Image remnant from locker series

Disclaimer: It's fiction, all fiction, just trying something out off the cuff.

There was her photo in a pile of discarded shots. It seemed to capture a moment, so I picked it up. Then I fell back on the couch and let out a sigh holding her photo right up to my face. I remember those locker-room days and her and instantly get hard. How could someone so innocent and pure have had such a sexually wild side? She always seemed to be having fun, yet I took advantage of her in so many ways. I couldn't help myself, I was a red blooded male and she was so so fine.

Where is she now? Is she somebody's wife in a mini mansion off in suburbia, pushing a shopping cart up and down the aisle, or is she living her dream in LA, modeling and who knows what else?

She could've gone either way. I never really knew her. She seemed to agree with everything I said, got me to talking and after she left I would realize I did it again, I didn't ask her a single question, it was all me me me. Damn.

She had enjoyed herself. Was she smiling because she liked it or because she was laughing deep down, maybe a laugh she wouldn't even hear herself until that day years later when she's pushing a shopping cart? A sticky faced toddler pulls at her skirt because she's obviously somewhere else. She's completely still, not paying the least bit of attention to the world. It's only a split second in reality but for her the moment stretches out in all directions, and she's reliving it all again. Her lips part, her eyes get glassy, she is pressing herself up against the corner of her cart, but before anyone can notice she becomes alert again and she gasps, suddenly back in reality, picks up her child. The moment fades from her mind.

But something clicked within her, something was different today. She smiles to herself in the cashier line, moving with a slow thoughtful grace. Impatient customers want her to swipe her card a little faster, move a little quicker. She doesn't care, she's flush with a feeling she hasn't had for years. On her way out, she decides to ask for help. She's never done that before. She is predictably followed out to her car by a young tan guy whose help she has been refusing all summer. He must be getting ready to return to college in a few weeks, she thinks.

He can't keep his eyes off her as she turns her back to him. Oh that magical sway to her hips, as she walks out to her SUV and opens it slowly for him. He loads her up, and she hesitates-- she's going to ask him something. But that's when her youngest, using ancient signals to ensure his mother keeps him priority one, begins to cry and she is broken from the dream. Motherly instinct suppresses the warmth beginning to spread within her. She shakes her head, bounces the child on her hip to soothe the crying away, turns to the helper and says never mind, gives him a wink, and hands him something-- money? A note?

It is over as soon as it began. She closes her door, checks the tightness of her perky ponytail in the rear view mirror before she drives away, giggling to herself like a schoolgirl.