It was a cold night and Frank Penley was typing a manuscript for a next-door neighbor. Her name was Annie Jo Thompson. She said that she was writing a book on magic, but she did not know how to type, so she brought Frank some notebooks and thanked him for his services. Her handwriting was readable, Frank was thankful for that.
Hours had passed by. It was two 'o clock in the morning, but it was done. Frank placed the pages that he had typed in a notebook. Shit that was some weird ass stuff, no doubt. At least, he'd get two hundred dollars for the job. He needed it too. Rent and cigars were taking its toll on his bank account. He stopped and looked at the moon. It was a full moon and tomorrow was Friday the thirteenth. That sent a chill down his spine. What the fuck, he thought. Damn, he must have absorbed more of that magic crap then he intended to. He took a long draw off his cigar and laughed at the foolishness of it all.
Friday evening had rolled around. Frank was wearing a pair of shorts made from sweatpants material and a "wife beater." But, he wasn't a slob. In fact, quite the opposite, he had the body of a Greek god. Next to cigars, lifting weights were his passion. He could tear a telephone book in half if he wanted to. He took a seat in his black leather chair and enjoyed the cigar.
Halfway through the cigar and she still hadn't showed. Where the hell was she? Damnit to hell, he needed that money. He had planned to go to the tobacconist with that money. His eyes were still burning from that small print that he had to read.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
That had to be her. He didn't want to get up and open the door for her. Why should he? After all, she had kept him waiting for five hours. It was ten 'o clock.
"Come in, the door's open."
"Ok," said a female voice.
He didn't remember her sounding that sexy before. She opened the door and entered his living room. She was wearing a black silk dress that displayed her breasts perfectly. Those were bigger than he had remembered. Her waist tapered down and her hips flared out like a woman's hips were suppose to. Her skin was tanned the way he liked it. He rubbed his chin. Hell, he thought, she was snowball white the last time he had seen her. Her skirt was located above her knee and she had nice thick muscular thighs. Sandals were on her feet and red toe polish on her toes. Damn, she was physically everything he wanted in a woman.
"I am sorry that I'm late. I am having trouble....," she said as her breathing increased.
Her breasts were moving back and forth under her black dress. It was as if they were dancing. Up and down. Up and down. Frank tried to look away, but he got caught up in their dance. His mind was lost. He continued watching them. What did she say? Something about trouble, was that it? Her nipples grew erect under her dress and she had no bra on. He could not believe it. They had to be an inch in length. The rhythm of her breasts going up and down was hypnotizing him. How long had she been standing there? Finally, he heard his voice say, "What kind of trouble are you in?"
"I have no money. I cannot pay you for your services. Not in cash anyway."
Take your eyes off her breasts, Frank. He obeyed his order to himself and he looked down to the floor. But, it was no good. He had caught sight of her toes. They were wiggling sensually making little circles. It was if they were keeping in time with her breasts. He had to think. He could feel the sweat forming on his forehead. What was she saying to him? His mind was being swept away in tidal wave of lust. No money that was it. She had no money. No money met; no cigars. He took a puff off his cigar.
"I put a lot of hours in typing that for you. I need money, Annie. Damnit, this isn't fair to me."
