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***HNT Below***Dear Check-Out Guy “M”,
Hi!
Do you remember me? I’m the older mommy-type with brown hair you were talking to last night? In your line? Around 10ish?
We started out on kind of shaky footing, as you seemed to be making a crack about people who use food stamps, and, as I told you last night, I recently used them for my own child, but we quickly recovered. Does that ring a bell?
You told me about the scam some dude was perpetrating against your store and I listened, impressed with your knowledge of return / self-checkout illegality. I was also seriously in thrall of your knowledge of produce, but I tried to keep the wicked gleam out of my eyes over that.
What you couldn’t notice was that I was imagining you naked as your rung up my groceries. I know, I’m probably fifteen years older than you, and I didn’t want to gross you out, but it’s true.
Your sweet little attempt at a goatee absolutely charmed me–it charmed the pants straight off of me when I got home, actually. So blond, so wispy, so barely covering your upper lip…just adorable. It led me to wonder if the same blond hair covered your chest and your stomach and–well, you get the idea.
So, does it?
In college, I dated a guy who looked a bit like you: tall, wiry muscles, thin. This young man was quite well-equipped, although in my naivety I thought him to be average. Would it embarrass you too much to know that I was wondering if you possessed his same build? Or that I imagined running my hands down the front of your khakis in order to find out for myself?
And your hands. Your hands looked like the sort of hands that performed hard labor far longer than seemed possible, if one took into account only your face. Long fingers with knobby knuckles, muscular…I’m sure you didn’t know that I wondered, as you rung up my grapes, if those fingers could find my g-spot with minimal coaching. They looked strong enough to perform a completely thorough and satisfying g-spot massage.
So, M, do you get many older mommy-types lusting after you as they zip through your check-out line? Can you see the lust in our eyes? Do you feel the heat radiating off our fingers as we hand over our credit cards? Did you feel it off of me?
Not to sound all stalker-ish or anything, but I’ll look for you next time I need to come in and buy a gallon of milk. Maybe next time, I’ll wink at you, with a lascivious smile.
Just to see you blush, if for no other reason.
Much love,
Me
