Gas Mask set down a clear, slim DVD case next to a stack of others. The dates were in chronological order going back seven years. Each one bore the same warm message from her company, 'Happy Birthday from your friends at Spirit Away, Inc.'
“And many more,” she said, smiling.
TRIXIE
Christopher Beck
Marty and his mother browsed the bins of bargain DVDs.
They’d come to buy him new clothes for the coming school year.
He’d worn the same clothes his second year of high school that he wore during his first and, by the gods, after plenty of pestering, he had been promised new ones.
Of course, his mom placed a short price cap (It’s not easy being a single mom of three kids, you know? My pockets aren’t overflowing with money.), but he didn’t let that bum him out, he was getting new clothes. That’s what mattered, and that’s why his junior year was going to be his best year of high school yet.
“Do we have this one, Marty?” his mom asked. She reached down into the bin, pulled out a DVD and flashed its cover at him.
“Yeah,” Marty said. “We’ve had it for a while but haven’t watched it.”
“Oh.” She tossed it on top of the pile she had already gone through.
Hey mom, Marty thought, how ‘bout we skip the DVDs this time, we don’t ever watch them all anyway, and get me another shirt instead? It was a good thought, at least to him, but it would be nothing more than that. Spoken aloud, the words would earn him a tongue trashing.
A knot formed in Marty’s side. He winced. His stomach gurgled.
“I’ve gotta go to the bathroom,” Marty said.
“Again?” asked his mom. “You went like twenty minutes ago, right before we left McDonalds.”
“Yes, again,” Marty replied. “Only it’s a number two this time, guess that’s why they call it shit-Donalds.”
“Watch your damn mouth,” his mom ordered. “And be quick about it. I don’t wanna be waiting all day for you to wipe your ass.”
Marty couldn’t hold it in much longer so he agreed. Then turned and headed for the front of the store.
“Why are you going that way?” his mom called. “There’s a bathroom back here.” She pointed at the hanging restroom sign on the other side of the electronic department.
Marty paused and looked back as his mom.
“The back bathrooms always stink,” he said. “I want to use the front one.”
“Just use this one. It’s not like you aren’t going to stink it up anyway.”
Marty sighed, turned, still holding his side, and hurried through the electronic department.
He hung a right at the layaway desk, half expecting the men’s room to be closed for cleaning, a yellow utility cart blocking the door way. He hoped not, he didn’t think he’d be able to make it to the front of the store now.
A short hall and a left turn brought Marty to a dead-end and the rest rooms. There was a piece of paper with crude writing on it taped to the door of the woman’s room claiming it was out of order; the door to men’s room door, thankfully, was closed, unblocked, and free of makeshift OOO signs.
He shoved the door opened, hurried past the urinals, none of which were currently being used, past the first two stalls and entered the last and biggest one.
The door of the stall thudded against the wall as he shouldered through it and thudded closed as he used his foot to put the toilet seat down.
He couldn’t hold it in any longer and had to skip putting a toilet seat cover down. He lowered his pants and sat, and not a moment too soon.
Five minutes later Marty emerged from the stall with a smile on his face, feeling lighter, better. He zipped and buttoned his pants as he walked to the row of sinks.
As he washed his hands, Marty looked at himself in the mirror. He wished, not for the first time, that he was taller and not so scrawny, that he was more athletic…and that he didn’t have a big ass zit sticking out of the top of his forehead. How was he ever going to get his secret crush, or any other girl for that matter, to like him looking like this? At least his bangs helped to hide his acne.
“Like that’s a big consolation,” he said, rising the soap from his hands. “You’ll be lucky if you have a girl look at you, let alone touch you, before you’re thirty. And even then you might have to pay for it.”
Marty shut the faucet off, looked down at his hands and shook the water from them. Even they were thin and unmanly, pale, with long fingers that had chewed up nails at the end of them.
Behind him one of the stall doors creaked. He looked back up at the mirror and could see the one directly behind him was opening…slowly.
The restroom, he had thought, was empty. He didn’t see anyone when he entered, nor did he hear anyone enter behind him as he took care of business. Was someone just sitting silently in the stall this whole time?
Marty watched the stall door open behind him with apprehensive curiosity. It was almost like a scene from a movie, one that probably wouldn’t end well for the person standing at the sink.
His apprehension urged him to flee; his curiosity asked him to stay. Before either one of the feelings won out, the door fully opened and what was standing on the other side made Marty’s jaw fall open.
He stared at the sight in the mirror for a moment, unblinking, then closed his eyes, shook his head slightly, and reopened them. His mind and eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, the clown was really there.
Not just a clown.
A female clown dressed in a short, dark purple dress that hung just below her crotch, clung to her midriff, and did little her hide her ample cleavage.
Black and purple knee high stockings covered her legs, black heels covered her feet. She wore a black bowtie around her neck and a small purple hat with a black flower on it on her head.
Her round face, framed by black, shoulder length hair, was painted white; her eyes were outlined in black; a purple smile, complete with dimples, was painted on her lips and cheeks. The tip of her upturned nose was purple as well. Her right hand held the door open and her left hand held a small umbrella.
Never before had Marty seen a clown out in public like this, restroom or not, let alone a female clown. Come to think of it, he couldn’t recall ever seeing a female clown, not unless you counted the pictures on the costume packages in the Halloween store.
The clown behind him braced the door with her elbow, smiled, and wiggled her fingers at him.
Marty swallowed hard. Regardless of the makeup on her face, the voluptuous clown was very attractive, and she had just given him a flirty wave.
At the sound of the restroom door opening, the clown took a step back and let the stall door fall shut. A short, overweight man came waddling in. He offered Marty a nod and stepped up to a urinal.
Marty, not wanting to look like a fool just standing before the sink, began to wash his hands again. In the mirror he watched both the fat man and the stall the clown was in.
Below the door he could see her black shoes and part of her stockings; her feet were moving slightly, as if she were doing some sort of dance.
He wondered why she was in the men’s room and hoped, once the fat man was done and gone, that she’d open the door again. Maybe she’d come all the way out, maybe she’d talk to him, maybe she’d…no, that was a silly thought.
The short fat man snorted, hocked up some phlegm and spit it in the urinal. He gave himself a few shakes, stepped from the urinal, turned as he was buttoning up his pants, and walked over to the sinks.
Marty finished washing his hands for the second time, noticed that the clown’s feet were no longer visible, and went to the hand dryer. As he took his time drying his hands he watched the man from the corner of his eye.
He also wondered if his mom was bugging out yet. He’d only been gone about ten minutes but that would mean little to her. He shrugged the thoughts of her away; he’d cross that bridge when it arrived.
The man washed his hands hastily, using onl
y water, and used his pants to dry them as he made his exit. Once the door was closed Marty left the hand dryer and went back to the sink.
This time he faced the stall itself, not the mirror. He was nervous, and even though he had just dried his hands, his palms were moist again. He wiped them on his shirt as he waited for the stall door to open again.
For a moment there was no movement, no sound, the restroom remained still, quiet, and Marty wondered if the clown was going to show herself again. Maybe she hadn’t heard the fat man leave? Or maybe she had heard someone leave the restroom, and thought it was he who had gone out?
Marty was about to announce that the other man had left when her heard one of the clown’s heels click down on the tile as she stepped off the toilet. There was another click as she brought her other foot down.
Then it was quiet again.
Marty cocked his head and looked down at the opening below the door. He wondered why she was just standing there. Perplexed, he cleared his throat in a questioning manner.
And then…nothing; there was no response from behind the door.
He desperately wanted to see her again. Why wasn’t she coming out? No one had ever flirted with Marty, and the little flirty wave the clown gave him was enough to fill him with hope.
She wasn’t flirting with you, Marty thought. She was messing with you. Why else would she be hiding out in the men’s room? To mess with people, that’s why. Maybe she gets off on it. And that’s why she won’t open the door again.
If bravery was one of Marty’s outstanding qualities he would have went over and opened the stall himself, or, at the very least, he would’ve voiced his questions. But, it wasn’t, and in the back of his head he could hear his mom cussing him.
Yeah, you’ve messed around in here long enough. Better get back before mom really gets pissed.
He turned, but before he even took a step in the direction of the exit the stall door creaked open.
All right…!
Marty turned back; his heart racing at the sight of the curvy clown. He smiled and she smiled back at him while giving him another little wave.
The clown leaned forward and peaked around the stall door.
“He’s gone,” Marty said. “And no one else came in.”
The clown looked at him, still smiling, and nodded. She pointed at him with the tip of her closed umbrella then at the wooden wedge on the floor against the wall near the door.
Marty looked at the wedge then back at the clown. She nodded again, urging him on. He nodded in return, walked over to wedge, and, using his foot, slid it under the door, tapping the end of it with the toe of his shoe.
He took hold of the handle and gave the door a few tugs. It moved a little but the wedge remained in place and prevented the door from opening. Satisfied with the result, Marty went back over to the row of sinks.
The clown watched him from the stall, once he was back in place she winked at him.
Marty blushed. He held her bright eyes for a second then pushed his hands down in his pockets and looked down at his feet. While it was strange that a female clown was flirting with him in the men’s room, he liked the attention and wanted more. He just didn’t know how to deal with it or how to respond.
The clown giggled.
Marty looked up again. He wondered if she was making fun of him and his face redden even more.
The clown stepped from the stall, let the door close behind her and leant up against it.
Her eyes took in every inch of Marty and, though it embarrassed him somewhat, he found himself trying to puff out his chest. He eyed the clown the way she eyed him but his eyes kept returning to her chest.
The clown giggled again. She looked down at her cleavage then back up at Marty. She took the tip of her pointer finger into her mouth and began to nibble on it.
Marty felt himself growing hard and tried not to look down to see if his bulge was showing. It must have been for the clown’s eyes flicked to his crotch and her smile widened.
Oh boy, Marty thought, this is really happening, and she’s not playing with me. Maybe I will get to kiss her or maybe I’ll get to see her tits. Why else would want me to block the door and stay in here with her?
“Ummm,” Marty said, feeling like something needed to be said. “You know you’re in the men’s room right?”
As soon as the last word left his mouth he mentally chastised himself for asking such a stupid question. Smooth, Marty, really smooth. And you wonder why you can’t get a girl to give you a second glance.
The clown didn’t seem to mind the question, however. She just nodded, the tip of her finger now resting in the middle of her bottom lip.
Marty felt some relief; she wasn’t going anywhere, at least not yet. He still had a chance. He wondered what her full lips would feel like on his. He hoped to find out and didn’t care if he got purple makeup on his lips in the process.
Oh, man. Wait till I tell Greg about this.
“So,” Marty said, “why are you in here?”
The clown, still smiling, put her pointer finger up against her lips and nose and shook her head.
“Don’t want to say?” Marty said.
The clown nodded.
“Okay. Can you talk?”
The clown shook her head once more.
“Umm, okay,” Marty said, for lack of a better choice of words. “Wish I knew your name.”
The clown extended her pointer finger in a wait a minute fashion, set her umbrella down, leaning it against the stall, and walked over to the sinks. She bent over the sink next to Marty, fogged the mirror with her breath and used the tip of her finger to write in it.
Marty paid no attention to what she was writing on the mirror. When she bent she the sink the hem of her short ruffled dress rose up and exposed the lower part of her shapely buttocks, and that’s where his eyes were. She didn’t appear to be wearing any panties.
A tap on his shoulder startled him. Marty looked up at the clown and was greeted by a knowing look. His face burned again. She pointed at the mirror, at the word she wrote: Trixie.
“Your name it Trixie?” Marty said.
The clown nodded.
“Fitting,” Marty said. “I like it.”
Trixie straightened up, turned, and leaned against the sink. She pointed at Marty.
“What?”
Trixie pointed at her name on the mirror and then at him.
“Oh, you want to know my name?”
Trixie nodded.
“It’s Marty.”
Marty stuck out his hand, thought he didn’t know exactly why, Trixie looked at it, giggled, then took it in hers.
The handshake only lasted a few seconds but it was long enough for Marty to feel how warm, soft, and smooth Trixie’s hand was. He didn’t want to let it go, but didn’t try to keep hold of it when she pulled away.
Trixie made a heart with her fingers.
“You like my name?” Marty said.
Trixie nodded and pointed at him once more.
“And me? You like me?”
Trixie nodded. She pointed at herself.
“Yes,” Marty said with a smile. “I like you. You’re beautiful.” He hadn’t intended on speaking the last two words but they were out before he could stop them.
Trixie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, tilted her head to down and to the side, a made her purple smile bigger.
I bet she’s blushing under that make up, Marty thought. Then the thought sunk in. Holy crap! I made a girl blush! His smile widened. I wonder how old she is. He could tell that she was considerably older than him but that didn’t keep him from wondering if she’d end up his girlfriend. She liked him; he liked her, so it was possible, right?
He was about ready to ask her when someone tried the door. The wedge held firm and the man on the other side of the door, expecting it to swing open, collided with it and cursed. Marty and Trixie both watched as the man tried the door again. It remained in place. The man cursed again, slapped the
door. They waited for him to try again but he didn’t.
“He must have left,” Marty whispered.
He tip-toed over to the door and placed his ear against it. Nothing. He remained there for a few more seconds just to be sure.
What if he complains to one of the employees and they come to see what’s up? What if mom comes looking for me? A break in thoughts then, I guess you better make your move now, shouldn’t you? She likes you, so get her number and call her later.
“The coast is clear,” Marty said. He turned to walk back to Trixie but froze in place when he saw her standing there, holding her dress up, and exposing herself to him.
For the second time in the past twenty minutes Marty’s mouth fell open. And he had to remind himself to breath. His eyes focused the shaved mound between Trixie’s legs.
It wasn’t the first time he’d seen a vagina, he and Greg had a stack of various adult magazines in their hideout that they paged through and masturbated to, but this was different, this was not a picture, this was live and in front of him.
Trixie giggled. She turned around, pulled up the back of her dress and wiggled her ass at Marty. She gave one of her cheeks a solid smack and her pale flesh turned red.
Marty was stunned but also turned on. He was fully erect, harder then he’d ever been, and his bulge was clearly visible, not that it mattered any longer. His heart drummed loudly in his ears.
Greg is never going to believe this, he thought.
Trixie lowered her dress and faced Marty. She beckoned him with her finger and puckered her lips.
“You…you want me to kiss you?” Marty said.
Trixie smiled, nodded.
Marty licked his lips self-consciously. The only female he had ever kissed was his mom but that was when he was younger and they were only pecks.
Kissing Trixie was going to be different and, as much as he wanted to, as much as he had hoped earlier to do so, it frightened him. The thought of fleeing the restroom, the situation, entered his mind.
The unease must have shown on his face for Trixie’s smile turned into a frown, her eyes became sad.
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