Monique Elizabeth Rhodes woke on Wednesday morning in a good mood. Tuesday had been an excellent day and she was anticipating an equally successful day today. She was slightly tender from yesterday's triumph but not enough to avoid pursuing another great day today.
She sat on the edge of the bed, naked, and stretched. She always slept naked. It was how she extracted the maximum enjoyment from the satin sheets she kept on the bed. Some nights, the decadence of the satin sheets, combined with a couple of her toys, guaranteed she could achieve maximum pleasure when she masturbated. But not last night. The memory of the day's success was all she needed to fall into a deep sleep that lasted the entire night.
She stood up, stretched again and headed for the nearby bathroom. She peed and stood in front of the mirror. She ran her fingers through her hair and examined the result critically. She fluffed her breasts with her hands and admired the results. She loved her breasts. They bore slight signs of yesterday's work but you had to know where to look to notice.
She brushed her teeth. She wasn't fond of the peppermint flavor and rinsed her mouth several times. She ran her fingers through her hair again and headed for the kitchen.
The coffee in the coffee maker was hot and waiting. She had set it up before bed last night and the timer had brewed it barely a half hour ago. She poured a generous mug of black coffee, she liked her coffee black, and walked, with the mug held in two hands, into the living room.
She stood, still naked, in front of the floor to ceiling windows, looking out over the city. She could see the bank buildings downtown and the bay in the distance. She stood so close to the window that the cold glass caused her nipples to harden. Her two story apartment was on the forty-third floor and she felt quite secure, unconcerned that someone might be watching her from an adjacent building. If he was, she assumed it would be a he, and she knew him, she would invite him over for a closer look.
She absorbed the aroma of the coffee and took a large swallow. The hot liquid stung her palette and the back of her throat as she swallowed. It made her shiver and she took another swallow.
The early morning sun, shining through the tinted windows, warmed her body. She closed her eyes, faced the sun and allowed the rays to penetrate her skin. Her skin was a light bronze, almost as if she had a permanent light tan. She was an anomaly in her family who all came from Scandinavia and had lighter skin than most. The family rationale was that she had some genetic connection to her great grandmother who was the product of wayward mother who had a scandalous encounter with a black man after the civil war.
She was proud of her skin color and hoped the story was true. Her skin color was the reason for her nickname, Dusty. Her skin, like her breasts, was an advantage she used in her work without remorse. Add in her golden bronze hair and her prospective clients wilted in her presence.
Dusty finished her coffee and headed back to the bathroom. She showered, dried her skin and blow dried her hair. A few strokes with a brush and her hair was flowing behind her, perfect for the rest of the day. She put on a half bra and a pair of silk bikini briefs and headed back into the living room.
"Let's see. What should I sell today?" she murmured. She took several cases from under a table and opened each one. "Cosmetics, appliances or tools?" she asked herself.
"What am I looking for today?" she further asked.
"A man," she answered herself. "It worked well yesterday. Why not try for a twofer?"
"Tools it is," she concluded and put all the cases, except the case with the sample tools and catalogues, back under the table.
Back in her bedroom, Dusty selected an outfit she knew would be attractive to a man. A white, blousy top, open to the middle of her cleavage and a short pencil skirt with a side slit three quarters of the way up her thigh. No panty hose. They were a nuisance. Thigh high stockings with elastic tops, no garter belt needed, were a better choice. She added a small dab of cologne behind each ear, under each breast and high up on her thighs before she completed dressing.
"Okay," she continued the conversation with herself. "Where do I canvas today?" Dusty spread a map of the city and nearby suburbs on the dining room table. "Ah," she thought. "The Truman district, up in the northeast. Blue collar. Auto repair and machine shops. A man's environment. Perfect to find men that would be interested in tools."
Dusty added matching three inch heels to her outfit. "They're a bitch to walk in," she thought. "But I don't plan on walking too far." She picked up her case of demo tools and headed for the door. In the underground parking lot, she tossed her shoes in the passenger seat along with her sample case and got into her car, a three year old Acura NSX, in her stocking feet. Metallic blue. Her favorite color. Her skirt slid up on her thighs as she settled in the hip hugging bucket seat. She rolled out of the garage, turned on the street and hit the gas. The acceleration pushed her back in her seat and forced the air from her lungs. Cruising well over the speed limit, she headed for the Truman section of the city.
She drove around the area, scoping out a path for her plan. She was early. She couldn't really expect viable results much before ten am, near the first coffee break of the day for her prospects. She pulled into a nearby diner, parked, put on her shoes and went in for a light breakfast and more coffee.
About ten after ten, she paid for her breakfast and headed for her car. She picked up her sample case and walked around the diner and down the short block alongside it. She stood at head of the street behind the diner. There were private homes on one side of the street and the rear parking lot of the diner and the back lots of a row of businesses on the other side. The homes were small by current standards, about fifteen hundred square feet and on their second or third generation of owners.
Dusty walked up the walk of the first house and rang the doorbell. A woman in her mid to late forties, wearing yoga pants and a black sports bra answered the door. "What do you want?" she asked.
"Good morning, ma'am," said Dusty. "My name is Dusty Rhodes and I represent Cypher Manufacturing."
"Cypher what?" asked the confused woman.
"Cypher Manufacturing manufactures unique general and industry specific tools. We sell our tools directly to mechanics and individuals for home use."
"Oh," said the woman no less confused than before Dusty's explanation.
"Ma'am," continued Dusty, "is your husband home? Maybe he would be the more appropriate person I should be speaking with."
"I don't have a husband," said the woman and closed the door.
Dusty stood thinking on the stoop for a second. "She's was kinda cute," she thought. Too bad she had such a negative attitude."
Dusty walked to the next house. This home looked as if it had a recent siding and window upgrade from what was probably asbestos siding to aluminum siding and wooden windows to vinyl ones. The garage door was open, revealing a space outfitted with work bench, machine tools and a small welding area. There was a large milling machine in several pieces in the center of the space. A young man, maybe in his thirties, was working at the bench at the rear of the garage.
Dusty paused at the entrance to the garage and knocked on the wooden door frame. She knocked a second time, louder than the first, before the man turned to see who was interrupting him.
She waved and said, "Hi."
"Hi," he said in return. "How can I help you?"
"My name is Dusty Rhodes," and she launched into her introductory speech about Cypher Manufacturing and the tools they manufacture.
"I've never heard of them," commented the man.
"They've been around for over a hundred years," explained Dusty. "We only sell directly and maybe that's why you've never heard of us," she explained.
"And you're their local representative," observed the man, eyeing her up and down several times.
"I am," admitted Dusty. "I know it's unusual for a woman to be promoting machine tools but I've been very successful in dealing with men in a men's world."
"I can see why," he stated.
"Do you have a few minutes to spend with me?" asked Dusty. "I guarantee I'll not waste your time."
The man looked at her again, his eyes drifting from her hair to the heels. "Sure. Why not?" he answered. "I don't have anything pressing on my schedule this morning. Come on in and show me your stuff," he suggested.
Ignoring the potential double entendre, Dusty carried her sample case into the garage.
"Is that heavy?" asked the man.
"Not really," answered Dusty. "It's got some samples and catalogues I'd like to show you."
"Then why don't we go inside where we have more room and can be more comfortable?" he suggested.
The man showed Dusty through a doorway the led into a small, well furnished den with a leather sofa, a low table in front of it, several other chairs and a flat screen television on one wall.
"Make yourself comfortable," the man suggested. "I'll get us some coffee. How do you like your coffee?"
Dusty sat near the center of the sofa and put her sample case on the table in front of it. The man returned with two mugs of coffee. He considered where to sit. He placed the mugs of coffee on the table and chose to sit on Dusty's right, the more narrow area of either side of her.
"Thanks," said Dusty picking up the mug nearest to her.
"You're welcome," responded the man picking up the second mug again. "Okay, Dusty," he said. "What do you have to show me?"
"First," said Dusty. "Do you have a name?"
"Oh. My bad. Scott. My name is Scott,"
"Okay, Scott," said Dusty. She handed him a business card with her name, number and the logo of Cypher Manufacturing. He put the card on the low table. "Now that we have the introductions out of the way, what can I show you?"
