Dolomite's Ranting
april 2000

     Hello readers. It is that time of the year again. No, not that time when Aunt Gladys sends you that pink bunny costume because she thinks that you are still five years old. Nor is it that time when you must begin searching for a new thong bikini. It is simply the Winter/Spring depression. Almost every place has them. It is the North American version of the rainy season. Basically, any snowfall will melt within two hours of contact with the ground. However, any rainfall will either evaporate or freeze within a fort's night. This is the time when slush is king and the weatherman gives you the same look your pet goldfish gives you. Here in Erie, we are witness to an exception to the normal rule. Most places only endure about a month of this. We experience about three months of this. It begins in late February and ends halfway through May. It is a time of an endlessly gray sky and a damp, yet frozen, ground. Oh how I hate Erie. I hate the people here even more. I hate the people so much that if France, or Quebec, decided to send terrorists to Erie, I would not know which side to help.

     So here I am, a few days, when Dolomite says days, he really means nights, (thanks to working the graveyard shift so often) away from a true April shower, and I am stuck working at CVS. I have thus far endured working on New Year's Eve, Valentine's Day, St. Patrick's Day, encountered a Jesus Freak (see last issue), and dealt with all the normal crazy fools that come in during the third shift. Yet, despite my survival of these events, I was hardly prepared for this night. In many ways, this job has tested me. I was spiritually tested by the confrontation with the Jesus Freak (again, see last issue). My emotional limit has been tested and strained by working through the pain of breaking up with my ex three hours before my first night of work, as well as all the other emotional issues brought up by her afterwards. My physical endurance, once tested with my ex, has been tested instead by working through the night, paying attention to my classes the next morning, and trying to sleep in the afternoon as my neighbor decides to play his bass guitar. My physical ability has been tested by two brawls. One over the last box of candy the night before Valentine's Day. The other was a drunken brawl the night of St. Patrick's day between the Irish exchange students (drunk beyond belief, even for their kin) and some American college men (drunk, but not as much as the Irish) fought over who would win in a fight: the leprechaun from Lucky Charms or the rabbit from Trix cereal. And still, I was not prepared for the test that was laid before me.
     Like I stated before, it was a dreary and rainy night. Though this night was much warmer than its previous siblings were, it had a cold and bitter wind in it. My manager, the great dodger of Jesus Freaks (see last issue, last time, I swear!), was commenting on how lonely he was. I reiterated his song of despair with one of my own. We both, in our depressed visages of ourselves, vowed to forget the sins of our past (our ex's) and swear off women. Strangely, we were both sober at the time. With him being twenty, intelligent, and quite fit, I decided to make some money off of the deal. I bet him fifty dollars that I could sustain from any sexual intercourse; anything ranging from a brief feeling of breasts to a brief interlocking of groins...Hey, when I said it had been a while, I meant quite a while. It has been several months since Dolomite last had some. It has been nearly a year since my manager has even come close to having any. I would be surprised if he even made it out of his pants before he was already done. We agreed at the sum of fifty dollars for the bet and made a second pledge, this one of honesty. To quote it best, "…and whoever is not honest and forthright about their sexual achievements, may he come back in the next life as an obese homosexual with a thin penis." And so the deal was struck. And like most deals that have the threat of reincarnation was something worse than what one is at the moment, God/Fate decided to fuck with us mortals.

     A few hours went by before it finally happened. My manager, much to his disgust, had to restock the fridge and freezer. It would take hours. So I was alone on duty at the register. I decided to relax and earn what little they paid me. I went over to the magazine rack, reiterated my desire for us to start selling Penthouses and Playboys like every other business that thrives on cigarette sales to bring in the customers. Instead, I grabbed an issue of Stuff, basically a Maxim filled with more articles dealing with sex. I must have been reading it for about half an hour, when they walked in. Two college girls, each wearing a pair of shorts and a pair of white, cotton tees. Neither wore a bra, as I noticed thanks to the rain. One had a backpack on, which only pushed her breasts together while simultaneously stretching her shirt even more.
     They came up to me, with a few swinging steps to either side (both were seriously smashed beyond belief). They came right up to me and asked if they could get their film, in the most sober voice each could muster. I had to ask them to repeat their question because I was too busy how nipply, I mean nippy, it was outside the first time they asked. I asked them for their names so that I could check to see if their pictures were done. I said that I was having trouble finding them, so I would need more information. I asked them for their bra sizes. Amazingly, one of them asked why that would help. I replied honestly: incentive. Pleased with my attempt at flirtation, they told me: 34C and 36C. Then they mentioned that they had no bras on to show me, but I could check them out myself. I thought that they were joking. They were not. Each lift/peeled her shirt up enough to show me the four most beautiful breasts that I had ever seen in my life. The nipples were proportional to the actual breast, and both were the same size. Each hung slightly to prove naturalness, but otherwise defied gravity as much as any silicon fill lump that has ever left any doctor's office. I was simply amazed and shocked. The only thing that brought me back to reality was the increasing tightness in my crotch, and the one asked me if that helped me find their pictures any more. I had only one more question to ask, and that was because I was raised a Catholic and considered myself a gentleman. I asked, "One more question, are either of you two single?"
     "Sorry, but we are a happy couple!" the taller girl giggled back.
     "But we are always looking for a nice guy to add some spice to our night-life," the backpacked girl added with a very inviting smile.
     "Duuuhhhohhh," was all I could get out at the moment. Okay, so I was spell bound and horny, a bad combination at three in the morning and on the clock. However, how often do these things come up? Unfortunately, God gave me an odd sense of duty (this is how he fucked with me in this situation). "I would love to go back to either of your places and at least film you two in action, if not join in myself. Unfortunately, I have to work until seven." I did not even know why I said that. All I knew was that is was warm in the store and their nipples were still hard as diamonds!
     "The three of us could always go in the back for a little bit. Just close the store for a half an hour; grab an instant camera and a pack of condoms. If you are really nice, we may even grab a pack of batteries on the way back," the taller girl said in response to my obviously torn sense of duty. It sounded fair, good, and understandable. Any male customer inconvenienced by the half-hour wait would understand and even congratulate me. But then there was the matter of the fifty-dollar bet. Though he was in the fridge and freezer, my manager could easily finish up early to see the two blondes and me in the back, or simply notice us heading in the back on camera later. I could not lie about that. I had yet to feel either set of wonderful breasts, so I was still in the running for the money, but was this worth the fifty dollars?
     As though she was reading my indecision, the shorter girl decided to tip the scales in her favor. She began to slowly touch herself, beginning at the nipples, and slowly treading below her shorts. Then she looked me right in the eye and whispered, "please." Well, that settles that! Fifty or a hundred, the bet was lost and I did not care. I began to get out from behind the register when two policemen came through to pick up some snacks for their long shift. The girls noticed them and ran out the other doors, mostly because they were underage, drunk and half-naked in public. That was bad when the law looks at it. The two policemen looked at the two girls running down the street in the rain, still topless, looked at me, looked at the cameras, and just smiled that knowing smile. They laughed and went back to the snacks. Oh, like I really would have lasted half an hour. But I did have their pictures. And what lovely pictures they were. Especially when I saw the third friend, a lovely brunette that easily measured in the D cup range. And I can see why they were out of batteries. Hell, the manager can keep the security tape; I will keep the pictures.

Dolomite

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