At first, she was just a customer in the store, albeit a pretty one. Blonde, blue eyed, with a curvy body, she projected an attractive aura, and her youthful flirtiness just added to her charm. He was only a couple years out of college, an assistant manager, someone who handled both the difficult and special customers. He earned a good reputation with customers, his combination of boyish enthusiasm, surprising knowledge, and attention to their needs contributing to building a loyal customer base. He was usually swarmed with customers, asking his advice, listening to one of dozens of stories he'd accumulated in his short adult life, or watching him help someone else.
She was not an exception and soon she started asking for him by name. He found himself looking forward to her visits, almost always preceded by a cell phone call to make sure he was there. As a customer, she did buy things, she was reasonable, and brought her friends to shop as well. Then, one day, in the middle of the summer, she sort of disappeared.
An odd call came in that fall, someone calling on her behalf, telling him that she'd been seriously injured and that she was in a hospital. Then nothing. He tried to call her, but there was no answer. Worried, he tried the cell phone. Nothing, just her pleasant voicemail. Well, he thought, I wonder if something really bad happened. He didn't know if he should call the hospital. Don't be ridiculous, he thought, you barely know her. Finally, he did, nervously, but he couldn't even learn if she'd even been there.
The winter went by, and although he occasionally thought of her, the intervals grew longer and longer. Other customers occupied him, other problems. Spring rolled around, the leaves started to blossom, and people started to do summer-like things like wear shorts, ride their bikes, and lawnwork. The phone rang one beautiful day - another routine call on a busy day. But then when he picked it up, it was her.
"Hi." she said.
"Oh my God!" he cried out, "I thought you died."
She laughed. "What are you talking about?"
"I got a call from someone saying that you were hurt and in the hospital and I called and no one answered so I tried your cell and it was just voicemail and I thought you died!" he blurted out.
"Oh." She seemed a little taken aback. "Well, it's true that I was hurt, a climbing accident, and I was bed ridden for a couple months. But now I'm okay, ready to get on with things."
He could hear her smile, and they talked a bit more until she said she was waiting at the light for the store parking lot.
He watched her walk into the store - she hadn't changed a bit. She stood a hair under 5'7", just about his height, but she had long blond hair as opposed to his short, dark hair. She was pleasantly tan, with long legs and a very proportionate and shapely body. He guessed she weighed something like 120 lbs, 30 lbs less than him. She loved to wear skirts, and he drew in the sight of her thighs moving under the mid-thigh skirt, hips moving seductively. They said hi, him shyly, a slight blush on his face. She looked at him knowingly, smiling with the contrasts of his obvious pleasure in seeing her while at the same time seeing his uncertainty and shyness.
Her "official" reason for being there was to be re-fitted for some equipment. Although she had the equipment before, the accident (a neck injury affecting her spine) made fitment a little different. And so she they discussed what would take place. Now normally, this involves things like measuring limb lengths, a procedure that would need some relatively close quartered touching, something that invades a person's personal space. So when she showed up in a miniskirt, his face fell.
"Um, you need to wear shorts or jeans, a skirt won't really be appropriate." he told her.
Typically focused on the task at hand, he couldn't even think of the possibilities of a fitting session with a skirt.
"I should have realized," she replied, "I'll come back another time."
They walked outside, him to help her with a few bags, and they caught up with each other's last few months.
She'd had a tumultuous time in the last half year - along with the injury, her husband filed for divorce while she was still bed-ridden. In her late 30's, she struggled to straighten out her life, to return to normalcy, and this fitting was a part of it.
He'd ended (a few months ago) a painful, up and down, 5 year relationship, one that started when he was barely 19. Too weak to end it, too drawn to its rare highlights, he'd carry the effects of it for literally a decade more. He too was struggling to maintain some semblance of a normal life. Although very cheery at work, privately, he longed for companionship. He focused on his work and his hobbies (one of which, fortunately, had to do with his job). Personally though, he felt a lost, lacking direction, longing for that special someone.
And so they parted that day, both glowing, both smiling, him looking forward to her next visit. As promised, she returned a few days later, but as she walked in, she laughed.
"I forgot my gym bag," she smiled, "and it has my shorts in it - I'll have to come back." She paused. "You know," she continued, "we could just do it now."
"No, no, no," he said, blushing, "um, it'll be better if you have something other than a skirt on."
They chatted a bit and she left. For the rest of the day, he couldn't wipe the smile off his face.
He thought about her a lot, her smile, her voice, her scent. He wished that she'd talk to him as more than just a sales person, maybe even have dinner or something with her. But no, that wouldn't be possible he thought. No way.
A couple weeks went by, with visits every few days, and each time, either time or clothing seemed to intrude with the planned fitting. It didn't stop them from chatting though, and they found themselves drawn into each other's words, talking until it was time to go.
Finally, she walked in and proclaimed that she forgot her bag and she didn't care. Scowling, she said that she really needed the fitment, and this delay was getting ridiculous. A little intimidated, he agreed to do the fitment. She had to sit, stand, and generally do a lot of "unladylike" things, and her peach colored skirt was definitely inadequate for coverage. Other patrons smiled at his discomfort, watching the proceedings, but continued on out of respect for the two of them.
Inevitably, he found his eyes drawn towards her crotch, where her very visible white (with little pink and purple roses, he noted) panties flashed. Then he'd look up, finding her watching him, smiling. He'd blush and continue on, asking her to lift her elbow or stretch out or move her leg. At some point, she had to lift her leg up, and for the first time she seemed embarrassed, clutching her skirt and pulling it down. But as she lifted her leg, she couldn't help but reveal everything, and once again, he couldn't keep his eyes off of her. Surprisingly red in face, she apologized for her unladylikeness, and he assured her it was okay. She looked around, catching more than a few eyes looking her way, and turned to him.
"Oh my God, everyone is watching," she whispered, leaning over to his ear. He smiled, feeling her brush against him.
"It's okay," he said, "you're done."
They paused as he made recommendations for equipment, then he walked her out to the car.
She settled into her car, and he leaned in her open windows sill. She looked at him questioningly, but he didn't say anything. His eyes darted around, he blushed, and, knowingly, she patiently waited for him. He took a deep breath.
"Would you like to have dinner with me one night?" he exhaled. She looked at him.
"I had a feeling this was going to happen," she said, "I can't, my schedule doesn't give me a lot of time in the evening. But if you want, we can have breakfast together."
"Uh, sure," he replied, taken off guard, "let me know when is good for you. I just have to get to work by 9."
"Okay," she said, "I'll call you."
She drove off, and he thought about it. There's no reason for her to call me, he thought. But I hope she does.
A week went by with no word from her. But then the phone rang, and her voice was at the other end of the line.
"How does Thursday morning sound?", she asked.
"Great!", he replied. Then a pause. She stayed silent.
"Are you okay?", he asked.
