8:00- work
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| - | You hand graces the front door as you head inside. There's an ever lingering smell of hotdogs and Pine-Sol. Mitch is behind the cash register, helping himself to an 18oz Cola while he fiddles with his mullet. " | + | You hand graces the front door as you head inside. The store lets out an effervescent chime. There's an ever lingering smell of hotdogs and Pine-Sol. Mitch is behind the cash register, helping himself to an 18oz Cola while he fiddles with his mullet. "Good evening welcome to Seven- Ele-" he automatically begins his spiel, until he sees your name tag peek through a rack of newspapers. "Fucking blind spots." he mutters. Then without hesitation starts his belittling remarks, "Look who finally showed up on ''time''. Amazing, since you can't even show up promptly for your own shift." He bite down on his straw, "But I guess pussy makes the brain work different." |
| - | Fuck Mitch, you can't stand his lazy ass. The bastard was only eight months older than you but likes to pretends he's Mr. fucking Miyagi. No one's in the store besides you and him maybe its time to let him know what's on your mind... | + | |
| + | "Well I guess if you were getting some you'd know that, wouldn't you." You aren't either but Mitch doesn't need to know that. Out of generosity and lust , you've taken up an unwonted night shift. The ever so sexy Pam called you last minute to take her position. For anyone else, you'd say no without a second guess- but the way her soft voice caressed the telephone line... She sounded so distressed on the line, pronouncing every vowel with intent. You could your temperature rising just thinking about; the way her supple lips pronounced every "O". You wondered if that's the same way it would sound if you pleased her. | ||
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| + | Mitch embarrassed by your witty rhetoric offers a mere, "Touché." He proceeds to open a Playboy magazine to conceal his beet red cheeks. Fuck Mitch, you can't stand his lazy ass. The bastard was only eight months older than you but likes to pretends he's Mr. fucking Miyagi. No one's in the store besides you and him maybe its time to let him know what's on your mind... | ||
*[[Give Mitch what's been coming to him]] | *[[Give Mitch what's been coming to him]] | ||
Current revision as of 05:07, 23 November 2020
You hand graces the front door as you head inside. The store lets out an effervescent chime. There's an ever lingering smell of hotdogs and Pine-Sol. Mitch is behind the cash register, helping himself to an 18oz Cola while he fiddles with his mullet. "Good evening welcome to Seven- Ele-" he automatically begins his spiel, until he sees your name tag peek through a rack of newspapers. "Fucking blind spots." he mutters. Then without hesitation starts his belittling remarks, "Look who finally showed up on time. Amazing, since you can't even show up promptly for your own shift." He bite down on his straw, "But I guess pussy makes the brain work different."
"Well I guess if you were getting some you'd know that, wouldn't you." You aren't either but Mitch doesn't need to know that. Out of generosity and lust , you've taken up an unwonted night shift. The ever so sexy Pam called you last minute to take her position. For anyone else, you'd say no without a second guess- but the way her soft voice caressed the telephone line... She sounded so distressed on the line, pronouncing every vowel with intent. You could your temperature rising just thinking about; the way her supple lips pronounced every "O". You wondered if that's the same way it would sound if you pleased her.
Mitch embarrassed by your witty rhetoric offers a mere, "Touché." He proceeds to open a Playboy magazine to conceal his beet red cheeks. Fuck Mitch, you can't stand his lazy ass. The bastard was only eight months older than you but likes to pretends he's Mr. fucking Miyagi. No one's in the store besides you and him maybe its time to let him know what's on your mind...
