Julie
Julie Adams struggled with the grocery cart in the narrow aisles of the neighborhood grocery store. No matter how many times she came here, she never seemed to master the art of pushing her grocery shopping around without bumping into shelves. Other women seemed to do it so effortlessly, yet she seemed to have to put more physical effort into it. Occasionally, a young man from the deli would make an appearance and offer to help, which she always politely refused. The faint hum of the fluorescent lights as they bathed her in their pale white glow was occasionally drowned out by the bump of her cart as she struggled at each turn into another aisle. Her face started to take on a gentle flush as blood rushed to color her beautiful, symmetrical features; she could feel it in the rising heat at her cheeks. If she concentrated, she could trace the heat to the source, somewhere at her A-cups, rippling gently across the piercing of her pink left nipple on the way up to her neck and face.
“Do you need help, ma’am?” The deli boy made his predictable appearance. He always seemed to appear when she felt her most fragile. She avoided his eyes, but in the peripheral at the upper part of her vision, saw his gaze linger at her chest. At five foot 8, she was his height — his shy gaze required no adjustment to look at her. She pushed her glasses up, her finger brushing the nose piercing she should have removed before coming here.
“What a scrawny manboy.” The thought shocked her; she gasped inaudibly. She couldn’t believe she could think this crudely. It was so uncharacteristically rude of her to even internalize such a thought! She tried to picture him pushing her cart as she followed, and stifled another inappropriate laugh at the thought of him struggling as she did.
“No, thank you. You’re so very kind, but I can manage,” she said firmly, not even a hint of a smile cracking her lips. What she really meant to say was that she didn’t need the help of some man — she was a capable enough person. Her small hand came up to clutch at her shirt, an involuntary action as it pulled the material away from her body — the hardened nipple suddenly lost — the bump of her piercing no longer visible in the bunched up t-shirt material. She cursed herself inwardly for not wearing a bra before leaving the house. She had been doing this a lot lately, her thought being that her ample enough A-cups would never sag and embarrass her in public. She caught a glimpse of herself in the glass of the ice cream container, her blonde hair hanging loosely, piercing prominently displayed. It suddenly hit her, as it did so often at random moments, how far this version of her differed from the prim, proper child she had been under the watchful eye of religious parents.
She knew what she looked like in this moment; she had glimpsed it in the videos that Brendan liked to take of her in the bedroom. At first, she had asked him not to, objecting meekly, but he seemed to get so much pleasure from looking at her that way. At first, she forced herself to suppress her reluctance to being photographed, but lately she had found herself actually looking forward to the moment he would break out the camera as she laid so meekly below him, her pink nipples exposed to the bedroom air. His reassurances that it was only for the two of them made her feel so wanted. No, wait... it made her feel so wanton, and there was a secret, perverse satisfaction in that idea.
At 32, after all her friends had succumbed to the ravages of age and the inevitability of an after-baby body, she had luckily retained a small figure. She made an effort to keep it that way — she considered dating Brendan Wade to be one of her most womanly of achievements. This also served as a double edged sword; she always seemed to need help with physical activities, although she was too proud to admit it. There was something to be said about a couple that were in shape together, but her small frame constantly reminded her of her physical limits, like right now. She had never wanted children, but she had found herself musing lately about the act of becoming pregnant. Some of Brandon’s attitude as of late seemed to be eroding at her reluctance to stray from plain vanilla sex — she enjoyed the idea of him with his ex-girlfriends, and sometimes, for the briefest of moments, wondered if he thought of her with her ex-husband.
Deep in her thoughts, she turned the corner, and felt more than saw the cart make contact with the person standing there. The sudden stop, his hand reaching quickly to stop her forward momentum pulled her to the present with an almost audible sound in her head. “Oh, I am so, so sorry!” Her apology tumbled out in horror before her brain could form the thought itself. Her eyes travelled quickly up his clenched hand at her elbow, took in his broad shoulders, and came to rest on his passive face. The details of his physique registered, she realized that this was one good looking man. His complexion seemed to accentuate his features, dark caramel hiding details in the dips where his muscles descended to joints. This man was the very idea of strength. He was silent, almost as if waiting for her mind to catch up to her present predicament. The cart had rolled up his toe, and still rested on his now mangled leather shoe.
“Could you back up?” He said it slowly, casually, as if he was simply saying hello. She was frozen, and did not know why. His big hand gently came to rest on hers, completely enveloping her fingers, and pushed back towards her. The cart rolled off his foot, and she found herself suddenly feeling mortified at her reaction. “Oh my god, I am so sorry,” she repeated, and suddenly felt stupid when she realized she’d already said that a moment ago. His eyes locked to hers, and she suddenly needed him to speak.
As if reading her mind, he casually said, “are you ok, there? You seem a bit lost in your own head.” His accent seemed to caress the words before they reached her ears. He was smiling now, as if she hadn’t just destroyed his shoe and probably mangled his foot. “I’m fine, by the way, and I see that you are too” he chuckled low under his breath, one eyebrow raised as if to...no, was he flirting with her? The heat hit her in that secret place that her mother had taught her to guard against revealing. “Every once in awhile, a man will tempt you,” her mother had told her. “You must not let him know his effect, and you must not act on it, because that’s not civilized.”
“I’ve ruined your shoe,’ she said matter of factly. “Did I hurt you?”
His smile widened, a practiced move that he obviously had used many times to make people feel at ease.
“My foot is fine. I’m worried about you, though. Do you have a license for that?” He indicated at the cart with a perfectly pedicured finger, his watch catching the light. “Perhaps we should exchange insurance information.”
“What... oh!” She realized he was kidding. His attitude was working — she found herself becoming more at ease. There was something about his presence that made her comfortable. It was strange, because men that were bigger than her often made her feel uneasy. She smiled at him, that sideways genuine smile that Brendan said was for him only. “Perhaps we should call the police to determine who is at fault,” she retorted with a unexpectedly breezy attitude.
His eyes seemed to twinkle with laughter. “Ma’am, what if I am the police?”
“There’s no need to arrest me, officer. It wasn’t a hit and run.”
He laughed, easily and comfortably. “Is this how you treat all your victims?”
“No, I don’t usually go running people over. I promise.” She was having fun.
His eyes got serious. “You need help with that.” He pulled the cart towards him to get it out of the aisle, easily sliding in next to her and taking control. She stood helplessly by him, aware that he towered next to her, her head barely reaching his shoulder. She felt protected, a thought she hadn’t had about a man in a long time. He started moving. “Where was your next stop?”
“I was actually making my way to the register.”
His disappointment was brief, but visible. She realized that she had the strangest similar feeling, almost as if she should have said something else to prolong the minutes with him in this most random of meetings.
“Ok, then. Perhaps you’ve had too much to drink, and I should drive this contraption for you. You know, for the safety of the public.”
They walked to the register, and he started taking all her items from her cart. She found herself wondering why she wasn’t offended by his assertive behavior. The beep of the first item being scanned made her look at the attendant. It was the deli boy. He wore an accusing, quizzical look on his face, as each item down to the last was scanned and put into a bag. Her savior didn’t even notice, or if he did, he didn’t care. He casually dropped each bag into the cart; she paid nervously without a word.
“Where did you park?” He asked.
It was chilly day when she came in, but she realized she wasn’t cold now. She walked on beside him, guiding him directly to her car. “I should have known you drove this. It’s practical and beautiful. Matches your personality.”
Her trunk opened, he placed each bag in there, the muscles on his back moving under his tightly fitted dress shirt. She had to force herself to stop biting her lower lip. What the hell was she doing? She realized this meeting was coming to an end. “Your shoe is ruined, and I’m responsible. Can I at least give you a ride back to your car?” She asked meekly.
“No need”, he smiled back. “I’m parked right next to you.”
She took in his car. Black, big, clean, and obviously powerful. “I should have known you drove this....” she let the sentence hang go in the air, a flirtation that toed the line, completely out of character for her.
His laugh was hearty, filled with energy. “It’s powerful,” he replied, reaching for his door handle.
“Wait,” she reached out and grabbed his shoulder. He turned, smiling slightly, almost a smirk. “Please let me pay you back for your shoe. It’s the least I could do.”
“You don’t need to, really.” His reply sounded final, but his face told her otherwise. “I have a meeting I need to be at in a few minutes,” he offered as an explanation.
“Well, at least take my number and let me know when I can meet you to repay your kindness and correct my awkward mangling of your foot. Let me get a pen from my car.”
He reached into his car and produced a pad with an attached pen, as if out of thin air. “Got you covered,” he smirked as he handed it to her. She jotted her number down, finding herself nervously handing it back to him. He took it from her, his hand enveloping hers as she held the pad and pen. How did he do that? His hand led hers to his descending face. He looked at her fingers. “Hmm, no wedding band,” he said, before his lips made contact with her skin, shooting an invisible bolt of electricity down to that dark place between her legs.
“When is a good time to call you?” She fumbled the words out.
“You can call me anytime you desire, pretty girl.” His engine rumbled to life, and he backed out slowly, smiling that easy smile as he drove away, leaving her standing alone in the parking lot.
She realized her mouth was slightly open, and she was breathing though her mouth, as if she’d just run a mile. Her skin was hot, and she could feel the familiar flush of a reddened face. She was sticking the pad and pen deep into her purse when she realized. “Holy fuck, my pussy is soaking wet.”
