Vanity 3

Note: Please do not think this story is racist against any religion (I hate them all honestly). It is honestly more of a treatise upon our times. Daisy is every bit as much a character straight out of any Saturday or Sunday morning on a London High Street. Take both with a grain of salt.

***

Daisy knew she looked rough. Walking down the High Street at seven o'clock in the morning barefoot nonetheless. Her six inch heels that looked so damned hot last night were simply not worth the effort this morning. They along with her knickers were stuffed in the huge, over-sized purse slung over her shoulder.

Her top had a few stains on it and smelled just a tad ripe. A couple of them were red wine, she remembered those. But she was afraid that a couple of the others were Charlotte's barf. That was probably where the smell came from. But then too she had snuck out of the flat without a shower so her body still carried the smell of sweat from the packed dance floor and sex. She smiled at that last thought.

She stubbed her toe and reminded herself to follow her mother's advice next time and throw a pair of flats in the bag before she left. The woman ought to know. How many walks of shame had she taken in past twenty odd years?

But it had so been worth it. She tugged her skirt down just a bit without the knickers she was afraid her dignity might be compromised. She giggled, not that she had that much left but a girl had to have some secrets.

She had looked so damned good last night when she had gone out with her girlfriends. This was her favourite skirt. It was black leather, well, probably the fake stuff considering she got it for fifty quid at Camden Market. But that did not matter; she always looked good in it. Good enough that she had pulled the hottest guy in the pub too.

Harry? That was his name, right? She thought it was something like that. Barry? Larry? Terry? No, she was almost certain that it was Larry. Oh well, what the fuck did a name matter?

What matter was that he was hot. Bear fit even. Tall, she liked her men tall. And he had been over six feet for sure. He had been a bit on the thin side, but not too skinny. He was a ginger too. She did not usually go for gingers, but it was the whole Harry thing that got her. Yes, his name was definitely Harry. He had made so many jokes about it last night. Even when they stopped being funny.

He had not been a bad shag either. Well, what she remembered of it. His body was certainly worth looking at. And he had the best tasting cock she had in a long time. Well the past month or so for sure. His cock was long even that she had trouble deep throating him, which said something since she was the best deep throater in her gang. Thankfully it had not been too thick. Which was great for the blowjob, but it really sucked when it came to the shagging part. She giggled...really sucked...she could be so fucking funny sometimes. She had to remember that to tell all her friends that one. Maybe even post it to her social networking page.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she did not see the crack in the pavement and tripped, almost falling flat on her face. She righted herself fast enough. But not quick enough as giggles echoed downed the street. It was so early that there was hardly anyone about except for a couple of other girls on the infamous 'walk of shame.'

Then she saw them across the street. Three heavily draped girls. Even though she could not see their faces she knew that the giggles must have come from them. She was not going to take that shit from no one. So she held up her fingers in the universal sign of 'peace.' And shouted, "What you think you looking at?"

The one closest to her stared across the street or at least Daisy thought she did, she turned in her direction any way. She shouted back then, "Slag," her English as good as or better than Daisy's.

But Daisy had not been raised on one of the toughest estates in north London for no reason. She knew come backs and it did not take her two seconds to come up with the perfect one for this situation, "I'd rather be a slag than some black post box with only a slat to see out of."

She squared her shoulders, lifted her head and walk forward with pride and vanity.