A swanky cafe

Dr. Morgan went to a small, upscale cafe nearby. He walked up to the hostess.

The hostess was in her late teens or early twenties. She was tall and lithe with small, but perky breasts and long, shapely legs. Her black knee lenght skirt was smooth as was her white blouse. Her very thick, sleek blonde hair was pinned up neatly on the back of her head, not a single hair out of place. Her makeup was also done tastefully and perfectly. She could have just walked out of a magazine photo shoot she was so perfectly and meticulously dressed and made up.

Dr. Morgan concentrated a bit, and soon the hostess looked a bit confused. She stared over at a table where a man was being served a bowl of gazspacho. She then had a brief fantasy of having the cold tomato soup poured all over her while her hands ran down into her panties and up into her bra. Thanks to Dr. Morgan, she now had a gunge fetish and could only get aroused during foreplay if she was made up very nicely then gunged in all kinds of messy, sloppy foods.

With her back to him, Dr. Morgan took the opportunity to wedge his business card into the perfectly coiffed bun on the back of her head. Her bun was so thick, she didn't notice. She turned back and smiled nervously. She then showed Dr. Morgan to a table. He pushed her into seating him next to a table where two rather attractive thirty something women sat.

He smiled as he watched the hostess walk off, business card sticking up in her bun, and the young woman nervously spying every soup, cream, dressing, and sauce on the tables she passed and getting a bit aroused. In a few weeks, after several gunge sessions, she'd feel compelled to seek professional help for her new fetish that went 180 degrees against her meticulous, finicky nature.

Dr. Morgan looked at the two lovely ladies next to him and smiled.