My first job after college was as a proofreader at a large corporate law firm in Philadelphia.

I worked the evening shift, which was considerably laid-back compared to the 9-5 shift. One of the secretaries at the firm was a forty-something aspiring opera singer named Rosalind. Though I was in my late twenties, there was something about her I couldn’t shake off.

Rosalind was from Virginia and spoke with a honeyed Southern accent. She was a curvy, fleshy blonde who always wore long, tight skirts with low-cut blouses in loud patterns. She strutted the halls of the office swaying her big round ass at the lawyers and drumming her manicured nails on every tabletop. When work was slow, she would practice her operatic breathing exercises. She would sit up straight, purse her lips, and slowly exhale, her big tits... Read More