This is my first attempt at writing erotic anything. A very big thank you to CelibacyForJealousy for all of his editing assistance. I hope you all enjoy it!
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Today was a slow day and I couldn't stop yawning. I hadn't slept well the night before and now there was nobody coming into the shop to give me something to distract myself with. At the register next to me, Erica was idly drumming on the countertop, also struggling to stay awake. I absently wondered if she'd also had difficulty sleeping while I stared blankly at the entrance.
Dale's Hardware Store was a little family run affair, one of those cornerstone-of-the-neighborhood sort of shops. It couldn't compare in size or price to the big chain hardware stores, and the Dale it was named after died some fifty odd years ago. But it still held a certain sort of charm that helped to keep it afloat. The only folks who shopped at the Hardware Metropolis on the other side of town were the travelers just passing through who had no sense of community or nostalgia or whatever it was that bonded us to people.
Sandra, Dale's great-granddaughter, was the current owner. She was friendly enough, but was definitely a quiet, reserved sort of woman. She used to be a lot more outgoing and cheerful, but after she went from being known as Mrs. Walsh to being the widow Walsh, she withdrew from a lot of people. Today she was acting as our friendly greeter.
Erica was trying to see how quickly she could spin a pen in her hand. She was a drummer in a punk rock band during her off hours, so she was actually pretty good at it. She leaned against the counter, one hand spinning away, and the other propping up her head as she sighed heavily. Erica was a tiny girl, just over five feet tall, and if you tossed her in a pool, she might come out weighing a hundred pounds. Her normally beautifully wavy blonde hair was today tied back in a lazy ponytail; a couple stray locks came down across her face, and she would attempt to blow them out of her eyes to no avail.
Up at the entrance, Sandra was cleaning the windows for the second time today. That seemed excessive to me, given that they were already spotless. At least she seemed like she was being productive.
Sandra was older than the rest of us, having just turned forty a few months ago. She still looked youthful and vibrant, even at forty; I hope I manage to age half as well as her. Her thick black hair came down to her shoulders in tight little ringlets, framing her wrinkle-free face beautifully. She ran about seven miles every morning, so she didn't have an ounce of fat on her. It always makes me feel a little self-conscious about my own admittedly soft body. Not fat mind you, just... soft.
Mrs. Smith marked our third customer for the day, bringing our average up to one every three hours. I think every town has a Mrs. Smith, and it's always this kindly old lady who calls everyone dearie and carries hard candies with her at all times. At least, that's what our Mrs. Smith did.
"Good afternoon, Zachary. Would you like a candy? I think I've got one here." She reached into her purse and, before I could stop her, produced one of those awful pineapple candies for me. I've never even seen those sold in stores. Where old people get them, Elderly Mart?
"Thank you, Mrs. Smith," I responded. It may be going in the trash once her back is turned, but that doesn't mean I can't be polite. "What do you need today?"
"Well, my granddaughter is in town to help me paint our den, and I just needed to look at some of your paints." She studied me for a moment before continuing. "She's single you know. Very available!"
"Thank you, Mrs. Smith, but you know I have a girlfriend. I can't imagine she'd be thrilled about me bringing another girl home."
"Oh, I know that dearie. She's very cute though. And huge tits! Comes from my side of the family, you know." She winked at me before shuffling off to the paint section, leaving me blushing down to my neck.
"She's got a point, dude. Chick be racked for an older lady." Jerry, the stock boy, had apparently finished whatever mischief he gets up to and had come up front to heckle us. Jerry was the second oldest here but acted the youngest. He was in his mid thirties and spent all his time either snowboarding, trying to pick up chicks, or working out. To the man's credit, he looked like he was chiseled from granite. He could probably break my fist with his abs.
"She's like, ninety. I don't care how big they are, they're attached to an old person."
Erica chimed in, "At what point do they stop being excellent and start being heinous? Like, is there a cutoff age? Thirty-nine year old breasts are awesome, but once you hit forty, man is that game over. Something like that?"
I shrugged. "As long as they haven't sunk below the waist they're okay by me."
"Aw, c'mon Zach," Jerry taunted, "I bet you're secretly all about the elder cougars. Seventy plus women on the prowl, with their big hair, ruby red lipstick, leopard print tank tops and leather pants. I bet when they bend over to retie their stiletto heeled boots, their nipples brush the ground."
Any reply to his lovely imagery was cut short, however, by the arrival of our forth customer of the day:
Anja Whetstone.
Anja was a girl I'd had a crush on for a long while, even from before I hooked up with Zoe. I don't feel bad about it. Pretty much everybody who meets Anja has a crush on her. She was absolutely stunning. She had long, flowing red hair, and amazingly perky breasts that, unlike Jerry's elderly cougars, seemed to defy gravity. Her ass was firm and pert beyond belief; I've seen men give themselves whiplash as she walked by. Her most defining feature, though, was her face. Her eyes were a brilliant emerald green, hidden behind lush eyelashes. She had a light dusting of freckles across her button nose and gorgeously full lips, always halfway upturned into an adorable smirk. I don't know whether she did it on purpose, but Anja oozed sex.
"How are my favorite hardware junkies today?" She called out as she sauntered into the shop. Today she was dressed in jeans and a low cut tank top, and not much else. I had to make a concerted effort to make eye contact as she walked up to the registers.
"Morning, Anja," Erica chirped when she reached our station. It was half past one in the afternoon by now, but that never stopped Erica. It was always good morning with her. "We were just talking about breasts and old people. Do you have any insight?"
"I love them both and wish the world had more of each," she replied with a smile.
"I think when I get older and they start sagging, I'm going to get them removed and pretend to be an old man instead. It'll save my back, and then I can hit on young ladies and be creepy as hell." Erica stooped over, pulled her lips over her teeth, and in her best old man voice said, "Well aren't you a tall drink of water! Want to help me lose my dentures?"
I motioned for the two girls to quiet down, as Mrs. Smith was heading back over our way. "Did you pick out a good color?" I asked her.
"Oh yes, I think I've got some good options," she said, brandishing a handful of swatches. "I'll take these home to show Lydia and see which one she likes. She'll probably be by tomorrow to have you dears mix it for us." She paused a moment, studying me again. "She's single you know. And has hooters you wouldn't believe!"
"Yes Mrs. Smith, so I've heard."
She turned to Anja then, and looked her up and down. "Well, aren't you pretty. Would you like a candy? I think I have one here."
She found another candy for Anja, terrible cherry this time. She waved goodbye to us all as she headed off for home. Erica was pouting.
