The Size Anthology

by KT Morrison

  Jess had never dirty talked him so well as last night, something really got into her. The things she said to him drove him crazy. He had a fitful sleep, tossing and thinking. He dreamed he had watched it happen, watched another man take his wife in front of him.

  Had she really done it this time? The last time they got this close she’d come home and told him a similar story. A different guy that time. A co-worker, some teacher at another school who she met at a conference. She liked to pretend they were going to fuck. She went out one night and when she came back late in the evening she’d told him a similar tale. They went out for drinks, she came on to him, he took her out back, he had a really big cock, he fucked her in the van, it felt so good, Pete. But when he went to the car in the morning, he could see the child seat still strapped in, her work bag undisturbed on the bench. It was a tall tale. She told him that story to turn him on. He knew it turned her on too. She enjoyed the telling. She had an orgasm that made her scream that night after she relived this imaginary encounter to him while they made love.

  Pete stood in their driveway with his keys in his hand looking into his wife’s minivan. Did she dress up for a date, leave Pete in torment sitting and imagining? Did she go out and see a movie then eat at a drive-thru like last time? Sit in a parking lot and look at her watch waiting to come home and humiliate him with her fantasy? Jess was a little too shy to do the things she fantasized about. He saw the car seat had been taken out and thrown to the bench behind. That was a nice touch, Jess. The bench had been cleared in a hurry, items knocked into the footwell.

  Did she sleep with Tyler last night? She might have. He hoped she didn’t. Not Tyler. At least she remembered to dress the stage this time. Make it seem authentic. One day she would do it for real. One day this wouldn’t be a fantasy anymore. He wanted it. He wanted it for himself of course, but he wanted her to have it. Knew she wanted it, needed it. He couldn’t give her what she needed, and he desperately wanted her to have it. He wanted her to be satisfied because he loved her.

  He stepped to the driver side of his old Buick and that’s when he noticed her panties. He wasn’t sure at first what he was seeing so he went closer. Standing at the rear of the van he could see into the very back and draped over the bench, stuck to the rough velour was a pair of panties. He saw the frilled edge of her soft pink pair that she wore on special occasions. Her dress panties he called them. They were crumpled and hanging from the grey bench as if tossed in passion. Very good work, Jess, he thought. Unless...

  He could picture it like he was standing in this spot next to the van last night. Standing, peering in, while Tyler fucked his wife. Standing in the cold and the dark, the windows of the van lit up by the logo of the bar and his own aghast reflection. He pictured her moving in the dark of the van, Tyler’s muscular body over hers, pulling her panties down and tossing them to the back of the van. She would put her head back and look into Pete’s eyes while that stud pierced her and made her his woman.

  He unlocked the van with his fob and climbed into the back. He picked up his wife’s panties and held them in his fist, felt the soft, satiny fabric running under his thumb. He looked around before risking giving them a little sniff. He put them in his pocket and sat for a moment in the quiet space of the cabin. Did she put her bare feet up on the roof as he fucked her? He looked up but there were no marks. He didn’t really think there would be.

  He sighed into the space, felt its energy. Imaginary or not, this little bench seat figured into every one of his hotwife fantasies and it seemed to figure into Jess’ too. She may even have really been fucked by another man right where he was sitting.

  He shrugged and exhaled, felt a dreadful tremble in his belly. He better get to work.

  3

  Imaginary Fling

  Friday, August 26th

  “Hey, Mr. Mapplethorpe,” Rodrigo said with a big smile, looking up at Pete as he walked behind his push-cart filled with flattened cardboard headed for recycling.

  “Morning, Rodrigo,” he said as he passed him. Pete had seen him through the big, front windows of the Save-Mart as he’d walked up from the back of the parking lot. Talking to Rosalita, leaning on a clothing rack, giving her some sweet talk while she flirted back. At least she kept pricing, kept working. Now, here Rodrigo was, oh-so-surprised to see Pete (like he hadn’t seen him coming) hard at work with his recycling.

  At least he made the effort to look busy. Pete ran a tight ship here. Rodrigo knew enough not to be caught half-assing it when Pete was around. This Save-Mart was first in the region. Square footage wise it was number one in the state, out-performing some of the other stores in the more populated urban areas when you accounted for size.

  Pete got up to the second floor, into admin, said hello to all his staff up there. Closed the door to his office behind him—PETE MAPPLETHORPE, MANAGER in white Arial font on a black plastic rectangle stuck on it with two-sided tape. Pete got right to work. Busted out all his reports he’d finished before closing last night, double checked them once again, spent an hour verifying his work, then sent that off to Corporate. Quiet digital swoosh letting him know his mail was on its way.

  He had a lot to prepare for next quarter, goals he wanted to set and notes he wanted to make for his weekly staff meeting tomorrow morning. It was a quarter after eleven, so he went out and grabbed a coffee from the lounge—take a break, cleanse the palate before he started new work. He sat back in the vinyl office chair, swivelling around with his heels planted in the durable carpet. His hand worked the mouse, getting him to eBay.

  Shit, there it was. One hour left and this beauty would be his. A 1980 Lionel Loco 726 Steamer. The Berkshire. Not the best condition, listed as C–6. Probably a C-7. Pete couldn’t afford a mint one. Wouldn’t pay that price.

  His $95 bid was intact. He wanted this train. Came in the original box, from the year he was born. He remembered that old packaging, seeing it in the shops when his dad would take him around the hobby stores when he was a kid. Sunday mornings when his brother was in chemo, his dad would take him through the mall out by the hospital.

  The cow catcher was kind of beat up and wasn’t attached but he could fix that. The lights worked on it and the horn too. And it ran, even in reverse. A few cosmetic touch-ups were all it would take. He shut the browser down, didn’t want to jinx it—staring at it while it was counting down was a sure fire way to bring out adversaries.

  Pete was out on the sales floor when Julio caught up with him, said, “Hey, boss, we have a situation.”

  Pete just came out here to be away from the countdown on his train. He couldn’t afford another bid anyway. Wouldn’t afford it. He wanted to resist all temptation. Now Julio had roped him into a ‘situation’.

  “We got two little ladies here walking off with a lot of cosmetics.”

  “Which ones?” He said. Julio was about the best guy you could ask for in Loss Prevention. He was excited by the job and he took pride in his skills. He never half-assed it.

  “Two hotties over there,” he said, pointing at two teen girls cutting through Household like they didn’t have a care in the world. Two cool customers.

  “Don’t call them hotties, Julio.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “You sure?” They looked like a couple of rich kids. Shouldn’t even be in a Save-Mart.

  “Positive,” he said, pulling down the lower lid of his right eye, which Pete took to mean Julio saw it happen.

  “All right, why you telling me?”

  “Could use your help, they look like the type to split up, make it hard for me. I’m here alone today.”

  “I got it, I got it. What did they take?”

  “Five lipstick. Seventy-five dollars. Maybellines.”

  “Shit, okay, okay, you cover that front door, I’ll go to the east side.”

  “Cool, chief.”

  Pete fucking hated this. Why the fuck did he get roped into it? This kind of confrontation was his nightmare. If he could just find an
other staff, send them off to do this. Goddamnit, his heart was racing. He looked over his shoulder, Julio nodded to him, his head bobbing along over an aisle of laundry detergent.

  Fuck, there was no one else. No one to signal over and take this away from him. He walked on reluctantly, but he was looking around for the girls.

  Fucking shit, here they were. Targets approaching. They’d headed to the front, that’s why he sent Julio that way, but maybe they pegged him for Loss Prevention and started for this east door.

  His blood pounded in his neck, beating on his ear drums as he walked towards them. Couple of alpha princesses. Both tall and thin, deathly beautiful, painted lips, long legs in skinny jeans, a sliver of bare belly above the waist bands, expensive shoes, LeBrons or Jordans or whatever. Medusas who instead of turning him into stone they turned him into the 16-year-old loser he was in high school. If he said shit to them right now he knew his voice would squeak.

  They saw him coming, locked this old, balding creep with their hardiest bitch faces. He could feel everything shrinking up in his underwear, tightening, retracting.

  They got closer and closer, they were going to pass each other in just a moment. He had to say something.

  “Huh-hey…duh-do you know what time it is?”

  “Do you know what time it is?” one said, scowling at him.

  “Fuh-fuh-fuck off,” the other one said and that made the first one cackle. Throw her head back and laugh at her friend’s cruelty. They bumped their shoulders together in camaraderie, still walking, never even broke their stride. That was it, then they were gone. Couple of sixteen year old bitches who saw right through him, saw him for what he was.

  Julio caught up with him at the cosmetics counter a couple of minutes later. Pete was handing cash over to Wanda at the checkout.

  “Hey, Mr. Mapplethorpe, what happened?”

  “Huh?”

  “Did you get them?”

  “Yeah. They freaked out, gave me cash. I let them go.”

  “You let them go? We’re supposed to—”

  “I know, I know. I felt bad for them. They were shaking.”

  “They bought all five?”

  “Gave me enough cash to cover. I got them before they were out of the store, so technically they hadn’t stolen them yet...”

  “Still…couple of rich girls ought to learn a lesson.”

  “I know but I didn’t have the heart.”

  “All right, Mr. Mapplethorpe, they should be glad was you then, it was me got them…” He lightly punched one fist into his open palm.

  “You’re doing a good job, Julio. We came out all right here,” he said to him as Julio got himself back to surveillance.

  So old Petey was going to take the L on this one. No win for Sad Sack today. Seventy-five dollars plus tax out of pocket. He hoped to God he didn’t win that auction now.

  He hustled back to his office and closed himself in. Why the fuck did he go out on the floor? He had plenty to do in here.

  He refreshed his browser. Well, Daryl1979, you just saved my bacon. He was outbid by five dollars. Normally he would think Daryl was an asshole but today he was Pete’s best friend.

  Jess checked to make sure the bathroom door was locked. Twisted the worn, brass knob for a third time. Yes, Jess, it’s still locked. If one of the boys walked in she’d be mortified, so there was no harm in being careful. Come on Jess, bedroom door locked and bathroom door locked.

  Another late August teacher bash tonight. Faculty and family getting together one more time before it was back to school for them all. Familiar faces, friends, and who else? Well, you just never know. Her muscular stud might turn up. She hoped he would.

  She moved her stool over to the door and sat on it, put her back up against the hollow-core door. Just in case. The water in the shower was running to drown out any noises that might lead to someone asking through the door what she was doing in there. Water running cold, she wasn’t going to waste hot water.

  The hard plastic seat on the stool was cold on her flattened cheeks. She pulled her towel off the rack and draped it over the stool she usually used to sit and put her makeup on.

  Finally satisfied, she could begin. She arranged the tools she’d need on the formica vanity. A brand new pink lady razor fresh from the cell pack, six for $4.99, a bowl she brought from the kitchen and filled with very hot water, a can of shaving gel, cocoa butter, and a hand mirror she’d wiped spotless with a facecloth.

  There was only two weeks worth of stubble down there. But it had to go. You never know...

  Thirty-five years old and she’d never shaved her lady parts until two weeks ago. That was the first time. Surprised her what a thrill she got from it. Her girl bits had tingled like crazy, put butterflies in her tummy.

  A blast from the shaving gel can gave up a pleasant blueberry-pomegranate breeze. She hunched over and looked at her little lady. She definitely needed a trim.

  The gel went on smooth as silk, turned to frosting under her fingers. She inhaled and closed her eyes at the touch of her own hand. She was a live wire. She worked it in, let herself have two little swipes up the middle that got her heart beating. Just two though, she wanted to keep herself on edge tonight.

  She hunched over and wiped her hands on the towel. Her butt cheeks were mashed flat on the stool. She didn’t have a fat ass did she? She didn’t think she did. It looked real good in clothes, she caught people looking. Maybe it was just an unflattering angle. Her skin was still perfectly smooth, and there was not a trace of cellulite. She had a great, healthy ass. She would double check when she stood up, and made a mental note not to spread her legs on a stool in front of any guys. You know, should that ever come up.

  The hot, wet blade felt so good sliding across her mound, leaving a bald, shining path through the foam. After each careful, slow swipe she’d wash the blade in the hot bowl. Keeping it clean but also getting it nice and wet and warm to give her that little thrill as she passed it over her skin. Scratch, scratch—she went over herself until the blade was silent, until it passed over her soft, wet, mound without a sound.

  The bowl she’d brought to shave with was one of the deep ones that had a handle on it like a huge teacup. They usually used it for pasta night—kept the mess down with the kids, since they always wanted spaghetti. Thumb hooked through the handle, resting it in her lap, while her free hand used the hot water to wipe her bald, little thing clean. Patted herself dry with the towel and then brought the hand mirror down to give herself a good inspection. Everything looked smooth as silk down there, no little nicks, or red skin or anything. Just smooth and ready. The cocoa butter went on like velvet, almost feeling too good. She had to bring her thighs together at one point. Clamped them together on her hand to stop herself from going too far.

  This endeavour with Pete, and these last few weeks, had turned her into a horny little teenager again. She hadn’t felt so alive between her legs since—gosh, when? University, probably.

  Jess packed her things up, put away her blade and gel, rinsed the pasta bowl in the sink and left it where she wouldn’t forget to return it to the kitchen. She cranked the shower lever to the right for the hot and stood naked in the narrow master bath, one hand under the stream waiting for it to come to temperature. She let her mind wander to all sorts of dirty places.

  “Did you get your train, Dad?”

  “No, Petey. I didn’t.”

  “Aw, that’s too bad.” He came to Pete and stood looking up at him while he worked away. “There’ll be other trains.”

  “You’re right, kid. Come on, sit up here.”

  Pete was on his stool at the command centre of the 1957 Calumet Bay Rail Road. A twenty-one foot by thirty-two foot exacting recreation of the old steam line that went through Calumet Bay. Done in O Scale, started by his Dad, finished by Pete. Although he’d never really be finished. There was always something left to tweak, something to be fixed or to be made better. He would never be done.

  Fifty-seven was t
he last year Calumet Bay ran steam. His dad loved the steam trains. Calumet Bay Rail Road chartered in 1835 and his dad could have told you everything about every train they ever ran. His dad grew up in Calumet Bay and so did Pete. Maybe someday Petey Jr would take this over, make it his own. He’d have to show him where he grew up sometime, show him how it’s all changed. Tell him how it used to be. All the trains out there these days were boring old commuters now.

  Petey climbed up into his lap. Kid was getting heavier every day. He put his hands around his waist to keep him in place.

  Pete was dressed and ready to go to the party. Showered and shaved, clean khakis and a button up--he was just waiting on Jess. So he brought the boys down to the basement where it was cooler, and they could spend some time with the trains while they waited.

  Petey said, “Can I do...” and his open hand stretched out and hovered over the flat aluminum knob that would operate the drive of one of the trains.

  “What’s the rules down here?”

  “I know,” Petey said. Andy climbed up on to his footstool next to the table so he could be tall enough to see the trains.

  “We don’t operate the trains until we’re old enough. We don’t mess around down here, these aren’t toys though they really look like it, I know. Some of this stuff is probably pretty valuable. But soon Petey, soon. Real soon.” He hugged him, felt his disappointment. He felt stupid being hard on them over a train set but it was the same way that his father had taught him to respect the work he’d done. To be respectful in general.

  “Okay.”

  “Someday, Pete—someday this whole darn thing will be your responsibility,” he said looking over the enormous table that took up almost the entire main room of the unfinished basement.

  “I know, Dad.”

  The table spread wall to wall against one far side, partially blocked off the door to the furnace room—you had to turn sideways and squeeze past every time you needed in there. It was a man-made miniature landscape of rolling hills, trees, a little village with a general store and old pickup trucks from the forties and fifties. The train and its yard were the focus. Tracks went in and out of the switchyard and Pete and Andy loved to watch him switch tracks and back the trains up so a faster one could pass through.