26

Over the next two weeks my post on the swingers’ message board gained over a hundred new replies, and I had about eighty official RSVPs. Cherise and Chuck wrote a very favorable review of Dreamz as one of the responses to the post. They said it was comfortable and laid back, with a good selection of products and private, very affordable ROOMZ, and they politely mentioned the incredibly accommodating staff without getting into any details.

I kept my We Vibe charged up and left inside me as much as I possibly could. In true Amanda fashion, she set it off with no routine schedule at all. I never knew when it was coming (or, more accurately, when I would be cumming). She had power over my vagina at any time of the day. Her cell phone was like an erogenous Voodoo doll, but causing pleasure instead of pain.

One evening before I went to work, we Skyped with each other and she essentially jerked me off from the other side of the country. She knew exactly what setting to put it on to make me go insane. It’s like she had figured out an exact algorithm to make my pussy climax. She laughed when I orgasmed. She was truly sadistic with her love for toying with my emotions and body, and I was truly masochistic for enjoying it. The other day it went off while my landlord was over trying to show me how to reset the hot water heater. I immediately had to excuse myself, and as a result, he never finished explaining it to me. My shower has unfortunately remained cold.

Amanda never gave me a definite answer on whether she was coming to my event or not. I had no idea how someone could be wishy washy about plans when they are happening in a different state.

On the day of the event, I eagerly awaited a text or call from her saying, I’m on my way, or I’ll be there soon, or Taryn, I love you so much I can’t wait to fuck you in front of a whole bunch of people tonight. But the hours passed by, and my eagerness turned to frustration as I wallowed in the radio silence from my lover. By 5:00 P.M., I decided that enough was enough and I texted her.

“Are you at the airport?” I stared at the message, willing a response to show. Please let a response show soon!

Five minutes later, she replied.

“Yeah, but I’m always at the airport ;)”

She was so frustrating. Every time I felt like I was close to sending some kind of dramatic text with an ultimatum on our relationship and her behavior, she would make a remote orgasm happen and I would forget why I was ever angry in the first place. But not this time, damn it! This was my night, and I wasn’t going to let my anger at Amanda ruin it, and I wouldn’t forgive her for missing it. I was still hopeful she’d show, but if she didn’t, well, I wouldn’t be having any more technologically transmitted orgasms, that’s for sure.

I continued getting ready for the event. Sandy made her signature “punch,” with apple-pie flavored moonshine and some kind of cranberry drink. I researched what foods were the best aphrodisiacs and the internet kept telling me oysters, but there was no way I was going to bring raw fish into Dreamz. Semen is one thing, but raw fish sitting out for a long time had to be against our health code. I settled for a giant bag of heart shaped chocolates I found at CVS, and Sandy brought a giant tub of imitation Cheetos (the generic brand that is just called “cheese puffs”) that she loves so much. I’m not entirely sure what is in Sandy’s diet other than moonshine and cheese puffs.

I put up signs all over the store, hand printed signs I made with markers and scrap paper, posting sales and package deals on toys, lingerie, and ROOMZ. I put Make Me Creamy on the TV. I had actually played it almost every night; I had every last sex position memorized by this point. It reminded me of Amanda and I felt a warm nostalgic comfort when cum spilled out of those vaginas.

I wore a little pastel pink dress; it was tight up top and flowy on the bottom, shaped like a bell. Underneath I wore a pair of black high-cut lace panties. Since I last saw Amanda, I had developed a small collection of bras and panties that served some fashion and not purely just a function. Most importantly, my direct telecommunicator to Amanda was fully charged and sat comfortably inside me, clipped on my inside and outside like a paper clip.

I wasn’t sure what would happen tonight. I didn’t have an itinerary, just free snacks and half-priced dildos, but from the little I’d learned about this culture of sexually advanced couples I think that should suffice. Sandy was putting her fire-engine red lipstick on. About sixty percent of it was on her actual lips.

“So, who is coming in here tonight?” Sandy asked me.

“Oh! Well, hopefully, a bunch of couples who wanna have threesomes and trade partners and stuff,” I said.

“They’re called swingers,” Sandy said. I don’t know why I assumed Sandy didn’t know the proper terminology.

“Yeah, I uh, I just learned that recently!” I said.

“My ex-husband and I used to be in the lifestyle! And when we first opened we had a lot of parties here.”

“Oh really? I had no idea!” I did wonder sometimes what the old Dreamz was like. Knowing this information made me feel slightly less guilty about having sex while on the clock. Even though I didn’t actually feel that guilty in the first place.

“What happened? Why did you stop?” I asked.

“Well, I got divorced. And things got a little complicated, and now my friends from that scene are just too old. You don’t want them coming in here and having sex!” She laughed. I didn’t think about couples who got divorced in the lifestyle. Can you get promoted (or demoted?) from a swinger to a unicorn? Watching your husband have sex with your friends could be fun—watching your ex-husband have sex with your friends would be a different story. But I didn’t need to think about these things right now. Tonight was going to be filled with lots of sex, fun, cheese puffs, and possibly Amanda.

A few hours later, the store began to fill up. I watched as couple after couple came into the store, some beautiful, some really not, some that looked so mismatched I couldn’t picture them having sex if I tried! Then, of course, there were the couples who were like gods on earth: so incredibly hot, each bone perfectly placed, skin gleaming, eyes sparkling in a way that said I’ll be the best fuck you’ve ever had.

I couldn’t believe all of these people were here because of me! In my head, I quickly gave myself a congratulatory pat on the back, then went to mingle and sell things.

It was interesting to overhear the conversations that went on. Different types of couples meandered around the store, scoping each other out, making professional arrangements as to who should have sex with whom, and what their limitations were. Some couples insisted on their “swap” being in the same room. Other preferred to be separated. Some were simply looking for another couple to have oral sex with, without any “below the belt” penetration. One couple asked me if they could have sex somewhere in the store, because they wanted everyone to just watch but they didn’t want anyone else interacting with them; I told them that they could make an announcement and let people watch them on the ROOMZ monitor. They happily agreed and purchased one of the ROOMZ. One couple eagerly awaited for a single man they had prior arrangements with to double penetrate his wife, but he was nowhere to be found. The wife wasn’t pleased. I tried to sell them an extra-large dildo to solve the problem and they seemed moderately insulted. It was their loss, I knew first-hand that it was a truly good dildo.

There was one unfortunate disgruntled couple who came in—everything about their synergy was just off. The man clearly didn’t want to be there; he huffed and puffed the whole time. He was short and scrawny, with dark hair that looked like a Brillo pad on top of his head, swimming inside his jeans and his oversized flannel. His wife was a very tall, blonde woman with large, broad shoulders that made her look like a linebacker.

“My husband can’t give me orgasms anymore. What the fuck do we do about this?” the woman abruptly came up to the counter and asked me.

“Oh! I am so sorry. My name is Taryn! Maybe I can recommend some toys to help you guys out?”

“Hi, I’m Jen,” she shouted. She was a little rough around the edges, and struck me as someone who might have a slight case of Asperger’s. Her husband looked petrified and didn’t speak.

I picked out a few things from around the store that I thought would help. I mean, they still wouldn’t be orgasms her husband was giving her but he could hold the toy while it did the job for her. A Hitachi wand, a vibrating egg, and a rather expensive eight-inch curved metal wand with circles on it that were supposed to hit your G-spot. It was a product that I thought was a little too advanced for the Dreamz customer base but Amanda swore by it and made me order it wholesale. I felt like this big angry woman needed a big solid toy to make her cum. They purchased a room together without attempting to invite anyone else in.

“Good luck!” I shouted to them.

Sandy mingled with everyone—casually grabbing guys’ cocks, and kissing girls on the lips (leaving their faces stained red). She served her punch in plastic cups, and carefully arranged the snacks on paper plates as if it was some kind of charcuterie board (I learned what that was at the “gastropub” I went to with Amanda).

The couples were all starting to split off, some making out in dark corners, some purchasing time in ROOMZ, or buying toys and leaving to partake in sexual excursions elsewhere. There were plenty of people here, even some single men who had come to provide additional services. I did not see any single girls there to be a third party to the couples. I guess unicorns really are rare.

As I was pondering whether my own unicorn standing was a one-time thing or not, my vibrator went off. She kept it at a slow, steady pace where I felt moderately aroused but still in control of my senses. She must have known I was working and didn’t want to distract me too much. Was this a sign that she was coming? As I walked around the party with my pussy buzzing, I felt like I was on a cool kind of drug, one that made you tingly but kept you functional.

Speaking of drugs, Sandy brought out a cardboard box full of little brown bottles with little white caps and placed it on the table. She took one out, unscrewed the cap, and inhaled it.

“If anyone wants one—let me know! Just twenty dollars!” Sandy held up the tiny glass bottle and put it on display like it was some kind of expensive champagne. Then she whiffed about three more.

“What is that?” I said.

“If anyone asks—it’s VCR cleaner.” She winked at me.

“But I’m asking,” I said.

A few of the couples bought these little bottles from her. Was I supposed to ring them up? Was I supposed to give them receipts? Did all these people actually clean their VCRs? Did people actually have VCRs anymore? There was definitely something I was missing here, but I was happily enjoying the vibration in my panties sporadically surprising my G-spot with glee, so I didn’t care that much.

I was leaning against the counter, surveying the party kingdom when Chuck and Cherise came in. They arrived fashionably late and made a grand entrance, like the king and queen of the ball, only this ball was inside of a strip-mall with overhead fluorescent lights. Cherise was in a low-cut, black, tight, shiny catsuit, with large boots. Her hair was delicately wavy and pushed to one side. I could see every single curve on her body, and even though I’d already seen them uncovered, I felt so privileged to witness them again in any circumstance. Chuck wore dark denim and a navy blue polo shirt, like a suave playboy about to sweep all the ladies off their collective feet. Cherise handed him her purse and coat and he held onto them obediently as she strutted around the store, saying hello to everyone. I went over to him.

“Hey there!” I was happy to see him. He was handsome and his love for his wife made him more attractive to me, and it oddly made me want to have sex with him. I never thought I would want to fuck a married man in general, let alone someone whose wife I liked, admired, and had sex with as well. This was a new world I had entered.

“Hello there, my little slut,” he smiled and said to me, and he kissed me on the cheek. Normally my feminist instincts would tell me to punch someone who spoke to me in this manner, but with his tone, the look in his eyes, and the dynamic of our relationship, it came across as incredibly polite.

“I can take the Queen’s coat for you!” I said, and I took the coat and purse from him. We didn’t exactly have a coat check but I was going to create one.

“Thank you,” he said. He patted me on the head like I was a little bunny rabbit. It was subtle and sexy and I liked it.

Sandy turned some music on, but the porn DVD was also still on, so it sounded like a re-mix of radio hits with sexy moans and manly grunts behind it. It actually worked really well and people cheered for the impromptu sexy songs. Meanwhile, several more couples purchased ROOMZ along with handfuls of bottles of what everyone kept calling “VCR cleaner.” I’d come to guess that it was some sort of “sex upper” that maybe wasn’t quite legal in the country. Everyone did seem to really be enjoying it though, so who was I to judge?

The monitor behind the register was now divided into six different screens, from all the different people purchasing ROOMZ. This was something I had never seen before because I had never actually seen more than one room purchased at a time. I was on a penis and vagina sensory overload; I didn’t even know where to look.

In one section of the screen, I saw a big, hairy man with gold chains, slicked back hair, and a penis that was small in comparison with the rest of his body giving some incredibly determined oral sex to two different women. Back and forth he went, being smothered in between two pairs of legs. On the occasion that he came up for air, his face dripped in sweat and pussy juices. A tall, very skinny man with glasses jerked off in the corner. I wonder why he wasn’t part of the action. The big man servicing the women was not very well endowed and he was incredibly hairy but his thirst for eating pussy was fucking hot. I would choose him over the skinny guy on any day. Maybe he was banished to the corner because he was bad at eating pussy? Holy shit. One of the women in the room, I just realized, was the hygienist at the dentist’s office I went to as a kid. I stared at her when she first came in the store, trying to figure out where I knew her from; something about the face she was making while she was getting her clit licked made it all click—that was the very same face she made when she asked me what flavor of fluoride I wanted. (For the record, I always chose bubblegum.)

In another square on the screen were two younger-looking couples, who appeared to be in their early thirties. They had a timer stationed in the middle of the room, something similar to the one my mother used when she used to bake pies. I saw them each stick to their own corners of the room and then the timer would reach a certain point and the girls would switch. Then they switched again, like clockwork, every seven minutes. The two women gazed at each other from across the room as they both got fucked on all fours. Their orgasms were simultaneous. The two men in the room both fucked at the exact same pace and the couples mimicked the same positions. This was a very well-choreographed dance; I wonder how many times they rehearsed it. They were like synchronized swimmers, with penetration.

Unfortunately, in one square was Jen, the large blonde lady and her timid husband, relentlessly trying every toy without success. His penis was limp, and she looked like she was about to cry. I felt like a failure. I bet Amanda would have been able to help them. Where the hell was she?

I had to look away from the sad scene. Luckily, the next section was much hotter: on the monitor, an entrancing game was taking place. I found this corner of debauchery more entertaining than the others. A woman sat in the center of the room with a blindfold on, with four other men and three other females. The woman in the center had her mouth open and her hands tied behind her back. The group decided amongst each other which cock should go in the woman’s mouth. After a few minutes of her licking and sucking a chosen person’s cock, balls, and even taint (on some of them), she had to guess whose cock it was. If she guessed it correctly she received a prize—and that was several minutes of continuous pussy licking from the person of her choice in the group. All three of the women played the game, one after another after another, happily sucking all the mystery cocks, and receiving their oral sex when they deserved it. A score was tallied in the end, and the woman with the most correct amount of cock guesses was rewarded with sex from everyone in the room, including all the men and women, and the women wore strap-ons when the winner’s sex finale ensued.

The winner was a redhead, with short, curly hair, pale skin, lots of freckles, small breasts, and pierced nipples. A merry go round of men and women with cocks strapped to them with hot pink holsters (that were recommended and sold to them by me!), took turns penetrating her. Cocks were in her mouth, cocks were in her pussy, and one man went in her ass. He happened to be the man that she came in with, who I assumed to be her husband/ boyfriend/partner. It makes sense that he got the butt! I loved the way she sucked on the dildos with just as much passion as she did with the real cocks, and I found it so provocative the way the women took turns fucking her in the same exact way the men did. She was literally having sex with more people at one time than I had in my entire life. It was remarkable. Everyone in the room focused on fucking her brains out; she squirted multiple times, I couldn’t hear her but I could see the expressions on her face and the way her body became more and more limp with every earth-shattering orgasm until she could hardly sit up. After her circle of fucking, she laid there, in the middle of the room, covered in sweat and sperm. It was so depraved and filthy, part of me wished I was her and I could just for a moment feel what she was feeling. The other part of me was petrified.

“Oh, nice! A gang bang!” Sandy walked by the monitor and said, while speaking very loudly and not entirely standing up straight. Ah. So that’s what a gang bang was. I had heard the term before. An entire gang, “banging” one person. It made very literal sense.

Sandy stumbled past me, mumbling, “I’ll be right back,” and passed out in our back room, on top of a stack of magazines, boxes of DVDs, and piles of unopened mail. I would have been concerned, but she looked quite comfortable sleeping back there. I grabbed her large gaudy faux fur leopard print coat and put it on top of her.

When I came back, I noticed my favorite couple being subtly frisky in between the store shelves. Cherise sat on a plastic folding chair in the corner of the store, while Chuck was on his knees, putting different pairs of heels on her and massaging her feet. In reality this was a folding chair that was collecting dust in the storage cabinet until tonight, but the poise and presence that Cherise had made it look like a majestic throne. She put on our tallest pair of stilettos, nine inches, black patent leather, and he licked her toes. Chuck created a tall tower of shoeboxes, of all the pairs of heels that Cherise liked. He snapped my attention away from the monitor of moving bodies, and focused it on him.

“I’ll take all of these,” he said.

“Of course!” I answered, as he continued to worship Cherise’s feet.

I began ringing up the various pairs of high heels. Clear ones, pink ones, sparkly red ones, open-toe and close-toe ones, and some were thigh-high boots. I imagined their house having a giant walk-in closet with multiple levels, like the ones seen on the TV show Million Dollar Listing, with a secret speakeasy-style wall that swung around and revealed all her various shoes and dildos and anything else scandalous from the part of her life that I get to see and not everyone else does.

Couples came and went as I rang things up. Someone with a ski mask walked in the door, alone. That was pretty kinky. I liked all the different types of people this event was bringing in. Perhaps he was the guy who was supposed to double penetrate the couple? His mask was made of cotton—perhaps I could get him to swap that out for something leather; I did have some new nifty leather masks in stock.

And then—he pulled out a gun.

“Freeze! Nobody move! Everyone put your hands up!”

I’d never had a gun pointed at me before. I just learned what a gang bang was not even thirty minutes ago. I had so much life left to live. I really didn’t want to die. Did this store have an alarm? Was Sandy going to wake up?! What the hell was I supposed to do?!

I looked at Chuck and Cherise who were rightfully panicking in the corner of the store. I felt horrible. I brought them here. If they died this would be all my fault.

“If I see anyone touch their phone, I’ll blow their fucking head off.”

He locked the door. I held my hands up, trembling.

“Open the register,” he said. Fuck. I was so disappointed in myself. This had to have been the highest grossing night of sales in the entire time I’ve worked here and the money is going to be completely gone. Sandy would be at a loss for all the expensive products that were used. I felt horrible. Oh yeah, I was also afraid to die. For someone who read so much Sylvia Plath and Edgar Alan Poe in college and romanticized death so much, it was a truly sobering feeling now being faced with actual death. There was nothing beautiful or poetic about this; it was humiliating. I wanted to throw up, and I felt like an asshole taking for granted all that time I spent in life being miserable. There were so many beautiful things to live for. Like Amanda. I really didn’t want to die.

I started taking money out of the register and I looked to the right of me where the shopping bags usually were and noticed they were gone.

“I… I don’t have anything to put it in, um, did you bring a bag, do you want me to just hand this to you? I don’t know how this works.”

“What do you mean? You don’t have any bags?!”

“We ran out! This was a busy night! We don’t usually use this many bags but tonight we used a lot of bags!” I was crying.

“Take this!! Take this!” Cherise panicked, holding up her Givenchy bag that was probably worth more than what I make in a year.

“You can take my wallet, my credit cards, and anything in there! Take it! Please—whatever you want,” she cried.

I couldn’t stop crying. I knew they had a child. They even came ahead of time to make sure this place was legit, and now they’re being held up at gunpoint. I noticed, in the monitor, Jen and her disgruntled husband had given up on trying to have an orgasm and they were walking out. Fuck! No—I wish they would just stay in there. Can I signal to them somehow? Everyone in the gang bang room was hanging out naked, smoking cigarettes, which technically wasn’t allowed in there but now was not the time to bring that up.

They walked out of view of the monitor, with all their toys that failed them, and walked into the main room of the store. The robber noticed them and quickly shifted his stance and pointed his gun at them.

“Where the fuck did you come from? Put your hands up!” The husband had a very high-pitched girly scream, and Jen’s was deep and husky. They dropped their stash of toys, their various vibrating wands and dildos fell to the ground, and they put their hands up.

The robber grabbed Cherise’s purse and began looking through it. He threw out all her credit cards and took several hundred dollars in cash. He took out a small bottle of perfume and threw it on the ground. It smashed on the floor and now there was a strong scent of her beautiful grass aroma throughout the store. If we all died, at least it would smell amazing in here. He took her cell phone out of the bag and threw it on the ground. Damn. That was definitely the brand new iPhone, and there was no way AppleCare was going to cover that.

My own cell was sitting right next to the register on silent (usually it sits in my pocket but my fancy dress this evening had none) and I could see an incoming call from Amanda. Fuck! Should I risk my whole life and pick up the phone?

She called several times. This was so infuriating; Amanda finally calls me and I can’t pick up the phone, because it will induce me getting my head blown off.

The robber was still rifling through Cherise’s bag. There was a lot in there and I’m not sure what he was looking for. I think he just enjoyed going through all her precious belongings and destroying them. A very rude payback for her, when she just so graciously offered her own bag for him to put his fucking stolen money into.

I scanned the room. The poor customers were so afraid, but I actually noticed that Jen was literally smiling from ear to ear, and she had such a large head, so this was an incredibly large smile. And then she let out an incredibly out of character girly giggle. The robber pointed the gun directly at her, and literally put it up to her head. Everyone else screamed.

“What the fuck is so funny?!” he screamed. And she let out an incredibly loud, sexy moan.

“Oh my god this is so fucking hot! This is so hot! I’m so wet right now.”

The robber looked incredibly confused, which is an odd adjective to use to describe someone holding a gun.

“Take me, take me!” she screamed. And she pulled her pants down, and bent over, holding on to a shelf full of dildos, and her husband, also apparently aroused by danger, pulled a hard cock out of his pants and started fucking her! Right there in the middle of everything. I could tell she was incredibly wet; he slid right in her, I could hear the moisture. She was moaning, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, Daddy, fuck me,” while the gun was pressed against her head. The robber legitimately looked so uncomfortable. Definitely because of the obvious, but also because a six-foot-tall woman was calling a five-foot-tall man “Daddy.” He started to back away and Jen yelled, “Please put that gun back up to my head!”

“Fucking freak!” he said. However, he did what she asked, pointing the gun back to her head.

“Just finish getting that fucking money together. Come on. I wanna get out of here. I want all of it, and I’m gonna check when you’re done.”

I thought a metal wand with balls at the end that hit your G-spot could fix Jen’s orgasm problems. Clearly, in addition to selling drugs, porn dildos and vibrators, I guess we should look into selling guns because apparently they get some people off. Her husband fucked her so hard, he smacked her ass, he pulled her hair, and the robber was trying to look away but also kindly kept the gun to her head.

“She has a hard time having orgasms—thank you, kind sir, this means a lot!” I said.

“Just shut up and get the money,” he said.

I saw my phone ring again, and then a text message flashed on the screen “I’m outside—why is the door locked?” A fit of rage came over me that this man was getting between me and Amanda! I had to do something. I couldn’t just die without trying to see her, at least one more time. I tried to think of a plan, of anything I could do. Jen was now yelling louder and louder, her husband was calling her a dirty bitch and saying, “Yeah, give me your fucking cunt.”

“Yes, Daddy, yes, yes!” she screamed.

And just then the gang bang room members entered, literally all of them naked, the women still wearing their strap-ons. They saw the sex, and they saw the robber. The curly haired redhead that was covered in dried semen chimed in.

“Fuck yeah, this night is just getting started!” And she grabbed a bottle of VCR cleaner from the snack table and inhaled it right away. The robber pointed the gun at her.

“PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP!”

“All right, all right. I’ll play along, this is hot!”

And then, a moment of power came over me. The thought of Amanda sitting outside trying to find me and unable to get in, the excitement I had from a woman finally having good sex with her husband who couldn’t do that prior to coming in here, my concern for Cherise and Chuck and not wanting them to get hurt all channeled into a giant fit of rage, happiness, power, and adrenaline.

I quickly swooped up the metal G-spot stimulator that wasn’t able to make Jen cum from the ground. It was really dense and heavy, and I threw it at the robber’s head, making direct contact with his skull. I froze.

Everyone instinctively followed me. All the girls quickly removed their strap-on pink penises and threw them at him. Cherise grabbed a nine-inch pair of heels and threw it at him. And the robber went down, collapsing on the ground, his gun flying out of his hand and landing across the room. Cherise quickly picked it up.

I could see him breathing. Thank goodness. He’s an ass, but I didn’t want to kill him. Not tonight. I planned on learning a lot of new things tonight, but murder wasn’t one of them.

“Someone call the cops,” I yelled, “quickly, before he wakes up!”

I ran to the door and unlocked it. Amanda stood in the doorway with her cell phone, looking pissed.

“Amanda!” I let her in, hugged her tightly, and kissed her. “Thank god you’re safe; we’re being held up!”

“What?!”

She barged into the store and saw the weird scene before her: Jen, with cum all over her face looking incredibly happy, Cherise holding the gun, naked sweaty men next to naked girls with holsters on, and a mound of hot-pink dildos on the ground next to a guy who was unconscious.

Seeing Cherise with the gun, Amanda must have assumed she was the assailant because she charged right at her, fists clenched, looking like she was going to really hurt her.

“NO!” I shouted at her. “That’s not the robber—this guy on the floor is. I threw the metal dildo at him and it hit him in the head and he fell down. I swear! I did! This is Cherise and she’s amazing and I had sex with her and her husband!”

They both waved and smiled and somehow went back to looking incredibly proper.

“Really?! Are you lying?”

“About which part?!” I said. “I mean, I’m not lying about any of it.”

“Let’s please get this monster out of the store! Before he wakes up! Please!” Cherise said, soft tears welling in her eyes. She held onto the gun like it was some kind of tea cup. She had no idea what to do with it.

Chuck was talking to the police, giving them all the information.

“Wait, that was actually all real?!” Amanda stared at all of us, not quite knowing where to look. “Are you serious? That wasn’t just a good old-fashioned harpaxophelia role-playing game?”

“What does that mean? Do you not think I’m cool enough to throw a dildo at a guy with a gun and knock him out?”

“It’s a fetish for being burglarized,” Amanda said, “And no, I still don’t believe you at all.” Amanda couldn’t stop laughing.

Cherise was getting really angry and she inadvertently pointed the gun directly at Amanda.

“Please! Get him out of here. Now!”

Amanda shook her head, but grabbed one of the robber’s hands. Big Jen stepped in and grabbed the other and the two of them dragged him across the store out of the door. Amanda locked it.

Finally, Cherise snapped out of her trance of terror.

“Oh, sweet Jesus, did I just point a gun at your girlfriend?” she asked. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s ok, Cherise, she totally deserved it.” My heart was racing.

“Let’s all just stay in this room until the cops get here. Is everyone ok?” Amanda asked.

Everyone in the store started cheering. Half the people in the store were naked.

“Amanda! I love you!” I yelled. I was frantic. “I’m not afraid to say that. I could have just died, and it would have sucked to die and not tell you that I love you.” I was crying. Everyone in the store hugged their significant others, then the other partners they had sex with. Relief and love spread across the room. I looked at Amanda. She looked back at me, right into my eyes.

Amidst the hugging and cries of joy, Sandy appeared, stumbling out of the back room.

“So, sorry honey—I passed out! How long was I asleep for?” Sandy said.

“Sandy—we were robbed!”

“What? Shit. Are you serious? Did you push the alarm? I have good friends at the station who know to come right away when that happens!”

“We have an alarm?” I asked.

“Oh yes, of course we do,” Sandy said. “It’s right here!” She pointed at a small button right next to the register.

“You never fucking told me about the alarm!” “I could have sworn I did!”

“No. You didn’t,” I said. I could feel a cloud of anger building inside me. I was so woefully unprepared for this situation; all this time I could have solved it with the press of a button?!

“Oh well. I’m sorry, hon’. Now you know for next time! Is everyone ok? Did you have to give him all the money?”

“No Sandy, I hit him with a dildo and he’s unconscious outside. All your money is here, though.” I picked up the bag and tossed it to her. She caught it, but stumbled back a bit against its weight. “Sorry, there’s a lot in there.”

“Oh, dear,” Sandy said. She put the bag on the floor and walked over to me, embracing me in a tight hug.

“I knew there was something very special about you when I first hired you,” Sandy said.

Ugh. How could I stay mad at her? She’s trying her best.

“You sure about that?” I laughed. “I think you were just happy I was available and willing to work under the table.”

“No, Taryn. I knew. Old ladies like me have good intuition.”

“More punch, anyone?!” she shouted to everyone in the store, and from behind the counter she lifted up a mason jar filled with her magical, clear liquid and held it in the air. She went over to the table and mixed it with fruit punch. Everyone rejoiced and drank punch. Chuck actually passed on the punch and drank the moonshine straight out of the jar.

I picked up the heavy, metal, G-spot stimulator from the ground and saw there was blood on it.

“Does this make you believe me?” I showed it to Amanda. I felt like a real bad-ass. Seriously.

“No! I still don’t believe you. But I’m glad you’re alive.”

We kissed and kissed and kissed, we couldn’t stop kissing. And this kiss was different than our previous kisses. I didn’t feel vulnerable and helpless like I usually do. I felt like an equal. I had courage, and confidence that I never had before.

“I’m going to call you my girlfriend,” I said to her.

“Oh really?” she replied.

“Yes. And you’re going to call me your girlfriend.

“OH? Am I?” she replied.

“I know you live a very exciting life, and you probably know a lot of attractive, smart people with good jobs, but no one loves you as much as I do. And I know I make you laugh, and I know you must like me a little bit, because, you know what? I looked it up. I scoured the internet and I looked everywhere on the American Airlines website. I know that’s the only airline you fly and there were no flights that had emergency landings in Orlando the night you came to see me two weeks ago.”

“You are so psycho. You’re perfect for me,” she said. “Why don’t you come on the road with me? You can visit some stores with me; you can come to my workshops, and I’ll teach you more about this industry. You just saved the store while your boss was passed out in the back. I think you’re entitled to a paid vacation,” Amanda said.

“I would like that!” I said.

We kissed and sat behind the register and watched Tampa’s horniest inhabitants get drunk. Sandy turned the music up and everyone started dancing. Amanda and I held hands, and watched the remainder of our favorite movie Make Me Creamy, as it played on the TV on the wall. My heart was full, my pussy was vibrating, and the sweet sounds of orgasms were blaring behind me. It was the classic American love story, at least, it was for me.

The End

^________

Go back and discover a different fantasy, Click Here.

^________

27

Everything looked different to me the next time I came into work. The florescent lighting didn’t seem so dim, and the dust on the floor didn’t seem dirty; it was just part of the store’s charm. I was alone in the store, with several hours to go on my shift, and I wasn’t playing Solitaire on my phone to pass the time. I couldn’t stop smiling, which is quite unlike me.

My brief encounter with Billy was on my mind. I actually had a dream about him the night before. We were both dancing in a birch forest wearing flannel shirts, sheer tights, and panties. He chopped down a tree with his big, manly axe, and built a cozy cabin out of the wood. We started kissing and then… my roommate woke me up to ask me to move my car because it was blocking him in the driveway.

I wanted to know more about Billy. I was intrigued by his duality, and I wanted to know so much more about him. He left fairly early on Saturday (early in this store meant about 1:00 A.M.) because he actually worked a night shift as well, driving throughout the night to make produce deliveries to supermarkets throughout the county. I knew he would be back at some point—who else would help him pick out perfect panties?—but that didn’t make it any easier to say goodbye. Before he left, he asked me if he could keep his lingerie here in the store, saying he wasn’t sure where else he could comfortably wear it. Oh yeah, he’d be back. I put it in a paper bag with his name on it and kept it on a shelf, much like the way they keep your clothing stored away if you were checked into a prison. He pecked my cheek and thanked me for a wonderful time as he headed out the door. I watched from the door as he clambered into his truck and sped away into the night.

I was already daydreaming about his return, to both me and his bag-o’-delicates. Perhaps I could find some kind of locker I could leave behind the register that he could have access to at any time. Would that be more beneficial to him as he explored this new part of himself? Actually, I liked the fact that I had to be here for him to access the clothing. We were in this together.

The thought of his next visit also inspired me to organize the lingerie. It certainly needed to be done; it was a mess! There were literally ripped cardboard boxes with things like SIZE XS - THONG scribbled in magic marker on them. I had seen more glamor in the displays at the Salvation Army.

So Sunday night found me dumping out hundreds of skimpy pieces of negligée onto the floor in front of me, waiting to be organized in some fashion. It was fine work for a weekend shift. Plus, the night had turned cold and rainy, as Florida nights randomly do sometimes. I wasn’t anticipating too many customers, so I decided to make my time alone useful.

There was a good selection here. Bras, panties, garters, G-strings, corsets, thigh-highs, full, high-waist stockings, and even some bikinis. There were “roleplaying” costumes like French maid, cop, schoolgirl, and the generic brightly colored spandex thing with a cape—a mashup of all the comic book characters that ever existed—that was simply called “superhero.” Some of it looked like it belonged on your bedroom floor at the end of the night on Valentine’s Day, some looked like it belonged on a go-go dancer, and some looked like it was taken from a Party City store.

I separated everything into different piles: all the lacey stuff went into a pile together, along with anything that seemed frilly enough to be lace (I couldn’t always tell). The items with shiny patterns and the ones with fur, whether fake or real, went into distinct piles of their own. It seemed like it made sense. From the little amount of time I’d spent here, to realize that there was a very different demographic for each of these genres of skimpy clothing, so they shouldn’t be mixed together. I found empty display cases and plastic drawers in the back room, along with a few mannequins. I pulled everything out and blocked the aisles with a giant mess of shelving and headless bodies.

There was something very exciting about the neon spandex panties with extra-long ties on the end. I actually think they were way too bright for me to wear per se (my complexion didn’t really support clothes that make one look like a highlighter), but I found them to be sexually thrilling, like they weren’t underwear, and I couldn’t see them worn underneath anything, so these were for people who wore underwear as a substitute for pants. Jimmy’s friends would definitely wear these, and they would certainly accentuate any small butt. This style of “panty,” if they could even be called that, only came in one size, a mysterious and generic size on the tag that was just O/S—whatever that meant—and they only came in neon colors so I assumed they were only meant for people of a certain generic small size who spent lots of time in dark rooms with black lights. I slipped a pair of pink ones onto the mannequin bottom that I had found. I thought a pop of color in the store would make things more exciting in here. I had some more digging to do before I found a matching top, so for the time being, this pair would remain on a topless torso, molded into a sexy “come hither” pose on a folding chair.

I put all the neon stuff on hangers—it stuck out easily, and drew the eye to that section. If Jimmy’s entourage ever came in here for a unicorn-fairy-orgy at the crack of dawn again, they would now have a much easier time finding what they wanted. If only we had a mailing list, I would let them know, but we didn’t, so we would just have to hope that if I built it, they would come.

The lacey pile was next. All of the items there felt a lot more intimate. I loved the way it was kind of see through, but not really; they were truly panties of mystery. The patterns were soft and textured at the same time, and the garters were such a timeless accessory that so many generations identified as something sexy. I could see some grand duchess eagerly awaiting her lover in the soft red stockings I held in my hand, held up by black, scandalous garters. I couldn’t understand the logic behind why I found something so sexy about something whose sole purpose in life was to hold up a long sock, but what I was starting to learn from my experiences here was that my life needed a lot less logic in it and I should get more in tune with my own instincts. Getting rid of all logic was actually the most logical thing to do, at least when you spend your life interacting with more dildos than you do people.

The lacey lingerie thankfully actually had sizes, though the garments were too dainty to be hung up on hangers. I folded and separated all the panties and garters, and began placing them in the plastic storage drawers. In my mind this was a giant step up from the cardboard boxes; the drawers themselves elicited a kind of sexy vibe: come, open these drawers and see what’s inside. I found a somewhat isolated corner in the store for the drawer to go, so people could look through the selection feeling like they are in their own private boudoir, only… made of plastic.

As I rifled through everything, I kept an eye out for pairs of XXXL lacey panties, stockings, and garters. Anytime I found one, I put it in the bottom drawer with Billy in mind. I smiled and folded everything carefully, I even found myself giggling a tiny bit which was usually something I scorned. I was certainly never a fucking giggler. That was an act reserved for an entirely different breed of female than me—or, it was. Turns out helping Billy get in touch with his feminine side was also helping me get in touch with mine.

This tiny revelation of femininity got me thinking: the closest I ever got to wearing lingerie in my life was occasionally wearing a matching bra and underwear. I had always been so self-conscious about putting anything dainty on my body. Dainty wasn’t for feminists with an education degree. But Billy wore them with such ease, and you could see the heightened confidence surrounding him. Maybe I should also give them a try.

I pulled out a pair of purple lace panties. The small size looked right for me. They were shaped like a V in the back, they were a little bit stretchy, and there was a little bow in the front. It was still pouring rain outside, and there were various flood warnings throughout the area so naturally the store was completely dead. I had never put a garter on myself before, and since it didn’t come with any instruction manual, there was a chance it could take a while.

I got creative, and mixed and matched. I pulled out the purple lace panties, a black lace bra that was not part of the same set as the purple lace panties, and a black garter. I contemplated between the nude stockings and the black stockings: what would look better? Which were more fashionably appropriate to wear to walk around an empty store and possibly take a few photos on my phone that I don’t think I will ever post anywhere? It was an important decision to make.

I grabbed my mix-matched set and went into the bathroom. I slipped off my Converse sneakers and dark denim jeggings. One of my legs was smooth and one was covered in dark, prickly black hairs. I have this terrible habit of stepping into the shower, only shaving one leg, and then stepping out. I don’t even realize that I forgot the other leg until much later. I need to hang up some kind of waterproof checklist to remind myself what to do. Fortunately, the stockings could cover up my mishap. My hairy solo leg wouldn’t get in the way of this victorious moment I was trying to have with myself.

I slipped the lace panties on; this was the easy part. I turned my head as far back as it could go and looked in the mirror. I loved the way that V shape back made my butt look. It gave it this apple shape that I never quite saw it have. I shook my butt back and forth. I felt ridiculous. I attempted to do that twerk thing everyone seems to love doing: my ass went up and down, I bent my knees. I think that’s what you’re supposed to do. Okay, if I’m doing this I’m gonna go all out and do this. I got my phone and put on a hip hop station on Pandora, and I twerked my tiny Jewish, white ass around the bathroom. I smiled, I shook my ass to the music, I leaned against the sink and used it to push my ass out more as I attempted to go a bit faster. I felt kind of sexy. I mean, I wasn’t going to audition to be in a Lil Wayne music video anytime soon, but maybe next time I actually go to a party I might get up and dance instead of silently judge all the people having fun from the corner of the room.

Next, it was time to put on the bra. All the bras I owned were sports bras or these wireless things you slip on that I believe were called “bralettes.” Both these things came in sizes XS to XL; they didn’t have the typical letters and numbers bra sizes were supposed to have. Several years ago, my mother took me to Victoria’s Secret to get my bra size measured, and they told me I was a 34 B. That was quite some time ago; when my freshman 15 turned into a sophomore 20, and later a senior 30, that added some diameter to my breasts. The size 34 C looked more appropriate to me, one size bigger. And I was right: I fastened it on and it fit perfectly. My breasts were cupped into a perfect shape, and looked incredibly grabbable in the mirror; I wanted nothing more than to hold them in my hands, massage them. I was used to my boobs being smooshed together into one tube-like formation with my unflattering bras. The bra cups were made of a translucent black material, and embroidered with tiny flowers. The lace overlapped on top of the cup of the bra and went onto my skin, like a gate guarding forbidden treasure. The smooth, shiny straps on the side highlighted my shoulders. I never thought of my shoulders as anything sexy, but something about the cleavage and the lace and the way my breasts fell into the cups and looked like two perfect buoyant circles also gave my shoulders some new kind of sex appeal I had never seen before.

My brown hair usually lived tied up into a messy ponytail, but this look demanded a free-flowing frame. I took the hair band out of my hair and let it fall down around my neck and shoulders. It was wavy and damp from the rain outside, but it actually kind of looked like I had intentionally styled it this way. I usually part my hair in the middle but this new skimpy outfit called for a new hair part. I used my fingers and pushed more hair over to one side, so some hair covered the corner of my eye, a seductive look.

I put the 1950s version of “Santa Baby” by Eartha Kitt on my phone. It was April, but that didn’t matter. This outfit celebrated sexy retro and it seemed appropriate. I sat on the cold porcelain toilet, and slid on the nude nylons. Their sheer magical material covered all the imperfections in my legs; it was like I slipped into a second skin. I had never put on a pair of thigh-highs, only thick tights that covered up my entire crotch area, and I only wore them when it was cold. I stood up and they fell down. Shit. I pulled them back up again, then I stood up and they fell down again, like in a ’50s sitcom comedic scene. A live studio audience would crack up laughing any second now.

I put the garter around my stomach and moved the back part to the front to fasten it. It seemed more practical than trying to fasten it in the back. I do remember when I first got a bra I would put them on that same way, moving the back to the front, then putting it back into place. Then came the biggest challenge of this entire ensemble, which was figuring out how to attach the garter to the stockings with these black little clasp things. I was so nervous I would rip the stockings by attaching the garter clip to them. I had to push this black plastic button dangling off the bottom of the garter against the metal clasp, then that had to be slid together with such a thin small piece of stocking in between it. I tried slipping it through multiple times but I either had too much stocking bunched up to make it work or not quite enough. This was truly impractical. How did Billy manage to do this with his big, manly hands? Was there some kind of gadget on Amazon Prime that would do this for me? Should I do the front one first or the back one first? Did it matter at all?

I tried multiple times and finally got my entire left stocking all strapped together. It took at least fifteen minutes, and almost all my brain power. Passing my existential philosophy exam was easier for me than putting on a translucent sock. But I did it, and now my ass looked even nicer. It poked out even more. The garter pulling on the stocking to make it tighter gave my ass some extra oomph. Maybe I should start twerking again. Was it about that time? No, no, not yet—I had to get the right side on before I treated myself to a celebratory twerk.

Sadly, my thoughts of ass dances were suddenly interrupted.

“Is anyone here?” I heard a voice yelling. Shit. I quickly slipped my Converse sneakers back on, lacing up only the absolute necessary laces. I walked out of the bathroom in a bra, panties, and a garter only attached to one stocking on my left leg, the stocking on my right leg bunched down to my ankles. Since they were nude stockings it vaguely looked like it was my skin and not a stocking, like I had a minor case of elephantiasis. Coincidentally it happened to be the same leg I didn’t shave. The left side of my body was in pretty bad shape right now, as if I needed some kind of Phantom of the Opera mask but, for my legs.

“Hi! So sorry about that,” I said, attempting to act completely casual.

“Yeah! Nice! This is why I love this place!” He had a very flamboyant voice, and he was incredibly well dressed in a nice, striped sweater and tight blue jeans with stylish and intentional rips in the knees. His outfit was completely drenched from the rain but he didn’t seem at all upset about it. He smiled and then gave me a high five. He must have thought I was having sex in the bathroom! Unfortunately I was just trying to figure out how to put on a stocking, but I wasn’t going to tell my customer that. Let him dream.

He was holding a set of multi-colored cock-rings.

“I just need these and I’ll be out of your hair and you can get back to your fun,” he said. I smiled and rang him up, and he went back into the pouring rain outside without any umbrella, but with rings of various sizes and colors to help maintain his erection longer. I had a real respect and admiration for the customers who came in here and knew exactly what they wanted. And for anyone who ignores a flood warning for the sake of a better erection!

I didn’t see the point in going back to the bathroom. I was already out in the open in lingerie. I just had to get this stocking up and over my one hairy leg. I fussed with the metal clasp and the black silicone ball thing, trying to find just the right amount of slack to put in the middle. I adjusted the straps on the garter. I don’t know why this one was so much more difficult; I thought the second leg would be so much easier! I fastened it together but it didn’t feel secure at all. I was going to have to undo this and start over eventually, but I would see how long it lasted.

And then, I heard the door open. The store was suddenly filled with the sound of heavy rain; a bolt of lightning illuminated the sky. And there, in the metal door frame, stood Billy, dripping wet, but smiling like an idiot.

My heart skipped a beat. My vagina beat twice.

“Hey, you!” I said. I ran from behind the register and went to give him a hug. As soon as I did, though, my stubborn right stocking completely fell down. Billy did a double take and then laughed when he noticed the wardrobe malfunction happening on me.

“What’s going on? You’re wearing a lot less clothes tonight!”

“I always wear this in the rain.” I smiled and he laughed again. I could feel myself blushing. I hoped the red of my cheeks stood out against the black of my wonderful new bra.

“Do you need help over there?” He pointed to my fallen down nude thigh-high.

“Actually, I do! I tried. I’m three quarters of the way there.”

“Sit down. I’ll help you!” he said in his soothing voice. His flannel was dripping wet, creating a small pool of water at his feet.

“Lemme hang this up for you first, so it can dry!” I said. I took his shirt and hung it up in the bathroom. When I came back, Billy was in a white T-shirt, blue jeans, and cowboy boots. A classic all-American man, who could change your oil, fix your plumbing, and fasten your garter belt to your stocking, perfectly.

I grabbed a folding chair and placed it near the register. I sat down, I stretched out my leg on top of him. He caressed my leg, he slowly made his way up to my thigh, and he snapped together my stocking and garter in a matter of milliseconds.

“Thank you,” I said. I was embarrassed. This was my lingerie section, this was my store, and he knew his way around the hardware better than me.

“Is this too fancy for me?” I asked. “Do I look like a little girl playing dress-up?”

“You look like a beautiful WOMAN dressed up!”

The red on my face became deeper.

“Come here, I’ve got something to show you!” I said, and I took his hand and pulled him over to my new and improved lingerie section. Billy’s eyes widened in astonishment.

“I upgraded from paper to plastic,” I shrugged and said, referring to my organized plastic drawers as a vast improvement over the cardboard boxes. I know one was better for the environment but I think even the environment would forgive me for this. Those cardboard boxes had to go.

“Now you can find everything way easier! And so can everyone else.” I displayed my new section like I was Vanna White, but in lingerie, and Converse sneakers.

He smiled and looked at the variety of stockings, a delicious grin spreading over his face. He opened up various drawers and he seemed unsure of what to do with all of the new-found options. He held pairs of lace panties in one hand, stockings of every color in the other, like a child clutching his birthday toys. Suddenly, I had an idea. I opened the bottom drawer with the XL and XXXL lingerie. And thanks to my Dewy Decimal System à la plastic, I easily and conveniently found the same exact bra, panties, and garter that I had on right now. I grabbed them and handed them to him.

“Put this on,” I said. The idea of us both wearing the same set of undergarments excited me. We could explore our femininity together—with his full beard and my one hairy leg, hand in hand—we could exist feeling beautiful underneath the fluorescent lighting.

“Really?” he asked.

“Yeah! Put it on! It will be fun. I think these colors would look nice on you.” The material was a bit stretchy, I was sure it could fit on him. It might take some scissors and safety pins but it could definitely work.

He took the set from me. He massaged the material, admiring the delicate embroidered patterns. Together we picked out a new pair of stockings to go with it. Since his pair in the back had a small run in them we figured it was best to start over with a fresh pair.

“Go ahead, put them on!” I said. He unzipped his jeans and revealed to me he was already wearing his own pair of turquoise lace panties. “But those don’t match mine.” I pouted.

“I don’t know,” he nervously fumbled.

“Come on!” I said. We heard another blast of thunder. The outside world felt incredibly apocalyptic. It gave me a rush.

He took the panty set and began heading toward the bathroom. I stopped him.

“Just change right here! I’ll help you. There’s no one in here… and there’s nothing to be ashamed of, really.”

The store was empty, and I figured anyone who would suffer through extreme weather conditions to come into an adult store would also be tolerant of a man changing into lingerie in the middle of the store. The bathroom was a terrible fitting room, anyway.

“It’ll be fine! If anyone comes in you can hide behind the DVDs,” I said with a wink.

He still seemed unsure. I batted my eyelashes and did my newly learned incredibly amateur twerk to entice him. He laughed, a hearty belly laugh, but I noticed that he didn’t look away. I truly was learning how to become a proper female. I had never used my ass or my eyelashes for any kind of persuasive act before.

“Okay, okay, I’ll change out here.”

He unbuckled his pants and let them fall to the floor around his ankles. His long T-shirt went halfway down his thighs. He slid off his jeans and his boots. He made sure his crotch area was covered with his T-shirt. It was endearing that even while surrounded by blow-up dolls and dildos he was still nervous about showing off his own sexual package. He slipped his turquois panties off, and he rolled them up and put them in the pocket of his blue jeans. He took the purple lace panties and slid them up his hairy legs. The juxtaposition of masculinity and femininity mixed in one was arousing to me. He turned around and faced away from me and adjusted his cock so it would tuck in and fit appropriately inside his new bottoms.

“How do they fit?” I asked.

“They’re great!” he said. I lifted up his shirt and he looked incredibly vulnerable and nervous, but I rubbed his belly and it seemed to soothe his demons. I took the garter and put it around his waist, I stretched it as far as it could go, and it successfully fit on the very last fastening ring in the back. We both cheered.

“Yay, it fits!” I cheered. I never cheer. What the hell has come over me?!

“Take your socks off,” I said. I slid a chair over to him, and he sat down while I took out his new pair of nude thigh-highs. He took one sock off and revealed an unexpected very subtle pastel pink pedicure. His toe nails were short and filed down, and the skin on his feet looked incredibly smooth. I carefully tried putting the stocking over his toes while they were pointed up like an L shape, and then he changed positions and pointed his toes down and arched his feet like a ballerina. I didn’t want to rip them, I remembered how sensitive he got about that last time.

“I read somewhere they would go on more easily like this,” he said. He was indeed correct—the stockings rolled onto his feet and up his legs smoothly with just the slight change of direction. I could see the bottom of his balls sticking out from underneath his purple panties from where I was sitting. I never would have expected the combination of lace and testicles to turn me on, but it did. I slid the stockings up his thighs, as I sat with my knees on the dusty concrete floor, listening to the thunder and rain outside. I wasn’t so sure about the structural integrity of this building; the roof could have blown off at any moment, and we would be flooded. Billy and I would be underwater, swimming down the street in our matching lingerie. The thought of that actually didn’t frighten me.

He stood up, with his long T-shirt still on and the black garter straps dangling down his thighs. His big thigh muscles seemed to have temporarily held up the stockings, since they weren’t falling down like mine did. However, this was no excuse to avoid the task of attaching the thigh-highs to the garter. Like Isaac Newton says, whatever goes up, must come down, unless it’s fastened by a garter.

“Maybe I’ll have an easier time getting these on you,” I said.

He laughed. “I can do it if you want!”

“No, I got it!” I said. I wanted to wear the pants and the panties in whatever kind of fleeting relationship this was. I made the nylons my bitch, shoving them against the tiny clasp that so gracefully fell on his hairy leg, and I didn’t let that little plastic ball escape from me. I felt like there had to be a more efficient way for these to have been made. Could they have been replaced with some kind of button? I guess that wouldn’t work. It would tear the stocking. A buckle? No that wouldn’t work either. An invisible zipper? Maybe? I was surprised that in the entire season marathon of Shark Tank that I watched on Sunday, not one housewife/entrepreneur had any solution to make this any easier.

I concentrated and successfully got the front of the right leg done. I was down on my knees, and looking up at him he seemed to be 100 feet tall. Like he was the giant and I was Jack, and the magic beans led to an adult store inside of a strip mall in the sky.

He reached down to help me and our hands met in the middle of his thigh. I missed out on that pre-pubescent romance everyone else had in middle school, where couples “accidentally” held hands inside their big buckets of popcorn on awkward dates at the movie theater. This was what it must have felt like. He gripped onto mine, strongly, our eyes locked, and I felt a rush throughout my entire body.

I moved to the back garter, and his furry, but firm, toned ass was right in my face. The garter tightly rested against it as I latched onto the stocking and locked it into place. This was going smoothly. Thank goodness. Moments later all six garters were done, three on each side. I stood up and hugged him, our bottoms matching in purple lace panties, black garter, and nude stockings. We held each other and listened to the loud rain, and the jazz instrumental track of what I believed was a Nickelback song, and then suddenly, the lights went out (and so did the song, but that was actually more of a relief than a stress).

It was now pitch black in the store, and cracking the door to peek outside I could see nothing but a charcoal sky. The street lights were off as was the glow in the nondescript marquis outside that never changed, reading “VIDEO, DVD, XXX.” I had goosebumps all over me; the temperature must have dropped at least eight degrees in the past thirty seconds. Billy held me closer. He and I didn’t know much about each other. I didn’t even know his last name, but something about our chemistry just meshed. I literally, and figuratively, felt warm in his big, burly arms.

I boldly placed my hand on top of his panties. I went up and down his thighs and felt the garter I so brilliantly put together. It was on there so snugly. I felt the top of his thigh-highs, I slid my fingers up and down and felt where the stocking ended and his thigh began.

I slid his T-shirt above his head. I played with his chest hair, and my fingers ran through his beard.

“I don’t know if I’m supposed to kiss you, but I’d like to.” He put a finger on my lips to shush me. We remained in complete silence in the dark with only the hard noise of the rain. Our lips were close. I could feel his breath, minty from an Altoid. The boys in college never freshened their breath for me. They also never wore matching panties with me.

He put his hands on my shoulders, keeping me in place while he moved behind me. He kissed my neck, rather aggressively, moving my hair to one side. He slid his hands underneath the lace cups of the bra and played with my nipples and awoke so many different senses inside me that I didn’t know my nipples were connected to. How did I manage to feel that in my toes? In my fingers? And everywhere else? He continued to kiss my neck, he put a few of his fingers in my mouth, and then he went back to my breasts, but now with moistened fingers, and my nipples grew incredibly more sensitive. They were warm and cold from the saliva and the severe drop in temperature in the store. I’m not sure why he didn’t want to kiss my lips but he wanted to caress my body and kiss my neck. Is this what real men did? I wasn’t so sure, but I liked it.

I could feel myself getting wet and I found myself wondering whether my panties could hold the moisture. He continued to touch my breasts and I started to squirm. I found my pelvis dry humping the air, like it was just trying to grab onto something. It was bizarre—my body wasn’t sure what to do—it had never been touched like this before.

His fingers went over the garter and underneath my panties. I could feel a hard cock pressing through his matching lace panties behind me against my right butt cheek. I was soaking wet; his fingers were strong and thick, and they circled around the area between my legs with ease. I was beginning to shake. He kissed my neck harder and his fingers began going faster. The panties were getting looser on my body. He found my clit, and I started to breathe heavily as he moved his finger up and down and up and down on it. We had several hundred vibrators and dildos at our disposal but I wanted nothing but his fingers. His large bodily mass enveloped me, his beard scratched against my ear, and his stockings and cock were pressed up against my ass while he catered to my clit so powerfully. He then took his other hand, reached down my ass, went underneath me, and stuck a finger inside my vagina. There was so much wetness he quickly stuck in two, and I slid myself up and down on his fingers while he continued to put pressure on my clit. “More,” I yelled. I wanted more. I wanted more fingers, toes, arms, whatever—I wanted more of him inside me. He put another finger inside me and I loved the way my vagina felt challenged. His four fingers were thicker than an average cock, and they moved inside of me further and further. I moaned and moaned; he held onto my neck and lightly choked me.

He turned me around and pushed me down into the folding chair. I’m not sure how I landed so gracefully on there in the dark, but I did. He got down on his knees and spread my legs far apart, he pushed my lace panties to the side. I wasn’t sure what his plan was, but I quickly felt a jolt of steam hit my labia; his hot breath. He licked his tongue up and down my vagina, teasing me, showing off all he could do with his mouth. I could feel so many foreign juices of mine seep into his mouth. I wanted him to taste every bit of me. His tongue was just as powerful as his fingers, but he spoiled me by stabbing his four fingers back inside me, going deeper and deeper while keeping his mouth on my clit. He curled his fingers inside me. He went really hard while licking and licking furiously. I felt out of control. I was shaking vigorously and uncontrollably. It was dark in here—did he swipe a dildo off the shelf that I couldn’t see that he was sticking inside me? He was hitting a new spot somewhere inside me with his powerful fingers. I felt myself open up, my legs were spreading further and further open. They felt like Jell-O, and I thought they might just detach from my body and walk away.

He sucked and licked, with my pubic hairs in his mouth and his fingers jackhammering my pussy. I didn’t feel like I had a vagina anymore—it was now officially a pussy. This body part feeling this sensation right now didn’t warrant a biological/anatomical name that would be used in a science class. It deserved a slutty name that could be found in the urban dictionary. It was now a coochie or a cunt. Something you would never say around your parents. He must have paved his own secret passageway inside my body, because nothing and no one who had ever been inside me had made me feel this way. I lost control and liquid gushed out of me everywhere. I screamed. He kept going with his fingers, and he opened his mouth and drank all the juices coming out of me. He stuck his thumb inside me, my hole was so open for him; I was panting and begging him for more as liquid streamed out of me like a garden hose watering his beard.

His whole hand was in me and he made a fist, inside of me. Holy shit. Was there really a fist inside me? I believe there was. I could see a hint of a glow from the roman numerals on his watch resting against the opening of my vagina.

He rubbed and rubbed my clit, I felt stuffed and tight and loose at the same time. I was screaming and practically crying. I couldn’t stop cumming. I hadn’t had an orgasm in so long and this one made up for lost time. This had to be like ten orgasms in one. My legs were up in the air. I clenched up and reached some kind of climax of a climax, which pushed his hand out of me. He stuck his hand in my face, and I licked my own juices off of him. As I sucked off my own body from his fingers, he began moaning louder. I saw his other hand moving up and down. He was jerking off, and I wanted to help. What should I do? He was clearly more experienced than I was. The fabric from the panties was still on his cock, and he moved his hand swiftly up and down. I wasn’t sure what I should do, I felt drunk from my multiple orgasms.

He let out a big loud grunt. He had such a sexy deep voice that just got deeper as he was climaxing. It was hard to tell what was going on in the dark. He put his thigh up to my mouth, I could feel warm stickiness on top of his nylon. I licked it off, I licked everywhere in the entire surface area of his large thigh to make sure to get every last drop of cum that might be there. There was a cocktail of bodily fluids in my mouth and I didn’t want the taste to ever wash away. It was like I bit into an apple full of sex.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

He threw his T-shirt on me, grabbed his jeans and his jacket, and I locked up the store. Outside in what I was sure was becoming a hurricane, while we were drenched in orgasms and hard rain, he finally gave me a kiss. I had felt his tongue on my pussy and neck but not on the lips on my face until now. Perhaps we could continue this defiance of the order of typical dating operations and next we will get dinner, and then, maybe after, learn each other’s last names.

We headed toward his eighteen-wheeler semi truck. It looked so sexy and powerful next to my puny Honda Civic. Where we were headed, I wasn’t so sure, but I was excited to see what would happen next.

^________

Continue with Taryn in this fantasy, Click Here.

^________

28

I had a beautiful night’s sleep in the back of Billy’s truck, in a tiny loft space he built on top of the seats. It was called a “sleeper,” rather appropriately, with a small mattress that we fit on together snugly. His sheets were red and silky, his pillows were black and fluffy, and there were multiple bumpy foam egg crates between the sheet and the mattress, which gave it that extra oomph of comfort.

We slept parked underneath an overpass so the rain wouldn’t hit the windows quite as hard. We woke up sometime in the afternoon, and watched downloaded episodes of Twin Peaks on his laptop. We heated up organic microwave burritos (I had no idea organic ones existed—microwave meals have come a long way) and Billy tried on different pieces of lingerie that he recently purchased from Walmart. The items weren’t nearly as flattering as the ones from Dreamz. They looked cheap, and the lace didn’t have quite the same feel, and the stockings ripped as soon as they came out of the package.

After the sixth pair of panties that would be too ugly for most women to even wear on laundry day, I asked, “Why did you get these? You have better taste than this!”

“I just needed to work up the courage to buy panties, in public,” he answered. “It was important.”

“You think anyone really looks at what anyone is buying in a Walmart?” I laughed. He wasn’t laughing with me. I suppose it actually wasn’t really a joke, just a statement about the ambivalence of the people at Walmart.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Really!”

“I was in a panic the entire time—I felt like everyone was staring at me,” he said.

“If anyone asked, you could have said it was for your girlfriend. But no one was going to ask, anyway!”

“I tried to say that once at Victoria’s Secret and they kicked me out. I felt like a criminal. They must have just known,” he said.

“Well, their stuff is way over priced and the people who work there are REALLY annoying. They practically kicked ME out of the store for not agreeing to get their credit card after purchasing one damn bra.”

Then he actually laughed.

“Do you want to see what else I got?” he asked.

“Of course!” I answered.

“It’s a secret,” he said.

“I mean, you did put your fist inside me while I was technically on the clock. Your secret is definitely safe with me!”

He pulled out a big shoe box stored underneath his passenger seat. It was a large pair of pointy ankle boots. They sure were a “Secret”—strong enough for a man, but made for a woman.

“Did you try them on?” I asked.

“Not in the store, but yes. I did. And they fit perfectly!” He smiled.

“Is this your first pair of…” I stopped myself midsentence. I was going to say “women’s shoes” but would that be offensive for me to imply these were shoes made for a woman and not a man? And if I said, “Is this your first pair of shoes?” then that would make him sound like a child, or a hobo, who didn’t own any shoes. I was stuck inside of the ocean of a sentence and I wasn’t sure how to move forward and I was too deep to go back.

“Yes, they are my first,” he answered. He knew what I was trying to say. He squeezed his feet into the shoes and put them on. He smiled and held my hand.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Thanks for what? Watching you put on a pair of shoes?”

“Yes, I suppose you’re the first one to see me do this.”

“You’re talking about it like I’m watching you do heroin!” I said. “You need to relax!”

I hated when people told me to relax, and I was almost never relaxed. I felt hypocritical saying the words out loud.

“You can talk to me, Billy. But if you don’t want to talk that’s okay, too. I’m here and I love your shoes, and your panties—well, I like the panties you got from my store, not those other ones!” I kissed him, and he firmly held my hand. He squeezed it tightly.

“So I’m from Boca Raton,” he said.

“Ha! Really? It’s… incredibly fancy there,” I answered.

“I was engaged to a woman I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with. We were high school sweethearts, we dated through our early twenties. We went to college together, then she went on to med school, studying to be a surgeon. I was working with my father. He owned a construction business and he was training me to take it over from him so he could retire early.”

“Okay…”

“Well, I had this strong urge to dress up ever since I was young. To feel the flowy fabrics against my skin. To feel… pretty. I never got to explore it. I thought the urge would go away, but it didn’t. It kept me up at night. Finally, I got myself just one pair of panties and a pair of stockings. I actually drove to a Rite Aid in a different county to get them. I hid them in the crawl space above my fiancée’s and my bedroom that she never went into. I would put them on every Tuesday evening, when she had night class. I walked around the house, I would walk around on my tiptoes and pretend I was wearing high heels. I wasn’t sure what I was doing. I just knew it was something I had to do.” He paused.

“One Tuesday night, I wound up getting a little tipsy while I dressed up. I had accumulated panties, stockings, and a camisole I found at the Good Will. The outfit was a complete disaster but I was enjoying myself. I lost track of time, and my girlfriend came home. I quickly got everything off and shoved it under the bed. Thinking about it now, maybe I just wanted to get caught. I don’t know. But she found them, and she brought them into my work the next day at the construction site, where I was with my father. She stormed right in and looked like she had been crying.”

“Okay,” I said, while he held me closer and teared up a bit as he continued to talk.

“She said, ‘WHOSE ARE THESE?’ She thought I was cheating on her. I thought an honest answer would be a sigh of relief, so I said they were mine. But I sure was wrong. My father punched me in the face and called me a faggot and had security remove me from the site. I haven’t heard from either of them, or even my mother, ever since. They wouldn’t answer my calls, they wouldn’t even let me come get my stuff. So I got a job delivering produce. I stay in my truck and motel rooms and I just keep moving.”

“When did that happen?” I asked.

“About two years ago,” he said. “I was confused by this feeling and I still am. I mean, I’m not gay. I tried that when I first got on the road a few times and it—well it didn’t really work, if you know what I mean. I never masturbated and thought of having sex with men. I’m not ashamed of my cock. I like my cock, but I don’t want to see it when I put my panties on. I’ve tried fitting in with different groups of people in the past two years, and I don’t really fit in anywhere. But I know that this part of me is important and I need to explore it more and I’m just sick of being embarrassed or ashamed.”

I held him. I understood. Maybe not to the exact degree, but I was never quite weird enough for the weirdos and I was never normal enough for the normies. There were bits and pieces of me scattered all over the place and I wasn’t quite sure how they all fit together. My iTunes never knew how to make a proper “genius” mix for me because my two favorite music artists at that moment were Ariana Grande and Depeche Mode. Seriously.

And yeah, the fact that there’s no perfect Pandora station for me doesn’t hold a candle to being punched in the face by your father, but I knew that I always had a hard time being comfortable with just about anyone I had ever met, anyone ever, except… Billy. Whose last name I still didn’t know. That was a minor detail.

“Well, what should we do next?” I asked. “I have a day off, and I am up for anything.”

“How about we start with taking a shower?”

“Right! Where exactly do you shower by the way?” I asked. I looked under the bed as if there might be some kind of miniature, compact, folding bathroom underneath there. It wasn’t completely outlandish to think that. There was, after all, a miniature microwave, a micro miniature fridge that made the usual college mini fridges look giant.

“Get ready, girl, for your first truck-stop shower!” he said. I know my apartment was a mere eight miles away and I fully just did pay for my portion of the water bill, but I felt like Billy and I were existing in some kind of dream bubble; going back to any semblance of my “real” life would make this bubble pop and the dream would end. And I wasn’t ready for it to end.

^________

Continue with Taryn in this fantasy, Click Here.

^________

29

We still smelled like sex, but not the good leftover smell of sex. That smell had fermented into something more akin to mold on our bodies and we needed to wash it off, to make way for new and fresher sex smells. Billy slipped on a pair of sweatpants and sneakers, while I borrowed one of his flannels that went down to my knees and my Converse sneakers. We hopped into the truck’s front seats and set off down the highway.

Not too long after, we pulled into some kind of parking lot with a whole bunch of different sized trucks filling the spaces. In the middle of the lot was a decent sized building. We parked at the back of the lot—those spots get more shade, Billy said—and parked the truck. As we walked through the lot, I saw several men sleeping at the wheel, though plenty more were partaking in outside activities: some were stretching and doing various pull-ups on bars suctioned to the outside of their trucks, some were reading outside on the back ledges of the truck, and some were talking on their cell phones. They nodded at us as we walked by. I was sure they thought I was some kind of stray hitchhiker he gave a ride to, and it actually wasn’t completely far off from the truth. I was waiting at Dreamz for someone or something to take me to wherever my next step in life was, and that step seemed to be a truck filled with lots of pairs of panties.

We arrived at the building. It was plain-looking with gray paint on all sides, no windows, and only a door with a coin-operated lock. Billy pulled a few quarters out of his pocket, put them in the door, and turned the latch and it locked behind us.

“These are, like, the Mercedes of truck-stop showers. Only the finest for you!” he said with a grin. He opened the door with a flourish.

Inside, it was incredibly clean, with various soaps and shampoos and conditioners lined up on the wall for anyone’s use. I never expected that a shower on an off-ramp on a highway could be so glamorous. It was a big open room with no shower curtain, and light and dark brown checkered tile. We quickly undressed, giddy at the thought of warm water rushing over us. He turned the shower on and it was the absolute perfect pressure, unlike the shower in my house which felt much like a very dehydrated person was peeing on me. The nozzle was large, like a flying saucer that rained down enough water to cover the both of us.

We let the water soothe our bodies, grabbing soap to scrub away the gross things on our skin, letting the suds of soap fizz up on us. We kissed in the stream of warm water—between this and the make-out session in the monsoon yesterday, we appeared to be quite good at kissing underwater. Something about the wetness pouring on our heads and our saliva mixing with one another’s brought a beautiful energy between us. I grabbed a new body puff out of the package and soaped up his body. I cleaned his elbows and his knees, and his armpits. He scrubbed my breasts and my stomach—the smell of the soap was so pure and clean—and then he massaged shampoo into my hair, slowly, the way someone at a professional hair salon would do.

Eventually, I went down his body and soaped up his crotch. I finally got a good look at his penis. It wasn’t erect but it still looked thick, and his testicles were perfectly round and soft. I was giddy thinking about all the fun I could have with it. I rinsed the soap off, and put the conditioner in my hair. I had frizzy, uncooperative hair, and conditioner had to remain in it for at least eight to twelve minutes for it to be at all effective. I looked at Billy’s cock and thought of a perfect way to pass the time. I knew the way his mouth tasted, I knew the way his cum tasted, and I knew the way his organic microwave burritos tasted, but I actually didn’t know the way his cock tasted and I wanted that to change.

I knelt down on the tile floor with half a bottle of conditioner penetrating my hair and I began stroking Billy’s cock. He looked down at me in anticipation, watching to see what move I would make next. It had been over a year since I had anyone’s penis in my mouth—I was like some kind of born-again blow-job virgin. I really, really wanted to make him feel good. I had never experienced this feeling when confronted with a cock in my face. I will shamefully admit that with all the blow jobs in my life prior to this moment, I was just going through the motions, sucking dutifully until the cock was hard enough to stick inside of me. What a difference it was to have a cock in front of me attached to someone I truly wanted to please! I had some new visuals in my brain from the snippets of pornography I saw on the monitors in the ROOMZ at work. With a little inspiration from those, along with just following my own instincts, I would give a new and improved blow job.

I stroked his cock into my mouth. He let out a moan as my tongue hit his small head. I stroked it with one hand, and once it was erect it was large enough for both of my hands to fit around it. I used lots of spit—a tip I learned from the videos. Something about spitting large amounts of my saliva on a cock made me feel so incredibly powerful.

I loved looking at the way his eyes rolled back into his head; he looked so vulnerable. I paid attention to the way his expressions changed when I switched the positions of my hands. He scrunched his nose when I went harder and he moaned louder when I went softer. I jerked him off at the base of his cock while stuffing the rest of it in my mouth, using my tongue to swirl around his skin and work up as much spit as I possibly could. I moved a hand and put them on his balls. Quite honestly I wasn’t even sure what to do with his balls, but I just wanted to make sure all parts of his genitalia were being accounted for.

I stroked and sucked, he started losing his balance and he leaned up against the wall. The water was left on but we weren’t using it to wash ourselves. It was merely a sexy background at this point, like I was sucking his cock in front of a waterfall. Billy paid $2.25 to use this shower and part of that fee was having no regard for their water bill at all. I didn’t feel at all guilty.

I was able to get my mouth further down his cock with him back up against the tile. It felt so good to have more of him in a part of me. I loved the way he tasted, I loved how his face lit up with pleasure when I licked up and down his shaft, I loved seeing what just my tongue and mouth and hands could do to someone. I wished I could go back in time and give a refund to all six of the people I had performed oral sex on. Those blow jobs weren’t really blow jobs. This was my new standard of blow job and whatever dick would come into my mouth from here on out would be given this level of hospitality. I was really enjoying myself. My pussy was getting wet, and not just because we were in a shower. Actually enjoying a blow job is so satisfying.

“Put your hands behind your back,” he demanded. I obeyed.

I opened my mouth wider and he thrust his cock in and out of me. So much saliva was coming out of my mouth, it was a waterfall of spit in front of our waterfall of truck-stop shower. I could feel him in the back of my throat and I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter as the tip of his cock hit my tonsils. He continued to thrust, and I swallowed as much of him as I possibly could. He went faster, then he slowed down. I could feel him throbbing. I sucked and licked and did whatever the hell I could possibly do with my mouth. He moaned loudly and I tasted an amazing gulp of warm cum seep directly down my throat. I felt his dick go from hard to flaccid in my mouth. I slurped up any last drop of semen that came out of him. No one would have to worry about getting any jizz on the floor of this pristine, pretty shower.

“That was incredible,” he said between heavy breaths.

“I know,” I said.

“Oh, do you?” he laughed.

I stood up and he immediately knew to wash the conditioner out of my hair. It was time. He massaged my head and a strong scent of coconut ran down my body.

“I want you to get all dressed up for me tonight. You know, in feminine clothes,” I said. “And I want us to go out, like in public.” I kissed him.

He looked nervous and excited.

“I’ve never done that,” he said.

“I know. I think it’s time,” I said.

“I actually do have a dress in the truck. It’s nothing amazing—I actually bought it at a maternity store. I said it was for my pregnant wife,” he laughed.

“I’ll look through everything you have and we can put it all together,” I said.

I could see him tremble.

“In that case—I should really shave my beard,” he said. He shut the water off and walked over to the porcelain bathroom sink, taking a small scissors and a razor out of his personal toiletry bag. He snipped away his lumberjack beard until it was as short as it could possibly be. I lathered his face in some of this fine truck stop’s complimentary shaving cream, and with his high-end disposable razors (the ones that had a sea foam green moisturizing strip on them) he shaved his face, revealing the velvety soft skin underneath his beard. I touched his face, now smooth as a river stone.

“I don’t know how long we have before your five-o’clock shadow starts creeping in, so we better take advantage of this.” He quivered, and I pulled him into my embrace. “I got you—everything will be okay.”

We went back to the truck. Billy pulled out all the little fragments of femininity that he had. A half-empty bottle of foundation his ex-girlfriend threw in the trash when she got a sun-tan and her complexion changed. He pulled out a white ramekin that looked like it was used for a side of salad dressing at Applebee’s, but it was filled with some kind of red, sticky goo that was apparently a lipstick that he made from scratch from a mix of bottles of lotion he had from motels, food coloring, and honey. It went on surprisingly smoothly and I put some on myself as well. He had some loose shimmer powder he created from a mix of spices, his panties and stockings from Dreamz, and various accessories he picked up at truck stops over the years. The dress went down to his knees, and the garter peeked through when he walked. It was subtle and incredibly classy with this vintage burlesque feel. The final touch was a wig that he had ordered online and picked up at a mail center somewhere during his travels. It was still in the packaging and had never been opened. It was long, wavy, and a shade of brown that perfectly matched his natural hair color. We took it out of the box, pinned it to his hair, snipped it, styled it, and we were ready to go. In the DIY crafty mood, I took one of his black V-neck shirts, pinned it in the back, and put a silk scarf thing that lived in the bottom of my purse around my waist and matched it with my Converse sneakers. I kind of looked like a modern version Punky Brewster, and he looked like a modern version of Aubrey Hepburn, and together we were ready to conquer the night and run to our destiny, with heels on. Or, ankle boots with short wedges, to be exact.

“So, where should we go?” I asked.

“There’s a bar not too far from here that makes some great cocktails. Or, I heard there’s a country fair in town; we could go ride some rides,” Billy replied.

Both options sounded good, but which was the better ace to debut Billy’s new look: a bar or a fair?

^________

To go to the fair, Click Here.

To go to a bar, Click Here.

^________

30

Billy and I waited in line to buy our entrance tickets to the fair. The air smelled like corn dogs and hay. The ground was moist from the storm the night before. Last time I was here was when I was in the eighth grade with my friend Charlotte. I wasn’t very cool in school, and she was my equally uncool friend, and we clung together for the sake of not being alone. We awkwardly ate funnel cake while the more socially adept teens who never gave us the time of day smoked cigarettes, drank vodka, and made out with each other underneath the bleachers. Twelve years later, I am still just as much of an outsider in this town, but I have proudly upgraded from a co-pilot with a back brace and acne to a beautiful man in a dress.

“Should I still call you Billy?” I asked.

“It’s Bonnie,” she said, as she kissed me and held my hand. I could feel her trembling, but she walked with confidence and poise.

“Shit. Now there’s lipstick on your cheek!” She wiped it off my face. “That’s a new thing I’ll have to look out for,” Bonnie said.

“Let’s go on the Ferris wheel!” I said. I felt like having a destination would ease her nerves, and we could be alone in our own little rotating pod while still technically being out in public. We walked from one side of the park to the other. A few people did double-takes when looking at us, and some mothers made their children look away from us, like we were a walking, breathing R-rated movie that they weren’t supposed to watch. I rolled my eyes, and considered flipping them off, but managed to stop myself. Whatever.

We stopped at a stand to get some junk food. Our afternoon microwaved burrito was organic after all, we deserved to let loose.

“I’ll get one small cotton candy,” I said to a man with very large and very few teeth, long hair, and pin-striped overalls. He nodded and began circulating the paper cone around the caramelized sugar, and a magical poof of edible, hot-pink cotton began to form.

“Anything for you ma’am?” he looked at Bonnie and said.

She paused. “No, thank you,” she replied.

We walked away and there were tears in her eyes. “He called me ma’am! Did you hear that?”

“Yes! I did!” We skipped and cheered and got high off sugar. We felt victorious. The carnie with four teeth and an obvious, unpleasant stench had more manners than some of the people in the park. While I didn’t fully understand how Bonnie felt, I could see the thrill in her eyes and her happiness was contagious.

“Let’s go in here!” I said as we passed a House of Mirrors. Bonnie barely got the chance to look at herself as a woman, so I thought it would be exciting to see herself in hundreds of different mirrors, from multiple angles, in multiple heights and weights.

“Sure!” she said.

There was no line and we walked straight inside. The room was dark, and the music was creepy. Every few steps a high-pitched voice laughed maniacally from a hidden speaker in the wall. In the first group of mirrors, our heads were incredibly large and stretched out like chewed bubble gum, and then further down the hallway we got progressively shorter and fatter. We laughed at ourselves. Even though the result of going in these types of places is extremely predictable, it doesn’t stop the joke from being funny. No matter how un-politically correct it sounds, seeing yourself as some kind of disfigured midget, is funny—and somehow oddly romantic for a date.

Bonnie slyly looked around the room, and then swiftly pulled my top down and exposed my breasts. It wasn’t entirely difficult to do since I was wearing one of her T-shirts that was way too big on me, and I didn’t have on a bra.

“Bonnie!” I giggled, and attempted to pull the shirt back up and she pulled it back down, further this time. The pre-recorded laughter got louder and louder, the organ polka music got more and more distorted, and I remained shirtless in a room full of mirrors. Something about the smell of hot dogs and the slow, distorted music alleviated all stress out of the evening and we were able to just relax and goof around and have fun.

“Let’s see how many different sizes your boobs can be,” Bonnie said. It was like the license plate game I used to play on long car rides, but with tits.

We walked down the hall and my breasts went through every imaginable bra size, from a 32 A to a 38 GG. In one particular mirror, they multiplied exponentially. Bonnie put her hands on all sixteen of my breasts.

“How does that feel?” she asked.

It was a turn-on to see her feel me up in so many different ways. I wished I could actually grow fourteen more pairs of boobs so she could molest all of them. She pinched my nipple, and watching the freak-show of myself turned me on fourteen times more than normal for a pinched nipple. I felt myself getting wet. Then I heard the sound of screaming children somewhere in the vicinity and I pulled my shirt up instantly. The thrill of getting caught scared me and aroused me, so naturally I pulled my tits out again. Just moments later, the shrill of the children’s voices went away.

After we had exhausted all optical possibilities in the little house of mirrors, we exited and continued to walk toward the Ferris wheel. I was aroused and giddy from the brief stint of public nipple play mixed with the sugars circulating inside my body.

“You’re walking flawlessly in those heels,” I said. “And it’s muddy out. That’s impressive!”

“I am so scared of falling on my ass. It’s all I can think about! I feel like I’m walking a tightrope in the circus,” she replied.

“You’re not gonna fall! I won’t let you. That’s just not an option.”

As the night got later, the park became more crowded, and the more people there, the more people scowled and hissed at our existence. As we proceeded to walk through the carnival, people escaped our presence and parted like the red sea. We paved our own path and walked through it proudly. Or at least, I was proud. I could tell Bonnie was nervous, but she walked with determination, poise, and confidence.

We waited in the line for the Ferris wheel. I could feel everyone whispering, I could see everyone pointing. Boys who couldn’t have been older than sixteen were holding open containers of alcohol, but this didn’t seem to concern anyone as much as we did.

“Maybe we should just go,” Bonnie suggested.

“No way!” I answered. “Really, ever since I was in middle school I’ve always wanted someone to kiss on the Ferris wheel.”

“Oh come on, I’m sure you’ve kissed plenty of people on the Ferris wheel!”

“No, I haven’t. Honestly,” I said. “The only person to kiss me in high school was someone who got stuck with me on a game of spin the bottle. And he tried to get out of it!” I laughed. “Literally he tried blowing the bottle so he could kiss my friend Jill instead of me.”

She laughed.

“What was high school like for you?” I asked, trying to make conversation to distract Bonnie’s attention away from the people staring, though I was also genuinely interested.

“Well, I played football,” she said.

“Oh, jeez. Well, I’m sure you had no problem finding any willing partners to make out with you!”

“That’s true. But I was more interested in trying the girls’ clothing on than I was in getting their clothing off!”

“Well, you could have done both with me. Although I doubt you would have wanted to wear my thrift-store Dickies and my argyle sweaters.”

Our place in line advanced to the front and we were let into our own carriage. The way they did it was just so impractical. It was like jumping into a moving vehicle. Why was it impossible for it to come to a complete stop before people went on? But Bonnie grabbed my hand and pulled me in. We jumped on without skipping a beat; she was a more seasoned Ferris wheel rider than I was. I followed her lead and together we were ready to get slowly lifted in the air, go around in a circle, and gaze at the view of Pasco County, which is mostly motels, strip malls, and chain restaurants. Still, everything looks better from above.

The ride slowly started and stopped. I never paid attention to how rickety these things felt when I was younger. Did I develop a small case of vertigo in my twenties? I felt slightly uneasy, but I didn’t want to mess up the romantic moment I insisted on creating. After what felt like a bit too much starting and stopping, we were at a full stop at the top of the wheel. The temperature was humid and I could smell wafts of grease from deep fried everything in the air, which I will admit I actually liked.

“It’s time for my very first carnival kiss!” I said. I handed her a tissue. “Blot your lipstick first, though.”

“What on earth does that mean?” she asked.

“Oh! You basically just give this Kleenex a kiss,” I said. “Just put it between your lips, and slightly less of it will wind up on my face.”

I held the tissue up and she opened her mouth as if I was feeding it to her. She clamped down on it, I moved the tissue around and she blotted herself on all the corners of the tissue. She enjoyed indulging in this feminine activity. I took for granted the little pieces of seemingly mundane activity that went into being a woman. I never had to blot my lips much, because I rarely wore lipstick and rarely kissed people, until now.

She leaned over after the blotting activity was complete. I stuffed the tissue back into my purse—I wanted to save it for some kind of Billy/Bonnie scrapbook, or maybe if I never wound up seeing her again, I could pull this out and taste her lips on this tissue. Was that creepy? I should be savoring the moment. I don’t know why I was stressing about our possibly doomed ending when we had barely reached our beginning. The fair was bringing back some déjà vu of the loneliness and isolation I felt growing up and I just didn’t want this moment to end.

Bonnie leaned over and kissed me. I grabbed onto her, I put my hands up her skirt and felt up and down her stockings and her garter. The feeling of a cock underneath a dress with panty hose was such a thrill. Her kiss was so intense and beautiful, I felt it inside my entire body. We wrapped our tongues around each other, and I ran my fingers through her long, wavy hair. Unfortunately, I got a bit too aggressive with my heavy petting, and accidentally knocked the wig off her head. It was caught by a strong wind and blew off, away into the air. Shit.

Bonnie followed it with her eyes, her face suddenly white. It was as if I ripped off a piece of her body and threw it in the trash.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” I said.

“I must look ridiculous,” she frowned.

“No you don’t! There’s plenty of sexy women with shaved heads! ” I said. “You look like a badass!” I exclaimed. I wasn’t sure if I was making anything better at all.

“I just want to bury my head in the sand,” she said.

“I… don’t have any sand. What about here?” I don’t know what came over me: I took her head and I pushed it down to my pussy. Our carriage rocked back and forth, I must have been high on cotton candy to have gained this burst of slight confidence, mixed with simply feeling invincible. Apparently when I was 500 feet in the air, I became kind of dominant. Plus I wanted to do anything to distract her.

She pulled my panties to the side and quickly played with my clit. She licked the sides of my labia. It felt so good to have her back between my legs. I was already super moist, so she plunged three fingers inside me and bit my thigh. She came back up and kissed my neck; I didn’t care if it wound up being covered in lipstick. I could feel her thick fingers stuffing me, immediately hitting my G-spot, and I began to tremble. I wanted to shout I’m cumming! from the top of the wheel, but I knew that would be inappropriate. She knew the inside of my pussy so well, she knew exactly where to go. She could make me cum so easily, it was like she just had to turn on a switch. She must have ridden the Ferris wheel so many times in high school with her football in one hand and a cheerleader’s pussy in the other, and that’s how she just knew exactly what to do. She took her fingers from out of me and stuck them in my mouth. They tasted so powerful. I could taste the aroused state of my vagina right off of her. I was learning how juicy my pussy got when it was touched the right way. I had never felt this much moisture out of me from anyone who touched me in the past.

She had to have loved the power she had over my pussy. I can only imagine what it must feel like to be able to make someone lose control over their own body so quickly. She seemed more relaxed. I was drunk from cumming and she was drunk from her own fingering mastery. The Ferris wheel began to go down slowly, people were getting off (not in the same way I had, and I felt bad for those people). I could tell that Bonnie’s insecurities were coming back; I didn’t want people to laugh at her as we exited the park. I took my silk scarf from around my waist and I put it on her head. Bonnie began to laugh.

“What on earth?”

“I was the understudy for Tzeitel in my middle school’s Fiddler on the Roof play. I got really good at putting on a scarf!”

We walked off the Ferris wheel, hand in hand, and we exited the park, while remnants of my orgasm ran down my leg, and Bonnie looking like a sexy Russian babushka. It was time to retreat back to her truck. I wasn’t sure if I would be lying in a mini sleeper under a bridge with Bonnie or Billy that night, but either way, it was the only place I wanted to be.

^________

To go back and go with Billy to a bar instead, Click Here.

To see how the fantasy ends, Click Here.

^________

31

I called a cab to come pick us both up at the truck stop (I didn’t think the clubs would have parking spaces big enough for a commercial truck) and got a text saying one was on the way. I will admit I was nervous about picking the right bar. Going out in general was not my area of expertise, and choosing a place that would allow Billy to be comfortable in drag for the first time in public was a daunting responsibility. After going through the not-too-extensive list of options around us (TGI Fridays was about the most hip place in the vicinity), I decided that we should drive to an area of downtown Tampa filled with bars and nightclubs.

“All right, let’s go!” I said. Billy trembled, and didn’t seem to want to leave.

“Come on!” I tried pulling him and he froze. I kissed him, and his red homemade lipstick transferred from his lips to mine. I put my hands up his skirt and rubbed his thigh, basking in the unique feeling of a garter against a hairy thigh. As I stroked him, he seemed calmer, but I could still see the nervousness on his face.

We walked out of the truck and the other drivers sitting outside their vehicles definitely did a double take. The looks were inquisitive, but not hateful. I definitely saw one man in particular checking him out.

“Should I call you something different?” I asked. Billy thought about this for a moment.

“Yeah! Call me Bonnie,” she said.

“All right, I can do that!” I replied. We walked hand in hand through the parking lot toward the cab. Even though we had spent the past twenty-four hours together, I was now being reintroduced to someone completely new. It reminded me of my roommate in college who successfully juggled two relationships at the same time. I don’t know how she did it. I could barely get a text back from someone I had sex with and she had scheduled times of when to text who and what. Her cheating involved flowcharts and lots of strategy. Okay, maybe what was going on with me right now wasn’t exactly like that, but the thrill of dating one person by day and a different one at night was intoxicating.

As we crammed into the cab’s back seat, the driver definitely glanced at us through the rearview mirror a few times, but he shrugged and set off on our path. I snuck my hand up Bonnie’s skirt in the back of the cab and I could feel the beginning of a boner through her panties.

“The good thing about this bell-shaped maternity dress as opposed to your tight jeans is that you can get a boner out in public and no one will know!”

She laughed. I kissed her neck. I put my fingers through her wig, getting turned-on by the softness of the fibers. I had always been curious about being with a woman, but never found one that I really clicked with. Being with a woman who also had a cock was the best of all worlds. I was lucky.

We had arrived and the cab fare of $37 lit up on his meter. Bonnie handed the driver a fifty and said, “Keep the change, hon’.” She whispered it in a very Marilyn Monroe way. I think she was doing her best to try to figure out what her voice should be, and a whisper was better than a manly voice, or an obvious, exaggerated falsetto.

“Thanks, ma’am, have a good night!”

I don’t think she heard the driver because she was so nervous and distracted and was in the middle of opening the door when he responded. Once we were out of the car, I jumped up and down like a little girl who had just been offered extra ice cream.

“What’s going on? You just happy to be out somewhere that isn’t work?” she laughed.

“Did you hear the cab driver?”

“No, I handed him his money—did I miss something?” “He called you ‘Ma’am!’ Don’t you think that’s exciting?”

Bonnie stopped dead in her path and tears welled up in her eyes.

“You know, I wasn’t even paying attention!” she said, “Thank you.”

“Thank YOU for letting me be a part of this. I am honored!” And I really was. Between the fisting and the homemade lipstick, this had been a rollercoaster of incredible emotions.

We walked down Bayshore Boulevard. I didn’t exactly have a destination in mind—it was a five-mile road along the water, with a handful of bars. Truly I had no idea which place was best to go, but the sidewalk was nicely paved and it seemed like a comfortable place for Bonnie to practice walking in her short wedges, and the reflection of the giant Bank of America blue and red lights bouncing off the water paired quite well with her yellow dress.

We walked past a 1920s prohibition themed bar, complete with a man out front in a brown plaid suit that looked like it had at least eight different pieces to it. He had a Sherlock Holmes style monocle on his face. He appeared to be the door guy.

“Wanna go in here?” I asked.

“All right,” she replied. Her long, wavy hair was lightly blowing in the wind. We pinned that fucker on quite perfectly. I was proud.

“Good evening,” the doorman said.

“Hello!”

“How many people are in your party?”

“Just two of us!”

“Fabulous!” He had a mini iPad in his hands, with something that looked like a floor plan on it. He pushed in two little circles on the plan with an electronic pen. For someone who dressed like they existed before television was invented, I found it odd that their way of seating tables was so futuristic.

“May I see your IDs?”

“Sure!” I reached inside my bag and pulled out my wallet, I opened it instinctually and pulled out my ID. Bonnie trembled. Shit. I didn’t think about identification. She looked at me, she fumbled around, and I felt like I was going to panic, too. I didn’t want our night ruined before we even got in the door. She could show her ID and the door man could probably just do a double take and let her go by. That would be the best scenario. But he could also say, “This isn’t your fucking ID,” and then Bonnie would have to prove she is legally Billy and that would definitely be a buzz kill to say the least. If the man was as old-fashioned as his suit, he could be incredibly closed minded, and have us tarred and feathered in the town square. If he was as modern as his iPad, then he would understand the situation and let Bonnie enjoy her night. Last time I really went out was on my graduation night, to a farewell party at the only LGBT friendly fraternity on campus. I certainly couldn’t predict the behavior of a door guy at an upscale bar.

“Shit, Bonnie, did you forget your ID again?” I asked. I thought this would be a good save.

“I’m an old lady, I can’t even remember the last time someone asked me for it!” She laughed at her own joke as enthusiastically as possible, and I jumped in and laughed too.

“You might be old Aunt Bonnie, but you sure are young at heart!” The turn of the century door guy was incredibly confused. While we weren’t kissing or making out, the nature of Bonnie and my hand holding was a little too provocative for an aunt and a niece. I don’t know why I even said that. I just thought the back story of a girl out on the town with her aunt and she innocently forgot her ID was believable.

“Please let us in, we drove an hour to get here—she’s definitely of age.” I gave him a sad look, trying to connect with him, hoping he might pick up on it and either have sympathy for the fact that I desperately wanted a night out with my aunt, or I desperately needed to get my new lover identifying with a different gender this evening. Not sure which was more relatable.

“I was born in 1978, when Jimmy Carter was president. Does that help? Would a twenty-year-old even know who Jimmy Carter was?” She laughed again and the Boardwalk Empire reincarnated door man actually cracked a smile, too. Bonnie was quite a charmer as a lady!

The door guy looked around, and surrendered. “All right, go in. Just bring your ID next time, and tip your bartender, please!”

“Thank you!” I said. I almost went to hug him but I stopped myself because I realized that would be kind of strange.

We walked in like we were Bonnie and Clyde, all confident and cool. Or actually, more like Bonnie and Taryn.

On entering the bar we found the old-fashioned flapper theme was kept to the utmost extent. There was a lot of exposed brick and dark wood, multiple kinds of syrups, bitters, and herbs, and brands of liquors I hadn’t ever heard of. This was nothing like a frat party.

On the opposite side of the bar, toward the wall, there were velvet couches and tables and they were enclosed with dark curtains that could remain open or closed, like little pool cabanas.

“Where do you want to sit?” I asked.

“Let’s get one of these private tables,” she answered.

A sexy flapper hostess came up to us, with a fringed dress, short hair, a shiny sequin headband around her head, and a feather in her hair.

“How can I help you ladies this evening?” she asked.

“We’ll take one of those tables if that’s okay,” Bonnie said.

“It’s a three-hundred-dollar food and drink minimum, as long as that’s fine—I can get you set up right away,” said the hostess.

That was the amount of money I usually budgeted for groceries the entire month! If I’m not mistaken, I thought Coca-Cola cost a nickel in the 1920s. This bar definitely picked and chose what vintage elements to keep and which to ignore.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Bonnie said. She handed her credit card to the hostess. While it goes against some of my feminist ideals, I will guiltily admit that I have always dreamed of being properly wined and dined by someone and I was aroused by the fact that it was someone in a dress and pretty lace panties, and not a suit and tie.

We sat down. The seats were plush and incredibly comfortable. The lighting was seductive and dark, with just enough candlelight to read the menus and each other’s lips.

“Would you like to start off with a shot of absinthe?” the pretty flapper asked.

Was that the poisonous beverage that Edgar Allan Poe drank? I wasn’t really into poisoning myself (more than your average cocktail would), but if Bonnie wanted shots, we’d do shots. I nodded at her, indicating it was her decision.

“Yes, we would,” Bonnie said, “and what’s your name?”

“I’m Janine! And what’s yours?”

“Bonnie.”

“And I’m Taryn!” I said.

“Nice to meet you, ladies! I will be right back with your aperitif!” Janine said.

I assumed this was the street name for absinthe, or something along those lines. I was incredibly confused but so excited; I just took it all in and did my best to blend in here, in a long V-neck T-shirt and Converse sneakers.

She returned with two long, skinny glasses filled with light green liquid. It looked like something out of a science lab.

“Cheers!” Janine said. Bonnie and I clinked our glasses together and chugged the liquid in the shot glass. It tasted like fresh-cut grass and licorice. It was cool and crisp in my mouth, then burned when it got down to my stomach. I wasn’t hallucinating (at least not yet) but I did feel pleasantly buzzed.

“So how are you feeling?” I asked Bonnie. “I feel really powerful and beautiful. I can’t believe this is finally happening,” she said.

“I’m glad!”

I didn’t completely understand how Bonnie felt on the inside, but I felt like we were both figuring out how to be ourselves in different ways. I could openly buy heels, dresses, and lipstick anytime I wanted and I chose not to. I suppose I took it for granted. For Bonnie, putting on a dress and being out in public made her feel powerful. For me, well, learning that I could squirt liquid out of my vagina while a fist was inside there is what did it for me. I wondered if she would fuck more daintily as a woman. Would she want me to gag on her cock? Or would she be more soft and passionate? Would she always want to be Bonnie? Or would she go back to being Billy tomorrow? I shouldn’t ask. I should just indulge in the moment we currently exist in and let the future reveal itself as it happens.

Janine came back with three more drinks. She dropped two on the table.

“What are these?” Bonnie asked.

“Bartender’s special! Try it!” she smiled and answered.

It was a short glass with a large ice cube in the middle, a lemon peel and some fizzy liquid inside of it. It tasted like an Orange Crush, but with a lot of alcohol in it. Oddly enough, the first time I ever got drunk was in a park with a few friends, who poured vodka into a half-filled bottle of warm Orange Crush. Apparently all we were missing was a lemon peel and some oversized ice.

But the drink did taste quite good. I drank it quickly and I liked the way the large ice felt on my lips.

“Easy there!” Bonnie said. She barely had a sip to drink.

“Oh—I wasn’t supposed to chug this?”

“No, silly, you’re supposed to savor the taste!” Janine said.

“Like a cup of coffee!” I answered.

Bonnie laughed. “Yes exactly, like a cup of coffee,” she said as she daintily sipped from her glass.

“So, what are you ladies up to tonight?” Janine said. Was it part of her job to make me feel like she had some kind of a crush on one of us or both of us? Or was that the orange fizz and the light green liquid getting to my brain? She had bright white teeth and matte red lipstick on. I felt like she had a twinkle in her smile, like someone out of an old-fashioned toothpaste commercial. She had on satin gloves, and she too had on a garter and stockings. I didn’t even have panties on. I didn’t know that when I got dressed for work forty-eight hours ago that I would be going to a speakeasy on a date with a cross-dresser. Perhaps I should always be prepared for this type of surprise to come up.

“Come over here!” Bonnie motioned for me to come to the same side of the table with her. Two people sitting side by side at a table when no one was on the other side is definitely romantic. No one does that unless they just can’t keep their hands off one another. I obliged and made my way over there and jumped right into her large arms.

“You two are so cute!” Janine said. “Would you like some privacy?” She didn’t wait for our response and she drew the curtains so they covered the table and we were now enclosed in our own little candle-lit fort.

“Have fun!” she said, and she did her smile-twinkle thing again. I wondered what kind of toothpaste she used.

And then Bonnie and I were alone in public, at a table lit by an electric candle. I kissed Bonnie on the neck. It was sexy in a vampire-like way, and it was also practical since it was intimate and didn’t mess up her lipstick. She put her hands up my, um, well I guess we can call it a dress for all intents and purposes. I had goosebumps. I also had no panties on. Being felt up at a fancy bar, and being felt up by a fancy woman was something entirely different than what I was used to; however these days I wasn’t really sure what I was used to anymore. Every hour of the past seventy-two hours had been completely different than the next. It was a pretty drastic shift from my life being exactly the same for about the past eighteen years.

Her hands were delicate, but large and firm. They were the same hands that touched me earlier, only now they were attached to a torso that smelled like perfume. She continued to slide her hand up my thigh, and I slid my hand up hers. Her ruffled garter tickled the back side of my hand. This one had tiny white bows that fastened the thigh-high and the garter together. They remained fastened tightly even as I rubbed up and down. I couldn’t quite put my finger on why I loved this feeling of lace, nylon, and man all mixed into one, but I did.

I could feel her cock getting hard underneath her dress and panties. Were we safe inside this enclosed space? Did the $300 minimum include a pass for exposed boners? I couldn’t help myself. I was just so attracted to her; I was so swept away by the absurdity of how we came into each other’s lives and then into each other’s mouths.

She pushed me under the table and I sat with my knees on the floor and I put her cock in my mouth, moving her panties to the side. She sat at the table like a classy lady and drank cocktails while I shoved her thick cock as far as I could down my throat. I rubbed the lace material up against the skin of her shaft and I could feel her getting harder and harder. She pushed her legs together and squished my head in between her knees. I felt like I was in some kind of awesome sexy headlock, and I will admit that I liked the feeling of the hair on her thighs against my cheek.

She moved her legs open again, and I felt around her balls. I licked the stockings and garter; I liked the texture of the lingerie against my tongue. I saw the light get slightly brighter from my view underneath the table, and saw a pair of black Mary Janes along with nude stockings at my eye level. It was Janine. I was now getting acquainted with the bottom half of her body.

“I’ve got some more drinks for you!” I heard her say. It felt like when I used to watch The Muppets on Saturday morning and I only saw the mother’s legs and heard her muffled voice.

“Thank you!” Bonnie said. Bonnie put her hand behind my head and pushed me further down on her cock. I obeyed her command and accepted my duty to be the blowjob giver underneath the table. I did it with as much spit and tongue as possible while trying to remain quiet.

“Where’s your lady friend?” The waitress asked.

“She had to make a phone call. She,” Bonnie paused, “will be,” she paused again, “right back.”

I liked this power that made her struggle with her words as she searched for the proper syllables to utter. I saw closed-toe short heels get closer to me. I inched away as to not let my knee touch her, because she was getting awfully close.

“But I didn’t even see her leave the booth, how is that possible?” she asked slowly. I could taste a small amount of pre-cum at the tip of Bonnie’s cock. I slurped it up immediately.

She then kneeled down underneath the table and I was looking her right in the face with a cock in my mouth. I would have apologized for my unruly behavior but… my mouth was full.

“What’s going on down here?” she exclaimed. She didn’t look upset at all. She reminded me very much of the mistress of a film noir detective. Or, perhaps she was the detective since she did such a good job of finding the hidden cock-sucker underneath the table. I took Bonnie’s cock out of my mouth and looked shamefully downward.

“I was just… celebrating our private table in my own special way,” I said.

“I hope a lady like you has some manners and knows to share,” she uttered, with her perfect matte lipstick. I stuttered. Should I inconveniently lift my head up and get back to the top of the table and discuss with Bonnie as to whether I should share her cock or not? Should she get a say in this?

She drew the curtains again and crawled right next to me. She grabbed Bonnie’s cock and put it right in her mouth, somehow without smudging any of her lipstick. Her face was so creamy and white, I could see a layer of thick powder on her face as she got closer to me. She was like a live Barbie from the 1940s; she was just too pretty to be sucking cock on the floor. This was more of a job for the young, frumpy girl in a T-shirt.

I continued to watch her stroke and suck Bonnie’s cock. I wonder if she even knew up there that that was Janine and not me? I was fine with her not knowing and I would happily take credit for this blow job. Janine was clearly more skilled in this department than I was. She took the cock out of her mouth and she grabbed my head and fed it into my mouth. She jerked Bonnie off right into me. I moved my head up and down and attempted to use as much of my tongue as possible as she worked her hands in a twisty-like motion on the base of Bonnie’s cock. This entire evening this lovely lady has done a wonderful job of feeding a continuing stream of fine tasting things into my mouth, from green liquid, to big ice cubes, to cock.

My freshman year of college, I once walked in on my roommate fucking her boyfriend. I apologized and quickly started to head out the door and her boyfriend shouted, “It’s totally cool, why don’t you join in?” I had been a bit tipsy from a pot brownie I ate, and thought hmmm, why not? This could be fun. But then my roommate slapped her boyfriend and called him a jerk. I hadn’t seen him since. This kind of ménage à trois experience being initiated by a woman, and with another woman, but still involving a cock was much better. I’m glad karma was giving me the proper threesome experience I was meant to have.

Janine and I giggled and fought over the cock and swapped it back and forth between one another. I really wanted to see the expression on Bonnie’s face as this was all happening but I couldn’t. I could just picture her eyes rolling back into her head and her laying there in ecstasy on her special night out. Was she smiling?

Janine took my hand and ran it up her thighs. I felt her garter and stocking with one hand and Bonnie’s garter and stocking in another. I rubbed them both at once; Janine’s nude stockings were quite thick, and her garter was made of some kind of nylon. It looked very retro—after we were done with this I thought I should ask her what brand these were because we certainly did not carry them at Dreamz.

We continued to switch off sucking. She got in a different position that looked like it involved some serious practice with yoga, and she leaned her head back upside down, and pushed Bonnie’s cock downward into her mouth. Bonnie squatted on her face and thrust her cock directly in and out of Janine’s mouth. This was impressive, a very well-choreographed upside-down blow job. Her skill in this department made up for that cheesy electric candle.

Bonnie continued to thrust into Janine’s mouth. Her headband and feather still hadn’t budged. I moved in and reached my tongue out and got in wherever I could. I got a small piece of the shaft as it was on its way down to her mouth. She was hungry for cock. She still kept a smile on her face while being aggressively pummeled. She truly loved it.

She released herself from her Kama Sutra contortionist stance and we went back to good old-fashioned cock sucking. I stroked, she sucked. She sucked, I stroked. I licked, she gagged, I cupped balls while she worked on the shaft. I saw Bonnie’s knees begin to tremble, and we both sucked with more intensity, we sucked and stroked like our lives depended on it.

“Come on,” Janine whispered, and she gave Bonnie one last big gulp and I noticed her feet shaking, and her hands clenching onto the table. That wasn’t very nice! We so delightfully shared a cock, she should have rightfully shared the cum, too.

She kept her mouth closed and pulled me up back to civilization at the upside of the table. Bonnie was sitting there in relaxed ecstasy, not really looking at either of us, but up at the ceiling. I imagined she was seeing stars right then. I giggled.

Janine grabbed a cup off the table with half a cocktail left in it (something Bonnie was sipping on while she got her cock sucked) and she spit the cum into the cup. She stirred it around with a metal straw (seriously, they had metal straws) and she handed me the drink. With her lips still perfectly red and her powder completely still in place she handed me the glass and said, “Enjoy!”

It tasted like fresh, warm cum and herbs. There was a sprig of rosemary in it. Something I had once only seen inside of a Thanksgiving turkey was now flavoring semen and alcohol.

She exited our private area without saying anything. I gave Bonnie a kiss as I continued to drink her jizz. I took my time with it. After all, I was told the proper thing to do was to savor the taste, like a coffee, with a very special creamer.

^________

To go back and go with Billy to the fair instead, Click Here.

To see how the Fantasy ends, Click Here.

^________

32

The taxi cab dropped us off at the truck stop. Hand in hand, we walked through the lot lined with rows of various trucks. Many of the ones I’d seen earlier were gone, and new ones were pulling in. I was getting anxious, like my summer camp romance was ending. I would eventually have to go back to my apartment, back to work, and back to life. Or maybe I could just live on the open road with Billy and/or Bonnie and we could go from one sexual adventure to the next in each town.

We got back into the tuck, exhausted and satisfied. Bonnie started to get undressed, shedding her femininity. She got the dress off, but she was struggling with taking off her makeup. She kept scrubbing her face with soap and it wasn’t budging.

“Should we go get some actual makeup remover?” Bonnie asked me, with a face full of suds, patches of foundation, and smeared lipstick on. Earlier this evening she resembled Marilyn Monroe but now she resembled Marilyn Manson. Either way, I was into it.

“No! That’s a waste of money, here, use this!” I took a small bottle of olive oil he had on his very limited rack of spices and condiments. Next to it sat a salt and pepper shaker, little bottles of Tabasco, mustard, and ketchup.

“You want me to put that on my face? It’s meant to go on my salad,” she laughed.

“Yeah! It works, seriously. And it will keep your skin nice and smooth. All makeup remover really is, is a bunch of different oils that break up the makeup particles.”

She hesitantly but willingly took the olive oil out of my hands, and wiped it across her face with a tissue. As I suspected the makeup cleaned off impeccably well.

“So, what should I call you now?”

“I’m back to Billy,” he said.

“All right!” I said.

“I know. Look, I’m new at this. Bonnie is an important part of me. I’ve been waiting for her to walk around freely for so many years! And this is really exciting. But I’m also not ashamed of Billy. I am happy in my own skin, but I need to express my feminine side sometimes. I guess the best thing I can relate it to is how you would feel when you put on high heels and a designer outfit. Doesn’t it just make you feel powerful and kind of like you’re a different person that evening?” he asked.

“I have literally never worn a designer outfit in my life. Unless you consider American Apparel a designer. I once spent $42 on a long-sleeve shirt from there and I don’t know if I felt powerful but I sure felt comfortable!” I laughed.

After a pause I said, “Look, I’m fine with whoever you want to be, whenever you want to be. I’m just happy to be here!”

I kissed him, as Billy again. His cheeks were so silky from the olive oil. An “extra virgin” skin remedy after a night of public sexual escapades.

“So, where do you have to go next?’ I asked. “And when?” I wanted to begin to mentally prepare for my abandonment. Eventually the magic that existed inside this eighteen-wheeler would have to come to an end. I think.

“Actually, I’m not so sure right now,” he said.

“What do you mean? Don’t you have to, like, drive somewhere? Isn’t that what truckers do?” I laughed.

“Well, this winter was abnormally cold,” Billy said.

“Oh yeah, it was! I had to wear a real coat. AND boots. It was nuts!” I replied.

“Yeah, well when it gets that cold, the strawberries can’t grow properly, and that’s the primary fruit that I deliver. The farm I work for laid me off temporarily, until the next grow season.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be! It’s part of this business. I’m not sure what I will do. I have enough money saved to last me a while. That’s what happens when you have basically no bills to pay! The trucking job was just for something to do. I’ll just stick around here until I figure something out!”

“Well, I can’t say I’m happy that you got laid off but I am happy that you don’t have to leave.”

He grabbed two more organic frozen burritos from the tiny ice box of shelf space in his mini fridge. We listened to the whooshing sounds of the microwave, and continued to make out until it beeped.

Going back to work was surreal. It felt like it had been days since I had been there and in those few days I had had seen a man transform into a woman, then back to a man, and have sexual interactions with both him and her in various public places. My car was still here. It felt like a dream.

On the other hand, the store was a complete disaster. The floor was damaged from the rainwater and vaguely smelled like mold. Hundreds of magazines were completely destroyed and several electrical cords were frayed that plugged in the neon lights that spelled out “VIDEO DVD XXX.” At this point, I was pretty sure just being inside the store violated several safety codes.

I had no idea what to do. No one was at the store when I got there. I unlocked it at 6:30 P.M. Had anyone been here at all? Did Sandy know what was going on? Was I still on the clock right now even though nothing here really worked? Because I did desperately need my untaxed eleven bucks an hour.

The bell on the door rang (it was good to know that did still kind of work) and Sandy came in. She was wearing bright yellow galoshes, a bright orange skirt, and a silver puffy jacket, and of course, she had hot pink lipstick on her lips.

“Hello, honey!” She kissed me on the cheek and left a huge lip mark on me, which was fine because I had now become quite used to having a face stained with makeup. Instead of trying to wipe it off I just blended it into my face like a type of rouge.

“Hey, Sandy,” I said.

“Would you like some punch? I can mix some for you!” she said.

“No, Sandy! I think, uh, I think we should probably figure out what the hell to do here before we start drinking punch, right?” I said.

She paused. “Well, drinking punch usually helps me figure out what to do!” She started laughing.

“All right. Let’s drink some punch and maybe we’ll get inspired.”

Sandy pulled out a mason jar full of mystery pink liquid from her silver puffy jacket. She grabbed two plastic cups that she kept by the register, that had some sticky leftover pink residue in the bottom, and filled them up. We clinked our Solo cups together.

“Cheers!” she said. It was a small moment of joy in this half-run-down porn store.

“So what do we do?” I gave the punch a few minutes to circulate inside our bodies and seep into our brains. “I mean, don’t you have insurance, or anything of the sort?”

“Well, I came in the morning after the storm with an insurance adjuster,” she said.

“Oh, really?” I know it sounds incredibly insulting; it was just surprising to hear Sandy say the words “insurance adjuster.” The store has been open for over twenty years; sometimes I don’t give her enough credit.

“So what happened? Do they send someone to fix it?”

“Well, they couldn’t find anyone to fix anything because there’s too much damage everywhere in the town, and you know, we’re not exactly the priority around here. They would be happy if we shut down! They did give me a check, though, and told me to take care of it myself.”

“I mean, I’m sure you know plenty of repair people we could call, right?” I said.

“Honey, unfortunately the check they wrote me was for about one quarter of what it will cost to fix this place up. It was barely anything. A little less than four thousand dollars. My ex-husband was an electrician, and he owned a construction business. I know what these things cost—we will need at least fifteen thousand to fix this!” She continued to drink the punch. There were tears in her eyes.

“Sandy, why didn’t you call me?! I would have come in here and talked to them for you.” They completely took advantage of her. “Did you talk to Emma and Bradley next door? What happened to them?” I asked. There was a business right next to us run by an older couple that did vacuum cleaner and sewing machine repairs, and Sandy was friendly with them. They stayed open for about four hours a day, if that.

“Yes, they are getting full coverage. Hell, they’ll probably just retire and use their money to buy a new house! They’re getting a little over forty thousand dollars,” she sighed.

“That’s ridiculous! Their store is one-eighth the size of ours! Can’t you get a lawyer? This can’t be legal. I wish you wouldn’t have signed off on this so quickly.”

Shouldn’t the local authorities know that masturbating is far more important than fixing a vacuum cleaner? Don’t people actually just go and buy new ones when they break?

And then I remembered. After the fisting and before the public debauchery, Billy told me he used to work construction. He also told me he basically had nothing to do and a good amount of money in his bank account. Was this just meant to be? What were the chances that someone who drove up and down throughout the entire 500-mile stretch of the entire state of Florida would just happen to stumble upon this store? The fact that I worked here was completely random; I was supposed to be a substitute teacher somewhere in Pasco County, while attempting to get upgraded to an actual teacher somewhere in Hillsborough County. But that didn’t happen. The fact that Billy wound up here was equally as random. He was supposed to be a married man by now, with a child, owning his father’s construction business, living in a Boca Raton mansion, but instead, he was living in a truck.

People used to always tell me that everything happened for a reason. But nothing ever happened to me, so there were no reasons for anything. It truly felt like everything that happened in my life happened in the way that it did just so this moment would happen the way it was right now. From the power outage, to the frozen strawberries, the path of bizarre mishaps have led us to a broken porn store with no one to fix it. I pulled out my phone and called Billy.

“Hey!” I said, “It’s me!”

“Hello! How’s it going? I miss you, pretty.”

I blushed.

“Well, the store is totally fucked up. I’m here with Sandy. Remember Sandy?”

“Hello love!” Sandy yelled loudly behind me.

“Yes, of course. The lady with the lipstick all over her face who made the punch.”

“Yes. That’s her!” I said. “So, I remember you said you worked construction. The insurance company came in here and totally ripped her off and gave her less than half of what she will need to get this place back up and running. Would you want to help?”

Silence came from his end. Shit. I don’t know why I was expecting him to just suddenly say yes. Maybe this was a mistake.

“You can, like, think about it and call me back if you want,” I said.

Sandy was now chugging her punch straight from the jar. She wasn’t bothering to pour it into a cup any longer.

“I can do that—I’ll come by and figure it out,” he said.

“Really?” I said.

“Well yes, but I have a better idea. I can put some of my savings back into fixing it, we can tear down the whole place and rebuild it, and make it amazing.”

“I mean, that’s not really my call. I make minimum wage here,” I laughed.

“Sandy can still get her share. I’ll just be another partner. I know a lot about running businesses. I would love to help,” he said.

“Well, why don’t you come over here? We have a lot to talk about!” I said.

“I’ll be right over.”

I hung up the phone. “Don’t worry, Sandy, everything will be okay!” I turned to her and said.

“Are you sure?” she said.

“Yes. I am sure.”

“Well, all right, lead the way!” she said. And she turned up the music in the store to the highest volume possible. Which wasn’t very high at all because the speaker barely worked anymore. But through the crackles and the static and feedback of the now mono (that was once stereo) speaker system, she danced to an instrumental pop song.

Billy came by later and talked everything over with Sandy. They had a lot of complicated details to work out, but she seemed very excited. She hugged him and kissed him, and he brought from his truck a giant box of tools taller than me, and began making a plan on how to fix the store. We made a promise to each other that as soon as he removed all the ruined flooded carpets from the ROOMZ, we would christen it by having sex for the first time with each other in there—something we hadn’t actually done yet. Our seventy-two-hour relationship had been limited to fisting, cum swallowing, and panty wearing, but no penis to vagina penetration. Not yet. Did I set my vagina up for something too strenuous? I wanted to fuck him, and I didn’t want to wait too long to do it. Perhaps I should Google the details of how long it takes to reupholster damaged carpet so I had a timeframe.

He decided to do a quick fix on the speaker. Sandy didn’t want to turn the music down, and the sad sounds of the burned-out speaker was painful to our ears. He got up on a stool and pulled out some wire cutters and began pulling out colored cords and fixing them up accordingly. His pants sunk down a bit, and on top of his sliver of adorable plumber’s crack, he revealed that beneath his manly jeans he wore the original plain black garter he got here, tied in the back with safety pins and some twine. My heart melted. And I felt a drop of moisture in my own new pair of lace panties. I smiled to myself as I realized, there is nothing in this world he can’t fix.

The End

^________

Go back at find a different fantasy, Click Here.

^________

Acknowledgements

Thank you to all for your input, support, and inspiration in this novel.

Aaron Thompson

Chris Nieratko

Juanito Blanco

Josie Jacobs

Anna de Ville

Dnothing

Kara Pond

Mitch Fontaine

Jiz Lee

Nikki Hearts

Peter Warren

Buck Angel

Jason Ellis

Hipster Dan

Michael Tully

Asa Akira

Angela White

Abella Danger

Jessica Drake

Mike Quasar

RVCC

Hustler Hollywood

Fantasyland Adult Supercenter

Tristan Taormino

Nina Hartley

Stephanie Lippit

JT Stockroom

We-Vibe

Vera Wylde

Mx Nillin

Betty Dodson and Carlin Ross

All performers who have ever worked for BurningAngel

My parents

Rebecca and Sarah

About the Author

JOANNA ANGEL is an adult film star, director, producer, author, and owner of the BurningAngel Empire, the company known for the emergence and prevalence of tattooed women in the adult film industry. Angel started her business in a college dorm room in 2002, and today the company has a network of websites, hundreds of DVDs to its credit, and over 50 adult industry awards, including Best Pornstar Website, Best Comedy, and many more. In 2016, Angel was the host of the AVN Awards and was inducted into AVN and XRCO’s hall of fame. Angel has appeared in every major adult magazine (Adult Video News, Club, Hustler, Picture Magazine, and Penthouse to name a few), and she was the first tattooed centerfold of Hustler magazine. She has stormed mainstream TV and radio outlets, featured on Fox News, Playboy TV, Fuse TV, G4 TV, KROQ Radio, SIRIUS Radio, TLC’s LA Ink, Vice TV, had a speaking role on Adult Swim’s Children’s Hospital, and starred in the indie drama Scrapper. Angel has appeared in the New York Times, Newsweek, The Village Voice, the New York Press, Esquire UK, Details, and is a regular columnist for AskMen.com. Heeb Magazine featured Joanna as their cover girl, naming her one of the “Top 100 Up-and-Coming Jews.” The New York Post featured her as one of the “Top 25 Sexiest New Yorkers,” and she has made CNBC’s yearly “dirty dozen” (a list of the twelve biggest adult film stars) several times. Angel also made her mark in the sex toy world, becoming a venerated Fleshlight Girl and creating a BDSM line of toys with Stockroom. Joanna Angel is a self-made star who has made her mark on the industry, and this is only the beginning!

Copyright

Copyright © 2018 by Joanna Angel.

All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television, or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published in the United States by Cleis Press, an imprint of Start Midnight, LLC, 101 Hudson Street, Thirty-Seventh Floor, Suite 3705, Jersey City, NJ 07302.

Printed in the United States.

Cover design: Zak Kaplan

Cover photograph: Vecteezy.com

Text design: Frank Wiedemann

First Edition.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Trade paper ISBN: 978-1-62778-288-3

E-book ISBN: 978-1-62778-253-1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.