The first time she was introduced to her fellow servers at O'Mally's Bar and Grill, Gwen had laughed a nervous laugh, fully expecting hidden cameras to be pointed out to her. The other girls would remove the padding from under their blouses and they'd all yell something about her being punk'd, and she'd have to admit to everybody in the room that it was a pretty good gag. But the relief of that moment never came. She was stuck in this surreal environment.
The thing was that all the other waitresses had ginormous jugs. Tremendous ta-tas. Ridiculous racks. Horrendously huge hooters. Not anything so trifling and pedestrian as double d's. Tits that spit on the entire alphabetical classification system. Ones big enough to make a porn star blush.
But no one blushed, or even batted an eye. That's what made it ten times worse; how nobody acknowledged the fact that the place was staffed by bloated breasted parodies of womanhood. Not the Bill the manager, not even the customers! Normal families came in and acted like this was the most natural setup imaginable. Men only looked at their chests (briefly) to read their name tags. What was wrong with everyone?
What was wrong with her? Did she step into some bizzaro universe the second she entered the restaurant? Could she be going crazy? Maybe she was just reluctant to acknowledge that these pneumatic co-workers were fellow human beings. She had to admit that it made her angry to think that Kim was a fellow college student, but with a double major in microbiology and epidemiology. It would be simpler if they were airheaded bimbos. She wanted to hate them. Maybe because on some level she was jealous, even though it was insanity to want a chest like that.
Still, Gwen caught herself staring sometimes. Not like that. She was straight. Totally straight. But even the slightest movement would generate a miniature earthquake that kept the bosom in lively motion seemingly forever. Quivering and jiggling with a thousand aftershocks. Like ripples in a never-still pond. Really hypnotizing stuff.
I'm waiting for Rod Sterling to pop up at any moment and start doing an introduction to the "Twilight Zone". :) Though, for a moment, I thought of myself back in the day when I looked at Gwen. :)
Normally I wouldn't consider starting a new series while another is going on (one shots are fine since I'm easily distracted), but the amount of feedback O'Mally's got started me thinking about how to continue it. Now I'm sorely tempted!
Sorry, it's a combination of being easily distracted, not being able to find a compelling way to illustrate the next Tenfingers installment, and being hesitant to start a new series (O'Mally's) in the middle of another series.
Woot, i can answer your problems. 1) It's alright to be distracted. 2) You ARE the author, since YOU hold the pencil thingy and YOU type the story. YOU can make it however YOU feel it should be. If someone says they hate it, they can go die. 3) Then just finish tenfingers before you start o'mally's up.
everyone who visits your work,or site,really respects you...we don't control what you do...you do. overall try and finish what you started,before worring about another series...that's where i mess up alot lol. but it is a great feeling to know a new piece of work is being thought of at all... and hope that this will be a series someday...
The thing was that all the other waitresses had ginormous jugs. Tremendous ta-tas. Ridiculous racks. Horrendously huge hooters. Not anything so trifling and pedestrian as double d's. Tits that spit on the entire alphabetical classification system. Ones big enough to make a porn star blush.
But no one blushed, or even batted an eye. That's what made it ten times worse; how nobody acknowledged the fact that the place was staffed by bloated breasted parodies of womanhood. Not the Bill the manager, not even the customers! Normal families came in and acted like this was the most natural setup imaginable. Men only looked at their chests (briefly) to read their name tags. What was wrong with everyone?
What was wrong with her? Did she step into some bizzaro universe the second she entered the restaurant? Could she be going crazy? Maybe she was just reluctant to acknowledge that these pneumatic co-workers were fellow human beings. She had to admit that it made her angry to think that Kim was a fellow college student, but with a double major in microbiology and epidemiology. It would be simpler if they were airheaded bimbos. She wanted to hate them. Maybe because on some level she was jealous, even though it was insanity to want a chest like that.
Still, Gwen caught herself staring sometimes. Not like that. She was straight. Totally straight. But even the slightest movement would generate a miniature earthquake that kept the bosom in lively motion seemingly forever. Quivering and jiggling with a thousand aftershocks. Like ripples in a never-still pond. Really hypnotizing stuff.
And, oh yeah, the tips they got were amazing.