How I Met Emily......

It was late. The mall was closing and I wanted to get out fast. The combination of cheerful perpetual daylight and the muzak version of “Smells like Teen Spirit” was depressing the hell out of me. I passed the jean store and saw you immersed in folding clothes and restoring symmetry to the displays picked clean by rapacious customers. I did a double take. I stopped and stared.

It’s hard to describe the instant effect you had on me. I felt like I was locked in the burly embrace of a wrestler trying coax my organs out of me, like toothpaste stuck in the middle of the tube.

I had to find a way to get closer, to talk, to touch, inhale you. I’m not the kind of guy who can kill a woman with a great opening line. I save those for chat rooms and most are stolen anyway.

I approached, shaking inside. A hot mess. I had no idea how anyone could an instant effect on me. And I was about to find out. Or not. I’d punt. Buy something.

(“Yeah that’s the ticket. Everything must go! 50% off. Yeah, what the signs says. Go!)
It’s bad hearing voices in your head. Worse when it’s Jon Lovitz.

I approached. Evidently, so quietly and slowly, you didn’t see me coming. You looked up startled

“Can I help you?”

I blinked. I stared, trying to take all of you in without demonstrating my exquisite drool reflex. Soft cashmere cardigan. Turquoise. Pearl buttons. Cut low. Crease of promising cleavage. Nipples erect. Mustn’t linger. Pencil skirt with slit. Stockings.Pumps. Nice.

Can I help you?

Ok ****, she saw me looking. I’m a picture of calm outside. Inside, the voices are going batshit:

“I think my tongue went hard.”
“ **** Tesla, **** Ben Franklin. I think someone reinvented electricity.”
Your eyes! Your hair. Your lips.
The dressing room! Now!”

One thing I need to explain. I’m wired strange. Someone asks me a question or makes a statement that demands nothing more than one simple response and six pop into my head, only one of which is generally appropriate. Buddhists call it Monkey Chatter. I wouldn’t know, but I take their word for it. They have time to converse with monkeys.

“Jeans” I said….’denims?’

One word. Two syllables. Out. In the ether. Crisp, drool-free.

I was so proud I nearly high fived myself, but didn't feel inclined to screw up  a stunning minimalist soliloquy, I was on a roll.

“Over there.”
You pointed to a wall with nothing but jeans. And a sign that clearly read DENIM JEANS.

I was set. Even with the fog of love descending, I could see 15 different styles. 10 colors. 12 shapes and sizes.Except mine. I’m tiny, with legs that just about reach the ground. I surveyed the stock and was immobilized. I remembered why I hate shopping so much.

“Found what you’re looking for?”

I feel you standing right behind me.


“What’s your size? Turn around.”

You we’re standing close. I felt your scent, inhaled your warmth.

You sensed the awkwardness of my proximity.

You wrapped a tape measure around my waist, pulling me closer.

“Our jeans are cut low, so you’ll want a 28”

We turned back to face the shelf. You pointed to a pair. The only pair in my size.
Just out of reach.

“I’ll get it” I struggled to reach, and managed to barely grab a pair.

I stumbled. Standing behind me, you reached out and steadied me with both hands.
Touching me. Electrifying.

I spun around. Your eyes looked different. Like they were on fire.

“Change Room?”

“Over there”

I locked the door shut. Sat down. Took a deep breath.

Slid into the jeans.

Slim fit. Skinny leg. Low rise.

I heard you outside.

“You good?


“Let’s look. We’ re getting ready to close.”

I opened the door. You looked.

I think at that moment, eye contact might have eased a situation that was going down. Or coming up.

Slick sales person that you were, you earnestly sustained the pretense of professionalism.

“ Turn around”

You slipped your hands into the back pockets.

“Tight butt.”

You knelt down on one knee, smoothing the fabric, running your hands up each leg (Like tailors do when they’re altering your trousers.) And in an instant, your alterations were achieved.

Maintaining your stance, you spun me around and came to face with a situation entirely of your making .

You looked up at me, your eyes like jewels. Your skin like porcelain. Your straight cut angular hair, framing a perfect face.

“Let’s just make sure that the zipper works and we’ll have you on your way.”

Have me on my way you did as you delicately guided me into your mouth, skillfully enveloping me and gently drawing your exquisitely manicured hands down the contours of my cut stomach, and triggering an inevitable explosion.

You stood up, wrapped your arms around me tight and kissed me. A snowball kiss.

“What’s your name?” you asked as you playfully lifted a drop of *** from your chin with your finger and licked it?”

“Gordon, you?”

“ Emily.”

And so I watched as Emily closed up the store for the night. Thanks to the close circuit cameras, it would be the last night she’d close the store. She’d been an excellent employee and the exit review was understandably muted in it’s praise. But the video reviews online were spectacular.

And I could not have been prouder of her.

A few years later, at a dinner party during one of the usual lulls in the conversation, our hostess looked over at us and said, “So how did you guys meet?”

There was a brief pause. I looked at you. Your face creased into a sly smile.

I felt you hand under the table snaking its way over my leg and resting on my swollen ****. You squeezed it gently.

I think the pause was just a hair longer than it needed to be. I kept my answer short.

And sweet.

“She helped me pick out a pair of jeans…in a store…she worked there. ”

Not much of a story I know, but if anyone was listening really closely, they’d have heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper opening.

penguinswon penguinswon
6 Responses Jan 13, 2013

Nicely done, fella. If only it were nonfiction, huh? :-D

i have those too

You write really well. This was an enjoyable read. I enjoyed the insight into a mans inner thoughts with the characters inner thoughts. Very sexy.

I can't finish this story. You had me when you mentioned your "hot mess"

Hot stuff, great ending.

Love the story!! - And THAT's why I buy a new pair of jeans every 6 months!

Fantastic story ... really well done!!