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*Author’s Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
*Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.
Anja Irene Belkova pressed the ‘Down’ button for the elevator. Idly, she glanced around the small lobby of the third floor of Oakleaf Towers. Only four doors were visible, other than the shiny stainless steel doors of the elevators. The walls of the lobby were painted a soft ecru and the floor was covered in a deep pile beige carpet. Each door was a honey blonde wood in color and the condominium’s highly polished brass numbers were on a small honey blonde wood plaque affixed to the wall next to each door. The common area itself was lighted by soft recessed lights mounted in the stark white ceiling and a wall sconce next to each door, just above the plaques lighted both the unit’s number and the doorknobs and locks.
Between the two doors of the elevators was a small wooden table of honey blonde with a heavy crystal bowl filled with faux flowers. Anja again pressed the ‘Down’ button, even though she knew it was a futile gesture. She wondered whom had picked the particular flowers and the crystal bowl and wondered if each floor had identical bowls and identical flowers arrangements, or was each floor given their own bowl, something to set each floor apart.
Finally, the elevator door opened and Anja stepped into the tiled box. She looked at the lighted panel and pressed ‘GL’ for the ‘Ground Level.’
Checking her watch, Anja saw that she’d only wasted ten minutes in Jesse’s third floor condominium. Their four week tryst had not been a complete waste of her time; they’d eaten some good meals, they’d had pretty good sex, they’d enjoyed one another. But, just like many men, Jesse seemed to think that their sex was more than just the physical act.
“On Valentine’s Day, of all days,” Anja thought as the doors began to close. “He plans to introduce me to his Mommy on Valentine’s Day?”
Just before the elevator’s doors slid noiselessly shut, Anja again looked at the door for Jesse Aubriest’s unit. She gave an amused smirk; in just a few moments, she’d been able to see the incestuous feelings Jesse had harbored for his mother, and the reciprocal feelings Jessica Aubriest had for her son. How had those two, seemingly intelligent people been so blind to their own desires?
Anja was glad she’d never given Jesse her real name. She danced under the name of Angel Waller, and Jesse believed that was her name. Tuesday afternoon, before she went into work at Nv, the Gentlemen’s Club she danced at, Anja planned to buy another burner phone from the Quickie-Mart; she never gave any customer her real name or phone number. The only people that had Anja’s real cell number were Pho Dim, her housekeeper, Theresa White, her attorney, Ferguson O’Malley, her accountant, and Chaivon Atchley,, her financial planner with Great Oak Savings she could smell the abundant produce, could detect a note of earthy aroma as well.
“Hi! Welcome to natural Peak; need any help?” a mannish looking behemoth asked.
“No, thank you,” Anja smiled a tight lipped smile.
For her Valentine’s Day date with Jesse, Anja had worn a white corset and blood red miniskirt. Her sleek legs were encased in sheer red stockings with a line running up the backs. Her feet were jammed into blood red four inch heels. The chilled air in the grocery store had Anja’s nipples prominently poking through the satin material of her corset.
Anja’s pinkish blonde hair reached to just below her perfect buttocks, framing her angelic oval face with large blue eyes, slim nose and cupids bow lips. Her high cheekbones alluded to her Russian heritage, as did her athletic body.
At five feet and eight inches, Anja was not a small, dainty woman. Her 34DD breasts were well proportioned to her height, her 27 inch waist tapered into her 32 inch hips and perfectly rounded buttocks. Her legs were long, well-formed legs that drew much attention, whether in tight jeans or short skirts, like the miniskirt she now wore.
Even in her four inch heels, the store employee towered over Anja. Anja looked at the woman’s nametag and red ‘Gabby’ just over the woman’s left breast. The nametag identified Gabby as one of the store’s managers.
“No, thank you, Gabby, but if I need anything, I’ll let you know,” Anja said and grabbed a small cart.
The produce section had a good selection of fruits and vegetables. Little signs stood in the center of each display, announcing that all their fruits and vegetables were organic, with no herbicides or pesticides used. None of the selection were genetically modified organisms.
‘We guarantee it!’ the bottom of each sign proudly declared.
Anja found some Granny Smith apples and carefully selected a few. The display kurtköy escort of Honey Crisp apples beckoned and Anja selected a few of the delicious apples, carefully putting them into her buggy.
Anja idly traversed the aisles, not recognizing much of what she saw on the shelves. Her seductive outfit garnered her much attention from store employees and customers alike. Anja knew how to tune out the sidelong glances and blatant stares of others, though.
In the north-west corner of Natural Peak Grocers, Anja discovered the grains selection. Looking into the golden brown eyes of the beautiful girl behind the counter, Anja faltered in her step. She felt a jolt of electricity pulse through her body as she looked at the young employee.
Even as her hair was obscured by a heavy mesh hairnet, the girl’s eyebrows told Anja that the beauty had light blonde hair. Her brown eyes were large, ‘the eyes of a doe, Anja’s mother would have declared in her clipped Russian tongue. A slim nose and high cheekbones made Anja wonder if Trish, the nametag said ‘Trish,’ had any Eastern European, perhaps Russian blood in her. Her light pink lips were pouting as she stood, waiting.
Anja wished she had not ‘forgotten’ to wear panties; looking at Trish’s beautiful face and full, round breasts that stretched the uniform blouse taut had Anja’s excitement coursing down the inside of her thighs. Involuntarily, Anja clamped her legs together.
“Hi,” Trish smiled, revealing straight, white teeth. “First time here? Our grains are all non-GMO, one hundred percent herbicide and pesticide free. We stone grind it, right here, right in front of you.”
“Hmm,” Anja mused, now looking more closely at the several bins in front of her. “Oh! Barley! My mother, she used to make these barley loaves; oh, I hated them!”
“And now? Would give anything to have one?” Trish guessed, smiling widely.
“You’re a mind reader?” Anja smiled. “I’d like two pounds of the barley, and, let’s see, whole wheat? Well, I just have to have that, don’t I? Two pounds of the wheat and hmm, one pound of that rye, please.”
“Yes ma’am,” Trish smiled, pulling on a fresh pair of plastic gloves.
She scooped the whole wheat into the scale and added a little more. Then, dumping the scales contents onto the stone table, Trish moved the heavy mill stone over the wheat kernels. One hand moved the stone while the other hand brushed the wheat into the path of the quite large stone.
After cleaning the table and stone, Trish then measured out two pounds of barley.
Putting her three cloth bags into her cart, Anja looked at the aisles; reading the plaques announcing the contents of each aisle. With a shrug, she turned and again felt a spasm of excitement ripple through her belly as she looked into Trish’s warm eyes. Again, she clamped her thighs together.
“I uh, so, which aisle would have the honey?” Anja asked.
“Honey? We, ma’am, this is a vegan store,” Trish said. “We don’t have any animal products here.”
“Oh!” Anja said, blue eyes wide. “I, huh!”
She leaned close to the blonde beauty. Trish leaned over the counter toward the strawberry blonde customer.
“I, are you, you’re not into that vegan stuff, are you?” Anja whispered.
Trish looked past Anja. She could see Gabby ”straightening’ a display, attention focused on a young female employee. There were no other employees within earshot.
“No. Not really,” Trish whispered in a low voice. “I mean, I kind of got into it; I’m lactose intolerant so I just love our almond milk and the soy cheese, but all that other stuff?”
“Lactose, oh, okay,” Anja nodded and indicated her buggy. “So when I make my apple pie, you won’t be able to have any ice cream with it, hmm?”
“We sell almond milk ice cream substitute, aisle nine right there,” Trish smiled widely, pointing toward the freezer section of the store.
“So, which is your favorite?” Anja asked in a low voice, resting her hand on Trish’s hand.
“I uh, cherry vanilla,” Trish stammered, face flaming hotly.
“Hmm, I bet that’s so good, melting all over a warm apple pie,” Anja purred, fingers lightly trailing over Trish’s fingers. “What time do you get off?”
“I, I’m supposed be off ’bout twenty minutes ago but as usual, Vickie’s late again,” Trish murmured.
“Oh, goody! You, when this Vickie does get here, you can help me make the pie?” Anja said. “By the way, my name is Angel, Anja.”
“I uh, I, I’m Trish, uh, Katricia Blomberg,” Trish stammered, blush a bright red now.
“German?” Anja asked. “I’m Russian, first generation American. Anja Belkova.”
“I’m here, I’m here; fucking pile-up on Michner, Jesus what a nightmare,” a woman said, staggering drunkenly behind the counter. “Ma’am? What you needing?”
“So, come over? We’ll bake, you know what? I haven’t even eaten yet; do you like Bombay Café?” Anja asked, still lightly tracing aydıntepe escort her fingers over Trish’s hand.
“I, I’ll meet you out front,” Trish swallowed, eyes darting about nervously.
“Cherry vanilla, right?” Anja asked, wheeling her buggy toward the freezer aisle.
Trish greeted her coworker, then hurried to the back to clock out. Before leaving, she found Gabby and alerted the manager on duty of Vickie’s inebriated condition. Gabby pursed her lips in disapproval and asked the nineteen year old if she could stay, finish out the five hours left until closing.
“Gabby, I’m already right at eighty hours; pay period don’t end until tomorrow,” Trish said. “What’s Ms. Adams going say about all my OT?”
“Shit,” Gabby said, looking once more at the diminutive brunette she’d been assisting.
Gabby was sure, just a few more sweet words of encouragement, just a few more caresses, he’d have Sabrina’s cute ass parked on her desk, chubby little thighs draped over Gabby’s shoulders as she feasted on Sabrina’s honey pot. A light bulb went off in her head and she smiled, gently putting her hand on Sabrina’s back, just above the girl’s pudgy buttocks.
“Come on, girl,” Gabby purred. “I’m going show you how to work the stone mill, okay? How’s that sound?”
Trish shook her head as she scampered to the Employee Exit. She stepped into the February evening and looked around for the beautiful customer. A highly polished Ferrari pulled up in front of her. The passenger window slid noiselessly down.
“Get in, Katricia,” Anja smiled.
“I uh, my car’s over there,” Trish said, pointing to a 2020 Toyota Corolla.
“Oh, okay, you’d rather follow me there?” Anja asked, fighting down her disappointment.
“I uh, no, no, I, I just want to change out of these clothes; I’m all full of flour,” Trish stammered.
“Oh, well sure,” Anja said and slowly edged next to the small car.
“You keep, you have a change of clothes in your car?” Anja asked herself as Trish opened the trunk of the car.
Anja watched as Trish rooted around in the trunk, then selected a pair of khaki slacks, and a soft blue blouse. Anja shook her head, puzzled as Trish climbed into the back seat of her car and disappeared from sight.
A moment later, a smiling Trish climbed out of the car again and walked around to the Ferrari’s passenger door.
“HI, I uh, I can’t believe I’m doing this, I mean, I don’t even know you,” Trish babbled as Anja screamed out of the parking lot.
“Katricia, do I, are you nervous?” Anja asked as she took a right onto Michner and pulled up to the parking garage behind 1 Alliance Square.
“No, no, it’s just, yes,” Trish stammered.
“Why? Why are you nervous?” Anja asked, pulling into a parking space.
She reached over and linked her fingers with Trish’s sweaty hand. Twisting in her seat, Anja looked into Trish’s wide eyes.
“It’s just me,” Anja said softly, leaning close to Trish.
“I, I never, I ain’t never been with a girl,” Trish blurted out.
“Oh,” Anja nodded in understanding.
She softly brushed Trish’s lips with a soft kiss. She backed away slightly and peered into Trish’s eyes.
“How long, how long have you had these feelings?” Anja asked, voice low and soft.
“God, for ’bout as long as I can remember,” Trish confessed. “And then you come in and…”
“We’re going to eat dinner; you’ll love Bombay. We’re going to eat. You’ve eaten before, right? And you’ve eaten with other girls, right?” Anja coached.
She gave Trish another kiss, just a soft lip to lip brush.
“Then we’ll take it from there,” Anja continued. “If you want to see my house, we’ll go to my house. If you just don’t feel up to it, I’ll run you back to your car.”
Anja kissed Trish again, holding the lip to lip contact a millisecond longer this time. She smiled softly and squeezed Trish’s hand.
Getting out of the low slung automobile, the two women walked to the garage’s elevator. Trish did jump a little when Anja reached over and grabbed her hand. She remembered, in grade school, in Junior High, she’d held hands with her friends. Trish wondered if any of those friends had known how those simple gestures had set her heart to pounding in her chest.
As if she could read Trish’s mind, Anja gave a soft smile and soft squeeze to Trish’s hand. They strolled toward the light.
In her four inch heels, Anja was slightly taller than Trish. She reasoned, if they were both in bare stockings, they would most likely be eye to eye.
“Just two friends, out on Valentine’s Day,” Anja coached as they scampered across Johnson Street when the light changed.
“Lamb, I’ve, you ever had lamb?” Trish asked, reading over the confusing menu.
“The lamb boona is my absolute favorite; a somewhat spicy dish,” Anja said, pointing to the description on Trish’s menu.
“And the lamb norween, oh tuzla içmeler escort no, no, cooked in yogurt,” Trish said.
Over their delicious meal, the two women talked. Anja learned very little about Trish, other than she was a native of Sweet Oak, Texas and had attended public schools until she dropped out at age sixteen.
“What can I say; I was young and dumb and thought I was in love with him,” Trish admitted.
“I, I don’t believe I’ve ever been in love,” Anja admitted.
“Until now,” Anja thought, looking into Trish’s eyes.
“Yeah well, minute the money ran out?” Trish shrugged. “Oh, oh my God, you, you have got to try this.”
“Anja nodded her approval as she did taste Trish’s Chicken Daniil. Trish made Anja laugh as she quickly gulped water after trying a forkful of Anja’s Lamb Boona.
Even as she talked, Trish did not tell Anja about recently becoming homeless. She did not tell Anja that she was living in her car, relatively safe and secure in the well-lighted parking lot of Oakleaf Towers.
Trish did not tell Anja about Jason, her boyfriend deciding he’d rather be with a coworker, Alicia Blanchette and insisting that Trish move out of their apartment. She didn’t tell Anja that the monthly payments on her 2020 automobile were bleeding her dry. She didn’t tell Anja she was ‘bathing’ in the employee restroom, eating only raw fruits and vegetables; she had no way of cooking anything in the employee break room.
After their meal, Anja again took Trish’s hand into hers. She wondered if there was a wet spot showing in the back of her skirt; simply watching the blonde beauty slowly eat a meal had set Anja’s heart to fluttering, had started Anja’s blood pumping.
“So, am I taking you to your car?” Anja asked as she roared out of the garage.
“You don’t take me to your place, I’m going chicken out,” Trish blurted.
“Anja did an illegal U-Turn on Michner and roared to Highway 72. Moments later, she pulled into her garage.
“Oh! I must, I need to get the ice cream into the freezer!” Anja realized and hurried to punch the code into her alarm.
“You, this is yours?” Trish asked, gaping at the 1955 pickup truck.
“Mm hmm,” Anja agreed, seeing Pho Dim’s Honda Odyssey in the third bay of the garage. “You’d be surprised what a dancer can make on a good night.”
“A what?” Trish asked, following Anja into the house.
“I’m a dancer,” Anja admitted, putting her Natural Peak Grocers cloth bags onto her granite countertop.
“I, you’re kidding,” Trish said, golden eyes wide.
“Nope,” Anja said, placing the gallon container of almond milk Cherry Vanilla ice milk into her freezer.
“I, you bought a whole gallon?” Trish asked, amused.
“I, well, I’d hoped you’d be by often; you did say it was your favorite,” Anja said, now combing her fingers through Trish’s waist length blight blonde hair.
They kissed softly, closed mouth to closed mouth. Gently, Anja maneuvered Trish against the granite countertop. She pressed her 34DD chest against Trish’s large breasts.
“I…mm,” Trish started, then moaned as Anja’s tongue entered her mouth.
Anja’s high heels gave Anja a bit of an advantage as she pressed Trish against the kitchen cabinets. Her hands went to Trish’s beautiful face and she gently touched Trish’s face, feather light strokes as she sucked on Trish’s tongue.
Pulling away, Anja held Trish’s face in her hands. She stared into Trish’s slightly dazed eyes for a long moment, then softly kissed Trish’s lips again.
With one more soft kiss to Trish’s lips, Anja stepped back and kicked her pumps into the corner of the large kitchen. She then pulled an apron from a drawer, put the apron on, and rapidly began assembling the ingredients for apple tarts.
“I changed my mind,” Anja said lightly as she began peeling the apples. “We’re having tarts instead of pie.”
“What? Why?” Trish giggled.
“Because, Katricia…” Anja said, smiling.
“Everyone calls me Trish,” Trish said.
“Everyone but your lover,” Anja said.
“Oh?” Trish teased. “You’re my lover, huh?”
“Oh yes,” Anja insisted, kissing Trish’s smiling lips.
“Now, why tarts instead of pie?” Trish asked.
“Because, tarts will make the perfect breakfast,” Anja said, beginning to carefully sift the stone ground flour into a large mixing bowl.
“I will wake you with kisses,” Anja purred, pausing in her mixing of dry ingredients to kiss Trish. “And then, after we make love? I will serve you breakfast in bed; do you want one or two tarts? For breakfast?”
“Depends on how big they are,” Trish gasped, breathless from Anja’s words and kisses and touches.
“Good point,” Anja said and began incorporating the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients.
Quickly, Anja punched the temperature setting into her oven. She paused long enough to stir the large pot of apple chunks then reduced the heat.
“And…” Anja said, rolling out the dough.
Trish watched as the woman cut twelve squares of dough. Anja spooned a generous helping of the warm apples onto each square then folded each square diagonally, creating a plump triangle.
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