I’m packing my things on Friday when a couple Agents enter the gym and notice me packing up. “Hey Bradley, you’re still down here,” one of the...male agents, an overweight white man named Harris asks, his moustache has more personality than he does. “Yes Agent Harris, it’s my assignment,” I reply not looking. “I thought that NSA woman who kept visiting you was keeping you in the loop on things or you were in the field. Guess Watkins nailed you good for that HR complaint,” Harris states as a few. We had gone through school together, like kindergarten through high school, then back in the early seventies we had gone off to Dartmouth together. She had fallen in love with me then, or so she professed one Saturday afternoon before the annual autumn slugfest with Harvard, and we had spent a lot of time together in the Caribbean one summer. She had been cute, she had been nice as hell, but we had gone our separate ways. Hadn’t we? That time in the Caribbean together, something tugged at me. “I want you to reach down and before you do, I want you to feel my stomach, and then gradually reach in beneath my underwear and feel my vagina. I want you to feel its tender loving softness. It’ll bring life as you’ve never known it before.” “Oh god” he moaned. “Oh my god” he said again almost frantically. So he did what she told him to do and to her he did it flawlessly. He caressed her tummy. He caressed it well. He caressed it softly and during that time, he caressed it slowly. She would. Well I guess the large breasted woman had found a worshiper.Two weeks later, the same advertisement appeared again with a different telephone number. I tripped over a chair in my haste to get to the telephone. Damn, no answer. At least the number was working this time. I just had to find out if this was for real.A couple of hours and several unanswered attempts later the telephone was finally answered, by a machine. It verified the telephone number and instructed me to leave a message; I.
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