I’ve been looking at Maria since she started working here a month ago. I’ve been hanging around the aisle where she’s stacking shelves. Twice when I’ve been doing that, although she hasn’t looked directly at me, her hand has gone inside her shirt to adjust her bra, which I always think is a sign that a woman has been made conscious of her body and particularly the sexual parts.
I’ve found myself standing in the queue for her checkout when another queue is shorter. I’ve said good morning to her with her name on the end, just so she knows I’ve noticed it.
Maria probably gets this a lot. She’s a very pretty girl, short and cute with fair hair pulled back in a ponytail. Possibly not the brightest star in the firmament, but I’ve heard her joking with the other girls and she sounds like fun. When the time is right, I’m going to do something about it.
I stroll into the shop the morning after and she’s not there. I go back in the afternoon and she’s still absent. Next day, same thing. I sidle up to one of her colleagues.
“Is Maria working today?”
“No,” she says. “Got binned the other day. Last one in, first out.” Sure. Everyone’s cutting costs these days.
“D’you know where I might find her?” I ask, trying not to sound too disappointed or look suspicious.
“There was a sign in Wilko’s window the other day,” the girl says. ”Might have gone for that.”
Two minutes later I’m in Wilko’s and sure enough, in the back right-hand corner, a small female figure is squatting, rearranging something on the bottom shelf, her own bottom beautifully outlined by the tight fabric of her trousers. As conversation starters go, this is perfect.
“Hi.”
She looks up.
“Hi,” she says hesitantly.
“You’ve moved.”
“They didn’t give me a choice,” she says. “And luckily this came up.” She talks like everybody around here, with a southern English whine. We stumble down this path of stage one and I leap a few stages.
“Doing anything tonight?”
“Why?”
“Fancy a drink?”
“Where?”
“The cocktail bar at the Hilton Hotel, Park Lane.”
“Okay.” I can’t tell if she understands this little flippancy or thinks I’m serious.
“Where shall I meet you?” I ask.
“Outside here. I live around the corner.” She gives me a shy smile and I can tell she’s very happy at this turn of events.
I scoot out of the shop before my façade of cool can shatter with the force of my thudding heart.
The evening goes very well. I take her to a wine bar which might as well be the Hilton, for all she knows, being a young small-town girl who has never been anywhere else (she tells me all this over a pina colada and a blue lagoon – I’m on the margaritas). She is eighteen, left school two years ago, and wants to live on a Caribbean island. She has no idea how she’s going to arrange this, but she’s refreshingly light-hearted about everything and I’m starting to feel guilty about my plans to seduce her. But you never know, I tell myself. Some girls who look like butter wouldn’t let in their mouth have been at it for years and are perfectly at ease with their sexuality. You hear all the time about people who were damaged by one bad experience. Well, can’t that work the other way too? All it takes is one very happy experience early on and they can be filled with sexual confidence.
Closing time comes around and we’ve been in our own little world, but it’s time to move on.
“Drink at my place?” I suggest. She giggles and says okay.
My “place” is a studio apartment, which means you’re in the bedroom as soon as you walk in. I’m used to it, but girls have been known to flinch at the sight of the naughty trampoline. Maria doesn’t.
“Mmm, nice,” she says, standing on tiptoes to look out of the velux at the stars. I put some music on, make her a tequila sunrise (God, I’m so sophisticated), and start searching Netflix for something suitable. She breaks my concentration by sitting right next to me, thigh to thigh.
“You’re very polite, aren’t you?” she says warmly.
“Am I?”
“Yes. Most guys would be sticking their hand down my knickers by now.”
I kiss her on the cheek and say, “All in good time.” She involuntarily puts her hand in the back of her jeans to adjust her underwear. I think now that I can do anything I want, but she suddenly asserts herself.
“Let me tell you what’s going to happen,” she says, scanning my face to see how this is received. “We’re going to do a lot of kissing. I like kissing. Do you?”
“Depends who I’m kissing,” I say.
“Well, you’re sitting here talking to me,” she says, unamused, and waits for me to smile, which I do. Then she takes the back of my head and pulls me towards her. And we kiss and it’s lovely and it goes on for ages. She is wearing a short black skirt and a tight red crew-neck top which shows her breasts nicely. She’s a small person and her size makes her breasts look impressive. I reach over and take one in my hand, but she takes my hand and puts it inside her top. She seems to regard me as clueless, with no idea how to play this game. I manage to worm my hand inside her bra and feel her and she gives a little grunt of approval.
Then she sits back.
“You’re not used to snogging, are you?” she says pleasantly. I smile at her, my hand slowly retreating from her top. “Did you think you were going to steam in and get everything just like that?” I’m not sure what the right answer is, so I say nothing, but put my hand on her thigh. “We’re going to feel each other and kiss,” she says in a take-it-or-leave-it way.
“Are you a virgin?” I ask as inoffensively as I can.
“In some ways, yes,” she says. “I had a boyfriend for a long time, and we did a lot of snogging and feeling. That’s what I like, and if it’s not enough for you, well I’m sorry…”
I’m starting to feel like a bad person, as if I’m pressuring her, when in fact I’m just playing a more advanced version of the same game.
“Sorry,” I say. “Let’s start again.” We cuddle anew and I enjoy the way she kisses and this time I slide my hand up her skirt and into her pants. She is very wet; she’s been waiting for this and I’ve been disappointing her. She reaches down and unzips my trousers, then skilfully pulls my cock out and begins to wank me. It’s like being a teenager again in one of those long, intense sessions that are never going to get past touching, but it’s like being halfway to heaven.
Suddenly she stops and stands up. “Got to have a wee,” she announces. “You can come.” And so it is that I find myself in the toilet with this girl as she pulls her pants down to her knees and sits down. Her stream starts immediately and hisses onto the bowl and thunders into the water. All the while, she is looking at me. I presume this was something she and the boyfriend did too, perhaps the summit of their kinkiness. It is very much a young person’s fantasy, a fascination with the body’s central equipment without understanding that it’s a parallel system, rather than the plumbing, that is the real attraction here. All the same, I am suitably turned on that this girl is pissing in my presence. She takes a piece of toilet paper, folds it, and hands it to me. She wants me to dab the drops of piss off her bits, and I duly oblige, giving her clitoris a quick rub while I’m there.
Then we’re back on the settee and she has taken my dick out again and is enjoying holding it and stimulating me. She now has me in her power. I, in turn, play with her slit and her hole, sliding my middle finger right up inside her and pumping it in and out. She gives me a strange, distracted smile as if her brainpower has been diverted to her sexual mind and there is no spare capacity for such trivia as speaking.
She reaches into her bag and pulls out a large tissue. She frees herself from my invading finger so she can concentrate on masturbating me. She stares deep into my eyes and sees I’m too far gone to have any rational thoughts of my own. She spreads the tissue over her palm and I know she’s just milking me. She is going to make me cum into the neat confines of this tissue paper. A second ago I was wishing she would suck me but now I know that’s not going to happen. The pattern of her sexual relations with her old boyfriend is going to be followed. She has entranced me with her kissing, blessed me with her juices on my finger, treated me to a voyeuristic experience in the bathroom, and is now going to draw my desperate fluid from my balls and into her carefully protected hand.
And she does it perfectly. I launch my seed into the tissue and it’s like cumming for the first time ever. She has cleansed me, summoning up my natural power to expel my stuff, but not into her. Just into the tissue so she can watch it shoot and land. She looks into my eyes as if to say, You, Sir, have been wanked off. You thought you were so clever, and I was such an amateur, but I’ve done you, brilliantly and on my own terms. And you loved it, didn’t you?
Maria carefully wraps up the tissue, wiping the remains of my fluid off my pulsing knob. Then she installs herself in my arms again and we’re kissing, as nature intended. Years of sexual experience have been blown away by her innocent brilliance, her entry-level expertise. And sure, I want to fuck her and lick her arse and do all the things I have become accustomed to, but there is something inside me that wants to stay like this forever and do things her way.
