He'd finished processing his stack of invoices and now had nothing to do for the last 20 minutes of his work day except answer the main phone line if it rang. The office stayed open until 5. Rhonda, the portly, aurbun haired, receptionist, had left early for an emergency dental appointment --olive pit in her Greek Salad with non fat dressing. Guy had been an admin at the Mortage Tust Co. for about two months. He hated it. Usually, he spent most of his time blogging about his Post Rock band The Quiet of Your Eyes (of which he was the only member), obsessively reading and watching reviews of guitars and guitar effect pedals, and covertly drawing pictures for his erratically, self-published, zine Ill Frustrations.
Guy clicked on a vid link which read my new LP JR! Up she popped, Grtgrrl91, dressed in a white tank, hot pink short shorts, and TV Yellow Les Paul JR. Most of these videos showed just the guitar and dude torso or sometimes only the amp. She played something classic rock, riffy with lots of overdrive. It only took 18 seconds of the 3:32 for Guy's dick to get hard. The young girl with dark wavy hair was, according the info, living in Montréal. Her skin was olive, Middle Eastern/French Canadian? Her breasts were shaking to the beat. There was a tissue box on the desk. Guy had forgotten about it until she started playing up around the 12th fret and made a little grunty face.
Rhonda had gotten to the train before she realized she'd forgot her wallet. She got to what Guy looks like when he comes. They totally made eye contact. Never in the history of the place had two people been more surprised.