Just Add Alcohol

"Come on, Matt," Marni whined. "You still have an hour left before you're done. Just go in back and get a stack of each and put 'em on the floor. By the time that's done, your shift will be almost over."

Matt turned and walked away from her without saying a word. He hated this fucking job. He was home from his freshman year in college and his parents made him get a job for the summer. Abercrombie & Fitch was it. It was ridiculous. He barely made any money, and he had to wear the store's clothes to boot. His parents paid for some of his clothes but it was still a wash as far as he was concerned. At the end of the day, he probably spent more on clothes than he actually made.

And Marni, the bubble-headed assistant store manager, was always riding his ass. 'Do this.' 'Don't do that.' How about this, Marni? Shut the fuck up!

Matt shuffled into the storage room to grab a few stacks of what the company's designers called "College Tee Shirts." Yeah, right. Who the fuck would wear this crap, anyway? He piled two stacks of the shirts onto his arms and carried them out to the sales floor, arranging them according to the almighty chart that Marni toted around all day, and returned to the storage room for a few more stacks.

* * *

Northbrook Court was tired and starting to look run down, but Olivia Freeman found it convenient, much more so than Old Orchard. Shoot down Green Bay Road to Lake-Cook, then west a few miles, over the Edens Expressway, and there you were. Ten minutes, at the most.

Last Tuesday, however, Olivia gave herself more than ten minutes; more like two hours. That gave her enough time to pick up a new hand bag from Louis Vuitton, a golf shirt for her husband, and a wrap top at Bebe. She liked the way the Bebe tops accentuated her 36C bust line.

She also poked her head into Victoria Secret and purchased a little baby doll; her anniversary was in two weeks and Bob was taking her to Miami for the weekend. He'd get his reward for a long weekend at the Shore Club.

That gave her just enough time to get to the Palm, the legendary steak house with a branch at the mall, where she met Rebecca Sussman and Wendy Jackson, two of her best childhood friends, for a late lunch. Lobster bisque, a salmon fillet and two-and-a-half bottles of a 2001 Cakebread chardonnay later, she was loading her arms up with bags, wishing her friends well, and walking back through Northbrook Court toward Neiman's, where she had parked her car.

The thought of her car made her frown. It wasn't a car anymore. The thought of driving the monstrosity killed her inside. With three kids in junior high and early high school, Olivia and Bob finally succumbed to the pull of the minivan. She had lobbied hard for an SUV, an X5 or a Mercedes M-Class. In the end, though, those SUVs didn't fit the Freeman's practicalities. Still, she wasn't happy and her intoxicated state caused her to brood.

Music floated into Olivia's ear, pulling her from her self-pity party. She looked towards its source, the Abercrombie & Fitch store her two eldest kids – boys both of them – spent so much money at. Thinking she'd stop in and see if any sales were on, she veered from her intended path and entered the store.

"How are you today?" a little bimbo inquired, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. A tee shirt two sizes too small hugged modest breasts and a pony-tail bobbing behind her.

"I'm fine, thank you," Olivia responded, barely paying attention to the little girl.

"Can I help you find anything, ma'am?"

Olivia almost stopped and informed the girl that women who haven't started to go gray yet do not appreciated being called "ma'am." Instead, she said over her shoulder, "No, thanks. I'll just look around for a while."

* * *

Matt was leaning over a display table folding tee shirts when the cracking of Olivia's Jimmy Choo heels caught his attention. He glanced at her, intending to do so quickly, but his eyes locked on her beauty. She was walking among the various display tables, a long cherry red nail occasionally brushing her lustrous blond hair behind an ear. High, aristocratic cheekbones, slightly flushed from her intake of chardonnay, bookended a thin, elegant nose. With her tanned flesh, she made quite a glamorous sight.

Matt returned to his duties, stacking the remaining tee shirts on the display table. Finished, he looked around and found her standing before a table covered with stacks of chinos in various shades. She held a pair unfolded before her as if judging whether they would fit her curvy frame. They clearly wouldn't.

"Not for you, I'm guessing?"

Olivia lowered the pants from in front of her face. She gave the young man a wry smile accompanied by a shake of the head. "Not exactly."

"Anything I can help you with?"

"Not just yet, thank you."

"Well, just holler if you need me."

Matt sauntered off, slowing making his way toward the storeroom for another stack of tee shirts, Olivia admiring his tight butt as he went.

He was back at the tee shirt table arranging his latest load when, over his shoulder, he heard, "'I Mow Your Mom's Lawn'?"

He turned to see her standing over his shoulder, her perfume wafting through his nostrils. A look of inquiry dominated Olivia's luminous emerald eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I dunno. It's just a tee shirt. They call it a College Tee Shirt."

"Who does?" she asked, moving to his side and lifting another shirt from the table. 'I Support The Performing Arts,' it read.

"The store."

"Hmph. I've never seen any college kids with tee shirts like these."

"Me neither." Matt leaned closer to her and, in a stage whisper, continued. "Personally, I think they're ridiculous. You wouldn't catch me dead in something like that."

Olivia's glossy red lips formed a conspiratorial smirk. She leaned closer to him, her full breasts pressing against his bare arm, the cashmere of her turtleneck so soft against his bare flesh. She reached across his chest and picked another tee shirt from the table, holding it before them. "'Your Mom Never Gets Old.' I'm sensing a theme here."

Below a lightly plucked and knowingly arched eyebrow, her gleaming eyes locked on Matt's before she dropped the shirt unceremoniously to the table, turned on her heel and wandered off. Matt stared after her as she did, his cock stirring at the site of her sweet little bottom encased in camel hair pants.

Shaking the image from his mind, he returned to his duties, re-folding the tee shirts that Olivia had held up for inspection.

"Jesus, Matt," came an exasperated whine. "What are you doing? You're just screwing around."

He turned to see Marni approaching.

"Come on, Matt," she pleaded. "You only have forty-five minutes before you have to clock out." She had had enough. "Just go work the cash register for the rest of your shift."

Fifteen minutes later, Matt was behind the counter straightening the supplies and waiting for the next customer when Olivia approached. She dropped two pairs of pants and one of the College Tee-Shirts on the counter and leaned against it on her elbows, her breasts pushing together and swelling beneath her turtleneck. A flirtatious smile formed across her shiny lips as Matt rung up the first pair of pants.

"You know you have two different size pants, ma'am?" he inquired when ringing the second pair.

Olivia sighed, her breath rustling her glimmering blond locks. "First of all, I'm not a 'ma'am.' Try 'miss,' young man. You'll find it works much better with women who haven't hit menopause yet."

"Sorry," he mumbled, reaching for the tee shirt.

"And second, yes, I know I'm buying pants of different sizes. That's because I'm buying one pair for my oldest son," she intoned, holding up one pair, "and another for my other son," she finished, holding up the other.

"Of course . . . miss. I'm sorry." Matt rang the tee shirt as Olivia rummaged through the Chanel flap bag looking for her credit card. The bag's strap draped across her torso, running between her breasts, emphasizing what needn't be emphasized. When she found her card, she handed it to Matt, dragging her cherry red nails across the innocent flesh of his palm as she withdrew her hand.

With a shiver, Matt read the name on the card before sliding it through the machine. He began folding the tee shirt. His composure somewhat regained, he shook his head when he read the message emblazoned across the front of it: 'I Mow Your Mom's Lawn.'

"What?" Olivia asked.

"I told you," he began in light tone, "your son's gonna to hate this thing. No self-respecting kid would wear it."

"Really?" she said, confident that the young man was wrong. Matt nodded his head. "Well, let me tell you, then. It's not for one of my sons."

He merely rolled his eyes as he slipped the pants into an A&F bag. "Right. Who's it for, then? Your daughter?" he scoffed.

Olivia leaned closer to the young man, her long blond locks sweeping across the counter. Silently, she mouthed, "It's for you."

Matt furrowed his brow, not reading her glossy lips much less understanding the import of her message.

"It's for you," she whispered, smiling brazenly at the young man who, three months hence, would leave his teens behind.

He was taken aback. His mind raced to form some sort of retort but ultimately failed.

"How late do you work?" she asked, her chin resting in the palm of her left hand. Her cherry red nails gleamed and the diamond of her engagement ring sparkled in the store's indirect lighting.

"Um," he stumbled.

Olivia sensed his anxiety and rephrased the question. "What . . . time . . . do . . . you . . . get . . . off?" She almost giggled at the double entendre.

He looked around the store, then back at gorgeous women standing before him, then at his watch. "Uh. I get . . . . Uh, half-an-hour." Nervously, Matt pulled the credit card receipt from the machine and slid it, the card and a pen toward her.

The pen gripped lightly between her manicured nails, her attention focused on the receipt, she said, "Fine. I'll be in the bar at the Palm." Looking up, she slid the store copy back to Matt with a bright smile on her tanned face before putting her copy and the card in the flap bag. "That is, if you want to mow my lawn."

With a smirk, Olivia turned on her heel and walked off, her hips swaying provocatively.

Matt stood there speechless for a moment, his cock twitching in his pants. Then he tried to make himself look busy straightening up the area around the cash register, but he was really just moving things around, his mind racing. Butterflies fluttered around his stomach as he rang up a few customers during his remaining time on the clock.

* * *

Outside Abercrombie & Fitch, Olivia turned and slowly made her way back to the Palm. Ensuring that her friends had left – she had no desire, of course, to explain to them why a young man was meeting her in the bar – she took a seat on one of the stools and ordered a bourbon-on-the-rocks.

When the bartender set it before her, she quickly downed it and glanced at her watch. 'Five minutes,' she thought to herself, signaling the bartender for another.

Olivia's nipples tingled beneath the cashmere weave of her turtleneck. Random, mid-day assignations were not foreign to her. She had married young, right out of college, and was pregnant, she often joked, before she and Bob had even left for their honeymoon. Though prone to fucking strange men behind Bob's back when they were dating in college, she had remained faithful to him during the first decade of their marriage.

The second decade, thus far, was a different story altogether. There was nothing unique about her motivations – limited sexual experiences before marriage; validation of her ability to attract men as she reached into her thirties; the general boredom of the stay-at-home mom.

Nonetheless, the incidence of her infidelity was fairly low – once or twice a year – but her daydreaming and fantasizing were much more frequent. And lately, her imaginations had been leading her to younger and younger men. The messages plastered across the front of Abercrombie & Fitch's College Tee Shirts had engaged her "cougar" instinct. Matt – if for no reason other than that he was simply there – was to be her prey.

* * *

At the top of the hour, Marni relieved Matt at the cash registered and he went to the storeroom to clock out for the day. He left the store and paused just outside it. If he went in one direction, he could be in his car and on Lake-Cook Road in a matter of minutes. In the other was Olivia Freeman.

A few minutes later, he found himself approaching the Palm, his stomach churning, his knees weak, palms sweaty.

* * *

Olivia glanced at her watch again. 'Should be here any minute.'

She dropped a twenty on the bar and collected her bags. She got herself balanced and was moving toward the door when Matt walked in. The nervousness was apparent in his demeanor. She smiled inwardly: he knew he was being hunted.

As the two approached each other, Olivia pretended not to notice him and breezed right on by, her shimmering flaxen hair flowing behind her

"Follow me," she said from the side of her sensuous mouth as she passed.

Matt stopped in his tracks, momentarily confused, but turned and followed her. He caught up to her about twenty yards outside the Palm.

"Walk behind me," she ordered, as though she were Queen Nefertiti. "We can't be seen together."

Matt dropped back a few paces and, through his anxiety, admired her swinging bottom. He followed her through the mall, the rhythmic clacking of her heels nearly mesmerizing him, and into Neiman's and out a side door. Olivia crossed the inner access road and stopped ten cars in at the rear of a silverish minivan. She set her bags on the ground, fumbled around her flap bag and extracted a set of keys, all the while remaining silent.

She pressed a button on the key fob and the rear hatch opened on its own. Matt helped her place the bags in the rear of the minivan, stacking them atop a lacrosse stick and a partially deflated soccer ball.

Olivia closed the hatch and moved to the driver's door, throwing a "Get in" over her shoulder to the confused teen.

As she settled herself in the driver's seat, the passenger door opened. She hit a button on the dashboard and the sliding door to the rear of the minivan slid open. She leaned over and caught Matt's eye. "In back."

Matt paused for a moment, his confusion continuing, but he shrugged his shoulders, shut the front door and climbed in back, sitting in the middle of the bench seat. Another press of the dashboard button closed the door, sealing the van's cabin in silence.

Olivia put the minivan in reverse, backed out of the stall, and drove slowly toward the outer access road. She stole a glance through the rearview mirror at Matt in the backseat. 'Oh, God,' she thought, rubbing her thighs together. 'I am going to rock this kid's world.' She paused at the outer access road and, after looking both ways, crossed it, rolling into a remote parking lot.

"What's your name?" she inquired, eyeing him again in the rearview mirror.

"Uh . . . Matt."

"Well, Matt," she began, "I think its time for you to leave the teenyboppers behind."

She brought the minivan to a stop and put the transmission in park. Leaving it running, she turned to face him; the twisting of her body accentuated her large breasts. "I've been dreaming about young cock pounding my filthy cunt into mush," she declared, her voice low and sultry and dripping with lust at the thought of having this young man at her beck and call. "How does that strike you?"

Olivia reveled at the sharp intake of his breath as the wicked words tumbled across her glossy lips. Without waiting for his response, she squeezed between the two front seats. She knelt on her camel hair covered knees, her long elegant fingers bracing herself against his muscular thighs. A soccer cleat dug into her left knee as she leaned into the wide-eyed young man.

As her pretty face fell toward his, Matt looked around, nervous that someone might see them. Olivia lifted a bright red nail to his cheek and guided his face back toward hers. "I'm right here, young man," she reminded him before brushing her soft full lips against his.

Matt quaked and inhaled deeply as Olivia's pink tongue flickered out and parted his lips, slipping into his mouth. He tasted the wine on her breath as he tried to catch his breath.

His eyes eased closed as her hot, wet tongue invaded his mouth, her perfume his olfactory senses. A manicured hand roamed down his chest, gently massaging his pectoral muscles, pausing momentarily to tweak his flat nipples.

Olivia's shiny lips and slithering tongue detached from the young man's mouth and she planted light kisses along his jaw line, crossing to his ear. She blew hot breath as her hand dropped to the waistband of his pants.

"Um," he began, his young body shuddering.

"Shut up," she whispered hotly into his ear, sending shivers up his spine. "You're not here to talk. You're here to FUCK." She bit hard on the last word before taking Matt's earlobe between her full lips and sucking it hard between her snow-white teeth.

Olivia pulled Matt's shirt from his pants and pushed it up and out of her way. With a thumb and forefinger, she roughly pulled his belt from its buckle, ripped the button from its hole, and tore open the zipper, careful not to chip her nails.

Matt groaned as her cool, soft fingers raided his boxers and pulled his thickening cock from the piss hole.

Olivia bent and licked around one of his nipples as her manicured hand encircled the thick, teenage cock, stroking it. She lifted her head to look around. There were no cars approaching, no people on foot.

"Mmm," she muttered, dipping her head again toward the erect shaft quivering in her left hand. She blew hot breath across the broad head before swiping her wet tongue across the spongy flesh, capturing a drop of pre-cum as it threatened to streak down the length of his shaft.

The cum sat on her tongue for a moment before she pressed it against the roof of her mouth, mixing it her own saliva, and swallowed. Her left hand remained firmly around Matt's cock, gently tugging, her eyes locked on the veiny, pulsing shaft and shiny head. Her focus was singular.

After a moment, she tore her sparkling emerald eyes from the trembling mass and found Matt staring back at her. A lascivious smile parted her full lips. "I cannot tell you," she began, "how long I've been waiting for this." Her fist still pulling gently at his shaft, she again swiped her tongue across the squishy cap.

"Hmm?" he moaned in response.

"Young cock," she answered. "Young . . . thick . . . fraternity-boy cock."

With her free hand, Olivia reached below her and pulled Matt's shoes from his feet. She tugged at his pants and, when he lifted his ass from the leather bench, pulled them down over his knees and off his feet.

Planting light kisses along the inner thigh of his left leg, she pushed his right leg up and to the side so that it hung over the arm of the bench seat.

"Oh, gawd," she muttered before burying her pretty face in the teenager's crotch, her flaxen hair whispering across his hairy thighs as her silky tongue found his hanging balls. She bathed them in sticky saliva while her left hand continued to jerk at Matt's stiff cock. The metal links of her watchband clinked together in time with her stroking, providing the only sound inside the cabin of the minivan.

Above her, Matt groaned with delight. His mouth was dry and he struggled to swallow when Olivia sucked one of his balls into her mouth. He clenched his fists beside him, his knuckles turning white.

Olivia spit the testicle from her mouth and released the teen's throbbing shaft. It fell to his thigh with an audible plop as she grabbed his trim waist in both hands, pulling his ass closer to the edge of the bench.