Chapter 1

Greta Hamilton never pictured that she would be reduced to a glorified "gopher" girl for some quasi-celebrity because she had spent so much time and effort to prepare for the world of high finance in a well-paying executive position.

Her parents were delighted with her grades in her under-graduate degree and the fact she had graduated from The Wharton School of Business with a post-graduate business degree should have opened doors for her everywhere. Unfortunately, she had the misfortune of looking for employment at a time when experienced people with years of experience were fighting to hold onto their positions and willing to take pay cuts and less perks just to remain employed. The unlucky ones just gave up entirely and took their unemployment checks and acted like it was paid vacation instead of a catastrophe.

She had a huge debt to pay off for her student loans and she really wanted to move out of the family home into a small apartment to have the privacy she needed for social activities.

"Social Activities!"

She knew that was a fancy way of saying she wanted to get laid so badly that she was willing to give the UPS man with the cute shorts a shot at a three pointer on an afternoon when she was the only one at home to receive her mother's new towels. She managed to restrain her urges and made a quick trip to the shower to cool down her emotions. That incident decided her that she needed to get away from the nest sooner rather than later.

It was a full six months after endless job searching that she realized the only paycheck she would be getting would be from a mostly tips food service job or working a cash register at "The Gap" trying to ignore the rudeness of the bossy female supervisors and the indecisiveness of shoppers who were shopping for things they didn't need and probably couldn't afford themselves. She did have an offer of a teaching job at the local neighborhood pre-school but the pay was a pittance because she didn't have a teaching credential like most of the other older teachers with little understanding of the business world or pertinent details of life outside the sphere of five-year olds.

Of course, her concerned parents urged her to consider the position since it was a lot more respectable than working in a restaurant or a retail store in service to the general public.

Greta had never suspected she would be reduced to tears over her inability to find suitable employment. She finally reached a point where she started to spend her mornings in the local Health Club exercising on the machines to trim excess fat cells from her already shapely body. When she started to lose too much weight, she started to eat the protein shakes that the owners were pushing for all of their customers to help create new muscle tissue and eliminate all unnecessary fat from the body.

Most of the customers were middle-aged males but there was a sprinkling of female femme fatales that strategically bent over and exercised in close proximity to the ogling eyes of the jaded clientele.

Greta minded her own business when she was exercising and she didn't mind the fumbling efforts of the mostly married men to offer her advice on her exercise routine. She knew they were probably just fooling around because she was obviously available and wore no wedding ring on her finger.

The assistant manager Candy was the wife of the owner and she offered Greta a job passing out the towels and spotting the clients on the lift machines set to manual operation. It paid a lot better than the pre-school teaching job or the service jobs in retail trade.

When Candy told her that she would have to wear the Health Club uniform she was a bit concerned because it was so skimpy and was cut up high over her buttocks just covering her backside crack and leaving her heart-shaped flanks completely naked to the interested view of all the male customers. She knew some of the female clients were interested as well but deep inside she knew she didn't swing that way and it didn't bother her at all. In fact, she was happy that other people thought she had an attractive body and she made no attempt to dissuade any of them from "accidently" touching her with casual familiarity if they felt the need to communicate with physical touch.

She started to train as a masseuse under the tutoring of the little Japanese woman that had more experience in the manipulation of human flesh than any of the younger girls. Those pretty little things just pretended to be relaxation experts but they used the process to bring the bored males to the edge of a "happy ending" with restrained promise of future abandon. Sometimes, that would result in a fat tip but there was no requirement to do so and they could also be disappointed by the response.

Greta hesitated to actually touch the males in their private regions but the Japanese woman showed her the power of leverage and lubrication and she soon was granting pleasure to males in a way that helped her to achieve her own hidden release and she was able to lose all her inhibitions about such matters without the loss of any of her deep-seated self-pride and shell of dignity.

One of the regulars at the Club was a tall muscular man by the name of Mister Cliff that always asked for Greta to give him a "rub-down" after a workout and she enjoyed giving him a head to toe job that usually included a juicy "happy ending" with anticipated regularity. She never looked for a tip with Mister Cliff because in all honesty Greta felt she was getting more out of it than he received but she was far too shy to admit it.

She was eating her banana and date snack at mid-morning when Mister Cliff approached her and sat down at the small round table next to the vending machines. Most of the machines held healthy things like fruit or protein bars and the drinks were sugar free and plain water for the calorie-conscious clients.

"I see you know the best things to put into your flat little tummy, Greta, that stuff is pure gold for the metabolic system."

Greta hadn't spoken more than a few words with Mister Cliff and had only recently discovered his real name was Clifford Gilmore and that he owned a family business that employed hundreds of people just across the river in the Industrial Park. She had been surprised because she had seen his former wife Nancy Gilmore at her church sitting right in front of her parents with her four children lined up like bowling pins right beside her. She wondered what the beautiful mature Nancy would think of her ex-husband's long joy-stick being serviced by Greta on numerous occasions with joyful manipulations by her talented fingers and well-lubricated palms.