All characters in this story are eighteen or older.
*
The first time I saw Tom, he was with his family at the registers. His father, a tall and hunky forties something, had the stature and demeanor of a man in his seductive prime. He commanded the scene with no effort at all. His mother, comely dressed in the garb of their religious sect, stood respectfully to the side. An older sister, equally dressed, tagged behind. Only Tom stood proudly next to his commanding father.
"Father. Will we have a better Christmas this year than last?" I heard him say. My job this day, at the towns only department store, was to assist customers at the registers. The seasonal flow of goods and services was at its peak. I heard the father answer.
"Son. Christmas is always wonderful. The joy we receive is not from goods alone." He looked at Tom in a beneficent and loving way. I looked at Tom in that way, as well.
"Yes, father." Not the least bit flustered, Tom did not fidget or seem embarrassed. He took everything his father taught him in stride. Everything? I wondered.
"Thank you, folks. Have a blessed day. Nice to see you again, Tom." That told me his name. The cashier, a budding young thing of Tom's age, eyed him with a sweet smile and a not-so-sweet intent. Tom seemed uninterested, but he politely nodded her way, giving the nubile supplicant some reason for hope.
"Off we go!" His father led the way, of course, toward the exit. His flock close behind. I had moved to the other side of the doorway in anticipation of catching a view of their departure...from the rear. I did so cautiously, showing little desire except to inspect a display on the way, as the cameras would be recording all. But during this entire transaction-watching, I only had eyes for the young boy-man named Tom.
Mr. Voita owns the store. He runs it with an iron fist. Everything is done for the sake of sales. To hell with the well being of his employees. In this area of the country, he can, and does, get new blood to replace that which he bleeds dry before they get fired or quit. Turnover is huge. I have been working here only about three months. I realize how much I need to get away! But this day, at the registers, seeing Tom and his family gives me a kind of hope I have not felt for quite some time. Not just hope in my workplace...hope for ME.
"Father. Can we return here soon? This store has some amazing features." As I take in the gate and gesturing of my younger prey, he speaks that line to his father while turning toward me and sporting a rather seductive yet tender smile. His eyes burn into mine. I am transfixed, yet bolstered by his boldness.
"Yes, son. I too enjoy...shopping here." As they exit into the street, I memorize the garb clinging tightly to Tom's youthful form. Like his father, Tom wears blue jeans. They appear new, not worn nor torn as is the custom among his peers. My mission in moving aside prior to their departure, was to get the best view of Tom from the side...and from behind. It worked like a charm! His jeans, tighter than those of his father's (whose own pair were equally filled out and 'proud') showed a very well-rounded and fulsome pair of butt cheeks swaying nicely with each step he took. You must hear more about why I fixated on Tom.
Part 2 -
I am 24 years old. Our cashier tells me that Tom just turned eighteen last month. She also tells me of her plan to get him for herself. She wonders aloud why it has been so difficult to do.
"Tahvo. Why is he so very aloof? Do you think that he may be..." She seems perturbed.
"No, Elsa, He just seems a bit immature. Possibly just nervous." I am lying. Tom is most definitely not interested in girls. He has imprinted on the projected power of his father in every way possible. His gaydar zeroed in on me in a flash; and his parting smile spoke volumes to my hungry mind. I must find out where he lives.
"Elsa. Have you visited Tom at his home, yet?" This may draw out what I seek.
"Yes. His family has a wonderful cottage just up the hill to the west of town. Tom Napamore has his own bedroom! I wish he and I..." I cut her off, having learned all I need to know. Time to dash her hopes a bit.
"You know, Elsa, a young friend of mine of Tom's age has confided in me that the two of them...well, maybe it's none of my business, after all." She looks appropriately crestfallen. Good.
The walk to Tom's place is a pleasant one. I love this part of town. There is a feeling of peacefulness and joy in every detail. The houses are spaced far apart to give breathing room. Everything is tidy and neat. The comforting stroll has me planning my moves; and the bag I carry is a warmup. It is midday. As is typical, everyone in the house should be elsewhere, whether at work, at school, or shopping. But I know that Tom alone will be at home. Graduation is two weeks away; and he will be studying for final exams. I know this, because six years ago, I was doing the same thing. I get the fleeting sensation that I am on a salacious quest to pry the suspected virginity from young Tom. So be it!
"Who is it?" The voice of my angel booms from the doorway speaker.
"Hi, Tom. It's Tahvo, from the store. Did you leave a package behind?" The door opens quickly and fully, giving view to a freshly showered and towel-clad young stud.
"Come in...Tahvo." I follow Tom into the parlor. He turns abruptly, and I nearly bump into him. I feel his warm breath as he speaks to me in very slow and careful sentences. His eyes clash with mine. I am unprepared for my prey to attack in this way.
"What is in your bag, Tahvo?" I blush. Oh. He means the bag I am carrying with the name of the store clearly emblazoned on the front.
"Underwear." The word squeaks out of my now parched mouth. "It seemed like your taste and size, so...."
"Let's see!" He says with obvious excitement. He grabs my bag, and plops down onto the thickly cushioned sofa. With delighted intent to discover the contents, he merely pats the space next to him, and I take the seat gingerly.
"Oh, Tahvo. There are beautiful!" I chose wisely, then. The bikini briefs are crafted from a very lightweight, almost shear material. There are two individual packages.
"Which do you fancy?" I ask. He turns quickly toward me. Once again, I feel his warm breath envelop my face with his answer.
"All. I want them All." By way of full disclosure, I have only been sexually active twice thus far. Once was with a fellow classmate, who unfortunately moved away with his family when I was myself at eighteen. The second time was with a supply salesman at work a month ago. He twisted me around his...finger, and more! I was introduced to the attention of an older man, and what it could do to my own libido. He was thirty years old, and a real player. The way he played me, well, perhaps I will convey that to you later. Suffice to say that he introduced me into the wonderful world of age-different sex.
"You can have each and every one, Tom. There was a paid receipt left behind, so I thought..." He suddenly seems sullen.
"I can't. Sorry, Tahvo. We did not buy these. It would not be right." So valiant!
I place a hand on his naked thigh, the towel having hiked up toward his crotch. With hair still damp from the shower, Tom is shirtless, pant less, and a feast for my hungry eyes! "I bought them for you!" I cringe as I blurt out my truth. Will he tell me to leave? He looks at me in a pleased yet puzzled way. Then he seems to settle things in his mind.
