Supermaret Disgrace

My name is Annjanette. I'm 27 years old, a college graduate, have a decent job, live on my own, and have friends who like me. But as my Dad often said to me when I was younger (and even just a few weeks ago), "Annjanette, sometimes you're not the sharpest tool in the shed." In all self-honesty, I know he's right - at least sometimes, as he says.

Case in point: I had to run to the supermarket last night when I came home from work and found my refrigerator empty of anything remotely edible or drinkable. I looked into the white expanse of the fridge and saw only condiments on the door shelf, some catfood for Delia, a cut lime wedge, and half an onion.

"Fuck," I said aloud to myself and knew that I'd either have to succumb to fast food or make a run to the local grocery.

I quickly ran upstairs and got out of my office attire and threw on a few items of clothing I found laying on my bedroom floor. And out the door I went, getting into my car to drive the quarter mile to Foodsavers.

It was early evening and the temperature in the desert here was still stifling, even in the early dusk. As I exited my car, I found an abandoned cart in the parking lot and hustled into the air-conditioned confines of Foodsavers. I wheeled the cart through the produce section, choosing a fresh head of lettuce and a nice, ripe tomato for a refreshing salad (gotta watch my weight!), then a quick cart-push to the cereal aisle.

I slowed my pace here to peruse the multitude of boxed offerings. Way up on the top shelf, I saw a cereal that I hadn't had a spoonful of since I was a young girl. "Sweet Sugar Snaps" in a bright orange box, with a picture of a mountain of snow-white sugar under the logo, was my target. I reached an arm up to get a box but I was about six inches shy of my objective. I looked up and down the aisle. No one was there. I took a deep breath and jumped while reaching but I still couldn't get the damn box of Sweet Sugar Snaps. Christ, how tall do they make these shelves?, I wondered.

I tried jumping again and missed again. It sucks being only 5'3" sometimes. But once I make my mind up on something, I never let it go. So I looked up and down the aisle again and saw no one was there to see me. I pushed a few things away on the bottom shelf and put my right foot onto the bottom shelf, with my left leg hanging behind me and reached an arm up to grab my Sweet Sugar Snaps prize. Got it! I cried to myself as my hand made contact with the bright box of cereal. With my arm extended, cereal safely in hand, I felt the left of my soft moccasin slippers come off my free foot and fall softly to the linoleum floor beneath me. I climbed back down the shelf and began looking for my lost left moccasin. When I turned to my left, I saw an elderly man with the soft brown moccasin in his hand.

"I think this is yours, young lady," he said.

"Yes, it is," I said, flushing from embarrassment, and hopping on one right shod foot while the left bare one dangled a foot above the cold linoleum.

The old man got down on one knee and held my moccasin out for me. I carefully dipped my toes into the comfortable moc and then jiggled my heel into the opening so that I was not shoeless anymore.

"You have pretty feet, Miss," the old man said, never once taking his eyes off my moccasin. He held my re-moccasin-ed foot in his hand for perhaps a moment too long and I had to wiggle it away from his grasp.

"Thank you for your kindness," I said as I threw the cereal into my basket and began a hasty exit from him.

"It was my pleasure, Miss," he said, and when I turned back to smile at him with another thank you gesture, he winked at me with a lecher's grin on his skeletal face.

Boy, that guy was weird, I thought to myself - even though he was right. I do have pretty feet: lovely size 6's that I keep well-pedicured and polished. Even though the old man was weird about it, I had to smile at his compliment. Truth be told, I was walking on air with pride after I left the cereal aisle.

What I didn't realize at the time - and the thing that would cause my next embarrassment and more to come - was that as I was climbing and reaching my arms up for the damn Sweet Sugar Snaps, the small, spandex boy shorts I had carelessly put on in my mad dash to the supermarket, had ridden up my ass in a kind of wedgy. Unbeknownst to me, half of my ass was uncovered when I left the cereal aisle.

I guess I should say that my ass is one of my better features. My feet are pretty, as the old geezer noticed, but my ass - well, let's just say that it's a bubble butt and leave it at that for now. If you want more information, ask any of my old boyfriends, or any of the guys where I work, or any guy who ever saw me. I have a great ass. And now the better part of it was on display as I pushed the cart to the dairy section.

As I walked down the main rear aisle of the store past the meat section, I saw two tall, young black guys approaching me. I put on my innocent-sexy face for them and they smiled at me (victory!) and after we passed I heard them say "Da-a-a-amn, girl!" I knew that they must have turned back to see my bubble butt and approved. I pushed my cart with a newfound sprightliness to my step. Two compliments in a matter of minutes! I must go grocery shopping more often, I said to myself.

At the corner of the crackers and condiments aisle, I collided with a cart turning out into my path. "Sorry," I said as I backed up to let the other cart proceed. The woman pushing the other cart was an oddball, I could tell from my first quick look at her. She was an older woman, with too much makeup, wildly sprayed auburn hair in a retro-hairdo, and wearing a strange leather dress and high heeled pumps. She looked at me and smiled, hesitating as she passed by me. "Thanks, sweetie," she said. I saw her give me a quick once-over with her dark eyes. She cooed a gravelly "Meeoow," as she pushed her cart past me.

What was that? I wondered. I turned to look back at her and she had stopped a few steps behind me and was staring at me. She broke into a very strange grin when we made eye contact. I quickly swivelled my head forward again and began pushing the cart faster to get away from her.

I finally got to the dairy section and the bank of glass doors holding the refrigerated milk products. The vast collection of milk products were mixed in with fruit juices and other dairy products and and I had the devil's own time trying to find a simple quart of whole milk. I pushed the cart up and down in front of the refrigerated display cases.

For Chrissakes, it's cold in this part of the store, I thought to myself. I could feel my arms and legs go goose-bumpy from the freezing temperatures here. And my ass was freezing too, for reasons I didn't understand at the time. Then I felt my nipples go bullet-hard on my second pass in front of the dairy doors. Unable to find a simple carton of milk, I saw a kid in a paper hat spraying and wiping a set of the glass doors. I pulled my cart behind him and asked "Can you tell me where the whole milk is?"

The kid turned around, obviously surprised that anyone would ask him a question. He looked at me with a wide-eyed and open-mouthed expression on his acne'd face and before he could stammer an answer, squirted a hard spray of the glass cleaner right across my bosom.

"Jesus!" I cried as the liquid hit my white tank top. I immediately felt the cold dairy section air freeze my nipples where the kid sprayed me. Now I was not only cold, but wet and cold. I looked down at my tank top and saw that it was glued to my breasts. (I'll never run out to the store bra-less again, I told myself). As I looked down, I could see the brown circles around my nipples and the hard pebbles at the center of my breasts right through the now-sheer white material.

I guess I should tell you that I happen to have a very nice rack. That's how my last boyfriend put it, anyway. I'm built short with a round ass and full breasts. Like a fireplug, which is what another old boyfriend used to tell me. "Annjanette's a real tits and ass show," that's what I heard some guys at work say once when I walked in on them at the copy room unexpectedly.

The kid saw my hardened nipples too. He was staring at my tits and trying to mouth an apology but he was too busy looking at my tits to actually vocalize any intelligible sound. Finally, he said, "Uh, milk is over there," but instead of pointing in a specific direction, he inexplicably raised his spray bottle and hit me again with a gusher of cold window cleaner right on my chest.

I may have jumped an inch or two off the floor when he sprayed me a second time. When he started to laugh, I had to wonder if the first time had really been an accident. I wanted to rub my hands over my frozen boobs to try to warm them up but the way the kid was laughing and staring at my nipples, I just turned the cart away and ran down the main aisle to get away.

When I was far enough away from the over-sexed teen window cleaner, I wheeled the cart to the cosmetics section. After the old geezer's compliment to my feet, I thought I would paint my toes with fresh scarlet nail polish. The cosmetics and beauty aisle had only one customer, a young gentleman with a small kid nearby. As I studied the nail polishes, the little kid came up to me and I looked down at him. "Hiya," I said in a gesture of friendliness to the tyke.

The sweet-faced kid pointed a bottle of hand lotion at me and squeezed it with all his might. The opaque lotion hit me right on the kisser and I found myself covered in white, oozy, oily drops of lotion on my face. "Oooh!" I cried.

This attracted the kid's father's attention as he spied me covered with creamy goo on my face. "Oh, dear, it looks like someone came...." he realized what he was saying immediately. "Let's get that goo off your face, doll," he said and began wiping my face with a cotton handkerchief. He was a good-looking Dad so I let him dab the hand lotion off my face but I didn't like the look in his eye as he did so. When he put his hand on my waist, I hustled away. "Don't go," he said wistfully as I made my hasty exit from the cosmetics aisle.

Fuck!, I just got bukkake'd by some bratty kid with store-brand hand lotion in the cosmetics aisle, I thought to myself. I gotta get the hell out of this store, I thought.

I jogged my cart to the checkout aisle and found the express lane. I threw my few items on the short conveyor. The checkout lady looked at me briefly and I saw her eyes go to my wet tank top and she shook her head in disdain at me. There was still a gob of hand cream in my hair. I felt like explaining my predicament but to hell with that, I thought.

As I was waiting for the register to spit out the total and my receipt, I felt cold steel against my backside. When I turned around, it was the auburn-haired dragon lady of my previous encounter and she was obviously pushing her cart into the soft region of my exposed ass. That's when I finally realized I had been walking around the store with my asscheeks exposed.

"Hi, again, sweetie," she said in her gravelly voice, giving me the lascivious once-over again.

I paid the cashier and took my bag and hustled to the exit. I was intercepted by a doughy looking guy in a white shirt with a name tag announcing him as the store manager. "Miss, we appreciate your business, but in the future, please dress appropriately to shop in our store. This is a family place," he said.

Again, I felt like explaining but what was the point, really? I didn't come in here to display my ass or turn my grocery shopping trip into a foot-fetishist's wet dream, or a wet t-shirt contest, or a faux bukkake squirtage. And what about these weird customers and employees in your store, Mr. Manager? But I just nodded and walked out to the parking lot.

While I fumbled with my car keys, I heard a familiar voice behind me. "Sweetie." It was the dragon lady again. Flustered, I said "Oh, Hi," like we were old friends.

She handed me a business card. "I think I can help you, sweetie," she said and simply turned away with her bagged groceries.

I got in my car and took a deep breath. I put the key in the ignition and just before I got ready to pull out of the parking space I looked at the card. "Madame Sola, Discipline, For Women Only."

Jeepers! I thought to myself. What an evening at the supermarket.

And I still needed to get milk.