Alone, Tessa took the time to soak in her surroundings again as she wiped the counter with a cloth. It was not more than a year ago when she had entered the cafe -- then known simply as Main Street Coffee -- and picked up the “Help Wanted” sign from the window.She had walked up to the portly man serving coffee and uttered exactly eight words: “My name is Tessa. I’m interested in... helping.”Mr.Danzig, gawking from behind his counter, hired her without another utterance.Tessa immediately cast her influence. The store was part of a red brick building built in the 1920’s with dark hardwood floors, exposed pipe, and tall wooden wall shelves that reached up to the soaring eleven foot ceiling. It was her idea to remove all of the disconnected baubles and dusty plants that covered the shelves. After shining up the rich wood with a bit of polish, she filled every inch with books. It started with her own collection from home, tawdry romances included. Donations from customers quickly. It suddenly occurred to me that the “ET” massager might loosen up her buttock and leg. I brought it down to her sitting room and had her lay on the sofa on her side. I ran the madly thumping bullet eyeballs up and down the backside of her leg, calf and buttock. After ten minutes of therapy she seemed more relaxed, so I broadened my motions as I prepared to stop. On a loose pass, the bouncy head skated across her buttock and slipped over down the crack of her bum. “Right there, right there!” she cried out. I held it positioned so one bullet was pummeling her anus. She pulled her leg up, allowing better access to her bum hole. The second bullet was bouncing harshly on her spine so I slid the massager down so the upper bumper settled in her anus. All was fine and dandy for a while. Louise was relaxed, had closed her eyes and seemed quite content. The massager however, was fairly heavy and somewhat unyielding so I turned its head slightly to lessen my burden. Wouldn’t you.
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