At first it annoyed me when the cashier at the liquor store started flirting with me. This always annoys me. The invasive questions, the leering, the assumption that I'm straight. Usually I correct it immediately.
"Does your boyfriend smoke too?" Clearly fishing.
"No, no boyfriend," I said, and though I considered the follow up of the usual reply of, "I'm gay," I ended it there.
For reasons still unknown to me, that I'm scared to think about too deeply, I didn't this time.
"Oh," he said, smiling, "are you looking?"
Even more baffling, instead of no, I said, "I don't know."
And the flirting only became more persistent from there. I go to this store at least three times a week, for cigarettes or alcohol. Probably a concerning amount. There are other stores I could go to and I dread this interaction, and yet I keep going back. I never flirt back, but my compliance is enough for him.
Over the weeks, that dread has morphed into something else. The squirming in my stomach isn't uncomfortable anymore - it's warm and exciting. It's a relief that somebody wants me after all, even if it's a man.
I know I've let it go too far when I start thinking about him at night, alone in bed. I should be longing for women, but that just makes me sad and bitter. This man, though, who I call Liquor Store Guy (because he told me his name once and I truly could not be assed to remember it), he never hurt me. He makes me feel wanted three times a week. So I end up thinking about what he would feel like, what he would do to me given the chance.
After all the fantasizing, it doesn't take much convincing for him to lure me into a back room.
"There's a new beer you should try," he says with a smile on his face that says there's more than alcohol he wants me to give a chance, "let me show you."
I can't say I'm surprised when there's no exciting new beer. It's a utility closet that smells like cleaning chemicals he leads me into, locking the door behind us. Hardly romantic. He crowds me against an overstuffed shelf, and it's not like anything I've imagined.
He's so much bigger than any woman I've been with; taller and wider and stronger. His hands are rough when they drag over my body. His beard scratches my face when he kisses me.
Suddenly, I'm scared. How did I let myself be trapped like this? It was only supposed to be in my head. My hands scrabble at his chest - too broad, too flat - and I try in vain to push him off.
"I'm a lesbian," I barely manage to mumble into his mouth.
He just laughs. "Are you sure? We've been flirting for weeks. Don't be a cocktease."
And then his tongue is in my mouth and the only protests I can offer are pathetic whimpers. His hands are under my shirt. He's grinding his pelvis into me. I can feel something hard and foreign against my lower stomach. This is going way too fast.
But despite my fear and doubt, I feel the familiar warmth in my belly, slickness in my underwear. It's been so long since anyone wanted me like this... maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Just this once. I find myself kissing him back, almost before the thought has entered my head.
I only notice he's pulled my pants down to my knees, panties along with them, when the cool air hits my aching pussy. It's shocking how wet I am from being borderline molested in a utility closet, but here we are. It takes no time at all for his own pants to follow, and then I'm faced with the stiff appendage I've managed to avoid for so long.
I can't help but stare. It's both bigger and smaller than I'd expected. More than any dildo I've used, but less than the internet porn stars that are the only reference for a real flesh-and-blood penis that I have. I wonder if it'll hurt.
He doesn't give me time to think too much about it. He guides it to my cunt, rubbing the head against my clit with a soft groan that makes me shiver. It's so warm, hard yet pliable at once. My hips jerk against him, grinding against that point of friction, but my pants around my knees restrict my movement. I find myself kicking them the rest of the way off.
"Dyke, my ass," he laughs, rough hands on my hips to hold me steady. He pushes into me again, past my lips this time until the head of his cock is nudging at my soaked hole.
I can feel my heart pounding in my pussy, against the tip of his cock. He holds it there for a moment, let's me feel the girth of what's about to fill me. Then he thrusts forward, slow and steady. Inch by inch, I watch him sink into my virgin cunt, feel the burn of stretch. It does hurt, just a little, but the heat of it is better than any dildo has ever been.
"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, "I've been dreaming about this pussy for months."
That makes something in my stomach flutter, my cunt tighten even more around him, my hips grind down on his cock even deeper.
And suddenly I'm being fucked by Liquor Store Guy. It's not gentle or romantic or passionate. It's animal and needy, like he just can't help himself after finally getting what he's wanted. The sounds of his cock plunging into me hard and fast, his grunts of effort, my gasps and whimpers fill the small room. The heady smell of sex barely overpowers the sharp cleaning products. He's not kissing me anymore, but gnawing at my throat like an animal.
It's nothing that I wanted or imagined, but maybe its what I need.
I hitch one leg over his hips and his hand on my ass guides me to grind into every thrust. His cock hits a spot deep inside me that makes me gasp and moan, pressure quickly building in my belly. His thrusts are coming faster and rougher, the shelves rattling as he drives me back into them.
He pushes into me once, holds his cock deep inside my twitching pussy. I can feel it, throbbing and hot, filling me like I've never been filled before. I know, on some base level, that he's about to cum inside me. I know I should do anything I can not to let that happen.
Instead, I wrap my leg tighter around him, arms around his neck, and hold on for dear life.
It feels like an explosion, his groans in my ear and the frantic twitch and throb of his cock so deep i swear it must be in my womb. Waves of warmth - what must be his cum - making me melt from the inside. Stars burst behind my eyelids as my cunt contacts, milking him for every drop. I never want this moment to end.
So, its a disappointment when he pulls out of me with a contented sigh, setting me back down on shaking legs. He pulls up his pants, unceremoniously tucks his cock away. I pull on my own clothes and immediately feel his cum dripping into my underwear. I'll have to walk home like this.
I think he's about to leave without a word when he says, "Give me your number. Next time, I want to take my time with you."
I hate how excited I am for next time.
