Peaches

“Girl, you look fantastic,” I said in earnest. In fact she did. Annabelle was always overly concerned about her weight. No matter how often she went to the gym, she pretty much remained the same size. From the waist up, she was thin; but she couldn’t seem to reduce her hips. It would have made for an hourglass figure but for her lack of breasts. To emphasize her bust, Annabelle always wore a pushup bra. Truth be told, neither of us went to the gym that often. I am a little slimmer, but not notably so. Honestly we are truly a touch overweight, especially considering the fact that magazine covers are dominated by tiny white girl bodies. 

We’ve been best friends over the last nine years and moved to the big city together after graduation from college and now we head up the editorial department at a midsized urban magazine. We do our best to make sure that our advertisements represent a wider range of women, literally as well as figuratively.

Peaches, a swank little downtown restaurant closed its doors early to host Annabelle’s birthday party. It wasn’t black owned, but we didn’t care; it was the hottest new restaurant in town. Some of the photographers from the magazine waited outside with cameras at the ready. 

“Are you sure? I look like I am wearing a busset.” Annabelle said with a nervous and unnecessary smoothing of the back of her short sundress.

“Will you stop trippin’! You are a diva tonight, and I don’t want to hear anything more, unless you are telling me how lovely I look. No one is gonna be able to keep their eyes off of us the whole night. I mean come on girl, look at us!”

“Ok, ok.”

I began my melodramatic posing session for the cameras; Annabelle, with a little coaxing, fell right in beside me. 

The birthday party was amazing. We had a choice of salmon or steak and a number of fresh fruit sorbets. Each sorbet had a little fortune cookie on it. I opened mine, but I didn’t get a chance to read it because I was busy laughing at Annabelle’s which read: “No one can fuck you like you.” 

The ‘Industry’ was well represented. Several celebrities came out, and they all took pictures with us. Everyone told Annabelle how good she looked, and before long I could tell that she was beginning to believe it. As it got later, the crowd thinned down to a few close girlfriends. That’s when the party got interesting. 

I hired a male revue to provide the late night entertainment. Seven guys ranging from slim and athletic to, the highlight of the show, an enthusiastically overweight 5’4” clown. Within minutes, the little guy had the crowd going. Each of the guys took turns giving Annabelle a lapdance in the middle of the floor.

A tipsy Annabelle was eating up the attention. At one point she even exposed a breast. I was elated to see her loving it all. Finally the guys broke off and gave individual treats to the rest of us dances. I grabbed the little dude and played with him for a minute before Annabelle came over and told me she was headed downstairs to the restroom. Reluctantly, I let go of my tiny clown and went on down with her. 

We talked about the strippers and everyone who showed up looking good and otherwise. The owner of the restaurant, Jessie, and two of her girlfriends were sitting in a little lounge down the hallway from the bathrooms. We walked in, hugged Jessie and thanked her for her hospitality. 

“Hey Annabelle. I didn’t get a chance to wish you a happy birthday. I’m Cynthia.” Cynthia was a tall blonde with an athletic body and a very healthy set of breasts. Jessie’s other friend, who introduced herself as Tabitha was likewise well endowed and equally blond if just a touch shorter. I was forced to begrudgingly admit to myself that all three of them were very pretty. I was beginning to feel inadequate, and I thought Annabelle might have been too, but she was obviously still feeling nice from all of those cosmos she had.

I excused myself and went on to the restroom. A few minutes later Annabelle came in with a pair of white pants.

“Cynthia gave these to me. She is a designer. Ain’t they cute?” I agreed, they were very cute. She slipped them on. They were snug only around the hips and upper thigh, then they bloomed out a little in an almost bellbottom kind of way. Annabelle gasped looking in the mirror. “I couldn’t wear these out of the house. My butt looks enormous.”

“Yeah, but you could do a hell of a stripper routine.” We both forced a laugh. “You have to show Cynthia the pants.” Annabelle was shaking her head before I finished my sentence.”

“Unh uh. I will just tell her they don’t fit.”

“Well, if she’s a designer, maybe she will send you another pair or something, but not if you act all ungrateful. Just put your sundress over the top of them.”

“Whatever, come on.” I could tell she was not happy with it. But they did look kinda cute under the sundress.

“I love them. They are just a little snug,” Annabelle started as soon as we came out.

“They are supposed to be snug,” Tabitha answered and Cynthia nodded her head. 

“Come on let us see them. Pull up the skirt Ms. Lady.” Jessie said with a mischievous smile on her face. Annabelle reluctantly lifted her skirt.

“Turn around.” Cynthia said. Annabelle did. “They fit perfectly. Let me see.” She walked up behind Cynthia and grabbed the waist of the pant. “They fit almost exactly like I imagined they would,” she said right in the middle of Annabelle’s protests. “I could probably even take them in at the waist a little more. Tabitha, hand me my tape measure.” Tabitha fished around in Cynthia’s tiny black clutch.

“I’ll go see how the girls upstairs are doing.” I didn’t feel like getting wrapped up in all of this and miss the party, so I went on up.

The girls hadn’t missed us at all. They were still partying with the strippers, and some of them had lost a few articles of clothing. I just shook my head laughing and joined right on in. A couple of minutes and a Mai Tai or two later and I realized that Annabelle wasn’t back upstairs yet. I finally got Little Man off of me – again – and went back downstairs. 

Walking down the hallway I heard a slightly muffled, halfhearted: “No, no.” I entered the room. Shock saran wrap-covered me, squeezing me tight, and rooted my feet still.

Cynthia was standing on a back set of stairs with Annabelle’s face buried in her bosom. Annabelle was leaning forward with her skirt up over the small of her back, her hands on Cynthia’s waist. Her new white pants were down around the middle of her thighs. Jessie was sitting in a chair just behind Annabelle with her head shaking back and forth in that small space between Annabelle’s pants and the hem of her hiked up skirt. Tabitha was on the couch with her hand in her pants looking at me – hungrily is the only way I can put it. 

Tabitha stood up slowly and walked toward me. I wanted to leave. It must have been the Mai Tais, but I couldn’t move. It must have been my imagination, but she smelled faintly of peaches. She took my hand and led me to the sofa where she sat me down, put her head under my skirt and began to work without removing my panties. Between sight of Annabelle bent over and Jessie’s face under her skirt, Cynthia’s big titties rubbing the sides of Annabelle’s face and Tabitha between my legs, I was screaming in less than two minutes.

In the cab an hour later, both Annabelle and I sat silently until we got to my place. “Are we going to church tomorrow,” Annabelle asked me looking at the back of the cab driver’s head like a pubescent girl who found out her favorite song had a vile sexual meaning or, even more disturbingly, a child who somehow discovered that santa was indeed real.

“I think we had better,” I replied a little breathlessly. I’m glad she wasn’t looking at me, because I am sure I had a similar lost feeling on my own face. I gave her my portion of the cab money and walked up the stairs to my apartment. My keys fell out of my purse. As I squatted to pick them up I saw that my fortune had also floated a few feet away. 

I dropped my keys again when I read it: “Ain’t life a peach?”