The kind of woman i want to fuck

I have never really been attracted to women. However, my new Alison mosshart obsession has me thinking more and more about what it would be like to be with a woman. I only met one woman in real life I truly wanted to fuck. I will write a fictional story about doing it. Usually I write the truth behind the fiction after I write erotica. This time it has to come first. I have to tell you about bobbi.

I spent nearly ten years working at different dry cleaners. If you are ever curious about what happens at the cleaners just ask. It is hard work when you are at the plant. Most cleaners have ‘drop stores.’ That’s where people pick up their clothes with no clue they are taken to a plant and cleaned. I have truly done every job possible at a dry cleaners. I got hired on the spot for the historic cleaners in town because the lady running the place adored my great aunt. Since I was her baby she immediately gave me a job.

I didn’t make much money but I would’ve worked there for free. In our town you couldn’t land a better job. There was one cleaners in town that was officially a historic landmark. People in my town go to church and they damn sure dry clean. Business men depended on us for pressed shirts. I swear to God I met the whole damn town. In my town we love to gossip. Everybody knows all your business. I was a quick learner and a perfectionist. I sound sweet and customers loved me.

I got the nickname ‘little lynn’ I may have a belly but in real life everything about me besides my tits is tiny. I worked with this amazing woman who was german and my best friend stella. Those two women would do anything for me. When we were together we never stopped talking about sex. We were fiends. Stella was shy but she has the prettiest red hair. Her husband didn’t fuck her so she cheated. Women don’t send your man to the dry cleaners. At every place I worked girls who worked were hired to be sexy and flirt. Sex sells. Men would stay there hours to talk to us.

My favorite customer was mr. solloway. He found out it was my birthday. He came back an hour later and gave me the cutest pair of orange sandals and a matching purse. He wasn’t gay. He just loved buying women things. He bought stella a cocktail dress, matching shoes and a purse. She tried it on for him then took it right back to bealls and got the money. How could she explain an evening gown to her husband? I have so many dry cleaning stories.

My favorite one about stella is when she was stuck at a drop store. Her best friend drove the van and dropped off clothes. One of her men came in and her friend Theresa told her to go in the bathroom and fuck him. She went for it. Then a customer came in. She could hear them fucking and she asked what the noise was. I love Theresa but she is no brain surgeon. She busted out with ‘we have a really bad rat problem.’ I never let stella live it down that rats got blamed for her fucking.

The problem was my boss was such a dick. He was fucking one of my co-workers and suddenly she got away with murder. I quit. To be honest I quit all the damn time. But I am so damn good at my job and the whole town loves me. So my cocksucker boss always rehired me. A new cleaners opened in town. That boss was smart and he bought a drop store my former boss abandoned. I decided to go for it. I remember getting dressed and I had a choice to make. The new owner could be a woman and I could dress like a professional. Or the new owner could be a man and I could wear one of my lowest cut tank tops.

His name was mark and he hired me before I even asked for the job. He was smart. I knew so many people in town and they would switch cleaners to follow me. Nonetheless, all the bitches at the plant hated me because he walked in and announced he just hired a girl with the greatest set of tits he ever saw. I was titty girl for a while. I hate working at drop stores. I can’t stand sitting still. I read but I still have major anxiety and feel confined.

Even though it was brilliant to keep me in plant city my boss mark made a better decision. He offered me fifty bucks a week on a gas card to drive twenty minutes and run the plant. It was so weird. He is not the kind of man you piss off. He didn’t like the girl in charge of inspecting the clothes. He made me stand in front of her and he told her I was her replacement and she was lazy and worthless. My job was to inspect each garment. I had to look for spots, broken buttons and judge the pressing.

It sounds easy until you think of thousands of clothes that you have to lift and carry over and over. There was no air conditioning. The presses run on steam from a broiler. I could press clothes over a thermometer that read 120 degrees all damn day. You had to wear shorts and we were all hot chicks he dressed in spaghetti strap tank tops. In the summer we were all soaking wet like we had entered a wet t-shirt contest.

I am shockingly strong. Every part of my body got toned. My boss was the king of sexual harassment and I loved it. If he could’ve he would’ve greeted me every day saying ‘damn I love your tits.’ Instead he did the weirdest thing. I have really nice legs. I have sexy ankles and size six feet. He greeted me every day telling me about my ankles. He could make me squirm and blush about my ankles the way some men could talking about my pussy. He would pay for me to get a pedicure if we were slow. Eventually he did tell me how much he wanted my ankles wrapped around his head. I had to scold him.

He actually pissed me off one day. He calmly said ‘lynn I need you to do me a favor.’ I said ‘sure mark, anything.’ He floored me. He busted out with I need you to walk down to publix with me and jump on the scale. My reflex was to swing on him. I was irate. He told me it was a huge compliment. He was such a manwhore. He loved my body but he knew my tits and muscle tone meant I weighed more than a lot of women. He explained he asked a lot of women their weight but he didn’t want to miss out on a chick like me because of a high number.

I told him no man would ever put me on a scale. First he offered me a free lunch. I laughed at him. Then he offered me the rest of the day off. I wanted to cry I was so tired but I still said no. Then he offered me lunch, a pedicure, a paid day off plus a hundred bucks. I said no thank you. I ran to the bathroom and bawled. But no man gets me on a scale and uses me to judge another woman.

Now you know the kind of place I worked and how hard I busted my ass. The first time I saw bobbi she was a framed photo on the wall. I called her bobbi from Iraq. The picture showed this little tiny girl in fatigues next to a Humvee. She was probably in Afghanistan. She finished her tour of duty and mark instantly rehired her. I hated her on sight. It is no joke she couldn’t weigh one hundred pounds soaking wet. She also had this attitude like she owned the place. She was shockingly pretty. I think just to tone it down she cut her hair really cute and spikey.

She may have been good in the military but she forgot how to dry clean. I never stopped bitching for mistakes bobbi from Iraq made. My closest friend there was a trip. Her story is so unique. Her name is shalini. She looks middle eastern. She basically ran everything. Her situation was fucked up. Her father was from somewhere in the middle east but her mother was from Kenya. She was brilliant and going to college to become a computer hacker. She had a problem. She was an i*****l alien and she had no choice but to work for the cleaners.

To make her story even more tragic my boss had a hot son who was an even bigger manwhore than his father. He was dating the hot nineteen year old girl who worked the counter. He had a female slave who did all his work with that he fucked every morning at three am. I nearly lost my shit one day when we were out at a bar promoting our business. The son’s name was grant and he was flirting with shalini so bad. I asked her if they ever messed around and she busted out with ‘lynn, we are married.’ He was supposed to get her green card. She laughed and said she refused to fuck him because she was scared he had an STD.

At her house one night she showed me their fake wedding pictures. It was so i*****l. Her parents sold the company to mark. He got it cheap with the promise his son would marry shalini so she didn’t get deported to Kenya. I don’t know if you know the rules but you can’t marry a woman for a green card and also be her employer. That is officially considered slavery. Shalini was stupid. She wouldn’t move in with grant. They were easy to spot as a fake marriage. She was a clean freak and he was a fucking wreck. Immigration started showing up. It was hilarious.

The seamstress worked right by the window. She was i*****l. Five other women in the back were also i*****l. The seamstress started screaming ICE one day and she got up and ran her fat ass out the door like the building was on fire. It was like a sitcom. All six i*****l bitches took off running in a s**ttered motion all headed for the woods behind Walmart. The business changed that day.

Shalini came clean about being married to grant. We stopped cleaning and stripped the place clear of anything with her name on it. I drove home and picked out a surplus of clothes and decorative girly shit. That night the whole damn staff went to grant’s house to make it look like a woman lived there. I’m so glad I didn’t fuck him. He did live in filth. I always assumed he was loaded on meth. I had the evidence when I threw away hundreds of little crank bag corners. I still loved the motherfucker. I did his damn laundry. I ragged on him for having all these Michael Jackson style white gloves. My boss started his business from scratch. He put his son in a tux made him wear white gloves and wave at customers.

That was your punishment at work. If you fucked up you had to go outside and wave. He no longer had a tux. Who knows why but his costume choices were priceless. He had a mustard costume and a ketchup costume. They weren’t labeled and people thought they were crayons. He hired an official waver named serge. He was such an alcoholic you could smell liquor on him from a mile away. One day we got the ketchup costume sucked up and ripped in the conveyer. Poor serge was stuck pretty much looking like a yellow condom. My boss was too cheap to dry clean the mustard suit. The smell of bro and booze coming from serge could make you pass out.

Back to the story. That night we cleaned grant’s whole house. Shalini would not pretend to sleep in his bedroom. We used all my excess décor to make it look like a woman’s room. Shalini was a minimalist. She had to have another woman create a female room for her. We all knew that if grant bailed on her she would be deported. Bobbi was about to go back to war. She was ready for round two. I am so not that girl that goes to clubs. Shalini had to beg me to go. Bobbi was supposed to be the designated driver so poor shalini could get hammered.

I wasn’t as pretty then. I was heavier and my hair was thin. I laughed when I saw shalini because we dressed like twins. We both had on jeans, heels and a black tank top. I was still not thrilled at an evening with cocky ass bobby. We pulled in her yard and she had the biggest rebel flag I’ve ever seen on display. I giggled. I nearly died when I saw what she was wearing. It was an insanely short black mini skirt. She had on stripper heels and a black tank top so little it looked like a bra. I wanted to kill her. I did not want to go to a club with a girl wearing less clothes than a stripper.

We stopped to get gas. That was the moment I fell in love with bobbi. We each bought a six pack. We each hammered all six beers in three minutes or less and I knew I met a chick I would fuck. She knew I could party and her attitude dropped. She started telling us about hot dudes she fucked in Iraq. She had a thing for Spanish men so we went to a club that had a floor for white people, Spanish people and black people. She was by far the hottest chick in the club. It was her body.

You have to realize they don’t give free passes to petite chicks in the military. She went to boot camp. She carried the equipment. She did the obstacle courses. She was more comfortable with a gun than a pencil. Her tour in Afghanistan was no day at the park. She had combat stories and unlike my dad in Vietnam she had to fire her fucking gun. I remember one day at work she was telling a combat story and most things don’t bother me. I should’ve listened. I went to the bathroom. To me there was just something wrong with this tiny girl explaining Humvees and bombs.

It hit me she sucked at dry cleaning because mentally she was still in combat. Now let me tell you about her body and the way to drive any man insane. I can’t pull it off. I am too weak for warfare. I don’t know one gun from another. Across her back was the sexiest fucking tattoo I have ever seen. It wasn’t two rifles crossed. Whatever guns she decorated her body with were sniper rifles only someone in the military could appreciate. No wonder she was basically wearing a bra. She wanted men to know she was legit military. To make it even hotter she had a grenade on each hip bone.

Furlough and deportation do things to women. Men were after bobbi so hard she offered to dance with them only if they bought all three of us a drink. Damn that girl could move. She feared death, she faced death, she danced like it was life or death. It was hilarious. Michael Jackson had just died and they were playing a tribute for him. Bobbi walked up to the DJ told him Michael Jackson was a p*******e and he needed to play music she could dance to. He obeyed her orders.

I don’t dance. I have no rhythm. Bobbi was determined to teach me. We grinded all over each other and it was the farthest I’ve gone with a chick and I was fucking horny. As soon as we finished a drink she walked up to any man at the bar and said ‘we can dance if you buy me and my two friends a drink’ no man refused that offer. I had a boyfriend who treated me like shit. I’m normally a very faithful partner. Not that night.

My boyfriend was such a huge racist. I had loved him since high school but his racism was a bigger flaw to me than his alcoholism. I do adore black men. I was drunk and I went on a make out rampage. Bobbi and shalini laughed their asses off. I don’t dance but I damn sure kiss and grind. I played with a boy five minutes. I got bored. I went up or down a floor and found a new boy to kiss. I just found bobbi when I needed a new drink.

She asked me how many men I kissed and I told her I was too drunk to count. She adored me at that point. Then I found my next victim. Finally the club closed and we were the three drunkest girls on the planet. We were way too drunk to find the car. We were all barefoot carrying our heels. Some cute black boy offered to drive us around the parking garage. He was the last boy I kissed. He asked to see my tits and I flashed him and said ‘thank you baby.’

I know shalini worked a goddamn miracle driving us home. If I ever had to trust another drunk driver she would be my choice. We were the perfect threesome because we could all handle our liquor. I passed out at shalini’s. I rarely drink. I have this issue. I think I am perfectly fine the next morning. I don’t run for the toilet. I don’t have a headache. I say goodbye and as soon as I start my goddamn car motion sickness sets in. I puke in cars.

Friends know when they go on vacation that I totally collect airplane puke bags. I can’t explain it. My worst incident was when I had one shot of frangelica and vegan tofu salad. I am tofu intolerant. I was fine and on my way to a dick dale concert with my best friend and her husband. He took a turn too fast and I couldn’t tell him to stop. I panicked. It was a brand new car. I grabbed his hat and puked in it as they screamed bloody murder. That incident I had to go in a gas station bathroom covered in puke and stand there in my panties washing my pants. I still went to the concert and it was epic. I still think he hates me for puking tofu in his favorite hat.

On the drive home from shalini’s the nausea started on the interstate and I couldn’t pull over. I puked in my purse. Grant had to choose between risking ten years in jail or a fifty thousand dollar fine to prove he was married. Shalini stuck with her story. It was true. They were married. They were in love. He could’ve pulled it off but he was chicken shit. They gave him a chance to walk away and he took it. Shalini was heartbroken. Money was exchanged for that marriage and it was stolen. The last time I talked to her she was stuck working i*****lly at a cleaners despite her incredible education.

There is no hope for her in Kenya. She doesn’t even have family there. With all my heart I hope she found a nice boy to marry her so she doesn’t get stuck in Africa. I don’t know what happened to bobbi. I never met another woman with that much power. Sometimes when I think my life is rough I imagine that tiny girl carrying all that gear and facing death. She is my idol. I bet no one thought she could make it through boot camp. She pulled it off. I don’t support the war we’ve been fighting. Girls like bobbi don’t belong in Afghanistan when we can’t fix our own damn country. She joined the military because she is a fighter. She didn’t want to be pretty. She wanted to be a woman who fights for her country. She wants respect for what she has done and not for what she looks like. That’s the kind of woman I want to fuck.