A Comedy of AR's

Chapter 34
Impersonating a Vagina

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Olive Garden was pretty busy, so Sammantha put the ‘Frumpy’ name on the wait list and we headed to our seats on the soft benches.  Apparently, we were both flying ‘incognito’ tonight with phony names.

I had to admit, I was very self conscious walking into a public place dressed as a little girl.  But unlike the make-believe bunny parade, no one was staring at me or laughing.

I had to pay attention to each step I took in the pumps, but I still made a mistake when my right shoe slightly clipped the left and I took a tumble onto the carpet.  The last thing I expected was that a boy about twelve years old would leap off his bench to assist me in getting back up. Then he led me back to his bench insisting that I sit next to him.

Sammantha kept her distance and only observed me out of the corner of her eye.  I said ‘thank you’ to the boy and he replied, ‘Do you come here often?’

I suppose being twelve, the boy hadn’t yet acquired any original pickup lines.  “Uh, no,” I replied.  “It’s my first time.”

“I’m Putz … Putz Goldfarb … Nice to meet you.  You’re dressed very pretty tonight.”

(Jesus, it took ten whole seconds for a boy to hit on me?  I wonder if he knows that his name ‘Putz’ is the German word for penis.)  “Uh, hi … I’m Precious … Precious, uh, Frumpy.  You look nice too.”

The boy had dark hair, average looks, but was a good number of inches taller than me.

“You have a pretty name, too.  I love this place, Precious.  My dad and I come here all the time.  Let me go grab a menu and I can show you what their best items are.”

Putz returned a few seconds later and took his seat again on my right.  He unfolded the menu and held it over my lap. 

“Precious, why don’t you grab the left edge of the menu and we can look at it together.

“Okay.”

This boy was being extraordinarily helpful and he opened the menu to the entrée page, after which his left hand settled on my right knee.  Well, I guess that was alright for now since his hand was still a long way from my testicles.

“See on the second page … the chicken parmigiana and the shrimp alfredo are my favorites.”

His left hand was now under my dress, blocked from view by the menu.  I started getting really nervous when that hand started gently caressing my inner thigh.  Sammantha had her eye on us, but I knew she would not interfere.  She’d be much more interested in seeing how I reacted.

I replied, “You’re right, Putz … Those do look very good.”

“Oh, and check out these other two … the five-cheese ziti and the chicken scampi … They’re both super tasty.”

His hand kept crawling ever so slowly toward my imaginary vagina.

“And the regular spaghetti with meat sauce is always a winner.”

One more entrée and this boy will be selecting my scrotum-tortelloni.  So I got ready to plant my Bebe Janysa pump shoe right between his legs.  I was about to become the next ‘ballcrusher’ in the family.

Fortunately, I heard Sammantha’s voice.  “Precious!  They’re calling our table.”

“Gotta run, thanks Putz.”

“Wait!” the boy called out.  “Why don’t you guys join me and my dad at a table?  I’d like to talk more.”

I think what the boy meant was that he’d like another chance at my vagina.  “I’ll have to ask my mom.”

Sammantha had been paying acute attention to what had been going on between me and Putz.  “That’s fine,” she told me without me even asking the question.  But I wasn’t sure why she thought it would be ‘fine’.

We settled into our square four-person table and Putz’s dad made the first introductions with handshakes.

“Gottfried Goldfarb and this is my son, Manfred whom you already know we’ve affectionately nicknamed ‘Putz’.

Sammantha smiled.  “Martha Frumpy and my daughter, Precious.  Just out of curiosity, does Putz know that his nickname means—“

“Oh yes, the father interrupted.  “Technically, it’s the German/Yiddish word for ‘penis’, but in our household it’s a term of endearment, taking the more common usage as a foolish or lazy person.  When my son was younger, I always used to yell at him, ‘Hey, quit putzin around, let’s go!’  … He liked it, so it stuck … what about Precious?”

“Well, I’m a single mom, and when she was born, that’s the only word I could think of.”

“Same … been divorced four years. 

I had to chime in next.  “Putz, how tall are you?”

The boy boasted, “5 foot seven.”

“Wow, that’s a foot taller than me … and you’re twelve?”

“Almost twelve.  Being tall helps in sports.  I play receiver in football, and of course there’s basketball too.”

(And you’re quite a horny boy too, I wanted to tell him.  He and I were seated next to each other at an adjacent corner, and no sooner had we sat down, that I started feeling a stockinged foot inching its way under my dress.  This kid had long legs.)

“I’m an attorney,” added Gottfried.

“Physical trainer,” returned Sammantha.

“Pardon my compliment, but you certainly have the physique for it.”

“Thank you.  So Gottfried, do you enjoy your work?”

The man sighed.  “I enjoyed it a lot more two years ago … before my law partner and our secretary disappeared.”

“Come again?” said Sammantha.

“His name was Daniel Prestek.  Maybe you heard about him on the news.”

(Waves of adrenalin shot through me.  That was the twelve year old boy I had met at the Goodwill store, who also had the water curse.  He told me that his secretary was holding him captive as a sex slave.)

Gottfried continued.  “Now I already knew that Daniel was banging our secretary on his desk after work.  And that didn’t bother me because they were both competent and dedicated professionals while on the job.   One day though, I came to work in the morning and they weren’t there.”

“So what did you do?”

“I started calling their relatives and friends with no luck.  They were both newcomers to Buffalo with no local connections.  Then I called the police, and they had no clue either … Well, I shouldn’t say none because there were two clues, neither very helpful.  All of Daniel’s clothes were in a pile in the floor, and his desk was covered with a spilled bottle of water.”

Sammantha mused, “Maybe they ran off to Mexico together.”

“Daniel was scheduled for an important court appearance that morning.  It wasn’t like him to ignore any details of his work.”

“Did the police suspect fowl play?”

“I sure did.” answered the man.  “But it’s just a cold case now.”

I had to ask, “Mr. Goldfarb, what was your secretary’s name?”

“Yolanda Schmeckpepper.  Ever heard of her?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, enough of that.  So are we ready to order?”

I was ready to order this kid to get the fuck out of my vagina.  Boy, was this a super bad time to feel a boner coming on.  I subtlety backed up my chair two inches.

All of us ordered pasta with some combination.  I went for the chicken parmisiana.  It was really good and I enjoyed the whole thing with a foot caressing my inner thigh.  Sammantha raised her eyebrows at me.  She knew what was going on.

I finally stood up and said, “I need to—‘ … and then I froze.

Sammantha bailed me out.  “Precious, if you need to go pee, then just go.  Do you know where the lady’s restroom is?”

“I’ll find it.”  I knew she added the second part so I wouldn’t accidentally seek out the men’s room.  But I just wanted to extricate myself from Putz’s game of ‘footsie’.

I soon found myself facing the bane of all women’s restrooms … long lines.  I probably shouldn’t be judgmental, but I wondered if it was really that difficult for a woman to pee standing up at a men’s urinal.  For now, I had to keep my hands clasped together near my crotch to press back against my erection.

In front of me, two women in their seventies noticed my appearance behind them. 

The first commented, “Oh … look at you … such a pretty little thing … and what a beautiful dress you’re wearing.”

I felt obligated to reply, “Thank you.”

The second one said, “And such stylish shoes too … Honey, did your mommy help you pick out this outfit?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The first came back, “Oh, well you just look gorgeous tonight.  Tell me, what’s your name, dear?”

“Precious.”

The second added, “Ohhhh … that’s fits you to a ‘T’, a perfect name.  We’re Gertrude and Hattie.  We’re the Hooey sisters.  And how old are you, Precious?”

“Eleven,” I answered.

(Gertrude)  “Really? … You seem so mature for your age … Tell me, have you had a visit yet from Aunt Rosie?”

“Huh?”

(Hattie)  explained in a whisper, “She means, have you had your first menstrual cycle yet?”

“Oh, no ma’am.”

(Gerturde) “That’s okay, honey … you’ll become a pretty woman soon enough.  And have you ever seen a boy’s penis?”

I shook my head rapidly.  “No ma’am.”

(Gertrude)  “Well, just between you and me, Precious, they’re the ugliest things that god ever put on this earth … And mark my words, boys will try to get you to do terrible and immoral things with their penises.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

(Gertrude)  “Listen, Honey, every boy in your school wants to ejaculate semen into your vagina or your mouth.  That’s why you should always carry a box-cutter knife.  Any time you think a boy is plotting to do the dirty deed, you should cut off his penis.  That will teach him a lesson.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

(Hattie)  “That’s why Lorena Bobbitt is our heroine.  They should build her a statue.”

“Who?”

(Gertrude)  “She’s the woman who cut off her husband’s penis with a kitchen knife.  If it was me, I wouldn’t have thrown it out a car window.  I would have put it in the kitchen blender and then fed it to my cat.”

(Hattie)  “Well I would have put a fish hook through it and used it as bait while it was still attached to him.”

(Gertrude)  “I would have collected some yellow-jacket hornets in an empty pickle jar and shaken it up to get them angry.  Then I would have quickly removed the lid and placed the jar over his genitals.”

(Hattie)  “Well I would have taped his penis to an electric stove burner, while it was still attached of course, turned it up to high, and then see how crispy we could make it.”

(Gertrude)  “I would have dropped a bowling ball on his testicles.”

(Hattie)  “We’re talking about penises, Gertrude.  Stay on topic.”

(Gertrude)  “Okay, well I would have pushed a tiny firecracker in the little hole, lit it, and then see how much of his penis we could blow off.”

(Hattie)  “Well I would have turned the head of his penis into a human pin cushion.

(Gertrude)  “I would have just taken a hand drill and enlarged the little hole.”

(Hattie)  “Well, I would have put a zip tie around the head of his penis and attached the zip tie to a crane.  Then I would lift him to see if his penis was strong enough to hold his entire body weight off the ground, or would it just detach.”

(Gertrude)  “I would have stuck his penis between two elevator doors and then pressed the button for the ninth floor.”

(Hattie)  “Well, you know in Aftrica, they used to take one of their enemies and tie him on the ground, spread-eagled, next to an anthill of fire ants.  They’re about a half inch long each.  Then they would pour honey on his genitals.”

(Gertrude)  “I would have poured superglue all over his penis and then try to give him an erection.  I wonder what would happen?”

(Hattie)  “Well I would have inserted a glass rod up his urethra and then crush the glass internally.”

(Gertrude)  “I would have finished the scene in Goldfinger, where he was about to burn off James Bond’s penis with an industrial laser.”

Gertrude then looked back at me and asked, “Tell me, Precious … What would you have done?”

Surprisingly, I had a answer ready for them.  “Ma’am, I would have grabbed his erection and masturbated him with sandpaper.”

Gertrude was impressed.  “Oh my lord, you’re a clever girl, Precious.  What grade?”

“Oh, I’m in the sixth grade.”

The woman shook her head.  “No dear, I meant what grade of sandpaper would you use?”

I shrugged.  “Why, coarse, of course.”

Gertrude beamed.  “I just love you, dear.  You’re one of us … And how are your boobies coming along?”

“Huh?”

“May I?”

Well call me ignorant, but I had no idea that when two women are standing in line to use the restroom … the question ‘May I’ is female code talk for ‘May I squeeze your tits?  I should have known, since Sammantha asked me the same thing.”

That really gave me a shock when she didn’t wait for my response.  It’s a good thing I had ample stuffing in Sammantha’s sports bra.

“They’re so lovely,” Gertrude concluded. “You’re a lucky girl.”

I bolted from the line.