Bimbo

"I don’t believe it!"

They’re sitting in Sam’s tiny kitchen, drinking tea.

"Believe it," says Ellenor dryly. "It’s the sad, sad truth."

"THREE INCHES???"

"Yep, 3 inches," she says, "I could hardly believe my eyes! Tall, muscular, a real beef – and with a teeny, tiny little pecker! I almost asks him where he kept the rest of it!"

Sam laughs.

"Was it thin, too?" he asks.

"Nope," says Ellenor. "Short and fat, like a freakin’ bulldog!"

Sam’s laughing so hard, he gets tears in his eyes.

"It reminded me of this dirty cartoon I read once," Ellenor continues. "A girl takes a body-builder type of guy home, and he shows off his body, how muscular he is, and then he takes off his briefs, and the girl says Gee, all that dynamite, and such a short fuse!"

"Stop, you’re killing me!"

Sam’s lying over the table, beating it with his fist. He can hardly breathe. His laughter is contagious; Ellenor starts to laugh too, and doesn’t care about the running mascara. She rubs her eyes.

"You look like a raccoon," Sam giggles, and gets her a paper napkin out of a box.

The word "raccoon" sends them both into another giggling frenzy. They’re overtired, and they laugh at anything right now.

OK, so her first try wasn’t as great a success as she had hoped for. That can happen to anyone. Ellenor’s not gonna give up on the bimbo-experiment. The very next weekend, she’s out again; this time dressed in a red mini-dress and red go-go boots. She doesn’t want to risk running into Alan or the Stalker, so she goes to a different place, The Golden Ring. The crowd is more her age, and the clientele a mix of every ethnicity known to man. She starts at the bar, gets herself a Diet Pepsi, as they don’t have Coke. She moves through the crowds, scanning the room for potential candidates. That black guy with the glasses… no, he has a girlfriend; they’re kissing each other tenderly. She walks upstairs, where the dance floor is. It’s packed with people, so she settles for standing against the wall o watch.

There’s a group of guys over at the big table in the corner. A gang. They’re all dressed the same. Oh, no, she’s not going there! She’s heard enough horror stories about gang activity to get herself mixed up with such people!

However that skinny guy at the end of the table… He looks sweet and innocent, as if the gang mentality hasn’t really gotten to him yet. He catches her eyes and smiles at her, and she gives him a quick smile before she walks away. She goes back down to the lobby, and even further down, to see what sort of entertainment they have there.

Oh, a pool hall! Ellenor likes shooting pool; she instantly remembers all those afternoons in Peter Nelson’s basement when she was 14. Peter Nelson taught her all there was to know about French kisses, and in between making out, they played pool.

The room isn’t all that big, there are only 6 pool tables in it. All of them are busy. She walks up to a fat, grumpy guy behind a counter.

"Hi," she says.

No reaction.

"So, do I… sign up for a table, or just wait in line?"

"Wait in line."

Ah, the talkative type! Ellenor gives him a pretty smile and walks over to one of the tables. She stands and watches the game, like all the others, waiting for them to finish playing. The guys around the table are eyeing her, giving her flirty smiles and winks, but she pretends to be too stupid to understand what they mean.

When the guys are done, they leave their sticks on the table, and Ellenor picks one up.

"Hey! Give me the queue, we’re playing now!"

She looks up. These guys were NOT standing around the table earlier, she’s sure of it.

"I believe I was here first!" she says.

"Hey, if you wanna practice your routine, do it elsewhere! We’re gonna play for real here!"

Oh, so just because she’s a woman – albeit a bimbo-looking woman – she doesn’t know how to play pool, is that it? "Step aside, little girl, and let the big boys play their serious macho-game!" Ha!

"I was here first," she says. "It’s my turn."

"Get out of here! You don’t even have anyone to play with!"

"Yes, she does. I’m playing against her."

The skinny guy with the sensitive face takes a stick out of the macho-guy’s hand. That guy and his friends stare at him, and for a second, Ellenor’s afraid they’re gonna start fighting. Then one of the macho-guys whispers something in his friend’s ear, the friend looks shocked, and then they back off, although reluctantly, and leave the pool hall.

"Wanna play?" says the skinny guy, and gives Ellenor another breathtaking smile. "I promise I’ll be nice."

She smiles. Well, the others were rude, he’s just a little patronizing, but they’re still cut from the same block! Isn’t he in for a little surprise...!

"OK," she says, in her faked, high-pitched bimbo-voice. "Can I have the two-colored balls? I like them the best!"

"Sure you can, babe," he says. "Wanna break?"

"Break? Why would I want a break? We haven’t even started playing yet?"

So he puts the balls in the rack, and explains to her how to open the game by "breaking" their triangle formation. He takes his time to show her how to hold the stick properly, and she coos and enjoys having him holding his strong arms around her, and his warm body next to hers, as he shows her how to shoot. He even pats her on the head and tells her that she’s a natural. Ellenor smiles sweetly, and can’t remember last time she had this much fun.

"OK, I think I know how to do it now," she says. "Let’s play!"

"You break," he says.

She leans over the table, pouts her lip as if she’s concentrating really hard – and she shoots. It’s a nice break. The balls spread out, and she gets a great position for her first ball.

"Does that count as one turn, or is it my turn again?" she asks.

People are watching them; some are even coming up to their table to watch. Ellenor wonders if they’re interested in watching the game or watching her tits. She has to pull on her dress after every shot, to make sure they won’t full out, nor that the skirt rides up too high over her ass.

The skinny guy is really good at this game. He does play nicely at first, but then he totally takes over, and sinks one ball after another, until he only has one ball left – number 8, the black ball, the one that finishes the whole game.

"Sorry, babe!" he says, grinning.

"Oh, no fair!" Ellenor pouts like a grumpy kid. "You SAID you were going to play nice!"

She leans over the table, her arms crossed under her breasts, pressing them together, making the cleavage even deeper. She can feel the fabric slipping over her skin, one more inch and she’ll be exposing herself to everyone in this room! He catches a glimpse of her, looks away, tries to focus – but her little trick has made him think of a whole different set of balls, and he misses. The black 8-ball stops right next to the hole, but doesn’t go in.

"Yes!" she cries out, jumping up and down, after quickly fixing her dress. "You missed! My turn!"

Her last chance. She concentrates. Oh, she’s good at this! Peter Nelson even tried to strip in front of her to make her lose her balance, she knows how to block her mind from anything but the ball. Which is good, because Mr. Sensitive has obviously realized that she’s tricked him, and is now trying to get back at her, by running his hand up and down the stick he’s holding. Nice try, she thinks, then focuses on the game. 4 goes down. Around the table for a better angle… 5 goes down. She has to really focus for number 6, it’s tricky, but down it goes, is he getting nervous now? She doesn’t allow herself to look, she has to stay focused… 7 is down, and all that’s left is the black 8-ball. Careful, now… She calculates angles, bends down, aims – and she’s won. She stands up straight, with a little smile.

"Sorry, babe!" she says.

He puts the stick down, grinning. He’s obviously not the type who gets embarrassed by losing a game to a woman.

"Good show," he says.

She puts her stick down, smiles again, and walks away. Some people clap their hands. Ellenor walks out of the pool hall, looking for the ladies’ room. She only gets as far as to the corridor, when he catches up with her.

"That was a nasty little stunt you pulled there," he says.

"What do you mean?"

"Flashing me these," he says, and put his hands on her breasts, kneading them.

She smiles, and takes his hands away. Not so fast, buddy! He entwines her fingers with his own, leans in, and kisses her. He’s much better at kissing than Alan. His lips are soft, and when he closes his eyes, she can see that he has long, thick eyelashes. A delicate face. Good enough to eat.

"Wanna go into one of the stalls?" he says, nodding towards the ladies’ room. "More private there."

"One of the stalls?"

Is he kidding? Does he really think that she wants to have sex on top of a toilet?

"Come on," he says. "Just a quick blow-job! No-one will see us!"

"A blow-job?" she says. "What about me? Don’t I get anything?"

"You get to blow me," he says.

What an honor...!

"I’m not giving you a blow-job," she says.

"Then why the hell have you been flirting with me all night?"

He’s getting angry.

"Look, I’m just out to have a little fun," she says. "If I see a guy I like, I’ll flirt with him! If he’s any interesting up close, I’ll fuck him!"

"I can’t do that," he says. "I’m engaged!"

She stares at him, dumbstruck. Then she starts to giggle like crazy, and runs out of there. She gets her coat, glancing over her shoulder the whole time, but he’s not coming after her. She gets out in the street, hails a cab, and goes, no, flees, home.