Chloe's Summer Job

 

I met Kara in my senior year of high school. She was a petite brunette a foot shorter than me. But we both had the same dark, dry sense of humor, and we were seated together in Math, a subject neither of us much liked, so had a lot of time to chat.

We didn't take our friendship very far at the time since both of us ran with separate groups, and she was new – a transfer from New York after her parents moved here to California. She was also gay, which I didn't have a problem with but didn't want to get a reputation for... if you know what I mean.

She didn't really look very gay. I mean, she had a cute pixie haircut, and she wore jewelry and stuff, and dressed nicely. I guess what I mean is there wasn't anything very mannish about her.

I've fooled around – a little – with girls, but more for fun and joking around than from much of anything else. I admit I was bi-curious, but again, didn't want to get a reputation as gay or even bi or anything like that. I was already a notorious slut, after all.

At least, that was my reputation. The reality was nothing like that. Boys, you know, are incredibly immature. I fit a particular stereotype the media had created for this 'sex bomb' kind of thing, and so they all wanted to date me. I did NOT want to date most of them! I wasn't attracted to most of them physically or emotionally.

What is unreasonable about that? I didn't think anything was, but so many guys seemed to take it as some kind of insult when I didn't want to go out with them! And what was worse were the guys I mistakenly went out with who turned out to be jerks and creeps. They got nowhere much with me, but then afterward, resenting my turning them down, they'd tell everyone how we slept together!

And because I'm an attractive blonde with somewhat large boobs some people believed them. And the more that believed that I was a slut the more guys felt free to claim that they'd done stuff with them since, of course, they'd be believed – because I was a slut!

And the more I got a reputation among some, the angrier some became that I wouldn't date them, or, if I dated them, wouldn't put out for them. I mean, they were like indignant because I wouldn't fuck them! Because they thought I was easy!

It was because I didn't have a regular boyfriend, you see. A regular boyfriend would allow me to have sex with them without anyone complaining, even if he talked about it. I did, from time to time, have a sort-of boyfriend, but it always ended after a few weeks or months because I have this thing about 'standards' see.

Like if my 'boyfriend' keeps bugging me for naked pictures – which I strongly suspect he'll show to his buddies, or if my 'boyfriend' doesn't want to do much of anything with me except fuck me, or doesn't want to go anywhere but sports events or places with his buddies – where I'm basically an accessory to show what a stud they are – then the relationship is pretty much doomed.

And everyone is always eager to believe the worst of a big-titted blonde.

The truth is, I don't think blondes are any more into sex than anyone else. What throws us off are all those sluts who are brunettes who dye their hair blondes because they're attention whores. Of course they're more into sex!

But I'm a natural blonde, with fair skin, which, thank God, owes more to my French mother than my Norwegian father, so I don't get much in the way of freckles and don't burn as easily as a lot of fair skinned people.

I don't mean my parents actually came from France and Norway, by the way. My father's grandfather came from Norway and my mom's mother came from France way, way before I was born.

I get my height from my dad, my slender, lithe body from my mom, and my D-cups from my grandmother on my father's side. My mom's been jealous of them since I was fourteen. Or at least, told me as much.

Anyway, so because of my looks, which I admit are the stuff of a genetic lottery, girls were often jealous and boys were always eager to get their hands on me. At one point, someone got a picture of me in a bikini and it went all over the tenth grade! It wasn't like it was a really revealing bikini either, but half the boys in my class seemed to have it on their phone or even have printed it out and put it on the inside of their locker doors!

Which, of course, meant I was a 'slut', you see. Well, as far as the other girls were concerned. I never tried to show off the 'girls' or pretend I was better than them, but it didn't seem to matter to a lot of them. They hated me simply for being hotter than them.

It was on the last week of class that Kara sat down at my table in the cafeteria right after the girls I'd been eating lunch with left, and just as I was gathering up my food.

“Hey,” I said, by way of greeting.

“Hey, Blondie,” she replied, putting her food tray down.

“I'm just leaving,” I said apologetically.

She shrugged. “Meghan will be here in a minute. She's in the line.”

I nodded. Meghan was her current girlfriend, a butchy type of girl very obviously gay.

“So, are you going on to university?” she asked.

I shrugged. “I kind of have to. I'm not even sure what I'm taking, some sort of liberal arts stuff, I guess. I've been accepted at UCLA.”

“What about this summer?”

I made a face and rolled my eyes. “My dad arranged for me to work for some lawyer he knows as some kind of clerk.”

“Sounds boring.”

I sighed agreement.

“Hey, my mom was looking for an assistant for the summer.”

“Your mom?”

“Yeah, she's a swimwear designer. Well, actually, she owns the swimwear company. Morgan's Creations.”

“Really?” I thought that was fascinating.

“Yeah, she always takes a summer intern. You basically follow her around and learn about the swimwear business and run a bunch of errands, basically be a gopher and do whatever she tells you. I was supposed to do it this summer but I'd rather work for one of her designers, Roxy.”

“Uhm, well, I don't know,” I said uncertainly.

“Got to be better than working for musty old lawyers. And it pays well.”

“Yeah?” My ears perked up at that.

“Twenty dollars an hour.”

The job at the law office only paid thirteen, barely above minimum wage. I tried to mentally calculate the difference for a week of work. I knew the law job would get me about $500 a week before deductions. And doing twenty times forty wasn't a complicated effort, even for someone who didn't like Math. It was $800!

“Wow. Do you think your mom would hire me?”

“She would if I told her to.”

“That would be super cool, Kara!”

“Come over on Monday and I'll introduce her.”