Before I Knew Her Name I Knew

It was late. The mall was closing and I wanted to get out fast. The combination of cheerful perpetual daylight and the muzak version of "Smells like Teen Spirit" was depressing the hell out of me. I passed the jean store and saw you immersed in folding clothes and restoring symmetry to the displays picked clean by rapacious customers. I did a double take. I stopped and stared.

It's hard to describe the instant effect you had on me. I felt my chest contract, like I was locked in the burly embrace of a wrestler trying coax my organs out of me.

I had to find a way to get closer, to talk, to touch, inhale you. I'm not the kind of guy who can kill a woman with a great opener. I save those lines for chat rooms and most are stolen anyway.

I approached, shaking inside. A hot mess. I had no idea how anyone could have such a powerful and instant effect on me. And I was about to find out. I approached. Evidently so quietly, you didn't hear me coming. You looked up startled.

"Can I help you?"

I blinked. I stared, trying to take all of you in. Soft cashmere cardigan. Cut low. Turquoise. Pearl buttons. Crease of promising cleavage. Nipples erect. Pencil skirt with slit. Nice.

"Can I help you?"

"Jeans" I said....'denims?'

"Over there."

You pointed to a wall with nothing but jeans. And a sign that clearly read JEANS.

With the fog of lust descending, I could barely discern 15 different styles. 10 colors. 12 shapes and sizes. Except mine. I'm tiny, with legs that just about reach the ground. I surveyed the stock immobilized, remembering why I hate shopping so much.

"Found what you're looking for?"

I felt you standing right behind me.

"No."

"What's your size? Turn around."

You we're standing close. I felt your scent, inhaled your warmth. You sensed the awkwardness of my proximity. You wrapped a tape measure around my waist, pulling me closer.

"Our jeans are cut low, so you'll want a 28"

We turned back to face the shelf. You pointed to the only pair in my size.

Just out of reach.

"I'll get it" Standing on tiptoe I struggled to reach, and barely managed to grab a pair.

I stumbled. Standing behind me, you reached out and steadied me with both hands.

Touching me. Electrifying. I spun around. Your eyes looked different. Like they were on fire.

"Change Room?" I asked

"Over there" you pointed.

I locked the door shut. Sat down. Took a deep breath. Slid into the jeans. Skinny leg. Low rise. I heard you outside.

"You good?

"Yeah."

"Let's look. We' re getting ready to close."

I opened the door. You looked. Slick sales person that you were, you earnestly sustained the pretense of professionalism.

"Turn around"

You slipped your hands into the back pockets.

"Tight butt."

You knelt down on one knee, smoothing the fabric, running your hands up each leg (Like tailors do when they're altering your trousers.) And in an instant, your alterations were achieved. Maintaining your stance, you spun me around and came face to face with a situation entirely of your own making. You looked up at me, eyes on fire, your face flushed.

"Let's just make sure that the zipper works and we'll have you on your way."

Have me on my way you did. You took me into your mouth, skillfully enveloping me and triggering an inevitable explosion. You stood up, wrapped your arms around me tight and kissed me; a snowball kiss.

"What's your name?" you asked as you playfully lifted a drop of cum from your chin with your finger and licked it?"

"Mark"

"I'm Emily."

I watched as Emily closed up the store for the night. Thanks to the close circuit cameras, it would be the last night she'd close the store. She'd been an excellent employee. The exit review was understandably muted in its praise, but the video reviews online were spectacular.

And I could not have been prouder of her.

A few years later, at a dinner party during one of the usual lulls in the conversation, our hostess looked over at us and said, "So how did you guys meet?"

There was a brief pause. I looked at you. Your face creased into a sly smile.

I felt you hand under the table snaking its way over my leg and resting on my swollen cock. You squeezed it gently. I think the pause was just a hair longer than it needed to be. I kept my answer short. And sweet.

"She helped me pick out a pair of jeans...in a store...she worked there."

Not much of a story I know, but if anyone was listening really closely, they'd have heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper opening.