Sunday, April 3, 2011

Too Easy


Too Easy
I was thrilled when a black Escalade full of football players honked and flashed their brights at me.  “What’s up girl?  Why don’t you roll with us tonight?”  I figured I’d play up the act, so I blew them a kiss; the rose jasmine lip gloss made a sticky imprint on my fingertips.  With great concentration, I crossed the street and stepped onto the sidewalk in front of Village Corner.  I relished the familiar grainy gust of Natty Light as I walked through the heavy glass door. 
I had a strong feeling I’d see someone I knew, but was surprised it happened before I could even make it to the back of the Beer, Beer Everywhere section.  I was about to hang a sharp left into the aisle with the (imported) Fuckin’ Snob 12-packs, when I caught the eye of a couple of stoners that never missed a smokeout at our Viscount apartment last year.  Those guys used to smoke so much that walking to the stairs was like being a pilot navigating through a cumulonimbus weather system. 

Say-bash laughed so hard when they saw me that his hash-colored eyes lost their glassy film.  “Yo! That is off the hook!  Damn, I’m turned on!”    
Knoll took a piece of my thigh high boots between his thumb and his forefinger.  “Damn, you’re not fuckin’ around, are you?  Saybs, you gotta feel this. It’s like sliding your balls along the hood of a 911 GT.  Never did I imagine you’d shed the preppy look for this, homegirl!” 
“You want some candy little boy?  Tell me now because tomorrow there won’t be any left” I said giggling.  Then I turned and bent over - with my ass just brushing Knoll’s leg - pretending to pick up a piece of paper.  I nearly lost my balance as my hand-rolled crimson skirt prevented my fingers from actually reaching the floor.  I stood up and turned, with my hand over my mouth, but simply couldn’t continue the rest of the dirty secretary maneuver.  I laughed so hard that I stepped backward into the Tostitos display, knocking off ten rumbling 1lb chip bags onto the floor.  We picked them all up together, but I spent considerable time pretending to adjust my top so that Say-bash couldn’t see between my charcoal embroidered bra – a loan from Claudine – and my moisty skin. 
“Ooooh,” warned Knoll.  “You’re gonna be a Gold Dust Woman with that Stevie Nicks voice of yours.” 
“Oh, you know it, biatch,” I said, grabbing my padded breasts.
“Why aren’t there more chicks like you?” asked Say-bash.  “No, seriously,” he said, unable to keep a straight face.
“That’s because there just aren’t too many girls as experienced as me,” I replied, licking my finger and touching the tip to my ass.  “Ohhh! That’s so hot! Blow on that, boy!  C’mon, cool that off!  Cool that off!
As we giggle-footed toward the Brewer’s Dozen aisle (like a Baker’s Dozen, but you still only get twelve) three wasted Frat boys stuffed ice down a pledge’s underwear.  They were dressed in the lamest superhero costumes – Hulk’s paint job was starting to oxidize from green to rust.  Just then, the lights were turned down for closing.  One of the sloshed punks said, “Girl, I’ll tap that ass like a Saudi oil field.”  He went on, “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt...after a week!”  This is exactly what I was hoping for.  Thanks to the lights it came so much easier than I had anticipated.  I played coy for another minute or two and then trapped him with my right heel planted at his side. 
“You want it, little boy?  Are you sure you can handle this?  ‘Cuz I might be the one doing the hurting,” I whispered in my raspy, baritone voice.
“Oh, shit, no! Ahhhhh!  Fuckin’ nasty, dude! No, I thought!  I thought….Fuck!”
But with my heels, I towered at 6’3” and regardless, I had a considerable strength advantage owing to my sprinter’s body.
“Come on, bitch, feel them,” I chided him. He was so drunk, I could manipulate him like a wasted sorority slut.  I grabbed his hand and made him feel my breast, which felt like a giant tumor since it was merely a 34 DD bra with a couple of rolled up soccer socks inside.  His friends feigned sickness as they nearly fell to the floor laughing.
“Ooooh, yeah, just like that, Incredible Mulch,” I said groping and grinding him now, keeping his body firmly against mine as I clenched his button-down flannel shirt.  To ensure Knoll and Say-bash made this the biggest story on all of campus, I grabbed his collar and pushed him back against the fogged glass door.  I licked my white blossom syrup lips, pulled out my camera from my sock wad, pressed down on the tiny capture button, and said with my best James Earl Jones, “Happy mutha’ fuckin’ Hall-o-ween, bitch!
“Who are you, Incredible Mulch?”
Knoll yelled out as if on que, “Oh Snap!  Whatchu gonna do when these 24-inch pythons get ahold of you?”
Unable to return serve, Mulch just threatened, “I got a whole house full of brothers can are gonna run wild on your ass if you guys don’t shut the fuck up.”
“Oh, yes, baby, bring those hot brothers of yours to my pad,” I said, feeling myself up.  Then in my dirtiest whisper I said, “Bring them right now.” 
“Fuck you guys,” said the alpha male as he pushed Say-bash aside, creating an exit for he and his loyal followers.
Just then, the lights were turned down for closing.  One of the sloshed punks said, “Girl, I’ll tap that ass like a Saudi oil field.”  He went on, “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt...after a week.”  And this was, exactly what I was craving.  It actually came so much easier than I had anticipated.  I played coy for another minute or two and then trapped him with my right heel planted at his side. 
“You want it, little boy?  Are you sure you can handle this?  ‘Cuz I might be the one doing the hurting,” I whispered in my raspy, bass voice. 
“Oh, Oh my God! Shit, no! Ahhhhh!  Fuckin’ nasty, dude! No, I thought!  I thought….Fuck!”
But with my heels, I towered at 6’3” and regardless, I had a considerable strength advantage owing to my sprinter’s build.
“Come on, bitch, feel them,” I chided him. He was so drunk, I could manipulate him like a quarterback with a concussion.  I took his hand and made him feel my breast, which felt like a giant tumor since it was merely a 34 DD bra with rolled up socks inside.  His friends feigned sickness as they nearly fell to the floor laughing.
“Ooooh, yeah, just like that Captain America,” I said groping and grinding him now, keeping his body firmly against mine as I clenched his button-down flannel shirt.  For dramatic effect (and to ensure Knoll and Say-bash made this the biggest story on all of campus) I grabbed his collar and held him back against the fogged glass door.  I licked my blossomy lips, pulled out my camera from my bra, pressed down on the tiny capture button, and said “Happy mutha’ fuckin’ Hall-o-ween, bitch!























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