Gussied Up

I was so desperate for sex I was even nice to stupid Shannon the gossip whore. I saw her when I went to the showers. She had just finished and was talking with Leslie. When she saw me, she said,

“Oh, how are things going with you, Mindy.”

I hate the way she singsongs when she talks, always trying to sound so faky chirpy and phony concerned at the same time.

“I’ve been better, Shan,” I said. “Hi Leslie.” Leslie was my other good friend. I was hoping Shannon would leave so I could talk to Leslie.

“Mindy, I came looking for you a couple of times, but you were out. You okay?” said Leslie.

“Yeah. Just been busy.” I said.

“We’ve been so worried about you too,” said phony baloney Shannon.

Yeah, as if. Shannon’s husband left her four years ago for a younger, blonder, boobsier bimbo, or maybe she was the young, blond, boobsy bimbo so he left her. When the marriage broke up, she moved in with her parents in the park. She supposedly looks after them now. But there's nothing wrong with them. They were fine before she got here. They are still fine.

“I’m just getting ready for work,” said Leslie. She works as a waitress at a pub in town. “I’ll finish late. Are you around tomorrow? How about I come by when I get up?”

“I’m here, unless I get a ride to see Jesse,” I said.

“Oh, the girls and I, we’re going into town tonight. To have a few drinks, maybe meet some guys.” said Shannon. “Hey, maybe we’ll go to Leslie’s pub. You want to come with us?”

What? Shannon the lying canon asking me to go out with her bimbos? I’d rather be nailed to the toilet floor than to be seen outside the park with her. But then it’s a night out. And I might get lucky. I need to get lucky. Shannon is just transportation, a ride, ‘cause that’s all she’s good for. And now she can be my ride. Oh I can be so funny sometimes.

“Sure, Shannon, I’d love to go,” I said. Leslie gave me that wide-eye you-know-what-you’re-getting-into? look. “You driving?”

“Yeah,” said Shannon, looking surprised and regretting her invitation. But she recovered immediately. “We’re meeting at the gate at 8:00. Don’t be late, or we’ll go without you. Ha ha ha. Ta, ta.” She wiggled down the road to her site.

Leslie said, “What’re you doing? You really going to spend the night with that bunch?”

“I get lonely,” I said.

“Oh god, the things you do for sex. Get them to come to the pub. I want to be there to see you hanging with her.”

So I got showered and dressed. I had $10 from what Sam loaned me. But how I operate, I don’t pay for my own drinks. I have principles. If a guy can’t buy you a drink at a pub, he doesn't deserve to have a go at you.

I can get used to this short hair. You don’t have to blow dry it or anything. You just mousse and gel it and you look sexy and real dangerous with your hair standing up. I put on my best bra that lifts and separates. The trick to attracting men for sex is to put your boobs up front where they belong. I got good, noticeable boobs. They just need a little help with positioning sometimes.

And if you got a good ass like me, show that off in tight jeans and heels. You gotta stand up straight too, not hunched over like you’re afraid of what men are thinking. Red lipstick is a must. Makes men think about blow jobs.

I wore my red T-shirt with “Squeeze Here” across the front in big bold letters. And I wore my red fuck-me pumps to match my lipstick and T-shirt. God I looked classic. Simple but hot. I feel six inches taller already.

So I get to the gate just before 8:00 and the other two girls were already there. We were just waiting for Shannon.

“Hey, I heard you were coming with us,” said Molly.

“How come you never came with us before,” said Babsy.

“I wanted a change,” I said.

What was I supposed to say? I don’t like you and I don’t want to be seen with the likes of you? Even standing there waiting, I didn’t want to talk to these two ding-dongs. Look at them. Molly has a drabby long-sleeve shirt on. Where do her boobs end and her stomach begin? And short shorts? She’s too fat for them. And Babsy, she’s got on a blue and green striped sports bra, with chains and beads hanging off her neck. A man would choke on her junk if he tried to kiss her neck. And for god sakes, she’s got on sweat bell bottoms, with a stripe down the side of the leg. Who does she think she is, Sporty Spice?

Shannon came running up with her dyed blond hair all twisted in a knot on top of her head. She was wearing a pink sweater and cardigan set, black pants and black flats. What kind of look is that? Where’s the sex appeal?

She said to me, “You look good, trussed up. I mean, all dressed and gussied up like that.” Shannon curled her lip in a smirk.

The bitch. I have to ditch this bunch when we get to the pub.