by Fielding Goodfellow
Lori Finch returned from her yearlong study abroad program in France with a new pair of tits. They weren’t exactly new, but they were definitely not the same ones I played around with in the back of a Chevy Malibu during our sophomore year in high school. As for the year in France, well nobody really believed that story. We all knew that she got pregnant, and was shipped off by her parents to relatives who would keep and raise the baby. That’s just how it was done back then. That night, at the Algonquin, as we drifted through galaxies as yet undiscovered, she was once again the center of attention. And that’s how Lori liked it. She always did.
Two grease balls standing near the pool table kept staring at her despite the fact that they were with two exceptionally attractive women of their own who were so agitated at their dates and Lori’s tits, that they felt compelled to do something about it. Glances were being cast by eyes that darted back and forth across the pub, all focused on Lori’s new tits and protruding nipples. As the two women neared our table. Lori stood and pulled her tee shirt up, exposing her tits to all who cared to catch a glimpse. The women froze in their tracks, caught between their embarrassment and their desire while the two grease balls, now with their dicks standing at attention tried to get a closer look. “Sorry boys” Lori said, “these are for the ladies.” The two women didn’t move, transfixed and intrigued by Lori’s exposed tits and by what seemed like an invitation, trying to decide if they really could take Lori up on her offer. Once Lori pulled her top back down, they turned and raced out of the bar, leaving the two grease balls to chase after them in the hope that they might provide some relief for the raging hardons they would rather not have to deal with on their own.
Lori liked to say that she was a hedonist, but the truth was she was just another horny little shit who was more interested in getting her rocks off than anything else, just like the rest of us. She craved any kind of attention really, and often times she would feed into it just so she could feed off of it. It was all very convoluted. I understood I mean, though we never really dated and spent most of our time getting high and rustling around the back seat of her mother’s yellow, convertible Chevy Malibu, we became close. Sometime during that sophomore year, she confided in me that she was bisexual. I wasn’t surprised. She had more balls than most of the guys I knew, and I was pretty sure that given half a chance, Lori could have turned pro and become a full time lesbian. Back then though, I was pretty fucking happy that she didn’t.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing those again.” our petite server said as she delivered the next round. She had been hovering around our table for most of the night, and we thought that she was interested in Tate. It turned out that she was really only hot for Lori “They’re pretty impressive.” she added. She was right though, they were, at the very least impressive. Someone in France had done a fantastic job.
The Algonquin was generally a peaceful place, but on Friday nights the rednecks would come down from the hills of Oak Ridges, or Victoria Square in their Ford F100s for a night in the big city. They were rowdy, and ignorant, and dumb as fucking door knobs, and they usually be counted on to start at least one good bar room brawl every time they showed up. Three or four of them arrived just as Lori and her new friend had escalated their flirting to a more hands on approach. As the server walked by, Lori would cup her ass. On the return trip, the server would intentionally brush her hand across Lori’s shoulder or boob. It was quickly becoming a lesbian liaison. The rednecks noticed too. It was hard to believe that people so fucking stupid could notice anything, but I suppose they noticed Lori’s tits right away, and everything else was just sort of there, right before their vacuous eyes. There was the customary name calling followed by graphic descriptions of how they needed to fuck the lesbian out of Lori and the server. It began to turn ugly as they moved towards us, so a few of us stood between them and Lori. In seconds, tables were being tossed over and fists were flying. People we didn’t know joined in and quite a beating was laid on the hill people. It ended quickly with them crawling out of the bar, tails between their legs, promising to return to kick our asses. Somewhere in the fracas I managed to crack a couple of ribs, and as I sat on a chair holding my side, Lori sat beside me.
“Thanks for helping.” she said. “But what the hell were you thinking? We both know you’re not a fighter.”
“Somebody needed to shut those fuckers up.” I said. “And its really not that bad. I got in some good licks and I think I enjoyed delivering the pounding.”
“Why does everything you say always sound like you’re talking about sex?” she asked.
“Well” I said, “I guess that’s just what you do to me.”
“You still want me, don’t you?” she asked. “You want my new tits.”
“I wouldn’t say no to spending an afternoon with them.” I said.
She leaned over and kissed me and then stood up, and lifted her tee shirt to show me her tits in an obvious attempt to tease. There really was no reason for that, I mean, I already wanted her. “”How about tomorrow?” she asked. “We still have the Malibu.”
Lori left that night with the server, while I got checked out at the hospital. Three cracked ribs with instructions to take it easy and rest. It didn’t matter really. The following afternoon I was in the back seat of that yellow, convertible Chevy Malibu with Lori and her new tits.