EXTRACT FOR
Heat Wave
(Author Unknown)

Chapter 1

    

    I had some mixed feelings about their comments. On the one hand it pissed me off, yet on the other hand I was strangely flattered.  I was in the break room at work and I overheard two of the dock workers talking about me.

    My name is Tava Smith. I'm twenty-nine and single. I'm five feet nine inches tall and I'll admit I'm overweight. I've been told I'm cute and a couple of times along the way I've even been told I'm beautiful. Beautiful, I'm not so sure about. That usually came about when some guy was trying to get in my pants, so I took that with a grain of salt.

    Anyway I heard one of the guys in the break room say something like "all that meat and no potatoes". I'm not even sure what that means. The other guy said how he'd like to stick his head between my tits for a while and the first guy said he'd like to stick his head between my legs. I left them babbling about that and went back to my desk.

    I work for a company as a data specialist. Basically all that means is, I'm in a dead-end job with a company that only knows me as a number. Getting out of bed in the morning to go to work is a job in itself. I have to make myself go to my desk.

    I was engaged a few years ago. I had everything going my way. Then the wheels came off the wagon. My boyfriend decided he didn't want to settle down and have a family. He boogied and left me alone eating my fool head off and spending a lot of money on batteries for by vibrating dildo. That was when I went from a tall curvy lass to a fat curvy lass.

    I hadn't been with a man since Donald left. Luckily I had discovered masturbation at an early age and it stood me in good stead, these past three years. My God, has it been that long?

    I reasoned it had been that long and as I sat at my desk I determined to do something about it. I wasn't cut out for a Nun's life.  I wanted...no I longed for some adventure in my mundane and mostly pitiful existence. 

    I live in a rent controlled apartment, I have no expensive tastes and aside from fattening food and C-cell batteries I hardly spend any money at all.  I checked my savings book and was a little surprised that I had over thirty-five grand tucked away. A lot of it was from when I foolishly thought I was saving for a wedding. I checked my checkbook and saw that I was carrying a hefty balance there also.

    I suddenly thought about my college roommate who lived in Florida. I didn't have any windows near my cubical, but I knew the city was in the grip of a winter storm and Florida sounded very nice indeed to me.

    My first thought was to call personnel and schedule a vacation. I knew I had a lot of vacation on the books because I hadn't taken but a few days since Donald, the creep, took off. No, that was the old Tava. The new Tava called personnel and gave them notice. I also told them that while I was working out the notice I would be on sick leave. I had not taken but one day of sick leave in over two years.  The cheap bastards could pay me for the vacation days I had accumulated.  I neatly stacked up the work on my desk, turned off the computer terminal, got my pocket book and coat and I was good to go. I didn't say a word to anybody in my workspace. I didn't know many of them and the ones I did I didn't care that much for.  So long slaves, Tava has left the building!

    

***

    

    I was in good shape money-wise, but  I rented a cheaper apartment three blocks from the beach. No point in trying to live the good life. Just being in the warmer climate and not having to get up and go to a job I despised was plenty enough of the good life for me. It had been three weeks since I left my workplace. The first week was getting things wrapped up and closed out. I had been in sunny Florida for nearly two weeks and I was having a great time.

    The first order of business after finding a nice place to live was to find a gym. I was determined to lose thirty pounds before I ventured to the beach in a bathing suit. I purposely bought a two piece swimsuit that was too small so that I would have to lose the fat or lose the fifty plus bucks I spent on it. I made myself go on a diet and it was working pretty well. I had lost six and a half pounds and I felt great.

    The first couple of days at the gym were nothing short of excruciating pain. Lots of agonizing pain. I had muscles hurting that I didn't know I even had.  It was shear torture, but I maintained my workout regime and after the first week things got some better. By the fifth week it was a snap. I could do the routine twice.  Time rolled on and my roll of fat moved on also.

    

***

    

    I had seen her a few times while working out. She was a tiny little thing not more than five two or three, but she had boobs nearly as big as mine. The weight loss had taken care of some of my hefty boobs, but I still had a pretty big set. Thirty-eight D as a matter of fact. This chick was at least a thirty-six C cup and while I'm not bent that way she was a knock-out by any standard. Besides her big knockers she had curves everywhere. I guessed her age at somewhere around twenty-five.

    "Hi," she said taking a seat beside me in the steam room. "I'm Della."

    "Hello, Della," I said. "I'm Tava." 

    "Yeah, I asked at the desk," she said. "I saw you when you first came here. You are looking good, Tava. How much have you lost?"

    "Almost thirty pounds. I still have a couple pounds to go to reach my target weight. I have a fire engine red bikini waiting to see if I can get in it."

    "Good for you," she said. "Since I see you here during the day, I assume you work nights somewhere," she said. "What do you do, Tava?"

    "I'm unemployed," I answered. "I guess I should be looking, but I'm not. How do you earn your living?"

    "I'm a call girl," she said. For a moment I was sure I misunderstood. 

    "Really?" I stammered. "That's...ah, interesting, Della." I felt a sudden need to be in cool fresh air. I told her I'd see her around and I left in a hurry.

    That should have been the end of that, but for some strange reason I could not get her out of my mind. Why would someone as great looking as Della choose a life of prostitution? I thought about her for several days.

    "Hi again," Della said. I was just finishing up on the stair-master and was sweating like mad.

    "Hi Della," I said wiping my face with a towel. "How's..." I started to say tricks when I realized how inappropriate it was.  "How you doing?" I quickly amended. 

    "Could not be better," she said, laughing softly. I think she knew what I almost said.  "You into that fire engine red bikini yet?"

    "As a matter of fact I tried it on last night and it fit. Well, nearly. Still a little tight on top. Boobs didn't go down as much as my butt and belly."

    "Great," she said with a big grin. Damn, she was one pretty chick. "Maybe we can go to the beach sometime."  I agreed that it could happen. "Are you finished up here?"  I told her I was through except for a shower to wash the sweat off of me. I mentioned something about sweating like a hog.

    "I don't want to sound like smart-alecky," she said looking up at me with her sweet smile. "But hogs don't sweat at all. They have no sweat glands. That's why they wallow. To keep cool. Horses sweat though."

    "Okay then," I said. "I'll just go wash the horse sweat off of me. See you later, Della."

    "I'm finished, too," she said. "I'll join you in the shower. Maybe we can go have a drink afterward?"

    I had seen Della in leotards and wrapped in a towel, but naked she was something else. Like I said, I'm not inclined toward women, but damn she could almost make me change sides. We showered, got dressed, and I followed her down the street to a bar.

    "You mentioned you were unemployed," Della said. We were in a darken lounge and it was so cool it was almost cold. "What kind of work can you do?"

    "For the last eight years I worked for a big company doing their data work," I said. "My degree is in business management. I minored in photography and visual arts." Wow, it just dawned on me that photography was something I had really enjoyed and I didn't even own a camera. I couldn't remember why I had given it up.

    "I have a good friend who's a professional photographer," Della said making a production out of eating the cherry that came with her drink. "Maybe you could get on with him."

    "Not a bad idea, so maybe," I said. "I used to really enjoy it. Of course I've been out of it for a long time. I don't know anything about the new processes. Digital and computer style of photography, I mean. I'm sure there have been a lot of changes."

    "Yeah I guess there has been," Della said. "My friend took some courses at the community college to get caught up on new stuff."  She finished her drink and looked at her watch. "Shoot, I have to go. I have a date in an hour and I still have to put on my face."  That was almost funny. She certainly didn't need make-up.

    She left but not before we made a date to meet at the beach the next afternoon. I agreed because I didn't want to show up on the beach in a new bikini and pasty white skin all by myself.

    I spent the rest of the afternoon checking up on photo classes at the college. I lucked out because there was a new night class on digital photography starting the next Monday. I signed up right then.

    The beach wasn't very crowded when Della and I arrived. We found a good spot and spread the blanket. I got out my high numbered sun blocker and smeared as much on as I could. Of course there were places I couldn't reach.

    "Here, let me help you with that," Della said, taking the goop and coating my back. Della used a much lower number sun block and we lay down on the blanket.

    "Della," I said after a while. "Can I ask you a question?"

    "Of course," she answered. "Ask away."

    "What's it like being a call girl?" I blurted. Shit, that wasn't what I intended to ask.

    "I love it," she said. "It's great. Good hours and great money. I feel that I'm one of the lucky few to be working at what they love. Now that answers that question, but what you wanted to ask is how did someone like me end up a whore, isn't it?" I didn't answer. "Just damned lucky I guess," she said. "Yeah, that's my stock answer. The truth is I've always been a slut. I was married for a while, but I still was a slut even then. My husband insisted on it, but I would have been anyway. Are you sure you want to hear my sordid tale?" I assured her I did.