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Much of Oswald Finch’s focus in life has been on nipples. An extraordinary interest in fact and had he graduated in a top stream at college and made medical school he may have become a nipple enhancing surgeon. Instead he made do being an objective appraiser of nipples and lead the group that published findings.
Although reared on a couple, Oswald was twelve before he took a slight interest when some of the girls he knew began expanding around their nipples and about that time he was confined to playing with boys of his age, although in his autobiography he chose to use the phrase ‘associate with’ rather than ‘playing with’.
The years flew by and soon Oswald, whose appearance outshone his name, was being offered an assortment of nipples by young women who regarded their nipples almost on a par as bestowing the key to the kingdom. Oswald, with his own hormones flying almost out of control at that age, licked, sucked bit and blew on an assortment of twin nipples and vastly expanded his knowledge. It wasn’t long before he learned that nipples fell into the category of an erogenous zone and when he performed with panache it not only earned him the legendary key to the kingdom but access to the very real cellar as well.
Well, here’s the rest of Oswald’s remarkable story:
At the aged of twenty-eight, a bachelor and publisher of his late father’s magazineWorld Railways Quarterly but now following a complete revamp of content and renamedNipples International Quarterly, Oswald Finch arrived home late from a hard grind at the office – a redhead with unbelievable staying power – he switched on his recording of TV8’s 7 o’clock news.
He watched the third item on the bulletin with delight. It showed the Mayor’s third wife, a stunning 30-year-old coming from the Court after winning a $3.l8 million divorce adjudication to resolve the squabble of her departure entitlement.
“Get the [bleep] out of my way you gutter piranhas,” she fumed, elbowing a pathway through the pack of journalists baying for the quote of the day. She stopped and said, “If it’s a quote you want how about this one, “The asshole deserves to get the [bleep] clap from some of the loose women he [bleep].
Ossie almost clapped in delight as seeing the beautiful fireball giving the Mayor and the gutter piranhas heaps. Then she began elbowing again and that’s when he saw it: for no more that a quarter of a second her dress front gaped, she was braless and he glimpsed something that took his breath away.
He let the film clip play, showing the Jessie’s great ass as she stepped into her hire car. That was followed by the temporary purpled-faced Mayor James accusing his Ex of slandering his girlfriends and then an attorney specializing in libel law saying Jessie Birtwhistle who’d reverted to her maiden name had saved herself from possible multi-million law suites by not naming the girlfriend with the clap because the Mayor was addicted to taking up with new girlfriends and probably even he didn’t know who there all were. According to current law it was impossible to defame a large group when making a false statement.
Ossie replayed the item and switched to slow play and soon confirmed, even at the distance the camera was from the object of interest, he was looking at a pointy nipple, the most perfect one he’d ever seen. He immediately felt half in love with the pugnacious Jessie Birtwhistle.
Because of his fetish turned into a business, Ossie was up to his neck in nipples, so to speak. He was aware of five-star nipples could occur on females from early teens to mature age and color of skin was irrelevant. What he’d seen on that tape had taken nipples above the bar – it was a five-star-plus beauty, perhaps one of a kind although it was likely to be paired.
God, he thought, dabbing his brow. Being on the nipple alert was far more exciting that being an, um, stamp collector and certainly much beyond being a whale watcher or being on the watch for the almost extinct speckled wading heron of the Orinoco.
Next day Ossie confirmed that Miss Birtwhistle had indeed recently leased a penthouse apartment in Mayfair Tower and that privacy in the tower was assured with two armed guards on eight-hour shifts 24/7. Rather than put a tail on Miss Birtwhistle to find out her favorite place for coffee or where her hairdresser was located he called his real estate agent and instructed her to lease a penthouse apartment in Mayfair Tower – all seven were on the 32nd floor and he agreed on the amount to offer an interested existing occupant to consider relocating.
Miss Birtwhistle was unlikely to talk to him while having her hair done and would regard him with suspicion if he sat down at her table in a coffee shop. This way he could follow her into the elevator and use in his coded access card for the 32nd floor and watch her eyes light up in a neighborly fashion. If the elevator was full of course, he could be lucky enough to back on to her and feel those nipples ‘burn’ into his bahis firmaları back.
“Oh yeah!”The other thing was once Miss Birtwhistle knew who he was she would realize he was wealthy enough not to be after her $3.8 million when he showed an interest in her as a person who simply appreciated her for what she was, the bearer of perfect nipples.
World Railways Quarterly had boasted of a circulation of 75,640 subscribers in fourteen countries four years ago when Ossie became publisher, well down on its peak in the late 1980s of 111,888 as old subscribers were dying off faster than new generation enthusiasts were arriving at magazine-buying age in a time where computer games were still in its infancy and kids were still addicted to reading. One night when admiring his collection of nipples on his computer screen Ossie ingeniously decided to switchWorld Railways into a ‘super nip’ publication. Today the magazine was printed in four languages (for the captions silly!) and circulating in sixty-five countries. The print runs of the latest issue totaled 1,778,200 and the website ‘teaser’ attracted hits measured in the millions and displays of downloaded nipples from visitors to the site.
This obsession with nipples was a healthy one. Quality of nipples was not considered when Ossie’s employees (including females) were hired and each magazine included a section on Breast Health & Care. Advertisements for nipple piercing products were accepted despite the publisher’s personal aversion to that and a nipologist provided a column about recommended breast pumps (43% of readership claimed to be female in surveys), nipple grooming, nipple non-invasive decoration and tips on how to keep nipples proud. The current world media craze for displaying the Nipple Slip of celebrities in the vicinity of cameras was also featured.
As sole proprietor of the company, the anonymous donations to early detection of breast cancer research Ossie made each quarter were substantial and fulfilled his sense of obligation to be ‘balanced’ toward his career interest. Ossie was proud of his own pointy nipples but long ago after voyeur surveys at the beach had concluded they were great but not remarkable. His girlfriends became used to his preference to having his nipples stimulated rather than having his erection worshipped. However, diving down to secure a mouthful was never denied them if that’s what they wanted.
Three weeks after calling his real estate agent, Ossie was in his penthouse hanging up original paintings of nipples. He studied the security guards and finally selected an always-smiling black guy called Oliver. A chat and a furtive handover of fifty bucks and Ossie was in possession of information that Miss Birtwhistle was currently in the Bahamas celebrating her newly-won freedom and was due back on Tuesday at around 4:00 in the afternoon.
Ossie waited across the street on Tuesday with a bunch of yellow flowers and just before 4:00 saw her arrive. As she walked into the foyer pulling a suitcase with a smaller one on top of it he followed and as he entered the elevator behind her she turned and said, “Remove yourself please. It makes me nervous when other people are in my elevator.”
“Good for you lady,” Ossie smiled thinly. “Go get another elevator – I’m in a rush to the bathroom.”
He was riled. If she only traveled alone in the elevator no way would he manage to get those ‘pointies’ of hers pressing into his back. She was fumbling in her handbag for her passcard. He used his to access the protected 32nd floor and asked politely, “What floor ma’am?” after realizing she’d not seen him use the gold card.
The poor woman looked exhausted. Well there would be all the travel, the booze and no doubt plenty of pump action so her eyes didn’t light up in a neighborly way. In fact they looked quite scared. “Have you stolen that card?”
Ossie stood with his back to the wall and said nothing, watching her in the ceiling mirror looking perplexed and then pulling her luggage on front of her as if it offered protection.
He used the card again to open the doors to the 32nd floor and grabbed the handle of her trolley. “What number?”
Miss Birtwhistle’s hand dove into her handbag.
“There’s no need for pepper spray or a handgun. I’m just being neighborly.”
“Neighborly?” she asked as if the word was foreign to her. Well, being almost a hooker to capture the Mayor’s attention when he was on a recruitment drive to find his third wife, the word probably didn’t come easily to her lips. But her hand emerged from her bag empty.”
“Oh, two down from me. I’m in four, ex-Haig’s apartment.”
“I wasn’t aware they intended leaving?”
Ossie thought best if he didn’t reply and say they hadn’t been aware either they were about to leave. The jerks lifted his dislocation offer of $15,000 to $45,000 before sighed acceptance.
“Thank you, I can manage from here.”
Ignoring that, Ossie held out his hand and into it dropped her kaçak iddaa key. Well, she was now willing to trust him to that extent.
He opened the door and brusquely said goodbye.
“I’ll invite you for coffee sometime.”
He walked on.
“Wait, I didn’t catch your reply.”
He turned. God, she was poised on those stupidly high heels of hers like a bird ready to fly. Although her breasts were pushed forward the crepe folds or whatever they were in her dress made it impossible to sight nipple definition. She’d been scared when he’d entered the elevator and angry about his rudeness so the nipples would be taut, reflecting those blood surges.
“I didn’t reply because it was a vacuous invitation.”
He strode on and she called, “I’m not the typical dumb blonde.”
He swung around and returned to her. She almost backed away. “Here, he said, thrusting the flowers at her cleavage. You appeared to be returning from travel. Have these to brighten your apartment.
“I really don’t…”
“Then toss them down the trash chute.”
“I didn’t mean to be…”
“Dismissive? If that’s your style lady I’m wasting my time being neighborly.”
She didn’t reply and when Ossie opened his door and looked back she was still in the hallway, looking at him.
He didn’t wave.
Inside his apartment he thrust his fists above his head in victory. It had gone a trillion times better than he’d dared hope. Miss Birtwhistle’s mind was now in a whirl about him. Er, so he hoped.
Next morning there was a birdlike tap on Ossie’s apartment door. He knew it would be her so wrote down his cell phone number to hand her and went to the door. By then she was pushing the bell.
He trained his smile and opened the door to be greeted by room service women.
“Oh yeah, come in.” He flew into the bathroom, put the lid down and cleaned toothpaste spray off the mirror, grabbed his wallet from the bedroom and went out with the remainder of his coffee and climbed to the observation tower.
“Good morning,” said Miss Beautiful, taking off her glasses – yes, reading glasses. She had a newspaper in her lap. Well, that was a delight to find she had at least one defect that normal humans had to bear. “You don’t appear ready to set off to the office?”
Ossie grinned, knowing she was on a fishing trip but the first cast was ineffective.
“I’m the boss so jeans and sports shirt are okay.”
“So other employees are required to wear suits?”
Miss Beautiful pouted, probably accepting she was being teased to see how long before she really had to ask him outright.
To Ossie’s dismay she placed her glasses back on and resumed reading the newspaper.
He looked out at the view, not knowing what to say. So her turned to her and saw the exposure of very long and slender legs disappearing into her shorts so said, “You have lovely legs.”
She continued reading but said, “Are you propositioning me Mr Finch?”
God, she’d checked up on him. Well she was entitled to know who her neighbors were. Ossie brushed back the sides of his hair nervously and remained mute.
“And you have a great head of hair for a guy who’s, what shall we say, thirty-five?”
He croaked “Twenty-eight” knowing she wouldn’t be interested in a younger man but the denial at being accused of being thirty-five had shot from his mouth before he had a chance to suppress it.
“Oooh, how lovely. Someone my own age. All the other folk on this floor are old and fat,” she said, watching Ossie’s belly being drawn in but too his relief she didn’t giggle. “I found in my mail a notice from management stating the new occupant of Apartment Four is a Mr Finch, unmarried, a long-time resident of this city who is publisher ofNipples International Magazine.
“Er,Nipples International Quarterly”
“Well, thank you for confirming. Stay away from me Mr Finch. Goodbye.”
She resumed reading.
Well, he’d gotten out of there because he’d half-expected her to be impressed that it was an internationally circulating magazine even if the theme of it disappointed her somewhat. He also knew it would be a mistake at that moment to stand his ground and attempt to modify her attitude. More than likely she’d begin to swat him with her newspaper.
He returned to his apartment and the maids who were singing cheerfully stopped. “Please keep on singing,” he urged.
They looked at one another nervously.
“Please sing – er, it makes me feel happy.”
They then sang their little hearts out. So instead of sitting at the dining table and sulking Ossie smiled and his brain slipped from negative to positive cycle. He pulled out his phone and called his chief assistant and production manager Mrs Clarke.
“Dinah, something’s cropped up so I’m taking a week off. Is that okay?”
“Yes of course. The next issue will be ready at the week for you to sign it off.”
“Good, I’ll come in for that checking. In the meantime phone kaçak bahis me 24/7.”
“It means anytime, day or night, seven days a week.”
“Oh, yes. You like longish nipples and short captions – I should have guessed.”
Ossie had a plan. He’d spend the much of the coming week and especially the weekend checking out Miss Birtwhistle’s favorite haunts so that he could ensure she’d encounte him ‘accidentally’ several times a week and the familiarity of him would grow on her. Either that or it would intensify her disgust.
By Sunday night Ossie had spent hours stalking Miss Birtwhistle. She went to ballroom dancing lessons twice a week so he was now enrolled there without a partner. Fortunately her gym was mixed so he enrolled and he had to offer to pay double fee to be accepted in her drama training group. He also knew a bar, coffee house and restaurant she frequented, confirmed after memories were activated after he palmed money to bartenders and waitresses.
He was quite good at dancing although untrained, so was confident he’d sneak by her critical appraisal and had been very active in drama at college, taking major roles so was a prime candidate to be paired with Miss Birtwhistle because from what he could see she’d be a natural. He hoped to be placed against her, er opposite her, in a part that called for her to wear a décolleté costume but hopefully he’d not be exposed by having to wear tights.
Ossie left work early on Tuesday to be at the 5:30 dancing class – beginner’s intermediate level. He was disappointed she was not there but decided to carry on. Perhaps she was away talking to a consultant about investing the money the Mayor had forked out to her. The large but nevertheless graceful tutor with nipples that probably would look like tent pegs coupled, er, paired everyone and he was left without a partner. Right, thought, Ossie, the instructor calls out the chief instructress and out waltzes Miss Birtwhistle into my arms.
“Just a moment, the owner of the studio is in doing the accounts, I’ll ask her if she would be kind enough to fill in. You won’t be over-awed will you dear – she’s a former dance champion.”
Ossie shrugged and of course out came Miss Birtwhistle. She did a double take but floated into Ossie’s arms and he stumbled around after her with Miss Birtwhistle pulling him closer against her and speaking to him encouragingly about listening to the beat of the music and not looking at his feet she soon had him whirling around in good timing although he thought she must be thinking she was the beautiful gazelle and he the hyena.
At the end of the session she complimented Ossie on a marked improvement and said she had an hour to finish up but she invited him to join her for a drink and named her favorite bar. Ossie floated back with gazelle like grace to spend another hour at the office.
“I’m sorry about not inviting you to my apartment for a drink but I have no wish to be alone with you until I feel I can trust you,” she said after ordering his ‘Real scotch with a finger of water, no ice’.
It came with ice so she sent it back saying to the waitress, please serve a fresh whisky and room temperature filtered water in a small jug.
“Yes ma’am,” the waitress said dutifully.
Miss Birtwhistle eyed her companion. “Why did you enroll my dance academy?”
“To polish us my dancing as it does assist in fine tuning agility which is the reason why I’ve also joined a gym.”
Ossie told her and she looked at him suspiciously and asked what else had he joined since he’d moved into his apartment.
“Only one other activity that you’d not be remotely interested in.”
“Oh, a Strip Club,” she smiled. “Look, I’m sorry I behaved rather rudely to you in the tower the other morning. I have not seen you there. I was hoping…”
She paused and when he said “Hoping what?” she said, well hoping they could meet occasionally as neighbors. “We seem to have at least two interests in common – dancing and fitness.”
“Yes, but you are appalled that I publish a magazine focused on nipples.”
“Well, it was a bit of a shock. But since then I’ve purchased a copy and read it with interest. At least there was nothing about pussy or ass.”
Ossie didn’t know where to look so he looked at the ceiling.
“I have rather nice nipples, I believe. Perhaps when I get to know you better?”
“Movies and dinner tomorrow evening?” he croaked.
“Is there something wrong with your throat – or have you half-swallowed a grease nipple?”
“Miss Birtwhistle. Please don’t tease me,” Ossie croaked, holding up two fingers and the alert waitress responded with a nod and ordered another round of drinks from the bartender.
“Please call me Helene. I now call myself Helene to completely eliminated being associated with my ex-husband who called me by my first name of Jessie.”
“Oh, sure. Call me Oswald but I prefer Ossie.”
They took their drinks and Helene made good eye contact and said, “Here’s to closer contact Ossie, very much closer contact.”
“What a wonderful thought,” he replied and imagined her chest pushed towards him marginally.”
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