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I looked over, and for fuck’s sake, it was Marcus. “Oh, God, what do you want?” I asked annoyed, rolling my eyes. “’Oh, God’? I know I’m God!” he bombastically stated with his usual grin, flashing his ‘Priiiimetime’ smile (what a fucking joke!). “Listen, I’m going to give you a ride home, because I feel bad as hell for leaving you out here standing around lookin’ like a fool. Who’s supposed to pick you up, anyway?”“Chelsea’s giving me a ride,” I said. “She’s going to be here in a minute, so you can just go on.”Marcus shook his head. “Yeah, any minute being more like an hour. Just text her and tell her I’m giving you a ride home. Besides, where the fuck is your boyfriend?” he inquired.“He’s home. Sick!” I said.“Yeah, sick of yo ass,” he shot back. “He’s probably at a house party with two babes, one bent over and the other rimming him silly!” he joked, again flashing his smile.“Fuck you! He’d never do any of that to me. . . he loves me,” I defensively retorted. Fucking Marcus and his. There were a lot of bras in there. The cups were big. Mainly black and white ones, some wired, some non-wired. I didn’t know a lot about bras, but I saw how one was a push-up style bra. I opened up one of the black padded ones and rested it against my chest. The cups were massive.I scrambled to the label, which was a little worn but could make out the size: 36C. I wondered if they looked big in real life, what shape they were, how they hung. I imagined those bras being wrapped around her boobs, around those big pale fleshy boulders, imagining her big hard nipples, or whatever they looked like.There was no way I could stuff a bra in my pants. I had underestimated the size of her cups.I checked the bottom two drawers but just found random t-shirts and loungewear.I quickly went to the laundry basket. I hadn’t thought of this in my plan. I opened the lid and there were lots of clothes in there. I stuck my hand in and fumbled around like a lucky dip and then looked in. I wanted some used.
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