This story involves people with a particular fondness for body hair, so if that does not interest you, you might wish to skip this story by.
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Chapter One: Running late.
Damn! I swiped my credit card through the machine again. Nothing. One more time produced the same result.
"Sorry," a female voice said over the intercom, startling me so much I dropped my card. "That thing doesn't work sometimes when it's damp out."
I looked toward the building that housed the convenience store of this Hess gas station, cursing myself for stopping at this particular place, which wasn't even my usual stop. I was running late as it was, and was only looking for a splash and dash so I could make it to work on time. Now I had to go into the store and waste even more time.
So I marched into the store to pay for my gas, trying to figure out how I was going to make up this lost time, and cursing Leon Hess for having defective credit card readers. Behind the register was a timid looking young woman who looked like she was expecting an argument from an irate looking customer, namely me.
"Sorry," the young lady said, looking at me but not making eye contact. "I wish they would fix that one. The rest of them work okay."
As she spoke, she waved her arm toward the outside and the six other pumps. For some reason, my eyes followed her hand as it moved, and as it did, the girl's sleeve slid up her arm. Not far - only halfway to her elbow, but as it did, I was treated to an incredible sight. Incredible to me, at least.
The young woman's arm was quite hairy. Not just the faint down you find on many women, but a rich coating of long black hair. The sight was so amazing and arousing to me that I couldn't take my eyes off of it. Only when she noticed my staring and pulled her sleeve back down was I able to come out of my trance.
"Oh," I said, handing the girl my credit card, which she took very cautiously from me, probably taking me for a pervert.
The hair stopped right at her wrist, I noted as she swiped my card at her register. Faint olive skin, curly black hair tied up in back, and what seemed to be a nice enough figure under the store's smock. All well and good, but what I would give for another glimpse at her arms.
Michelle. That was her name, or so claimed the tag on her chest. Michelle was doing her best to not look at me, and an even better job at holding her sleeve down as far as she could.
I signed the slip she placed on the counter, allowing me another brief peek at her furry wrist, before whisking it away. Smiling with what I hoped was a friendly expression on my face, I took my receipt and started to turn and exit the store, but for some reason I stopped.
"Have a nice day, Michelle," I said. "And by the way, your arms are magnificent. You shouldn't hide them like that."
Michelle looked at me like I was totally weird, which may have been accurate. She seemed like she was going to say something, but stopped and just stood there, the ends of her sleeves secured by her fingers holding the fabric tight against the insides of her wrists.
I left the store, having made a complete ass of myself. I half-expected the police to swoop in and have me arrested or something. What I had just done was so out of character for me, because I was never one for much small talk, and certainly had never just blurted out something of that nature. It was like the thought went through my mind and came right out of my mouth.
Get a grip. That was what I was thinking as I drove away from the gas station. My humiliation grew with every passing moment, and by the time I finally got to work - ten minutes late - I had made up my mind that I would never stop in that gas station in Ballston Spa again. Hell, I might just avoid the whole town completely from now on.
***
Chapter Two: Back for more.
Having said all that to myself on that Monday morning, it's hard to explain why I found myself pulling into that very same station on Tuesday morning. This time I managed to get started earlier, so that I would have time to do what I felt I had to do.
Michelle was waiting on another customer when I came in, so I didn't think she saw me as I went to the coffee pots beyond the register. Good thing for me, I figured, because she might have hit the store alarm or something.
As I poured a cup of coffee, which was my excuse for coming into the place, my hands were shaking and I was beginning to think this wasn't such a good idea after all. The previous day, this seemed a whole lot easier as I rehearsed it in my mind. Now actually being here with the moment at hand, it was suddenly much different.
I walked up to the register like I was going to death row, ashamed of myself for being afraid to speak to a girl who was probably in her mid-twenties, likely half my age. The previous customer had left, and now I went up and set my cup of coffee down.
Michelle's eyes flashed with recognition as I stepped up to the counter. You know the feeling you get when you recognize someone but suddenly realize you aren't sure why? That was the look I got initially, which was followed by the startled look similar to the one she had left me with the day before.
"I just wanted to apologize if I embarrassed you or made you uncomfortable by what I said yesterday. I meant no harm, and just blurted out what I was thinking for some reason. I meant what I said, but it wasn't right of me to be so forward."
That was what I was going to say. Well, what I actually said to Michelle that day, I have no recollection. It was something resembling my planned speech, but I was stammering and stuttering and babbling on so much, that it would be difficult to actually remember what came out and would likely be impossible to read.
What I do remember was that it took me forever to get it out, during which time I was sweating profusely and twitching like I had fleas, and by the end Michelle was even showing a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.
"Did you understand anything that I just said?" I ended with, shaking my head and chuckling at myself. "Was there even a single coherent group of words in that babbling?"
"Yeah," Michelle said, handing me my change while I tried like hell not to look at her hand to see if her sleeve had slid up. "It's okay."
"Good!" I said happily. "Have a great day, Michelle."
"You too Jeff," Michelle answered, and after I left, I wondered how she knew my name?
The credit card from yesterday. Of course! She probably wrote that name down on some store list of shady characters, and I couldn't blame her for that. Then again, maybe she liked me. Sure.
***
Chapter Three: Becoming a regular.
No, the first theory was probably the right one. That didn't stop me from making that Hess station part of my new morning routine, however. Each morning on the way to work, I would stop for a cup of coffee or a paper, whether I needed gas or not. I learned the days Michelle had off, and bypassed the place on those days.
Every other day, I showed up. Neither rain, nor sleet nor snow would stop me from my morning stop to see Michelle. The place was usually busy in the mornings, so we would just exchange pleasantries, but she gradually grew more at ease around me as I became a regular. She was friendly but shy, and had an adorable way of looking at my neck while she talked, almost as if she shied from eye contact.
I was still savoring the occasional glimpses of Michelle's forearms, but even as the weather got warmer, she would always wear long sleeves. Somehow, this made her all the most erotic to me. I would arrive each morning hoping to see her in a short sleeved blouse, and invariably would find her wearing another long sleeved top, which would only add to my curiosity.
One morning, the store was empty when I arrived, and I got the chance to have more than few words in passing. I mentioned that the weather report said that temperatures would be on the rise for the rest of the week.
"Time to get out the summer clothes, I guess," I said casually. "Get the boys all excited and all."
"Don't think so Jeff," Michelle said. "They really blast the AC in here."
"Oh - too bad," I said. "I guess my dream of showing up one morning and seeing you wearing a sleeveless blouse will never happen."
"Not here it won't," Michelle chuckled, and if she hadn't remembered my comment from a few months ago, she was reminded of it now. "Management wouldn't approve of having their customers scared off."
"They might be surprised if business picked up though."
"Okay then, maybe I'll wear a short sleeved blouse tomorrow," Michelle said with a smile.
"Great!" I said quickly, before I remembered something.
"Wait a minute. You're off tomorrow," I said recalling that she didn't work on Fridays.
