It was the shock of him touching me, quite clearly, the tangible electrical currant fusing from within his hands through to my hips and beyond. I wasn’t expecting his rugged touch whilst mop-diving. That’s why I farted in Ben’s face, not because I needed to, but because he caught me off-guard. He hasn’t acknowledged it properly, but I can still feel that sickening silence after, when my heart stopped beating and I cringed so hard I thought my swollen rubber monkey lip would split open and fire across the room like them shrieking balloons that you get at Christmas parties.
I stand reprimanded and idle beside Ben in Gaylord’s office, her mouth is moving like a fat child chewing bubble gum as she shouts and I’ve not listened to a single word she’s said so far. Just stand and hang your head Sandra and it will all be ok. And I can ogle at Ben’s thighs from this bowed angle. I wonder if he does squats, he’s like a rugged rugby player that no linen trousers should legally be allowed to contain. I trace my gaze down his long and effortlessly muscular legs to his shoes, black leather slip-ons with loosely folded under laces, perfect for a quick escape eh? And in that moment I vividly envisage myself pouncing onto his chest and knocking him to the floor, chairs and pen-pots flying and no farting this time, just carnal aggression, pulling off his shoes and sucking like a Dyson suggestively on his toe. How strange, I’ve never thought about feet before. But I can imagine Ben’s feet being magnificent and worthy of my mouth.
“…And the fact that the adolescent has now got Tesco’s Tidbury trending on Twitter under the hashtag ‘#meatfuckerfury’ is the icing on the cake following this mornings floorshow,” barks Gaylord and I instantly look up only managing to stifle my smirk because of my top lip being so sore. She bangs her chubby fist on the desk again and runs her trotter fingers threateningly over the buttons of the black office phone in front of her.
“I have every mind to phone the area manager and have you both put on suspension until we deal with this downright appalling situation.” I start to open my lips in an attempt to downplay this mornings events but the cow is on a roll as she battles me back with “Indecent exposure, mistreatment of company equipment, total abandonment of your own personal safety and that of the customers, and now a local media frenzy to comply with. This is not a message Tesco’s Tidbury is happy to deliver!”
Slowly I reach my hand around to my backside to pick out a cheek-twitchingly-annoying wedgie that the Back To School trousers have enforced upon me. I’m desperate to give it a scratch but Gaylord has already acknowledged me with a raised eyebrow and abrupt ceasing of shit talking.
“So tell me Sandra, do you agree?” with what? I was tending to my knicker-itch not listening to you spitting potato peelings out of your sloppy mouth you leathery pig.
“Of course,” I chirp back with a half limp smile. She’s shocked and purses her lips. I bet she wasn’t expecting me to agree, roll over and play dead like that. But it doesn’t mean she’s won just because I’ve taken her custard-pie throwing on the chin; I’m storing this up for later, for a time when I can extract my revenge and unleash extreme embarrassment and humiliation tend-fold on your arse woman. And it’s worked; she taps her chipped nails on the trim of the laminate office desk and rolls her eyes as she contemplates her crediting finale. “Get back to your stations then, I’ve got a meeting with HR!”
Triumphantly I snake out of her office, shaking my hips like a deliciously proud cat as I walk down the corridor in front of Ben. He hasn’t even said two words to me since this morning and I’m not going to bow down to him and say sorry. Sorry for what? Farting in your face? You caused it! Or sorry for getting you in trouble with Gaylord? Erm, well last time I checked you were the one dry humping me under the counter you prick, and you tore my zebra trousers. I wonder if he liked the look of my arse? Maybe as I was bending over he wouldn’t have been able to see my cellulite? It’s not like I’m fat I just had a growth spurt when I was thirteen and got a few marks. I listen as I hear his steps behind me, he’s still alive then, Jesus Christ all of this silence and awkwardness over a stupid sore lip. I only hid so he wouldn’t see me battered up and dribbling, and now I’ve got a purple-black bruised moustache and a cut on my cheek and I’m twitching like I’ve shit myself in these stiflingly starched trousers that make me want to drag a fork between my arse-cheeks to alleviate the irritation.
You can watch me shake my backside in your face as I walk Ben, because I’m pissed off at you too and I’m going to seduce you with my anger to make myself feel better. Bastard.
And as we reach the staff-only double doors leading back onto the shop floor between our two counters, Ben huffs right past me not looking round; pushing forcefully on the safety glass as the door almost swings off its hinges, he presses his discarded chewing gum into the frame and then he’s gone. Fucking moody idiot. I stop in my tracks to avoid being hit by the bounce of the door swinging back on me and my eyes instantly find the glistening ball of wet gum sitting deliciously on the frame. Oh my. Ben had this in his mouth; he’s basically left this here for me because I was the only one walking with him. This is his way of him kissing me without cheating on his girlfriend, how smart you are Ben; you want me to taste your righteous saliva. You naughty boy.
A sudden bang of a door at the end of the corridor jolts me from my moment and the clip-clop of Gaylord’s heels on the tiled bleach-scented floor are enough to send me running through the double doors to the safety of my meat counter. As I saunter past the cheese counter and a melancholy Ben, I seductively raise a finger to my lips with the ball of wet chewing gum on the end making heart-stopping eye contact with my furiously-hot beau, pausing and holding his confusing gaze before sucking it off with my over-plump blackened lip and smiling gratuitously like a Saint Trinian. Good thinking Ben, it’s our secret.
