(Please turn on Start Game.)

An obese laborer perched on the second story of the construction site ribs one of his buddies with his elbow and nods down towards your direction as you begin to transverse the old New England cobblestone alley below. Cupping his hands in front of his chest with a licentious grin he gives the universal guy-sign to the rest of the neanderthals gathered for lunch that a woman of above average bust size has been spotted and is approaching. Soon the feasting motley horde of over a half-a-dozen blue-collar grunts, without much subtly, stare down at you waiting for the parade to begin.

Exasperated you blow a lock of your blonde hair away from your forehead at this new annoyance. It's bad enough you had to move out of your beloved country brick colonial to be in walking distance of your new job but now the short cut to get to your new apartment has put you on display like a piece of meat before these wolves.

Grumbling that you should have listened to Google and gone the proper long way around you press on, refusing to be intimated. Soon you feel their molesting ravenous glares as you cannot but help hear their less then restrained mummers of puerile excitement.

“Damn, look at the set on her.” One whispers.

“Great legs.” Another adds.

“I can't wait to see the other side.” A third chimes in.

Their ogling is particularly painful tearing at the sore wound that is your current life. It's been over fifteen long years since your lying unfaithful piece of scum ex-husband conned you into getting the surgery. Some how the creep convinced you that a natural C-cup wasn't good enough and like an idiot you caved into his whims. Soon, with bitter clarity, unwanted memories flood in of the creep showing you off to his jerk friends. He can almost hear that grating Boston accent bragging about his “enhanced and improved wife” and his greatest accomplishment of teaching “the little miss” how to “suck and swallow.”

Clenching your fist you fail to keep out the mental images of the numerous times you loving indulged all his juvenile fantasies: Stripping topless for him, letting him maul and kneed the “tits he bought” before dropping to your knees to be instructed on the proper way to give a blow job. It took three months to learn deep throat the pig and another two before you could take every drop. Your “training”, however, only came to an end when you caught the ass-hat in bed with two hookers six months ago. It is maddening that he got the house, the car, and most of the money, thanks to his family connections and that stupid prenup he convinced you to sign back when you were not even twenty.

You're not sure if you want to cry, scream or laugh. At least you reason, trying not to give into the memories and anger, that your mid-thirty-ish body clad in a business blouse and skirt can still excite the male of the species.

All goes silent as you stop in your tracks surprised by a loud chipping sound that suddenly dominates the alleyway. Shocked by the roaring pitch of the strange acoustic echo you look up at your detractors thinking it must have been an strange wolf whistle that had gone wrong, with a sound that was more foreboding then the usual playful flirtatious call.

Curiously, the construction workers look equally surprised, until a large muscular bloke with beautiful onyx skin blurts out with a forced comedic tone, “Wasn't us sweet-thing, just the whippoorwills in these parts.”

“Yeah, chickadee,” another laughs, “don't blame us if the birds think you're hot too, you got one hell of a nest.”

This brings a chorus of laughter as you realize you're now directly perpendicular to your audience. The testosterone fueled gathering begins to slap and bang the wood of the scaffolding approving of their perceived cyclopean whit. The noise and rattling, however, causes an alley cat to dart out from beneath the iron staging and dashes towards you, darting in-between your legs.

Stumbling backward, as one of your heels catches on the rough cornerstones of the ancient alleyway. Barely keep your balance you prevent yourself from toppling over, however, the strap of your quite full, though favorite concourse boarding bag, the blue one with gold trim from Mark & Graham, violently constricts into the center of your chest causing your two breasts to dramatically, and a bit painfully, split apart, greatly accentuated their size.

"A whole flock could nest between those two." One gleams as the others all laugh.

Greatly vexed you glare down at this new obstacle. Strangely, the beast immediately stops and stares up at you with bewitching golden saucer eyes. You cannot place the breed with its long, thin and sleek body, covered with white fur and gray and black spots, almost like a snow leopard. Its erect ears, and elongated face, give a distinctive Egyptian look as it tail slowly waves about in a friendly but mesmerizing way. Its name tag is a queer looking star shaped thing with five non-symmetrical points radiate out in a curved like fashion, as if they are whips, or tentacles, lashing out around an axis. The animal's name is engraved into the silver metal, though you can't fully make it out, maybe "Luther" or "Ulla"?

It glares up at you it gives a loud peculiar mew, as if demanding to be picked up.