| Straight: Lusty Liaisons: Moving Teresa (1/6) |
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It was late in the day when someone knocked on my cubicle. I cringed and hoped it wasn't another work request. I looked up from my keyboard and slowly turned around. Theresa stuck her head in sideways. She smiled and walked in. She's a short girl -- no, give her credit, a woman -- wide hipped and small boobed, mid 30s. “What's up? Heading home?” I asked. “You got a minute, George?” she asked in her cute twangy accent. She rested her head against a metal filing cabinet and reclined her body. She wore a lime-green light flannel shirt with small flowers, and a pair of cheap jeans. A little drab. She should have tried a little harder. She looked down at me. “I gotta ask you something.” She has a pretty face and her long brown hair falls straight down. “Sure.” I sat back on my chair and pushed off my desk. “What's up?” “You know I'm new in town. I wouldn't ask if I didn't really need the help. There's pizza in it...” “Is it a party? I can bring a gift. Who's having the birthday?” “You're funny.” She laughed. “No, I was wondering if you had some time, maybe a few hours. I need help moving some boxes. I'm moving apartments. You know how these things work. End of the month, you have to get out. I'm almost done. Just need a little help finishing up. Celia's not very helpful.” Celia's her daughter, 8 or 9 years old. “Sure, I can help. Nothing too heavy, I hope. Where do you live?” “North Seattle.” “I can help anytime. I'm not doing anything all weekend. So let me know.” She glanced quickly at some pictures on my desk. I said, “I'm there when you need me. Anyone else helping?” “Just you and me. You're the first one I asked.” She turned away, a little embarrassed. “Anytime,” I said. She looked at me, “What about today?” I nodded my head up and down, thinking. “I'll have to make a phone call. But I think it'll be okay.” She walked out of my cubicle. Her ass filled out nice. I spoke into the phone. “Hi. I'm going to be late.” *** We rode the bus to her place in North Seattle. “It's going to be about an hour,” she said. “Rush hour makes a mess of I-5.” We sat across the isle from one another. I read, and when I had the chance, took long glances at her. Our eyes met every once in a while. I'd wave and look away. The bus roared and got off the freeway. It turned right and climbed up a long meandering hill. “We're next,” said Teresa. “Let me help you with your backpack,” I said, and walked to the front. I stepped out of the bus into a bright late afternoon. The streets were lined with cherry blossoms on all sides. “So, why did you move to Seattle?” I asked. She was from Kentucky. “I always wanted to live in a big city,” she said. “Small towns don't treat divorced women very well. Everyone knows everyone's business, and they like to talk about it.” “Sounds awful.” “You get crucified, you do anything someone thinks is against religion.” I nodded. “So, you're telling me, they ran you out of town?” “I left,” she said. “I left her father. |
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