Chapter 7

Tricia felt like a complete and total slut. It wasn't a 'bad' feeling, to tell the truth, but it was a weird feeling. And she was definitely out of place here.

She and Kate were sitting at the bar in a redneck tavern a few miles out of town. Country music blared from the jukebox, the air was heavy with smoke, and Trish asked herself for the thousandth time how in the 'fuck' she had ever let Kate talk her into anything like this.

She was wearing some clothes of Kate's -- spike heels so high she could hardly stand up in them, a tinselly blue wig, and a sheathlike dress that fit her like a glove.

It wasn't made to hold in tits as big as Tricia's, and that was for damn sure. The bodice clung tightly, and because there wasn't nearly enough room inside for them, her hooters were pushed up, protruding out of the lowcut neckline.

The skirt was about an inch and a half on the safe side of legal, and under it Trish wore -- as Kate had demanded -- nothing but garters and patterned stockings, with butterflies sewn into the sheer black nylon.

She looked like a cheap whore, especially with the makeup Kate had applied to her face, and she knew that every guy in the place was staring at her and Kate. And Kate, if anything, looked even trashier than Tricia.

She was wearing a platinum blonde wig, down to her shoulders. Her tank top was so thin the pigment of her brown nipples showed through plain as day, and to cap it, she had on skintight shorts and black stilettos. In a downtown bar, they might have looked almost at home, though they might also have gotten busted as hookers. Out here, in the country, they looked as much at home as Michael Jackson would have.

Still, being stared at and being obviously lusted after was a real thrill, one that Tricia wasn't overly familiar with. She sipped at her drink and pretended to be very casual. Kate had promised her adventure. What kind of adventure would it be, she wondered.

"There aren't even any other women here," Tricia whispered, looking round the dingy joint. "Just the two of us."

"So much better," Kate assured her. "Your only competition is me. And you don't think every guy in this dive is staring at us? Mmm, I think adventure may already be putting on its rubber. C'mon, Trish, cross your legs and give everybody a thrill!"

"You're crazy," Trish whispered back, pushing her knees together. This was not a good idea, she was starting to believe with all her heart, and she searched her mind for clever stratagems she could use to get herself and Kate outta here!

Alabama was blasting from the jukebox and banging balls clattered on the pool table. The bartender brought the girls refills. Kate clinked her glass against Trish's and said, "Don't look now, baby, but I think adventure is coming your way."

Tricia turned, just as a hand touched her knee. Most of her legs were bare, due to the short skirt, and she still felt very self-conscious about having no panties underneath. The hand squeezed and she looked up into the eyes of a big man. There was something oddly familiar about him, but in the rather dim light she couldn't decide what it was.

He said, "Hiya, baby. How about letting me buy you a drink, and then you can tell me if the hair on your pussy is the same color as the hair on your head." He smiled in a confident way, and his hand slid upward on Tricia's thigh, almost to the top of her stocking.

Tricia reacted totally from instinct. She tossed her daiquiri, ice and all, straight into his face and said, "One thing's for sure -- I guess the drinks 'are' on you, mister."

He drew back, frowning, and turned without a word. "I don't believe this!" Kate said, grabbing Trish's shoulder. "Adventure sat in your lap with a hard-on and you threw a drink in its face? You dumb cunt! Don't you know who that was?"

Trish shook her head. Kate sighed heavily. "Remember Kyle Newberry? From high school? You gonna tell me that when you were fifteen you weren't frigging your hot little virgin clit and wondering what it would be like to have Mr All-State Running Back's big hard dick shoved up your hole?"

Tricia's eyes became enormous. She blushed under her makeup. "God, I thought he looked familiar! But I haven't seen him in ten years..."

"It's not too late," her friend said, pointing. "There he goes into the men's room to wipe off your daiquiri. Go apologize. See if he remembers you, hmmm?"

"Aren't you coming?" Tricia asked, sliding off the bar stool.

Kate shook her head. "Nah," she smirked. "By the time I was fifteen I already 'knew' what Mr All-State Running Back's big hard dick felt like. 'And' tasted like. This is 'your' adventure, sweetcakes. Go for it."

A couple of days ago, Tricia would never have dreamed of doing anything like this. But she had changed -- a lot -- and she had the feeling she was in for still more changes. She took a deep breath and started toward the hallway where Kyle had gone a few moments earlier.

She wasn't strutting on purpose. It was the only way she could walk in these damn spikes! But she was conscious of the roll of her ass, the stride of her legs, the eyes that watched her as she moved through the barroom and toward the door that was marked COWBOYS.

Think "adventure" she told herself, pushing the door inward.

The men's room was fairly small. There were two stalls and a couple of urinals on opposite sides. Both urinals were occupied, and Trish hesitated a moment, staring at the backs of two men taking noisy leaks.

Kyle Newberry was at the sink, wiping himself with a paper towel. His t- shirt was off, lying across the top of the sink. He saw her in the mirror and he turned.

"Well, goddamn," he said, grinning. He'd put on some weight since high school. He was beefier now, and his chest was hairier than Trish had remembered from the days when she used to watch him and his friends playing shirts and skins basketball during lunch hour. A bit of roll hung over the belt of his pants but he didn't look fat or sloppy -- just big.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry," she told him. The two men who were pissing heard the sound of her voice. One of them turned, splashing a puddle of yellow onto the floor.

The real Trish wouldn't have dreamed of invading a men's room, but the real Trish was on vacation for the night. This was a blue-haired slut in a skintight sheath dress, with no underwear and four-inch spikes. She strutted toward him, her ass swaying. Something told her she was ready for anything.

He put his hands on her waist and pulled her close. He was six-three and he towered over Tricia. She could smell the rum on his chest from the drink she'd tossed at him, and it mixed with the smell of his sweat, of his natural male funk. She laid her cheek against him and rubbed it through the fur.

It wasn't the sexiest place in the world, this COWBOYS room. There was a piss-and-disinfectant smell, and she thought, This is soooo grubby -- but it was exciting in a rather nasty way, too.

He put his hand on one of the tits that overfilled the front of her dress and he began to manipulate the mound. Her nipple hardened against his palm and she was breathing hard, her body pushing forcefully, insistently, against his.

The other two men had stopped pissing now, but they were still in the room. She could see them in the mirror, over Kyle's shoulder. They were lighting up cigarettes and they were watching. Watching her.

She straightened up, and she put Kyle's hands on her back. They went immediately to the zipper of her dress. She took a deep breath as he pulled the zipper downward, then took her by the shoulders and eased the dress down.

A bulge had already begun to show in the front of his pants. The sight of her tits made the bulge grow larger.

Tricia's boobs spilled outward as the dress came down, and her pink nipples were fat and full, capped in aroused pinnacles. She turned, flashing her tits at the two men who were watching, and she backed her ass up against Kyle Newberry's crotch, stroking his growing hard with the round curve of her butt.

He cupped her tits, squeezing firmly, his fingers sinking into the soft, aroused flesh. She stared boldly at the two voyeurs, as if to say, "Don't you wish it was you?"

Her ass wiggled against his pants and she felt his cock, grown hard and fat and thick -- bigger, if possible, than it had been in her fantasies when she was just a pudgy, skanky virgin trying to dream impossible dreams.

The kinkiest part of it was the two guys who stood watching by the piss-tanks. Tricia couldn't bear to look into their faces. Her eyes remained slightly downcast, and she could see that both of them were using their hands to stroke their own crotches. She heard them whispering and she had a good idea what they were whispering about, but she didn't care.

She wriggled loose from Kyle and turned, flouncing, her tits doing an eye-catching bounce. She touched her tinsel-looking blue wig, then slid her fingers across her pointy-nippled tits. Kyle straightened up, leaning against the sink, his pants full of hard cock and his eyes full of lust.

Trish lifted her skirt slowly, pulling it up to her stocking tops, then a little higher. She teased him for a few moments, promising the sight of her pussy and withholding it at the last minute. She was sure she could see his bulge growing. Saliva bubbled on his lips and his chest showed that he was breathing harder, too.