sweaty breasts
She's twenty, slender, pale. She learned to exploit her sex when other girls were still figuring out which fingers to stick in it. Stripper at 18, retired now. She's white; whiter than white, like White-Out white. She has a dirty laugh and she laughs at dirty jokes.
"You wanna see something disgusting," she says, from the top of the stairs.
She was mopping upstairs, I was mopping downstairs. Those aren't euphemisms.
"Oh man, don't get your flaps out," I said.
She said 'Ha no.' Like really, it was a 'ha' laugh and then a spoken 'no'.
"It's minging," she says.
I sludged up the stairs, thinking of new dirty jokes. I don't know any new dirty jokes, really. There aren't any. All dirty jokes are old. Though time & circumstance provide them all new play areas, every day.
"Check this out," she says, pointing to her breasts. Redundantly.
"Uh-huh."
"They're all minging and that," she says.
She pulls the 'U' of her vest top down further than I'd even dared to look. I can't see her nipples. There isn't much else I care to can't see.
"I'm sweating!" she says. I remember earlier, joking, calling her lazy, saying she never got a sweat on unless it was with a doorman. Now she has a sweat on. She's proving it.
"My boobs are all sweaty! In't that mingin'?"
"Yes," I agree, "A young woman with sweat glistening breasts is well minging."
It wasn't though. It wasn't minging one bit. It wasn't the Ark of the Covenant either, though.
"You wanna see something disgusting," she says, from the top of the stairs.
She was mopping upstairs, I was mopping downstairs. Those aren't euphemisms.
"Oh man, don't get your flaps out," I said.
She said 'Ha no.' Like really, it was a 'ha' laugh and then a spoken 'no'.
"It's minging," she says.
I sludged up the stairs, thinking of new dirty jokes. I don't know any new dirty jokes, really. There aren't any. All dirty jokes are old. Though time & circumstance provide them all new play areas, every day.
"Check this out," she says, pointing to her breasts. Redundantly.
"Uh-huh."
"They're all minging and that," she says.
She pulls the 'U' of her vest top down further than I'd even dared to look. I can't see her nipples. There isn't much else I care to can't see.
"I'm sweating!" she says. I remember earlier, joking, calling her lazy, saying she never got a sweat on unless it was with a doorman. Now she has a sweat on. She's proving it.
"My boobs are all sweaty! In't that mingin'?"
"Yes," I agree, "A young woman with sweat glistening breasts is well minging."
It wasn't though. It wasn't minging one bit. It wasn't the Ark of the Covenant either, though.