My career as a thief was short, but not without reward. I was in my first year at university when I took it up.
I had realised too late that I did care about my grades, did well in my exams and ended up at a good university in a small pleasant city that I knew was a bit beneath me.
So by the time summer came around, I was a tall, cocky get with a cynical take on life. I missed my old summer labouring job and the jinks that went with it, and I made up for it by sailing closer to the wind on nights out. I went to bed happy if the night had ended with a group of us getting chased by down the street by the coppers, air laced with a load of drunken abuse.
I was also perilously short of money, because I'd always spent what I earned and I'd carried on spending at the same rate now I was earning nothing. So I took a job working evening shifts at the garage up the road. That was where I met Sian.
I usually worked from five in the evening to eleven at night. The bloke who did the graveyard shift that ran from the end of mine to five in the morning was a bitter old drunk called Barry. When I started work, the manager, Michelle, told me almost straight away she thought he got through the nights by drinking booze off the shelves and sleeping.
Michelle herself was in her late thirties, stroppy and hormonal. She wasn't too keen on herself and she was keen on taking it out on everyone else.
Then there was a lad called Chris who I got on well with, a couple of girls so dense it was impossible to talk to them and Sian.
She was a precocious eighteen year old, in the last year of college before going to university, and I knew as soon as I met her that she was brilliant. She was a good foot shorter than me, about five foot. She wore her hair in a perfect side parted bob that framed slightly stern grey blue eyes, raspberry red lips that only saw clear gloss, and a slightly jutting, argumentative chin.
Her body was a set of tight, compact curves, from her slim shoulders to her full, beautiful breasts, to her nipped in wasp waist, her bum and hips and her lean legs.
Our uniform was black, and she always came in wearing lycra tops in that colour that were modest in cut but made skin tight by the amazing swell of her boobs. Her throat and chest were warmly coloured and smooth, with a spray of soft freckles across the slopes of her breasts and the clean lines of her collar bones drawing your eye inwards and down. Her trousers were always plain black flares, but again the acute curves of her bum and hips meant it was difficult to look away from her sometimes.
We were fascinated with each other, she with I because she was always thinking ahead and she wanted a sneak preview of how next year would go, when she started university. And also, because I was rebellious, and she was starting to realise that she was so smart she would inevitably be a rebel too. I with her because she was not in any way cynical. She was sure she had the answers.
I didn't realise how much I'd started to think about her until one time when I was doing the Saturday shift. We were busy, and I should have been serving.
Instead, I was gazing down an aisle to where Sian was stood on a stool, sliding some stock onto the top shelf. She was up on tip toe, all the muscles in her legs and bum tense, with her arms above her head as she reached up. Her top rode up, showing the warm skin of her lower back, the two dimples above her bum cheeks and finally the lace of her knickers.
"Oi!" shouted Chris, trying to get through a queue of customers. "What's up with you?"
He walked along the counter to where I was watching Sian.
"Oh no." he said as she leant forwards.
Her full breasts met the chilly bottles of wine on the shelf below and nudged them backwards slightly. Chris exhaled audibly. I was imagining cupping those breasts in my hands and feeling her nipples swell and push against her lacy bra. I imagined where my body would touch hers if I were to hold her against me, and how she would look when she came.
I walked along the aisle to her, no idea what I would say, butterflies in my belly. Sian, having got the bottles she wanted, was frowning a bit and thinking how to get down.
"Hey shorty - can I give you a lift?" I asked innocently.
"Why, yes, that would be very kind, you lanky bugger." said Sian.
She blew a strand of hair out of her face, as I slipped one arm around her waist, shivering as my bare skin touched hers. My other hand went behind her thighs, where I could feel her lean, warm flesh beneath her skin tight trousers. Helplessly, I stroked her lightly, feeling my dick jolt in my boxers as I did so.
Sian turned to look at me, cooly sizing me up, as I lifted her and set her gently down on the ground.
"OK?" I asked.
"Perfect." she said. She ran he fingers through her hair and ruffled it a little. She was smiling slightly as her eyes drifted down to my waist.
"You look like you need a break though." she said, her eyes sparkling.
"Quick ten minutes in the office?" I asked, watching as two of her fingers lightly tugged at the top button on her blouse.
My god, I wanted her. I imagined her fit, toned legs wrapped around me, my cock burning inside her as I fucked her to a shuddering climax.
I started to look forward to each shift. Being in the same room as her fuelled my desire, which I knew was running out of control.
It was around the same time that I realised I was in dire financial straits. All it took was a long Sunday shift, looking at the handfuls of twenty pound notes going through my hands, before I started to wonder if my employers might be able to help me out on that front.
On a shift, we emptied the cash from the tills every hour, moving the cash to the locked office so that in case of a robbery, hopefully all that would go would be the small change in the tills. We totted up the cash in that went into the office as we did it, then at the end of the shift, added on the small change in the tills.
Then, we'd run a receipt report off the tills, and hopefully the cash total and the total on the receipt report would match. If they didn't, Michelle would strop about the 57 pence difference the next time she was on.
The system wasn't foolproof: fuel was charged for automatically, but for stuff that customers bought in the shop, you could enter the totals manually.
What if, I thought, I rang through some stuff at below its actual price? And separated the difference in the till cash draw? We all manned our own tills on shift, so in all likelihood, no-one else would see. And then, what if I took the money through to the office like a normal cash round up? Our bags were in the office, and the security cameras were all aimed at making sure nothing could go astray out front, rather than in the back. I mulled this over for a couple of weeks.
The shifts passed quickly or slowly depending on whether I was on with Sian or not. I spend so much time daydreaming about her, I barely stopped to try and work out whether the building feelings of need and lust were in any way returned.
One day she came in with her hair slightly damp and back in a pony tail, jogging bottoms, vest and sports bra on and a little blush of colour in her cheeks. She was late.
"Bugger bugger bugger!" she said, tiptoeing across the shop floor to the staff loos. She dropped her rucksack outside and disappeared. About thirty seconds passed. The door opened again and Sian poked her head out. Her hair was prettily mussed up now, and one bare shoulder peaked round the door too.
"Oi buggerlugs!" she hissed. "Come and pass me my towel!"
I walked over, unzipped her bag and passed the towel over. My cock was rock hard, as I tried to work out what clothes she still had on.
"What've you been up to? " I asked, at a bit of a loss for words.
"Jogging -- durrrh!" said Sian. There was a quick wriggle from behind the door.
"It's the only chance I get on a weekend, but I got a bit carried away, see." Her tanned arm reached out, holding the architectural looking sports bra.
"Sexy." I said.
"Mmmmm, you should see the one I'm putting on now..." said Sian, softly.
There was a pause, in which I could hear my own breathing and the noise of her underwear rustling against her skin.
Her head popped out again, and she passed me her vest and joggers. She looked straight at me and then let her eyes fall to her own shoulder, letting me see the strap of her bra.
"Right, have you done gawping?" she asked cheekily.
She stepped out, fully dressed again, flicked me with the towel in the crotch and then walked coolly down the aisle.
"Hi Michelle!" she called as she headed to the counter. At the same time, she slipped one thumb inside the waistband of her trousers and pulled it down just an inch, so only I could see.
The night I fixed for my bit of thievery turned out to be a warm, sticky June evening. I was supposed to be sharing it with Unreliable Dave, which would have been great because... well, you can work that out yourself.
