*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
Get it for
Apple iOS.
Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1206769-polite-society
Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Adult · #1206769
knights in shining armor show up in the least likely places...
There was only one word that came to mind when I sniffed her panties-familiar. It was especially odd because four hours ago we didn’t exist to each other. But the perfume was definitely a room I’d been in before.

Tracy was this delightful post-teenager I met downtown in this spot called The Basement, a dancehall in the basement of an abandoned church, not that far from the Capitol Building in D.C. Washington was truly a tale of two cities--oh sure, there was the mall and the Air and Space Museum and all that, but go about ten blocks in any direction and it was a totally different town with faces, and dirt and violence and desperation.

I was in the toilet pissing and she bounded in the men’s room and threw up in the stall next to me. She was wearing a tight pink lame skirt, and when she knelt before the porcelain god, the skirt split straight up the back and exposed the white satin of her panties. The contrast of her mocha-like skin and the shiny material caught my attention. I was a sucker for a damsel in distress.

There were four other dudes in the bathroom laughing and trying to stay out of her line of fire. I rushed into the stall and locked it behind me.

“Wh-who are you?” she said, barely lifting her head from the toilet.

“I’m the one that’s going to get you out of here.”

She stood, then closed the lid and sat on it. She was still attractive, even though she had just puked and was sweating like a horse.

“What predicament?” she said, holding her head in her hands.

“Well, you’re throwing up in the men’s room of a packed nightclub with a dramatically torn skirt. Sounds like a problem to me.” I handed her my handkerchief.

“How do I know you’re not a psycho pervert?”

“I’m a musician.”

“I don’t feel any better.”

Someone pounded hard on the stall door behind me.
“Hey, you two break it up in there!”

“Just a second!” I shouted back.

There was a pause. “Okay jag off, you’re second is up.”

I took my jacket off and handed it to her. She put it on and snatched the remains of her skirt off and threw it in the unflushed toilet. She tied her black blouse to her waist.

“You’re not too shy are you?”

“I’m standing in a men’s room in my underwear. Does that sound shy to you? My name’s Tracy, by the way. Just in case anyone asks. ”

“My name’s Myron X. Nobody should ask though.”

I unlocked the door and this bouncer the size of a Hollywood billboard with no neck and a NASA-like headset on stood there with a superior look on his face.

“My girlfriend was sick. Her name’s Tracy.”

“Then you better take Tracy home. Now.”

He escorted us to the door. She walked in front of us. My jacket looked like a wrap skirt on her and did not conceal her choice in undergarments. The whole club stopped and watched our little parade. Tracy played it up, too, smiling, waving; she even loosened my jacket and flashed a couple of people. I liked her spirit.

“I suppose I should thank you,” she said, after we got outside, walking past the line of people still trying to get in. She bummed a cigarette from some over made-up jailbait.

“Nah, no one ever says thank you in polite society. Can I give you a ride home?

She smiled. “Sure-you buying breakfast?”

“I usually drink breakfast--I don’t eat it, I don’t cook it and I definitely don’t buy it.”

“Then how we gonna eat?”

I looked across the street. There was a small grocery store still open.

“Are you privy to the culinary arts?”

“No doubt,” she said, “But we have to go to your house. My stove’s been busted since last winter.”

“I’m not taking you to my house. A week from now I’ll be standing in a holding cell trying to explain a rape charge to my lawyer.”

“You think I’d do that to you?” she smiled, “people in polite society don’t do things like that, now do they? Besides, if I wear this jacket home, I’m keeping it. I have a pair of jeans this would be smashing with.”

I smiled at her.

“You’ll just have to trust me.”

That was five hours ago. Now she was sleeping on my couch in a T-shirt I gave her. I found her panties on the bathroom floor. Funny, I hadn’t thought about screwing her until now. Suddenly there was a tapping on my shoulder.

“What are you doing?” she asked.
© Copyright 2007 myron x (myronx23 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1206769-polite-society