Aline

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Slow burner—real-life seductions are sometimes slow.

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My Dutch parents still lived in Spain, as I came back from California. In Spain, as a 19-year-old, I had to make a decision: either stay and get the Spanish nationality so I could work there or go back to Holland. In both cases I ran the risk of having to serve the compulsory military service, but in Holland it was only 14 months, compared to the 24 months in Spain. Plus, the Spanish military service was way harder compared to the long-haired, pot-smoking Dutch service. So, my parents gave me some starter money, and off I was, back to Holland, after so many years had been spent abroad.

The first week was all paperwork; thank God my dad had organized a student room for me. So, I came back to my home country, but as a stranger, because I had been away for almost 10 years of the 19 years I existed. But, as I was buying some groceries at the local Spar supermarket, I saw a job possibility posted there, and I was able to talk to the manager. I got the job, and I would start this coming Tuesday! Maybe it sounds like a small event, but for me it was a big step!

Tuesday because the supermarket was small, so they closed on Mondays, saving costs on staff. We worked five days, Tuesdays–Saturdays.

I would be in charge of the fruits and fresh vegetables. On day one they showed me how to have color contrasts to properly display the fruit and what vegetables had to be next to each other. On day two I slowly got “into it," understanding how to do things, and on day three I felt good about myself and the job. Some folks will remember that I played college basketball in San Diego and that we all were big, well-trained muscular beasts. I guess that is how I looked, standing there behind the fruit in my white, tight t-shirt and my Levi's 517. I did wear a green Spar apron, so my look was a bit like those advertisements of car tires.

And suddenly, she was standing in front of me, on the other side of the large fruit display.

A beautiful customer.

A tall, slender, very dark-haired brunette with large breasts (80E, 36D) and a pear-shaped ass to die for. She was carefully looking at the fruit selection, partially ignoring me. She was wearing a one-piece long summer dress and brown sandals. I could not see if he was wearing a bra, because just as I wanted to glance again at her breasts, she was looking with her beautiful brown eyes straight at me.

“Hi, can I help you?” I said, as trained, smiling. I guess I stared too long at her body, because she countered, asking, “Can you?”

“I am sure I can.” I replied with a bit too much confidence.

“Where do you have the avocados? She asked, searching them.

“Down there, at the bottom, right in front of you.”

She bent over, looking at them and touching the ones on top, checking their ripeness. Staying like that, she looks up at me and asks, “If they were good?” in a flirty way, knowing very well I could see the upper part of her beautiful breasts.

“A little bit deeper are better ones.” I had the balls to blurt out.

She gave me that seductive smile again, and seeing my bulge in my tight jeans from my fully erect cock, she bent over even more, still looking up at me, asking, “Like this?”

“Much better!” escaped from my mouth as I saw her beautiful breasts desperately trying to escape those tight confinements.

“Should I take two?” She teased, keeping eye contact.

“I like two myself.” I blurted out again.

“I bet you do.” She teased, standing upright again, placing the avocados in her supermarket basket.

“Would you like anything else?” I asked, trying desperately to keep her with me by asking things.

“Not today.” She smiled and added, “See you," as she walked away, giving my crotch a quick glance.

Women always know when you have a hard-on.

I stood there still for minutes, my brain overwhelmed, not knowing what to do. Suddenly I had an idea! I quickly walked to the left of the aisle where I could see the cash registers. As soon as she would have paid, I would quickly offer to carry the groceries to her car. I still was allowed to have one break, so I would be safe.

Some time passed, and I got nervous. Did she already leave the supermarket? I pretended to look at the fruit’s presentation from the customer’s point of view, often turning around to look at the registers again. As I was about to give up, I saw her waiting in the checkout line! The moment it was almost her turn to pay, I quickly walked to the supermarket's exit, having donned my apron. Before she could place her purchases in her own wicker basket, I was already standing there.

“May I help you stow your purchases?” I politely asked (supermarket rules), smiling at her.

She smiled and nodded, "Yes, please. Could you also carry it to my car?” She softly asked.

“Yes, ma'am." I replied, already stowing 4 or 5 things.

The cute blonde cashier Anita looked at me, and she knew right away something was going on but didn’t say anything. But helping to carry six small items to her car? Sure…

As I followed the customer outside, walking behind her, I had no idea how to proceed. Being 19 doesn’t give you all the flirting knowledge of the world, you know?

It was a sunny August day, and my mind was distracted, almost panicking, since I didn’t know what to do next, as she suddenly stopped walking and quickly backed up until she bumped into me.

“Oh.” She softly said, looking over her shoulder. “Do you always bump into women?” She asked in a sexy way.

“Only the pretty ones.” I was able to mutter.

“You think I am pretty?” As she turned around, facing me.

“Very.”

“Maybe you should explain to me some other day what you find pretty on me?”

“I sure will.”

“Do you have days off during the week?”

“Mondays.”

“Excellent.” She replied. “Here is my card,” as she handed it over. “I want you to call me this coming Monday at eleven o’clock in the morning, and I will give you my address.”

“I will.”

“Remember to bring some groceries in a Spar paper bag so you will be my delivery boy.”

I frowned at her, not understanding.

“Our story is that I forgot my groceries, and the Spar offered to bring them to me.”

I smiled; the dumb 19-year-old now understood she needed to have an excuse for me showing up.

She was married.

“Come, that’s my car,” pointing at a green Jaguar. She used the remote on her keys to open the trunk, and I stored her groceries there.

She softly touched my arm and whispered, "Call me.”

To be continued.