My high heels clicked on the curb, my hips swayed, and I was still pretty stoned. The air was heavy with the smell of gasoline, and the sun was a pale impression behind yellow clouds. A car passed me by and honked, the guy at the wheel grinning appreciatively at my bouncing tits. Or maybe at my rocking ass. I flipped him the bird anyway.
There were a guy and a girl behind the counter.
I walked along the isles, filling my basket.
Crisps, orange juice, two six-packs of beer, two large packs of king-size Mars bars. Sliced bread. I stood by one of the benches, weighing a thick salami, and caught the guy at the counter eyeing me. I ran my fingers up and down the length of the thick sausage, holding his gaze.
He was in his late twenties, with long hair and a tattoo peeking from his collar. I checked the newsstand. Scandal rags, tats and abs and fashion mags, some cheap smut.
I placed the basket in front of him.
He started adding up, the girl by his side putting the stuff in a brown paper bag. He lifted the salami.
“Isn’t this too big for you?” he leered.
I shrugged, my tits dancing in my dress. “I like them long and thick.”
His leer widened. “Anything else?” he asked.
“A carton of Marlboro Reds and one of Virginia Slims. And a pack of lighters.”
He added the cigarettes and the lighters to the bag.
He was staring at my cleavage. “Anything else I can give you?”
And I thought, why not?
#
We had a quick one in the back, standing against the wall between a pile of boxes of canned beans and a tower of Pepsi bottles.
He pushed me against the concrete, one hand grabbing my ass, the other fondling my tits. His pants down around his ankles, he hefted me up. I ripped the condom open and quickly stretched it over his erection. He nuzzled my neck. I took him all in with a happy groan, locking my heels behind his back, my thighs gripping his waist.
He was thick and hard, and long enough to make the ride fun. It was fast and rough, my arms stretched up above my head as he pounded inside me with rhythmic grunts, my snatch holding him hungrily.
We came together with a long, deep moan, and I laid my head on his shoulder, smelling the soap of his shirt, his sweat. I slowly climbed off him, and patted my pockets in search of a cigarette.
With a final squeeze on my butt, he dropped the spent condom. He buckled up his pants and was gone.
I pulled up the neck of my purple dress and sat on the bean cans and pumped on the cigarette. I wondered if he would give me a discount.
I heard steps behind me.
I chuckled. “Back for seconds?”
The counter girl sat by my side. She was a redhead, perky, with a mole on her chin. She lit up a fat joint and took a deep toke.
“Now it’s my turn,” she said, passing the spliff to me. The tag on her blouse said “Nina”.
I crushed my half-smoked cigarette on the floor, and sucked on the joint. The pot made me feel mellow. The girl fondled my tits, gently. I pushed a hand inside her blouse. Her lips close to mine, we blew smoke in each other face, breathing it in.
Why not, I thought?
I laid her back on a large box and pushed her knees apart. Nina giggled and took another drag on the joint. I picked it from her fingers and filled my lungs. I pushed her skirt up. She was not wearing panties, and sported a nice Brazilian. Good girl.
I blew smoke over her shaved fanny, and followed by dipping into her, my tongue exploring the folds of her cunt.
She sighed, and placed her calves on my shoulders.
I lapped swiftly at her sweet cunt, my hands running along her thighs. Nina rocked her hips, arched her back and gasped.
I increased my speed, pushing deeper inside her.
#
Back home, my mother was sleeping on the couch, snoring softly, one arm folded against her forehead, her other hand tucked inside her culottes. There was a porn DVD running on the TV.
I turned the TV off, stocked the refrigerator.
My head felt light.
I went back to my room, and replaced the crumpled, stained purple dress with a large red football jersey. It came down to my thighs, enough to cover my cunt, the number 69 stamped on the front and the back.
I studied myself in the mirror. My huge tits pushed against the fabric, the pieced nipples bumping it. A wicked light in my red eyes, I smiled at myself, and pulled a strand of curly hair, wrapping it around my finger.
I liked what I was seeing. A lot.
My other life, the one with the nine-to-five job and the dull evenings, the boring apartment and my mother doing crosswords, felt like a distant, boring dream.
I lit a cigarette.
I thought about the old chap at the fair, now a dim, dreamlike memory.
“Have you ever wondered what your other selves are doing in all those infinite universes created by you, by your choices?”
Yes, now I did. I wondered briefly at the choices that had created this reality.
I caressed the curve of my fake tit. I was a total slut, an oversexed bisexual minx, and I loved it. I liked sex. I did drugs. I had no morals to speak of. I was seriously considering taking up whoring. My mother approved and supported all that, and shared most of my preferences and my addictions. My best friend was a hooker.
I laughed out loud, blowing smoke against the mirror.
Fuck, I loved being me.
#
Juliet barged in while we were checking the Chinese take away menu. She was wrapped in a worn bathrobe, slippers with fluffy pom poms on her feet, her hair and make-up in a mess. She sat by my side on the sofa with a sigh, and she picked up my cigarettes from the coffee table.
“Long day?” my mother asked, lighting her up.
Juliet snorted. “Boring. But profitable.”
She squeezed my tit through the jersey. “Sixty-nine,” she leered, smoke flowing through her nostrils. “My favorite number.”
“We were ordering Chinese,” I said. “You with us?”
She shrugged. “Why not?”
She picked the menu from my fingers and started scanning the columns.
My mother excused herself and swiftly tiptoed to her room.
Me and Juliet traded a glance.
“C’mon,” she said, smirking. “Again?”
I laid back and blew out a plume of smoke. “It’s always cougar hunting season in this house,” I chuckled.
Juliet was phoning our order when Theresa came back. She had replaced her blue and red kimono with a black and gold one. She had also changed her underwear, opting for a pair of high-waisted black lace panties. Her fake tits flew unhindered, a string of pearls cascaded down her cleavage. She had re-applied her make-up, and slipped a black comb in her pink hair.
She gave us a hard stare as she sat down on her chair. She wrapped the silk kimono around herself and lit one of her white cigarettes.
“Well?” she asked. She was surrounded by a cloud of cheap, sweet perfume.
“Ten minutes,” I said, grinning.
Juliet leaned closer. “What if it’s a girl, like two weeks ago?”
My mother snorted, letting out a mouthful of smoke. “In that case,” she replied, piqued, “I guess one of you dykes will be happy to do her.”
#
But it was a guy.
He was rather surprised when a pink-haired woman of sixty opened the door and flashed her tits at him, blowing smoke in his face, but he recovered fast, a leer replacing his shocked expression.
While we girls spread the food boxes on the coffee table, my mother did her usual play about tipping him, her long-nailed fingers toying with her pearls. Soon he was leaning against the frame of the door, a beatific smile on his ruddy face, and Theresa was down on her knees, sucking his cock with enthusiasm.
Her long lacquered nails squeezed his balls while her pink head bobbed up and down, leaving a stain of lipstick, making a liquid, squishy sound. She was good, deep-throating the kid’s tool with gusto.
He came with a short yelp.
My mother sat back on her heels and threw back her head, swallowing his load. Then she cleaned her lips on the back of her wrist, stood and pushed him out, his trousers still undone. He gasped a protest, but the old bitch was over with him, and the door was shut.
She came to sit by us, a satisfied smile on her collagen lips.
I handed her a lit cigarette as she picked up a won-tun box and a pair of chopsticks.
“Does Chinese taste better after a blow-job?” Juliet teased her.
My mother snorted. “You should try for yourself.”
“Hmmm, maybe next time.”
“Take a number, you bitch,” I laughed.
Juliet pouted deliciously. “C’mon, Em, you already did the girl two weeks back!”
“I need to practice if we are to start working together.”
My mother turned and stared at me, munching on a prawn.
“Is that a problem?” I asked.
“No, silly!” She laughed. “I just thought you already had all the practice you need!”
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