Sitting on the Pink Line, my thighs spread so wide that the wet pinkness of my vaginal canal peeped out visibly between the folds of dark brown labia, I smiled brightly at the woman across from me. She gave me an embarrassed glance and tried to look away, but I kept smiling at her and her eyes kept returning to meet mine, and flickering down to my crotch, until finally she gave in and stared at my dripping pussy, which was already beginning to seep its wetness out onto the thin plush and plastic seating.
"Pretty, isn't it?" I said with a giggle. She swallowed hard, glanced nervously to see if anyone else on the train car was watching us, and nodded. She was dressed like a suburban mom, but a few years too young to be one: sensibly short haircut, light jacket over a modest beige top, Uniqlo semi-casual trousers and gray sneakers. It was hard to get much of a sense of her body beneath the jacket, but stocky Midwesterner with a very low ratio between her chest and waist measurements seemed like a good guess.
Whereas what she was looking at was very different: giant fake tits over a narrow waist, a giant fake ass to match. My natural hair was close-cropped and dyed platinum, with a long hot pink weave braided into it. My eyeshadow was the same color of pink, and my lips (not surgically enhanced but as puffy and bee-stung as God made me) were outlined in gold. I wore a pink little sweater stretched so tight across my boobies that the buttons were visibly straining at the buttonholes, with a crop-top white tee underneath that showed off my gold belly-button chain. My miniskirt was also pink plaid, although it was mostly scrunched to the sides so that my open legs could display the wetness between them. Hot pink stripper shoes with laces that went halfway up my shins completed my ensemble: plus some gold jewelry, most notably a necklace with the word "Bimbo" dangling over the dark valley of my enormous cleavage.
"Want a taste?" I asked her, giggling again, spreading my fingers along my thighs so that the hot pink acrylic fingernails showed against the dark skin, pointing towards my center. This was my favorite part of the game, teasing a normie girl with my sexy self until she either had sex with me or tried to have me arrested. My exposed pussy dribbled even more at the thought of either response, and I could feel my nipples crinkle tight against the sweater as I waited for her to answer.
Six months ago, I couldn't have imagined having the courage, much less the desire, to flash myself in public and proposition strangers on the L. Six months ago I had been a studious, dedicated engineering student who spent most of my time outside of class at the library, where it was quiet enough for homework and the occasional catch-up on the sleep I had missed the night before. I was tall enough that they had wanted me to try out for basketball in high school, but I was too clumsy and nerdy for that: so the quiet, tall black girl with glasses who kept to herself and spent hours on her laptop in the corner every evening had become a familiar sight in my local library.
One of the librarians, an older woman named Rashonda, had gotten to know me a little. Not so much that I felt she ever was interrupting my studies, but she was greeting me by name, asking after my family, and knew what I was studying within the first couple of weeks of the new semester. She was a bigger woman, with a very carefully maintained short brown haircut, a sharp eye, and an easy smile; beneath her casual chambray-and-jeans attire, she had the kind of body I thought of as motherly or even grandmotherly: large-breasted and -hipped, and hands that knew what to do in an altercation. She wore no jewelry or nail art, and I sort of knew she was gay without ever hearing it said or even really thinking about it consciously; but I'd never thought of her as being interested in me in any way but auntie-like.
But one evening when I felt the need to stretch a little after an exhausting set of theorems, I glanced down through a row of shelves I didn't usually go near and saw a young woman leave Rashonda's office. I wouldn't have thought twice about it, probably, except for the way that she was dressed. It was the dead of winter, but she was wearing a lime-green bikini top and bottoms, with bright yellow fishnet stockings. Her hair was similarly bright yellow, and her makeup was brilliantly green. She shrugged a large fur coat around her shoulders and wrapped it, covering herself up, before making eye contact with me, and then she smiled. She took a few steps towards me, opened her coat so I could see her almost-entirely naked body, and watched my reaction.
Her body was eye-grabbing: skin the color of Crayola brown, breasts the size and shape of melons, thick thighs and slender ankles in form-fitting vinyl boots that matched her bikini. I saw a necklace glitter on her chest in the fluorescent library light, but couldn't read what it said. She stared at me with a bright smile, and then took a few steps closer. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. What was this gorgeous stripper (I assumed) doing approaching me? I was so obviously a broke college student that my worn hoodie had coffee stains that I couldn't afford to have laundered out until next week.
"You like this, baby?" she said. I could read her necklace now. It said "Bimbo."
"Not here," I heard a voice say. "Not her. Go on now."
Both the girl and I jumped, and realized for the first time that Rashonda was coming up behind her. She nodded to the girl, who wrapped her coat around her with a giggle and strutted off towards the stairs to exit the building. I stared after her, and Rashonda regarded me thoughtfully.
"Who is that?" I said.
"She's Keke. I help her out sometimes," said Rashonda, not looking away from me. "Seems like you're fascinated by her."
I swallowed, and then shook my head.
"I have to get back to work," I mumbled, and turned to return to my table, my laptop, my stacks of books and papers.
"Akhinita," said Rashonda softly behind me, "I'm only going to say this once. If you want to be like her, you can."
I stopped short. It felt like all the breath had been knocked out of my body. I wasn't sure what emotion I was feeling. It was like a spinning coin waiting to fall on one side or the other: if it fell one way, I would be angry and insulted and lash out; if it fell another way, I would be too frightened to move. But it continued to not fall, and I slowly realized that the tantalizing excitement of waiting for the emotion to break was the responsive emotion I was experiencing, and I realized also that my nipples were hard and my panties were damp, and I turned around and looked at her.
"How?" I asked.
Rashonda walked with me to my desk to gather my things, then took me back to her office, and locked the door.
"Akhinita, are you a virgin?" she asked.
I shook my head.
"Do you like boys?"
I hesitated, and she moved on.
"Have you had sex with girls?"
I shook my head.
"Do you want to?"
I hesitated again, but she waited this time.
"Maybe," I said.
"Do you want to give up your college career?"
I shook my head.
"Why not?"
"My parents would be so disappointed in me."
"Would they be reliant on the income your degree would bring?"
"Well, no. They're doing fine."
"Then what do you owe them?"
I didn't answer this, and she moved on.
"If I asked you right now to take off all your clothes, how would that make you feel?"
"Nervous."
"Anything else?"
I squirmed a little. "Excited."
"Would you want to do it?"
"A little."
"Why?"
"Because you want me to."
She raised her eyebrows.
"Did I say that?"
"No, but if you asked me to do it, I would assume you wanted it."
She smiled, and sat back in her chair a little.
"How often do you masturbate?" she asked conversationally.
"It depends. If I'm really stressed, like once a week. But if I don't have too much to do, like every day."
