A little over a year ago I got a fellowship to work at a major university in the Los Angeles area. I was doing stuff in one of those secret labs that if the public learned about there would be riots because of all the nuclear materials we study. It's a great situation for me; I work with two Nobel physicists and, since they're in Europe, I'm really the main investigator on this project. Maybe I'll win my own Nobel Prize one day. But you're not interested in that. You want to know about what happened on my night job.
A post-doc fellow makes very little money so I took a position as the night manager at a bowling alley near the lab. Basically my job is to close the place down each night about 2AM. I'm not really into bowling and it's a pretty boring job, at least it was until a few months ago. When I came in for my shift one night there was a message from the owner. Somebody was paying to keep the alleys open for a few extra hours so I'd have to stay late. The bad news was less sleep for me; the good news, extra pay with a nice tip at the end.
Sure enough about 1:45AM a burly body guard type came in. He was dressed all in black with a shaved head and even had one of those head sets so he can talk to his partners. He looked around; the place was empty anyway. He spotted me and gave me a nod, "You're the night man, sir?"
"Yes, I am." I was amused by the seriousness of his demeanor.
He asked if anybody else was around and I told him no. He handed me an envelop with three crisp hundred dollar bills. "For your trouble, sir. And we'd appreciate if you kept this arrangement strictly confidential."
"No problem."
He talked into his Dick Tracy headset, "Alright, send in the package."
I guess security guys refer to their clients as packages because the only package that came in was a stunning body wrapped in a tight tank top and even tighter jeans. She was tall and long in everyway. Her golden blonde hair streamed down over her shoulders and shimmered as she strutted to the alley carrying her gear. Her face was almost triangular but soft with really kissable lips. Her eyes sparkled with about a million different colors. The odd thing is that she had a very sad, distant look on her face. She was a beautiful woman, clearly super high maintenance; I figured some movie star I'd never heard of.
She sat on the bench at a lane the furthest away from my counter but I could still see her fine. With dainty movements she took off her shoes. I guess I gulped loudly but I had never seen such a sexy act. Man, she was taking off her shoes and wiggling her toes but she was giving off the most incredible sensual vibes. She heard my reaction and the tiniest smile crossed her lips.
She put on her own bowling shoes and went to work. She was all business, frame after frame. She was an expert and she set up all sorts of challenges for herself. She just kept moving in a real athletic way. Every once in awhile she'd smile to herself. The bodyguard just stood by the door staring into space. I just sat and stared at her.
After about an hour she came over to me. It was like one of those commercials where the beautiful girl moves in slow motion for a close up. Her face and chest were glistening with sweat. She stood in front of me and she smelled great.
"Hi, thanks for staying open for me. I really needed this work out."
"No problem."
"Can I get a drink?"
I explained that the bar was close down but there was a soda machine near the door. She called over to the bodyguard who turned out to be Danny, but Danny had no change. She had to borrow the money from me. She came back pressing the can to her forehead to cool off. The condensation from the cold metal against her warm skin dripped down onto the cleavage of her chest can gathered like little jewels between her shapely breasts. I was glad I was behind the counter so she couldn't see my hard-on.
"Thanks for the soda. I'm Tamara in case you didn't know." She held out her hand to shake; it was moist and warm but she had a firm grip too.
"I'm James."
