"What about you?"
/“What about you? What’s your biggest fantasy?”
His eyebrow wasn’t the only thing rising as she pushed her game of footsie into its culmination at his crotch. He thought, thought for what felt like an embarrassingly long time about what his response should be. What could he possibly say to follow that story? What did he want to say? What did he want to do?
“I’m just going to get some crisps, do you want anything?” She didn’t answer, she simply shook her head, never breaking either her up-cast gaze or flirtatious smile as he rose from his seat and turned his back on her.
She was a nice enough, normal enough girl. Nice enough and normal enough in the sense that she was completely different from the others in the bookstore where they worked. He had no time for any of the others with their faux intellectualism and bizarre snobbery. He never could see why selling books would make you a better person than someone who sold pets or cigarettes, but that was the general consensus.
But she was different, she, like him, took no part in the tantrums and backbiting which went on in the staff room. Or for the ever-changing allegiances and vendettas which went on between the different factions of the staff.
He liked her because she always had a smile for everyone. Not one of those hideous workplace smiles that people drag out which would look more at home on a bad daytime quiz show plastered across the obese face of ‘today’s runner up’, but an honest smile which would make you happy to volunteer one back.
She liked him because he was feisty; he was never slow to put a whinging sales girl in her place when she wouldn’t let something drop on their rare coffee breaks and because he, like her had no time for office life or management types. She liked him because she knew he was robbing the store blind right under their noses and doing it so well that they couldn’t prove it. She used to enjoy coming into work braless and popping up to, ‘check the customer orders’, doing a lot of bending over and leaning forwards, teasing him with her breasts. She liked the way he would blush.
They had both recently handed in their final notices so she had taken this opportunity to invite him out for a drink. He had claimed it interfered with his plans to sit around alone wishing he had something constructive to do and had gratefully accepted. So now they found themselves a few pints down the line in a dingy Irish bar on a Blackpool back street. While outside the April showers took themselves far to seriously and the bracing Blackpool wind searched for a northern Dorothy to whisk away to it’s own Oz, which, in that corner of the world appears to be somewhere near the Isle of Man.
The fat ginger barmaid glowered at the partition behind which their booth lay as they, once again, had the audacity to burst into laughter and interrupt the many mock tragedies of her dower northern soap.
“She was complaining about some customer, what was it she was saying?” He tried hard to remember. “Oh yes, ‘I don’t understand why someone like myself must serve a person like that’.”
She chuckled again, she was a little drunk, they both were but they were enjoying themselves. “And what did you say?”
“I told her, that if she didn’t like it she could take her English degree and fuck off.”
She laughed out loud. “And I’m sure she appreciated that.”
“Well,” he said apologetically. “You know what Emma’s like.”
“An uptight pig who could use getting laid once in a while?” She offered.
“Exactly.” They laughed together. “Would you like another?”
“Well, if you’re going to twist my arm. I’ll have the same again please.”
He returned with their drinks as he sat down he watched her moving in her seat. She was wearing no bra again that night and as she leaned forwards her small breasts pushed together above her folded arms. He noticed that her right nipple was pierced. He wondered what else might be.
“Lets not talk about work anymore, it gets depressing.”
“OK, what would you like to talk about?”
“Sex.” She suggested with a cheeky smile.
“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“No?”
“I’m a virgin you see.”
“No you’re not.”
“How do you know?”
“I can tell.”
“Well, I guess when you get to your age.” They laughed again. The fat bar maid muttered to herself.
“I’ve got this one fantasy, it’s my favourite, or at least it is at the moment.”
“Let’s hear it then.” He encouraged.
“No.” She could feel her face burning.
“I never thought I’d see you shy.”
“I’m not shy.”
“Well let’s have it then.”
She gave a coy smile and moved in her seat again giving him another quick glimpse of nipple. “OK.”
“It’s during the war,” she begins, blushing a little again. “And I’m living in this little town in occupied France.”
“Fair enough.” He commented with a slightly puzzled look.
“Well, I’m sleeping one night and there’s this almighty banging on the door. I try to get out of bed to answer it but I’m too slow and these two German soldiers come bursting in. I’m only wearing this thin white cotton night-dress and I’m pleading with them to tell me what’s gong on but they won’t say anything.”
“They drag me outside and bundle me into this car. Then they drive me out to this remote chateaux in the countryside.”
“Oh, I think I know it, I think I went there on holiday last year.” He laughed.
“Do you want to hear or not?”
“Sorry.”
“They take me off to this little room and lock me in. It’s empty apart from this big old oak table and the walls are all just bear stone.”
“They leave me in there for a while and then this nazi guy comes in. All blond hair and blue eyes, with a monocle in his eye and a long coat on and those big leather boots and gloves they wore. He comes in and he stands really close to me and I’m getting a little scared.”
“Then he starts touching me with those gloves, first on my face, then on my neck and breasts. Then he reaches up to the straps of my night-dress and rips it off me in one motion so I’m just stood there naked.”
“Then he starts moving his hands lower and lower on my body before long he’s got his hand between my legs. Then he starts to push his finger inside me, but it feels strange, because of the gloves it doesn’t feel like a finger but because of the finger inside it doesn’t feel like a dildo. You know?”
“No.”
“Of course not, sorry. Anyway, then he starts pushing another finger in and then another and before I know it he’s got his whole hand inside me.”
“Then he starts slipping his hand out of the glove. He’s taking his hand out but the glove’s still inside me. Then he pushes me down onto my knees and whips his coat open. He’s naked under his coat just standing there in his jackboots with this great big hard on and he forces it into my mouth.” Absent mindedly she starts playing footsie under the table. He doesn’t even notice at first.
“I don’t want to start sucking but he starts thrusting and I’m trying not to gag and then all of a sudden he grabs my hair and throws me off.”
“Then the guards come back in, he shouts something at them in German and they drag me up onto this table and hold me down by my arms.”
“He walks towards me and forces my legs open, I resist but I’m not strong enough. Then he gets hold of the leather glove and whips it out of me in one go. Whoosh, just like that and then he plunges into me and he’s being really violent and the guards are grabbing at my tits and stuff. Then we both come in this really powerful orgasm.”
She looked up from her reverie, she was smiling and her cheeks were flushed. He hadn’t moved for sometime, his expression was frozen and his pint was held a loft, caught on its journey to his lips.
She pushed her foot the final few inches up his thigh and into his crotch. “What about you? What’s your biggest fantasy?”
He thought, thought for what felt like an embarrassingly long time about what his response should be. What could he possibly say to follow that story? What did he want to say? What did he want to do?
He let his pint finish its journey to his mouth and drank deeply. “I’m just going to get some crisps, do you want anything?”
She didn’t answer, she simply shook her head, never breaking either her up-cast gaze or flirtatious smile as he rose from his seat and turned his back on her.
He stood up and walked to the bar. He paused there for a second, then he walked right past the bar towards the toilets. He walked straight past the toilets and towards the door. He walked out of the door and into the stormy night.
Copyright 2002