It was her yellow-patterned dress drawn up high on her thighs, her infectious smile, and her no-brassiere-here breasts that brought the word HoneyBomb to my mind. An explosion of golden sweetness; her voluptuous figure could never be constrained in a couple of yards of thin fabric no matter how she tried.

HoneyBomb.

I knew I was in the most pleasant trouble any man could possibly imagine. Good trouble. The kind a man remembers for the rest of his life.

HoneyBomb smiled. She liked the look of me. I could tell.

"Are you a dick?" she purred.

"I prefer private eye."

HoneyBomb checked my zippered fly and then looked up into my eyes. With the slightest of movement, she swiveled her hips and spread her knees just enough to give me a peek up the entire length of her long thighs.

"I prefer private dicks who are responsive to me. Are you responsive to me, Mister mystery man?"

"Longfellow, John Longfellow."

I wondered what her natural hair color was. I took a long look at the exposed parts of her. She was bare. Beautiful… but bare.

HoneyBomb smiled at me and wet her glossy red lips with her tongue.

"Really? It's Longfellow? How cute."

I dress on the right side. I’m sure HoneyBomb could see a slight rise in my trouser fabric. I was responding just fine.

"Are you Mrs. Hancock?"

"I can be, of course... But I prefer Jules."

Mrs. Hancock widened her knees slightly more before closing them slowly in my direction.

"How can I help you, Long John?"

I rolled my eyes.

Good Trouble was just ahead.