Patchwork People XIII Lame Burger
- 3 years ago
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Patchwork People XII: Mirror, Mirror. free porn video
XII. Mirror, Mirror.
The woman framed in the glass wore a flower-print silk skirt, a white
blouse, and a light black sweater cinched tight above the waist. It was
the sixth outfit she'd considered that morning, not counting the dozen
or so she'd tried on mentally, rejecting them one after the other with a
shudder of second-guess horror before they even made it out of the
closet.
"What do you think about this? Too frumpy, right?"
Walt was sprawled on top of the bed, head propped on one hand. With the
other, he was casually navigating the internet on his laptop, searching
for discount bicycle parts. He looked up from the screen. "It's perfect,
baby. You look great."
Marcia frowned. "You say the same thing each time."
"That's because it's true each time. Really, Marsh, you'd have more to
worry about if you were trying to look bad. Stop over-thinking the
wardrobe. She's a teenager; if you're over thirty-five, you could show
up in a pair of rubber hip-waders with a fruit bowl balanced on your
head and she'd probably not notice. You're lucky if she looks up from
her cell phone every fifteen minutes to see whether or not you're still
sitting across from her."
"Well you're a big help."
Walt shrugged. "I do what I can."
Marcia stared at the image in the mirror again. Was the skirt too short
for a woman her age? Too long? Perhaps the skirt was a wrong idea
altogether. Why not just jeans? And what shoes should she wear, pumps,
sandals, flats? Marcia sighed with exasperation. Walt was right; she was
over-thinking this. She frowned. No, she wasn't over-thinking this.
First impressions were important and this was going to be Phoebe's first
impression of Marcia...as Marcia. Well, just say it: her first
impression of me as a woman. And, as everyone knew, teenagers were
brutal with appearances, brutal with everything, actually, but even more
brutal with appearances than anything else. If they deigned to notice
you at all, as Walt observed. In this case, Marcia had a feeling that
Phoebe would be scrutinizing every millimeter of her for any little
flaw, any chink in the armor. She wouldn't have far to look, Marcia
thought, looking at herself disapprovingly in the mirror.
There actually had been a fleeting moment of desperation, call it what
it really was--cowardice--when Marcia considered giving in and just
wearing a pair of chino slacks and a woman's polo-shirt. The androgynous
look, she suggested to Walt, who was actually moved enough to make his
first and only objection, vetoing the idea out of hand.
"It might make her feel more comfortable," Marcia suggested. "It would
be less of a shock, in any event."
"But it wouldn't be you. And that's the point, as I understand, isn't
it? To show her who you are now. And that's not the way you dress. It's
not who you are. What's more, it's not what makes you comfortable, and
I'd have to think that if you're uncomfortable, it's only going to
communicate itself to her, and make her that much more uncomfortable as
well. I think you should be yourself. Let the chips fall where they may.
If she doesn't accept you in a skirt or dress, she isn't likely to
accept you any more in a pair of slacks. I say go for the whole
enchilada, and let the corn chips fall where they may."
Walt was right. There was no point in going for half-measures anymore.
After all, isn't that precisely the lesson that life had patiently tried
to teach her again and again? But that didn't quiet the butterflies a-
flutter in her stomach, or loosen the screws of the imminent tension
headache that suddenly appeared in each of her temples. I can't do this,
Marcia told herself. I can't not do this, she countered. This debate
raged for the better part of the afternoon.
She checked the clock. There were still two hours before Phoebe's bus
was due to arrive at the stop downtown. It hardly seemed possible to
endure the next one-hundred-twenty minutes as fully conscious of each
passing second as she was experiencing them now; if only she could be
placed in suspended animation until it was time to go and meet Phoebe.
Marcia plopped down on the edge of the bed, still staring at the woman
in the mirror, not daring to take her eyes off the image, as if her
reflection might make a disastrous last-second wardrobe change and leave
without her wearing too much lipstick or ridiculous hat.
"I don't know why I'm putting myself through this," she sighed.
Walt reached up and stroked her back absently.
"I know everyone says I'll regret it if I don't. I tell myself the same
thing. But still, what are the chances that this won't end in a complete
disaster?"
"About one in ten," Walt said. "Maybe less."
She gave Walt a punch on his big upper arm. "Jeez thanks."
Walt chuckled. "Think about it, though. You've said it yourself. You're
a lucky girl. You're whole life has been a gamble against one-in-ten
odds. And look at how far you've come. You're riding a great run of good
fortune. Don't leave the table now. It's still too early."
"Sometimes if you stay at the table too long, you lose it all, you know.
The odds are always with the house."
Walt closed out of whatever he was looking at on the laptop and slapped
the lid down. "I won't let you lose it all. I promise. If I see you
risking too much, I'll stop you. Count on it."
"I don't want to lose what I've got. I don't want to lose you."
"You won't lose me, silly girl. Not even with the worst luck in the
world."
He pulled her down onto the bed, gathered her into his arms, and buried
her face into his chest. She didn't object to the way he was wrinkling
her outfit. There were times to worry about ruffled clothing; this
wasn't one of them. Walt kissed the top of her head.
"Stop worrying so much about everything," he breathed into her hair.
"There's nothing to worry about. Things have a way of working themselves
out."
He was wrong about that. There was a lot to worry about; there always
was. And things didn't always work themselves out. But she didn't
object. In his arms, Marcia could almost believe the impossible because
so many impossible things had already happened in the enchanted circle
of his arms. She could almost believe that it really would all turn out
right in the end.
* * * * *
Author note: I plan to publish "Patchwork People" in its entirety in
weekly installments here on Fictionmania. In the meantime, the complete
novel is currently available as an Amazon Kindle ebook for $2.99.
For more of my writings, drawings, erotica, and photos please visit my
blog Sissypop!
sissyforlife(dot)blogspot(dot)com.
Geraldine
- 24.06.2022
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