Selena loved cool fall evenings without a hair-disturbing breeze perfect weather for donning a warm and fuzzy sweater. She picked the pink one, she recently bought at a thrift store . because it was a size too small. Fashion’s winter weaponry could be just as devastating as short shorts and a halter top. She examined herself in the mirror, starting at the floor and working her way up. Nice feet, well proportioned. In the summer, she was fond of sandals and holographic nail polish that shimmered with rainbow colors on each of her toes. Her tight, denim jeans highlighted long legs that tapered up to perfect thighs and hips that showed her femininity without flaunting it. She twisted at the waist, pleased with the firm swells of her rear. Fifteen miles a week on the treadmill were doing their job.
Her waist was still thin, her stomach tight. And here she couldn’t help but smile came her perfect tits. She gave them a little bounce, admiring the way they filled out her sweater, free of constricting undergarments. There would be some boys becoming men, and vice versa, on the way to her appointment.
This didn’t offend her, even from those who stared with frank lust at her carefully presented lushness. It was the ones who seemed to do the mental math trying to figure out how many beers they would need before sleeping with her that bothered Selena . Not that she blamed them, or even ruled them out as potential lovers. Of the five men she’d slept with, three had alcohol on their breath. Two others had been too drunk to do more than fumble blindly.
She ran the comb through her thick bangs once more, delighting in the lustrous shine that came from constant conditioning and hundreds of brush strokes every day. She kept her hair long to accentuate her graceful neck. She hated to admit it, but she looked as good as she ever would.
She fastened all three locks on the apartment’s front door and scanned her surroundings. It wasn’t the worst neighborhood, but the garbage in the street and weathered buildings showed it wasn’t the best. Mainly wage slaves who resisted sliding into sorrow and took a modicum of pride in their property, even if it was rented.
“Sel” Her roommate Rosita appeared, almost flying up the steps. She was a maniacally happy, lifelong cheerleader, and regular user of home-cooked exuberants. In school she studied dance as a minor and football players as her major. “Where you bouncing, all tramped out? You going on a first time interface with some hapless man-child?”
SeLena no intention of telling her the truth, no matter how close a friend she might be. They both came from the same border town, and they were both the first in their families’ histories to go to college. Tonight’s errand would be a secret for one, and only one. SeLena even hoped that in time she might forget and make it a secret for none. If it weren’t for the money…
“Yeah, I’m starbucking it with a one-Ram mind. He doesn’t know that all we’re doing is studying for the Genetic Fabrication midterm.”
The lie placated her roomie, who stared blissfully at the moths fluttering in the porch light as dusk turned to dark, tapping her left foot and humming a pop tune under her breath.
“Don’t stand out here for too long or the weirdo in 7C will come out and bother you,” selena said.
Rosita snapped back to life. “I found this absolutely amazing new lipstick you simply have to try.” She introduced a little head bob to match her bouncing foot.
“You know I don’t wear makeup,” she said, peeved.
“Yeah. Why is that?” Rosita started hand jiving against both thighs. The drugs had obviously destroyed her perception, but Selena still felt a sharp anger in her chest.
“I don’t want to talk about my cosmetics right now,” she said.
Rosita wasn’t listening anymore; she danced to a song only she could hear. Selena shrugged and went down the stairs. Her friend was trapped by her own circumstances, including accidental insensitivity.
