Three months after being sacked from the Harringtons bakery empire I had found some Summer seasonal work hawking discount doughnuts on a busy high-street. I didn't have enough kudos to work the actual kiosk but I was entrusted with a tray of stale sugared ring-doughnuts and was tasked with walking up and down through the crowds wearing a hat that stated: 'EAT MY DOUGHNUT'. As if that wasn't enough of a humiliation, I also wore a bright yellow polo shirt with the question 'FANCY A NIBBLE?' writ large across my tits; every atom of my gothic persona reacted horribly to wearing this alien colour. Plus, the cheap material made my armpits itch like they were being eaten by fire-ants.
I was feeling pretty sorry for myself after a long day of trudging up and down being laughed at when I saw Larry. Larry was a man in his late sixties who I used to work with at Harringtons. It was our fooling around together that had caused me to be given my marching orders and had almost got him the sack too. Our flirting had escalated to some pretty heavy petting (okay, mutual masturbation and further, to be exact) before we got ourselves into trouble with the management for our dilly-dallying delivery delays. You may think a teenage goth wouldn't be interested in a sexagenarian van driver but he was charming and cheeky and handsome and a really really good kisser. I had a natural scorn for all things normal and boys my age didn't interest me one iota. Since being forced to break off my burgeoning relationship with the old charmer, I'd been lost in a fog of miserableness so when I saw him in the street my face lit up and I felt a heavy weight lift off my weary heart.
Then reality shaved the edge off my enthusiasm. What if he was with his wife? Or someone else he wouldn't want me to meet? I stopped myself from calling out his name and running across the road to pounce on him. I slunk away, dispirited. Six o'clock came around and I got changed out of my gaudy uniform in a public toilet then went to wait for my bus. I was sitting in the graffitied shelter, my morose mood matched the miserable sky as a drizzle began to fall, when a battered Toyota pulled up into the stopping space. I was looking at nothing in particular and feeling surrounded by the mists of doom when I heard his voice.
"Need a ride, kid?"
"Larry!?"
"Hey, er, how're you doing?"
"Oh, everything's just dandy. I'm on top of the world."
My bitter sarcasm guillotined the conversation abruptly.
"I saw you, walking up and down the street," he said, "I didn't know... I wasn't sure you'd want to speak to me."
"Of course I would."
"You don't hate me?"
"Of course I don't."
I got up off the plastic bench and he walked into the shelter as the raindrops grew fatter.
"I saw you too," I said, "I didn't want to... in case you were with your wife or something. But that was hours ago!"
"I, er, hung around, waiting to see when you finished."
I beamed with joy, "Awww, Larry."
"So, do you want a ride?"
"Sure, that'd be cool. Thanks."
We both sat in his car, the rain pelted the windows and roof. The aroma inside was of damp, sweaty teen girl and what must've been the remnants of his wife's perfume.
"Are you still at Harringtons?" I asked, "You didn't get the boot too, did you?"
"Nahh, it's just my day off. I am truly sorry about heaping all the blame on to you."
"Don't be silly. It was the only sensible thing to do. I really don't mind."
"I've felt terrible about what happened?"
"What do you mean? About playing with me?"
"Noooo, no, not that, that was... a lot of fun. Jinny, it was very hard to resist you, you are an incredible young woman, any guy in his right mind would fall utterly in love with you."
"Awww, shaddap you ol' charmer."
I blushed and we fell silent for a minute.
"I've missed you, Larry. Since that day I've been nothing but sad."
Larry leaned over in his seat and touched my face. He brought his lips close to mine, gazing into my eyes. I moved towards him and our lips lightly brushed together just as an extremely loud BWAAARRRRPP resounded through the car and through our skulls. Behind us a bus was trying to pull into the stopping space, the driver shouting curses at us. Larry gunned the Toyota's engine.
"Could've given me a heart attack, stupid prick," he grumbled as he drove away.
I sat back in my seat and giggled, feeling blissfully content for the first time in ages. This sexy old pervert did something unfathomable to me. I couldn't identify it or reason it out; it was elemental; it was animal.
"Can we go somewhere?" I asked.
"Um, sure, er, let me think where. Oh, I know."
Larry drove us through the rain as it eventually turned back into drizzle and then the skies lightened along with my mood. He took us along a winding single-lane road that lead to a secluded car-park, surrounded by trees and overlooking a suburb of the city. We got out and smelled the lovely earthy scents that are left behind after rain. Larry leaned back against the car and I stood close to him.
"Have you been thinking about me?" I asked.
"If I told you all, or any, of the fantasies I've had about
you, girl..."
"Have you jerked off fantasising about me?"
My dirty smirk spread across my face. I couldn't help myself. I'm not at all so flirty usually but Larry just brought out the worst in me. I fretted that I'd been immature and inelegant as he shuffled his feet, embarrassed by such a direct question.
"I want to kiss you," I said.
I put my arms around his waist and pulled my body closer to his. I looked for any sign of protest but he just remained stunned. So I kissed him. I held my lips against his, cherishing the sensation, a renewal of our intimate contact. I felt his arms snake around me and we began a loving, hugging smooch that sent waves of erotic pleasure crashing through me. I had been dreaming of this so often that our kisses had an unreal quality to them. We kissed for several long minutes before taking a pause to breathe. Our noses were touching, I didn't want my lips to be far from his ever again.
"What are you doing with this old fogie?" he asked.
"Having an affair?"
Larry grinned at me and I worried that I'd said the wrong word.
"What kind of things have you thought about me?" I asked, "What do I do in your fantasies?"