Extract

Good Things Happen to Bad Girls, Bad Things to Good Girls.

 

Taylor Erikson was gorgeous and she knew it. How? For a start, every one told her she was, her mom, her friends, all the guys at school who wanted to date her, most of whom expected more than a mere kiss on the cheek. Having been the Prom Queen had confirmed the praise. Every time she looked in the mirror or took a selfie (both actions were frequent events) that too corroborated the notion that she was stunning.

Of course, Mr Matthews, the art teacher, had had the effrontery to tell her at the start of her last semester that perhaps her sapphire-blue eyes were possibly a little small and at five-foot eleven-inches she was too tall to be considered a classical beauty.

Holding a grudge, as she always did if anyone cast dispersions in her direction, she had bided her time. Two months later, the day after he had taken delivery of his new car, she had "keyed it" all along the driver's side. If he ever knew, he never said. If he had said something, she would have simply given him a one-finger salute.

Men, boys, were intimidated by her beauty, she knew that. They could become gibbering wrecks whenever she deigned to give them even cursory attention. If she parted her legs for them they invariably ejaculated before they had fully penetrated her. Inwardly, it amused her to make them feel like wimps.

After all, because of her height, she looked down on many a male both physically as well as psychologically.

Wearing a pair of blue jeans that hugged her hips and butt like a thick skin, and a red, single shoulder top with a deep neckline, Taylor was attempting to play it cool. Her adrenaline was pumping, perspiration starting to form on her nape under her long, straight, Scandinavian-blonde hair. A louche, tingling, excitement was building in her vagina. She and her friend, Paige Carlson, were on a shoplifting spree.

The maroon-lacquered nail on her little finger was easing the ring out of the cushion. Deftly, she slipped the digit into the band and lifted it away to her side, closing her fist around the tiny price tag. Nonchalantly, her right hand went into her black shoulder purse and came out with a small pair of scissors. Swiftly, the tag's cotton was snipped, and the cutting instrument returned to its home, she fastening the clasp.

Meanwhile, her partner in pilfering was at the other side of the circular counter keeping the assistant talking about available charms to go on her sister's imaginary bracelet. Dressed in a pair of very distressed, red-denim, booty shorts, and a tight, white, cropped, T-shirt, Paige usually had the duty of being decoy, she was, after all, a quarter African-American with a puff-ball of wavy, blonde-highlighted hair, so the likes of store detectives and interested staff focused their attention on her.

Whoever said racial profiling did not have benefits?

Opening her left hand, Taylor let the tiny tag drop into one of the two paper carriers that were down on the floor beside her. The ring was deliberately deposited into the other. Bobbing down, her right hand now gathered both sets of cord handles. Straightening up, pulling her red-tinted shades from the top of her forehead, moving them over her eyes, she calmly started walking, heading for the department store's exit.

Outside, she turned to her right and ambled on her way. Stopping at a garbage bin, she retrieved the four price tickets from the one carrier she had gathered during the spree and consigned then to the waste receptacle. Continuing her leisurely perambulation, she headed for the Golden Cornucopia.

Ordering two skinny lattes, a pasta salad and a shrimp salad at the counter, she paid with cash, reluctantly. If only she could find a way of getting meals at no expense to herself?

Weaving her way through the furniture on the patio, she headed to the small table next to the parapet that overlooked the food court below. Paige was already seated on one of the two chairs.

"Everything okay?" Taylor asked, as she pulled the other chair out, sitting down.

"Cool, now," Paige replied, grey eyes twinkling. "Good job I had my twat rag on otherwise there would be a damp patch showing from when I vajizzled as you lifted that ring."

"Yeah, my panties are damp from femjac. Some was seeping down the inside of my right thigh," Taylor advised, taking a quick look at her crotch to make sure it still did not show.

"Your meals, ladies. Two skinny lattes, one pasta salad, one shrimp," the young waitress said, arriving with a tray. "How are you doing today?"

"Fine," Paige advised the high school girl who patently had a summer job serving.

Taylor simply gave her an icy-stare, letting her know that she did not deign to converse with her inferiors. The waitress placed the items before them before going on her way, wishing them, "Have a nice day."

They picked at their own and each other's food, slurping their coffees between mouthfuls, both concentrating on their phones, looking at emails and text messages.

"Mind if I join you?" this blonde woman said, taking a chair from a nearby and placing it at their table.

"Well-" Paige was about to say something.

Taylor was going to tell whoever it was to "fuck off" but she recognised her so interrupted her friend. "Harper Hansen, isn't it?"

"That's right. The one and only," the uninvited guest said, clearly expecting them to know who she was - which both of them did.

Harper was attired in an expensive-looking pink pant-suit with black buttons and trimming. A black V-neck blouse was beneath the jacket, it showing that she now had a fine pair of breasts. Taylor instantly reckoned that Harper had had enhancements since leaving high school three years before.

"So, you two are going to Lincoln Senior High?" Harper sort of asked, although it could have been a statement.

"We were. Until last week. We started in tenth grade when you graduated," Taylor affirmed, guardedly, she wary of imparting too much information to anyone.

"So, you're both over eighteen?"