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Sunday, May 15, 2011

Shopping Experience.


Nicole has gone to the megamart with the intention of purchasing shampoo, but a sale on panties causes Nicole to momentarily prioritize the care of her pubic hair over the blonde curls on her head.

The deal is five pairs for twenty dollars.

Nicole desperately needs panties for two reasons: one, she has been too lazy to do laundry for the past couple days and has been without clean underwear. Right now she wears a summer dress with no panties, but not because she is slutty, necessarily.

Two, Nicole has strategically planned on getting laid exactly a week from now. Her target likes boyshorts even more than thongs, which Nicole thinks is unusual for a man. But boyshorts make the bottom of Nicole's ass look like upside-down cleavage, so she is happy that he likes them, and is also happy boyshorts are part of the underwear sale.

Nicole browses the racks of panties. She decides to purchase smooth cotton pairs in order to contrast the laciness of her garter belt and fishnet stockings. Nicole loves fashion, and she has figured out its only secret: a combination of various textures. This makes her look expensive even if she still has to ask her parents for money from time to time.

Nicole has selected a pair of black shorts and a pair of blue ones when she feels someone tap her on the shoulder. It is an Asian man of medium height with spiked hair and wire-rim glasses.

"Hi, what are you doing?" he asks Nicole.

Nicole is holding the boyshorts in her left hand and her right hand is buried in a pile of g-strings, searching for a size six.

"I am buying underwear," she tells him.

"The reason I came over here is because I thought you looked wealthy. Are you wealthy?"

Nicole looks at the sign above the rack of panties that says "5 for $20." The panties she fantasizes about wearing someday are fifty dollars each.

"No, I am not wealthy," Nicole says.

"Well, you look wealthy. I need to find a wealthy woman because I need someone to help me support the twenty children I've fathered."

Nicole stares at the man. He is probably a few years younger than her - twenty-two or so.

"Are you...are you joking?" she says.

The man looks defeated. "Yes, I was joking. I just wanted to know if you wanted to hang out sometime."

Nicole looks up at the ceiling, which she does every time she is nervous. It makes her eyes looks bigger and sexier but she does not intend that effect.

"Sorry, I am leaving this city soon," she says.

"Oh. Well. Maybe another time."

The man walks away and Nicole is charged with anxiety. "I can't help but think they always think I'm a prostitute," she writes in her diary that night.


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