by Casey Grant
“Oh,” said Danielle, uncharacteristically subdued. “What do you think, Lena? Do you want to do it?”
“Cocktail waitress?” said Lena.
“It’s for a good cause,” said Danielle.
“Uh, girls, check out the cocktail outfits before you say that,” said a weary Meg as she reached into a bag and pulled out two tiny pieces of fabric. She tossed them on the table in front of them.
“Is this... Mylar?” said Lena holding up the weightless material.
“Probably,” said Meg. “The Casino Night fundraising package we purchased is big on realism. These outfits are replicas of the waitress outfits at “Wave” in Vegas. They’re only supposed to last one night before being discarded.”
“I can’t wear that,” said Lena.
“The fishnets will give you some coverage,” said Meg.
“No way…” said Lena.
“And there’s this too,” said Meg tossing a plastic bag with a thong and a pair of pasties inside.
“I’m not a stripper!” said Lena.
“Those are what you wear underneath. The outfit is a tad volatile.”
“Danielle, we can’t do this,” said a flustered Lena.
“Come on… it might be fun,” said Danielle lowering her voice to a whisper, “Its a good way for you to meet some guys.”
“Not like that,” Lena whispered back.
“I’m sure Shane Evans will be there,” said Danielle, smiling.
Getting to Know You
Lena got the thong and fishnet pantyhose on quickly. It was the pasties that were the problem. This was the first time (and it would be the last) she had ever worn such a thing. The pasties had adhesive in the back requiring you to get them on right the first time.
Lena took the one-inch diameter stars out of their pack and placed them over her nipples.
There.
If there were to be any wardrobe malfunctions, her honor would still be preserved.
She stepped into the body-hugging black Mylar leotard, shocked by its sheerness. Lena swore that she could see her pores through it. It had the smooth, tight sheen of a Mylar balloon and it was obvious that it could tear with little effort. “I can't wear this!” she screamed on the phone to Danielle. “Just one bump against a table and this thing is in shreds!”
“It’s just for six hours, Lena. And remember, they gave us a spare.”
“What spare? I didn’t get a spare,” said Lena.
“You didn’t get a spare?” said Danielle.
“No.”
“Oh.”
“And these heels! I’m not wearing these eff-me pumps! They’re a foot tall.”
“You’ll look gorgeous,” said Danielle patiently.
“I’m afraid of heights.”
Lena arrived at the community center, wearing a long coat and sneakers, carrying her heels in a Barney’s bag. She was ushered into a back room that was doubling as a women’s changing area.
She exchanged greetings with her fellow volunteers, some of whom she'd run into from time to time at the grocery store or at the pool. Most were wearing dealer attire— pants, blouse and a vest. Unlike Lena, they were fully clothed.
Standing in a corner of the back room Lena spied two other moms that had been saddled with cocktail duty. They were looking at themselves in a full-length mirror in their cocktail attire. Neither of them was in good shape. Both had a look of horror on their faces, unable to avert their gaze from their less than perfect bodies in the mirror. Lena knew one of the moms from Fuzzy Pals. “Hi Jean, said Lena, “So you're on cocktail duty too?”
“Uh, yes,” said Jean. “This is a train wreck. I can’t go out there like this.”
“Come on Jean,” said her friend Audrey, “Its for a good cause. If I can do it, so can you.”
Lena was feeling self-conscious now. She retreated to a back corner and hung up her coat. She slipped on the heels and was shocked to see that she was now a half a foot taller. She looked down and saw that her already long legs seemed to go on for half a mile. The outfit was strapless. It didn't just show her cleavage but most of her upper breasts.
“Hey Lena! Look at you!” said Jean excitedly. “You look great!”
“Yes, at least someone here can pull this off,” said Audrey sourly.
Lena walked over to the mirror, slowly, hobbled by the heels. She stopped in front of the full-length mirror, staring at the floor. Finally, after some seconds, she looked up. She had been transformed into some suburban siren, her straight brown hair cascading across bare, broad shoulders. Her breasts were ample and her waist and hips were in perfect proportion. She turned to her side and saw that her almost bare ass—covered only by a wisp of fishnet hosiery—hadn’t fallen during the last year of grieving. Lena was heartened that she looked good, but horrified that she had no say in what parts of her body got exposed. “I’m not doing this,” said Lena.
“If I looked like you, I wouldn’t think twice about doing this,” said Jean.
“If Jean and I can do it, you can do too,” said Audrey to Lena.
“Christ,” said a resigned Lena.
“Alright, ready?” Jean said to Audrey, taking a breath, “Let’s go.”
Jean and Audrey opened the door to main room and walked out. Lena stayed behind, getting her courage up.
Suddenly, from behind her, she heard a wolf-whistle.
“Whaaa?” Lena said as she whipped her head around to face Danielle.
“Look at you, girlfriend!” said Danielle. “You clean up good.”
Lena looked back at her petite friend, also fully costumed and in her heels. Danielle's back curved sharply outwards, giving her ass the look of a ledge. Lena had figured all along that Danielle would look perfect in her outfit, but she didn’t figure she’d look this perfect. “I almost didn’t recognize you,” said Lena.
“No, I suppose not, girlfriend. I don’t usually run around virtually naked while wearing seven inch heels.”
“Well, maybe you should,” said Lena.
“All right there, down girl. I don’t want to have to get a restraining order on you.”
“Sorry,” smiled Lena.
“Come on,” said Danielle, grabbing Lena’s hand and pulling her through the doorway.
“Hold on, not so fast,” said Lena. “I can’t walk very well.”
“Take it slow then,” said Danielle. “Believe me, being hobbled by too high of heels won’t hurt your tips.”
Danielle and Lena stepped out into the main room, now converted to a suburban gaming floor filled with roulette and blackjack tables. There was a bar at the front of the room. The guests hadn’t arrived yet but the volunteers were milling around. As Lena and Danielle entered the room the volunteers, both men and women, stopped and stared. A few of the men started applauding. “We know who’s going to be getting most of the tips tonight!” someone yelled. A horrified Lena turned to go back through the door just as Meg called out for everyone to gather around for a meeting.
Meg went through the basics (return all received cash immediately to the bar cash register and the highest bet was two hundred dollars). Lena noticed the male volunteers checking her out and doing a poor job of being subtle. Since it had been so long since she had been leered at, she naturally assumed that their gaze was directed at Danielle. But Danielle had moved several feet away and was talking on her phone, presumably to one of her boy-toys. These men were looking at Lena.
“…and remember, have fun and let’s make some money for a good cause,” concluded Meg.
“What did I miss?” said Danielle, phone in her hand.
“The highest bet that people can make is two hundred dollars and make sure that any and all cash gets back to the register immediately,” said Lena.
It was a half-hour into the evening that Lena felt her first ass pinch. As the alcohol kicked-in, the patron's inhibitions started falling away. “Excuse me!” Lena said as she twisted around with her round drink tray balanced on her palm.
&nbs
p; “Sorry, I just couldn’t resist,” said the middle-aged man, sitting next to his wife.
“I apologize for my husband,” said his wife. “He’s a pig.”
“That’s all right,” said Lena, cooling off, walking back up to the bar with her drink orders.
“Is that you, Lena?” said the bartender, Tom Davis, her neighbor from two doors down.
“It’s me,” she said handing him some cash and credit card receipts.
“You’re looking great,” said Tom.
“Thanks,” Lena smiled.
“And who’s the other cute one?” said Tom, “Oh—sorry... that didn't come out right.”
“What didn't?” said Lena.
“Implying that you were cute.”
“Oh,” said Lena.
“I was not trying to create a hostile work environment by calling you cute.”
“It’s okay, Tom,” Lena smiled, starting to feel a little better about herself.
As she walked across the room again with her drink order she was shocked by how much the crowd had grown in the last few minutes. The room was jammed and Lena had to push and slide herself through the throng, the gropes, grabs and pinches now coming in spades. Lena didn’t even try to confront the instigators, instead just yelling out “Excuse me!” as she ran the gauntlet.
Lena delivered her four drink orders. As she bent over to serve the fourth one she felt a wholesale grab of her left buttocks. “Jesus Christ,” she barked, turning around to face a drunk and very handsome Brett sitting at the blackjack table looking up at her with a smile that made her wet. “Honey, if I knew this was what you looked like under your saggy-ass clothes I would have never talked to you the way I did.”
“If that’s an apology, it’s the worst one I’ve ever heard.”
“Get me a Jack Daniels and water, gorgeous. And let everyone of your cohorts know that I want you to be my personal waitress tonight. I don’t want anyone getting me drinks but you.”
“You're already past your limit,” said Lena.
“I'm just getting started,” said Brett.
“I'm sure you wouldn't mind Danielle serving you as well.”
“Is she here tonight?” slurred Brett. “I bet she looks mighty-fine too in this here—”, he said reaching up and touching the cocktail corset material with his thumb and a forefinger, “—this here Saran-wrap you're wearing.”
“Actually, I don't think Danielle would want to have anything to do with a grabby, drunk guy whose wife is out of town either.”
Brett pulled out a hundred dollar bill and handed it to Lena. “Might this tip cover my infractions?”
“Is this yours or your wife’s?”
Brett's smile disappeared, “You may have gotten some bad information. My money comes from the sale of my contracting business to Merkal Hollings. I have a one-year non-compete clause. When the year is up in August I'm going right back into business—against my old company. How do you like that, honey?”
“Its nice to know you're not a deadbeat,” Nina said as she walked away, fuming as she headed back to the bar, walking at a steady clip now that she had finally gotten used to her towering heels. Brett was a jerk but why did it feel that jumper cables were attached to her loins when he examined her outfit? And why was her "safety" thong soaked?
She handed Tom the cash and receipts and gave him her drink order. From behind, she felt a sharp pinch. “Excuse me!” Lena yelled as she turned to face the culprit.
“Sorry, I couldn't resist.”
“Danielle!”
“I bet you're getting a lot of that tonight, huh?” said Danielle.
“Yes, and having you do it too doesn't help,” said Lena, her initial anger waning as she stared at her delicious friend. “You look like you were made for that outfit, Danielle.”
“But it wasn't made for me,” said Danielle. “I'm already starting to get some tears in the fabric,” she said cocking her hip towards Lena showing a couple of fingernail size holes with bare skin showing through. “But I do have that spare outfit, thank God.”
Lena was suddenly distracted by the wads of cash on Danielle's tray, “Danielle, are you turning tricks? What's with all that cash?”
“That's what you need to do too,” said Danielle. “All those gropes and pinches? Don't get mad, monetize them.”
“You ARE turning tricks!”
“When someone grabs your ass, tell them to pay up or threaten to have them thrown out,” said Danielle.
“Danielle!”
“Tell them 'You want a piece of my ass, pay for it.' Try it. Its for a good cause.”
Lena took her tray full of drinks and made her rounds. For the first few minutes there were no gropes, pinches or grabs—not even an unsolicited fanny pat. Lena was actually a little disappointed. Then at her fourth drink order she felt a two-handed grab-ass. She had never felt anything so blatant in her life. She twisted around like a snake, ready to confront her instigator. It was Shane Evans sitting at the roulette table.
“Shane!” said a horrified Lena.
“Oh, my God...” said Shane. “I'm so sorry, I thought you were Danielle.”
“Danielle?! I'm four inches taller than Danielle!”
“Sitting down I couldn't quite tell,” said Shane. “I'm so sorry, Lena.”
“You thought I was Danielle—wait... are you two seeing each other?”
“Well, yeah, sometimes...” said Shane.
Lena stormed off to her next order. When she next felt a pinch to her butt she confronted the middle-aged male instigator, “That's fifty bucks,” Lena said. The man didn't protest and sheepishly pulled out the cash, adding, “If I wanted to do more, how much would that be?”
“If you want a hooker, go on Craig's List,” said Lena stalking off.
Lena delivered her next drink order to an attractive brunette in her late thirties. She was wearing high-heels, yoga pants and cardigan sweater and Lena figured her as a “Cougar”. Lena hoped that she wouldn't be that desperate when she got older.
“Six dollars even,” said Lena.
“Thank you,” said the woman, handing Lena exact change. She then reached up and cupped Lena's ass, letting her hand fall down to Lena's upper thigh and squeezing.
“Uh, I really don't go that direction,” said Lena, quite simply shocked.
“I don't either. I just wanted to remember what a firm ass and firm thighs felt like.”
“I'm sure yours feels the same as mine,” said Lena.
“I'm sorry. My husband found himself a younger woman... she kind of looks like you.”
“Oh... Then that's okay... don't worry about it,” said Lena, not bothering to collect her toll this time. “Go ahead and do it again, if you want."
The woman ran her hand over Lena's nylon-encased bottom, her fingers lightly gliding over her round curves, feeling like soft kisses. It was nice sensation after being in these suicide heels for an hour and a half. Lena was feeling herself becoming relaxed and a bit drowsy.
"I don't want to put you to sleep," laughed the woman.
"Was I that obvious?" said Lena.
"I don't mind. I'm glad to offer you a break."
Lena walked back to the bar, delivering a Brett's Jack Daniels along the way. “Six-fifty, please.”
Brett smiled, “Thank you, Miss,” he said grabbing his drink.
“No inappropriate touching this time?” said Lena, almost sounding disappointed.
“What I want to do, we can't do out here,” said Brett.
Lena swallowed and felt another flood of wetness between her legs. “And what would that be, Brett?”
“Spank that luscious little ass of yours.”
“I don't do that,” said Lena.
“A five hundred dollar tip sez you do. Ten smacks, that's it. Comes out to fifty dollars a spank. I'd be feeling a bit of pride right now if I were you.”
Lena grabbed her empty tray and walked off, wanting to do it, but disgusted at how badly she wanted to.
; Continued...