The Making Of A Gigolo 9 Amanda GriggsChapter 4
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The Making Of A Gigolo (9) - Amanda GriggsChapter 5 free porn video
Amanda looked nervously at her watch. It was half an hour past midnight, and he wasn’t there yet. Things were already off to a rocky start.
Jerry, the night DJ had started a one hour tape already because she’d been two minutes late. In Radio, two minutes was like two hours. He had offered to stay and help her get situated, but she sent him on home. She didn’t need to be shown what to do. She was the General Manager.
She wondered what he’d do, when Bobby got there. Would he kiss her? Would he take off his clothes and strut around, trying to excite her?
She paced. She’d already brewed a pot of coffee. She knew she’d probably drink two pots a night, just to stay awake. That wouldn’t help her stomach any, but it had to be done.
She saw lights in the parking lot, and saw him get out of his car. He wasn’t dressed in a suit, this time. Just jeans and a parka, like everybody else in the world. He had a paper bag in one hand, and what looked like a knapsack in his other. Did gigolos bring their lunch with them to work?
He came in, said, “Hi,” and then took off his coat, tossing it on a chair. He set the paper bag on the receptionist’s desk, outside the sound booth, and the knapsack by her office door.
“I brought some doughnuts,” he said, getting into the paper sack. “I have a sister who loves to make them, but doesn’t eat them. She says they make you fat.”
He looked so normal. For the first time she realized he was as tall as she was. He had on a faded cotton shirt, with a vague western cut to it. His shoulders looked huge. She looked at his waist, which was slim. His jeans were faded too, as if they’d seen a lot of wear.
“You don’t have to worry about that,” he said, extending a pastry to her. “You’ll never be fat. I can tell.”
She doubted that. Her hips still seemed to be growing. She was glad her breasts hadn’t kept pace. She’d look like Dolly Parton if they had. Well, maybe not that big, but still ... The doughnut was still warm. She bit into it and an explosion of sweetness filled her mouth. This was delicious! He pulled a milk carton out of the bag.
“I got chocolate milk too,” he said. “Can’t have Matilda’s doughnuts without chocolate milk.”
He opened the carton and handed it to her.
“I don’t have a glass,” she said, her voice muffled, because it was mostly full of the most delicious doughnut she’d ever tasted.
“Who needs a glass?” he asked, off handedly.
She took a drink and set the carton down. He picked it up and took a drink too. Amanda felt, for some reason, that that was a very intimate thing to do, but he just accepted it as normal.
She blinked. Of course he would. What was drinking after somebody, when you were going to share other much more intimate body fluids shortly? She checked the clock on the wall. There was still twenty-two minutes to go, before she had to change the tape. The “box”, which was a small speaker on the wall, with a knob in the lower right corner, was turned down. It wasn’t supposed to be, because that picked up whatever the station was broadcasting. You couldn’t tell if there was dead air, if the box was turned down. She went over to it and turned the knob. Paul Whiteman started coming out.
“That sounds like the records my mother plays, sometimes,” said Bobby.
“It’s the best music ever produced,” said Amanda.
“Mamma tried to teach my sisters and me how they danced, back then, but we never really caught on.”
“I suppose you like Rock and Roll,” said Amanda, her voice dark.
“I’m not much on Elvis, or the Beatles,” he said. “I really like the Moody Blues, and Three Dog Night. The Beach Boys are old, but I still like everything they ever did. Jan and Dean too. Mamma has some of their records too. Us kids kind of learned to dance to them. Elton John does some good stuff. Dianna Ross makes me horny every time I hear her.”
“I’ve never heard of half those people,” said Amanda.
He looked astonished. “That’s impossible. You run a radio station!”
“We play big band music at KDEF,” said Amanda. “That’s all we’ve ever played and that’s all we ever will play!”
“Why?” asked Bobby.
“Why?” She sounded confused. “That’s what we play.”
“Why is that all you’ll ever play? Don’t people get tired of it?”
“I don’t,” she said, stiffly. “My father doesn’t.”
“Okay, but what about your listeners?”
“Our listeners love big band!” insisted Amanda.
“Can I ask you a question?” Bobby asked.
She wanted to say “No!”, but she got a grip on herself. “Okay,” she said.
“All the radio stations I ever listen to are always running giveaways, or prize contests, and stuff like that. They seem to have money to give away, but this afternoon I heard you tell the repairman to come Monday, because you couldn’t afford his weekend rates.” He looked at her.
“That’s not a question,” she said, petulantly.
“Your listeners may love big band,” he said. “But I bet you don’t have a lot of listeners.”
“That’s not a question either“ she growled.
“Why is the station in so much trouble?” he finally asked.
“I thought you were here for sex!” she said, almost angrily.
“Do you feel like having sex right now?” he asked, calmly.
“No!“
“Then I’m not here for sex,” he said.
He was maddening. He was supposed to make her feel better ... not worse! The worst part of it was that he was right. Everybody else in the industry, in the Hutchinson area, was doing great. KDEF had been at the bottom of the ratings for years. Her father hadn’t cared. They had enough money to pay the employees, and run the station. He served his loyal listeners the kind of music they wanted. Wasn’t that what a radio station was for? The trouble was that their loyal listeners were dying off, or had been captured by those other stations, with their flashy vans, and promotions. Of course most of those stations were in Wichita, where ad revenues just poured in.
With a jerk, she remembered what he’d just said. He wasn’t here for sex. She forgot how they got to that point, so rattled was she.
“If you’re not here for sex ... what are you here for?” she asked, feeling almost paralyzed.
“I’m here for whatever you need,” he said.
“I don’t understand what that means,” she whined.
The box went silent, and stayed silent for ten seconds. She flashed a look at the clock.
“Shit!“ she yelled, and burst into action. They were outside the sound booth, and she ran past him, tearing through the door, and to the tape player. Where was the next tape? She hadn’t put out the next tape! She looked around. She couldn’t remember where they put them.
“Where are the fucking tapes?“ she wailed.
She’d been in the sound booth before ... lots of times ... but she’d never actually worked the sound booth. Not for more than ten minutes. She knew the mechanics of it ... but where were the tapes?
“How do you turn this on?” asked Bobby, suddenly beside her. His finger was pointing to a turntable. Jerry had left the record on it.
She stabbed at a button, and the turntable started to turn. She reached for the needle and it scratched across an inch of record before she got control of it. She settled it into the first groove, looked to her left, and punched a button.
Johnny Alladin’s Society Band began coming out of the box.
“Thank you,” she sighed.
“No problem,” he said. “What do the tapes look like? I’ll help you find them.”
Feeling stupid, she pulled the tape cartridge from the player and showed it to him. He looked around.
“A bunch of those would fit in that cabinet over there,” he said, “if there were about three rows of them, side by side,” he added.
She went to the cabinet and slid the drawer out. He was right. In three rows across, and ten rows deep, there were thirty tape cartridges, minus the one in her hand.
The phone started ringing and she shoved the used tape into the empty hole, and pulled out the next one in line. The record was playing. She could answer the phone.
“KDEF, the soul of music,” she answered.
“What’s going on over there?” came a whining voice through the phone. “You people played that album last hour. I don’t want to hear it again!”
“We’re working on it, Sir,” she said smoothly into the phone. “We had a little technical problem, but it will be fixed soon.”
“I don’t want to hear that again,” insisted the caller.
“We’ll get right on it,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. “After the song that’s playing, we’ll have it fixed.”
She hung up the phone, before the man could tell her he didn’t want to hear Johnny Alladin again ... again. She went to the player, inserted the new cartridge, and listened to the first cut on the record end. With a flourish, she pushed the button that started the tape player, and lifted the needle off the disk on the turntable.
The box went silent.
The box stayed silent.
“Ohhh fuck me to tears,” she moaned. “What now?”
Bobby’s arm went past her, and punched a button. Stan Kenton’s music burst from the box, already past the opening. She had forgotten to change the device selector. She slumped.
“C’mere,” said Bobby, softly. “You need a hug.”
She let herself be drawn into his arms. He crushed her to him, and she was instantly aware that he was strong. He wasn’t just strong ... he was strong! His hands smoothed across her back, and she just automatically lifted her hands to slide them along his waist, and to his lower back.
This felt good. He was right. She did need a hug.
“Take a deep breath,” he said.
She did.
“Push your breasts against me.”
That rattled her.
“Come on,” he said. “I won’t hurt you. Deep breath, and push your breasts against me.”
She did it ... mostly because she didn’t know what else to do.
“That’s good,” he said. “Now rub from side to side.”
He helped her do that, which was good, because she hadn’t intended to follow that order. She knew almost instantly, though, that she should have listened to him. That felt good too. She had never rubbed her breasts against a man, while arms of steel were around her.
“Gooood,” he said, drawing it out. “Now, get another deep breath, cause that’s going to soak up a bunch of tension. Hold it ... let it work ... now blow it out. Push that tension out with it.”
This was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard in her life, but, as she pursed her lips, and blew through them, she did feel better ... more relaxed. His arms grew less like iron. He was letting her go. He stepped back.
“Your breasts feel good,” he said. “I like your breasts.” He smiled, like he’d only said, “I like that shirt.”
Amanda didn’t know what to make of him. What man just came right out and said, “Nice breasts, Amanda. I really like them.”?
It had felt good, though. And she did feel more relaxed. Her stomach didn’t hurt any more. The tape was in. She glanced at the clock. It was ten minutes after one. That was going to screw things up, because she’d have to remember to change the tape at ten after two, instead of two on the dot.
“You’re frowning,” he said. “You’re getting tense again too.”
She looked at him. He was right again. She could feel the dull ache coming back to her stomach. On impulse, she told him why she was frowning.
“It’s only ten minutes,” he said. “I’ll help you remember. Or, just start the next tape before the one that’s in there runs out. Start tape number three at when it’s two o’clock.”
Again, he had thought of a solution that she hadn’t. He had such a way of cutting through all the confusion.
“Now, come have another doughnut, and let me rub your shoulders.”
She did. The doughnut was as good as the last one, though not warm any more. The chocolate milk had warmed up, ironically, but she decided she didn’t care. It was good too. She let herself be led to the receptionists straight-backed chair, and sank into it. His hands came to her shoulders, and she almost moaned as his strong fingers squeezed, and rubbed. It was almost painful, and yet, it felt divine.
“Let your neck muscles relax,” he said softly.
Her head lolled forward, but that made it hard to breathe. She tried letting it fall to the side, but that stretched the muscles on the side away from her head, and that hurt too. She became aware that the chair wasn’t comfortable. How in the world could Cindy sit in this thing all day long?
“This isn’t working,” he said. “Is there a bed anywhere around here?”
“No.” Her voice was dull. What he was doing felt so good!
“Be right back,” he said.
When he left, she felt alone again. She looked over to see him in her office, taking the cushions off the couch, and laying them out on the floor in a row.
“Come in here,” he called.
She did, and lay down on the cushions. Her shoulders hung over the edges, and her arms fell to the floor, which felt odd, but wasn’t really uncomfortable.
He got down on his knees and started working on her again.
Within ten minutes, she thought she might die from the pleasure of it. He seemed to know where every tight muscle was. When his hands worked on her butt, she didn’t even flinch, even though it was the first time a man had touched her there in as long as she could remember.
“That’s better,” he said. His voice was as soft as his hands ... when they weren’t pushing a thumb clear through her body. That’s what it felt like sometimes. She squealed with the pain of it several times, but never complained, because it always felt SO much better when he was done with that part.
“This would be better with warm oil, and if you were naked,” he said, casually. “Tomorrow night, why don’t you leave your bra off. At least I can get your back without running into it then.”
She thought that over. He’d said it would be better if she were naked ... just the kind of thing a man would say ... but he hadn’t tried to get her to get naked. Not only that, he’d suggested that, when he did this to her tomorrow night, she wouldn’t have to be naked either. She realized he’d only given her information ... not a suggestion.
And the part about the bra ... she’d felt him have to skip over it, and she knew he was right about that. When his hands slid, they created heat. If he could slide all the way up her back, she knew it would feel better. So, she reasoned, he wasn’t just trying to get her to go braless.
“I don’t go braless,” she gasped, as his fingers dug into her lower back. “My breasts are too big.” She groaned again as he bore down with what felt like the heel of his hand. “They’d bounce all over the place.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” he asked, his voice light. “I’d love to see that.”
“I bet you would,” she said, automatically.
“Do your nipples get stiff, when you’re excited?” he asked, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to ask a woman.
“I don’t know,” she said, which was true. She whipped her clit into shape each night, and went to sleep. She didn’t look at her breasts while she did it.
“Well, then,” he said. “We’ll just have to find out now ... won’t we?”
She didn’t know what to think of that either. He seemed so casual about it ... so easy ... like it was just something to talk about.
“Not now,” she said “This feels too good.”
“Good,” he said.
She didn’t know how long he kept going, but eventually, his movements changed. He used his fingernails to scratch, as if she had asked him to scratch a special spot, that itched. He went fast, and it just felt so fabulous that she wanted to moan with the joy of it. He did that everywhere, even her butt, and then changed again, to strokes. He slid his hands all over her back, and butt, and legs too.
It was so soothing. It felt so good. Her eyes closed. He kept going.
She slept.
It wasn’t the deep sleep it would have been if she’d have been on a real bed. It was more of a two hour nap. She was unaware of that, of course, until she woke, a puddle of drool on the cushion under her face.
She remembered everything, as if it had just happened. She moved, tentatively, expecting there to be pain from bruised and battered muscles. There was none, and she felt good, instead. She sensed that he wasn’t in the room. Then she realized she had slept.
She jumped up and looked through the glass surrounding her office, at the wall clock in the sound booth. It was three-fifty. She had slept through two tape changes! With a moan of frustration, she started for the booth, and then heard the box, playing a tune by The Dorseys.
She entered the booth, and saw Bobby’s feet, sticking out from under the desk. She looked at the tape player. It had four tape cartridges in the four slots. They only used the top slot, because it was the only one that worked.
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