Girl Scout Mom

All characters involved in sexual situations in this story are eighteen years of age or older.

* * *

Christy leaned forward to give him a better view. Boxes of Girl Scout cookies were stacked to either side of her, perfectly framing her oversized breasts as they strained against the last button on her tight top and threatened to burst free.

The twenty-something shopper in front of her was nearly cross-eyed as he fumbled in his wallet for a twenty. "I'll take two, please."

With a knowing smile, she squeezed her arms together and pushed her big tits toward him. "I don't have any change. Is there any way I could convince you to grab some more?"

He licked his dry lips as he dumbly nodded his agreement, his eyes still locked on her spectacular rack.

"You're such a sweetie," she said, giving him an unrestricted peek down her top as she bent to grab five boxes of cookies from the case by her feet.

The three men waiting in line behind him jostled for position as they craned their necks, straining to get a better view.

"Excuse me," a voice said frostily from the adjoining table, "but we're selling cookies, too."

Wendy scowled at the men as they averted their eyes and shuffled their feet, pretending they hadn't heard her. All of them were far more interested in Christy's cookies than the ones she was selling.

Wendy's daughter was beside her and she pulled her close and gave her a reassuring hug. At ten years old, Emma was too young to understand why the table beside them was almost sold out of cookies while she'd barely managed to move more than a handful of boxes.

She'd been standing there for hours, greeting every potential customer that passed with a sales pitch she'd practiced all spring. Christy's daughter had spent the same amount of time slumped against the wall, listening to music as her mom worked her table for her. And her sales pitch was definitely working.

Empty cardboard cases were stacked around them. In four hours they'd already sold twice as many cookies as Wendy and her daughter had in an entire week.

Wendy glared at Christy as she leaned forward, showing off her boobs for her next customer. It was bad enough she was doing the work her daughter should have been doing, but the way she was doing it, flashing her tits at every guy that walked by, well, that really frosted Wendy's cookies.

As specified in the Girl Scout handbook, she was dressed in a neat navy-blue outfit with the official scarf tied around her neck. Christy, on the other hand, was wearing stiletto heels, a mini skirt and a barely-buttoned blouse. Her customer obviously approved, shamelessly eye-humping her huge tits as Christy bent forward to retrieve five more boxes from beneath her table.

Wendy's scowl deepened. She was the exact same age as Christy, thirty-eight. The kid on the other side of the table couldn't have been half of that. He was young enough to be her son and the sight of Christy showing off her tits for him while she unashamedly eyed the prominent bulge in the front of his pants filled Wendy with a feeling of...well, she wasn't sure what.

She tugged at her scarf and struggled with the top button on her shirt, the collar suddenly seeming very tight. Beside her, Christy was bent over the table, smiling and chatting with the young guy standing opposite as her eyes swiveled back and forth from his face to his obvious erection. He was openly staring at her tits and she hooked her painted fingernail inside the fabric of her blouse, pulling it to one side to give him a better view.

His face flushed as he caught a glimpse of a nipple. She laughed and said something. He nodded and she passed him a pen. As he wrote his phone number on a scrap of paper, Christy's eyes never left his hard-on.

He walked away with five boxes of cookies and Christy tucked his number in her purse, right beside a half-dozen others she'd already collected that day. Her daughter, still slumped against the wall and listening to music, was oblivious to it all.

Wendy finally worked the top button on her shirt loose, tearing her collar open as she swallowed a huge gulp of fresh air, not sure why the day suddenly seemed so stifling.

She'd been so distracted by Christy's antics she hadn't noticed Emma had also reeled in a customer, an elderly woman who was busy counting out four dollars in change. She said she'd also been a Girl Scout when she was young and complimented Emma on her tidy uniform while casting an unapproving gaze in Christy's direction.

Emma politely thanked her and handed her a box of cookies. As the old woman wandered away, Wendy collapsed into a chair behind her daughter.

"Are you okay, Mom?"

She nodded. "I'm fine. I think I've just been on my feet too long. We should start thinking about packing up and getting something to eat."

Emma stared at the table beside her, their remaining boxes of cookies a fraction of the number still stacked high across her own table. "But I haven't sold enough yet."

Wendy's heart ached as she caught her daughter glancing at Christy's daughter's uniform. She knew which badge she was enviously eyeing: Top Cookie Seller.

Christy's daughter - or, to be more precise, Christy's tits - had won the award three years in a row. The badge was one of the few Emma still needed and it was looking more and more like it was about to elude her for a fourth straight year.

In addition to the boxes stacked above and below their table, Wendy's minivan was loaded with cases of unsold cookies. She'd ordered them hoping this might finally be the year they'd beat Christy, but realized now how foolish she'd been to even dream such a feat was possible.

Christy turned toward her, a smile at the corner of her mouth as she buttoned her top up. "Looks like we're almost all sold out, unless you want to give us some of your cookies to sell?"

"Not a chance," Wendy blurted out, before her daughter could say a word otherwise. "We need all of our boxes."

Christy arched an eyebrow. "You do remember that the cutoff for sales is tomorrow morning, right?"

"That isn't a problem," Wendy said. "We still have lots of time." She ignored the questioning look Emma gave her, refusing to admit defeat.

Christy tilted her head and stared at the unopened cases piled under the table. "Yeah, good luck with that."

She turned and kicked her daughter's foot to get her attention, telling her it was time to go. Then she glanced back. "Oh, don't forget about the party tonight. I've told everyone to be there by seven."

"We might be a little late," Wendy said. "We want to stay out as long as we can, but don't worry, we'll be there."

Christy winced. "I almost forgot to tell you, Hank invited Bruce. He's bringing Janice."

Wendy stiffened. Hank was Christy's husband. Every year they threw a huge pool party at their house for all of the local Girl Scouts, volunteers and parents. Bruce was Wendy's husband or, to be more precise, her ex-husband. And Janice was the reason for that ex.

She was in her early twenties and an aspiring realtor and Wendy's husband, with fifteen years in the industry, had offered to bring her along to a few open houses to show her the ropes. Apparently, that wasn't all he'd shown her.

The affair had lasted six months before Wendy found out and their divorce had followed shortly after. She got Emma and the house. He got a new Mercedes and a wife half his age.

"You're still welcome to come if you want to," Christy said. "I just wanted to give you a heads up so it wouldn't be...you know...weird."

Wendy forced a smile. "Actually, now that I think about it maybe it would be better if I just drop Emma off and skip the party. That way I can stay out and keep selling cookies. We've still got a lot to get rid of."

"I can see that," Christy said, as she cast a skeptical eye toward the stacks of unsold boxes. "Like I said, good luck."

* * *

Wendy shut the door, dropped her keys on the table and slumped against the wall. She was exhausted. They'd spent four more hours at the mall and had moved most of the cookies at their table - business had unsurprisingly picked up as soon as Christy left - but Wendy's minivan was still nearly full.

Emma had wanted to stay out, had wanted to try to sell them all, but Wendy knew there was zero hope of that happening. She'd simply ordered too many cookies. But she knew they'd still done well; they'd sold more boxes than any other year and she was proud of her daughter.

She'd dropped Emma off at the party and made her excuses for why she couldn't stay, not the least of which was because she wanted to be gone before her ex-husband showed up with his new car and new wife.

Now she was home, alone, with twenty cases of unsold cookies to keep her company. She hadn't been good enough to keep her husband. She hadn't even been good enough to beat Christy. She knew life wasn't a contest, but sometimes it sure felt like she was losing.

She walked into her bedroom and stared at herself in the mirror. She was only thirty-eight, but felt years older. She pulled off the unflattering navy blue outfit and arched her back as she stared at herself in the mirror. Her breasts were nowhere near as big as Christy's but she was sure they were bigger than Janice's, maybe not as perfect or perky, but definitely bigger.

Wendy sighed as she looked into the mirror. She actually wasn't in bad shape. When her husband seemed to be losing interest in sex she'd joined a fitness club, hoping a few less pounds might reignite his enthusiasm.

It wasn't until later she realized he hadn't lost interest in sex, he'd just lost interest in sex with her. She'd kept going to the fitness club, even after the divorce, letting the workout ease her pain, and the hours spent there had definitely paid off. She was in better shape than she'd been in years. She just didn't feel sexy.

She pushed her dark, shoulder-length hair up and turned back and forth, inspecting herself in the mirror, wondering if she could ever wear an outfit like Christy had worn today.

Wendy shook her head and let her hair fall, surprised the thought had even occurred to her. Even if she had any desire to dress like that, nothing in her wardrobe was in any way comparable to Christy's outfit. Then she remembered the costume.

She dropped to her knees and pulled a cardboard box out from beneath the bed. The revealing outfit inside had arrived unexpectedly when she was still married. She'd naively thought her husband had ordered it to spice up their love life and had been mortified when she couldn't even squeeze into it.

It wasn't until she saw the look of guilt on his face that she realized he hadn't ordered it for her. In fact, the only reason it had arrived at their house instead of his office was because he'd clicked the wrong shipping address. It hadn't fit her then, would it fit her now?

She laid the outfit on the bed: white crop top, green vest with yellow trim, matching pleated skirt, sash and hat. It was definitely a Girl Scout costume, but looked more suited for stripping than selling cookies.

Wendy smirked as she gazed at the skimpy ensemble, wondering how many boxes Christy could have sold if she'd had this outfit on. Then Wendy picked up the sash and turned toward the mirror with the thin ribbon draped across her breasts, wondering how many boxes of cookies she could have sold.

She shook her head and threw the sash back on the bed, chewing on a fingernail as she stared at the dangerous outfit. Minutes later she had it on. She swiveled back and forth, staring at herself in the mirror, amazed that the revealing costume now fit. She definitely would have sold a lot more cookies if she'd been wearing this.

The crop top tied together in the front and was knotted just below her breasts, pushing them up and out invitingly. Wendy squeezed them together, admiring her reflection in the mirror. She didn't have Christy's cantaloupes, but they were definitely a handful.

She ran her hand across her bare midriff and twisted around to check out her ass. But when she caught a glimpse of her granny panties peeking out from beneath the small skirt she winced.

She hurried to her dresser and dug through the drawer until she found what she was looking for: a tiny pair of silky white panties and matching, thigh-high stockings. She pulled them on and raced to her closet to grab her white high heels. Then she turned back to the mirror and caught her breath; in this outfit, no one was going to be looking at her merit badges.

Wendy's shoulders slumped. She took the hat off and tossed the sash on the bed. Who was she kidding? She couldn't go anywhere dressed like this. Christy's outfit had crossed the line, but the racy costume Wendy was wearing was so far out of bounds it wasn't funny. The Girl Scout council would kick her out if they even saw her near a box of cookies.

She spun around one last time. It's a shame, she thought, as she admired her reflection, having something like this and no one to show it off to.

But then she thought of Jason. He was a new sales rep at her work. Young. Cute. She'd driven him home after the company Christmas party and he'd invited her in for eggnog. She'd said no. She had to pick up her daughter.

She'd wondered if he'd really been offering more than a friendly drink ever since. She knew where his house was. She could drive by and see if he wanted to buy some cookies, see what he thought of her outfit. And if she'd read the situation wrong she could just laugh it off, tell him she'd worn the costume on a dare.

She took a deep breath and snatched the hat and sash back off the bed. That's what it was, a dare.

* * *

The minivan crawled down the dimly-lit street. Wendy swore as she peered through the windshield. The houses all seemed the same in the dark. She wasn't sure which one was Jason's, or if she was even on the right block.

She pulled the minivan over and got out; teetering in her high heels as she headed down the street on foot and tried to remember which house was his. She crossed her arms over her breasts and wished she had a coat, something to hide the revealing costume she had on, knowing if she knocked on the wrong door she'd die of embarrassment.

She swore again. This was hopeless. There'd been a foot of snow at Christmas, everything had looked different then. She didn't know Jason's address. She didn't know his phone number. She didn't even know if he'd be interested.

But as she walked past one house she noticed someone standing at the front window, hands cupped against the glass as he peered outside. He spotted her and waved.

Wendy looked over her shoulder, thinking he had to be waving at someone else. Then the front door opened and he came outside, hurrying down the steps as loud music poured from the doorway behind him.

"Oh man, you have no idea how glad I am to see you," he said. "I was starting to think you weren't going to show up."

"Pardon me?"

He was right in front of her now, tall and skinny, no older than eighteen. "You're an hour late. I thought you'd bailed."

She blinked in surprise. "I think you've mistaken me for someone else."

"Huh? You're Misty Showers, right?"

"Uh, no, I'm Wendy," she said, trying to tug her skirt lower to hide her exposed skin.

A second man appeared on the porch, only a few years older than the first. He did a double take when he spotted Wendy. "Is she the stripper you ordered?"

"No, she's just some lady who was walking by," the skinny kid said.

His friend came down the steps, his eyes narrowed on Wendy's costume. She crossed her arm over her breasts and kept trying to tug down her skirt which now seemed way, way too short.

"You're kidding me," he said. "You're not a stripper?"

Wendy nervously bit her lower lip and shook her head.

"Then why the hell are you dressed like that?"

Not sure how to answer, Wendy said, "I'm, uh, selling cookies."

He stared at her in disbelief. "In that?! Aren't you a little old to be a Girl Scout?"

Wendy's cheeks went crimson. She could feel their eyes on her breasts, between her legs, despite her best efforts to cover up. "I'm selling them for my daughter. I was hoping to drop some off for a friend who lives near here but - "

He'd already lost interest in her story and had turned back to the skinny kid. "What the hell is going on, James? Where is the stripper you were supposed to get?!"

"I don't know. I - " James' phone beeped. He yanked it out of his back pocket and scanned the text. "Fuck, now she says she can't make it! Oh man, this is bad, Zac."

Zac sighed. "Don't let it get you down, dude, strippers aren't exactly known for their reliability."

"But it was my job to find one and I blew it," James said. "What are we going to do now?"

"I have no idea, but this party is going downhill fast."

"Party?" Wendy said.

Zac stared at her like he'd forgotten she was there. "Yeah, his brother is getting married. This is supposed to be his stag."

Wendy stared over his shoulder toward the open doorway, where loud music was still blaring out. "Do you think anyone will want to buy some cookies?"

* * *

They headed downstairs with Zac in the lead and James behind him. As soon as Wendy's high heels and white stockings came into view, a whoop went up from the crowd assembled in the room.

There was a score of guys in their early twenties gathered around a pool table, pounding beer and shots. As they craned their necks, trying to get a better look at Wendy, Zac stepped forward and held his hands up.

He said, "Calm down, this isn't what you think. She's not the stripper."

"I should fuckin hope not," a voice slurred from the crowd. "She's old enough to be my mom!"

Zac glared in the direction where the voice had come from. "You wish your mom looked this good, Miller. In fact, we all do." A roar of laughter echoed around the rec room. "This is Wendy. She's selling Girl Scout cookies for her kid and I told her I'd see if anyone was interested."

"Are you kiddin me?" A stocky guy that had to be Miller pushed his way to the front of the crowd, obviously drunk. "Cookies? This is supposed to be a fuckin stag. Let's go down to Vixens and see some pussy!"

As a murmur of agreement rose around him, Zac said, "You know we can't go to a strip club. James is only eighteen. They won't let him in."

"Then we leave him behind," Miller growled.

"Are you kidding? We can't go without him, he's the best man. We all agreed we were fine with having the stag here."

"Yeah, but that was before we found out there wasn't gonna be any peelers," Miller said. "That's what happens when ya put a fuckin kid in charge."

As James wilted beside him, Zac said, "It's not his fault the stripper he hired backed out at the last second. We don't need her. We can still make this a stag to remember."

"Yeah, good luck with that," Miller said, as he shouldered past him and headed up the stairs. "If you need to find us, we'll be at Vixens."

A slew of partygoers followed him, mumbling apologies to Zac as he pleaded with them not to leave. But it was to no avail. When the front door slammed there were only six left, not counting Wendy.

She said, "Sorry about your party. I guess I'd better go."

"Wait," Zac said, "don't leave yet." He called out, "Isn't anyone going to buy some of her cookies? She's trying to help her kid."

The few remaining partygoers looked away or shook their heads, but one stepped forward. "I'll buy some. I love those things."

"Thanks, Randy. I appreciate it." Zac introduced him to Wendy and then stepped away to talk to the others that had stayed.

Randy was in his early twenties, tall and lean with short, spiky blond hair and wearing a suit with no tie. He pulled his wallet out and gave Wendy a disarming smile. "How much are they?"