Free Sexy Girls by Gary S. Griffin

apartment with a bruised behind, a very sore scalp and a red mark on my left cheek. But, I was so mad and determined that I knocked on the door until they gave me my clothes. Sheepishly, after five minutes, the pitcher opened the door, just wide enough to pass out my clothes and purse.
    As I stood outside getting dressed, inside the apartment I heard the lady screaming non-stop, Greg apologizing, and things breaking. I almost felt sorry for him; almost. I never saw her or him again. Thank God!
    On that spring day, Cyndie thought this was her big break. This was her first fashion show. She felt it could make up for the poverty and insults she endured for months as she tried to break into the business. She was living in a ninety square foot efficiency apartment in a border-line hip, border-line seedy section of the Village. Unfortunately, her five-year modeling career was ten weeks of incredible fun and 250 weeks of boredom.
    But, on this day, we had a life-changing event. We met Stevie Garrett.
    It all started with the “crime.” Two days earlier, a purple bikini bottom was stolen right off my body in the dressing room. Our show director claimed a rival swimsuit designer hired thugs to steal the first Brazilian-styled bikini bottoms - those with only slightly larger than thong backs - that Cyndie, me and the other models would wear in the fashion show.
    Stevie was hired to “investigate.” He was working for the designer's property insurance company and arrived at the crime scene on the day of the show.
    Ten minutes earlier I arrived by taxi from my apartment. I was about to change into my pink bikini, when a tall, dark, handsome man in his mid-twenties walked by. He looked sharp; with a black, three-buttoned suit, short wavy dark brown hair, a strong face and bright blue eyes. The sight of barely dressed girls caused him to smile. It was a warm, white-teethed smile that made you feel good, deep down inside.
    He was escorted into our dressing room by our show's director, Spencer Randolph. Spencer was dressed in his usual loud clothes, a lavender suit and a peach-colored shirt. They walked directly towards me, the “crime victim.”
    Cyndie Myst's booth was two down from mine so she easily eavesdropped on the entire scene.
    I was introduced to Stevie Garrett and I felt the electricity radiate between us. It continued to flow for the next ten minutes. We were both enchanted with each other from the moment we met. Stevie could barely get out his words of introduction and his purpose for standing in my dressing area.
    Even still, his demeanor was a happy one and he was enjoying this moment. It was just the reaction we models love from a heterosexual man; he didn't leer but he did love everything he saw, and complimented us verbally and non-verbally. Stevie made us feel comfortable. I continued to hold Stevie's hand for a very long time after our handshake greeting. I also stood very close to Stevie, which was okay with him; we both enjoyed being in each other's personal space. Looking back now, I realize I completely lost it for the next fifteen minutes. I revealed so much of myself to Stevie, more than I expected.
    Mr. Randolph sighed and said, “My little actress, Andi, wants to demonstrate how she was attacked. Please be seated Mr. Garrett and be her captivated audience. Perhaps you can solve this crime against civilization.” With that over-the-top comment, Spencer huffed and walked away.
    I told Stevie to sit on the comfy sofa across from my shower stall-sized dressing booth. I went behind a curtain and started changing out of my short, baby-doll dress. The bottom of the curtain ended nearly three feet from the floor providing Stevie with a clear view of my long legs. Over the next minute, I provided him with a covered-up strip tease. First, I kicked off my white, thong sandals. I let my little pink dress fall to the floor, and, then, stepped out of the small garment covering my feet. Seconds