That Girl


“You’re her.”

“Sorry?” I asked, completely bolloxed by the random comment from the girl behind the counter.

“You’re her,” she repeated. “That girl in the picture.”

Vague. Thanks for that. I always appreciated vague statements. What girl, in what picture? Did you not realize there’s a line behind me of uni students waiting for their cuppa? Apparently not.


“Sorry,” she said suddenly, taking my money instead and flushing. It was cute, after a fashion. Her skin was the color of mocha but with freckles all over it. Mine was the color of the wall so I immediately envied her despite her odd introductory question.

“No worries,” I shrugged, moving on down the line to wait for my divine mix of cappuccino and too-sweet chocolate. I could already taste it on my tongue when my name was called.

“Kendal! Joe’s ready,” Margie said. I knew Margie – she’d been my flat mate during the last year at uni and moved in with her beau just this summer. She made me jealous of their torrid affair. John was married; or separated; or whatever lie he liked to feed Margie at the time. It made her happy so I stayed out of it. I had to live vicariously through someone as I was not getting laid at all.

I took my morning fix, wrapped both gloved hands around it and let the scent of it filter in to my brain through my nostrils as I walked out the cafe. I had to be in the studio for art class by noon and an interview after but, I also needed new socks. Not just any socks, mind, but the tall, lengthy ones that threw stupid boys over the edge when one wore them with lacy knickers or a Superman shirt without the knickers (not that anyone could tell). Those socks. Mine all had holes in them. There was nothing really sexy ‘bout holes and I had an image to maintain; uni didn’t pay for itself, after all. Well, no, yes, it did in a manner of speaking but not entirely and a girl had to eat.

“Bugga’,” I blurted, suddenly realizing what ‘picture’ the mocha-freckled barista girl was referring to. My picture; those pictures; the ones I needed new socks for. I stopped mid stride to look back in the direction of the cafe. Had she been talking ‘bout those pictures? I’d never had a girl make mention of them before. Plenty of blokes had; mostly wobbly fat ones what never left the basement of their mum’s house. So long as they paid to look, who was I to judge?

Part of me wanted to go back to apologize but the rest of me stood their like a great big baboon until someone bumped my shoulder, spilling my precious Joe all over my uncovered finger tips.

“Watch it ya wank!” I hollered. I glowered in the general direction of where the person slithered into. There were too many folks about for me to pinpoint the one individual in a sea of peacoats and knitted caps. I grumbled, drank what I could and went on about my day resolved to say something to Mocha Freckles (that’s what I’d decided to call her) until I saw her again or could ask Margie what her story was.

The day went as planned: uneventfully with a big fat ‘NOT ENOUGH EXPERIENCE’ for the interview. My fifteen different portfolios and internet presence was, obviously, not nearly enough for the swanky new business of design and something something. I’d stopped paying attention when they started talking like I was a child. Sure, I was still at uni and not a wink past twenty but why did that matter? I wanted something more than racy photos done in my living room.

Blessedly, Margie ran into a crisis right as I was bargin’ into mine.

“I didn’t get it,” I said into the mobile without answering in a proper manner. Margie was furious for me for all of two seconds before wailing on about John and what an arse hat he was. I decided we needed a night out, just the girls.

When I say just the girls, I mean Margie and me, and our obligatory gay friend Alec. It may be insensitive or whatever to say so but he was counted as one of the girls and the only true gay friend we had between us. No one knew my secret, not yet anyhow. I didn’t like to advertise; it ruined the public image of the cute gamer girl with the sexy knickers.

Anyway, Alec liked to make sure we all ‘dolled up’ before hittin’ the town which meant we all wore our sluttiest clothes with pounds of makeup and glitter and boots to the thigh – Alec included. Half the fun was getting ready! By the time we hit the disco we’d forgotten our woes and were ready to live life.

“I need more drink!” I shouted as we danced through a round of retro-inspired music pumping through a set of speakers near as tall as I was. Margie and Alex nodded, their bodies moving and grinding against each other. I’d been the middle to their sandwich not but moments before, already wishing to be back between them. I wasted no time, grabbing another round of drinks and carrying them all back to my friends – plus a surprising new extra.

“There you are! We thought you’d run off!” Alec hollered, relieving me of my burdens. I blinked at him, then peered. He’d’ not heard a single thing I said before I’d toddled off to find more drink. “We’ve made a new friend!”

“Kennie, this is Ever; Ever, my bestest Kendall,” Margie said, introducing me to Mocha Freckles. She smiled at me, offered a shy wave and a mute-to-me ‘hullo’ that could not be heard over the din of music. I moved in closer to her, leaning in so she could hear what I said.

“I am that girl in the photo, for whatever that might be worth to you.”

She looked at me again and her smile broadened. Apparently, she liked my photos. Who wouldn’t, really? I was cute and cuter still in my knickers while playing video games. It was sort of my ‘thing’ and it worked well. It got Ever’s attention, if nothing else.

“Will you dance with me?” she finally said after enough liquor had been imbibed to remove whatever inhibitions she thought she had. She wore a short skirt that showed off her curves and a tank that dipped low on her expansive chest. She was positively peppered with freckles, like someone had dusted her with auburn glitter. Her fair hair was a mass of tight coils all tied up into tiny buns on her head and kissed with different colors of the rainbow. Full lips nearly pouted while she waited for my response – which was to grab her by the waist and drag her to me for a sound kiss.

My inhibitions were non existent and I sure as hell was done waiting around for a good snog. Ever stiffened a little. I could feel her fingers flexing at my sides until she took a good grip of the suspenders I wore over my short crop. She had curves, I was a near wall but I worked it well. I was a fit wall, all muscle and just enough bump to make it adorable. I held on to Ever, our lips pressed so tightly together that our faces may as well have started melting into each other. I felt her arms snake up around my neck – I’m taller – and her hips grind against mine as we did exactly what she asked me to do; we danced. Sort of; more like, we snogged while moving on the floor in front of everyone. I parted her mouth with my tongue and felt the ridges of her teeth as she let me explore. She tasted like sour beer and too many shots of Fireball whiskey. Not that I tasted much better.

I don’t know what happened to Margie and Alec. Quite frankly, I don’t care either. Like I said earlier, I’d not been laid in forever and I was done waiting. We moved through three songs, snogging the entire time. I nibbled at her neck or slid my hand beneath her tank and she just melted right into me. At some point, we ended up just under the stairwell that led back up to the surface streets, just off from the loo. Yes, it was tacky and tasteless but we were young and stupid and didn’t give two shits about propriety. We were horny and wanted a good shag.

I suppose, somewhere, I should’ve asked if she even wanted to shag but she was just as hot as I was so I took that as consent, especially when she spread her legs like a dime-stop whore as soon as I slid my fingers into her hot snatch. I finger-fucked her good until she made a puddle in my palm, sucking on her tits or kissing on her neck the entire time. I smiled at her, licking my fingers clean then kissing her again, forcing my tongue into her mouth. Her knickers were a twisted wet mess that I tugged on, the lace rubbin’ on her clit. She moaned, chest heaving against mine. I felt the snap on my tiny punk skirt come loose, the only thing holding it up being the silly suspenders I’d thrown on. Ever pulled me closer, leaning back against a line of empty kegs beneath the stairs and lifted one of my legs up so that my knee was on the keg and her leg was around my waist. I could feel her heat against mine, feel her wetness against me.

Just like on the dance floor, we moved against each other, rubbing and grinding, grunting and moaning while snogging like teenagers. My clit rubbed hers in just the right way and, if it didn’t, I adjusted or she adjusted until we were both rubbing again, the lace of her knickers offering great stimulation for the both of us. Ever even grew a set of her own and slid her fingers inside my twat while we humped each other. The finger-fuck felt amazing, three wonderful digits filling me up the front and one tiny one at my pucker.

“Fuck me,” I groaned.

“S’what I’m doin’, I thought,” Ever teased.

“Shut up an’ keep goin’ girl,” I commanded. She smiled and kissed me again, her tongue fighting mine until I shut my eyes so tight it hurt, cumming all over her hand and leg, my tiny ass hole sucking her finger in further. She came again too, the wetness of it making a slick mess all over my thigh and down the metal keg.

“Nngh,” I shivered, caressing Ever’s face. “Think I’ll have that dance now, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she giggled, kissing me soundly this time. We never did make it back to the dance floor. My flat was much more accommodating to the kind of dancing we had in mind anyway; dancing that we did all night long and well into the next morning. When I finally cracked an eye open, the clock glared back at me in angry red numbers that declared the time to be well past acceptable. I didn’t care. Ever was still with me, her beautiful naked body with all its luscious curves and cute little imperfections that she’d been self conscious of the night before. I wormed my way into those curves, molding myself to her until she wrapped her arms around me. The smell of sex was heavy in my room, on her skin, the sheets.

I wanted to touch her, to let my fingers explore all over her in slow little circles but I dared not move either. I didn’t want to wake her, didn’t want to ruin the moment so I contented myself with lyin’ in her arms.



** I do not own the photo posted above; it was used as reference and inspiration.

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