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Last Updated on Sunday, 07 November 2010 19:28
Her name was Dolores, she said, as we stood smoking a furtive cigarette outside our respective work-places. She was a large lady, probably 200 pounds and 6 feet tall in her high heels. And while I’m not usually attracted to big woman, there was something about Dolores that drew me to her. She had a pretty face framed by long, black hair but it was her confident manner, her casual frankness and her easy, infectious laugh I remember most – and to which I responded as I got to know her better.
I first met her in the winter when she came to work as a clerk at the flower shop next to my high-end men’s clothing store. We were both smokers forced to deal with our out-of-favor habit outdoors. We finally introduced ourselves one windy day when she borrowed my lighter and, bit by bit, I learned this much about her – she was in her early-30s, had never been married, had a generous boyfriend with some sexual hang-ups and was saving her money “to get the hell out of this hick town.”
At the beginning she was no more than an occasional companion when our smoke breaks happened to coincide. But as winter warmed to spring and heavy clothing was discarded I began to take more notice. Big as she was, Dolores had a curvy figure she wasn’t shy about showing it off, the crowning glory of which was generous ass that formed a perfect sideways oval and swiveled seductively as she walked.
And she was always well-groomed, her long fingernails bright red. When her nylons came off in the warmer weather, she showed off matching toenails in her strappy high-heeled open-toed black pumps. By now the many variations of black slacks she’d worn most days all winter had given way to long, black skirts, most of which were slashed open at the sides. When she walked and the wind blew just right I was treated to a fleeting but appealing glimpse of her big white thighs. That briefly got my attention, although I still didn’t see her as my type. Personally I’m more comfortable with slimmer, athletic women more my age and size.
Early summer came. In our town that meant the retail business pretty much collapsed, especially on Sunday. But with not much else going on in my life at the time, I usually spent Sunday at the store doing paper work and serving the occasional customer who suddenly felt the need for a new pair of Bermuda shorts or golf shirt. Not many did. Sometimes I’d drag a couple of lawn chairs out front and spend a few hours reading in the sunshine while I waited.
On this particular Sunday Dolores had joined me several times that on her smoke breaks. She didn’t have many customers either but her boss was inside so she couldn’t linger. In early afternoon, however, her boss had to leave for a family event out-of-town. I heard him tell Dolores to be sure to lock up when she left at 5 o’clock. Dolores flopped down on the lawn chair beside me as soon as her boss pulled out of the parking lot.
“Dummy,” she muttered as she settled in. Now that’s an opening line that inevitably leads to conservation. Over the next hour I discovered a lot more about Dolores.
Last Updated on Sunday, 07 November 2010 19:38