Part One
Around 11:30am, Tracy and her friend Chelle decided they'd had enough of work and split for lunch. Together they served as customer assistants for TangoCorp HQ, a company dedicated to fun beverages and fruity snack treats. As charming as the company attempted to present itself, it attracted a surly damn clientele, and calls were coming in non-stop over the 800 and 888 numbers. Chelle had been deailng with white trash from Tennesee and Alabama, answering questions regarding the ingredients in Mango Menace and Assisted Citruside. She hated the southern states, with their long drawls and poorly-phrased questions. She and Tracy would relate stories of their phone calls and bust out laughing, to deal with the stress of customer service.
Tracy, however, was in no joking mood when she punched out. For the past 35 minutes she'd been dealing with a string of obscene phone calls. Whether it was coincidence or not, it sounded like two different men calling her, connecting to her patch, over and over. First, she was amused, then she was scared, then she was angry. Chelle tried to inquire gently as to what was bugging her friend.
"I don't want to talk about it right now," Tracy fumed, stomping in her tight little brown shoes out the huge glass doors of TangoCorp. Frowning, Chelle followed her out to the elevators and gave her a few minutes of silence. Tracy would talk when she was ready.
She was soon ready. "Ooh, those pricks! These two guys, right, just kept calling and calling for over half an hour!"
"What'd they want?" Chelle asked.
"Obscene phone calls!" Tracy exploded. "Heavy breathing and nervous laughter and panting... and I swear, they were masturbating. I could hear it in their voices, the way they kinda jerked and gasped... eeeww!! Goddamn, I wish I could wipe the sound of it out of my ears!"
Chelle might've laughed at the predicament, except for how livid Tracy appeared. She noted her tight little outfit accentuated her anger quite aptly: Tracy wore a white turtleneck beneath a short, tight tweedy jumper, with deep brown stockings to match her shoes. Chelle only showed up in a Nordic skiing sweater and snug jeans with racing piping down the outseams, flared bottoms spilling over sneakers with 3" soles. Chelle felt as laid-back and relaxed as her oufit, while every little twitch of Tracy's body, every shaking fist, each stamping foot echoed in ripples and jostling throughout her body. Chelle considered Tracy 'well-fed,' though not fat by any means. Chelle herself was rather slender, everything she wore hung on her casually unless it was purposely tight. Anything Tracy would attempt to squeeze into would always be skin tight, probably.
"Well, that's what happens at customer service. We have two toll-free lines, people like that are going to call," Chelle said sympathetically.
"That doesn't give them any right... ooh, I wish I could meet them! I'd kick them in their goddamn balls!"
Chelle had to laugh at that, the image of a powerhouse like Tracy bulldozing into some socially-backward, emaciated little pervo in his fourth or fifth decade on this planet. Tracy spun on her friend, eyes flashing, and Chelle almost quailed... but her laughter seemed to lighten up the mood, and Tracy went into a long discourse on the different ways she'd torture and humiliate these creeps, until they were both weak with laughter. Staggering out of the elevator, they garnered some strange looks from passersby but paid these no mind and went carousing off to the food court in the next building.
They got there well before the noon rush, and didn't have to wait in line very long to get their food. Chelle was grabbing a sub from a sandwich shop, while Tracy was purchasing an order of egg foo yung and some cream cheese wontons. Chelle caught up with Tracy as she filled her soda. "Subs, huh?" Tracy asked. "Don't you get sick of those?"
Chelle sneered and scanned around the food court for an empty table: goddamn yuppies descended like locusts while their backs were turned. Then something caught her eye--focusing, she lost whatever it was... couldn't have been anything dramatic. Just a mood, a feeling... she resumed sweeping around the room for a table, looking far to the right, then back to the left... there! She picked up on it, or so she thought. Something about that guy, there... a tall, thin guy with long brown hair and dark clothing. He seemed to be reading a book, engrossed in it, in fact. Why would she notice him? Turning her head as if to scan the room once more, she kept a sidelong glance fixed upon the man, and waited... until...
Ah-ha! Chelle thought. He's staring at us! He's checking us out! Sure enough, whenever the man thought Chelle was looking away, he glanced up at the couple of them without moving his head and stared intently, as if studying them. Chelle smirked to herself and turned to see if Tracy had noticed it. Tracy was filling her soda and dabbling with the different flavors available, she hadn't noticed anything. Narrowing her eyes, Chelle tried to pick up on the man in her peripheral vision...
He was staring at Tracy's ass. Dead at it, practically turning his whole head to face them. Chelle glanced reflexively at her friend's ass. Tracy, as previously noted, was rather built, even voluptuous, certainly curvy, however you wanted to say it. While featuring only average-sized breasts, maybe 38-B, Tracy had developed what was known in vulgar, inner-city parlance as a "ghetto booty": a full, prominant pair of buttocks, slightly largish but no less firm. In Tracy's outfit, today, every little movement gave it an anxious litle wiggle. Pushing for ice, it jostled. Pushing for Cherry Coke, 7-Up, Hawaiian Punch, it bobbled each time. As Tracy hopped over to pick up a lid and straw for her drink, her curvaceous rump fairly danced on her hips...
Snapping out of her trance, Chelle tore her eyes off her friend's ass and, for something to distract her, ended up staring dead at the tall dark reader. He flinched, also shaken out of his trance in staring at Tracy's buttocks, and stared right into Chelle's eyes for two full seconds before blushing profusely and diving into his book.
Chelle smirked darkly to herself and leaned over to her friend. "Trace... don't look right now, but you see that guy about three tables away from you, in the black sweater and jeans?"
Tracy pretended to hear a noise in the next restaurant, but looked over to where the man was sitting out of the corner of her eye. "Yeah?"
"He was staring at your ass."
Tracy choked on her laughter. "Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah. Staring right at it. Hardly even hiding it."
Tracy's mood darkened a little. "He was..? Staring at me..."
"What nerve, huh? Just staring at you like a piece of meat."
Chelle didn't realize what emotions she was playing upon - more than anything else, she was just thinking aloud to her friend. Tracy, however, was in a particularly misandronistic mood this hour, after her solicitous phone calls. "That fucking asshole," she growled, alarming Chelle. "That goddamned prick... just staring at me like that, in front of everyone..."
"Yeah, hey, Trace," Chelle tried to soothe her friend, "let's just go find somewhere else to sit, okay?"
"Fucking staring at me... like I want to be stared at!"
"Trace, c'mon, you're raising your voice... people are starting to stare..."
Tracy laughed harshly. "Someone's been staring, that's the problem!" she barked. "Ha ha ha! Staring his fucking eyes out! Hey, buddy!" She called to the stranger, as Chelle tried to tug her arm. "D'you get a good eyeful, huh? You got something to stroke off about tonight!?" The man glanced up once, blushed deeply, and hid behind his book again.
Chelle's cheeks were burning deeply as she spun Tracy around to face her. "Tracy!!" she hissed in a stage-whisper. "Chill the fuck out, okay!? He's an asshole, don't let it get to you! You're fucking embarassing yourself! Let's just get a damned table and try to enjoy the rest of our lunch break, okay?"
Chastized, Tracy nodded quietly, her long, straight brown hair shaking over her shoulders, her full lips in a dark pout. "Shit, I'm really sorry, Chelle, I just... you know. It got to me."
"I know it did, hon. It's okay, getting upset."
Tracy forced a smile. "Doesn't matter, anyway, he's gone."
Chelle blinked, then turned to find the man, and blinked again: it did seem as if he had taken off in the middle of their confrontation. She looked around but didn't notice any dark strangers racing off through the crowd of yuppies and temps. Strange...
She felt her arm being tugged by Tracy. "C'mon, let's go see what the peeping Tom reads on his lunch break!" Stumbling, Chelle followed her friend and breezed past the man's table. He apparently abandoned half a mushroom and sausage pizza, a pink lemonade, and a copy of Michael Talbot's The Holographic Universe. "Heavy material," Tracy mused sarcastically. "Don't see any cum-stains on it, can't be his..."
Chelle smirked and was about to look for another table, when her glance shot down to where the man had been sitting. Her eyes widened with incomprehension and extreme surprise, her gaze slowly crawling up Tracy's body until streaming with full force at her friend's face. Unable to bear the impact of the significant look, Tracy asked slowly, "What is it, Chelly? You okay?"
Nodding slowly, Chelle deliberately set her sub sandwich on the little table, across from the paperback. "I think we should sit here, Tracy. Make like we know him or something."
Tracy gave her a screwed-up grin, confused. "What? What the hell for? This isn't our table..."
Chelle leaned over the table slowly, ponderously, to lend weight to her argument. "I think... we really should sit here... to-day," she pronounced with quiet strength, almost desperation, jerking her head to the seat across from her, her black waves of hair tossing in echo.
Staring blankly at her friend, Tracy's gaze drifted down to the seat where the voyeur had been sitting, until her eyes widened too. "Oh, my God," she whispered, raising one hand to her heavy, stupefied lips.
There on the blue vinyl seat, cowering before her towering body, was a diminutive, reduced version of the dark stranger. Less than half a foot tall, still wearing his sweater, jeans and boots, he recoiled against the back of the chair, jerking his head around to gape at the distance to the ground. Fearfully, he crawled to the center of the chair, so as not to fall to the tiled floor some distance beneath him.
Tracy stared at Chelle in wonder, gently pulling out the man's chair and very deliberately seating her planetary ass upon the tiny man. "Yes, I really think we need to sit here today," she said, slowly grinning as he felt the squirming body beneath her, "at least for a while."