A Rock And A Hard Place. Shane Townsend

Jake, who will verify your pledge. Here’s Jake, and thanks again.”

      The whole time I was making my pitch, my eyes were roaming conspicuously and unabashedly over the generous curves, thighs, breasts, and the sexy ass lips of the angel who had miraculously appeared in my life like the answer to all my prayers. This all occurred back in the days before political correctness made it a fireable offense to even compliment a woman on her outfit or her new hairstyle. She was obviously a new hire, and Terrance, one of the office managers, was showing her around the office and explaining her new job to her. He was flirting with her and showing off because he had a little position, but she seemed to pay his flirting no mind. She wasn’t rude, though, and as she responded to him, she was smiling, and it was such a big, beautiful smile that I was awestruck for a moment and I had to force myself to turn around and continue working. The money wasn’t gonna make itself.

      As I was making subsequent pitches and stackin’ that paper, I would glance in the direction of the new girl and admire how them tight ass jeans she had on showed the full contours of those wide hips and thighs as she sat in the chair, learning how to pitch to potential pledgers. Every once in a while, she would glance in my direction, and at one point, our eyes met, and I swear that we made a connection.

      Now I am not the handsomest man in the world, but I hold my own. Despite a few battle scars and a broken front tooth, I’ve never had trouble meeting or pulling women. I am always clean, my head is always freshly shaved, and I wear branded clothing that are always neat, clean, and pressed. I wear mostly sneakers, but they are always crispy. I always smell good, preferring old-school cologne like Polo. I am confident in my abilities and it shows. I walk, talk, and carry myself in a supremely confident manner at all times, so it was no surprise that the new chick was checkin’ me out despite all the other males present in the room.

      I am an artist. It is one of the things I learned as an inmate at various Minnesota prisons that I could use as a hustle. Damn near everybody there feels the need to maintain loving contact with their family members or their girlfriends or wives, so my homemade cards made me a lot of money. I mention this because even as I was making my pitches and checking out the new chick, I was freehand drawing and shading a rose with a black pen. When break time came, the new chick walked by me on her way out and peeped what I had drawn.

      “That is beautiful,” she remarked.

      “Thank you,” I said. “It is just a quick sketch. I can do much better.”

      “It is still very nice. You’re very talented,” she replied.

      “I appreciate the compliment. My name is Nathan,” I told her as I stood and offered her my hand for a shake.

      “And I am Brandy,” the angel introduced herself as she took my hand.

      When our hands touched, a jolt of electricity shocked my hand, ran up my arm, then coursed through my whole body. I am not exaggerating in any way. It was a literal physical sensation.

      And from the look of things, Brandy also experienced something similar because she jumped slightly, gave a small sigh, and her face turned red in embarrassment. She quickly released my hand and averted her eyes. It seemed as if it was love at first sight (and touch) on both of our parts.