Poor Penelope Pickle-tits Pt. 01

As I have explained in some of my other stories, I retired as a contractor after doing a final, huge job in the Hamptons about fifteen years ago, at the fairly young age of thirty five. It was great! I spent several days a week cruising all over the state on my motorcycle, and put an ad out on the Internet for a girlfriend. I eventually found one that I hit it off with, and after several months, I moved in with her. I still kept my house, as it was technically both my dad's house and mine, and everything was wonderful at first. We took a lot of weekend day trips, and since I was also getting some local acting gigs, sometimes she'd tag along.

I wasn't rich, mind you, but I didn't have to work either. She made a pretty good living as a nurse practitioner, so she'd frequently take us both to dinner as the breadwinner, while I stayed home and took care of the house and did all of the cooking and cleaning; a house-husband if you will. It didn't take too long, however, for her to become resentful that she was getting up very early to go to work everyday, while I didn't.

One day, she handed me a creased-open copy of a community newspaper that we had been getting for about a year, and pointed to an ad that was looking for a driver. She suggested I call them, because I really didn't have any spending cash. My assets were essentially all tied up in real estate and precious metals, so I agreed. It would give me some money coming in, and she would also feel better that she wasn't the only one "working."

After a few more years, we decided to part ways and I moved back to my own house. I stayed with the paper though, as I actually enjoyed doing the routes. What had started out as one, gradually built up over the years, as other drivers left and I absorbed their routes. It was hard to find dependable replacements, and a few of us picked up the slack over the course of a decade, eventually giving us each a couple dozen routes apiece. These routes took me across a couple of towns, and I dealt quite a bit with five branches of my bank, along with my main branch. The tellers were so used to seeing and dealing with me, that many thought I lived in those small towns; not realizing that in reality, I lived as far as thirty miles away. I even delivered the paper to one of them!

One of those branches was the one I probably dealt with the least, and there was an attractive dark blonde teller named Penny - with whom I dealt only occasionally - as she was often in the back doing God only knew what. She was about my age, and sometimes her blouse seemed a little fuller, while other times she looked just plain flat-chested. It kind of indicated to me that her tits were a bit on the squishy side, which only made her all the more attractive to me. She was polite enough (being professional I suppose), but never really responded to my smiles and compliments, although I noticed that she acted much differently to the gentlemen in suits and ties.

See, I never really took to dressing up. Even after I retired, I still wore the same clothes. Wearing sleeves, even short sleeves, while chucking papers will rub your underarm raw, so I was content to wear black "muscleman" tee shirts, along with jeans and sneakers all the time. I guess Penny was more concerned with the fancy duds than even paying attention to who was wearing them. There were in fact, a couple of times when I did stop in wearing a suit and tie myself; namely when I was on my way to speak at events when I was running for office, or off to a photo shoot (I'm also an actor and model). She didn't even recognize me when I waved at her from a different line. Do the clothes really make a person? I guess to some, they do. Oh well, that's life though, right? My checks were far from small, but some people are just more concerned with the package than what's in it.

One day, I pulled into a fast food joint for lunch. I don't typically stop for lunch, because it costs me a lot of time (if I'm not moving, I'm not making money) and I usually just eat dinner anyway; no breakfast or lunch. That particular day though, for some reason my stomach was growling and it was one of my five days off, so I decided to grab a Double Arch burger and fries. I entered through the side door to empty my bladder and wash my hands. As I rounded the corner to stand in line, who should I see getting there just before me? Sure enough, was my accountant, Dave.

Obviously it wasn't. It was drop-dead gorgeous Penny, or this story would have much a different title, LOL. I smiled at her, as I fell in line behind her.

"Hi Penny." I said in a friendly tone. "I haven't seen you in a while."

She turned and nodded politely.

"Hello." she replied. "You're usually in on Fridays, right? That's when I'm going over the itemizations for the week. I spend most of the day in an oversized closet, crunching facts and figures, and hoping everything matches up at the end of the week."

"Well, at least when the day is over, you get to come out of the closet." I said brightly, trying to be funny.

She started to say something in response, but the cashier called out.

"Next! May I take your order please?"

Penny stepped up and placed her order for a chicken sandwich, taking her change and a drink cup in return.

"It was nice seeing you again..." she faltered.

"Jack." I responded.

"Jack." she finished. "Have a nice afternoon, Jack."

With that, she was off to get her drink and forget all about little ol' insignificant me while I placed my order. A minute or so later, her number was called, and she took her tray to the dining area. My gaze of course, followed her as she sat down at a table near the center. Almost immediately, I noticed a pair of females approach the table, with one of them accosting Penny verbally.

"If it isn't 'Penelope Pickle-tits!'" she exclaimed loudly. "The MILF with the shriveled up prunes that she tries to pass off for tits."

She was without a doubt a butch dyke, with pink and purple hair, rings the size of a hula hoop through her nose, lip and eyebrows, and a couple of studs in her forehead. She was clad in a pink jacket, with rainbow pants and shin-high Vans. Her companion was fairly normal looking, with shoulder length brown hair and glasses, and they both appeared to be in their early 20s.

Penny turned bright red and glanced around, as the other patrons stared. This seemed to encourage the rainbow reject even more. I heard my number called and took my food, as the bull moose continued berating my beautiful banker.

"Those things are pathetic!" she guffawed, pointing to Penny's chest. "I saw her at the Y, and they belong in a jar marked 'Vlassic!' They look like a pair of shriveled up peaches with a maraschino cherry on the ends! Empty, saggy, deflated sacs. You couldn't get enough milk outta them to feed a mouse!"

"Leave me alone, Sara!" Penny snapped. "I haven't done anything to you."

She was desperately trying to keep her composure, as this town isn't very big, and without a doubt, people recognized her. This had to be absolutely humiliating for her. Despite her rather callous attitude toward me not only earlier, but in general, I decided to do what any chivalrous guy would do, and that was to defend her honor.

I strode over to the table with confident poise; the result of my acting, being a cop and as a politician, and the decade of tossing heavy newspapers had given me arms to fawn over. The look was Fonz-like, but without the overly-exaggerated swagger. I set my tray down next to Penny's and addressed her.

"Hey Sweetheart." I said with feigned regret, as I pulled the chair back and sat down. "They put onions on my burger, and I had to complain. Sorry for the delay, Babes."

Penny glanced over at me in surprise, but the look in her eyes indicated she was glad that I was intervening in her situation.

"Jack!" she exclaimed, picking up on my cue. "It's okay. I know how you get when something pisses you off. Boy, do I!"

That was HER cue for me to continue, and I was used to improvising; both with acting and politics, although some would argue they were one and the same.

I dumped my fries onto the paper tray liner and looked up at the antagonizing bitch. She had backed off a bit with my arrival, but was still there, in all of her ugliness. I glared directly into her black, soulless eyes and grinned.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the cover girl for 'Dykes on Trikes!'" I guffawed. "I'll bet you look really tough putting around town on your hot pink electric scooter. So, you have an issue with my girlfriend's breast cancer?"

That quickly, the tables were turned on the ugly cunt. If anyone DID recognize Penny, the butch's description of her intriguing tits was now a cause for sympathy. I had no idea whatsoever, the reason for her saggy tits - although Sara's description had me enthralled with them - but this was picked up by the other patrons and I was running with it.

"I asked you a question, Bitch." I snarled, standing up and facing her. "You like making fun of other people to hide your own inadequacies? You think it makes you cool and somehow strengthens your weaknesses to put others down? Does it make you feel all big and bad mama inside?"

Sara was silent. She had never been talked back to like this, and had no response. She was used to putting others down, without fear of reprisal. No one dared say a word to her, for fear of being labeled a homophobe or some other woke crap, but that sure as hell wasn't me!

"You're making fun of her tits?" I inquired. "When was the last time you looked in the mirror? Or don't you look in the mirror anymore because it would cause most people to have a heart attack to look at your ugly mug? Or maybe the mirror would just break at the sight of your ugly fucking face. You look like a pink Frankenstein. You even have bolts in your forehead."

Several people snickered at that, and I knew I was on the right track for garnering support. I know how to work a crowd, and this was Race City, USA. In all likelihood, if they lived in my county, they would have voted for me anyway.

"Maybe I'll call you 'Fanniestein.'" I continued. ""Cause you look like someone sewed up a hundred turds and added the brain from a kiwi bird to create your ugly ass. If I had a Sharpie, I'd play connect the dots with all the zits on your face, and draw in all of the constellations. Wow, that big red one on your forehead looks just like Betelgeuse! If you were a snake, you'd be a zit viper."

Her lip began to quiver, and I lit into her for all the bullshit I'd experienced myself as a kid, from bullying girls I wasn't allowed to hit.

"Biden may be shutting down our energy pipelines," I continued, "but there's more oil in your ugly fucking face than the Bakken Reserves and Alberta tar sands combined. You're so goddamned ugly, you'd make a freight train take a dirt road to avoid having to look at your sour mug."

As if on cue, my phone chimed with a new text message. I made an elaborate gesture of opening the phone and looking at it. It was just a spam text wanting me to lose forty pounds in thirteen minutes or some such nonsense, but I used it as another dig at her.

"Oh, that was the circus." I said nonchalantly, as I closed the phone and stared intently at my new nemesis. "They said they want their freak back. They still have plenty of raw fish for you. You DO like eating raw fish, don't you?"

Several people guffawed loudly, and the bitch did her best to fight back tears, but they were beginning leak anyway. I glanced around and addressed the other patrons.

"Know why her hair if half pink and half purple?" I inquired in general.

"I gotta hear this." someone chuckled. "Do tell."

"Because," I continued, once again looking at the freak in front of me, "blue dye won't penetrate the exoskeleton of crabs. She's got 'em so bad they crawled onto her scalp."

At that point, everyone - including Penny - burst into laughter. Everyone except for Sara, however, who burst into tears instead. She backed away, and turned to leave in disgrace. Her girlfriend moved to follow her, but I put my arm out and blocked her.

"Where do you think you're going?" I demanded.

"With Sara." she replied. "She's my girlfriend."

"Not anymore. You're not going anywhere!" I snapped. "She doesn't deserve you. You belong to me, now."

To my amazement, the girl stopped and faced me.

"Sit down." I instructed, as Sara fled out the door in tears.

A few seconds later, I saw a not-so-Smart car screech out of the parking lot and into traffic, nearly causing a collision in the process. Marcy did as she was told, and I once again sat back down to enjoy my lunch, which was getting a little on the cool side by now.

"What's your name?" I inquired, taking a mouthful of wonderfully soggy French fries that were still deep fried in beef tallow.

Penny was dumbstruck at what was unfolding - but taking my cue - began eating her ChickWich as well, as she looked on in amusement.

"Marcy." the girl replied.

At that point; her name, dark hair and glasses struck a chord with me, and I did my best to stifle a giggle.

"Well Marcy," I responded with an involuntary smile, "Peppermint Patty has left the building, and since I think you go with whoever takes charge of you, that's me now. Got it?"

"Yes Sir." Marcy said meekly.

"Hey Chuck- I mean, Jack," Penny interjected with a grin, "thanks."

"You're welcome." I replied.

I turned to Marcy.

"Have you eaten yet?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"No. We were just in here so Sara could use the WiFi." she answered.

I fished my wallet out of my back pocket, and handed her a ten dollar bill.

"Get whatever you want, and join us for lunch." I instructed.

"Thank you, Sir." Marcy replied, taking the money and heading back toward the counter, which was now beginning to fill with a lunch crowd.

She took her place in line, and Penny stared intently at me. I noticed this, and spoke up.

"I hope I wasn't being too forward," I offered, "but you looked like you could use some help. I'm kind of used to taking charge of a situation."

"No, it's fine." she replied. "I mean, thank you. I don't understand though. Why are you used to taking charge like that? Are you the president of your biker club or something?"

I began laughing my ass off, and almost blew my fries out through my nose. I managed to swallow, however, as Penny frowned.

"I don't get it." she responded. "Why is that so funny?"

I took a swallow of my sweet tea and replied.

"Because although I do own a bike, it's not a Harley, and that's not why I wear sleeveless shirts." I explained. "I retired when I was thirty five, and I keep busy by tossing papers a couple days a week. The window will rub my arm raw if I wear sleeves of any kind; even short sleeves. I also never developed a care for wearing fancy duds. I like to be comfortable, and this is the way I dress most of the time."

"If you don't own a Harley, then why do you wear the shirts?" she inquired. "I always figured you for a biker gang guy."

I glanced around furtively, as if to be certain no one was listening to our conversation before answering her.

"Because," I whispered as I leaned in, "Honda shirts ain't cool."

I nodded as though to emphasize my statement, folded my arms and leaned back in my chair. Penny giggled at the act.

"Okay," she acknowledged, "I get that, but what about the taking charge thing? I'm still missing something."

"Yes you are." I agreed. "See that silvery-blue Porsche 944 over there, underneath the oak tree? That's mine. Like I told you, I retired when I was thirty five. I was a general contractor, and I was used to running large jobs with lots of people. I'm also an auxiliary deputy, so again, used to taking charge in a situation. Lastly, I'm also one of your public servants."

"You're what?!" she exclaimed, as Marcy returned with a burger combo and handed me the change.

"Thank you, Sir." she said politely. "I was really getting hungry. This will definitely hit the spot."

"You're welcome." I replied.

"Wait a minute!" Penny interrupted. "What do you mean you're one of my public servants?"

"I'm your Soil and Water Commissioner." I replied.

"Hey, I recognize you now!" Marcy burst out. "You're Jack Dawson. The jeans and tee shirt threw me. I'm so used to seeing you in a suit and tie when you're on TV that it didn't even register why you looked familiar."

"You're on TV?" Penny muttered. "I've never seen you in a suit and tie."

"Sure you have." I replied. "Several times, in fact. It just didn't register with you because you have a certain opinion of me because of how I dress. It never dawned on you that I was right in front of you in a business suit."

"You look great both ways!" Marcy piped up. "I used to watch you every Thursday night, back when you were on COPD."

"What the hell is COPD?" Penny inquired in an exasperated tone.

"Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease." I responded with a straight face. "Haven't you seen the TV commercials?"

"I know that!" she burst out. "I meant, what she's talking about?"

"City of Orleans PD." Marcy explained. "He was great! I used to stay up on school nights to watch it."

Penny looked confused.

"I thought you said you were a deputy sheriff." she said. "Am I missing something again?"

"You are and I am. I just portrayed a big city detective when I played a cop on TV." I replied. "I was on the show for several seasons."

"You mean you're an actor too?" she asked in a flustered tone of voice, as she threw her hands into the air. "Of course you are! I had everything else wrong, so why not mess that one up too? That's probably why you got elected to office."

"That's EXACTLY why I got elected." I confirmed. "I put my old modeling headshot on my campaign signs, and got a ton of women voters to check my name at the ballot box."

Penny stared at me for several seconds before responding.

"And I was one of them." she admitted. "It just never dawned on me that you were the same person. I just thought you had the same name. You look so different- It never dawned on me... I'm sorry, Jack."

"Well," I began, "if it makes you feel that badly, how about having dinner with me sometime to make up for it?"

"What about Marcy?" she inquired. "Isn't she yours, now?"

"Oh, I think Marcy would make a nice companion for the both of us." I said with a slight smile. "What do you think, Marcy? Do you think Penny's as beautiful as I do?"

"I think she's a very pretty lady." Marcy agreed. "I'd love to date you both."

Penny looked stunned and somewhat flustered, at the situation being offered to her. She wasn't prissy by any means, but the thought of having another woman attracted to her had simply never crossed her mind. Now that it was presenting itself, however, she was somewhat intrigued by it. Still, she would have to think about the whole thing. A lot. Most likely over a glass of vodka or something. Maybe a whole bottle, before she had the courage to try it.

"I-I'll have to get back to you on that." she stammered, as she rose to her feet.

"Please do." I responded, as I opened my wallet and handed her one of my business cards. "I'd love to know what Sara was talking about."

"Be careful what you wish for." Penny cautioned. "You might not like what you see."

"I've liked what I've seen ever since the first time I saw you in the bank." I stated. "Call me if you want a good prime rib dinner with the bone in. It's a BIG bone, too."

With that, I motioned for Marcy to join me.

"Come on, I'll give you a ride home." I offered.

"I live with Sara." she replied.

"Then I'll give you a ride to your new home." I said cheerfully, as I looked back at Penny and made a phone sign with my thumb and little finger. "I'll take you back sometime when you know she's not going to be home. You can pack your stuff and move in with me if you want."