Alistaire at USC: The Actress

I originally intended to have a Celebrity/Fan Fiction chapter in this phase of Alistaire's life. I mean, he is in Hollywood, or at least near it. But after several drafts told me that I don't have enough of an idea of the real personalities of any hot young celebrities to stay within the bounds of plausibility. Alternatively, Alistaire's favorite actress has been established as Gal Gadot since the very first chapter, but she is married. But the process did lead me to this character, who I am very fond of.

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The One With The Actress

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At least Gina was in no way like Beth. Well, in some ways like Beth. She fucking loved it when she could con Dave and me into both attending to her needs at the same time. Poor Dave had about died the first time. Of course, I knew how to enjoy myself and get the job done without any friendly fire. Dave learned quickly. Gina was a significant incentive. Gina, for her part... was thoroughly entertained.

I told neither of them that my recent escapade with Ronnie, Flip, and Kate made the three of us's acrobatic endeavors feel like simple, relaxing idylls...

But thank God, Gina was unlike Beth in that she was still extremely interested in sex with each of us individually. She was so into suddenly being the center of a sexual world that she had to swear us both off cold turkey to study when the week before exams began.

But after the first exam, Dave and I received a group text from Gina.

GINA: I have one exam under my belt, and I think I crushed it. I feel prepared for the rest of my exams but stressed about taking them. Unless either of you needs to beg off, you may each expect to get ambush fucked at times of my choosing before the week is over

Dave and I were both sitting in our common room studying when the message dinged on both our laptops. He bent his head and started clicking rapidly, so I waited.

DAVE: {GIF of Wayne and Garth mugging for the camera with thumbs up}

I typed immediately afterward.

ME: 'Nuff said

"Think she's about to come busting through our door?" Dave asked, looking at said door hopefully.

"She said each of us," I said. "I think we will be able to relax and give her our full attention individually."

"Your lips to Gina's ears," Dave said.

She did not come through our door.

The next morning, I had my hardest exam. It was my elective class with Ursula. It wasn't hard per se. I really did have the material down now. But I needed a 97 on the final to get my A after all my flailing earlier. Ursula was not going to grant me so much as a free point, and I would have been devastated if she did.

I felt pretty good I had nailed it though, so I was happy and de-stressing when I entered my suite. I renewed my mental note to call Ursula the very day the grades were posted.

"Oh fuck, Gina," I heard suddenly from Dave's room. "Yes! Do the tongue thing. Always do the tongue thing."

I was familiar with the tongue thing. Everyone should do the tongue thing.

Dave was having a good time.

I looked at his door. We never locked them.

I was suddenly extremely horny.

I reflected that I might be about to think with my dick...

Fuck it. My dick often has awesome ideas.

I opened Dave's door silently. He was sitting on his bed, and Gina was down on her knees, facing away from the door, doing the tongue thing some more. I could just tell.

Despite his eyes trying to roll up into his skull, Dave immediately saw me staring down at the two of them. Fortunately, Gina was already naked. So was Dave, but I did not give a shit about that. Dave's eyes narrowed in a frown, then before I could react at all, they narrowed further... into an evil grin.

Game. On.

He grabbed Gina's head gently with his palms over her ears and moaned louder.

I just let the gym shorts I was wearing drop silently to the floor.

Dave avoided looking at my cock which was waving around, more than ready to go. Gina, alas did not have a Big Dick Harem. Dave was solidly average in length, though he was nicely girthy. Or, at least that is what Gina said. I sure as fuck was not making detailed examinations. Dave, amazingly, never acted threatened by the size differential. In fact, he had almost died laughing when he had finally seen my junk.

I imagine that our size differential did at least provide extra incentive to never 'cross the streams'.

I needed to move hardly at all to get behind Gina, who fortunately had her legs spread a little already as she worked. Somehow, I managed to make the first thing to touch her be the head of my cock.

Gina gleeped in surprise. Dave gently kept her from turning her head. She did look up at him and he broadly winked at her. She really had only one guess as to who it could be behind her.

When I started to slide into her, she was immediately fucking certain, of course. I'm told that I am unmistakable.

"Owth thuck," she gasped around Dave's cock. "Thoo it, Acithaire!"

I did it all right.

In the end, after the glorious end for us all a good hour and a half later, I was punished for my friskiness by Gina declaring that I had used up my ambush sex for this exam period.

I was left to get by with just a visit or two from Hannah. Well, Kate also seemed hellbent to get together as much as possible before she had to go home for the summer. She fortunately was just interested in more intimate one-on-one experiences during exams, as whatever Rube Goldberg shit she was cooking up for our next foursome would have made us all flunk. So, even Gina-less, I was always very relaxed for my exams that spring.

*

Dave and I had decided not to room together the next fall for Junior year, largely because he wanted to stay on campus, and I wanted to get an apartment. Since that was the case, I decided to go ahead and lease a place at the start of the summer, even though I could have stayed in dorms for those three months. It wasn't about money. I actually expected to pay even more and was going to have to economize on food. Lots of cooking was in my future. I just had not been fully feeling the whole California thing so far and wanted to get on with living off campus so I could assimilate the reality.

Mom negotiated a very nice paid internship for me with Wells Fargo in Downtown LA for the summer. Even better, it was remote work two days a week, with three days in the office. I had been offered the option of working three days a week remotely, but my mother made a variety of dire threats if I accepted that.

"The point of the internship is to be around the employees and management in the office, face to face. You need to learn to network," she had said.

"I don't know, he seems to make contacts just fine," Dad quipped.

"And try not to fuck absolutely everyone in the office," Mom added in response.

Have you ever tried to politely hang up on your parents? It can't be done.

Even with what I was making, and the help my parents offered, the whole project of living off campus almost crashed on the rocks of the price of rent. I just wanted something small and I figured that I could swing it without a roommate.

Had figured.

I might need to break down and move to an apartment with someone else for my senior year. But for this summer, and for my junior year upcoming, I was locked into a ruinous lease on a one-bedroom place.

*

Even with the crazy rent I paid, my apartment was not in the greatest neighborhood... at all. If my mother decided to visit me there on one of her semi-frequent trips to California, she would have a cow, so I realized that I needed to maneuver things so she did not visit. How I was going to pull off that maneuver was beyond me, but I was resolved... because I had no room for a cow.

I pondered various gambits to accomplish this goal one Tuesday early in the summer, but came up with few immediate options. Tuesday was one of my remote days, so I took an early morning run around the neighborhood, wanting to clear my mind for more brainstorming, and also continuing to look for someplace where a cup of tea wasn't eight bucks and eggs weren't twelve. I cooked a lot for myself to save money, but I still did not want to cook every day, every meal.

I found a little coffee shop I had missed on my last exploration. It was in the middle of a block about half a mile from my digs, and I paused, running in place as I checked out the menu. Miraculously, the tea was reasonably priced. Eggs and toast were still twelve bucks.

Sigh. This was why I cooked a lot for myself.

Still, I would be able to afford a good tea here during my morning runs. Even an occasional chai latte!

It seems that every retail business in LA feels like it needs to be themed. The owner of this café spent a whole bunch of money on chrome and linoleum like her place was a 50's diner. Even the barista behind the counter had been forced to wear a uniform like a 50's soda fountain worker. It was a peach-colored dress, knee length with white collar and cuffs on the short sleeves. There was a white belt too.

I perked up a good bit more, as the barista in question filled out her uniform in an extremely appealing fashion. The belt accentuated her narrow waist, and the dress's narrow waist accentuated the really remarkably sized and extravagantly proud breasts swelling its front. The girl even had an extra button undone beyond those you could tell the uniform was designed to have open. The slivers of cleavage she thus exposed were arresting... as I am sure they were meant to be.

I had found to my immense dissatisfaction that LA was not the vast sea of uninterrupted hot chicks that one imagines from looking at television. People here are in better shape than anywhere else I have lived, but there is a sort of desperation to their gym bodies, like it is 'be fit or die.' Having a hard body isn't that awesome if your body isn't hot to begin with.

Again. I'm a sex pig. I still don't see myself as all that handsome myself, but I have learned that for whatever reason, I get to be picky. So, sex pig.

I approached the counter, thinking that this girl was the exception that proves the rule about the appearance of Angelenos... gloriously. She was blonde, with wavy locks pulled up in a ridiculous little white hat that could only have looked sexy on her. Her eyes were maybe a shade over made-up, but were still an arresting blue. And she had a very cute button nose.

She smiled at me as I approached, and I smiled back, hoping I was not already stinking from my run. I looked down for the name tag on her chest, not an onerous task. I may have lingered on that gaze a moment.

"Can I get a chai tea latte?" I asked. The possibility was rapidly improving that I may have found a new favorite place to sit and do some work when I needed a sanity break from my tiny hovel. Assuming this barista worked a lot of days.

"Sure thing!" she chirped, not phased in the least at my checking her out. With that obviously extra button undone, I assume she was looking for the male gaze. And the male tips that followed. "What's yer name?" she asked, almost posing in front of me with a Sharpie and a paper cup.

"Alistaire," I said, spelling the mouthful. "Thanks, Britney."

"New in the neighborhood, or just passing through?" she asked, turning to work on my latte.

Instead of taking a seat like I did most places, I stayed and leaned against the counter while she worked. No one else was in the place, and I was glad she seemed open to some conversation. I needed to meet and get to know real Angelenos, not just USC kids.

"I just leased an apartment down the street," I said. "I go to USC."

"Oh, you are brave to venture off campus to live," she snorted like I was supposed to be soft.

"It's not that bad," I shrugged. "So is this your full-time job, or just mornings?" I asked, wanting to make conversation and give myself some cover for remaining at the counter to check out the very nice curves on display above and below the hem of her uniform.

"Full-time-ish," Brittany shrugged. "I open Tuesdays through Thursdays, and work the lunch rush on Fridays and Saturdays. All unless I have an audition, of course."

"Oh? You're an actress?" Other than arguably a few kids in the film department, this was the first real actress I'd met.

She turned enough to look at me, presenting a wonderful profile, and rolled her eyes at me. "It's LA. Everybody in the food and beverage industry is actually an actor," she snorted. I noted the emphasis on 'actor', and filed away a quick lesson about gendering that term. "The boss is an actor too, though she hasn't had a part in seven years. She understands about auditions."

She handed me my tea, and I took a tentative sip. "Noice!" I said, meaning it. She knew her stuff. "Well, I've got to shower before going to work myself," I said, heading for the door. "This is good. I think you will likely see me again, Britney!"

"Look forward to it, Alistaire," she called politely as I headed out the door.

*

A downside of working at a bank, even or perhaps especially in the financial advisory division, was that it required me to wear a coat and tie every day I was in the office. My Father surreptitiously sent me almost nine hundred dollars so I could buy a second suit and not look like a hobo. Beyond that, it was mostly a pretty cool place to work. But among other things, I learned that if I did pursue a career in Finance, it would not be in wealth management. I had suspected this before. Now I knew it.

Still, it was interesting work and allowed me to nurture references of the sort I was going to need once it was time for job searches for real.

I also met a lot of cool and interesting fellow interns.

There was Penny, a brilliant, what's the term... zaftig lesbian who seemed to get an insane amount of action, even if you did not take into account how plain she was. It had been a minute since I felt like I needed to take notes on someone else's Game, but anyone who got with as many chicks as Penny managed to lay seemed worth taking notes from.

Chip Reynolds and I got off totally on the wrong foot, but by the end of the summer, we were fast friends, and remain so today.

I did not get along with everybody.

Ivy Trefethan made my daily life in the office an exercise in landmine avoidance.

"Hey, Ivy," I asked one morning, "I have something Mr. Enney just asked me to bang out for him right away. Can you take the 3M exhibits up to Ms. Hastings for me, so I can get on this?"

"I'm not your errand girl, Taylor," she snapped in that aristocratic drawl I knew damn good and well was an affectation. A sneer marred her otherwise damn near perfect face. "It's your job, you do it. I have my own responsibilities."

Her responsibilities at the moment consisted of putting her unreasonably well-formed feet up and reading the Wall Street Journal. Of course, she wore Louboutins. Those red-soled, sexy as fuck pumps probably cost as much as my new suit.

We all read the Wall Street Journal. It was sort of expected. But generally, it was not the sort of job responsibility that was supposed to come before other things...

She turned away from her desk and stretched out her stupidly elegant legs below the mid-thigh hem of her suit skirt--her suit that had to have cost twice what my new suit had. She fluffed the Journal and ostentatiously looked at the fucking stock quotes.

No one has read the goddamn stock quotes in the Journal for a decade. She had a fucking 34" computer screen on her desk that gave live, up-to-the-second quotes, along with everything our billion-dollar analyst team had to say about every publicly listed company on Earth.

She humphed, making the front of her jacket rise and fall distractingly.

I'll admit, she was beautiful. She was not hot, please understand the distinction. Her looks were the sort of elegant prettiness that made anyone look better just by standing next to her. Any guy would look at her and say, 'Wow, she is beautiful,' at least until they learned what a steaming pile of bitchiness she was. Most guys would not look at her and instantly say, "Damn, I want to tap that ass."

Unless he had a foot fetish...

That stated, had she not been said steaming pile, I would likely have schemed to tap that ass anyway. She really was elegant.

"Fine," I sighed. "I'll do it. Hopefully, Mr. Enney won't yell at us when this is late."

"You mean you hope Enney won't yell at you, don't you?" she preened.

"Fuck this," I grumped as I stood up. She was right about the possible outcome, though not the morality of the situation.

"Why don't you get your mommy to do it, Taylor?" she sneered as I hustled out with the materials.

I marveled inwardly that even this did not make me want to spank the girl. It made me think about it, but not actually want to do it.

Yes, my mother, who does not work for Wells in any capacity, her firm is much smaller but very much a competitor in the investment banking field, got me this internship. Thus, Mommy's Boy was a fair criticism. But not from Ivy Trefethan. Her mother, based in San Francisco, heads an advisor group under the Wells umbrella that is a Top 50 producer planet-wide. Ivy did not get her coveted desk in our cramped little office on her own merits either!

Worst of all, Ivy went to UCLA. What a fucking loser!

Still, she made the office a better-looking place, and she smelled nice. I would not push her under a bus if the occasion presented, no matter how much she might deserve it.

Most days.

*

In the three weeks after meeting Britney, I had begun to make her café a regular haunt. I'd get my morning tea on days when she worked the early shift, and on Fridays, I would occasionally swing by and pick up a sandwich on the way home from work before I headed out for the evening.

One Wednesday morning I popped in, still sweaty and with an elevated pulse from my morning run, and found myself staring at Sammy, one of the usual afternoon baristas.

"Where is Britney?" I asked, after ordering my tea.

"Audition," Sammy grunted. "I got told off to take her shift."

"Sorry," I sympathized.

"Audition," Sammy repeated as if that explained everything. "Brit's cool. She's covered for me twice in the last two months. Happy to get the extra hours."

Friday, I had no plans and was supposed to just cook the chicken I had picked up at Safeway. Gotta save money over restaurant food whenever I could, after all.

But I went to the café for a sandwich anyway. I wanted to hear how Britney's audition had gone. Hopefully, she would not have gotten some big enough movie role for her to quit her job.

She was there, in her lima green uniform (Fridays were green days).

"How did your audition go?" I asked brightly.

"We'll see," she said. "I think I've got a good chance, but..."

"You want the part, though, right?" I said encouragingly.

"Sure. It's a paycheck. But it is four lines in a local commercial for the Bakersfield Public Library System. There won't be any residuals," she said with a shrug. "Still, if I get it, it is one more line on my resumé."

"Next audition will be for something great," I said firmly.

"Sure. I am certain the next call will be from a major producer offering a real part in a legit motion picture," Britney said with a straight face.

Maybe she was not a great actor. Even clueless me could hear the sarcasm in her voice.

*

The following Tuesday, I popped into the café a few minutes later than usual, after a longer run than normal. I waved cheerily at Britney, whose return greeting was a bit lackluster for her.

My chai tea latte, on the other hand...

"Britney! Wow," I exclaimed, once I'd looked at, then tasted it. "This is next level this morning. The little swirl design you did in the cream? That is pretty damned elaborate, and I swear it tastes way better than usual. Thanks!"

"Sure," she shrugged, smiling but not broadly. "We are experimenting with the chai blend, mixing a new blend with the old. The boss wants two to one new blend to old, but I like one to two. I'm guessing you agree."

"Mark me down as one vote for one to two," I said, taking another cautious sip of the exactingly hot beverage. "This is perfect. You are raising your game," I said, raising my cup in a toast.

"Yeah?" Britney said, a little bitterly. "I guess I need to, since this job just keeps getting less temporary every day."

I shot a look at her and realized that she had not gotten that little commercial role.

And that little commercial role she had been so dismissive of had really been important to her.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, Brittney," I said softly.

She shrugged. "It sucks, but that is acting. Especially nowadays. At least I still have an agent. He is pretty good. And he hasn't given up on me. Yet."

I nodded awkwardly and got the hell out.

*

Saturday, my former teacher Ursula and I got together to watch a televised noontime Dodgers-Cardinals baseball game. We could have gone and watched in the stadium, but we both knew it would have been problematic being there with my dick inside her as much as was going to be the case. Instead, we watched the game on TV at my apartment, even though my place was small and had much less room than hers. But hers had her very large roommate Bob, from whom she was subletting. Bob honestly intimidated me. His presence would also put just a smidge of a damper on the whole dick in Ursula thing which was kind of our main focus for the day.

Ursula was not intimidated by Bob, but she did want to avoid any activity that advanced his perception of her as a sexual creature. I personally thought that her current living arrangement was not going to last. As far as I was concerned, simply breathing the same air as Ursula advanced one's perception of her as a sexual being.

Once the game was over, we pouted together. Ursula is from San Francisco, so we both hate the Dodgers equally. But the Brooklyn exiles won anyway 6-2, and we each had very clear memories that there had been balls, strikes, baserunners, and runs at some point during the game. Neither of us had been able to watch all of the proceedings because while Doggy and Reverse Cowgirl were both great ways for us to watch together, we had spent a significant portion of the game with one of our faces or the other buried down where watching the game was impossible...

"I am starving," Ursula announced after we had an exhausted little naked make-out session to celebrate the end of this miserable but entertaining game.

"I would offer milady sustenance," I replied, "but my cupboard is pretty bare since I haven't been to Safeway since Sunday. Oh!" I said, snapping my fingers. "How about I buy you a sandwich at this Café I've found nearby? It's really good," I added, speaking my sudden thought.

Ursula gave me a look that said we were going Dutch, but also that we were going as soon as we got ourselves presentable.

My shower was too small for us to shower together, which was just as well. Each of our hungers had reached a point where it was outstripping our desire to not be done molesting each other for the day. We spruced ourselves separately.

Walking toward the Café with Ursula was a scenic experience. The elegantly and attractively professional adjunct professor I had first met dressed quite differently when she was not on campus. At least not when she was with me. This day, she wore skintight white shorts that came barely a third down her thighs. They were of a thick, elastic fabric which was in no way sheer, but which displayed her splendid curvature like a gilt frame. Up top, she wore an oversized black teeshirt with 'Giants' writ across the front in orange letters. She eliminated the looseness by tying the tails up tightly on her left side, simultaneously exposing some nice tummy, and pulling things taut enough across the chest to reassure anyone who was observant that she had no bra on.

I am very observant.

"If you don't want Bob to think of you as a total babe, maybe don't dress like that when you head back to your apartment," I said drily, after she had laughed at me for tripping over some cracked sidewalk concrete because my eyes were sidetracked.

She laughed again. "I certainly intend to untie the knot and let everything hang loose when I go home."

"If it worries you, I could have a talk with him," I said sharply.

Ursula looked at me. "I really am not worried about Bob. I just try not to rile his baser instincts up as a favor to him!"

I looked at her dubiously. Bob might have two inches and forty pounds on me, but I would still talk to him...

"Alistaire," Ursula went on with just a touch of sudden caution, "you should know that if he wasn't my roommate, I'd have at the very least given him an exploratory blowjob by now."

"Oh! So you are saying he is going to forgive you when you finally move out and get your own place as planned?" I chuckled easily.

"Something like that," Ursula said, looking out the corner of her eye at me. "You are one of a kind Alistaire."

I shrugged. I get that comment a lot. I seldom completely understand what brings it on each time.

I held the door for Ursula as we entered the Café. It was usually quiet in there between lunch and dinner, and it was even more deserted than usual on this occasion.

Bridget was the only staff on duty when we arrived. Whoever her partner on the shift us was apparently on break. "Cool, she's great," I said to Ursula as I indicated Bridget.

"Heyo, Bridget!" I said happily as I stepped up to the counter with Ursula. "This is my friend, Ursula," I said as we approached. "I've been bragging about your prowess. Ursula, this is Bridget, the best barista in LA County."

"Nice to meet you, Bridget," Ursula said politely.

Bridget looked pained.

Fuck.

Oh, holy FUCK!

"Britney!" I yelped. "This is Britney, the best and hopefully most forgiving barista in LA County! Shit, I am so sorry!" I instantly groveled.

What kind of total fuckwit mixes up the names Bridget and Britney without realizing it? You'd have to be super stupid to do such a thing.

That reminded me that I needed to text Bridget. I had not in days.

I would not share this anecdote when I did...

Britney just shook her head, but examined Ursula out of the corner of her eye.

Ordinarily, I linger over ordering from Brid... Britney, but I was a little shaken by my faux pas. I ordered quickly. Ursula took longer, of course.

We took a seat to wait for our sandwiches and talked about the game. We may have giggled a fair amount about how little we remembered of it.

"Holy shit, you were serious!" Ursula exclaimed when Britney brought over the half-caf mochachino. She actually rose up and went over to Britney to say, "I thought Alistaire was just being his usual excessively complimentary self when he said you were the best, but this is amazing! Can I ask how you did whatever you did?"

Britney just smiled at Ursula, but I caught a side-eye glance at me. She shrugged. "It is one of my favorites too, though I usually have a small, full-caf in the mornings." She happily explained what she did.

"So, unless I want to buy a $2,000 machine for my studio apartment, I'm not making this glorious thing at home," Ursula said, disappointed.

"Nope!" Britney said, a little smugly. Then she added, "For the record, I don't get to have these at home either."

They both laughed, and Ursula shrugged. "Yeah, but unlike you, I never will," Ursula grumped good-naturedly. "Once you inevitably go on to fame and fortune as an actress, sex-symbol, and all-around celebrity, the manufacturer will give you one of these machines in return for a picture of you with it!"

I winced. But then I stopped. That could have sounded really catty. Britney could have taken it as really catty. But she didn't. "Ah, so you know the inevitable career path of all baristas around here?" she said, more light-heartedly than I would have expected, for someone who had just had a little dream crushed.

"I waited tables through undergrad," Ursula snorted.

"Ursula just decided to go on to fame and glory as a famous professor instead," I chirped, glad they were getting along.

They both just looked at me like two women who did not expect to attain their career goals.

How was I the fucking bad guy here?

At least Ursula didn't hate me right then. I was not so sure about Britney.

After we ate, I walked Ursula back to where she had parked. On the list of things my shitty little apartment does not provide, you will find Parking.

"Was there a reason I needed to meet her?" Ursula asked me, as we walked along.

"Huh?"

"She's almost too hot for a serious career in movies, the way The Industry is these days," Ursula added.

"That would be a tragedy," I said, a little worried that Ursula might be right. Everyone in LA thinks they are an expert about The Industry. And by The Industry, I do mean The Business.

"Well, if she were already a star, you'd never have had the chance to sex her up," Ursula laughed lightly. "So maybe she is actually lucky not to have gotten her break yet."

"What?" I yelped. "She is just a friend. Sort of. I mean, she just makes me awesome drinks, and I fret lightly about her career not taking off yet."

"I've met a few of your other 'just friends', dude," Ursula snorted.

"Seriously!"

She just shook her head.

*

Gina and Tish were still rooming together, though I always kept kind of expecting to read about them on a True Crime blog at some point. They both had internships locally over the summer, but neither was enrolled for school, so they had had to lease a month-to-month apartment of their own. The only thing that kept their place from being as shitty as my own was that theirs was inhabited by two hot chicks. Two hot chicks who knew and cared how to decorate.

I dropped in to see Gina. I could have texted, but I was at a moment of peak dissatisfaction with my own digs. I was hoping to set up some time together for the most excellent kind of activity, and if she happened to be home alone without the Tish monster, perhaps that excellent activity might have been immediate.

Said monster was the one who answered the door, alas.

She just glowered at me, then yelled back inside to Gina, who was also home, thank goodness, "Hey, Gee! It is here again." She stood back and gestured me in with sarcastic extravagance. Then she followed me before plopping down in a ratty old upholstered chair and grabbed her tablet with finality, as if to say, 'Don't expect me to leave, just so you two can fuck.'

Tish had never actually admitted out loud out loud that she knew the obvious, that Gina and I fucked. Often. But she clearly faulted Gina's taste.

"Yo, Alistaire!" Gina said, popping up to greet me. Gina never kissed me, or touched me even, when Tish was around. Had the monster been absent, I'd have gotten a kiss... possibly the kind that would segue into the good stuff.

"Why are you here this time?" Tish asked. "Don't you ever work?" she brandished her iPad.

"It's Sunday," I shot back. "And I studied for two hours this morning. You don't even have any classes. What are you doing?"

"Uh, I'm doing my language requirement through an on-line school, or I won't graduate on time," Tish admitted.

Really?

"Really?" I said. "Good luck," I added as encouragingly as I could muster when talking to Tish. I knew I was very lucky to be as far ahead as I was.

"Thanks," Tish said, almost seeming to mean it. Then she felt the need to make sure we didn't become civil or anything. "Glad I could be here to give you some more to stare at."

You try. You try, and you get this...

"I hate to disappoint you, Tish. You are still the hottest, but you are no longer remotely the biggest bitch in my life these days," I snapped.

"I'll have to try harder," she snapped back.

"Don't bother, you don't have it in you. This girl at my internship is world champion material. You are outclassed. You'll never equal her anyway, since you are so much more fun to look at!"

Tish hated it when I called her hot. I had not done it that much lately because I liked to be creative in how I shit on her for being so goddamned well-formed, and I had been running low on new ideas. Ivy's next-level bitchiness was going to be a new source of taunts.

Unfortunately, I soon found there was a downside to my new taunt when fighting with Tish.

She liked a challenge.

*

Tuesday morning I didn't stop in at the café for a post-run tea, as I had an early important Zoom. But I did decide to treat myself to late lunch there afterward, even though Britney would already be off. I'd miss seeing her, but her absence would not affect the quality of my lunch, only the scenery. I always drank plain iced tea at lunch, and even Britney's wizardry could not elevate that.

But there she was, behind the counter anyway.

I ostentatiously stared at my watch as I reached the counter after the only other customer got her brownie and took off. "Who are you? They have a morning barista here who looks just like you," I said easily.

"Theo has an audition," she shrugged. "That expensive vacuum infuser won't buy itself, so I took his shift."

"Oh, yeah," I said. "What does that vacuum thingy do, anyway?"

"Ask your girlfriend, she understood it," Britney said, almost snappishly.

"Oh, Ursula is not a girlfriend," I said, not really thinking.

"Really? Then why did you come in here, her with Triple-F, and you looking all rumpled?"

"Triple-F?" I asked, trying to figure out at least one damned thing she was saying.

"Freshly Fucked Face," Britney said, grinning broadly, but not entirely friendlily. "You dragged her in here to make sure I knew you have a girlfriend and save you the difficulty of dealing with me flirting with you going forward."

"What?"

"And for the record, I was hardly flirting at all!"

"What are you talking about?" I asked, doing my best 'beached whale' impersonation. "Ursula is not my girlfriend. I do not have a girlfriend. Ursula was an instructor of mine a year ago."

"Pull the other one. I know Triple-F when I see it, in the mirror or on somebody else!"

I had had enough of this. I liked Britney. A lot. But I don't lie, and don't like being told I'm doing it. "Oh, it was Triple-F alright," I said firmly... smugly even. "I also am well familiar with the look, on many faces. I'm just weirded out by your contention that I had an ulterior motive for bringing her here. We wanted sandwiches. We. Were. Hungry. Why? I refer you to the Triple-F!"

"Oh," she said, suddenly cowed. I had sort of been going for that in the moment, but when I got it, I remembered that I hated seeing it on a woman's face. At least, seeing it for real...

"Wait, you were flirting with me? How did I miss that?" I added, confused again.

"I just told you that I was not flirting with you," she said defensively.

"No, you said you were hardly flirting with me. Not the same thing," I said.

She glared at me.

"I'm clueless, but I'm not deaf," I said, almost smiling now. "I hear lots of things. I don't always understand what I hear though."

Britney looked almost desperately over at the pass from the kitchen. My sandwich had not appeared to rescue her from this conversation. She looked everywhere else, but no fresh customers had appeared to give her cover. "Look," she said, leaning over toward me with a stern look on her face. "So this new dude appears in the neighborhood and starts becoming a regular. He's pretty attractive in a non-standard sort of way. Non-standard good looks are in demand around here. Every other attractive guy looks like Ken®. So, this guy is chill, and nice, and actually seems interested in me as a person. Biology practically demanded that I sort of respond a bit."

I stared at her.

"Then, just when he even seems supportive when I have yet another reminder of the smoldering crash on takeoff that is my career, he walks in here with a hot woman he's obviously just fucked the brains out of, leaving me to realize that on the one hand, he is apparently pretty good in bed, but on the other, he is not interested." She took a breath after that run-on sentence. I restrained myself from noting that a period or two in there would not have left her out of breath.

"Finally, he reveals that the super nice, can't hate her though I might want to try, hot chick is not a girlfriend at all, because he has other women he's 'honing his craft' with as well. Now I don't know what to think," she said running down at last.

"Um, Britney," I said seriously... and ran out of useful words. "I don't know..."

This was good because the bell dinged and she pounced on the bag with my sandwich in it. Presenting it to me like a cat producing a dead mouse. She found a few more words. "Good. Because, Alistaire, if you think you are going to get with this," she said, gesturing vaguely to herself, "with the weak sauce effort you have put in thus far, you have another think coming."

*

On the walk back to my apartment, munching on my sandwich as I went, I had another think.

Britney was very much worth another think.

*

The result of my think was that I needed advice. A little mental gymnastics about potential sources later, I pulled out my phone and brought up Track Chix in my texting app.

ME: I seek aid from the wisest of women

ME: This girl I know just called me out for bringing my girlfriend around to flaunt in her face. I'm not sure how to apologize and proceed.

I was surprised, given the time of day, that I did not get an immediate response, but in less than a block, they started to respond.

BETH: Girlfriend?

CARLA: Got some news update for us, Alistaire?

Oops.

I waited a minute for the dig from Bridget, but she seemed not to have picked up the thread yet.

ME: There is no update. I have no girlfriend. Lesson learned there, remember?

ME: Geeze, guys! Have a little faith in me. I'd tell you

ME: I just brought Ursula by the cafe where Britney works, for a sandwich.

BRIDGET: First of all, who is Ursula? We don't have her in the group.

I don't know why I even try to give girls privacy from The Sisterhood...

ME: She is a former teacher of mine out here

BETH: {GIF of Eddie Izzard going Ooooh} Alistaire is hot for teacher again. Nancy will be jealous...

BRIDGET: Send me her number. You know resistance is useless

ME: I will ASK her before I do

BRIDGET: He used to be so cooperative...

CARLA: But what is your problem? Did this other girl catch you?

BETH: Alistaire, did you not tell a girl that she is fucking a man of many women? I am disappointed in you.

BRIDGET: If that is true, I am VERY disappointed in you!

This was not helping. And Bridget getting mad at me was a non-starter.

ME: The other girl's name is Britney. She has kind of figured out some things after this afternoon's encounter. But it was okay because I am not fucking her. She is just a friend who works in a coffee shop

BRIDGET: Alistaire has made a friend that he doesn't want to fuck!

CARLA: She does not appeal?

ME: She is a professional actress that I cannot believe has not broken through based on her looks alone

There was a pause at that.

BRIDGET: I think we should be jealous

ME: Please. You know you each are your own unique brand of hot as the sun

There was about a ten-second pause.

CARLA: Awww. His flattery is always so sweet. It makes you want to fuck him every time he does it.

BRIDGET: Hey! You aren't supposed to be thinking about fucking him, Carla

BETH: Is there trouble in paradise, girlfriend?

CARLA: No trouble at all. Paradise remains a paradise. I said I wanted to fuck Alistaire. Not that I was GOING to. We will ALL always want to fuck Alistaire.

I realized that the three of them thought Carla had moved them to their 'secret' girls-only chat that did not include me...

ME: You are the one being sweet Carla. I'll always want to fuck you, too

Their mistake had me giggling like a supervillain.

BETH: FUCK! Carla!!

Now they realized Carla's mistake. I pumped my fist. I very seldom get to gloat at all three at once.

I was prepared to give them all some shit, and maybe get them to elaborate on how they would all like to fuck me, but Bridget cruelly got them back on track.

BRIDGET: This is all so very cute. But what is the problem with the hot actress who waits tables?

ME: She's a barista, not just a server. And I just don't know if I haven't messed it all up before I got that chance

I detailed the history with me and Britney. I left out the whole bit with mixing up her name with Bridget's because I value my life.

BRIDGET: Getting into this sitch is a problem, dude. But why did you hold off at the start? You like her. She's hot. Things usually proceed smoothly from there

ME: My parents gave me so much shit for the way I had started to unconsciously flirt with pretty waitresses and baristas, I got to thinking about it. It is kind of skeezy for a guy to flirt with a girl who... can't get away. So I've made myself consciously stop doing it. I guess I just classified Britney as tragically off-limits from the start

BETH: Sounds like she is either ready for you to make a move, or to tell you to fuck off all on her own. Go be you, dude

After that, I saw no more messages. I darkly suspected that this time they may have actually moved to their chat without me. Worse, they had probably moved to the Sisterhood chat, and now everybody was talking about me.

Nevertheless, I had the advice I had wanted in the first place, right?

*

Because, Bridget's complaints notwithstanding, I remain very cooperative, I dropped by Ursula's place and told her that a group called The Sisterhood had extended an invitation to her.

I also dropped by when I did because I knew Bob would be at work...

"What is this sisterhood?" she asked suspiciously. "If they want me because of you, I still want what we do to be on the down-low, Alistaire," she said suppressively. "Even though you aren't my student anymore, it's kind of..."

I shook my head. "Its full name is The Sisterhood of Alistaire's Traveling Penis," I said heavily, not wanting Ursula to think I was broadcasting our situation. She choked on the Coke she was sipping. "It is a friend group and regular group chat of all the women whom I've, um..."

"You are in a text group with all your former lovers?" Ursula asked incredulously.

"Former?" I said, waving my hand side-to-side. "And I am not actually allowed to be a part of it myself. The whole discussion is behind my back," I added petulantly.

She laughed in my face. "That is awesome. I admit that I've wanted to figure you out. This might be my chance. How do I apply?"

"According to them, you are already in," I growled. "I just need to give your number to any one of them, and they will be all over you."

"Well, why haven't you?"

"Because I was trying to show some discretion!" I protested.

"Thank you," Ursula said forthrightly. "So send it now," she added curiously.

"Maybe in a bit," I temporized. "They, um, will all be texting you in a flash, those that are even remotely available."

"So? I'm weirdly excited."

"Well," I said, stepping closer and wrapping an arm around her waist, "I was hoping not to have you distracted by your phone flashing and beeping for a while."

She melted into my arms almost involuntarily. "I can kind of see how you manage to get away with all this shit."

Ursula pulled my head down for a long, lingering kiss, full of promise. Her hand that cupped my hardening cock through my pants was even more promising.

"So, is the cute barista in this sisterhood yet?" she asked, coming up for air.

I pecked her again on the lips before answering. "She is not."

"You better get on that! I don't want it to still be awkward when I go back for more of those heavenly mochachinos!"

"Yes, ma'am."

I do try to be cooperative.

*

I had to miss going to the café entirely during Britney's next shift, which sucked. I fretted that she would take my absence as giving up/retreating/being a general douche, but I could not help it. I was there bright and early the next day though, fresh from my run.

As usual for the time I came in, the café was empty when I entered. Britney looked up and recognized me, then she crossed her arms and looked a bit skeptical.

But not mad.

I didn't think.

"After you didn't show yesterday, I thought maybe you had learned your lesson," she said drily.

"Lesson?" I asked with as much airy innocence as I could muster. "I'm just here for the best Chai Latte in the world, please."

"Uh-huh," she said, and turned to whip up what really was the best Chai Latte in the world.

For my part, I ostentatiously leaned over the counter to get the best view I could of her backside in that just barely tight uniform skirt, and of the sleek lower thighs and calves exposed below its hem.

This was not a new thing for me, but I would usually step back and make my eyes behave before I knew she was done.

This morning, I just kept obviously leaning over, drinking in the sight, and I kept at it when she turned back around.

She froze a little when she saw me checking her out, and I slowly, deliberately let my eyes drift upward past her waist and those super, super tits to her face. The uniform dress's fit above the waist was more than just a bit tight. I was almost sad to think about what kind of sturdy bras she must wear to keep such enchanting edifices riding so firm and high. I smiled at her innocently.

Britney glowered mildly and handed me my elixir. I took a smell, thanked her in just the same tone I always did, and waved goodbye.

That caught her off guard as I simply headed for the door.

"Uh, bye Alistaire," she said, off balance.

"See ya tomorrow, Britney!" I said with a languid wave and left in the best copy of Charlotte's no-shits-given saunter I could muster.

When I was out of sight of the café's windows, I heaved a huge breath and smiled to myself.

That went well. I liked getting pretty girls a little off balance.

*

The next day, I repeated the procedure, except shortly after she turned to work on my latte, Britney turned back unexpectedly. 'Caught', I dutifully straightened up and forced myself back to my usual, social attitude she had always seen before. "Got any auditions this week?" I asked brightly, holding her gaze just enough to demonstrate I was not checking out her body.

My actions puzzled her some more, especially when I held things a beat longer, long enough for her to know I was asking a serious question.

Britney's eyes narrowed, but then she turned back to my tea. As soon as she did so, I leaned back heavily on the counter and resumed drinking in her calves and the backs of her knees. They were really great legs. While it was hard to tell with the uniform dress she had to wear, I suspected that they were longer in proportion to her body than was usual.

I had been missing out by not leaning so far over the counter a lot earlier.

"I do not have any auditions. I have a part," she said, a little genuine, but tempered, enthusiasm in her voice.

"Awesome!"

"It's just a commercial," she shrugged, pouring steamy stuff and not looking back. "Another girl got the lead as the salesperson. I'm just the male customer's long-suffering wife. But I get two lines, and I'm on screen the whole time. The downside is, it's for a car dealership in Utah, so no one who matters in The Industry will ever see it."

"You are going to Utah?" I asked, with some genuine dismay.

She laughed and turned around. I took my time switching from appreciating her svelte hips to looking inquiringly into her eyes again. She chose to ignore my antics this time. "All Buick dealerships in America are designed with basically the same look these days. We will shoot the commercial at one in Van Nuys that has the same trim and layout." She handed me my cup. "The shoot is Thursday morning, so I won't be here for my normal morning shift. I'll be here starting with the dinner rush instead," she added, looking me straight in the eyes.

"Noted," I said, and casually left the place without another word.

Thursday, I of course showed up toward the end of dinnertime, when she would be waiting tables instead of making coffees. I even took a seat at a table to eat. A table that I had determined was in her section.

She had a grin of satisfaction on her face when she saw I had dutifully appeared as if she had won a round. She banished it when she approached my seat. "How are you doing tonight, Alistaire?"

"Better now that I've left the office. Bitchy co-worker made it stupid and pointless at work today," I shrugged, then looked down at the menu that we both knew I knew by heart.

"Sucks," Britney observed. She leaned over much more than was necessary to ask what I would have.

I refused the bait of her dangling chest right at my eye level and kept my gaze on the menu as if lost in the onerous decision-making process. I made her wait just long enough to irritate her, then ordered with a chirpy smile and my open and bland gaze only on her eyes.

When she returned with my burger, I barely looked up from my phone. She smiled and turned to walk away. Damn if she did not put some extra sway in her ass as she walked away.

I refused to be drawn into a stare.

Not a long one, at least.

Better, I was done with my involuntary leer and had my eyes back on my phone before she shot a look over her shoulder to try to catch me.

I had intended to not even ask about her shoot, but realized as I ate that that would be an asshole move, and whatever I was sort of fumbling through doing, being an asshole to a friend was never on my agenda for anything.

"How was the shoot this morning?" I asked casually when she brought me over an unasked-for refill of my Coke.

"It was great. Went off without a hitch. I escaped without having to give up my phone number to the guy playing my husband," she said.

"He was a letch?" I asked, stamping on my inner white knight and simply prompting conversation.

"Not so bad as that," she shrugged. "Just your run-of-the-mill, blandly-not-ugly commercial actor who thinks he's Brad Pitt. The good news is that the director and I hit it off. She might get me some more work," Britney said with sudden enthusiasm in her eyes.

"Right on!" I smiled genuinely. "To more work," I added, toasting her with my fresh Coke.

She just turned and walked away. There was no extra swish this time. I found myself wistfully watching, hoping for said swish, and almost got caught doing so when she turned around again suddenly.

*

The next two times I came in, I resumed the routine of utterly Looking at her whenever her back was turned, and making damned sure she caught me every time before blandly pretending I had done nothing. On the second visit, she outright lifted her arms over her head as if needing to stretch, a maneuver with gave me a seriously gratifying set of views as she stretched and twisted her spine back and forth.

But I never said a damned word about anything going on.

The third time I came in was a little later in the morning on a day I was working from home. I saw an almost suspicious look on her face when I arrived.

This time, I resolutely avoided looking at her hardly at all. When she turned around the first time to see how I was ogling her, I had my face buried in my phone and was turned almost completely away from her. That caught her by surprise.

I kept my eyes to myself, but I caught her twice posing or otherwise trying to be enticing. I mean, she was enticing when she was just standing there doing nothing, but I was forcing myself to ignore when she was stretching, or walking to get something and putting that sway in her hips.

She handed over my Chai, and I absently turned toward the door as if lost in thought.

"Alistaire!" she called across the empty café to me.

I turned back, an inquisitive look on her face. I was actually very curious if I was finally provoking an open reaction out of her.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she growled.

I had not expected the profanity, but otherwise, this sounded promising. "Sorry?" I asked, waiting for more.

"Lately, you have been... I don't know. You are all over the place. I... what are you up to?"

"Putting in the effort," I said mildly.

She stopped. Then she remembered her outburst about 'weak sauce' after I had brought Ursula by.

"What effort? Today you barely looked at me. I certainly gave you plenty to look at, even. But you could not even make the effort to tilt your shaggy head up from your phone."

"Do you have any idea of the effort that is required for me not to just undress you with my eyes every second we are in the same room?" I asked as if I was discussing writing a really hard paper.

She was suddenly still, and her gray eyes widened.

"Ever since I first came in here, and decided to keep coming back, first because you make such great drinks, and then because you are a cool person, I have put in significant effort, conscious and unconscious to not flirt with you like mad," I said.

"And you went to this enormous effort why?" Britney scoffed.

"Because as a customer, flirting with an employee who can't ignore me and can't tell me to fuck right off is skeezy, so I try to never do it," I said firmly. "But then after I brought Ursula by, your jealous reaction told..."

"I was not jealous!" Britney fumed. She fumed prettily, I observed.

"Okay. Noted. Your jealousy-adjacent curiosity told me that maybe I would neither be ignored nor invited to fuck off, were I to flirt a bit. Then your crack about 'weak sauce effort' told me I could flirt hard."

"Flirt? Hard? Half the time you treat me like I'm just some dude who is a friend of yours. Today you utterly ignored me, and I made sure you had plenty to look at," she snapped, twisting her torso in illustration.

I happily let her see me appreciate it that time. "Maybe I was making you put in the effort too?" I smiled.

"This is you flirting?" she growled. "You suck at it."

"I do?" I asked innocently. But I was skeptical about that and it showed in my face.

"You do. You leave all sorts of opportunities on the table, Alistaire," she said, a smile curling one corner of her lips. But she was also frustrated. "You praise my drinks, but you always have the same goddamned cup. It's not even close to my best stuff. Don't you like coffee at all?"

"Can't drink the stuff," I shook my head. "I do find it an enchanting flavor on the lips and tongue of a girl I'm kissing," I added with a broad smile. "But other than that, I've never developed a taste for it. Drives my coffee nerd of a father nuts."

I saw her unconsciously lick her lower lips. It was a fleeting moment.

"If you have another tea drink you want to show off," I went on seriously, "I'm all in. Make it for me now. I promise I will lock my eyes on the work of art that is your backside the entire time you are making it."

She had come out from behind the counter as we had argued, and I had drifted back toward it and her. She almost started to turn back, as if to answer my challenge, but she instead squared up to face me again.

"Okay, maybe you are making a strong effort," she said at last.

I shrugged again. "Like I said, it is an enormous effort not to just openly imagine you without that uniform, whenever we are alone here in the café like this. The only greater effort would be not physically taking it off of you if we were alone somewhere else."

I let myself quite openly luxuriate in those mental images, and kept an (appreciative) eye on how Britney was reacting. She did not hate what I'd just said, but she did not know what to do with it.

Perfect.

Then that fucker Dashawn, her co-worker walked in the door.

Fuck! I like Dashawn, but he had terrible timing.

"Your relief is here," he said with an easy, clueless smile.

Britney also looked non-plussed by his arrival. She visibly pulled herself together. "My hero," she replied sarcastically. "Listen," she added, "I've got you all set up for lunch and we are dead. Let me wipe down the counter back there and then if you don't mind, I'll get out of here a little early?"

"No problem," Dashawn said. "I'll get the counter too. You always work clean, girlfriend," he said honestly. "Can I get you anything else, sir?" he asked me, spying the cup in my hand and realizing I was on my way out.

"I'm golden," I said, raising my cup to Britney and taking an appreciative sip.

"Where are you going?" I asked, pondering my next step in the campaign.

"Somewhere else with you, alone?" she replied, deadpan.

*

Okay, the problem was, it was a work day. I was, in fact, 'working' as we spoke. I had just stepped away from my computer for refreshment and hitting on hot chicks. Obviously, I was working remotely that day. I waited discretely outside and down the street for her to clock out and join me.

"Which way?" she asked. She knew I lived nearby.

I waved down the street and took her arm. "The bad news is, I am supposed to be working remote from my apartment today," I said, thinking furiously. "The good news is, I'm mostly working on my own, and I have very little remaining on my current set of make-work. The terrible news is, I have a Zoom in about half an hour."

"One of those all-day things?" Britney asked, pulling away slightly.

"Shouldn't be," I said. "Half an hour at most."

"I can work with that," she said in a suddenly husky voice.

I quickened our pace, not because I wanted to get her back to my apartment faster, but because I was about to get hard and I didn't want to have to adjust my cock in my jeans in public.

"It's not much," I said, as I let us into my closet of an apartment, straightening out my cock behind her as she entered. That felt much better.

"Mine is twice the size," Britney mused. "But I have two roommates. This is all just you?"

"We are alone," I said, heavy with meaning. I let myself drink her in in a more fulsome manner than I had yet indulged.

"So we are," she said, turning and smiling at me. "Alistaire, I think you can stop putting in all that terrible effort."

Drat.

Wait.

I knew what she meant. We were 'alone somewhere else.'

I entirely failed to make any effort to stop myself and lifted my hand to undo the highest button that was fastened on her uniform. That done, I let the back of my hand roll across an incredibly firm breast and leaned in to kiss her.

"You sure know how to kiss," I observed after a bit, refusing to let my lips part from hers a millimeter more than was needed for the observation. I instantly sucked her tongue back into my mouth.

"I'm older than you, Alistaire, and I've lived in LA for three years now. I've had a date or nine by now..." Our kiss resumed.

The back of my hand was still pressed into her breast, and I rolled it over again to start unbuttoning the front of her uniform the rest of the way down. I forced my other hand, which had filled itself with her sleek, svelte ass, not to pull her tight against me so I could have room to get those buttons open. The bottommost one was behind the built-in belt, which I had to unbuckle first.

My hand slid back up between us and I filled my palm now with a warm mound. It exceeded my grasp. Her breasts were not huge. I'd enjoyed larger, but these were so perfectly shaped and firm!

I tugged experimentally at a lapel, and Britney just shrugged it off her shoulders. The dress flowed off, down her body. I jerked the hand holding her ass away, lest it interrupt the departure of her uniform. I released her entirely and took a long, wordless, appreciative look. Her panties were serviceable, comfortable, and white, but were made of opaque lace and looked amazing, given what they were covering.

And how the fuck did her breasts ride so high in such a sexy, flimsy bra?

I spied just the best sight ever between those breasts, a front clasp. I bore my eyes into hers and reached a hand out to pop it open expertly. With both hands, I tremblingly held the bra and spread it wide. Again, Britney tilted her shoulders back, and the bra hit the floor atop her dress.

She liked my gaze. A lot.

I liked her tits. A lot.

So we were even.

They were smooth, round, creamy white, and surmounted by fantastic, almost perfectly circular tips. The nips were tiny, barely over a quarter inch around and proud, but appeared hard enough to cut glass. The rosy aureoles surrounding them were barely a thumb's length in diameter, their surface was crinkled, and their circumference was picketed with plentiful goosebumps.

How in all the hells did these amazing, beautiful mounds not droop more?

Oh.

Wow.

I was staring at the first set of naked fake tits I'd seen in my life.

In person, I mean. I go to the movies.

No, these wonders were enhanced, not fake. Fake sounded rude, and besides, these beauties were plenty real.

This was not a performative stare this time. I was involuntarily frozen, taking in the view. Dimly, I was aware that her stomach was flat, with just a trace of surprising muscularity that I had not expected. Her shoulders were strong as well.

"Wow..." I sighed.

"Your first?" Britney asked, amused.

"I've seen tits before," I snorted, not quite breaking my focus.

"I meant, your first fake ones?" she asked again, slightly defensively.

"Enhanced," I said aloud, though I was not correcting her, I was correcting the word as it echoed in my own head. "Britney, they are beautiful."

My hands, still moving involuntarily, lifted and cupped them. Britney put her hands over mine and pressed my grip against her. My fingers flexed. Her breasts felt warm, and alive, just like they were. They were heavy and felt good to squeeze, but they were not as flexible as any other boobs I had held.

I shook my head clear at last, but I did not let go of my grasp.

"I assume these were a professional investment?" I asked, letting my curiosity run free. I also let my hands run free at the same time. I rubbed my thumbs over her nipples, then grasped them lightly.

"Yes," she sighed. "And I still hope they pay off someday. Right now, the acting work I get, because of my boobs or otherwise, barely covers the payments."

I shook my head at Hollywood's idiocy. Put this girl in a tight sweater, or better, a colorful latex super-heroine costume, and put her on the screen in just fucking everything, dammit.

Her hands once again grasped mine on her breasts. "In the meantime, they can be awfully fun," she added with a smile. "Speaking of, if you don't go ahead and get your lips on them, your jaw is going to dislocate itself in desperation," she laughed.

I bent and rolled my face across those curves, nuzzling, then suckling on one of those eager, erect nipples, then the other. As I devoured them, my hands slid down to her waist and tugged at the band of those panties.

"Ah-Ah!" she challenged. "That can wait. I need to see some more of you. I'm suspecting that you have a better body under those clothes than it looks from afar." She grabbed the front of my shirt and started unbuttoning it. I was wearing my usual remote work clothes, a dress shirt but no tie, and slacks, just in case we needed to have a Zoom like today.

The buttons opened and Britney slid her hands slowly across my bare chest, opening the shirt as she went. Her touch slipped upward as she reached my arms, letting her push the shirt off my shoulders. As it slid down my arms, I thanked the gods of convenience that the cuffs were still rolled up, and not buttoned as I would usually have done upon returning from a break. The cuffs on this particular shirt were tight around my wrists when buttoned...

I shrugged out of the shirt as Britney ran her hands over my chest. "Not bad," she murmured. Her eyes glinted up at me. "You'd need six months with a personal trainer to be on screen without a shirt, but this feels just fine to me right now..." Her fingers teased at my nipples, which perked up almost as hard as hers. I ran my hands across her tits in turn, just to confirm that fact.

Yep, her nipples were still erect as hell and felt great.

Her hands tugged at my slacks, and she tugged them and my underwear down as one. Impatient, wasn't she?

Britney looked down and paused.

"I'm sure you are aware that this thing is fucking enormous," she said in an almost casual voice.

"So I've heard," I said. She just looked me in the eyes, which was impressive because women had a tendency to kind of fixate when they first saw it. "To be honest, I was actually not aware it was unusual at all until the first time a girl saw it."

She snorted.

"Well, I have to say..." she froze for a moment. "I want you to hear me. I mean this. I have not done any porn. I will never do porn. I will give up, go home, and get a full-time job at the parts counter at AutoZone before I'll do porn. But I did sort of date a pornstar for a little while."

"Really?" I asked, fascinated. "Wait. 'Sort of'?"

"Well, he had an apartment near... anyway, what I meant to say is, this is bigger than his. Not by much, but definitely bigger."

"It's impressive then," I said.

"Yes, your cock is quite impressive, Alistaire," she said patiently.

"No, I meant his cock is impressive if it's nearly this size," I said, deadpan.

I looked at her. She looked at me. I burst out laughing. So did she.

"That was the most arrogant thing I've ever heard," she giggled.

"I know," I said, still laughing. "That's why I couldn't keep a straight face!"

Britney leaned up and kissed me lightly, resting her hand for the first time on my shaft, just as lightly. Then she moved to the side of my head and bit my earlobe lightly. "I'm going to see if I still remember how to get something this size into my throat," she whispered. "Think that is a good idea?"

I nodded my head, stunned, in fact, by the magnificence of her idea. The United States Constitution was a less magnificent idea.

She knelt down, holding my cock firmly in hand now, and stuck out her tongue, grinning up at me, the tip hovering an inch from my glans.

And my alarm went off.

"Fuck!" I yelped. "My fucking Zoom! It's time already!"

I looked around grabbing at my clothes. Damn, the pants were inside out and tangled. "I have to get dressed," I panicked.

Britney shrugged. "Just leave your camera off."

My heart slowed to merely nine times its usual rate.

"Yeah, that'll do it," I said, clutching at straws.

I sat down at my little table, opened my laptop, and entered the meeting with my camera off.

I was not the last to join, which made me feel good, though I felt ridiculous sitting at my table, naked with a stubbornly persisting hard-on, an achingly hot naked chick sitting off to the side, and Frank, my manager, wasting time right off the bat.

I needed this meeting to be short...

"Alistaire, you have your camera off today. Why?" Frank asked after less than two minutes. Since when was he evil incarnate?

I blanked for a second in terror.

WWJCD?

What would Jenn or Charlotte, the greatest coverers I knew, do?

Lean in and be as truthful as possible while being outrageously misleading.

"Um, I kind of hate to say," I said sheepishly.

"Oh, do tell," Frank said with a smile.

Oh, Spirit of Jenn, help me now!

"I... decided to do laundry today," I said with a desperate idea. "I tossed everything in as soon as I got out of the shower, and had the cycle running before I realized I have every stitch of clothes I own either in there or in the dryer."

There was general laughter.

"So you are just sitting in your apartment in your underwear, on a Zoom call?" Chip asked incredulously.

"In a towel," I said through gritted teeth.

"Let us see!" Penny laughed. "Make him turn on his camera, Frank!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Ivy snapped, the focus shot switching to her camera when she spoke. "No one wants to see Taylor naked for any reason!"

I glared at her. Such a bitch. You have no idea how much it hurt to realize that she was my hero.

Britney appeared in my vision, pointing at her naked body and nodding that she did, in fact, enjoy seeing me naked.

Britney is awesome. Nakedly awesome. Naked Plus...

Britney looked at the screen, at Ivy's classically beautiful face. Then she looked at me and made a thumbs up about what she saw.

I shook my head vehemently and shot my thumb down.

I tapped my mute button, making sure the icon lit before I opened my mouth. "Irredeemable bitch. No way in hell."

Britney dragged a finger up my shaft. She also checked the mute icon before she spoke. "If you don't like what she says to you, stick this in her mouth. It would shut up any woman."

I stared at her, aghast.

She just shrugged and grinned at her joke. "It'll shut me up," she said matter of factly. "You can unmute if you need to," she went on. Then she smiled and sank to the floor, sliding halfway under the small table my laptop was on, and took an experimental lick of the head of my cock.

"Oh god..." I groaned. The lick and the ones that followed were good licks. "You are really going to do this?"

"Hey, you invited me over here, got me naked, and showed me this lovely thing, then instantly jumped on a conference call," Britney said sternly. "I deserve something to pass the time."

"I've got to unmute!" I hissed.

"I'll be quiet. Any noise will come from you," she said, silently licking up my shaft. "I won't make any slurping or gagging noises... while you are still online."

I could only grin like a loon at her and unmuted my mike.

And there I sat, getting a spectacular but relaxed blowjob during a Zoom call about a subject I could give less than a shit about. Don't get me wrong, I valued and appreciated the internship, but what I was getting out of it that mattered was everything but the actual job itself. I was meeting the right kind of people, having the right experiences, and learning not to choke the everliving shit out of people like Ivy, who was in rare form today.

It wasn't really a blowjob, I reflected. True to her word, Britney was making sure she made no noise, so my cock was seldom in her mouth at all. But her tongue was eager.

She traced its tip along the largest vein running up my length, up and down. Up and down, leaving me trembling in the chair.

Peter was running us all through the little tasks we had worked on, one at a time. The tender torture I was undergoing beneath the edge of the table was starting to worry me. It would be my turn soon. I looked down at Britney and she smiled back up at me with a rambunctious grin.

Oh shit, she was also thinking about what she was going to do when I had to talk!

I tapped the mute button.

"Please," I said, letting myself actually gasp for a moment as Britney wrapped her lips fully around my helmet. "Please don't try to make me come while it is my turn."

Her lips lost their brief, glorious embrace of my head, and she swiftly ran her tongue around its perimeter. "I have no intention of making you come this way at all, Alistaire," she said in a voice as teasing as her actions.

Then she waved her hand idly at the keyboard and bent further to suck one of my balls into her mouth, where her tongue gave it a lap-dance.

I unmuted before anyone noticed.

She was right, of course. I'd never come from what she was doing. It was all tease. A pleasurable, amazing tease. Even as easily as I still came the first time, the slow, gentle stroking she was now giving my shaft was not enough to actually get me off.

My brain started crashing with sudden, conflicting stimuli.

Ivy had started her report. Her arrogant, self-important voice, describing her 'accomplishments' that were not even the assignment she had been given, should have been enough to melt my hard-on. But Britney chose that moment to rise up just enough for her to rub my tip in circles around her right nipple.

She had just moved the circles she was drawing with my cock over to her left nipple when Peter said, "All right, Laundry Man, what do have for me?"

I think my eyes crossed. I desperately tried to grab my notes and somehow restart my brain.

Britney, bless her, suddenly stopped her teasing and held still to give me a chance. The merciful cessation of sexual stimulus was somewhat ruined by the way she just knelt there, hands on her thighs, pressing those amazing, artfully hand-crafted tits together just inches from my cock.

But I would take what I could get, and managed to keep my voice steady as I spoke.

It was not my finest presentation, but it had not been my finest work either. This was doubly true because the half hour I had intended to spend polishing what little work I had done had instead been spent undressing and polishing Britney's tits.

No sooner had I finished than she leaned forward again, wrapping her boobs around the top half of my cock and pressing them firmly together.

Oh shit. I was not going to hold out against this!

But she just smiled wickedly at me and mouthed, 'Later!' at me. Then she let me slip free just long enough to come back down before beginning to kiss and lick me in random spots all up and down my shaft.

I started to relax. The rest of the Zoom would just be Peter talking, maybe with someone from an advisory group to educate us on workflow or some shit. Again, not the part of this internship that was interesting or valuable to me.

I could enjoy the languid blowjob.

But Britney once again had other ideas.

She got up off the floor, keeping a hand considerately on my cock so it would not get lonely, and smiled nakedly down at me.

The used desk chair I had bought for this apartment had come with a wobbly left armrest, and I had removed both of them so the one didn't bug me. This let her straddle my lap, facing me.

Goody!

I was going to be fed those spectacularly innovative boobs. I might have to risk muting so I could slurp...

Nope.

I barely got a nipple into my mouth, before she shifted, briefly grabbed my cock, and sank down onto it. Britney was wet as hell already, and my dick was slick with her copious saliva, so she slid down onto it with relative ease. Relative.

I had not been able to reach the mute button, so I gritted my teeth, trying to swallow the sounds of ecstasy that clamored to escape my lips. I could see she was biting her lip as well to keep silent as she smoothly but slowly filled herself with me.

As her thighs came fully to rest on my lap, I breathed out a silent, shuddering gasp of pleasure. I reached for the mute button, but she gently deflected my hand away. Instead, she pulled my face back to her tits, muffling any sound I might make with the best of pacifiers.

But she didn't fuck me. It would have made far too much noise if she had. She just rested there in my lap, with my lap in her. Occasionally, she would shift. Other times, she would gently clench her kegels around the guest within them. But mostly, she just sat there, letting both of us enjoy the sensation of penetration.

Oh, and she kept feeding me those boobs. That was nice.

And just like that, after almost ten minutes of being inside Britney without being able to thrust, Peter ended this Zoom from hell. My hand shot out to quit the application, and in the same moment, Britney was powering up and down my cock like mad.

"Fucking hell, that was hot!" she gasped, her tight enclosure stroking my cock now at a suddenly furious pace.

"Fuck yes," I growled in response, completely unable to complain that my lips had been ripped free from her now wildly bouncing boobs. I grabbed her ass and helped her ride me. "That was amazing, just resting there inside you while people talked to me. Sorry it, unh, took so long, though!"

Britney was already panting. "No, it was great! A... ohhh... unh unh unh unh, a girl needs a little... unh... while to stretch out around one like this so she can... Fuck Yes... ride like this."

She was riding like mad, in fact. I grabbed the seat of my chair so I wouldn't fall off as I started to slam my hips upward in answering motion.

Out of nowhere, she came. Her head threw itself back and she crooned a long, ecstatic wail. The milky white flesh of her breasts blushed a bright pink. And her inner core clamped down around my cock, which I continued to thrust up into her suddenly paralyzed body.

How I had lasted this long, I could not fathom, but I could not last any longer in the face of the transcendent experience happening on my lap.

I unloaded, still slamming upward into her as I jetted into her depths.

Britney shrieked again and I gasped in reply.

We both collapsed as we fell off the summit. My hands released my chair and swept back to her tight ass as if on autopilot.

Britney is one of those women who are frenetic in their post-orgasmic haze, rather than relaxed. Her hands grabbed my head, and she kissed me wildly, her whole body quivering in my embrace. Finally, she wound down and relaxed against me. I nuzzled her neck.

I felt her insides clench around me again. Her head jerked up. "Jesus, how are you still hard after that!?!"

I chuckled. "Well, my cock is still buried inside a gorgeous future Academy Award-winning actress. How in hell is it supposed to get soft any time soon?"

She snorted at the characterization. "Seriously, this hard-on isn't going anywhere?"

I just grinned and pushed up into her gently.

"I need a glass of water," Britney said calmly. "Then I want you to lay me on my back on your bed over there and jackhammer the everliving shit out of me."

Water was drunk. Then she damn near dragged me over, tugged off my blanket, and rolled over onto her back in an incredibly scenic manner.

Her tits held their shape with her lying on her back. It was a little weird, honestly. But like I said, scenic.

I stared a little too long at them and she giggled. "You want to fuck them, don't you?"

I grinned lopsidedly.

"Well you can't," she taunted. "Sometime later, you can. But right now," she said, pulling me down over her, "I want to get thoroughly, righteously plowed. Fuck me, Alistaire," she almost whispered. "Fuck me hard."

I hope she is ready for me to fuck her long as well, I thought inwardly as I sank inside her again. I was certainly still hard as a rock, but it does take some time to reload, right?

"Give it to me," she growled, fingernails digging into my back. "Fuck me hard!"

So, of course, I began to slide in and out of her in the gentlest, most languid manner I could restrain myself to. Beneath me, Britney moaned with each penetration. It actually took her a minute or so to realize what I was doing.

"You fucking bastard," she accused.

"Just enjoying myself," I said, neither speeding nor slowing my steady progress in and out of her depths in long, smooth strokes.

She kept her fingernails trimmed close for work, but her sudden grip on my ass told me that they were still sharp.

"I said, Fuck. Me. Hard," she growled.

I sped up with the next thrust, and again with the next. Swiftly, I was giving her the hammering she had asked for. I had my hands braced against the mattress so I could stare down at her beneath me, and at those breasts wobbling with my every slam into Britney.

I had let my gym time slip lately. Had to get back on that.

"Wow," Britney moaned. "You are definitely bigger than Johnnie. Holy fuck!"

Suddenly, she lifted her legs up and wrapped them around my lower back. In response, I lowered myself against her, kissing her with a ferocity that matched my still furious thrusts. I grabbed a tit and squeezed.

With damn near a scream, Britney came again beneath me. I kept hammering and her scream lowered to a moan, then crescendoed a second time. This time, her renewed grasp on my ass was to make me stop.

"Holy fuck, give me a second," she panted in between frantic kisses. "Oh God, I want to finish you," she growled. I started to resume my thrusts slowly and she half crooned, half groaned.

"No!" she suddenly laughed. "It is sometime later, Alistaire. Fuck my tits. I want to feel you come all over me."

Now, even for an offer like that, a dick is going to be a little reluctant to abandon a tight, though currently wrecked pussy like Britney's, but I made the effort. With a huge grin.

I withdrew and moved up to straddle Britney's chest. My cock dropped down between her breasts and she squeezed them around it in earnest this time. Slick with my cum and her juices, it slid smoothly between them.

"Ohhhh... Fuck!" I groaned, giving voice to the ecstasy my cock was experiencing. "This is so fucking good, Bridget! I'm not going to last."

"Paint me," she almost snarled.

My thrusts became ragged and in a rush that felt like it drained my ass and legs of the very blood inside them, I came. How the hell I had that much left for art supplies, I don't know, but paint her chest I did. And her throat. And much of her chin.

It was... spectacular.

"Oh my God," I groaned happily. Britney was laughing. "What?" I asked.

"You called me Bridget again."

------------

Thanks as always. I'm having a lot of fun with this series, even if it is a lot of work. Your getting to the end of each chapter makes it all worthwhile. Don't forget to rate and maybe favorite my work, and especially to let me know how you think it is all going in the comments below!