CONTD.
###
Later we found our spot out on the convention center floor. All around us the rest of the booths were setting up for the day. Our booth was for the “Pro-Ex’ a top the line supplement company that Mrs. J was working for. My web searches have stumbled across a few ads shoots she had done for them. “Pro-Ex Pre Workout Performance Bars are good enough for my workout, are they good enough for yours?” Blared the ad copy above an ad that showed a sweaty soaked Jinni Jones (ne: Jennifer Halifax) hoisting a substantial old-school dumbbell that looked well over 50lbs while staring down at her arm with a fierce look of concentration.
As we set up the both I was also introduced to Mark and Tony, two of the co-owners of Pro-Ex and guys who looked like I could easily have been friends with them in high school. They didn’t seem much older then there mid-20s. Which was impressive considering their company was well known.
“What do we got here – You certainly seem to rope ‘em in young, Jennifer?” Said Mark, the biggest one, playfully. The two of them were big and built tall guys, but seemed to have more of the physiques of off-season football players, then the balloon inflated musculature that many of the bodybuilders circulating the floor sported.
“Meet Lawrence… he’s my manager…. So any decisions you have. Just run them through him.” Jinni said back with a playful giggle. She had changed into a pair of skintight spandex pants that clung to every curve of her bulging lower body. Her thick squared off glutes, tiny waist and curved up quads that seemed to cast her small knee joints in shadows, were all hugged and highlighted by the skintight material. On her top, she was sporting a sports bra which was cut high revealing her armor-plated stomach and allowing her thick vein covered arms to hang at her sides propped up from the meat of her thick back.
Both the pants and the sports bra were emblazoned with the company’s logo.
“Well, we got to get you jacked up and into some Pro-Ex gear. Here you go, Lawrence.” Said Tony, the shorter of the two who looked like he can easily step off the floor and play running back for a division one college.
Tony tossed me a Pro-Ex shirt and dug out from behind the table a large handful of samples of different energy bars, pre-workout and protein powder.
“Yeah, you better treat my manager right!” Jinni said playfully coming up behind me and putting her sculpted hands protectivly on my shoulders.
“You okay?” She asked bending down and drawing close.
I nodded as I pulled the shirt on as the convention hall opened and was flooded with people.
###
As the hall filled up, I pretty quickly got the gist of how the day was to go. Jinni had set up a huge stack of glossy photos of herself, and a line began to form around, full of eager patrons of the convention.
Jinni would sign photos that I would grab – take snaps, which I would help out with and then pass the eager fitness buffs a handful of Pro-Ex samples that I was also in charge of prepping.
Far from being a drag, I was soon thrust into the swing of things and felt the energy of all the people at the event. As well as being around Jinni began to fuel me.
I would often sit and watch the cast of people moving by, the men huge and muscular and the women looked like they had all fallen off the front pages of the most insane bikini spreads imaginable. Boobs so big and pushed up they threatened to hit there chins ,all showing off flat stomachs in their tight-fitting clothes.
My people watching was monetarily interrupted as I heard –
“Jinni-dahling…” in a thick, Spanish accent. The voice was high pitched but at the same time had the bass-gruffness of a smoker.
My head snapped to follow the sound, and I had that odd feeling, it was coming from a tall women with dark, Latina features, dark hair… and I thought for a moment it may have been a friend of Jinni's from back in Hawthorne or maybe a person from the college. I had that feeling because I was sure I recognized her. But what I was actually experiencing was a feeling akin to seeing a celeb and confusing them with a friend from high school. I could see now that the woman was, in fact, Paloma Silva the famed Venuzlian heavyweight bodybuilder, currently ranked #1 in the world! And a headache as far as Mrs. J’s efforts to climb the rankings as she had usually finished in the top spot at the Mrs. Olympia almost five years running and now had moved her dominance over the Rising Phoenix, the current contest whose winner was generally considered number 1 in the world.
I had of course seen pictures of Paloma online many times, and I had.. ergh… let us just say, been intimate with her… even though she would of course not know that
It was hard not to – towering near 5’10 she was bodybuilding royalty. A former model with long black hair and exotic feature and curves that didn’t seem possible on a human being. But seeing this exquisite creature in real life was indeed something else. Paloma was clad in skintight white jeans which seemed to want to burst at the seams under her famous bulging Brazilian thighs and titanticaly muscled glutes, and a pair of heels pushed her near six feet. She was huge and even made Mrs. J seem like (somewhat) small in comparison. It was crazy to see this woman in real life. The photos I had seen online and in mags didn’t do her justice and seemed to flatten her, as if shrinking her down to just a small digital image. But in real life she was huge. Her big broad back dwarfing many of the guys at the show.
She stopped at the booth and flipped her long mane of raven black hair over her broad shoulders and knelt slightly to give Mrs. Jones a hug. I winced a bit as I felt an electric charge of excitement fire through me as I saw Paloma’s burly, silicon enhanced chest push hard into Mrs. Jones iron pumped pecs as the two hugged, momentarily mashing their massive chest regions against each other. I couldn’t help imagine what that felt like to be stuck in between there. The hard, stretched silicon forced against the muscle mass would surely be enough pressure to turn coal into diamonds.
Watching the two women try and navigate their thickly developed pectorals was like watching two oil tankers try to dock.
After the huge Paloma straightened herself up, jabbing her plastic enhanced chest out to such a degree, I wondered the struggle her internal system must go through just to balance herself. Let alone stand on her tall, log leg enhancing high heels she was currently sporting.
The gigantic and the buffed up MILF were stopping traffic on the main floor, and I noticed people whipped out their phones merely to start filming the two buffed up ladies interaction.
“You look good… big…” Said Paloma tripping over English with her light Spanish accent. All while playfully squeezing Mrs. Jones arms. I noticed Mrs. Jones mirrored the action back as if the two titanically built women were checking out each other the way you’d kick a car's tires.
And as Paloma’s big, muscular hands continued to needs and squeeze Mrs. J’s arms, triceps and shoulders in a full test of their tactile strength I felt a pang of envy. There was the feeling that these two women had built their bodies up with such extreme dedication that they were members of a club. A special club. And once you had proven your membership with your extreme commitment to your body, your diet, you were given full access to touch, test and prod someone else’s physique rewarded your sacrifice.
“You look… amazing…” Mrs. J said back, apparently in awe or the gargantuan Venizualian who playfully took the comment and whipped her ponytail over shoulders an NFL linebacker would envy.
“I don’t know… I feel a little flat…” Paloma said with the same insecurity of a regular women checking on her butt in a department store mirror. Only she then proceeded to cock her arm in front of Jinni and flexing a bicep peak, which was so big – It literally covered Mrs. Jones’ face. I kid you not.
Standing there watching this interaction, it was odd. I had, of course, looked at photos of Paloma online, but in person, as I said before she actually appeared ‘too big.’ Although I had imagined myself being intimate with her as I peruse her photo sets, now seeing her in real life – I was almost scared. Mrs. Jones compact, albeit massively pumped body with its muscles and curves seemed just fine to me – Paloma, while standing so close to her I literally felt flashes of adrenalin, fearing for my safety if something happened and she went Hulk and got angry.
Soon the two buffed up women parted ways, and Paloma gave Jinni a cute wave ‘Okay… see you in a few weeks…’ she said in her accent, which I did notice was undercut with a gruffness to her voice which seemed suspiciously deep and low for a female.
‘Yep… see you, sweetie.’ Mrs. Jones said and gave the buffed up brunette one last hug, and it almost appeared as if Mrs. Jones herself seemed to savor the mashing and the duo’s muscular chests once again pressed up against each other.
Watching that exchange I couldn’t help but wonder, and also observe in Mrs. Jones eyes, a sort of mischievous glee as if she loved the muscular poking, prodding, and power of feeling up against Paloma’s sizeable muscular chest herself. It wasn’t lost on me that these powerful women seemed to get off on each other’s muscles maybe as much as they got off on their own. And why shouldn’t they? They more then anyone else would know what went into building these bodies they paraded around.
But soon my reverie was interrupted as I saw Mrs. Jones fumble nervously and gather a few items as she exhaled under her breath… ‘And… here goes…’
It was odd to see her flustered. Perhaps the first time I had ever seen her that way. The cause of this disturbance? A tiny, grey-haired man in a skintight muscle shirt whose bulging biceps and swelled chest looked like someone had inserted overly inflated tires under his skin. The little man walked swinging his huge arms and spoke with a thick German accent as he approached our table –
“Jinni-fer! Jinni-fer!” he called out excitedly as he strode over to us. His bulk clearing out a pathway as he came over.
This man, whose chest and upper body was so massively muscled it, seemed impossible he would ever be able to put his arms flush against his body. I soon recognized him as Uri Kingman, or Uri ‘The Champion Trainer’ as he was called in some of the muscle mags I had purchased off of newsstands, in a desperate search for more women who looked like Mrs. Jones. Uri wrote a column, and I knew, trained many of the highly ranked male bodybuilders. His training techniques were often seen as highly unique (weird, contractions holds, etc.) but the results spoke for themselves as many of his clients had gone to win major titles, including the past two Mr. Olympias.
I could gather from the interaction that Mrs. Jones was one of Uri’s clients. This would, of course, explain so much, how her muscles seemed to have a sculpted, aesthetic 3d shape that set her so far ahead of the rest of her competition.
“There she is—okay to let me see it…” Said Uri as he approached the table and got uncomfortably close to Mrs. Jones. I momentarily felt a desire to protect her despite that fact that Uri seemed as thick as he was wide, but Jinni appeared to welcome the attention, if not entirely, but with only some slight reservations – which made me relax and decide to let unfold whatever was to happen.
“Okay… Let's see these compulsories…” Uri said as he began to walk Mrs. Jones through the compulsory poses she’d need to do onstage at her upcoming competition that I believe I heard Uri say was the Nationals.
But as Uri led Mrs. Jones through her poses as she strained, pumped and flexed for him, the young girl who had walked over to our booth, at Uri’s side, momentarily diverted my attention.
As Uri peered at Mrs. Jones over his glasses, my eyes glanced over to Uri’s companion. I had seen him walk over to the table with another girl, but now that they were close by I could get a better look. Looking at her face first, she was young and blonde with her golden spun hair done up in a ponytail. And as I looked closer at her, I gauged her age at reasonably close to mine. She had big eyes, and her makeup looked like it had been done fast and cheap, that wasn’t to say she looked unattractive just unsophisticated. And her bold perky lips regularly showed two buck teeth with a small gap in the middle of them which would appear when she smiled. Far from making her look unattractive, these added a sort of innocence to her that was highly alluring.
But to be honest, it wasn’t her face that most people would look at. Not as she was dressed now. She was wearing a bright yellow tube top and small daisy duke type denim shorts. It was an outfit I noticed had been selected by her with the design to show off her body to its fullest…. And what a body it was.
I had been gazing at fantastic physiques all day, and standing by the most fantastic one at least in my opinion: Mrs. Jones. I had gone a bit numb. But this girls’ body was definitely a jaw dropper. She lacked the heavyweight bulk of Mrs. J but instead looked longer and leaner. With everything on her upper body looking incredibly developed. She was tall, and her physique seemed as if someone had taken a hardcore FBB and stretched her out. That’s not to say she wasn’t muscular, far from it. The girl’s tube top showed off a huge pair of shoulders that seemed almost disgustingly muscular and thick. In fact, they looked jaring on such a young girl.
It looked in fact like Uri had shoved thick basketballs under her thin, clear skin. Taking in her sizeable upper body, I could see that her back was huge as well, pressing her thick arms out, giving her shape an impossibly inverted V-shape. And standing there I wondered (was she Uri’s wife? Girlfriend? Daughter?) It was odd to see two people (Uri short in stature and the girl, tall) but both with this distinct feature of arms unable to touch at their sides due to their full development. I flashed to an image of a family unable to walk into their front door without having to turn sideways first.
All this led the eyes down to her acres of visible abs. Obviously, her pride and joy as they were exposed for all to see. This girl may have had the best abs I had seen. Thick and running along each side of her abdomen. One, two, three…. Four… five… up… and the other side. Fuck! This young girl had the elusively developed 10 pack that only the most extreme of all athletes seemed to be able to developed. Each thick abs pressed hard and out, fluttering lightly as she breathed, under her perfected skin, before disappearing down into her low cut denim shorts.
The effect was odd because although her legs were toned, they didn’t even come to close to he extreme development of her upper body. She was the pre-eminent example of the old gym joke, ‘don’t skip leg day.’ And it was as if some mad professor had told her to only focus on building her upper body, bigger and bigger.
The entire thing was utterly mind-blowing to behold… and I couldn’t help but get the sinking feeling as I was looking at someone or something… that seemed a bit off. A bit unnatural. But my gaze taking in her body, which she appeared wholly fine with me doing, was interrupted by her raising a soft girlish hand and giving me a half dainty wave, followed by a cute, demure smile.
After her impromptu posing performance. Mrs. Jones gave Uri a stern look.
“Enough?” She asked. Her sternness giving way to one of her playful grins.
“Enough. You work. Hard.” Uri said. “You will do well at Nationals… but we still have some work.” He said cryptically.
After a few parting goodbyes and plans to follow up regarding her training Uri get a text that he was needed and bid Mrs. Jones goodbye and held out his hand for his young blond concubine to take it. I watched as they headed off into the crowd of the expo. Uri’s bulging; bulldog body disappearing amongst the throngs of the overly pumped crowd. I scanned for a little bit longer following the blonde’s taut physique and chiseled sports bra shoulders. Looking on a few minutes longer until I finally saw her daisy duke clad chiseled glutes and long, coltish legs disappear as she obediently trotted on her tall legs behind Uri. Looking on for a moment I saw her look over her shoulder, flipping back her blonde ponytail and give me a half wave and was gone.
I looked up to see Mrs. Jones looking over at me. Smiling somewhat mischievously. I wasn’t sure if she had caught the interaction between me and the blonde. I wasn’t sure if she cared for that matter. Mrs. Jones seemed to at times catch every detail and also appear entirely unaware as if the trifling’s of us regular humans couldn‘t interfere with the goings on between her and the other gods on Mt Olympus.
“You must be starved, Lawrence. Let's take a break and get you something to eat.” She said as she gave my hair another playful tussle.
###
We had shut down the booth and now made our way through the crowded convention center. Mrs. Jones once again leaned in and playfully wrapped her arm around mine; she was able to convey the gesture in a way that wasn’t romantic. More like a close friend taking you into their confidence.
For our walk over to the convention center’s food court Mrs. Jones had pulled on a tight-fitting grey hooded sweatshirt with the name of her supplement sponsor on the back. I could only imagine she had done this, perhaps to be comfortable, or moreover to avoid any undue attention. Like she was shutting down the show that followed her pumped up physique whereever she paraded it, but in some ways covering up only seemed to have the opposite effect. The thin, subtle material of the hoodie squeezed tightly over her rounded shoulders and clung, stretching to the breaking point trying to contain her bulging biceps. And it was apparent as it pulled and stretched over the curved muscles of her upper body that the shirt, which reached near translucence at specific taxed areas, was made for a woman with a far less developed body.
Mrs. Jones body was a physical impossibility. It seemed almost improbable for a human to look like that. Like an anatomy chart wrapped around a real live woman. As we walked and talked with the closeness of old friends, I would occasionally crane my neck to try to catch glimpses out of the corner of my eye. I couldn’t help but notice how the thick rolls of swells of Mrs. J’s musculature offset the effects of gravity. The thick bulges of her overly developed hamstrings and obviously thickly muscles glutes seemed to push up, forming a muscular shelf which appeared to offset the sag that most women of a certain age sported in her lower hindquarter.
I had to shake out of my discreet gawking as we soon found our way to the food court.
“What do you want. My treat?” Mrs. Jones said, a cheerful smile dancing across her face.
“You don’t have to–“ I began to protest.
“You kidding, I dragged you out here. Bored you by exposing you to all these muscle heads… Hey! Uri’s daughter certainly seemed to take a shine to you.” She said winking.
Daughter? That made sense and would explain the age difference. But still…. It seemed like the daughter was in the some ways playing guinea to Uri’s constructed training schemes. Or if not guinea pig, benefiting from them as she had to be by far once of the most developed humans I have ever seen around my age. Man or woman!
But before I had an answer – Mrs. J had yanked me further along the food court.
“Sebastian loves those… what are they – Which-which…” Mrs. Jones said indicating the shining awning of the sandwich-based food chain.
“The bread has a very low fiber count, and the turkey has a lot of phosphates… but then again, I’m not eating it.” She said cheerily and indicated her lunch in the small Tupper wear container she had carried over from the table.
“Yep. Sure. Which-which is fine.” I said, my head still a bit swimmy, from Mrs. Jones, and from Uri’s over pumped daughter, from meeting Paloma Silvia. From the entire day!
“Welcome to Which….” I heard the cashier say as his eyes fell on Mrs. Jones and he trailed off, and I could clearly see this cashier, who looked close to my age, his eyes were getting tractor beam locked into the exposed muscular cleavage that the combination of Mrs. Jones sports bra and the unzipped front portion of the hoodie offered up for view.
I felt terrible for the poor guy, as I too had fallen prey to that alluring siren call many a time. Luckily I could see him shake himself out of it. He looked over at Mrs. Jones for a moment and then looked back at me as if trying to piece together what the relationship was. Mother/son? Close relative? Boy toy and muscle mommy? I can only imagine what he came up with. Of course as per usual Mrs. Jones was wildly unaware of any of what was unfolding.
“Can you get my friend here whatever he wants…”? She said smiling at the poor cashier who was now entirely under her charms.
I ordered a turkey wrap, trying my best to be good and keep in Mrs. Jones good graces, all though I’m not sure if she actually would have cared if I ordered something terrible for you off the menu. And of course, as we waited for my sandwich the regular circle that followed Mrs. Jones wherever she went began to unfold. Moments after ordering my sandwich a young woman who introduced herself as the manager came out and handed Mrs. Jones a handful of coupons which heralded her next purchase as being 1/2 priced!
Mrs. Jones of course gratefully accepted the coupons and then passed them off to me, her faithful follower (who would no doubt use them, as Mrs. J would never put something as impure as a chain sandwich in her temple of a body.) And I then watched as the manager, and a few other employees talked to her, eagerly animated, each trying to engage and impress the muscle-bound woman in their midst. And of course, after it was all said and done came the photos. Mrs. Jones dutifully slid off the grey top, peeling it off with a slowness and casualness that communicated a complete unawareness of the effect she had on other people.
And I couldn’t help but notice as she pulled off the hoodie, revealing her bulked up muscle bound upper body in all its glory the cashier who had to take our order stared slack-jawed at her as she took her requisite series of photos with her adoring fans.
We ate both of our lunches in relative quiet at one of the tables on the other side of the food court. Not much to see, just a mediocre college soccer player and the overly muscled mother of his one of his old friends enjoying a lunch together
Mrs. Jones looked up from her small container which contained the perfectly pre-measured out servings of rice, chicken breast, and asparagus. One of her six times a day rationing of her perfectly planned out macronutrient rich diet.
“How’s school going?” She asked matter of factly taking an asparagus tip off her bowl and eating it with her fingertips. Her question was so matter of fact it was easy for me to momentarily forget it was coming from the lips of a hardcore female bodybuilder and not just any other of my friend’s parents.
“Good… Good… “ I said, finishing up a bit of my sandwich.
“Okay?” Mrs. Jones asked me quizzically. And as I looked away, she held me in her gaze. Her eyes staring deep into me. And giving me that gaze. The one that held me. The one that told me she was going to get her way no matter what and it was just a matter of time.
“There is… there is this one Professor whose always up my ass…” I said, venting about Professor Jefferies, my history teacher who seemed to take delight in torturing me.
“He always calls on me. I have the work ready, and study hard… but… he just seems to have it out for me.” I said with exasperation.
Mrs. Jones continued to take a look at me. Long and hard and pursed her lips slightly as if turning over my answer. Examining it for truths in her lie detector of a mind.
“You know what I think…” She said pulling another asparagus spear and biting the tip off of it. “I think he’s jealous of you…”
“Yeah. I don’t think so.”
“No, I’m sure… He’s probably looking at you, sitting there in his class and wondering why every girl is looking at you. And not him.”
“Yeah. I don’t think that’s it.” I said with a huff.
“Lawrence, I want to tell you a secret,” Mrs. J said and lowered her eyes, cupping her hand partially over her mouth in a conspirator tone.
“You and me…” She said, leaning in close with the great care of someone taking you into their confidences. “We’re not like everyone else… we’re meant to stand out. Not to blend in – and trust me, it bugs some people. They can’t stand it. And they’ll do anything to try and cut us down.” She said again, chewing hard on the last of her lunch. And I looked at her. Closely. Really looked at her and for a moment, there amongst the raucousness of the food court for a moment I saw a flash of pain briefly behind her eyes and then… and just as quickly. It seemed to pass, and she was back to the chipper Jinni that I had grown to know so well.
“So… lunch break over. Come on. I’m going to put you back to work and really make you earn this two hundred bucks.” She laughed as she toweled off the Tupper wear and rose to head back to the booth.
As we walked back to the booth, I noticed Mrs. Jones had dispersed with the hoodie and held it in one hand at her side. Her back arched up, pecs standing upright, her muscular arms swaying at her sides, slicing through the crowd. And like magic, it seemed as if the crowd seemed to part to let the woman bodybuilder through.
“So… what are we going to do about this professor that is ruining your semester?” She asked me again, intently.
“I don’t know--- study harder…. I guess.” I said trying to come up with my best plan. “There’s a faculty open house next week, and I’m trying to get my parents to come to maybe have some face time with him to try and smooth some things over, but it’s looking like they’ll be traveling on business.”
“How about I come!” Jinni said. Her eyes were bright and vast and vivid all of a sudden.
“No! No! Noooooo…” I said maybe a bit too loudly, so a group of beefy bro’s by some exercise equipment spun their thick necks to look in my direction. It’s not that I don’t want Mrs. Jones there. God, no. I’d walk across a hot desert just to help her pick out paint samples, but I was still struggling with balancing these two spheres of my work. I hadn’t ever told Lizzy what I was doing, and she had no idea about my love for or desire of muscular women. Mrs. Jones being chief amongst those.
There was that, as well as the fact that there still was a possibility of my parents going, and after the incident at the beach all those years ago, my mother had never forgiven Jinni and certainly would not look kindly on her playing stand-in parent.
“I… I really think my parents are going to try and make it though…” I said pulling my self out of the tailspin. Still, Mrs. Jones stared deep at me with those eyes that threatened to crack me open from the inside out.
###
As the day ended the crowd began to disperse, and I helped Jinni and the rest of the team from Pro-Ex pack up from the day.
“I can drive you back Lawrence.” Mrs. Jones said as she put the last of the stuff away and stashed an extra bit of Pro-Ex product in my gift bag.
I told her I was fine and had gotten an Uber over but she was insistent.
“You helped me out, and we don’t do things in half measures.” She said as we put the last of the stuff away.
Later driving back to campus in Mrs. Jones Porsche. The whirr of the traffic outside seemed to glide past in the cool air-conditioned interior, and as I sat on the ivory white seats of the luxury SUV, I couldn’t help but feel safe and protected.
Mrs. Jones would occasionally glance over as if checking on me and we finally pulled into the front entrance area of my school where most of the drop-offs happened.
“Here we are – oh and… your money I almost forgot.”
“I’m fine…”
“Please, you helped me.”
And I agreed. A bit freaked out about what if one of my friends saw me pulling up in an ivory white Porsche SUV with one of the top 10 FBBs in the world chauffeuring me around. What if Lizzie saw me!
Pulling up to the college. Mrs. Jones fished around in the back of the car looking for something.
“Hand me my bag.” She asked. And I reached into the back seat of the SUV, digging through a few exercise straps and some sweat towels that had no doubt been used to towel off Mrs. Jones champion caliber body after many brutal workouts.
I finally found it, digging out a leather purse and passing it to Mrs. J on the driver’s side. And as I brought it out, I could see it was tan and had bright flowers on it. For a moment I was taken aback as the purse was so corny and looked like something one of my mom’s friends may bring over for tea. It was such a vivid reminder that Jinni was, underneath all the muscle, still a well taken care of housewife from the suburbs.
She slowly clipped open the flask of her purse with her well-manicured nails which I could see were painted a shade of pearl white which offset her deeply tanned hands and pulled out her clutch, which too looked like it could have belonged to any SUV driving mom picking up her kids from soccer practice.
“Here you go, Lawrence… “ She said flicking out a set of crisp $100 bills. “And this is for being my bodyguard” She smiled and pulled out an extra hundred. Wow! $300 bucks. I held the money for a second. Even it smelled good, clean, and pure. As if Mrs. Jones was able to retrieve even her cash from someplace us mere mortals weren’t allowed to tread.
“Let me park, and I can walk you back to your dorm.” She said after sliding her purse back behind her seat. My mind hit a panic! As much as I would love to saunter through campus with the jacked up Mrs. J on my arm, the idea of Mrs. Jones now still wearing her skin-tight outfit clinging to her bodybuilder hourglass shape would most doubly cause social problems for me.
“I’m good…” I said too quickly. And right then my phone buzzed with an email. I checked it.
Mrs. Jones looked over at me, and I could see she was looking hard, trying to gauge my expression.
“You okay…” She asked staring at me with her deep blue eyes, looking into my soul. She slowly raised her arm and nuzzled my hair slightly in a playful manner, causing her thick shoulder to bunch up, and the movement sent light ripples down my arm.
“I’m—I’m fine,” I said, and Mrs. Jones bit down hard on her lip. Her bright white teeth sinking seductively into her pink lower lip.
“Let me guess. Your parents. Can’t come to the open house…” I was about to open my mouth to say something, but before I could, Mrs. Jones continued. “That seals it. I’m going.”
“But—“ I began to protest.
“When and where is it?” She said with a touch of sternness. And I sat there feeling very much like a chastised child.
“Where and when is it, Lawrence?”
But I didn’t answer.
“Very well, I can call up the history department. ‘Hello… hi… This is Jinni, Lawrence’s… stepmother… I’m supposed to come to the history open house, but young Lawrence is withholding the information from me… would you be a dear and tell me…” Jinni said playfully while pantomiming how the imaginary conversation might go. She leant over the gear shift panel and gave me a playful tickle, jabbing her strong fingers in my side as I tried to dodge it, but her index and pinky soon found my lower oblique, and she gave me a quick, mighty squeeze with her two fingers, that felt both painful and pleasurable as I finally gave out the information.
“Thursday! 7:30! History department!” I yelled trying to shield myself from the next of her poking’s.
“Great! I’ll see you then.” She said chipperly.
“And it's cocktail attire.”
Jinni pulled down her sunglasses and shot me a look, “Oh really… I was going to come in my posing suit.” She said it bitingly, but still, the comment stirred in my mind that image and I felt a strong ripple of pleasure flash across my body. The perfect anecdote to the still tingly spot where Mrs. Jone’s powerful fingers had tickled me.
“I’ll meet you there… 7:30… And don’t worry Lawrence… I’m not going to embarrass you. “