Lords & Ladies of the M'Verse: An Ooorah Anthology

Day 36 - SallyMason1's Speedos & Ecrivain Specials

Speedos & Ecrivain Specials

by SallyMason1

"Bomb."

I shield my face to escape the pelting drops of the exploding paint bomb, just catching a glimpse through the sudden thick smoke of the jerk who set it off. Oh, my, is he hot. Muscles flex as he swings himself onto the motor scooter, the speedos glued to his ass as if he was born with them. A beauty of a specimen, terrorist or not.

"Gee, my business suit is ruined." Annabelle huffs next to me, wiping some of the paint off her cheek. "Assholes. I just wished the government would finally put a stop to this. Why do I even pay taxes?"

I nod, drool still sticking to the corner of my mouth when I remember those muscles.

"And you." Daggers shoot from her eyes as her finger pokes right at her husband's nose. "Why didn't you cover me with the umbrella?"

His dorky smile meets her firing eyes. "It happened so fast—."

"Oh, shush. Excuses, excuses. I don't want to hear them." She tears a tissue from his outstretched hand with a huff. "You are worthless and will be lucky if I'm not divorcing you. Now let's go home."

I watch her stalk off, husband trotting three steps behind her, just as a good husband should. Though I can't even remember his name since she changes them like her panty hose, he seems alright. It's hard to please Annabelle.

I discard my jacket, which caught the brunt of the paint, in the next garbage disposal dumpster before shouldering my backpack. No need to be ostracized for smelling like a stinky Carano when riding public transport. My eyes rest longingly on the rickshaw where a husband paddles like there is no tomorrow to get his oversized wife home. I should get me a husband at the next auction. They come in handy, but so far, I have always shied away from one since I can't stomach the thought of sharing my mansion with anyone else. Besides, those males are expected to reproduce. I shudder at the thought of a bunch of toad vomit, even if I don't have to clean up after the little buggers.

The shuttle is stuffed to the brim of unwed women on their way home and I catch a few Carano smelling girls crouched in a corner. The evil eyes they get from the other commuters shows everyone's disapproval. You should walk if you get into a paint bomb attack. Though it's not the law, it common courtesy.

"Hey, Mia."

I spin around, not able to hide the grin. Cecille's hair is even greener than usual and her tank top can't hide the skin folds around her chest. Hot. I wonder who she is trying to impress.

"Hey. What's up, girlfriend?"

When we do the customary kissing cheek thingy, a whiff of Ecrivain Special oil flares my nostrils. She is definitely out for a lay.

"So where are you heading?" I ask.

"The club." Her eyebrows wiggle—she is unquestionable talking about one of those illegal establishments where humans go. I heard they even sell coffee. Unreal.

"Wanna come?"

I gaze down at my outfit. "Not sure."

"There's a terra shop right next to it." Her lips purse in a pout. "Come on, it will be so much fun."

I shouldn't—or should I? My voice drops to a low whisper. "Isn't that where those terrorists go?"

She glances around, meeting the scolding gaze of an older woman who is glaring at her revealing top with a scrunched up nose. "You mean guys who wear speedos?" Her voice is just as low.