Jobs

Act 12 – The Personal Shopper

You’re on my to-do list.

~ Sephora Jones

“Linda! Get your bony asss in here and help me figure this out! I’m two clicks away from pulling all my pubic hair! I don’t know which button to press, or which drop-down to pull on this mothafʊcking…agh…shít I don’t even know how to fʊcking use the computer!”

“Jeez, Sephora…just…just step away from the computer and let me do it.”

“Whatever,” I rolled my eyes and pushed myself away from the desk. Rising, I flipped my hair back and rested my chin over Linda’s bony shoulder, the sound of her lollipop lolling around her cheeks giving me goosebumps, “If you were sʊcking your boyfriend just as good as you are sʊcking that pop, then maybe he won’t be chasing tail and humping asss.”

She tutted and pulled her lolly with an obscene pop, “Hah! If you didn’t sʊck so much with computers then maybe you would still be Adrian’s girlfriend, and not Caroline.”

“You take that back!”

“Take back what!?”

“What you said.”

“Jeez, Sephora, we’re not in high school anymore. There, you see that,” she pointed her bony finger on the cursor moving around the screen, “Follow the pointer like a good puppy and watch what I’m doing,” she was back to sʊcking her lolly while teaching me how to work the mumbo-jumbo program of our delivery system, “Names on the right, point and click, append all the necessary information, leave a note if you have to, especially when they’re a repeat customer, and voila! You can start taking orders and become a goddamned PA to people you don’t know.”

I gave a dumb look and slacked my jaw, “Duh? This is so dumber than dumb.”

She pushed the chair to rise, turned and faced me to hit my forehead with her sticky lollipop, “Not as dumb as you,” she picked up the phone beside the computer and held it between her shoulder and cheek, all the while jotting notes on a Post-it, “Yep, uh-huh,” her doe-eyes were trained on me, “Yep, we shop for those too. Er…right…yeah, large, yeah, bye.”

“Why the look?” I asked. She handed me the Post-it and my brows shot up to my hairline, “I can’t believe this.”

“Better believe it,” she said, deadpan, “You really should put more effort in your relationships,” she commented in-between lip-smacking her lollipop, “And it wouldn’t hurt if you start familiarizing yourself with technology. Seriously, Sephora, people don’t text no more. They tweet. They poke you on f*******:. Damn, they even fʊck you on Skype!” she looked outside the window and onto the busy streets of downtown Columbia, “Had you known how to work your email then maybe Adrian wouldn’t feel ignored. He’s good man and you know it.”

I listened while trying to print-out copies of the order slips from our customers, “Yeah, well, you know I’m an old-fashioned gal. I’d rather tinker with my G-spot than check my Gmail.”

“That’s not the point,” Linda remarked, “I’d rather have my brother fukking you instead of that…that trashy girl who’s probably fukked half of Columbia, spreading her…her super-gonorrhea!”

I looked up, amused, “Super-gonorrhea?” I smiled, trying to stifle my laughter.

“Yeah! It’s gonorrhea with a red cape. Just…ugh…the point is, Adrian is a nice guy and as much as I don’t care about his affairs and which girl he sticks his wiener in, I still want him for you.”

I turned in my swivel chair, “Are you still hung up on Caroline doing your boyfriend?” by the bitter look on her face, I’d say yes, “Aww, sweetie. Caroline is a bimbo with jʊgs the size of melons, and probably has a cʊnt festooned with STDs that science is yet to discover. Don’t let a break-up get you down. If anything, your boyfriend traded down. Yeah, you may look like a deer caught in the headlights with those big doe-eyes but who cares. You’re a catch, dollface, believe me. But no…I don’t think dating your brother is gonna be good for me. Just like what you said, Adrian is a nice guy. And…I’m not.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t like the feeling of getting attached.”

“Yeah, well…if you come from a broken family, you stop being close to people you care about, just to avoid feelings of getting hurt.”

I could feel her exhale from where I was sitting, “I hope Tommy’s díck melts insider her cʊnt.”

I chuckled while dragging the copies from the printer, “Oh, trust me, it will. Carol’s vagína is full of acid.”

Linda started smiling, and in her mirth I found a reason to hate our job a little less, “Are you sure you’re up for this? I know you need the money to pay all your bills, but if there’s anything—”

“I’m fine,” I walked up to her taking her hand, “Thank you. It’s been rough, not gonna lie. The last thing I need right now is sympathy. I just…just didn’t expect it’d feel this lonely without them you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

I took a calming breath, “For what it’s worth, my parents were really a hardworking couple. But I guess when you start working more and pay less attention to the things that matter, you lose sight of what’s important.”

“Are they really divorcing?”

I shrugged, “Beats me. I don’t really care right now. I just…damn,” I put my fists on akimbo, “Your doe-eyes really bring out the worst in me,” I sniffed “I’m not good with emotions, Linda. You know that.”

She walked me to the door, her hand rubbing my back to give me comfort, “There, there. You’ll be alright. As long as we stick together, besties forever,” she smiled and held me at arm’s length, “Just make sure you don’t screw this one up. There’s good money to be made out of people’s laziness. You never know, the next door you deliver to might just hold the man that’s going to fill that hole.”

“Fill that hole?”

“Yeah,” she shrugged, “Your deep, sad, emotional hole.”

I snorted, “I’d rather have someone fill my physical hole.”

“Ugh…nice to have the old Sephora back. Now go, people are waiting,” she started shooing me.

I turned around down the steps, “You know,” I contemplated, looking up at the marquee of our office, “Our boss should change the name of our business.”

“Why? What’s wrong with the name?”

“Quickies R Us?” I said in horror, “It doesn’t sound…professional.”

“Why? Is it because we get calls from people asking if we’re hos?”

“Um…yeah,” I dragged with emphasis.

“Well,” she stabbed her mouth with the lollipop, “Zome ov us ar.”

I turned, rolling my eyes, “Whatevs. I’ll be back before noon.”

“Check your phone missy! I’ll be texting you your deliveries!”

With half my body sliding inside the cab I said, “I thought people don’t text no more!”

She hollered back, “Yeah well you don’t have a Twitter or any goddamned social app!”

“Touché!” I remarked as I slid in the cab.

“Where we go, Miss?” the driver asked, his eyes dripping with s*x.

“Can I get a free ride?”

“No can do, missy. You pay, or me no trabajo aqui.”

“Are you like…Spanish or somethin’?”

“Si, yo soy español.”

“I’ll let you touch a boob for five seconds if you give me a free ride.”

He sʊcked air through his teeth, “Mierda, mi polla. Cinco segundos?”

“Si, five seconds. But just five,” I pointed and stared.

“Oh, mierda…” he licked his dry lips and reached back. I lifted my shirt so he could cop a feel with his…what the hell?

“What are you doing?”

“Touching your boob.”

“With your tongue!?”

He murmured five seconds into sʊcking my tít before pulling away, wiping the drool from his mouth, “You say I can touch it. You no say how.”

“Ugh,” I tacked my shirt down, “Whatever, Addison Street. Rapido!”

The cab ride was smooth getting to Addison Street, “Thanks boobs!” the cab driver called and I just rolled my eyes in resignation. Any respect I had for myself was long gone when Mr. Hunnam—my English teacher—taught me in a private lesson—inside a private room—the difference between come, and cʊm. Well…let’s just say I learned fast.

I skirted what looked like a seedy neighborhood, leading up to a college dormitory. Great…I could already smell teen spirit assaulting my nostrils. With a laxed disposition I loosened a few kinks on my shoulders and rang the doorbell, waiting for whoever it was that ordered a box of—

“That my Trojans?” boomed a hot naked guy with his dipstick dipping low.

“Yes sir,” I said while rummaging my tote bag for the elusive box of premium-grade, extra-large, well-lubricated condoms. I couldn’t help but drop my gaze at the heavy piece of meat dangling between his quarterback legs, “Too lazy to buy your own condoms?” I asked, averting my sight away from the Lochness monster, “Calling a personal shopper to get you your condoms costs more than just getting it yourself at the nearest store or gas station.”

“And miss the chance to see you?” he gave me his best Wanna fʊck? smile.

“No thank you,” I stated.

“No thank you for what?”

“No thank you, I’m not interested.”

He gave a pompous smile, “Heh, you full of confidence aren’t ya?”

“Yeah, well we both know what’s on your mind and it’s not pretty. So just pay up,” I beckoned, giving him the receipt plus our business taxes.

“Fine,” he gritted his teeth, “Here.”

“Thanks. Call if you ever need anything else.”

“You sure you don’t wanna demo a condom?”

“And why would I demo a condom?”

“Nothing. Just thought it’d be fun.”

“Yeah well have fun screwing with the boys.”

I heard maniacal laughter as I left, thinking to myself how much I wanted to rub my private parts with his private parts. But then it’s a college dorm. The chance of me getting raped was as high as the risk of humping a teenager’s hard-on.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. It’s Linda, sending me a list of other deliverables and their addresses. Hmm, this job didn’t require witty banter, nor would it entail brain power. But I wished it wasn’t as stale as fʊck. I replied okay, telling her that I was on my feet, buying people stuff that they’re too lazy to buy themselves.

My next delivery was uptown, to a guy named Griffin. Apparently he wasn’t keen on doing his groceries. And so I did that for him at the Panamericana Grocery near Columbia Heights. I would’ve gone to Arthur’s which had better selections but I had to spend my money wisely.

Being a personal shopper was like being a model going out to do go-sees. Always go for proximity to save on cab fare. Walk if necessary.

It only took me a good few minutes to stock up on groceries which I wheeled outside Panamericana to the trunk of a cab. This time I paid my dues, not wanting another mouth on my boob, especially not from a shady-looking cab driver who had bloodshot eyes and tattoos etched down his arms like he’s the freaking Sistine Chapel.

I entered an exclusive-looking, high-rise building. I called the lift and entered, taking me several floors up to where Griffin was waiting. The elevator music was a nice touch, regaling me with a soothing melody that raised my spirits, pulling me out of my funk. If I were to come home to this every day, then there would be no reason for me to sulk. Unfortunately the place I come home to didn’t have an elevator. Heck it wasn’t even in a high-rise building at all. It was a modest duplex I shared with Linda, paying her rent and splitting the electric and water among other expenses.

The doors slid open and I searched for Griffin’s apartment. I could tell that he had money lining his pockets if this place was any indication.

I knuckled the door to what looked like a bachelor pad. I fidgeted, waiting anxiously and extra nervous and I didn’t know why. The floor smelled laundered and clean. It was a welcome change compared to all the smelly apartments I’ve been delivering. My stupor was broken when the door opened, and stood before me was, “Griffin?”

He had the cutest lopsided grin, “We on first-name basis now?” he said, taking one of the grocery bags, “Come in,” he ushered me inside a masculine, unpretentious, and minimalist apartment. Although in its minimalism was its charm. It’s a man’s apartment. Very manly.

“Should I just leave ‘em here?” I called to his naked back, and I couldn’t help but trace the sexy lines from his toned shoulders down the delicious V of his tanned midsection as he turned around.

“I’ll just get my wallet. You may uh…could you stock my fridge for me? I’ll pay you extra.”

More bang for my buck, “Sure. No problem.”

Griffin was your typical jock. But there was nothing typical about his effect on my títs. I could feel my nípples stabbing my shirt, “How much?”

I startled and met his eyes, they were a beautiful blue and they popped against his tan, “I have the receipts. It bears your total. And here’s a small fee for our services,” I handed him the total and he didn’t seem to have a problem with the amount.

He pulled notes from his wallet and counted them while licking his lips. His lips were modest, but kissable. I was no teenager, but I felt teenage sensations ripen between my legs, “Here, and I added an extra for your tip. Thanks…um…your name?”

“Sephora.”

“Pretty,” he said, giving me his signature lopsided grin, “Will you uh, help me stock my fridge?”

“Oh, sure.”

We worked in companionable silence, stocking up his fridge. I wondered what he did for a living. His food selection was schizophrenic, like it was meant to cater to different diets. He had fruits, vegetables, junk food, cereals, and lots of meat.

I could tell that he was a protein kind of man what with all the lean cuts of prime rib and steak. I could imagine him working the protein into muscles if those rock-hard abs and toned chest are anything to go by, “You’ve been staring a lot,” he said.

I stiffened while placing the eggs in the fridge’s dairy compartment, “I ah, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I felt the smile in his words, “Do you do people’s groceries all the time?”

“Yeah,” I smiled, looking him in the eye, “You’d be surprised with what people ask us to buy for them.”

“Yeah?” his voice was encouraging. I felt like we’re getting into friendly territory. I never had this much interaction with any of my clients before. It’s really refreshing, “What do they ask of you.”

I lightly shook my head and smiled with embarrassment, “A box of Trojans. Can you believe it?”

He chuckled, “If I called you to get me the same. Would you?”

“As long as you don’t ask me to demo for you.”

“Why? Oh, don’t tell me the guy asked you to demo for him.”

“Oh yes he did. I politely said no, thank you.”

“Good girl.”

“That’s me.”

We continued to stock his fridge and fill his cupboards, making me notice an acute observation, “Are you just moving in?” I asked out of curio.

“Yeah, I don’t know where to get supplies and I checked the Yellow Pages and apparently there’s Quickies R Us. At first I thought you guys were selling s*x and I was tempted to ring a girl up,” he laughed, “Sorry. I don’t mean to offend.”

“None taken,” I beamed, “We get that all the time.”

“Um,” he cleared his throat, “Hypothetically speaking. If you guys did service guys, would you do someone like me?”

Oh my. There were two things I felt when the question was asked. One was wet, and the other one dry. The mouth in my face was most certainly dry. But the mouth between my legs was as wet as a soggy clam.

“I don’t see a reason not to.”

His smile became my cue to smile too, “Sephora…”

“Yeah?”

“Would you ah…would you like to go out with me?”

“I do.”

He laughed, a kind of laughter that was deep from the bowels of his diaphragm, “Aw, you trickster,” I said, feigning hurt.

“Sorry I found that funny. It sounded like you were saying I do to a marriage,” at the mention of that word I found myself frowning, “Hey, did I say something wrong?”

“No,” I quickly said, wiping my hands clean with a towel, “I was just reminded of something.”

“Care to share? I’m listening.”

I didn’t know what possessed me to share my life story to a man I just met. But his unabashed intrusion to my personal life was something I welcomed. It felt like good therapy. The kind that didn’t write me a fat check.

“Well,” he breathed in and out, “We should definitely go out then.”

“Definitely? Why?” I smiled.

“Because you’re a lost cause. And I’m your knight in shining armor.”

“Charming.”

“So are you.”

“Is this how you get all your girls? With charm?”

“It got me this far,” he gave another lopsided grin, and I found myself soaking my undergarments.

“Well, Mr. Griffin. Chalk me to your board, for I have been charmed.”

I hardly remember the last time I smiled this much, to the point that my cheeks were already hurting, “I have to go. I’ve more stuff to deliver.”

“I got your number,” he called as I was leaving the door. I nodded and felt butterflies for the first time in a very long time, lusting after Griffin, and his fʊckable charm.

The next morning saw me making a delivery of celebratory cupcakes to a dance studio. I was never good at dancing, but I did watch a lot of Dancing with the Stars so I think I got a few moves in my petite body.

I entered the studio and was welcomed by a sight I wasn’t expecting.

“Oh my…Mr. Howard.”

Adam Howard and his wife Patience were legendary. They took home many gold medals for the country in all those years of competitive dancing. I remember watching them during my high school and had always been a fan. I wasn’t expecting to see Adam walking again, let alone dancing. I was considerably saddened when news broke about his accident and had to retire his dancing feet. And now, seeing him dance with Patience was uplifting.

“Hello,” Patience strode towards me with glee painted on her beatific face, “Sorry we just had to. It’s for Adam. We’re having people over, and I didn’t want the press crowding him about his recovery. How much do we owe you?”

I gave her the receipts plus extra charge, “It’s nice to see that Adam can dance again,” Adam came up to say hello, “I’m a big fan,” I shook hands with him and I almost creamed my panties.

Adam was a s*x god. Half of America, both girls and boys, were distraught when he had to bench himself from dancing. But now, to see him wearing the tightest pair of pants, made intense hope and lust bubble within me, “Sorry, sir, I just think you’re really hot,” I said without thinking, which made the couple laugh.

“Why thank you. Just, just don’t speak to anyone about this. I’m still trying to fully recover. And until then Patience and I are on the down-low.”

“Of course, Mr. Howard,” I blushed, “You’re so hot.”

We all laughed and I was asked to stay for a cupcake. I basked in the presence of people as they poured into the studio, celebrating one of the many reasons why dancing was so cool, courtesy of one Adam and Patience Howard. America’s dancing couple.

The days that followed wore me out to the bone. I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or vomit at all the insane orders people were calling for. There were pregnancy kits, goose liver for foie gras, backbreaking groceries for all the hardworking moms, and even courtside tickets for the Washington Wizards.

Griffin was the only thing that kept me from losing my mind, sending me sweet texts and encouraging messages.

I didn’t know what was happening with me, but something was definitely shifting inside of me. Like the more I spent time with him going out to impromptu dinner dates and late-night movies, the more I was becoming this totally different person. A person who was more tolerating with life’s shít, more relaxed, more comfortable with my circumstances no matter how bleak. He was becoming my new BFF.

I knew I wanted him. I just wasn’t sure if he felt the same way with me. He certainly wasn’t gay. Oh no, not by a long shot.

Today Griffin ordered a meal for two and some flowers. And of course I was giddy with buying them, knowing that they were meant for me. And so here we were. Enjoying each other’s company as I filled my nostrils with both the smell of food and the flowers, “Tell me more of your misdemeanors,” I said as he recounted memories from his high school.

He was pushing his chicken and hash over the plate, “I never bothered, really. I always got suspended. Hell, if I was always going to be suspended, might as well do it from a s*x swing.”

Oh…I didn’t find it funny. I found it…intriguing.

“What about you? You had a good high school?”

I took a sip of my red and swallowed my food, “Yeah, t’was fun,” I left it at that, considering that being spread-eagled with Mr. Hunnam’s fat, English c**k inside me wasn’t one I would bring into such a lovely dinner conversation, “My high school was…fun.”

“I almost don’t believe you there. You were naughty I could tell,” I felt a stab of annoyance but it was quickly dispelled by his lopsided grin, “Can I ah, be your boyfriend?”

Say yes! “Yes.”

His composure slipped, almost choking on his glass of red, “T-that easy?”

“What’s wrong with easy?” I shrugged, “I like you.”

“Heh, me too.”

“So,” I shifted in my seat, “What now?”

“Ah, the ever-pressing question of what now. Heh, well, I guess I now have a license to do the nasty with you,” he winked and I felt my orifice wet.

It was my turn to lose my composure, “T-that easy?”

He smiled his megawatt smile, “What’s wrong with easy?”

“Hey, that’s my line,” I said jokingly, with my heart racing. I wasn’t sure if it was alcohol, or the pressing need to do the nasty with him that sped my pulse.

“Do you see yourself having kids one day?” he questioned.

“I dunno,” I shrugged, lifting my glass of red, “I don’t have mommy skills. Wait, what prompted this question?”

“I just thought you’d be a good mom. You’re good with taking care of people, providing for their needs. I think you’re mommy material.”

“Me? A mommy!? Do I look like someone who would be interested in children? Well…making them…heh…that’d be something I’d be interested in. You did plan on having fun with me, right? There will be plenty of time for pillow talk afterwards.”

“Hah! You’re horny aren’t you?”

“You have no idea,” I bit my lip.

“I’m horny too. So, what now?”

“I dunno. You tell me.”

“So eager. That’s what I love about you. You wanna see Columbia from the skies?” he asked.

“Where are you taking this conversation?” I posed quizzically, “But yeah, that’d be lovely.”

“There’s a helipad right atop of this building. Wanna go up?”

I almost choked on my wine, “Oh my, you’re, you serious!?”

“Do I look otherwise?”

“No,” I smiled, disbelieving, amused, and excited all at once.

We finished our meal and took a spritz of revitalizing Evian to numb the alcohol. We rode the elevator going up to the top tier of the building and just like he said, there it was, a helipad where a copter was waiting.

“Whoa,” my hand flew to my mouth, “You weren’t joking.”

“Come,” he extended a hand. I’m beckoned to step onto the helicopter, where a pilot was regaling in the sweet, sweet sounds of classical music which dimmed as the propellers turned to catch wind, “Helmet too tight?” Griffin asked, loosening the belt.

“I’m alright!” I shouted over the sound of the propellers, “I feel like a fʊcking VIP! You know, nothing says you’ve made it in life like a private helicopter!”

“Heh, enjoy the ride.”

In my buzzed state, what I really wanted to say was I loved helicopters, and not the one with the propellers either, but the one where I’m on top of him doing the helicopter around his díck. But I didn’t say that. It was much too crude. I liked him too much.

“Thanks,” It was all I could say as he and I watched the blanket of stars right below us, sparkling like a sea of diamonds.

The chopper ride ended beautifully. And by the time we landed on the helipad, all the alcohol had already spirited away from my consciousness, leaving me hungry for a different kind of high. The s****l kind.

It only took one look when we crashed his bed. And from there we were all hands, lips, tongue, and skin-on-skin action. Our warm bodies were colliding with heat and intense passion, yearning to have a taste of each other, and that sweet, sweet promise of an orgasm spilling from its barrier.

Excitement pumped through my bloodstream, ripening my body with sensitivity and arousal. My nípples hardened instantly as they became sensitive to the slightest of touch. And with no reverence whatsoever, Griffin pulled an aching bud into his mouth, closing his lips to mop the sensitivity inwards, suctioning the skin towards the jut which made me purr and hiss and scream.

His tongue was hot, and a different texture to my fingers which I use to touch myself at night. Pleasure circled my breasts as his tongue whirred all around, making me ache in places below that were aching to be fukked.

“Sephora…” he slobbered my abdomen with his hot tongue. I was purring in pleasure as he whirled his tongue down the depression of my stomach, varying the pressure of his tongue between flat, hard, and pointed.

His wet lips mopped all the way up, sweeping my body with hot kisses. I arched my back, feeling shingles of pleasure envelop my skin as he returned his attention to my jʊgs. I could tell he was a títs man as he kept on focusing his attention to my two girls who were crying to be sʊcked.

He played with my two girls, pulling the hardness of each nípple with his wet lips, pulling and tugging and alternating to erect the swollen buds into lumps of sensitized redness, “Griffin!” I gasped and clutched his hair as I felt his hardness dent the dip of my thighs. In the faint moonlight I could see the outline of his manhood and it’s not something I could put into words, especially when I found myself pushing him onto his back with my mouth wrapping around his hard wood.

I grabbed the head and squeezed it inside my mouth. His body fell back as he bucked his hips into my face, pushing his hard-on deeper into a depth past my throat and I had to hold my gag reflex, not wanting to stop from sʊcking him dry even if I was already choking with my own spit. In an act of desire and desperation, he withdrew from my mouth and pulled me up into his body. I felt him lift his hips slightly, making my pubís graze the length of his shaft which made me shudder.

His plump tip met my entrance and I rested back down as I slowly impaled myself with my hand guiding his shaft. I sat down and pushed him all the way in, wincing in indescribable pain as I felt my muscles part like I was a virgin again. It was then I realized that the moonlight tricked me into thinking that Griffin’s size was bearable. But it wasn’t. It was splitting me open and stretching me wide and I had to grab his chest to acquire some form of control as I dipped my hips into a forward thrust, slamming and perforating myself with his hard length as it punched a whole new dimension inside my vagína, pushing space and parting my skin in the most sinfully delicious way.

I felt my arousal ran through my bones like warm honey. I could feel my orgasm leaking from my body and through my pores the more he prodded the thin barrier that kept my juices from flowing. He grabbed my hips and dunked me onto him like I was an object of lust, like a toy, taking me with rough thrusts which forced me to draw air in desperation.

The sound of our s*x was thick in the air, and it was soon plugged when his tongue penetrated my mouth. Every orifice I had I wanted for him to penetrate, whether with his tongue or his fat c**k. Damn, and here I thought I’d never agree to ánal s*x, and yet I found myself riding him, alternating between my vagína and my asss, whichever was less swollen.

He pinned my waist with his arm to pull me closer to his body. I purred in pleasure as we built. Everything became faster, hungrier, and more desperate as we helped each other reach our orgasm. I can feel mine slipping through my body. And with a few thrusts the restraint I had got thinner and thinner and with one final thrust I detonated, prompting him to explode as well inside me and I was sure that what had just happened was going to bear fruit in the next nine months.

“Griffin. Oh my God. And to think I don’t even know your last name.”

“Hefner.”

“What!?”

“It’s Hefner.”

“N-no.”

“Yes.”

“This is bad.”