Girl-on-Girl Tea Bagging

As a disclaimer, I did buy tea that day. Celestial Seasoning’s Bengal Spice, to be exact.

I’ve had a bag boy fantasy for years. I’m sure the scenario is familiar: nice young man helps a lady in a brazenly short, tight skirt load her groceries into her trunk. Nice young man yields to the seductive voice of the Dark Side and slips a hand between her parted thighs. Within moments, the car windows are steamed over and the two are doing their best to break the chassis. This fantasy has never been fulfilled, but I’m always on the lookout for an opportunity. That doesn’t mean I dress for the occasion, but I’ve rationalized that it’s just as easy to skin a woman out of her PJs as it is to lift a skirt and disentangle yourself from her panty hose-garter-panty trilogy. (Now there’s another great epic Tolkien should’ve delved into.)

Anyway, as I was shuffling through the checkout lane in my PJs and scruffy, dog-chewed slippers from Target, my radar homed in on the bag girl. Okay, she’s not a boy, and that’s not her real job title. All the better. Now, according to the U.S. Department of Labor, a Bagger can not only bag your goodies, she can carry them to your car. So when she asked if she could help me out, I smiled wickedly and said, “Oh yes, you can.” Frankly, I was surprised to see her blush and smile back. I was expecting a scowl and a whole lot of muttering, at the most.

We idly chatted on the walk to my car, blessedly parked at the far end of the parking lot (a bare nod at my determination to exercise daily). I learned that she was nineteen, in college, wore a C-cup (that was from close observation only) when she surprisingly jumped right in and got to the point.

“Are you hitting on me?”
“Yeah. Do you like it?”
“Maybe,” she said.

She had this huge smile on her face that told me she did. She was adorable. Innocent, but excited by the seamier side of life. Her expression was easily identifiable, and rare enough that I felt confident in pressing my luck:

“Can I get your phone number?”
“No.”

Dammit! “That’s okay,” I assured her. “I’ll be back next week.” She didn’t run off, and she didn’t look too apprehensive, so I probably didn’t go overboard on that one. She did keep that grin plastered on her face, and looked back a few times as she sauntered off. It was the walk that gave her away: if she’d have stalked off with a stiff back I’d have consigned her to the never-will-be bin and written the whole thing off. As it was, I felt more than encouraged, and I’m looking forward to coaxing the shy young thing out of her shell and into some bisexual action. I’m willing to bet that more than half of the diffidence is an act, a trap for the unwary. But this fly is ready to be caught. We’ll see what the next shopping trip holds. It doesn’t necessarily have to play out the way I’ve imagined it: sex in my car. However, the flirtation is almost irresistible.

Uh-oh. I think I’m out of milk again.

3 Comments

  • Eucalingus wrote:

    Remember! Milk goes FIRST on the conveyor belt!
    As for trilogies, clearly Frodo was wearing one under all that mithril. Fanfic awaits, my precious.

  • Excellent. My g/f has bagboy fantasies, and she’s potentially interested in girls.

    SO THIS SOLVES EVERYTHING.

    Glory to you.

    -Brad

  • My bagboy fantasies involve carrying everything, including me, around. But my fencing fetish is way worse.

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