Why Do My Best Stories Happen at Speedway?

I had to go to Speedway for some gasoline. While I was at it, I went inside and bought some Krispy Kremes and a frozen coke because I drown my sorrows in junk food–yay, for familial dysfunction! So I’m standing in line and there is a lady at the counter, a very attractive lady with a smoking body who appeared to be wearing a light sweater over black leggings. The sweater just skimmed her hips so the leggings were in full view and they were very tight. The man standing directly behind her had his face practically glued to her shapely booty.

She paid for her merch and headed out. At the door, standing directly in the sunlight, she stopped to put something in her purse, and my eyes almost fell out of my head. They weren’t leggings, made of cotton fabric and tight to the body, oh no.

She was wearing tights.

Sheer tights and no underpants. Standing directly in the sun.

I think I need to digress from the story for a moment and let you know something important that you should probably already understand. TIGHTS ARE NOT THE SAME AS LEGGINGS. Leggings are spandex leg coverings and are completely opaque, which means NOT SEE THROUGH. While to some, it is questionable whether leggings should count as pants, it’s clear that tights are not pants. Tights are tights. They are made of nylon and they are slightly thicker pantyhose. Even if they say opaque on the packaging, when you stretch them over your big, round derriere, they cease to be opaque. Which means they are sheer. And thus are not pants.

PLEASE REPEAT AFTER ME: TIGHTS ARE NOT LEGGINGS! TIIIIIIGHTS ARE NOOOOOOT LEGGGGGGINGS!

Ahem. So, as I’m staring at this lady’s naked booty, she turns and says thank you to the cashier before exiting the store. And, it’s good that’s she’s so polite. That’s important. It’s also good that she has such fastidious vaginal grooming habits. Because she was completely devoid of hair down there.

I should not know this.

I was particularly discomfited by the noise that came from the throat of the guy that had been in line behind her. It was a noisy clearing of the throat mixed with a grunt and then a small moan at the end. I think he might have had an orgasm. Or an aneurysm.I can’t be sure.

Since I have no way to contact her, I’m going to post my letter to this woman, here: 

Dear “Lady” in the Speedway, 

 

Thank you for sharing so much of yourself with me. I learned a lot. But while I appreciate your generous nature, I want you to know that I shouldn’t see that much of you unless I’ve bought you dinner first. Please put clothing on your lower body.

 

Uncomfortably yours,


Christina

Christina Mitchell

CHRISTINA MITCHELL writes contemporary romances about damaged people who need (and deserve) happy endings. When she’s not writing, Christina drinks Moscato from novelty mugs and spends her days listening to musicals, obsessing over Batman, and riffing on b-movies about genetically-modified sharks. She lives in Michigan with her hilarious husband, who almost never complains about the fuck-ton of glitter makeup she leaves lying around.

Leave a Reply