*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
**Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.
This is a short little tale.
*.*
Kyrie Summer tiredly pasted a smile on her chubby face as the attractive brunette put her items onto the conveyer belt. The nineteen year old started the belt's slow progress and began scanning the customer's purchases into the computer system.
"Ma'am? May I see your ID please?" Kyrie politely asked when the bottle of Iron Barrel Chocolate Whiskey came to rest against the metal lip of the scanner.
"Of course," Amber Duhon gave the heavy-set blonde a genuine smile as she fished out her Louisiana Driver's License.
Kyrie checked and nodded; Amber Duhon was twenty two years old. Kyrie scanned the bottle, then scanned the bottle of Nulough's Whipped Cream Vodka and the pint bottles of Mark's Chocolate Liqueur and Mark's Peppermint Liqueur.
"Having a party?" Kyrie asked politely as she continued to scan the items while Rodney put everything into bags.
"Mm, maybe," Amber smiled. "Want to come?"
"I wish," Kyrie smiled tightly. "But I don't get out of here until ten."
"Tomorrow?" What time you work tomorrow?" Amber brazenly asked.
Kyrie paused and stared at the attractive woman. Her eyes saw the Barragona original python Striker jacket over the distressed blue jeans and the snug sweater. She saw the woman's warm brown eyes and slim nose and small spatter of freckles dotting the woman's cheeks.
"Um, I, um, tomorrow I come in early," Kyrie stammered. "Um, I get out at four thirty."
"Perfect! I'll do a pork roast, you like pork? And then we'll have some hot mint chocolate, okay?" Amber said, pulling her cell phone out of her Barragona bag.
"Uh, do you think you could start ringing up my stuff now?" an ill-tempered woman snapped at Kyrie.
"Ma'am, she hasn't finished ringing me up," Amber smiled to the woman. "So you just wait your turn, okay?"
"She'd be done ringing you up if y'all wasn't so busy jabbering," the woman snapped, grabbing her few items off the conveyer belt.
Kyrie fought down her laugh as she gave Amber her phone number. Amber tapped on her cell phone then smiled.
"There. I just sent you the address," Amber said then slid her credit card through the slot. "Say, mm, about six?"
"We're not allowed to have our phones out here," Kyrie said as she helped Rodney put the last few items into the bags.
"It'll still be there by the time you get off; see you tomorrow," Amber smiled and left, Rodney following with her grocery laden buggy.
A strong gust of bone-chilling air blew across the Burns & Burns Grocers grocery store parking lot. Rodney and Amber made quick work of loading the trunk of Amber's jet black 2018 Boss 302 Mustang. Amber pulled out a five dollar bill and Rodney thanked the woman before bustling back into the warmth of the grocery store.
Amber gave a friendly wave at the unpleasant old woman as she slowly drove past the woman. The woman stared, uncomprehending then scowled as Amber pushed her Surewill Wolf series sunglasses on her face.
The Withers Condominiums were designed to look like old rustic barns clumped together. Amber backed into the garage of Unit 102, a three bedroom unit. She watched the garage door slowly go down before shutting off the engine. Then she braced herself against the frigid cold of the garage and opened her car door.
After putting her groceries away, Amber gathered up the clothes she would need for tonight and threw the duffel bag into the passenger seat of her car. The sun had gone down so Amber did not wear the sunglasses. Within moments of leaving her condo, Amber pulled up behind Sugar Shack, a Gentlemen's' Club in Pinoak, Louisiana.
Scampering as quickly as she could, Amber entered the rear of the nightclub and took a moment to warm up. Then she dressed for her first set.
"Aw yeah, that's right, it's hunting season. Put your hands together for Bambi; she's a real dear," the DJ announced and Amber strutted onstage.
At one thirty in the morning, Amber tiredly drove home. Her ears still rang from the loud music and her eyes burned from cheap aftershave and from exhaustion as she drove.
After a scalding hot shower, Amber selected a soft, sexy teddy with matching robe. In her bedroom, Amber had a small refrigerator and liquor cabinet. Getting some ice, Amber poured herself a few fingers of St. Elizabeth's Superior Whiskey and lay back on her king sized bed. CNN provided some mindless noise and Amber sipped her drink as the news commentators blathered on about stock market, politics, climate change, the world in general.
Amber smiled as she read a text message from the cute cashier, Kyrie. Despite the late hour, Amber answered the text. After a few moments, Amber sent another text, wishing Kyrie a good night's rest.
At five that morning, her cell phone jangled out 'When the Saints Go Marching In.' Amber woke and groggily made her way downstairs. She took out her largest cast iron skillet and stirred together some olive oil, some orange juice, a few heaping tablespoons of brown sugar, some paprika, salt, cayenne pepper and fresh cracked black pepper. Amber smashed a few cloves of garlic and sliced a yellow onion. The sliced onion was layered onto the bottom of the cast iron skillet and Amber scored the bone in pork shoulder.
"I love a gas stove," Amber said aloud as she seared the pork shoulder in the skillet, making sure to coat all sides with the olive oil orange juice spice rub.
Then, the cast iron skillet went into the oven. Amber made sure the fat side was up then closed the oven and turned the oven on to 225 degrees.
"Low and slow, leave the bone in. Hmm, just like a good fuck," Amber giggled to herself.
After washing her hands with a bar of A & A coffee grounds soap, Amber went back up the stairs and went to bed again. She was sound asleep within seconds of closing her eyes.
At three thirty, Amber woke to the wonderful smells of pork roasting. After showering and dressing in fleece lined jeans and silk tank top and bulky sweater, Amber checked the roast. It was close to perfect and she smiled.
First Fidelity Credit Union in Elgee, Louisiana closed their lobby at five and Amber knew from past experience, they did not tarry one moment past five. She sighed in relief when she made it to the bank at 4:49.
It had been a good night. Her tip jar after five times out on the stage had netted her a little over two hundred dollars. But private dances in one or another of the Sweet Suites put six hundred and fifty dollars into her purse.
Amber made the deposit and asked for a paper receipt. She almost smirked at the look of displeasure the teller gave her when she asked for the receipt.
