Purple Panties

“For real!” I sucked my teeth in disgust.

She nodded her head toward the sex gear. “So, why are you checking out the strap-ons? You thinking about switching teams?”

“Not hardly,” I

tossed back. “Unlike you, I am not confused about my sexuality. I’m straight as an arrow—one hundred percent, heterosexual,” I asserted, fired up and mad as hell.

Paying no attention to my angry words and tone, the dyke chick’s eyes roamed my body. It creeped me out when her roving gaze settled on my breasts. Silently admonishing myself for wearing such a low-cut top, I folded my arms across my chest to shield my innocent twins from her perverted stare.

“Oh, excuse me, was I staring?” She shook her head as if to break the captivating spell my extra-large boobies seemed to have on her.

I dropped my arms, prepared to leave the vicinity of the dyke and the triple X-rated sex toys.

“Yo, are they real?” There was amusement in her voice as her eyes again zoomed in on my deep cleavage.

“Of course, they’re real.” I rolled my eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business.” Finished with the vile chitchat, I gave her my back and took a few steps in the opposite direction. Suddenly, I heard the sound of a package being torn open.

“Yo, hot chocolate,” she called out, referring to my dark-brown complexion.

My gut reaction was to ignore her and swiftly rejoin my friends, but curiosity got the best of me. I refused to acknowledge to myself that it was she who intrigued me. Brushing the thought aside, I stopped and slowly turned around.

“What do you think about this one? Big enough?” At her groin, she’d placed a replica of an erect penis. It had the fullness, shape, and appearance of the real thing.

It was vulgar, a revolting contradiction—a chick with a dick. Blatantly disrespectful, the virile-looking young woman caressed the length of the heavily veined shaft. The gender dichotomy had my mind spinning. The imagery was surreal.

And intriguing.

I felt a quick rush of uncomfortable heat. I wanted to whisk myself away from the tawdry aisle of dangling fake appendages. It was time to end this lurid interlude, but my feet refused to move.

In the distance, I could hear Astra’s and Lanie’s excited, slurred voices as they undoubtedly stumbled upon another provocative conversation piece. They were too sloshed and too caught up in the marvels inside the South Street sex shop to concern themselves with my whereabouts.

“Think you can you handle this?” The dyke chick used her thumb and forefinger to fondle the mushroom-capped head. Her behavior was lewd; her words were coarse and lustful, bringing me to my senses.

Then she smiled at me, disarming me with the appearance of a dimple in her left cheek. That dimple, so non-threatening, so adorable, came from out of the blue. The charming indentation in her cheek threw me off balance, skewed my sensibility, and caused me to inadvertently take notice of her smooth, flawless, ginger-colored skin. To be honest, she wasn’t as tough-looking as I’d first thought.

In fact, she was really cute with perfectly arched brows, and almond-shaped, brown eyes that sparkled with sexual mischief as they once again glanced downward and penetrated the satin fabric of my black bra. In an instant, my nipples hardened against my will.

Whoa! This woman was a predator. She sensed my emotional quandary and smelled fear.

Astra and Lanie were a few aisles over; I could hear them giggling at some outlandish discovery, but instead of rushing to rejoin my friends, instead of returning to the safety of the real world where wounded women assumed stiff upper lips, and banded together to celebrate the overthrowing of yet another mistake-of-a mate, I stood transfixed in a surreal space, disturbingly mesmerized by a masculine female.

She cradled her hairless chin between her thumb and forefinger, stroked it thoughtfully, clearly realizing that I was experiencing a bout of sexual confusion and the ball was now in her court. Then, with the aggressive posturing of a man who is confident that he can have whatever he wants, she took a few steps toward me. “My name is Tristan.”

“Nina,” I replied, eyes downcast, nervously brushing back wayward strands of hair.

Her eyes darted to my voluptuous behind. “You’re sexy, Nina. You know I wanna tap that ass, right? And yo, I can’t wait to wrap my lips around that big chocolate mound,” she replied with a wink.

Without warning, completely unexpected, I felt an outpouring of liquid heat, saturated the thick thatch of hair that curled near the lips of my womanhood. My cheeks felt hot and flushed, they would have been blazing red if it weren’t for my deep-brown skin tone, which concealed my embarrassing and unexpected arousal.

Wearing a satisfied smile, she stuffed the strap-on inside the box and returned it to the shelf. Her swagger, her demeanor was masculine. That cute dimple and something else that was hard to identify gave her softness. The intermingling of male and female energy was surprisingly sensual.

“Come here.” Tristan moistened her lips as if preparing to kiss me. I hesitated. “Get over here, girl. I won’t bite you.”

As if hypnotized, I took a few steps toward her. The moment I got within reach, she wrapped her arms around my waist. Her hands briefly rested on the cheeks of my buttocks and then began a gentle, circular massage, causing the liquid heat to increase between my thighs, as her fingers trailed down the crack of my fabric-covered ass. Caught up in the pleasure of her forbidden touch, an anguished moan escaped my lips.

Her lips brushed my neck. She inhaled my scent. “Mmm. You smell good. Whatchu wearing?”

“Um….” My mind was mush, hell if I knew.