That One Night At The Checkout Counter

I was on my feet all day, handling cash and credit cards like they were the only thing keeping me alive. Then she walked in, a customer with that certain something in her eyes, looking at me over the register like I was more than just another cashier. We exchanged those knowing glances, each one hotter than the last until it became too much to bear. After closing time, we made our move. Behind locked doors, under red neon signs, she kissed me with a hunger that left me breathless. Fingers danced across my uniform buttons, undoing them faster than I ever could have imagined. Clothes fell away in pieces on the floor, and soon there was nothing between us but skin and an electric current of desire. She tasted like cherry lip balm and cheap cologne from the perfume section. Her body moved over mine with a confidence that was intoxicating. The rhythm grew faster until we were both lost in a whirlwind of sensation, my hands gripping her hips tightly as I pushed up into her, the cool concrete biting at our backs. The thrill of it all still echoes in every shift I work. That night felt like a dream, but also realer than anything else ever has.