The White Overall - Sex Stories

The White Overall

... looking most educated. She was a symbol of the Jewish women from rich families who got the jobs above ground and got the interesting research grants. It was unfair.

Some days like that day, it got too much. Rachel acted out. She'd burn to relieve that torment in her chest that made her whole body feel sick. Her outlet was like cutting her skin, she needed that sharp sting, but she got it from something else. From something that she could hide from everyone else, compartmentalize it, drain the ulcer in her soul with surgical precision.

She went into the bathroom and changed into a white jeans overall. Not wearing a bra, the front covered her boobs but allowed plenty of view from the side and top. Also not being form-hugging, the overall front moved around. Her breasts were fat-filled to be beautifully full - the picturebook example warm, motherly breasts with that youthful smooth skin and teardrop shape of a thirty-year-old. The overall also covered her figure that gave her a little too much to make her a real woman. She knew her cleavage attracted looks of clerks at takeout counters. There was something very alive and full about how her natural breasts moved, wiggled, and swayed.

Her hands worked her hair into a ponytail and used cream to slick her hair back along the skull. The hair glistened smooth, black, and wet like almost right out of the shower. Her lips turned into burning passion with red lipstick. She drew black lines near her eyes to create that timeless ...

... going-out-look. She was still a bit mousy from her figure and posture, but the accents said that she was ready for the night. She put a big, black jacket on and zipped it up all the way to cover up - let people believe she was going to go for happy hour or a concert.

Slipping out of the university campus, which made her the pride of her family, through a side exit, she hurried down the nighttime street. Dodging past an old, white-haired man with a walking stick taking his time and making the pedestrian traffic part around him, she quickly hopped down the stairs into the subway. The blue sign for the A train uptown guided her to a platform, gloom-grayed, grime-encrusted, and with industrial-sludge-hued puddles.

The train shook in turns made too uneven and rattled over gaps in the tracks, all the while the wheels were singing their steel whine grinding against the tracks. This late and going away from the center of Manhattan, the train had plenty of empty seats. The only people on the train were working people. A big man with hard boots held a toolbox in front of him. White paint slaps covered his pants and hands. He seemed entirely comfortable having paint on his hand and going about the city. Another Latino man wore all-black clothes and shoes with his hair slicked back and a sullen look on his face - the telltale sign of a busser. A big belied lady held a dozen grocery plastic bags with churros - those golden, sugar-covered sticks - on her lap and all around her seats. ...