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1.

Claire examined the menu like it was her first time. As usual, she flirted with other flavors and toppings. And as usual, she ended up ordering the same thing: large vanilla yogurt with hot chocolate fudge. Tried and true. Safe.

“Decisions, right?” a voice said behind her in line.

She turned around to find a handsome man with dark skin and a sly smile looking back at her. His eyelids were low, looking hardly bothered by anything at all.

“Tell me about it,” Claire said into the man’s clinging t-shirt, sheer enough to show off the contours of his chest.

“You know,” he said, “I come here all the time, and I always get the same thing…”

“Me too!” Claire said.

“But I keep thinking, ‘Maybe this time…'”

“‘…I’ll try something different,’ I know,” she said. “I mean, everything looks so good, too.”

“It does, doesn’t it,” he said.

Claire’s body warmed under his gaze. A wide smile crept across her face without her permission.

“I guess it’s hard to step out of our comfort zone,” she said, “no matter how tempted we are.”

She scanned him once, top to bottom, wondering just how and when she would get a good look from behind.

“Next!” a voice called out to Claire, breaking her trance.

The cashier was a young girl with a smooth, white face, lightly freckled. A thick cape of dark hair spilled from her uniform-issue visor.

“Hi!” Claire said (no response). “I will haaave a… large vanilla with hot chocolate…”

“What size, ma’am?”

Ma’am? Claire thought. “A… a large?” she repeated.

“We don’t have large,” the cashier said. Her name tag read “Evie” spelled out in a playful froyo font.

“You don’t have large?”

Evie rolled her eyes behind her bangs. She pointed to a chart on the wall with pictures of cups in three different sizes. “We got the ‘Gee,’ the ‘Golly,’ and the ‘Wow.'”

“Well what’s the… the largest one?” Claire asked in a hushed tone.

“The Wow is the largest, ma’am,” Evie said at full volume.

“Then gimme the Wow,” Claire snapped. She turned around and gave the handsome brother an embarrassed smile. “I usually just say ‘large,'” she told him, regretting it immediately.

“How many spoons, ma’am?” Evie asked, ringing up the order.

“Just one, please.”

The girl’s mouth dropped open. “You’re gonna eat the Wow all by yourself?” she asked, laughing. She said something else after that, but Claire was already clear across the Food Court, without her yogurt.

2.

Claire joined her best friend, Sophie, at a table near the kids’ play area. Behind the security of potted trees, they split a basket of French fries. Claire recapped the harrowing events of the Yo-Yo-Gurt.

“What a bitch,” Sophie said.

“Right?!” Claire said, furrowing her brow. “And there was this hot Black guy in line behind me. I was fucking mortified.”

“I bet,” Sophie said, picking through the basket, non-committed.

Claire continued, “It’s like, have some awareness, you know. Recognize the situation. Ugh.”

“What did you say her name was again?”

“Eve or Evie, I don’t know,” Claire said, remembering the girl’s name tag. “Something like that.”

“Evie? Like from Out of This World?”

“Like from what?”

Sophie raised her eyebrows at Claire. “Um, hello! Classic cheesy TV show from the 80s? About a girl who could freeze time just using her fingers?” She held up two fingers and wiggled them for effect.

“Nope, sorry,” Claire said. “I was the over-scheduled kid, remember. Not much time for TV.”

Sophie shook her head.

“That’s the thing,” Claire said. “Yogurt Bitch? She acted like she was so big time. But she was just…”

“What?” Sophie asked. “Just some Food Court cashier?”

“Just… a girl,” Claire said.

“Like high school?”

“Older,” Claire said, plucking a fry. “But not by much.”

“Well, then she’s probably years away from being aware of much,” Sophie said. “Remember us at that age? We had a hard enough time keeping ourselves hydrated.”

“That, and we didn’t know when to go the fuck to sleep,” Claire said. “If I could give young me a word of advice…”

“It’d be, ‘Go the fuck to sleep?'” Sophie said, giggling herself pink, nibbling on the end of a French fry.

“For starters,” Claire said.

She thought back to her college days… to the parties, kickbacks, and clubs… to the smoke and liquor, the spastic lights and heavy bass… to the countless nights that didn’t even begin until 12 in the morning… to the warehouses full of twenty-somethings sweating out their sins, waiting for the motherfuckin’ beat to drop… to the sticky walls and floors, the dark and lascivious corners… to the bathrooms that devolved into everything but by end of the night… to the bodies floating around in all states of consciousness, grasping for one another in the shadows like something out of The Wizard of Oz…

How many raves had she found through word of mouth, or random flyers stuck in her windshield, or by following trails of glow sticks scattered throughout the desert? How many casino oyna party favors had she popped? She ground her teeth just at the thought of it.

“What about you?” she asked Sophie. “Any advice for your younger self?”

Sophie shrugged, picking through the basket again. “I mean, for sure there are things I’d stop myself from doing…”

“Rock the Bells 2002…”

“‘Eat the Worm Night’ at AE?…'”

“Barn raves…” Claire said.

“Any alcohol that came in a jug…”

“Evan Fisher, junior year…”

“Evan Fisher, senior year…” Sophie conceded with a nod. “But I don’t know. Other things…?”

They sat in silence for a while, before turning their attention to the toddlers and kinders romping around the foam-padded play area.

“Oh. Mygod,” Claire said. “Look at the bebbies.”

“Look at the bebbies!” Sophie said, her eyes open wide.

The kids were exploring, peeking around corners, climbing and hanging from oversized plastic props, falling, crying, and getting back up to do it all over again. Everything was so new to them – every color, every touch, every person and thing they encountered, all their senses awakened at the same time. It’d be years before they were used to it all.

“They are so cute.”

“I know,” Sophie said in a baby voice. “I wanna just eat one of them. Just…” She held up an imaginary treat in both hands, took air bites, and made nom-nom sounds.

“Omigod, right? I know,” Claire added, munching on a treat of her own.

3.

Sophie pulled a shirt from the rack and held it up to her chest. What do you think? she asked Claire with a look, her mind already made up.

Meh. Claire replied with a glance.

Meh. Sophie agreed, hanging the shirt back up. She continued to flip through the racks, turning up her face at most of what she found.

“Oh that’s cute,” Claire said about a silk blouse that Sophie had whipped past.

“It is,” Sophie said. “For someone with… let’s just say ‘different’ dimensions.”

“Stop it,” Claire said, tapping Sophie. “You are adorable and you know it and I can’t stand you.” She pointed to a pair of jeans draped over her own arm. “These? I’m going to have to go get a drink before I try these on.”

“Um, I’m going to have to stab out my own eyes like some friggin’ Greek tragedy,” Sophie said, holding up a pair of pants of her own. “Remember on Save By the Bell, when Slater wore a trash bag and ran around the school because he needed to cut weight for the wrestling team?”

“What?” Claire said with a laugh. “No.”

“You don’t remember that?” Sophie said. “What were you doing Saturday mornings?”

Claire shrugged. “Piano? Soccer? We’ve been over this.”

“Anyway,” Sophie continued, “I was at the grocery store the other day, and I was seriously thinking, ‘OK, how big of a bag would I actually need? The biggest size, right? Because I’m a human being. But I’m also not an especially tall human being, so…”

Claire’s attention was torn away by a group of girls entering the store – four of them, straight from central casting, each with her own distinguishing feature. The one wearing hipster glasses bigger than her face raised her phone in the air, with the others gathering underneath the screen’s glow like moths.

“Waitwaitwait,” Glasses said. “Hold it… Lemme get another one.”

“Hurry up,” said the one in the sideways snapback, pursing her lips, throwing up deuces on each hand. The punky one in the pixie cut crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. The one with bangs and big-ass hoop earrings snarled and gave the camera an aggressive middle finger. She was the prettiest of the group, and knew it, too; you could tell by the way she twisted up her face for the photo – the way ugliness was, for her, ironic.

“Holy shit,” Claire said. “It’s her.”

“Which her?” Sophie asked.

“Evie,” Claire said. She scrunched up her nose, as though smelling something in the air. “Yogurt Bitch.”

She was out of her uniform, now in a pair of short shorts that showed off her muscular legs, a tight top that exposed her flat tummy whenever she moved. She had on an Army surplus jacket that seemed to distinguish her as squad leader.

“Damn,” Sophie said. “She’s cute.”

Claire sighed. “Isn’t she, though.”

After their photo shoot, the four girls retreated into their respective phones, sporadically sharing what they found in their scrolling.

“Did you see this?” Glasses asked Pixie.

“The thing Ryan posted?” Snapback asked Glasses.

“Yah,” Glasses said.

“Uhh… yah,” Snapback said.

“Omigod, yah,” Pixie said.

“I mean…” Glasses said.

“Omigod, right?” Pixie said.

“I mean…” Snapback said.

Evie snorted and shook her head. “Ryan’s a dick,” she grumbled to no one in particular.

The other three looked at one another. “Yah,” they all agreed, returning to their phones.

Claire and Sophie kept their distance, caught up in safari-like observation, careful not to disturb the environment.

Evie tossed off her jacket. It dangled carelessly from her fingertips, the canlı casino sleeve buttons clicking on the floor. Her arms were long and smooth like her legs. Her breasts stood at attention, proudly crowning at the collar of her shirt.

Claire and Sophie exchanged the same smirk, sharing the same thought: Push-up.

Evie breezed through the racks and stacks, unfolding and half-folding merchandise, presenting it before the committee for yays or nays (Luckily, they all seemed to share her taste.). Her lips were fixed into a perpetual pout, puckered and painted purple or black (Claire couldn’t tell, exactly). She slumped her shoulders in deliberate ennui, seemingly already over it (whatever it was). The others followed suit, orbiting Evie like moons as she made her way around the store.

Claire fought the urge to do the same.

4.

There were two mirrors in the fitting room, to ensure that you got a good look at yourself. Claire wriggled her way into a pair of jeans, and inhaled deeply before zipping them up. She rubbed her hands along her thighs, fusing the denim onto her legs like a decal. Standing straight, hands on her hips, her eyes fell on the most crucial target: her ass. If the jeans made her ass look good, she was prepared to buy the store’s entire supply. But if they didn’t, it was a wrap; she’d peel them off, leave them hanging on the back of the courtesy chair, and make a b-line to Mrs. Fields.

The wall shook as someone entered the next room and shut the door. Claire heard the sound of talking. She stepped toward the noise, lightly, as though she could be seen, leaned in, and pressed her ear against the adjoining wall.

There were two voices, whispering – or trying to at least. But they were arguing, too, and couldn’t help jumping into sharp, accusatory squeals.

“…Well that’s what he told me,” one said.

“Well that’s total bullshit,” the other said. “It’s so obvious.”

“Why would he lie about about that?” asked the first.

“I don’t know, Sarah,” the first said. “Because he’s a liar?”

Claire could hear the one called Sarah gasp, indignant. Her outrage was probably all over her face, Claire bet, with her mouth agape, demanding further explanation from the other girl.

“Look,” the voice that was not Sarah continued. “I told you. Ryan is a dick.”

Claire’s ears perked up. She leaned in even closer.

“Christ, Evie” Sarah said, “You’re supposed to be my friend.”

So it was her. Yogurt Bitch.

There was a pause, and Claire could feel the mood soften in the silence.

“Hey…” Evie began, followed by something Claire couldn’t make out. The girls’ voices fell below a whisper now, but she could hear them still, sense them communicating, hushed, standing close enough to breathe words into one another’s faces.

And then there were other sounds.

The muffled rustling of clothes-on-clothes.

The tinny clang of a belt buckle.

A nervous giggle.

A deep swallow of air.

A slight whimper, hesitant.

Another whimper, louder, permissive.

Which one of them is “Sarah,” Claire wondered…

She envisioned Pixie lifting Evie’s shirt over her head, pulling it off, tossing it aside… Evie snatching off her bra and Pixie inhaling her tits like the first drink of water in a long, long time…

Or maybe it was Snapback, snatching open Evie’s shorts, tearing off the button in her haste… Evie biting her lip, her face in her hands, Snapback circling the wet spot in Evie’s panties…

The wall shook again, this time from the force of a body (or two) bouncing up against it. Claire imagined Glasses naked and splayed out upright, her eyes shut… Evie with her face buried in the girl’s neck, her thigh planted firmly between her legs… the both of them writhing and rubbing against one another on the verge of starting a fire…

Whichever one was Sarah, she was a long way from the anger that brought her and Evie to the fitting room in the first place. From Claire’s side of the wall, the two were but pure sexual energy – fierce, palpable, and limitless. She could hear their hunger in their wordless voices, in their failed attempts to keep quiet (the way shushing only creates more noise), then finally in their intense, uninhibited, release – Sarah (maybe Evie, maybe both) loudly gasping for air as she made re-entry into the atmosphere.

“Fuck you,” one girl snickered. Probably Evie.

5.

Sophie knocked on the door lightly, not sure if she had the right room. “Claire?”

Claire let her in without a word.

Sophie walked in, locking the door behind her. “I got your text. Is everything OK?”

“Mmhm,” Claire said with a flat look on her face, her hands back on her hips.

“Then why… Oh my God!” Sophie gasped. “Your butt… looks great in those jeans.”

Claire’s glare melted into a smile as she reached out for Sophie with both hands.

6.

Whimpers slipped past Claire’s lips, despite her best efforts. Her breathing was quick and hard. She would need to bite her tongue soon to keep herself quiet. Sitting in the courtesy chair, she kaçak casino closed her eyes and lost herself in the shivers tapping each nerve in her body, starting between her legs and ending at her fingertips, scraping the walls; and at her toes, flexing, grabbing at air, her heels digging into the carpet. Naked, her skin prickled in arousal, set electric by Sophie’s touch.

There was a knock on the fitting room door. “H-hello?” a meek voice said from the other side. Another shopper? Or was it a clerk checking up on a complaint from someone too embarrassed to name what they thought – what they knew – they had heard (“Excuse me, but… there’s a… noise… coming from one of the rooms.”). Claire opened her eyes to make sure the door was locked. “Occupied,” she somehow managed to say, looking down at Sophie, stripped to her underwear, her blond head spinning.

Occupied, indeed.

But the owner of the voice didn’t leave immediately, no doubt waiting around to confirm her suspicions. Claire understood completely, picturing the woman with her ear to the door, her heart in her throat, looking around her with pings of guilt; is she the one doing something wrong? How badly did she want to open that door, to stand in the corner and watch with her hands in her own pants, to take off her clothes and join in? The whole thought of it turned Claire on even more as she lifted her hips and fed herself to Sophie.

On her knees, Sophie forced Claire’s legs open while she went to work, spreading Claire’s lips apart to expose her throbbing, pink clit. Sophie marked it with her tongue, tapping, sucking, tracing the inverted V of Claire’s smooth, tight hood. Then, stretching her mouth open wide, Sophie pushed her tongue inside, as deep as it would go, so that even the back of her tongue kissed the wet edges of Claire’s tight cunt.

Claire grabbed hold of the back of Sophie head. As her climax built, her legs clenched around Sophie’s face, smothering her. It soon became a battle between them, Claire shoving Sophie deeper between her thighs, Sophie struggling for air – yet, at the same time, determined to make Claire cum. In a sudden burst of power, she split Claire’s legs apart and pounded her exposed clit with her tongue.

“Fuck…” Claire grunted, her face scrunched up tight. Her hands, palms flat, slapped the wall repeatedly as she came into Sophie’s hard-working mouth. “Oh shit,” she whispered, trembling in Sophie’s grip. “Oh shit.”

When she was done, Sophie cleaned up the mess left between Claire’s legs, licking her center and the corners of her thighs. She made her way up to Claire’s chest, leaving a trail of kisses though the valley of her breasts – which tickled, and made Claire giggle in a surprisingly girly way.

She stopped at Claire’s neck, sucking, biting – hard, but not too hard (“Leave a message, not a mark,” the two used to joke.). She stood up, reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. She slipped it off and tossed it on the pile with the rest of their clothes. Her panties soon followed, rolled down her legs, curling around her ankles.

She locked her green eyes on Claire. “Fuck me,” she said, her chin wet with sweat and spit and her best friend’s cum.

Claire jumped up from the chair, grabbed Sophie’s face and kissed her, deeply, in her mouth. Sophie held onto Claire and pawed at her naked body, clawing her back, squeezing her tits, Claire’s nipples peaking between Sophie’s fingers.

Claire pulled away and wiped her face. “Sit down,” she said coolly.

Sophie complied, taking a seat in the chair, unable to hide her excitement.

Claire fell to her knees and wedged herself between Sophie’s legs, and ran her hands along Sophie’s body – from her neck, to her breasts, to her stomach, to her thighs…

The look on Sophie’s face was firm and focused.

Claire took two fingers and danced around the outside of Sophie’s sweet spot. A tease. A threat. “Yeah?” she asked.

“Y-y-es,” Sophie said, panting in anticipation.

On her cue, Claire eased her fingers though Sophie’s wet lips and felt her pussy lock.

“Yes,” Sophie said, louder this time, Claire twisting and thrusting with purpose.

“Shh…”

“Omigod…”

“Shh…”

“Mmm… Omigod…”

“Shhhh…!”

Claire’s thumb rubbed Sophie clit as she drilled, driving Sophie mad. Sophie clenched her teeth, sucking in air, her whole body tightening as she came, wildly, onto Claire’s fingers.

“Shhh,” Claire said with a giggle. She paused, removed her fingers free and presented them to Sophie, sticky and glistening.

Sophie dutifully wrapped her mouth around Claire’s fingers and gratefully licked them clean before they went right back inside of her. Repeat.

It all came back to Claire. The recklessness. The thrill. The sense of invincibility that was the cause and effect of so many unpredictable nights dusted in powder and soaked in Jim Beam… the sex in the air, emanating from everyone’s pores, fuckboys (and girls) lined up nightly with something to prove (Oh, the power she wielded as the object of erections, the arbiter of sexual prowess.). It had all been such a thirsty blur of chances taken, lines crossed, and fucks not given. Boundaries? Those were for the daywalkers. Each night Claire made it out in one piece was proof that the mayhem was worth the risk.

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