You wait across the street from the shop until the familiar 28 year old owner opens up her shop, dressed in her ever popular blouse buttoned a tad bit too low. The doors are unlocked and Cathy heads for the restroom to wash up. Seeing your chance, you run across the empty morning road and into the desolate eatery.
From the bathroom, you hear the sound of liquid hitting porcelin and a familiar sigh of relief. Gauging your time at about 3 minutes, you place the headphones on your ears and put the ancient hardware into your pocket, firmly against you designer suit pocket. You step behind the counter into the food preparation area and see a huge pile of fresh dough. Perfect.
You jump up onto the counter and concentrate. Your entire being becomes one with the dough. You coat your thoughts with flour and sugar and milk. The expensize suit gives way to edible proteins and you feel yourself as one with the dough.
And not a moment too soon. As soon as your transformation is complete, Cathy leaves the bathroom and puts on her apron. She then grabs you and tosses you onto a flour covered mat. What happened next was pure bliss.
Cathy began to rub your body, slowly at first, but then gaining momentum. Her arms were toned and strengthened by years of hand kneading, and your flesh went into every nook of her hands and arms. If God could give massages, he would have taken lessons from Cathy. You feel your entire body explode in a sensory overload and your mind collapses into utter joy.
Cathy finishes up with you and takes a short water break. You know soon you could face the oven, where a new donut form would certainly appear. Or you could get more personable with Cathy. Or you could simply leave the shop. The choice is yours.
Wed Oct 25 20:16:51 2000