She smoothed thewrinkles out of them and enjoyed the feel of their silkiness on herfreshly shaved legs.She put on a sheer black brassiere that looked sexy and also gave her B-cup breasts support, not that they really needed it. She slipped into ablack, figure-hugging, cotton-spandex, micro-mini cocktail dress withsheer back and sleeves, she accessorised with gold earrings, necklaceand bracelets and stepped into a pair of four-inch black high heels.She spun around in front of the mirror and was very happy with how shelooked.Emptying the handbag that she took every day to UC Berkeley Law Schoolonto the bed she sorted through the jumble and tossed the essentialsinto a stylish black leather clutch purse with gold hardware. She tookout a menthol cigarette, lit it, and tossed the cigarettes and lighterinto her clutch and sashayed out the door; she was a woman on a mission.When Penelope stopped in the hallway to collect her car keys Rosemarycame out of her bedroom."Where are you going. Becky held her hand out, locked her middle finger in place with her thumb, and flicked me in the stomach. I screamed in agony as I fell back against the workbench. She knocked me off my feet with a flick of her finger, a flick that felt like a shotgun blast. She popped a big pink bubble as she advanced on me. I could imagine her body under the baggy clothes, mountains of bulging, pulsing muscle straining against her freckled skin. “Please, Becky—I mean Princess Becky, Queen of the Universe. Please Princess Becky, Queen of the Universe.”“I’m going to flick you two more times,” she said. “Then I’m going to get serioushhh. First I might use your car to work on my squats, though.”In a desperate attempt to appease the preteen muscle goddess, I reached back onto the bench and gave her the Smurfette that I had been carving. “I made this for you, Princess Becky, Queen of the Universe.”Becky’s eyes lit up and her posture softened as she took the whittled figurine. “It’s neat,” she said. “I’m.
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