This story contains misogyny and slightly reluctant sex. Please only read if you're comfortable with that and also know that one shouldn't act this way in real life!
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For as long as I can remember, I wanted to give up control.
And not just in a sexual way, although - spoiler! - this is a story about that. I can remember being a pre-teen girl, watching zombie movies with my girlfriends to test each others' bravery. But I wasn't scared - instead I was imagining what it would feel like as one of the zombies. No plans or worries or expectations - just living life. Or living death, I suppose.
You can guess how this impulse affected my sex life. And you would be wrong.
Yes, I wanted to lose control, to be told what to do, just to have a front-row seat to my own sexual experiences and enjoy them without thinking about what to do next.
But that's not exactly the formula for a healthy, equal relationship, is it?
Zombie movies with friends became criterion collection films which gave way to having no time for much socializing at all, as I studied and worked full-time to put myself through law school. And all the while my sex life (when there was any such thing) stayed vanilla.
Cut to present day. I'm 26, a junior partner at a tiny wills and estates law firm, living a lonely life of long hours at work and little difference between one day and the next. And since it's that kind of story I guess I'll mention: I'm slim, 5'6'', with C-cup breasts and a pretty fantastic ass.
Since I moved to Red Deer (that's in Canada) after law school, I hadn't really met anyone - neither close friend nor love interest. I decided to make a change and a couple weeks before the events of this story, I'd signed up for Match.com. It was finally time to spread my legs. Er, wings.
Well, if I wanted to do either of those things, it was necessary to buy some underwear that wasn't from the Victorian Era, which meant a trip to La Senza to look for some lingerie. Multitasking, I read through a long list of questions from a client, whilst picking out a rather risqué outfit - I'm insecure enough to care about whether I look out of place buying lingerie. I donned a chic blue blouse and yoga pants and was out the door.
As I got out of the car, I looked at my phone to see two new work emails received since I had checked my phone as I was leaving from home, only 15 minutes before. I crossed the empty parking lot - no one else is lingerie shopping during Covid times - wondering as usual if I made a terrible choice of profession. How am I supposed to have a love life with this job?
Eyes firmly ensconced on my phone screen, it took me a moment to realize that they were talking to me: "Hey babe, what you buying?"
I looked up. Two slim and severe looking guys around my age - tall and thin and wearing death metal shirts and leering at me as they smoke on the curb in front of the lingerie store.
"Wanna model for us - we'll find you something to show off that fat ass."
"Uhh, no. I'll find it myself. But thanks."
What the hell? Not exactly a stinging rebuke of these jerks. But I wasn't used to anyone being that crude and I'm not exactly one for confrontation.
I sheepishly entered, pretending my face wasn't hot with embarrassment as I looked through the store. Technically I guess I was trying to find something to 'show off my fat ass'. Fuck.
Whatever. They didn't define me and I can be sexy without being objectified. I thought about how I would tell them off if they were still outside when I left.
Obviously I never would heckle a pair of strangers, because they'll be long gone by the time I leave, and also they probably would just laugh if I told them all about how jealous they were of a successful woman that was far out of their league. Who doesn't have these arguments in their head? Those are the only times I do confront people.
I bought a couple sets of bras and panties. Christmas was coming up, so one was sexy-elf themed. But I was excited about both - this was a new me that would meet someone and be fun and sexy.
I left the store to find myself walking between the two obnoxious smokers still standing outside.
"Damn, sexy, let's see what you got."
Pantera Shirt Guy stepped up to me and boldly reached inside my bag.
Clearly, they were unaware of all the different ways that I'd told them off in my head. Pantera was beaming as his eyes darted between me and my new Christmas panties.
"Uh, what're you -"
Paradise Lost Shirt Guy reached over and grabbed one butt-cheek and squeezed.
"You have got to model these for us bitch."
That word hadn't ever been used on me in that way. People had called me that when I cut them off in traffic. Or wouldn't help them with homework. Never in that demeaning, sexual way that lower-class (sorry!) people use it.
That was the problem - I'd given them the impression that I was from their world and now they were holding my panties aloft and massaging a buttock.
"Hey guys, I think I've given you the wrong impressi - "
THWACK!
