I was strolling through the mall on my lunch hour one wintry Friday, happy to escape the office for sixty minutes of girl-watching, even on a blustery, chilly day.
My only lament was my choice of snack, as I glumly picked some crusty dough from the corner of my gums. Why was it virtually impossible to find a good soft pretzel in Northern Virginia, or anywhere south of the Mason-Dixon line for that matter?
Somewhere in the distance, I was vaguely aware of my name being called, but I paid it no mind at first. The last thing I wanted was to chit-chat with anyone during my brief recess from the work place. But then I heard it again, and this time, I turned to find its source, since it was unmistakably a woman's voice, and it sounded sexy.
"John! Over here!" There it was for the third time, and this time was the charm. I turned in the right direction and saw her from across the concourse, waving from the entrance to the Victoria's Secret store.
Karin Pulaski, the administrative assistant to the vice-president of marketing, was waving her hand in a beauty pageant contestant kind-of-way at me from across the second floor of the shopping center.
She had a big smile on her model-pretty face, which was rare for Karin. Though perhaps the prettiest young lady in our commercial real-estate company, it was well known that Karin was married to a controlling, jealous husband who seemed to go out of his way to make the lovely young lady miserable.
So, on this occasion, out of the office, I didn't need a lot of coercion to heed Karin's called requests to, "C'mere, please?" When a gorgeous twenty-four-year-old blonde waves to me, a thirty-nine-year-old divorced male, from the foyer of a lingerie store and asks me to approach, well, I don't need undue urging to comply. Whatever Karin was sellin', I was buyin'.
She had Scandinavian-like features, full, pink lips with almost luminescent skin. Bright golden hair, straight and long, cut to the middle of her back. If the Olsen twins ever needed a triplet, Karin could have easily passed for the role.
As I got closer to her, I saw that Karin's face was more flushed than usual. It was obviously from excitement. She never wore any make-up. The only time I remembered seeing her with any whatsoever was at our Christmas Party last month.
Even at that affair, her jar head hubby hovered over her like a protective grizzly, snarling at any man who dared take a second peek as they actually saw Karin's heretofore unseen lithe body relatively uncovered in a little black dress that night. That dress was conservative by most standards, but it was still more revealing then her usual almost dowdy wardrobe that she wore to work on a daily basis.
Her attire today was similarly modest. A loose wool, cowl neck white sweater and a long brown skirt that went almost to her ankles. Somehow, Karin still radiated natural sexuality, she was that pretty. I imagined for a split second how she would look adorned in one of the ensembles within the racks of Victoria's Secret........
"I said, do you have a minute, hello?" Karin waved her hand in front of my face as if I was in a trance, which I sort of was, fantasizing about the images of Karin half-naked in silk and lace.
"I'm sorry, Karin," I replied, trying to regain my composure, feeling the color rising in my own face. I tried to act as if she didn't have me flustered, so I changed the subject to one near and dear to my heart, as a Philly-born guy now transplanted to the south. Pretzels.
"You know, I just can't find a good damn pretzel in this state." I lifted the last piece of my sad excuse for a pretzel. "Would you like the last bite? I can't finish it."
She wrinkled her nose as if I had just offered her a piece of raw squid and took a step back, lifting her hands in a "stop" gesture. "Um, no. No thanks. I'm a southern gal, John, we don't do pretzels."
I shrugged, my diversionary tactic momentarily successful. I popped the last nub in my mouth and chewed, lifting my index finger to my lips and licking off the last piece of salt. I couldn't help but notice that her pale blue eyes followed the path of my tongue on my fingertip, and her gaze lingered on my mouth for just a second longer than necessary.
Her eyes returned to mine, and I smiled at her innocently. She looked around to see if anyone was watching our impromptu conversation, as if it were a clandestine session of espionage between two secret agents. Victoria's Secret agents, as it were.
"I need a man's opinion," she said. "Could you tell me what you like in here?" she said, gesturing inside the store.
I couldn't help but laugh out loud. "Karin, it's Victoria's Secret. What man doesn't like EVERYTHING in there?"
Her lips curled in a pout, and I immediately realized I was missing a golden opportunity that I was going to get every lunch break. So, again, I scrambled to recover quickly. "But of course, I'd be glad to help you, Karin. What is it you'd like my opinion on?"
I paused while she bit her lip apprehensively, seemingly contemplating whether she'd made a mistake to call out to me. "And, by the way, I'm flattered that you would even ask me."
This seemed to put her at ease finally, and she smiled once again. I exhaled quietly. That was close, I nearly fucked up this little journey before it even started.
She walked inside and I followed the wiggly swish of her tight little ass. Even though her dress was long and loose, it still couldn't completely cover the shake of a tight twenty-four-year-old's rear end.
She asked a question over her shoulder. "Do you bring your girlfriend in here?"
I had to lift my eyes from her butt as I absorbed the inquiry. "Um, my girlfriend...?"
Karin stopped at a table full of lace thongs, with a clearance sign. This is a good table, I thought to myself. Karin began to sift through the choices, the way that only a woman shopper can do. Woman are intuitively drawn to a clearance rack the way moths are drawn to flames.
