“Great”, she said, “Come on over. We’ll see you in a few minutes.”I raced over to their house. I wanted to get paid now in case they figured anything out later I could avoid them. I was also feeling aroused as I walked up to the door. Mrs. Banks answered the door and I knew I was going to have a hard time playing it cool as I had planned. She was wearing a blue bikini top and one of those gauzey sheer wrap things around her waist. The top was not too scandalous, but, having watched those breasts all week, it was torturous to see them on display like that.“Joey!” she said with an enthusiastic smile, “It is so god to see you.”“You too, Mrs. Banks.” I kind of mumbled.“Oh, stop. Please call me Heather,” she replied, “Come on in.”She held the door open for me and I slid by her, coming tantalizingly close, as I entered the house.“Please excuse my get up” she indicated her attire, “I’ve been in a bathing suit all week and I haven’t the heart to put on anything else, just yet. It’s a shame to. Yes, Physics. You remember, of course, that heat rises? Well, odors don’t rise, as a rule, they sink like a stone and spread like lava, and I assume garlic simmering in white wine and butter has a specific gravity somewhat heavier than plutonium. Quail turds in a tartly amusing glaze of delicately expressed panty-liners with pommes et raw sewage? Nope, that’s heavy too, sinks like a real big stone. And the point I’m trying to make here is…? Well, the French place I was so innocently close to cooked all night long, and everything coming out of that kitchen smelled divine. Really great, as a matter of fact, and trust me on this. But, ah, physics! All those heavenly smells, all that garlic and wine and butter — and all so delicate and rich and of so immensely heavy — was destined to fall. Fall into whatever lay below. Which in the instant case was right into my boat. And not to labor a point here, but the odors sank right onto my bunk in the forward cabin. And even more directly to the.
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