I canseeit in the way her face is moving like she’s plotting out every step that will make this palatable for her.
I wonder if she wants me for my dick but will make me wear a bag over my head so she doesn’t have to remember it’s me.
She honestly looks as if she’s contemplating exactly that while she stares at me. And then also contemplating if I’d be in for it.
It’s hell to stand here and let her watch me while she’s thinking all of this, but I do it. I stand there. I take the scrutiny. I play dumb.
I pretend I have no idea what she might be thinking right now.
“Ohh, Margot,lookat that ass,” someone whispers loudly behind me. Someone who sounds elderly. And horny.
“What’s apounder?” an equally elderly-sounding, though far more confused, voice replies. “Is that what each cheek weighs?”
Goldie squeezes her eyes shut and pinches her lips together, and I can’t tell if she’s trying not to cringe or trying not to smile.
Possibly both.
“I don’t know, but he could pound me,” Margot’s friend says.
“Greta. Steve’s barely been in his grave for a week.”
“So add about forty years, and that’s how long it’s been since I had a good pounding. I didn’t marry him for his penis.”
Goldie makes a noise and turns her back fully on me, fully on the women too.
I look over my shoulder at them.
One’s white. One’s Black. Neither are over five feet two inches. Both are wrinkled from forehead to gnarled fingers.
The white lady’s using a cane. The Black lady’s holding onto the shopping cart.
And when their gazes reach my face, I smile and wink.
“Ack!” The white lady falls back into a soup display on an endcap.
“Kill it!” the Black lady shrieks. She lifts her umbrella and waves it at me. “It’s eating your face!”
“It’s only a bad mustache,” Goldie chokes out. She’s dropped her basket and is already helping the white lady out of the cans. “Are you okay, ma’am? Can I get you a chair? Does anything hurt?”
“Just my eyeballs,” the white lady gasps. “Lord have mercy,whydo men do that to their faces? They all think they’re Tom Selleck, and they arenot.”
Goldie makes another choking noise that sounds half like a whimper.
“Margot, I think we’re not supposed to shop today,” the Black lady says. Apparently Greta.
“Or ogle men’s asses when your husband’s just been buried,” Margot snaps back.
“In my defense, we were only married for six months.”
A manager rushes over and offers to finish shopping for the two women.
Goldie makes a face at me. “Could youturn back around?”
“Do you know him?” Margot asks her.
“He works with my brother,” Goldie answers.
“What’s apounder?” Greta asks.
