Finishing her creamy soup with a flourish of tongue and lips, Carmen cleansed her palate with strong, black coffee. She would have added a slender cigar to her meal's finale, but as the cafe didn't allow bad habits, she was forced to satisfy her cravings with caffeine and the crowd. The pair always stimulated her imagination, and she leaned back in her booth to observe the late afternoon diners, focusing on two women who had just taken stools at the counter.
The tallest had dark hair and was taking her pants to the limit. Though the woman was clearly a size fourteen, she had squeezed into jeans meant for a anorexic cheerleader. However, her weight was evenly distributed over her large frame, and if you liked an Amazon who could kick your boyfriend's ass, this babe would get your heart pumping. Her friend was a lean, tanned blonde with high cheek bones and tight calves that suggested she went biking as regularly as her mother went hiking with Indians. Dressed in cutoffs and an old western shirt, she spun her stool from side to side like a child who found it hard to sit still.
"All done?" the waitress asked, swinging by the professor's booth.
"Just beginning," Carmen replied. "But you can take the trash."
"And how was your soup?"
"Delicious! I even licked the bottom of the bowl!"
"Our chef will be delighted to hear that," the young woman replied. "She lives to please others, and you'll make her day. Would you like me to refill your cup?"
"Please," the professor said, finding delicious irony in the girl's phrasing.
"And can I bring you something for dessert?"
"I'll think about it for awhile," Carmen said. And this was exactly what she did, for with hot coffee and two Muses at the counter to inspire her, she was ready for a lusty stroll down Fantasy Lane. As always, she took along her favorite student.
The semester has ended and Sandy goes looking for a summer job. Although she's smart and an excellent worker, the labor market is glutted, common in a college town. But being a determined woman, she walks the streets and knocks on many doors, filling out applications until her hand cramps. But even the minimum wage positions are denied her.
"It's because of my age," she convinces herself, flumping down on a bus stop bench with the newspaper's want ads. "Now if I were twenty years younger like those two..." She stops her internal dialogue to listen to the conversation of the two girls passing by.
"I made $800 last Friday," one claims. "And so could you! Your body's better than mine, and all you've got to do is wriggle your ass and do a few lap dances."
"But I don't know if I could take off my clothes in public," the other replies. "I mean, it would make me feel so...well, cheap!"
"At $100 an hour?"
And then they are out of earshot.
Sandy feels more frustrated and angry than ever. It doesn't seem right that she's virtually unemployable while uneducated bimbos can make scads of money dancing in gentlemen's clubs. How much skill did it take to strut naked in heels in front of a lonely man? It was simply take it off and rake it in. Legal prostitution.
"What a hypocrite!" her inner voice intrudes. "If you're going to beat the moral drum, better do it softly! And quit bitching about your age, for that's not the problem, and you know it! Lots of men would love to see an older woman strip, and you'd probably make loads of money! So be honest! The only thing that's holding you back is your stupid, false modesty!"
Ignoring the lecture, Sandy scans the want ads till a listing catches her eye.
Mature individual to manage video rental store.
No experience required. $15 hr.
"There's got to be a catch," she says to herself, tearing out the ad and quickly hopping on the bus before the driver can get cute. "Don't be so negative," her conscience scolds her as she takes a seat in the back. "It might be right up your line. Besides, how are you planning to pay your rent? By winning the lottery?"
Re-reading the ad, Sandy sees that the address is just a few blocks away. She tugs on the cord above her, reluctantly, and the bus rumbles to a stop. The female driver looks into her rear view mirror and snaps her gum impatiently. Her expression, half sneer and half leer, leaves an ambiguous impression on the redhead as she steps down onto the curb. Why does this woman always look at her so? And more doubts cloud Sandy's brain when she sees an 'Adults Only' sign marking the entrance to the store she's seeking.
She pauses outside the green-colored door to check the address. Unfortunately, it matches, and a groan escapes her lips. What should she do? The store's windows are painted black, so she can't peek in, and her mind concocts a lurid picture of orgies and police line-ups. Feeling jittery just being near such a place, she looks around as if she were being followed. Biting her lip, she thinks about leaving, but the bus now pulls away, the driver's grinning face staring back at her in the side mirror. "Damn it! Go in!" her inner voice orders her. "What's the worst that can happen? You've come this far, so at least check it out! Don't be such a prude! You might even catch a thrill!"
Feeling flushed and sweaty, Sandy takes a big breath and crosses the threshold. She expects the interior to be criminally dark and stifling hot with hookers in fishnet sashaying from trick to trick while junkies shoot up in the corner. But instead she finds the store to be clean, air-conditioned, and brightly lit, and not a single sex fiend jumps out to rape her. In fact, the store is empty except for an older man with a bad cough who's reading a magazine behind the counter. He doesn't look up, and Sandy quickly scans the place. It looks like an ordinary newsstand with magazines and colorful boxes lining the walls. But a closer look reveals that the material is all X-rated, for naked breasts and butts adorn every cover. But most intriguing is a pulsing red light hanging over a dark alcove in the back of the store. A faint humming is heard within, along with the sound of a coin falling into a slot.
Sandy suddenly feels a pair of eyes examining her.
"Feel free to look around," the owner says, setting an example by mentally removing her skirt and blouse. "If you need quarters, just ask. And please don't remove the wrapping from the mags. If you do, you'll be making a purchase."
Sandy stammers that she's there about the advertised job, pulling the torn ad from her purse as evidence. Drawing near the counter, she can't help but notice all the dildos and vibrators arranged in neat rows behind the glass.
"Do you have any experience?" the man asks.
Sandy blushes, not sure what he means.
"Not a problem," he shrugs. "The job's pretty basic. And I'm willing to pay extra for someone who's honest and dependable." Not bothering to introduce himself or get up from his chair, he tosses her an application which falls to the floor. Moving behind the counter to retrieve it--and giving Sam a chance to peek down her blouse--she sees a VCR and a small television showing three naked women being naughty in the shower.
