Turning the Page

One week later...

"Hey, did you hear?"

A boy nudged his female acquaintance in the arm, looking around. She looked over her shoulder, quickly zipping up her backpack closed.

"Emily brought a friend back to good 'ol Velvet City,"

The girl gave him a flat look before making her way to the door. Her male companion followed suit.

"Not just any friend. Oh no. Not your 'ordinary joe' in the hobo size fo's. Not some rando in the lambo."

As the classroom filed out, the brunette threw up a hand, deliberately cutting short his metered rhyme. "Cut to the chase, Ed?"

Ed obliged by closing the distance, his curly, pale blonde hair tickling a somewhat bushy but not unruly brow. Some students grazed past while the pair stopped in the middle of the hallway. "You know that Stretcher cousin of hers? The one that went viral in one of her videos?"

In a moment of knowing, Imogene's eyes widened. Her cute fringe flicked upward.

Shaking his head, Ed stuck a mint in his mouth and split it open. She watched his jaw shuck itself up then down. "Well you ain't gonna believe who just got transferred to Rattle High this week."

Apparently just like she couldn't believe Ed was that into mints.

A high schooler was standing outside a bookstore, idling under the night-fallen sky as he studied the watch on his wrist. He noticed his reflection returning his gaze and angled it to the side, seeing a small button on the edge of the face. Hunch told him it turned something on. Or off. What would happen if this all suddenly 'broke' on him? Or if things got stuck in a manner he couldn't revert? Maybe that wouldn't even be so bad.

He turned the watch straight up. His reflection came back with it.

Currently, the positions of both hands were at 3 o'clock.

It was then that somebody bumped into him, breaking his train of thought. He saw a group of girls walk into the bookstore, laughing at an acceptable public volume. All three were well-suited for the weather, adorned in warm coats and boots. One a strawberry blonde, the other a dirty blonde with red highlights, and the last one a dark haired brunette.

Tucking his neck into his collar, he readjusted his watch and followed after them.

"Welcome," softly boomed a middle-aged staff member, balding a bit up top. He happened to be adjusting one of the displays at the front of the store. As the three girls passed by, however, he suddenly paused what he was doing to turn. Then he gave each of their tight bums a gnarly slap on the cheek with a swift but well-aimed swing of his arm. The slaps were audible, noticeably so, as if to compensate for their extra layers. The three girls continued on undeterred. The rearmost one (pun not intended) even looked over to give the man a courtesy smile after the fact, while the strawberry blonde out front smoothed over the just-assaulted, bubbly rear of her coat with her knuckles, suddenly pointing to the history section with her spare hand. They made for their 10 o'clock.

Like nothing had just happened, as if no anatomy had just been violated whatsoever.

It was funny how 'normal' that was becoming. Almost desensitizingly so. You could take one hasty skim of any public setting and notice numerous boys, numerous men, copping feels and opportuning slaps of numerous cute girl asses, everywhere. Men to their friends' big-bootied wives. Customers to a friendly, tight-bodied woman in uniform. Students to teachers, teachers to students.

As the high schooler picked up the pace, the man didn't give him so much as a glance. No one, actually, seemed to even bother giving him space as they exited the store. He passed by a blonde lady, possibly in her 30s or so, a suitably bookish face on her, with a graceful pair of glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. He hesitated, eyes on the group of girls now turning the corner.

A quick test wouldn't hurt. He stepped to the side.

She was fixed at one of the bestseller stands, sampling one of their offerings, her back facing him. With a hand, he carefully, quietly reached for the woman's shin-length dress. At the moment her attention was lasered onto the book splayed across her hands.

Mustering a nimbleness he didn't know he had, the young man pulled the bottom of her dress up to level with his chin, exposing her lower regions to the men and women angled luckily enough to see them, then reached forward to grab the magenta panties underneath, and yanked them down her two creamy, pale legs. The act caused her butt and thighs to jiggle like a plot of jell-o for a moment before returning idle. The boy let go of the dress, allowing it to curtain across the lower half of her body once more.

He waited for a few seconds.

The lady continued standing. She adjusted the rim of her glasses. Cleared her throat a little.

"Excuse me," the young man interjected.

No response.

Taking his cue to clear his own throat, the high schooler tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me. Miss."

Finally, she pulled away from the pages below to give him a diffident look. "Yes?"

"I think your panties are on the floor."

She looked down. Her panties were barely dangling off the back of one of her flats, caught on its outer rim, preventing them from being 'completely' on the floor, at least. "Oh." Shuffling her feet a little, she then looked back up, looking him dead in the eye as she spoke. "They are, aren't they? Didn't even notice. Thanks."

Her conversation partner searched her face for any sign of abnormality. Unfortunately, she didn't spare him much time for that, returning to her book shortly after.

...this motherfucking watch.

Suddenly, his phone pinged. He dug it out of his pocket. The text was from Emily.

"dinner almost ready"

He tucked the phone back down his jeans and proceeded to the left side of the store, noting the 'History' plaque plastered over the tops of the shelves.

Hold that thought for me, Em.

Langley guided the two of her college classmates down the aisle, tracing her finger lightly on the spines of every other book as she tried tracking down the author's name.

"You know, I used to always get archaeology and anthropology mixed up when I was a kid." Francesca, the brunette, elegantly placed one foot after the other, a natural sway in her hips.

"Tell me about it."

The two women looked at each other. Francesca looked back at their friend, currently deep in concentration.

"You're pretty serious about it, though, aren't you Langley?"

The strawberry blonde looked up at the mention of her name. It had taken a minute. Eventually, she managed a modest shrug. "Just a bit."

"You know, I wish I had that." Kat, the dirty blonde, had her coat removed, now folded over her arms as she walked alongside Francesca, Langley having already promptly returned to her precision-strike perusal. She tilted her head, flipping a strand of red-streaked hair over her shoulder as she did. "Sometimes I have a hard time getting through just the first ten minutes of Gursten's lectures--OW!"

All of a sudden, some guy came up from behind her and grabbed her boobs, squeezing her nipples through her thin-layered, form fitting turtleneck. Kat hitched her breath a bit as Francesca turned to see what was wrong.

"Kat, you alright girl?"

"I--I--" she breathed in, adjusting her chest in the grip of the dude holding her breasts in his hands while trying to bat away her discomfort. "Yeah, I just got a little startled."

Francesca just nodded, looking down briefly at the hands clasping her friend's decently shaped teardrop tits, blinked, then smirked and lightly punched Kat in the arm. "I didn't know you were afraid of archaeology that bad."

"Oh I'm absolutely terrified." Kat rapped back as the hands around her breasts squeezed harder while the women followed Langley down the aisle.

An associate crossed paths with them, eyes meeting with Langley's. "Need any help looking for something?" he offered while placing a board game back into place. Langley perked up.

"Um, you know what..! Yeah, actually, yes, that would be, um, great. The author goes by the name of Portsmouth? I'm looking for a book he wrote on a specific dig, like an archaeological excavation kind of thing, took place around the 90s?"

"Lambs and Shepherds?"

"Yes! That's the one!"

As the associate explained how it was in the Social Sciences section for whatever reason and proceeded to take the girls there, the guy fondling Kat's boobs let her go, switching over to Francesca. Only this time, he went in front of her, grabbed the buttoned collar underneath her leather-ish jacket, and tore it open, causing three out of four buttons to fly. One of them even hit the pant leg of the associate. He took it well.

Francesca frowned, stopping in her tracks as her breasts were abruptly motorboated by the stranger. While she didn't show them off as much as Kat, she had the biggest boobs of the trio -- and with the guy going to town on them, he was getting a facefirst introduction to them with more face-to-skin ratio in any given session than some of her past ex-boyfriends.

Meanwhile, Kat looked much more relaxed now her boobs were no longer getting the friendly treatment. "Want me to wait for you Fran?" She finished quickly adjusting the cups of her bra before looking up at her taller brunette classmate.

"Nah, go ahead." Waving her forward, Francesca reassured, "I'll just chill here a bit, shouldn't take too--oomph--" Her eyes rolled up for a split second as her lips parted for a rough exhalation of air. "--too, um... too long." Her mysterious molester was traveling down her cleavage and towards her areolae mid-sentence. She flipped a long ribbon of hair out of the way and over her shoulder. "Fuck, that kinda tingles," she muttered under her breath as Kat gave her a cheeky 'ta-ta' and walked away, catching up to Langley, leaving her alone. Alone, that is, with this other, faceless guy, slobbering up her breasts. Didn't really seem worth the time to talk to, let alone think about, though.