Shepherd's Pie Ch. 07: Girl's Night Out

"Oh, absolutely, darlin," the nurse said, not a native. "So I understand you'd like to begin taking birth control. Is that correct?"

Mia nodded.

"And currently how often are you having intercourse?"

Mia shrugged. "Um, I dunno. Maybe five, six times a week."

"I see," said the nurse. "And how many partners does that include?"

"Oh," said Mia, smiling at me. "Just my boyfriend."

"Oh, how sweet." The nurse smiled. "How long y'all been together?"

"Not long, 'bout two weeks," Mia replied.

"Really, well bless your heart. How did y'all meet?"

There, on the spot, Mia convincingly told the nurse the raunchiest lie I'd ever heard.

"Well, um, it's kind of long story, but, uh...recently, Chris learned that his dad cheated with another woman years ago...turns out the woman he slept with was my mom."

"Beg your pardon," the nurse scrunched her face. "So you're saying you both have the same father? Doesn't that make y'all brother and sister?

"Well, no," Mia said, waving her hands. "Well, okay, technically yes...but, we have different mothers, plus we only met a few weeks ago. It's not like we grew up together or anything. That would be weird."

"Um, wait right here," the nurse said, jumping right up.

Quickly, she rushed toward a female doctor, slim, brown-skinned, medium height, probably from India.

Leaning in, the nurse whispered, both women turned their heads. Pen in hand, the doctor frowned, scribbling right away, writing and tearing a prescription in all of five seconds.

"Here you are," said the nurse, holding the paper, after quickly hustling right back. "I highly suggest you get this filled right away."

Mia nodded, reaching out, frowning at the nurse, who stood there and firmly held to the paper, strangely not letting go.

"Also," she said, as Mia and I stood there trying not to laugh. "Given the nature of your relationship, the doctor would like to refer you to a good therapist. She works with several in the area."

"Oh, that's okay," I said, speaking up. "I'm actually seeing one already. You might know her. Doctor Megan Sinclair."

"Only by reputation," she smirked. "But like I said, please get this filled as soon as possible. And thank y'all for coming in," she said, opening her hand, only to rudely turn away.

Leaving the clinic, we both instantly burst out laughing, three blocks from the nearest subway.

Minutes later, we boarded the train, finding a seat in the back. I looked over and noticed an older gentleman seated by himself, gray-haired, sharply-dressed, reading his morning paper.

"So I talked to your mom," Mia said, leaning against me. "She completely loved my idea, super excited."

It might have been the weed. Or it might have been Mia jerking me off, hand beneath my jacket. Either way, my brain went fuzzy, needing my memory jogged.

"I'm sorry. Tell me again?"

Mia sucked her teeth. "The bachelorette party...did you forget already?"

"Oh, right," I said, nodding along. "When is that again?"

"Day after Thanksgiving," she said. "Still working out the details, but I told her to invite all her friends."

"Cool," I said, not very happy, even with Mia's hand tenting beneath my jacket every two seconds.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "We talked about this. You said it was cool."

"Yeah, I know. But honestly, it's hard for me to get past the whole 'no boys allowed' thing."

"Ah, so you're jealous?" Mia smiled. "Sorry babe. Rules are rules. You'll just have to learn to be satisfied with what you've got."

"Yeaahh," I groaned. "Yeah, you're right..." I said, ready to bust.

Turning his head, surely, the older man saw what was up, as Mia's head slid beneath the jacket. Fist pumping, soft lips folded around the head, moaning as the evidence shot down her throat, guzzling my hot creamy load.

Sitting up, she smiled at the stranger, index up to her lips. Finally, she turned forward, reached in purse, then freshened up her lip gloss and sat there like nothing happened.

* * *

Sunday night, right before bed, a text message came in from Emma:

Emma: Hey sexy! J Just got in from LA. Love to hang out. Hit me up whenever.

The next morning, I ditched my first class, when Emma agreed to meet me down at Gold's Gym.

As I got there, Emma had clearly started without me, as I walked up and caught her mid-set.

There, doing front squats, barbell over her shoulders, I instantly recognized her insanely hard, well-sculpted body, obviously straight from Call, same legs, same ass, same golden tan, same ponytail down her back, long, braided, brown as her eyes, with tits like cannons, big guns high up, baby blue sports bra stretched out. Meanwhile, I stood there, watching her rep, back straight, ass sinking down. Then rounding toward me, her arching buttocks slowly came down, stretching out black spandex shorts.

"Nice form," I said, smiling just steps away.

Smiling back, Emma turned, finishing the rep.

"You should know," she said, clacking metal, weight setting down.

"So what's new?" I asked. "Glad to be home?"

"Hmm, yes and no," she said. "Chelsea's more into family gatherings. I'm just glad to get some time off. But I did get invited to your mother's party. That should be fun."

"Yeah," I said, long faced, "maybe for you...for me, not so much."

"Really?" she frowned back. "Why's that?"

"I dunno," I shrugged. "Guess I'd just liked to be there. But apparently, I'm banned. And it's only because I have a penis."

"Ah," said Emma, tone sexy, grinning as she slinked forward. "Yeah, that does kind of suck," she said, close enough to smell her sweat. At first, it was only the call of her voice, hinting at casual sex. Then, she moved in, eyes focused, deep, lustful brown, as if begging Please, jump my bones!

"For the record, since you brought up your penis," she added, "it's not like I could have forgot. In fact, you were actually the first person I texted when I got off the plane."

There it was, out in the open, a plain and clear offer to fuck. Still, I stood there, hesitant, scratching my head, nervous, stumbling like a loser.

"Um...God, this is awkward," I said.

Reading my thoughts, head tilted, Emma calmly stepped back.

"Is this about Mia?"

Looking up, her name brought a smile, easy and unexpected.

"Did Chelsea tell you about her?"

"Initially," said Emma. "But we also chatted on FaceTime. Cool chick, definitely way into you."

Curious, I somehow resisted the urge to ask for details, nodding and smiling instead.

"Yeah, she's pretty cool," I said, slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, if I..."

"Oh, don't worry about it," Emma said, waving her hand. "Clearly, I didn't know it was serious between you," she said, taking it in stride. Strangely, until that moment, I hadn't realized how serious it was either. Though seeing how easily Emma had dropped me in the friend zone, for an über-hot brunette like her, boys like me were clearly a dime a dozen.

"So, anyway, about your problem," she said, shifting gears. "I think I can actually help you."

"Oh," my interest piqued, "how's that?"

"Well, if it's supposed to be a girl's night out," she said, twitching her brow. "Let's turn you into a girl."

"What? No. That sounds way too gay."

Emma shrugged. "Look, you said you wanted to go. I'm just trying to help. Hair and make-up is my business. With your cute face, long lashes, high cheekbones...I'll make you look hotter than every girl there. Plus, when we're done here, we'll go to Surrender. Chelsea can help us too."

"Okay, how's she gonna help?"

"Well, first she'll take your measurements," said Emma. "Then she'll design you a dress."

"God, this is crazy," I said, shaking my head. "Besides, what am I supposed to tell Mia?"

"Nothing," Emma said. "That's the whole point...for you to see the look on her face when she sees you."

And more intriguingly, I thought, not only the look on Mia's face, but the look on Mom's as well.

"That's brilliant," I said, fully on board. "Call Chelsea. Tell her we're on our way."

At 10:30, Sunday morning, we walked in and found Chelsea alone in her back office. The store didn't open till noon.

After hugging and kissing, within five minutes, the conversation went from Emma bringing her sister up to speed, to both sisters watching me strip down to my boxer briefs, with Emma standing, Chelsea grabbing the measuring tape, heels clicking as she stepped forward and hiked up her skirt, easing the motion as she kneeled down, showing more cleavage, tits falling out of her top.

"Hmm," said Emma, tone thoughtful, eyes inspecting my bulge. "I don't know, Chels...you've really got your work cut out for you. I mean, how are you supposed to hide all that?"

Clearly the expert, with a light shrug, Chelsea answered.

"Nothing to it. All we need is the right style of pantyhose. That'll hold everything in."

"Eww," said Emma, sucking her teeth. "You're gonna make Chris wear pantyhose like an old lady?"

Shaking her head, Chelsea answered with a sigh.

"Of course not," she said. "I'll make him wear something nice. I was thinking Cecilia de Rafael. He won't even know they're on."

"Ooh, Italian. Good call."

Chelsea nodded, smiling back. "I'm thinking 22 deniers. That should be just enough compression. But they'll still feel incredibly smooth, light, soft to the touch."

The longer I stood there, cock swelling, filling out my briefs, it was only a matter of seconds before Emma decided to embarrass me, commenting on the visible effect.

"I think Chris likes the idea."

Turning back, Chelsea leaned in, holding out the tape.

"Whoa," she said, eyes widened, cock extended down my leg. "Do you normally dress left?"

With both feet spread in a wide stance, I found it amusing how Chelsea took full advantage of her knelt position, using one hand to circle the tape measure around my thigh, while the other held one end completely still, right up against my cock.

"Do I normally what?" I frowned. Chelsea had to explain

"When you wear pants, does your dick normally hang left or right?"

"Oh," I laughed. "Left usually, I think. Is that important?"

Chelsea blushed. "No, not really, just curious," she said, squeezing her hand. "You're awfully hard though. Want us to get rid of this for you?"

Silly question, I thought. Of course, I did. I wanted it badly. I just couldn't help feeling guilty.

"That's probably not a good idea," said Emma. "He's trying to be faithful to his new girlfriend."

"Oh," Chelsea said, with a pout. "Well, okay. In that case, if we're keeping things professional, then the best thing to do is figure out exactly what you like," she turned to Emma. "We just got a shipment in from New York. Why don't you try some on, give Chris some options."

On that note, Chelsea instructed Emma to pull her braid out, then walk out and model a series of sizzling hot designer dresses, black lace, white linen, deep purple silk, all short, all low-cut, and all worn with bracelets, anklets, and jangly hoop earrings, enhancing the breathtaking vision of Emma, stunning in full make-up, stilettos clacking, back and forth, office her personal runway.

"This is too much," I said, so horny my skin was burning. "At least, let me jerk off."

"Sorry," said Chelsea. "You had your chance. Besides, there's only one more."

For the grand finale, in fiery red velvet, from behind the curtain, Emma emerged in this racy, form-fitting, full-length gown, slit on both sides, tan legs exposed up to her hips, brown eyes, hair down, lips crimson red, so hot I almost cried.

"That's the one," Chelsea said. "Chris looks like he's gonna pass out. Definitely a winner."

"So," I said, shaking my head. "Is that what I'll be wearing?"

"Well, no. I can't let you wear that," said Chelsea. "But I can make something very similar, perfectly tailored for your body. And I guarantee with Emma and me working together, it's sure to be a showstopper."

Swelling with gratitude, I suddenly felt obligated to both of them for being so helpful.

"God," I said, shaking my head. "I don't even know what to say. I mean, how much does a dress like that even cost?"

Chelsea smiled. "A lot. But don't worry about it. If you want to make a donation, that's fine. I'm willing to take whatever you can spare."

Just then, the word 'donation' reminded me of the money I needed to start my business.

"Actually," I said, off the cuff. "Instead of just giving you money, what if I offered you a job?"

Interested, both sisters turned to listen, as I briefly explained to them the concept for my new porn company, including my plans to mainly focus on pantyhose and MILF videos.

Surprisingly, their reaction could not have been more supportive, with Chelsea offering to help with wardrobe and Emma wanting to help with hair and make-up.

Eager to rush home and bang out my first script, before leaving, Friday night, I promised to show up at Megan's apartment, no later than six, which gave the girls three hours to complete my makeover.

Feeling inspired, instead of studying, I stayed up writing all night. By morning, I'd written my first adult screenplay, which I aptly titled, Why Mommy Wears Pantyhose.

My only problem, as much as I wanted Mom to read it, since the day I learned of her engagement, the two of us weren't exactly on the best of terms.

When Thanksgiving came, not only did Mom invite Doug and Mia, but Joel and Cynthia dropped in too.

In pompous fashion, Doug placed himself at the head of the table, white hair matching his white shirt, barely held together, with white buttons straining over his broad, flabby, sack of a stomach.

"So," Doug stood up, lifting his wine, tapping his fork against the glass. "Since everyone's here, this seems like a perfect time to announce that Lauren and I are planning to have a Christmas wedding."

To his left, my eyes met Mom's across the table. As Doug raised her hand, she squeezed back, gazing at me, lips tightly held as she smiled.

Breaking the silence, Joel for once actually spoke up, with news of his own, awkwardly stated, yet no less stealing Doug's thunder.

"Congratulations," said Joel. "We, uh...we've actually got some news too," he said glancing at his wife. Smiling back, Cynthia gently rubbed his arm. "We're having another baby," Joel said, turning back. "We hope it's a girl. But either way, we're expecting sometime in July, maybe August."

"Fabulous news," Doug said, shaking Joel's hand. "Well done, sir. Well done. Sweetheart, that's great, isn't it?" he said, turning to Mom.

Mom returned the same tight-lipped smile. "Yes, absolutely. And I hope it's a girl too. Nothing's better than playing with your little sister," she said cryptically. "Excuse me," she stood, patting Doug's shoulder. "I think I left something in the kitchen. I'll be right back."

Had Doug truly felt anything for his new fiancée, he would have known to get up and see what was wrong. Instead, he sat there like an oaf.

"Think I'll see if she needs help," I said, hopping up. Entering the kitchen, I found Mom, verging on tears.

"I'm guessing that was probably the last thing you wanted to hear.

Leaning on the counter, Mom sniffled, nodding her head.

"I knew they'd to gone to find out," she said. "But it's hard for me to be happy for them right now."

"What do you mean?" I stepped forward. "Did you take the test?"

Mom nodded. "I actually saw my OB. The test was false. And the worst part is my cycle started this morning, of all fucking days."

"I don't get it," I frowned. "I mean, that's it? You're not pregnant. It's over, just like that?"

"It's not unusual," she said. "My body produced all the hormones that show up on an EPT. But there was no embryo. Nothing was conceived. Guess I'm just not that fertile."

I walked over, hugging her tight. "Don't think that way. Don't compare yourself to anyone else. To me, you're perfect the way you are. And you know I've always thought so."

"Thank you, sweetie. I needed to hear that. And I still love you very much."

"I love you, too, Mom," I whispered. "Now let's just get through these next few hours. Tomorrow, you can go out, get crazy and forget about all this crap. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like exactly what I need."

"Damn right," I said. "And there's one more thing. I wrote something the other day. When you've got time, I'd like you to read it. Tell me what you think."

"Is it long?"

"Couple pages," I said, shaking my head.

"Then let me see it," she said. "It's fine. They're all eating. We'll come right back."

Upstairs, I pulled out my laptop. Mom sat down on my bed.

Why Mommy Wears Pantyhose

By Chris Shepherd

[Weekday, early evening]

[Scene opens with son approaching Mom's bedroom; stands outside bedroom door.

Son sees mom still in her work clothes: white blouse, fitted black skirt, high-heeled black leather pumps, taking special note of her gorgeous legs in suntan control-top pantyhose, e.g. L'eggs Sheer Energy, Hanes Silk Reflections, etc.

Seeing herself in the mirror, Mom rubs her fingers over the hose, taking great pleasure in admiring the obvious beauty of her own legs.

Back turned, hair up, Mom lets it down, slowly unbuttoning her shirt.

Son knocks.

Mom: Oh, hey sweetie. Did you need something?

Son: No. I was just coming to ask if you wanted to go out and grab some dinner.

Mom: Sure, sounds great. I just need to change first.

Son: What for? I think you look fine the way you are.

Mom: Oh, well thank you. It's just that I've been wearing these heels all day. Plus my legs are all hot and sweaty in these pantyhose. I'd feel much better after a hot shower.

Son: Well, okay. But I'm pretty hungry. So don't take long... And by the way, just out of curiosity, I did want to ask you something.

Mom: Oh, what's up?

Son: Well, I was just wondering... I mean, you've clearly got very nice legs. So, why do you feel the need to wear pantyhose?

[Mom blushes]

Mom: Thank you. That's nice to hear. To be honest, it's mainly because my boss is really old-fashioned. But also, now that you're older, I guess it seems more modest. I'm sure you don't need to see your mother traipsing around the house in her underwear.

Son: Oh, oh I see. Okay, then. Guess I'll just wait for you in the living room.

[Mom stops him]

Mom: Wait, hang on a sec. What was that look for?

Son: What look?

[Mom smirks]

Mom: I saw that look. You're hiding something. What is it?

Son: Oh, it's nothing. It's just that I saw you a second ago. You were checking out your legs, feeling the hose. Lately, you've been doing it a lot.

Mom: Ah. So you busted me. I see. Well, in that case, let me be honest. The reason I wear pantyhose is, well, actually, they're several reasons... For one, I really love how shiny they are. I also love how tightly they hug my curves. [Slowly, Mom begins pacing back and forth] Also...whenever I walk around like this...the nylon feels great against my skin, so soft, so silky...especially against my...well, you know.

Son: I get the idea...bet that gets really distracting.

Mom: Oh, it does. [She smiles innocently]. And sometimes, when I'm at work, or on the subway, if I see a cute guy and really want to get his attention [she sits on the corner of the bed] then I'll do something like cross my legs real slow [she demonstrates] then open them a bit, give him a peek, then cross them the other way. Never fails [she giggles]

Son: Damn. You do that really well. To be honest, it's kind of turning me on.