She was there, at the register, ringing up a customer. God, she was hot. Young, shapely—slim but not skinny—and she had an amazing butt. It was sometimes hard to tell, the way she often wore those flower-print skirts that draped over her, concealing her shape. But every now and then, when Chuck shopped here, she had on a tight pair of jeans. The first time he had seen her in those jeans, he was sure he drooled. When she rang him up that day, she had a little twinkle in her eye. She knew what effect she had on guys, that much was clear.
This evening, she was wearing another of her knee-length flower-print skirts, full of yellows and greens and sky-blues and hot-pinks. Her shirt was also bright, full of sassy, clashing colors. And, as usual, she had her light-brown hair mostly concealed under the red and green checkered kerchief she liked to wear. She kind of reminded him of a new-age hippie chick. Something about her, her style, struck him as downright earthy. Like the wooden hoop earrings she wore, the wooden bracelets, the wooden, beaded necklace. The only thing metallic were the nose rings, which he had never seen her without.
The customer in line ahead of him—an attractive middle-aged woman who you could just tell performed daily Pilates and probably held a meditation session each morning at sunrise—picked up her bag of organic groceries and recycled paper products and left. Now it was his turn. He was the last customer left in the store—just as he'd planned it. The doors would close in three minutes.
"Hey, how are you?" the cashier asked. Since he shopped here often—not because he was a lover of natural foods, but because he enjoyed ogling her—she recognized him instantly. "Find what you were lookin' for?"
He'd found it all right. Standing right there, in front of him, ringing him up. "Um, sure," he said. He had purchased only a handful of items—a small bag of jalapeno-flavored organic chips, a small container of goat's-milk yogurt, a vegetarian simulation of boloney (he figured, why the hell not, let's give it a try), and a small bag of organic crinkle-cut fries. If you were going to eat fries, you might as well eat the healthiest ones available.
"Hey, I've tried this," she said, holding up the fake baloney, her wooden bracelets jangling with a dull, hollow sound. "It's not bad. Ever had it?"
"No. But now that I know you like it, I know I can trust it to be good."
She gave a half-smile, and he could almost hear her thoughts. "Please. Spare me." Oh well. It had been worth a shot anyway. But then he figured he'd get right to the point. He had been coming here for weeks, building up his courage, waiting for the right moment. Now was the time. He'd either strike out or hit a home run, though, come to think of it, he'd gladly settle for a double. Even a single wouldn't be all bad. But whatever happened, he needed to take his swing right now, give a good, hard cut at the ball. No more hesitating. No more backing down.
"You close up in a minute, right?" he asked her.
She glanced up from the merchandise, meeting his eyes for a brief moment. Her eyes were a soft, light shade of green. You could get lost in those eyes. Oh yes, you could. "Yup," she said. "Soon as you leave, I gotta close up. Why? You wanna camp out here tonight or something? I wouldn't recommend it. Believe me, I'm here forty hours a week, and when it's time to close, I can't wait to get home."
Shit. Not the path he was hoping to traverse. The last thing he wanted was for her to leave.
"That's nineteen-seventy-one," she said, and he swiped his debit card, punched in his PIN, and then waited as she completed the transaction. When she handed him the slip, she smiled, and said, "Finally. Time to close up shop and get the hell out of here."
"Umm . . ."
"Oh, sorry. Did you forget something? If you need to go back and pick up something else, that's cool. I didn't mean to rush you or anything. Been on my feet all day, that's all. So, y'know, the thought of hopping in the bath sounds kinda inviting."
That was a pleasant visual. It sounded inviting to him, too. But back on task. He couldn't blow this. He needed to be direct.
"Look," he said. "You know I've been coming here a lot these past few weeks. I think the store's okay, but the real reason I like to come here is . . ." (don't chicken out, say it, say it!) ". . . well, because of you."
Her eyebrows rose, then settled back again. He noticed, though, that she didn't seem surprised.
"Does that . . . you know, piss you off or anything?" he asked.
She laughed. "Hey, you seem cool. You seem like a decent enough guy. Why would I mind? Shit, I'm flattered!"
"Really?" For some reason he was sure she'd be livid. But she was just standing there, looking at him, smiling, not a hint of unease. What's more, she no longer seemed in a hurry to leave.
"So," she said, "you wanna have some fun, is that it? Maybe get together sometime? Just kind of, you know, fuck each other's brains out?"
A wave of dizziness hit him like a cyclone. Did she just say what he thought she did? Well, sure, of course! That's exactly what he wanted. Probably what every guy who shopped here wanted. But what was she doing? Actually opening a door for him? Or being sarcastic? He'd be damned if he could tell.
So he told himself to just be honest, take a chance, have some balls.
"Well, now that you mention it," he said, "yeah. That sounds awesome to me. I mean, you know, now that you brought it up." What in God's name was he doing? Who was he kidding? She was just egging him on. Probably nothing but a cock-tease. Here he was, thirty-nine years old, he'd turn forty in a month. He was in good shape, but still, his hairline was receding more each week, it seemed, and he had a stubborn bald spot forming on the top of his head. He'd tried Rogaine foam for a year, and nothing. No hair would grow back. Why would she go for him? She couldn't have been a day over twenty-five.
"Guess you caught me on the right night," she said. "'Cause, y'know, that doesn't sound too bad right now. In fact, it sounds pretty fucking good. Like I said, I've been on my feet all fuckin' day, dealt with some real assholes today, too. I need a release. What the hell, right? You mind if we fuck right in here?"
He swallowed, tried to speak. It was hard to get the words out. She was serious. Dead serious. He couldn't believe it. Here he'd been hemming and hawing for weeks, whether or not to bring this up, and as soon as he does, she's the one who gets right to the point! Unbelievable.
"Uh, sure," he said. "Staying here is fine."
She winked. "Be right back. Lemme just lock the door."
She trotted away, returned in less than a minute. "You must think I'm schizo or something," she said. "I mean, one minute I say I can't wait to leave. The next I ask you if you wanna stay."
"Oh no, no," he said. "Not at all."
She laughed. "Know something? You're kinda cute. What's yer name anyway?"
"Chuck," he said.
She extended her hand, and they shook. "Hey, Chuck. I'm Bethany. Now, that we've been properly introduced, you wanna head over to the produce section and strip for me? If we're gonna fuck, I gotta see you first."
He coughed. "Sure," he said.
She took his hand in hers, led him to the middle section of the store, a circular area lined with shelves of local organic produce, from carrots and potatoes to beets and things he had never heard of and surely would never eat.
"'K," she said. "Take it all off for me, Chuck. You look like you're in pretty good shape, but still, I need to see you. And hey, how big is your cock? Damn, I shoulda told you right up front. I don't do men under seven inches. So . . ."
He let out a sigh of relief. He was seven-and-a-half inches.
"Cool," she said. "I would've hated to send you away before we even got started."
He was stripped down to his briefs now, but before he even had a chance to lower them, she told him to stop.
"Chuck, I hate to say this, but it's not gonna work out."
What? Why? He said nothing, though. He just looked at her, dumbstruck.
"I mean, you're cute and everything. Definitely fuckable, I mean, you know, for an old guy. But there is one major problem." She paused for effect, glanced at the organic celery, and said, "You're hairy."
"Hairy?"
"Yeah. Your chest is a fucking jungle, Chuck. And you got hairy arms and legs. I can't deal with that. Body hair grosses me out. Sorry. But that's why I had to see you naked first."
His mind raced. She had said he was fuckable! Except for the body hair. He couldn't blame her. He'd never liked his hairiness. He'd thought about trimming for years, but never had. Now it was coming back to bite him in the ass. But still . . .
"What if I shaved it all off?" he blurted out. God, he wanted her. She was so young, and so damn pretty. He'd gladly give up his body hair to get a shot at her, to see her naked, smooth body gyrating on his dick as she rode him to orgasm. Hell, he'd give up more than just body hair to fuck this woman.
Her eyebrows arched again. Then she smiled. "Hmm. Now that's an idea. I like it. Tell you what. We sell shaving cream here—organic stuff, of course." She rolled her eyes. "If you buy a can of it, I have my razor in my purse. We can lather you up, and I'll shave you myself. Right now." She giggled. "Sounds kinda sexy if you ask me. You up for it?"
Was he up for it? "Where's the shaving cream?" he asked, and she gave him a big smile.
♣
She had him lie down on the floor, on his back, totally naked now, and she knelt down over him, still fully clothed. She squirted the shaving cream all over his chest, then grabbed hold of her razor.
"Careful," he said.
"Aw, is Chucky scared?" she teased, and brought the razor down. She slid it across his upper chest, going from left to right, and a hefty chunk of his chest hair came off. "I'm sure it's gonna itch like hell in a day or two," she said, as she dipped the razor into a bucket of water she had fetched from the storeroom in the back. "But don't worry. I promise, when I'm through with you, you'll know it was worth it."
