Beggars Can't Be...
Chapter 1: Cute but Just a Tad Too Thin

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Lesbian, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Light Bond, Polygamy/Polyamory, Food, Oral Sex, Violent,

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1: Cute but Just a Tad Too Thin - Kenny has been hurt before. Can he get over his past hurt and open up to new love?

I was between the lab and work (guess who is a grad student) with about forty-five minutes more than I would need to get from one to the other. Naturally, this meant that I would go to enjoy a double latte at my regular coffee stop and ‘enjoy’ the latest piece of earth shattering science from -Geochemica, -Cosmochemica-: a speedball of sorts (simulate, coffee; depressant “Recent advances in the use of extra-terrestrial barium isotope signatures in paleobathic reconstruction: The Rhaetian-Norian transition in Ruritania”). Fortunately for that remnant to my sanity, Liz was working, Liz being a sweet co-ed with long auburn hair and a button nose over whom I wanted to make an ass of myself.

Fortunately for Liz, I had given up making an ass of myself for lent.

Double fortunately for Liz, the weather tempted me out to the patio.

After I had gotten my coffee and used the rest room mirror to get my tie done up for work, I chose a sunny spot at the far corner of the deck, sat at an umbrella-less mesh-top patio table and started to enmesh myself in the tangle of jargon I had brought to read. I like to read at this shop versus the library because there are just enough distractions to keep me from going stir crazy, but it doesn’t have the commotion of the places around campus. It takes about a five-minute drive to the stripmall that gives it the business needed to stay around (but not enough to attract the evil Starbuck’s). The view is, thus, limited to the storefronts, the parking lot they surround, and a bank across the way. Oh, yes and the occasional babe.

Speaking of which...

The woman stepped from a white car, which she had parked so the first view I had of her would be her legs, encased in hose/stockings, and a pair of simple, black, short-heeled pumps. I watched, I admit, even though they lacked the full sweeping arch I most adore in a woman’s calf. Why? because there was just something that caused that little bad part of me to say, “Tayka look at dem gams, Mr. Gamera.” I have given up at trying to guess or figure out or brood about the aesthetics of girl watching; I have learned to just enjoy the feelings that an attractive woman inspires.

And she did inspire such feelings.

Her dark gray skirt fell to a reasonable spot, just below her knee by maybe a centimeter, tailored to be not loose, yet following the shape of her body without clinging to it.

This gave a just tempting hint at the shape of her butt, which I guessed to be slim, yet still high and curved. I wished for a moment that she had worn shorts or a pair of tight jeans.

Definitely tight jeans, I thought, as she smoothed her skirt a tad. She was built to wear tight jeans. (Yes, guys are pigs, but you seem to like us anyway, ladies. Don’t ask me why.)

She turning away from her smoothing just as the former thought went through my head, and as the gods of perversity would have it, she looked right at me. I don’t mean that she looked in my direction, but that she looked right at me.

We made eye contact at a distance of two healthy non-asian built car lengths.

There is a feeling that at least I get as I pass a cop on the interstate; my heart will speed up and I quickly look down at the speedometer though I have my cruise control set to the limit. That feeling that the state trooper somehow knows what I want to do and as if somehow I have been caught.

I was caught.

Big time.

And she knew I knew.

She smiled a smile that a screenwriter would have called ‘knowing’ with just a tad of bemusement. I think. I don’t know for sure because I quickly averted my eyes and went back to my reading, in the moral equivalent to the causal walk of a thief as he saunters away from a burglary. I resisted the urge to whistle.

That would have made it too damned obvious.

Not that it wasn’t already.

I glanced up by moving only my eyes to take just a peek.

She was not watching me (sound of held breath being released), but instead she had closed her car’s door and began to strut to the bank (sound of additional held breath being released). Her skirt swished back and forth in that way a tight skirt just won’t even try to mimic, amplifying the rolling gait of her retreating behind.

I looked at my watch to see that I had just spent twenty minutes to have only succeeded in embarrassing myself and to read “Sedimentologists have long looked for evidence of the depositional depth of sedimentary rocks lacking either fossils of organisms that provide adequate paleoecologic information of depth or fossils entirely. Additionally, even when the proper organisms are preserved, taphnomic conditions may not...” about five times. And I had not drank enough latte to ensure that I would need to grab a to go cup for the drive to work.

With a mighty sigh, I proceeded to knuckle down and actually begin reading the paper I needed to read for at least the time I had before I needed to leave. I did well, and I had made it to the end of the methods section and finished half my coffee, when a voice from the seat next to mine startled me from my concentration enough to make me jump.

I looked up and I saw her. Yes, that her, the woman whose lower anatomy I had written about above. While she was sitting on her fairly nice hind end, I recognized the gray skirt, the white blouse, and the long, brown hair I had noticed, but hadn’t gotten to admiring, which are two very different things. I could now see that her eyes were also brown, but a very light brown like that of oak wood, not the dark, almost black of some people’s eyes. Still, they shone as if they were darker and reflected the same light that shone on her smile.

“Sorry,” she said in a soft voice. “I didn’t realize that you so absorbed in what you were reading.”

“Uh,” I said in the most suave way a startled, embarrassed, and guilty guy could manage and still sound like a dork.

“I hope you don’t mind my joining you, but I thought that you might like some company.”

“Uh,” I again replied as different parts of my brain went to find where the clever, witty part was hiding.

She stretched to look around my hand at the photocopied pages it held (you honestly don’t think I could afford to subscribe to -Geochemica-Cosmochemica-?). “What are you reading that is so interesting,” she asked.

“Uh,” went that part of the brain not occupied with looking for the witty, clever part, before it found a store of words with more syllables. “A science article.”

“What is it about?”

I glanced down at it, then looked at her with a sheepish grin.

“About twelve pages,” I replied while I thought to myself that I may have been better off with ‘uh’ and that her dentist deserved a prize for that smile. Her pouty pinkish red lips framed those beautifully white teeth. A vision of my penis sliding into that mouth popped into my head (see above note re, men, pigs, etc.)

She giggled.

“I apologize,” I said as I shook my head. “I was just caught off guard, and I am sometimes a little too goofy for my own good.”

“That’s fine.”

“Besides, I don’t think you’ll understand it.” Her lips turned down just a tad. “‘Cause, I don’t understand it and I’m a trained professional!”

She laughed, again. “You are goofy. Besides bad comedy and staring at women, what do you do?”

I blushed.

“I’m a grad student at the university.” She shifted herself so that her chin rested in her right palm with her arm resting on the tabletop. She leaned toward be just a tad more. She looked right at my eyes. I wanted to play with my collar, ala Rodney Dangerfield, but resisted the urge. “In Geo-chemistry.”

“That’s interesting. I teach science at Gil Thropp Junior High.”

“What subject,” I asked as I did not look with all my will at her left leg, which swung back and forth as it rested over her right. Instead, I glanced away from her gaze.

“A little of everything, mostly biology.” I wondered to myself if she was available for an anatomy lesson. “We have a half day today so I thought I would go to the bank. Maybe, get a late lunch as well. Is the food good here?”

“Avoid the cornball. And get chips instead of the pasta salad; it’s kinda bland.”

“Are you eating?”

“No,” I look at my watch. “In fact, I need to go to work.”

“At the university?”

“No,” I replied as I took a huge swallow of coffee and threw my stuff together. She followed as I went inside.

“I’m an assistant manager at Mr. Slot’s, at the Towne Mall. Grant money ran out.”

“Well, I’m Jenny.” She presented me her hand. I took it and introduced myself. She than removed a small Dayplanner© from her bag. “What’s your number, Ken? I’d like to give you a call sometime this weekend.”

“Sure, no problem,” I said before I rattled off the digits to my number. “Can I have yours too?”

She gave me hers after explaining, “I like to get the guy’s number. They don’t always call me after they promise,” she winked at me, “especially after I catch them checking me out.”

At that note, she went to the counter to order from Liz, while I dumped my cup in a bus tub and went out the door.

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