See, I've made an effort to bring some diversity here to Sexy Saturdays. To bring funny writers whom I genuinely enjoy, yes, but also to get a variety of experiences and opinions in the mix. Jenny is no exception.
I love this lady. We met on the Twitter. Quickly bonded over acerbic humor. And soon she was one of my BTFs (best tweep forever) (I should copyright that phrase). She never fails to make me laugh and to bring a biting wit that brightens my pissyest of moods. You should absolutely follow her on the Twitter, subscribe to her blog, and like her Facebook page. That is, if you know what's good for you.
But first? Enjoy!
I didn't look twice when I was introduced to the new fill-in pharmacist. He was only going to work one day a week.
Then he started to annoy me.
Jim had a laissez-faire attitude toward most things, and that didn't mesh well with my anal-retentive work style. Even worse, there was nothing I could do about it as the pharmacist on duty was, for all intents and purposes, the shift manager.
Sure, he was a nice guy. Not too bad to look at, considering he was 18 years older than me. And yes, he was an honest-to-God cowboy, working ranch and all, who wore Wranglers and cowboy boots to dispense drugs.
But still. He was irksome.
One day, working the pick-up window, I rested my hand on the table next to Jim's mouse pad. I chatted with the customer, and then I felt something brush my pinky finger.
The edge of Jim's work-roughened hand.
Such an insignificant thing, easily written off as accidental...but he didn't move his hand. My breath caught in my throat. I glanced at Jim. His eyes were glued to the computer monitor, but a little smile played at the corners of his lips.
Oh. My. God.
Suddenly Jim was a new kind of irritation--one that left me feeling edgy and flustered.
I impatiently counted the days between Wednesdays.
I pushed the dress code boundaries and chose my clothes with Jim in mind, wearing mind-bogglingly low-cut shirts. Our verbal exchanges became increasingly bold.
"You have beautiful breasts."
Personal space was a thing of the past. Pharmacies tend to be cramped quarters from the start, and we made the most of that fact.
"Excuse me. I just need to reach that--right over--yeah. Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to..." Oh yes, I did.
And his voice. God, that voice. A smooth, deep almost drawl. He was bilingual, and when our Spanish-speaking customers visited I'd get lost in thoughts of what he could do with a tongue that rolled r's like that.
When I decided to get a Depo-Provera shot, it only made sense to have Jim give the injection. After all, why would I want to pay extra money for my doctor's office to do it? And if someone was going to see my derriere, why wouldn't I want to wear my prettiest black lace panties? Oh, and I couldn't possibly wear those panties without the matching bra, right? And...whoops! I popped a few buttons on my shirt and now he could see said sheer lacy bra...
When it comes down to it, this writes as some seriously bizarre erotica: "I slid my pants down, revealing a slip of black lace. He smoothed his hand across my back and down, sliding the lace aside to gain access. He ripped open the foil packet, revealing a moist alcohol swab..."
Really, though, I'm pretty sure that's the best shot I've ever gotten.
In a world unfettered by rules and consequences, I would know just what his tongue can do and he'd find out my tongue has talents all its own. I'd see what those Wranglers were showcasing. He'd find out my breasts aren't just beautiful--they're resplendent. We'd know what the pattern of the pharmacy carpet looks like pressed into naked flesh.
This isn't that world. In this world? I have a husband. He has a wife. We don't even work together anymore.
But sometimes? I call the pharmacy he owns and ask him to speak to me in Spanish...
I feel the electricity skitter up my spine...
and it's enough.
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