Michael Richards waited on the side of the road for his friend Amelia Wilson to come out from behind the bush she was using for privacy. They were in the middle of nowhere in Florida with the nearest rest stop about twenty miles away. He caught a glimpse of her melon-sized breasts straining against the neckline of her dress as she bent over. "Oh shit," he moaned as his pants got tighter. At this rate, he was going to come inside his briefs if she didn't hurry up and finish.
"You are such a prude," he called to her. It was hard to believe she was one of America's hottest models. Sometime in her seven-year career she must have taken her clothes off in front of someone. So why was she making such a big deal?
Amelia came out of the bushes just seconds after he turned away and faced the highway. "I'm ready."
So was he. Ready to get off, that is. Michael glanced over at her. Amelia looked exquisite as usual with her tall, perfectly proportioned body and thick shoulder-length chocolate brown hair. She was casually dressed in a pretty blue frock, probably bought off the rack, even though, like him, she probably had hundreds of designer outfits in her closet. She reminded him of the girl next door--peaches and cream complexion, wholesome personality and an I get along with everyone attitude. A cheerleader, homecoming queen and girl you would certainly like to take home to meet the parents.
Michael sighed. All of that was fine and dandy but somewhere in his vivid little imagination he knew no one could be that perfect. Amelia had to have some kind of quirk, and he was bound and determined to find out what it was before he did a damn fool thing like propose to her. That's why he'd suggested that they drive to Florida instead of flying. After a day or two on the road together some little idiosyncrasy was bound to rear its little head. So far he'd learnt that she liked Latin music, she couldn't hold her bladder after drinking soda and she was thinking about auditioning for a small part in a movie when they returned to New York.
Michael helped her into the fancy red sports car he had rented for their trip and then walked around and got into the driver's seat.
Amelia smoothed out the creases in her dress, adjusted the top to cover the little skin that was showing and then flipped her hair over one shoulder so she wouldn't lean back on it.
Michael watched it all with interest, envisioning her naked, reclined on the seat next to him. He started up the car and peeled away from the side of the road to get back on the highway. They were headed to the airport where they would finally board a plane and take off for Kamalame Cay, a private beach in the Bahamas. Both of them were taking part in a big promotion for a new line of summer wear designed by Ralph Newman to be featured in several department stores around the country. He had high hopes of seeing a lot of Amelia during their one-week stay, since he'd learned that she would be modelling Ralph's latest swimsuit fashion. Michael grinned inside. Boy, he couldn't wait.