I graduated from high school just over a year ago. My social life has gone to hell since. Actually, it wasn't much in high school either. I may have been the only guy without a regular girl friend in high school. Most of my high school friends have either married or gone off to college. I'm still at home working as a stockman in the local grocery market.
I work the day shift, keeping the shelves neat, clean and stocked, finishing the things the night crew hadn't. Occasionally, I cover a register when someone is on break or absent for some reason and, during busy hours, I help with bagging the customer's purchases. The only thing I don't do is retrieve the shopping carts from the parking lot. Seniority has it privileges.
Over the past year, I've gotten to know many of our regular customers on sight. There are a couple of older, retired folks who come in every day. Sometimes twice a day. Others are regular weekly shoppers.
One woman in particular, comes in every Thursday afternoon and I wait to see her each time. She's probably in her thirties, has a well-developed and maintained body and dresses to accentuate it. It's difficult not to notice and I do. I know her shopping habits and I position myself to maximize the time that I can watch her when she's in the store.
In the warmer weather, she wears the shortest, tightest low waisted shorts imaginable. I suspect that she doesn't wear panties underneath since, from the front, you can clearly see three creases of her pussy. Two, slightly curved creases define the edges of her puffy labia and a single, straight groove runs from front to back exactly between them.
Her top is usually sleeveless or short sleeved and ends several inches below her breasts and six to eight inches above the top of her shorts. Her breasts hold her top away from her body and it hangs in the air about three inches from her body. Properly positioned, someone could see up under her top to view the underside of her boobs. That somebody hasn't been me. I'd have to be a contortionist and I'd look obvious attempting it.
Her blonde hair is usually piled up on her head. The whole outfit is completed with a pair of cork, platform, open-toed heels that display her brightly painted toenails and tighten her calves and thighs. I frequently hold my breath when she's in the store and carefully hide the bulge in my pants until she leaves.
During the cooler months, she wears tight yoga pants with the same attributes as her summer shorts with a white, starched blouse and a short, lined jacket that stands away from her body because of her superstructure. I've seen her every Thursday for the last year and I'm sure she's aware of me.
Last Thursday, I was stocking the lower shelf in the salad dressing section when she started down the aisle. I watched her from the corner of my eyes as she approached. She stopped and reached over my body to get something from the top shelf over my head.
"Excuse me," she said.
I looked up, unavoidably seeing up under her top. Her breasts were held in place with a bright white, significantly large, bra.
"Could you help me reach the olives?" she asked.
I stood up next to her. "Of course. Which jar do you want?"
She pointed to a tall bottle on the top shelf and I took it down and held it out for her. Our fingers touched as she took the bottle from me.
"Thank you," she said as she put the olives into her cart.
"No problem," I said and she wandered further up the aisle.
My erection presented some problems as I got down to finish what I was doing.
Ten minutes later, I was again working on the bottom shelf in the coffee and tea aisle. As I knew she would, she came up the aisle toward me. She was looking for a specific style of whole coffee beans that happened to be directly over my head.
"Excuse me," she said again.
"I looked up, again enjoying the view. "Yes," I said.
"Could you help me get that bag of coffee?" she asked.
"Of course," I said. I stood and picked it off the shelf for her.
"This is getting to be a habit," she said as I handed the coffee to her.
"It's not a problem," I said.
"Thank you," she said.
"You're welcome," Mrs....."
"Krausner," she informed me.
"You're welcome, Mrs. Krausner," I said.
"And your name is?" asked Mrs. Krausner.
"Robbie," I said.
"Why in hell did I say that," I immediately thought. "I hate that nickname."
The next Thursday, our paths crossed at least a half dozen times while she shopped. I thought, hopefully, that she was trying to get near me as much as I was trying to get near her.
When she left, after I bagged her purchases for her, Jasmine, a wise woman if there ever was one, took my arm as I walked by her. "That woman is trouble," she said.
"Why do you say that?" I asked.
"Just look at her," said Jasmine. "Boy, don't you get involved with her," she added.
"Thanks for the heads up," I told her and went back to work thinking that Jasmine's endorsement of Mrs. Krausner was exactly the kind of 'trouble' I wanted.
Thursday came again and Mrs. Krausner was shopping in the salad dressing aisle again. I was stocking the lower shelf again. As I expected, the olives were out of her reach.
"Pardon me, Robbie," Mrs. Krausner said. "Could you reach the olives for me?"
I looked up. Mrs. Krausner was standing over me. I had an unobstructed view up, under her top. Her top was suspended out from her body by her breasts as usual except, today, she wasn't wearing a bra. I could see the tips of her nipples holding the top out.
I hesitated for a moment, prolonging the view.
"Like what you see?" asked Mrs. Krausner.
"What?" embarrassed, I managed to respond.
"Do you like what you see, Robbie," she repeated.
I nodded.
"Well, you're welcome but I still need you to reach the olives," she reminded me.
I stood up and handed her the olives.
"Thank you," Mrs. Krausner said.
"You're welcome," I said.
"I'll need to get some coffee before I leave," she said.
A few minutes later, I was stocking the lowest shelf of the coffee section when Mrs. Krausner started down the aisle. She stopped next to me. I looked up. Mrs. Krausner lifted her top away from her body and up over her breasts.
She held her top up for several seconds, offering me a heart stopping view of her tits. She leaned over slightly and shook her body side to side several times. Her pendulous breasts swung tantalizingly over my head before she lowered her top.
I started to breathe again, stood up, handed her the coffee and she walked away. We never said a word to each other.
After my shift, I went to the local diner and sat at the counter with my usual cheeseburger with pickles. The diner is a classical, polished aluminum construction, door in the center, counter the length of the building and some booths along the outer wall, diner. Ellie, a slim and flirty waitress, maybe eight or nine years older than I, was on duty. I've known Ellie for years. I can trust her and I've been able to talk to her unlike anyone else. Business was slow and Ellie was passing the time talking to me.
"So Rob, what's new?" Ellie asked.
"Not much," I said.