A Titicaca Rendezvous
By T.L. Peters
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 T.L. Peters
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Chapter 1
I strolled into conference room 8D expecting some ball busting female partner from New York to tell me what a lazy jerk I was. But instead all that intruded into my narrow field of vision was this cute blond pop-tart fluttering around the huge shimmering oval conference table as though she were checking to see if there were enough Styrofoam cups left for the next meeting. She had on a bright yellow dress with all sorts of multi-colored crystal chokers dangling from her neck, and her wrists were loaded with clanging metal bracelets and her knobby fingers covered with rings that resembled a series of large brass knuckles.
She was extremely thick-bodied, and on second glance I could see that she was really put together from the waist up, spectacularly so, and not too shabby from the waist down either, with even her calves looking like big fleshy bowling balls. There was such a vast display of carnal proportions to take in that I didn't get a good look at her face, at least not until right after she'd jumped me, but I'll get to that embarrassing incident soon enough. If I'd seen her on the street, I would have guessed that she was a hooker, but hookers didn't usually venture into the austere hallways of the firm of Blubbs and Drabo, at least not during office hours.
"Who do you work for?" I asked her. "I haven't seen you around."
"Maybe you just didn't notice me."
"I suspect I might have."
She glanced up at me and smiled. At that moment the polite thing would have been to pay a little more attention to what I imagined were her comely facial features, peer into her eyes for instance to see if there were any signs of sentient life, but I was still a little hung up on contemplating her massive back side.
"Like you, Harry," she cooed, "I'm a lawyer."
"Oh, don't give me that," I snorted. "Are you from the secretarial pool? I need a new girl, you know. My old one just quit."
"I can't imagine why."
"I find it rather perplexing too," I said with more than a hint of sarcasm as I walked over to the window and looked out at all the little drones filling up the streets far below.
It pained me to watch them all racing about on some grimy path to nowhere. I wasn't being arrogant though. I was fully aware that I was one of them, and a fairly pathetic example at that. I was just hoping to end up making a little more money than they did, which was why I had been slaving away for eight long years at the distinguished law firm of Blubbs and Drabo.
"And I'm such a thoughtful and understanding fellow," I murmured lamely. "I guess people just can't comprehend my inner complexity."
I knew I sounded like a jerk, but I just couldn't seem to help it. I really wasn't all that obnoxious, but then again, maybe I was going easy on myself. Don't we all some time or another?
Suddenly though my lazy self serving day dream was interrupted when out of the corner of my eye I saw the blond strutting toward me, her shoulders back and her chest out. I didn't like people getting that close to me, strangers especially, even if that stranger happened to be a hot babe, and I was starting to back away when she grabbed me by the arms and straightened me up. Then she began slapping me as if she were a fighting machine and I happened to be her punching bag for the day, a sharp right followed by a crushing left and then another painful right.
The blows were cracking off my cheeks every couple seconds, and I was seeing stars and wasn't quite sure what to do about it. I glanced down at her big curvy chest and tried to push her away, but she grabbed my hands and we started tussling. I fought and yanked and squirmed and shoved at her lovely bulk as hard as I could, grunting and moaning the whole time, but I couldn't budge her, not even an inch. It was as if I were wrestling a brick wall with curves, and it didn't take her long before she was the one who was backing me across the room.
The next thing I knew she'd pushed me down over the near side of the conference table, her tough meaty hands pinning my wrists to the smooth cherry wood. I tried to roll out of her grip, but it was as though I were caught in some great metal vise. She was just too strong. But where did she get her power from? Maybe those husky shoulders and bristling upper back muscles had something to do with it, I surmised with no small degree of panic, and that nice pair of lean ripped arms didn't seem to hurt her cause either.
I was beginning to get a little dizzy and sick to my stomach when she must have gotten bored toying with me, because without fanfare she tossed me down onto the plush velvet carpet and then started checking her nails. The cherry red polish was apparently still in place, because her eyes quickly swung back down toward my pitifully prostrate frame. It was a good thing for me that the partners of Blubbs and Drabo were such suckers for ostentation in their interior decorating. Without that soft rug to land on I might have gotten knocked out cold, since my head had slammed into the floor pretty hard. At least I had the presence of mind to reach out my arms as soon as I could think straight and grab her surprisingly slender ankles and yank them toward me as ferociously as I could. She went flying backwards, and by the cuss words shooting out of her hot juicy mouth she seemed pretty ticked off about it too.
Then we rolled around over the floor for maybe a minute or two. A few times I thought I had the advantage, but she was always able to break away from me just seconds before I would have been in a position to pin her, or at least to slow her down. I was no wimp either, two hundred pounds of mostly muscle with some flab mixed in to give me a prematurely chunky sort of look for a relatively young guy.
I just wished that I'd worked out at the gym a little more lately, because my lungs were running out of wind fast. It was understandable though. Struggling with this woman was a little like wrestling sheet metal. Her arms felt like I-beams, and her legs were beginning to wrap around me like wreathing bands of steel. But maybe it didn't really matter what kind of shape I was in, because the next thing I knew she had my shoulders pinned securely under her hard and well tanned knees.
I squirmed around a little trying to break free, but it was no use. It felt as though I were being flattened under a load of concrete, and when I say concrete I'm not kidding. The more I studied her, the more I realized that this woman was really built. She was one of those short broads whose bust size nearly matched her height, even when she was standing still. But now that her chest was heaving in and out so hard and fast it looked twice its normal size, especially with all the chokers around her neck always flying up in the air and then bouncing off her hefty boobs. I forgot to mention that her dress was cut really low, and her cleavage looked like something you might see flashing all sweaty and bronzed off the glossy cover of a bodybuilder magazine at the grocery store.
Finally, like I told you, I got around to examining her face, which was a big disappointment, at least at first. The corners of her mouth and eyes and the high pallor of her forehead and even her pinkish cheeks, which were full and even a little pudgy in spots, were criss- crossed with a complex matrix of lines and wrinkles, almost gullies you might call them, and the general texture of her skin reminded me of an old catcher's mitt you might find up in the attic. She must have had a lip job though, because they were so big and red that they looked liked two slices of overly ripe watermelon. And her eyes were kind of puffy and gray around the edges, as if she'd just had a botox injection that hadn't gone quite right.
Her hair was kind of phony too, although I was pretty sure she wasn't wearing a wig. Instead she must have had all sorts of fancy hair extensions woven into it. I could tell because the roots in front were thin and kind of pale blond, while the rest of her hair-do looked like the golden mane of some wild stallion. Strands of it were flying all around her broad shoulders as we were grappling, and sometimes a few layers swirled over and hit me in the eye. The ends were kind of rough and sticky too, and I would have grabbed a chunk of it and tried to yank it right out of her head, but I couldn't move my arms, which were gradually being crushed under her sexy bulk. I was at the end of my rope in other words and about to scream for help and a bit of mercy when she chose just that second to clamp her big wet juicy palm right over my mouth.
"Do you submit?" she asked kind of perky and bright, but with a husky undertow to it that sort of turned me on. She must have felt my crotch tightening up, because she let out a grin and all of a sudden her eyes didn't look so murky anymore, but kind of clear and blue and wild. "Or do you want me to hurt you?"
I tried to bite her fingers, but she had pinched my lips so tightly together that I couldn't get my teeth free. Then I closed my eyes and stopped struggling and just lay there beneath her, my chest heaving and my hot sweating pouring into my eyes. Finally she took pity on me and pulled back her hand.
"Do you mean, do I cry Uncle?" I asked softly.
"If that's the way you wish to express your defeat and ultimate surrender and humiliation, I'm fine with it."
"Who are you anyway?" I sputtered. "I can have you fired for this."
"I doubt it, Mr. Harry Globe. What kind of a name is Globe anyway, especially for a guy like you? I've heard that you're about the most parochial fellow there is. Have you ever left Pittsburgh?"
"I went to law school at Yale," I mumbled.
"So I've heard. Yale turns out a lot of flakes, you know. I prefer Harvard men."
I took another look at her bountiful chest hovering over me. It was the kind of rack that could quickly wrap itself around a man's face and smother him without much fuss at all. But at the same time it was hard and tough enough that if you got into a boxing match with it, fists against tits I mean, it could knock you out in thirty seconds. Whoever this babe was, she was all woman.
"How do you know my name?" I snorted.
"I make it a point to know the names of all my associates."
"I'm not your associate," I grunted
"The last time I looked, associates worked for partners," she shot back, grinning haughtily, "and I'm your partner for now. But you can just think of me as your superior, if you prefer."
I winced as she ground her knee against the side of my throat. She couldn't be the one, I thought, or at least so I hoped. Old man Jones, my long time mentor and the partner most responsible for my having made it this far in the corporate rat race, had given me the heads up that the firm had just hired some hot shot lawyer in the New York City office, and that she was coming to Pittsburgh to give me some ground breaking legal assignment. That was all baloney, of course, smoke and mirrors, just like most everything else hitting the rumor mill at a big law firm. Even old man Jones had warned me that it wasn't an assignment so much as a test that I had to pass. I was up for partner in three months, after all, and this was the last hoop I had to jump through. I just couldn't figure out why the firm would sic some new lateral hire on me at this critical point in my career, even if she were a hot shot partner. Now, pinned as I was beneath her powerful thighs, I was even more confused.
"But you're a secretary, aren't you?" I growled.
She slapped me across the face again. The blow was so quick that I heard the sharp crack of her palm against my brittle cheek even before I felt the sting.
"Just because I favor an expressive wardrobe, you assume I don't have the brains to be your equal. Listen, Harry, I'm more than your equal."
Before I could get out another word, she slapped me again. Then she clamped my cheeks between her thumb and forefinger and squeezed hard. After a few excruciating seconds my face must have looked like an exploding piece of fruit. Those big metal rings scraping across my face didn't help my complexion much either. I tried to tell her to stop, but the only sound I could muster was a woeful cross between a frightened scream and a pathetic whine. Finally, she let my face go. I wiggled my jaw until most of the kinks had worked themselves out.
"You win," I sputtered.
"So you submit to me then?"
"I submit. Whatever you want. Whatever turns you on."
She laughed sharply and then jumped to her feet. She was not only beautiful and strong, but she was an athlete too. I lay there panting and staring up at her broad hips and slender waist. Then something came over me that I still can't exactly explain. I guess the sight of all that writhing pulchritude was too much for me to process all at once, and I let my libido do the talking.
"Do you lift weights?"
"I do everything, Harry."
"How much do you bench?"
"Men are always asking me that. I was hoping you'd show a bit more creativity in your interrogation."
I sat up and then twisted the aches out of my back. She was relentless, this woman. She never hesitated. She never let up. She never quit.
"How much?"
"Three hundred pounds on a bad day."
I rubbed the soreness out of the back of my neck as she slowly extended her thick veiny hand toward me. As soon as I grasped it she yanked me to my feet with such force that for a second I thought I was going to take off and crash against the ceiling.
"So you're Penelope Biggs," I muttered. "The new partner from New York. Old man Jones told me you were a real pistol."
"That's my name, Harry. And if you can impress me, you can impress anybody."
I sighed and then straightened my tie. I was wearing one of my notorious yellow clip ons. Clip on ties were my last statement of professional defiance. Sure, I wanted to make partner, but I didn't feel like completely morphing into some smarmy corporate dead fish to do it. I guess I should have worn a real tie that day, because just then Penelope grabbed the end and pulled on it. I had to admit that she looked kind of funny standing there holding my tie limply between her fingers. She seemed startled at first that it had peeled right off me, but then she just sort of laughed it off.
I quickly noticed that most of her wrinkles seemed to vanish when she was laughing. I took it as a good sign. I wondered how old she was, but I was afraid to ask her. I'd been beaten and bruised enough for one day, and the last thing I wanted was for her to drag me out into the hallway where the whole firm could witness my complete thrashing at the hands of what I assumed was an older woman.
"Mr. Jones said you were a real character, Harry."
"I try to keep things interesting," I snorted, grabbing the tie from her and shoving it into my coat pocket. "Now what's this big assignment you're supposed to be giving me?"
"Sit down," she ordered, pointing to one of the leather upholstered chairs surrounding the huge conference table.
I decided that the prudent course, for the time being anyway, was to do as I was told. She plunked her sturdy rear end down on the table next to me and started rocking her legs back and forth as though she were flirting. I wanted to reach out and stroke the rippling slabs of muscle along her thighs, but I couldn't seem to muster the guts for it just then.
"It's really not that big of a deal," she said, her voice now throaty and deep.
I felt my crotch starting to harden again and quickly crossed my legs. She glanced down in the general direction of my groin and smiled a little. She didn't blush though. At that moment I used my exceptional analytical powers to deduce that this was not the kind of woman who was in the habit of blushing about much of anything.
"I need someone to close a transaction for me, a cross border corporate merger. All the paper work is pretty much done. You just have to nurse the deal to a successful conclusion. Do you think you can do that for me, Harry?"
"Sure," I said. "Mindless grunt work is my speciality."
She smiled again, and I felt her foot suddenly tap against my leg.
"You'll have to travel to Bolivia though. Have you ever been there?"
"I don't even know where it is."
She sighed as though suddenly she were no longer amused by my little dog and pony show, which was too bad because I thought I was being pretty charming, at least by my modest standards.
"We have your Visa all lined up. You leave tonight. You have three hours to pack and get to the airport. I'll e mail the documents to your lap top. It's about a six hour trip. You can review everything on the flight."
"Who is my contact in Bolivia?" I managed to blubber with at least a mildly flickering trace of intelligence.
"I'll put all the logistics in the e mail. Now get out of here, handsome, before I decide to really kick your butt."
Suddenly she took a deep breath, and I watched lamely as her chest nearly exploded into my face. Usually I didn't fraternize with partners. It was bad business. I never knew when one of those stuffed shirts might decide to stick a knife in my back. But with this husky bombshell I just couldn't seem to stop myself. I guess I was having a little sexual experience all inside my own little mind.
"Maybe when I get back, we can get together and I can brief you on how the deal went."
"I'll know how the deal went, Harry," she snapped. "I'll know everything."
Then she raised her leg, positioned the sharp black heel of her sparkling silky blue marina pumps into the soft curvature of my chest and shoved me backwards. My chair toppled over immediately, and I landed on the floor and rolled over groaning a few times until I crashed into a small oak cabinet. It was an old fashioned, pretentious, expensive and essentially useless piece of furniture, much like the entire firm of Blubbs and Drabo, and nicely emblematic of the company's long and decadent history. When I glanced up again she was already glaring down at me, with a smile trying to force itself onto her thick surgically enhanced lips, but never quite succeeding.
"Until you make partner, Harry, I'm the boss. Do you think you can remember that?"
I checked myself out. There were no broken bones or torn ligaments or even a pulled muscle that I could detect. This woman knew what she was doing. She could beat me up without hurting me. I wondered what else she could do.
"I'll keep it in mind."
"Good, now get out of here."
She rolled her head toward the door, her hair flying about like the mighty locks of some haughty Amazon Queen. I took the hint and scrambled out into the hallway, and then paused a moment to check her out one more time. I had a clear side view of her now as she began smoothing her skirt with her hands. Her body looked to me as though it were a mass of perfectly mixed concrete that had just been poured out of a dump truck into a thick and voluptuous yellow tinted hour glass.
Just then I caught myself, amazed at how horny I was getting over this lusty bruiser. It wasn't as though I'd never seen a good looking woman before. There were plenty of ladies to die for who worked at the firm, real classic beauties too, especially some of the receptionists, but I'd never lost it like this. Of course, I'd never met a hot babe who could toss me around as though I were piece of straw. Maybe the combination of beauty and power was my weak spot. But I didn't feel like getting into it too deeply right then and scurried down the hall to my dreary cramped office. I had some long days ahead of me and needed to get my mind right. First off, I hated traveling, but I wanted at some point to begin earning a partner's level of compensation with all the associated expense accounts and other perks and was willing to put up with a ton of crap to achieve these rather modest career goals, even to the point of getting my butt whipped by some testy Valkyrie from New York City. I was nonetheless hoping, however, that the next time I tangled with her, it might be on a more even playing field. I'd have to get into better shape though. That was for sure.
Chapter 2
I made it out of the building without seeing a soul. I considered stopping by old man Jones's office to shoot the breeze for a few minutes about this wild broad from New York. But I quickly thought better of it. I was under the microscope, after all. Even my old pal might be in partner evaluation mode, and he could be a tough nut when he wanted to be. It was better if I made as few waves around the firm as possible. The last thing I wanted was to show any hint of fear or insecurity. I needed to prove to the partners that I was confident and able to handle anything that came along, even some curvy chick who could kick the snot out of me with one hand tied behind her broad sexy back. They were probably just trying to rattle me anyway. Lawyers were capable of anything. When it came to fiddling with your mind, they knew all the tricks. I decided to keep my head down and play it straight.
I got to the airport in plenty of time and then did a little research on my lap top about Bolivia as I waited around for my flight. The first thing I learned was that the country was in South America. What can I say? I was never all that strong on geography. It was land locked and about the size of Texas and California put together and had a population of about eleven million. Those were the basics. Simple enough, I thought. I decided to investigate a little further though. Why not? I had the time.
The country had three distinct climates and topographies—the high dry and arid plains, known as the Altiplano, the more temperate regions to the east around the bustling city of Santa Cruz, and the tropical rain forests, called the Yungas, where I was headed I soon found out, but more about all that in a second. Bolivia had the largest percentage of indigenous population of any country in Latin American, and the President at the time was the first native Aymara ruler of the land since the Spanish had shown up centuries before. The main industries were tin and copper mining and natural gas drilling, along with plenty of agriculture, which included growing ample quantities of coca, the principal ingredient for cocaine.
I discovered some interesting political sidelights too. Bolivia was always getting into squabbles with the United States and the international community about how many acres of its fertile hillsides should be devoted to coca production. Bolivia argued that it needed coca for a variety of legitimate markets, like for medicine, tea, cookies and various home spun remedies. Just the same, the government would always make a grand show of burning up some coca fields, while at the same time secretly allowing new ones to be planted elsewhere. Most of the coca was shipped to Columbia for processing, before ultimate export through Mexico to the vast consumer market in the United States. Lately though, more and more Columbians and other cartel leaders were showing up in Bolivia, as the government had recently become much more amenable to the more lucrative uses of it largest cash crop. I didn't see what any of that sordid business had to do with me though as I spotted the promised e mail from Penelope flash onto my screen.
Her message was brief and to the point. My job was to go to a little town of about 25,000 souls called Coroico, located about thirty five miles northeast of the nation's seat of government and one of its main cities, La Paz. In Coroico I was to hook up with some businessmen looking to expand their natural gas mining activities in southern Bolivia, where huge new reserves had recently been discovered. It was a merger deal between two companies I'd never heard of before, but that didn't matter. My job was just to make sure the documents were right. I would land at the airport in La Paz early the next morning and be met by some girl by the name of Juanita Suarez, who would make sure I got to the meeting on time and then be back at the airport for my home bound flight some thirty six hours later. It all seemed neat and clean and well thought out. The lovely Penelope was apparently smarter than she looked.
The e mail had all sorts of documents and spread sheets attached to it, and I quickly downloaded them all to my documents file, where I could peruse them on the flight at my leisure. Then I closed my eyes and took a nap. I was tired after the thrashing that the crazy blond had just dished out to me, and maybe a little freaked out too. I even dreamt a little about lying on the floor and staring up at her powerfully voluptuous physique, but that was about the extent of my nocturnal fantasies on the subject, at least for the time being. I was lucky that there was actually an airport attendant around who had the courtesy to wake me up in time for me to board the plane. The first leg of the flight was to Miami, and it was packed with a typical low brow business crowd in cheap smelly brown suits, with a few chubby tourists in flowery shirts mixed in. My off-the-rack cream colored sports coat looked stylish by comparison.
A few hours later we landed in Miami, where there were so many good looking women strutting around the terminal that I could hardly believe it. And none of these babes was beating up any guys either. Then about forty five minutes after that I was on the direct flight to La Paz, where I was about the only pale skinned passenger on board. There weren't any eye popping women either. Everybody was old and short and wrinkled, but they sure had expensive clothes, all tailored and made from the finest materials. I figured that only the rich Bolivians traveled by plane.
After a while I got so bored that I opened up my laptop and went to the documents file to check out the merger papers Penelope had sent me. But to my great irritation I soon got a flashing error message ordering me to type in my credit card number within the next few seconds or my computer would crash. Great, I thought. A virus. Then after a minute or so the screen went completely blank. I closed up the computer and wondered what to do next. It occurred to me that I didn't even have Penelope's phone number.
I decided to call the operator at the firm, who I figured should be able to put me in touch with the feisty blond Amazon without much trouble. I reached into my coat pocket for my phone, but all I came up with was an old McDonald's receipt and some little fur balls. My phone must have fallen out when I was tussling with my new friend. Now what was I supposed to do? It's amazing how isolated and powerless you feel when suddenly cut off from all your modern communication gadgets.
I decided that I'd just have to wait until I got to La Paz and figure out my next step from there. Somebody had to have another computer I could borrow, and maybe my contact Juanita would have an extra phone. Everybody had cell phones these days, I assumed, especially in third world countries where I had read somewhere that they'd mostly skipped traditional land lines and gone straight to advanced mobile communication.
The food on the plane was bad, some sort of noodles and beef concoction that gave me a belly ache, and which kept me wide awake until just a half hour or so before we landed. The brief nap was insufficient to clear my head though. To make matters worse, on our long descent to the airport my view of the countryside was obscured by a thick haze, although I did notice some snowy mountain peaks off in the distance. When we landed I noticed that the runway had that lonely empty early morning feel to it that I always hated about airports.