Sure, I've heard all the stories guys tell about meeting a sexy woman and hopping into bed with her in the first three hours. It's just empty talk, locker room stories or barroom bragging, trying to impress each other with their male prowess. It never actually happens.
Until last Friday.
I had stopped at the local supermarket on my way home from work. I've found that if I get there during late afternoon I miss a lot of the crowd, an overload of people stocking up on groceries for the weekend and dragging three or four whining ill-behaved kids around.
When you enter the main door the carts are lined up for easy grabbing. The first area is fruit and vegetables. I got a few potatoes and some oranges, then rolled around the separating wall to the bakery department. Just as I rounded the end of the wall I plowed slam into another cart somebody had parked right in the traffic lane, almost tipping it over.
At the noise a blonde woman spun around, eyes wide. I was very embarrassed and apologized immediately. She smiled and told me not to worry, it was at least partially her fault for leaving it there. "At least the insurance people don't have to be informed," she said brightly. I thanked her for being understanding and went on my way.
The way the store is laid out you pretty much follow a pattern in the aisles from one area to another. Because we had started at about the same time we more or less paralleled each other through the place. I enjoyed part of the time admiring the blonde I had almost run down. I guessed her at about 35, pretty young for me (I'm 55), but there's never been any law against admiring nice scenery.
She was maybe 5-5, and I estimated perhaps 120 nicely-distributed pounds. She was wearing extremely snug denim short-shorts that displayed superb legs, as the old saying goes, all the way to her ass, beautifully shaped, silky smooth and flawless. The taut round bottom was certainly worth inspecting as well, filling the snug shorts in a very pleasant manner indeed. She also wore a loose denim shirt, unbuttoned, with a white cotton pullover under it. From the way the outer shirt swung, it was hard to tell what her breasts might look like, but she had good shoulders and a tidy way of moving that I found very pleasant.
As we moved through the store I kept stealing glances when I could. Fairly short hair, just touching her collar, swung slightly across her cheek when she bent to look at something. When I got a chance I peeked at the front of the shorts. There was a prominent bulge in the blue fabric, a full mound that puffed out exquisitely between the velvety thighs.
As we kept meeting we exchanged short comments on prices and brands, and sometimes even conferred on the best bargains. In addition to the other attributes she had a lovely smile and vivid dark blue eyes.
When I had the things I wanted I picked a checkout and moved my cart into the lane. I prefer to stand at the bottom of the cart and take the things out. I'm not really all that tall so it's difficult to reach over the handle end for the things that are in the deepest part. I was taking things out and putting them on the conveyer when something slammed into my cart, knocking me backward a bit. I glanced up and there was my blonde, looking extremely flustered.
"Paybacks?" I grinned.
"No, my fault," she said, flushing. She gestured at the magazine rack. "Looking at the scandal sheets and not paying attention. I'm really sorry."
"That's okay. I promise not to cite you for hit and run. Anyway, you can't run very far with me in the way."
"That's true," she agreed cheerfully.
Each checkout at the store has a sort of double conveyor. When one person's groceries have been rung up, the clerk can swing a sort of gate thing across and run another customer's things down the opposite side of a little divider. Empty bags are kept at the bottom end where you can pack your things in bags and put them back in the cart. Thus it turned out that the blonde lady and I were putting our things in sacks, facing each other across the conveyor just a couple of feet apart.
"Used to be they had high school guys doing this," she commented.
"Not any more," I said. "They have to pay them too much so we get to do it ourselves. But a long time ago I used to make a reasonable amount of money after school and on weekends."
"Enough to take your girl out anyway?" she grinned teasingly.
"That, and enough to keep an old clunker of a car running so I could do it," I agreed. "I haunted a lot of wrecking yards in my day, trying to get used parts as cheaply as I could."
"My son is in the same kind of situation," she commented. "He's always looking for ways to make money to pour into a car that should have been scrapped long ago."
I was a bit surprised. I had noted the large diamond on her left hand, but really didn't figure her to be old enough to have a son who could buy his own car. Without thinking, I said so.
"Flatterer," she smiled brightly. "My son is 20, my daughter is married, and I'm a grandma for the third time four months ago."
"I'm impressed," I told her. "You must have gotten married when you were, what? Twelve?"
"You really are a dangerously sweet talker," she grinned. "I bet you still have plenty of ladies to take around in your car." I figured she had scoped me out and spotted the military ring I wear where most men have a wedding band and deduced I was not married. I had been once, but that was quite a while ago.
I ducked my head and put some more things in a sack. "Not really. I'm willing, just can't find any women who are. Guess I'm just past that stage."
