Nancy's Seattle Adventures

Nancy Locates Some Prospects

Nancy preceded me into what looked like a very popular bar. I dawdled around outside for about five minutes before going inside. The place was fairly crowded, mostly with students in their twenties. There were also a few customers who looked too young to be in there, at least to drink.

Nancy was at the bar ordering a drink. I approached the bar, too, to check out what was going on. I saw that the bartender (a paunchy Hispanic guy who might've once been an athlete) was really scoping her out, especially (I surmised) those jutting-out nipples of hers, which, since her jacket covered only her shoulders and arms, were conspicuous in her thin sweater, while he waited on her. Two young guys seated just to the right of her were really checking her out. The guy in the stool closest to her spoke to her. She smiled fetchingly when she answered. The guy in second stool from her, more than a little drunk, leaned way back on his stool to leer openly at her whole body.

A stool opened up just to the drunker guy's right and I sat down. Nancy noticed me but pretended not to as she carried a glass of white wine away from the bar and looked for a place to sit down.

The two guys to my left turned all the way around on their stools to watch her walk away. "Holy shit!" said the one who'd been sitting closest to her. "That's really sweet! And you can tell she's not wearing a bra. Those little titties are sticking out there just begging for me to suck them!"

"You wish," said the drunker guy. "Looks like she's got a nice tight ass, too."

The two guys next to me and I watched Nancy as she located an unoccupied table about twenty feet away from the bar. It was a tall table with three high chairs around it. She draped her jacket over the back of a chair facing the bar and, using the chair's lowest cross-member as a step, swung her rear end into the seat. Her beautiful bare legs were facing us now but, for the time being, she kept them together in a ladylike manner.

The bartender took my order. When he brought my beer to me I said, loud enough for my companions to hear, "That blonde over there is really something, isn't she?"

"Damn straight," said the bartender. "Just watch, though. She belongs to some rich bastard. He'll be by pretty soon to glom on to her. That's a first-class piece of ass, way too choice for anyone in here."

"I don't know," said the drunk guy sitting next to me. "She looks pretty fuckable to me. Just look at those legs! I'd like to crawl up between her thighs right now and kiss her right where she pees. Then I'd like to bend her over and fuck her in the ass until she stops loving it." His friend laughed at these raunchy comments, but, for some reason, they were making my cock twitch. I love hearing strange guys talking coarsely about my beautiful wife.

Nancy sat demurely sipping her glass of wine for ten maybe minutes before apparently deciding, after looking around the room, to relocate. The three of us at the bar (and several others on the other side of the service area) watched her as, holding her half-full glass of wine in one hand, she awkwardly climbed down from her tall chair. To the delight of every male at the bar, this maneuver caused her legs to fall open enough to expose her crotch, covered just barely with that little patch of white material, for almost two full seconds. From the other end of the bar came comedic groans and the guy closest to me said, "Fuck me! I want that pussy!"

Pretending not to notice the attention she was receiving, Nancy turned her back to her admirers at the bar and made her way to an area near the front of the place where there were hanging plants, couches, comfortable chairs, and low tables. She located a chair and set her drink down on the table in front of her. On a couch and another chair opposite her were three guys who seemed to be together. I noticed that they immediately stopped talking among themselves and welcomed her.

I left the bar and carried my beer across the room near where my wife had reseated herself. Fortunately, I found an empty chair just a few feet from her. Despite a rather noisy group on the other side of me, I was able to hear most of what was said among Nancy and her new acquaintances. So, after a waitress took my order for another beer, I began to eavesdrop.

Whatever the three guys sitting together had been discussing before Nancy arrived had been dropped as a subject. Instead, they were peppering her with questions. Was she, like them, a student? No, she answered, she was just visiting but was also job hunting. What was her name? Nancy, she answered truthfully. They gave her their names. Where was she staying? A few blocks away at a friend's house. What sort of job was she looking for? I glanced sideways at her to see how she answered this one because it was crucial to our plan.

"I'm looking for work as a model," she said. "I'm really broke and need the work. I did it two years ago back east, but I need to find an agent here to get back into the business."

"So, how do you get an agent?" asked the tallest, best-looking of the three guys.

"I'm not sure out here on the coast," she answered. "When I modeled before, my husband made all the arrangements. But we're divorced now. He was a real jerk, but he got me lots of work."

"What kind of modeling did you do?" asked a nerdish-looking guy who looked about seventeen.

Nancy blushed and acted as though she were reluctant to answer the question. "Well," she began, "mostly it's been erotic stuff. You know, nude or partially nude. Usually by myself. Sometimes with other models, though."

This deliberately provocative answer, containing what to most people would seem way too much information, really got their attention. This beautiful creature, sitting across from them gloriously braless and with her beautiful thighs on display, was a living, breathing version of the images they probably jacked off to on the internet.

The good-looking one was the first to recover. He asked a somewhat skeptical question. "And you need to find an agent for that kind of modeling? What sort of agent?"

"Back east my husband used to get me work through a theatrical booking agent. I located one here in Seattle, but he wants me to send him photos before he'll even talk to me. I'll try to find a photographer tomorrow. I've got to work pretty fast, though. My mother and I only planned to be here for two days."

"You're here with your mom?" asked the third guy incredulously He was redheaded and looked a little like a young Ron Howard.

"Yes. I left her at home to check out the neighborhood. I've got to get back pretty soon, though."

That's when I leaned toward Nancy and broke into the conversation. "Excuse me," I said. "I couldn't help hearing that you're looking for a photographer. I think that's a waste of time. I have a friend down in San Francisco who's an agent and he says most models just send him amateur-quality photos, shot in natural light, taken by friends. If you have a camera with you, your mother could take a few shots of you that would do."

Nancy turned to me and laughed. "I have a digital camera at the house, but I don't want my mother photographing me. Not the kind of photos I need to get work. It's too creepy to even think about."

The Opie-ish guy, looking a little annoyed at me for butting in, said, "Well, just say the word and I'll take some shots of you. I don't have any fancy equipment, though. You know, special lights and stuff. But I know the basics of photography."

The good-looking guy chimed in then: "I'll do it, too. Just say the word, like Artie says."

The nerdish one said, "Yeh, me too."

Nancy laughed again and said, "Thanks for the kind offer, but I'd hate to put you out. I mean, you guys don't even know me."

She went on feebly resisting "the kind offer" for several more minutes before beginning to relent. Finally, after about fifteen minutes of back and forth talk, she said, "You mean, you'd actually be willing to do it tonight? Well, I guess that would be all right." The three guys, trying to contain their excitement, immediately called the waitress over and ordered another round of drinks.

Meanwhile, my mind spinning with anticipation as much as theirs, I sank back in my chair to watch things develop further. When their drinks arrived, Nancy and her three new friends leaned forward so they could converse quietly, and probably so the butt-in who'd interrupted them (that's me) couldn't hear, about the photo-shoot. I noticed that the front of Nancy's sweater had gaped open and that the three guys were being treated to a wonderful view of her tits. I could only make out a few sentences. These were the most pertinent. (From Nancy): "My mother will be upstairs asleep." (From good-looking guy, whom I heard my wife call Sid): "We can be quiet." (From redheaded Artie): "That wouldn't be shocking to me." (From the nerdish guy, whose name seemed to be Jimmy): "I've got my dad's car here. I can drive us."

Things were obviously coming together nicely, so I stood up. I managed to catch Nancy's eye. She gave me a quick smile and, in a gesture no one else caught, gave me a slight nod. That was our signal. Tingling with anticipation, I turned my back on my beautiful wife and her new, very lucky friends and half-walked, half-ran back to Tony's house.