1,500 words 4-5 minute read
Being a retired capitalist and a potter, he decided to fill the gap when he found out the local clay firing business had stopped doing less than a full kiln firing for small potters.
He installed another kiln in his pottery shop and hung signs on every local chat, social, or political website that he could find. The city inspector approved the kiln on Friday afternoon, and he had them all firing bisque before the inspector's ink was dry.
His phone blew up with texts which resulted in lots of pottery to fire as soon as the word spread that he would fire small batches in a shared kiln for a reasonable price.
The inspector was a charmer and wanted him to call her when he had pottery available to the public. Her name was Chastity, but she asked him to call her Chase instead because she was no longer what her name implied.
Dale, of course always on the prowl, interrogated her knowingly and found out that this inspector was married with a hall pass. She was about five feet tall, beautiful, mature, and looked twenty years younger than her forty-nine years. Her skin was tan, tight, and tempting to touch.
Her uniform this day was, from all appearances, even tighter than he remembered from the three inspections before. Today was her fourth trip, after the first for site approval, the second for the wiring permit, and then the trip for the installed kiln certificate.
His cell phone had continued to blow up with texts from potters across the desert for over a fifty-mile radius, so he had a steady supply of clay to load.
Eventually, he was able to find room to fire some of his own pieces. He called Chase who happened to be very close by and was there in five minutes.
Chase was wearing an inspector's uniform and had a roll of clothes under her arm when he answered the front door. He invited her in, closed and locked the door, swinging the closed sign in place.
Chase asked, "Locking me in or locking your wife out?"
"Neither. However, if I need to lock you in, I misjudge you, and I will apologize. If you do not need to be locked in, I would suggest a drink is in order. What do you drink, Chase?"
"Liquid generally, however, I have been known to blow through a lumpy offering or two. I have bartered occasionally in my long-ago past. Beer, cold, pale if you have it, and VO if you don't. If you have both, I'll take a beer and a shot, please."
He poured two double shot glasses to the rim and produced a pair of icy Marble Pale Ale bottles.
He had turned toward the cupboards and refrigerator, so when he finished pouring and opening the beers, he turned around to see Chase in a sheer pale yellow bra and a wicked weasel-sized matching pale thong. Her vagina was obscured by a dense patch of tightly curled black hair matted against and spread outwardly around the thong.
When he quit smiling widely, he said, "I sense that one or the other of us is dressed for something other than for what the other is dressed. Or, it slowly and unhappily occurs to me that maybe you are between outfits."
