What a Nice Ass

What A Nice Ass

This story has NO sex!

I saw her jogging from a full block away and I slowed to watch.

It's always better to watch an unclothed ass than a clothed one and I'd always felt that watching one in tight fitting jeans was as good as it gets; but the shorts the jogger was wearing only emphasized what appeared to be the perfect ass.

I see joggers, both male and female, every day and rarely pay any attention to them; but I slowed to watch this one.

As I slowed even more and matched her jogging pace, I found myself beside her... watching her... or more specifically, watching her ass, when I heard the blare of a horn and a loud, screeching voice. I jerked both my head and my steering wheel in the direction of the sounds and hit my brakes at the same time barely managing to miss hitting a tree.

"You ass hole", I heard. "Pay attention to what you're doing!"

As I looked around to see where the voice had come from, I saw 'the ass' was looking generally in my direction and I had a chance to see her face. The sweat on it couldn't hide its beauty. My first thought was that she had yelled, but realized it was more likely from some male based on the gruffness of the voice. I looked in her direction, but she had turned her head and just kept jogging. I wanted to watch her jog away, but the honking horns around me urged me to move on.

I made it to my office and my day continued normally.

For the next couple of weeks, I left my house at the same time everyday hoping to see her again, but no luck. I told my best friend, Scott, about her and that I had been looking for her. "My, God, you're a stalker", he laughed.

Whether he was right or wrong, it was at that point that I stopped looking for her. What I didn't need was to be regarded as a stalker.

The next Friday, I was at a party hosted by Scott and his wife Sharon. It was a party to celebrate Sharon's promotion to partner in her law firm. I'm not much of a drinker, but I do enjoy a beer on occasion, and was sipping on my first and only when Sharon came to me laughing. "Scott tells me you've been stalking someone."

"Scott's an asshole", I said.

"Of course he is, but he's my asshole." She laughed again. "Have you really been stalking a nice ass with a girl attached to it?"

It was my turn to laugh. "I don't know that stalking is the right word, and I only saw her once."

"Saw 'her' as in the girl, or 'it' as in the ass?"

I laughed again as I walked away and said over my shoulder. "The ass, I suppose, but she was pretty as well." Scott was with a small group and I was still laughing as I approached. "Have you told everyone you know?" I asked.

"You mean about you stalking that poor innocent jogger?"

One of the men in the group put in his two cents. "You stalk joggers?" He asked with a grin.

This was becoming a joke on me, but I didn't mind; at least so far, and as long as it stayed that way, it would be okay.

"No, I don't stalk joggers. Just consider the source. Scott has been accusing me of stuff for twenty years and if you've known him longer than a week, you know how much he lies."

"Hell, I enjoy watching some of the women joggers," added another man. "And I always wonder why the tits on some of them don't fall off as much as they bounce around."

"I like watching the men with muscles who don't wear tops," chimed in a woman.

"I jog every day," said yet another woman. "And I don't usually pay attention to drivers or other people gawking, recently, some guy almost caused an accident by gawking; at least I assume that's what he was doing."

"Oh, my little Mikey isn't usually a gawker", said Scott, "but he does like to look at asses and that particular one must have been something because he hasn't stopped talking about her."

I hated being called Mikey and he knew, but that never stopped him. I prefer Michael, or even Mike; but Mikey? No, thank you.

"Hell, who doesn't like looking?" Asked the woman who said she liked looking at men with muscles.

"I agree," said Scott.

"You guys are all the same," said the woman jogger.

I looked at her as she spoke then turned and walked away. It took the combination of seeing her face and watching the rhythmic bounce of her ass for me to know, beyond any doubt, that I had seen it before. I took Scott aside. "Who is that?" I asked as I indicated her.

"Her name is Monica and she works with Sharon."

I didn't tell him that I felt... knew... she was the jogger I had looked for. If I did, he'd never believe I could be that certain and besides that, he'd tell her and everyone he knew about it. I kept my mouth shut and hoped that maybe I could see it, or rather, her, again.

A couple of weeks passed and Sharon called me. "You need to bring more potato salad Saturday," she said. "Now that I'm a partner I've invited more people from my office."

Saturday was the Fourth of July and Scott and Sharon's biggest party of the year. They seemed to have a party every couple of months for one reason or another, but The Fourth of July was their biggest and best and I always brought potato salad because it was the only thing I could make. I'm not a cook by any stretch of the definition, but several years earlier, they told me I had to bring something to eat to one of their parties. I was desperate and started looking through one of my mother's old cook books, and saw dozens of recipes for potato salad. I picked one that looked easy and I tried it. It was pretty good and Sharon liked it, so now I always bring it. We live in Louisiana, so potato salad and Gumbo are always popular foods; and we live close enough to Texas so that some of their food is popular here. Brisket is one of them; especially burnt ends and it happens to go pretty well with potato salad.

So, I made more than normal and went to the party.

"Laissez les bon temps rouler" is Louisiana's favorite expression and means "Let the good times roll" and Louisianians do exactly that.

Lots of Louisianians have "fishing camps". These can be anything from rundown shacks to luxurious homes. Scott and Sharon's camp was somewhere in the middle. It was a nice house on well-manicured property and was on the river. It had its' own dock with enough room for several boats.

I was standing with Scott's younger brother, Trey, when a boat drifted up to the dock and a man stepped out of it and tied the front of it to the dock. Then he went to the rear and took a line from someone and tied it. Then he reached his hand out and I saw another hand reach for his. Then I watched a very tanned leg step over the side and onto the dock, followed by another one. When the feet of both legs were firmly on the ground, my eyes moved up their very ample length. It seemed there was no end to them. Finally, material appeared in the form of shorts. Very short shorts. That was followed by an expanse of tanned flesh which held an "innie" followed by the bottom of a rib cage not quite covered by a shirt which had its' tails tied together. Further up, the same shirt struggled to contain two breasts and the fact that the top three buttons were undone didn't help the pressure the shirt was under.

Finally, a face came into view. A face I had seen before. It complimented the body it was attached. In short, she was a complete, attractive, package and was the jogger I had seen and heard speak, but not quite met at Sharon's promotion party. Trey and I stood as she and the male with her walked past us. I couldn't wait for her to pass so I could, once again, watch her ass.

I wasn't disappointed. Her tight shorts did nothing to hide the rhythmic action of her hips as she walked and, if anything, her ass moved better walking than it did while she was jogging. Its movement was slower and more seductive. I really liked watching her move and didn't realize Trey was talking.

"Did you say something?" I asked.

"Nothing coherent," he said. "Every time I see her, I just mumble to myself and drool down my chin."

"I can understand why," I said. "Who's the guy with her? Her husband?"

"No. Boyfriend, I think."

"Lucky bastard."

"Yeah."

The rest of the daylight hours were spent talking, eating, drinking then repeat. I never directly tried to talk with her, but I didn't deliberately avoid her either. Her having a boyfriend indicated a level of satisfaction in her life and I had no desire to try to complicate it in any way. I would be content just enjoying watching her ass whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Dusk came and the test fireworks went up. It was not deemed the ideal time yet, so the party continued. Thirty minutes later, all hell broke loose. For twenty minutes the sky was lit with every type of firework projectile known to man and all eyes, oohs, and ahhhs were aimed skyward. When they ended, I turned to go back to the bar for another drink and bumped into the jogger's boyfriend. "Oh. Sorry," I said.

"That's okay," he said. "I wasn't paying any attention where I was going. I was looking for someone."

"Well, there are plenty of people here so you shouldn't have any trouble unless you're looking for someone in particular."

He laughed. "I am indeed looking for someone in particular. She's around here somewhere."

"Good luck," I said as I walked away. I found Scott and Sharon with three others and joined them, but I watched the boyfriend. He approached a small group of people and she was one of them. He said something to her and they walked toward us.

"It's time we think about leaving," he said as they joined us. "Monica needs her beauty sleep."

"She might need sleep, but not for beauty," I heard someone say. It was stone silent for several seconds before I realized everyone was looking at me. Apparently, it had been me who spoke. Turning what must have been bright red, but hopefully unseen in the dim evening light, I cleared my throat, and coughed, and tried to think of something to say, but nothing came out. Actually, some gibberish stumbled out, but nothing that made any sense. It was mostly ummm, uhuh, and ooooh and a couple more idiotic sounding syllables.

"Why, thank you, kind sir," Monica said.

At that point, Sharon spoke. "Monica, Harry said something about you working with me on the refinery environmental case." Harry was the senior partner in their firm.

"Yes, and I'm looking forward to it."

The discussion then centered on legal stuff about which I knew nothing and wasn't interested in listening; and any thought anyone had of leaving or sleep, beauty or any other kind, went away, and so did I.

I drifted toward one of the two food tables. This one had Texas food. The other, Cajun. A brisket sandwich caught my fancy so I grabbed it and reached for a beer. Over the next few minutes, I moved from group to group. None of those conversations held any interest for me either, so I found myself down by the dock. I was there for a couple of minutes before deciding that it was time for me to go home. I turned to go find Scott and Sharon and say good night and found myself looking at Monica.

"Hi," she said.

"Hello."

"I never got your name."

"Michael or Mike Fontenot."

"I'm Monica. Thank you for what you said earlier."

"I'm sure it isn't the first time you've heard it, or something like it." She grinned almost embarrassed. "Where's your boyfriend?"

"Tony? Friend? Yes." Then she chuckled and added. "Boy? All too often unfortunately."

"So, you're not......?"

"An item? God no. We've been friends since college, but that's all."

All of a sudden, I wasn't interested in leaving.

We sat on the dock and talked for a long time and we only stopped when we heard Tony calling her name. She answered and he walked toward us. "I've been looking for you," he said.

"Here I am."

"Are you ready to go?"

"I suppose," she said looking at me.

"Then, let's go. I've already said good-bye to Scott and Sharon."

"Then, we're ready." She touched my arm. "Good night, Michael. It was nice to have met you."

"Same here. Good night."

As they walked away, I heard him ask, "was he hitting on you?" I walked a bit behind them as they headed for their boat.

"No, he wasn't hitting on me," she chuckled. "And I've told you to stop acting like a baby. Now take me home."

I watched as she stepped into the boat. He untied both fore and aft then stepped on board himself. I heard the motor start and saw the boat move easily away from the dock before picking up speed and moving up the river.

I went to find Scott, but found Sharon. "Are you having fun?" she asked.

"I am, but it's time for me to go home."

"Okay. I'll tell Scott you've gone."

"Good. It was a fun party."

She laughed. "We try."

Over the next several days, I kept remembering Monica and looked for her as I drove to work, but never saw her.

Two weeks after the party, Scott stopped by my apartment after work. He walked in, went to the refrigerator. I keep several bottles of beer there mostly for him. He got one, opened it, took a big drink, then looked at me. "What happened on the Fourth?" He asked.

"I went to a nice party," I said. "Why do you ask?"

"Let's go outside."

"Hell, no. It's too hot out there."

"Did you spend any time with Monica?"

"I did. We saw each other after I complimented her and she and I talked."

"About what?"

"Nothing and everything. Why?"

"That must have been some talk," he chuckled. "Do you remember the guy she was with? Tony"

"Barely."

"Well, she broke up with him that night.

"According to Monica, there wasn't anything to break up. She told me they were friends and had been since college, I believe, but that was all there was to it."

"You learned this at the party?"

"Yes."

He looked at me for a long time. "Do you have the hots for her?"

I chuckled. "Every man and lots of women who see her have the hots for her."

"What have you done about it?"

"Nothing. I haven't seen or talked with her since your party."

"Are you sure?"

"You're starting to piss me off. How many times do I have to say it?"

"I'm convinced, but Sharon might not be."

"Why? What does she have to do with it?"

"I'm beginning to suspect there's a side of you that can surprise people," Sharon said as she walked in unannounced. She kissed Scott lightly then came up to me and looked me square in the eyes and smiled.

"Are both of you bat-shit crazy? I have no idea what you are talking about."

She sat on the sofa and patted the space beside her. "Sit and let me enlighten you, you silver-tongued devil." I sat. "Since I've known her, I've assumed that Monica and Tony were more than friends. She doesn't talk about her private life much and I never ask, but have assumed that she and Tony were together, but now she tells me they are nothing more than friends."

"That's what she told me. Besides, who the hell cares whether they were, are, or ever will be more than friends. What does that have to do with me?"

Sharon laughed. "My, my, Michael. You are in for a surprise. Monica's parents are giving her a birthday party next week and she has asked specifically for you to be invited." I just looked at her. "I told you, you were in for a surprise. Are you sure nothing happened at the party?"

Scott laughed out loud. "Well, well, well. Little Mikey just might get his hands on that luscious ass after all."

I looked from one of them to the other. "Are you both hard of hearing? Nothing happened. We sat at the dock and talked. That's all."

"Okay. Okay. Nothing happened. I'll take your word for it, but the fact remains you're invited to her birthday party. It will at her parents camp out on Big Lake, Saturday at three. They'll send us the address and directions and I'll forward it to you; assuming of course you'll be going." The last was said with an evil grin as she stood. "Come on, Scott, let's leave Romeo alone." With that she gave me a peck on the cheek and they left.

They were both laughing as they left. I wasn't laughing, but I was grinning pretty broadly.

Party day came. I had directions to her parents' house and a birthday gift. It wasn't much of a gift, but Sharon recommended it. It was AirPods. Monica told Sharon that she lost hers somewhere, somehow and missed them whenever she jogged, but hadn't replaced them yet; so, I replaced them for her.

There is a lot of water in Southwest Louisiana. We have lakes, rivers, and bayous. Monica's parents 'camp' was one of the larger, nicer camps on the biggest lake in the area. Her mother met me at the door, took my gift, put it in a pile with what I assumed were other gifts, and ushered me through the house and out the back. The party was on the back lawn, a wide expanse of grass between the lake and the house. They had a boathouse with two rather sizable cruisers tied up to it. Cruisers like those weren't prevalent, but we did have access to the Gulf so saw them occasionally. There was docking space where several other boats were tied up.

I only saw two people I knew; Scott and Sharon. All in I guess there were fifty guests. Some arrived by boat which is the coolest part of living on water. You sometimes go to parties by boat and some guests come to your party the same way. Great lifestyle and they all seemed to know each other, but I felt out of place.

I caught several glimpses of Monica, but she was busy making the rounds and never made it to where I happened to be. I moved from group to group chatting and listening, but not really interested in any of the conversations I heard. Scott and Sharon fit right in and were very comfortable. I was not.

I had been there about thirty minutes and was feeling less and less comfortable. Monica and I finally found ourselves in the same group for about a minute before her father came and whisked her away to meet someone.

I was a mechanic at an automobile dealership and didn't belong in this crowd. I told Scott and Sharon that I was leaving. They tried to stop me, but I headed for the door about to make an Irish Goodbye, but met Jacob Graham, the owner of my dealership and two others.

"Hey, Michael. I didn't know you knew the Goodalls," he said.

"I don't really. I'm acquainted with their daughter."

"Monica? Or Sophie?"

"Monica."

"Good for you. She's pretty special. Actually, she's our Goddaughter."

"We just met recently and aren't really close."

"That's okay. It's a good family to know. Well, I have to mingle, but I'll see you around."

"Yes, sir."

I went through the house, out the front door, into my car and drove off.

I usually don't lack confidence; in fact, sometimes I'm pretty cocky, but the crowd at that party intimidated me for some reason. I realize that's unfair because everyone I met there treated me as if I belonged. Monica's parents were very nice, as was my boss and Scott and Sharon of course, but there was some undefinable something that made me uncomfortable. The aura of money? Maybe. Neither Scott nor I were born into it and we still didn't have any. At least I didn't. Sharon was a successful attorney who had just made partner, and she and Scott own a very nice, popular restaurant, so they're doing quite well. As a self-trained mechanic, I was holding my own financially. After I paid my monthly bills, I still had some disposal income, so I wasn't completely broke.

My monthly bills included paying 5% of my net into my little stock portfolio. That was something my grandparents started. They basically had nothing and didn't want us to end up the same way. From the time I started elementary school, I was told to put money into the bank account they had opened for me. That became a habit. When I turned 18, a sympathetic financial advisor from our church took my meager savings and started investing it. In seven years it had grown somewhat.

So maybe being close, for a very brief time, to what appeared to be lots of money, intimidated me. Whatever happened, I was relieved to leave the party and all thoughts of possibly getting close to Monica went down the toilet.

The Monday after the party I had just gotten home from work. Scott came by and, as usual, just walked in, went to the fridge, got a beer and plopped his ass on the sofa. "How are things?"

"Pretty fair. Why?"

"Oh, just curious."

"Okay."

"Monica is curious, too."

"About what?"

"About why you left her party so soon."

"I had important stuff to do."

"Like?"

"Like cleaning out my tool box."

"You can be an asshole you know it? She asked specifically for you to be there because she wanted to spend some time with you, and don't give me that 'I felt uncomfortable' shit." I just sat there. "Come on, Michael. Give."

I took a deep breath. "That's the truth, Scott. I was uncomfortable, I felt out of place, and the smell of all that money intimidated me."

"Yeah, well, get over it. Monica is a great girl. So, her family has a few bucks.... so what? Monica, for some reason known only to God and herself seems to like you. You seem to like her; or at least you like looking at her so why not get to know her a little better? What's the worst that can happen? You get to spend some quality time with a smart, articulate, attractive girl and maybe even get your hands on that body of hers. Sounds like a win-win situation to me."

"Go home, Scott, and leave me alone."

"Okay," he said standing, "but you could be making a pretty big mistake." He drank the last of his beer, handed me the empty bottle and left.

My life returned to normal until the day my boss, the service manager of the dealership, came to my table while I was eating lunch in the employee lunch/break room. "Mr. Graham wants to see you." Mr. Graham was the owner of not only our dealership, but two others. He was a good boss, paid us well, and left us alone. He generally walked through our service area a couple of times a week and he knew us all by name. He even knew the names of wives and husbands of the older employees. Generally, he let the service manager deal with hiring, firing, and disciplining employees of the service department, so a mechanic being summoned to his office was a rare event and didn't bode too well. I figured that since I left his Goddaughter's party early, I would probably be fired.

"Why?"

"He just told me he wants to see you."

I put what was left of my sandwich back in its' plastic baggie, wiped my mouth with the paper towel I was using as a napkin, left the rest of my lunch on the table, and went to his office. I stuck my head in his door. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, Michael. Come in and have a seat." I did as he asked and waited as he shuffled through some papers on his desk. "I understand you're qualified to operate the roll-back."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I need you to go out to the Goodall's and pick up their 550 and bring it in."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Leaking coolant is all I know. Bring it in and look at it for me. You know they're my friends so take care of it for me."

My newly normalized life had just taken a kick in the ass. I went back to the lunchroom, finished my sandwich, got the keys to the roll-back and left.

It took almost an hour to get there because I took my time. The whole way there I poked holes in his explanation and conjured up all sorts of convoluted reasons for me to be going to her house. They all ended in it being a plot to get Monica and me together and I imagined her being there waiting for me.

Instead, Mr. Goodall was the one waiting. He didn't seem to remember ever meeting me and didn't say much as I loaded the car and drove off with it. I was there a total of 15 minutes and Monica was neither seen nor mentioned, and my little fantasy bubble burst. I didn't know whether to be sad or relieved. I decided relieved was the better option.

I got back to the dealership, unloaded and put the car inside the building, and parked the roll-back. I checked in with my boss, and told him I would look at the 550 in the morning. He suggested I look at it right then since it belonged to a friend of Mr. Graham's.

Coolant had sprayed all over the engine compartment and it took longer to clean that than it did to tighten the radiator hose clamp that caused the leak. It was almost time to clock out when I told my boss the car was ready. He looked at me and asked if I had any plans for the evening.

"Not really. Why?"

"I bet Mr. Graham would appreciate his friends getting their car back today." He just smiled at me. "If you take it back now, you can have tomorrow morning off and we'll both be on his good side."

Being on the bosses' good side never hurt anyone, so, once again, I got the keys for the roll-back.

I was unloading the car when Mr. Goodall came out. My intention was to drop it and leave, but he engaged me with a dozen questions about what had been the problem and what had been done to correct it. Finally, he gave me a twenty-dollar tip, thanked me, and got in his car and drove it into the garage as I drove down the driveway.

The next year changed my life. I call it my 'growth year'. I was promoted to Assistant Service Department Manager, my pay, with bonuses, almost doubled, and my confidence grew exponentially. The confidence growth, it turned out, was the best thing that happened. We discovered I had a talent for management and everyone in the department came to me for answers to their questions. Mr. Graham started including me in some business meetings where, at first, he asked my input on service-related matters. That developed into his asking my advice on both service and overall customer related issues.

During that year, I went from mechanic to Assistant Department Manager and advisor to the owner; and not only of our dealership, but of all three of the dealerships owned by Mr. Graham. He asked me early on if I was still dating Monica. I told him we only knew each other casually and had never dated. He never mentioned her again.

I never saw Monica during my growth year; not even while driving around. The only mention of her was by Scott who told me I 'would regret never getting my hands on that ass'. At that point, Sharon jokingly told him that since he liked Monica's ass so much, he could keep his hands off of hers.

I had basically forgotten about Monica until one day our roll-back driver asked to talk to me.

"I just brought in a car that was in a crash," he started. "The cop told me the driver appeared drunk and had been hurt and taken to the hospital."

"Okay," I said. "Any problems?"

"Not with picking it up, but when I got in the car to take it out of gear so it would roll, this was on the floor face down. I didn't want to step on it, so I picked it up and started to put it on the console and when I did, I turned it face up." He handed me a picture of a naked woman lying not quite spreadeagled on a bed. My first thought was she was fucking gorgeous. Then I looked closer. It was either Monica or her twin. He continued. "It looks like she might be 'out of it' and if she is, whoever took this picture probably took it without her knowing and if he did, his ass should be in jail." He was on a roll. "And if the son of a bitch raped her, they should castrate the motherfucker then hang his sorry ass." He took a breath. "I think we need to show it to the cops, but I don't know if I'll be in trouble for taking it out of the car."

I was still staring at the photo. She didn't look 'out of it' to me, but there was no way I could be sure so I decided to act out of caution. I finally spoke. "You did the right thing. I'll take care of it. Inventory the rest of the car and bring everything to me."

He said, okay and left. I looked at the face in the photo again. It damn sure looked like Monica, but I was not aspositive as he was that she was in any danger.

What to do was the question. Should I take the photo to Mr. Graham and let him see a photo of the woman I thought might be his Goddaughter in that situation? I didn't think so! Take it to the police? That was an option. To an Attorney? Possibly. To Monica, herself? How embarrassing would that be for her if it was her? I decided to ask Sharon; after all, she was an attorney. I put the photo in an envelope and put it in my pocket.

That evening I went to Scott and Sharon's house. I described what had happened without showing them the photo or telling who I thought was in it. Sharon thought for a while. "All you have is a photo of a naked woman on a bed. You have no way of knowing if she is there of her own free will or not. You have no evidence of a crime having been committed or in the process of being committed; other than you having stolen the photo out of the car. Unless and until you have either a suspicion, or direct knowledge of the photo being evidence in a crime, you have nothing." She paused. "Now, having said that, if you feel that the woman might have been coerced, kidnapped, drugged, or the victim of any other nefarious action, you have the right, or even obligation, to express your concerns to law enforcement. And even if you're not quite sure, and she is there willingly, you have to do what your conscious tells you, and it is always... always... best to err on the side of caution." She paused again. "I have a friend on the force who only works sex crimes. Her name is Tracy Phillips. I'll give you her number and you can talk to her in confidence and confidentiality."

"I can live with that, but let me add something else. What if I think I know the person in the photo?"

"Oh, shit! Do you?"

"I think so."

"God, Michael. That's crazy. I have no idea what to do in that case. If you go directly to the poor girl, she'll be embarrassed to death whether she's there voluntarily or not."

"If I give it to your police friend, she might never have to know I saw the photo."

"Unless, of course, it goes to court."

The conversation up to that point had only been Sharon and me, but then, Scott spoke. "Forget her being embarrassed. If the person, and we assume it's a man, who took the picture or photo or whatever you want to call it, took it without her permission or did something to cause her to be in that situation unknowingly and against her will, then the bastard needs to be in jail. She'll get over the embarrassment. Let's just hope she gets over the trauma of the incident, if, in fact, it is an incident and not some kinky shit they have going on. And why is it a hard copy? Did he actually use a camera? Who uses those anymore except professional photographers. And if he used a camera, are there more photos out there? If it was just a date gone wrong, wouldn't he have used his phone? And if he used his phone, why is there a hard copy?"

Sharon looked at me. "You need to talk to Tracy."

I called her while driving home. She asked me to meet her at the Police Station.

"Do you have the photo with you?" She asked after I explained the situation. I gave her the envelope it was in. She took it out and looked at it. "She looks familiar. The first thing we have to do is find out for sure who she is." She indicated the photo.

"I think I know." And told her.

She looked closely at the picture. "Oh, shit. So do I." She went to her computer, typed something, and almost immediately wrote something on a pad beside the computer. She picked up her phone and punched in some numbers from the note she had written down. Then spoke. "This is Detective Tracy Phillips with the Police Department." She paused listening to the other person. "Nice to speak with you again, too. I have something I'd like to talk with you about. Are you available now?" There was a pause. "That's perfect." She added something to her pad. "I'll wait for you here." She then thanked me.

"Will you be able to let me know what happens?" I asked.

"You'll probably hear about it on the news first," she said. I left by one door as she was leaving through another.

She was right. I stayed up specifically to watch late local news and they had a story about the accident. Apparently, the driver of the car we towed in was charged with driving under the influence and causing the accident. He was in hospital recovering from injuries.

The next day, I was at Scott and Sharon's for dinner. I ate there two or three times a week. I also ate with my parents two or three times a week. That way I only had to fend for myself two or three days. That worked well for me because the only thing I can make that is any good is the potato salad I've already mentioned. Everything else I try to cook ends up tasting like I think shit would taste like.

I had heard nothing from Detective Phillips nor had I expected to, since it had been less than a day since we talked, but I was still torn between concern and curiosity. I kept hoping Sharon would bring the subject up, but she didn't. If Monica had confided anything to her at the office that day, she was keeping it to herself. On the other hand, it might not be Monica so there would be nothing to confide. I figured to hell with it. I had a life to live.

After dinner, Scott and I were drinking beer on the deck at their deck. The phone rang and Sharon answered it. All we heard after she said hello was "Yeah. He's right here." Then she hung up. "That was Monica," she said. "She asked if I knew where you were and I told her you were here. Then she said she was coming over and hung up. What's going on?"

"I have no idea," I answered.

"Maybe you're about to get lucky," laughed Scott.

We sat and talked until we heard the doorbell. Sharon left us outside and went to answer the door. We assumed it was Monica. Scott and I didn't hear anything for several minutes. We hadn't said anything. We were just waiting for them to come outside. He decided he had waited long enough so he took another swallow of beer, emptying the bottle and like he has done countless other times, handed me the empty bottle. He stood and started inside, but was met by Sharon and Monica coming out. Sharon rolled her eyes at Scott and went to stand by him.

Monica marched up to me waving something. "Why?" She asked.

"Why what?" I responded.

"Why didn't you mind you own business?"

"Are you talking about....?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. You had no business showing this to anyone much less the police."

"So, it was you. I wasn't sure and thought whoever it was might be in trouble." I said somewhat lamely.

"Now probably half the police force.... and YOU.... have seen it. Damn it I'm so pissed at you." She threw the picture on a table.

I had been sitting, but I put both Scott's and my bottles down and stood. "Look, when I saw the picture, I wasn't sure it was you. It looked like you, but I wasn't sure and I wasn't going to do nothing if a crime was being committed. You, as an attorney should understand that." I tried to rationalize my position, but the look on her face told me it wasn't working.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Scott moving toward the table with the picture. Sharon was closer and turned it over so the image was face down. She looked at Scott and shook her head. He looked at her and frowned.

"If you weren't sure it was me, why did you tell the police it was?"

"I didn't," I protested. "That police woman seemed to recognize you. If she told you I said it was you, she's either mistaken or lying."

"But why did you have to get involved at all? Damn it! Why didn't you mind your own business?" The last was almost yelled.

My patience had been wearing pretty thin, but being yelled at sent me a bit over the edge and I felt myself getting mad. "I'm getting pretty tired of defending myself. If you weren't in trouble and posed like that to get your own kicks or for someone else to get theirs, that's your business like you said, but letting some drunken driver have access to it and leave it lying around in his car is beyond stupid and you almost deserve to be embarrassed. So don't come yelling at me because you got caught in some perverse kink of yours and your boyfriend or whoever else might be involved."

She plopped down on one of the deck chairs. Sharon pulled another chair close to her, sat next to her and took her hand and spoke to her. "It will be okay. I know Tracy and she wouldn't do anything to embarrass you. No one who doesn't have a need to see it has seen it." She paused. Looked at Scott then me, then spoke to Monica. "How did you find out it was Michael who gave it to her?"

"Yeah, good question," I said.

"I saw her report."

"You read her report?" Sharon asked.

"No. She had a phone call while we were talking and had turned around to talk to whoever called her. I leaned over her desk and saw his name on it." She moved her head and hand casually in my direction as she spoke. "He was listed as the complainant."

"What the hell does that mean?" I asked. "I didn't complain about anything. I was just trying to help someone who might have been in trouble."

"In this case, it just means you brought the matter to the attention of the authorities," said Sharon. "All police investigations have to start somewhere. This one started with you talking to Tracy."

"And giving her that picture," added Monica bitterly.

"Okay. That's enough. I'm really fucking tired of being the bad guy here. You want to be a slut and have your picture taken while you're naked; go for it, but get off my ass. And speaking of asses, after seeing that picture, yours isn't as nice as I first thought it was." I looked from Scott to Sharon and spoke to them. "I'm outta here. Let little miss exhibitionist here cry on your shoulder, but she can basically kiss my unexhibited ass." I stormed through the house and out the front door only to storm immediately back in to address Monica. "You need to move your car so I can get out."

"Give me your keys, I'll move it," Scott said to Monica.

"Be careful," I admonished him. "There might be some pictures of her scattered around it, but don't waste your time looking at them. I've seen better bodies drawn on Men's Room walls." I started out not waiting for him to get her keys.

"Fuck you," I heard her say. "You never saw a better body."

I was standing by my car when Scott came out. "Damn," he said. "You didn't cut her any slack, did you?"

"She came at me pretty hard and I don't think I deserved it." We stood in silence for a couple of minutes and I calmed down to the point that I chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Scott asked.

"She's right about one thing."

"What's that?"

"I have never seen a better body."

He laughed. "Go home."

From the day the car in which the photo was found arrived, I made it known that I wanted to deal with whoever came in to either have it towed somewhere else or arrange for us to repair it. I had in my office a brown paper bag with all the items that had been taken from the car and an inventory of those items. There wasn't much. Sometimes we had boxes of stuff, but not that time. We did that with all cars we towed in. I had looked through it of course. It was all stuff normally found in cars. The registration gave his name and address. The name was Antonio E. Lucase; I didn't recognize it.

Three days after Monica came to Scott and Sharon's, a man was escorted to my office and was introduced as the owner of the car. His left arm was in a cast and he limped a bit. Injuries from the accident I assumed. He asked if I had the items that were in the car when we brought it in. I gave him the bag. "Would you like us to make the repairs on your car?" I asked.

"Yes, please."

"We'll take care of it." We had his insurance information from the stuff we took from the car so we could get paid for towing it. I never took my eyes off of him. Who, exactly was this guy? He had a picture of Monica naked. Did he take the picture? Had he ever had sex with her? I was jealous, envious, and pissed at the same time. He took the bag of belongings and limped away.

The following Wednesday was very busy and I was looking forward to the day ending so I could stop at one of my favorite joints for Gumbo and beer. About an hour before closing, Mr. Graham called for me to come to his office. It, like mine, was almost completely surrounded with glass; only his was on the second floor and he could look out over the showroom on one side and the service department on the other. I climbed the stairs and walked down the hall to his office. As I got to the first sheet of glass surrounding his office, I glanced in and almost stopped in my tracks. Monica was there. I slowed but made it to his office door; which was also glass. He saw me and waved me in. I had never seen her at the dealership before.

"Mike. Come in. Come in. You remember my Goddaughter, Monica, don't you?" He was in a good mood and upbeat.

"Yes, sir." She had turned to look and seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see her.

"Mike, Monica needs a ride home and since you two know each other, I thought you might take her."

"But Uncle Jake. I'm sure he has other things to do......."

"Nah, he was probably just sitting there waiting to go home, weren't you Mike?"

"Uh....."

"There. See. This gives him a chance to duck out a few minutes early." He stood and came around his desk to her. She stood and they hugged, but she looked over her shoulder at me.

"I'll meet you out front," I said quickly and left, but took my time getting to my car.

She was waiting when I pulled up.

I had nothing to say and the Pope would have become a Southern Baptist before I opened my mouth.

"I didn't know you worked for my Godfather." I didn't think that warranted a reply, so I didn't. "What do you do?" I couldn't tell if she was trying to 'make nice' or waiting for me to say something that would set her off, so I answered truthfully.

"Anything he wants me to."

"I know that, asshole, but what's your job?" So much for 'making nice'.

I started to say something about who the asshole in the car really was, but decided against it. "Look. Neither you nor I want to be here, so why don't we recognize that fact and not say anything."

"I was just trying to make conversation."

"Yeah, calling me an asshole certainly makes me want to chitchat. Just tell me where we're going."

It took about 20 minutes to get to the address she gave me and it went by in silence.

I stopped on the street not bothering to pull into the driveway. She got out, slammed the door closed and I started to watch that gorgeous ass as it moved up the drive and made a quick, really unlike me, especially concerning her, decision. I couldn't help myself. I got out of my car, leaned on the top and spoke. "What are you doing for dinner?"

She stopped and stood for a couple of seconds before turning around. "Did you have something in mind?"

"Ringo's has free Gumbo and happy hour drinks on Wednesday."

She started to walk slowly back to the car. "I've never turned down Ringo's Gumbo in my life."

"Even with an asshole?" I asked knowing I was tempting fate.

It was small, but it was still a smile when she said, "Even with an asshole."

There wasn't a lot of conversation during dinner. Just the usual comments about the good food and loud music. We were both aware of the thin ice we were on and neither wanted to fall through and ruin the fragile cease fire. That evening I pulled into her driveway when I took her home.

She had her hand on the handle and was opening the door, but stopped and turned her head to look at me. "Thank you, Michael."

"You're welcome. Maybe we can do it again sometime."

"That would be nice," she said and smiled. With that she got out and went inside.

I was getting undressed for the shower when I realized I was still wearing my work clothes. Oh, well. Ringo's wasn't a black-tie place and Monica hadn't seemed to mind.

I was on my way to work the next morning and received a call from Scott. "I understand you had a 'kiss and make up dinner' last night."

"We did."

"And?"

"And, what?"

"Anything you want to tell your best friend?"

"Nothing to tell."

"Sharon would not have spent an hour on the phone with Monica if there was 'nothing to tell'."

"I'm telling you the truth."

"So, what happened to prompt you being with her?" I told him the story. "I have no idea why I asked her to dinner. I didn't plan it. The words just came out of my mouth."

"You're asking for trouble; you know that don't you?"

"Yeah, I think I do."

"So why are you doing it?"

"Honestly? I keep remembering the party when she and I just sat and talked. It was the most fun I'd had in a long time."

"Christ, Michael. She lets men carry around pictures of her naked. Who knows what else she has done. Are there videos of her being gangbanged out there? I think you need to get your head out of your ass before you go any further." I listened to several more minutes of how I was making a mistake and I couldn't disagree with anything he said.

Our conversation ended because I had to get to work.

I was busy all morning and through lunch, which I missed completely. We have a small snack stand in our customer waiting area, so I got a sandwich and was eating it while walking to my office.

"Hey, Michael," I heard Mr. Graham yell. I stopped, turned, and waited for him. "Did you get Monica taken care of yesterday?"

"I did, but why was she here? Where was her car?"

"She didn't tell you?"

"No, sir."

"Her car broke down a couple of blocks from here. She called me and I called Jimmy and he sent his rollback for it. She walked over here and you took her home." Mr. Graham owns three dealerships. He called them his 'stores'. Monica apparently preferred to drive a car from Jimmy's store.

"Got it. Can we do anything else for her?"

He grinned. "Have anything specific in mind, there, Mike?"

He bounced between calling me Mike and Michael. I laughed. "No, sir. Just wanting to be helpful."

"Helpful, my ass. You're like all the rest of the guys, but it won't do you any good."

The next day I was walking through the service department when the intercom told me I had a call. I went to my office. "This is Michael, how may I help you?"

"By having dinner with me."

I didn't have to think twice. "Where and when?"

"My house at 6:30?"

"May I bring anything?"

"Just a shoulder for me to cry on."

I took a bottle of wine and some roses, anyway. She smiled at the wine and was almost verklempt at the flowers.

Dinner was not a bellyful of laughs. The food was basic Louisiana Cajun, and the conversation was strained. After dinner, I opened the wine and we went to the living room. She indicated a recliner where I should sit and she sat on the sofa. I tried not looking at her, but couldn't help myself. Her head was against the back of the sofa and her eyes were closed. Her wine glass was full and untouched and on the end table by the sofa. I still had half a glass, but put it on the table next to me and stood. "Thank you for dinner, but I think it's time for me to go."

Her eyes popped open. "No. Stay. Please." She stood. "Sit and finish your wine while I tell you a story." I sat. She came over, picked up my glass and handed it to me. "You might want this," she said and started pacing. I waited. "I was an undergrad and wanted to be a teacher. I was never a party girl, but like most college kids, I liked to socialize. I found myself in a small group and we did lots of things together; studied, hung out, went to the pizza places. All the normal college things." She paused, picked up her glass and took a pretty big drink, and continued pacing with her wine glass in her hand. "I started spending more and more time with one of the guys, and we had fun together. We went on dates as a couple and even had sex a few times." She took another, larger, drink of wine and looked at me. "And that wasn't easy for me. I didn't want to get a reputation for being easy, so I was very careful. I only had sex with two guys in college. In fact, Tony, that's his name, was my first." She paused again. "Anyway, we pretty much stayed together as a group all four years of college." She went to the door that looked like it opened onto a deck and stood staring out through the glass. I could see the sun setting over her shoulder. She turned to face me. "It was our Senior year. We decided to go to New Orleans for Mardi Gras." She moved to the sofa and sat. She leaned forward and looked directly at me. "Michael, I've only been drunk one time in my life. My mother was an alcoholic and I was always afraid that if I drank, I would be one, too, so I was always very careful. My mother stopped drinking, but she still has to fight the urge to drink and it's been almost 15 years.

"Anyway, we found ourselves in New Orleans having fun. One of the other girls even flashed her tits to get some beads and we all laughed and I drank too much. That was the night.... the only time in my life.... I got drunk. I was drunk, but wasn't so drunk I didn't know what I was doing; and that's where the problem started." Another, much smaller sip of wine. "I ended up in Tony's room. He and one of the other guys shared a room, but the other guy was still out partying somewhere, so Tony and I were alone. We started kissing and groping. Sex was on the agenda and we knew it. We got naked. I lay on the bed and he lay beside me. He started telling me how nice my body was and how proud I should be of it and maybe we should have pictures to remember it years from now. The more he talked, the more I was convinced he was right. I wouldn't always look like I did then, so I said okay. Two pictures and only two. He got his phone and took them. Two of them. I counted. Then we had sex.

"I remember it, Michael. All of it. My mind kept telling me I made a mistake. That I shouldn't have allowed the pictures. When we were finished, I told him to erase them. He didn't argue or protest. I watched him erase them. At least I thought I did.

"We all graduated and I went on to Law School instead of becoming a teacher. I didn't see Tony again until two years ago. After graduation he went into the Air Force and when he got out, moved back home and looked me up. You met him at the same party I met you. We dated a few times, but nothing happened. He started getting serious, but I wasn't interested." She looked directly at me. "The night I met you was the last date he and I went on.

"So, there it is. The first time I saw the picture was the night he took it. I thought it was also the last time I would see it, but it showed up again as you know. I was so mad it still existed that I struck out at everyone involved; especially you. You and I had only had limited association with each other and hadn't seen each other for a year, but the thought that you had seen that picture upset me to the point of irrationality. I hated that you saw it and hated you for seeing it." She chuckled. "Weird, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," I said. "But how did it end up in that guy's car?"

"That guy is Tony."

Of course; Antonio E. Lucase/Tony. I have no idea why I didn't recognize him or him, me. "And you didn't know he still had it? Does he still have the other one?"

"No, I didn't. I thought I saw him delete it and he swore he deleted the other one but saved the better of the two. Better, my ass," she scoffed.

"Do you believe him?"

"I don't know, Michael. I just don't know and I don't have any idea what I'm going to do about it."

"When did you see him?"

"After I talked to the police after you gave the picture to them and they, or rather she, the officer I talked with, gave it to me" She finished her wine and put the glass on a table. "She wanted to know if I had been coerced into posing for it or if I even knew it was being taken, so I told her. I went to see him after I left her office. He swore it was the only copy. He said he couldn't bear to delete it, so he just pretended to. He also swore he never showed it to anyone, but I don't believe him and now I look at everyone wondering if they've seen it." She was trying not to cry now. "I'm an Attorney, Michael. How can I go to court and stand in front of a room full of people and represent law and order knowing there might be pictures of me naked in someone's pocket or purse. God!" She was openly crying now. I went to her and took her in my arms. "I'm so ashamed, and I can't do anything about it. He had it in his car where anyone could see it." I held her and let her cry. After a minute or so, she backed out of my arms. I took my handkerchief out and gave it to her. "Thank you," she said.

She excused herself and went to do whatever women do to refresh themselves. While she was gone, I decided I would look up Mr. Antonio E. Lucase and discuss the situation with him.

Monica returned with fresh makeup and dry eyes. "I'm sorry, Michael. This thing has me crazy."

"I wish I could offer some good advice, but I can't. I only regret taking the picture to the police, but I just wasn't sure it was you."

"Speaking as an attorney, you did the right thing, but as the person involved, I wish you had minded your own business. The problem with that is if you had minded your own business, the picture would still be out there. I guess in a way, I should be grateful." There was an attempt to smile with the last part of her comment. "I guess I just have to live with it and believe Tony that there are no other copies."

"Where is it now?"

"I burned it after I left Sharon's the night I talked, or rather, yelled at you at their house."

We sat and talked until two in the morning. We talked about nothing and everything just like the night at the party. The only thing we didn't discuss was the relationship between the two of us. She fell asleep on the sofa and I went home.

The next day all I did was think about 'The Picture' and the effect it had on Monica. Anyone can, and most of us do, make at least one major mistake and College seems to be the place for a lot of them. I didn't know at first what prompted the picture to be taken, but her explanation was honest and regretful. I felt sorry for her and further felt that I was to blame for her current situation and wanted to do something to alleviate her pain, but had absolutely no idea how to accomplish that.

Or, just maybe, it was already solved. If, as Tony told her, that was the only copy in existence and Monica herself had destroyed it, then there was no problem to address.

The next day I got Mr. Antonio E. Lucase's phone number from our files and called him. "Hello, Mr. Lucase," I said lightly when he answered. "This is Michael from Toyota. There are a couple of things we need to discuss about your car. When could you come in and talk?"

"If it's important, I can be there in an hour or so."

"That would be great. Just come straight back to my office. Do you remember where it is?"

"I do. See you in an hour."

I had no idea what I was going to say to him, but would cross that bridge when I came to it; I only hoped I wouldn't be forced to jump off of it.

I took the hour to look at his car and the repair estimate so I could at least start the conversation seemingly intelligently. When he came, I took him to the lot where his car was waiting for us to start work. We walked around it and I told him what we were going to have to do to it. He still limped a bit and his arm was still in a cast.

I invited him back to my office presumably to continue discussing his car, but when we got there, I closed my door and decided to lie a little bit. "One of my guys found a picture of a naked woman in your car while he was cleaning it," I said confidentially.

He looked embarrassed. "Yeah, I know."

I took a deep breath and leaned across my desk. "Man to man, I like to collect videos and pictures like that and from what I saw of that girl, she is hot. Would you have any more of her?" He looked at me. "Don't misunderstand me. I'm very discreet about stuff like that and will keep it to myself. I thought about keeping that picture, but my boss saw it and took it to the police. I didn't even have time to make a copy of it. He thought maybe she was being forced or some shit. I hadn't thought about that until he mentioned it, but I didn't care. I just wanted the picture." I looked directly at him. "I'll pay."

"Sorry, but that was one of one."

"Oh, hell. I'm sorry. It was your wife. I'm embarrassed."

He chuckled. "No, not my wife."

"Well, she's hot, whoever she is; at least she was when it was taken."

"She still is."

"Still? So, you know her?"

"I do."

"Does she have more pictures available?"

"God, no. Like I said, that was one of one." He paused before he spoke again. "We dated in college. One night she got drunk and I took it. She had second thoughts and asked me to delete it, but I didn't. It was too nice. When your boss turned it in to the police, she realized I kept it and she was pissed. No, not pissed. She was livid and just about took my head off."

"I can't believe you had the chance to take more and didn't."

"Actually, I took two, but she wanted both of them deleted. She watched as I deleted the other one, but I managed to keep the one."

"Hell, man. Why didn't you make copies? You could have made some money."

"The thought never entered my mind. Like I said, we dated in college and actually I was in love with her. That picture was just for me. I had no intention of sharing it."

"Do you still have it on your phone?"

He laughed a little. "No, I deleted it one night when I got drunk and sentimental. That one copy was all I had."

To paraphrase the poem; The time had come, the walrus said, to speak of many things. I began. "I think you and I have met."

"What do you mean?"

"I know you from somewhere and not just here. We met socially one time I believe."

"I don't think so. I would remember."

"It was at a party. You and your date came by boat." I paused. "Oh my God. That girl. You were with her! Jesus, man, who is she? I need to meet her."

"Oh, no. you're making a mistake." He was in a panic."

"No, I'm not. It was you... and her. What's her name?"

"I have to go."

"No, wait. Who is she?"

He said nothing as he limped out of my office as quickly as his limping allowed. I smiled and thought 'I bet he has his car taken somewhere else for repairs', but I didn't care. I learned what I needed to know. I called Monica and asked if she would like to have dinner. She said she would.

"Hell, screw dinner. This can't wait. Can you meet me now?" I asked.

"If it's that important I can."

"I think it is."

"Okay. I'm close to you so I'll meet you at your work."

"I'll be here."

I was waiting on the showroom floor when she pulled in. She came up to me. "What's so important?"

"Monica. What are you doing here? Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" Said Mr. Graham. I hadn't seen him so didn't know he was in the showroom.

"Hi, Uncle Jake. I just stopped by to see Michael," she said as they hugged.

"To see Michael? Well, well, well. Is there something I should know?" He looked at me with a smile. "Are you two dating? Is that the right word? Dating?"

"Uh, oh, no, it's nothing like that. I just have something to tell her about one of her friends." And for just a split second the old me... the pre 'growth year' me shot off his mouth. "She would never date someone like me."

He looked at her for what seemed like a long time, smiled, then looked at me. "Don't sell yourself short, Michael." Then added. "I have work to do. You kids have fun."

He hadn't taken three steps before Monica spoke. "What do you mean I would never date someone like you?"

"I was just..."

"Be careful, Michael..." Mr. Graham said as he kept walking.

"I asked you a question," she said as Mr. Graham laughed out loud.

"I just..."

"Just what?"

"I just..."

"Well, Michael?"

"Look," I tried to change the subject. "I just talked to Tony."

"Tell me what you meant?"

"Do you want to hear about Tony?"

"Tell me what you meant? Am I not good enough for you? Is that what you meant?"

"Oh, God, no. I meant just the opposite. I'm not good enough for you. At least I wasn't."

"Wasn't? What does that mean?"

"It means that when I first met you, I thought you were too good for me."

"That's stupid. Is that why you ignored me for over a year?"

"Partly."

"Partly?"

"If you'd stop asking me what I mean by everything I say, I'd tell you what Tony had to say."

"I don't care what that asshole had to say, I want to hear what the asshole I'm talking to now has to say."

I looked around to see how much attention we were attracting. It was, after all, a new car showroom floor and there were customers and salesmen all over the place. There was also Mr. Graham standing there laughing his ass off. I grabbed her arm. "Let's go to my office."

We passed Mr. Graham as I led her away. "Good luck, Mike," he said, still laughing.

We got to my office and she dropped her purse on my desk and looked at me. "Well?" She asked.

"Can I just tell you want Tony said?"

"Okay, but we're coming back to our discussion."

Discussion my ass; it was more like an inquisition I thought. "I asked him to come talk about his car." I told her the whole discussion he and I had. I ended with telling her it was my feeling that he was telling the truth; that there was only one copy of the picture and she, herself, had destroyed it.

"Would you really have paid for a picture of me naked?" She asked.

There are times when people should just not say anything. I've had several of those in my life and was just about to add another because I couldn't help myself. "Why would I? I've seen better figures drawn on men's room walls."

That was seven years ago. I haven't had a peaceful minute since. I may be an asshole, but I'm Monica's asshole.

Fix this