Date: Wed, 09 Feb 2005 23:54:16 -0500
From: Rogue Writer <roguewriter@hotmail.com>
Subject: A Death, Baked Bob and the Personal Ad  Part 2

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!

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