Directions
I don't understand some relationships.
The weekend after graduation is a particularly dull timefor a
bottle shop. Everyone that wants booze has either
left town, is still nursing the worst hangover of their
academic life, or is still plowing through leftover alcohol.
Or has to work. Which I was.
The late afternoon sun pounded through the dirty glass
of the front, what little was not covered with signs loudly
proclaiming a message of, in essence, "Get Drunk! Cheap!
Here." The weather in Cambridge had been particularly
lousy, especially for June, our most promising month until
October. But the thunderstorms and rain showers had given
way to a passably nice day. The weather was guaranteed by
the owner of the shore having scheduled me for an all-day
shift.
The job sucked, but the alternative was home to Lancaster,
PA with my parents, a fate I would have gladly licked Mass
Ave clean with my tongue to avoid.
I didn't notice her at first, as all my attention was taken
up by counting out change for a $100 for a young guy who was
buying a newspaper. He had a smile that I'm certain was intended
to be apologetic, and if I had been in a better mood it might
have worked, but I was inconsolable. A line had formed,
and she joined the end of it, not stopping to pick anything
up. With each sale, I noticed a little more of her.
Bottle of wine, $12.95. Short blonde hair.
Two six-packs of Coke, $4.49. About 5' 8", blue halter top.Nice figure. Bottle of gin, $6.80. Cute, button nose. She
reached the front of the line, and gave me a smile that broke
through my lousy mood. Blue eyes. A little necklace that
looked vaguely Southwestern, all turquoise and silver.
"I'm looking for Cedar Street? Any idea where that is?"
We're at the corner of Mass Ave. and Cedar. This was going
to be a short encounter. I told her. "No, no, not that Cedar!
Cedar in Somerville. I love Boston, but I hate driving in
Boston." We're in Boston the way New Jersey is in Manhattan,
but I wasn't going to start that line of conversation. "Where
are you from?" "California. How about yourself?" "Lancaster,
Pennsylvania. I'm going to Harvard ..." I started in, but
I seemed to have said the magic word. "Lancaster! I have
friends in Lancaster." Reminded me a bit too much of the
Pennsylvania license plates, but she's gone on. "They're
members of my sorority, and I just saw them at our June Weekend
reunion. I'm in town for that ..."
As she went on, a one-person conversation, I took in her
voice (quite husky, considering her bubbly demeanor)
and glanced (with appropriate discretion, I hoped) up
and down her body. She was, well, well-stacked. Unfortunately,
my discretion was insufficient for the task, and I looked
back up to her face to see her smiling at my regard. As I blushed,
she leaned down over the counter.
"Some people get all the fun jobs, " she said, in a low, conspiratorial
voice.
"Uh, yeah." Witty reply. Clever. That's right, I thought,
wow her with your intellect.
"Place seems quiet, today" She said, glancing around,
stretching herself. Her elbows sunk slowly onto the countertop.
I looked up from the view thus created by the lowering of
the halter-top fabric to see her looking at me with a smile
that had switched from conspiratorial to something else.
"Think of anything we could do to make the job more fun?"
she said.
"Well, it's cooler in the back." Shit, I thought, did I say
that?
"We could fix that, " she said, turning around and surveying
the back of the store for the door.
"This way, " I managed to gasp out with lungs that didn't
seem completely under my command. In one fluid motion,
I had closed the register, grabbed a package of condoms
from behind the counter, and locked the front door. No customers
in the parking lot, good, just one car, must be her's. It
looks like there's someone in it, but nah, couldn't be,
anyway, who cares? I led her into the back room. It's even
worse than the typical back room of a liquor store, whatever
that looks like. There are boxes piled everywhere, both
empty and full, the usual collection of posters proclaiming
that all you have to do is drink some terrible brand of bad
American liquor and amazingly women who would scrape you
off their shoe now will fall into bed with you. Not in so many
words, of course, but the message is clear. She surveyed
the scene, with what I assumed was less than complete enthusiasm.
Well, it is a bottle shop, not the Marriott. But when she
turned around, she still has that infectious lovely smile
on her face ... "I can cope with this." She pulled the tank
top over her head, revealing her lovely breasts still in
a white bra. The bra came off a moment later, and she was in
my arms, pulling me down to a kiss. And a very nice kiss it
was, very deep and soft. Even with lots of tongue, there
are kisses that are very sharp and angular-feeling, but
this was a lover's kiss. I still can't completely explain
the difference, but there you are.
With a plop, the package of condoms dropped to the floor.
She somehow managed to slither out of her shorts while kissing
me, and did a lovely, slow, descent to her knees, running
her hands down my chest. Kissing me through my jeans, she
unbuttons them, and applies her mouth to my already-hard
cock with tremendous skill.
"Now ..." Lick. "I don't ..." Slurp. "have ..." Gulp. "much
time for this, " she finally managed to get out, between
licks with her tongue along my balls, "so let's be quick!"
Nothing like a little performance anxiety to make an evening
special, but I wasn't going to turn this down for anything.
She retrieved the packaged of condoms, and (with cardboard
and wrappers flying everywhere) managed to extract one.
As she stood up, naked except for jewelry and shoes, she
rolled one onto me with one hand, the other steadying herself
on my shoulder.
"OK, I'll just bend over like this, " she said, as businesslike
as if she was staging a play. She turned her back to me, and
bent over, steadying herself on a pile of Guinness boxes.
She spread her legs, and one hand spread her lips apart.
Amazingly, she was very wet already, wet enough to...
"Well? C'mon!" she said, always impatient. OK, OK, I was
just enjoying the view. I stepped forward, rubber-clad
penis in hand, and slid it. There was almost no resistance,
I was amazed. I started slowly, with long strokes, but she
was having none of it. She started setting the rhythm, pushing
back, in, out, in out. Her free hand was playing with her
clit, and she was starting a lovely pattern of moans in time
with her thrusts. In, out, in out ... she came once, twice
as I finally lost control and pounded into her, grabbing
her hips. She started screaming, loud enough that I was
afraid the next door dry-cleaners would hear. "Yes, yes,
YES!" she yelled out as I came, much faster than I thought
I ever would, shaking as my cum poured out of me. I staggered
back, a bit unsure of my balance, and came out of her with
a pop. She gave a small whimper of displeasure, but was back
into her shorts and tank top (bra in the pocket of the shorts)
before I even had the condom all the way off. "That was very
nice, thanks. I better go, my boyfriend's waiting." "BOYFRIEND!"
"Yeah, he's in the car. He'll wonder what's taking so long."
"Boyfriend?" OK, I had already said it, but I still wasn't
quite getting the answer I was looking for.
"Relax, he's reading a newspaper, and nothing distracts
him from that. Anyway, gotta go! Thank you kindly, " she
said, with just a touch of an affected southern accent.
And with a small peck on the cheek, out she went through the
store, unlocking the front door and tearing out of it.
I staggered into my clothes, cleaned up the condom package
debris in the storage room, and put one condom-package
worth of change in the register (the owner would notice,
he's that kind of guy). I watched the car pull away, and head
down Mass Ave. Even through the grimy windows, I can see
that it was the guy with the $100 driving.
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