Copyright 2012, 2020 Lisa Summers
"It's pink," Samantha Harris explained. "And it wasn't soft at all. It was pretty damned hard - on me, at least." Irritated, she brushed back her light brown hair from over her ear, letting it flow down to the middle of her back.
"Really?" responded her roommate, eighteen year-old Trish Dellaconte. "I thought that was just a joke." She blinked, her brown eyes softening as she focused on her best friend.
"No...it was pink. And pretty damned final - 'Your Services Are No Longer Required.'" Samantha had a combined expression of amusement and stunned amazement on her face.
"I was doing a really good job, they said. But because of the economy..." Samantha thought that she might move on to crying. Which stage was that, again? She wiped distractedly at her blue eyes.
"Well, you're better off without them," Trish said supportively.
"Thanks," Samantha responded. "But not so much financially, y'know? I'm gonna have to find something. Maybe Dave will know somebody who needs an art teacher."
"Look, Sam, you're a very talented, thoughtful and beautiful woman. You're twenty three, and did I say, you're beautiful? You've got a hot body, and you're nearly as smart as me - of course you'll find something. Just make sure that when you interview, sit, y'know, in kind of a friendly way, make sure the boss himself sees you, and finally, don't get stuck with some Human Resources chick. The boss, if he's got a dick, will hire you. The HR chick, not so much, it's jealousy, y'know?" Trish's expression was serious, so Samantha knew the chances she was joking were less than 90 percent.
"Yeah, thanks, and I hope that you're right, but still, I'll ask Dave if he knows anybody who needs somebody." She didn't dare look at the expression of disgust on Trish's face. She'd never liked Sam's boyfriend.
"Suit yourself, but you'd have more luck with Greg's List, in my opinion."
"I think I'll just take a nice, hot, scented bath, with lots of bubbles, and some soft music on. You'd better use the bathroom now if you think you're gonna need it, because I don't need any interruptions." That was the two friends' code for 'alone sexytime.'
Samantha sighed as she rose off the beat up sofa they'd found on Greg's List. She walked across the beat up rug they'd found on Greg's List, to the bathroom, one of those old black and white tiled ones that you find in the city, with a tub that was stained and chipped in miscellaneous areas just from being fifty years old, and woodwork that had been painted over an impressive twenty times, at least.
Samantha imagined that if some future archaeologist did a dig in their bathroom, he'd find layers of paint dating back to at least the Civil War, and perhaps some shards of broken pottery from an ancient civilization or two.
She turned on the water, the first gush typically rusty and a little rank, then when it turned clear and hot, she closed the stopper to allow the tub to fill. She gently added a dollop of scented bath crystals, and as the steamy scent of vanilla began to fill the air, she stood to remove her clothes, pacing herself to avoid the awkward, 'standing naked while the tub finishes filling' step.
She thought about her relationship with Dave. "He's kind of immature, it's true," she thought, as she put her long brown hair in a ponytail with a scrunchie, making her look again like the cheerleader she'd been in high school. She looked at herself in the mirror, as visibility faded and steam gained more and more territory from the glass.
"Maybe I could do better," she thought. "On the other hand, maybe right after you lose your job isn't the very best time to go looking for a new boyfriend." She nodded at the wisdom of that thought.
She assessed her looks. She thought she'd better take stock of things if she were going to be going out on interviews.
"Nice hair," she thought. "Thick and glossy, not too many split ends."
"There, that should do it," she said out loud, to the increasingly vague looking woman staring back at her. "Good hair, get job." She sighed again. If only it were that easy.
She grinned at the mirror, baring her teeth. "White, even teeth - check."
"Short nose, not too big or too crooked - check."
"Fair complexion - check."
"Big, blue eyes, nice lashes, no unibrow - check."
"Heck, if I really thought that a really good body part would assure me a job, I'd go out and get a boob job, or plump up my ass," she thought, lifting up a boob, smaller than she'd like it to be. Then she turned, and caressed an ass cheek, sizing it up.
"Probably not big enough, but it does feel good," she said aloud again.
She began unbuttoning her conservative print blouse, checking her upper body for stray ugliness. "Hmm, definitely too many freckles," she said, staring at her upper chest and in her cleavage. "No scars, that's a plus."
She pulled the blouse off her shoulders, and off her arms, smelling it under the arms, pleased that it didn't smell, then neatly folding it on the vanity. She reached behind her back and unhooked the plain, white bra, releasing her breasts from their A cup confinement. She massaged them briefly, feeling a sense of relief, and her pink nipples perked up at the attention.
She unbuttoned her work skirt, then unzipped it, letting it drop to the floor. Then she rolled down her panty hose, again feeling relief at the release from the confinement of synthetic materials. She stepped out of one leg, then playfully kicked the other off, watching the crumpled hose sail up, up and away, to land two feet closer to the door.
Realizing that it isn't nice to pee into your own scented bath, she lifted the lid of the decrepit, but clean, toilet and sat down, as she shimmied her plain white panties off her hips, to mid thigh. Soon, a sharp hissing sound filled the air, as well as the aroma of her urine, salty and hot. After she was left with only tiny dribbles of pee, she stood, and wiped herself with several squares of toilet paper, then tossed it in the bowl, along with its fresh amber coloring.
