Chapter 3: Brisbane: Saving Roxy's nice ass
Our group left Sydney (See Chapter 1 and 2 in this series) on the redeye flight to Brisbane, and at 11am we had a meet and greet with the people of the Australian company's Brisbane office and their lawyer. Once again, I was excused from further attendance, as the initial talks would just concern technical mining issues and costs.
Without anything to do, I booked into my hotel, a nicely appointed old building, facing the 150-year-old botanic gardens, and spent the rest of the day as a tourist: I browsed around on the South Bank of the Brisbane River where I visited a couple of museums and coffee shops, and took a ferry trip on the river from where I could see a lot more of the city than I would be able to cover on foot. I had dinner with the rest of our delegation, and was brought up to speed with the progress in negotiations. The engineers were confident that a joint venture with the Australian company was viable, and the next day was set aside to iron out the remaining technical issues before the serious negotiations about dividing costs and profits would start. I was told that I would probably not be needed until the next afternoon, but that I should stay in the city in case I was. After a few post-dinner scotches at the bar, I retired to my room.
My first night in Brisbane was dreadful: I slept fitfully, and by four am, I was wide awake. I checked my emails, and responded to a few urgent ones. By 5am, the hotel room became too small for me, and I decided to go for a walk as it was already light outside. I made my way to the river which wound its way through the city, and followed a concreted footpath that runs alongside the river. There were a lot of people about, some out for exercise, while others appeared to be making their way to work with backpacks on their backs. I saw some people with cups of takeaway coffee in their hands, and as I turned away from the river, I found a bustling coffee shop in a little alleyway underneath a building on Tank Street. I ordered a take away coffee, and ambled down George Street, which I knew would lead me back to the Botanic Gardens where the hotel was.
As I was waiting at a traffic light, a blonde girl in a short dress crossed the street from my left-hand side opposite the street, turned left and started walking in the same direction I was going. Being the connoisseur of the female form that I am, I quickened my step when the light turned green, and caught up to within ten steps or so behind her. She had blonde shoulder-length hair, and was wearing the tiniest of black one piece mini-dresses made of some kind of t-shirt material, which hugged her smallish frame. The tone of her skin matched that of a pure blond - it was light, almost translucent, and in sharp contrast with the black dress. The hem of the dress barely covered her backside, and every now and then, the line between her buttocks and upper legs would peek from underneath the dress. (My friend Jerry had told me that according to his wife, this area is called a "thass", as in "thigh and ass". Jerry and I had spent many a delightful morning on the beach together discussing the bikini-clad thasses of girls walking by). The thass on this girl was delectable.
She had an excellent pair of legs, with well-defined calves. She was not wearing shoes, but instead wore slip-ons that seemed to be very popular in Australia (I had learned that Australians referred to them as "thongs"). She stopped at an ATM and inserted her card to start a transaction. Not wanting to end the magnificent perving that I was busy with, I sat down on a bench on the sidewalk, and pretended to be busy with my phone, enjoying the view of this gorgeous little blonde creature at the ATM, not more than 5 steps from me. She was oblivious to my presence, since I wore running shoes, and she did not ever look behind her.
The next moment, I clearly heard her say "Fuck!", followed by a second, even louder "Fuuuck!" as she stamped one thonged foot on the sidewalk. She turned around, and noticed me, a little surprised that someone was right behind her. I looked back at her, coffee in one hand and my phone in the other. She was beautiful, with no makeup on, except for dark mascara around the eyes. "Problems, miss?" I asked innocently.
"Shit, I'm sorry," she replied "but this is the second fucking machine that does not want to give me my money". She appeared to be close to tears. I put down my coffee, stood up from the bench and walked closer.
"Anything I can do to help?".
"No," she replied "unless you can magically get the machine to give me six hundred dollars".
I enquired further, and she told me that "somebody" was supposed to pay money into her account, but that they didn't, that she was between jobs, in arrears with her rent, and unless she could find $600.00 in the next hour "I will be out in the street on my
arse
". Her landlord, she explained, was also the caretaker in the building she lived. He started knocking on her door early that morning to demand his rent, and told her that if she did not come up with the money by 9am, he would throw her out. I could not imagine such a lovely ass being out on the street, and my brain quickly calculated that if she was desperate to find $600.00, I may be able to get a bit of that ass for myself.
"I can help you with $600.00", I volunteered.
"Why would you do that?" she asked with a frown. "You don't even know me!".
"I'm sure that we can think of a way for you to repay me", I said with a laugh, looking her up and down to make sure she gets my drift. Her frown disappeared, and she gave me a deadpan look.
"Are you saying you want to
fuck
me for $600.00?".
"Yes, why not? You need $600.00 and I have $600.00. I have time, and it appears as you have time as well".
She looked a little shocked, but not as shocked as I though she ought to be. She looked at my right hand, where I was extracting my credit card from the pocket of my running shorts, and back at me.
"OK, where?"
"My hotel is all the way over at the Botanic Gardens. Where do you live?"
She gestured vaguely to her left in the direction of Roma Street Station.
"Just over there."
"Your place then? Do we have a deal?"
"Yes, my place is not very tidy, but OK; we have a deal."