Disclaimer: This story contains futanari.
Credit and thanksgiving to Surine, my editor. Grazie!
~
I was irritable.
The sun was beaming hotter rays than Cyclops, and my sweat-drenched tank-top was proof; this was only a part of my demise, because I had decided to wear cargo pants that day.
Nevertheless, after my morning ritual, which consisted of a two-mile run and a rigorous aerobic stint in the sand at our local beach, I found myself sprinting up and down my favorite basketball court. The sport was my one true passion, in addition to physical conditioning of course.
The court was deserted aside from myself, as the park usually was this early on a weekday. The consistent report of leather meeting concrete eased my nerves as I continued my workout.
Half an hour later, I was stretching on the grass, cooling down and about ready to head for home. I stood up, swiping sweat and specks of sand from my tan skin; I took the moment to admire my body.
I stood at five feet, six inches, and weighed one-hundred-and-twenty-five pounds. I wore my hair short and bobbed, jet black and endlessly adorable; my green eyes were like studs of jade glinting from beneath my bangs.
I was incredibly fit, in the best shape of my life, sporting huge, rock-hard calves, with thighs to match; a lifted, necterine-esque ass; chiseled abs with the mystical 'V' shape leading to my groin; and impressively defined, yet still feminine, biceps and triceps.
The only asset I couldn't flaunt were my breasts; they weren't exactly large, but I wasn't flat either.
After examining myself, I looked up, grateful for the cool breeze kissing my skin and ruffling my clothes. I took a long pull of water from my bottle, but froze when I saw that my basketball was missing. Immediately agitated, I looked around the park, but couldn't locate a single person.
--Until I saw the two boys across the street. Laughing, they tossed the ball back and forth, content with themselves and oblivious to the sweaty blur streaking towards them in a state of rage.
Like I said, I was irritable.
They eventually noticed me, and in a state of panic, tossed my ball skyward and turned tail. Hardly panting, I watched as my ball fell behind a high fence and into a woman's yard as, only a second later, a low groan of pain met my ears.
Mumbling a slew of curse words, I grabbed the fence and easily hoisted myself over the top. I landed lightly and in a crouch, eyes sweeping the yard. The woman whom I had heard only seconds before was glaring at me from behind a pair of lightly tinted glasses, evidently upset that her tanning session had been interrupted.
She was naked, and clutching my ball; and damn, she was gorgeous.
Twenty minutes later, after I had explained to her what had happened, and after she had slipped into a bikini, we were conversing over sun tea, poolside.
"So, Sam, what do you do?"
I sipped the tea slowly, peering into the cool water before answering, "I'm a personal trainer slash massage therapist. And you, Nicole?"
The blonde was apparently far from dumb as she replied, "I'm an attorney."
"No shit. You aren't going to sue me for emotional distress are you?"
Nicole only responded with a lazy wink from behind her glasses, sucking upon the straw that fed her tea.
At a loss for words and in need of a shower, I stood up, basketball in hand.
"Well, it was a pleasure meeting you Nicole, and again, I'm sorry for intruding."
The bikini clad bombshell, who made me feel body conscious in a feminine aspect, waved my sentiment aside. She fixed those chocolate brown eyes on mine, revealing pearly whites behind luscious lips.
"That's quite alright honey; I'll have you repay me sometime."
~
Over the next couple of weeks, whenever I wasn't whipping overweight slobs into shape, and whenever Nicole wasn't seducing the jury to see things her way, she and I got together.
We began to bond and quickly became each other's best friend. I learned that she had never married, had no kids, loved jazz, hated asparagus, and was thirty-four years young.
She learned that I had a short temper. And was twenty-five.
Amongst all of our dates and pow-wows, I remember vividly the night when our friendship was tossed against the ropes.
~
I was sitting at a table by myself, at a quaint Italian restaurant; Nicole had, obviously, chosen the venue--I was definitely having salad tonight.
I wore an elegant yet casual black blouse, sleeveless, with charcoal grey business slacks and very small heels. I despised the look, but Nicole was rubbing off on me; I missed the comfort of basketball shorts and a pair of Nikes.
I looked up and saw, in a rather cliche type of way, Nicole, who had just entered the establishment. Damn, I thought; she's beautiful.
And she was. Clad in a form-fitting little black dress that accented her every voluptuous curve, I could only stare holes into her body. How incredibly large was her bust, that her breasts bounced and jiggled with every step. How seductive her eyes, encased behind rectangular frames. How innocent her golden locks, the hair falling past her shoulder.
How embarrassing my delight, cheeks seemingly ablaze as I stood to greet her, eyes wide as they found Nicole's. We embraced by exchanging kisses to each others cheeks before taking our seats.
"Wow, Nicole. You look fabulous."
She chuckled innocently, accustomed to the fact that I body-watched as a hobby; it came with the job.
"Thanks babe. Could you do me a favor?"
"Sure, what is it?"
"Rub my feet a little?"
She tilted her head and pursed her lips, eyes wide and seemingly liquifying. I agreed, but only to end her begging. By now, she had also grown accustomed to the skilled hands I wielded.
For the next ten minutes, as we waited for our food to arrive, I handled Nicole's feet and she told me about a hung jury that had allowed a potential murderer back on the streets.