Fish out of Water

While going to a bar was almost a certain success, and going to the Meatheads club would most definitely introduce her to some of their Grease Girls, Bridget didn't want to get too many stains on her mother's dress. She leaned left, taking the Melville Street exit. Her powerful motorcycle with its chipped paint and custom oversized parts would definitely stick out in this part of town, but she didn't anticipate any trouble with the law. She drove until the apartments gave way to houses with white picket fences and Golden Retrievers instead of chainlink fences and bulldogs and mutts.

She had been this way before to do an on-site repair for an Army Brass officer that had an honest-to-goodness Indian motorcycle sitting in the garage of his 4 bedroom home. Bridget remembered the odd looks from the Squares and Dames she got as she worked in her tight little tank top and stained fatigue pants. She remembered being envious as the milk man delivered fresh, refrigerated jars of semen directly to the doors of the lovely, but pampered young women in their hoity toity get ups while she was busy getting filthy and burning her forearm on the muffler.

When the officer used her after the job, she remembered how hard he fucked her right in front of his wife. She sat quietly knitting on the other end of the couch as he fucked her pussy hard from behind while he pressed a single finger deep into her ass. "You're so fucking filthy...so fucking gorgeous..." he said through gritted teeth. Bridget remembered the perfect looking blonde Dame looking more concerned with the grease stains getting on the couch than anything else.

She shook the memories from her mind as she pulled into "Vinnie's Grocery and Deli", a mid-sized grocery store that stayed open a couple hours after dark to cater to the working housewife, usually secretaries and nurses in this part of town. She dropped the kickstand next to a late model convertible with aggressive forward swept headlight covers and riveted together to evoke the popular "flyboy couture" that was all the rage right now.

She entered the grocery store, hands firmly clutching her ration card as she scanned for pickpockets out of habit. She almost couldn't believe how much food was in here, and not the C-Rations she was used to getting. Fresh apples, lettuce, and deli meats greeted her as she walked down the isles. Most of the women in here were lovely, even the older ones who pumped out an enormous amount of children, her generation; when the P.R.A. went into effect; which meant most of them had lost sons in combat by now. Even though she was dressed indistinguishable from them, Bridget felt uncomfortably out of place.

"Oh, that's fine, Mr Brooks. Me and my husband can wait." she heard as she approached the pharmacy desk. Bridget's heart started beating rapidly. The blonde Dame with cat eye glasses in front of her was in a lovely Aubrey Hepburn style white two piece evening dress with pink polka dots, and a hot pink belt around her waist. Her hair was immaculately styled with a curling iron to give it a cascading wavy look and framed her roundish, docile face with big, luscious lips perfectly. She was busty, but just how much so was difficult to tell with her torpedo-shaped brassiere that stood out dramatically above a tapered waist that swelled out to shapely wide hips.

The man was tall, around 6'3, and clean shaven. He wore a nice black suit with a white undershirt and plain blue tie. He favored a Clark Gable style haircut that was well-styled and shiny with mousse, and it wasn't until he turned around did she see that part of his face was an expensive prosthetic that was so well made it might as well have been his real anatomy. Bridget started to look a little closer. His left hand was also the same high-grade medical prosthetic as his face. "Must be getting some pain meds." Bridget thought, trying to fill in his backstory as she approached them.

"Um...hello..." Bridget said to the woman, blushing badly already. The woman turned to look at her, searching her memory and coming up empty. The man looked her up and down, smiled warmly, and extended his hand. Bridget took it. It was cold to the touch, but slightly spongy to make it feel more like skin. She smiled back at him, and took a deep breath as she turned to the Dame.

"This is kind of awkward, but..." she started to say, losing her words. The woman's face lit up.

"Are you from Ireland?" she asked. Bridget had encountered this before. Her accent was something of a novelty in Diesel City. Most of the Irish refugees stayed in on the coast, or enlisted after they couldn't find work.

"Yes, yes ma'am, I am." she replied. The man looked her over quizzically before checking his timepiece. Bridget steeled her resolve, and decided to just go for it.

"Ma'am, I wish to...I wish to enjoy your company." Bridget said, her eyes smoldering as her lips slightly parted. For emphasis, she started running a finger along her collarbone. The woman looked at her, confusion on her face. She looked at her husband, who had a slight grin on his face.

"You wish to...oh!...ugh.....oh!...." she said, her cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. A woman invoking use rights was rare enough, but same-sex use was especially uncommon as it was in no way going to result in conception; but rather was the result of the Unified Military Code butting up against the Bill of Rights. Bridget thought back to how quiet Jake was after it had happened to him at a pool hall in West Spire. None of the guys ever talked about it, but it was legal; after all.

"Um...yeah...alright. Okay. Wow, really?" she said, reaching behind her neck to unclasp the snap holding her dress up. The husband coughed to get their attention. Bridget looked at him, ready to invoke the UMC if he tried to interfere.

"I'm sorry, young lady; but we were just dropping by on our way to dinner. It would be terribly inconvenient right now..." he said, accepting a white paper bag that rattled with pills from the white haired, mustachioed druggist. Bridget's ire was rising. Dames may be used to men always getting their way regardless of the law, but she was a scrapper and willing to tell him where to stick it. "...but we were about to go out to dinner. Perhaps you could join us and we could go back to the house to discuss this?" Her stomach grumbled at the mention of food; and she could tell it wasn't going to be at some slop shop...