"Hey there sport."
"Sheila, you're back!"
"Aw, did ya miss me? I might just shit my pants with pleasure."
Sheila was the proprietor of Stall 137, and no, she was not a Park Avenue debutante. She was a little younger than old as hell, brassy, bold and never took crap off of anyone. Me, I was a college aged kid just learning how to wipe my ass when I met Sheila while buying comic books from her Stall. One day I stared too long at her big tits, she confronted me, and then she fucked me. Things got a little Russ Meyer after that, but you can catch up for yourself. The stories are there, read 'em. They're good. Oh, and all this stuff took place in the 80's, back when people let their own lives be the Influencer.
After stating she was glad to see me, Sheila kept smoking her Benson and Hedges 100's while looking me up and down. I returned the ogle. She was wearing tight green polyester pants, a low cut flowered blouse and a green polyester jacket that matched the pants. That was dressed up for Sheila. Her dyed blonde hair was sprayed up tall and wide, and her blue mascaraed eyes twinkled with a wicked promise she always fulfilled.
"Get in here." She said, throwing the cigarette on the ground and stubbing it out with her toe. She pulled down the garage door behind me as I entered, and turned on the Fishnet Covered Ladies Leg Lamp from 'A Christmas Story' that she kept on her sales counter. "Get your pants off.", she said as she took off her jacket. " I need a good fucking. And we can't mess up my hair, I just had it done." Sheila always said the sweetest things. My eyes eagerly watched her take off her blouse and reveal those fantastically large tits, which she always packed into a bra a size too small. Her bra was red and lacy, that showed more of her tits than usual.
"New bra?" I asked, taking my jeans and shorts off and tossing them on the loveseat.