Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms Read Online Free Page A

thrashing, and lawsuits that proceed therefrom. Because for some reason, in order to overcome my intense, mind-numbing shyness, and fear of failure in order to actually approach a woman, I —until today —needed to be stimulated by a woman’s mind, as well as her body. My grandfather believes this is because I am a homosexual.
    So in my case, the fact that I have found some woman a ttractive —debilitatingly so, even without so much as knowing her political affiliation—and have managed to overcome my innate insecurity and forced her to remain in my presence while I kept throttling my bottle, so to speak, puts me way, way , way over that damned line I mentioned earlier, and into a part of the world where English is, at best, a second language. Worse still, even now—as lawyers’ numbers are likely being speed-dialed throughout the building—I am continuing to feel a junkie’s desire to rub up against poor Ms. Nuckeby while removing Satin-Lace-Babydoll # 43 with my tongue, entirely convinced that she might find it appealing.
    Brain-bolted indeed.
    ‘But…’ you ask, being the romantic that you are, ‘…isn’t it possible, by some miracle not yet known to modern science, that she might actually want you too ?’ HA! You obviously know nothing about me.
    Beyond that, there is a reason the number of company lawsuits far, far exceeds the number of successful model/boss relationships at Wopplesdown Struts (the actual number of the latter being zero.) Take a moment to refer back to my job description. I’ll wait.

Back? Good.
    While you were gone, Mrs. Abrososa went, at my request, to check on whatever trauma I may or may not have induced in Ms. Nuckeby, while I attempted to dry my pants with the iron I keep around the office for just such occasions. It might have been more effective, and less painful, had I removed the pants beforehand. But I was trying to hurry the process and avoid being caught—literally— with my trousers down. Fortunately for my future generations, Mrs. Abrososa returned and saved me before I singed off something important.
    “What are you doing?” she demanded, snatching away the iron. Then, gesturing disgustedly toward my Natazzi’s. “Give me those.”
    “What? You mean take them off?”
    “That’s what I mean.”
    “Here?” I said, horrified. “ Now? ”
    “What? You think I’m going to see something I didn’t see back there with Ms. Nuckeby?”
    I grimaced at the thought.
    “Did you find her?” I asked. “Was she upset?”
    “From what I hear,” she said. “I don’t know. I didn’t see her.”
    “She’d already left?”
    “If she did, she wasn’t wearin’ nothing but the company undies. Her clothes were still in the dressing room.”
    The thought of Ms. Nuckeby running through the city wearing the bottoms of Satin-Lace-Babydoll # 43—in slow motion—once again caused the little soldier to pop up out of his foxhole.
    “My God, boy,” Mrs. Abrososa said, apparently quite amazed. “You’re like a party balloon how you inflate. Lord, have mercy.” She held out a hand. “Now, gimme those pants.”
    I withdrew from her. “Mrs. Abrososa, really…”
    “I got twelve kids…”
    “ Twelve? ”
    “…most of ‘em boys— and twenty-seven grandchildren. You ain’t got nothin’ I never seen before.”
    “But . . . we aren’t even on a first name basis.”
    “Agrapanthila. Hand ‘em over.”
    “ Agrapanthila?”
    She raised the iron and gave me a menacing look. “You want kids of your own?”
    I still hesitated. “Wouldn’t this constitute harassment?”
    “I got an iron! ”
    I stripped off the slacks without further hesitation.
    Once I’d handed them to her, she stood there folding them over her arm and continuing to stare at my crotch. I moved my hands to block the view, and she looked up at me with disgust.
    “I ain’t admirin’ . I’m waitin’ .”
    “What? These, too?”
    “They wet?”
    I considered. “Damp.”
    “Gimme.”
    I paused,