Charlotte's sleek girlish hand was trembling. The skin was shiny, smooth, and youthful without any wrinkles. Her fingers were pinched so hard around the Bic pen that the outermost joints buckled back. With neatness, the pen tip sunk into the soft paper of the check balancing booklet, which she had received for opening her first checking account. The circles in the letters were big and oversized girlish.
+ $956.23 Pay from Jamba Juice
- $483.00 Rent for a little white studio in a converted hotel
- $4.55 Papa John's pizza
- $89.00 for a GAP trench coat
Yep, that trench coat. She smoothed the ends of the black trench coat over her thighs as she was sitting on the only little, brown wooden stool in her studio apartment. She spread her legs sharply and playfully like a performer at Moulin Rouge. The bottom folds of her trench coat fell apart to form a triangle. In that triangle was a dark shade that let the imaginary viewer guessing and squinting to what might be hidden.
The panty hose let her skinny knees shimmer. The black thick band at the mid-thigh of the panty hose suggested that she was wearing lingerie or even au naturel in that dark triangle of the leg part of her trench coat.
She let her head drop back in abandon to let her smooth, youthful black hair stream back over her head. She exposed the lines that her neck muscles, throat, and collarbones formed. She bit her lip passionately and let the lip slowly pull out from her teeth. The lip stick was bright red and left red outlines on her teeth. It was the cheap one that Duane Reade sells. What it lacked in refinement in tone and gloss, it made up with loudness of color.
With a swift turn, she pulled herself of her stool. Her right arm flung over the overladen table. She knocked a pencil out of the pen holder. The pencil went flying onto the Gap catalog, which was steeply angled on some other things. All the Gap catalog had needed was a little momentum to start gliding like a sled on snow with the smooth, high polished cover paper. Next thing, her boot leg porn DVDs followed down to the ground: "Training of O", "Home wrecker 4", and "Squirting 101."
Out of reflex, she immediately pushed the contraband under her desk and put her book bag from her recent college days over it. Her face blushed. Her heart was pounding. She still wasn't used to the safety of living on her own. When she caught her thoughts, her hands slipped into the trench coat to feel the cold stainless steel of her Smith & Wesson police issue type hand cuffs. This was her time to do whatever she wanted. She was free, off age, and with pay check.
The doorbell rang. She jumped around. Her messy string of hair ran through her face. She checked her hair. She dropped a breath mint. She thought of something to say, "Oh, how lovely is the night tonight." That's too boring. "Hello tiger, what are you packing." That sounds too much like cliché. She had to get going. Her high heel leather boots sounded on the wooden floor. She carefully removed the chain, the dead bolt, and the regular lock.
The hallway was dimly lit by an overhead light every two studio apartment doors. Her ankles wobbled in the high heels. She was trying to focus on her upper body to strut with poise and purpose. Yet, her feet were shaky little things. The stiletto heel was but a little finger. The black leather reached up her calves to beneath the knees. Yet, it was soft, moldable leather that barely had a grip on her foot.
Half way to the entrance door, the wobble shifted her ass out of control. Her whole body felt like a helpless limb flung around by momentum and gravity. The boot bent under her away, so that she was standing on the side of foot with the heel resting sideways on the ground. Her hand was hit the wall hard to arrest her fall.
The sound of her door ball sounded faintly from behind her through the locked door. She was desperate to get to that door to avoid being late. She was desperate not to be seen struggling. She wanted to be that sexy queen, not the little, uneducated girl.
A door opened. An old gray-haired woman with a hairnet and shriveled mouth with thin lips looked at Charlotte. The old woman was bent forward wearing a woolen black jacket and tight full length skirt of a stiff fabric.
"Oh, it's you, my child Charlotte."
"Yes, Annie. You look wonderful tonight."
"Oh, it's the apples that give my cheeks a shine. How is the new job?"
"Everyone is wonderful. I'm learning a lot."
Charlotte's face betrayed her black trench coat, black stiletto leather boots dress, and the fiery red lip stick. Her eyes looked nervous and unsure about what to say. Her lips made the polite, silent smile of a child that only speaks, when spoken to. The pose went out of her shoulders to surrender her confidence. She shifted her weight with unease left and right and back until the old woman gave her permission to move on.
With a sigh of relief, she strutted on towards the door, towards her date, towards the handsome Jonny whom she had met at the corner bar at 7th Street and Avenue A. He stood out in the dark with erect spine and his feet side to side. He wore his nicest black collar shirt and cross hatched slacks that had an ironing line that started sharp and quickly disappeared towards the knee. He was holding a single red rose in his hand.
They hugged full body. His hand quickly found her ass and squeezed through the trench coat. She didn't work out. She was naturally skinny. His hand was filled with a small helping of soft flesh. The bareness of her ass under the trench coat was immediately apparent. Because of its size, he held the whole thing in her hand from the ass crack to the outside thigh.
She immediately protested with her little, clenched fist against his chest. "Not here!" They were standing at the entrance with a few bushes obscuring the sidewalk. A weak 40 watt outdoor light let them gaze into each other's' face. His face showed paleness, inexperience, and coolness at the same time. He was a boy toy. He knew things. He had cool friends. 30 yards away was the bright cone of the street lamp lighting up park cars with glisteningly clean paint jobs. In that direction, she pulled him.
Out in the light, she got a little crumpled piece of paper out. That was her little black list of taboos. Blow job was crossed out, so was anal, cum on titties, and school girl uniform. The first line still waiting to be crossed out said: "Sex in the park at night."
When he read that, he shook his head forward: "Fuck, are you amazing! I'll have to marry you one day." She smirked with pride and turned her face away in a fake blush. She did not know that yet. It was not her being cool that made her feel cool. It was seeing the reflection of cool in the face of others that made her feel cool. To be desirable, she didn't need to be beautiful. She needed an admirer, whose face looked like he was looking at the most beautiful thing.
Hand in hand, they trailed through the abandoned sidewalk of the night. They turned onto the walkway with the little pebble stones that drew them into the park. Regal Garden was a giant green expense in the dense city, where plants and trees were allowed to grow wild. The grass was occasionally mowed by shit-pebble producing sheep. Otherwise, the wild flowers were left to show their meek, motley selves. Trees grew large and towering with shadows that killed all underbrush. Bushes were ugly, tough, and healthful.
A few main trails were filled with pebbles or sand. From there a myriad of dirt trails were trampled by people. The dirt was sometimes wet or had depressions that collected big rain puddles. During the day, some areas drew thick crowds of sun bathers and Frisbee throwers, while other areas were completely abandoned.
The couple strode deeper into the park with nobody around. As the pebbles thinned out, her heels sunk into the moist dirt. She had to walk on her toes like a ballerina dancer. That was too much after a few gates. She stopped to pull of the boots, while holding onto his right bicep to steady herself. With her free leg's knee bend to rest her foot on the standing knee to get a hold of the boot, her crotch was gaping open. He quickly reached with his free hand in to get his fingertips in between the slits of her pussy.
"Not yet! We have to get to a more remote place." Her protest sounded so cute, because her voice betrayed how focused she was on getting dirty soon. At the same time, her voice sounded so weak that he felt like a strong man, and she was merely a play in his hands that could be bent to however he pleased. He was a well-mannered young man and waited for her.
She walked for a few steps and stopped. "Oh, my pantyhose are getting ruined." She held onto his bicep again to roll her panty hose down. Her bare feet stepped onto the three inch long grass. It was wet from the cool evening air. The grass was somewhat sparse. She could feel the soft earth underneath her feet. Her clean, freshly showered feet were stepping onto the dirt and getting dirty. She could feel the dirt molding to her feet. The big toe on the push off dug in deeper. It felt dirty to have her feet covered with moist earth. It turned her on a little more.
When they reached Sheep Meadow, they had walked for twenty minutes and not met a single soul. The full moon was glistening gloriously over the meadow. A few clouds drifted through the moon light. Thick bushes and small trees lined the meadow from all sides. Not a single maintained path let into this area. There were no park benches. Even the wildlife was silently asleep.
Charlotte dropped one button open after the next from her trench coat. The center of her chest and belly glistened in the pale moonlight. She wore no panties, yet due to the lighting one could not see the details. She let the trench coat drop down her shoulders.
Completely and utterly naked, the 5' 3" girl stood in the middle of the meadow. The softly rolling meadow showed her as a center piece. Her B cups were firm and well-shaped. Her right boob looked a little more to the side than her left boob. Her belly was completely smooth, no baby fat and no muscles, simply smooth. She stood in a pose with her right leg lightly bent like a model for a shoot to let him fully take her in, to let him get horny, to let him swell in his pants, to savor this moment of her beauty revealed in the jaw drop and wide eyes of his face.
She dropped to her knees in front of him. Had she made him hard enough? Would she know how to open his man-pants? She unlatched his belt reveling in the manliness of a thick, heavy leather belt. Her young fingers got the pant button quickly open. There was another latch button behind. She was confused to why the pants didn't open. Her fingers searched the inside of his waist line.
He was quick to help. She pushed his fingers away out of pride. As her fingers hastily explored the inside waist line, her finger nails kept bumping into the tip of his erect penis. The titillation of those bare, accidental touches made him groan with anticipation. She found the latch button. The zipper went down. She pulled the pants down to his ankles. For a moment, he was scared to be exposed in public. Then, he remembered that she was completely naked and put the thought away.
"Oh, is that all for me? It's so big?" It was average. She had learned in a Penthouse column that telling guys that would turn them on.
He gleamed with a big smile: "Yeah, baby, that's all for you."
