Celeste did not have huge breasts as some women do, but what she did have were perfectly shaped breasts. They were just the right size to hold in one's hands, with two very, very prominent nipples, which were, at the moment, creating two very prominent bumps in her blouse.Her skirt was very short. It was not a miniskirt, for it would be years before that boon-to-mankind would be adopted. But it did end just below her knees, which at the time was considered a very racy thing for a woman to do -- even in France. And to highlight the legs she had placed on display, she wore high-heeled shoes. To a man, wise in the ways of the world, the dress would have made her seem an object of desire. To a boy, the dress was devastating. My penis was saluting her from the moment she walked into the office.She greeted me as if nothing of note had passed between us the day before, and as if she were not wearing a dress designed to instill lust in any man who saw her. Then she began to chat about. The important ones, anyway. On Monday evening, I phoned her. ‘Hi, Sylvia, it’s me. I thought I would call and see when we could get together to talk.’ ‘Yes … of course. We did agree to talk, didn’t we? Is Wednesday evening alright? I have to go out tomorrow night.’ ‘Wednesday will be fine. Is seven-thirty okay? We can meet there if that’s alright with you.’ ‘Sure. Seven-thirty at the house. See you then.’ When I hung up the phone I realized she had something to do Tuesday night, and the first thing I thought of was Tommy’s observation that it was one of the two nights she went out when I was away. I wondered if I had the nerve to confront her about that when we met. And what of her absent-mindedness about having a talk? Did I really have to remind her about it? I found the conversation unsettling, and it would bother me until I could tell her what was on my mind. I took two prospective service calls on Tuesday and Wednesday. One was for my former customer in Denver. They had replaced.
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