Brooe Wors at the Hardware Store

750 Word Project 2023

story.

* * * *

I shouldn't read Literotica at work.

On my lunch break, up in the tea room, as I do, slow scrolling the phone screen. I find myself with my fingers, sometimes, touching my throat, and I quickly look around. Thank god, Billy's not there. And when I go to the loo, before going back to work, I'm wet. And my breasts, am I due? They feel so heavy. My nipples get tight, so I wait for them to soften, before going downstairs to the counter.

He doesn't flirt with me, but I do feel considered, when he looks at me. It's an honest appraisal, but really, I'm a girl working the front counter in a hardware store, so why would he want anything more than change if he pays cash, or a receipt, if he uses a card? Anyway, the loyalty card's for the store, not me.

Then I see it, one lunchtime, my name. My eyes zoom in on it, can't be; but the story title is 'Brooke Works at the Hardware Store'. Now that's very obvious, and as I read the first paragraphs of the story, I see myself observed, down there at the counter, and it has to be me. There's my summer uniform described, and winter.

I touch the amulet at my throat. It's little, it's delicate, matches the tiny drops in my ears. It's a set, the only jewellery I wear. Dad gave it to me one Christmas, and my loyal customer, he's noticed it.

I look down at myself, and undo a button. Brooke! I hear Lily, my best friend forever, admonish me when I tell her, when I see her next. I do the button back up, but I'm pleased I'm wearing those new lacy knicks I bought on the weekend. He's got deep blue eyes when he looks at me, I've noticed them. It would be a conceit, wouldn't it, if I wore blue knickers to match?

I read the rest of the piece, it's only short. It's observational stuff mostly, but even in that flash fiction format, it tells a perfect little story. There's lust and there's longing, and he's portrayed me as a very forward young woman. Provocative even, stretching deliberately to show skin on my belly as I reach up to undo the straps on the truck. Stripping down wet in his garden. Reaching for his cock, to lead him into the studio he's building.

I'm not like that at all, but reading the story, that cliff-hanger ending, I feel myself getting wet. And sure enough, when I'm sitting on the loo, my knickers down at my ankles, I'm wet. I contemplate a quick play, but decide to keep the buzz for tonight, when I'm home.

Down on the floor, Jake notices my mood. "Bit clumsy there, Brooke? That's twice you've dropped some change."

"Yep, butter fingers, me. Must be something I ate." Just as well they're used to me, my boys. We're a good crew, we all get along. Although Miriam in gardens, she's a bit of a humourless cow. Not quite sure she's onto the "service with a smile" shtick. But she's okay, deep at heart, a bit lonely, I think. I won't show her what's on my phone, she might die of shock.

Then I see him come in, go down the back, down to building supplies to buy timber or plumbing. I remember the story, and wonder if I should offer to deliver it. I smile, knowing that's complete fiction, but up here at the counter, I'd be willing. That's one bit he got dead right, I do like men with clever hands. And I don't mind undressing men. With my eyes, Lily, with my eyes! It's no wonder I read Literotica, hunting down those writers writing women like me, grown up girls with minds of their own and their fingers, because most men are truly hopeless.

I see him talking to Jake down in paints, then waiting while a tin of paint gets made up. He goes down another aisle to get rollers and brushes, and I think of the unseen studio in the story. Must be doing the walls now, must be nearly finished, and I think of me in his story saying, "Come see your studio, when you're finished."

So I undo that button after all, turning away from the counter. Then I turn back to him and say, "Will you write another seven-fifty words?" and wait for his reaction.