Explanation of Love 01

*Author's Note: This is a long one; it will be broken into 3 installments.

Do not ask me when the next one is coming; it will come out as soon as Literotica approves it.

As always, thank you for reading my stories.

Chapter 1

Paula Lambert looked carefully around, around the parking lot in the rear of the Dead End Bar.

Seeing no one lurking in the area, she pressed the key fob and heard her car chirp pleasantly.

The twenty three year old woman flung her long strawberry blonde hair back out of her eyes, again checked around herself, and then got into her BMW 390E Convertible.

She closed the door quickly and hit the electric lock button. Then she casually threw her shoulder bag onto the passenger seat.

Darlene had once laughed at how cautious Paula was, until one drunken customer had followed her and accosted her in the parking lot. Ever since then, Darlene also practiced the 'Better Safe than Sorry' approach.

At seven thirty, the sun was just now making its descent into the horizon. Being mid April, it was warm enough, so once she pulled onto Highway 27, Paula pressed the button and lowered the roof of the car.

Swinging onto Highway 19, she paused for a moment, and then decided to splurge, to completely ruin her diet.

"I've been a good girl," she said out loud as she pulled into a slot of Clark's Drive-In.

She'd had a chef salad for dinner, with the house vinaigrette dressing, no croutons. Lunch had been one of Kirsten's concoctions; herb chicken breasts, skinless.

"Damn it, I deserve it," she smiled.

She watched the three girls as they skated back and forth, dressed in their skin tight tee shirts and short red shorts.

A very slender brunette whizzed past, very large chest made all the more obvious by the snug top she wore. The girl looked at Paula's car with interest, and then continued to her customer's truck. The brunette hooked a tray onto the window of a truck, made change for the customer, and then skated over to Paula.

Paula was watching a blonde skate past. The girl seemed to be a little older than the other two servers; the large breasted brunette and the other girl, a blonde, appeared to be in their late teens, whereas the long haired blonde looked to be in her early twenties.

The younger blonde studied Paula's car with interest, but was laden down with empty trays.

The older blonde flashed a crooked smile as she skated past Paula, then skidded to a stop and collected a tray from a customer's car.

"Hi welcome to Clark's, ready to order?" Debbie Dublachon chirped brightly.

"Hi, yeah, I'm waiting for her," Paula said, pointing to the blonde as the woman skated backward past them, balancing the tray.

"Okay, I'll let her know," Debbie said pleasantly.

"Thanks," Paula smiled, not really knowing why she didn't just give the young brunette her order.

The other blonde skated toward Paula's car, but Paula heard the brunette say, "She's one of Terry's friends," and the blonde found another car.

Paula watched the brunette skate leisurely over to the older blonde, intercepting the blonde as she spun around several times.

Paula smiled as Terry looked over at the car, then flashed another crooked smile and rapidly approached the car.

"Hi, um, Debbie said you were..." Terry Dayton said.

"Okay, first off, where do you get your hair done?" Paula interrupted.

"Do it myself," Terry admitted.

"Really?" Paula asked, voice a squeal. "You're kidding!"

"Um, no, no ma'am, I do it myself," Terry admitted.

"God it's so perfect!" Paula praised. "I've gone to Miss Helena's, down to Emily's, in DeGarde? I've even gone over to Waggamon's and I always hate how they do it."

"Um, yes ma'am," Terry swiveled back and forth on her skates, trying to maintain her balance.

"Okay, give me a small um, oh, what the hell, make it a large butterscotch sundae, okay?" Paula said, looking at the lighted menu.

"Whipped cream, nuts, cherry?" Terry asked.

"Absolutely," Paula smiled.

Paula admired Terry's rear end and muscular legs as the young woman skated away, and almost applauded as Terry easily leapt over the wooden bench in front of the restaurant door.

She smiled as the other two servers skated around, showing off for each other and for the customers. In terms of physical attributes, the slender brunette had the blonde beat; her chest was quite sizable. But the blonde was more daring in her maneuvers.

"I keep telling them, 'quit showing off; you're going to fall and bust your asses' but they don't ever listen to me," Terry smiled as she hooked the tray to the door of Paula's car. "Eight fifty six, please."

"Oh my goodness; I can't eat all of that!" Paula laughed.

"I'll go get a spoon and help you," Terry joked.

"Uh huh," Paula smiled and handed Terry a twenty. "Better hurry back if you want any of it."

"Okay, eight fifty six from twenty is..." Terry recited as she prepared to make change.

"Keep it," Paula smiled and dug her spoon the mountain of whipped cream.

"Um, ma'am, this is a twenty," Terry said.

"Uh huh, I know," Paula nodded and smiled as she shoved some more of the sundae into her mouth.

"You're giving me an eleven dollar tip?" Terry asked.

"Why not?" Paula asked. "Better hurry back with that spoon if you're going to help me with this."

"Um, thank you," Terry squeaked.

She stood, uncomfortable, and unsure, until a car honked, letting her know that they wanted the tray removed so that they could go.

"Thanks again, ma'am," Terry said and skated away.

Paula savored each sticky, gooey spoonful and was surprised when she found herself scraping the last of the light brown butterscotch from the bottom of the glass dish.

"You were supposed to help me eat that," Paula pouted when Terry skated up to collect the tray.

"Oops, maybe next time," Terry smiled.

"Now I'm going to gain fifty pounds and it's your fault," Paula said.

"Maybe two or three, but I seriously doubt if you gain fifty pounds in one night," Terry smiled, grabbing the tray.

"You work every night?" Paula asked.

"No, usually Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Saturdays I do the lunch shift," Terry said.

"Okay, see you later," Paula said, started her car and carefully backed out onto Highway 19.

She turned onto Highway 52, and then almost immediately turned onto Louisiana Drive, just past the car wash. Six blocks further, she turned left onto Kennedy Road and drove past the driveway to her condominium. She pressed the button to raise the roof of her car, and then began backing into her garage. With a final look around, Paula then lowered the garage door again.

Once the door was all the way down, Paula grabbed her shoulder bag, got out of the car and entered her kitchen. Only one "meow" greeted her; Courtney Love, her calico cat, jumped down from the counter.

"You know you're not supposed to get up there," Paula fussed.

Clint Eastwood, her orange tabby came in at the sound of Momma's voice, but as usual, Janet Jackson, her nearly solid black cat was hiding.

"Oh, I suppose you think you want some dinner, huh?" Paula asked the two cats.

She opened the pantry and Courtney jumped onto the counter again.

The cat squawked as Paula quickly squirted her with a spray of water from a plastic bottle, but jumped back down off the counter.

"Uh huh, didn't see that one coming, huh?" Paula laughed, then quickly dumped three small tins of food into three small bowls and set them on the floor of the kitchen.

The smell of food did the trick and Janet made an appearance. Only one paw was white, the rest of the cat was a glossy black.

"Uh, hey, Ms. Jackson? No 'hello' for your Momma?" Paula fussed.

The cat didn't pause in her approach to her food dish.

"Fine, fine, bitch, be that way," Paula said and took her shoulder bag to the small laundry room.

She dumped her clothing from her day's work into the washing machine, added the khaki cargo shorts and denim halter top she was wearing, and then dumped in a scoop of laundry powder.

Now nude, except for her four inch heels, Paula skipped upstairs.

She saw the message light blinking on her answering machine and wondered, again, why she even had a land line. The majority of calls she wanted to get came through her cell phone. That was the number she gave to people she wanted to talk with.

The first message was a sales call; a recorded voice told her she could now reduce her monthly bills by half by switching the balance of her credit cards to their card.

"Can't switch any balances if I don't have any," she smirked and deleted the message.

The second call was from her mother, Sherri Lambert, shrilly demanding that she call them and reminding her that it had been quite a while since she last talked with them, or had stopped by to see them.

"And, THAT'S why I have a land line," Paula said and deleted her mother's message.

She debated with herself for a few moments, then shrugged and picked up the cordless phone.

"Hello, Sherri, what's up?" she asked when her mother answered.

"I really wish you wouldn't call me that," her mother complained bitterly.

"Oh, okay, bye," Paula said and hung up.

A moment later, the telephone rang. Paula let it ring three more times, and then answered.

"Yes?" she sang out musically.

"You really hate me that much?" her mother shrilled into the telephone.

"Sherri, I'd have to care about you in order to hate you; so, what's up?" Paula asked lightly.

"I was going to invite you over this Sunday, for pot roast," Sherri whined.

"Ooh, pot roast. You do make a mean pot roast," Paula agreed. "So, what's the occasion?"

"There have to be a reason?" Sherri asked.

"With you? Yes, of course there does. Sherri Lambert doesn't do anything that doesn't have something in it for Sherri Lambert," Paula said easily.

"Or maybe I just miss my daughter," Sherri said.

"Nah, that's not it," Paula disagreed. "So, what is it? Why are you inviting me over? And making my favorite meal?"

"I told you; I just want to see you," Sherri simpered.

"Nope, I'm not buying it," Paula said. "But thanks for playing; we have lovely parting gifts for you. Next contestant pleases."

She hit the 'End Call' button on the cordless phone, put it back on its cradle, and kicked off her shoes.

Paula did not answer the phone when it rang and Sherri did not leave a message when the machine picked up. Sherri tried twice more and finally did leave a message the third time the machine picked up.

"Fine, be that way," Sherri huffed.

Paula walked over to her desk and started her computer. Amber said she wanted a new cd, something a little nastier. The password prompt popped up and Paula rapidly typed her password out, and then pulled up her list of music.

She had the list arranged alphabetically by artists, but she could also search alphabetically by album titles.

"Yes, perfect," she muttered and pulled up her first selection.

In moments, Paula had selected eight songs from her extensive library and started burning them onto a blank disc. The total play time was thirty minutes and twelve seconds.

She nodded in satisfaction; another ten dollars easily made.

Cheryl Nguyen, an attractive Asian American, had asked her to design a 'belly dancer' costume and Paula was very nearly finished. Looking at the black gauze leggings, she almost wished she had thought of the costume for herself. But, she knew, the minute Amber, or Tita saw it, they'd want one too and that was another sixty dollars each.

Tita was actually Conchita Saurez, a twenty one year old Latina beauty. She did not buy any music from Paula, preferring to bring in her own music, all Spanish. But she seemed to go crazy for Paula's costume creations.

Thankfully, Tita and Amber were the same size so it made her job a little easier.

With a final run through on her sewing machine, Cheryl's costume was finished. Paula hung it on a soft hanger, and then pulled a black plastic bag over it.

Paula looked at the clock and sighed. It was already one o'clock in the morning.

In her bed, two of the three usual suspects were waiting. Janet was nowhere to be found. Paula brushed Courtney off of her pillow and lay down.

As soon as she turned off the light, Janet made her grand entrance, leaping onto the bed and demanding a corner of Paula's pillow for herself.

"Bitch," Paula said affectionately.

Chapter 2

Terry smiled as she saw the pearl white BMW pull up and stop. She quickly carried the tray of food out to a customer's car, collected the payment and thanked the customer for the two dollar and nine cent tip, then skated over to Paula's car.

"Hi!" Paula squealed and Terry smiled a little wider as she greeted the nameless customer that had given her such a large tip the week earlier.

"Hi," she agreed.

"Listen, I want a banana split, okay?" Paula said.

"Nope," Terry refused with a shake of her head.

"What?" Paula squealed, surprised. "What do you...? You can't tell me 'NO!'"

"Uh huh," Terry said. "I give it to you, you eat it, and then blame it on me that you're getting all fat and stuff, so, 'Nope,' you're not getting a banana split."

"Listen, you," Paula said, hooking a finger inside of the waistband of Terry's shorts, pulling Terry closer to the car. "Get me a banana split, on the double, or there's going to be some real trouble, you hear?"

Terry felt an electric shock ripple from her head to her toes the moment Paula's long red fingernail touched her bare belly, softly raked down, and disappeared inside of her shorts.

"Trouble, huh?" Terry managed to squeak out. "What kind of trouble?"

"Real bad trouble," Paula husked and wiggled her finger back and fort a couple of times then pulled her finger out of the waistband.

Terry backed up a few feet, never breaking eye contact with Paula's green eyes.

"Nope," Terry repeated and laughed out loud when Paula made a grab for her.

"Fine, fine, be right back," Terry said and skated away.

Paula watched as two other servers skated around, waiting for a new customer, or for a current customer to finish with their tray. The blonde was a very athletic girl and performed some pretty fancy footwork.

"And, seven forty four," Terry said as she hooked the tray to Paula's car.

"Here; I promise I won't blame you for all the weight I'm about to put on because of this banana split," Paula smiled, handing Terry a twenty dollar bill.

"And seven forty four from ..." Terry intoned.

"Keep it," Paula said, digging her spoon into the mound of strawberry ice cream.

"Ma'am, that's..." Terry protested.

"Mmm, this is so good," Paula said, ignoring Terry's protests.

"Thank you, ma'am," Terry said and skated away.

Kizzy almost ran into Terry as she caromed out of the restaurant, tray laden with four burgers and four root beer floats. Terry held her breath as Melinda barely avoided Kizzy as the blonde came out of a spin.

"She'd have hit her, I'd have bounced her ass out of here," John Clark said, scowling at Melinda.

"Before or after Kizzy killed her?" Terry asked.

She skated out to grab a new customer; the girls were all paid hourly wages, but tips made up a large part of their take-home pay.

"Hey, Hoser," Melinda complained as Terry passed her at a high rate of speed.

Terry took the order and smirked as Melinda quickly gave her the finger.

"Stick that finger out like that in front of customers again and I'll break it off, you hear?" John barked at Melinda.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Melinda grumbled, then brightened as her boyfriend's car pulled in.

Terry brought out the order, then doubled back to see if her high paying customer was finished with the banana split yet.

"This is soooo good," Paula sighed as she scraped the last of the melted ice dream from the bottom of the glass dish.

"Glad you liked it," Terry smiled.

"Of course," Paula smiled mischievously. "Now I'm going to gain fifty pounds and it's all your fault."

"Hey!" Terry protested. "You said you weren't going to blame me for that!"

"I lied," Paula shrugged.

They chatted for a few moments more, then Terry took the tray off of the door and Paula started her car.

Three hours passed by quickly; Clark's Drive-In was pretty busy, thanks in part to the warmer weather and thanks in part to the later sunset.

"Woo," Melinda said as she pulled her skates off of her feet and put her tennis shoes on.

"No kidding!" Kizzy agreed.

"You been doing this, how long Terry?" Melinda asked as Terry slipped on her canvas sneakers.

"Since I was sixteen so almost eight years," Terry smiled as she dug her car keys out of her pocket.

Terry stuck the key into the ignition of her battered Chevy Malibu, praying that the nineteen year old car would behave tonight. Last night, she'd had to wait for Tommy to shut everything down before he would come out and help her. It had been nearly twelve o'clock before she'd gotten home.

Terry drove down Highway 27. As she passed the Dead End Bar, she did glance over at the cinderblock building.

The cars that lined the parking lot were slightly upscale; her car would have looked out of place among the SUVs and luxury sedans. True to what Paula had told her, there were no motorcycles out front.

"You're a dancer? At THAT place?" Terry had gasped when Paula told her what she did.

"Yes, at THAT place; what's wrong with that place?" Paula asked.

"All those nasty ass bikers?" Terry asked blue eyes still wide with shock.

"Oh no, no, no!" Paula laughed. "No, Terry! We got rid of them! Miss Rosy? She's the owner? She started feeding cops for free, got rid of all those greasy old bikers!"

Somehow, Paula had ferreted out of Terry the fact that her birthday was on Friday.

"Oh, you HAVE to come to the Dead End!" Paula had demanded. "That way, when it hits midnight, I can be the first one to wish you a happy birthday!"

"Oh come on; that's so silly!" Terry had smiled.

"Please?" Paula had begged, running a fingernail on Terry's abdomen between the hem of her snug tee shirt and short red shorts.

Although she didn't promise she would, Terry knew she probably would go to the Dead End Bar. She rarely went out, having very little money to splurge on herself, but surely a birthday warranted a little splurging. She was off on Friday, due to it being her birthday, so didn't have to worry about getting up the next morning. Waking up early that morning.

Terry opened the door of the Section 8 house she and her aunt lived in. She wrinkled her nose in distaste; the smell of marijuana, spilled beer, and greasy food, probably fried chicken, was overwhelming.

She did not turn on a light; having no desire to see the carnage of another of her aunt's nighttime ritual, or the hordes of cockroaches claiming their part of the leftovers.

They qualified for Section 8 due to Terry being an orphan (her mother had died in an automobile accident when Terry was thirteen; Terry had never known whom her father was) and Aunt Janette Dayton's mental illness.

She quietly walked past her aunt's door, grateful to hear only one snore coming from the woman's bedroom. She entered her own bedroom and finally did turn on a light. She shut the door and locked it before stripping out of her Clark's Drive-In tee shirt, sweaty bra, and her red shorts. She did glance around quickly; one time, one of her aunt's 'Boyfriends' had hidden in Terry's closet, coming out as Terry was sliding her thong panties off of her legs.

That was also the reason she locked her bedroom door; just because she only heard one person snoring did not mean there wasn't a man lurking in the house. Her aunt had a bad habit of getting drunk, stoned, and horny and did not have any qualms about who she invited in to have sex with her. Or, she got drunk stoned, and hungry. There were several fast food places within walking distance of the house and her aunt would stagger down to one of the fast food places, pick up greasy take-out food, and often would pick up a strange man along the e way.