tagHumor & Satire365 Days Ch. 02

365 Days Ch. 02

byDear_Dora©

Chapter 2: Happy Birthday

Another note to eager readers: Looking it over, I now see that this section has quite a bit of "setup" in it, too. Sorry. I'd appreciate it if you'd slog through it, 'cause it does get kind of sexy right near the end and the rest of the story will make more sense if you do, but I'll understand if you want to jump ahead to the section titled "Cyndi, Day One (Morning)."

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So it is that we come to beginning of our story, in which the first installment of Roger's gift to me showed up on the doorstep of my small apartment one excellent spring Saturday morning a little over a year ago.

"Hi! My name is Cyndi!" said the pert young woman on my doorstep.

Cyndi was wearing dark brown walking shorts and a dark brown windbreaker and baseball-style cap with a yellow-gold logo that looked like that of a delivery service whose name rhymes with "UPS." She was quite a small young woman, but pretty, and as I said, pert (whatever that means, exactly). She stood there, holding some envelopes and a package, waiting for my response.

I have developed a defensive shell into which I crawl when confronted by beautiful women and which I use to protect myself from both the abuse they often give me and from the disappointments I have faced so often in their presence when they have treated me with even a small amount of interest. But I was still blinking away the sleep in my eyes, and pulling my robe more tightly about me when I answered the door that Saturday morning, so I wasn't quite prepared for combat in the Battle of the Sexes.

"Yes?" I croaked, clearing my throat for the day, "how may I help you?"

"I have a message and a package for you!" said Cyndi with her radiant smile, robin's egg blue eyes, and white teeth completely inappropriate for that time of the day. Although I've often been disappointed by beautiful girls, I'm still as appreciative of a good effort at sexual manipulation as the next guy, but not at six a.m. when I had but moments before been sound asleep.

Cyndi (I could tell how she spelled her name from her impertinent chipperness, even if she hadn't been wearing a nametag) held out a manila envelope with a big, bold "#1" printed on it. I looked at it, squinting in the glare of the low morning sun to see that it was addressed to me, in my brother's distinctively sloppy handwriting. I took the envelope from her, and looked up, holding out my other hand, expecting her to follow it with a package of some sort.

Cyndi, mistaking my intention, shook my hand. "Pleased to meet you!" (Cyndi seemed always to speak with exclamation points.) "You must be Mr. Owens! Mr. Dale Owens!" emphasizing my given name, I suppose to distinguish me from Roger who had sent her.

"Yes. Yes, I am." I responded, mindlessly, sleepily, continuing to shake her hand.

"I can't give you the package until you read the letter," Cyndi said. "And I can't really give it to you out here."

I belatedly let go of her hand and stepped out of the doorway, gesturing her to enter. "Oh, yeah, excuse me. Please come in for a minute."

Cyndi came just inside, pushing the door closed behind her, as I opened the envelope. Inside were four sheets of paper and a check for $36,500.

The fourth sheet of paper was a printed list of names, in the tiniest type I'd ever seen. I squinted my bleary eyes and could see that the names were all apparently women, starting with "Cyndi Wilson (Cyndi)." In each case, there was a similar nickname in parenthesis after the proper name. There were 365 numbered names on the list, grouped under three headings: Professional Escorts, American Evenings, and Elegant Alternatives -- escort services.

The third sheet was a list of several names, addresses, and phone numbers, including the three escort services, a pharmacy, a physician, an emergency clinic, a catering service, a laundry, and an adult bookstore.

The two front sheets were a typed letter with the salutation in my brother's tortured scrawl:

"Happy Birthday Dale!" (he had scribbled),

"Thanks for coming to our wedding and for your nice gift of the toaster." (The wedding had been before they hit the jackpot -- I figure now they could probably afford their own toaster.) "As you may know, Maria and I have been trying to share a little of our good fortune with our family, and I thought you might appreciate a little something personal from me to you.

I know you've always been a little envious of my "social successes" with girls and women, and I was always envious of your capacity for hard work and a successful career. I guess I've made a success of myself now ... by luck of course, but still. So, for your birthday, I thought you might enjoy a year of the sort of "success" I have always enjoyed.

Cyndi is the first installment of my gift for you. Tomorrow morning, Rachel will come by your house to replace Cyndi. I recommend both Cyndi and Rachel highly. Every day thereafter, the next girl on the enclosed list will arrive at your door before you leave for work in the morning, and yesterday's girl will go home.

The girls are instructed, and I might add, enthusiastically willing, to provide for all your needs and desires in any manner you choose (if you know what I mean.) I know you won't abuse them of course, but I also know from experience that sometimes folks get carried away with themselves, so I have attached the addresses of my personal physician and a clinic where you can go if the need suddenly arises. For some reason.

I'll take care of the bills; the girls are "paid for" as are the medical arrangements and everything else, except as I describe below.

I know you've still got a job, so I've also provided the names of the escort services these ladies work for ... if you prefer, you may call the escort service the night before and postpone the arrival of the girl for the next day until after work that day, in which case, you may keep that girl, and the next day's girl (if she also doesn't come until after work) with you for an extra day, as well -- two half days each, but concurrently. You may do this cumulatively, foregoing all your girls during the entire work week if you wish, and thus have six girls on Saturday night, seven on Sunday. You may do this any time you like, as often as you wish, with the following exceptions: Monday morning, all the girls have to go home, and you have to start over for the next week. No more than seven girls at once! (You dog!)

No going back. Once a girl has left for the day, you may not summon her again. (After the year is up, of course, you're free to do as you please, at your own expense, so maybe you want to keep notes?) Except for the workday provisions mentioned above, no keeping a girl for more than 24 hours.

You may certainly take the girls out for a good time, and have parties, but the girls must stay overnight at your place exclusively. The girls will be happy to go out with or entertain your male friends at home if that's what melts your wax, and your friends are free to use the other services I've arranged for. But all of that must take place at your house. If there's any trouble, such as complaints by neighbors, contact Captain Gene Stewart of the county Sheriff's Office -- he's been alerted to the circumstances and will take care of you if needed (also paid for!) But please, try to be reasonable: no setting up shop for yourself and charging admission to your parties!

You will note that the first 120 girls work for Professional Escorts, the next 120 work for American Evenings, and the final 125 girls work for Elegant Alternatives. Within each group, you may rearrange the schedule of escorts as you please -- Cyndi has a notebook full of photos and resumes of each of the "Professional Escorts" girls. But you may not "visit" any girl out of the order listed if it would move her out of her escort company's group. You will discover why later.

Have fun, brother! I know I would!

Happy Birthday,

Love and Best Wishes,

Your Loving Brother,

Roger

P.S. Needless to say, Maria doesn't know anything about this, and it would be better for all concerned if she never did. Each girl will drive herself to your house and back to their offices in one of two fully-restored '67 GTO's; the cars are for you to use to squire the girls around. After this year, they're yours to keep (the cars, not the girls, you dog!) Between you and me, as far as Maria is concerned, the cars are your whole gift.

P.P.S. The check is to cover the extra food and entertainment expenses you will encounter with your new "lifestyle." The catering service will bring you a nice supper for two with wine each evening, but you'll have to pick up the tab for breakfast and lunch, and for movies, shows, parties, or anything else you might want to do, should you ever decide to leave the house (you dog!) The laundry will deliver a fresh set of bed linens every morning, and the girls will strip (the bed, you dog!) the old stuff for them to pick up, and make your bed for you. The girls will take care of their own clothes, cosmetics, birth control, and other incidentals.

P.P.P.S. Dr. Smythe, my personal physician, is also listed on the attached reference sheet. She will personally give each girl a general physical as well as a gynecological exam, on my tab, before they come to see you. Immediately before! Each girl will bring a certificate that she is free of STD's, just to keep you from worrying on that score. Cyndi has hers with her now."

I couldn't believe my brother. What a jerk! He knew how defensive I was about my shyness and nerdity, and here he was, just rubbing it in with a lame practical joke! "Some joker, that asshole, my brother," I mumbled to Cyndi after reading the letter a second time.

"He said you'd say that!" said Cyndi, reaching out her hand to offer me another letter. This one was in a regular letter-size envelope with my name scribbled on it and "#2" written in bold laundry marker in the corner where a stamp might have been.

I opened the letter.

"No, Dale, seriously. This is for real! Look over at Cyndi!"

I looked up from the letter; Cyndi had set down her letters and the package, and was quietly unzipping her brown windbreaker. She held it apart to reveal her perfect breasts with their exquisite little nipples extended out like an invitation.

"You can touch me if you'd like!" Cyndi said, her face in a big, eager smile surrounded by a halo of honey-blond hair.

It's not like I was virgin at that time, but ...

Well, it's exactly like I was a virgin at that time. I had no idea what to do. I just reached out a finger in a daze and pressed Cyndi's left nipple like it was an elevator button, expecting her to scream or pull away. Instead, she put her own hand over mine, stepped nearer to me, and pressed my hand tightly against her breast, her incredibly warm, soft, firm, curved, fleshy beautiful breast, and then began to move it around a bit.

"C'mon, Dale," Cyndi said, "you can do better than that! Touch me all over! I know you want to!"

I did want to. I dropped the letters on the floor while Cyndi quickly skimmed off her jacket and shorts. She looked so sexy there by the front door in nothing but her tennis socks, her shoes, and her little brown baseball cap. I had developed a painful and obvious condition, but I wasn't at all sure how to go about solving that particular problem.

"C'mere, silly!" Cyndi said as she pulled me toward her. She reached out and grabbed both of my hands and used them to move my arms into a hug around her waist. She pushed my forearms down until my hands rested on her butt. Her warm, shapely, soft but firm and beautiful butt.

"Ooh!" said Cyndi, "I see you aren't completely shy!" she said as she rubbed her lower torso against mine. "Let's see what we have here!"

Cyndi stepped back a step or two and pulled off my tacky old terry-cloth robe, while I just watched her movements in stunned silence. Then she reached up (Cyndi was much shorter than me -- maybe only five-one or so) and began to pull off the t-shirt which formed the upper half of my pajamas. I could see where this was heading!

"Oh!" I sputtered. "Oh, uh, oh, no! I just ..." I stepped back from Cyndi, but she held on to my shirt, and it slipped off over my head as I retreated. I was left with nothing but my boxer-style pajama bottoms and my fuzzy slippers. Cyndi, smiling sexily, advanced toward me as I backed up some more, very nervous. Suddenly, I felt the wall behind me. She had me cornered!

"C'mon, now!" said Cyndi, as she dropped to a squat in front of me. "Let's have a little look-see, shall we?" And she suddenly skimmed my shorts down to my ankles. In my shyness and shame about exposing myself to her, and my general anxiety about women, especially pretty ones, there was nothing left of my "condition", in fact, I may have gone negative for all I know, and I'm afraid I didn't make a very good accounting of myself for little Cyndi. My face must have shown my chagrin.

"Oh, honey! Don't worry! This happens all the time!" Cyndi scampered back to the door, giving me a startlingly frank view when she bent over to pick up the remaining mail she had brought with her. Seemingly pointing her assets, so to speak, right at me, she looked back at me while bending over. "Roger said that might happen!"

Cyndi stood up, came back, and handed me the small lumpy package she had brought, and another letter, this one marked "#3."

Shaking, I opened the letter:

"I'm not surprised. I know you're not still a virgin (are you?), but this is all probably much too sudden! If you need more of these, call Dr. Smythe!"

Cyndi opened the package and handed me the contents: twenty bubble-wrapped sample packages each containing seven blue tablets, each stamped with a brand name which rhymes with "Viagra."

"C'mon, hon," said Cyndi, taking me by the elbow, "let's go get ourselves more comfortable."

She started to guide me to the back of my apartment, but I had forgotten that my pajama shorts were still wrapped around my ankles, and I stumbled. I grabbed Cyndi tightly to keep from falling.

"Oh, yeah, hon! That's more like it!" she said, laughing as she helped me extract myself from my underwear and fuzzy slippers.

As we passed the kitchen, Cyndi got me a glass of tap water and helped me remove one of the sample blue pills out of it's damned little bubble pack. If they don't want you to have these pills, why do they give them to you? I took the pill, and Cyndi led me back toward the bedroom, where I began an amazing adventure.

... continued in "Cyndi, Day One -- Morning" ...

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