Summer Girl (11 page)

Brie reached down with her free hand and
unsnapped her skirt then unzipping it down the side. With only
gravity assisting, the pleated skirt slid downwards over her hips
and down her legs. She heard another round of cheers taking in her
newly revealed ass and hips. Brie couldn’t get enough of these
cheers.

The band was totally falling apart now,
off-key and off-time and no one seemed to care. Who cared about a
marching band when you had Brie, the spinning, twirling small-town
majorette, looking wholesome, eager and energetic while managing
simultaneously to be an object of carnal desire?

Hank gave the signal to continue on. The band
moved down Trestle Street, the floats and Lions Club following from
a long ways back, unaware of the spectacle occurring five hundred
yards in front of them.
Brie turned the corner and there, standing prominently at the
corner, was Brad. His eyes were opened wide as he took in the
stripped-down Brie, still in boots, hat and gloves, but more naked
than naked in that leotard. Brie winked, giving him a smile as she
strutted past.

The band had pulled themselves together and
was almost sounding okay. The throng seemed to get bigger and
bigger as Brie felt the space between her legs get wetter and
wetter. The lust of the crowd was part of what turned her on but
seeing Dan and Brad looking on worshipfully was what really pushed
her over the edge. God, could she have both? What that too much to
ask? She'd let them take her at once if they wanted. A threesome!
Dan in front, with Brad pulverizing from her behind. And maybe
Tamera too! She’d be stroking Brie's hair while purring in her ear
how beautiful she was, telling Brie that she had perfect breasts
and perfect hair and— no, fuck that! Brie didn't like girls and
certainly didn't need any affirmation from city-folk about whether
she was beautiful or not. She’d be content to be with just Dan.
She'd let Dan into all her orifices, even the ones she wasn't that
crazy about. They'd get married, stay in Trestle, have kids—no— no
kids, not after dealing with Jackie. Brie would help Dan at the dry
cleaners, perhaps working with female customers with embarrassing
accidents on their clothes that needed to be kept hush-hush. Pay it
forward.

Brie turned another corner and there was Brad
again, front and center. She winked.

They were coming up on the home stretch now.
She could see Eddington's Funeral Home up ahead, the parade's
end-point. Brie felt like she was flowing now. She made a quick
glance down at her thighs to make sure the tight leotard was
holding in her juices. She thought about how good it would feel to
stop twirling that baton and instead rub it against her.

The band came to a stop in front of the
funeral home, falling out of formation and thronging up to Brie,
congratulating her on her “powerful and thoughtful” performance
(Ed). Suddenly Hank had her by the hand, pulling her into the
Trestle Track Bar next door to the funeral home. Pulled through the
door everything grew dark. Brie's eyes adjusted and she could see a
dark, loud room already filled with parade spectators. It was an
older crowd, and because it was a bar no young people her age were
in sight. Were Brad or Dan here?

“Have a seat,” said Hank guiding Brie to an
open bar seat. She leaned her baton against the bar and sat
down.

“Oooo!” said Brie feeling her almost bare
bottom against the cool leather of the barstool. “That's
chilly.”

“I bet it is,” said Hank smiling.

“Hey, you know that I can't drink yet,
right?” said Brie.

“They'll make an exception for you— won't
they Rick?” Hank said to Rick, the bartender.

“I didn't hear a thing,” the bartender said
smiling. “What do you have?”

“I'll have a Boilermaker and my young friend
will have a Black and Soda.”

“What?” said a shocked Brie.

“If I left it up to you you'd order a wine or
something,” said Hank, putting his hand on Brie's knee.

“And what's wrong with wine or beer?”

“Because its boring,” said Hank.

“You caused quite a stir today,” said Ed
squeezing in on her left. “It's all they're talking about on the
sidewalk.”

“That's... that's great,” said Brie, trying
to get her mind around the local fame and acceptance that she had
been pining for just twenty-four hours before.

“What's your name young lady?” said a bulky
older guy standing in front of her.”

“Brie,” she said feeling hesitant.

“I just want to that you made a crusty old
man feel young again.”

“Oh...,” said Brie warming. “Well, thank you.
What's your name?”

“Stan.”

“Nice to meet you, Stan” said Brie
respectfully. When she turned back around she was facing a highball
of scotch and soda.

“That's the real deal there,” said Hank,
patting her knee.

“Looks expensive,” said Brie.

“The good stuff always is,” said Hank.

Brie took a sip and was intrigued enough to
take another and another. And then another man (older) came up and
offered his congratulations, followed by a slightly younger, though
not very good-looking guy who asked for her number (she gave
it).

Brie took another sip and noticed another
full glass waiting in front of her. She took another sip, a sip
that was really more of a gulp. A feeling of warmth and euphoria
circulated through her. Brie looked around the room again, noticing
how everyone seemed to be glancing in her direction. Suddenly, she
saw someone doing a beeline right towards her and her tidings of
joy vanished. Christ! It was the blocky, post-menopause figure of
Mrs. Fugleson! Mr. Fugleson wouldn’t have been that stupid would
he?

“Hello Brie!” Mrs. Fugleson said
enthusiastically.

Brie swallowed. “Hi, Mrs. Fugleson.”

“I wanted to come by and say hi.”

“Well, hi,” said Brie staying cheery. “Is Mr.
Fugleson here today?” Brie said, kicking herself.

“He's at the table. We're out and about town
today, enjoying Pickle Days.”

“Its a lot of fun isn't it?” said Brie.

Mrs. Fugleson leaned down and whispered into
Brie's ear, “I saw you today. In the parade. You're a beautiful
girl. I'm glad that you live next door.” Mrs. Fugleson then stood
up, smiled a smile that seemed to say that she had said too much,
and walked off.

Brie was left slack-jawed.

“Who was that?” said Ed.

“Next door neighbor,” said Brie who realized
that she had to pee. “I'll be right back.” Brie stood up and walked
down the narrow aisle between the bar and the booths. Thanks to the
alcohol, Brie was half-way to the rest rooms before she remembered
how she was dressed, how she looked. Brie was still in her boots
and gloves, with that cute box hat with the single feather. But
Brie kept telling herself that there was nothing more risqué about
this outfit than what you'd find in a music video or a modern dance
routine. Brie felt the hands, brushing across her almost bare ass
as she passed by, nothing grabby or too grope-y, the ass-pats were
all subtle enough to be denied if confronted. But Brie felt them.
She didn't dare look. She would just ignore it.

When was washing her hands, she looked at
herself in the mirror. Unlike the time she gazed at herself in the
Merles' bathroom, Brie wasn't crying over Tamera's impossible
beauty, but was instead in awe of herself. She loved what she was
seeing. True, a woman should never put all her chips into something
so ephemeral as looks, but why shouldn't it be celebrated while it
exists? What is the line between being slutty and having pride?
Brie was too luxuriously drunk to care. “Oh. It's you,” said a
blond biker chick dismissively as she walked into the ladies room
door.

“Yep, its me,” said Brie smiling as she
walked out the door and into the bar.

Brie walked back to her cold bar seat, ready
to run the gauntlet of male hands. Playing on jukebox was Rihanna's
“You're not Putting that in There.” Brie started swaying to the
music, grinding her hips. The bar started clapping and Brie felt
encouraged. Brie felt she was Trestle's life-force, its hometown
fertility goddess. She undulated and arched, articulating her body,
designing her moves to create the most damage. Hoots and hollers
rose up in the dark room. The drunken throng was the mirror and
Brie was reflected off their acceptance and off their approval.

Brie leaped onto the bar. The bartenders
looked up at her, frozen in place. Brie was rotating on all axes,
bending over, shaking from side to side. Brie's ass was on display
but not her breasts. Maybe she should change that. Her tits were
perfectly outlined in her now truncated outfit but you could see no
skin. Brie was strong and so were her hands. So when she reached
down and made a rip in the thick fabric, it had no choice but to
capitulate. It was just a small breach but it was all she needed.
The tiny tear was stretched and made into a larger tear, one inch,
then another inch. When she had the tear half-way down her cleavage
she stopped and bent forward, stuffing her revealed cleavage into
the faces of the patrons. People (men) were out of their seats now,
rushing the edge of the bar. She strutted up and down the bar top
venting pheromones. The bar lined with men looking up in adoration,
warming their hands by the fire, some ravenous.

Brie looked down again at her cleavage and
decided that she needed to share more of it with the clientele. She
tore downwards again, further and further, the front of her
bodysuit splitting into a V, revealing half of her firm abdomen,
her nipples were only millimeters from being revealed. She was
loaded for bear and the detonator was armed. Arms reached up and
hands grabbed at her boots, trying to trip her. Someone finally
succeeded and Brie fell to her knees. Arms and hands converged upon
her, grabbing her ass, her waist, her hips, hands running along her
back, along her front, squeezing her breasts. This wasn't as sexy
as she thought it would be. The space now between her legs was not
some moist embarrassment but instead other glands kicked in— fight
or flight! The room's desire had turned dark.

She struggled to stand up, her breasts not
yet completely exposed. A chant was raging across the room. “Brie!
Brie! Brie!” followed by “More!” More!” More!”. She gazed at the
men's faces looking up at her along the bar. Worship was starting
to go the wrong direction, towards entitlement. And it was here
where Brie became scared.

“Brie! Brie! Over here!” Brie looked to the
end of the bar and saw Brad and Dan standing there next to each
other. Dan was holding her clothes and baton. These guys know each
other? Oh, right— Brad just hired Dan to coach her through her
SAT's. But she didn't want to take SAT's. She didn't want to leave
Trestle. But those two guys at the end of the bar looked like the
most welcome sight she had laid eyes on in her short life. Those
two hunks were here to save her. Was she worthy? No, but she was
good enough.

Another hand grabbed her boot. It had a good
grip on her, pulling her leg forward. If she fell down she knew
that this time she would not be getting up. They would have her,
one after the other, or maybe all at once. She had lit the fuse
that propriety had ditched. “Brie! Brie! Brie!”

Brie kicked the hand off her boot violently.
She ran down the bar-top, knocking off glasses and stepping on the
hands that tried to block her way. When she reached the end of the
bar she didn't slow down. She leapt into Brad's arms, her momentum
pushing even his robust frame backwards into the wall. Cradling her
in his arms, Dan ran interference in front of them. “Coming
through, coming through...” pushing through the mass of people with
his massive arms like a bulldozer and holding the baton, ready to
strike.

They burst through side door and were blinded
by the outdoor light. Brad's Audi A-8 was parked just outside. Dan
opened the rear door and tossed Brie into the big backseat, jumping
in with her. Brad started the car, putting it in gear and tore out
of the dirt parking lot. Brie looked through the rear window
waiting for the throng to appear outside shaking their fists in
rage at their escape, but Brie kept watching and none appeared. She
turned around and faced Dan. Alcohol and adrenaline conspired,
kicking Brie's inhibitions to the curb. She pounced on Dan, pushing
her mouth to his, tugging on his shirt wanting to see that chest.
Dan cupped her breasts, grabbing the tear that ran down the middle
of her leotard, making the V even bigger and exposing her nipples.
Dan's mouth bit down on her as she tore open the buttons on his
shirt. Dan was startled by her strength as she pushed him back
against the seat, his mouth detaching from her nipples, her mouth
and tongue sliding over his pecs, biting him gently up and down his
chest. She could see the massive bulge in his pants. When her
kisses reached his abdominals she tugged on the top button of his
jeans, yanked down on his fly, reaching in and hungrily fishing for
what was inside. What she pulled out was a foot long piece of
swollen meat. She felt it grow in her hand, caressing it, wanting
it so much to be in her mouth. She licked the swollen head and
heard Dan let out an “ugh”. She squeezed it, seeing a dribble of
pre-cum form along the top that she licked off. God, she wanted it.
He was bigger than Brad even. Dan's hand was on the back of her
head pushing down and she knew he wanted it as much as she did.

Brie drove her head downwards, her mouth
stretched open to the limit but she was getting used to that. The
problem was that she getting less than half-way down his length.
She accepted her limitations and kept bobbing up and down on the
shaft, but soon she wasn't satisfied; she wanted more, she demanded
more. Brie relaxed her throat and found another inch, then another,
then another until she was engulfing all of Dan's cock, save for
the last two inches. “Oh fucking God, Dan exclaimed as her creamy
throat had him surrounded.