The sweat ran from my forehead to my nose, down my lips and to the floor. It was a scorching 103 degrees (so hot you could fry an egg on the sidewalk) outside and probably even hotter inside, let alone my sweaty pants. The AC was out, not that it mattered; even if it worked I wouldn’t have enough cash to use it.
I opened the boutique about 4 months ago, so it was still pretty new. My boutique was hidden somewhere at the end of a very random street, but an offshoot of a major fashion street. I didn’t get many customers so the mullah wasn’t running in so heavily. No cash = no car = no ass. My horniness was probably the only thing which bothered me since I was very thankful that I at least owned my own boutique. Well almost, the bank owned half and my father owned a fourth, but at least I owned a fourth of my boutique!
I didn’t really work with anyone. My only employee was hardly ever here, she wasn’t reliable, and never showed up on time. When she was here, we did have lots of fun, not the sexual type; she was just a hilarious person. But I had to admit, Dorit was pretty hot. Her Middle Eastern features were some what exotic, and I would be lying if I said I never fantasized about her long legs and her dark eyes.
I can’t even remember the last time I got ass. Between my job, paying the bills, and working out I didn’t have the time for it. I worked between 9am and 6pm, than I went to the gym for two hours. I took pride in my body. I didn’t want to lose my 4-pack and the V-shaped cleavage which lead to my manhood. I also took pride in my calves, which were thick like polish sausages and my arms.
I felt a puddle of sweat on my forehead and pushed it back in my hair to aid to its slickness. My brown hair is slicked back; it would probably pass my ears if I let it fall.
I was about to walk into the storage room to dress the mannequins when I heard the bell, which signaled an entrance, take its toll. I turned around to see who would possibly even think about outdoor shopping in such steaming weather but before I finished thinking about it my heart stopped and I started thinking about something else....
Possibly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen before in my life walked into my own store. A smile lit up my face. I ran my eyes to her heels and slowly examined my way up. Her legs looked smooth like honey - something that I could only dream of. They even had the same honey color, matching the rest of her perfectly tanned skin. Her tight red dress was mid-thigh length and I could tell she had a perfect slender figure. Her breasts were perfect size; not too huge, but not flat as the floor. Oh how i wanted to touch them. Her straight hair looked natural - not frizzy. Her eyes were catlike and her skin was dark, with perfectly placed freckles to compliment her face. I couldn’t tell if she was half black half Chinese or a dark Filipino. Either way I wanted to make sweet love to her.
After a while I noticed that she knew I’ve been starting at her, I didn’t know how long though. She shook her head in disdain and began browsing through our selection of dresses. I noticed that I had a raging hard-on, my pants looked like the leaning tower of Pisa, leaning to the left like my boners always do. Thankfully i was behind the counter so I wasn’t embarrassing myself to the highest potential.
"What size is it?" she screamed across the room. I started to get even sweatier and uncomfortable. Why would she ask about my penis so casually?
"Umm, what?" I said very uncomfortably.
"And how long is it? I think I might need something longer." This time I was speechless and just stuttered about an- "uhh ima, ima, im im-"
"Shouldn’t all this information be on the tag?" After she said this I felt like the biggest idiot. I can’t believe I actually thought she was talking about my penis. Why would such a beautiful perfect woman ever want a sweaty store owner?
I finally pushed myself to speak "I'm sorry, sort of just opened up and we haven’t really organized everything."