Tuesday, May 24, 2022

Lost Shoe Anthologies 005: Brown Ballet Flat

 Jennifer was a slice of vanilla wholesome-ness. Classic 1950’s American female in 2021: predictable and boring… static. She set her alarm even when she didn’t have a reason to get up early and was promptly in bed, face cream in place, by 0900PM every night. Even on the freakin’ weekend. Let’s just say, she wasn’t freakin’. Even at 32, she found it difficult to let loose and allow any romance near her, let alone her well-pressed bed. A place for everything, everything in its place. And a man’s genitalia had no place in her place. Poor Jennifer, uptight and orgasmless. She’d had the same job since she graduated college, which took her precisely 3.8 years to obtain her Bachelor’s in business finance. Yawn. Her closet was filled with generic khaki skirts, pressed button downs with one fun outfit for “going out” that could double as a funeral outfit. Mormon missionary? Nope. Accountant. Close enough. It was Friday and Jennifer was excited to get home and comb her cats but her cubicle neighbor rose slowly over the partition until her whole face was visible. It took a while for her expansive forehead to clear the divider but once it did, Jennifer sighed in despair. “Hey, we’re going to TGI Friday’s for happy hour. Funny right? It’s Friday… get it?” Jennifer nodded slowly because though she “got it”, she didn’t want to. She was about to give her standard refusal line when Chadwick rounded the corner. Slowly, confidently… exuding BDE (big dick energy) that made Jennifer weak but she didn’t have the carnal knowledge to understand why. “Jenn, come on. Just come out. They have whatever fruity cocktail I’m sure you drink. Your cats can wait”. And with that emotional jab, he sauntered away. He wasn’t wrong. “Fine. Fine. But I can only stay for an hour or two.” Her cubicle neighbor looked shocked but knowingly smiled and slowly descended out of view, her forehead taking an uncomfortable amount of time to disappear. Jennifer wrapped up her email, refilled her stapler, watered her cubicle African violet and stood. At that moment, she felt her monthly cycle begin and pump into her stark white undies. She raced to the bathroom, where she carefully curated a paper-towel-pad and placed it in her underwear. Just in time… the blood flood hadn’t made it past her labia. All was saved. She walked primly, her Tieks carrying her along silently, like a soggy assassin. She arrived at TGIF, heart pounding, and quickly checked her phone for their drink menu. Her phone wouldn’t show the menu and she panicked: she’d have to walk in not knowing what she was going to order! Spontaneity wasn’t Jennifer’s middle name. It was Sarah. And everyone knows Jennifer Sarah’s are lame. A boulder formed in the pit of her stomach. Or was that the blood sitting heavy inside, like a bezoar stone? She pushed the sensation aside, and swept into the 1-star restaurant. Chadwick was already at the bar! He must’ve left work early. He was already two shots in and he patted the stool next to him. Jennifer perched carefully, adjusting for the wad of paper engineering in her underwear. He winked at her and she briefly wondered if he could sense her fertility. “She’ll have a Buttery Nipple, please”. Jennifer blushed at the word nipple and he grinned. “So, Jennifer. What’s your kink?” “Um.. what’s that mean?” He explained, condescendingly what the word kink meant. She turned deeper shades of crimson as each word fell across her mind like a brick thrown from a high-rise. “Er… I don’t really have any. I haven’t really… I mean I have but… I haven’t. Em.” “YOU’RE A VIRGIN?! Aren’t you like 40?! Oh yes. OH YES!” He was beside himself. Inaccurate in his age placing, but excited nonetheless. Jennifer couldn’t handle it anymore, she quickly swallowed the drink her ordered her and she asked for another. After about 2 hours and 6 drinks later, she wavered. Chadwick, being the chivalrous predator he was, offered to take her home. She burbled a word he could only believe to be “Yes, and please de-flower me upon our arrival”. Ten minutes later, he pulled into her apartment complex, and parked. He wanted to park in another one of her complexes so he leaned over and tried to kiss her. She was looking at him cross-eyed, which turned him on even more. So, he slid his hand deftly down her khaki skort. Making out heavily, he grunted “You’re so wet!”. Thrashing about in the front seat for about 20 minutes was enough for her so she wrenched away, opening the door behind her back and tumbling out into the parking lot. They both were covered in blood. “WHAT THE HELL?!” He screamed and Jennifer burst into laughter. Jennifer laughed and laughed feeling the weight of self-imposed lameness melt away, like her uterine lining. She remained standing there, laughing harder as Chadwick drove away: fleeing and disgusted. As Chadwick drove home, he looked over into the blood bath of a passenger seat and saw a single solitary brown ballet flat. Abandoned, much like Jennifer’s need to impress other people. He was pissed. He didn’t get his nut. He grabbed the shoe and threw it angrily out his window. It struck a grazing deer right in the innocent face, leaving a blood stamp right between his eyes. Poor Bambi… you ‘gon learn now. 

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