Asphalt Response

Trashy buxom blond half naked against a truck tire.

I just discovered the blogg Butchtastic: in addition to providing me directly with tons of much-needed reading material (at least until I clear my name with the library), I’ve been plundering Kyle’s blogroll for even more fodder. Yay!

But it was some purple prose that triggered the story below. Halt! Before you read further, read this!

Done? You may proceed:

*      *     *

I strutted into the bar, trying to look thrilled by the big oaf on my arm–the head of the football team that made all the other girls jealous in highschool–but the walls were closing in on me even as the echos of his buddies laughter ricocheted off the polished bar.
“I’ve gotta use the ladies.” I said, carefully avoiding the eyes of my “best friend,” so she wouldn’t think I wanted her to join me. She was the “cool girl” I had plotted and schemed with all through high school, using our shallow popularity to push away anyone I might have had a genuine connection with.

All that seemed so important then…but now, living with Brad and going to a community college, I wished I had the bravery to follow my dreams. Now, as my so-called-friends grew into bigger characatures of their highschool selves every day, there was only one thing that made life bearable.

My pussy throbbed at just the thought of Buddy. I never met anyone like her in this little podunk town. The first time I saw her climbing out of that pick-up truck with the cowboy hat and the rougish smile, I knew I had to have her.

We had been seeing each other for a while now; wild, intense fucks that blew my mind like nothing else. But it was always in secret. No one must know. I spent so many years pretending I was normal, pretending I was dumb and cool and liked those jocks without a thought in their head. Pretending to make fun of the school tomboy so no one would know how I used to touch myself at night and imagine that it was her inside me…
I thought I could keep it up forever, marry Brad, have his stupid kids, live a lie…
But that last time, with her fist deep inside me and fireworks in my head louder than the ones outside, I knew that was all I wanted. And as she pressed her lips against mine–her lips so firm and hot and her tongue so insistent–I knew we had to find a way to be together!

That night I came up with a plan: We would run away and never look back! There was no way I could come out in this town–Bradd would beat me to a pulp if my father didn’t get to me first–but there were places we could go–like San Francisco!

I could go to school anywhere–maybe study writing instead of these stupid nursing classes–and dishwashing jobs were a dime a dozen. I had a bag packed, a little money saved…we could leave tonight!

All these thoughts were tumbling through my head as I sauntered with fake casualness down the hall, faking to the right, like I was going to the bathroom, then darting to the left into the kitchen, where Buddy was bent over grabbing something from under the dishwashing station.

“Hey Buddy!” I called out coquettishly.

She–I mean he–straightened up–the eyes that met my gaze had the guiless blankness of a 16 year old.

“What’s up?” he leered at me, his face I forest of pockmarks and zits.

“Where’s–where’s Buddy?”

“I dunno. Never showed up for work. I just started today.” His gaze traveled from the short hem of my dress to the low cut at my bosom. “Can I help you?”

“No you creep!” I stormed out.

I went to the bathroom after-all. Tears poured down my cheeks as I sat on the cold ceramic: memories of the smell of cotton candy and wet asphalt and the sounds of the carnival mixed with moans echoing through my head.

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