Agnethe was the only Swede, an immigrant who successfully started a line of fitness clothing. She planned on heading back to Stockholm and Malmo to research a yoga clothing line for the future. She also wanted to check on how her shops were running.
Her embarrassment had included bruises and a missing tooth from a kinky kickboxing pro who got too aggressive. After successfully suing him, she avoided advertisements online from women with boxing and martial arts backgrounds. Suddenly, traditional housewives
fond of volunteer work and cookie bake-offs, living off alimony in their ex-husband's lavish houses, sounded like they had good lives. She planned an evening of whiskey and pink champagne at one of her friend's houses, complete with a 120-inch LCD television, wide-screen, and porno videos from Sweden.
Austin was a chubby chaser. He liked small and curvy women. He hid his lusty desires for curvy, overweight women from his friends at the gym. They were curious about his single status, as he had divorced his first wife three years ago, and had only dated a string of skinny, blonde beanpoles who stood three inches above him, and that was without heels. At 5"7, he felt vertically challenged, but noted that older men without legs in wheelchairs had girlfriends who brought them flowers and wore skimpy lingerie for them at home. The boys at the gym had Asian fetishes, and ogled the cute Japanese students who went to college, and got off the bus by the gym, the last stop on the #8 College bus.
Austin preached against interracial marriage, but after his divorce, too many pomegranate-flavoured vodka coolers, old Ice-T albums and a trip in a BMW black minivan around the downtown block of clubs that permeated the second row of streets in the downtown core, he found himself in a club, alone with a business executive's wife and her long blonde hair, silky tanned skin and legs longer than a skyscraper.
She offered him her number, bored by her alcoholic husband and his obsession with running numbers with accounting at work, and his fear of getting caught for tax evasion. She thought of him back in Sweden, and laughed.
Austin snapped to it, out of the hypnotic state produced by the action of her crossing her legs, and steadfastly refused. He sensed she was out to use him, and the legs were the beginning of her seductive challenge. Challenged he would not be, so he ruled out the possibility, and banned himself from staring at her legs. She crossed her legs again.
"Nice to meet you, but I am busy. No thanks, I am not interested," he told her, aware of her motivations. He debated with himself as to whether or not her gestures were a compliment.
"Don't worry. This is my cell phone number. He won't know, and he doesn't care. My husband spends most of his evenings in the accounting department, and doesn't come home until ten p.m. I have a really nice view from my penthouse, and jets in my oversized indoor sauna," she told him.
He twisted his growing hair, and decided to grow his hair into dreadlocks, and take A Course in Miracles, before temptation got the better of him. He felt the irony of her interest, and recalled that she had shown up on Sunday morning with another of her lovers in order to check him out.
He figured she was the type who would find in a cheap, skanky bar downtown on a Saturday night, where he knew some of the city kids went to buy pot, from Jamaica, which had replaced the pesticide-laded Mexican stuff now traded for cheap crack on the streets. The U.S. government had damaged and poisoned their cheap pot supply, and they had turned to a better, purer, more expensive and more loaded than the usual stuff. He figured the Rastafarians down in Jamaican were engaging in more than a little intoxicating herbal enlightment, and were really knocking themselves out on the stuff. The pot would have made him sleep with her, but she was too skinny for his tastes. He boarded the bus and left.
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