Saro was a very pretty woman and very fit at the age of 35. She had long hair that she wore in a bun most of the time. Her figure measured at 36-24-36...and she kept fit primarily through walking. Saro loved flowers and she had a wonderful flower garden. She had asked John to help her with some heavy lifting. She had met John through her husband Samir and college mate Jabin. Jabin had mentioned that John was looking for odd jobs and to keep him in mind if she ever needed some help. John had come. “WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? WHERE THE FUCK AM I, LET ME OFF OF HERE, I’LL CALL THE COPS!!!”, screamed Alisha, at the top of her lungs. “Alisha, I’ll need you to lower your voice, if you want me to be nice to you. I don’t like to be mean, so please lower your voice.”, Grant said, in a low monotone, meant to hopefully make her pay attention. “NO, I WILL NOT LOWER MY VOICE, UNTIE ME RIGHT NOW, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!”, Alisha just kept screaming, she was not happy about the events that had transpired,. This fame and skill had not come without cost though. Being a successful woman in academia required a degree of social sacrifice. Dr. Anderson had to develop boundaries between herself and her assistants and colleagues for fear of appearing to "sleep her way to the top". This had given Jessica a reputation for being an ice queen, but she did not care so long as she was successful.Her level of prestige also demanded a higher standard of professionalism. While her team scoured the remote desert. I worked with a girl called Francesca who always made an effort to look attractive, wearing provocative outfits and carefully styled make-up and hair. I was in complete envy of her femininity and contagious sex appeal.One day, out of the blue, I found my mind wandering as I stacked some boxes, accidentally knocking over a shoebox onto the floor. The lid popped off and a pair of size 8 women's ankle strap platform pumps fell out of the box onto the floor.My eyes widened, transfixed on the high.