I was eighteen at the time. I had a low paying job as a salesperson at a large fitness and sporting goods store. Although I usually worked in the baseball equipment section, my co-worker Lisa was out that day and I had been asked to cover her sector too. Lisa worked the women's sportswear section: a job usually consisting of explaining to middle aged women the different advantages of every runner's sock and sports bra style. I was always overhearing her complain to her coworker, Sam, about that.
So naturally, I wasn't too thrilled with covering her shift. First off, as a guy, I knew next to nothing about the crap I was supposed to sell. But more importantly, only the non-athletic older women ever needed guidance finding the right workout clothes. Couldn't they size themselves without my help? Little did I know what was in store for me.
I had been reorganizing sweat wicking tennis shirts by size when a girl about my age walked in the store entrance amidst the chime of the bells strung from the door. She walked in with purpose, her curvy legs moving as if wrapping around each other as she walked. Her golden brown hair was glossy and gently wavy, curling behind around her delicate ears and landing gracefully on her lightly bronzed shoulders. She wore a tasteful light blue cotton tank, accentuating her curvy, golden-tanned figure, and her figure was lean and toned: like an athlete. She wore soccer shorts with the elastic waistband rolled down several times so that it hugged low on her hips, creating about a two inch margin of bare midriff between the shorts and her shirt. As she walked, her brown flip flops clanked along the tile floor.
As she stepped inside the store, the late afternoon sunlight illuminating her silhouette, she gracefully removed her gold framed ray bans and hooked to the collar of her tank top, causing a slight depression in the fabric of the shirt and accentuating her cleavage. I stood staring at this beauty before me, and as I watched, I realized she was walking in my direction. I quickly tried to snap out of my daze and avert my eyes to cover up my gawking, assuming she'd walk past me, but she stopped a few feet from me. From her sweet smell I could tell she had just showered not much more than an hour ago. "Excuse me?" she asked. I looked up at her sweet smile, her beautiful wide eyes, and her cute little nose, and smiled.
"Can I help you?" I asked, semi nervously.
"Would you mind helping me find some shorts?" she asked innocently. Would I mean? What, was she kidding?
"Sure, what kind of shorts?" I asked grinning.
"Well," she said, grinning a little sheepishly, "I work out a lot, but I realize I never had the right kind of underwear. I've been getting kind of...chafed lately."
"So, you need a pair of spandex shorts, I guess, right?" I replied.
"That's what I need. I used to have a pair but they got a hole in them and I threw them out. I don't know what brand they were and there are so many here that I'm not sure where to start looking. Like, for instance, what's the difference between these two," she said pulling two pairs out of the rack at random, and squinting to read the tag, "the Clima-Lite FX and Clima-Cool FT series?"
"Not much, honestly. Those are mainly seasonal wear. Those two are great for 90 degree heat, but they'll be useless once it starts getting a bit cool out. What you're looking for is more like this," I said pointing at another rack, "just a basic pair of spandex shorts. What size do you need?"
"Small or extra small, I guess. I'm not totally sure."
"Well, we've got a dressing room for you to try it out if you want to see which one is correct. Here, try this one," I said, handing her the extra small.
"Great, thanks, I'll be back in a few" she said as she walked off toward the dressing room. After a little while, she returned, her soccer shorts replaced with the pair of spandex shorts I gave her. She barely fit in the tight, little shorts, and her hips were clearly defined. She wore them so low on her hips to make up for how short they were that when she turned around I could see the top of her smooth ass-crack.
"How do they look?" she asked innocently, apparently unaware of how much she was showing.
"Beautiful," I croaked.
"They feel nice," she said, and she lifted her knee up to her chest, exposing her really prominent camel toe. "Very stretchy! There's something itchy in the back, though, can you take a look?" She turned around so her ass was facing me and I could see the outline of a removable tag pressed up against the fabric of the shorts.
"It's just the tag," I said, "when you get home you can just cut it out."
"That's the thing, though, I'm going running with my friend right after this and I realized I didn't have a pair of proper spandex shorts. Do you have any scissors to cut it out?"
"Sure, I'll go get some," I said, "but I assume you'll be buying these?"
"Yes."
* * * *
"Here," I said handing her the scissors when I returned," take these and you can cut it out in the dressing room."
"I'm actually running kind of late to meet my friend," she said, "would you mind just cutting it out for me, we can go over there out of the way?"
I hesitated, but agreed. We walked a few paces over between a few heavily laden racks of sweatshirts and I held the scissors while she stuck her hand down the back of her shorts and fished around for the tag. I noticed though, that she was having difficulty keeping the waistband of the shorts away from her while she groped for the tag because the elastic was so tight. She looked back at me with a sheepish grin and asked if I could help her hold the waistband away from her. I readily obliged, and stole a glance down the back of her shorts. (Well, more like a prolonged stare down her shorts.) To my surprise, she was completely bare under the bicycle shorts! The sight of her smooth, toned, ass and her soft cheeks got me starting to sweat. I concentrated hard to control the hard-on I was beginning to grow. After much groping, she finally found the tag, which barely extended to the top of the waistband, and I grabbed hold of it, using my closed fist to prop the waistband away from her ass so I could reach it to cut. One side of my fist was pressed up against her upper ass cheek and I felt a shiver run down my spine. A good kind of a shiver.
The tag cut with ease, yet with my fist still pressed between the waistband and her ass, I couldn't hold on to it once it broke free and it slid down the gentle slope of her ass and came to rest below her crotch.
"Damn it." I said.
"Ooh, that feels weird. Can you get rid of it please?"
"uhhh...I don't know," I stammered. I just didn't know what to say.
"Do you see it?"
"Yes."
"Well then can you get it for me?"
"Maybe you should do it...I'll hold the waistband."
"I can barely reach, just get it will you."
That was all the encouragement I needed. I slid my hand down the back of her shorts, the back of my hand brushing against her ass cleavage as it went down. I could feel the warmth radiating from her as I reached down for the tag. She squirmed a little when I brushed against her and I apologized. But I wasn't sorry. I grabbed the tag and on my way up made sure to brush once more against her warm ass-crack.
"Tight squeeze," I lied. True, it was tight squeeze, but I probably could have avoided contact if I had tried.
"Its ok," she said smiling, "I understand."
