The blazing midsummer heat was absolutely staggering. With some difficulty she hoisted her unfairly full-figured body up from the comfort of the car’s seat cushion out into the sweltering summer sun, squinting and shielding her eyes with one palm. The hot, reflective glare of her pale milkwhite skin glimmered hotly as she trudged across the studio parking lot, desperate for some air conditioning, sunbeams glittering across the voluminous spirals of her heliotrope tail. To make matters worse, her black little sweatshorts were giving her an obnoxious wedgie — they felt a fair bit tighter than they had last week.She sighed. Her plump, regal leg strutted up onto the well-shaded entryway sidewalk, jouncing the full 12 inches of deep, exposed cleavage straining the straps of her shamelessly overstuffed blue tank-top. The taut straps dug painfully into her shoulders, fighting a losing battle to support the fat, overgrown pumpkins of her heavy O-cup chest. Much to her dismay, they had grown even more since her last photoshoot — and the added bulk was rapidly transforming the simple act of walking into a miserable, sweaty, interminable chore. “Excuse me… Miss Alex?” came a sudden male voice from beyond a nearby potted palmtree. “Y-yes? That’s me.” A dapper, balding middle-aged gentleman sidled into view. He seemed a little unsure of himself, fiddling with the hem of his shirtsleeve, periodically glancing down at his phone. “Can I have a m-moment of your time? I… I’m one of your biggest fans…” She groaned. Not this again. “I’m sorry, Sir, but I don’t do photo, video, or autograph sessions in person outside official convention business.” And she turned to go. He hustled after. “Wait! That’s not it!!” She paused reluctantly by the opulent glass paneling of the front door. Huffing and puffing, he halted some six feet away. His eyes roved her figure in a way that made her profoundly uncomfortable. “It’s just that… I’ve seen you… around here before and, well… I was just wondering… if I might be able to…” he choked. “… take you to dinner…?” His fingers tugged at his shirt collar. “… sometime…?” he squeaked. A bead of sweat dripped down her glinting seashell necklace into the dark chasm of her colossal cleavage. She brushed a bounding coif of purple mane recoiling over her shoulder. “Sorry, pal… not interested,” she grunted, reaching forward with one hand to swing open the front door to the studio, and pulled. A blast of cool air conditioning rushed to refresh her weary sunbaked body. Her hips swerved to step inside, swishing her violet tail dismissively. Her admirer’s feet sank forward a pace. “I am prepared, of course – should you accept – to compensate you quite handsomely for your service…” She froze, her hand still clutching the opened door. Glancing back, she threw him a shrewd look, cocking her head to one side, raising one eyebrow. “… how much we talking?” Whipping out a fat brown leather wallet, his smiling tongue named a number. Her fingers dropped the door handle.