The Cashier

It’s daybreak, it’s overcast. No one is around. It’s that part of town, on the periphery of the city, and you can spot who might be ambling towards you blocks out. Moonlighters are finishing graveyard, and I can spot one from a window of an urban convenience store. She must be running some other operation, looking like that. She’s got long, bubblegum pink hair. Is that a wig? And her eyes are doused in hot pink, to match her lips. Blush hits her cheekbones and tip of her nose, which carries a ring down the center. She’s got one of those rubbery, malleable faces, one you want to stick your thumbs into. She pops this bright orange bubble and dreamily turns the page of a magazine. I get close to the window to see what she’s reading, and it looks like smutty porn, I spy some fake tits and estranged cocks. As I’m peering in, too close, she glances at me and rolls her eyes. I figure I should walk in and buy something, you know, try to be polite.

Her ass is propped up on a barstool, and her feet can’t touch the ground. Her bra is readable from under her green mesh shirt, it’s black, and I notice that her breasts are large for her frame. She’s got a nice girth to her; this is somewhat sexually aggravating.

I pretend to engage with the noodle cups while I’m eyeing her. She stretches an orange bubble with her phallic tongue, her lips pillowing around it. I watch her blow and pop. Her eyes touch mine. I walk towards the counter and ask for a pack of cigarettes, anything really to get her to turn around. She asks which one in a sweet, muddy voice. I point to the Parliaments on the bottom row. She makes a yogic bow and I watch her ass slip out of her pencil skirt that rides up her waist. Her ass widens her frame to its limit, the shape of a raindrop. Tan, and pink on the underside of her cheeks, I can see her white thong flossing inside of her thighs that, look so pink and irritated that I think they might burst.

She’s been searching for the Parliaments long enough for me to grow a lasting hard-on, which I’m going to have to stagger home with if not relieved. I say something pathetic like,

“Are you busy? We could smoke one together.”

She finally turns around. She uses the bar stool as a step and sits on the counter, her black, thin heels scraping the side. Her toes stretch out towards be, they are painted a robin egg blue. She hugs her breasts together and I’d like to reach out for them when she pops her bubble and says,

“I am bored, but I don’t smoke.”

She takes her little fleshy fingers, and strings along the thin chains around her neck, playing. She laughs and I spy her yaeba teeth crowding out her smile, at this moment I feel a slave.

“What flavor is that?” I manage to ask, referring to her overworked gum.

She beckons me with her little fleshy hand, and my erection throbs and stretches. She kisses me, stretching her gum into my mouth, feeling the silky texture of her lipstick. She tastes like citrus and candy. She fingers the outlined shape inside my polyester pants. I can feel the blood in my face.

It’s her, on stage with a pole. She’s got these six-inch translucent acrylic heels that carve out her calves. Her ass hovers over her legs like an umbrella, her white thong spooning the lips of her vulva. I trace the line of her thong flossed lips up to her egg eyed, perplexing, dark brown gaze. Her candy-colored wig is long, gracing over her bare breasts and erect nipples. She has long, white acrylic nails tracing opposite arms, rubbing her shoulders down and cupping her breasts. She clasps the pole and grinds against it, lifting her legs and swiveling down.

I’m in the audience, a small rotunda around the circular stage. I am the sole onlooker. I masturbate while she does her dance, mostly silent, focusing on her ass, then stomach, then breasts, her lovely face, and then back downwards to the shapes of her toes. I’m gasping as though I’m hurt.

I’m reaching out to touch her ass feeling the intro to a crescendo sweeping up everything around me in an all-encompassing upwelling. I’m crushing her ass cheek, feeling the fat leak between my fingers. Her toes pet my lips and her whole body is pulsating like an electric-colored worm in a yogic stretch. My face is in her ass and my tongue slips down to the bed of her vulva. I’m clenching her thighs, wrapping around my face, feeling hot against my cheeks, I’m tasting the texture of her laced thong, and her fluids leak and dribble down my nose and lips.