Fallen angels...

Her name was Marianne. The name sounds pure and virginal. Maybe she was once.

I met her in the Levi jeans section of the Bon Marche (now Macy's) at Southcenter Mall in Tukwila where she was a salesgirl. We were both 25.

"Can I help you find somethin'?" she said. She had just appeared from around a shelf of Levis and was standing about three inches from me when she spoke and I noticed her. She had on a tight  black mock turtleneck and acid-washed jeans (it was the late 80s), some of kind of short black go-go boots, long, dirty blonde, wavy hair and I could smell some very cheap perfume -- the kind teenage girls shoplifted from Kmart. She was wearing a bra, but I could see some big, slightly pendulous breasts under the turtleneck and some big hard nipples the size of late summer blackberries poking through.

She was white with a fake tan and too much makeup trying to cover some modest acne. Her voice was rough -- you could hear the smoker's voice... and smell cigarette smoke too.

But the thing I noticed most was her eyes. Very cold, hazel, emotionless eyes that made her appear to be tough and jaded. She never broke eye contact with me. She wasn't smiling, but she wasn't sad or angry. Those eyes said, "I know what I want and I want it right now.  I dare you to give it to me."

"Uh yeah... I need some Levis," I answered.

"What are you, about a 30-inch waist, 32-inch inseam?" she asked. She nailed it. While reaching in the shelves for the right size she made sure to brush those giant tits against my arm. There was no way I was going to fit into those jeans now.

"Sure you don't want to try them on?" she said. She actually grabbed the front waist of my Levis and stepped even closer to me. I think I gave her a shit-eating grin, but I was in shock. She didn't bat an eyelash or flirt, but kept that dead gaze at me. At that time in my life it was impossible to believe that a women I just met would lead me into a dressing room at a department store, unzip my pants, take out my painfully erect cock and blow me to the finish line. That stuff only happened in Penthouse Forum. But that's just what she did.

It took three minutes at the most. She was an expert at it.

I tried to return the favor by putting one hand up her shirt and under her bra to squeeze those giant titties and I reached down the front of her pants with my other hand (she wasn't wearing panties... she later said she never wore them) to touch her pussy which was soaking wet. But she stopped me and said she had to get back to work or she'd get fired. I took my hands out, but if you looked close you could see the crotch of her jeans was already soaked through.

I guess I bought the stupid Levis... I really don't remember. She didn't work on commission so she wouldn't have cared.

Afterwards we made some quick small talk about stuff I can't recall. Her manager started hanging around close by clearly displeased that she was spending too much time with one customer. I gave her my business card for the hack newspaper I wrote for in a nearby suburb. I wrote my home phone number on it (waaaaayyy  pre-cell phone days) and told her to call me if she ever wanted to do something. She actually looked happy when I did.

"Kurt, huh?" she said looking at my name on the card.

"Yep... and Marianne?" I answered, nodding at her store nametag.

She called me the next day.

"You met me at just the right time," she said. "Let's go do something." I didn't have anybody I was seriously dating so I was eager and willing. I suggested a movie where we wouldn't have to talk a lot, but she said she wanted to go out to eat in Seattle. She liked Mexican food. She wanted to go out that night.

I knew a place I had been to a couple of times in Belltown. I picked her up at her shitty duplex not far away from I where I lived and worked in Federal Way, WA (stupid name for a city) and we drove the 20 miles into Seattle proper. I suggested we first go to a place close to the restaurant for drinks -- Five Corners, a hangout for the hipsters... like me.

Unbelievably, a guy I had met a couple weeks earlier at a party was there. His name was "Joe" and he was famous amongst the guys I hung out with -- a very smooth, handsome operator who was revered for getting whatever pussy he wanted. In fact, at the party I had met him at two weeks ago, he had picked up two women and fucked them at the same time. That's not just a story... I saw it. The girls were best friends who worked at a Planned Parenthood office in Seattle. When I woke up out of my drunk, he was in a room fucking one of them and fingering the other with the door wide open. All three were obviously having a good time.

My good friend and photographer partner from the newspaper, Paul, was sleeping in a bed with a relatively hot blonde who was engaged to somebody else. I had gotten drunk off my ass. Two very nice women had taken pity on me and had made sure I at least slept if off on the couch. I remembered making out with one of them while I was hammered while the other one mostly watched. I made out with her a little bit too, but I was way too fucked up to close the deal. I never saw either one of them again.

So anyway... here was Joe Cool. He saw me and came over to greet us. This looked like trouble to me. This guy was cool on a scale that didn't include me. I could see that he had recognized me, but he also had taken note of Miss Dirty Blonde Big Tits and was smiling his 1000-watt smile at her.

To be continued...