Fukishura is 5’7” of solid. She’d taken to working out as a kid hangin’ at her mom’s gym. It was fun to play on the rowing machines and stationary bikes. As a teen, she noticed her body changing as puberty and exercise meshed, producing energy that needed direction. That was what hockey was for, and running, lots of running.
As her teen years evaporated and her hormones meshed with her athleticism, she emerged with a body often cherished and sought by other women, who by their early 20s were already starting to lie about their thigh cheese. Jessica’s slow estrogen levels kept her bra size around 34 C and she had no desire for more. She adhered to the seldom coined male phrase of more is less, that it is what a woman does with what she has that is the key to good sexual attraction. Or at least she could fool herself into believing men followed that train of thought.
Today’s attire was an Armani’s Black Nappa Leather Jacket; stand-upcollar with an Emerald Runched Cashmere Tank and Pleated Graphite pinstripewool/spandex pants $1,700. Ouch! But worth every dime. Her kicks were Jimmy Choo’s Marisa Patent Leather Flats in which she had trained and knew her running speed and endurance as well as the shoe’s impact on a human knee. She loved the freedom Jimmy gave her, the supple leather that wrapped around her feet like smooth hands, giving her the desired style and there needed practicality. She figured she had to spend her language bonus on something, why not Armani and Jimmy Choo? Besides, she knew the impression her choice would have at the Ranch. She loved it. Armani screamed “Success”.
Fukishura enters The Ranch’s compound.
She came first to the interior guard station which required clearance by everybody.
They passed her IDcard through a sophisticate ATM scanner and checked her photo against the real thing. She repeated the iris scanner hearing the familiar acceptance chime.They had her empty her pockets, remove the Sig, put its barrel in a discharge tube’s mouth, remove the clip, and remove the chambered shell. Put the Sig, the bullet, the magazine in a tray. Walk through the metal detector. Then, the Wand. A female officer passed the indubitable metal detecting device over every part of her exterior, and then directed Jessica to the body scanner. She passed, and she mused wondering when a cavity search would be added to the entry protocol. But in fact she was supportive of any and all scrutiny to prevent the Ft. Hood Trojan Horse incident occurring at The Ranch.
“Nice Armani Jessica. New?” said Elise,the newest member of the Ranch Guard, fresh from some hopunk mid-western school (Berkeley graduates had to take shots at the “lesser” schools, if just for fun) andService Basic Training.
After the scanning, Jessica showed off her Jimmy Choos by executing a few front kicks, a little twirl on one toe while she put her gear back together. Elise was a bit envious of Jessica’s fashion, as Elise’s duty required a uniform.Wearing a uniform did cut down on the clothing budget even if she looked overweight and unfit with the untailored, baggy butt and 20 pounds of gear.
Passing the other uniformed White House officers and Secret Service agents, Jessica did a little side shuffle/dance, spun around twice as she moved down the hall, giving the boys a taste of her Orange Mind Set, ready to drop, roll and come up Sig ready.Her rep was to toss the formal training when rising from the roll. She knew her antics pissed guys off and she knew she was rubbing their noses in her superior tactics skills, but she always did it anyway, feeding her anger and distain.
After her special greeting to the uniforms, she continued to the duty office and saw Sorento leaning against the door jam shaking his head, but with a huge smile. “Fukishura, you are incorrigible. Do you ever act like a normal female?”
“Good morning to you too boss. Nope, being normal is boring.”
Sorento snorted, “Ya, I guess I should be used to it by now. Campbell is limping around telling everyone he fell off his ladder.”