We walked down the hall and my breasts went through every imaginable bra size, from a 32 A to a 38 GG. In one particular mirror, they multiplied exponentially. Bonnie put her hands on all sixteen of my breasts.
“How does that feel?” she asked.
It was a turn-on to see her feel me up in so many different ways. I wished I could actually grow fourteen more pairs of boobs so she could molest all of them. She pinched my nipple, and watching the freak-show of myself turned me on fourteen times more than normal for a pinched nipple. I felt myself getting wet. Then I heard the sound of screaming children somewhere in the vicinity and I pulled my shirt up instantly. The thrill of getting caught scared me and aroused me, so naturally I pulled my tits out again. Just moments later, the shrill of the children’s voices went away.
After we had exhausted all optical possibilities in the little house of mirrors, we exited and continued to walk toward the Ferris wheel. I was aroused and giddy from the brief stint of public nipple play mixed with the sugars circulating inside my body.
“You’re walking flawlessly in those heels,” I said. “And it’s muddy out. That’s impressive!”
“I am so scared of falling on my ass. It’s all I can think about! I feel like I’m walking a tightrope in the circus,” she replied.
“You’re not gonna fall! I won’t let you. That’s just not an option.”
As the night got later, the park became more crowded, and the more people there, the more people scowled and hissed at our existence. As we proceeded to walk through the carnival, people escaped our presence and parted like the red sea. We paved our own path and walked through it proudly. Or at least, I was proud. I could tell Bonnie was nervous, but she walked with determination, poise, and confidence.
We waited in the line for the Ferris wheel. I could feel everyone whispering, I could see everyone pointing. Boys who couldn’t have been older than sixteen were holding open containers of alcohol, but this didn’t seem to concern anyone as much as we did.
“Maybe we should just go,” Bonnie suggested.
“No way!” I answered. “Really, ever since I was in middle school I’ve always wanted someone to kiss on the Ferris wheel.”
“Oh come on, I’m sure you’ve kissed plenty of people on the Ferris wheel!”
“No, I haven’t. Honestly,” I said. “The only person to kiss me in high school was someone who got stuck with me on a game of spin the bottle. And he tried to get out of it!” I laughed. “Literally he tried blowing the bottle so he could kiss my friend Jill instead of me.”
She laughed.
“What was high school like for you?” I asked, trying to make conversation to distract Bonnie’s attention away from the people staring, though I was also genuinely interested.
“Well, I played football,” she said.
“Oh, jeez. Well, I’m sure you had no problem finding any willing partners to make out with you!”
“That’s true. But I was more interested in trying the girls’ clothing on than I was in getting their clothing off!”
“Well, you could have done both with me. Although I doubt you would have wanted to wear my thrift-store Dickies and my argyle sweaters.”
Our place in line advanced to the front and we were let into our own carriage. The way they did it was just so impractical. It was like jumping into a moving vehicle. Why was it impossible for it to come to a complete stop before people went on? But Bonnie grabbed my hand and pulled me in. We jumped on without skipping a beat; she was a more seasoned Ferris wheel rider than I was. I followed her lead and together we were ready to get slowly lifted in the air, go around in a circle, and gaze at the view of Pasco County, which is mostly motels, strip malls, and chain restaurants. Still, everything looks better from above.
The ride slowly started and stopped. I never paid attention to how rickety these things felt when I was younger. Did I develop a small case of vertigo in my twenties? I felt slightly uneasy, but I didn’t want to mess up the romantic moment I insisted on creating. After what felt like a bit too much starting and stopping, we were at a full stop at the top of the wheel. The temperature was humid and I could smell wafts of grease from deep fried everything in the air, which I will admit I actually liked.
“It’s time for my very first carnival kiss!” I said. I handed her a tissue. “Blot your lipstick first, though.”
“What on earth does that mean?” she asked.
“Oh! You basically just give this Kleenex a kiss,” I said. “Just put it between your lips, and slightly less of it will wind up on my face.”
I held the tissue up and she opened her mouth as if I was feeding it to her. She clamped down on it, I moved the tissue around and she blotted herself on all the corners of the tissue. She enjoyed indulging in this feminine activity. I took for granted the little pieces of seemingly mundane activity that went into being a woman. I never had to blot my lips much, because I rarely wore lipstick and rarely kissed people, until now.
She leaned over after the blotting activity was complete. I stuffed the tissue back into my purse—I wanted to save it for some kind of Billy/Bonnie scrapbook, or maybe if I never wound up seeing her again, I could pull this out and taste her lips on this tissue. Was that creepy? I should be savoring the moment. I don’t know why I was stressing about our possibly doomed ending when we had barely reached our beginning. The fair was bringing back some déjà vu of the loneliness and isolation I felt growing up and I just didn’t want this moment to end.
Bonnie leaned over and kissed me. I grabbed onto her, I put my hands up her skirt and felt up and down her stockings and her garter. The feeling of a cock underneath a dress with panty hose was such a thrill. Her kiss was so intense and beautiful, I felt it inside my entire body. We wrapped our tongues around each other, and I ran my fingers through her long, wavy hair. Unfortunately, I got a bit too aggressive with my heavy petting, and accidentally knocked the wig off her head. It was caught by a strong wind and blew off, away into the air. Shit.
Bonnie followed it with her eyes, her face suddenly white. It was as if I ripped off a piece of her body and threw it in the trash.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” I said.
“I must look ridiculous,” she frowned.
“No you don’t! There’s plenty of sexy women with shaved heads! ” I said. “You look like a badass!” I exclaimed. I wasn’t sure if I was making anything better at all.
“I just want to bury my head in the sand,” she said.
“I… don’t have any sand. What about here?” I don’t know what came over me: I took her head and I pushed it down to my pussy. Our carriage rocked back and forth, I must have been high on cotton candy to have gained this burst of slight confidence, mixed with simply feeling invincible. Apparently when I was 500 feet in the air, I became kind of dominant. Plus I wanted to do anything to distract her.
She pulled my panties to the side and quickly played with my clit. She licked the sides of my labia. It felt so good to have her back between my legs. I was already super moist, so she plunged three fingers inside me and bit my thigh. She came back up and kissed my neck; I didn’t care if it wound up being covered in lipstick. I could feel her thick fingers stuffing me, immediately hitting my G-spot, and I began to tremble. I wanted to shout I’m cumming! from the top of the wheel, but I knew that would be inappropriate. She knew the inside of my pussy so well, she knew exactly where to go. She could make me cum so easily, it was like she just had to turn on a switch. She must have ridden the Ferris wheel so many times in high school with her football in one hand and a cheerleader’s pussy in the other, and that’s how she just knew exactly what to do. She took her fingers from out of me and stuck them in my mouth. They tasted so powerful. I could taste the aroused state of my vagina right off of her. I was learning how juicy my pussy got when it was touched the right way. I had never felt this much moisture out of me from anyone who touched me in the past.