Message-ID: <53734asstr$1146323405@assm.asstr.org>
From: PleaseCain@aol.com
Subject: {ASSM} [deirdre Fest] Type by PleaseCain (1 of 2) (ff humil -- deirdre style)
Lines: 850
Date: Sat, 29 Apr 2006 11:10:05 -0400
Path: assm.asstr.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


A tribute to a great writer, DEIRDRE, who penned scores of queer, suspenseful 
and beautiful stories, and in 1995 vanished, leaving inspired dozens of 
writers like me: members.aol.com/deirARCHIVof

MATURE MATERIAL, NOT FOR MINORS.

Copyright 2006 pleasecain@aol.com.


Type (part 1 of 2)
by PleaseCain@aol.com

"Come on, Audra, out with it!  When was the last time Vaughn spanked you?"

"Dee Dee!"  The way she talked!

Dee Dee laughed at my discomfort.  "Oh stop.  I know how you're wired."

"Please!"  I looked my old college roommate in the eye.  She really knew how 
to drop a doosey into the conversation!  She always was wilder than me.  But 
the years she and her husband spent overseas seemed to have made her more so.  
Still, it was fun to have coffee mornings and veer upon such . . . topics.

"You know, Scott does that to me."

I tried to act nonchalant, but my breath caught.  I couldn't *help* it.  I 
fumbled with my spoon.

"You're such a silly girl."  Dee Dee had that mischievous twinkle in her eye. 
 She was clearly enjoying herself.  We are like sisters, but I simply cannot 
deal with her when she carries on like this.  "Do you remember that leather 
vaquero belt you brought him back from Argentina?"

"Of course."  My voice brightened with relief now that the conversation had 
moved to something saner.  "Tell me he still uses it."

"He does," she said, "to strap me to the coat hook and whip my bottom."

I averted my eyes.

"Still burns."  She shifted for effect, such a smartie.  She knew what she 
was doing!  "But that's not why I came.  It was the way he talked."

"I'm sure I don't want to hear any of your obscenities."

Dee Dee's tone was even.  "While he did it, we talked about how Vaughn must 
whip you."

I turned from my chair to the countertop.  "More melba toast with jam?"  I 
had to concentrate to stop my chest heaving.

I heard her chair scraping the linoleum.  "Sweetie, I want you to come with 
me to a candle party Tuesday."  Dee Dee's voice grew nearer.  "It will be sort 
of high-end, so we need new outfits.  Should be fun."

"OK."

She hugged me from behind, resting her cheek on my shoulder.  It really was 
very sweet.

Walking away, she snickered, "More Melba toast with jam."  

The front door clicked shut, and I was left alone in the quiet.  The 
jam-tinged knife clattered to the countertop.  Ooh, that girl!  I never know what to 
make of her.

I stood there a while, replaying bits of conversation.  I glanced at the 
stove clock.  The kids would still be a couple hours.

I wiped up the crumbs and put things away.  

Then I went upstairs to type.  I was *so* wet.


 * * *

On Thursday, Dee Dee sat tooting her horn in the driveway.  

Shave-and-a-haircut, two-bits.

In the Mustard Jar, her crazy yellow VW she had imported from Brazil, where 
they still make them.  

Shave-and-a-haircut, two-bits!

I tiptoed to the car, holding my ears.  I was only goofing, but I'm sure the 
neighbors didn't want to hear that pipsqueaky horn.

"Fuck 'em," she said over her shoulder, pulling out of the drive.  We laughed 
all the way down the street.

Dee Dee sure livened things up again.

We lunched at a new outdoor bistro, very smart, where I enjoyed an antipasto 
salad.  The red wine was a little pricey, but after a couple glasses I didn't 
care.  It felt positively indulgent: the full rich flavor swirling in my head, 
the sunshine on my shoulders, the decadent molten chocolate cake, and Dee 
Dee's typical clowning. 

After a good laugh, she leaned back in the sun.  "You ought to write."  She 
shaded her eyes.  Suddenly she was serious.  "In college you wrote wonderful 
stories."

The offhand suggestion about panicked me inside.  I shook my head.  

"Why not?" she said.

"Because . . ." I was thinking fast, "I'd rather have another glass."

Now I had caught her off-guard.  She howled and poured the bottle.

We had not a care in the world as we piled into the Mustard Jar an hour later 
for some serious shopping.

We knew a boutique showing bright summer fashions.

"Hey, where are you going?" I said as Dee Dee walked past the cute lime-green 
top I'd had my eye on.  I clucked and replaced the hanger on the rack.

We wended through the store.  She was headed for swimwear!

She held up a combo, "Ha?" cocking her hip. 

"What are you doing?"  I shook my hands.  "This is a candle party."

"We need something cute to wear.  What do you think?"

"Well, I'm not prepared for this type of shopping."  Then I saw what was in 
her hands.  

I thought it was only a one-piece.  And it was, but the middle was cut out.  
There was only a diagonal strip on the side.  And a tiger print.  I mean, she 
had the bod, but . . . Dee Dee!

Feeding off my shock, she modeled it against her body, snapping her fingers 
like the Puerto Rican girls on Geraldo.

"Gonna live a little.  Uh-huh."

Now she was acting like *that,* where you don't know whether to laugh or 
clops her one.  I went back and forth folding my arms and holding them to my hips, 
watching her carry on.

"What are you gawking at?" she said.  "Pick something so we can go try."

"What?  No."

"Ach!"  She looked and pulled something down, stuffing it in my arms.

"What!"  She was really something.  It was a bright yellow bikini.  I shrunk 
as if it was electric.

Did she really think I could wear this?  I was flattered, I guess.  Her 
confidence in me.

"Really?"

"Come on.  Gonna live a little."

"Oh.  Hold on."  

I looked, flipping, flipping, flipping through the rack.  There, a brown 
tankini.  

I snatched it as she dragged me to the changing rooms.

Dee Dee acted like a kid on Christmas.  She was in that tiger print in 
nothing flat.

I'll say this, I can't imagine many people getting away with that suit, but 
she really pulled it off.  Dee Dee always did have the right curves.  Her tummy 
and legs looked great, and her breasts, exposed and already tan . . . well, 
they were mouthwatering.  And I don't even think that way!

"Ha?  Ha?"  She preened, bouncing comically on her toes.

I giggled.  Silly.

"They're . . . you're beautiful."

"Why, thank you."  She flashed a sweet smile.  "Now you, you."

I twisted my face, and reached for the tankini.

She seized the hanger at the same time.  "Ah-ah."  She nodded toward the 
string bikini hanging on the door.

"But it doesn't match my hair!"

"Then dye it."  She sighed.  "You've been wearing it like that ever since 
college."

Unconsciously I patted my hair.  I never thought.

"But it's so stringy," I said.

"That's why I want you to cut it."

"I'm talking about the bikini."

"I'm not letting go."  She got down the string bikini and draped it on my 
shoulder.  "Go on."

I groaned, but it was like arguing with a wall.  I slipped on the string 
bikini and turned.

"Oh.  Hm," she said.

"That's all you're going to say?"

"All right, try the other one."

I didn't need to be told twice.  In no time, I was in the tankini.

"Oh-no-no," she said, "you've got to change back."

"What!"

"That's just not working.  Right away."

Rolling my eyes, I changed again.  This needed to be over with.

"There.  Are you happy?"

"Not quite."  Dee Dee studied my bosoms, tapping her chin.  She peeled out 
the door.  "Hold tight."

"Hey!"

The woman could drive you to distraction.

I looked at my profile.  I could do this, I decided.  Get back to those 
exercises I used to do in college.  I gripped my palms and pressed, watching my 
chest muscles flex.

The door sprang open.  It was Dee Dee, with a sales lady!

"You see?" Dee Dee said.

"That's entirely wrong," the sales lady pronounced.  She handed me the 
tankini.  "Why can't you stick to something your own size?"

"But--"

They held out their hands, waiting.

I changed to the tankini.

"That's sort of pitiful," the sales lady said to Dee Dee.

"That's what I was telling you," Dee Dee replied.

"There are tricks . . ."  The sales lady reached in my top and twisted my 
nipples.  "There."

"No."

"No.  The top's got to go."

"Take off the top."

I groaned, but the sales lady looked at her watch.  I removed the brown top.  


Dee Dee held the yellow one up to me. 

Then the brown.

Then the yellow.  Back and forth.

"Hm."

"Hm."

"It's a pickle."  The sales lady tapped her foot.  

Inspired, she ducked outside.  She ushered a pair of women into the crowded 
room. 

"What do you think of that?" the sales lady asked, hefting my bust like it 
was a ham.  "Tell us the truth."

"What are we looking at?" an old woman said.

The other, in her early 40s, shouted, "The chest, Mother, the chest."

The old woman shrugged in confusion.

"In this entire store, is there no other suit for that?" the daughter said.  
"That condition?"

Dee Dee gave the women my clothes to hold, and passed me the string bikini 
once more.  The sales lady snapped her fingers to step it up.

The sales lady said, "That's where we're at."

The daughter cocked her head.  "For heavens sake."

"What kind of self-respecting woman goes around like that?" the old woman 
croaked.  "You can do something for that nowadays.  Show some pride."

"Mother, must you embarrass me!"  She turned to Dee Dee and the sales lady.  
"Her mind is going, I'm afraid."

"I'm a believer in nutrition," said the sales lady.  "You can take folic acid 
or niacin.  Even a daily aspirin will increase the blood flow."

I put my foot down.  "For my breasts?  I've never had complaints about them."

The sales lady wrinkled her forehead.  "For her mother."  She rolled her eyes 
with the others. 

I winced.  "Sorry."  Meanwhile I reached for my top in the daughter's hand.

She began daubing her eyes with it.

The sales lady slapped my hand.  "Can't you see she's distraught."

Dee Dee took the sobbing woman in her arms, stroking her shoulder.  She shot 
me a look that said, See!  My top disappeared in their embrace.

The old woman was agitated.  "There's nothing there.  She'll never attract a 
man."

I'd had enough.  "I'm married!"  I thrust out my jaw.

She shrugged.  "Some settle."

"For shame, Mother."  The daughter laid her hand on my forearm.  "Of course 
there is something there.  Even men have breasts."

The sales lady nodded.  "God blessed all creatures with breasts."

"Women are not small," Dee Dee corrected protectively.  "They are petite.  
Petite-petite."

"Right," said the daughter, "how about 'diminutive?'"

"That's a good one," agreed the sales lady.

"There," Dee Dee said.  She clapped to boost the spirits of all present.

The old woman harumphed.  She cleared her throat into my cotton shorts and 
stuffed them in her purse.

Her daughter piped up to preserve comity.  "Mother gets peevish without her 
afternoon tea.  Shall we move to the food court?"

They filed from the room, chirping with excitement.  The door shuddered 
closed.  

I was stranded in only bikini panties.

"Dee Dee?"  On my toes, I called over the transom.  "Hello?"

I was afraid to be discovered like that.  I lay on the floor with my feet 
propped against the door.

In the mirror, the dampness soaked through the yellow fabric. 


 * * *

I opened my eyes to patent leather shoes.

A security guard stood over me, scratching his fleshy head with the brim of 
his hat.  I followed his gaze.

He was looking at my hand buried in my panties.  They all were, the crowd 
bunched behind him.

"Honey, why didn't you call me?" 

It was Dee Dee.  Holding my head in her lap.  "You had us worried sick."

I tried to respond, but only mumbled.

"Would you get them out of here, please?"  Dee Dee shielded me until the 
guard cleared the scene.  "Sit tight, I'll get something to put on."

Dee Dee returned a few minutes later with her arms full.

She had purchased the lime-green top, and a pinkish knee-length floral skirt, 
playful without being garish.  The outfit was so breezy and fun.  A cute pair 
of low-rise sandals that fit perfectly--I don't know how she did it!  Yes, 
and new underwear.

And at the bottom of the pile, the brown tankini!

We hugged, best of friends, and left for home.  It had been a long, strange 
day.

The kids were old enough to be by themselves, but I'd felt uneasy being away 
during afternoon pill time.  But truth be told, I hadn't felt the need for my 
Zoloft lately.  I'd heard that when you stop taking it, you feel fatigued, but 
more than that, your hormones kick in.  Plus the wine.  Plus the dressing 
room . . . well, after checking that everyone was tucked in, I was hunting 
Vaughn.

He wasn't hard to find.  I followed the snoring to his leather easy chair in 
the TV room.

"Vaughn."  I kissed his hand.  Heavy in my hands, overgrowing his wedding 
ring.  I brushed it on my bottom.  "Honey."

Then my jeans were around my knees.  Kneeling, with my face to the floor and 
my hand between my legs.  Waiting.

Outside the window that overlooked the backyard, I spotted them watching me.  
The sales lady, with the old woman and her daughter.  The old woman screwed 
up her lips in disapproval.  Beside them was Dee Dee, who led them there.  How 
could I ever trust her again!

Beneath their gaze, I had to shut my eyes.  Vaughn brought his heavy hand 
down hard and harder.  I dug my face into the carpet so they wouldn't hear my 
cries.

When I opened my eyes again, they were gone.  Vaughn snored.  I rubbed the 
oil on my fingers on my rug-burned cheek.

By the kitchen nightlight, I drank a few glasses of water.

I climbed the stairs to the computer.  I had so much to type.


 * * *

We stood at a heavy oaken door.  Dee Dee pressed the bell and stepped back to 
admire the manor towering overhead.  She squeezed my hand.

A butler answered.  With his dark Middle Eastern features, his shrunken chin 
and down-turned eyes, he appeared unimpressed.

Dee Dee spoke up.  "We're here for the party."

Without a word, he stepped aside.

The ceilings soared into whiteness.  The cavernous rooms were sparsely 
adorned with elegant furniture.  There being no signs of a gathering, we wandered 
onward, shepherded by the butler stalking behind.  We passed through room after 
room, keeping well ahead of his icy presence. 

Finally ahead we could see the first life in this building.  Through an open 
door, we saw people around a pool.  I looked at Dee Dee as we drew near.

They were all women.  Women in their swimsuits, relaxing in chairs along a 
lengthy pool.

These women were obviously rich and snooty.  Wearing jewelry along with 
outrageous suits that on them became dignified, tasteful.  Most, you had to admit, 
were beauties.  With fine features and tight slender figures, top and bottom.  
Each one could have been a model . . . and perhaps were.  How do you get legs 
that long?

The butler left before introductions, so we forged ahead on our own.  We 
stepped outdoors.  A few at a time, the women craned their reptilian necks in our 
direction, before returning to their pithy conversations and lying about or 
whatever such people do.

Even the hostess, Patricia LaMere, some sort of heiress, regarded us with the 
same detached air.  She was surrounded by people, so I got a chance to study 
her.  Good-looking but not beautiful--closer to handsome.  Her hair was pulled 
back tight from a late-30ish face still fair and without blemish, 
highlighting the bone structure and cheekbones of some sort of European aristocrat.  
Large eyes, with long dark lashes, that held you like a spotlight.

Those eyes were never trained on us long enough to be certain she had seen 
us.  Or that she wanted to.

I wasn't going to do anything; this was Dee Dee's baby.  When she finally 
spoke up, they looked at us like we had indeed interrupted.  We excused ourselves 
and retreated.

Now here's the strange part.  As we turned away, a white silk scarf sailed 
over our heads.  We ducked, and it landed at our feet on the concrete patio.  

I turned to LaMere's clutch of hangers-on.  It had obviously come from them.  
Had they thrown it had us?  They weren't looking at us now.  

What was this!

Dee Dee and I exchanged faces.  What should we say?

Before either of us could speak, the butler charged me.  I jumped away, 
startled.  Quick, where was Dee Dee!

He stopped short, however, to scoop up the scarf.  He smoothed it over the 
arm of his suit jacket and entered the house.

We scurried to a spot out of the way, beside a dark-green fica bush abutting 
the patio.  It wasn't a minute later when the butler rushed out again with the 
scarf, and a cocktail on a tray.  He bowed before LaMere's chair and served 
her the drink.  Finally he returned the scarf to the arm of her chair.

Before he could leave, out of the corner of my eye I saw a streak of yellow.  
Another silk scarf, floating to the deck.  

Then a lilac one, and a pink one.

It set the butler scrambling.  When one of these scarves hit the ground, he 
came running!

He barreled past us, his arms laden.  Dee Dee and I shrugged.

"My," she yawned, "I seem to have forgotten my scarf."   

"I suppose we shall have to retrieve our own libations."

"Boo hoo," she said.  We chuckled and followed the butler.

At the indoor bar, we ordered drinks.  Fancy martinis.

We followed in the train of the butler, now hoisting his loaded tray to the 
patio.  We headed to our spot, debuting our new bathing suits.  If I was 
worried about attention, I needn't have.  We knew no one, and no one wanted to know 
us.  We sipped our cocktails and surveyed the tanning bodies arrayed around 
the curve of blue water.  They were impressive.  And oh so far away.

I cleared my throat.  "Some selection of candles."

"Will you relax already?"  Dee Dee rolled her eyes.  "Do you know how hard it 
is to wrangle an invitation here?"

"How did you get an invitation?"  It was LaMere.  She swept her ice-gray eyes 
over my chest and muttered, "Oh dear."  

I . . . I was shocked!

Dee Dee recovered and answered brightly, "Oh, hi Tricia."

"Patricia," said LaMere.

"Patricia," Dee Dee said, "sorry."  She reached to touch the woman's arm, 
then thought better of it.  She proceeded to describe Scott's work with a defense 
contractor and the work-related charity fashion event, staged by LaMere, 
where the women met.  Frankly, it was confusing the way Dee Dee prattled on, but I 
was distracted by something else.

The woman had shifted her gaze away from me (thankfully), but now had it 
trained on my friend.  Yes, it was unmistakable: she was checking out Dee Dee's 
breasts!

The woman was brazen, too.  She did it openly.  It was obvious enough that 
Dee Dee caught on in short order.  She quieted under the woman's lewd 
attentions.

Now the other shoe would drop.  This woman might be used to getting her way, 
but she had never met as spirited a gal as Dee Dee.  She was a tremendous 
athlete in our college days, and stood up for me more than once, especially to 
boys.  I settled in to enjoy the fireworks.

But Dee Dee spoke not a peep about it.  She pulled back her shoulders and 
turned this way and that while they traded small talk.  *My Dee Dee.*

"Excuse me for a minute, would you, while I bid farewell to some guests," 
LaMere said.  "Please don't go."

I saw Dee Dee's trailing eyes.  How she bit the corner of her lip

What was this?  I tugged Dee Dee's hand and gave her *the look.*

"You don't understand, do you?"  Dee Dee's tone was harsh, impatient.

"I'm sorry."  I wanted to leave.  It was uncomfortable, the two of us 
standing apart.  I thought how I could broach it without upsetting her.

"Ah, still here."  LaMere carried three glasses of champagne.  She handed one 
to Dee Dee, and gave me the others.  "Would you?  So warm in here."

That's when LaMere unzipped and slipped out of her cover-up.

I sloshed our glasses.

Dee Dee's eyes were glued to LaMere's chest!  And what a chest it was.  Dee 
Dee's were nice, nicer than mine, but LaMere . . . she was perfect.  Large and 
full and just standing there defying gravity.  It was like there was enough 
for both Dee Dee and me.

But what was I thinking!

Obviously, the same thing that Dee Dee was.  And judging by the way LaMere 
not-so-casually thrust them out there, it was what she was thinking, too.

Her eyes, so powerful, held Dee Dee's face, then dropped to her own chest and 
up again.  She raised her glass, "Down the hatch," and drank it all.

As if hypnotized, Dee Dee finished her champagne in turn.

I got down half of it, swishing it in my mouth as I studied the unfolding 
scene.  Meanwhile, LaMere took Dee Dee's glass and handed them both to me.

"Fill these up, would you?"  Her predator's eyes never left Dee Dee.

I swallowed.  "But I'm not finished with mine."

"Audra."  Dee Dee watched the other woman draw near and brush her arm.  
"Please."

She didn't seem quite sure.  I was torn.  I decided to get it over with and 
hurry back.

When I returned, they were gone.  The butler hustled past with another full 
tray.

"Excuse me, have you seen my friend?  With Ms. LaMere?"

He looked irritated and did not answer.  But his eyes darted back into the 
house.  He hurried off.

I took my cue and went to rescue my dearest friend from a bad situation.

"Dee Dee?"  My voice echoed in the maze of rooms.  "Dee Dee!"

Faint laughter.  From the hallway to my right.  I rushed.

"I'm coming, Dee Dee."

But I wasn't used to those shoes.  Rounding the corner, my sandal skidded on 
the polished floor.  Flailing for balance, I struck a small curio shelf.  A 
heart-shaped Victorian vase of lilies wobbled over my head.

Somehow I caught hold of the piece.  It rested under my chin, spilling dirt 
down my cleavage, to a pile on the floor.  Oh!

The sound of a slamming door snapped me out of my predicament. 

I'd come back for this later.  "Dee Dee, hold on!"  

In the hallway I discovered a series of closed doors.  And eerie silence.

I tiptoed along, trying not to creak the floorboards.  Listening.

There, behind me, the muffled sounds of shuffling and struggle!

"Dee Dee?"  I called through the door.  "I'm here for you."

I thought I heard laughter.

"It's Audra.  Are you OK?  Open up."

I grasped the knob, listening for a cue.  I heard whispering, maybe even 
crying.  I was about to barge in when I distinctly heard it: a moan.  Someone was 
being hurt!

I jiggled the knob.  It was locked.  

I heard it again, another moan.  It was no accident, this noise.  And 
another!

What were they doing in there!
 
"Want me to call 9-1-1?"

Groaning.  Panting.

I knocked and knocked.  "I'll be out here if you need me."

"That's it," it was LaMere's voice, "fuck me."

I knew what they were up to.  They were doing it!  

My knees wobbled and I held the door jamb.  Sweating, hyperventilating, I was 
forced to hear them.

When I could, I wandered away, dazed.

I really could not believe her!  I found my glass and fumed in my nook in the 
bushes.  Should I storm inside and demand we leave?  Should I call a cab?

Or, I thought as I drained my glass, should I stay here and drink this 
bitch's liquor?

One of the rich women passing by handed me her glass.

"Gin and tonic."  Over her shoulder, she added, "Darling."

What?  I looked at my own glass, and my swimsuit.  Clearly I was a guest at 
this party.

Then another one surprised me.  "Make that two," she said.

Now holding three empty glasses, I looked to the butler for assistance.

"Here," he held out a pair of spiked heels and a round cocktail tray, "take 
these."

I was as shocked to hear him speak as by what he said.  "But--"

"Quickly."  His eyes inflated with urgency.

I teetered into the heels while scarves all around the pool drifted to the 
patio.

"Hurry.  Please."  With both hands, the butler swept me on my way.  "They get 
angry waiting." 


 * * *

It was a warm night.  I couldn't sleep.

My mind.  

And that LaMere woman.  She certainly was exotic, but who did she think she 
was, anyway?  If she harmed my friend, well, I would give her a piece of my 
mind.

I wished I could call Dee Dee.  But it was far too late.  In the dark 
kitchen, I sat over a glass of milk, thinking.

I threw on a pair of sweats and hopped in the car.  

There were no cars out front at Dee Dee's--Scott kept the garage in tip-top 
shape to store both vehicles, so there never were cars outside.  I drove on.

The gate to the LaMere estate was closed, so I couldn't check for the Mustard 
Jar.

I ended up pulling in the grocery store lot.

At this hour, there were more stockboys in the aisles than customers.  Their 
clumsy sniggering galumphed above the Muzak.  

The air-conditioning felt clammy.  The fluorescent lights made my skin look 
bruised.  For some reason, I felt in a rush, pushing my cart clattering before 
me.

Cheez-its.  Bread.  Soda.  Water.  Vanilla ice cream.  Salisbury steak 
delite.  Chocolate fudge chunks ice cream.  I rounded the corner into snacks and 
nuts.

My cart shish-clanked into another cart.  I glanced up.

It was LaMere!

Even at this moment of surprise, she wore the same detached expression.  In 
fact, she seemed self-possessed enough to survey the goods in my basket.  That, 
and I was sure of it: she was checking out my tits!

I thought fast, muttering an apology behind my back after I had already 
changed directions.

She shops here?  She shops?  She couldn't have seen my face.  Her eyes were 
occupied elsewhere.  Or at least not recognized me.  It was not my same face 
from the afternoon.

Aisle by aisle, I picked my way to cosmetics.  Once there, I checked my looks 
in the eyelash mirror.  No!  I ducked into cereals and dry goods. 

Moving by the overhead security mirrors, I replaced the Cheez-its, soda and 
chocolate fudge chunks ice cream.  Plus, though I guessed LaMere had probably 
left by then (how much could someone that thin eat?), I decided the mansion-set 
doesn't eat much Salisbury steak.

As I returned the frozen entree, I noticed I'd attracted an entirely 
different sort of troublesome attention.  In the overhead mirror, my eyes met with 
those of a portly man in a mustache and blue windbreaker.  From over in candies, 
he been scrutinizing my sneaky behavior and was speaking into a walkie-talkie 
he held sideways over his mouth.  Security!

I stepped out of his line of sight and scampered to produce.  I knew I 
shouldn't hurry, that I had nothing to hide, but my feet ran on their own.

I needed to put something in my cart, something healthy.  The offerings at 
this hour were meager.  The greens looked exhausted, the citrus hoary.  Then I 
saw the eggplants.

Most of them were none too savory either.  But one there was perfect.  
Slender, sleek, gently curving, a beautiful deep royal purple.  It sat perched at 
the very top of the sloping display.  It wasn't easily reachable, so I leaned 
and stretched.  

Almost had it.

I heard a snicker behind me, and jumped to feel cool fingers around my 
exposed waist.  Thin fingers, with smooth nails.  I knew without turning, it was 
LaMere.

Before I could regain my balance, before I could tell her how much I enjoyed 
the champagne, she peeled down my sweats and underwear.  The cool air tickled 
my sex lips.

Her fingers probed me, my knees buckled apart.  And yes, I was wet.

Nearby, a young mother held her toddler away.  Behind us, the walkie-talkie 
crackled.  The guard called for reinforcements.  I whined at my quandary.

LaMere's fingers played over my pussy.  That someone so gorgeous could also 
be adept seems improbable, even unfair, but she was good, wonderfully good.  
She caressed my button while her other hand pushed me firmly on the display.

Pinned like that, I found myself looking in the eyes of one of the zit-faced 
stockboys, carrying a mop.  His coltish mouth twisted in a smile of shyness 
and awkward joy.  He rubbed his nose on his wrist.

A couple of his co-workers flitted back and forth between my rear and my 
face, snorting with laughter.

"Clean-up on Aisle Nine," blared the loudspeaker, "clean-up on Aisle Nine."

LaMere's fingers had been replaced by the eggplant.  Smooth and dark on my 
pink slickness.

I couldn't help myself.  My back arched.  I moaned and ground back.  I 
clenched my eyes as my cunt unleashed a torrent down my thighs.

"That's the one with no bosoms."

"Mother!"

I fled as soon as my legs were strong enough to bear me.  Sped out of the 
lot.

It wasn't until I parked in the driveway, keys out of the ignition, that I 
regained my breath.  My mind raced.  No way could I sleep.

I stripped off and pulled back the covers.  Vaughn stirred but did not wake.  


I ran my hands over his hairy thighs, and crooked a finger under his sleeping 
penis.  I smelled him, and sucked him inside.

It responded, stretching and pulsing.  Vaughn's little spade head swelled on 
my tongue.  Usually I didn't like doing this, but now I couldn't get enough.  
I sucked him up and down, determined to make him feel special, to feel him in 
my throat.

He was waking!

His fingers found my hair.  Clumsy and endearing.  He hummed nonsense that 
was half-dream and half-speech.

Then he nudged me away.  "No, no, no, honey, thanks."  He fell into slumber.  
I watched his penis follow.

I made for my office and shut the door behind me.  Oh God, I typed.


(Continued in part 2)
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