The bank's rear parking lot at the Majesty St. branch was completely surrounded by the backs and sides of other four and five storey buildings and, as a result, usually tended to be a warm little area. This was partly because only the rarest breeze could find its way in, except down the narrow driveway, or the pedestrian walkway opposite that led through an alley and to Deschene Street. The other reason was because of how the heat radiated from the brick walls all around, making it like an oven on a really hot summer day, such as this particular late Friday afternoon in July.
Darla liked it, especially in mid autumn when the temperatures began to drop. She carefully nosed her Honda Civic down the paved alley, temporarily in the shade before entering the lot and seeing the one other car there, an old, silver American car that sat low on big black wheels. It was backed up against one of the surrounding, windowless brick walls with a lone occupant behind the wheel.
It wasn't as though her city was riddled with crime, not by any means, but she angled her little blue import into a space with two more between, separating the vehicles anyway. Since she was doing a deposit for the small, but rapidly expanding insurance company she worked at, she felt that some prudence was called for in spite of the effectiveness of the Halifax Police Department. Then she could just get home and pretend she was unemployed for the weekend.
It hadn't been a good day from start to finish. She'd overslept again and she'd forgotten to do the laundry so, half asleep and in a rush to just get out the door, she ended up somehow choosing the one skirt she never would have worn, had in fact never worn.
For the first half of the morning, Darla noticed, even half wondered, at how people seemed somehow different around her and finally settled on the fact that she'd been almost ten minutes late, despite her best efforts to be punctual since waking. She'd decided to stick her head in her boss's office to personally apologize over it, promise him it wouldn't happen again and so on. Just before leaving the washroom to go do that, she happened to see herself in the large mirror, understanding with a suddenly pounding heart why people were acting so differently.
The business skirt she wore was originally part of a set that included a very nice blouse and blazer, both of which fit her perfectly. The skirt did as well, but it was way too short for work at the time. She'd put on a little weight since then and it was now even shorter and a bit too tight, showing everything she had as though she were selling herself. Worse still, it had ridden up.
"Oh my God." she blurted at herself in the mirror, stunned.
If it had hiked up any further, the bottom of her ass would have been hanging out. She quickly jerked it down as far as she could, wondering how in hell she could have failed to notice this sooner, like while she was putting it on that morning. Darla re-evaluated the apology to her boss and somehow got through the day that way.
She turned the car off, pulled the door handle and kicked the door open, planting her left foot on the pavement before remembering the deposit bag on the back seat. Irritated, she reached back to grab it, then came forward again and got out of the car. She couldn't help noticing the man in the other car, or the smile on his face, and before she knew it, she was stopped, fixing him with a questioning expression as she took a good look at him.
He was maybe a bit younger than her forty-four years, semi attractive in a rough/cute sort of way with short dark hair and a two day beard. The haircut was one Darla would expect to see on a surfer type, but this was no surfer. With those mirrored sunglasses, black T-shirt, a pierced ear and tattoo on his forearm, he was a lot more like some reprobate biker type, some road trash that blew in from the highway like a newspaper page from the next town, waiting for the next big wind to blow him away again.
"Nice.", he said, pointedly looking down.
She followed his gaze and understood right away. He was looking at the bottom two inches of colourful floral patterns printed into her black satin panties, the ones her skirt should have been covering, but had again ridden up. She hurriedly jerked it down in front, gasping in embarrassment, mortified at the view he would have had while she was getting out of the car. Her face turned beet red as she felt the hot flush run up her chest and to the top of her head.
Without a word, she turned and walked quickly towards the rear entrance to the ATM hall, tugging her skirt down in back.
"
Real
nice." he added.
As a married woman, Darla didn't much care for the comment. As a woman, she was vaguely gratified by it. She quickened her pace in three inch heels, feeling his eyes on her ass all the way to the door.
Once inside the ATM hall, she hurried to a terminal and began to recompose herself with the last official order of business for the day. She scowled, thinking that the ratbag could have politely told her she was in disarray while averting his eyes, because that's what decent people do. Of course just a small, respectful smile might have been alright. Just one that said he wasn't offended by what he saw.
She smiled suddenly as she entered the dollar amount of the cash bag's contents, deciding that the occupant of the powerful looking car was nothing. Just some person one sees and never sees again, flotsam and jetsam of the every day crowd. Who cared what he saw? So what?
Darla opened the large, scoop like door beneath the terminal, stuffed the cash bag inside and let it slam shut. While she waited through the usual five o'clock Friday internet drag, she realized her nipples were quite erect and hard. The flush began to come back and the grinding ATM in front of her seemed to provide the perfect musical score for this. She put her hand inside her blazer and grabbed the nipple between thumb and forefinger through her white blouse and large C-cup bra that matched her underwear. They were like swollen pencil erasers. She couldn't believe this and hissed a small sigh of surprise and pleasure, wondering if it was the man in the rear lot, or the skirt. Or both?
She continued kneading and rolling it, pulling on it behind the left lapel of her blazer so that passersby on the sidewalk outside would think she was only fishing in an inside pocket for a bank card, or whatever. It felt very good.
