My princess had obviously forgotten that I know all her ticklish spots.We spent the afternoon cleaning up the place—at least as much as it required.... Beth had inherited the "clean" gene from her mother and enough of her habits had rubbed off on me that keeping the place clean was more of an ongoing thing, not a panicked reaction when company was due.About five we decided to take a break and grab some food."So what elegant place are you taking me dining tonight?" Beth asked."I could take you out. A husband and wife, judging by the rings on their fingers. He sat closest to me, a tallish, fit gentleman wearing jeans and a casual blazer over a yellow oxford shirt. He had short brown hair and a day or two’s worth of stubble. He smiled at me kindly, revealing extensive laugh lines and crows feet as his face lit up. Handsome, but not necessarily my type.I glanced at his wife, however, and found myself catching my breath. She was short—about my height, but it was hard to gauge exactly. No ... they should be runway models, with faces and figures like that! But women with these looks could be making millionaire salaries at the agencies in New York, or Paris. What would such women be doing in Po-dunk central?And their boobs; that especially grated with Celeste; so full and firm and jiggly and ripe ... the total opposite of her own, flat-as-a-board non-endowments. Maybe it was petty of her; but she didn't think she could EVER be friends with a chesty girl. Some of them had. "You ready, Paul?" Paul looked around. It was Andrew Smithson,Australia's 5000 metre champion. Paul knew who Smithson was, but hadnever spoken to him, as Paul was nowhere near the standard to have everraced against him. But somehow, in this virtual reality, the Australianchampion knew who Paul was."Almost!" said Paul. He was surprised at how real this all felt.The bathroom was just there, so he went and had a quick look at himselfin the mirror. His face was the same, but his body looked much.