Madison Ch. 02-03

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Chapter 2

Madison tried to snooze most of the way back to the Blue Pines trailer court, but the county's roads weren't well-kept and the jostling kept her awake and her jiggly bits jiggling. Her driver, "Ray," an uptight-looking recent retiree with his top button buttoned and a full head of silver hair, spent more time regarding her in the rear-view mirror than he did watching the road.

It wasn't an unfamiliar gaze. Guys like this, whether they wanted to save her or fuck her, it all came out looking the same.

His Kia bounced roughly over the gravel road leading to her turn-off, then came to a stop before her driveway, which made a U before the aging brown trailer home. Her daddy's car was still gone, which was surprising; she'd been bracing herself for some kind of well-meaning but awkward interaction. As she swung her legs out of the open door, "Ray" turned to her.

"You know..." A pause. Oh Lordy, here we go. "You don't have to live this way, young lady. It ain't right."

He couldn't see her rolling her eyes, so she put it all into her voice. "Yeah, you're right," she agreed, pushing on the cheap sunglasses that lived in her purse. "For as hard as I slut, this oughta be a mansion."

As he spluttered, she walked away, putting a little extra sass in the ass as she went. Then, just as she reached her front steps, he collected himself enough to yell something. "Get to Pastor Clement's tomorrow! Mulberry Road just off State 33! He can heal you!"

Yeah, right. The only healing Mads wanted or needed was in the shower in the double-wide's little second bathroom. Off came Derek's t-shirt, off came the leggings, and with an audible fleshy slap, off came the bra.

Daddy's trailer was probably forty years old, all vinyl wood paneling and orange carpet, and it came from a time when people were apparently just...smaller, with its low counters and awkwardly-narrow hallway. But even if it were built today, nobody could have designed for someone like Madison. Between her generous hips and the shelf that held the body wash, conditioners, moisturizers and toners that were the tools of her trade, there wasn't actually enough room in the stall to close the door unless she turned at an awkward forty-five degree angle between the door and the shower head.

So she usually just left the stall door open instead. Sometimes that gave Daddy's friends or lady callers a sight, and that was a nice bonus.

The shower's major redeeming quality was that it had one of those detachable massaging heads on a hose, and that shower head had a lot of qualities she wished the men of Elk County would learn from: it got her off regularly and reliably, it was clean, and it didn't fucking talk so much. Employing it with her left hand and using her right to heave a nipple up into her own mouth to suck on and worry at, she teased herself into a couple of the satisfying screamers she didn't get to have when family was around.

After drying off - a process that took almost a full washload of towels, depending on how indulgent she decided to be about it - Madison rooted through the fridge for some leftovers and snacks, curled up on the couch with her phone, and got ready for an afternoon of utter, heavenly sloth.

There was only one problem, she realized as she withdrew a sad, limp little plastic baggie from her purse. She was completely out of weed.

"Oh my fucking God," she moaned.

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Chapter 3

If you were to leave the Blue Pines trailer court the way Madison had come in, down the old state road, and kept following its jittery curves about fifteen incrementally-downhill miles toward Elk Creek, you'd come to Waterside, an unincorporated community of about a dozen buildings - eight of which were actually in use - that represented what had once passed for the county's Black neighborhood.

The creek was wide, lazy, and prone to flooding, so the modest and ramshackle but brightly-colored residences were perched on stilts, or cantilevered out over the bank; from those porches, bales of rice grown in the alluvial fields were once lowered onto flat-bottomed boats that would carry the produce down to Waverly.

Now, though, the little township's commercial ventures of note amounted to Smokey's Bait Shack and the sun-faded Coke machine on its front porch.

And one other. A tiny house, slightly better-maintained than the rest, its clapboard walls painted a vivid blue and decorated with mural art. The home of Darnell Green, entrepreneur, procurer of rare herbs and spices.

"Uuggh," Madison groaned as she pulled Mrs. Oakley's old borrowed Dodge into the dirt drive. An Econoline van, its back festooned with political bumper stickers she didn't really bother to process, sat in front of her. That meant Denise was home.

As she picked her way up the uncomfortably creaky steps, waving off gnats and no-see-ums, Madison noted that a few new flags had been daubed on the house's walls. She already recognized that Rasta one, and the gay rainbow whatever, but they'd been joined by a couple of new contenders: a stripey flag with a pointy red triangle on one side, and another in these kind of odd pastel-y colors. She really hoped she wasn't going to be quizzed on what they meant.

She knocked on the aluminum screen door. Please let it be Darnell, please let it be Darnell...

"The fuck do you want?"

Well, it had been nice to hope. Madison was briefly grateful for her sunglasses; they concealed the reflexive narrowing of her eyes, and she didn't want to make a shitty start worse. "Hey, Denise," she chirped as briskly and pleasantly as she could while craning to look through the door. "Is D home?"

"Why." The deeply unimpressed woman standing in the doorway made no move to admit Madison. Her rich brown skin was glossy with sweat, her cornrowed hair hung lank under a rag, and the loose overalls she wore over a utilitarian gray sports bra were spattered with paint, which at least explained part of her impatience; she wanted to return to whatever the unwelcome visitor had interrupted.

Being stared at, whispered about, objectified and sexualized since she was twelve years old had taught Madison at least a few things, and one of them was how to instantly size up a potential competitor - or prey. Denise was objectively beautiful: big expressive eyes and plush lips on a lean face, body compact and marbled with muscle from manual labor, wide-hipped, with a hard spherical ass that even the baggy men's overalls couldn't conceal. Madison had sometimes caught herself wondering what it would be like to smack that ass, hard, and not even always in anger...

But none of that chiseled sexuality mattered, because Denise would never use any of it. She'd rather just leave that Porsche of a body in the garage forever than wear something nice or practice saying things with a spoonful of honey instead of a bottle of vinegar. She was going to college and called herself some kind of whatever-wavey feminist and thought she was better than girls like Madison.

And maybe she was, but Madison never had to paint her own room.

"I'm out of...you know," Mads said, dropping her voice nervously. She usually bought from Darnell when he came calling at the trailer court, not out here, where a regular parade of white visitors could clue in even the dullest sheriff's deputy.

"Why's that my problem?"

"It's not," Madison pleaded. "I'm not trying to bother you, or interrupt your...whatever you were doing. I was just hoping to catch your brother. I tried calling but..."

Denise frowned. "That boy should not be turning down business," she muttered. Then she looked Mallory up and down before resting her frank and unashamed gaze on the lettering of Madison's t-shirt, distended and made illegible by what bulged within. "...'course, you probably weren't planning on paying cash, were you?"

Madison had come dressed for Darnell, in murderously tight high-riding cutoffs and a sleeveless pink tee she'd outgrown last year, but beneath his sister's withering gaze she felt uncomfortably naked, and her creamy pink skin reddened a few shades. "Excuse you, how's that any of your busin- "

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Denise smirked briefly. She stood there, impassive as a statue, regarding the soft round white creature at her door, then seemed to come to a decision. "...He's not home," she said. "But I know where he keeps it."

Relief, only mildly tempered by suspicion, flooded Madison. She followed her reluctant hostess into the living room. It was as packed and vivid as the town outside was sleepy and dying, with shelves of books and African-looking tchotches rubbing up against weird modern sculptures. Colorful paintings and woven rugs hung from the walls. There was no TV, but an Apple laptop sat on the coffee table before a black-and-green beanbag.

Stuffing her shades into her purse, Madison perched gingerly upon a creaking, rattling, bead-covered couch, unsure if it could support her weight, and took a cautious sniff of the thick, miasmic air, picking up notes of something cherry, and something lavender, and something cannabinoid.

Denise, now with a vape pen jutting upward and outward from her mouth like some gender- and race-bent update on a '30s gangster, returned from Darnell's room with the top of a plastic baggie peeking out of her front pocket. She stopped in front of Madison, standing over her, looking down appraisingly, and took the pen out of her mouth. "So, tell me about you and my big brother's arrangement."

"Look, sister, I'm not -"

"Don't 'sister' me, cause we ain't sisters, and I'm not playing games. I can always put this shit back. You let him fuck those titties, right? How much he think that worth? Couple dubs?"

Madison's nostrils flared with fury. "As if."

Denise's expression changed ever so slightly. "...Well...at least you aren't giving it away. So what, a quarter?"

Mads' eyes flashed defiantly. "More. And he doesn't fuck them. He couldn't afford it. I let him suck on them till he comes. Usually he falls asleep after."

Denise sighed with exasperation that seemed only partially directed at her guest. "Jesus. So the street price on big white titties is half an ounce?"

"If I'm feeling generous," Madison spat.

Denise seemed to be considering something. "They're really that good?"

Bingo. Madison could barely conceal the delight welling up inside her. "Better," she said in her best husky whisper, her eyelids fluttering as she let her gaze flit across Denise's toned arms and down over the tight skin of the woman's flank exposed by the cut of the overalls. Honestly, it wasn't a bad view; Denise was better-built than two-thirds of the men around here.

"I don't know about 'better,' but, uh..." Denise, usually so confident, trailed off for a moment as her gaze burned down the front of the taxed t-shirt. "Shit. They're like a baby's head..." She twirled the top of the plastic baggie idly between two fingers, her gaze absolutely arrested.

"And still growing," Madison smirked. "Most guys I fuck tell me I'm bigger than anyone they've ever had, but soon I might be bigger than everyone they've ever had - put together." She began slowly pressing her hands down the front of her shirt, letting the springy, youthful flesh beneath pudge up through the gaps between her fingers. She gazed up into Denise's eyes. "I always figured you were some kind of lesbo, but even if you're not, being curious is natural, and girls are fun too, sometimes..."

Perhaps involuntarily, not even aware she was doing it, Denise licked those full, pouty lips; they stayed parted in a soft "o" of mixed, churning emotions. "All for the price of some of my loser brother's skunk weed, huh?"

"I'd give you a way better deal than him," Madison purred as her hands reached the underside of her boobs, hoisting them up and pinching her nipples into prominence. It was like an investment, right? A little fun with this stuck-up cunt now for way less trouble in the future. And the girl was kind of cut...

"Let's see 'em," Denise said in a deathly quiet voice. "Let's see those big white titties."

Madison smiled, sweet as tea, and shimmied a little as she began drawing her shirt up. "You can do more than look, honey. They're all yours."

Denise reached down and gave them a squeeze, first tentative, then confident. "All mine," she repeated in a low, quiet voice. "I always - I always kind of wondered what it would be like, you know, being big...real big..."

Madison stood from the couch, tossing shirt and bra aside, still grooving to an imaginary beat, and wrapped one hand around the back of Denise's neck while the other cupped Denise's hand over the baggie of weed. "This is going to be a fun new arrangement - "

Suddenly, Denise barked out a laugh, and gave Madison a soft but firm shove that sent her crashing back into the creaking, rattling couch. "Get your shirt back on, you corny white bitch. This shit costs cash."

"What the FUCK!" Madison exclaimed. "The fuck is your problem?! Crazy, stuck-up..."

"Uh-uh-uh," Denise chided, flashing the baggie. "Bitch wants her Scooby Snack, she's gonna behave herself in my home. I am not a mark like Darnell."

Madison was beet red with confusion, towering rage...and a little bit of frustration. "What was the point of that?" she cried as she fumbled her shirt back on.

"Call it a free lesson in sisterhood," Denise said. She plopped down onto the beanbag, took a drag of her vape, and looked...different, somehow. Almost concerned, Madison could have sworn, but who knew? This cunt switched emotional gears with the recklessness of a stock car driver.

"A lesson." Mads' voice was flat.

"Yeah, a lesson," Denise repeated. "I know about you, Madison. Shit, everyone in a forty mile radius knows about you. You got handed the golden ticket, a one-in-a-million straight ten out of ten body, and you use it to be the most entitled, parasitic bitch in the land. When's the last time you paid for anything? You ever gotten a ticket even once?"

"I - yeah, probably!" She had not. "So what, you're jealous? People want to give me things, I'm supposed to stop them? Because it makes you and the college dyke patrol feel bad?"

"Yeah...sometimes we are jealous," Denise admitted. "Yeah, there's some shit I think about how I could do if I had that kind of attention - that kind of power. But I know the attention never stops, does it? Your whole life revolves around some dead-end shithole county full of pillbillies wanna fuck you."

Madison squirmed, nervously pinching strands of her blonde hair while she tried to think of something to say.

"Yeah, so I'm not that jealous," Denise nodded, puffing on her vape. "And if you're not looking to have shat out six kids by the time you're thirty, you need to start figuring out the difference between what sex can get you and what it can't."

"Thanks, teacher," Madison gritted out. "So then what's the difference?"

"For starters? Sixty bucks for an eighth," Denise said with a mean little smile. "Cash."

Cursing softly, Madison produced her phone and Venmoed the psycho her money, and finally, that fucking baggie came out of the overall pocket and slid across the coffee table with the tense solemnity of a hostage exchange.

"Yo," Denise said, exhaling a cloud. "Better go easy on it. Might not be more."

"Are you fucking serious?" Madison said, scandalized. "After all that shit you put me through, you're, what, cutting me off?"

"Ain't like that," Denise shook her head. "That brother of mine's been acting weird lately. Hanging out with new people. White people. He told me the other day I should take down the picture of Haile Selasse cause he says he found 'real religion.'"

Madison groaned, her enmity with Denise eclipsed by a new, unpleasant, sinking feeling. "Oh...shitfire. He's gonna stop dealing, isn't he. Fuck!"

Denise nodded. "Bet. That was actually the last of it. The dumb motherfucker threw the rest out last night. Hundreds of dollars worth. After I got done hollering at him he slammed the door and took off. Honestly? I've got no idea where he is now."

"Ugh. The fuck am I supposed to do now? It's - " Madison dragged a hand down her face, her mind racing. "It's all right. I don't know where he is, but I think I might know where he's going to be."