[continued from previous message]

So who really knows for sure? ...

Feel free to reprint or take credit for it
(as if I could stop you), but please don't make
any changes, or I won't write anything new!

More of TooMuchTime's erotic writings can be found here ... http://www.asstr.org/~TooMuchTime/

PETER'S HOMECOMING, Part 1 (m F F cons busty)

by TooMuchTime (TooMuchTime2002@hotmail.com)

Copyright(c) 2003, TooMuchTime. All rights reserved.

Despite growing up there, Peter hadn't been to Nogard, Pennsylvania in about 5 years -- not since his parents got divorced and his mother moved
them up to Maine to live with his grandparents. Now he was 13, on a
Greyhound bus, heading back home again ... if Nogard could still even be
called home any more. All he knew was that after several years of
pestering, his mother had finally caved in, and agreed to let him stay in Jersey with his father for the summer, while school was out. He'd seen his father sporadically since the divorce, but it always it had been in Maine,
and usually only for a weekend at a time. Now they had a chance to spend 3 months together, and Peter was hoping to make the best of it.

The only trick was, his father didn't know about it yet.

Peter wasn't sure exactly how he'd pulled it off, but somehow, he'd managed
to convince his mother that everything was in place. Truth to tell, she absolutely hated Peter's father, and was perfectly happy to never talk to
him at all. So over the years, the three of them had established a pattern whereby Peter was the go-between for any kind of communication, whether it concerned alimony, child support, family members dying, or in this case,
his
3-month visit to Nogard. She fully believed that his father would be
picking him up at the bus station, and as long as Peter called her shortly after he got there, to let her know everything would be okay, she would continue to believe that.

As for why Peter felt the need to be so sneaky on this matter ... that was
easy. The bottom line was that he couldn't be sure if his father would
want
him around all summer. Yet he knew his father was a good guy, so if Peter simply showed up on his doorstep, there was no way he'd turn him away. Or
at least he hoped so. One thing was for certain, though: having finally gotten his mother's approval for this trip, there was no way in hell Peter
was going to let his father screw it up for him. They were going to have
some "quality time" together if it killed them both.


* * *


The bus pulled into Nogard in the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday.
According to plan, Peter used the payphone in the bus stop to call his
mother and let her know he'd arrived safely. She suspected nothing. Then, after a deep breath, he threw his large dufflebag suitcase over his back
and
started the 15-block trek to where his father's bar was located -- which
was
right next door to where his apartment was located. The bar was called Nog Hill, and it was basically a strip club with a couple of pool tables.

Peter knew exactly where the Nog Hill was, because he'd spent some time there as a kid, whenever his mother had to work and his father had to take
care of him. In fact, the bar was where his parents had met, a few years before he was born. His father was still just a bouncer at the time, and
his mother was a waitress there for all of a year or so. They apparently
hit it off, and they stayed involved even after his mother got fired for pouring a drink on the head of a man who grabbed her ass one too many
times.
The rest was history.

By the time he reached the bar, Peter was just about ready to collapse.
He
wasn't a big kid by any stretch of the imagination -- five-feet-two-inches
tall on a good day, and so skinny that his friends back in Maine called him Scarecrow. As soon as he approached, he could see that his father had done
a great job of turning the place around after he bought it. The entire downtown area seemed to have gone through some kind of economic boom over
the past few years, and all of the store fronts looked much cleaner than
they used to, Nog Hill's included. In a couple of places, where there had
used to be buildings, there were now wide, well-lit parking lots, one of
them right across from the bar. Nog Hill itself had expanded from one
building into two, and despite the presence of broad purple windows,
managed
to look very tasteful and subdued from the outside.

"Well," Peter mumbled to himself, as he crossed the street, "here goes nothing."

He first went to the door of his father's apartment, and rang the bell. When there was no answer, he rang again. And when there was still no
answer, he realized how stupid he was being. It was a Saturday afternoon.
In a few hours, it would be Saturday night. Obviously his father would be
at the club itself, taking care of business. So Peter grabbed his duffle
bag and walked a few feet over to the next door -- the entrance to Nog Hill.

As he stepped inside, the light level decreased dramatically, and his eyes
took a few moments to get adjusted. By the time they had, he could see
that
this part of the place was empty of customers, and set up a bit differently than he remembered it. Up here in the front, there were only the pool
tables (three now, instead of two), the doors to the bathrooms, and a
short,
mirror-backed bar. Loud music emanated from the rear of the room, from
behind a thick purple curtain, and that's where Peter guessed the actual
"strip club" would be ... as well as whatever paying customers were out at
this time in the afternoon on a Saturday.

The only person in the room was a large, gorilla-shaped man, playing pool
by himself. Within seconds, he saw Peter, slapped the cue stick down, and crossed the room toward him. He didn't look happy. Arms crossed and
glaring down, the man said, "What the hell are you doing in here?"
Apparently, he was the bouncer.

Peter craned his neck upward. "I ... um ... I'm looking for my father?"

"Yeah right, kid. Nice try. Now get out."

"Huh? What? No, I am. Honest." Just then, to the left of the gorilla,
Peter saw one of the dancers emerge from behind the thick purple curtain
and
walk behind the bar. She was blonde, her shoulder-length hair was curly,
she wore a shiny silver dress that seemed to reflect light like a disco
ball, and had a pair of tits so big that they almost looked inhuman. More importantly, though, she actually looked familiar to him. Or her face did anyway ... kind of. Very pretty, with huge blue eyes framed by heavy
mascara. The rest of her -- the shiny dress, the gargantuan boobs --
looked
out of place for some reason. In his mind's eye, he was picturing her with more reasonable proportions ... wearing a t-shirt and jeans ... yes, that
was it. Back when he used to come here, she'd been a waitress, not a
dancer.

Peter immediately pointed over at the bar. "She knows my father," he said.
"And me too ... I think."

The gorilla appeared doubtful, but swung around toward the dancer anyway.
"Hey, Trixie?"

Trixie paused at pouring herself a soda. "Yes?"

"This kid says he knows you."

But Trixie looked a bit skeptical herself. "He does?" She had the remains
of a southern drawl that had never quite faded after years of living in the Northeast.

"Yes you do," Peter said. "My father is Robert O'Toole."

The gorilla sputtered, "What? Bobby's your dad?"

"That's what I was trying to say!"

"Trix, can you vouch for this?"

Recognition dawned on Trixie's face. "Oh my god! Petey, is that you?"

Peter took a deep breath. Finally, he thought. "Yeah, it's me."

"It's okay, Walter," the dancer said. "This is Bobby's kid alright. He
and I go way back."

Peter couldn't help but smile at the bouncer. "Your name is Walter?"

"Yeah, you got a problem with that?" Walter the Gorilla simply glared at
him again. "Trix, get this kid out of my face before I forget who he is,
and accidentally flush him down the toilet."

"Sure thing. My next set isn't for another ten minutes or so anyway." She
made her way out from behind the bar. "I was just headed to the office to
sit down. Come on, Petey, follow me."

Peter grabbed his duffle bag and did as he was told, following behind the
curtain and into the back. What he saw back there was a large room with mirrors on all sides and a long silver stage jutting out into the middle of
it. Shiny tables and chairs surrounded it, and maybe a quarter of them
were
filled with patrons. Meanwhile, on stage was a single dancer with long
black hair, olive-skinned, thin, with sizable breasts and legs that went on forever. She wore some skimpy red lingerie and gyrated to the heavy metal music, while using one of two stage-to-ceiling poles both for support (and
as something to hump). Surprised at the sight of the sexy woman, Peter
forgot he was supposed to be following Trixie, and just stood there for
several seconds, watching the show, as an erection began to grow in his
shorts.

Trixie cleared her throat, pulling Peter out of his reverie. He turned to
see her standing in front of a door, an amused expression on her face, her
hand on the knob. "Right this way," she said.

"Oh. Okay." After one last glance at the stage, Peter followed her through the door and down a short hallway. On one side of the hall was a doorway, with another at the far end. The door on the left was open as
they
walked by, and through it, he could see a row of mirrors and chairs, as
well
as racks of clothing. Presumably a dressing room. In front of one of the mirrors was a dancer applying some makeup -- she had spikey, platinum
blonde
hair, a tiny frame, and small, outstandingly perky tits with bright pink nipples. At the moment, she was only wearing a pair of thong panties, and
once again, Peter found himself too distracted to remember to keep walking.

The dancer caught him out of the corner of her eye, and turned. "Hey, handsome," she said, smiling.

"Um. Hi."

Again, Trixie had to clear her throat to get his attention.

"Um. Bye," he said, and as the petite dancer giggled, he follow Trixie through the door at the end of the hallway.

In this room, there was a desk, a few chairs, two long couches, a large television, a kitchenette with a full-sized fridge, a large wardrobe, and a door that opened into what was clearly a decent-sized bathroom, complete
with a shower. "You can just throw your suitcase over there in the
corner,"
Trixie said. "Nobody will bother with it."

As he put his bag down, Peter noticed that one glaringly obvious thing was
missing.

"Where's my dad?" he asked, turning to Trixie, who was getting ice from the
freezer to put in her soda. He found himself unable to keep from
staring at
the incredible proportions of her body. With heels on, she topped him
by at
least 9 inches, if not more. Her waist was thin, her hips were wide, and
her chest ... well, that was clearly bought, because knew they hadn't been
that big before. Not that he was complaining. Among the things he'd grown
to appreciate since he'd hit puberty was a healthy pair of huge tits --
real
or otherwise.

"Well, the thing is," Trixie said, "he's not here. He went to Florida for
the weekend."

Peter tried not to look as disappointed as he felt. "Oh."

"But I think he said he'd be back on Monday morning," Trixie added, clearly
trying to comfort him.

Again, all he could think to say was, "Oh."

"Do you have a key to his apartment?" Trixie asked.

Peter sat down on one of the couches and shook his head. "No. Do you?"

Trixie put her drink down on an end table and joined him on the couch. "I'm afraid not, sugar. You know how your father is. He'll let Walter run
the bar for him when he's out of town, but he doesn't trust anybody with
his
personal things. The only person I can think of who would have a key is
his
girlfriend ... and she's with him."

"Oh," Peter said again, and stared across the room at the TV, which wasn't
on.

"What happened?" Trixie asked. "Did he forget you were coming?"

"Not exactly," he said. "He kind of didn't know."

She put a firm hand on his shoulder. "Petey, you didn't run away from home, did you?"

"No. My mom knows I'm here." He tried to ignore how much excitement her
touch was causing him.

"But your father doesn't?" She sounded as confused as he felt.

"Something like that. It's kind of a long story."

"Not really," Trixie said. "Don't forget, I remember when you guys were
all together. My first day here, my job was to make sure YOU didn't go in
the back room and get in any trouble. Now look at me. All these years
later, and I'm still trying to keep you out of the back room." With this,
she smiled, then mussed his hair up.

Peter laughed, in spite of his disappointment. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she said. Then, after a pause, "I guess you must miss him an
awful lot."

"My dad? Yeah. Sometimes."

"So were you trying to surprise him?"

Peter nodded. "Basically."

"Well, it's too bad he wasn't here, because he would have loved seeing you
walk in that door the way you did."

"You think so?"

"Do I think so?" Trixie stood, and walked over to the desk, where she picked up several framed pictures and handed them to Peter. They were all photos of he and his father together, during his various visits to Maine.
"Yes, I think it's pretty safe to say that he would be pretty happy to see you."

"Cool," Peter said, starting to feel better.

"How long are you here for?" she asked.

"The whole summer. Hopefully."

"Why ... well ... the whole summer? And here I am thinking it was just a
couple of days!"

He shook his head. "My mom said I can stay till it's time to go back to
school."

"Well, that changes everything." Trixie smiled widely. "All we have to do
then is keep you out of trouble for the next day or so, and you'll still be able to surprise him, just like you wanted to."

When put this way, Peter realized that the situation wasn't as grim as he'd
thought it was. "Yeah," he said. "But ... if I can't get into his
apartment, then I don't have anyplace to stay."

"True." She began to pace around the room, her heels clacking dully on the
carpeted floor and her tits jiggling ever-so-slightly inside her dress.
"Hm. I suppose ..." She looked around the room. "No ... you'd never
get a
moment's peace if you stayed here. Once things pick up tonight, people
will
be in and out of here every five minutes."

"I don't care," he said.

"Yeah, but ... well, let's just say there's other reasons I can't go into
right now. Not the least of which is that Walter wouldn't like it very
much, and he'd probably give you a hard time."

"Oh."

Trixie paced a bit more, then finally came to a decision. "I tell you what, sugar. If you can just keep yourself busy here for a few hours, I'll
be done my shift, and then you can go home with me."

"Seriously?" Go home with a busty stripper? Peter thought this sounded
too good to be true.

"Sure thing. I'm not too sure what my roommate will think ..." At this,
she laughed awkwardly. "But she works here too. She's heard Bobby talk
about you before. I'm sure she won't mind."

"Um ... that would be great. Thanks."

Trixie glanced at the clock on the wall. "Shit. Almost time for my set.
Have to run, darlin." She made her way to the door, then stopped. "Oh, there's soda and some things to eat in the fridge. Help yourself to
whatever you want. You might want to smell it first, though. Bathroom's
over there. Remote control is there. And ... I guess that's about it. I should be back in about twenty minutes. Unless somebody wants a lap
dance.
But don't worry, I'll be back eventually. Have fun!" With this, she
smiled, waved, then disappeared, pulling the door shut behind her.


* * *


Ten minutes later, Peter had changed out of his sweaty clothes and into something dry, and was now in the process of heating up a frozen bean
burrito in the microwave. When the door opened, letting in a barrage of
music from the stage area, he half-expected it to be Trixie, but quickly realized it was too soon for that. Instead, it was the girl with long
black
hair and even longer legs who he'd seen dancing before. She wore a pair of tiny red panties, red heels, and a red satin low-cut babydoll nightie that
was tied with a bow between her breasts, then opened into an inverted V
that
exposed her tummy and navel. Clearly winded after her set, her olive skin glistened with sweat. She paused at the door, apparently just as surprised
to seem him there as he was to see her.

"Oh. Hello?" she said, her confusion showing in her deep black Latina eyes.

With much effort, Peter willed himself not to look down at her chest -- although he had taken a quick glance at it when she first stepped into the room. Certainly not as big as Trixie's, yet despite this, no less
impressive. Her tits were the size of softballs, and perfectly shaped,
with
nipples that showed clearly through the thin material and seemed to ride
high on the breasts, pointing more upward than outward. He didn't
particularly know much about fake boobs, but he was willing to bet that
hers
might just be. Again, though ... not that he was complaining.

"Hi," Peter said, as the microwave beeped at him.

"Am I in the wrong place, or are you?" the dancer asked, seemingly unconcerned with her own state of undress.

"I guess it's me," he replied. "I'm --"

"Oh wait," she said, and turned toward the desk. "You're the one in the
pictures, right?"

He nodded. "Yeah, that's me."

"So you're Bobby's kid, eh?" She smiled, closing the door behind her --
this had the immediate effect of making the room ten times quieter. "I'm Linda," she said, walking toward him, and offered a well-manicured hand.
Red nails, he noticed, which were probably meant to match the red
lingerie.
Like Trixie, Linda was taller than him, but not by nearly as much. He suspected that without the heels on, they'd be close to the same height. Although what a shame that would be, because he thought she looked really
good in the heels.

He shook her hand. It was very warm and a bit sweaty, like the rest of her. "I'm Peter."

"So ... visiting your old man, eh?" she asked.

"Yeah." He took the burrito out and put it on a paper towel.

"I thought he was away for the weekend."

"He is." Peter thought about explaining, but then just said, "I was a couple days early."

Linda nodded. "Hey, that's not my dinner by any chance, is it?"

He glanced down at the burrito. "Is it? I'm sorry. Trixie said --"

"It's okay," she said, smiling. "You had no way of knowing."

"No, really, you can have it. I'm not that hungry." He held it out to her.

"Tell you what. Why don't we share it?" With this, she gently took the
burrito from him, wrapped her hand around it, and took the first bite.
Peter thought he had perhaps never seen anybody eat anything so erotically
in his whole life -- although perhaps the fact that she was wearing
lingerie
skewed his perception of the whole experience. First she wrapped her
painted lips around it, seemed to hold them there for a second, then slowly sunk her teeth in, all the while pursing her lips outward. When she pulled
it away from her mouth, some of the filling dripped out onto her chin. She tried to catch it with her tongue, but failed to do so in time, and instead
had to use her fingers to wipe it away. Which she then licked clean. Then
she handed the burrito back to him again.

"Um. Thanks," he said, and took a quick bite of his own, then handed it
back to her before she'd even had a chance to finish chewing the first bite she'd taken. "Here you go."

"Actually, I think that's all I need right now. You can have the rest."

"Are you sure?" He really wanted to see her take another bite.

"I'm sure." Instead, she stepped over to the fridge, leaned into it, searched around in the back, and came out with a small bottle of water. As
she leaned her head back and guzzled the entire bottle down at once, Peter
had a good ten seconds to stare at her tits. Perhaps because her
overheated
body had just been standing in front of the cool fridge, Linda's nipples
were now extremely perky, and the sight immediately brought his dick to
life. Once she'd finished the bottle, she glanced over in his
direction, as
if to say something, and as fast as he'd been to divert his eyes to her
face, he hadn't been fast enough. She looked down at her chest, then back
up at him, smirking from one side of her mouth. "See something you like?"
she asked, her tone teasing.

Peter blushed twenty shades of red. "Huh? No. I just ... no."

"You know, you should probably do something with that burrito, before it
explodes."

Confused, Peter looked down at what was in his hand. How would it explode?

"Not that burrito." When he met Linda's eyes, he saw that she was pointing
to his crotch, where a noticeable tent had formed, when his erection had
gotten stuck on the way up. "That one down there."

"Shit. Sorry," Peter said, and put the burrito down, then quickly sat down
on the nearest couch.

Linda giggled loudly. "Don't fret about it, sweetie. It's what I get paid
for, after all."

"Oh. Yeah, right. I didn't think of it that way."

"Of course, I don't usually give shows to somebody your age. Just how old
are you, Peter?"

He thought about lying, then realized that his father would probably have
mentioned his age at some point or another. "Um. Thirteen. I'll be
fourteen in two months."

"That old? Well, then I guess you're old enough to enjoy mostly-naked women by now."

Peter certainly wasn't going to disagree with her. He nodded. "I guess
so."

"So let me ask you again," she said, and took a few steps toward him, keeping her arms to her sides. Then she stopped, and struck a pose that reminded him of one of those game show girls or something -- arms at her
sides, her chest out, and one long leg crossed slightly over the other at
the knee. "Do you see something that you like?"

Aware that he now had permission to stare at her, Peter took advantage of
the moment and did just that. He eyed her up from head to toe and back
again, reserving the majority of his attention, of course, for her tits.

"Take your time," Linda said. "It's not a test."

"I ... um ..." He didn't know what she wanted him to say.

"Maybe you need a closer look?" she asked. "Here." She closed the rest of
the distance between them, then stood directly in front of and over him, leaning forward, her tits now just inches away from his face. "Is that better." Teasingly, she ran the fingers of one hand down the edge of the babydoll, starting at the shoulder and stopping at the bow between her
breasts. She grasped the bow between two fingers, and pulled it so slowly
that Peter wondered if time itself had slowed down. When it finally did
come untied, the pressure of her chest behind it immediately pushed the
opening a few inches wide. He still couldn't see her nipples, but the
valley between her tits was agonizingly exposed. What's more, he could
smell her now, her perspiration mixing with her perfume to create an intoxicating scent.

As Peter stared at her chest, his mouth a bit open, his cock was harder than it had ever been in his life. He wanted so badly to just reach up and throw the babydoll open. To get a good look at her, then begin touching
them all over. To squeeze them, lick them, suck them and love them. But
for all of her flirtatiousness, he didn't get the impression that he was
being invited to. Then, after about thirty seconds, Linda backed away
again, smiling.

"Well, sweetie, I'm afraid I have to go change for my next set. Why don't
you put some serious thought into what it is that you like, and maybe you
can tell me next time I see you, okay?"

Peter nodded. "O-okay."

She paused at the door. "Here," she said, then she turned her back, and
let the babydoll top fall down into her hands, exposing her smooth back.
When she turned toward him again, it was with one arm draped lightly across
her chest, covering and revealing just enough to drive him crazy.
Before he
knew what to think, she tossed the red babydoll top across the room at
him.
"Maybe you can use this," she said, as it landed in a fluttering heap on
the
arm of the couch. He just stared it blankly, amazed. Then, after a
another
pause, Linda walked over to the desk, found a box of tissues, and tossed
those his way as well. "And these too," she added with a wink.

Peter swallowed hard. "Um. Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Just be sure to tell me how it ... turns out. Bye now." And just like that, Linda turned on her heel, opened the door, and
left the room, leaving him behind with her lingerie and a raging hard-on.

There was no question of what he would do next, just how fast he could do
it. Like a bolt, Peter ran with the top and the box of tissues into the bathroom, pulled the door shut behind him, turned the lock, then sat on the toilet. He yanked his shorts down and began stroking immediately, knowing
it wouldn't take long. He held the top over his face, and hungrily inhaled Linda's sweet scent. He wondered if she'd mind if he came all over it.

Then he heard the door to the office open again. "Petey, you in here?"
It
was Trixie. Dammit.

"I'm in the bathroom!" he yelled, trying not to sound as frustrated as he
felt.

"Oh, okay," she said. "Sorry."

Peter brought his hand to full stop, listening. He'd heard the office door
close, but couldn't tell if Trixie was still in the room, or if she'd gone
back out again. Considering his situation, he was kind of hoping for the latter, so that he could finish what he was doing without having to worry
about whether she could tell what he was doing. Living alone with his
mother in a house that had no lock on the bathroom door, he'd grown
paranoid
about certain things. When he heard the television go on, however, he knew that she hadn't left. Dammit, he thought. Then, to make matters worse,
she
had to go and start talking to him, yelling through the door.

"I passed Linda on the way out. Did she give you a hard time?"

In a manner of speaking, Peter thought, glancing down at his dwindling erection. "No. She was nice."

"That's good. She's kind of new here yet."

"Is she?" he replied, trying to sound interested and getting softer every
second.

"Yeah. And we don't usually dance on the same days. So I barely know her."

"Well," he said. "She seemed nice." At this point, Peter was down to the
barest semi-erection possible, and knew that getting off now would just
be a
losing battle. He was simply too self-conscious to jerk off and talk to somebody at the same time. Even if that somebody was a stripper. He
pulled
his shorts up and flushed the toilet, then looked down at the babydoll top
in his hand. What the hell was he going to do with it? He glanced around
the room and saw a couple of hooks on the back of the door. One had a
towel
on it. Thinking fast, he put the top on one hook, then covered it with the towel. Now, if somebody found it, they'd just assume that Linda had
left it
here.

As he stepped out of the bathroom, Peter saw Trixie standing at the kitchenette counter with her back to him -- there was a tattoo of some
flowers below her neck -- reaching around to tie off the white string
bikini
top she'd clearly just put on. Shit, he thought. If he'd just come out of
the bathroom three seconds sooner, he'd have seen her topless! As she
turned, she saw him. "Hello." Even in the too-small bikini top, of
course,
her massive jugs, the size of volleyballs, were a site to behold. The
material barely covered them, and the outline of her nipples showed through clearly.

"Hi," Peter said, and could already feel his dick growing again.
Before it
did, though, he rushed over to the couch, grabbed his burrito, and sat
there
with it and the paper towel on his lap. "I'm just eating."

"So I see." Trixie looked a bit confused, but let it go. "Sorry I took so
long," she said, as she threw a almost-sheer yellow robe over the bikini
top
and matching bottoms, then sashed it at the waist. This, apparently, was
her "costume" for the next set, and was accompanied by a pair of yellow
heels with fluffy plumes on the front. All in all, it created a much more delicate look than the silver dress she'd been wearing before.

"Did you have a lap dance?" Peter asked, immediately finding the question
an odd one to ask.

"Yeah. And he paid for a double."

"Well, that's good ... right?" Peter took a bite out of his burrito, but
made a point of keeping the paper towel on his lap. He glanced over at the television, which had some car race or another on it.

"Sure it's good," she said. "I just worried that you were back here being
bored."

"I'm fine," he said. "I just got changed and I was talking to Linda."

She walked over to the other couch and sat, crossing her legs. "What were
you two talking about?"

"Nothing. You know ... my dad and stuff."

Trixie nodded. "And was she ... topless ... the whole time?"

Peter shook his head. "No. She had a thing on."

"Oh. But ... she was topless in the hall when I saw her."

"Was she?" He thought about the top in the bathroom. "I'm not sure why."

"Did it, you know, bother you at all? Seeing her in lingerie?"

"Bother me how?" Did being hot and bothered count?

"You know. Did it make you feel uncomfortable at all?"

"Um. No. I guess not. It's cool."

"She's a very pretty woman, isn't she?" Trixie asked.

Peter just nodded, and took another bite of his food.

"Did she mention if she had a boyfriend or anything?"

"Not to me she didn't," he said. "Why?"

"No reason. Just curious. Like I said, I don't know her that well." Remote in hand, she started flipping channels around until she found MTV.
"Is this good?" she asked.

"Fine with me," Peter said.

And so they sat and watched videos, while Peter quickly finished his burrito. A few minutes later, the long day started to catch up with him,
and he found himself starting to doze off. He tried to fight it as best he could, but wasn't able to, and a few minutes after that, he was out like a light.


* * *


Two hours later, somebody was shaking him. "Petey?" He opened his eyes to
see Trixie standing over him, smiling. "Wake up, sugar. It's time to go home." Pulling himself out of a deep sleep, he noticed that she was now wearing jeans and one of the bar's white t-shirts, and therefore looking considerably more like the old waitress he used to know. Still, there were noticeable differences. The shirt, for instance, was a couple of sizes too small. It fit her like a second skin, and rode up high enough to leave
much
of her midriff exposed. Her long neck was also exposed, thanks to the scrunchie that pulled back her hair, and revealed that what he thought
was a
bra under the t-shirt must actually be the same white bikini top she'd been wearing earlier -- he could see the tie strings. The jeans, meanwhile,
were
the latest hip-hugger variety, and swooped down a good several inches below
her navel.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Almost seven. Looks like you were a little tired."

He sat up, rubbing at his eyes. "Yeah. I guess so."

"I told the other girls not to bother you. Thought you might be worn out."

"Thanks," he said, while secretly resenting the gesture. After all, if he'd been awake, he not only might have been able to meet more flirty women like Linda, but he also might have been able to see Trixie changing into various outfits. Still, he did have to say that his nap had made him feel worlds better.

As if she'd know he was thinking about her, the door to the office opened
and Linda appeared. This time around, she had street clothes on, yet still

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