The 24/7 "Always Open"
Stephanie discovers love during the graveyard shift
This is my contribution to the On the Job 2021 event, organized by Hey All. I hope you like it.
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April 18, 2021
Stephanie didn't know why she got the graveyard shift. It had to be because she was new. She would also be, however, a single woman manning the 24/7 convenience store, all alone, and in the middle of night. True, the store had security cameras, a button for an alarm hard wired to the police, and a gun hidden away. The gun was easy and quick for her to get to. She knew how to use a gun, everyone in her family did; her Dad made sure of it. One of her three brothers, Billy Bob, was a crack shot. He had even won some competitions. Stephanie herself, however, hated guns.
Stephanie, or Steph (as she preferred to be called) needed the money, and jobs were scarce in her small Indiana town. Her store was in a tiny cluster of stores at a rural exit of the Interstate, but hers was the only one open after midnight. It was kind of creepy with all the other stores, all three of them, closed, with only a security light or two kept on.
There was traffic, at least. A component of the customer base was a small but not insignificant number of single men, who would rifle through the "men's magazines." The porno magazines were encased in opaque plastic, and placed on the top shelf, but one copy of each brand was always kept available for browsing. It paid off, as they sold more of them that way. The 24/7 was the only place in town, and for miles around, where on could find porno magazines for sale.
Other customers came on their way home from work at the local hospital, picking up a bottle of milk, or some pasta to cook for dinner, or a can of soup. Still others bought doughnuts, cigarettes, and/or lottery tickets.
Another group of customers were people from the Interstate, often responding to the prominent billboard advertising that the 24/7 was 'always open.' They came inside, looking for candy or nuts, and hot coffee, to keep them awake; they would then return to the highway. Some were truckers, of course, and the group of stores had a nice parking area especially designed for parking an 18-wheeler. The truckers were the main customers for the girlie magazines. She could just imagine what went on inside the truck cabins when the truckers returned to their trucks with one of the magazines.
Steph wondered why a man would pay $12 to $15 for a magazine, more than her hourly wage (before taxes!), when he could get porn for free on the Internet? Men did, nevertheless. Maybe they didn't have Internet access at home? Or in their trucks? She could believe it, given the way they looked. A lot of them were scruffy looking men.
Steph had looked at the magazines. Women, real women in the flesh, don't look like those naked girls in the magazines. Photoshop is a wonderful thing, isn't it? It was December, and the magazines had their Christmas issues out, they had just arrived, and the bimbos in them were wearing cute little Christmas hats. So too was Steph, and she blushed at the thought.
The company mandated she wear a Christmas hat, so of course she did. She was not about to lose her job over a Christmas hat. In addition, she was wearing a thin, bright red T shirt, and a Kelly-green short skirt. Actually, the skirt wasn't simply short, it was the shortest skirt she had ever seen on a woman. It barely covered her panties. Again, company orders. Political correctness was well and fine in Chicago, but in rural, deep Indiana? There, sex sells. She even wore a Christmassy scrunchy as a bracelet and another as an anklet. She had to admit, she looked cute. She was reluctant also to admit to herself that she looked hot as hell, but she knew it was the case.
It was the graveyard shift on a Friday night. That's the night Tom Evans always dropped by to buy some smokes, on his way home from work. He was a registered nurse at the local hospital. Like clockwork he'd show up between 3:05 AM and 3:15AM. He always gave her a compliment on her appearance, and she always tried to look her best for him. It wasn't because she liked him; no, it was because she liked his compliments. He'd also flirt just a bit, and she enjoyed that too. The graveyard shift can get truly lonely. He was however around 50 years old, and she was only 21, so she never took the flirting seriously.
That evening, to give Tom a nice surprise, she had skipped wearing a bra. She had brought one with her, and she figured she'd put it on after Tom's nightly visit, after he bought his pack of Marlborough Lights. He was always embarrassed to buy them, discussing how he was trying to quit, even if Steph knew he wasn't serious about quitting. She wondered if Tom would even notice?
The truckers who came in for the girlie magazines, often repeat customers whom she recognized, all noticed, every single one of them, that she was braless. They took good looks, trying to make her T shirt transparent or something, but none of them ever commented, thank goodness.
When Tom came in for his smokes, he was more talkative than usual, staring constantly at her nipples poking at her T shirt. Tom explained to her he knew that it was cheaper to buy the cigarettes by the carton, (yes, the 24/7 also sold cigarettes by the carton), but part of his attempts to quit involved forcing himself to buy one pack at a time. That way, he could fool himself that he wasn't smoking that much. He had actually said that to Steph. She had just smiled. Steph smiled a lot. It's always good to keep a pretty smile on your face if you work in the service industry. They had taught her that in her three-hour long training course for the job.
The store was always a little too warm, since customers like it warm during the winter months, and occasionally Steph would step outside for a while to enjoy the fresh air, and to cool off a bit. She'd get cold after a few minutes and head back in. When she did so, without a bra to dampen the effect, her nipples were poking at the T shirt with enthusiasm. They were hard and erect, due to the cold. She giggled to herself when she realized it.
She had just returned to the inside of the store when Tom showed up. They exchanged pleasantries (yes, it was indeed cold enough for Steph, and no, it wasn't yet too cold to snow, but no snow was forecast, anyway). Tom asked for his pack of Marlborough Lights, and Stephanie decided it was time for a tease.
"You know, it doesn't look to me like you're quitting, Tom. You buy the same pack of cigarettes every week," Steph said.
"I might stop, if you weren't so fetching. I love coming here and looking at you," Tom replied.
Steph blushed, but she replied, "We also sell candy, nuts, soup, ravioli, milk, snacks, bread, doughnuts, antifreeze, motor oil; all sorts of stuff. You can buy all manner of things besides your smokes, and yet still come in to visit with me, you know."
"You really want me to quit?" he asked.
"It's none of my business, actually, but yes, Tom, I do," Steph said.
"How about a little incentive, then?" Tom asked.
"What do you mean?" Steph replied.
"Well, I've noticed of course you're not wearing a bra tonight," he said. Steph blushed fuchsia, but managed a self-satisfied smile. "Don't worry, you're even prettier without a bra."
"I think you mean sexier," she said, but she was wallowing in the excitement that Tom had noticed, and she liked it. She was smiling broadly now, right through her Covid-19 mask.
"Both, actually. Prettier and sexier. Here's my proposal: I'll quit for a day if you flash me your tits," he said. "I'm sure they're gorgeous, and I'd love to see them." Tom looked nervous, and well he should have, to ask such a thing!
Steph was surprised and taken aback by Tom's proposal, coming seemingly from out of the blue! So much for the idea of a subtle tease! "I had an accident with my bra, Tom," she lied. "I'm not coming on to you."
"Well, I guess I'm coming on to you," Tom said.
Steph was annoyed. "Listen to yourself: You're what, around 50 years old? I'm only 21. We appreciate your business, but you can't act like that with the employees of 24/7," she said, repeating a sentence she was forced to memorize from the three-hour training session for her job.
Tom was embarrassed. What had he been thinking? Of course, Steph was only interested in men -- that way -- who were around her own age. He was probably the age of her father, or maybe older? Well, maybe she had a thing for her father? Lots of girls do, after all. She could displace it onto him, right?
Steph, on the other hand, was torn. What harm would it do to flash her boobs? Well, for one thing she'd be acting like a slut; an easy woman. What would her on again -- off again -- boyfriend and occasional lover, Logan, think? She actually didn't know; not a good sign. He'd probably be okay with it as long as he was able to continue to get his rocks off using her body. She knew he only liked her for the sex, and to make his friends, all of whom drooled over her body, jealous as all get out.
Maybe she could get something out of this. Tom was leaving, half out the door, when Steph called out to him. "Tom, do you really want to see my tits?"
Tom turned around, surprised. "Yes, Steph; I've always liked beautiful things, be they paintings, sculpture, scenic pictures, or a woman's boobs. I'll bet yours are gorgeous."
"Men do seem to like them," Steph said, coquettishly. "I always get something from the men, though," she added, thinking how they'd buy her dinner, or take her to a show. She was expecting Tom to ask her out. They'd go someplace where Logan wouldn't see them, of course. Maybe even Indianapolis? Logan didn't own her, anyway; it was not like Logan had any intention of marrying her, like ever! Besides, she'd heard from the grapevine that he was sniffing around Alexis Halliday.
"How about fifty dollars for a flash and a feel, Steph?" Tom proposed.
Steph was stunned. Did he think she was a whore? Offering her money was so disrespectful! He had completely misinterpreted her. Or had he? The guys who took her to the movies or out to eat spent way less than $50 on her, and yet they got to make out with her and sometimes even to get her naked! With Tom, she'd get the money straight out, rather than disguised via heartburn after crappy Mexican food.
Tom had put a $50 bill on the counter. It had a nice picture of former president U.S. Grant on it. Kind of cool, having a president whose initials are U.S., she randomly thought, as she stared at the bill.
"I was thinking, Tom, that maybe you'd ask me out, or something, not offer me money, like I was a cheap whore," Steph said.
"Fifty dollars for a look and feel is not cheap. I guess you don't know the going rate for whores in this part of the world," Tom said, suppressing a chuckle. "Here, let me sweeten it," he added, as he placed a twenty on top of the fifty. Now she had Andrew Jackson as well as Grant! Steph sighed with frustration. Tom was not going to understand. Maybe he'd add a penny, a nickel, and a dime? Then she'd have $70.16, and five presidents.
"'Tom, you're not understanding what I'm trying to say!" Stephanie said, not really hiding her frustration.
