Sunday, May 31, 2015

BIRTHDAY PRESENT PART 2 OF 2 by Downing Street


Francine’s birthday party was a lot more fun when she made her second appearance. The enlivening punch and Clifford’s talent had put everyone in a fine mood. Laughter and merriment were everywhere. The band was playing an upbeat tune. A number of couples were dancing wildly on the grass. Others lounged in deck chairs, or around the pool, ties loosened, jackets off, heels dangling. Men admired and women flirted. A woman’s sun hat was floating in the pool. A boisterous crowd of people was pressed around Sarah Wiggle, who was demonstrating once and for all that she could hold a punch-glass in her bosom and dance in place at the same time. Somebody’s husband offered to clean up anything she spilled.
The reaction to the made-over Francine was different too. When people noticed the shapely 18-year-old, glowing in her see-through mesh top, swirly microskirt and high heels, a spontaneous cheer arose from the crowd. There were dropped jaws, wolf whistles, and a cry of “Helllloooooo, Franny!” Francine’s earlier self-consciousness was gone and forgotten. She smiled warmly, thrusting out her chest. It was fun to show off. Look at all those guys hungry for my hot bod, she thought proudly.
“Uh-oh” said Vicky. Francine followed her gaze to where her mother was marching toward them. She was looking a little unsteady, and one side of her gold blouse was untucked. There was no mistaking the look of outraged disapproval on her face, however. Francine braced for the worst.
Whatever tirade her mother was about to launch was interrupted at the last moment. “Would you care for some more punch, ma’am?” asked the petite caterer. She and her partner were arriving with fresh trays of drinks. They were both wearing their unbuttoned white blouses tied in a knot across the chest. Neither was wearing a bra. The Japanese girl had less to display than her partner, but she was making the most of it. Before her mum could respond, Francine noticed Clifford lowering his brows.
Francine’s mother stopped for a moment. She blinked several times. “Uhm,” she said. “Oh, why yes, I would love some punch. Thank you.” She took a glass and helped herself to a deep draft. “My that’sh special,” she said idly.
“Mom, I can explain,” Francine began. But her mother didn’t seem to be listening. She was watching the caterer walk away. Her glossy black ponytail swayed across her bare back with every step. It looked like the girl had rolled up her skirt a few inches.
“She has the nicest . . .” Francine’s mother said distractedly. “Don’t you think? She’s so . . . well, so . . . sweet. Mmmm-hmmm. Sweet. Like . . . candy.” She wandered off after the caterer, an amorous look in her grey eyes.
Francine looked after her in wonder. “Hey, there you are! Come on, join the party” cried another voice. Chelsea and Tessa were wandering toward them. Both girls were gathering looks from every man they passed. “Hi there Clifford,” Chelsea said meaningfully. She toyed with a lock of long hair.
Clifford grinned foolishly. The guy simply had no grace. “Uh, hi, again,” he said weakly. “You’re uhm . . . Tessa? Right?”
Instead of being insulted, both girls laughed. “No, I’m Tessa,” said the girl in the blue mini. “She’s Chelsea. And you’re Clifford—in case you can’t remember!” More laughter.
“Looks like you guys are having a good time,” Vicky observed. They started moving off the deck, down onto the grass.
“Oh, this is a gnarly party!” said Tessa.
Chelsea said: “Vic you have got to try some of this punch. It’s super-duper delish!” To prove her point she drained the rest of her glass in one go. “Come on everybody, let’s dance!” She and Tessa were already swaying toward the bandstand.
“Oops, here comes my dad,” Francine said. Her father was tall and lank. His expression was dark as he walked toward them.
Clifford was frowning again, intently. His brow furrowed with concentration. He was looking at Tessa though, not Francine’s perturbed father. The girl stopped walking. She looked distracted, like she had swallowed something funny.
Then she looked at Francine’s father. “Wow,” she said softly. “Why didn’t I ever notice . . . Fran, your dad is so . . . manly. There’s something about a bald man . . . you know . . . ?” She licked her lips. Francine could tell she was putting a little extra wiggle in he walk as she stepped over toward him. The feminine gait was exaggerated by her low-riding mini and white, platform sandals.
“Hey Mr. Goodstock,” the lithe blonde cooed in a smoky voice. “Great party. Care for a dance?” She was already slipping one hand around his arm. The distinguished lawyer, clearly flattered by the attention of a cute young thing, let her lead him off toward the band. She leaned against him as they walked away.
“Well, she sure distracted him,” Francine said, grinning. Clifford sure did know how to smooth things over. What a great guy.
Clifford and the remaining young women made their way through the party-goers. A woman in a short sundress laughed at a joke. She had one leg thrown carelessly over the arm of her deck chair. A shoulder strap had slipped down. The woman seemed serenely unconcerned about how much she was revealing.
Clifford nabbed a snack from a passing tray. All the serving girls had adopted the tied-top look. Clifford stared at the woman’s tits, clearly visible through the thin blouse. Her smile was an invitation. Vicky elbowed him in the ribs.
Francine drew a lot of attention wherever she went, and not just because she was the guest of honour. Showing more leg than a giraffe helped, not to mention the boob show upstairs. So did being with Clifford. As they wandered about the party, Francine caught glimpses of Vicky’s hot boyfriend working more magic.
“No I do not want any more of that damned punch,” declared a thirtyish woman. She was finely dressed in a flattering lilac dress, with matching boots.
The man with her said, “Come on Dimli, lighten up. Have a drink. Enjoy the party!” His tie was at half-mast.
Dimli said, “No! Can’t you tell that’s been spiked beyond believing? What is wrong with you, Roland? Why is everyone acting so stupid? Look, why don’t we just go get your daughter and go home before . . . before . . .” She blinked for a moment. She swayed on her bootheels as Clifford glared at her.
Abruptly she smiled. “Well, maybe one more l’il drink would be all right,” She took the brimming glass that her companion offered. “But don’t you go trying to get me drunk.” She winked at him, then took a long, deep drink of supercharged punch. “Oh hello, that does have punch, doesn’t it,” she declared approvingly.
“I think Becky is dancing,” Roland said. “She probably won’t want to go home yet either.”
Dimli was busy drinking. “Mmmm-hmmm,” she murmured. “Well, she’s a big girl. Oh, here’s Francine. Happy birthday dear! You look delightful. Let’s have a toast to Francine on her birthday.” She raised the glass one more time. Roland did the same. He was devouring Francine and Vicky with his eyes.
“Thanks!” Francine said, smiling. “I hope you’re enjoying the party.” She smoothed down her mesh top with one hand, trying to draw Roland’s attention to her tits. It worked.
“Oh look, empty already,” Dimli said. “Roland, stop staring n’ fetch me nother drink.”
Beside one of the gardens they found another couple, sitting on a carved bench. “Trenton, stop that!” cried the young woman. “Come on, this has gone far enough. You should be ashamed of yourself, you perv.”
“Let me just touch them, OK? For a moment, really. Tabby never wears stockings, I have no idea what they feel like. Come on Jayde, be a sport.” He was leaning over her, with one hand between her legs, at the hem of the short skirt of her suit. She pressed her legs together.
“That’s enough! OK, you’ve had your feel. Now stop that, I mean it!” She squirmed on the bench as his hand wormed higher. “Look, you’re going to get us both in trouble. Your wife is right over there! We’ll get cau—” Her voice died away. She met Clifford’s eyes.
“. . . unless we’re very careful,” she whispered a moment later. She spread her legs a little to give him access. His hand disappeared. “Oh honey, you have warm fingers,” she sighed. She put a hand on his wrist, urging him higher. “My panties are silk too,” she whispered in his ear. “See for yourself.”
As more of the powerful punch made its way around the party, Francine began to have difficulty distinguishing between Clifford’s sly mind-meddling and plain old drunkenness. At one point she almost collided with Millie Cutebottom, who was staggering about with her shoes in one hand and a drink in the other. Removing her heels didn’t seem to have made her any more stable.
“Happppy birthday Francine!” Millie cried. Spontaneously she gave the girl a big hug. Or she may have merely fallen into her, Francine wasn’t sure.
“Mrs. Cutebottom, are you quite all right?” Francine asked.
“Oh, I’m more than all right, darlin’, I’m flyin’! You look absolutely darling in that little skirt, you know, abs’lutely darlin’. Minds me o’ when I was eighteen. That was loooong time ago, but we did know how t’ave fun (hic!). Loooove this punch.” She took another pull from the glass she was holding. “Mmmm, tha’s good. I—” From the way she stopped, Francine knew without looking that Clifford was glaring at her over Francine’s shoulder. Vicky giggled.
So did Millie Cutebottom, a moment later. “Saaaay, Francine honey, I was thinkin’ . . . bout bein’ like eighteen an stuff. It was like, way fun . . . I was like totally a cheerleader, you know? It was awesome!
“Well, uhm, so was I, like, until last year.”
Millie’s eyes lit up. “Can I like, borrow your shoes? Jus’ for now, huh? I can’t like, do cheers in these!” With a laugh she tossed aside her expensive pumps. “I’ll be right back!” She dashed, or rather wobbled, toward the house. The three teens watched her go.
“Some people shouldn’t drink,” Francine observed.
“Come on, let’s dance,” Vicky demanded. All three of them ran off to join the crowd.
There were quite a number of people dancing in front of the bandstand. The band was playing slower numbers, perhaps in deference to the older people in the crowd. The band members themselves had had a bit of punch. The music tended to be improvisational. Apparently nobody cared. The musicians had all taken their jackets off.
Francine insisted on dancing with Clifford, claiming her prerogative as the birthday girl. Vicky was left to find another partner. That took about five seconds.
Clifford turned out to be the worst dancer in the history of romance. Francine didn’t mind; she had expected no less, given his total lack of coolness. It was more annoying that every woman at the party seemed to want to cut in. Every ten seconds, or so it seemed, another tipsy, aerobicized blonde would leave her partner to come wiggling over and fairly throw herself at poor Clifford. Francine was beginning to see why Vicky was so protective.
Still, as they moved about on the dance floor, Francine couldn’t suppress her delight. Clifford was making this into a terrific party. Everyone was laughing and singing and dancing and having a wonderful time. Inhibitions were falling; libidos were rising. Male hands were drifting; women who should have fended them off tittered instead and urged them on. No one seemed too concerned about who was flirting with whom. A spontaneous game of musical chairs ended with two giggly housewives sprawling in the lap of a bemused businessman. He kissed them both until the deck chair he was sitting in collapsed. All three tumbled into a laughing, groping tangle on the grass.
Francine caught a glimpse of Tessa, dancing with her father. She was clearly trying to seduce him. She used every excuse to dance close, pressing her tight teenage body provocatively against the older man. When they parted she held his eyes while she undulated gracefully. Her hips swayed like a belly dancer’s in the low-riding mini. Her blue navel stone glistened in the afternoon sun. Francine’s dad looked very uncomfortable: he was clearly hesitant about responding to his daughter’s friend, no matter how smokingly sexy she was. On the other hand, he was obviously enthralled by the spell of lust she was weaving.
Clifford cured his dilemma. At one point he caught the man’s eye for a moment, frowning. Francine watched her father lose his rhythm, shaking his head. He put a hand on Tessa’s shoulder to steady himself.
In only a few seconds he came to himself. Now a sly grin spread across his face as he admired tempting, teenage Tessa. They began to dance close again. This time, Francine saw her father’s hands slide down Tessa’s bare back and over her hips, until they were firmly planted on her barely covered asscheeks. Tessa murmured and snuggled in his arms. The dance became a moving embrace.
Francine watched the mismatched couple keenly. The atmosphere of sexual heat running through the party was getting to her. It hardly occurred to her to be concerned that her own father was coming on to an oversexed teen within easy view of her mother.
Where was her mother, anyway? She looked around, when she got a break from Clifford stepping on her toes. She finally located her, off in a corner, with one arm around the pretty Japanese caterer. Francine couldn’t hear the conversation. Her mother’s face was coloured with ardour. The caterer kept fending her off, embarrassed, like Francine’s mother was a smitten groupie following a rock star. Except that Francine’s mother was as gorgeous as her daughter.
Clifford must have noticed at about the same time Francine did because he stepped on her toes again. “Sorry,” he said for about the one-hundredth time. “Just a moment.” He scowled off into the distance. Francine noticed the caterer stop suddenly, looking toward them. She rubbed her face with one hand and blinked like she had dust in her eyes.
A moment later she looked back at Francine’s mother. She was no longer trying to get away. She reached out to the older woman and ran one hand down the side of her face. She said something to her, an urgent whisper. She trailed a finger along the older woman’s ruby necklace, lingering along her bodice. Francine’s mother nodded, trembling. She unclasped the necklace and fastened it around the girl’s slim neck. The caterer whispered something else. A moment later she was wearing her earrings too. Then she took the other woman by the hand and they disappeared behind a row of shrubs.
Francine felt a tingle of doubt. Was this right? She was glad her parents were having fun (and staying out of her way so she could party) but . . . well, they were behaving so oddly. She couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t more upset. It must have been something Clifford had done. As the band finished its number, she asked him. “Clifford I wonder if—” That was as far as she got before Clifford’s concentrating look caught her at point blank range. The outside world faded away completely for a second. She might even have fallen, had not Clifford been there to catch her.
As the music started up again, the peccadillos of her parents were the last thing on Francine’s mind. She threw herself against her best friend’s weird boyfriend. “Cliffy, baby,” she moaned, “I am so horny right now I think I’ll die if you don’t fuck me.” She pressed her body against him. Her heavy tits tingled against his chest. She swayed her hips, letting him feel her heat.
“I thought you wanted to dance,” he said.
“We can dance at the same time. We’ll do it right here. Please, I want you. You have to fuck me, it’s my birthday!” To emphasize her point she cupped his cheeks in his hands and gave him a kiss he was not likely to forget for a while. “Come on darling,” she whispered, “put it in me while we dance.”
He looked hesitant. Francine kissed him into acquiescence. She looked about. So many couples were practically ravishing each other standing up, no one was likely to notice what she and Cliffy did. She stayed very close to him, swaying to the music. She slid one delicate hand down between them. She tugged down his zipper. She slipped a hand inside. Clifford grunted when she found her target. In a few seconds he was exposed, in the middle of her parents’ back yard on a pleasant Saturday afternoon. The lead musician wailed away on his saxophone.
Francine laid her head on Clifford’s shoulder and gently stroked him. He was rising swiftly. She looked around. Other couples were necking and fondling on the dance floor. Her father and Tessa were in a similar position to her and Clifford. Tessa was balancing on one two-inch platform with her other leg wrapped around his. Their hips undulated in unison.
On the other side, gorgeous Vicky, looking dead sexy in her microdress and boots, was somehow entrancing two young men at the same time. She was sandwiched between them, kissing and petting the man in front while she ground her delectable ass against the man behind. Out of the corner of her eye Francine saw Chelsea, off to one side. She was seated in the lap of an older man in an Armani suit. She was slowly feeding him cherries, using only her teeth. The man looked as turned on as Francine felt.
Francine was trembling. Clifford had her turned on like none of her boyfriends ever had. She was lubricating into her scanty underwear. “Screw me Cliffy,” she whispered in his ear. “Nail me good in front of everybody.”
She pressed herself close to him, still with her hand on his now firm member. Francine’s skirt was so short it was easy to slip under it. Sexy stockings left her crotch bare. Her flimsy panties were not meant to be a barrier. Clifford was tall, but so was Francine—and she had the advantage of four-inch heels. With a little bending and stretching she got him into position; he thrust forward, parting her pussylips and . . . and . . .
. . . and instantly Francine was in heaven.
She gasped loudly as Clifford’s perfect pecker poked her pulsing pussy. He thrust in deep. He clasped her bum with both hands, keeping her upright. Vicky must have taught him a thing or two. The feeling of his shaft inside her was sensational. Francine moaned into his collar. She felt hot and thrilling. She held him tight, afraid he might slip out if she relaxed. She found his face and buried her lips against his.
After a moment he began to pull his hips back, only a little at first, then forward again, burying himself deeper. It was exquisite. Francine was no stranger to sex. None of the late night liaisons her mother didn’t know about could compare with the fabulous fucking Clifford was giving her for her birthday.
They pretended to dance to the music. They tried to time the thrusts and undulations of their hips with the clamorous music flowing around them. The band was quite drunk. The music was becoming wild and rocky. Francine hardly noticed. She was barely aware of the noise and excitement all around them, the other couples dancing and fondling, of Sarah Wiggle dashing onto the stage and doing a drunken strip-tease to the delight of the crowd, of bodies splashing in the pool, and some woman’s voice shouting “more, don’t stop, please More!” from somewhere.
None of that mattered. All Francine cared about was the sensations of her body against Clifford’s, and his wet, hard, pounding cock inside her. She was hot. Her deep breaths swelled her chest. “Hurry baby,” she rasped in his ear. “Hurry! I’m going to cum . . . oh yes . . . I am . . . faster!”
He was thrusting urgently now. Francine could tell his own peak was approaching. She had abandoned any pretense of dancing. She was standing on her toes, bodily lifting herself onto Clifford’s cock. She surfed along the edge of orgasm for a few moments, cried out “Yes, Clifford YES!” much louder than she intended, then abandoned herself to a superb climax. As her lithe body bucked and fizzed she felt Clifford cumming in swift staccato bursts inside her.
At that moment several complicated things happened. In her rapture, Francine had completely forgotten about getting caught. She realized this as she heard a female voice cry “Francine! My god what are you doing!” a few feet away. She looked over her shoulder to see Mrs. Featherstone, the most conservative of her parents’ friends and still relatively sober, staring at her in shock. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Clifford begin to frown at her.
He was still ejaculating. The force of his orgasm must have amplified the mind trick because Mrs. Featherstone actually stumbled backward with the force of it. Francine was still on her toes. She pulled Clifford off balance. The two of them tumbled downward in a slow spiral, cumming and falling and frowning all at once. Clifford’s scowl swept across the crowd, knocking partygoers backward like spray from a water cannon. He had spun nearly a full 360 degrees before he and still-twitching Francine collapsed on the cool grass.
The effect of Clifford’s wild blast on the party was immediate. In seconds it collapsed into pure orgy. Couples that had been fondling and flirting moments before began rampantly screwing on the grass. They ripped and tore at their clothes in their urgent need to fuck. Partners, threesomes and foursomes formed almost at random. Groans and laughter and shrieks of delight danced through the air. Up on the stage, the lead saxophonist tried gamely to play on, even as Sarah Wiggle sucked him off in her underwear. The other musicians abandoned their instruments and joined the fray.
Francine climbed to her feet. She had to help Clifford up. He almost forgot to do up his fly. “Cliffy, what happened?” she wanted to know. She looked around at the party-turned-orgy in perplexity. Bodies moaned and rolled and flexed. A woman streaked by in her dress heels and nothing else, laughing giddily. She was swinging her bra like a lure for the two falling-down-drunk accountants chasing her.
“I think I overdid it,” Clifford said. “Please, I need to sit down.”
“Of course.” She put her arm around his shoulder and led him away from the commotion. Her destination was a bench beneath the striped tent. It took a while to get there. Women of all stripes and all stages of undress turned toward them whenever they laid eyes on Clifford. Francine had to physically push away a couple, who then turned to ardently kissing each other.
They passed by the shrubbery where her mother had disappeared with the caterer. Someone said, “Oh yes, honey, baby, you make me come again! Yes again, one more time! Make me cum and you can give me your shoes too!”
Clifford and Francine arrived at the bench. He sat down heavily.
“Hey, how bout a drink, Cliffy?” said a voice. Another of the caterers stood there, her eyes glassy with drink and lust, a glass of punch in one hand. She had abandoned her uniform altogether except for black pantyhose and Millie Cutebottom’s high heels. When Clifford tried to take the glass, the girl tumbled deliberately into his lap. Her nipples were erect.
Francine tugged on her arm until she staggered to her feet again. “Please, he needs to rest, K?” Francine said. “For a few minutes.”
“OK gorrrrrgeous,” slurred the girl, “Let’s us fuck till then!” She immediately turned her amorous attention to Francine. The birthday girl found herself kissing a hot young hussy in hose and heels. She separated from the sexed-up server with some difficulty. She was horny again. Some of Clifford’s broad spectrum mind blast must have hit her too.
“Please, wait . . . no,” Francine sputtered. “Not right now. I need . . . to take care of Clifford.”
The girl looked disappointed. She stole another kiss before mincing away. Francine found herself admiring the girl’s legs and ass in her sleek microfibre hose. She didn’t get very far before Francine’s cousin Ralph, wearing nothing but a hard-on and his shoes, practically tackled her. Clifford took a deep draft of the liquor. Francine took the glass and drank the rest.
After a few minutes Tessa came staggering toward them. She was wearing a crooked grin but not much else. “Hi guys!” she chirped. “This is the swellest party. I’m really drunk. Francine, your daddy is the best lay in the whole universe!” She threw out her arms and spun about happily, instantly losing her balance and stumbling onto the bench beside them. “Hey, what’s wrong wit’ Cliffy?” Everybody’s favourite nerd had dozed off.
Francine said, “That thing in his head. He’s a little tired.”
“Oh, poor baby. Izthere anythin’ I can do?” She clearly had something specific in mind.
“He just needs to rest.”
“Hey, there you are!” came Chelsea’s voice. She swayed toward them, even more drunk than Tessa, but somewhat more dressed. She was sopping wet.
“What happened to you?” Francine asked.
Chelsea swayed before them, dripping and smiling. “Fell in the pool (hic!). Los’ my balance. I was tryin’ to give this stud, like, focaccia standing up (hic!).”
“You mean fellatio, airhead!”
“Yeah (giggle). Whatever. Wuz Ok cuz he ended up fuckin’ me n the pool. Hi Cliffy!”
“He’s resting.”
“He did the trick with his mind and like, over did it.”
“Oh, tha’s too bad.” Chelsea folded up on the ground in front of him. Her wet minidress was plastered against her body, revealing every perfect line and curve.
“Hey,” Tessa said, “Where’s Vicky?”
Francine giggled this time. “Over by the bandstand, being fought over by about three guys. You know Vicky.”
Tessa looked around. There was mayhem and mating going on all around them. Tralee Looker, a vision in a classic little-black-dress, was bent over a deck chair, long legs spread wide and hair falling everywhere. She was hungrily sucking off the ex- husband she had bitterly divorced two months earlier, while his lawyer screwed her from behind. Millie Cutebottom went dancing by, attempting to do cartwheels. She had found a pair of metallic red running shoes Francine had worn when she was about fifteen. She had done her hair in pigtails. She wore nothing beneath her skirt. “Go team go!” she shouted, skipping across the lawn. “What a totally awesome party!”
The three girls watched her go. “Do you suppose,” Tessa said in a conspiratory voice, “that Vicky would mind if, you know, we did a little something for Clifford?” She was still wearing her sexy top and her white platform sandals. She had pulled her panties back on after Francine’s dreamy (bald!) father finished, but not her skirt.
Chelsea wrapped her arms around Clifford’s leg. She snuggled against him like an affectionate cat. “I want him to like totally fuck me,” she announced. “I hear he’s awesome.”
“Ohhh, me too,” moaned Tessa. She seemed to be getting off just thinking about it.
“I’m sure Clifford will be happy to do you both, as soon as he wakes up,” Francine said primly. “But I get him first. It’s my birthday.”

BIMBO PRESENT PART 1 OF 2 by Downing Street

Part I

“Happy Birthday Francine!”
“Oh, thank you Vicky, thank you so much. Please, do come in. You look . . . ravishing.” Francine stepped back from the door to let her friend enter.
Vicky was the best looking girl at Valleyview High and Francine’s best friend. She had just recently turned eighteen, like Francine was today. She was dressed in an expensive red dress, daringly short and baring one shoulder, along with red-seamed stockings and short black boots. It was a bold outfit to be wearing to a birthday party. Vicky managed to make it look hot and sophisticated at the same time.
Francine’s dress was more reserved. Her mother wouldn’t let her wear anything really sexy. The two girls exchanged a warm hug.
“Hey Fran, I want you to meet Clifford, my boyfriend!” Vicky cried. She turned to the tall, nervous fellow standing slightly behind her. He extended a hand shyly.
Francine took his hand and shook politely. She tried not to let her disbelief show. This was Vicky’s new boyfriend? It wasn’t possible.
Vicky had been going out with Charlie, star of the football team and all-round studmuffin, for months. She came to school one morning fairly gushing about this new man she had met, Clifford she said his name was, and how he had swept her off her feet. He had given her a lift home from school one afternoon, and the next thing you knew they were going out steady.
Vicky never stopped talking about what a nice guy he was. She sighed every time she said his name. Even her mother adored him. Francine and the rest of her posse of sexy seniors could hardly wait to meet him.
There was no way to reconcile Vicky’s breathless accounts of her new beau with the skinny, intense, bespectacled geek standing in the doorway to her parents’ home. Clifford was thin enough to slip under a locked door. His hair looked like it saw a comb about once a week.
Vicky had cleaned him up for the party, that much was obvious. He was wearing a blue blazer over an ordinary shirt and khaki pants, along with, of all things, a bow tie. Francine was instantly sure that Clifford could strip down her computer blindfolded and had never met a video game he didn’t like.
To be polite, Francine took his hand and shook briefly. “Welcome to my party, Clifford,” she said coolly. “Any friend of Vicky’s is welcome here.” She put just the right emphasis on her reply, to imply that she was suffering his presence only because of Vicky. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. He had been checking her out from the moment she opened the door. His eyes kept flicking down her V-necked dress, like something important was written on her boobs.
“Uhm, uh, thanks,” Clifford stumbled, with all the polish that Francine had expected of him. “It was real nice of you to invite us.”
“Oh, I couldn’t have a party without Vicky!” Francine replied, deliberately leaving Clifford out again. She touched the jewelled heart on her long necklace, hoping Clifford the walking garden rake would take the hint and stop ogling her chest. He didn’t. Instead he glared at her rudely.
It was quite an intense glare. He lowered his brows and stared at her the way Mr. Millford did in history class when he caught somebody talking. Francine was momentarily tickled that her little dig had scored. For a moment her vision went shaky. The door frame wobbled and wiggled like bad reception on a television. It passed as quickly as it began.
She felt a little guilty about being so rude to Clifford. She had only just met him. He did seem like a friendly fellow. She should give him a chance. “Please,” she said, to both of them this time, “come on in. The party’s in the back, around the pool.” She looked behind them. Clifford had arrived in a sporty new Lexus. The luxury car contrasted starkly with his reading on the geek-o-meter. “Say Vic, isn’t your mum coming?”
Vicky giggled. “She was when we left,” she said with a grin. She and Clifford exchanged a look, sharing a secret. Vicky giggled again. “I think she needed a rest. She was . . . entertaining Clifford. She found it hard.” Vicky was still grinning.
“Oh, well, that’s too bad,” Francine said. She was surprised again. Vicky’s mother was known for the tight leash she kept on her only daughter. Vicky’s father was away a lot on business. Had Vicky borrowed her mother’s car?
Vicky said, “Oh, I almost forgot. Here, this is like, for you.” She handed Francine a small wrapped package, tied with a blue ribbon. .
“Oh, you didn’t have to, Vic,” Francine said, taking the little package. “I’m just glad you came. It would be so dull here without you”. She set the gift on the hall table with all the others. “My mom insisted I invite all the other parents to the party too. She thinks this is like, my coming out’, as if I’m some rich debutante and my father is the 11th Earl of March.”
“You father is an earl?” Clifford asked, missing the point completely.
“No. He’s a lawyer. But thanks so much for the gift.”
Another giggle from Vicky. She had been doing that a lot lately. All of her friends at school noticed. “Oh that’s nothing,” she said, a gleam in her eye. “The real gift comes later. Right Clifford?”
“Anything for you Vicky,” Clifford said, grinning his dumb grin.
Francine looked at them both. “What are you talking about?”
Vicky and her boyfriend exchanged another meaningful look. “It’s a surprise,” Vicky said. “You’ll see. Come find us when you get away from the door, K?”
“OK.” She shot a glare at Clifford, who was trying to look down her cleavage again. Clueless! He glared back at her with that same beetle-browed intensity she had met earlier. She blinked and shook her head briefly. Whatever happened passed in moments. The doorbell rang.
“Well, I’d better get that,” Francine said. She ran one finger down the edge of her neckline, hoping to guide Clifford’s eyes back down to her chest. He obliged her nicely. Francine had a very nice rack, if she did say so herself. She would be disappointed if Clifford didn’t appreciate them. She waved a hand as the couple headed off to the back of the big house, hand in hand. The high heels on Vicky’s black boots clicked on the hardwood floor. They made her exposed legs seem even longer.
Francine turned her attention to the couple standing in the doorway. It was two of her parents’ friends. The man was tall and well turned out, with silver-tinted hair. His much younger wife was a stunning brunette in a form-fitting dress. Diamonds glittered around her neck.
Francine turned on her dutiful smile. “Mr. Tooriche, Mrs. Tooriche, how good of you to come. Please, come in.” She extended a hand, leaning forward to give him a better view down her dress.
When the last of the guests had arrived, Francine felt she could leave her post by the door and join the party. She stepped down the long hallway and out the sliding glass doors onto the rear deck. The entire back yard had been made over for the party. Festive balloons and ribbons competed with the colourful flowers blooming in the gardens. A red-striped tent has been set up in the middle of the lawn, in case it rained. A large banner announcing “Happy Birthday Francine” in foot-high letters stretched across the yard. Flowers and candles floated in the pool.
There were at least thirty people in the large back yard. Some were her own friends. The rest were friends of the family or older people her parents had insisted on inviting. The caterers, young women in proper white blouses and black skirts, were serving fruit punch and canapes to all the guests.
There was even live music, of a sort. A jazz quartet set up on a little stage under their own striped canopy was pouring out soft, bland tunes. The musicians were all in black tie and jacket. Francine’s parents had spared no expense.
Her father and mother were talking to another middle-aged couple. The sun glinted off her father’s bald pate. Her mother stood beside him, a beautiful, slender woman with a quiet manner. Her father noticed Francine standing there. “Ladies and Gentlemen, the guest of honour has arrived!” he cried in a voice used to being raised. He raised his glass. “Happy Birthday Francine!”
Cries of “Happy Birthday” came up from the assembled crowd, followed by a round of applause. Francine’s father and mother beamed. Francine stood on the deck and smiled, acutely embarrassed. She made a mental note to kill both her parents as soon as the guests were gone.
Francine looked around for someone to talk to. She spotted Vicky, dutifully introducing Clifford to the other party-goers. She had both her arms wrapped around one of his. Francine still could not fathom her infatuation—Vicky could date anyone she wanted, and Charlie was a great catch. So what was the deal with this Clifford guy?
She turned her attention to the geek of the day. Clifford was obviously ill at ease among all these rich, classy people. He shook hands uncertainly. He was always frowning. Odd duck. Everyone he met seemed to garner a scowl, sometimes so intense that the other person reeled. Poor Melissa De Witt practically fell off her high heels, so severely did Clifford glare at her. He even frowned at one of the caterers.
“Would you like some punch, miss?” said a voice nearby. Francine looked up to see a caterer standing in front of her. She was cute and small, probably Japanese. She had a tray of drinks in one hand.
“Thank you,” Francine said, taking a glass. The punch was only mildly alcoholic. Francine’s parents disapproved of drinking to excess.
Sipping her drink, Francine mingled with the crowd. She tried not to appear too bored. She chatted with her friends. They all made jokes about the band. Everybody said they loved her dress. Francine thought it didn’t show enough cleavage.
Francine noticed something funny. The party was very dull, as far as she was concerned. Yet everyone was in fine spirits. And everybody seemed to like Clifford.
“Isn’t he a fine lad,” said Millie Cutebottom, one of Francine’s mother’s friends.
“So very sincere,” agreed Sarah Wiggle.
“Hey, Francine, have you met Clifford?” demanded Sarah’s daughter Chelsea. “Isn’t he just the cutest!”
Francine looked at her. “He’s kind of skinny.”
Chelsea giggled. “Oh, he’s just built long and lean, that’s all. I bet he’s long and lean, like, everywhere.”
“Chelsea! What have you been drinking?”
“It’s the way he looks at you,” said Tessa, another high school friend. “He’s so . . . focused. It’s like he’s giving you his total attention, you know? It makes you feel special.”
“I’ll bet he could make me feel special, if I could get him away from Vicky for a few minutes.”
“Mmmm, yeah. I’ll give him something to focus on.” Titters erupted all around.
Francine looked at her friends in bewilderment. “Hey girlfriends, what’s got into you? Clifford is OK, I guess, but he’s like, an alien from the planet geekzoid. I don’t see what Vicky sees in him. Come on, he goes to Crestwood High!” In Francine’s circle, there was no stronger indictment.
Chelsea said, “Yeah, but Vicky says he’s really smart. He’s helping her with math and she’s doing a lot better.”
“Sure, that and making eyes at Mr. Winthrop every day,” Tessa added, laughing. Vicky’s unerring ability to find her teachers’s soft spots was well known.
“Hey, you know what else?” Chelsea exclaimed. She was a slender brunette in a form-fitting dress, shorter than Francine’s parents would permit. “Vicky says Clifford can do this like, trick with his head. I mean, with his brain or something. It’s way cool. He just has to like, look at you, and you can almost feel what’s he’s thinking! Isn’t that freaky?”
Francine waved a hand. “Come on, Chelsea, you don’t believe that.”
“No, it’s true! It’s like, what’s that thing . . . teleporting?”
“You mean telepathy, bimbo!” All three girls shrieked with laughter.
“OK, OK, telepathy, whatever. Vicky says that’s like what he does. It tires him out though.”
“Oh, but he’s been practising, like with Vicky and her mom,” Tessa took up the tale. “So now he’s like getting better and better.” Tessa was the shortest of the three, but no less cute for it. She wore a double-layered top of white and blue and a pleated blue miniskirt that swirled about her thighs. There was a blue stone in her navel.
Francine drained her punch glass. “You two are smoking fairy dust,” she said flatly. “Nobody is really telepathic. That’s only in the movies.”
She cast a glance around the yard. She spotted Vicky sweet-talking one of her father’s lawyer friends, acting cute and innocent while showing off her bod, like she always did. Clifford was off to one side, in an animated conversation with Francine’s mother. She was standing close to him, one hand resting on his arm, laughing and flirting like he was the most charming fellow in the world.
Francine frowned. That wasn’t like her mother. She was usually rather reserved with strangers.
“I think I’d better go save Mr. Featherstone from Vicky,” Francine said, “before she talks him into giving her a new car or something. See ya.” Her heels sank into the manicured grass as she made her way across the yard.
“Happy Birthday sweetie!” somebody said as she passed by. Francine smiled and gave her a wave. She couldn’t remember the woman’s name. One of her mum’s friends. For some reason the woman had unpinned her carefully arranged hairdo and let it run loose over her shoulders.
Vicky saw her coming. “Hey Francine, want to see your present?” she asked, bouncing across the lawn toward her. A man nearby turned to stare at her legs.
“You already gave me a present, silly.”
“No, not that one, your real present. Come on, let’s get Clifford.” She waved her hand to draw his attention.
Francine was confused. “What’s the present?”
Vicky giggled. “A make-over. What better way to celebrate turning eighteen. Hi Cliffy!” She greeted her boyfriend with a kiss so intense Francine felt she should turn away. “Are you ready to give Francine her special present?” Vicky asked, about twenty seconds later.
“Of course,” the geekster said easily. He had his arms around her.
“Wait a minute,” Francine demurred, “this is all very nice of you but I’m not sure I want—”
She caught Clifford looking at her with one of those intense scowls. His brows furled over his eyes. For a moment the party drifted in and out of focus. She shook her head.
When the world returned both Vicky and her boyfriend were looking at her expectantly. She grinned at them. “Where do you want to do this?”
Vicky took her by the arm. “Let’s go to your room.”
The three marched purposefully toward the house. “Hi Clifford,” Mr. Tooriche’s trophy wife trilled as they went by. “How bout a dance?” A few people were foxtrotting on the grass by the bandstand.
“He’s busy!” Vicky replied for him. She towed her gawking boyfriend away from the disappointed babe, who blew him a little kiss.
In a few moments they arrived in the house. They passed by the kitchen, where one of the caterers was busily making up more snacks. Another girl, the one Clifford had spoken to earlier, was casually emptying a bottle of vodka into the punchbowl.
Francine stopped in shock. “What are you doing!” she shouted at the girl. “You can’t serve that! That punch is ruined!”
The woman looked up in surprise. “Clifford said it was all right,” she said.
“Clifford! What—” Francine turned to him for an explanation. She found herself confronted with a close-range glare. She tottered for a moment. Everything blurred.
“What’s the problem?” Clifford asked.
Francine considered the question. “I . . . I mean . . . there was . . . . She paused for a long moment. “I . . . I . . . don’t . . . remember.” For some reason she found that hilariously funny. She laughed uncontrollably. The pretty caterer stuck one finger into the punchbowl, tasted the drop on her finger and found it satisfactory. She picked up the bowl and carried it outside.
“Make sure everybody has some,” Clifford instructed her as she walked past.
“Of course,” the girl replied. She winked at him.
“Let’s get to your room,” Vicky said impatiently. She dragged her still-giggling friend upstairs to her huge bedroom. Clifford followed.
Vicky stood Francine in the middle of the room and considered her critically. “That dress has got to go,” she pronounced. “It is like so church school. This is supposed to be a party.”
“I don’t know, Vic,” Francine demurred. “If my parents saw me . . .” She looked at herself in a mirror over the dresser. Clifford was standing behind her. She could see his reflection. He was frowning intently. The mirror shimmered and glistened, like someone had thrown a pebble into a reflecting pond. When the ripples died away, Francine was a lot less concerned about her parents’ opinion.
“Let’s find something real short,” she declared. “And a top that shows off my boobs.”
Decisively, she began to unbuckle the dress. Clifford’s frown had turned to a self-pleased grin. Vicky noticed. She grabbed him by both arms. “You, wait outside,” she said, pushing him toward the door. “We’ll be at least a half hour.” She closed the door in his disappointed face. Francine was disappointed too. She wanted Clifford to see her titties.
She set about deciding on something better to wear. Vicky insisted that she strip right down to buff, so they could start from the ground up. “That’s where your other gift comes in,” she said mischievously. “Wait here while I go get it.”
She returned with the gayly wrapped package she had given Francine at the door. Francine tugged on the ribbon. The wrapping paper fell away. Inside the little box, carefully packed, was a gauzy purple underwear set and a pair of full-fashion silk stockings. Francine cooed in delight.
She held up the little fragment of floral lace that was supposed to be a brassiere. “It’s gorgeous!” she exclaimed. “But gee Vic, I don’t know, that’s pretty . . . insubstantial. Even for my birthday.”
“Clifford helped me pick it out,” Vicky said.
That settled it. If Clifford liked it, Francine was going to wear it. She felt a thrill of excitement. Just wait till he saw her love-puppies in this!
With Vicky’s help, Francine climbed into the wispy brassiere and panties, then pulled the fancy purple garter belt around her hips. She sat on the bed to pull on the nylons. The felt soft and luxurious sliding up her legs. When all was set she stood and looked at herself in the mirror.
She looked fabulous. The underthings had been designed to cover almost nothing, while at the same time displaying her lithe young figure as alluringly as possible. The stockings hitched to the garter belt at the top of her thighs, anticipating a high hemline. All that remained was to find something appropriately sexy to wear over them.
There were lots of possibilities. Francine’s walk-in closet included an array of hip fashions, including a number of hot-date outfits her mother didn’t know about. They tried on several. Francine deferred to Vicky’s opinion: she knew better what Clifford would like. When she was finally dressed, Vicky insisted on doing Francine’s face and hair for her too.
When the girls emerged from the bedroom some forty-five minutes later, they found Clifford lying on a padded bench in the hallway. He appeared to be asleep. He had one arm around the beautiful Mrs. Tooriche, the young wife who had offered him a dance earlier. She was stretched out half on top of him, stroking his hair. An empty punch glass lay on the floor.
“Oh hi there!” she said cheerfully, when she saw the girls. She sat up quickly. “I didn’ think there was anyone—oooh, Francine you look de-lish-us.”
“Do you like it? Vicky gave me a make-over! Hey, what’s wrong with Clifford?”
“I dunno. We were jus’ like, uhm . . . talkin’, you know, and he fell asleep. Right in the middle of . . . anyway, I guess he’s all tuckered out, poor guy.”
From the look of the woman, Francine suspected they had been doing more than talking. Her short dress was rucked up around her waist and her hair was falling out of its braid. One of Clifford’s hands was resting casually on her nylon-encased thigh. His fly was undone.
“It’s OK,” Vicky said. “He does this thing with his head that tires him out sometimes. He’ll be right as nine-pence in a moment.” She frowned at the brunette. “Hadn’t you better get back to the party?”
The shapely young wife got to her feet. Her diamonds glittered. “Oh. . . OK, if . . . will Clifford be all right?” She belatedly began pulling her dress down.
“He’ll be fine. Scoot.” She half-pulled the doting woman away with the patient resolution of one who had done this many times before. Mrs. Tooriche looked over her shoulder as she tottered away.
“Clifford is like this chick magnet,” Vicky explained. “Girls are constantly coming on to him. I don’t know how he puts up with it.”
“It must be hard,” Francine agreed. She was trying to see if anything was visible inside Clifford’s open fly without being obvious about it. He began to stir. He sat up and looked about, blinking.
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I guess I dozed off. That girl can really—uh, I mean we were—oh!” This last exclamation came when he noticed the transformed Francine.
“What do you think of my birthday present?” Francine asked. She posed in front of him, one leg extended.
She was wearing blue, her favourite colour. The top was a semi-transparent, navy blue mesh that clung faithfully to every young curve. It was meant to be worn with a camisole, but Francine didn’t want to hide her pretty new brassiere—or the jutting lovelies that her brassiere failed to hide. The miniskirt was a silky, skin-riding dash of fabric in swirls of blue and yellow and red. It would have been wonderfully leg-revealing even without the little slit up one side. Francine’s legs looked smoking in the full-fashion stockings, of course, especially with the dark blue high heels. Vicky had carefully swept up her hair to better show off her earrings and necklace of big blue marbles.
“You’re gorgeous!” Clifford blurted, openly staring. “I can’t—Wow!”
“Toldya he would like it,” Vicky said proudly.
“You don’t think it’s too . . . flimsy? Do you?” Francine teased. She smoothed her open mesh top down over her breasts as she spoke. She looked Clifford in the eye with what she hoped was a sultry look. She was basking in his artless admiration. Clifford was a cutie, but he was still totally uncool around a hot babe. He couldn’t seem to find his tongue.
“No! No, it’s not too flimsy,” Clifford said earnestly. “You look great!” Francine almost laughed out loud. Clifford was such a nerd he didn’t even recognize flirting. His open fly was starting to reveal how much he appreciated Francine’s make-over. She stifled a laugh.
“Maybe we had better get back to the party,” she said, twinkling. “Before you have . . . oh . . .”
Quite unexpectedly he was frowning at her. She was no longer surprised when her vision went out of focus for a moment. Beside her she heard a little gasp from Vicky.
In a matter of seconds her vision cleared. So did the scowl on Clifford’s face. Francine stole a glance down at his crotch. Everything was measurable in inches. Her thirty-six inch chest and her fourteen inch skirt and her four inch heels were giving Clifford—how many inches? She had to know.
She bit her lip. “Hey Cliffy, I just had an idea. Why don’t I thank you properly for this wonnnnderful birthday present.” She extended a hand. “Stand up.”
Clifford did so, wordlessly. Francine stepped forward, put her hands on his shoulders, and gave him a long, warm kiss. When she was done she looked over her shoulder at her stunning best friend. “You don’t mind, do you Vic?” she entreated her. “After all, I’m the birthday girl.”
Vicky was watching with hooded eyes. She had one hand over her chest, squeezing gently. She said, “It’s . . . fine. As long as I can . . . you know.” She was clearly aroused by what Francine was about to do.
Francine turned her attention back to the skinny horndog in her arms. Without letting go she began to slide her hands downward. She bent at the waist until her face approached his belt line. She spread her legs wide, but lost her balance in her heels.
“Here, I’ll hold you,” Vicky offered, coming up behind. She put her arms around Francine’s waist, keeping her steady. Such a good friend. Francine turned her attention to the growing bulge in Clifford’s open fly. With a few deft movements she brought his cock out into the daylight. He twitched above her. Without hesitation she lowered her lipsticked lips over his cockhead and sucked her way down.
Clifford stiffened. He gasped. Francine began to suck him diligently. She slid her mouth down as far as she could, until she felt his glans against the back of her throat. Then she retreated, sliding her lips lovingly up the length of his substantial shaft. She stroked him keenly with one hand. She fell into a quick rhythm, not holding back.
Francine was not very experienced. This awkward position would not have worked were not Vicky there to hold her steady. Her friend was hugging her from behind, rocking back and forth as Francine worked on Clifford’s wang.
Vicky’s hands were around her waist. One of them slipped down a little. It found its way under her microskirt, then up a leg. It began to stroke and tease.
Francine grunted around the cock in her mouth. She wasn’t sure her girlfriend should be doing that. She especially shouldn’t have danced her fingers up under Francine’s insubstantial panties and (oh!) right into her well-moistened slit.
After two seconds she decided she didn’t mind at all. In fact, she thought it was a swell idea. It felt so good, blowing cute Clifford while his girlfriend fingered her pussy with one finger—actually two fingers now, and her other hand was fondling one nipple—that Francine didn’t want it to ever end. She was grunting and moaning now as she worked, echoing the gasping cries from Clifford above her.
It didn’t last long. Clifford was too horny to hold back. In a matter of minutes he climaxed. He stiffened and began to spurt into Francine’s mouth. Francine sucked vigorously. She tried to take it all—guys liked that—but at the last moment she let him slip out because Clifford’s masterful member and Vicky’s flying fingers brought her to her own sweet orgasm. She let Cliffy slip out so she could cry out: “Ohhhh fuckyesssss!”
His cock smeared jism across one cheek. In the throws of her peak, Francine lost her balance completely. She toppled forward, pulling both Clifford and Vicky down with her. The trio collapsed in a happy heap on the bench and the floor.
They lay there for a while, catching their breath. Eventually Francine said, “I guess we should, like, get back to the party.”
She had to fix her make-up again before they left.
On the way back through the kitchen they encountered a couple of the caterers again. The Japanese girl and a slightly older woman, probably her boss, were busily making yet another bowl of punch. They had run out of vodka, and were now tossing in random samples from the bottles in the liquor cabinet. They tasted each bottle before it went in, and the developing punch afterward.
There was something odd about the way there making punch, Francine reflected. She couldn’t seem to put her finger on it. Thinking about it gave her the giggles.
“Hi Clifford!” the younger girl said fondly. Her eyes were a little glassy. “Wanna try some punch? We’re . . . ah!” She gasped softly, in unison with her employer, when she looked into Clifford’s scowling eyes.
“The thing with his head!” Francine exclaimed. “He’s doing the thing with his head, isn’t he!” She watched in admiration as Clifford adroitly mind-fucked a couple of young women he didn’t even know.
“Isn’t it the coolest?” Vicky replied. Clifford had stopped frowning. The two caterers were shaking their heads and blinking.
The older one said: “These uniforms are uncomfortable. Too hot for a day like today.”
“Yeah,” agreed the cute Japanese girl, “too hot and too boring. Let’s fix that.” She was already unbuttoning her blouse.
“Here, let me do that,” her partner said. She reached over and began opening the other girl’s white blouse. Her new friend reciprocated. Hands feathered lovingly over exposed breasts. The couple seemed to have forgotten the other people in the room. They want to show off their titties too, Francine reflected. Wasn’t that wonderful.
“Party time!” Vicky said. She linked arms with Clifford. Francine joined them on the other side. They stepped onto the deck overlooking the back yard.

Monday, May 25, 2015

A FRIEND LIKE CANDY by Wettstar

School was going alright, but I knew my Senior year at Baldwin High would be tough. I was taking an extra course, and working hard to get my grades up so I could qualify for a scholarship for my college education. I hoped to pursue my plans to be a pharmacist, and I wanted to get into the pharmacy school at State. I also needed good grades, or I would have little chance for admission. It wouldn’t be easy, so I spent most of my time at school, doing my homework, and performing extra credit projects. I didn’t have much of a social life. I had a few friends, but mostly I hung out with Cammy, and we sometimes went to movies or to the mall for some shopping, though I was saving most of my money for college.
Of course, with my busy academic schedule, I didn’t have a boyfriend. Some nerdy guys had asked me out, but I really wasn’t interested. I was planning on attending college 100 miles away and there was no point in getting involved with a high school guy when I would be leaving in a few months anyway. Cammy was a little more adventurous and went on some dates once in a while. When she didn’t have a date, we would go down to the mall together and relax and talk and complain about school.
When we went to the mall, we usually saw the “Hot Gurlz.” Candy, Gina, and Tiffany were sort of a clique, and they fit together pretty well. They had the clothes, and the cars, and the older guys, and the money. They ignored me and Cammy, and when we saw them we would just walk by without saying anything. Of course, I had heard the rumors about them, the sex, and the drinking, and the drugs, and the parties. And I had heard the rumor that Candy’s Mom had been a stripper, and that her older sister Barbi worked at the Cheetah, an upscale strip club in town. I didn’t know if any of it was true, but I never thought much about it. Candy and Gina and Tiffany were just in a different world from me and Cammy.
I lived alone with my Mom, and saw little of my Dad, who moved to Florida after their divorce. We lived in a split-level ranch, and I moved my bedroom to the lower level for the privacy, and to get away from my Mom’s smoking habit. My Mom was alright, and worked hard to keep our house functioning, but she was kind of a social butterfly, and she smoked, and drank a little, and usually went out with her friends on the weekends. That was fine with me, as the house was quiet, and I could do my school work and listen to some music alone.
Candy and Gina were in one of my classes, a required psychology course with about 40 students. I never paid any attention to them, and didn’t even know they were in the class until, one day in September, Candy approached my desk after class, looked into my eyes, and touched me on the shoulder.
I instantly froze. I couldn’t move. I stood there, my mind confused and questioning.
Then she spoke. “Meet me at my locker after 3rd period,” she said.
She was ridiculously gorgeous, with her long, thick blonde hair, her pouty, glossed lips, her globular breasts, and her sparkling blue eyes, with an expensive, slutty wardrobe to show it all off. She was 17 going on 25. I was just an academic, nerdy teenage girl, while she looked like a porn star lost in a high school. Yet, there she was, standing not more than 2 feet away from me, her long-nailed finger planted on my shoulder. Why would she want to see me? How did she even know my name? I didn’t even know her and we had absolutely nothing in common. She was one of the Hot Gurlz, and I was just me, Cindy the struggling student.
I knew where her locker was, but I had no interest in meeting her there. I didn’t see any point to it. I then felt a vague warmth move through my body, and my mouth overrode my more sensible thoughts.
“OK,” I said.
She smiled, released her finger from my shoulder, swung her mane of blonde hair around her shoulders, and left. I was dazed. I felt my body relax, and realized I could move again.
After 3d period I found Candy at her locker. She and Gina were talking and laughing. Gina was a brunette, but she was every bit as intimidating as Candy. She too was 17 going on 25. I couldn’t believe I was talking to these girls. When Gina saw me, she backed away and opened her locker. Candy looked at me, threw back her long hair, and put her finger on my shoulder again.
I froze immediately. My mind seemed to be working, but I couldn’t move. I was afraid I would be left there, stuck frozen to the tile floor. Was she trying to make fun of me? Humiliate me? I didn’t, and couldn’t, know. Yet, I felt that vague warmth again. Candy rested her finger on my shoulder and looked into my eyes.
“Meet me here after 6th period,” she commanded.
I couldn’t do that. I had a meeting with Mr. Johnson, my chemistry teacher, about a project I was doing for extra credit. I couldn’t meet with Candy and miss that meeting. I needed that extra credit to assure a good grade in the organic chemistry class. There was no way I could meet Candy Carson at her locker after school. But, again, with that vague warmth now permeating my brain, my mouth overrode my usual good sense.
“OK,” I said, “I’ll be here.”
Candy smiled, and said, “Great, . . . see you then.” Then she released her finger and turned to open her locker.
I was more or less in a daze and stumbled away toward my next class. I spent the rest of the day trying to concentrate on my school work, but all I could think about was Candy Carson, and her finger, and her huge, layered blonde hair, and her full, wet lips, and her long, acrylic nails, and her round globe-like breasts that she so brazenly displayed in her tight tank tops. I tried to be my usual self, but those thoughts of Candy Carson kept stubbornly returning to my addled brain, and, if I had been truthful with myself, I would have admitted that I couldn’t wait until the end of 6th period.
I met Candy at her locker just as we had arranged. Gina was nowhere to be seen. Candy smiled at me, and again put her finger on my shoulder. I froze solid. Candy’s eyes bored into me. I instantly became warm, warm in places that could turn into a burn, given enough time, given enough permission. This was all so fast, so confusing.
“Meet me at Gloria’s tomorrow night at 7,” she said.
Gloria’s was the most fashionable woman’s boutique at the mall. I had never been inside its doors, and if I were I couldn’t afford its prices. I wasn’t that kind of girl, I couldn’t afford to be that kind of girl, and I wouldn’t have any idea what to buy even if I had the money. I was hardly a fashion hound. Then, why should we meet at Gloria’s? I could understand Candy Carson at Gloria’s, but not me. There seemed to be no point to all of this. But, again, just as before, my mouth spoke for me, spoke for a part of me that I never admitted to, and I again felt that soft, strange warmth inside me.
“OK,” I said, and Candy released her finger. My body relaxed, and I began to breathe freely again.
“I’ll see you there,” Candy said, and walked away.
Out of habit I stumbled toward the Chemistry Department looking for Mr. Johnson, but there was no one around. I would have to re-schedule that meeting. Without that extra credit project, I couldn’t be sure of a good grade in organic chemistry, and that grade was crucial to my scholarship chances. I would Mr. Johnson tomorrow, first thing, and get things straightened out. I’m sure he would understand, if I could make up some stupid story why I had failed to show.
I stopped worrying about it, and enjoyed the new warmth that drifted through my brain. It was so different. Different from the pressure that usually crushed my skull, the worrying and fretting about school and classwork and homework assignments and grades and pharmacy school and that damn scholarship. God, I had to have that damn scholarship, or I would end up making change for local construction workers at some grubby burger joint. That definitely was not my future, I knew that. But I wasn’t sure Mr. Johnson would give me some slack. I just hoped he would.
When I approached Gloria’s the next night, Candy Carson was standing at the door smoking a cigarette. She put it out and told me to follow her. We walked through the boutique, past the racks and displays of expensive, fashionable women’s wear, to the rear of the store and the doors of the several changing rooms. Candy opened one and we went inside. We sat on the small, wooden benches across from each other. Candy promptly put her finger on my shoulder and once again I froze. The warmth instantly returned to the depths of my teenage soul.
“Cindy, you probably wonder why I wanted to talk to you. Its very simple really.” She arched an eyebrow and looked closely at me. The warmth within me intensified. Then she dropped her bombshell. “We’re going to be friends,” she said, matter-of-factly, arching her other eyebrow.
Friends? My mind began to race again. Why would Candy Carson want to be friends with me. We had absolutely nothing in common and we had absolutely nothing to talk about. She was this outrageous teenage slut Goddess, and I was a run-of-the-mill struggling, academic nobody. This must be some kind of game, I thought. It certainly couldn’t be real. And anyway, if she really wanted to be friends, why were we sitting in a changing room at Gloria’s? I tried to speak, but found that I couldn’t. I felt a moistness in places that swell and respond with a warmth I didn’t want to consider at the moment.
“Cindy,” Candy continued, “I have a secret to tell you, and you are to repeat it to no one. Promise me.”
Of course, I promised.
“My real Dad died a few months ago, and my Mom and I inherited a shitload. Thanks to that inheritance, I’m nothing now but a trust fund bitch. Of course, I plan to spend most of it on myself, but I want to share some of it with my friends, and because you’re one of my friends I should share some with you, shouldn’t I?”
“You don’t have . . . ,” I started to say. My brain was misting over again.
“Of course I do, Cindy. And I’ve already decided to share some with you. That’s not open to discussion, so just drop it, OK?” She arched one of those perfectly formed eyebrows, then continued. “You’re a real cute girl, Cindy, but I really prefer foxier friends, and you’re not really the foxy type yet, are you?”
She eyed my long, mousy hair, and plain, make-up free face, and my frumpy clothes, and I felt hopelessly inadequate. Of course, I wasn’t the “foxy type.” I wasn’t even close. Candy Carson was the foxy type, not me. She was some kind of apparition from a world I didn’t know, and didn’t even dream about. I thought only about school, and my scholarship, and my pharmacy school dreams.
Then she bored in on me. “If all my friends are totally foxy, you really don’t think you should be an exception, do you?”
I really couldn’t think why I should be an exception. If I was going to be Candy Carson’s friend, I didn’t see why I shouldn’t be the foxy type too, although I had no idea how I could possibly be anything remotely like this gorgeous creature that was now staring at my every move.
“No,” I said, “I guess not.”
“Good,” Candy continued. “We’re going to fix you up with some things that I think you’ll like. I’ll help you pick some things out, some foxy things. Don’t you think?”
“Sure,” I said, obediently. I felt my pussy swell as if it had a mind of its own.
“And another thing. From now on I want you to carry a pack of cigarettes in your purse at all times. Buy a pack and a lighter on your way home tonight. Starting tomorrow, I want you to have a cigarette before school, during lunch hour in the lounge, and another one before you get home.” Candy looked at me and pressed her finger into my shoulder. “And I want you to inhale, starting tomorrow. Get hooked, get hooked hard and get hooked fast.”
“OK,” I said, although I don’t know why I said that. I had never smoked in my life.
“Wait a minute,” Candy said. She opened her black leather purse and pulled out a fresh pack of Virginia Slims 120s. She handed them to me, and I put them into my purse. “Be sure to get a lighter,” Candy added. Of course, I nodded.
“Another thing,” she said, and she rummaged through her purse again. She pulled out a plastic prescription drug bottle that rattled with pills.
She handed me the bottle. “Take one of these pills every day,” she said, a twinkle in her heavily made-up blue eyes. “I think you’ll like the results.” We then left the changing room and worked our way around the racks and displays in the fashionable boutique.
We left the store carrying four large shopping bags of skirts, blouses, tank tops, some leather pants, thong panties, jewelry, and some accessories. Candy must have spent over $1,000, although it didn’t seem to faze her. She flipped out a credit card to pay for it all and we left. She took me to Kay’s, the best shoe store in the mall, and bought me some slides, platforms, and a pair of black leather boots. Again, Candy flipped out her credit card and we left, carrying more packages than we could comfortably carry.
When I got home, I snuck into the house through the sliding glass doors on the ground level in the backyard. I threw all the shopping bags on my bed and sorted it all out. I took off my clothes and put on a pair of satin thong panties. I laid on my bed and looked at the homework on my desk, unopened. I got up and walked over to the desk, gazed at my homework assignments, pushed my books to the side, and lifted my purse to get my cigarettes. I pulled one out, lit up, and sat on the bed. I took a couple small drags, let my head get light, then took a deep drag, exhaling half way across the room. I enjoyed that cigarette, and another one, before I drifted off to sleep.
I didn’t see Candy for a couple days, and let my new clothes sit in my closet. I smoked before school, during lunch in the student lounge, and after school. I was also smoking in my room at night. Of course, Cammy noticed I was smoking, and I explained it helped with my weight and was good company while I studied. Cammy understood, even though I had never had a weight problem, and she even had a smoke with me a couple times.
After Psych class on Friday, Candy sauntered over and put her finger on my shoulder. I instantly froze and stared at the gorgeous creature that had said it wanted to be my friend. She gave off a seductive aroma of expensive perfume and cigarette smoke. Her blonde hair was moussed and teased, its long curls snaking down to the top of a large pair of slightly vulgar globes, tightly encased in her tight tank top. We were about the same height, but she towered over me in her heels, while I stood flat-footed in my penny loafers. I had always liked those penny loafers, but, for some unexplained reason, now I hated them.
“Meet me at Bud’s tomorrow at noon,” she commanded. Bud’s was a fast-food place in the mall where most of the kids hung out.
“OK,” I said, that now familiar warmth engulfing me.
Candy smiled, threw her thick hair about her shoulders, and left the room.
When I got to Bud’s the next day, I saw Candy and Gina sitting in a booth with a couple of older guys. I went over and Candy introduced me to John and Rex. I sat down, and Candy asked me for a cigarette. I pulled my pack out of my purse and gave her one. She lit up, took a gigantic drag, and exhaled over my head toward the light hanging above the booth. Then she took me by the arm and led me out into the mall. We sat on a bench in the common area, and I lit a cigarette and smoked with Candy.
“I have a surprise for you, Cindy,” Candy said, placing her long, acrylic nail on my shoulder. “Come with me.”
My legs were weak as she led me down the hall to Jan’s Nail Boutique. We walked in, and a girl asked me if I was Cindy. I said “yes,” and she said I was right on time. I didn’t know what was going on, and looked at Candy.
“Choose a hot color,” Candy said, and left. Before I knew it, I was seated in an upholstered chair, receiving an expert manicure and nail job. I chose a square cut and a glossy magenta color. When the technician was finished, she said Candy had already paid for it and I could go, but I should make a maintenance appointment. I did, and walked back towards Bud’s. Before I could get there, I ran into Gina and Candy, and they ran up to look at my nails.
“Hot,” said Gina, approvingly. She threw back her lustrous brunette hair in excitement.
“Fucking hot,” said Candy. “You like them?”
Of course I liked them. I loved them. I could hardy admit to myself how much I liked them. Candy immediately decided I needed some rings for my new hands, and we all went into a small jewelry boutique where Candy bought me three rings, an ankle bracelet, and some earrings.
Candy and Gina said they had to leave to meet their guys, but before Candy left she put her finger on my shoulder again. I froze like a statue and looked at the her. I was again overcome by the now familiar warmth.
“I bought you some foxy clothes,” she said, apparently a little miffed. “Don’t you think you should wear some?” Then she dropped her finger and left.
My body relaxed, and I watched her high, tight ass walk away from me. I went home, directly to my bedroom, where I admired my new nails. Then I stripped and rummaged through my closet. I pulled out some of the new clothes and started to model some of them. They were all great. I ended up in a pair of lavender satin thong panties and some 6-inch pink platform shoes. I lit a cigarette and laid on my bed, admiring my nails, then staring at my shoes. I laid my head on the pillow, closed my eyes, and took a deep drag. Then I noticed my pussy was soaked. It wasn’t long before I took off one of my shoes and slid that long pink heel deep inside of my love nest. The heel was hard, and so long, and I had the best orgasm of my life.
The next morning, I walked upstairs in my robe, my mousy brown hair pushed up onto my head. My Mom was making coffee, and I sat down, displaying my new nails and rings on the table. As she set a cup of coffee in front of me, she noticed the nails. She smiled, and said they looked nice. Then she asked me why I hadn’t told her before I had them done. This was my chance.
“Mom,” I said, “I have something else to tell you.”
She looked at me quizzically while she absent-mindedly lit a cigarette.
“I’m a smoker, Mom,” I said.
She didn’t seem too concerned. She just asked how long I had been smoking. I just told her the truth. Then I pulled my pack out of my robe pocket and lit one up. My Mom’s eyes bugged out as I sucked in a huge drag, and exhaled across the table. I was hooked and the first cigarette in the morning was always so sweet. From now on I wouldn’t have to wait for that first exhilarating drag, I could just light up at the breakfast table. From then on, my Mom never noticed when I smoked, which I did regularly, both downstairs in my room and at the table after we had a meal. I don’t think she expected her studious daughter to have such bad habits. But who was she to talk?
But Candy had more surprises for me. She somehow got a hold of my phone number and called me a few days later. She had a great phone voice, soft and penetrating, a voice that carried its own misty environment along with it. I melted when I heard it.
“Cindy, do I really have to touch you on the shoulder anymore, or are you ready to accept that you’re a fox?”
I didn’t freeze, but I felt her power, even over the telephone.
“I guess so,” I said. I had never imagined myself to be a fox, but if Candy says so . . . .
“Don’t guess, Cindy,” Candy said. “Meet me at Hair Jazz at 2. Make it sharp.”
Hair Jazz was a beauty shop not more than 5 minutes from my house. It must have been the place where Cindy and Gina and Tiffany got their hair done so beautifully.
“OK,” I said, my lower body jerking imperceptibly.
By 3 that afternoon, my hair had been shampooed, cut, layered, colored, moussed, and teased. The mousy brown was gone, and I was now a blonde, or at least a streaked blonde. My hair was huge, and thick, and long, and heavily styled. I loved it. It draped over my shoulders nearly to the top of my now growing breasts.
I was about to leave when Jeannie, one of the stylists, told me I was scheduled for a facial as well. I had never worn make-up, and was a bit hesitant, but I sat in the chair and Lynette went to work. She talked me through it, and gave me all the details as she applied the foundation, and blush, and eyeliner, and shadow, and lip gloss. She didn’t ask what I wanted, she just did it. She did mention that she had talked to Candy, one of her “best customers,” as she put it. When she was finished, I couldn’t believe it. I just sat there and stared into the large mirror. I certainly didn’t look like me. I’m not sure who I looked like, maybe like Tiffany, or Gina, or even Candy. I lost track of my self-absorbed staring, and Lynette interrupted my self-admiration session by telling me that it was all paid for and I had another appointment in 2 weeks. She gave me her card and told me to call if I had any questions. I looked in the mirror again, then walked outside. I immediately lit up a cigarette, got into the car, and went home.
I felt ridiculous with this gorgeous hair and make-up as I was wearing baggy jeans and tennis shoes over a raggy sweatshirt. I rushed inside, went down to my room, and took off my clothes. I put on a bra and panties set that Candy had given me, then my new leather pants and a spandex tank top. I looked in the mirror. That looked better. I lit a cigarette and watched myself smoke. I was hot.
My Mom would have a cow if she saw me like this, but what was I going to do? I couldn’t hide my hair, so why bother. I put on some 4-inch slides and went upstairs. I strolled through the living room right in front of my Mom, and after I reached the kitchen she called to me. I went back and sat down and lit a cigarette.
“Honey,” she said, “you look great.”
I smiled. I knew I looked great. I looked like a porn actress.
“I didn’t think you cared about such things. You’re beautiful.”
My Mom couldn’t know such things, but the word for it wasn’t “Beautiful.” It was “Foxy,” as Candy would say, but after all this was my Mom. So I just said, “thanks,” and took another drag off my 120.
I told her about the salon and Lynette and showed her the salon’s business card.
“It must’ve cost a fortune,” she said.
I agreed, and suggested she make an appointment for herself. Then I got up, went downstairs, and called Candy.
I hadn’t talked to her in more than 6 hours. That was much too long. I had grown accustomed to talking to her every day, and we were becoming friends, just as she predicted. As I waited for her to answer her cell phone, I looked at my desk and the unfinished homework assignments lying in disarray. “Fuck that shit,” I thought, and took another drag on my cigarette. Candy answered the phone, and eventually told me to meet her at the movie theatre at 8.
I parked a couple blocks from the theatre and walked down the sidewalk, looking for Candy and Tiffany. I saw them standing in front of a club with some guys. I went up and joined in. Candy checked out my hair and makeup and whispered in my ear, “Keep it that way, bitch,” which seemed just like the right thing to say. Candy always knew just what to say.
We ended up in the club, dancing and partying, then Candy and a couple of guys took me to Candy’s place. It was a great house, and no one was there. I ended up with Rex, who was supposedly Tiffany’s boyfriend, and we spent the night in Barbi’s room on a king-size bed. Candy spent the night with John, and I could hear her convulsing and screaming nearly all night. In the morning, I picked out one of Barbi’s robes and joined Candy for some coffee in the kitchen. We smoked and Candy told me she must have cum 5 times the night before. I smiled, knowing that I had just lost my precious virginity to some guy I didn’t know and who supposedly belonged to one of my friends. Candy didn’t seem to mind. We sipped some hot coffee, smoked, and chatted about John and Rex.
Then Candy reached over and put her finger on my shoulder.
I froze, and stared at my new best friend.
“You’re a fox from now on,” she said. She looked at me with that seductive arched eyebrow and waited for my reply.
“OK,” I said, knowing I couldn’t be anything else now.
But she had more to say. “You’re a horny fox,” she commanded.
“OK,” I said, and felt small convulsions rack my pussy.
“You need cock all the time,” she said, in an evil, sultry whisper. Then she added, “Just like me.” Her sparkling blue eyes flared at me.
“OK,” I said, not quite sure what this all meant. But, by now, I trusted Candy. She always seemed to say the right thing. My pussy felt warm, and sweetly soft, and so responsive. I felt a small but real change. I had been transformed, somehow, I wasn’t quite sure how, but I felt it, deep inside something exciting and electric was forming and taking hold of me. I felt warm and flushed all over. This must be how foxes felt, I thought.
Candy got up and pushed my robe off my shoulders. She was checking out my tits to see the effects of the pills. She smiled as she beheld my D cups, globular and firm. Then she poured some more coffee for us. As we sat at the kitchen table, sipping our morning coffee, I felt Rex’s love juices slowly drain out of my pussy, down my inner thighs to the crack of my ass. The thick, white cream gathered there, then dripped in gooey gobs onto the chair beneath me. I should have brought an absorbent towel to sit on during breakfast.
When I wasn’t in school, I spent most of my time at Candy’s house. I didn’t do homework anymore, and had pretty much lost interest in the Chemistry Department. I got to know Deena, Candy’s Mom, and Barbi, Candy’s sister. Deena had been a stripper years before, and Barbi worked at the Cheetah, just like the rumors said. After receiving her huge inheritance, Deena spent most of her time in Hawaii or Florida, and just left Candy to her own devices. Barbi supposedly lived in the house, but she wasn’t around much, spending most nights with one of her many boyfriends. Candy and I and Gina and Tiffany had the house to ourselves on most nights, and we made the most of it.
After the Christmas holidays, I just moved in with Candy. My Mom didn’t care. In fact, she seemed relieved to have me out of the house so she could have parties on weekends and have some of her boyfriends spend the night. She even made an appointment at Hair Jazz and got her hair done. She looked pretty good for a Mom. I stopped by the house once in a while to say “Hi” and make sure she was doing alright, and I could tell by her perky smile and bouncy walk that she was feeling pretty good about things. She didn’t seem too concerned about me, and just reminded me to take my pill every day. She didn’t want me to get pregnant and get stuck with some dolt husband like she did. Moms are so helpful sometimes.
I didn’t have a steady boyfriend, but the Hot Gurlz didn’t seem to mind sharing their guys. There was never a shortage of rich studs around the house. I sampled most of them while I kept my nasty options open. They knew I sucked and fucked like a pro, so I never had to worry about being lonely. Some studly guy would usually find his way to my king-size bed on a nightly basis, and Candy made sure we had an ample supply of satin sheet sets clean and laundered in the house. I loved the feel of some gold satin sheets underneath me as I got to know a new guy. That satin fabric was so soft and feminine, just like me and Candy.
I took a towel to breakfast nearly every morning now. Candy and I would share our coffee, and smoke some cigarettes, and sit lewdly with our legs slightly spread, our men’s love juices from the night before draining down our thighs, through the cracks of our ass, and into our towels. Even in the mornings, before we had our showers, Candy was gorgeous, her thick, blonde hair mussed around her face, her lips still pouty, and her small, long-nailed hands fondling her cigarette. It still hadn’t sunk in that I was her best friend and was actually living in her house, sharing rich dicks with her, and exchanging the intimate details of our now routine sexual binges.
We still went to school, but Candy didn’t have anything to do there. She couldn’t even hit on any of the guys, they were too young, they didn’t have the right cars, they didn’t have enough money. I hung out with the Hot Gurlz, smoked in the student lounge during lunch hour, and daydreamed through my classes. I had pretty much forgotten about the Chemistry Department, and Mr. Johnson, and my extra credit projects, and didn’t pay any attention to my homework assignments anymore. I even got sent home one day by the Assistant Principal because he said my pink leather hot pants were too short and too tight. Hah! He probably just wanted to fuck me and had to get the temptation out of his puffy, middle-aged face. Fortunately, Rex came over to keep me company and we partied all afternoon. He sure is good at licking a pussy.
We had a big party for Candy’s 18th birthday, but I cant even tell you what Candy did. Maybe some day Candy will write her story, as if anyone would believe it. But Candy isn’t the writing type, so you will just have to trust me that we had a good time. The morning after the party, we bagged school and stayed home. We were lying around the living room, trying to recover, smoking a cigarette or two, and slowly sipping some hot coffee.
“Cindy,” Candy said, “I’ve been thinking, . . . I think I’m going to drop out of school and start working at the Cheetah.”
I could understand why Candy would drop out of school. There was nothing for her at school anymore. And she would be perfect for the Cheetah. But I sensed an impending separation from my best friend, and I felt a small panic grip my soul.
“Candy,” I said, quietly pleading with a little sadness in my voice, “I cant leave school until I turn 18, and my birthday isn’t until next month.”
Candy took a drag on her cigarette, laid her head against one of the large pillows on the sofa, and gazed into the ceiling. She exhaled her usual large amount of smoke, and closed her eyes for a moment.
“OK, I’ve decided,” she said in her usual firm way, looking into the ceiling. “I’ve decided I’ll drop out of school now, but I’ll wait to start at the Cheetah until you drop out. Then, we’ll start working there together.”
I was relieved to hear Candy’s words. I could imagine Candy and me dancing at the Cheetah, flaunting our tight asses and swollen tits, parading our young, tight bodies in front of those rich, horny guys, little slut goddesses on the prowl. I nearly fainted with the thought.
I told my Mom about my plans, but she wasn’t surprised. She had figured out I had more interesting plans for my life than going to pharmacy school. Anyway, she was much too busy with her social life to be overly worried about me. She just reminded me again to keep taking my daily pill. That’s how Mom thought about things.
And, when the time came, I did drop out of school on my 18th birthday. What a fucking relief. I could bag the academic life for something that seemed much more appropriate for me and my future. Goodbye Mr. Johnson, goodbye Chemistry Department, goodbye Baldwin High, goodbye college scholarship, goodbye pharmacy school, goodbye quiet, dead life with a nerd husband in the boring suburbs. It was a welcome and overdue farewell.
We had a big celebration for my 18th birthday. I had my pick of guys, and Gina shared her boyfriend with me, as did Tiffany. Gina made a home video of it all. I think the best part was John ramming me from behind while I sucked on Rex’s huge member. I think I looked pretty good wrapped around those two rich dicks. The next day, Candy and I went to Hair Jazz and got our hair done and got a facial, then went out to the Cheetah for our auditions. Of course, we were hired right away, and it didn’t hurt for Candy to get on her knees and kiss and suck the manager’s dick at the end of our interview. Candy knew how to get things done.
We made a bundle. Candy bought a black Lexus with dark, tinted windows. She always kept the glove compartment full of latex rubbers. Candy was always thinking ahead like that. We raked in the bucks while dancing, and we brought the rich guys home with us for more fun and more tips after hours. We were living in Deena’s house rent-free, so I hoarded my money in a savings account. I eventually bought a candy-apple red Mustang, and, taking Candy’s cue, I filled its cute little glove compartment with all sorts of rubbers, and even some expensive lubricants, just in case. Candy was always giving me great ideas like that. We would get up in the morning, make some hot coffee, smoke some cigarettes, sit softly on our towels, and spread our freshly earned hundred dollar bills across the kitchen table to count and admire before we made our now daily morning trip to the bank. Candy sure knew how to start a day.
Barbi introduced us to all the right guys, the rich married guys, who were fun, and who showered us with great tips. We brought them home with us and partied the only way we knew how. We eventually started taking weekend trips with some of our favorite guys, then vacation trips too, to Hawaii, to California, to the Caribbean. We were spending more time on the road than in town. I met an airline pilot and he took me to Europe for 10 days. We fucked in London, Paris, and Amsterdam. Candy does just as well; actually, Candy does better, but that is to be expected. She is Candy, the original teen slut Goddess, God’s gift to the enchanted kingdom of supernatural Foxes. She will always do better, but I certainly don’t mind. I owe everything to her, and to her alone. No one else has ever done anything for me. Just Candy.
So yes, we’re hookers, but we’re clean, and fun, and available. I really like Hawaii. I have a customer who has a condo on Maui, and we go there a couple times every year. The views are spectacular and the climate is heavenly. I hope to settle down there one day. Though Candy spends a lot of time in the Virgin Islands, she loves Maui too and I’m sure I will see a lot of her there. We will always be friends, and we talk on the phone every day, no matter where our work or our play might take us. Nobody could have a better friend than Candy. I treasure her.
I almost remember how it all started, so long ago now. It was at Baldwin High, in some deathly dull Psych class, Candy Carson, teen slut Goddess, put her finger on my oh so vulnerable shoulder, and asked me to meet her at her locker, in that dingy hallway, in that dingy school, so long ago and so far away. I can almost remember it, like it was another world, another time, another life . . . .
That is all past now. It’s a world gone by. I really don’t remember it all that well anymore. But that’s hardly important now. Now, everything I have, everything I’ve become, my whole new and exciting world, I owe to my best friend, Candy Carson. Thanks to her, I’m a fox, a smoker, a stripper, a hooker, a coke fiend, a slut, and my Mom’s best friend, and I owe it absolutely all to her. Candy always came through for me.
So, I think you would have to agree, even you dork pharmacists out there: Every girl should have a friend like Candy.