Did you know I saw you watching me?
That night, at the grocery store. I saw you there first. Did you know that I didn't really need those olives on the top shelf?
I stretched, on purpose, so you could see the muscles of my legs stretched smooth and taut from standing on tiptoes...my running shorts pulling ever so slightly into the crack of my ass. So that if you were observant, and at a lucky angle, you could see my breasts, my hard nipples against the thin cotton of my tee shirt.
Or maybe you didn't need my little display. Maybe it was just my ponytail, or the soft locks of hair that slipped out to curl on the base of my neck. Maybe you noticed the swell of my lips, the curve of my collarbone.
I knew you wanted to fuck me right there in the aisle. It was late - you might even have gotten away with it. You could at least have tried to help me reach the olives, gone for a cheap feel.
You didn't. Were you a gentleman, or just shy? Married? I didn't notice a ring. Maybe you were afraid that you'd frighten me. It was late, and I was alone.
I wanted you to approach me from behind. I wasn't afraid. I wanted your hands to graze my breasts, accidentally or not, as you reached up to help me. I wanted to push my ass back, accidentally or not, and feel your cock hardening in your jeans.
I wanted you close enough to smell me - my combination of deodorant and the light, sweet sweat of my recent workout, the heat and musk of my arousal. I wanted my ponytail to brush ever so softly against your face.
But you didn't come closer, and one can only stretch for a jar of olives for so long without looking utterly ridiculous. So I put them in my cart, and when I looked up, you'd gone away.
I wanted your cock inside me. I had to find you. I cruised the aisles, glancing down each one for a glimpse of your broad shoulders, your shock of dark hair. I finally saw you in the express lane, checking out.
I looked in my cart. More than fifteen items. Shit. I removed items from the cart at random, stacking them on a nearby shelf (the stock boys must hate me) until I had exactly fifteen. And got in line behind you.
We were probably the only customers at this time of night. The acne-stricken teenager ringed up your purchase, bored. You barely glanced at me behind you, and left the store with your bags of groceries.
I paid. Exact change, faster that way. I was nearly stalking you, frantic as I looked out through the plate glass windows to see which car was yours. I was so wet I knew I must be staining my shorts. I pushed my cart out through the automatic doors, into the parking lot, and directly into the side of your car.
On purpose.
You looked up with a start from putting your bags in the trunk, eyes wide in surprise when you realized it was me.
"Oh, my god. I'm so sorry," I lied badly, breathlessly. The flush on my cheeks was real, but from lust rather than embarrassment. "Did I dent your car?"
"I'm sure it's fine," you said. Cautious. Shy? I couldn't tell.
