and
took my right nipple in her mouth.  My eyes rolled back and I moaned,
forever losing the opportunity.  Monica moved over to tongue my left
nipple as she rolled the right one between her thumb and index finger.
I put a hand on her head as she licked and sucked on my nipple, her
fingers lightly tracing the underside of my breast.  I loved that
sensation.  She stopped what she was doing and crawled up me until her
face was over mine.  I leaned up and we started kissing again, our arms
wrapped around each other and our breasts pressing against one another.

Monica brought her leg between mine and started pressing it against my
sex.  I moaned and broke the kiss long enough to whisper her name.
"I love you," she returned and we kissed again.  My hands glided
slowly down her back and came to rest on the globes of her ass.  I
squeezed softly a few times and then pulled them apart.  Monica made a
noise I couldn't decipher as I ran my fingers up and down her crack,
driving her to grind her leg harder against me.  When my finger found
her rosebud I toyed with it a little, running my finger along the small
folds of skin around the outer rim.  She moaned and broke the kiss.  I
took the opportunity to grab her and roll us over so I was on top.  I
started licking her shoulders, which was her odd little sensitive spot,
and made my way down to her breasts.  My tongue ran around the area
underneath the right one, slowly moving back and forth like the
swinging of a pendulum, arching its way upwards until I reached her
areola.  It was bright pink against her pale skin.  My tongue stiffened
and I used the tip to trace the outer rim all the way around several
times.  Then I slid the entire face of my tongue over it slowly,
stopped to watch the reaction on her face and did it again.  After the
last lick I placed her nipple between my lips and started sucking.
Inside my mouth my tongue was alternately flicking over the tip and
pressing down on it.  Monica's mouth dropped open and she emitted a
low gurgling sound.  After a minute of this I let her nipple slide out
between my lips.  I brought my lips close to her ear and whispered,
"Did you like that?"

"Yesssss," she breathed.

"Good," I said.  "Because after I'm done, I'm going to do the
same thing to your asshole."

Monica let out a gasp.  I turned around and straddled her stomach so I
was facing her feet, then leaned forward and grabbed her foot so I
could suck on her toes.  My other hand reached down to Monica's fur
and played with the hair for a moment before delving further between
her legs.  The area around her clit was dry, but when I got to her hole
and past it I felt an ocean.  My fingers scooped up some of her honey
and spread it around her clit.  Monica reached to the nightstand and
grabbed a bottle of lube, spread it on her finger and ran it up and
down my ass.

Sitting on the couch and watching all this unfold on the screen, I
started rubbing my left nipple through my T-shirt.  For a moment I
stopped and thought I shouldn't be doing this...right before I pulled
the shirt off and rubbed and pinched my bare nipple.  Maybe this would
be a way for me to come to terms with it.  Feel less pain.  Start
moving on.  Bullshit myself.

We were moaning on screen.  Monica's finger had made its way up my
ass and she was pumping it in and out.  I had moved on to her other
foot, sucking and licking her toes while my fingers worked magic on her
folds. My present day folds wanted some attention and my hand found its
way inside my pajama pants and started working some magic of their own.
 I put my feet up on the coffee table and spread my legs for easy
access.  Sometimes just the act of spreading my legs caused a sexual
reaction in me, and tonight was no different.  On the screen Monica was
using her other hand to pinch and pull at her nipple, and I found
myself mimicking her movements.

Suddenly Monica let out a loud cry as she came.  I brought my fingers
to my mouth and sucked her juices.  Monica lay completely spent, her
finger still stuck in my ass while my fingers were stuck in my mouth.
Looking at it from the couch made me laugh.  Then on-screen me hopped
off Monica and we cuddled.  All alone on the couch me grabbed the
remote and fast-forwarded until the image changed.  Monica had taken
the camera off the tripod and given it to me so I could record her
going down on me from my point-of-view.  I hit pause and ran to the
bedroom.  In the closet sat a large box full of the sex toys Monica and
I had collected over the years.  There were vaginal and anal beads,
various dildos and vibrators, a blindfold and handcuffs, a small, soft
whip, nipple clamps, and a feather.  I settled on a smooth, red
vibrator and ran back to the living room.

I took off my pants, got into my previous position and hit play on the
remote.  The image was looking down my body to Monica's head between
my legs.  In reality you couldn't see anything of what was going on
other than her head moving and hearing my moans and words of
encouragement.  But it was good enough for what I was looking to do.  I
started the vibrator and rubbed it against my pussy, using the juices
I'd already created on the surface.  Then I moved it around trying to
mimic Monica's effect on the on-screen me to the on the couch me.  I
slid the whole thing up and down my folds when her head moved up and
down, centered the tip on my clit when her head was still, and slid it
inside when I remembered she stuck her tongue into me.

We were sliding up and down my folds when I moaned, "Uhhhh, uhhhhh,
slower."  I remembered she started fingering my ass.  I brought my
left hand under my leg, slid my finger along my pussy to get it
lubricated, and brought it to my rosebud.  I toyed with the outer rim,
getting it relaxed until I started pressing on the hole.  After getting
it lubricated in my juices again, I was able to push it in to the
second knuckle and start pumping in and out.  I kept my eyes glued to
the screen, imagining it was Monica causing all my current pleasure.  A
series of high-pitched moans came out of me from the television, so I
concentrated on my clit until I started coming.  My moans couldn't
compete with the ones on screen, but I managed to orgasm just behind
the videotaped one.  Monica crawled up my body and the camera shook for
a moment.  Suddenly it dropped and there was an incredible view of my
hip.

The sound of kissing came from the television and my breathless words.
"I love you, Mon."

"I love you too."

"You're the best fucking thing that's ever happened to me."

"I know," she said, followed by infectious giggling by both of us.
We continued to whisper sweet nothings to each other while the camera
recorded my hip.

I turned off the vibrator and sat there, naked, my legs still spread
with my feet on the coffee table and my finger in my ass.  Suddenly I
started crying.  The vibrator hit the floor.  I found something else
I'd never share with Monica again.


Later I got a call from Baked Bob.  He said he wanted to talk to me
about something but wouldn't be specific until we met face to face.
This is classic Baked Bob mentality.  Bob hated telling people any of
his so called 'brilliant ideas' over the phone because he wanted to
see the reaction on their faces when he said it.  The next time we had
plans was three days away when he was performing with his band.  Bob
played guitar, Asian Andy played bass, our friend Trilly sang and some
guy named Steve played the drums.  They called themselves Carcass Crowd
Surfers.

Even thought I was intrigued I managed to go three days without running
to Bob's store, throwing him down on the counter and demanding he
spill his guts.  It was hardly a test of will, between my happy pills
and hanging out over at Renee's I had my mind other places.  I
swallowed a pill before I left the apartment that night, and it was
working nicely by the time I got downstairs.  This helped me blow off
the taunting comments from Ronald and Tim as I passed by them, and kept
me from shooting my ride after she picked me up.  The whole way there
she kept asking about was how I was doing since Monica died.  I knew
she meant well and was trying to be a friend, but every question was
like salt on an open wound.

The band was playing at a small underground club called The Stoned
Tongue.  It was the kind of place that looked like it was decorated on
fifty bucks, and most of us felt more comfortable there than in some of
the glitzy high priced clubs around.  The walls were covered with
psychedelic art and movie posters and the lighting in the room was
subtle, mostly in splashes of red, blue, green and the occasional black
light.  There were couches and cushioned chairs, a bar along the right
wall and a large stage in back.  But the most impressive part was the
black floor that anyone could write on.  All you needed to do was ask
for a marker at the bar.  Some people drew artwork that was truly
impressive and others drew things that struggled to be called
'work' much less 'art'.  When I walked in my eyes intentionally
avoided the floor.  Near the doorway there was a big heart with the
words "Monica and Keisha forever".  Forever was much shorter than
we thought.

There was a table near the bar selling band T-shirts and the one CD the
Surfers had recorded in Trilly's basement.  I was the one who came up
with the album title.  It's called 'Sip Hard Fish', and yeah, I
was drunk at the time.  Bob was sitting behind the table.  When he saw
me he got up and came over.

"You find a new job yet?" he asked.  I shook my head. "Are you
looking?"

"Dammit Bob..." I started, but he held up his hands.

"I just wanted to know the situation," Bob said.  A smile came
across his face and I prepared myself.  "I have an offer for you.
Come to work for me at the store."

"Are you not high again?"

"I'm quite fine actually, thanks."

"Do you know what I was doing at my last job?  How much I was
making?"

Bob's mouth twisted a little.  "Was is the operative word there.
Nowadays you're just hanging out with Renee."

For a second I wondered if Bob was going psychic on me too.  "How the
fuck do you know that?" I asked.  A guilty look came across Bob's
face and I felt anger welling up inside of me as I realized what he
did.  "Your buddy?"

Bob had an old high school friend who took the opposite direction in
life.  He became a cop.  "I just asked him to keep an eye on you
every once in a while."

"Well you can tell him to stop.  I don't need a babysitter."

"I'm just worried about you."

"I don't need a mother either.  I can handle myself just fine."

Bob nodded, even though the look on his face said he didn't believe
me.  "So what about the job offer?"

I thought for a moment.  There'd been no response to the jobs I'd
applied for.  Working at Bob's store would be easy and I already got
along with the boss.  Besides, for the condition I was in, working
there would be paradise.  Literally.

"Okay," I said to him.  "When do I start?"

Bob owns a place called Baked Bob's Paradise.  It's a combination
movie rental, liquor and convenience store, since he got tired of
having to drive all around town to get everything he wanted whenever he
got high (Bob also repaired electronics like VCR's, which scared me).
 Working at Baked Bob's Paradise was a paradise in itself.  I'd
come in at nine-thirty, and the first order of business for the day was
to sit in Bob's office and have a smoke.  We would discuss which
movies to play on the monitors throughout the store, then open at ten
and sit behind the counter watching movies and helping the occasional
customer.  Lunch was at one-thirty, after which we'd smoke again and
discuss afternoon movie options.  Bob was easy to pick movies with
because he liked all types of films, from art house to action, foreign
films to horror, dramas and even the occasional romance film.

At every customer service job I've ever worked there was always at
least one oddball customer, and at Baked Bob's there was Jiminy
Cricket.  He was an older man, maybe in his mid-fifties, with a tall,
bulky body and thinning white hair he kept at a crew cut's length.
You could tell from his eyes and face that he was a lifetime drinker.
We dubbed him Jiminy Cricket because in under a minute he would come
in, quickly grab a movie from the porno section without even looking at
the title, and check out.  He moved like he was in a rush to get to a
bathroom and it was hard not to laugh.  Bob and I and the people who
worked the night shift all tried to make conversation with him to no
avail.  One day as I was helping him I asked, "Are you afraid your
wife is going to catch you renting pornos?"

He stared at me like a kid who just found out Santa Claus wasn't
real.  I swallowed and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

He grabbed his movie and bumped into Asian Andy as he rushed out the
door.  I shook my head and said, "What the hell is up with that
guy?"

Andy walked up to the counter and said, "If you really want to
know..."

"No," I said sternly. "Not like that."

We quietly stared at each other for a moment.  Then Andy said, "I
haven't seen you around in a while.  Wanted to find out what you're
up to."

I snorted.  "What, you don't already know?" I turned around and
started doing busy work behind the counter.

"It doesn't work like that," he said.  "I'm just worried
about you."

"Everybody's so worried about me and yet no one seems to believe it
when I say I'm okay."

"They're worried about what's happened already.  I'm the only
one that knows something worse is coming."  He paused.  "And I feel
it's going to happen soon."

I spun around to face him.  "Listen, even if I believed in
your...powers, I don't know any blondes, and I don't plan to meet
any.  So thank you for your concern, but I think you got it wrong this
time."

Andy stared at me.  Then he gave a nod and said, "Be careful."


The next week Bob was out of town on what he called business.  Whether
this had to do with videos, chips, Slushies or drugs I had no idea.
But for five days I was in the store by myself, and for some reason I
watched all sad romance films where someone died.  'Love Story',
some movie with Sidney Poitier in France, 'Here on Earth' and a
bunch of others, and I cried through each and every one of them.  Of
course, it looks pretty strange when you go to rent a movie and the
checkout person behind the counter is in a full out bawl.  Customers
would ask what was wrong and get an earful.

"Are you okay?" one woman asked.

I was practically blubbering at this point.  "No.  She died and he
didn't get a chance to tell her he loved her."

"Who?"

I pointed to the screen.  The woman looked at it and back at me.  "I
know.  It's a sad movie.  But luckily it's just a movie."

My anger turned on like a switch.  "Just a movie!  That kind of shit
happens for real!  What, no one dies in your little world?  Everyone
just goes on their merry little way without losing anyone?  This is
life, dammit!  Death is real."  I looked her up and down.  "Wise up
lady, you don't look all that young yourself."

Needless to say Bob lost some customers that week.  And I think he knew
better than to leave me on my own after that.

A few days later I was leaving the store after my shift when Bob said,
"You going to Renee's?"

I turned.  "You're buddy still following me?"

"No.  That's why I'm asking.  I don't think you should be
spending time with her."

"Why?  You jealous?"

"Concerned.  You've been out of it lately, and don't think I
haven't noticed you popping those pills.  I think Renee's taking
you in a bad direction."

I snorted.  "You just don't like her because she's
sophisticated."

"I don't like her because she's an upper class snob.  She brags
about how she used to be an interior designer with an exclusive client
list.  Truth is she worked for some high-end firm and stole a few of
their clients when she left to open up her own shop.  Her business
failed because she wasn't as good at designing as she was at talking
herself up at parties.  I don't know how she got a connection into
the drug trade, but I know she did it because it kept her in with the
rich crowd.  She's as fake as that trendy accent I hear she wasn't
born with."

It was true, I had noticed Renee's accent falter occasionally.  But I
was too angry to give Bob any credit.  "If you don't like her so
much why did you send me to her?"

That seemed to hit Bob hard because he started shoving videos back into
the cart.  When he finally looked up at me I saw something between
anger, guilt and fear in his eyes.  "I just...I figured she was into
women and...I knew you were hurting over Monica and trying to get your
mind off of it...I don't fucking know."

"Were you trying to set me up?"

Bob growled.  "I was so wrapped up in that Leslie chick and I
hadn't smoked all day.  I don't know what the fuck I was
thinking."  With that Bob rolled the cart to start returning videos.


I stood there trying to figure out what Baked Bob's motivations were.
 Not that they ever made sense in the first place.  Monica always said
to keep your distance from people like him because you never know what
could happen.  But it seemed like Bob was hiding something and I
couldn't understand why he'd do that.  Bob's strange but he's
always been very up front, and I could tell that he was holding back
something.  I decided not to push it, maybe Bob would tell me when he
was ready.


One thing I certainly wouldn't be telling Bob was what I was doing at
Renee's lately.  When I got to her place there was a catering truck
out front.  Inside I walked past workers moving carts of food and
tables into position.  I went into a small room off the main hall and
found Duscha snorting a line from a small square piece of glass.

"You're late," she said.  "They're waiting for us in the
serving room."

I started taking off my clothes.  Duscha snorted another line and sat
back on the couch.  "Why do you keep that stupid little job?" she
asked.

"Because I need money for rent and food."

Duscha smiled.  "If you took Renee's offer you wouldn't need to
pay for rent and food."

Suddenly I had the idea that her being in the room when I arrived
wasn't a coincidence.  Lately, Renee had been pressuring me to live
in the house full time like Zhi and Duscha.  I had consistently
refused.

"I don't need Renee's money.  Or her place."

Duscha got up and walked over to me as I put on a robe.  "Instead you
keep your stupid little job and your stupid little apartment and eat
food out of can."  Duscha cracked open the door and nodded at the
people working in the hall.  "Look at them.  They are hired help.
You wish to be like them for the rest of your life?"

I pushed the door shut.  "What about you?  I thought you wanted to be
a model.  That's not work?" I asked.

Duscha wiped her nose.  "Fuck modeling.  What I wanted was to live
nice and not have to worry about being poor."  Duscha walked back
towards the table, turned and held up her hands.  "Look where I live
right now.  Look what I'm doing.  I am not some stupid checkout girl
at market."

Anger grew in me like a slap in the face.  "Not to burst your bubble,
but despite the surroundings, you're still the hired help."

Like on cue Renee opened the door wide and clapped twice, like she was
calling a dog.  "Chef Janis is waiting.  Both of you get in there,
now."

I shot Duscha a smile and a wink.

"Showtime," I said.

When we arrived in the serving room there was a man in a chef outfit
standing next to a large silver box on wheels.  Two tables stood side
by side with long cushions on them.  Duscha and I took off our robes
and lay down on the tables.  The chef rolled the metal box between us
and opened it.  He put on a pair of latex gloves and started putting
pieces of sushi on our bodies.  I remembered seeing something about
this on television, and from what I remember they put large leaves on
the woman's nipples and pubic area.  But since this was a Renee
party, there was no covering up.  He placed the raw pieces on my skin
and I gasped at the cold temperature of them.

The chef gave me a sympathetic look.  "Sorry," he said.

I let out a breath.  "It's okay, just the price of fame and
exhibitionism."

He laughed and finished placing sushi on my body before doing the same
to Duscha.  She made a snotty remark about the cold food on her skin.
I almost sat up to yell at her before I remembered I had to stay still.
 He then put pieces of ginger between the toes of my left foot and
balls of wasabi between the toes of my right.  When the chef left we
were in the room by ourselves.  I hate uncomfortable silences, but
couldn't think of anything I wanted to say to her.  Finally Duscha
said, "You know, this is kind of like modeling."

There wasn't much conviction in her voice.  I turned my head to look
at her.  "Duscha, you're being used as a serving tray for food."

"So are you!" she yelled.

"Yeah, but I'm not the one fooling myself about why I'm doing it
or what getting out of it."  Which was true, and in my case I was
getting plenty out of it.  Aside from a supply of pills to help me get
over Monica, this kind of thing is the greatest turn on of all for me.
I love being nude.  My dad used to tell me one of the most frustrating
things when I was a child was that I always kept taking off my clothes
and would run around naked.  On more than a few occasions I embarrassed
him when guests would come over.  One of the first things I did when I
got my drivers license was to go to a nude beach, and when I was in
college I made some extra money by signing up to be a nude model for
art classes.  From the day I started living in my own place I'd walk
around the apartment nude, usually with the blinds open, just for fun.


I remembered the cabin.  It felt so wild that first day, walking
outside with nothing on.  My bare feet touching bare Mother Earth.
Walking around the trees and through the brush, feeling open air and
the sun on parts of my skin that are normally never exposed to them.
The breeze made my nipples hard and tickled my pubic hair.  I found
myself not straying too far at first.  It was nervousness about being
caught, and I was ready to run back at a moments notice.  Then Monica
walked out of the cabin.  Her hair flowing around her shoulders, her
nude body like a Greek statue come to life.  It was like time stopped
and all I could see was her walking towards me.

My memory was interrupted by the doors to the serving room swinging
open in a flourish.  Renee stood there with twenty or so people behind
her, most of them with cocktails in hand.

"Please, enjoy the finger food."

The people walked in and gawked at us.  I didn't know if they were
Renee's friends or customers, but from what Bob said I guessed most
were both.  There were a few men, but most of Renee's party guests
tended to be women.  I spotted the two lesbian couples and three
heterosexual couples who regularly showed up, and noticed a new lesbian
couple as well.  The rest were individual women, some sporting wedding
rings, who were probably bi-sexual, bi-curious, or straight women who
were looking to have a more sophisticated 'Girls Gone Wild'
experience.

A woman took a piece of sushi off my nipple, brushing her fingers over
it as she did. She ate the piece, and when she was finished chewing she
leaned down and sucked on my bare nipple.  The man behind her bit his
lip as he watched.  Zhi showed up next to him, she was naked and
holding a serving tray.  He stared at her body for a moment, then took
a piece of sushi and ate it as he watched his companion work on me.
The rules at Renee's parties were simple but strict- the women could
do whatever they wanted, the men could only watch.  Any man who touched
us would be banished permanently.

A redheaded woman, who was one half of the new lesbian couple, took a
piece of sushi off my other nipple with her mouth.  Her partner,
sporting a butch haircut with blonde streaks and a pair of black-rimmed
glasses, leaned down and sucked on my nipple while her partner chewed
and watched.  The filthy rich do have strange ways of doing things.
Monica and I once discussed bringing another girl to our bed, but we
were planning on using a personal ad.  This whole situation seemed so
surreal.  People were eating off of me while others stood around
talking like they were at any normal cocktail party.

Monica kept popping into my mind all night.  I had run out of pills
earlier in the day and needed to get more.  That would be the first
thing on my agenda when I was finished being an interactive utensil.  I
felt tongues and lips all over my body and occasionally between my
toes.  When I started working the parties it was hard for me to get
turned on while all these people were watching, but now that I've
become accustomed to the voyeurism my body is responding to the
stimulation.

When cocktail hour was over it was time to go upstairs.  Zhi, Duscha
and I would each take a bedroom.  The guests could stay downstairs and
enjoy drinks or come upstairs and go from room to room, enjoying
whatever fun they wanted.  Before I went to my room I needed to find
Renee and get more pills.  She wasn't mingling with the guests like
she normally does, so I tried the office she keeps towards the back of
the house.  There were voices, including Renee's, coming from the
room.  The door was ajar and I pushed it open slowly.  There were three
men in the room.  Two of them were big and beefy and wore threatening
looks on their faces, or maybe that was just how they normally looked.
They stood off to the side while the third man was talking to Renee.

"...up short this month.  That's the third time.  Duscha told me
you said it's slow.  I wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth."

Renee smiled at him.  "Tyler, you're way to serious luv.  This is
the way business works, it's not all simple arithmetic.
Sometim-..."

"Cut the crap!" he said.  "If I want half assed excuses I'll go
back to dealing street junkies.  Your rich friends can pay up front,
that was the whole idea."

Renee caught sight of me in the doorway and said, "What do you need
Keisha?"

She seemed relieved by the interruption.  Tyler turned when Renee
addressed me.  He was tall and good looking, with a boyish face and
perfectly styled hair.  Those features were at odds with his eyes,
which were narrow and focused and created a sinister quality about him.
 As he smiled at me, that sinister quality softened.  Slightly.

"New girl?" he asked Renee as his eyes stayed on me.

I looked at Renee to avoid his gaze.  "Um, I need some more pills."

Renee walked around the desk, took out a bottle and brought it to me.
"You should get to your room," she said.  As I walked out I noticed
Tyler was still staring at me.

Walking down the hallway, my hands were shaking as I popped a pill.  I
almost took a second one, but decided against it.  There was work to be
done.

I arrived in my room and found a couple - Redhead and Butch Cut.  I
didn't ask their names because it wasn't allowed.  Renee wanted to
ensure her guests' privacy.

Redhead gave me a sheepish smile and said, "We weren't sure we were
in the right place."

"Sorry.  You mind if I take a quick shower?"  I shrugged.  "The
sushi and stuff."

Redhead nodded.  Each bedroom had it's own bathroom, and as I walked
towards it Butch Cut said, "Don't forget the wasabi between your
toes."  I smiled at her and she smiled back.  They seemed like a
sweet couple.  Even through the little white pill's magic I was
reminded of Monica and I.

For a guest bathroom the shower was huge.  I remembered seeing one like
it at an expensive store and dreaming of being able to own one.  The
water came from a spout directly overhead and it had enough room to do
gymnastics in there.  Knowing Renee, the fact that the sides and door
were all clear glass was no accident.  I had just started to wash
myself when the bathroom door opened.  Redhead and Butch Cut stepped
in.  They were naked.

Butch Cut gave a knowing smile.  "We were wondering if you wanted
some help in there."

I smiled and opened the shower door and they stepped in.  Butch Cut
stood in front of me.  She took the washcloth from my hand and lathered
it up while Redhead pressed herself against my back and ran her hands
over me.  She pushed my hair aside and licked along my ear.  Butch Cut
started running the washcloth over my breasts, her pace slow but her
hands firm and strong.  Redhead bit my earlobe as one of her hands slid
back and forth over my stomach.  She moved her hand away as Butch Cut
moved the washcloth down my stomach, stopping to wipe out my belly
button and causing me to giggle.  She moved further down until she was
running the cloth over my bush, still keeping a slow pace while
pressing against my mons.  Then she moved away, cruising down my left
leg as she kneeled down.  I let out a surprised gasp and gave her a
disappointed look.

Redhead put her lips to my ear.  "Don't worry," she said as her
hands slid over my breasts and started tweaking my nipples.  I leaned
my head back and closed my eyes as she licked my ear and said, "She
always finishes what she starts."

I felt Butch Cut wash my feet and then work her way back up the other
leg.  She stood in front of me, smiled and said, "Now that I have you
all lathered up," then tossed the washcloth over her shoulder,
brought her body against mine and kissed me.  Redhead slipped a hand
between our bodies and slid her fingers up and down my ass crack,
whispering "Are you into back here?" in my ear.

I moaned "Mmmm hmmm" so I didn't have to break the kiss.  Butch
Cut had slipped a hand between my legs and was rubbing my sex with her
fingers.  I felt Redhead's fingers leave my ass and then heard a pop,
followed by the pseudo farting sound that comes when you push air out
of a squeeze bottle.  Butch Cut broke the kiss and said, "Excuse
yourself you nasty bitch."  Redhead kept squeezing and it kept
happening.  We started laughing and it became so contagious that we had
to lean against each other as we all doubled over.  Finally we regained
our composure and resumed our positions.  Redhead had used some liquid
soap to lube up her finger and started teasing my anus while Butch Cut
resumed kissing me as she slid her finger into my hole and started
fucking me.

All of a sudden the bathroom door opened and two women were standing
there.  They took in the sight of me in the shower, sandwiched between
two women.  We looked at them and they looked at us, wide smiles on all
of our faces.

"Sorry," one of the women said.

"No problem," Butch Cut said.

In an incredibly seductive voice, Redhead said, "You can stay and
watch if you like."  It was the kind of voice that made people weak
in the knees and caused them to do things they'd never do on their
best day.  Suddenly I was very jealous of Butch Cut.  The two women
didn't even look at each other as they both walked in.  One sat on
the toilet while the other leaned against the door.

We were about to resume when suddenly I realized something was missing.
 "Get me some of that soap," I said to Redhead.

She broke away to grab the bottle and I held out my left index finger
as she covered it.  The fart sound happened again and I smiled and
said, "Don't bother, there is no excuse for that!" and the three
of us started laughing again.  The other two laughed as well, but they
didn't fully get it since they weren't there earlier.  We got back
into position, except this time I brought my left hand behind Butch Cut
and slid my lubricated finger along her ass and brought my right hand
around back so I could diddle Redhead's pussy.  This way we were all
being stimulated.  I believe in fair sex.

Butch Cut resumed fingering me as Redhead gradually slid her finger up
my asshole.  I had my fingers working on Redhead while Butch Cut's
anus relaxed and accepted the tip of my finger.  We resumed our tongue
kiss while Redhead started sucking on my neck.  I had my finger halfway
into Butch Cut while I found Redhead's clit and started flicking it
and making her moan. I felt their bodies pressing against me as our
collective passion started to build.  The two of them were pumping in
and out of me, oblivious of each other's rhythm but driving me insane
anyway.  I love the feeling of having two people work on me, something
I'd never done before meeting Renee and something I planned to try
more of outside this setting.  Butch Cut's thumb started working on
my clit and I knew it wouldn't be long.  I started working harder on
Redhead, trying to get her to orgasm with me.  I had my finger pumping
in and out of Butch Cut, trying not to make it too fast and
uncomfortable even though my impeding orgasm was driving me to do it.

Redhead got there before I did, and I felt her shaking against me as
she gave a series of yells.  With a sudden precision, Butch Cut
suddenly turned her finger so it's edge was hitting my clit exactly.
She made me cum like she had control over it the whole time.  Redhead
slumped against me and I slumped against Butch Cut.  Suddenly there was
applause.  We looked over at the women watching us.

"I'd take a bow," I said, "but I think I'd fall down."

Everyone laughed.  Redhead stood up and put her hand on Butch Cut's
face.  She pouted and said, "My honey hasn't cum yet."

In a sudden burst of energy I said, "I think we can fix that."  I
grabbed the washcloth off the floor and used it to clean the finger
I'd had up an ass.  Then I kneeled down in front of Butch Cut and put
my nose in her fur, sticking out my tongue and making her moan.  I
brought my hands up and spread her out a little and squirmed my tongue
into her lips.  She made a long, slow moan and spread her feet to give
me some more access.  Redhead walked behind Butch Cut and got on her
knees as well.  I could guess she had spread her ass cheeks and started
giving her girl a rim job, because all of a sudden Butch Cut moaned
again and said, "Oh yeah, tongues are good."

I kept moving my tongue over her lips and started tasting her honey.
She put her hands on my head and ran her fingers through my hair.  I
alternated between moving my tongue and making it stiff while moving my
whole head in and out.  There was another moan that didn't sound like
Butch Cut.  Out of the corner of my eye I could see the other two
women.  The one that was standing was now sitting in the lap of the one
on the toilet, who had her hand up the other woman's skirt.

I slipped a finger into Butch Cut while my tongue concentrated on her
clit.  She shook most of the time I was licking her and then came so
quietly that I didn't know it happened until she pushed my head away
and spoke in a strained voice, "That's enough, thank you.  Thank
you, thank you."

It felt funny getting out of the shower.  Being under the running water
for so long my skin tingled from the lack of it.  We all went
downstairs, where most of the people were mingling.  I walked through
the crowd naked, enjoying the exhibitionist moment.  When I was in a
corner of the room I turned and Tyler and his two goons were standing
there.  His razor sharp gaze made a pass over my body.  "You're one
hell of a party favor."

The two goons fanned out and I had nowhere to move.  The guests were
obviously intimidated by Tyler's crew and avoided looking their way.
My eyes quickly scanned the room but couldn't find Renee anywhere.
Tyler took a step towards me.

"Has Renee been skimming on me?"

"I...wouldn't know.  I'm new here.  She doesn't share that kind
of stuff with me."

Tyler cornered me.  His two goons watched out for partygoers as he
slithered up to me and got in my face.  I was breathing heavy and there
was a lump in my throat that I couldn't swallow.

"You know," he said, "supposedly the most painful way to kill
someone is setting them on fire.  Because you're burning from the
outside in, your internal organs are still working the whole time.  You
live through all the excruciating pain until your nerve endings are
destroyed."

My skin felt cold and I realized I was sweating.  It must have been all
the talk about fire.

Tyler smiled.  "Now I only find that particularly helpful if you only
want to torture someone.  But if you're trying to get information,
it's no good, 'cause it's kind of hard to talk when you're
burning up.  So I started researching.  And I found out that in
Medieval Times they would hang someone upside down with their legs
spread."  Tyler moved in close.  Not enough to touch me, but right at
the point where I could almost feel his presence against my naked
flesh.  "Then two guys with a saw, a big, long one, would cut their
way straight down, crotch to cranium.  See, since you're hanging with
your head to the floor, all the blood is rushing to your brain and
keeping you conscious the whole time.  You can feel every bit of pain.
And since you're able to scream, you're also able to talk."

I finally managed to swallow.  He smiled again.  "Guess my high
school teacher was right.  History is helpful."

Tyler backed away.  I realized I'd been holding my breath and let it
out.  "Just keep that in mind," he said, and took out a card and
handed it to me.  "That's where you can reach me.  I'd be most
appreciative if you find out anything you think I should know."

The three wise-guy men left and I started breathing regularly again.
Suddenly Zhi walked up to me.  There was a sympathetic look on her face
that eased some of the fear I still felt.  "Are you okay?" she
asked.

I curled up the card in my hand, since I was naked and couldn't hide
it anywhere.  "Fine," I said with some shakiness in my voice.
"I'm going home."


The next day I went to see Monica.

The flowers on her grave were gone.  It looked so bare, just a
headstone and a pile of dirt that had started to match the rest of the
earth around it with small bits of grass sprouting up.  It was like she
was settling in for the long haul. A soft breeze blew, and I closed my
eyes and breathed in, imagining I could smell her scent again.  I
touched her headstone and looked at the area where she was laid to
rest.  An overwhelming urge to hug her came over me, so I lay down on
the dirt covering her.  My body facing hers now, I turned my face to
the side so I could breathe and pressed down, digging my hands into the
soil.  A whimper escaped my lips.  All that separated us now was six
feet...six feet and the breath of life.


Later on that day I was working at the video store when Bob came out of
his office with a worried look on his face.

"Keisha, I need you do me a favor.  A big one."

I pointed a finger at him.  "I'm not watching your fucking iguanas
again, Bob.  Those things need obedience school."

"It's not that.  The dammed delivery company screwed up the
shipment of new releases.  Only way to get it for tomorrow is for me to
go down there and pick it up."

"Okay," I said, thinking this seems like a simple problem, and
forgetting that with Bob nothing is simple.

"Thing is my cousin Jessica is in town, just for the day, and I'm
supposed to meet up with her."  Bob looked at his watch.  "I'll
never make it."

I sighed and held up a hand.  "Don't worry, I'll go pick up the
shipment."

"I wish you could," Bob said.  "But it can only be picked up by
the person who it's addressed to, and that's me."

He stared at me.  I caught on and started shaking my head.  "No.  No
way."

"All you have to do is hang out with her for a little while.  When I
get there you can take off."

"Bob, I am not going to show up there with some shaky-ass story that
sounds like bullshit.  Hell, I know it's the truth and I still think
it sounds like bullshit."

"That's why I already called her to let her know you're
coming," Bob said.  "I even described you to her so you can find
each other.  And just so you know, she's wearing a lavender blouse, a
black skirt and combat boots.  She wears combat boots with
everything."

"Why don't you just send her to your apartment for a while?"

Bob's eyebrow arched.  "What, so she could see all the pictures of
naked women I have on the walls, or the porn collection I'm still
trying to organize by fetish?  I remember Monica was always impressed
by that."  Bob frowned and said, "I just don't want her sitting
alone in a coffee shop waiting for me."

I closed my eyes and shook my head.  "Okay, I'll do it."  I
opened my eyes.  "But you owe me."

"Sure.  Two weeks paid vacation and use of the company car."

I laughed, and suddenly realized it was the first time I'd laughed in
a while without the assistance of chemicals.  Bob put on his jacket and
headed for the door.  He stopped and turned around.  "Could you do me
one favor?  Dress up a little?"

"Why?"

"Just because I'm sending a pinch hitter doesn't mean she has to
look like one."  Bob's eyes looked over my jeans and T-shirt.

I sighed again.  "Sure.  I'll even put on perfume, okay?"

"Great, thanks."

I went home, took a shower and got out a skirt, a decent top and a pair
of calf-length boots.  It almost felt strange dressing up after months
of working at a video store, where I could wear my pajamas if I wanted
to, and spending time over at Renee's, where I didn't have to wear
anything at all.  I realized I felt good about doing this, getting
dressed up to go out for a social occasion.  It was something I
hadn't done in a long time, not since Monica started going downhill.
I was feeling so good that I passed on the thought of popping a pill
when I looked at my bag and remembered I had some stash in there.
Maybe tonight I could have a good time with just pleasant conversation
and good company.  But as I walked out the door I realized that how
much of a good time I had depended on what kind of person Bob's
cousin was.  I checked again to make sure I had my pills, just in case.


AUTHOR'S NOTE: At this time we are going to change the point of view
to someone else.  I really wasn't looking to do that in this story,
and even if I was, he was the last character I'd have put in the
driver's seat.  But the stubborn jerk begged to have his voice heard,
and I mean he really begged.  When begging didn't work, he resorted
to bribery.  I didn't give in easily - it took two bottles of
Captain Morgan's Private Stock, a quarter of his best green, and DVD
copies of 'Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (Special Edition)' and
'Better Than Chocolate' before I caved in.  So no one can ever say
I'm too easy.

Hey audience.  My name is Bob Callahan, but you can call me Baked Bob.
All my friends do.  Speaking of which, I have a friend who is in need
of some help.  She lost someone recently and...well fuck it, you've
been reading the story, and you know what's going on.  Didn't mean
to treat you like an idiot, it's just that there's always one
fuckhead who needs a recap.  That's why they put those "Previously
on..." in front of all your favorite TV shows, like the faithful
viewers need a reminder of what they watched a week ago.  It's just
wasting time that they could use to make more show!

Sorry, I got a little off track there.  I do that every once in a
while, like when I came up with the idea for how I'm going to save my
friend Keisha.  This was a few weeks ago, when I'd just finished
smoking some green, actually a lot of really good green, and was
standing in my kitchen when the idea hit me.  It was so brilliant that
it blew all the other thoughts out of my head.  This caused a major
problem, because suddenly I forgot what I was doing in the first place.
 When I looked down I noticed I was holding a piece of broccoli in my
left hand and my shaving razor in my right.  What the hell had I been
planning to do?  Was I going to eat and then shave?  Or was I going to
shave the broccoli?  Maybe I was going to pit them against each other
in a battle and see who would win.  Fuck it, I'd figure that out
later.

I went to my computer and got on the Internet.  Cyberspace is the
greatest invention ever, next to the compact disc.  And DVD's, and
bongs.  The cool thing about the Internet is that you can find almost
anything and have it come to you.  When you're stoned this can be a
very useful tool, especially when you're doing what I was about to
do.  Tool.  While it was signing on I went to my stereo and put on
Tool's Anima.  Mood music helps too.

It only took me twenty minutes to find five sites where you can post
lesbian personal ads.  I did what was needed to sign up on each of them
and set about placing an ad.  Now to write one.  Hmmm.  I'd never
written a personal ad before, and somehow I felt it needed some sappy,
flowing language.  I went to my bookshelf to see if I had anything that
would help.  Henry Miller, Edgar Allen Poe, a biography on Bill Hicks,
Walter Mosley, some Vonnegut, a guide to farting, a bunch of High Times
issues and a shitload of comic books from Batman to Y:The Last Man.
Great, not one thing that would appeal to the kind of woman Keisha
would like.  Probably not much that would appeal to any woman.

I went and smoked some more to help me think.  It only took two hits
before I realized I could steal stuff from other personal ads.
"Fucking stupid!" I said to myself as I slapped the side of my
head.  This is what happens when you're a technical person; you're
always trying to think of a complicated solution when the simple answer
is staring you in the face.  I checked some of the other ads and found
almost no flowing, romantic language at all.  Some sites made people
fill in forms that made their traits look like the technical specs to a
piece of machinery.  Great way to meet somebody you want to get
romantic with.

I finally settled on 'GBF, 29, seeks GF, 18-40, with no issues and no
baggage. D&D free.  Picture a must.  Must be local and must be single.
Not looking for couples, swingers, the curious, or men who think they
can change me.'  Just to translate for you non-personal ad people,
GBF stands for 'Gay Black Female' and GF is 'Gay Female'.  Or
maybe it's 'Girl Friend'.  Fuck it.  'D&D' means 'Drug and
Disease', and I wanted to find someone who wasn't on drugs so they
might help Keish with her problem.  Some of the other sites allowed
more room so I described her personality - funny, sweet, intelligent,
ambitious (not lately, but I skipped mentioning that), creative and
occasionally moody.  I threw in that last one because most people put
'honest' and yet didn't list any traits that might sound
negative.  I know the idea is to attract someone, but if you're going
to be 'honest' you should put at least one thing that warns other
people of what they'll have to put up with.  For instance, if it were
my ad I'd put 'complicated', so they would know ahead of time
that they might storm out in frustration like my other girlfriends
have.

Now there was another problem - a picture.  I was asking for one, so
to be fair I should give one, but how to get a picture of Keisha on the
computer?  I didn't own a scanner yet.  Then suddenly I remembered
Asian Andy had given me a digital camera for Christmas last year, which
means he probably knew I'd need it for this.  He's super useful
that way.  Once he told me not to go to an outdoor Slayer concert, so I
didn't, and someone in the crowd got hit by lightning.  That could
have been me.  I mean, the guy survived, but getting hit by lightning
would suck.  Knowing Andy has its advantages.  (Although there was this
other time when he called and told me not to go to the supermarket that
night because I'd meet a woman, fall in love, get married and then
she'd cheat on me and dump me.   I stayed home, but the next night
Andy shows up at The Stoned Tongue with this super hot model-type chic
on his arm and they're joking about 'the vegetable aisle'.)

I found all the pictures from the camera, but the only one with Keisha
had her posing with Monica, their faces cheek to cheek.  Damn.  I took
a chance and emailed Ramon, a buddy of mine in Mexico who's a whiz
with photo stuff.  One year I found this picture of Paris Hilton
bending over and I had Ramon put me in the picture, looking like I'm
kicking her in the ass.  I sent it out as a Christmas card that year
and everyone loved it.  Everyone except Monica, who never appreciated
my sense of humor or anything else about me.

Ramon emailed me back (he always seemed to be online) and told me to
send him the picture to see what he could do with it.  While I waited I
listened to some Mudvayne and Hatebreed, then switched gears and put on
some Miles Davis.  The iguanas like Miles.  Finally Ramon sent the
picture back.  It was incredible, he had removed Monica from it and
Keisha didn't look any different.  I told Ramon I owed him big, put
the picture in the ads and submitted them.  Now I'd have to wait.

The first day I got four replies.  Two of them were obviously fakes
because they sent pictures that I'd seen in my porno surfing.
Another said she was thirty-four, but her picture looked like she'd
had one too many plastic surgeries.  The last one seemed legit, but I
emailed her and never heard back.  And so it went.  The amount of
replies grew everyday as more people checked the sites.  There were
many fakes (I got smart and rooted out suspicious ones by asking them
to provide certain pictures - standing in a living room, bedroom,
outside, holding up a newspaper, doing a headstand, etc.), and quite a
few legitimate ones who didn't seem to fit Keisha's bill.  Through
emails and Instant Messaging I was able to get an idea about the
respondents' personalities.  A few were obviously mentally
unbalanced, but the majority were people she just wouldn't click with
instantly.  I was being very selective, remembering that I had only one
shot to get this right.

Of course, some of the women caught on to the fact that I was a fake
and that generated quite a lot of hate mail.  There was one lesbian who
figured me out and yet we still ended up becoming good friends, and a
bi-sexual girl who wanted to get together anyway.  Another beautiful
upside to the Internet, you never know who you'll meet (some say that
can be a downside as well).  But two weeks later the replies started
dwindling and I realized the ads had run the course.  A few responses
still came in here and there, but by the end of the third week I had
given up on the idea and went back to figuring out the broccoli and
shaving razor dilemma.

I came home one day, certain that in some frenzy of uncontrolled humor
I must have thought that there was no chance anyone had shaved a piece
of broccoli bald before and that I had to be the first.  I decided to
follow through on it after I checked email.  Maybe I could create the
'broccoli comb over'.  I checked my personal email, admired a sexy
picture the bi girl had sent of herself, and then realized I hadn't
checked the account I'd set up for the personal ad recently.  There
was one email.  I opened it and downloaded the picture before I read it
to see if it was another fake.  What I saw stopped me cold.  She
wasn't beautiful in a model type of way, but when it came to the type
of naturally beautiful girl you'd see on the street she was the most
stunning I'd ever seen.  It looked like the picture was taken in a
park with her sitting on a large rock, and something about the setting
seemed familiar.  She looked young, and I suddenly started wondering if
she'd even graduated high school.  I noticed she only smiled with her
mouth, but it still made her face light up.  Except for the eyes.
There was something about them that didn't agree with the smile in
some way.

Suddenly I realized where the picture was taken.  It was a park in the
next town, meaning she was very local.  I looked in the body of the
email.  Her name was Jessica and she stated her age at twenty-four.
She mentioned a few things about herself, including the fact that she
had just moved into town from out of state.  Great, very likely Keisha
didn't know her already.  Also, her musical taste runs somewhat
similar to mine.  I suddenly thought it would be great if this worked
out because she and I would have something in common.  It always bummed
me that Monica didn't care for my personality.  This girl was
sounding really great.  I sent an email back to Jessica, trying to
sound as much like Keisha as I could, hoping that this would work.
Jessica emailed me back without a problem and we conversed that way for
a week.  The 'relationship' was going great.  My hopes soared.

Then everything happened suddenly.  I was in my office at the store
when I signed over to the 'Keisha' account to check for messages.
Before I had a chance to check anything an IM came from Jessica.  She
wanted to talk on the phone.  Fuck.  That was where I fell into
problems with the other respondents who figured me out.  What the hell
was I going to do?

Think asshole, think.  Tell her you're phone's busted.  She'd say
go to a pay phone.  A minute went by.  The computer made a "bing!"
sound.  "Still there?" she wrote.  Shit!  What do I do now?  Think.
 Where's my bowl?  No time for that kind of thinking.  Tell her you
don't have a phone!  She wouldn't believe it.  Thirty seconds go
by.  Bing.  "Hello?"  Breathe goddamit!  Give her Keisha's phone
number!  Yes!  No!  Keisha's not home, and I'd be telling her to
call.  Bing!  "Keisha?"  Oh crap.  Give her the store number,
Keisha will answer.  Can't do that!  They need to meet.  It's the
only way this will work.  Bing.  "Is your name really Keisha?"
Fuuuucccckkk!!!!!  How can I put this off?  No...wait...don't put it
off.  SPEED IT UP.

I wrote, "Sorry.  I'm at work, and someone had an emergency
problem.  I was thinking since we're so close let's just go ahead
and meet.  You know the coffee shop on Park Street?

Bing.  "Passed by, never been inside."

"Want to meet me there at seven?"

There was a pause.  Bing.  "Sounds good.  You remember what I look
like, right? ;-)"

The symbol meant she was joking, but I realized this would be a big
problem.  Keisha doesn't know what Jessica looks like and the photo
of her was on my home computer.  I could tell Keisha to look for a
blonde, but with my luck there'd be a dozen blondes in the place, and
her going up to the wrong one could blow this whole thing.  I wrote,
"Not sure...what will you be wearing?"

"A pink tutu and a large foam cowboy hat."

I laughed before I remembered that she wasn't helping me.  Think.
What would Keisha say?  "Come on, give me something to anticipate."

"You're weird.  A lavender blouse, a black skirt and combat
boots."

Combat boots?  "Combat boots?"

"I wear them with everything.  What will you be wearing?"

I froze for a moment before remembering to think like Keisha.
"Sorry, I don't plan that far ahead.  Gotta get back to work, see
you at seven."

I signed off, sat back in my chair and checked my pulse to make sure it
was still there. According to the clock, this mental heart attack only
took ten minutes.  Another example of why fast paced life sucks.  Time
to slow down.  I took out my bowl and enjoyed a long, relaxing hit.
Now on to my next problem, which was getting Keisha to the coffee shop.
 Another hit first.  Ahhhhh.  Properly relaxed, I fired up the
remaining brain cells to find a solution.  My eyes landed on a pile of
shipping boxes.  Uh huh.  Delivery mishap...gotta show ID...cousin's
in town...just keep her company...porn incase she suggests the
apartment...owe you big time.  Perfect.  And solved in under thirty
seconds.

I stood up and went to the office door, ready to lie through my teeth
to Keisha in order to save her.  My hand rested on the doorknob and
held it.  I thought over my whole plan, trying to find any flaw I may
have overlooked.  I shook my head and smiled as I mentally confirmed I
had come up with the perfect plan.  I opened the door.  Nothing could
go wrong now.



Coming soon in Part 3- The Worst First Date In Recorded History!

Please send feedback to roguewriter@hotmail.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+