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Tales from a small town

Short stories about life in a small town. Non-fiction. Great reading.

Friday, August 20, 2004

Guilty pleasures on the factory floor

I'm a factory worker, and some of the things that go on where I work are interesting. Hope you feel the same. This is just one of the stories.

This blog is an observation on how seemingly "straight" women get turned on by checking out other women, in their work area. This is an insider's look; someone who gained the confidence of those who indulge.

One of the lines I worked on, was horseshoe-shaped. This created an "A Line," and "B Line." The "B Line," was comprised of an elite group of women. They're all pretty, married, and their husbands make more money than they do - and they make pretty good money where I work.

Because the area where they work is a very clean department, they dress really sharp, everyday.

Because of how they dressed, the women on the A Line hated the women on the B Line. The A Line called them the "B Line Bitches." (B Line "B's" for short.) The B Line women had a tight clique. Nobody could penetrate it.

On holidays and birthdays, they'd have their own private gift exchanges, with presents expertly wrapped in expensive paper - and elaborate bows. They'd huddle together during breaks, exchange gifts and the occasional squeals of glee when a recipe book, or hand-held blender was opened. Everybody hated them.

I was able to work beside the "Queen Bee" one day. Her name was Betty. One of the "B's" who worked beside Betty, called in sick. As a floater on that line, I had to fill in when needed. I was one of the few floaters who could keep up to Betty's satisfaction.

Since I could keep up on all the jobs, she took a rare liking to someone outside the clique. Well, it wasn't just my ability to keep up on the line. I think everyone on the face of the planet has the same favorite subject: themselves. I would ask Betty all these questions that got her talking about her 2 favorite subjects: Reba McEntyre and romance. She explained the 2 are connected, when you examine Reba's lyrics. She would go on and on about how she wishes her husband could "get it," when listening to Reba's lyrics.

This broke the ice. I gained the Queen Bee's confidence. She was very beautiful - still is, after all these years. She had every attractive attribute a woman could want: high cheekbones - flat tummy - an ass that looked like a peach when standing, yet muscular - oozing with subtle feminine power - while walking. Her breasts were large - but just like her personality, rigid and controlled and covered up; not revealing the abundance of everything that's there. The very few times her breasts would move at all, the effect would almost give you horizontal vertigo!

OK, she's got it all. She's quiet, competent, and very, very guarded - and she's the Queen Bee. After a few lectures about Reba's lyrics, I decided to ask Betty: "I noticed that you and the other B Line B’s (this was a badge they wore with honor,) keep looking down the aisle at the same spot every night, and talking to each other. What's that all about?"

Betty blushed. She looked at me from the corner of her eyes while turning her head, debating if she would tell me the truth, or gloss over the subject. She gave a deep sigh of resignation, and said, "You see that girl over on the other line? The one with the red top?"


"She’s one of our beauty contest winners. We decided to exclude ourselves from the competition, of course."

She was laughing while she said this, so she could say she was just kidding, depending on my reaction.


She could tell from my reaction, that I didn't think she was a slut, or a lez, or anything. That's when she started to blush, to let me know that she was serious, and a little embarrassed.

"We have a bunch of categories: Best Gait, Biggest Boobs, Nicest Boobs, Sloppiest Boobs, Best Headlights, etc."

She started to giggle like a little girl, which was very much out of character for her. It was easy to see, she couldn't believe she was telling me this. One of the other B Line “B’s” came up to her.

Tina (one of the other B Line "B's"): "Why are you blushing?"

"I just told him about our beauty contest."

"You didn't!"

Betty, looking confused and embarrassed and pissed off with herself: "You tell anyone, and I'll kill you."

Tina: "We'll kill you!"

Pretty soon, excited whispering broke out amongst the rest of the "B Line B's," followed by a bunch of giggling. With Betty and Tina in front of me, I asked for a run-down of the candidates.

"Well..." Betty started to say. Then Tina excitedly broke in, telling me all about the candidates: winners, losers, and the reasons why.

Betty's eyes narrowed, focused on the girl in the red top: the one who started off the conversation to begin with. "She won best ass AND nicest gait."

Then she went off in a dry, analytical synopsis of why - with all the seriousness of an expert court witness giving testimony.

"When walking behind her, notice the small of her back: it's perfectly still. Her ass cheeks move up and down with a pleasing, symmetrical rhythm; but the small of her back remains perfectly still. She has the muscle structure of a gymnast. I wonder if she works out, or if it's genetic."

After hearing the reasons behind their choices, something became shockingly clear: they had better taste in women than I did! I haven't looked at a woman since, without taking their demanding criteria into consideration.

Amazing! Ever since then, I've always felt that men aren't the only ones who appreciate the beauty of the female form. I think women do a better job of appreciating it, than men. I could also tell by their analysis, they were getting hot just talking about it. These were married women - upper middle class - with everything anybody would want. They are pretty, fresh-faced women, who looked like the "girl next door" - they didn't look like “dykes,” or “lezzes;” they all looked and acted very straight. It just blew my mind!