Trickle Up Theory Pt. 01

"The sin of covetousness is the inner lust to have." --Richard J. Foster

"Lusty folks with big money, can suck my cock all day long." -- Mark Twain (I think)

Frank's Story

I know this sounds weird, but I usually stop by the Rounder for a quick drink after a good workout. I work hard, train hard... so hey, I'm permitted! Right? Anyway, I really haven't made any friends at the gym. It's a no-bullshit crowd. And, it's a really crappy place to meet women anyway.

So, I come to the Rounder, my favorite bar--just a speck of a place, on a side street, an easy walk back to my apartment, if needs be.

There are the regulars, some of whom I know by name, and a few I recognize by sight but have never spoken with. I can watch the hang-down TV and wait for someone to fill the stool next to me. (Preferably a good looking or interesting lady.) Ah, but generally I just watch Janice, the bartender, scurry around behind the bar. A trim body and welcoming smile-- makes any visit to the Rounder worthwhile.

"What can I get for you, Frank?" she asked.

"Oh." I said, pausing before answering, "I'll have a Muddy Water Brown Ale."

Janice gave me a sly grin and quickly turned to the short cooler in the bar back. That micro brew brand was on the bottom shelf of the cooler. (Janice retrieving a can always offers a momentary delight-- for me anyway.) She set down a paper coaster, poured the beer into a tall glass till the foam reached the top and set it and can side-by side in front of me. She walked to the far end of the bar as I pulled my first sip.

"Nice." I heard from my end of the bar.

I looked over and saw a woman sitting alone, just out of the light. Two pale hands with red nail polish grasped a short drink with a cherry and two dark eyes glinted at me in the darkness.

Embarrassed for being viewed as a lecher, I stammered, "I really like beer. I mean this beer. It's good. Do you like it?"

The woman at the end of the bar, leaned forward, her pleasant round face glowing in the bar light. Her lips matched her nails and her eyebrows arched. "I can't say I've ever tried it," she said.

Was that an opening? "Can I buy you one?" I asked.

"No thanks, I'll stick with this." She replied. She gestured subtly to her drink and I momentarily glimpsed lapels of a dark suit framing more than ample cleavage.

I glanced around the bar, picked up my beer and moved toward her for a closer look. "My name is Frank," I offered as I settled into a stool at the corner.

"Nice to meet, you Frank," she replied as she stirred her drink. "My name is Rachael."

With no new words forming in my brain, I looked her over and confirmed that her cleavage was real and significant. In fact, her whole body appeared to be significant. I mean large. Really large. Her wrists sticking from her jacket were pudgy and her thighs appeared to be larger than my waist. Her feet seemed uniquely petite in strapped heels and red polished toenails. I raised my head and she was staring directly at me.

Without a blink and without expression, for 30 seconds her dark brown eyes looked at mine and cocked her head a little to take in the whole of my face. Then she looked at my neck, lingered on my chest and shoulders, pushed back in her seat a little to examine my waist and hips, and visually traced my leg down to my boot.

"You're fit. Good for you." she said indifferently as she picked up her drink, swirled the straw and took a sip.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I guess that's just what I do. I didn't mean to ogle. It's just... It's a guy thing."

She paused from sipping her drink through the tiny straw, grinned and said, "It's OK. I like guy things."

I took a sip of beer, mulling that a bit. Rachael was definitely not my type--or maybe not the type I fantasize about. But, there was something compelling about her. She was well dressed. Immaculate, some would say. We hadn't said much, but she seemed a little witty and comfortable in her own skin.

"So, Rachael, I don't think I've seen you here before..." I said.

She set her drink down smartly on the bar and put her hand on my arm to stop me.

"Frank, can I be..er..frank," she said smiling a little at her pun. "You come to this bar looking for someone to fuck. Am I right?"

A little stunned, I sat up straight, trying to feign indignity.

She continued, "You seem absolutely like someone who I would like to fuck. You are good looking, not married-- no ring-- and physically capable. With that said, I am NOT the type you usually see in here. You wouldn't be watching my ass if I were to get a beer from the fridge. Am I really someone you could wake up to?"

"I don't think that's fair," I said. I looked down, felt like a creep. Her hand was still on my arm and I notice a tiny little flower tattoo on her middle finger. Very well done. I was distracted. She was laughing at me.

"Hey Frank, there are things about me you can't even imagine," she said.

This isn't how any of this us supposed to work, I told myself. I've never been... is 'propositioned' the right word? I don't know any woman who has been so forward or direct. Wait, WAS this a proposition?

"Rachael, can we start over? Yes, I was looking at you that way. Yes, you are not... usual. I am not sure where to go with this..." I said. Felt like I was pleading.

She smiled and put her hand on my cheek, tilted her head and said, "Oh, Frank, dear. Listen to me closely."

She smelled like Jasmine.

"If you want to know me, be here a week from now, same time. Buy me a drink. Until then, think about this. I will be going home alone tonight, taking off my clothes, laying on the bed with my legs spread, imagining your cock inside of me pumping. And, I WILL cum tonight, thinking of you," she finished.

Rachael fished a bill out of her purse, placed it on the bar and twisted out of her stool. In a minute she was gone.

##

The door swung open. The woman silhouetted in the open door paused and then stepped gracefully to the bar. It was exactly one week after I first met her, and I she has dominated my thoughts since. Crazy, right?

Rachael was dressed exactly the same-- some sort of work outfit, I guessed. She smile demurely, placed her purse on an adjacent stool and sat down in exactly the same spot from a week ago. Without missing a beat she picked up the Manhattan I had bought for her with both hands, and took a sip through the tiny straw. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back and sighed.

"I asked the bartender," I explained.

She smiled and, "You didn't disappoint."

"So, did you just get off from work?" I asked.

Rachael turned and smiled, but said nothing. She pulled her dark hair back behind one ear, and I noticed five small diamonds studs along the edge and a solid gold ring through the lobe. She looked past me, down the length of the room and said, "Frank, there is a booth in the back. Take your drink."

I signaled to Janice that we were moving, scooped up my beer and a bowl of bar snacks and slid off of the stool. As I was walking to the back booth, I glanced over my shoulder. Rachael was watching me walk, eyeballing me like before. Man, that feels weird. Do women do this? A lot?

I settled into the booth bench facing the front of the bar and arrayed to beer and snacks in front of me. Rachael still sat at the far end of the bar looking in my direction. After a few moments, she slid off the bar stool, collected her purse and drink; and walked slowly in my direction.

Now I said she was dressed as before, but that is not quite right. She had a skirt and dark stockings today below her well-tailored suit jacket. Her thick calves tapered ever so gracefully to her delicate ankles and open-toed heels. As she walked through pools of light from the overheads, I watched the regulars turn and watch. Old grizzled Ray's popcorn-filled hand froze halfway to his mouth and his eyes tracked Rachael. Not so subtly, Jackson the creepy accountant, leaned way out to watch her wide ass sway as she passed. Even Janice behind the bar paused to watch Rachael walk the length of the bar.

For an instant I imagined this woman naked in her bed, legs spread, masturbating...with me on her mind.

Rachel set her drink on the booth table, and leaned over to speak. Her awesome cleavage was hanging right in in front of my face, and I will admit, I wasn't looking in her eyes when she said, "Frank, do you want to know something about me?"

"Of course!" I quickly replied.

She stepped back, placed her feet shoulder-width apart and made sure she had my attention as she slowly bent forward at the waist. Her upper torso was horizontal and her eyes flicked up to check I was still watching, and her head continued down. Her arms reached out, delicate fingers on pudgy wrists lightly touching the floor. Then her palms were flat on the ground, even standing in 3 inch heels. Remarkable.

She rose slowly to upright, no clothing askew, no heavy breaths, no flush face and said, "Mind if I join you?"

"Yes, please!" I replied.

Rachael settled into the booth seat across from me and took a sip from her drink. Her face was bathed in blue and white light from the beer sign on the wall. Small glints of polished metal on her ear, but I couldn't see her eyes. I felt her watching me over her drink as she sipped, but her eyes were hidden in darkness. Deep black holes.

"I want you to know, Frank," she started. "I am more than I appear. Some people who see me, see a fat woman who must be slovenly and eats far too much. But, I am very disciplined and there is a reason I keep my body this way. It has purpose."

"Yes, I can see you are very flexible," I offered.

"Thank you," she said. "I AM very flexible and very... capable.""

"Is there anything you would like to know about me?" I asked, feeling a little bit awkward.

She leaned forward till I could see her eyes sparkle in the beer sign light. Her lips parted and appeared glossy purple. Her breath was warm and smelled of mint.

"No," She said.

Suddenly, Rachael straightened up and opened her purse. She pulled out a business card that had only an address and handed it to me. I took the card and tried to read it in the dim light. It was just an address, down on Blow Street.

"What is this?" I asked.

"Frank, I want you to be at that address tomorrow evening at 7:00 pm.," she said.

"But..."

She put two fingers on my lips to shush me and repeated, "I want you to be there at 7:00 pm."

I nodded.

She smiled, gathered her purse and twisted out of the booth. As she did, her jacket lapel stretched and revealed a line of script tattooed under her collarbone. Something in French, I think.

##

The address she gave me was a metal door square in a bare brick building from the days when small manufacturers and machine shops operated in residential neighborhoods. There was a faded name painted on the brick at the crest of the building, Spunkman Transfer Company. I noticed a camera near the caged light above the door and a small metal speaker with a button to the side. I pressed it.

"Hello, Frank." crackled from the speaker. A moment later, the door lock clicked. I pulled it open and entered the building.

Rachael was wearing a long sleeved, floor length caftan. It's green satin material shimmered and clung to her ample curves as she stood before me. "Please come in," she said and she took me by the elbow to guide me through her place.

The metal door closed behind me with a thunk and definitive click.

"Is this your house?" I asked.

"I spend most of my time here," she replied.

"Are these your paintings?" I asked.

"Some are," she responded.

"Nice. Very...er... eclectic," I said

"Thank you." She said.

And that exhausted my small talk. It seemed inappropriate to mention the weather, so I stopped talking and just watched her. Her body was well-covered by the caftan, but at every step her breasts swayed and her hips undulated under the fabric making a swishing sound. Her hair was pulled back and twisted into an elegant roll, and I could see her other ear had diamond piercings and a gold ring as well. There was also a small flower tattooed on her neck behind the ear with a stem that curled down under the collar of the caftan.

"Frank, do you know why you're here?" she asked.

"I...um...isn't this....sort of a date?" I offered.

She smiled and said, "I intend to fuck you tonight, Frank. Assuming you're OK with that, it is important to me that you do exactly what I say. I told you that I am very disciplined and I act with purpose. My purpose. Are you open to letting go and letting me guide you?"

"But...," I started, but felt an barely perceptible tug at my elbow back toward the door.

"Yes, OK," I said.

##

Rachael explained that cleanliness was important and asked that I start the evening with a shower. I objected, stating that I didn't need a shower, but she directed me to a well appointed bathroom behind a brick enclosure central to the apartment. Man, this shower was weird, though. It had four glass sides and was located in the very center of the bathroom under four bright can lights. It had one of those fancy rain-simulating shower heads directly overhead and nickel plated controls mounted to one of the glass sides.

Soon, soaped up and wet. As I was mechanically going through my shower routine, my mind was developing images of the woman, fantasizing about what she might have in store. My cock was getting thick and beginning to stand out as the soapy water ran down my body. Turning around to rinse the shampoo from the back of my head, I saw Rachael entering the room. I made an inadequate attempt to cover myself.

"Oh, don't mind me." she said. "I brought you a robe I would like you to wear when you're through."

"Please continue," she added, and she didn't leave right away. I could see her through the water streaked glass watching me, appraising me. She lingered there long enough for a few long sips of her drink though that tiny straw she prefers. For me it was like being on stage, under the spotlight... literally naked. My cock went limp.

She gathered up my street clothes and left the room.

##

I will admit I felt great. My hair was still damp, I had a drink in my hand and Rachael had introduced me to her hookah. We were lounging on pillows arrayed on an ornate rug, sharing a bowl of some of the finest weed I have ever had. Clouds of kush filled the air above us. Rachael re-positioned herself and the slit in her caftan opened up a little exposing one of her legs to just above her knee. Her skin was flawlessly white like her face and hands, but above her knee on her thigh were the trailing ends of an extremely well executed floral tattoo.

Noticing my gaze, she asked, "Do you like tattoos?"

"Ah, yes!" I responded. "I noticed the flower on your finger and the tattoo behind your ear as well. Oh, and the script on your collarbone. They look good."

At this Rachael smiled. "Good for you, Frank. You were paying attention!"

She took a long draw from the hookah, held the smoke in her lungs for a few seconds and exhaled.

"You mean, you meant for me to see those?" I asked.

"Of course," she responded. "Frank, I am a tattooed, fat woman. Some men might find that not attractive- or even repulsive. I needed to make sure you could appreciate and perform. I dearly hate being disappointed..

"Ohhh, I don't think there is any chance of that." I said hungrily.

She eyed me a little coolly, and said "I collect them. Most are gifts of friends of mine, and I have many talented friends. I enjoy being their canvas and revel in their work. I told you once that I work on my body and that there is a reason for it being the way it is. Ample space for new art."

Rachael rolled forward and kissed me on the forehead, before pulling apart the knot on my robe. I resisted the urge to cover myself as she opened the robe wide. Then she stood. She wasn't looking at my face.

A few moments later, she had undone the top buttons of her caftan and reached in to pull out one of her tits. It was as huge as I had imagined and her hand was buried underneath as she held it out for me to see. Her nipple was three inches across with a thick nub at the end, pierced with a gold ring. It was framed by an even larger shaded star tattoo. Her chest above that was white up to the line of script at her collarbone.

My cock was standing at attention now. Rachael noticed and grinned as she slipped the caftan slightly off of her shoulders and pulled out the other tit. It was similarly marked and pierced as the first. She let both hang, pointing at the floor as naturally as they should.

I rolled forward eagerly. She held two fingers in front of me and motioned me to stop. I reluctantly settled back into the pillows.

The top of her shoulders were covered with bold color, and as she slipped her arms from the caftan sleeves, one at a time, I could see the artwork extended down each to below her elbows. She turned to reveal her back which was thickly covered with a stylized forest scene that extended from her neck to... well, all the way down.

My cock felt warm and pulsing in my hand, and as Rachael turned back to face me she furrowed her brow, willing me to stop.

I did, but there was a churning in my gut that I wouldn't be able to ignore much longer.

She let the caftan slip down slowly, exposing her belly, thighs and legs. A cascade of ivy and flowers flowed down her right leg to her knee, and furry animals frolicked in a swirl around her left. Fully naked now, she knelt and then laid back on the pillows and slowly opened her legs. Among the leaves and forest litter was a bush I could no longer resist.

I guess I could tell you about the sex, but I probably don't have to. Maybe I could tell you about feeling Rachael's muscular and assertive motion as she straddled me-- or the sensuousness of being enveloped in thick warm flesh, but I might not do it justice.

What I really can't describe adequately is the delight in exploring her skin and finding exquisite erotic tattoos buried in the mass of color that comprised her bodysuit.

I'm sure I missed some. I think I'll need more time.

##

In a dark room nearby, a man eyes a computer monitor, waiting for the erotic spectacle to end. 'Very satisfying,' he muses. He watches the Frank exit and pause a few feet from the metal door that clanged shut behind him.

"The sap doesn't even have her phone number..." he chuckles.

He watches Frank return to the press the call button by the door. There is no answer. He pounds on the door, calling out to Rachael, saying he forgot something. Again, no response. Frank finally sighs and slumps away, checking over his shoulder one last time hoping for an opening door.

The man in the dark room nods to himself, and shuts down his video rig. He pulls out the storage card and places it reverently in a tiny metal box marked BUFFERIN that already holds several similar SD cards. Locking the door behind him, the man exits to the street.

Continued...