I was just standing in a check out line at the organic grocery south of the university.
Wilted by the summer heat, my only defense was to wear as little clothing as possible. I hated cargo shorts and board shorts: their knee-length legs were too long and too hot. On days when the mercury passed 110 only the short shorts of my youth would do. I wore that day a pair of 501 jeans cut off so short that Daisy Duke could have used them. I had left about two inches of inseam—just enough to keep my junk from falling out. They also had to be tight enough to contain me because I wasn't wearing any underwear. I wore a loose yellow t-shirt with the sleeves cut out. That was it. Two pieces of clothing. And river sandals.
She had done the same: flip-flops, lightweight cotton short shorts and a cropped tank top which exposed her midriff. She wore no bra, but I could see the outline of bikini undies through her tight shorts.
She stood in the check out line next to mine. I didn't notice her at first because I was ahead of her, but her line moved faster and soon she was right next to me. When I turned and looked I found her eyes on my butt and the backs of my thighs. She was so close she had lowered her head a little to get a good look. Her eyes were wide with what looked like wonder. I was amazed at her blatant ogling. She must have noticed my head turn because she lifted her head. As she did I looked away so I wouldn't embarrass her by catching her looking at my backside.
In my peripheral vision I saw her eyes on my face, but my eyes looked straight ahead in my line. I think my "lookaway" worked.
It did. She dropped her head again. The moment she did I moved my eyes to hers. Again I found her gawking, literally gawking with mouth open and eyes popping out of her head like she had never seen a butt like mine before. Or a guy in Daisy Dukes.
My ego swelled. So did my crotch. I could feel my cock beginning to push against the confines of tight denim. There were people in line behind us watching this young woman blatantly ogle me. She liked it so much her nipples got rock hard and started pushing through the light fabric of her tank top. Remember, summer in the Arizona desert is Sahara hot with Congo humidity—the kind of heat which wilted the sturdiest mind and body so severely that erect nipples were a statistical improbability. Yet there they were pushing for all they were worth from firm young breasts. Petite breasts. The grocery was air conditioned, but just enough to be comfortable.
She looked eighteen, maybe nineteen, a nubile young college student. She had straight shoulder length red hair, a sprinkling of freckles, pale white skin which had no business being exposed to the desert sun, and large pale blue eyes. She was petite—maybe 5'2 and a hundred pounds. I towered over her by a clear foot.
I didn't look away when she lifted her head, catching her eyes rising from my butt to my eyes. I smiled, but she looked mortified. She looked away, looked back, then blushed before making eye contact again. To return the favor and hopefully put her at ease I lowered my eyes to her smooth legs and let them drift up her body to her eyes while she watched me.
To my great disappointment she checked out first and walked out without looking back. When I exited a few minutes later she was waiting outside in the shade of the awning.
"Hello," I said.
"Oh.. hi," she said managing a smile.
"My name is Matt."
"Hi Matt."
"What's yours?"
"Oh. Claire. My name is Claire. Sorry."
"It's okay Claire. Are you alright?"
"Yes. I mean no. I mean can I ask you a favor?"
"Sure."
"Will you give me a lift home? I live south of the stadium and have a lot of refrigerated stuff."
"No problem," I said. "My car's this way."
She followed me around the corner. When I asked how she came so far she said a friend had dropped her off and she usually found a ride home easily with so many students around or caught the bus.
I think she liked that I had an ice chest in the trunk. I loaded our frozen and refrigerated foods into it.
"That's a good idea," she said.
We drove more than a mile to her tiny house in the old neighborhood south of the stadium. I found out that she was nineteen and about to begin sophomore year. She discovered that I was thirty-four and a visiting lecturer. She carried her groceries in. I carried the entire cooler inside because most of the food in it was hers.
I knelt on the kitchen floor in front of her open fridge loving the cold air falling out of it. I started putting away her refrigerated items.
"I really appreciate this," she said.
"My pleasure."
"Cool," she said. "Would you like something to drink?"
"Is that iced coffee?" I nodded at the pitcher on the top shelf.
"Yes," she said. "Do you like it?"
"Love it."
She smiled at this. We had something in common.
She pulled a tall glass from the cupboard, reached over me for ice, then brushed against me where I knelt, grabbed the pitcher and poured.
"Say when," she said, her legs resting against my torso as she stood straddling me.
"Fill her up if you can spare it," I said.
"I can."
From that moment I knew it was on. When a woman makes body contact like this she wants you. She handed me the glass and I took a sip.
"Mmm, delicious."
"Really? It's not too sweet?"
"It's perfect," I said.
