Page 14 of Choke

The silence stretches between us. I am trying so hard not to react that I create awkward tension, which is a reaction in itself.

“Is that a problem for you, Lex?”

I take a slow breath. Is it? No. Not a problem. Just a shock.

Honesty is the best policy, right?

“No, Rosie. It’s not a problem. Am I fucking shocked? Yeah. How long?”

We turn to face each other. She is still more or less naked. This feels so weird. Talking to my escort friend about her job while her new tits are on full display. I remind myself to keep my eyes on her face.

“Since I was in college. I knew I didn’t want to leave college swimming in debt. I heard about a website that connected women with sugar daddies, and I went for it. It worked out so much better than I had expected. I graduated with six figures in my savings account and a degree I’ve never used. Well, I mean, it helps me when I am with someone well-educated who wants a woman who can carry a conversation.” She laughs at that last omission.

Six figures. She was in school for two years. I can’t even be mad or judgmental; I’m still paying off the debt for the degree I never finished. At that point, my face has to reflect my shock and awe at that point cause she tackles me onto her bed. We land on top of the dresses, giggling.

“You want a job, Lex? Get that chedddaaarrrr!” She squeals.

“Fuck, I’m considering it. That is insane!”

She pushes off the bed, noting my empty drink, and skips to the kitchen to replenish. I sort through the dresses, pulling out the only two black options she selected. I head to the opposite wall. Mirrors cover it. I really examine her room. It makes sense knowing how she uses the room. Her bed is a California King. A mirror is on the ceiling above, and the wall to the left is entirely mirrored. Men would love this. The ability to see her from all angles. Egotistical. I can’t deny it is sexy as fuck. When she returns, I hold the dresses up before my body—still wearing my baggy jeans and a fitted tank top. She sets the drinks on her dresser.

“You cannot possibly pick like this!” Her hands move to my jeans, quickly undoing the buttons and tugging them down.

Confidence aside, the action makes my thighs clench with nerves. She is younger, and her body is perfect—it always has been. Mine is decidedly not. I lean toward the dresser, grab my drink, and chug half down. She must sense my self-consciousness.

“Lex, you’re fucking gorgeous. And it’s me! Don’t be shy. We both have tits, blah blah.” Her tone is encouraging and warm before turning incredulous. “but what the fuck are these undies!?”

I am in my tank top and undies. I gaze into the mirror. The skin-toned cotton thong isn’t that bad?

“What’s wrong with them?” I ask.

She doesn’t respond. Instead, she moves to the top drawer of her dresser, opens it, and rifles through the options. I spot a few vibrators, handcuffs, and what looks like a ball gag. I smirk. Nice. She pulls out something black and stringy. It’s not even worth arguing. She won’t take no for an answer. Plus, I feel great thanks to the French 75s she’s been serving up. Champagne always goes straight to my head.

I step out of my cotton underwear, commenting, “You can’t keep these. They are comfortable, and I want them back.”

She motions in an x over her heart. “Cross my heart and hope to die… since no one is getting laid in those fucking things.”

I pull her tiny panties into place. I’ll give it to her. They are much sexier and not even a little trashy looking. They border on elegance. As I remove my tank top, she offers no comment. Instead, she throws the matching bra at me. I guess her new tits put her closer in size to me. The bra fit. Barely. Bending forward will absolutely have my breasts spilling out over the top. I make a mental note to stay upright as much as possible tonight.

“Damn, girl!” She comments, looking me up and down. “See, told you. That body is banging!”

I take my reflection in. Despite lacking exercise, my coffee and Vyvanse-fueled life has resulted in a more slender physique than when I was younger. I started getting tattooed in my late teens to hide the softness of my curves. I knew abs would never happen, so I figuredthe bright colors and patterns might hide me. Since then, I’ve covered most of my body. My legs, stomach, ass, back, hands, and neck. Only my breasts stayed clear and unmarked. They were always my best asset, anyway.

I consider the two dresses, but I am not entirely confident they will fit.

“Are you dead set on black? This blue one would look so good,” Rosie suggests.

“I clash with everything, Rose. Need to stay neutral.” I respond—the downside of picking a full pallet of colors to cover my skin.

She doesn’t argue, for once. Instead, she plucks one dress from my hand and tosses it to the bed.

“That one first!”

I nod and look at the remaining dress. Locating a delicate zipper on the side, I undo it and step into it. The material is silky and cool against my skin.

When did I get so warm?

Somewhere between feeling up my friend and her removing my panties, I would guess. I sense her hands on the side, closing the zipper.

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