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[Another post ported over from Livejournal, originally written a couple years ago, seemed to fit my blog’s theme pretty well 🙂 ]

There’s been a distinct and depressing lack of eye-candy in my life of late.

My first real job out of college was working full-time as a dispatcher for the campus police (incidentally, it’s what I did part-time while attending). Lots of eye candy to chew on between the students, the cute and perky security guards that checked in with us, and several cute and perky fellow dispatchers.

I left that job to work for Circuit City. The corporate offices of the retail giant had a plethora of cute and perky, with the addition of a smaller but not insignificant quantity of more seasoned management level women who oozed confidence and ambition, raising their C&Pness to downright sexiness. Riding in the elevators there was pure sensoral bliss with a luscious mix of perfume combining with the pleasant visuals. One lady I miss seeing in particular was Sasha, a woman my age who managed a dozen or so visual artists and who dripped Mediterranean sultriness with every swaying step. A bit aloof but always out and about in the halls or in meetings, she was the perfect eye-candy and often had the added bonus of trailing several hot visual artists in her venusean wake.

Economic woes nailed Circuit City hard some years back and I got caught up in a mass of layoffs. I ended up at my current employer, making more money and being much more satisfied with my work than I ever was at Circuit City (where I always felt underappreciated and underutilized). Still, after I got over my anger at being axed from Circuit City, I found myself missing working there.

Well, not really missing the work. Missing the eye candy.

See, the company I work for now is a manufacturing company. Where Circuit City was chock full of female friendly Advertising, Graphic Design and Marketing jobs, my current employer is chock full of engineers. Engineers who delight in making, testing and analyzing blenders, toasters, irons, coffee makers… not exactly sexy work. So nearly all my co-workers are guys. That’s not to say there aren’t some attractive women around, but they are outnumbered by orders of magnitude.  Passing in the hall, sitting in all the cubes, attending all the meetings are male engineers. Upstairs is our Marketing division and there *are* several very attractive ladies who work up there, but our jobs don’t have us crossing paths much and I guess we work different hours because I almost never pass them in the halls coming on or leaving work.

Sigh. My visual sweet tooth has been severely neglected.

Thank god for Billie Jean.

Fridays I will sometimes treat myself to lunch out. Just me and a good book and some tasty meal. One day I’d grown tired of most of the restaurants around here, so I ended up driving down Broad Street some distance to Nick’s Roman Terrace. Nick’s is a great Greek/Italian joint that I have ordered take-out from before. They’ve got awesome rolls and their pasta dishes are tasty and generous. Combine with reasonable prices and you got a winner.

One day I strolled in the place for a sit-down and this lovely young woman comes up, flashed a pretty smile and led me to my seat. She ends up being my waitress too, and her pleasant disposition combined with good looks and fine service had me leaving an hour later with a smile on my face.

Not surprisingly, the next Friday I found myself heading back up to Nick’s. Sure enough, my waitress was there again and I got seated at her table. Week 3 she recognizes me and greets me with “Hi Hon. How are you? Unsweetened tea, right?”

Sigh. You had me with “Hon.”

Somewhere along the line I catch her name, Billie Jean. How interesting– I’d always found the name a bit stodgy despite Michael Jackson’s attempt at sexifying the name back in the day. But this little lady turned that name into a velvet roll of the tongue.

After several months of Friday lunches with Billie Jean, I was totally smitten.

Suffer me the privilege of recounting the whys and wherefores of Billie Jean’s allure…

First and foremost, she had that aura of approachability and down to earth-iness that makes it easy to strike up a conversation with her. Blessed with a great smile, and a voice that’s slightly deep and with a tinge of some sort of accent that’s impossible for me to place– like she’s the daughter of at least one immigrant. Perhaps she’s related to the Greeks that run the place?  She had smooth milky-white skin and auburn hair she wore in a bun but looked to be long enough to come past her shoulders. She wore a tiny diamond nose ring and a had medium-sized tattoo on her lower back (right at that sexy spot where the narrow waist yields ground to the luxurious slope of the butt) which gives her that art-girl aura that I find drop-dead sexy. She was tall, somewhere between 5′ 10″ and 6′, with a graceful neck and long shapely legs. She’s got wide hips, a shapely ample butt and a slight “potbelly.”

Remember in Pulp Fiction where Bruce Willis’ girlfriend talks about wishing she had a potbelly? Billy Jean has one that she typically reveals (along with that sexy back tattoo) with short shirts that tend to ride up a bit when she hurries from table to table. It’s not a large belly, but rather than the chiseled six-pack abs or even convex stomach that many models and celebrity women seem to sport, hers is pleasantly rounded and smooth, offering up her adorable belly button on a plush pale pillow.

Her breasts sit high and proud and luscious; the last I saw her she was wearing a white shirt see-though enough that I could tell she wore one of those broad-cloth bras that bosomy women wear to keep their goods in check. She’s got a woman’s body, someone whom you could imagine wrestling with, rolling around and having good time with without worrying about breaking in half. Most of the “sexy” women offered up by Hollywood today look like sickly little girls with boobs that look large simply because they’re perched atop too-thin bodies with boy-hips. How can you find someone sexy who looks fragile? Fuck the waif look– gimme Marilyn Monroe curves!

Ah, Billie Jean– your boyfriend is a lucky man. I assume you must have one since if no one is enjoying that body physically and interacting with your lovely personality longer than a lunch then that’s a real tragedy. I have to hope the world isn’t that cruel.

Thank you for bringing regular Eye Candy back into my life. You are a full-flavored pleasure.

Got any fun eye-candy stories to share?  Let me know in the comments!

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