Red
Short story about fetishes and childhood friends
Austin, my midget friend, offered me a cigarette. I grabbed it with my thumb and index finger, sucked the filter like a straw. I also swallowed. That was followed by thirty seconds of hysterical coughing and finally burping out a small cloud of smoke.
“Shit,” I gagged.
“At least you’re not a pussy,” said Austin.
“I’m not a pussy.”
“Yeah, like I said.”
I gave it back to him and he finished it. “So I was in class one time and Ms. Trinidad was sitting on her table. You know how her legs are. Long, smooth, white.”
“Yeah they’re pretty nice.” I said.
“Look, I’m really small. I see legs all the time. I think I’m addicted.”
Austin lit another one. He puffed out a smoke ring that disappeared into the street.
“So she was reading a story or something and, of course, her legs were under the table. Fuck, they were so good. Plump, soft, white. I guess she got tired crossing one leg over the other. So she sat just like how a boy would sit. She probably thought we couldn’t see them.”
“But you did?” I asked.
“Yes, Nate, I did. I saw her panties. Red. That day it was red. Best thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I wish I could see her panties.”
Nobody else talked about Ms. Trinidad like that. I liked Austin and somehow I caught his fascination with good legs. We would cut class and smoke and talk several more times. I never saw him again after sixth grade. I miss Austin.
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