Nasty with the Girl

I stood up and began dressing, pointedly not helping her up, not speaking to her, not looking at her. Slowly she rolled onto her side and awkwardly got to her feet. Bits of grit stuck to her pale, pasty back. I didn't brush it off. If it was me, the feel of that grit would be a reminder, for the rest of the day, of what I had done.

She bent to pull her leggings up and that's when I finally looked at her, spoke to her. "Wait." She froze. "Now you squat." I take her hand and help her onto the toilet, her leggings binding her at the knees.

She is still hesitant to show me her pussy. But she does, squats and lets me inspect her fat, hairy cunt, which is absolutely dripping, soppy, nasty wet. I say, "Don't wipe. Walk around like that. You dyke slut."

I finish dressing, then exit the stall. We have been at it for most of an hour, yet no one has interrupted us. After a few moments of rustling noises from the toilet area, she joins me again at the mirror. She looks like hell. Most of her makeup is just gone now, and she's got slime in her hair. I carry baby wipes in my purse-- a must for an on-the-go, fucked-out slut like me-- and I use these to gently attend to her face. She stands still and passive like a child while I blot, and wipe, and talk. I speak to her in an affectionate, familiar way.

"Look. I know you might go home and start feeling all depressed and shitty about what just happened here, like you got used and disrespected. You got used and disrespected, but you shouldn't feel like shit about that. You should feel fan-fucking-tastic. I'm not going to call you. We're not going to be lovers. But I will remember you for the rest of my life. I will use this memory to get off for years to come. I will tell people about you, I will write about you. I am in awe of your nastiness, and I value the fuck out of it. You matter. Do you hear me?"

As I stop wiping her face she looks at me shyly. "I hear you."

"The next time some guy who doesn't even meet your standards wants to fuck you easy, like he sees you like the limping gazelle because you're a fat girl, let him. Fuck the boy who is beneath you. Fuck the shit out of him. Make it nasty. Then tell him you want to fuck his friends. Then walk away. Sex isn't love. Its sex. Enjoy it."

And then I kissed her. And then I left.

Tonight, while I let these two high school boys I met in a chat room stuff pool balls up my cunny, I thought about that girl in the bathroom. I'm thinking of her now, as I write. I hope she is right at this moment getting her asshole tag-teamed by a couple of misfit nerds in her biology class. Or whatever. The world could use more whores.