Saturday, April 18, 2009

window shopping

"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
"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. 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
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
"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 it.
"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 morning.
"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

"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,
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
"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 resort.
"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
"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 toiletries.
"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 infuriatingly.
"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,
"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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