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Well, darlings, isn't this absolutely fabulous? But we need a bit of girl on girl action, do't you think? So here it is...... Enjoy 
Sexing the Summit.
Cherry Bomb blew a bubble and watched as her friend sauntered up. The gum was cherry-flavoured, of course, and the red food colouring was painting her full lips a nice, slightly unnatural red colour.
‘You’re so… like… How’d you know I’d be here? And why the fuck are you wearing PVC to a protest? Won’t it get ripped?’ Cherry Bomb was kitted out in the best resistance-fighter attire, her gum the sole reminder that underneath the army pants, tight ‘feminazi’ t-shirt and tough workboots was just a jive-talking chick, after all.
‘I just knew you’d be here. And insurrection is sexy, baby. Besides,’ Dayglo reached out a finger and neatly popped Cherry’s bubble, ‘we gotta give the blockaders something to look at.’
Cherry raised her eyebrows approvingly. ‘Something to look at, alright. Damn, girl, you’re making me hot.’
‘Maybe that’s the point.’ Dayglo looked at Cherry pointedly and then shifted her eyes elsewhere, watching scores of greenies and lefties and queers and socialists and anarchists, people of all different shapes and sizes and backgrounds and political conviction (all kitted out with crammed backpacks and strange assortments of headgear, balaclavas, chicken masks, helmets, you name it) stream out of the subway entrance and down the street towards the giant fence. It was the summit to end all summits. Everyone was here. The WTO. The IMF. The World Bank. Bush and his minions. The assorted representatives of NATO, the FTAA, the G8 leaders, the Commonwealth Heads of Government. Even the Queen was rumoured to be around somewhere inside. They’d spent almost a year building the wall (some said it was bigger than the Berlin Wall) because of all the elements they wanted to keep outside: the People, for a start, but other groups as well. And of course, they were holding it in New York. In high summer.
‘So, hey, honey, you wanna blockade with me?’ Dayglo’s watchful eyes had made the rounds and zoomed back in on Cherry.
‘Sure’. They linked arms and walked off towards the great crazy fence.
*
By the middle of the day, the heat was so intense that Dayglo had to shed her PVC jacket and make do with just a bra and her pants, which were so sweaty inside the shiny material that she thought she might contract some kind of heat rash. Cherry was sitting smack in front of her, her pert ass was sitting right between Dayglo’s legs, at almost just the right angle for some fun, was it not so goddamn hot. They’d been sitting like this, entangled in each others’ (and the people beside them’s) arms and legs for at least an hour.
Blockading was boring. They’d sung the Internationale so many times that Dayglo had begun to make up dirty alternative lyrics to the numerous verses. Cherry had been talking non-stop for the first hour but had lapsed into silence. They were sitting in the middle of the one exit to the summit, which was heavily guarded on the other side and as yet, had not spewed forth any buses, cars, trucks or persons. Considering there was a helipad inside, on top of the New York Times building, Dayglo didn’t think it likely that any would. Okay, she decided. Time for a little blockader entertainment.
She slipped her arm out of the grasp of the person next to her and slid it around Cherry’s waist. Cherry’s head snapped back, a question on her face. ‘Shhhhh,’ Dayglo whispered. ‘Lean back more.’ Cherry’s face turned red but she obliged silently, pushing her tailbone into Dayglo’s already steaming crotch. Mmmm. That was good. Surrounded by bodies, they were bizarrely protected: in the melange of limbs you couldn’t really tell whose was whose. Anyhow, you couldn’t really see much. But Dayglo didn’t particlarly care anymore. She’d had enough of being shouted at by socialists with megaphones. It was time to show them what this protest business was really about. The jolt in her cunt told her that this was totally the right move.
She snaked her hand further around Cherry’s waist to her thigh and let it roam over the fabric of Cherry’s cammo-covered thigh until she reached the inner bit. She Cherry was now leaning back, her head resting on Dayglo’s neck. Cherry wedged a free hand behind her, to play with the zipper of Dayglo’s skin-tight pants. She got it halfway open, open enough to twig to the fact that Dayglo wasn’t wearing any underpants under that PVC.
‘Is this for real?’ Cherry whispered. She chuckled, not so much astonished as amused. She wedged her hand deeper, under the zipper now. Dayglo’s body trembled as Cherry’s fingers found her (by now extremely wet) cuntlips and sliced them open. Dayglo, half-leaning against Cherry and half trying to sit upright, returned the favour by scratching a line with long fingernails up the inside of Cherry’s thigh. To her surprise, the soft, old material gave way. Cherry’s pale, creamy thigh was instantly exposed, along with just a hint of red cotton knickers.
The sun was climbing higher. They were in for a hot afternoon… |
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