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."
"James, not Jim? Well, I like James; it suits you. Do you bowl James?"
"Not really, I'm sort of a grad student."
"Too bad, it would be fun to play with you." She smiled at her mildly flirtatious remark. "Do you mind if I knock down a few more pins?"
I was happy to accommodate her and took great pleasure in watching her ass wiggle down to the lane. I glanced over at the guard but he just stood there stone-faced. She only went for another half hour or so and then put on her street shoes and packed her gear. As she passed the counter she waved. "Thank you so much James. Is there any chance we can do this again on Friday?" I agreed that it would be my pleasure and she and Danny were gone.
She came back that Friday around 2:30. OK, I admit I stayed late in the hopes she arrived. She seemed pleased that I waited but even with her smile that deep sadness was underneath. Danny gave the place the once over and handed me another envelop with cash and then left. "I told Danny he could stay outside with the chauffeur. I really don't get much privacy lately. It's nice to be alone here." She smiled as if she had a secret. "Well, alone with you anyway." I was left to ponder this as she began her workout, this time at a lane right in front of me. Her ass put on an amazing show as it rolled in those tight, tight jeans every time she sent the ball down.
When she took her break she proudly showed me a roll of quarters and she bought sodas for me and the two guys outside too. "See I always pay my debts." She leaned on the counter and drank slowly; she didn't say anything more and I figured it best to leave her alone with her thoughts. But I did steal glances at the elegant curves of her body; she had worked up quite a sweat and the damp tank top clung to the bra that barely covered her breasts. "OK, one more set!" She slammed her empty can down on the counter. She bowled furiously, as if the pins were people she wanted to knock down.
For the next few weeks she came in every few days; sometimes she would set a date as she left, sometimes she would call on the spur of the moment. Each time she would bowl like a champion, then she'd take a break while hanging around the counter without saying much, just lost in whatever pressures were weighing her down, then she'd bowl like a banshee for half an hour or so. Each of these sessions got more and more intense. Finally, she'd quietly pack up and leave.
One night she came in visibly upset. She was not dressed for bowling at all. She had on this pink lacy thing that was real tight and held up by thin straps. You could see plenty of skin; her nipples were almost poking out through the threads. The short black skirt barely covered her bottom and pink panties, matching the top, peeked out every time she bent down. Her hands were shaking as she tied her bowling shoes and the banshee bowling started right away. It was clear that her game was off.
Suddenly the constant crashing of the pins stopped and she just stood there holding her ball and trembling. Without a word her hand dropped down and the heavy ball hit the floor with a thud. She started really shaking and crying now. I ran over and helped her to the bench; she was crying in big heaving sobs now. I started to unlace her shoes.
