Patricia Cruz - P.I.

Patricia Cruz peered through her binoculars at the man lounging on the reclining chair, his eyes scanning the bikini clad women surrounding him at the hotel pool. The man stood and walked to the refreshment stand, returning with some kind of drink poured inside a half coconut shell, a plastic umbrella sticking out of the top and a plate of nachos, the cheese dripping off the plate and onto his hand. Patricia put down the binoculars and picked up her camera. It had a telephoto lens attached to it, and she snapped a few pictures of Robert Brody as he casually ate the nachos, licking the cheese off his fingers. After he finished his food, he stood and carried the empty plate to a nearby trashcan. Patricia snapped off a roll of film, showing him easily walking, he even turned once, twisting his back as a curvy, silicone, bottle blonde passed by him wearing a tiny bikini.

"So much for his disability," Patricia whispered to herself as she took another picture of the man bending over to pick up the plate that he had clumsily dropped onto the floor. He sure looked healthy to her, sort of handsome in that middle-age-mid-life-crisis-time-to-buy-a-Porsche kind of way. He had most of his hair and only the beginnings of a small beer gut, the kind of man she loved to tease.

She snapped off a few more pictures, finishing the roll of film before she carefully replaced her camera in the camera bag. She pulled out a video camera and focused it on Mr. Brody as he talked to the lifeguard, an exotic looking woman wearing a simple red one-piece swimsuit. He looked up at her as she sat in the white chair, craning his neck so he could make eye contact with her. Patricia captured the entire scene on video, then watched as Mr. Brody jumped into the pool and effortlessly swam across the length of it before flipping underwater and returning, looking up at the lifeguard with a smile. He pulled himself out of the water and returned to his lounge chair, saying something to the lifeguard who ignored him. As he dried himself off with his towel, he glanced toward the beach, where Patricia's Jeep was parked.

Patricia turned off the video camera and returned it to the large bag. With a satisfied smile, she turned the ignition of her Jeep, drove off the beach and onto the main road. Turning the volume of her stereo up, she sang loudly and drove to her hotel, the Hotel de Oro. After carefully locking her rented Jeep, she carried bags into the hotel, stopping to drop off three rolls of film at the one-hour photo-finishing lab in the lobby.

Patricia took the elevator up to the third floor and entered her room. Picking up the phone, she asked the operator for an international line and read the phone number to her. After a few minutes, she heard the familiar ring of the American phone system and waited for somebody to answer.

"Thank you for calling Fidelity Insurance," a robotic female voice said, "Your call is important to us. If you wish to use our automated claim service, please press nine now. If you know your party's extension, you may dial it at any time. Press zero to reach an operator. If you do not have a touch tone phone, please stay on the line, and someone will be with you momentarily."

She tapped her fingers impatiently on the table, cursing the fact that on this remote island she needed to have an operator place a telephone call for her, then she had to wait to speak with a live person because this backwards island didn't have touch tone phones. Patricia listened to the recorded muzak which sounded tinnier and more pathetic than she ever remembered it sounding, but even having to deal with the antiquated phone system could not ruin the satisfaction she felt from a successful investigation.

As she waited, she pushed the videotape into a VCR already hooked up to another, and began copying the tape. After a few minutes, she heard a tired voice on the other line. "Fidelity Insurance, how may I direct your call?"

"James Rogers please."

"One moment please."

"Yeah," a voice answered from the other side of the line.

"Hi Jim, this is Patricia," she answered.

"Get anything on our... what's his name, Brady... Brody?"

"I've got ten minutes of video and three rolls of stills lounging at the pool, ogling the women and swimming in the pool."

"You'd think these people would be smarter than that. Just because he's on vacation he thinks he's safe. Good job, I'll approve your fee and it'll be transferred tonight. You didn't stay in an expensive hotel did you? El Hotel De Oro sounds pretty classy."

"Have you ever been to this place? Every hotel is expensive and has a fancy name. This is an average priced hotel. I first checked into a cheap hotel, I think it was called Hotel Buena Vista, but I was chased out by the giant cockroaches. They looked like they could put me on their backs, carry me out the door and into their nest."

Jim laughed loudly and answered, "I've got another job for you. We've followed this guy for three weeks with locals and can't get anything on him. Whenever he goes outside, he brings his walker. Our doctors examined him and think he's fine, but his doctors say he can barely walk. The X-rays and MRIs don't show any damage, in other words, he's faking it, we just can't prove it. He also claims that he is impotent, but even his doctor says that everything is physically fine with him, that it's all in his head."

"Great," Patricia complained, "A headcase that can't get it up. Where?"

"You really want to know?"

"Don't you dare tell me LA. You know how much I hate that place. I'm allergic to silicone."

"Not LA, not New York either. I like you, I wouldn't send you to either place unless I had to."

"Where then?"

"The Midwest. Chicago to be exact. In the middle of winter."

"Great," Patricia answered ironically. "Chicago... in January even. I'll make you a deal. If I can stay here a few more days, then I'll fly to Chicago."

"You've got it, just keep the expenses reasonable. I'll fax you the info."

"And I'll send the pictures and video tonight. I'm making a copy of the video right now, and the pictures are being developed. And just in case, you better send me the info about the Chicago job, I don't trust the fax in this place."

"Will do. And Patricia?"

"Yes," she answered impatiently.

"I'm still waiting for that nude picture of you."

Patricia giggled and answered, "Someday. Maybe I'll take one here and send it to you. Ciao."

"Later."

Patricia hung up the phone, turning off the two VCR's and placing the original in a large manilla envelope. She wrote the address of Fidelity Insurance on the outside and walked to the elevator, went down to the lobby and picked up the pictures. She carefully sorted the copies, keeping one set and putting the other set into the envelope. Stopping at the front desk, she handed the envelope to the clerk and signed a sheet of paper, approving the charge of mailing the envelope to a credit card belonging to Fidelity Insurance.

Patricia returned to her room, stripped off her denim shorts and tank top, pulling on a bright pink bikini. She pulled the shorts back on and went downstairs to her Jeep and returned to the beach where Mr. Brody was still lounging, ogling the women in bikinis. It seemed he had even convinced a young blonde to sit with him, or at least accept his offer of a free drink. He handed the drink to her, and she talked with him for a few minutes before smiling coquettishly and returning to her friends.

Patricia sat in the chair next to his, leaning back, and spread sun tan lotion over her already bronzed skin. She turned to Mr. Brody and smiled at him; through her dark sunglasses he could see him run his eyes up and down her body.

She reclined the pool chair, turned over and untied the back of her bikini. "Excuse me," she said to him. "Could you do me a favor and put some lotion on my back?"

"Sure," he answered as he stood and approached her. She handed him the bottle of suntan lotion next to her, making sure he got a glimpse of her naked breast as she rose slightly, handing him the bottle.

She felt the cold greasy lotion on her back, then his hands massaged the lotion into her back. She moaned provocatively and said, "I'm Patricia. What's your name?"

"John, John Brody. I take it you're here on vacation from the states?"

"And I take it you are too?" Patricia said as she turned her head and smiled at him. His hands had moved to her sides, and his fingers skimmed the side of her breasts. "Are you on vacation?"

"What other reason would I be here? I can't imagine what kind of job would bring somebody to this paradise."

"No? I'm here on a working vacation. So far it's been mostly work, but the next three days I'm on my own."

"Really? What kind of work do you do?"

Patricia propped herself onto her elbows, smiling at Mr. Brody as he stared at her naked, swaying breasts. "Insurance."

"Oh, you must be here about that hurricane that blew through here a month ago. It doesn't look like it's done much damage. If I were you, I'd refuse most of the claims as fraudulent. These damn people down here don't want to work, they just want to sit in the sun all day and get paid for nothing."

"I've had lots of experience with people who try to get away with stuff. False claims, faking injuries... stuff like that. That's actually my job, if you want to know the truth."

John Brody laughed nervously and said, "Really? That sounds like an interesting job." He glanced at his watch and said, "Look at that, it's already three o'clock. Time sure flies when you're having fun. I need to get back to my room, my wife's going to be looking for me."

Patricia turned over in the chair, letting her bikini top remain on the chair. He stared at her exposed breasts, his mouth opening in surprise. "Your wife? That's too bad, I was looking forward to getting to know you better." Patricia folded her hands across her stomach, pushing her exposed breasts together. With a wicked smile, she told him, "I am so sick and tired of being on this tropical island and having to work. Next time I accept a job for Fidelity Insurance Companies, I'm going to make sure I get an extra week to enjoy it before I have to go home." Patricia nearly broke out laughing as he stood, nearly falling as he returned to his chair wordlessly. "Oh, Mr. Brody... John."

"Yes," he answered hesitantly as he looked back at her.

Patricia jiggled her chest and smiled at him lustfully, "Have you ever heard of the phrase, 'busted?'"

Mr. Brody quickly grabbed his bag and walked away, turning back to look at Patricia occasionally. Whenever he did, Patricia smiled at him and jiggled her breasts. He glanced back a final time before he turned a corner, and Patricia raised her hands slightly, and as she jiggled her breasts a final time, she stuck her two middle fingers in the air. He disappeared quickly and Patricia pulled her bikini top back on and swam out to the buoy and back to the beach.

She dried herself off and followed John Brody's steps to his hotel. As she stepped into the lobby, she saw Brody stepping out of the elevator, an overweight woman yelling at him from behind. He could barely carry their bags as he hurriedly walked to the front counter. As he checked out and walked to the front doors, Patricia followed him and stood next to him as he waited for a taxi.

"Going home so soon, John?" she said, loud enough for Mrs. Brody to hear. "Too bad, I was really happy to get to know you so well." She reached up onto her toes, kissed him on the cheek and turned, walking back into the hotel. She could hear Mrs. Brody yelling at him as the glass doors closed behind her.

Patricia walked directly to the elevator and returned to her room. She sprawled out on the bed, deciding to sleep the rest of the afternoon before hitting the clubs for the rest of her stay, her body well rested for three days and nights of parties, dancing and sex.

Patricia stepped off the plane into the main terminal at O'Hare airport. The airport was well heated, but Patricia shivered as she glanced out the window and saw snow blowing nearly horizontally as the wind blew it around. She shivered again as she realized there was at least a foot of snow on the ground.

She claimed her luggage and tightened the belt on her coat as she stepped out of the airport into the blowing snow, and hailed a cab. The wind seemed to go through the fabric of her coat, and she swore to herself, wondering why she had left the sun and warmth of the Caribbean for this. The cabby helped her put her bags in the trunk and amazingly spoke English. After an uneventful, but long, drive as the driver struggled with the slippery conditions, he helped her unload her bags at the downtown hotel.

She checked into the hotel and walked to her room. After tipping the bellboy, she opened her briefcase and read the information James Rogers had sent her. The subject's name was Tyler Robinson and lived in an expensive condominium in Lincoln Park, an upscale suburb of Chicago. According to the reports, Tyler was fifty-one years old and claimed to be disabled with a bad back. He only went out when necessary and always used his walker to get around in. Local investigators had checked him out, following him around for weeks at a time, but could not catch him doing anything that could prove his good health.

Patricia realized that this was going to be a tough case. The subject barely ever went out, and when he did, he was careful. Her intuition on this case told her that Tyler was really injured, but her intuition had been wrong before, only once, but she knew she still needed to investigate him.

She looked through the rest of his file, scribbled some notes onto a yellow legal pad and dialed his home telephone number.

"Hello," she heard a man answer.

"Hello, my name is Patricia Cruz, and I'm looking for a Mr. Tyler Robinson."

"I'm not interested in changing my telephone company, I don't want to subscribe to your newspaper, I don't need aluminum siding, and I gave at the office," he answered.

Patricia laughed and answered, "I'm sorry, I'm not from a telephone company or a newspaper and I don't sell aluminum siding."

"OK. Who are you and what are you selling?"

"My name is Patricia Cruz, and I'm not selling anything. If everything goes right, I hope to be selling you something," she answered with a laugh.

"Sorry, not interested."

"Wait, don't hang up. I represent Fun Line Products," Patricia answered making up the name on the spot. She thought to herself that next time, she had to remember to plan things out before she called. "We make a line of products that you might be interested in. At least let me tell you a little about our products."

"You have one minute so make it interesting," Mr. Robinson answered gruffly.

"We sell a complete line of lifestyle products that are made and designed to increase..." Patricia pretended to clear her throat as she thought of something that would hold the man's interest, "designed to increase sexual appeal and lovemaking skills." Patricia made a funny face as she realized the corner she just painted herself into.

"Go on," Tyler Robinson said.

"It's hard for me to explain exactly how the product line works to increase one's sex appeal and lovemaking skills, but these products, designed in Sweden and available only through Fun Line Products Incorporated are guaranteed to work, with a complete ninety day double your money back guarantee. Would you like to hear more?" Patricia asked.

"Keep going."

Patricia Cruz took a deep breath and scribbled a note on the note pad in front of her, reminding herself to prepare better next time. "We can't discuss our products over the phone due to our agreement with the manufacturer, but if you're interested, I'll be in your neighborhood tomorrow and would love to stop by your apartment at whatever time is convenient for you and show you the entire line of products and give you a free gift just for agreeing to look at Fun Line Products."

"What kind of free gift," he asked, unable to hide the curiosity in his voice.

Patricia giggled, "I can't tell you over the phone, but it is a free sample of one of our products and is guaranteed to work."

"If you tell me what the free sample is, I'll agree to look at your stuff," he answered.

"Mr. Robinson, I can't do that," she said in her best telemarketing voice, "I will say that it is guaranteed to work miracles with any male sexual problem."

"I've tried Viagra and it doesn't seem to work for me."

"This stuff is better than Viagra, it's guaranteed to get you up," Patricia said cheerfully. "That is if that is your problem, if it isn't, it is guaranteed to give you a better and firmer... wait, you tricked me into telling you about the free sample," Patricia said coquettishly.

"Guaranteed to work, huh?" he answered curiously. "My doctor says my problem is all in my head, but I think it's related to a little accident I had at work, but the insurance company paid him off so they don't have to pay me for that too. All I have to do is look at your product line and I get a free sample, right?" he asked.

"Exactly."

"Can you be here at noon tomorrow?"

"Let me check my book." Patricia paused and shuffled the papers in her notebook, after a few seconds she answered, "Twelve o'clock is fine. Let me make sure I have the right address." Patricia read his address from the information James Rogers supplied her with, when Tyler Robinson confirmed the address, she said goodbye and hung up the phone.

She stared at the telephone in frustration, as if it was the phone's fault she had made up such a stupid idea to visit Tyler Robinson. "Guaranteed to get you up," she said softly and mockingly to herself. "How are you going to do that?"

Patricia Cruz freshened her lipstick in the rear-view mirror of the rented Honda. As she stepped out of the car, she straightened her short skirt and tugged it down. If the KY-jelly in the tube with the fake label applied carefully with the name "Fun Line Hard and Firm gel - Get it up nice and firm - 100% all Natural" printed by a laser printer and carefully applied to the tube couldn't get Tyler Robinson up, then she would have to do her best to get him up herself. She had to get on his good side, then take him out and get a picture and hopefully a video of him walking so Fidelity Insurance could prove that his claim was bogus. She didn't have a plan of how to exactly accomplish that, but she always worked her best when under pressure, except for rare instances such as yesterday on the phone.

She unbuttoned her blouse, showing as much cleavage as she could. She didn't really need the Miracle bra, she had enough cleavage with a normal bra, but the Miracle bra gave her porn star size cleavage and with the claims she had made about what was a normal tube of KY jelly, she needed all the help she could get to show Tyler Robinson that her product did work.

She went to the main entrance of the building. From the records supplied to her by Fidelity Insurance, she knew that the building held moderately expensive condominiums. She also knew through her own investigating, that Tyler Robinson, age fifty-one, almost never left his condo. His groceries were delivered by an Internet delivery company, and the only time he ever left his apartment was to visit his doctor or his lawyer. She knew by checking his credit card purchases that Tyler Robinson's home had to be decorated by fancy furniture, top of the line audio visual components, the best burglar alarm on the market and home to many holistic-all-natural healing devices and medicines.

She buzzed his room, and heard his voice answer bluntly, "Who is it?"

"Patricia Cruz from Fun Line Products, we have a noon appointment," Patricia answered in her flirtiest voice.

"I'll buzz you in."

Patricia waited for the door to buzz, and she stepped into the lobby. She walked directly to the elevator and within minutes stood in front of his door. She tugged her blouse down and pulled her skirt higher then knocked on the door.

"Come in," he yelled, "the door's open."

Patricia turned the knob and stepped into the condo. She furrowed her brow momentarily at the barren appearance of the condo, she had expected a lavishly decorated apartment filled with expensive electronics. Instead, the walls were bare and the only furniture in the condo was a big screen TV and a reclining chair where Tyler Robinson was seated, scrutinizing her. His dark hair had white streaks on the side, giving him a distinguished appearance. He wasn't attractive, but seemed to have a sort of aura around him that made him more attractive than he really was. Not that he was ugly, just normal looking. There was a faint smell of spray-can room deodorizer, a hint of vanilla in the air.

She smiled warmly and approached Tyler. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Robinson," she said as she extended her hand to him. He ignored her hand and nodded his head silently.

After a few moments, he explained, "I'm sorry I can't get up, but I had an accident at work last year and I can barely walk anymore. Of course, nobody believes me anymore, not even my damn doctor, and the insurance company wants to stop paying my bills, but I guess that's more than you want to know, isn't it?"

"Anything you want to tell me," she answered with a big smile, "I'll listen, but I'm really here to show you our new line of lifestyle products." She held up a large duffel bag and waved it. "In this bag, are the answers to your lifestyle needs." She paused for dramatic effect, smiling as she imagined James Rogers' face as he looked at her expense account and found nine-hundred dollars in sex toys listed under the miscellaneous heading.

"Where's the free sample?" Tyler Robinson asked.

"I can't give that to you yet," Patricia answered with a flirtatious smile. "I have to show you our line of products first."

"If you don't give me the free sample now. You can walk out the door right now."

Patricia frowned, trying to look sad and flirtatious at the same time, "If you insist," she answered as she unzipped a side pocket on duffel bag and pulled out the tube. "Let me tell you what this is and what it does. This tube contains one ounce of Fun Line Hard and Firm gel. It is guaranteed to work miracles. Women can use it on their skin, you know those places that tend to get a little flabby, like the bosom and tush, and it tightens and firms that area."

"Well, I don't need it for that," he interrupted, "I need it someplace else, if you know what I mean," he answered with a sly wink.

Patricia smiled shyly and answered, "Well, Mr. Robinson, it is guaranteed to work on that too." She handed the tube to him and smiled. "I'll leave that here for you to try out later and you can call me to order more when you realize the miracles it produces. I use it myself and have to say that it does exactly what it claims. I wouldn't sell a product that didn't work," Patricia said coquettishly.

"Pardon me if I don't believe you," he said gruffly, "but I've been taken in by many scams, all of them claiming to work miracles. When they don't work and I try to get my money back, all I ever get is the runaround. If you don't mind, I would like to try this product out before I see the rest of your products. If it works, I'll take a case of this and maybe get some of the other "lifestyle" products you have."

"No need for that," Patricia protested, "It really does work. I use it myself on my bosom and my tush, and it really firms and tightens everything."

Tyler Robinson untwisted the tube and said, "Unless you want to see me put this on, you better step into the kitchen."

Patricia stepped into the kitchen, discreetly grabbing her duffle bag. She quickly pulled out a video camera and set it up on a tripod and aimed it at Mr. Robinson. After a few minutes, he shouted out, "This crap doesn't work!"

"You have to give it a couple of minutes to work in," Patricia said softly.

After another few minutes, he yelled out again, "This is crap, it doesn't work at all."

"I don't understand it," Patricia said from the kitchen. "It's always worked before. Did you rub it in really good?" she asked.

"Yeah," he answered.

"Did you rub it all over your... Did you rub it all over?" she said, pretending to be modest.

"Rubbed it all over and it isn't working."

"Rub some more on. Maybe you didn't put enough on."

Patricia tried not to giggle and waited a few more minutes. "Still not working," he complained.

"It's always worked before. Maybe you're not doing it right?"

"Do you want to come out here and show me how to put it on?" he asked mockingly.

"I don't know," she answered timidly. "It's always worked before, maybe you got a bad batch or something."

"I think it's crap," he said brusquely.

"I'm sure you must be doing something wrong," Patricia insisted. "It's always worked before, that's the stuff that I sell the most and it pays most of my paycheck. Are you sure you rubbed it on really good, in little circles followed by long strokes?" Patricia said sexily and tried not to laugh.

"Come out here and put it on me if you don't think I'm doing it right," he yelled impatiently.

"I can do that, I think," she answered shyly.

"Well, get out here then. I don't have anything to hide." Patricia peeked her head around the corner and looked at Mr. Robinson. She couldn't see anything but the side of his head and his upper body. He turned to her and said, "I don't have all day you know. Are you coming or are you picking up your bag and leaving?"

Patricia stepped out of the kitchen and approached him. Feigning shyness, she turned her head away from him and stood behind the chair facing away from him. She watched him examining her in a mirror as he rubbed the gel on his soft penis; she pretended not to notice the mirror or his gaze. "You have to rub it in little circles then long strokes," she said meekly.

"I did that already. Now show me how to do it or you can leave and I'll call your supervisor and complain about how badly you sell their product and how you mistreated a crippled old man."

"But..."

"Then leave," he yelled.

She turned around, made a big show of pretending not to know what to do, then stepped to the side of the chair and turned her head. "Give me the tube," she said shyly.

He handed her the tube and she squeezed some of the gel onto her fingers. Turning to Mr. Robinson, she smiled at him and closed her eyes as she placed her finger on his soft penis. She opened her eyes as she massaged the gel in tiny circles and couldn't suppress a giggle.

"What's so funny?" he asked curtly.

"It's just that," she said with another giggle, "I've never actually done this before, and I've never... Nevermind," she said acting embarrassed.

"Never what?" he asked.

"It's nothing, really."

"What?" he insisted.

"It's just that," Patricia answered trying not to giggle, "I've never actually touched or even seen one that wasn't," she giggled again, "you know, hard." She stopped and put more of the jelly on her hand. Returning her hand to his penis, she began applying it in long strokes, grasping his penis in her hand as she slowly moved it up and down. It remained stubbornly soft.

"See, it doesn't work," he said.

"I don't understand," Patricia said with a confused expression. "Maybe you need some sort of stimulation. You don't happen to have any magazines or anything to look at do you?" she asked.

"Nope," he answered. "I used to have a lot of them, but since the accident they don't do me much good. See, still limp as cooked spaghetti."

Patricia got a frustrated look on her face and said, "I know this stuff works. I don't know what's the matter." She stopped massaging the gel onto his penis, moved back and said, "I really think you need some kind of visual stimulation. I know this stuff works. It keeps my bosom and tush nice and firm, and it's helped hundreds of my male customers."

Mr. Robinson frowned and said, "Well, it isn't helping me at all."

With a determined look on her face, Patricia looked into his eyes, she looked down at her chest. "See, it works really good on my chest."

"Hogwash, that doesn't mean it's going to work on me," he said, "and anyway, how can I tell it's not the bra making them look so perky."

"Mr. Robinson, if I didn't know any better I would think you were trying to get me to take off my clothes."

"You did say visual stimulation might work, although I think this stuff is garbage and doesn't work at all."

"It really works," Patricia protested as she glanced around the room, pretending to appear as if she was making sure nobody was watching. "If you promise not to tell anybody, especially my boss, I'll show you how good this stuff works on my chest. I could get fired for this you know," she said.

"I won't tell anyone, if you show me how well it works on your ass too."

"Mr. Robinson," she protested as she put her hand in front of her mouth in mock shock.

"Is it a deal?" he asked.

Patricia pouted, glanced down at his limp penis and answered, "OK, but remember you promised not to tell anybody." He nodded his head and Patricia looked at her blouse as she unbuttoned a button. Glancing back at him, she said embarrassingly, "Can I at least turn around first?"

"Sure," he replied.

Patricia turned around and felt his eyes on the back of her tanned thighs. Quickly unbuttoning the blouse, she stripped it off and asked, "Are you ready?"

"The bra has to come off too," he answered. "How am I going to tell that it's your tits that are nice and firm and not the bra holding them up?"

"Mr. Robinson!" she protested. When her protest was met by silence, she put her hands behind her back and unclasped the bra. Pulling it off her arms, she carefully dropped it on the floor and asked, "Are you ready, 'cause I'm not sure if I am. I've never done this before."

"You mean nobody has ever seen your tits before?" he asked.

"Well, no. I mean yes, but only my boyfriends and stuff like that. I've never actually shown them to a stranger before."

"I'm not a stranger," he said impatiently. "I'm your customer and if you want me to buy any of this stuff you better turn around and get my dick hard."

"Mr. Robinson!" she mock protested.

"Any day now," he said impatiently.

Carefully placing her hands over her breasts, she turned and looked down, pretending not to look at him. Looking down, she realized she was staring straight at his limp penis and quickly turned her head and stared at the wall.

"You need to move your hands," he told her.

"Do I really?" she protested. Mr. Robinson nodded his head, and Patricia looked shyly at him, slowly moved her hands to her stomach, and exposed her bare breasts to him.

"You're right," he said. "They're really perky. Jump up and down and let me see how they bounce.

"Mr. Robinson!" Patricia frowned at him and seeing the stern look in his eyes, she bounced lightly on the balls of her feet. She could feel her breasts bouncing up and down and feel his eyes staring at her bouncing boobs.

"They look great," he said. "But I'm still soft as a popsicle on the Fourth of July. And you still haven't shown me your ass either."

"Mr. Robinson," Patricia protested. She looked into his eyes and was met by another stern look. She shrugged her shoulders, turned and slowly hiked up her skirt. Bunching it up at her waist, she felt his eyes taking in her panty clad butt.

"All I see is underwear," he complained.

"But you can see how firm everything is back there," Patricia challenged.

"Sort of, but not very well. I'm afraid you'll have to pull down your drawers."

Patricia let her skirt fall back down, covering herself again. Moving her hands under the skirt, she tugged her panties down, past her thighs, past her knees and let them fall to her ankles. Stepping out of them, she bent at the waits, picked up the panties and placed them on top of her blouse and bra piled neatly on the floor. Sighing deeply, Patricia slowly hiked her skirt up, pausing as the hem reached the bottom of her butt. She turned her head and glanced at him over her shoulder. Mr. Robinson was intently staring at her bare thighs and didn't notice her looking at him.

"I can't do this," she complained as she let the skirt fall back down and bit her bottom lip, suppressing a giggle.

"Sure you can," he said. "You were almost there. All you had to do was move it up a little."

"Are you hard yet?" she asked.

"Nope," he answered. "Soft as a spoiled banana."

"I know this stuff works," she said as she unzipped the zipper on the side of her skirt. "If it's the last thing I do I'm going to prove it to you." Patricia let her skirt fall to the floor and stood in front of him naked except for the four-inch high-heeled shoes on her feet. "Anything?" she asked.

"Nothing." he replied.

She bent over, touching her hands to the floor. Through her slightly opened legs, she could see Mr. Robinson staring at her naked body. If this didn't get him hard, she was in trouble. "Anything?" she asked.

"Still nothing."

Maybe he really was impotent, she thought to herself. "Maybe you need some physical stimulation too, or maybe some more gel. Rub some on."

"It would probably work better if you rubbed it on. After all, you know how to do it better than I do."

Patricia covered her chest with her left hand and moved her right hand between her legs, covering herself the best she could. Not because she didn't want Mr. Robinson to see her nude body, but because she wanted him to think she didn't want him to see it.

She carefully knelt on the floor in front of him, and with her right hand, placed the tube in her left hand and making sure her breasts weren't exposed, she tried to squeeze some gel from the tube into her hand. The gel spurted out and formed a big pile in the palm of her hand. Carefully, she bent over and rubbed the gel onto his soft penis in a circular motion.

When his penis didn't respond, she removed her left arm from her chest, squeezed more KY jelly onto her hands and rubbed them together. She could feel her now exposed breasts jiggle slightly and looked into Mr. Robinson's eyes. He was engrossed by her jiggling breasts and she thought she felt his penis twitch, although she may have imagined it. Her hands covered with the gel, she placed both hands on his penis and slowly pumped her hands up and down. She could feel it harden slightly, and she continued her movements up and down his penis.

"It looks like it's beginning to work!" she said happily.

"Why, it is working a little," he answered happily.

"As Patricia continued to pump her hands up and down, the once hardening penis grew soft again. Patricia angrily looked at Mr. Robinson and said, "You're not letting it get hard."

"Listen, sweetie, I want this to work as much as you do. Maybe it's the way I'm sitting in the chair. Could you be so kind and help me into the bedroom where I can lay on my back?"

"The bedroom?" Patricia asked suspiciously. "Mr. Robinson!" She looked at him sternly then smiled softly. "It might help your circulation and get some blood flowing." Patricia stood, then acting as if she just remembered her unclothed state, she placed both hands over her exposed pussy, causing her breasts to move together with a jiggle, making them look even larger than they already were.

"I need you to help pull me out of this chair," he said. "Then you need to help me balance on the way to the bedroom." She nodded her head and held out her hand to him. "Not like that," he said as he sat upright. "You need to push me from the back first, then move around front and pull me up.

She did exactly as he ordered, and soon found herself with his arm around her shoulders, helping him walk to the bedroom. Once inside, she helped him lie on his back.

"Take off my pants and underwear," he ordered. "Then get back to work."

She pulled his pants and underwear off with a single motion and stepped back, shyly covering herself as she looked at his still soft penis. "I need to get the gel from the other room," she said.

"OK," he answered, "but hurry it up."

She went into the other room and grabbed the tube of gel, then went into the kitchen and carefully aimed the video camera into the bedroom, zooming the lens so the bed filled the frame. She pushed the record button and walked into the bedroom. She was sure that she was either going to find out he really was impotent and crippled, or she was going to get a great video of Tyler Robinson fucking her and hopefully using his legs.

When she returned to the bedroom, she made a big show out of squeezing the gel onto her hands. She knelt on the bed and began to stroke his penis up and down, but it stubbornly remained soft.

"It still isn't hard," she said dejectedly.

"Maybe I need some more visual stimulation," he said as he looked into her eyes.

"What else can I do?" she asked with a confused expression. "I mean I'm already here with you without a stitch of clothes on."

"Maybe a little show will do the trick," Mr. Robinson answered. "Keep doing what you were doing to my dick, but move your butt up here in front of my face and open your legs so I can see your pussy."

"Mr. Robinson!" Patricia protested. She continued to stroke his soft penis, vainly trying to get an erection out of it. After a few seconds, she said, "OK, but you have to promise not to touch. I'm not that kind of girl."

"I'll just look, I promise," Mr. Robinson replied with a mischievous smile.

Patricia turned and placed her butt next to Mr. Robinson's shoulders. Opening her legs slightly, she realized he could see how wet her pussy was. She knew she couldn't pretend to act like she wasn't affected by her display. Patricia continued to move her hands along his penis, and as she opened her legs a little more, it hardened a little, but wouldn't move beyond that stage.

"Maybe if you put one knee on each side of my chest, so I could get a better look at your pussy, it might get even harder."

"Mr. Robinson!" Patricia mock exclaimed as she straddled his chest. With her legs open wider, she could feel a warm breeze from the furnace hit the warm moistness between her legs. She smiled slyly and moved her upper body lower, allowing her swaying breasts to graze his stomach as she pumped his now rapidly hardening penis.

"By God it's working," he shouted. "I'm getting harder than a teenager in the girl's locker room!"

Patricia sat up, resting her wet pussy on Mr. Robinson's chest. "See! I told you it would work," she cheerfully shouted. "Do you want to see the rest of the products now?" she asked.

"Honey," Mr. Robinson said happily. "I'll take a case of this stuff and I'll buy whatever you want to show me, but this is the first hard-on I've had in over a year, you're not going to let me waste it are you?"

Patricia looked at him with a perplexed look on her face. "What exactly do you mean?" she asked hesitantly.

"I mean I have a hard on for the first time in a year and I want to put it to good use. Since you're sitting on top of me naked as a jaybird, I was sort of hoping that..."

"Mr. Robinson!" Patricia protested. "I'm not that kind of girl."

"C'mon. You're wetter than a catfish at the bottom of Lake Michigan anyway. Don't tell me you're not interested. Look how wet your pussy is," he said as he pushed his finger into her pussy, causing Patricia to gasp audibly.

"Mr. Robinson!" she said as he rapidly pushed his finger in and out of her dripping wet slit. "OK, I'll do it as long as you..." Patricia involuntarily moaned and continued, "as long as you promise not to tell anybody."

"I promise," Mr. Robinson answered.

Patricia moved her body down his body, and positioned her pussy above his hard cock. Reaching down with her hands, she grabbed his shaft and guided it between her labia. Pushing herself down, Patricia whimpered as his cock filled her. Leaning over slightly, she placed her hands on the bed for balance and began bouncing rapidly on him. She heard him groan loudly and his hips shook as he announced, "I'm about to shoot more come into you than a sailor that's been at sea for a year!" With that he pushed against her and groaned loudly. Patricia continued bouncing, feeling his cock grow soft.

Dejectedly, she pulled herself off him and pouted on the bed. "I was just starting to have fun," she complained.

"Maybe if you rub some more of that magic gel on me..."

"Yeah!" Patricia interrupted. She reached for the tube and spurted it on her hand and began to massage it into his soft cock. It instantly reacted and hardened. "Mr. Robinson!" she exclaimed. "It's working! I told you this stuff works.

She pulled her hands off his cock, lay back on the bed and spread her legs, saying, "Fuck me Mr. Robinson, fuck me good and hard."

He looked at her and shook his head slowly, "I would, but my legs don't work, remember?"

"But if you don't get on top of me and push your hard cock into my dripping pussy I'm going to just about die," she pouted as she pushed her finger into her pussy and moaned. "Please," she begged.

"I'll try," he answered as he rolled on top of her. He quickly pushed himself up with his arms and Patricia guided his cock into her pussy. As he began pumping his cock in and out of her pussy, he exclaimed, "It's a miracle! My legs are working again!"

"Oh Mr. Robinson!" Patricia shouted. "Fuck me harder." He increased his pace and his thrusts became more erratic. With a loud groan he orgasmed again, collapsing on top of her. "Mr. Robinson, you sure know how to make a girl feel good," Patricia purred as she gently pushed him off her.

"Mr. Robinson flexed his right leg and smiled at her, "You are a miracle worker. First you get my dick working again, then you get my legs working. I'll buy one of everything you've got in that bag of yours.

"Everything?" she asked as she stood and smiled at him.

"Yes, one of everything."

"Well come into the living room and let me show you the entire line. Since you're a special customer, I'll even give you a demonstration of our full line of vibrators and dildos for women. Just give me a second to get everything set up."

"A special demonstration?" he asked. "you mean..."

"For you, Mr. Robinson, yes, I'll demonstrate them for you. There is this fifteen inch dildo that feels so real when it slides in and out of my pussy. Just wait here a few seconds and let me get set up."

He stood and walked to her, but Patricia quickly moved to the other room and closed the door, leaving it open as she peeked her head through the crack and said, "Give me one minute, and I'll give you the surprise of your life. There's this one vibrator that feels just like a real cock when I slide it in and out of my pussy. It has this little thing on it that rubs against my clitoris and it vibrates so quickly. I almost come just thinking about it." She closed the door, then opened it a crack and saw him walking quickly to the door. "And no peeking or I'm leaving," she said as she closed the door.

"Just holler when you're ready for me," he shouted. "Fifteen inches? Doesn't that hurt?" he asked.

Patricia pulled her skirt over her hips and as she pulled the blouse on, she answered, "Oh, no. Not at all. You know what they say, the bigger the better. I'm sure you've heard that before with that gigantic tool you have." She tried not to giggle as she left her blouse unbuttoned, grabbed her duffel bag and quickly unhooked the tripod from the video camera, carefully folding it and shoving it into the bag.

She focused the camera on the closed door as he yelled from inside the bedroom, "Are you ready yet?"

"Almost," she answered as she jogged to the front door and opened it. Leaving it open, she refocused the camera on the door, giggled and reached into the duffle bag and searched for her business card. She placed it on the kitchen table and yelled in her sexiest voice, "I'm ready for you now Mr. Robinson."

The bedroom door burst open and Tyler's hard cock bounced as he ran through the doorway. He saw her at the doorway, her breasts still visible, the camera in her hand. His mouth opened in surprise as Patricia said in mock surprise, "Mr. Robinson, you can walk! Fidelity Insurance is going to love this tape I made."

He stared at her, unsure of what to do. His anger boiling over, he ran toward her. Patricia calmly ran into the hallway, hoping he would follow. He did, his erection subsiding. When he found her still taping, he ran to her. Patricia backed quickly down the hall, until she was backed against the elevator.

She turned and calmly pressed the down button, turning to him as he smiled menacingly at her, saying, "Give me that tape. Now!" he ordered.

Patricia shook her head slowly and answered, "Sorry, this tape goes with me. And I wouldn't take another step if I were you."

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"Try me," Patricia answered.

He smiled at her and stepped toward her. "Help! He's going to rape me! Help, help me! He's going to rape me! Help!" she screamed loudly as she pressed the stop button of the camera and quickly put it in her bag. Seemingly at the same instant, the elevator door opened with a ding and two doors opened and a large man and an elderly woman peeked out their condo doors.

Patricia screamed loudly again, a look of terror on her face, "He's going to rape me," she said as she closed her blouse and backed into the elevator. She pushed the "open door" button and yelled piercingly again. Out of view of the people looking out, she smiled at Tyler Robinson wickedly, opened her blouse, pinched her left nipple, jiggled her breast and pursed her lips, blowing him a kiss as the elevator door closed.

Tyler Robinson watched the elevator doors close, glanced at his neighbors, covered his balls with his hands and backed to his apartment, saying, "It's not what it looks like, she's a friend of mine, I didn't touch her..." As they stared at him, he turned and ran back to his apartment, slamming the door behind him.

He noticed the card on the kitchen table and quickly dialed the cell phone number listed. "Hello, Tyler," Patricia coolly answered. "How's it feel to be busted?"

"Please let me have that tape, I'll buy it from you, just tell me how much."

"Sorry, big boy," Patricia giggled, "I take that part back, I've seen jalapeños bigger than your cock. Sorry, the tape's not for sale. Ciao," she said as she turned off the cellular phone and turned the key of the rented car.

Patricia unbuttoned her overcoat and blouse on the way back to the hotel, enjoying the cool breeze on her exposed breasts. At the hotel, she buttoned one button of the overcoat and walked to her room. She called James Rogers at Fidelity Insurance. As he answered the phone, she laughed and said, "I got him."

"You got Tyler Robinson? That's great, how'd you do it?"

"You'll see when you get the tape. You'll get to see something much more exciting than a nude picture of me," she giggled.

"Tell me more," he said.

"Maybe later, but right now I have a duffel bag of stuff I need to try out. I'll talk to you later. Ciao," she said as she hung up the phone, opened the duffel bag and pulled out a fifteen-inch dildo. "Now it's time I get to find out how this thing feels," she said out loud to herself as she stripped off her clothes and fell onto the bed.