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LAce Posted Monday, January 26th, 2009
Waiting for Mr. Goodman
Jeanne Holtzman

Angela hated the word horny. It sounded so crude. There must be a better way to describe the way she felt these days. Lascivious. Aflame. Maybe even wanton. Hopefully not desperate.

Her daily bus ride was torture, especially now that the smell of spring mixed with diesel fumes, and the men shed their coats and hoodies revealing muscled arms and tattoos.

The bus lurched to a stop. Angela adjusted herself, trying to keep her bulging butt and thighs from spreading over into the empty seat next to her. She prayed one of those men would sit there, his broad shoulder and hot leg rubbing against her as the bus bounced down the city streets. But usually a middle-aged lady chose Angela as a seatmate, or a skinny girl sat and turned her back to Angela, giggling with her friend across the aisle. Or even worse, the seat remained empty even when the bus became crowded.

Angela gazed at the man-hands all around her in the crowded aisle. Bony or hairy, holding a newspaper or adjusting a baseball cap. She imagined those hands caressing her. She saw herself digging fingernails into broad, ox-like shoulders, or slight, androgynous ones. She looked at the men's faces, picturing them contorting with the pleasure of fucking her. She looked in their eyes for a hint of the hunger and hurt that would make them passionate lovers.

When the bus rolled to her stop, Angela was almost too aroused to walk straight. She rushed down steps and panted across the street to the dry cleaners.

She was early. She locked the front door behind her. She thought of Mr. Goodman, a regular customer, a big, tee shirt and jeans kind of guy. He was due to pick up his wife's order today. He always smiled and winked at Angela when he dropped off and picked up his wife's apparel. She tried not to blush. Angela thought only skinny girls wore things like that.

Angela went to the rack and rifled through the bagged merchandise, searching for Mrs. Goodman's last item. Through the clear plastic, she found what she was looking for. She went straight to the bathroom, locked herself in, and tore open the bag.

She held a dazzling red satin corset with black eyelash lace trim and a matching G-string. In her size.

Angela’s hands trembled and her heart pounded. She imagined the men on the bus. The big bald guy who lugged an old-fashioned lunch pail, the skinny rumpled one who smelled of linseed oil and had slender brushes sticking out of his back pocket. The security guard with perfectly creased pants, and the tall black guy with the do-rag whose muscles rippled as he drummed his fingers to his i-pod. She remembered Mr. Goodman's wink and grin.

There was still time before she had to open the store. Angela pulled her dress over her head, and peeled off her sagging old bra and cotton panties. She slithered her arms under the satin straps and fastened the corset in the back. The smooth and silky material caressed her skin, and the bones of the bra made her breasts bounce with excitement. The G-string slipped up between her cheeks.

Angela looked at herself in the smudged mirror. She felt like a goddess. She couldn’t keep her hands off her round breasts spilling out on top, her voluptuous curves under slippery satin. There was no one to hear her gasp and moan.

At opening time, Angela slipped her dress on over the corset and tossed her old underwear in the trash. Mr. Goodman usually made his pickups on his way home from work, just before the store closed. Angela imagined when he passed his receipt over the counter this afternoon, their hands would touch. She would whisper that there was a problem with his order, would he please step into the back room so they could work something out? A red satin strap would slip over her shoulder. He would grin and wink.

Comments [post a comment]

Posted by Donna Levy [ donnachka@cox.net ] on Tuesday, January 27th, 2009 at 9:28 PM
I love it!! So much so, I dearly wish I could claim authorship! Bravo! Love, Donna

Posted by Nonnie Augustine on Wednesday, January 28th, 2009 at 4:10 PM
Your first sentence sets the tone and you don't let up! Nice going, Jeanne. xxoononnie



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