She smiled again and then looked back up into my eyes, involuntarily smiling brighter after she did. She was a tall woman, less than an inch shy of my own height, and our eyes locked level with each other until she repeated my name once more in her feather soft English accent, and leaned in closer and lower. Her long kinky curls slid forward towards me across her bare, deep sahara shoulders. Her husband had been here with us an hour ago, but all signs of him had disappeared with his exit. Her maple eyes dropped from my blues down to my body, and so I lowered mine to hers. Her figure was a thin and delicate sculpture of soft curves, draped from her neck in folds of charred gold fabric, just two shades lighter than her skin. Her bare back slid in and back out to her hip like a sand dune. The cloth from her top flowed lightly in the air, loose and free from her abdomen, but drawn tight against her firm breasts and deep brown nipples, which had become erect over the course of our conversation; too dark and too hard to be concealed by the thin fabric. I wasn't sure if I was right in what I was doing, but it was too late to turn back, too late to care. She wanted it.
I said;
"Bring them to the returns desk and get the two cans switched. Tell them Justin in Paint approved the return, and they can call my desk if they have a problem."
She backed away from the desk smiling, and thanked me, over-emphasizing my name, while an old man with hairy ears urgently called for my attention, waving his hand;
"Speak-eh-spanic?"
Home Depot sucks.
_________
a real post about how crazy shit really is will probably be soon, but this amused me.
Billy Mays died. What The Fuck and a half. And now I'll never get to do those skits I wrote about him.
Post a Comment