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Desi was basically a happy, content person. In college, she had majored in business, ideas whirling through her mind for the next big thing, the next wonderful IT. Entering the work force, she found a great job and loved it, working hard to succeed. She had bought a house, all by herself, in a very nice neighborhood. She spent her off-time redecorating it, which she found fun and relaxing. She had decided that a man was not necessary, at least not now, and actually found life exciting and fulfilling. She found an adorable car, her first brand new one, and loved driving it. She was meticulous in the upkeep, getting oil changes as often as recommended, keeping it shiny and new.

Desi had found a wonderful service station within a mile of her house. It was convenient, fast, and, amazingly, full service, the last of its kind. She liked the idea of driving in and having someone else pump the gas, wash the windshield and check the oil level. She had no illusions of Women's Lib. She was a steady customer, stopping at least weekly. There was a guy there, a wonderfully blue-collared guy, named Scott. He was tall and lean, tanned, and very friendly. He was the first one out of the door when she pulled up to the pumps, greeting her happily and bustling about taking care of her car needs. He always wore a short-sleeved blue shirt with his name embroidered on his chest. His arms were muscular and firm, with a matting of soft brown hair. She loved to watch his hands as he so capably opened the hood and checked all the little things under there. She also loved to watch his ass, so perfectly formed, filling his snug jeans so delightfully. ...

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