Author's note: A number of people have asked me about Maria Torres, Harry Dick's Secretary. So, I've written a little something to give you an idea. Enjoy.
*
So, I'm minding my own business last Christmas making a nice little movie in Nevada called "Maria Gets Boned" with some really great actors and what happens? POOF! Suddenly I find myself behind a desk in New York working for some lecherous dork named Harry Dick. God! He's the worst private eye in the business. I know that bitch, Jenny Jackson, is behind it. One of these days I'm going to kick her skinny ass.
Anyway, on with the story. I'm sitting at this cheap, second-hand desk with nothing to do. So, I'm doing my nails. I can hear Harry in his office jacking off and talking to his cock. If that isn't weird enough, his cock is talking back. About that time, the door opens and this chick walks in.
"What can I do for you, tramp?" I asked in my sweetest, give-a-fuck voice.
"I'm looking for Harry Dick. Is he in?"
"Yeah. But he's busy right now. He'll be done in about 30 seconds. He always is. Sit you fat ass down. I'll tell him you're here."
The bitch looked at me like I'd said something wrong. But she sat anyway and glared at me while I keyed the switch on the cheap Rip-Off Shack office intercom. "Hey, Harry. Some pig is here to see ya."
"Just a minute, doll. I'm cumming," came the response.
Momentarily, the door to Harry's private office opened and Harry welcomed his new client, while zipping his fly. I could see his eyes taking in every inch of the twat, from her 44 DD silicone knockers to her oversized ass. Personally, I thought she looked like a cartoon of a street whore. But what do I know. Right? So, as the door closed, I adjusted the bra strap holding up my own oversized knockers and went back to my nails.
Then the phone rang. I picked up the receiver. "Harry Dick Private Investigations. If you need a private dick, Harry will fuck it up for ya."
There was a voice on the other end of the phone that said, "Maria. I can't wait to get my hands on those melons. How about lunch at my place, baby?"
"Oh. Hi, Boney." It was Detective Inspector Boney Malone from the 3rd Avenue Precinct. "Sorry, guy. I'm getting a massage on my lunch hour. How about after work?"
"Sounds great. I'll pick you up on the corner. I'll bring the ice cream, whipped cream and rubber hose."
"Wow. You really know how to treat a girl, don't cha, Boney," I said, hanging up the phone.
I can hear Harry talking to the bitch in his office in low tones. Sounds like he's finally got himself a real case. But he'll find a way to screw it up. Eventually, the broad comes out, glares at me again and leaves. I am so injured, I think to myself, rolling my eyes.
Then Harry came out, cinching the belt of his trench coat tight around his waist. "I gotta go, Maria. Hold my calls. This is going to be a big case," he said as he tucked his most prized possession, a cheap 38 caliber "Saturday Night Special" into his shoulder holster. Leaning over my desk, drooling from the corner of his mouth he added, "Keep it warm for me, baby. I'll be back to take care of you later."
"Yeah, Harry. How 'bout a paycheck instead?"
I walked into Harry's office an watched him climb into the piece-of-shit 1924 Packard he owned and, after he cranked the starter for 5 minutes, drove off in a cloud of blue smoke. I was glad to see the bastard go. It was time for my massage appointment anyway. And I really didn't want to keep Carlos waiting. He had such wonderful hands...and other things.
I put on my coat and left the office. On the way down the stairs I ran into Police Sergeant Michaels. "Hiya, doll. How's tricks?" he asked in such a friendly way.
"Hi Sarg."
Michaels put his hand inside my coat and squeezed my right tit. This is why the call them cops, you know. They are always copping a feel whenever they can. I was in a hurry, so I made a date to see him later at my place around 9 for a night cap. I'm certain Boney would be gone by then.