What A Piece of Work Is Man

By Chrissy

The first thing you notice about Mr. Pitman is his quick mind. No - wait a minute, the first thing you notice is his good looks. Man, he is one hell of a good-looking Mexican. Still, perhaps the first thing you notice is his sexy body. Or maybe those extreme tight pants he wears, the seams pulling and straining almost to the point of splitting across his hard little ass.

All I know is that from the first second I met Mr. Pitman, my brain was in a constant flutter of confusion and I was unable to have a clear thought. My Lord! Mr. Pitman can seduce the birds from right out of the trees. His words are quick and clever - spilling over each other, his Spanish accent soaking each lush syllable with sweet thick honey that melts your very soul. Once that man starts talking, Jeez, I stop thinking.

I am a widow woman of 43 years. No children. My husband died in a plane crash and the insurance money paid for a dress shop which I own and manage located on the Main Street of Crooked Bush - a town 2 hours drive north of the great city of Las Vegas. I've been told I'm real pretty. I am buxom, yet slim and my hair is dyed auburn red. I am relatively well off. I have a nice house, a nice car, a nice life. But my nice life was turned up side down that hot humid day on Main Street. A day that will always live in my memory.

I had bought myself a pair of those fancy platform sole sandals and was tottering along the street hauling two bags of groceries to my car when I suddenly slipped and found myself flat on my face on the ground. I had fallen down awkwardly and my ankle wrenched in pain. The bags of groceries went flying every which way, spilling down the street. For a few seconds I lay there stunned.

Then, suddenly, a man was at my side. He spoke rapidly in Spanish and then switched to English as his strong arms lifted me to my feet. I could not place my foot on the ground without acute pain and was forced to lean heavily on his broad shoulders. I pointed to my car and, with his aid, we hopped along the street and he placed me gently on the front seat. Then he went back to collect my spilled groceries. Rubbing my painful ankle, I watched my savior as he bent to pick up the runaway apples and potatoes and I marveled at the strength of the stitches in those tight pants of his. When he straightened up my eyes run over the length of him. Not overly tall, but the man had a body that was built for sex.

He came back to my car, deposited my reclaimed groceries in the back seat and jumped in to the driver's seat next to me. He seemed the type of man to take charge of a lady in distress.

"My name is Morales Pitman," he said shaking my hand firmly. "I will drive you to the hospital if you give me direction."

"Oh there's no need for a hospital visit," I argued as we pulled away from the curb.

"Your foot may be broken. You must let a qualified doctor see it," he returned with concern in his handsome eyes. "And you will need medical paperwork as evidence."

I frowned. Evidence? Anyway, I told him the way and we started off. I rubbed my ankle gingerly; it was beginning to swell. "Those stupid shoes" I grumbled, "I should never have bought them. They made me stumble and fall."

Mr. Pitman turned to me. "It was not the shoes," he said seriously. "It was the sidewalk that tripped you. I noticed it was badly cracked and crumbling. A chunk was missing and that's why you fell. Later I will go back and take photographs if you have a camera I might use."

"Take photos? Whatever for, Mr. Pitman?"

"Evidence. You have a case, Mme. Lattice," (I had told him my name - Luanna Lattice). "I am strongly suggesting that you sue the County. That sidewalk should be maintained to be safe. There are many bylaws that protect pedestrians like yourself."

"Sue the County?!" I gasped in laughter. "Why, Mr. Pitman, that is just plain ridiculous. It was my high platform sandals that caused my fall."

"No." he argued seriously. "Listen to me. You should be able to wear any shoes you wish without harm. The broken sidewalk is to blame for your fall. You MUST sue. Or do you wish someone else to trip and maybe break their neck?"

"But t was my own vanity. It was the sandals." I ventured again, my brain spinning.

Mr. Pitman took his eyes from the road and spun on me angrily. "It was NOT the fucking sandals, okay?!"

I was quite taken aback at his coarse language and fierce expression. But he recovered himself quickly. "I am sorry, Senora Lattice." he said, his voice now gentle. "I apologize for that. Forgive me, I am not fully conversant with the English language. Permit me to explain. I am an attorney at law. I am in the process of relocating my practice here from Mexico. I am in the area researching a site to establish my law office. Please understand, Mrs. Lattice, I get very angry when I see a nice lady like yourself being exploited."

"Exploited?" My mind was in a whirl. What WAS the man talking about?

"You pay your taxes, right?" He asked.

I nodded. "Then you have the right to safe passage on the streets of this town."

"But…"

At this point we had arrived at the small Crooked Bush hospital building. We had to wait a while for a doctor and over the course of the next hour Mr. Pitman never stopped talking. By the time I went into X-ray he had me all fired up to sue the County office for reckless disregard to my public safety. Mr. Pitman said he would represent me for free and only take a small percentage of any compensation I might be awarded.

As it turned out, my ankle was merely sprained, not broken. Mr. Pitman drove me back to my home and I invited him in as he had been so kind. He settled me comfortably in my armchair, carefully elevating my foot, and then left the house with my camera back to Main St. to photograph the cracked sidewalk.

I was beginning to think he'd run off with my car and camera, when I heard him pull into the driveway. He burst into the house in wild excitement that did not seem to fit with my idea of a lawyer. Still, I know the Mexicans can be a hot-blooded breed. Mr. Pitman told me he had not only taken photos, he had filed my suit and the case was scheduled for the following Tuesday.

My head was spinning. I always thought this kind of thing took months, but Mr. Pitman told me he had personally spoken with the law clerk and explained the immediacy of the situation. (I learned much later that he had sweet talked the assistant law clerk almost to distraction, and had then taken her right there on the wooden floor of the Clerk's office!!!)

Mr. Pitman remained at my home that first evening and, as he was so nice, I invited him to stay a few days. He cooked a fine meal, cleaned the kitchen and watched over me with courteous attention. He was a complete gentleman. He slept in the spare bedroom and did not take any advantage of me in the least. (And I have to admit to being mightily disappointed about that!!)

It was arranged that Mr. Pitman would stay in my home with me until the following Tuesday. He quickly gained my full trust. I willingly gave him access to my bank account and he emptied the cash register at my store and deposited the amount in my bank for me. He placed a TEMPORARILY CLOSED sign on the door of the shop and he took care my daily little chores whilst I rested my quickly healing ankle. I had never been so pampered and spoiled in my entire life. During the days before my court case, Mr. Pitman studied County bylaw books like they were going out of style.

I admit to being mystified to the reasons why he had no cash of his own. Or why he had no car. Surely a lawyer would have a car? Or why he had no items of clothing. He explained that the US government was blocking any transfer of funds. He said his credit cards were on hold in Mexico. It all made sense when he spoke with me, his amber eyes gazing forcefully into mine, his warm closeness making me tingle with excitement.

It was only when he was gone and I could think clearly that I realized none of it made any proper sense. But I surely did believe he was a lawyer. He talked some mighty fine lawyer talk, none of which I ever did comprehend.

The small town of Crooked Bush was aghast that a widow woman like myself had taken a much younger, extremely sexy, Mexican man into my home. Especially my two staid sisters, Rhona and Leoni. Mr. Pitman set about wooing them. But they remained outraged.

"He sleeps in the spare bedroom," I insisted to their open skepticism. "He has never even touched me."

Tuesday's court date rolled around quickly. Although my ankle was much better, Mr. Pitman rented crutches and insisted I use them. He bandaged my ankle and foot heavily and he instructed me not to wear make up and picked out a plain brown dress for me to wear. I felt foolish as I hobbled awkwardly into the courtroom, which was filled to capacity with curious local people. The story of my Mr. Pitman had raced through the small town like wildfire.

Mr. Pitman, attorney at law, looked very neat in shirt and tie, although Judge Julie Klein stared through her thick, 'coke bottle' glasses in open shock at the tightness of his pants.

Well, we were all in for a real treat in that courtroom that day. It was better than any TV lawyer show. Mr. Pitman talked a whole lot of fancy lawyer talk and we all had trouble keeping up with him, including Judge Julie. The County office had sent its own lawyer - an elderly man in his 70s - Mr. Eldred Hawkins - and he was woefully out of his depth once Mr. Pitman started his quick-talk.

Mr. Pitman paced up and down, his hands gesturing excitedly. He made my fall to the ground sound like a major disaster and my sprained ankle something close to death. He waved the photographs and over-ruled poor Mr. Hawkins whenever he dared open his mouth. Judge Julie repeatedly told him that only she, as Judge, had the right to over-rule, but he hardly took much notice. He would approach the bench to whisper to the flustered Judge on a regular basis. The town of Crooked Bush had never seen anything the likes of Mr. Pitman in courtroom action.

Before we all knew what was happening the Judge had awarded me the sum of $10,000 damages!!! Mr. Eldred Hawkins immediately called for an appeal. He argued he never had any time to prepare.

Judge Julie was about to agree to the appeal when Mr. Pitman made another of his trips to the Judge's bench. After a few soft words, the two of them left the courtroom to check on some County bylaws, they said. They were gone a good 15 minutes. We all sat there waiting, fanning ourselves in the oppressive, dusty heat.

When they finally returned, we couldn't help but notice the flushed cheeks and bright eyes on the face of Judge Julie. The two of them must've had some real trouble finding the books with those particular Bylaws because the Judge's hair was mussed and her glasses steamed and fogged upon their return.

I walked out of that courtroom with a cheque in my hands for $10,000!! Mr. Pitman lost his lawyer 'pomp' for a mad moment as he yelped and danced around. He picked me up off of my feet and spun me around in the air making me dizzy. My crutches fell to the ground, forgotten.

Well, that afternoon we set out for Vegas. The cheque was safely deposited in a new bank account we had opened together - a joint bank account Mr. Pitman suggested so that he might have some funds of his own. I was so thrilled to suddenly have $10,000 I went right along with him. We took $1,000 out and drove like crazy kids to Vegas, ready to have a good time.

We checked into a fancy hotel room and for the first time ever Mr. Pitman made a sexual advance to me. He kissed me gently at first, but it didn't take long before we were stark naked on the bed thrusting and heaving like a pair of sex crazed animals. Lordy! - the things that boy could do to a woman!! Never in all my years of marriage had I ever had a man to do me the things that Mr. Pitman did to my loins that afternoon in that hotel room. Not only that, but I did things to Mr. Pitman, in broad daylight, that I would never had done to my own husband in the pitch darkness of night. Mr. Pitman introduced me to a sexual world I never knew existed. I tell you - we should pay more attention to these Spanish people - they know what makes the world go around!

Late that evening we went down to the casino. My ankle was all healed, but after the ways Mr. Pitman had pleased me in bed it was a wonder I could still walk. Mr. Pitman steered me to a particular table where a roulette game was in progress and we began to gamble.

Well, it was incredible! After two hours of gambling the $1,000 had increased to $6,500!! I just couldn't believe it! I had gambled in Vegas many times, but I had never come away a winner.

Another night of rapturous sex followed. Mr. Pitman knew exactly how to satisfy a woman! After a hefty breakfast we went back to the casino. Mr. Pitman returned to the same roulette table and, for the first time, I noticed a definite rapport between him and the gawky boy croupier with bad fitting teeth. We lost at first, but then we began winning big again.

We won $4,500! It seemed like a fortune to me, but Mr. Pitman advised that it was 'chickenfeed' compared to some of the winnings people walked away with.

Mr. Pitman decided we should go to a bank and open an account for ourselves in the town of Las Vegas. He said we could use this as gambling money. I went right along with him. We opened a joint account in the amount of $11,000. Either one of us could access the money.

We had so much sex that second night; I was completely worn out. Mr. Pitman, however, constantly seemed filled with restless energy. I lounged in bed during that third day whilst he went back to the casino. He returned to the hotel room late in the afternoon and said that he had won again. He held out a small jewelry box to me, his grin wide on his handsome face. "Open it" he said.

Well! I declare! It was the most exquisite diamond ring. A solitaire diamond ring. Small and neat and classy. "A beautiful ring for a beautiful lady", Mr. Pitman whispered as he pulled me on top of his huge erection.

We drove home to Crooked Bush the next day. I could not stop looking at the ring. Was it an engagement ring I wondered? Mr. Pitman had not complained when I placed it on the third finger of my left hand. It fit perfectly. I think I had me a beau - a hot tamale, smooth talking Mexican beau.

Twenty messages resided on my answering machine. Most of them from my two sisters who seemed to think that my Mexican lawyer had done away with me. In an effort to placate them I phoned and invited them to supper to be properly introduced to my Mr. Pitman, whom I now called by his first name, Morales.

The next day I went back to work at my dress shop. Morales took my car and said he had quite a bit of business that needed his attention.

When I arrived home I found Morales surrounded by packages. He had bought himself a whole slew of new clothes which he modeled, parading before me. My breath caught in my throat as I saw him in some of the outfits. He looked mighty fine. MIGHTY FINE!

At work the next day I had a visit from my two sisters. They scoffed at the ring and insisted it was glass. They accompanied me to a jewelers where I had the diamond appraised.

"A small, yet perfect stone" the man told me. "This stone is almost flawless. I would appraise this ring at around $7,000"

With a satisfied "I told you so" smirk, I bid goodbye to my prying sisters and I went back behind the counter at my dress shop. That evening, I arrived home to find the house filled with delicious aromas. Morales had started the meal for my sisters' visit. He was a good cook and my mouth watered at the many dishes he had prepared. The fact that he had taken the time to prepare a meal for my family made me realized how lucky I was to have met such a generous, giving man. Any doubts I had faded quickly. I think I feel in love with him in right there and then. I kissed him on the lips.

Before we knew what we were doing Morales had me naked and spread-eagled on the kitchen table whilst he stood there, bare-assed, pants around his ankles, pumping into me, our moans filling the evening air.

It wasn't until I had climaxed that I opened my eyes to see my two sisters and their respective husbands gaping opened mouthed through the kitchen window at us. It was the most humiliating moment of my entire life. Morales, however, appeared totally unruffled. He zipped himself up and welcomed them into the kitchen with great aplomb, as I raced to cover myself with an oven mitt and salad bowl. What followed was the most awkward meal I have ever eaten in my life. I could not wait for my stuck up sisters and their snotty nosed husbands to leave us alone.

Finally they were gone and we retired to bed. How the springs in my bed stood up to the pounding we gave them that night is a miracle.

Next day I went to work as usual, but when I came home a strange car was parked in front of my house. Morales and a young boy were deep in discussion, something about magnets and roulette wheels. They looked up guiltily as I entered the kitchen.

"This is a client of mine, Mr. Reginald Weed," said Morales hastily getting up. "Er…we have mucho business to attend to for the next little while, Luanna." There was something familiar about his gawky companion…something about the teeth. The two of them seemed in an awful rush to be gone.

"I will be back shortly," Morales pecked me on the cheek, whilst the half-witted boy giggled stupidly.

They left with a squeal of tires and when I went up to my bedroom I found out why. Morales had packed his entire new wardrobe into my expensive matching luggage before he left. I raced to phone the bank but I was too late. Both joint bank accounts were cleaned right out! He'd left me the princely sum of one dollar in each!

I got over it. The money had been 'found' money. Money I would never have had if it weren't for Morales. But when the credit card bill arrived for my beautiful ring, and another bill arrived for $3,000 worth of fancy men's duds and high-priced lizard cowboy boots I have to admit to being a trifle peeved.

I'm sure I did see Morales Pitman once more. I was strolling along the strip in Vegas with a friend when this swanky long white car slid by. At the wheel was a gorgeous man in a tuxedo and cuddled up to him was some blond bimbo covered in diamonds. I'd swear on my life it was Morales Pitman driving that car.

Up to his old tricks no doubt.