The Girl in the Green Dress

"No," I sighed, rolling my eyes, "it's not that. 'I need some info' wasn't a euphemism or anything. I really do want some information."

She went silent for a few seconds. "If you can get to Harborside in fifteen minutes, I'll let you buy me a coffee." I could hear the smug grin in her voice.

"Fuck that. I have to drive my kids to school." I could hear them stuffing their backpacks, in between yapping at each other. "Like, you could just tell me now? Or text me?"

"Jesus, bitch!" she exploded, "that's not the way this works, and you know it. I pay you as an informant. That means you tell me things. It doesn't work the other way, dick." Her mind was working, though, I could tell, because in the sordid world she and I lived in, there were rules against detectives using CIs for sex. And sure, there were also rules, unwritten ones, against me tipping off her bosses about that (or about the drugs she stole, or the money she skimmed, or the bribes she took), but there was still a lot of damage I could do to her. "What's on your mind, anyway? What do you think you need?"

"The girls outside Typhoon Shotgun's. What dealer are they working with?"

The pause this time lasted awhile, the rush of morning traffic coming through from her side, before she sighed. "No, Tony. That's not in the fucking cards."

"Come on," I pleaded, my eyes roving toward the clock. If I got the kids to school late, Mel would have my ass. "Just one name..."

"No. If you need to know, I'll tell you. But you don't, so I won't." Her voice took on a new wheedle. "Though, if you figure out who the girl in the green dress is, maybe I could give you a little bonus..."

"Working on it," I grated. "Thanks for nothing."

"Serve and protect," she chuckled back. "Sayonara, sugar." The line went dead.

* * *

So I had nothing to tell Traci when she showed up at work that morning, her eyebrows rising hopefully while I was going over the staffing with Tori. The manager's beady little eyes caught our glance, I could tell, but she only smiled. Good manager, Tori, but she was a little too fond of playing the politics game. Traci didn't catch up with me until after my kitchen walkthrough, as she cornered me near my office. "How's it hanging, Tony?" she smiled.

I made myself smile back, the punchline coming out like a tired boxer in the late rounds. "A little to the right, but mostly straight," I sighed.

Her eyes flashed. I was not known for flirting, but she was obviously game. "Hangin' down, though, huh?" Her smile grew crafty. "I bet I could make it go up..."

She could, too, I could tell from the sudden lurch in my cock. She wasn't even dressed for work yet, in jeans and a hoodie, and she still had no trouble starting my motor. "Yeah, well. What do you need, Trace?"

"Still nothing?" She looked hopefully up at me, those big eyes in that sweet face sending more signals to my dick.

"Sorry." I hesitated, then decided to lie. "I haven't had a chance to talk to the cop," I told her quietly.

She pouted, a twinkle in her eyes. "What, is poor little old Traci not a priority for you?" She winked. "Is there anything I can do to motivate you?" She leaned in while I stood there like a statue, my adam's apple bobbing, and laid a proprietary hand on my chest. "Because I think I might just enjoy motivating you."

Goddamn. What was I supposed to do? My dick was growing steadily as I stood there. I knew every inch of this girl's body; my mind knew exactly how she would fuck, how she would feel. And she could be mine for the asking. But I already had Leah, and Julie, whom I was already thinking I had problems keeping from my wife Melanie. I needed another hoe giving me head like I needed another hole in the head.

But she knew she was giving me a hard-on, I could tell. She just stood there with a challenging smile, waiting to see what I'd do as the bustle in the kitchen intruded. "Look, I'll get to it. I promise."

"Cross your heart?" She traced her fingers in an X over my chest, then smiled whimsically as she spun away. "I'll check back at the end of the shift, Tone!" she sang, sauntering off.

Of course she would. And of course she did, sidling up to me as I signed off on the consumables in the storeroom after the cooks had all gone home. By that time it was just me and Hondo the busboy, working his way through the place with a mop, and I was just about to lock up when she cleared her throat. "Hi, Tony."

"Oh. Fuck. Traci." I blinked at her, hair all greasy and mascara smudged, but still looking sexy... especially in her floor outfit, which was nothing but a red thong and a flannel shirt knotted under her supple tits. A pair of short, saucy cowboy boots finished off the look. "I... I called. I left a message."

"You should go over there," she urged, "like, to the police station." She stepped into the storeroom and smiled up at me. "Or maybe I'll start to think you're stalling."

"Why would I do that?" Alarm bells were flashing in my mind: could this girl do anything to me? Could she hurt me? "I'm telling you, I'm trying."

"Yeah. Maybe you just want me to, like, beg?" She dimpled, still walking toward me, her eyebrow raised. "I'm telling you, I'm really, really, really curious to find out who's trying to screw me over here." She stood before me now, the smell of her hair filling my world. "Jennae is curious, too. Maybe she and I could come over sometime and reinforce how important this is to us?"

I swallowed and wondered when this had turned into a menage a trois prospect. "I don't even know if the cops are still after you," I lied. "Like you said, you didn't do anything. They probably already know that."

"Mmhmm." She sounded completely unconvinced. "Well. I'm going to run out of patience eventually and call this DiMaggio person myself, I think."

Fuck. "That would be a bad idea, Trace."

"Oh, of course it would," she agreed, "but I'm the kind of girl who likes to keep things moving along." She smirked. "And I'm full of bad ideas."

"No shit," I managed, my consumables forgotten. She'd said, earlier, that she bet she could make it go up, and she was doing it right now. I fought off an urge to adjust my boxers. "Look, I'm trying to finish up here..."

"Yep. Back to work." She shrugged. "I get it. Look, before I go, there's another thing I wanted to ask you about."

"I can't give you a raise, Traci," I warned, wondering what she was going to hit me with next.

She laughed. "No. I know. This isn't as bad, I hope. I had a new outfit, and I was going to wear it tomorrow. But Lisa is managing, and she might think it's a little bit borderline? Because she's new? So I was hoping I could catch you before you left, show it to you, and then if she had a problem with it I could tell her you'd seen it?"

I cocked my head. This sounded shady. "You know the standards, Trace. Ninety percent exposure of each cheek. You know how to meet that requirement, and so does Lisa."

"Yeah. But this is... well. It's a different kind of exposure." She shook her head impatiently. "It's so much easier if I just show it to you. It's hard to describe."

I shrugged. "So, like, where is it?"

"The lounge." She began to turn away. "Please? It won't take long."

"Fuck, Trace, I can't be alone in the lounge with you," I blurted, "and you know it."

"Yeah, but we already have secrets. Right?" She winked. "What's one more? And besides, it's not like anything's going to happen. You're my boss. And you're married." She giggled as she stepped away. "Come on."

Bad idea. That's exactly what this was. But, sucker that I am, I followed her with every footstep dragging against whatever wisdom I still thought I possessed, stealing along the service corridor toward the lounge with my eyes riveted to the sweetly rounded globes of her butt. They moved with grace and assurance, tight and tanned with the red waistband of her thong arcing above, along the dimples at the base of her back.

In a restaurant full of amazing bodies, hers was a masterpiece.

We slipped into the darkened lounge, the squeaky wheels of Hondo's mop bucket way over beyond the bar, and I hesitated before I made sure the door was locked after it closed. Because there was no telling what was about to happen in here, but Hondo would never need to know about it.

Traci minced over to her locker and rummaged in her bag, her calves and thighs looking almost impossibly perfect in the low lighting. I had no idea what to do, so I just leaned against the wall, watching her, ignoring the twinge in my gut and the stronger one in my penis.

"Health department mandates coverage, which you guys interpret as something over the pussy and asshole," she mused from within her locker, "but you're right: Corporate wants 90% butt visibility." She whirled with an impish smile, holding something behind her back. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, like she was holding in a piss. "Want to know what these are?"

I cleared my throat and hoped my answer would come out without a tremor. "I can't imagine."

She waited a moment more, then whipped out a long, light piece of cloth from behind her back. "Ta-da!" She held up something that looked like a long windsock.

I frowned. "What the fuck?"

"They're harem pants!" she giggled, holding them up and letting the legs dangle. "See? Total coverage, total visibility."

I squinted, peering at the fabric. "What is that, see-through?"

She nodded. "They fit me great," she beamed with a glint in her eye. "Here. Let me show you." I had no time even to open my mouth before, with no sense of shame or nerves, she hooked her thumbs over her thong straps and shoved them straight down her legs, watching my face as she let them fall. I'd seen her ass, obviously, a hundred times, but never once had I seen her pussy, a beautifully symmetrical slit, perfectly centered between her sleek thighs with just a hint of a gap in between. As I'd assumed about all our servers, she was completely hairless down there. "'Scuse me," she muttered, smiling at me, watching to see whether I was shocked.

"No problem." I was proud of myself for getting it out at all, past a heavy tongue and through dry lips. I didn't bother pretending to look away, especially when she frowned down at her flannel.

"This really won't go with these pants." She undid the shirt, no fuss, no muss, no clothing at all on her smooth, taut young body, now naked from head to toe as her flannel hit the floor. She posed a moment, preening, then looked at me down her nose. "This is the first thing I do when I get home every night, Tony," she told me with a deeper, huskier note in her voice, "I get naked. It feels so good." I wondered whether I should even say anything. I knew my hard-on would be plainly visible from across the room; maybe that said it all? She smiled. "Well. I shouldn't keep you. Let's get finished."

To say her harem pants were "sheer" was the understatement of the year. They were constructed of a mesh so fine, so loose, that her entire body was plainly visible straight through them, as if she wasn't wearing anything at all. She struck a pose, not even worrying about her finely dancing tits, and grinned. "What do you think, boss?"

"It's like looking at you through water," I decided.

"Right?" She spun, her butt just as visible as her cunt, and I seized the opportunity to haul my erection up off my thigh while her back was turned. "Well? Will this pass inspection tomorrow?" Her lip took on a crafty curl. "Want to look at it closer up?"

"Traci." I found the last scrap of my brain and immediately deployed it. "This is dumb. Put your clothes on and let's go home."

"You worried?" She made no effort to cover anything. "Trust me, I can do my job in this. I mean, I'd probably put on some pasties or something up top? A vest maybe?" She shrugged as if it didn't matter, a move which set her dark nipples jiggling nicely. "I can even do the Birthday Dance in this."

I snorted. A lot of guys came to Cheeks on their birthday, and not for the free small creme brulee. The Birthday Dance the waitresses did was... well. It was a good reason to come, anyway, in more ways than one. "I bet you can."

"No, seriously." She was stepping toward me now, her voice lowering. "Sit down. I'll prove it."

"Traci..."

"Yeah. Whatever. You're right, probably: we should get dressed and go home." She rolled her eyes and fluttered her hand dismissively. "Sit down, Tone, and let me show you what I can do."

I couldn't stop myself from pushing off the wall and heading with halting steps toward the folding chair in the corner. "My birthday isn't until the summer," I pointed out.

She laughed. "We can pretend. What are you, fifty?"

"Forty-five." I sat, tense and anxious, trying to convince myself this was anything but a bad idea. I'm full of bad ideas, she'd said, and now I was too. "What is this, Trace?"

"It's the Birthday Dance, boss." She fluffed her hair, those tight tits of hers still shuddering alluringly as she moved closer. "Just sit there and look like a businessman."

I swallowed. There wasn't really much more I could do as she slunk toward me, loose-limbed, and began singing the Happy Birthday song. The way we did it at Cheeks & Co, it was the breathy Marilyn Monroe version, very downtempo, so that it took about 45 seconds... during which most of the waitresses all surrounded the birthday boy, facing out with their butts in his face. The singing waitress, however, would turn around and give the guy a butt-centric lapdance.

Which was what Traci began doing to me. Singing even more downtempo than usual.

I couldn't feel the whisper of her harem pants through my jeans, so she might as well have been completely naked as she parted her legs and straddled me, feet planted and back deeply arched. Then, her head half-turned to give me that smoky side-eye she did so well, she began to roll her hips, grinding her ass most delightfully along my upper thighs and my crotch.

I needed to touch her. As bad an idea as it was, I needed to.

I let my head fall back, eyes slitted in overwhelmed bliss as I took in the slow, tempting sways of her body, the smooth flesh of her back rising from the barely-there waist of her pants to the faint freckles on her bare shoulders, completely uninterrupted by any kind of bra. She moved slowly, fluidly, and in a trance I watched as my hands crept without any sense of control to rest on her hips, feeling that warm firm body move.

She kept singing, low and throaty, backing up until she could feel my hard-on between her ass cheeks, before she stopped doing the Cheeks & Co version of the dance and started in with the Traci Golden version.

In a cascade of hair, she whirled her body around until she sat down on my shocked thighs. Still singing, her lips quirked in a grin, she reached her arms high into her hair, arching back once more, her entire body stretched out before me like an offering on a platter, and it was all I could do not to tear off those stupid gauzy pants and start fingerfucking her right then.

Instead, I reached out to grasp her taut tits.

She laughed, mid-song, as I felt her naked breasts fill my hands, staring up at me with a coy mix of challenge and triumph. Her pussy was there, I mean right there, winking up at me as she arched her back, and as her hoarse voice swooped into the last of the song she curled slowly upward, her abs straining, until she sat astride my legs with her smirking lips crooning the last of the song.

"Happy birthday...to.... you." She grinned. "See? It's a good outfit, huh?"

What the fuck was I supposed to say? I was sitting there with an erection in my pants and her tits in my hands. "It's a good outfit." I had to push the words out, sluggish across my tongue. "Damn good."

"Good enough to make you hard?" she demanded quietly, and then before I knew it she was reaching boldly down to undo my jeans. "Seems so," she smiled, feeling my dick through my pants.

Should I have stopped her? Of course. Could I, at that point? Not a goddamn chance in hell. I stayed still, other than my thumbs rolling her nipples, feeling them stiffen slowly, so slowly, like they needed to be persuaded. But if her tits were slow, her hands were quick as they worked my fly open with deft precision, freeing the top half of a shaft gone completely rigid. "Fuck," I breathed.

"Quite a secret we have now," she nodded, looking down at me with curiosity. Her hands rested light on my dickhead, rubbing it gently. "Yeah," she sighed, nodding, "you do like my outfit."

My hands found their way down her sloping ribcage, to the wonderful curve where her waist became her hips, sliding across her skin. "I do," I croaked.

Her smile started as the same grin she'd had before, but puckered slowly into a smirk of such cynical amusement that even through the fog of my lust, I noticed it. "Good," she hummed, and then her hands were in my pants, far inside, one of them raking my entire dick with the other one cupping my balls. "You're a big boy, Tony," she cooed, her face close to mine. I strained to spread my legs, to give her space, but her weight on my thighs held me still. "Just a sec," she giggled, slipping back to fall off my knees.

Only to sink down to hers.

She helped pull my jeans down below my ass, my dick finally waving high and hard before her face. She leaned forward and breathed in deeply. "I love what a man smells like," she gurgled, her hands still busy. I was as hard as I could ever remember being, straining to show this goddess how badly I wanted her.

I held my breath as she jacked me, her eyes lighting up at the sight of my skin moving along m veiny shaft before she leaned down to peer at my bouncing scrotum. "Who'd have thought you'd have such an amazing dick?" she gushed.

"Jesus," I groaned, my mind gone now.

"Yes." She breathed on my cock, watching as it quaked in her hand, her other fingers still tickling my balls. "Want to cum, Tony?"

"Fuck..."

"Want to cum in my mouth?" She leaned in once more and kissed it quickly, her tongue swiping up my precum. "Tell me you want to."

"I want to." It was building already, just from her words, the hand contact not even that intense. I tried desperately to shut myself down, knowing with the last lingering common sense I had that letting her make me spooge was probably a Very Bad Thing.

She nodded, unsurprised, her whole body swaying between my thighs. "Get me the name of that dealer," she smiled, "and you can cum anywhere you want."

"Fuck!" Well. That did it. There was no stopping it, the reaction strong and powerful, my dick surging in her hands. She raised her eyebrows, her lips curving into a broad smirk as she watched my semen fountain out, spewing out into the air between us. She laughed then, breathlessly, the cum spattering my Tommy Bahama shirt as she pointed it up toward me.

"Couldn't wait, I guess," she giggled, sighing as she watched me frost myself. She removed her hand just in time to avoid letting my spunk wash all over it, then watched as my last weak spurts rolled down my shaft. "Well. You can work on that," she gloated, patting my bare thigh. "Glad to see you like the pants."

It took me awhile to sponge myself off. I have no idea how Traci scampered out, or whether Hondo caught sight of her, but the last I saw of her was a wave and a giggle as she tossed a hoodie over her naked chest and snuck out of the lounge with her ridiculous pants still on. "Later," she purred.

Fuck.

* * *

A couple nights later, my balls bursting and Leah working late on a case, I attacked Julie Lindberg like a man in the throes of a binge on cocaine, Red Bull, and viagra. She pulled me over in her big unmarked SUV on the corner of Greeley and Third, the blue lights flickering behind the grille as she strolled casually to the side of my car. It was a cold mid-December day, her overcoat buttoned over a sweater and some tight pants, her dark-red lips pursing as she saw me. "Park," she ordered curtly.