Damsel in Distress

At the urging of the clerk, Mia slid the card through the machine a second time. She waited for the prompt, entered her PIN, then tapped the appropriate buttons which should have concluded the sale.

It did not. The clerk sighed and tapped at her register before turning to give Mia a critical stare. She said with a tone of condemnation, "Maybe there's no money on it."

Mia diverted her eyes to her hands and the card that she had already suspected was "empty". Fucking embarrassing. How ... fucking embarrassing.

It was not just the defunct card that was causing the embarrassment, of course. The man three back in line from her lived in Mia's apartment building. What the hell was he doing here, in this part of town? She had taken the bus halfway across town to come to the discount canned food store where she could use her government issued food assistant card without being seen by people who knew her, only to find that the clerk was a girl she had snubbed during four years of high school simply because the smirking bitch had come from the working poor; and that the man standing well within view of this horror was the leering old pervert of a neighbor that, again, Mia had snubbed for not being the type she would even want to acknowledge, let alone be polite to.

Why the fuck is this happening to me?

The answer, of course, was Hawaii. Last Christmas, instead of coming home to be with the family for the holiday, Mia had used her mother's credit card and her father's airline miles to go to Maui with college friends for the holiday. While there, she had been arrested for cocaine possession and had crashed a rented sports car -- yes, rented on mommy's card -- into nothing less than a police car.

After her father came to her rescue, Mia had been given a choice: come home to finish school at the local university while living under her parents' roof; or go it on her own. She had picked the latter. Now, 10 months later, Mia was beginning to understand she'd chosen poorly. She was flat broke, working three part time jobs, failing in her studies, sharing a downtown loft with six other losers, and now unable to pay for the food -- canned vegetables, ramen noodles, and beyond-their-expiration-date Pop Tarts -- sitting in the reusable shopping bag before her.

As she felt the tears begin to well in her eyes, Mia turned quickly and hurried for the door. She waited until she was out of view before sprinting to and around the corner of the building. She lowered herself to the ground and leaned back into the crumbling brick just as she burst into sobs.

Why is this happening to me? I'm a good person. I'm a good girl.

That was not exactly true, of course. Mia was now and always had been a stuck up, manipulative bitch. She had come from money, and with a sexy body and talent for flirting, she had not suffered an unfulfilled want her entire life. If her mother and father had been unwilling to provide it, the high school boys she led on had.

Now, that previous and wonderful existence was gone. The money was gone. And the easily manipulated boys were gone. She had stopped hanging with her friends because she could not afford the $5 lattes at the local coffee shop or the $12 drinks at the downtown clubs. Oh sure, with the wink of an eye Mia could get the college guys to pay her way. But in contrast to the boys she had led on in high school, these men expected her to eventually open her legs (or lips) to them in payment.

She sat on her haunches until the sobbing was under control, wiped her eyes, then stood to head for the bus stop.

"Mia, right?"

She spun in horror to find the man from her building standing there before her.


Please note: Although Mia is flashing herself in the below picture, she obviously was not doing so in the store. I just want her on display for anyone who might not know who she is. (Believe it or not, I did not know who she was until just recently, after I watched the movie "The Book Of Eli" with friends.) For the purpose of this introduction, imagine she is in fact wearing that outfit (with the shirt unbuttoned enough to show her cleavage and the inner edges of her bra's cups; and a pair of tight fitting, fashionably torn jeans that show off her well rounded ass.

https://41.media.tumblr.com/a53729656f11197bbb57287066154282/tumblr_nuzetqCkFS1uh2x2uo1_540.jpg

.

Name: Marc
Age: 48
Height: 6 foot
Build Rugby player but also carrying some middle age spread
Hair: Short, brown, receding along the forehead, natural grey highlights
Looks: Not overly handsome but can be striking especially in a suit


Marc was a widower. Losing his wife a few years earlier, he found her loss hard to cope with, and went on the bender. He took to drinking for a while, and lost his job, before he finally sought help and had rebuilt his life albeit alone and his daughter a similar age to Mia.

He had recovered his life, through hard work, but had moved to the apartment that he now lived in a fe years ago, and had made it into a home. It had been hard work, maintaining his job, looking after his daughter alone and of course rebuilding his family. Fiona though was now at University, and even though he could afford to move else where, he had spent too muh time making that apartment into his, into THEIR home and he had stayed, Fiona always knew there was a room for her.

His job was reasonably well paid, and he would be considered to be middle class, and he did enjoy the finer points of life. But also much of the food from the Discount food store was sufficiently good enough for his routine meals, and so he headed there once every two or three weeks to stock up on their cheaper items that helped him to saviour his disposable discount.

He didn't recognise Mia to begin with, even though she seemed to have recognised him. But as she fumbled at the checkout, she was clearly becoming more frantic, panicing about her predicament.

He leant forward and saw the amount she was trying to pay for with her card, a $20 bill would cover it. And so He approached his neighbour Mia as she struggled to pay her bill, aware of people starting to look, stare at her, mumbling of thief being heard even though she was trying to pay.

He smiled as Mia looked at him, clearly she was in total shock, winking in a cheeky manner as if to add insult to injury.

He took a $20 dollar from his wallet and paid the cashier, before taking her bag of shopping. and leaving the counter area of the store.

"Hi Mia," he repeated, as they stood just outside the store, away from the stares and insults that had started. He wondered how she would respond, he had seen her cold stares towards him when they had met in the corridor of the block of apartments.

.

Mia did not immediately respond to her neighbor's greeting, instead looking to the ground, then to a passing couple who were chatting about the dinner they were planning for that evening. Once the two were far enough away and Mia could see that there was no one else within hearing range, she peeked up at his and growled with obvious embarrassment, "Why would you do that?"

She looked away for just a short second or two, then looked him firmly in the face with eyes glistening on the edge of tears. "Did you honestly think you were helping...? I was already--"

She could not get the word humiliated out before a sob escaped her throat. She gulped the second one away and continued, her eyes now draining tears, "It wasn't bad enough that I-- that I couldn't pay for my own food ... you had to go and buy it like I was some ... some charity case!"

She spun on a heel and ran off along the edge of the building, disappearing into the parking lot as the sobs became uncontrollable...



She was sitting on the steps of the building when he returned home. She could not bring herself to look into his eyes. The source of her humiliation this time was her own actions. A neighbor who she had shunned so many times because of her own imagined prejudices offered to help her out of a bind, and she chastised him for it? Really?

As he neared, she said in a voice so low that she would not have been surprised if he did not hear her at all, "Please accept my apology. I'm a bitch."

.

Marc was totally taken back by his neighbour's outburst.

"But, well your card had been refused twice, and you seemed..."

He didn't get to finish his sentence as Mia ran off, leaving him be, and potentially out of pocket not that twenty bucks would cause him a problem.

He returned and collected his basket, and proceed to the same cashier by coincidence and paid for his own shopping.

He headed to a favourite cafe/coffee house and ordered a latte and a sausage sandwich for brunch, before he walked back home, keeping to the side streets when ever he could. As he ate, he thought of his neighbour, dressed in quite a sassy manner, wearing a scarf around her neck, a loose top witha neckline open enough to display her bra straps, and a almost micro skirt to display her black tight clad legs.

As he approached their apartment, he saw Mia looking all forlorn and dishevelled as she sat on the steps.

He heard her almost whisper "Please accept my apology. I'm a bitch." but he genuinely couldn't work out what she said..

"Sorry but I'm partially deaf... can you say it again please?"

Mia glanced up at his flippant comment, ready to snap at him again. But instead, she dropped her gaze to the ground again, bit her lip for a moment, opened her mouth to speak, hesitated yet again, then -- with a louder, stronger voice to emphasize her regret -- said, "I was rude to you. You were only being nice. Please accept my apology..."

When he did not immediately respond, Mia peeked up again at him, clenched her teeth for a moment, then finished, "I'm a bitch. I'm a bitch, I'm a bitch, I'm a..." She drew a breath, held it, then released it and said calmly and genuinely, "I'm a bitch. Please ... accept my apology, so that I can return to my apartment feeling I've done the right thing ... and cry."

.

Marc could hear the inpatience in he rvoice as he turned and showed her his hearing aid.

"Sorry but Iwas born partially deaf..."

In inhaled deeply...

"And I accept you apology, young lady.... Sorry but I don't know your name, but I'm Marc."

As he sat next to her, he offered her his hand.

"No hard feelings eh?"


"I was contemplating having a coffee, would you like one, my treat?"


.

"Sorry," the good Samaritan said, indicating the hearing aid in one ear as he added, "but I was born partially deaf."

Mia's eyes widened and she could literally feel her face draining of blood at her embarrassment. She had assumed he was simply driving home her bitchiness with his request, and now she felt not like a bitch but a super bitch!

He accepted her apology and moved to sit next to her on the step. Mia watched him carefully, not entirely comfortable with the invasion of her space. She had seem him multiple times over her months in the building, and he had always seemed to be ogling or flirting with the other younger women in the building. She had always thought him creepy. One of the other college girls had taken to calling him the Predator -- not the Arnold Schwarzenegger one but the registering with the State and not living too close to schools one.

But now she was beginning to think that maybe she and the others were wrong. Oh, sure, buying her groceries for her might just be the older in age version of Hey, little girl, would you like some candy? Or, he might simply and genuinely be a nice guy. Usually Mia would not even want to know: in her entire life, she had never made an attempt to get to know an older man unless she was out at the clubs with the girls and the man in question drove a Ferrari and had expensive Italian shoes.

But there was something about this guy that made Mia want to know. She was not looking for a lover or anything like that. But, having a neighbor who she might be able to go to occasionally to borrow a couple of bucks or buy a bag of groceries would not hurt.

The emotion of the moment, though, had caused Mia to forget one very important thing about good looking young women acceptingcharity from adult male strangers: they usually wanted something in return, and that something usually involved a certain level of nudity and/or sweaty nights.

He sat, offered his hand and peace offering, then asked if she was interested in a cup of coffee. Mia looked away for a moment, not wanting him to see the hesitation in her eyes. Don't do this, she warned herself, still thinking -- right or wrong? -- that the man sitting way to close to her was a pervert. Just thank him again, take the groceries, and vow to pay him back as soon as...

Then Mia reminded herself that she could not pay the man back. She was absolutely and entirely flat broke. Her job was not paying her bills, her government benefits card would not be recharged for three days, and her kitchen contained, in whole, a can of ravioli, a half filled quart container of milk, and three cans of prunes left over from a Church food box.

She had never been this desperate in her entire life, and the next step to feeding herself was walking downtown to the Mission for a free meal and the obligatory bible sermon. That ... or going home to mom and dad. She grimaced, still with her face away from the neighbor as not to make him think the expression had been meant for him.

"Yes," she said, still looking away from him. Then remembering his hearing aid and fearing he had not heard her, Mia donned a feigned smile and turned to face him, repeating, "Yes. I would like a coffee."

She took the offered hand that she had snubbed the first go around, then stood -- mostly to get some distance from him -- and said again, "Yes, I will go for coffee with you, but..." She glanced at the bag of her groceries, remembering that there had been another quart of milk and some cheese that needed to go into the fridge. "I, um ... I'm assuming you bought those for me--"

Quickly her tone changed as she said, "Which I plan to pay you back for, totally, just as soon as I can." She was balancing trying not to owe him anything -- particularly anything too personal -- with the desperate need to have food in her house.

"It needs to go in the fridge," she said, her tone back to normal. She was afraid he might think she was only trying to get behind her locked door and safely away from him, so -- swallowing hard -- she added, "You can carry it up, if you want or ... I'll just come back down to meet you."

.

Marc sat there as he watched her go red, and felt some empathy towards her, though she had put herself in that position.

She sat in her designer jeans, ripped in several places. He recalled his daughter commenting on that current trend, and asked why spend tens of dollars on ripped jeans for them to be come unfashionable in 6 weeks time!

Her torso was covered in a lumberjack- style chequered shirt, unfastened sufficiently such that the deep red edges of her bra cups were openly on display - the sort of of look that is there to get attention, and when men do give them attention, they tell us off for being perverts.

He smiled slightly to himself as he spoke about her shopping and that it needs to go into the fridge.

"You can carry it up, if you want or ... I'll just come back down to meet you."

"What would you like? Why don't you take your stuff up to your room, and then come back down whilst I order the drinks? That is if you trust me I guess.... " he replied. He thought he felt some hesitation on her behalf, but wasn't sure. Her eyes also had that questioning look of "Why are you helping me?"

He stood up and offered her a hand to help her up.

Standing in her apartment with the perishables stored and the Ritz already opened and missing a half dozen crackers, Mia told herself that she could easily blow him off and not go down and across the street to meet Marc for coffee. She had done such things at bars and clubs often after men had spent money on driks and food ans were expected sex that she was not planning on dispensing. But Marc lived right here in her building. It would be impossible to avoid him indefinitely. No, it would be easier to go sit with him for a while, maybe make up some story about having a soldier boyfriend overseas, thank him, and get away, saving her pride without hurting his feelings.

She caught sight of herself in the full length mirror as she was heading for the door and stopped to look over her front and back sides. She looked good. She knew so because men -- and even women -- told her so all the time. But she worried that she looked too good for a man she was trying to blow off, rather than simply blow. The rips in the seat of her pants showed off the lower rounds of her firm ass, and the over shirt -- which she now devilishly unfastened one buttom more-- gave even the most casual observer a healthy look at her young, firm breasts.

"Fuck it," she said, heading out the door and down to the coffee shop. As she entered and headed toward where he sat, she thought maybe she could get a little more from Marc before she politely tossed him aside.

.

Marc was on his mobile when Mia entered the local independent coffee house.

The two drinks were on the table as he spoke..

"Sorry Jasmine, but I need to go, the person who i was expecting has just turned up...."

As he spoke, he stood up at the table...

"Love you Jasmine take care and see you soon when you are next back home... byeeee"

He turned to Mia, his I-phone on the table showing a photo of a young woman of a similar age to Mia; some one whom Mia would have seen around the building from time to time.

"Hi and welcome, please take a seat....." he offered as he sat back down....

"Sorry was just chatting to my daughter..."

"Hi and welcome," Marc said, gesturing Mia to a seat and he took his again.

Mia noticed the picture on the face of the man's phone. She thought she recognized the woman -- the girl -- as one of the young cuties Marc used to flirt with out in the hall of the apartment building. In fact, she thought she even remembered seeing the girl come out of Marc's apartment once or twice. Probably trading blow jobs for coke or cash or just the ability to tell her also-underage friends that she's fucking an old fart.

Then Marc surprised Mia with, "Sorry was just chatting to my daughter."

"Oh!" she said, as if needing to apology for what she had only been thinking, despite it having only be thoughts. It occurred to her that unless Marc was able to read minds he did not know what she was just thinking, so she only added, "That's nice."

Another thought struck Mia suddenly. The girl on the phone -- Marc's daughter -- was about her own age. That meant that Marc was even older than Mia had first thought. That meant that she, Mia, was hanging in a coffee shop with an old fart who had bought her a bag of groceries, was now buying her coffee, and -- with any luck -- might be buying her other things in the near future.

Suddenly, Mia realized that she was the cutesy little twats that she had been quietly accusing all of the girls hanging out around Marc of being. What's wrong with you? Slut! But ... of course, she was not a slut, because she was not going to do anything sexual with Marc. Was she? Am I? She was desperate, absolutely financially desperate beyond belief. But, it would take a hell of a major, unbelievable crash of her entire life to cause her to have sex with this man for money...

Wouldn't it?

She looked to her coffee for a moment, then lifted it to her lips and ever so carefully sipped at the steaming drink. She looked over the lid at Marc, studying him for a moment. He was not ugly or anything. She could imagine having once been attracted to him. A thousand years ago, when he was her age, anyway. But still ... he had gentle eyes, and -- when he was not staring at her curves and enjoying what Mia imagined were some very extremely inappropriate fantasies -- he had a pleasant smile.

Play it by ear, she thought. She set her drink down, and smiled to Marc, asking, "So ... tell me something about yourself."

.

Marc watched Mia approach, her legs still clad in those expensive ripped designer jeans, her shirt still unnecessary opened up exposing her decolletage, and even the deep red of her bra cups. Her flesh looked unblemished.

She smiled as she sat opposite him, being polite till he had ended his call.

He pondered about he situation, that she looked broke. She can afford designer labels but not food; clearly her priorities are all mixed up.

After a few courtesies, she asked him the inevitable question..

"So ... tell me something about yourself."

He sipped his coffee before he started to explain.

He was a widower she died as a cancer statistic quite a few years ago, causing him to loose his grip on reality. Relatives looked after Fiona, his daughter until he got back onto two feet, and now worked as an IT manager for a college in the city.

Fiona was at university, studying law with the intention to become a lawyer.

She asked why hadn't he moved..

"Simple, Fiona and i have made a home. She is at University and needs the security of being able to come home and know the environment where she lives.. Also means he has more disposable income to support her if required..."

He studied her as he spoke, she came across as intelligent, how she phrased her questions, and how she nodded, leting him finish before she inturrupeted, or asked another question.

As he finished his latte, he asked

"So anything else Mia? or has the Spanish Inquisition finished for the day?" He smiled, hoping that his candid approach with the odd hint of humor and cheek had answered her questions, and possibly would help her to trust him.

It was clear that she didn't.


"So Mia, what is your story?"

.

Mia was actually quite surprised by Marc's response to her wanting to know about him. Perverts did not typically tell the little girls they wanted to strip down and molest all about their lives.

Pervert. That was, after all, what Mia and her friends had thought Marc to be. Every time they had seen him -- in the apartment building hallway or out on the steps -- he had either been chatting up women half his age and barely legal or had been quietly ogling the same as they wandered past on the sidewalk and cast him their expressions of disgust.

But now, all of that inappropriate behavior was beginning to appear as if it had been viewed out of context. Mia had already come to realize that one of the girls he'd been close to -- hugging her, touching her, kissing her -- had actually been his daughter; and now, as she thought back to those occasions, Mia realized that the touches and kisses had not been sexual in nature but had only been loving and comforting.

And what about the other girls. As Marc continued with his explanation of his current situation, Mia realized that often those other girls might very well have been friends of his daughter, Fiona, and they had only been close to him because Fiona had.

Mia was becoming very confused. For months she and her friends had giggled about Marc and made horrid comments about him being a dirty old man. And now, it all seemed to be untrue.

It was not, though. Sure, he was a loving father to Fiona. And he was a kind neighbor to Mia. But not too far off in the distant future, she was going to learn that Marc was in fact the dirty old man she had always taken him for. The question that was going to arise when she finally learned that for certain, though, was ... That's a good thing, right?

"So Mia, what is your story?"

She was deep in reverie when Marc stopped talking about himself and turned Mia's question back on her. She asked with surprise, "Me?"

She diverted her gaze from Marc, looking back to her long empty coffee mug for a moment while she considered whether she wanted to be honest with him -- as he appeared to have been with her -- or be the usual self-centered, self-serving, bitch-of-a-self she always was. She decided on a gray area in between.

"I'm a student," she began, looking up for the barista and motioning an extended index finger for a refill to her drink. She was well aware of the fact that she was not paying, but hey, Marc invited her for coffee, so he could cover it, right? She continued with a self-deprecating tone, "City College. Not as fancy as your daughter's university, I'm sure, but..."

She almost told him about how she was on the verge of dropping out because of bad grades, then hesitated. The reason for her bad grades was working three jobs; and the reason for working three jobs was to earn enough money for college. And since she was here talking to Marc because of money problems, not school problems, that was where she took the conversation.

"I have three jobs ... part time, minimum wage ... some tips but not much." She pointed a finger upwards, as if she were sitting in the lobby of the apartment building. "Our apartment is supposed to be for three girls only, but we've got six there just trying to make the rent and electric. Our cable got pulled. Internet, too." she looked around the café, adding, "I come here to use their free wifi when they're open ... sit outside on the bench when they're not because they don't turn it off at night." She nodded her head toward a tree with a huge rounded trunk that looked oddly like a recliner. "I spend a lot of time leaning against that maple."

The barista brought Mia another coffee and asked Marc if he wanted a refill before leaving. Mia was going to continue her sad sob story when she drew a quick, sharp breath of desperation that was not feigned. So far, everything she had told Marc was, in fact, entirely true. And it made her feel like a total failure and a waste to be in this spot.

Of course, all she had to do was make up with her parents. Apologize, move back into her room, start fresh in a different school ... follow the rules. It was that last part that made her stomach turn over, quite literally. But the fact was that, if she would comply, Mia did in fact have options that would return her to comfort and care. She did not want that life, though, so the rest of what she told Marc was very much in that gray area between truth and fiction.

"My parents won't help me, so that's not an option," she continued. "I have a food card, you saw that at the canned food store. Couple'a my room mates had a party and their friends ate everything in the house, so..." She let Marc continue that topic in his own thoughts. "Got three bucks in my purse and some change in the console of my car ... for which I have neither gas nor insurance. Basically ... I'm fucked. I can't make any more money than I already am, and I don't know anyone with money who can help me ... so ... I'm fucked."

.

Marc listened to Mia as she started to tell her life story, the just of it being that she is broke, and that her relationship with her parents is barely in existence.

Despite her shirt, the hint of her bra cups and her décolletage on almost total display, he managed to stop looking at her breasts, her cleavage, rather focusing on her face and facial expressions as she told her story He barely asked any questions, - she seemed to be on a roll, and didn't want to interrupt, disturb her flow.

He wasn't sure how much was the truth, and how much was fiction, but he sensed that most was true to a greater or less extent; he had heard stories from Fiona about her friends and peers at her university. He made a mental note about her broadband and to see if she was close enough to piggy back his. But he also realised that she needed to be taught a lesson; the fact that she was wearign designer labels yet cant afford Internet access for studies or any food was testament to that.

As the Barista topped up Mia's cup, he asked for another latte together with a couple of cookies,, which soon arrived, and handed one to Mia. She didn't look like she was starving but it wouldn't do her any harm.

He continued to listen, as she told him of the three jobs, and that she had no money till the end of the week when her state card would be topped up. He wondered why she hadn't flirted with prostitution or the sex industry. Despite the tough laws in America, he was aware that it happened....

Finally as Mia ran out of steam, or inclination to tell this random stranger any more, a moment of silence developed, that awkward sort...

"So Mia, what are your options Financially? IF you are doing three jobs and still going out regularly, your studies must be seriously being affected, no degree and you will have student loans for life... "

He sipped his coffee... "Oh and what floor are you on? Let me know if you receive a Wi-Fi signal called Fullers...."

"I've seen it," she said after Marc commented about the WiFi. She clarified, "When I turn on my lap top, I see the name come up in my list of available networks. Is that you?"

They discussed the idea of her piggy backing his WiFi, then Mia said, "As far as money goes ... I don't have many options. I look through the job offer on line and in the paper every week, but nothing that pays better will work with my class schedule."

Mia had been trying to think of ways to get something out of Marc, but other than flat out asking Will you give me some cash? she did not really have any ideas. She could always tell him I'll blow you for fifty bucks, but she was not a whore, so that was out.

At least ... she was not a whore, yet! But, things change, do they not?

She perked up in her chair a bit and smiled to Marc. "Hey, listen! I remember hearing you in the hall a couple of weeks back, talking to that guy, uh ... you know, from the third floor ... Rick! He was saying something about missing his girl friend 'cause she was such a good cook, and you said something about wishing you ate better. Maybe--"

Mia stopped short without finishing, suddenly realizing what she was doing. The idea of offering to cook for Marc was not the problem. The problem was that to do it, she would either have to invite the still-stranger to her apartment or ask to come to his. But, Mia had to try something. And maybe if she became a regular at his place, she might find other ways to get him to help her with her financial troubles.

"I'm a really good cook," she continued, resigning herself to the idea that this was necessary. "I could cook you dinner once in a while ... maybe tonight?"

.

Marc agreed to let Mia piggy back onto his wi fi but he would enter the password, to ensure that her flat mates do not get it. He also stated that he would monitor the log files and if he found any illegal down loading sites or porn, he would simply remove her permissions.

Marc thought about whether he should suggest that Mia thought outside the box. He knew from Fiona that students worked the sex industry on various web cam and chat lines, and can make good money. And then of course there was prostitution itself....

"Well Mia all I know is that there are self employed job opportunities out there that can, i f you have the right persona earn good money, but you have to think outside the box and not be a prude... And NO Ia m not referring to prostitution but rather web caming and the like... "

He inhaled "You have a a great physique and you seem happy to flaunt it... and yes for a while I did use a couple of services...." he admitted.

"Cooking well I think yo misheard me, I am an exceptional cook apparently, certainly Fiona thinks so; as well as some of her friends and my friends for that matter.... If you have nothing in the fridge, maybe I can rustle up something for later? - You could bring your laptop around at the same time?"

Marc was starting to warm towards Mia. She was attractive, though she also knew it herself and played with her looks to her advantage it seemed. But She also had issues with her priorities, especially financial. But he saw her natural beauty and understood why any guy would be attracted to her, at least physically; but also how many would be put of by her attitude, or at least the initial perception of her attitude?

Marc called the barista girl over and took out a $20 note, and handed it to her, smiling.

((OOC: I am doing something with Marc that I hope you do not mind. If you do, tell me and I will delete it.)

Mia totally understood Marc's concern about the WiFi code and agreed fully.

When he suggested she consider taking an online sex services job, remarkably she showed little reaction. She had, indeed considered it before. As Marc said, she was a beautiful woman, in her face and in her body both. Men -- and even women -- had complimented her to excess while naked in bed with her.

But it was not until just this moment that Mia began to think that maybe it was the way to go. She was desperate. The food in her cupboards bought by a stranger were evident of that. But could she do it? Could she sit before her computer in skimpy clothes -- or no clothes -- and talk dirty to men, touch herself in that way, or possibly both?

Marc paid the bill, and -- feeling she needed to be alone to think -- Mia thanked him yet again and said she needed to go home. Back at the apartment complex, Mia retrieved her laptop from her third floor apartment and brought it down to Marc to type in the password. Once they knew that she had service, she thanked him yet again and headed back upstairs to contemplate her future.



A couple of hours later, Mia was back at Marc's door again, knocking softly as to not gain attention from any of the other apartment dwellers. She had waited until all of her roommates were either out on the town or asleep so they would not know what she was up to.

When he answered, she turned her lap top his direction and pointed to the WiFi signal strength at the bottom. Here outside his apartment, it showed 3 of 5 bars, but she explained quickly, "No bars upstairs. If I'm gonna pirate your service, I'm either gonna have to do it here on the steps or..."

She peeked past him into his apartment. She could not believe that she was asking to enter the apartment of a man she had always thought a pervert, especially at this late hour. She also could not believe that she still had on her lap top's screen the frozen image of the New Applicant's Page for a web cam service called "Delicious Dames".

.

It was a couple of hours since they left the coffee house opposite their block, and for Mia to bring her laptop to signing onto his network.

But around 7 pm, when he was dressed in his home alone attire of running tights and a thin 1/2 zipped fleece top, the door bell rang.

Marc turned the volume down on his stereo, quietening Steve Wilson and headed to the hall way and looked through the spy-hole to see Mia

He opened the door...

"Evening Mia... what's up?" He saw she had the laptop in her hand. "Please come in."

"No bars upstairs. If I'm gonna pirate your service, I'm either gonna have to do it here on the steps or..."

As Mia spoke, she opened her laptop, allowing him to see what looked like a form. He couldn't make it out first before he saw the logo in the top right corner in a purple colour "Delicious Dames", the purple clearly being the branding of the website.

"Ah I see your predicament...."

Marc stood there as he closed the front door....

"So I assume that because of your wi fi and the overcrowding you are looking for some where to explore this new employment suitably?"


Mia just nodded sheepishly as if full of embarrassment.

Follow me.... He led her to the small box bedroom at the end of the hall. It had a single bed and a table and a couple of lights - basic but then suitable for an overnight stay...

"Will this do?"

.

"Will this do?" Marc asked.

It was not much. But it was more than what Mia currently had upstairs, where she shared an equally sized bed room with another girl, who often had her own girlfriend stay over, leading to some uncomfortable yet erotic nights for Mia.

And, of course, it had high speed wifi, which was at the center of all she was trying to do.

"It'll do," she said without emotion. She set her lap top on the table, then plopped onto the bed to check it for noise and comfort. It had plenty of the first but little of the second. She gave Marc an expectant look. He must have understood it, because he quickly excused himself. Mia said quickly as he was closing the door behind him, "Thank you, Marc."

She spent several minutes simply looking about the room and contemplating her situation. She could not believe she was going to do this: she was going to be a web cam model, showing off her body, talking dirty to horny men, maybe even touching herself erotically ... masturbating even?

Mia knew that at any moment she could abandon this idea. But, what else could she do? She was desperate, and all of the elements necessary to take on this new career were in place.

In place, Mia thought. In MARC's place! A shiver ran up her spine at the thought that she was going to be doing erotic things -- nasty things -- for online perverts inside the apartment of the man that she had for so long thought was a pervert himself...



It took more than two hours to set herself up, including creating a new email address that could not be connected to her personally; completing her written application; and -- using her web cam -- recording an introductory video. That latter was very uncomfortable and awkward, as she had to answer questions about her sexual limits as to what she would do online if asked by future clients. She recorded the video 11 times before she finally selected Submit.

She was exhausted. She closed her lap top and stood to leave, then remembered that Marc had offered the room for her for the night. It would be nice not to have to wear her ear plugs and sleeping mask to fight the noise and confusion from her five room mates just one night.

The bed was freshly made, which made her wonder for a moment whether or not it might be Fiona's. But there was nothing girlish about the rather poorly decorated room, to which Mia concluded Marc's daughter must have had the third room that all of the building's apartment had.

She stripped down to her bra and panties, killed the lights, and slipped into the bed. Her mind was wracked by the knowledge that just down the hall there was a strange man who she simply did not know well enough to be sleeping in his home. She thought she would never get to sleep, and yet she was out before she realized it...

.

Marc left Mia in piece as he headed to the living room, and continued listening to his music as he sipped a glass of a light Merlot. H contemplated the strange turn of events meeting Mia and hearing about her problems mostly financial.

It was clear that she didn't trust him at the beginning, those dark looks, as if he was a three headed monster. But he realised she felt that he might be predatory.

She was attractive, but also some what arrogant and bitchy he sensed, though to be fair he had no really been at the receiving end.

He wondered what she was doing in the room, but by ten thirty or so, there was no light emerging from around the door.

He locked the outer door to the flat and went to bed..


He rose at 6 as normal, and started his daily chores. As seven approached, he needed to get ready and head out to work, He wasnt going to trust her alone in his abode.

And so around seven he tapped on the door a few times...

Finally he heard a murmur...

"Are you decent?"

again another murmur, as he opened the door, and saw Mia lay in the bed, pulling the covers up, but he saw the dark red bra hanging up over the chair. He ignored it as he placed the mug of tea next to her on the bedside table.

"Morning Mia its 7am ish - and I need to be enroute to work in 45 minutes."

He turned and walked out of the room leaving the door closed behind him.


.

"Is it okay if I stick around?" she asked naively. She did not have anywhere to be until 10am this morning, and she was eager to see if there had been any response to her application to become an online "whore". She saw Marc's expression though and knew immediately that that was a non starter. She lied, "OH, I forgot. I have a, um, seminar at school."

She thanked him a few minutes later for all he had done for her, then -- just as they finished their farewells -- she timidly asked, "Marc, I ... I hate to ask this, but ... could I bum ten bucks 'til I get paid tomorrow?"

Either way, she would thank him again, plopped down below the stairwell where no one could see her after he departed, and jump onto the internet to see if she was on her way to a life of sin and corruption.



Mia was sitting there again when Marc got home from work, her feet visible to him from his doorway. When he looked her way, she looked up and said without emotion, "They posted my audition recording to something they call their "Stiff as a Board of Directors". I looked it up. I guess it's a bunch of long time members who say yea or nay to applicants. I got a score of 9.8." She smiled nervously and said with obvious sarcasm, "Yea, me. I'm an online slut."

.


Marc was quite blunt but polite with it...

"Sorry but I barely know you though I know you are in financial troubles... would you let anyone stay if you were in my shoes?"

He listened intently as she thanked him. and then the cheeky question....

"Marc, I ... I hate to ask this, but ... could I bum ten bucks 'til I get paid tomorrow?"

He reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet and handed over a $20 bill... "That is $40 you owe me now. Don't ask again as a rebuttal might offend us both." His voice was quiet, yet firm and with out emotion. But he was dismissing ever seeing that $40 again.


He closed the door after her and soon himself was heading out to face the day.

At lunchtime he took a work in the autumnal sun, where Mia was the focus of his thoughts. He hated her arrogance but couldn't deny her beauty and her physique - he found her sexually intriguing, curious. But after a brief fling with a friend of Fiona's where she seduced him in a semi drunken stupor, he vowed not to touch below 25 again. But he found he could break that self imposed rule for Mia

That evening he was late from work as he climbed the stairs in his suit and headed to his apartment when he saw her.

Mia was full of excitement as she told him that she had been accepted and given a initial score of 9.8.

He was bemused as he replied...

"9.8? He looked at the email that she had showed him pretending to look for something.... "hummm I cant see the minus sign" he joked.......

"But seriously well done you Mia, Cup of tea? "

He opened up and led her inside to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

"Take a seat, i'll be right back"

He returned a few moments later back in his running tights and fleece top that she saw him in the night before.

"9.8?" Marc questioned, adding a moment later, "hummm I cant see the minus sign."

Mia cocked her head, and -- trying to contain her smile but failing -- responded, "Ha ... funny."

Marc congratulated her and invited her in for tea. She accepted, and on the way up the stairs and into his apartment, she contemplated his response to learning she would soon be flashing her body online to strangers ... if not more. He's a father. Of a girl. Of a young woman, my age. Shouldn't he be telling me how bad an idea this is, not congratulating me?

Mia was conflicted. Was he happy for her because she was financially desperate and this might help her out of her hole? Or was he happy for her because she would soon be performing indecent, inappropriate, sexual acts in his spare room that -- with a little luck -- might spill over into his own sex life?

Suddenly, Mia's heart leaped as she thought, Oh shit. Yeah.

Marc set to heating the tea water and getting out the bags and mugs, while Mia sat at his little kitchen table and contemplated how she was going to ask this of him. When finally he was pouring the steaming water and returning to sit across from her, she smiled timidly, then looked down to the spoon she was playing with as she began.

"Listen ... Marc," she began, unable to hide the nervousness as she had hoped. "This job. It could save my butt." She laughed, short and sharp, joking, "My cute little butt ... which apparently was the reason I got a 9.8 and not an 8.4." She waved off that thought, and continued, "Anyway, I need this. And I want to try it. But ... I have to have high speed to do it, and obviously I'm not going to get that three flights above you, so ... I was wondering..."

Mia looked up to Marc finally and, reverting back to the flirtatious tones and seductive smile that had gotten her so much in high school from the horny, desperate boys, asked, "Is there anyway that ... maybe ... I could use that room ... you know, just until I can afford internet at my place?"

Mia would never get internet at her place for online sex modeling, of course. She lived with five girls and shared a bedroom with one and a half of them. There was no way of ever doing this type of business in that sort of environment. She was not going to tell Marc that. Then again, he was a smart guy, and Mia had a bad feeling that he would understand this already and realized that she was essentially asking to run her new sex job out of his place indefinitely.

She cocked her head again and leaned her body ever so gently to one side, knowing that it would cause the lapel of her button up shirt to open just a bit more and flash a bit more of the delicious, unbridled breast underneath...

.

As Marc changed into his lounging at home attire, he suddenly wondered whether what he said about congratulations was, or could be taken out of context.

Mia was in a financial conundrum. She was in debt, and had little money to spend, yet she also had no discipline, constraints when it came to shopping. SO whilst it was unfortunate that Mia was having become self employed in the online sex industry, it was something she could do, and earn by all accounts a few buck.

But he didn't like having to suggest the idea in the least.

He returned to the kitchen in his leggings and made the tea as he watched Mia out of the corner of his eye, her cleavage yet again exposed to all in sundry to see. And then ther was what he was thinking at lunchtime, the need for space and good internet access.

Mia sounded as if their apartment was crowded out, and no internet. If she was to ask, what would be his response?

As he poured the teas and placed them onto the table, he sat opposite her.

She reached for the handle of her mug and turned it round to face her, before she fidgeted with her blouse, exposing more of her décolletage to him.

"What is she going to scrounge now?" he thought to himself.

"Is there anyway that ... maybe ... I could use that room ... you know, just until I can afford internet at my place?"

Marc looked at Mia and smiled in a knowing 'I knew this was coming' expression.

"And if you did get internet access, as you share a room, would you be able to do any work upstairs?"

"But I do see your position, but I also have to think of my own privacy and MORE IMPORTANTLY FIONA's privacy."

He sipped his tea purposefully as he considered the options.

"It is October the first tomorrow.... How about a two week trail period?" He met her dark eyes with his own.....

(OOC: FYI, I have changed Mia's current age to 20. I think earlier I had stated it was 18.)

"...but I also have to think of my own privacy and MORE IMPORTANTLY FIONA's privacy."

Mia had anticipated this from Marc and quickly asked, "What if I only worked-- was only here when Fiona wasn't? And, if you, I dunno, was sort of your house keeper or something, you know, for appearance sake ... I could do your dishes one day when we knew she was about to walk through the door or be running the vacuum ... that would present a, um ... what's that word ...?... context, for if she ever came home unexpectedly and I was here."

It seemed a logical solution to the problem as far as Mia was involved. But then, she was the only one getting anything out of this, wasn't she? She was about to suggest possibly paying Marc a portion of her profit when he made a proposal.

"It is October the first tomorrow.... How about a two week trail period?"

Mia practically leaped out of her chair with excitement, which should have left her scratching her head as she was getting excited about Marc making it possible for her to get dirty for strangers. Rather than scratching her own head, though, she wrapped her arms around Marc's excitedly, the bare cleavage of her breasts pressing against the side of his face as she said happily, "oh thank you thank you thank you, Marc."

She pulled back and kissed him on the cheek, then headed for the door in a childish loping run as she said, "I'm going to get a few things and be right back."



An hour later, she was back at Marc's, entering the front door without even knocking and heading back to her room with a pair of large, filled, cloth shopping bags. Marc must have been in the bathroom or busy in the kitchen, because by the time he got to the sex room, Mia had already used push pins to tack a beautiful piece of cloth -- once a dining room table cloth -- up to wall that her webcam would be facing; and covered the bed with the comforter she had stopped using because someone had told her it looked like something a 12 year old would sleep below.

She looked much differently than she had when she ran out of the apartment now, as well. Her hair was up in pig tails, high on her head, left and right; and she had stripped and then reapplied her makeup in a way she had not worn it since she had first begun toying with it so many years ago. She wore a sexy school girl costume she had been hidden away in a closet box since Halloween three years back, as well as a pair of mid-thigh high lacy white stocking that seriously showed off her long, luscious legs.

The result of the make up, hair-do, clothing -- which was skimpy and much too tight for her now more grown up figure -- and the dozen and a half stuffed animals that she borrowed from the bedrooms of her various roommates was that she looked like the most whorish little catholic school girl any man had ever seen sitting on a bed, ready to do all the things mommy and daddy had told her only bad girls did.

When Marc opened the door, Mia grabbed up the long coat she had just removed and held it up before her. Her face flushed bright red and -- forgetting that she had simply barged into the man's house unannounced -- snapped, "Boundaries, Marc. Boundaries!