It was a Tuesday afternoon and I was finally getting my shit together. About a month's worth of Amazon returns were stationed at my front door awaiting transport to their final destination: the post office. Once I had arrived, the lineup was longer than anticipated and I forgot my phone in the car. Why does the universe hate me?
Turning my head to check out the assortment of undoubtedly overpriced envelopes and shipping boxes, I was lost in a judgmental gaze when I heard a voice from behind, “damn, look at that wagon”.
Discomfort took over my body and I chose to ignore the repugnant advance. Afterall, I am more than just a cute little booty, when will the world realize that?
“Can I touch it?” the voice added.
So I turned around with fury in my eyes. You.
I followed the trace of your glare down towards a wagon filled with my packaged returns. The grimace on my face recoiled to a slight smile. Sure enough, you were referencing my actual wagon.
“That thing is an absolute beauty. Where can I get one?”, you added without skipping a beat.
I took a moment to explain that I had purchased it on Facebook Marketplace months ago, and that Costco has a similar product with additional pockets and a rain cover, an upgrade from my more basic version.
You thanked me for the information and cut our conversation short, by this time we had amassed a small audience to our exchange. Some things are best left for private; I would soon come to find that out.
After scanning each of my packages, I turned back around, we locked eyes, the sexual chemistry was palpable. It was at this time that I could truly appreciate your stature, fresh haircut, and tucked in chain.
Love a man with a tucked in chain.
We both half-smiled and nodded with a shared understanding that this couldn’t be the end. This shared experience wouldn’t be the end.
So I sat in my car, juice box in hand, waiting for you to exit the establishment. I spent those moments pondering which vehicle belonged to a man like you. A man who surely works with his hands, a tall man with a lot of BODY on him, it has to be the Black Silverado, it must be the Silverado.
It took about 4 minutes for you to emerge. Good things are worth the wait. The Silverado, it was yours. I can spot a handy man from a mile away. I honked my horn, and gestured towards you.
You pointed inwards, to yourself as if to ask, who, me?
I nodded, while slowly rolling down my window.
“You from around here?” I asked, with confidence.
“No, I just work in the area”, you replied. Curiousity was your tone.
“Listen, I’d love to take you to Costco sometime. I’ve got an executive membership.”
We went back and forth for a few moments, covering the essentials: current relationship status, political views, how much you can bench press, and your willingness to lick it before you stick it.
Once confirmed that we were in consonance regarding the aforementioned quandaries, we set a time, date and location. It was Costco, the following day, 7pm.
Putting together a suitable Costco outfit is one of my greatest strengths. Opting for a pair of jean shorts, a zip up hoodie and my Birkenstocks. She’s a fashion icon.
We pulled into the busy parking lot at the exact same time: kismet.
Wagon procurement was quick and easy. Walking through the aisles, you and I relished in a variety of sample snacks to moisten our palettes.
And then the main event: Costco hot dogs.
Like a true gentleman, you ordered for the both of us at the Kiosk, then asked what toppings I preferred. Your eyes widened with interest when I told you about my affinity for mayo and mayo only. None of my provocative subtleties were overlooked. Sharp as a pin, you are.
You were picking up what I was putting down.
You were buying what I was selling.
You were eating what I was serving.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The sun was setting, but neither of us were ready to call it a night. You invited me back to yours. The Costco samples plus the hotdog had me content, but I was ready to feel satiated. I wanted to be full, and you seemed like a promising contender.
Arriving at your place in a whirlwind of emotions, pent up passion, and sexual tension, I removed my Birkenstocks and winced as my cute little toes touched the cold floor. Being the problem-solving man you are, you lifted me off of the ground with promises of warmth.
When you put me down, we were in your bedroom, standing on a carpet. You looked at me like you had something to say, so I waited. I could see you processing your thoughts.
“No outside clothes on the bed”, we both said in unison before sharing a giggle.
I went to remove my Costco outfit, and you gently put your hands on mine.
“Let me”, were the words you breathed onto my neck.
So, I let you.
Peeling off my department store getup, your proficiency was humbled by the buttons down the centre of my shorts. I watched you struggle. I watched you strain. Then I watched you succeed. Mission accomplished.
It wasn’t long before we were playing tongue twister in the sheets. Your body, that of a working man, was warm to the touch. My body, that of a sedentary woman with low iron, was appreciative. A perfect match, if you ask me.
I started “workout” mode on my Apple Watch to track the exercise. We engaged in the horizontal dance for 28 minutes; not too long, not too short, but juuuuuust right. Our fingers intertwined as we laid together listening to Japanese R&B while enjoying a Costco tuxedo cake in bed.
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