Paula the Perfect Pear

EPILOGUE:

I stretched, feeling that woozy, fuzzy feeling you get after a night of too many screwdrivers. Oh yeah, and a fight with your boyfriend I remembered as I reached over and found "his" side of the bed empty. I rolled to a sitting position on the edge of the bed with a little groan and sat for a minute, allowing the room to stop spinning.

The silence of the house surprised me. David was a freelance writer and so he didn't have any set office hours. Usually, he would be rattling around in the kitchen or watching the TV or something that involved making some sort of sound.

I made it to the bathroom where I peed and sat, holding my head.

Finally, I thought I would be able to handle the dangerous expedition to the kitchen for coffee.

I made it, although barely, and again sat, at the kitchen table, holding my head and praying for the little beep that would tell me that Mister Coffee had finished his work.

The coffee aroma hit and I felt the first stirrings of real life.

A few more minutes of silent suffering and that blessed beep sounded.

Cup in hand, still naked, I went into the front room, turned on the TV, and sat in my overstuffed recliner to see if I was going to survive the day.

The Fox and Friends crew was on and I watched their weird mixture of headline news and silly fluff although I cannot say that I really saw any of it.

Finally, my pulse strong and my equilibrium more or less steady, I went back through the bedroom into the bathroom where I ran the water as hot as I could stand it before I stepped into the shower.

I slowly showered, face-hair-ass as I always did. Then I just stood, hands on the wall, allowing the hot water to flow over me. I stayed there until it started to run cooler and then turned it off and stepped out of the shower.

I felt almost human as I dried and brushed my hair quickly.

I walked back to the kitchen for a fresh cup of coffee and then went into our little spare bedroom/office to see if David had left a note or anything telling me where he was.

The computer was on and there was a note, sure enough.

"Paula, you must have known it was ending, but last night you showed a side I hadn't imagined. Enjoy these."

Under that was a link to a website.

I clicked the link and my heart stopped when I saw myself looking back at me.

By the second click, showing the next picture, my stomach was turning over and when I saw the third picture I threw up, barely making it to the wastebasket.

Chapter One

I was drying after my shower, wondering why I kept setting myself up like this.

Oh, it was flattering to be invited along, but I knew that I was the "other girl," available in case there was an extra guy when the flirting started.

I dried and brushed my hair and then did my makeup, standing in front of my bathroom mirror. Nothing heavy. Some base and blush. A little eye makeup. Just trying to make the most of the little I had.

Hair and face acceptable, I went into my closet. On my way, I stopped at the floor-length mirror that I was always threatening to take down but which still was there on the back of the door.

As always, I lifted my small breasts, wishing for about the millionth time that I had boobs to match my hips and ass. I had a good ass I thought, but too damn much of it.

I am the perfect pear.

You know, they talk about women's shapes. Hourglass. Apple. Tube. Well, I'm the pear, no doubt about that.

Really you wonder? How's 34A-30-54? Now you understand?

My breasts are nice, actually. Firm with pink nipples centered on large pink areolas. But, well, small. And to balance out my hips I really REALLY need boobs.

It's the hips that really ruin me. My belly is firm, with a cute little innie. The thick muff of my pubic hair hides a very small mons veneris. And thick is the word for it. God, a pelt is more like it. Running from my belly button down about an inch down my thighs. It's funny too, because the rest of my body is almost hairless. My armpits only need shaving once a week or so, and if I miss a week it's no big deal. My arms are smooth and my legs, well, once a month takes care of them. But that beaver, that muff, whatever you call it, is ridiculous. I tried shaving it once, but I was stubbly before I went to bed and the rash and itching for a month almost drove me nuts.

My ass is actually pretty shapely I think. Round and firm with good smooth skin. But, well, I'm a pear and that's that.

Anyway, I selected a blouse and slacks combination that was the best I had to show off my assets. Dark slacks helped slim my hips, and a bright pink blouse had a high neckline and was very sleeveless. The thinking here was to draw attention to my arms and away from my booblessness.

When 7:00 arrived I was ready, and headed down to the Second Chance, better known as the "meat market." Cheryl was already there, claiming a table for us and looking fetching as she always did. As always I thought that if I could have just half of her boobs I'd have a figure.

By 7:30 I was working my way to the bottom of my first screwdriver and Annette, Tricia and Pam had joined us. Five girls at a table, obviously on the prowl. Wow, could there be anything more clichéd than this?

The noise level was increasing as well. This was a place that favored the "young." Not a college bar, but definitely a singles' place. I would have preferred a place with a little less volume, but I wasn't anything like the leader of this little group.

And then he came over. The first of what I knew would be a series of men to ask Cheryl or Annette or Tricia or Pam to dance. If they were on the dance floor already I would be left. I sighed a little thinking, again, "why do you do this?"

Cheryl turned on her medium-wattage smile, and Tricia sort of arched her back showing an expanse of cleavage that I always envied. Annette and Pam were looking expectantly as he approached.

Me, I took another sip of my drink and watched the people in the room.

I had a rush of adrenaline. It was so unexpected when he walked past everyone to my place, in the corner, and leaned down, one hand on my shoulder, the other on the table, and, with his mouth close to my ear so he could be heard said "Come on gorgeous, let's dance."

I must have looked funny because the other girls were positively beaming and shooing me away from them with their fingers, encouraging me to go ahead and dance.

I'm not very tall at 5'4", and he was a bit over 6' so we made a bit of an odd couple.

I liked that he had waited until a slow song was on, something I had heard on the radio but nothing I could sing along with. He offered his left hand out in the classic dance position and I smiled and accepted it. He took a second to catch the beat and stepped off.

I'm an acceptable dancer. Not particularly good, but I do okay. He was very good though, and soon my confidence grew as I accepted his lead. I had never covered so much floor as I danced and found myself enjoying it a lot.

When the song ended he held me there.

"I'm David," he said, and I kind of liked the way he didn't shorten it to Dave or Davey or something like that.

I felt the smile and couldn't stop it for the life of me.

"And I'm Paula," I said and was shocked when he took my hand and lifted it to his lips, very slowly, his eyes holding mine, and kissed it.

"Very pleased to meet you, Paula," he said as he released my hand.

I felt myself blushing like a schoolgirl and felt like an idiot.

Just then the music started again. This time it was a faster song and I figured he would walk me back to the table.

But, instead, he took my hand and started into a classic bop fast dance.

I laughed when he spun me, but I managed to not fall and make a complete fool of myself.

He really was a very good dancer, and he even made me look good.

When that dance ended I was a bit short of breath and started back to the table.

He held onto my hand and when I turned he leaned down and said, close to my ear, "come on, one more to cool down."

When the Righteous Brothers broke into that wonderful version of "Unchained Melody" it seemed natural and comfortable to be taken back into his arms.

I liked that he was content to dance. He didn't strain to make conversation, which would have been pretty darn difficult with the volume of the music. And I even liked the way his hands roamed, just a little, on my back.

When the music ended he leaned down and said "Paula, I know it sounds trite, but would you like to go somewhere where we could talk without screaming?"

I looked up at him and he had an open grin on his face.

"Ummmmm," I said, drawing out the consonant, "as long as we stay somewhere very public. I don't really know you, do I."

His grin spread.

"Not a problem," he said, "we'll just walk down to Big Don's down the street, how's that?"

I knew the place. One of those few classic diners that seemed to survive from the 50s.

I thought for a minute and then said "Okay. Let me tell the girls I'm going or they'll be calling the police."

I thought it was nice that he went with me, actually holding my hand, as I said goodnight.

I won't deny for a second that I enjoyed the looks I got from my friends.