Eroticy Story - Directions

I don't understand some relationships.

The weekend after graduation is a particularly dull time for a bottle shop. Everyone that wants booze has either left town, is still nursing the worst hangover of their academic life, or is still plowing through leftover alcohol. Or has to work. Which I was.

The late afternoon sun pounded through the dirty glass of the front, what little was not covered with signs loudly proclaiming a message of, in essence, "Get Drunk! Cheap! Here." The weather in Cambridge had been particularly lousy, especially for June, our most promising month until October. But the thunderstorms and rain showers had given way to a passably nice day. The weather was guaranteed by the owner of the shore having scheduled me for an all-day shift.

The job sucked, but the alternative was home to Lancaster, PA with my parents, a fate I would have gladly licked Mass Ave clean with my tongue to avoid.

I didn't notice her at first, as all my attention was taken up by counting out change for a $100 for a young guy who was buying a newspaper. He had a smile that I'm certain was intended to be apologetic, and if I had been in a better mood it might have worked, but I was inconsolable. A line had formed, and she joined the end of it, not stopping to pick anything up. With each sale, I noticed a little more of her.

Bottle of wine, $12.95. Short blonde hair.

Two six-packs of Coke, $4.49. About 5' 8", blue halter top. Nice figure.

Bottle of gin, $6.80. Cute, button nose.