Ole Time Curios
Chapter 5: Touching Up
Classes were getting to be a bit of a hassle. One day, Lacey was in her economics class, Advanced Behavior Theory: Beyond Homoeconomicus, and her mind wandered back to a couple of locals she’d seen on the way in to town fixing a fence post. One of them had his shirt off, and his sweat slick skin gleamed in the sunlight. He looked like a young Ryan Reynolds, but way leaner and wiry. She imagined him clean cut and shooting her a cute smile. Then maybe she’d hit a rock, and slip off the bike and he’d come over to help, and he’d pick her up like it was nothing and carry her over to the side, and suddenly, they’d be alone and she could smell the sweaty manliness of hard labor and grass on his chest and... Oops, she’d just lost a few minutes in her own world. She tried to pay attention, but the daydream returned with him checking over her, looking at her leg, her own fingers had trailed down to her inner thigh and begun tracing little circles. She could imagine the sense of his manliness over her, and she’d meet his gaze unable to hide the desire in her eyes...
Her professor noticed her blank gaze, but didn’t say anything. She figured, ‘If Lacey Dupree is spacing out in my class, I must be doing something wrong.’
At home that night she changed to go to bed early. She had been about to log onto her machine and take a look at an erotic story site with lots of period pieces that she often liked, but decided perhaps she shouldn’t be doing that tonight. Instead she found herself in bed, but her mind wandered back to a story she’d read once that had turned her on. It was quite vivid in its descriptions of 16th century France. She remembered the hero of the tale, with his smarmy grin and incorrigible eyes. Presently, she pictured herself as the heroine, with her lover and a little too much wine, her bodice torn...
Her face was flush, her fingers were under her night shirt on her nipples and sliding between her nether lips when she stopped cold. Lacey could have sworn she’d heard her roommate open the door. She flushed imaging how embarrassing it’d be if Artemis walked in and found Lacey furiously jilling-off. She pulled the covers over herself and turned on her side.
Listening closely, she heard her roommates door close. Then a bit of faint giggling. Artemis was probably with her girlfriend. They were probably kissing. She covered her ears, then ran her fingers through her hair. It seemed the bed could not give her quite the comfort she craved. She found no solace in the warm cocoon she was in, nor on the cooler side of the bed. Her thoughts wandered back into her roommate’s room and her roommate’s bed.
For the first time ever, she even imagined being in that bed. But before she was too far gone, the shame of what she was doing stopped her. She couldn’t possibly be fantasizing about not just one, but two women and herself? She stopped herself two more times before she finally fell asleep to dreams that somehow kept her near the edge.
Breakfast rolled around, and Lacey was munching on some shredded wheat when Artemis came out. “Have fun last night?” she’d meant it to sound playful and teasing, it didn’t come out that way.
“Yeah, wow, it was such a blast, we went to this pottery thing, and you wouldn’t have guessed it but she’s actually really good with her hands.”
“Yeah, I bet she is.”
“Yeah, with clay. Went out and made pottery, you should try it, it’s a lot of fun and really—”
“Yeah, alright, you two sound like you’re having a great time being handsy. I’m going to go get ready for work.”
“Da fuq, Lace? If you didn’t want to hear it, why’d you ask?”
“You know what, Arty, you got me there.”
Artemis stared at her for a beat. “Seriously, when did you become uberbitch?”
Lacey sighed, “You know,” she thought about saying something or spitting back something harsh, but the was no rapier in her mental sheath. “I just—nothing, I gotta go.”
“Yeah, okay, you should do that.”
Lacey closed the door, and gritted her teeth, her undirected anger was getting her nowhere at home, but it seemed to clear her head a little. Eventually she made her way back to the shop for a shift, feeling safe and at ease. Here she was definitely serving a purpose, and getting paid pretty well—at least for a job like this. Dorsey was pretty hands on with the customers, giving her time to tidy up where she could. Her mind began to wander as she cleaned up. She pictured herself in a maids uniform, and Dorsey was the Lord of the Manor, perhaps she’d be dusting, and while the lady of the manor was away, Lord Dorsey would come upon her from behind.
‘Oh Lord Basilton, we musn’t,’ she’d protest.
‘But my dear girl, your charms far surpass any in the lands, I could not resist your siren’s call had I the audacity to try.’ She could imagine his hands on her behind and his lips on her -
‘Woah. That’s quite the inappropriate little fantasy,’ she thought. She glanced at him frightened, as if he could have heard her thoughts, then shook herself out of that silliness. She was kneeling on the floor having thoroughly dusted the leg of an antique chair; her hands gripping a cloth that was wrapped around one leg of the chair where they’d presumably been pumping up and down. She blushed fiercely.
Not trusting herself to clean anymore, she sat back down at the register, where her mind wandered to other delicious thoughts.
Dorsey had actually been paying attention to potential shoppers, silently hoping they’d leave, but catering to them with every bit of his energy. His eyes darted back to Lacey as she took her place at the register. With those customers sold to and gone, he decided to make himself scarce upstairs where he could spy on her relatively easily. It didn’t take long before he noticed her shifting in her stool. He could only imagine the delicious thoughts running through her head as she slipped off the stool and pushed it forward against the counter with her crotch, and leaned forward pressing against it. It just looked as though she was leaning on the counter—a simple bored shop girl, but he knew better. Beneath that demure short cap sleeve maxi dress with blue floral prints, was a hot pussy slowly pressing up against the edge of a stool barely relieving the pressure of pleasure denied for days and days.
The ringing of the door chime broke both of their thoughts, and Lacey greeted the newcomer quite happily, “Hey, Craig, you’re back!”
“Hey, Lacey, great to see ya again,” he smiled. Craig had been there not so long ago buying a present for his little sister.
“So, how did she like it?”
“She loved it—asked me who helped me pick it out.”
She giggled, “And you took full credit for it right?”
“Well, I told her I had some help from a really cute girl at the store.”
She blushed, “Oh stop.” She bit her lip in faux shyness, but she could feel his eyes on her lips glistening slightly with moisture. She looked at his as her mind flashed an image of a stolen kiss.
“It’s true, you were a really big help to me.”
“Oh, that’s so nice,” she said automatically, as her mind pictured a slightly longer kiss, and her nether lips slowly pressed into the edge of the stool again.
“Yeah, I was actually just in the neighborhood I figured I’d swing by and let you know.”
“Let me know...?” She asked with a slight glazed look in her eyes.
“Just that, my appreciation.”
“Oh, right, silly me,” she blushed and brushed her hair away from her face, then bit her her nail as she hid from his eyes. The brightness of his gaze was intense, the complete earnest focus was something exciting and arousing. Her heart skipped a beat as her mind whirled trying to think of what she might say but a pleasurable buzz from below was short circuiting her thoughts. “So how can I do you something- for you—Ahh words, they mouth from my bad.”
They both giggled, “Words bad,” he agreed.
“Yes definitely, words bad. Oh my goodness, me.” She touched his hand and looked away with a dramatic sigh. “This day is something else.” Her hand found its way back from his to the neckline of her dress as she said, “Wow, okay, what I meant to say was, Can I show you something? Or maybe can I do something for you? Or How can I help you, or pretty much all of them.” His eyes glancing down to her neckline and cleavage made her flush a bit more as she pressed into stool again.
“Actually, yeah I was thinking of something. You wanna hang out sometime? I know some cool places around here, if you’re up for it.”
“Yeah okay.”
“Cool.”
While they exchanged numbers, part of her was excited, but another part was wondering why he didn’t just straight up ask her out on a date date. She had always figured the “hang out” thing was a coastal thing, not a middle America thing. Frankly, if she wasn’t so hard up right now, she might have said something, since that come one was kind of weak sauce. Still soon he was gone, and potential plans were coming.
She frowned, she felt like this should have been exciting, but part of her wanted him to just ask her out on a date. Or even better to grab her and kiss her with authority. Or pin her arms against the wall and kiss her ferociously before bending her over the counter pulling up her skirt and plowing into-
‘Woah..’ She stopped herself close to a climax as she’d been humping the stool like a rutting slut. More than anything she wanted to go and jill off in the back room—being this close was torture—what the hell was happening? God, she was acting like such a little slut. ‘Get a grip, girl.’
Lacey was able to get a grip, and despite her feeling distracted, Mr. Basilton was effusive in his praise of her for the day’s performance. He even let her go early, and she was grateful for it. Both for being able to leave earlier in the evening, and for the praise, which was coming in short supply lately. She’d been having a harder time concentrating in her classes, and she had a paper to write for her Feminine Perspectives in Post Modern Art class. At least she had one bright shining star in her life right now with her job, and the thought of adding a second bright spot with a real live boyfriend was pretty good too.
‘I mean if not for him I might end up being a DAG like the others,’ she mused with dark humor. DAG was a term of art she heard of at college. Apparently, so many girls try out lesbianism while they are at Glenda College that they termed it “DAG” for “Dyke At Glenda”. Then there was this whole thing about shifting sexualities and PC policing about the term itself. Lacey just smiled at the thought that she wasn’t going to be worrying about that for now.