edited by Asylum Seeker
Grant never was much of a partier. He was even worse with women, but Jane, the new receptionist, was different. Her gap-toothed smile, her corn-fed physique, her frumpy outfits gave her an air of approachability that bolstered his confidence to the point where he actually got up the nerve to ask her if she'd like to go to the office Halloween party with him.
"So, what are you going to be?" he asked.
"I have an idea," she said, batting her wide eyes, "but I'd need a partner to help me pull it off."
"I'll be your partner," he offered, jumping at the chance to break the ice with her.
She leaned in close and whispered in his ear. "I was thinking of being a prostitute, but I'd need a pimp." Her lips lingered for a moment, her hot breath on his neck, the flowery fragrance of her shampoo making his head spin.
Just then the phone rang. Watching her pick up and route the call, he couldn't help but fantasize about the delicious jiggle beneath her buttoned-up blouse. It seemed she made a point of keeping her sweeping, sensual curves hidden under conservative outfits, which only made him more curious about what treasures lay beneath.
As she finished with her call, she flashed him a curious smile. "Well? You wanna do it? I'll make it worth your while."
"Sure," he stammered. "I'll be your pimp. What do I wear?"
"Just Google 'pimp clothes', and then go to the thrift stores. You'll find something."
He certainly would find something; something stunning, something cool, something to make her realize he wasn't just a lowly paper-shuffler after all, he was a player, and she was lucky to have him.
"Will we be... um, you know... driving together?" he asked hopefully, already betraying his pretend-player persona. "I mean... uh..., do you want me to pick you up?"
"Oh no, that's okay," she responded while rifling through the papers on her desk. "I'll be coming from the other side of town. We'll meet outside and walk in together."
"It's a date!" he exclaimed, but she was already back on the phone, totally oblivious to his presence.
******
?
?The company party was being held at the same sprawling faux-adobe mansion they used every year. It was a corporate destination property, fully furnished, with comfy Southwestern style furniture and colorful Mexican blankets everywhere.
As he tooled up the drive, he visualized Jane in some sort of R-rated outfit, with cleavage to die for, and perhaps a lot of leg showing. He was so excited about seeing her this way, he almost ran over the valet kid who was waiting to park his car.
"Sorry dude," Grant said, climbing out of his beat up Nissan.
The kid gave him a sour look, perhaps taken aback by Grant's shabby thrift-story pimp jacket with the ratty fake fur on the collar. Grant handed him a one-dollar bill, feeling quite flush in his new role.
The valet kid gave him a scowl but Grant was oblivious, strutting across the cobblestone drive and up the steps in his pointy black boots, tapping his gold-tipped cane against the bricks.
He bobbed his red velvet pimp hat at the doorman but didn't enter. He couldn't enter without Jane, but she was nowhere to be seen. Other than a couple of witches smoking cigarettes and a woman in a V-cut halter dress, there was no one even vaguely resembling his favorite homely receptionist. Then the woman in the V-cut dress stood up, her round breasts practically popping out of her top.
"Jane?" he gasped, staring in awe at the stacked woman with the five inch fuck-me heels and the fishnet stockings. She strutted towards him, her tits doing a spastic jello-dance with every step she took.
"Grant!" she giggled, grabbing his waist and pressing her jiggling chest up against him. She planted a wet kiss on his neck. "You look adorable, and super-bad, at the same time." She leaned back to take him in, her soft tummy still pressed against his hips. He could already feel his dick stirring.
"Holy crap, Jane," he stammered. "I didn't recognize you."
"Is that good or bad?" she pouted, her minty breath mingling with his.
"Good, I guess," he quickly decided, letting his hand rest on her round hip.
"You guess?"
"Well, you know. It's like you're a totally different person." He let his hand slide a little lower on her hip, marveling at the smoothness he felt, but also wondering why he was encountering no thong line. "Where do you get a dress like this?"
"There's a place downtown where the strippers go," she said, stepping back and doing a little spin, during which he noticed her dress was barely long enough to cover her bouncy ass.
"Nice," he sighed, marveling at her tiny waist and curvy hips. There was no denying it, she had the perfect body for a prostitute. With her glossy red lipstick and glittery eye makeup, he figured she could make a grand a night in Vegas without even trying.
"Here," she spoke up while pulling something out of her sequined bag. "Clip this on your belt. It's a beeper for my panic button."
"Panic button?" he asked, feeling a little faint, like maybe he was the one who needed a panic button.
"Yeah. I got it when I used to work at an assisted living place, only it's not for when I've fallen down and can't get up, it's for when some guy starts getting too rough with me."
"Oh, I get it," Grant chuckled nervously. "We're playing this prostitute/pimp charade right down to the last detail."
"Details are my job," she reminded him, scrunching her nose in a way he'd never noticed before. "They're what I'm good at." She gave him another squeeze, during which his hand landed on her hip again, only this time he felt her garter belt. She looked down, perhaps sensing his fingers lingering there. "You like?" she smiled, shoving a long leg in his direction.
'Yeah," he gasped. "I've never gone out with a woman with stockings like that."
"Don't you mean you've never gone out with a woman with stockings?"
Grant hung his head. "That too."
