Saturday, April 18, 2009

Trouble in Store - Part 1

"Hey, Denise, what time is it?"
I knew full well that it was ten to ten (pm), but I was
trying to make a point. This was not missed by the friendly,
terminally cheerful checkout supervisor, who gave a wry grin.
"Time you got a watch," she quipped, turning away to
pick up a piece of paper, her floppy blonde hair falling over
her face. She wasn't exactly pretty in the generally
accepted way, but nevertheless I found her somewhat endearing
in both looks and manner.
"Is that roundabout home time, hm?" I replied, with a
touch of playful indignance. I had been sitting there, on a
till, serving one rude person after another (or so it seemed
- it wasn't a role I performed very often) since nine o'
clock that evening, I was hungry and I had work of my own to
do before I finished, hopefully before the pubs shut.
"Oh, go on then, get yourself off. Pam's up there
anyway, you'll like that, no doubt." Denise winked and
strolled away down the checkouts.

It was no secret that I find women attractive. In fact, it
is pretty bloody obvious to the majority of people I work
with, who have accepted me as who I am - a hard worker with a
wicked sense of humour, and also bisexual. It was also not
much of a secret that I rather had a bit of a crush on Pam,
who has the grand-sounding title of Checkout Manager, which
makes mine (Frozen Food Manager) sound a little pathetic.
Anyhow, Pam is one tough lady. No, really, she is. Like one
of those Amazonian-type women that used to run around
spearing things. Like those really hard policewomen who get
in criminals' faces. Like a tax collector with a grudge
against rich people. Around six feet tall, well-built, plays
rugby or some such death-wish sport - who wouldn't fancy the
pants off her?
Denise is a different matter. Short, stout, wouldn't-hurt-a-
fly-even-if-it-ate-her-baby type of lass, never short-
tempered or moody. Denise is like an anti-Pam. I couldn't
imagine her doing anything more dangerous than frying an egg.
And I really, really like her. We don't cross paths that
often, with me often working nights, but since our large
store began 24-hour opening things had altered, and I saw a
lot more of the "day" workers. Being checkout-trained
helped, of course!

The canteen was surprisingly full given the odd hour. Night
staff who were just starting their shift gave me a nod and a
thumbs-up as I got myself a cup of tea and looked around the
room. I caught sight of Pam immediately, sitting in a corner
staring morosely at what looked like (but couldn't possibly
be) a glass of whisky. Sauntering over, I ignored my Frozen
Food Night Supervisor, a very capable, hardworking young man
called Darren, who was smirking knowingly. I slid my hand up
my back as I walked past him and stuck two fingers up, and
heard stifled snorts of laughter in response.
"Hey, Pam. What's up, not finished your Christmas
rotas yet?"
She glared at me, green eyes flashing in the dimmed lights.
"Would I be here," she said, waving her arm around and
fair spitting the word out, "if I had? No," she went on,
"would I bollocks. I would be across the road, in the
Blacksmiths, like everyone else."
Leaning back in her chair, she saw me taking a furtive look
at her drink.
"Cough medicine," she said shortly, snatching it away.
Ooh, it was hard work, talking to this one. She made me, a
strong, intelligent, confident woman, feel about ten years
old and four feet tall. I leaned forward to look at her rota
files, which were scattered across the table and were clearly
not finished. I picked one up at random and leafed through
"Week commencing 20th of December," I read out loud,
holding back a sudden giggle. "This should have been in last
week - what happened? Jo won't be pleased." Jo, the
Personnel manager, was a stickler for punctuality.
"No, she's not fucking pleased," swore Pam, as though
it was my fault. The old line 'You're beautiful when you're
angry' sprung to mind, but I think if I had said that, they
would be sweeping me up with a dustpan and brush come the
"Here, I've got everything set up on my computer. If
you've got names and times, it'll add it all up for you."
She nodded, handing me another file ominously entitled 'Draft
Xmas Hours 2004'.
We chatted less seriously for a few minutes, then I rose to
go. Deciding to sod the things I'd planned to do (and tell
Darren to do them instead), I got my coat and trotted
downstairs, counting my money to see how many pints I could
afford, and walked straight into Denise. I briefly felt the
warmth of her skin on mine as our arms brushed together, then
the firm grip of her hand as she grasped my shoulder to stop
me from falling.
"Steady there, love," she said with a touch of concern.
"Are you ok? You look a bit pale."
People had been saying that for a while, and it was starting
to annoy me.
"Yes, fine, thanks. Er, sorry, for walking into you."
I smiled. "Not looking where I'm going."
"I bet you don't need to look to find your way, if
you're going where I think you're going." We both laughed,
then suddenly the look on my friend's face changed.
"I wish I could come," she said quietly, looking away.
Just as well, as my face must have screwed up in the most
hideous fashion, such was my surprise at hearing not just
those words but the melancholy tone that accompanied them. I
reached out and took her lightly by the arms, moving her
towards the wall and out of harm's way.
"I think I ought to ask, are YOU ok?" I waited for her
answer. She shrugged, but when she faced me I could see that
her eyes were bright with tears. Instinctively, such was the
protectiveness I felt towards most females (not Pam, of
course, who could battle with a Tyrannosaurus Rex and win), I
put my arms around her and hugged her tightly. I could feel
her shaking as I held her, and the last thing on my mind
right then was the feelings I have for her. 'Friendship
comes first' has always been my strong belief, and I was
certainly needed, for whatever reason, in that capacity.
Even so, I felt a stirring in my stomach that was a certain
sign of arousal, and I was acutely aware of her breath
against my neck and arms around my waist underneath my
leather jacket.

"So, she didn't tell you what was up, then?" stated my good
friend and drinking buddy George, seated across the table
from me in the Blacksmiths much later that evening. I shook
my head drunkenly.
"Not a squeak, just said thankyou and legged it." I
sighed with feeling. George watched me, then poked me hard
in the arm.
"Oi! Snap out of it! So she didn't tell you what's
bugging her, big deal. It's probably nothing, and we've been
through this. She won't go out with you, and you know it.
You do know that, right?"
I nodded. Denise was by all appearances, to my knowledge and
that of everyone I had indiscreetly quizzed about her,
absolutely straight. Pam was not, but she didn't seem
interested in me, and anyway if I slept with her it would
probably be common knowledge in a matter of hours. But
lovely, sweet Denise was different.
"Another beer, or shall we go and shoot the hell out of
robots on my X-box?" enquired George.
I laughed in spite of myself. All-night drinking in pubs
was a thing of the past for us now. I left the pub in better
spirits, but that was probably just the beer.

Scraping myself out of bed the next morning took a great deal
of effort. Actually, I wasn't even in bed, but on George's
small couch in his flat, where I had fallen asleep the night
before. I still managed to get into work for six o'clock,
and in two hours I had finished Pam's rotas and printed it
all out in a neat little pile. I wandered downstairs to look
for her and found myself in the warehouse, having checked
everywhere else first. I phoned the switchboard as a last
"Hi, Carol, can you call Pam to the warehouse, please?"
The call went out over the tannoy, and as I waited I pushed
past stacks of pallets to get to Pam's small section
comprising checkouts materials such as bags, till rolls and
chewing gum. As it was nearing Christmas, the warehouse was
full, almost overcrowded. I heard a noise behind me and
turned to see Pam squeezing through a narrow gap. I waved
the papers at her triumphantly.
"All done. Better get them up to Jo, sharpish."
The tall, good-looking woman grinned with relief.
"Well, I owe you one for this. And all the other times
you've helped me out," she admitted. "Cheers, mate." She
suddenly leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. I pulled
away, stunned and rapidly turning red. Pam raised her
eyebrows suggestively. I couldn't believe what was happening
- she was coming on to me, most definitely, here of all
places! But my desires took over and shoved common sense out
of the way. I grabbed her broad shoulders and kissed her
back, roughly, full on the lips. Pushing her up against the
racking, our tongues thrust together, our hands moved wildly
over our rumpled uniforms. Pam stood with her legs apart and
reached down my back, pulling our bodies together. W writhed
against each other in a frenzied rhythm, pounding our hips
together, until my excitement reached the brink of orgasm.
"I'm coming, oh god, ooohhhh," I gasped as she held me
even tighter. I could tell that she was close as well, the
look of concentration on her face intense. A few more
thrusts and a wave of pleasure overcame me, and I sagged
involuntarily. Pam still held me in a vice-like grip.
"Just a little more, mate," she whispered. Ten seconds
of sheer ecstasy followed, then a moan escaped her as she,
too, reached a climax. We stood for a minute longer,
savouring the feelings and recovering our breath. Then, with
a quick kiss, Pam took up the papers that I had dropped in a
pile and disappeared.

I stood in a daze, not altogether sure I wasn't dreaming.
Time seemed to stand still until a sound of someone
approaching from the other direction brought me back to
reality and I quickly tugged my shirt into place. A
youthful, male face appeared over the top of a pallet of
"I know what you did," the face said smugly, with a
voice like treacle and an intensely insulting smirk to match.
I put on a blank look and shook my head.
"Sorry, haven't a clue what you're talking about. But
whilst you're here, help me stack this, will you," I said,
indicating a stack of paper towels that had collapsed. He
shook his head, slowly saying "I don't think so," in a
knowing way.
Panic started to rise. How could he possibly have seen?
Pallets stacked to the roof surrounded us. I looked up to
confirm this, and noticed something else with a sinking
feeling. The roof was not in fact the roof at all, but just
the second level of the warehouse, where there was a nice gap
for anyone well positioned to have a birds-eye view of where
I stood. 'Fuck,' I thought, desperately trying to think of a
way out.
"I won't tell," the oily voice spoke again, "at least,
not yet." I sighed.
"What do you want? And who the hell are you, anyway?"
The young man leaned his elbows on top of the stack of boxes
between us.
"Name's Jamie. Jamie Barker. I'm new here this week."
Oh, shit, fuck and bloody bollocks. I was done for. I could
barely speak, such was my sheer panic and shock. I tried to
keep my voice steady.
"Barker? As in - "
"Yep. I'm Denise's little brother. Didn't you know?"
I could have slapped him, and indeed moved forward to do just
that, before I remembered where I was.
Anger replaced fright, and I moved towards him threateningly.
"Listen, you little turd, one squeak out of you and
you'll regret it, I promise you." He just shrugged
"It's up to you. It wouldn't cost much for my silence.
But, if that's the way you want it..."
I dodged around the pallet and grabbed his arm.
"What do you want," I spat, turning him to face me.
Though younger, about seventeen I guessed, he was very like
his sister in build and height, and it suited him. Just a
couple of inches shorter than me, he had the same floppy
blonde hair and light blue eyes. In fact, if he hadn't been
wearing that smirk, he would have been quite cute, I admitted
to myself.
"Blow job," he replied immediately, grinning. I made
to grab him again and he danced away.
"Oh, come on, it's not like you haven't done it before.
I'm all nice and clean, and it won't take a minute. Then
this little, er, incident, will be forgotten. Deal?"

As the lad spoke, his voice and accent was also very much
like Denise, and suddenly I felt strangely attracted to him,
not in the same way I felt about his sister, but different.
I thought for a moment, deciding if I could trust him or not.
Denise I would trust with my life, and since this young man
had the same upbringing, well....
"Let's see the goods, then. Don't be shy," I reached
out and undid his trousers. His erection sprang out of the
top of his boxers, which he pushed down eagerly. I directed
him to sit down on some boxes and bent over his dick. He
wasn't very hairy, and indeed smelled of soap and freshly
washed clothes. I put my lips to the tip and sucked gently,
running my tongue around the end. Jamie shuddered with
pleasure, and from his reaction I guessed that he hadn't done
this very often, if at all.
He pushed towards me, and I took more of his hard cock into
my mouth, slowly moving up and down. My tongue flicked the
underside lightly and he whimpered like a baby, his whole
body stiffening. I knew he wouldn't last long and quickened
my pace, taking all of him in at once. Shortly, with a final
soft moan he lay still and squirted a small amount of his
juice into my waiting mouth. I swallowed immediately and
lifted my head. His young face wore an expression of sheer
delight, and my opinion of him softened. What horny teenager
wouldn't have tried a stunt like this? I know I would have.
"That was great," he said, sitting up and fastening his
trousers. "You're not bad for a lesbian." I was going to
point out his error, then decided against it.
"Remember our deal, Jamie. No blabbing, to anyone.
Ok?" He nodded and stood up. Smiling now, I was reminded
of Denise once again, and sighed, wishing it had been her
instead of her young upstart of a brother.

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