Yes, there's a fucking point to this. I'm getting to the fucking point. The fucking point is that it was crunch time, but Mr. Federer was still away in Florida for another week, and Keisha could say she was the supervisor all she wanted but I knew she couldn't do dick about it if I called in sick. And it was a Saturday night and I wanted to go see my boyfriend's band play, so I picked up the phone to call and say I had the flu...
And I just stopped. I put the phone back down again, told myself it wouldn't be right to skip work when we were so busy like this, and started getting ready for work. And if I was Brandy, or one of those other college girls, I probably wouldn't have even thought twice about it. I'd have been all, like, "Oh, of course it's not right to call in sick when you're not really sick! It's also not right to leave your cell phone on when you're working, or take a long break, or cross against the traffic light," or eighteen other kinds of bullshit.
But retail vets, we know better. We don't get vacations. They don't care about us, we don't care about them. It's been five years since the first time I called in sick when I just needed a day off, and four years since I stopped giving a fuck about it. I knew this was weird, deep down in my gut, even if my brain kept telling me that it was totally normal and I should stop thinking so hard about it.
So I went to work, and I was still trying to figure out why the fuck I did that. Only I wasn't, because every time I tried to think about it, I just sort of wound up humming along to the elevator music while I restocked the shelves or fronted the merchandise. It wasn't really important, you know? I was at work, and even if I kind of had other places I wanted to be, this was still a fun job.
And that's when I really knew something was wrong. Because this job sucks. The customers are all the kind of people who are out of grade school and are still making shit out of yarn, the merchandise is so boring I wouldn't even steal it, my co-workers are either stuck-up college bitches or mousy girls who work here for the employee discount on their crafts shit, and the only thing that keeps me here is the commission. I've hated every second of every shift I ever had. But here I was, refilling the beads instead of listening to my boyfriend's band, and I was actually happy.
And the more I thought about it, the more I noticed that it wasn't a "real" kind of happy. It was...okay, look, I've done a little pot, once or twice. I already got busted for it and I already did my time, so don't even fucking think about trying to arrest me, okay? But the point is, I know what it feels like to get baked, and that was what this felt like. It wasn't the kind of happy you get from going down to the beach with friends on your day off, it was the kind of happy you get from doing hits off your boyfriend's gravity bong. My head felt all empty, I felt all mellow and foggy and whatever I had to do to get through the day and do the job right, that was cool. I wasn't giggly or anything, but I felt totally stoned off my ass.
I didn't know what was causing it, not then. I just knew that something was making the shift go by in this warm, sticky haze of...the other girls told you about that? Yeah, it felt hot. Not as much then as it does now, but I was getting these sort of warm tingles all over when I did my job right. Like, my boyfriend called about halfway through my shift to ask me where I was and why I wasn't at the gig, and I started to answer...but something made me stop what I was doing, and switch my phone off instead of answering it. And when I did that, I got this warm little rush between my legs, like someone had just blown a little puff of air right on my clit. That was the best of them, that night, but even little shit like straightening the shelves and taking out the garbage made me feel like someone was petting me all over.
The buzz lasted all the way through to when I got to the bus station. I found myself actually wanting to go back to work, and I knew that was some fucked-up shit, because I don't know anyone who actually volunteers for a retail shift, and I bet you don't either. I thought about that on the ride home--it was kind of hard, because my brain kept wanting to slide away from the idea, but you know what it's like when you know something's not right, but you don't know what it is. Every time my brain told me to forget, I forgot, but I'd start thinking about something else and it'd lead me right back to the things I was supposed to forget. And after a while, I noticed that I kept forgetting, and that was something else I started thinking about.
And by the time I got home, I'd realized that I'd been feeling good about work for a while now. This was the first time I really noticed, because this was the first time I'd tried to skip, but when I thought about it, I remembered feeling kind of happy about going to work for a few weeks now. No, I still didn't figure it out that night. I got home and got into a fight with my boyfriend about missing his gig, and by the time we got to the make-up sex, it kind of didn't seem all that important.
But over the next week, I noticed even more stuff. I noticed that all the other girls at work had this weird dreamy look on their faces every day, and I was pretty sure I looked like that too. Not that I minded. Fuck, I loved it. Every day I came in to work, I felt better coming in to work. Every day I spent here, I enjoyed it more. It got hotter every time--I wasn't, you know, moaning or anything, because keeping quiet and acting polite and "professional" felt good too, but by the time Mr. Federer got back from Florida, I was creaming my jeans pretty much non-stop. It was fucking sweet; I'd be sitting there, helping some little old lady pick out a macrame kit for her niece, and the whole time it felt like someone was pounding my cunt with a foot-long dildo. I never used to like helping the customers much, but damn, you know?
I figured it out when Mr. Federer got back. He said something about how he'd developed a little hearing problem while he was away, and part of me just wanted to believe everything he said about everything by then, but the other part of me, the part that had been noticing shit already? It wondered why Doc Dietz had the same weird hearing aid things in his ears, too, if it was a "hearing problem." And then things started to click about that elevator music. I would watch customers who spent a lot of time in the store, the real hard-core hobby people, and after a couple of hours, they'd be sort of humming along to the music, and then they'd start straightening merch without even realizing they were doing it. And they'd get that look on their faces. You just knew that it was giving them deep-down tingles to do it. Some of our regular customers, they started hanging around for hours, helping us out without even being paid for it. Not that we needed much help by then. We were all pretty fucking motivated, you know?
And a few days after he got back, Mr. Federer called me into his office for a little meeting. He had the speakers in there, too, and the sound was even better. He and Dietz were both waiting for me, and they started talking about how happy they were with my productivity and all that bullshit, but I knew what I was really in there for. I walked around Mr. Federer's desk with this big, dopey grin on my face, nodding and thanking him for saying so many nice things about me, but the whole time my pussy was so itchy I could barely keep my hand out of my skirt. When he turned his chair to face me I could see his boner sticking up in his pants, and for the first time ever, that looked so fucking hot to me. I couldn't help myself, I dropped to my knees and unzipped him, and oh my fucking god, I've never felt so good giving a blowjob in my life.
It felt like I had a clit inside my mouth, it was so good. Every time I bobbed my head up and down the shaft, I felt like I was cumming all over again. Doc Dietz had gone around behind me and pulled up my skirt, and I didn't even care, I was so horny. Hell, I wanted it. My mouth and my hands were too busy with Mr. Federer's cock to really help him out, but if I could have, I would have. When he pulled my panties to the side and slipped me his dick, it was...it was the fucking nuclear orgasm bomb, or something. I can't even describe it. There aren't words for how fucking good that felt. He could have pounded my pussy forever, and I'd still have begged for more.
Instead, he wound up slipping it into my ass instead. And when I realized what he was doing, I wanted to tell him to stop, but my mouth was full of cock and it didn't even take a whole second before I could feel my thoughts twisting around inside my head until what I wanted was to take his cock up my ass while I sucked Mr. Federer's cock. And suddenly I'm grinding my ass up against Dietz's dick, because when he stuck it in me, it felt so fucking hot and dirty and good that I just had to have every inch of that inside me, and he's pounding away and it's forcing my face down onto Mr. Federer's cock and then suddenly I'm cumming like crazy without even touching my pussy.