Working at the Quick-E-Lube was miserable, tedious work, especially in my position as "lower bay technician." Basically, my part in the process of changing a car's oil was to remove the drain plug, remove the filter, replace drain plug, install filter. Not exactly an intellectually challenging job, not to mention the fact that it was dirty and, at times, dangerous.
I hated my job. I would go in each morning with a feeling of dread, and leave each day wanting to quit. Until Christa was hired.
Christa had just turned eighteen. Fresh out of high school, she was working at the Quick-E-Lube to make a little cash before starting college in the fall. Working side by side with her, I couldn't help but notice how attractive she was. Petite and "cute" with long blonde hair and a bright, sunny smile.
The Quick-E-Lube uniforms did nothing for the female figure, but she worked around that, ordering a smaller sized shirt so her petite breasts didn't disappear beneath it and substituting a pair of her own black pants that better highlighted her adorable little ass.
Now don't get me wrong. It may seem as though I immediately began evaluating her as a potential sex partner, but initially, I had no intentions of trying to sleep with her. I simply ran through the nearly subconscious mental check-list that I, and most men, do whenever I meet a person of the opposite sex. My interest in her, at that time, was almost entirely professional.
But after working with her for a few weeks, the dynamic of our interaction began to shift. She became more talkative, which I first assumed was just because she was more comfortable with her workplace and coworkers. Then she started arranging to take her lunch break at the same time I did. Our conversations became more personal and "flirty," laced with innuendo. And believe me, working at a shop that specializes in oil changes and preventative maintenance, there is no lack of material for double entendre.
"Would you like help lubing your chassis?" She'd ask, feigning that wide-eyed innocence that for some reason I find incredibly sexy. Or, leaning in close, she'd ask with a wink and a flash of her sunny smile, "Would you service my gear-box?"
There was also more and more physical contact. She would frequently come over and, standing next to me so that our shoulders and hips were touching, offer to help me with even the simplest tasks. She began insisting on a hug at the end of her shift, squeezing me tighter and holding on longer than could be considered strictly friendly.
Call me oblivious, but I still had no idea that she had any interest in me beyond idle flirting to wile away the dull hours of a slow work day. The thought that she was slowly and not too subtly trying to seduce me, never crossed my mind.
Then one Friday it happened. It had been a particularly busy day, and I was exhausted. As soon as the bay doors had been closed and locked, I retired to the employee restroom to clean up and change out of my dirty uniform. As was my habit, I grabbed my clothes from my locker, locked myself in the bathroom, then proceeded to strip and scrub every drop of oil and grease from my body.
I was about mid-way through my cleansing ritual when I heard the break room door open, and James, the closing manager, call out. "Hey, I'm taking off. Lock up for me?"
"Sure thing, boss." I called back, shutting the water off and drying myself with paper towels. It wasn't uncommon for the manager to finish his closing tasks before I was done changing, so I frequently ended up being the last one out of the shop, killing the lights and locking the doors behind me.
As I stuffed my dirty uniform into the laundry bin, I started to let my mind drift. It had been busy, but it had been bearable due mostly to the fact that Christa had been working. Having her around to chat with, to flirt with, always made a hellacious job a little easier to survive. I pictured her in my mind as I began to gather my street clothes, how she looked bent over the hood of a car as she pulled the dipstick and checked the oil level. How, no matter how busy we were, she somehow always managed to stay nearly spotlessly clean. She never seemed to get frustrated or overwhelmed. And she somehow always managed to find a reason, no matter what was going on in the shop, to be near me.
I was a little surprised to notice, as I pulled my jeans on, that I had begun to get an erection. I chuckled quietly to myself, shook my head as if to clear my thoughts, and zipped up my pants. I quickly finished dressing, pulled my shoes on, and headed for the door.
I flipped the bathroom light off, pushed the door open and stepped into the break room. I froze. Sitting on the single table in the break room, smiling brightly, was Christa. My first reaction was an unreasonable embarrassment. As if somehow, just by being alone in the shop with me, she could have known the flow of my thoughts a few moments before I stepped out of the bathroom. I quickly overcame that illogical fear.
"Hey, kiddo, what're you doing here? Weren't you off an hour ago?" I had seen her leave, about an hour before closing time, so I honestly couldn't think of any reason for her to be there.
"Yeah, but I figured I'd come back and help you lock up. I know James leaves you here alone sometimes to lock the doors for him. I thought it'd be nice if you had some company." She leaned back, arms straight and palms flat on the table top. "If you don't want my company, though..."
