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*Author’s Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: Yes, I need an editor. No, I do not want an editor. Yes there’s too many people to keep track of. Yes it jumps around too much. Yes it’s too long. Yes it’s too short. Yes it’s in the wrong category. Yes this is stupid shit. And, yes. I am a horrible writer, barely legible, hardly literate.

Just email me your bank account number and routing number and your mother’s maiden name and I’ll refund every penny you paid me to read my story. Don’t worry if your bank calls you and tells you that you’re overdrawn; you know how they’re always making mistakes.

*.*.*

When Buddy Mechon managed to shut down Early’s Grocery store in DeGarde, Louisiana, the Democrat candidate obviously gave no thought to the numerous people he would be putting out of work.

To be sure, none of those people voted for him to represent them in the State’s legislative body.

Marcet Richards was one of the employees that had to file for unemployment benefits, had to hope and pray that she qualified for some form of assistance to pay her rent, keep her car running, put groceries on the table.

“One eighty seven a week?” she squealed in disbelief. “God damn! My rent’s six hundred a month!”

“Ever think about getting a roommate?” the government employee asked, undeterred by the overweight girl’s protests.

The employee had heard just about every sob story in her twenty nine years with St. Elizabeth Parish Department of Labor. She knew she could not afford to be sympathetic to any of these people. Her first year of working there had nearly been her last year until she learned to shut off her emotions.

“A roommate? Lady, it’s a one bedroom apartment,” Marcet snapped.

“Anyway,” the woman said and continued to tell Marcet what she would have to do to qualify, to receive her one eighty seven each week.

“Might also want to think about getting that G.E.D. Kind of hard get anywhere in life without at least a high school diploma,” the government employee concluded their meeting.

She was already calling the next name on her list before Marcet was even out of the chair.

Marcet smiled tightly at her fellow ex-employees of Early’s Grocery as she left the waiting area of the office.

“Might want to think about getting that G.E.D.” Marcet muttered bitterly as she walked down the steps of the building.

When she had dropped out of school, after repeating the tenth grade for the third time, Marcet’s mother had told the nineteen year old girl she couldn’t stay in her home.

Marcet had been determined to make it on her own and had applied for a job at Early’s.

“I uh, only class I ever passed was our Daily Living Skills class,” she admitted to Tommy Collins, the manager of the grocery store.

Tommy squinted at the deplorable penmanship on the application form, the numerous misspelled words, then squinted at Marcet’s large chest.

Even though she packed a few extra pounds, Marcet was an attractive young lady. Big boned, her mother used to call it. But she had a sweet round face, thick blonde hair that just touched the nape of her neck, a sweet smile, and big blue eyes.

“Daily Living?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s uh, it’s like Home Economics, yeah, that’s what Mrs. O’Brien said, home economics,” Marcet agreed. “Like baking and stuff.”

Marcet was in luck; the woman that normally ran the baked goods counter had just requested six weeks maternity leave.

“Betty!” Tommy called out, still squinting at the outline of Marcet’s nipples through the thin blouse the girl wore.

“Yeah?” Betty asked, fighting down her dislike of the sleazy man.

“This is Marcet; says she knows how to bake,” Tommy said, trying to see if he could see a panty line in Marcet’s snug slacks.

“Yeah?” Betty asked then asked Marcet her recipe for fudge brownies.

She then asked about Angel Food cake and nodded approval as Marcet rattled off the recipe.

“Betty will be training you for the next, what? You’re leaving on what day again?” Tommy said

“The tenth will be my last day, Tommy, I put it right there on your calendar Tommy,” Betty snapped at the buffoon.

“Huh? Oh yeah, the tenth,” Tommy agreed.

When Marcet turned, showing Tommy her ample rear end, he distinctly saw the panty line and smirked. The chubby girl was wearing a skimpy pair of bikini panties over her ample rear and wide hips.

Betty trained Marcet well, showing her the tricks and shortcuts she’d learned over the years. Marcet in turn showed the older woman what she’d learned in Daily Living class.

Betty also had to show Marcet how to operate the ticket machine.

“You can’t read, can you?” Betty asked gently.

“No ma’am,” Marcet whispered, highly embarrassed. “Not real good.”

So the older woman also trained Marcet how to differentiate between one function and another on the machine.

“They ask you put ‘Happy Birthday Jackie’ on the cake? Make them write it out,” she suggested. “Don’t want them coming back all pissed off because escort kağıthane Jacky’s with a ‘Y’ instead of an ‘IE,’ right?”

By the time Betty left, Marcet was handling the counter and handling the customers with no trouble.

By the time Betty returned to work after the birth of her daughter, Marcet was the head baker. Betty had no resentment; the girl was good, excellent at her job. And because of Marcet’s difficulty in reading, the girl wasn’t suited to do much else in the store.

So, Betty helped out in the bakery when needed, the deli when needed, the liquor counter when needed.

Then Buddy Mechon, candidate for District 78 saw an underage girl buying alcohol. Tommy Collins had grown up in the Seventies, when the drinking age was eighteen years of age. And the man saw no reason to change that. But Buddy Mechon, in outrage, had contacted the bureaucrats in Baton Rouge. And the store was shut down.

Now, stepping out of the St. Elizabeth Parish Courthouse, Marcet walked toward her 1992 Ford Explorer, hobbling slightly. Her left shoe’s sole was coming loose, even flopped and slapped on the asphalt parking lot.

Right next to her vehicle was a large puddle and Marcet gasped as the water seeped into her shoe.

The shoes were nearly three years old and had served her well. Marcet knew from experience, having a wide foot, shoes was not an item she could afford to scrimp on. Bargain shoes were no bargain; they did not last.

“Great,” she muttered as she got into her car.

A mental check of her bank account told her she had nearly twelve hundred dollars; Marcet was not given to extravagances.

“Shoes ain’t an extravagance,” she reminded herself as the wet foot grew more and more uncomfortable.

Stolzle’s Shoes in Kimble, Louisiana sold service shoes, sold work boots, nurses’ shoes, and school shoes. Tom Stolzle, owner of Stolzle’s opined that fashions and fads come and go, but people will always need to basics.

When a student at Kimble Academy was stabbed to death for his Seth Curry under Armor shoes, Kimble Academy adopted a school uniform dress code. Tom Stolzle had several boxes of black oxford shoes and the small shop was saved from near bankruptcy.

On a side note, the student that killed the other student for his shoes had to throw the Seth Curry shoes away; they were a full size too small for him.

Inside the small store, Mikel Kohlbrandt listlessly arranged the display of nurse shoes. Her back ached; the back seat of her car was not designed for sleeping. She was sure she stunk; sponge bathing in the store’s bathroom sink was hardly adequate.

She didn’t blame her mother for her lot in life, but she did wish for the thousandth time that week that Charlotte Kohlbrandt had stuck to taking her medication.

She also did not blame their landlord for evicting them. Her mother had not paid the rent in nearly four months, had not paid the utilities in as long, and had spent every penny she’d been paid by Social Security Disability on drugs.

The nineteen year old girl looked up when the door chimed and felt a twinge of embarrassment.

Marcet Richards and Mikel had gone to school together. True, Mikel had graduated two years earlier, had not kept up with the former classmate, but was still embarrassed that anyone that she knew would see her in such condition.

“Hey!” Marcet said happily, recognizing a classmate’s face. “Mikel, right?”

“Yeah, how’s it going?” Mikel pasted a smile on her face.

“Good, good,” Marcet said, then stopped. “That’s not true, it’s going like shit.”

She found the display of shoes that she liked and blinked at the ninety four ninety nine price tag.

“Lost my job; Early’s closed you know, looking for work,” Marcet confessed. “I wear these in an eight and a half wide.”

Mikel found the shoes in the 8 1/2 C and sat on a stool to assist Marcet in trying on the shoes.

“Not the left one,” Marcet said.

She leaned forward.

“Stepped in a puddle; now my foot’s all wet,” she confessed.

“I can get you a footie,” Mikel suggested.

“But how you been, huh?” Marcet asked as she did slip on the dry footie and tried both shoes on.

“Really? Like shit too,” Mikel confessed.

She told Marcet about her mother’s arrest and then confinement to Paulton’s mental hospital, about her eviction from her apartment, about sleeping in her car behind the store.

“I, listen, wait, what about, you were dating that Alan guy, huh?” Marcet said.

“Oh, him?” Mikel spat.

She made sure Tom Stolzle wasn’t listening.

“Minute we did it? See ya!” Mikel confessed.

“That little ass hole!” Marcet said, pretty face twisted in anger.

She agreed on the shoes and decided to splurge on a pair of socks, dry socks.

“So uh, you uh, when you get off?” Marcet asked.

“Uh, ten minutes,” Mikel said, seeing that it was nearly three thirty.

Tom Stolzle hired Mikel and another girl, Ayla Prejean, to work twenty one hours a week each. Since both were part time employees, he did not need to offer either girl any benefits. Therefore, he escort nişantaşı was getting two girls for less than the price of one.

“You uh, I got a place you can stay,” Marcet offered. “I mean, it ain’t much, but…”

“It’ beats the hell out of sleeping in my car,” Mikel finished the sentence for Marcet.

Marcet and Mikel both watched the clock hands slowly crawl and at 3:29, Mikel clocked out and wished Tom Stolzle a good day.

Thankfully, Mikel had put a tank of gas in her car before her mother was arrested; there was still a quarter of a tank left. She followed Marcet to her apartment complex in Bender, Louisiana and parked where Marcet indicated.

Marcet first pulled Mikel into the apartment manager’s office.

“Hey Miss Begnaud, this is Mikel Kohlbrandt; I need to add her to my lease, all right?” Marcet said, then gasped.

“Oh! I’m sorry; didn’t see you was working with someone,” Marcet apologized as she saw an older man seated in front of Jayme Begnaud’s desk.

“It’s all right; I’m just filling out the application,” the man said, turning and smiling at the two young women.

He saw two attractive young women, both solidly built; ‘Big Boned’ his mother would have said, ‘Thick’ his father would have said.

One had short blonde hair, a pretty face, large breasts and wide hips. But she did not have a fat belly.

The other young lady had long dark hair, almond eyes and a round face. She too was blessed with large breasts, wide hips and average belly.

“If Mr. Richards’ credit checks out, he’ll be taking Apartment three D,” Jayme verified. “So, you better be nice to him; he’ll be your neighbor.”

“Welcome to the neighborhood,” Marcet smiled.

“Thanks,” William smiled and returned to scribbling the information the form requested.

“Marcet, you got uh, two months left,” Jayme said as she pulled up the tenant’s information on her computer. “You thinking of re-upping?”

“Yeah; you not going up are you?” Marcet asked.

“No, and in fact, you sign up for a year? I’ll even take fifty off next month’s rent,” Jayme offered.

Marcet agreed, Jayme showed Mikel where to sign, and got her a parking pass.

“Hang it on your rearview mirror,” Jayme said. “It tells me you’re where you’re supposed to be.”

Marcet helped Mikel carry a couple of boxes to the third floor apartment.

The living room/dining room was ten feet by sixteen feet. The kitchen was across from the bathroom, then the bedroom was twelve by twelve, with two closets, four feet by six feet each.

The living room furniture was a love seat and a recliner and the dining room furniture was a small table and four chairs.

There was a small chest of drawers, a low dresser and a queen sized bed in the bedroom.

“I uh, man that’s a small couch,” Mikel said.

“Mikel, bed’s plenty big,” Marcet said, already going to the door for the rest of Mikel’s meager stash of belongings.

“Now,” Marcet said as she placed the last of Mikel’s possessions into the first closet. “Bet you dying take a bath, huh?”

Marcet got out a brand new razor for Mikel, showed her the brand new toothbrush, and then left the bathroom.

“You take you a nice long bath; I’ll get started on dinner,” Marcet said.

Mikel filled the small tub and sighed in contentment as she eased her bulk into the steaming hot water. She availed herself of Marcet’s bargain brand shampoo, then did put the new razor to use.

Soon, the smells of something frying seeped into the bathroom and Mikel’s stomach growled.

So she finished her bathing, then dried off with the cheap towels Marcet had.

“Wow, perfect timing,” Marcet smiled as she put two plates of country fried steak onto the table.

Mikel and Marcet sat and ate, talked and laughed.

Then the two wedged onto the small couch and watched television.

“No kidding? You like ‘2 Broke Girls’ too?” Mikel asked as they watched the reruns of the show.

Then she yawned.

“Bet you some tired, huh?” Marcet sympathized.

“Yeah,” Mikel agreed and yawned again.

“Go to bed; these are all reruns anyway,” Marcet said.

“Okay,” Mikel agreed and leaned over and kissed Marcet.

“Good night,” she said and got to heavy feet.

Marcet watched Mikel’s rounded backside in the girl’s thin tee shirt, then turned the volume down on the television.

A moment later, she yawned as well.

She took a quick shower, then pulled on her own sleep shirt and crawled into bed.

Within moments, both were sleeping soundly.

The following morning, both girls discovered that they did not eat breakfast, but both did love coffee. So, they sat on the loveseat and drank their morning mugs of too strong coffee. Then Marcet dressed and left, on a quest to find gainful employment.

Mikel worked the evening shift at Stolzle’s so made use of the complex’s laundry room. When she returned, she found Marcet struggling with an application.

After putting her clean clothing away, Mikel joined Marcet at the small table.

She read some of Marcet’s answers and frowned.

“Marcet, osmanbey escort you can’t read, can you?” she finally asked.

“Not really,” Marcet blushed hotly.

“What store is this for?” she asked, gently taking the application from Marcet.

“That Bargain Bin store,” Marcet said. “And this one is from Super One Foods.”

Since both forms were nearly identical and neither had the name printed on them, Mikel asked, “How you know which is for which?”

“I kept them in order,” Marcet confessed.

Mikel sat and filled out the two applications, then made sure they were in the same order when she gave them back to Marcet.

“Okay, going get ready for another fun filled day of smelling other people’s feet; lucky me,” she cheerfully said and leaned over and kissed Marcet, then got to her feet.

A few minutes later, she lumbered to the door, dressed in blouse and skirt.

“We close at eight so I’ll be home about eight thirty,” she said.

“Going want supper when you get home?” Marcet asked.

“No, no, I’ll just stop at Clark’s,” Mikel decided.

Then she kissed Marcet and left the apartment.

And when Mikel returned that evening, she greeted Marcet with a kiss.

“Why you keep kissing me?” Marcet asked, smiling.

Mikel sat next to Marcet on the small couch and smiled; Marcet was watching a syndicated re-run of ‘Family Guy.’

“Why?” she asked and kissed Marcet. “Don’t like when I kiss you?”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Marcet answered. “It’s just that…”

Mikel leaned over and kissed Marcet again, causing Marcet to splutter.

“So you DO like it when I kiss you?” Mikel teased.

“Well, yeah, I mean…” Marcet said, then spluttered when Mikel kissed her again.

“Damn it, quit!” Marcet laughed.

“What? Quit what?” Mikel asked and kissed Marcet again. “Quit kissing you?”

“Quit kissing me when I’m trying to talk!” Marcet laughed.

“Oh, okay,” Mikel said and kissed her again. “I won’t kiss you…”

She kissed Marcet again.

“When you’re trying to talk,” she said.

“Good,” Marcet agreed.

“But you’re not trying to talk now,” Mikel said and kissed Marcet again.

“No, no I’m…” Marcet said then spluttered when Mikel kissed her.

Then Mikel gently licked Marcet’s lips.

Marcet opened her mouth and the two women kissed softly, tongues tasting tongues.

“Mikel, I’m not gay,” Marcet cautioned when they pulled apart.

“And? I’m not either,” Mikel said then kissed Marcet again.

Again, they kissed softly. Then Mikel put her chubby arm around Marcet’s shoulders.

Marcet put her pudgy arms across Mikel’s shoulders and pulled her closer.

They hugged, softly kissing.

“I mean it; I’m not gay, Marcet said, nose touching Mikel’s nose.

“I’m not either,” Mikel assured her.

She kissed Marcet’s lips quickly.

“But, there’s nothing wrong with kissing, is there?” she asked.

“No, no,” Marcet agreed.

Mikel kissed her again, then got up.

“I’m going take a shower,” she announced.

“Go ahead; I just had one,” Marcet agreed.

“Okay,” Mikel said, bent and kissed Marcet.

‘American Dad’ was playing when Mikel exited the bathroom, one towel around her chubby body, a second towel wrapped around her long hair.

“Oh, I got a dryer; under the sink in there,” Marcet called out.

“Fixing ask you that,” Mikel agreed.

Marcet got to her feet and lumbered toward the bathroom. She entered the bathroom as Mikel was bending over to peer under the cabinet.

Her lightly tanned buttocks loomed into view, and underneath the two globes, a sparsely furred mound with dark pink pussy lips sticking out.

Marcet could see that Mikel’s pussy lips were wet, plump. Whether they were wet from the shower or wet from excitement, Marcet did not know. But she felt her own pussy moisten as she looked at the plump buttocks, brown anus, plump mound, and plump pussy lips.

“Here it is, God, behind everything else,” Mikel announced.

“Yeah, well, I don’t use it all that often,” Marcet admitted, tugging on her short hair.

When she straightened up, Mikel’s towel slipped and in the mirror, Marcet saw her bare breasts, large mounds of flab with two light brown dots, two hard nipples adorning them.

Mikel’s belly button was a tunnel in her belly, and Marcet was again looking at Mikel’s dark vee of black hair.

“Oops,” Mikel giggled, blushing slightly.

“Here,” Marcet said, picking the towel up.

“Thanks,” Mikel said and kissed Marcet on her lips.

Then she wrapped her body in the towel and found the plug for the hair dryer.

That first night, they kissed. The second night Mikel massaged Marcet’s breasts and Marcet massaged Mikel’s breasts.

The third and fourth nights, Mikel rubbed Marcet’s pussy, then finger fucked Marcet’s pussy to a shattering orgasm.

Saturday morning, Marcet was doing her early morning walk. There was a covered concrete slab that stretched from the north stairway to the south stairway, in front of the four third floor apartments. The staircase descended to the second landing where a concrete path stretched in front of the four second floor apartments. Then the staircase descended to the ground level where a path stretched in front of the two ground floor apartments.

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