Lecher's Local

"Miss Spacey, your, uh, shirt..."

Olivia looked down at the wayward shoulder strap of her white top.

"Oh, do you want me to fix it?"

Mr. Lecher reached over stacks of papers to grab a tissue from the box on the desk between him and the college girl.

He grabbed one, then two--

Three-four-five.

The last tissue made a hollow fwip as it left the emptied box.

The air conditioning blasted in the cramped office--already overkill in the cool morning--but the bald grocer still soaked the tissues as he dabbed at his spotted pate and the darkened armpits of his coarse polo.

"Excuse me," he said, throwing the tissues away even as his head began to shine again.

He glanced at the impossibility before him. A young woman with pink hair and a body so curved it seemed to bend light around it.

"I don't mind," Olivia said with a bounce. Mr. Lecher felt a tidal pull as her cleavage wobbled and her strap moseyed even lower. The flesh of Olivia's ample tit spilled out the side of her top, and a crescent moon of pink came into view.

"If you're fine, I'm fine," Lecher rasped. He raised a thermos to his mustachioed mouth, but only one drop of cool water coursed his dry tongue.

He swallowed anyway, put the thermos down and reached for her resume. His thumbs left greasy smudges on its edges.

"Okay, Miss Spacey, you don't have any prior..." He glanced at his empty thermos and swallowed. "... well, job experience at all."

Her eyes, which had wandered to the ceiling, snapped to his. He forced himself to watch her lips as she talked.

Then her eyes.

Okay, right ear should be safe.

"I'm a good worker!" Olivia said, leaning forward earnestly. Her nipple phased from crescent to half-moon.

Ear. Ear. Ear.

Tender, juicy...

EAR.

"Just ask my dad or anyone, I'm super helpful! I just never had an official job in high school. But now that I'm on my own, I thought this would be a good first job."

"Miss Spacey, usually when you're looking for work, you tell the employer what you can do for them, not the other way around."

"I'm a quick learner, and I'm great at helping people!" Olivia said, leaning forward even more.

Full moon now, with a juicy center.

Mr. Lecher stood, realized he was standing in more than one sense, then sat down again.

"Are you okay?" Olivia said, pulling back in surprise, her free orb trembling.

"Sorry, it's just... hot in here," he said as he tried to level the bulge in his faded slacks. "Olivia, your breast is completely out."

She looked down.

She looked at him, then down again.

"Oh, sorry, if it makes you uncomfortable." She watched him a moment. "Sorry, sorry, sorry" she said, finally moving, face flushed as she tucked the tit away like she'd stolen it. She seemed more embarrassed about his discomfort than her own exposure.

Either very sweet, or very fishy. Having lived for decades in the cutthroat world of groceries, Virgil Lecher erred on fishy.

"If this is some kind of interview strategy, it's not going to work," he said sternly.

Probably.

"No no no!" Olivia said with a mortified expression.

Looking at the poor girl, he felt his chest deflate. Even if this was some kind of ploy, could he really blame her? It was plenty hard out there right now--people needed to use every possible advantage.

"Look, Olivia, I want to give you a chance, but this behavior could get me... I mean, it's not appropriate."

I can't afford another Bella.

Still blushing, she grabbed her purse and rummaged in it. After a few long moments, she produced a piece of paper and handed it to the grocer.

"What's this?" he asked.

"A doctor's note."

He read it.

Twice.

Three times.

"Anti... sink..."

"Antisynkentropic anaphia. Basically, I have no sense of touch unless I'm thinking about it."

"I don't understand."

"It's like this," she said, putting a hand over her deep cleavage. "You breathe without thinking about it, right?" She demonstrated with a few deep breaths. "But you can also think about your breathing and control it."

"So you're saying everyone in the world feels without thinking, but you only feel physical touch if you consciously focus on it, like taking a deep breath?"

"Yup! It's why I wear loose clothing," she continued, pulling at her straps and giving him another clear view of her pink twins. "I used to wear tight clothing to stay modest, but it kept cutting off my circulation. I almost lost a foot when I was sixteen!"

She released her straps, which slumped sideways across her chest and exposed half of her other nipple.

"Olivia," he said, his eyes darting between her ear and everything else, "I just don't know...."

"It's considered a disability," she said, "so there might be some tax credit in that."

Mr. Lecher's eyes widened.

Somewhere, a cash register dinged.

***

In his office, Mr. Lecher lovingly tapped his keyboard, flipping between feeds from his security system on his monitor.

His store used to be quite popular--back when he had more hair on his head than on his back. Of course, more people meant more hooligans. Local teens used to treat the place like a proving ground: nick something from old Lecher and you were officially cool.

Virgil didn't mind much when a candy bar disappeared here or there--most were expired anyway. But the pilfered objects grew in size and value until Lecher's profits dropped achingly low.

So when a door-to-door salesman came pitching a camera security system, Lecher fulfilled the man's monthly quota all in one go. He found out later that he could have gotten the same product for half the price, but it served him so well that he felt almost proud of how much he paid for it.

The state-of-the-art system caught so many thieves that it ended up paying for itself twice over in the first five years. That always irked his ex-wife, who had bellyached about the price even years after the obvious return on investment.

"Stupid..." Lecher muttered. Blue light shone on his eyes as he leaned toward the screen. The monitor showed Olivia, now wearing a dark Lecher's Local apron, stacking cans from a high angle.

Yes, the cameras had not only saved the store, but his own ass.

Bella Zuleika had tried to smuggle a box of condoms under her hoodie. When the police arrived, Bella told them that Lecher had offered the box on the condition that he got to use one with her.

Bella was sixteen at the time.

The allegation was completely false, but the box was open and one of the condoms was missing--which earned Lecher a ride downtown and gave Bella a head start on sharing her version of things.

He still thanked God every night for his cameras which unequivocally proved that Bella had walked in, grabbed the condoms, then walked out without even seeing the grocer.

Lecher felt like he'd escaped a hangman's noose only to find the court of public opinion didn't care about little things like evidence. Regular customers, even friends, stopped coming by the store. He saw less business than ever. His wife left him--but that cow always had a hoof out the door, anyway.

Coming back to the present, his eyes focused on the screen as Olivia bent for a can.

"What a can... Christ almighty, this is a bad idea, this is a bad idea..." he muttered as he watched the silent screen.

***

Olivia hummed, not caring that the work was menial. She was only dimly aware of the cans as she stacked, just enough to make sure she was matching like-colored labels. Her humming became a stilted, thoughtless thing.

Why do cans have those grooves in them? Is it a structural thing, or purely aesthetic. Towels have a similar pattern on their end as well, which seemed aesthetic but were actually functionally useful. I wonder how many other things are ribbed for stability. Is that why every animal with bones has ribs, too? Wait, is there a vertebrate that doesn't have ribs?

She tried but couldn't think of any.

"Really!" came a voice from behind her.

Her train of thought wobbled on the rails as she came back to the present.

"Huh?" she said, turning to see a middle-aged woman staring at her. Olivia smiled and said, "How can I help you, ma'am?"

"You could start by covering up!" the woman sneered, walking away in a huff.

Olivia felt the waxy toad of embarrassment wiggle down her throat. She focused on her body and felt the misty grocery air clinging to her shoulders, no problem; cleavage, usually fine by people; and ass, no big--

Ass?

Shit!

Olivia looked left and right.

No one in the aisle.

She hooked her thumbs in her belt loops and hiked her pants into place with the grace of a drunken toddler. Distantly, she heard the chime of the door as the woman left. She also thought she heard a groan, but a quick look around proved she was alone.

With a shrug, she returned to her work and her idling train of thought.

Despite her distractions, Olivia worked quickly. Soon she was leaning deep into her boxes to reach the ever-lower cans. Each stretch pulled her ass a little freer of her departing denims.

This time, Olivia made sure to check herself every time she added a complete row of cans. By mid-morning all the donuts and pension-check old timers were gone, leaving the store practically empty.

She stacked the final can and looked around the empty aisle.

No more leering veterans or hostile grannies.

A hand to her ear, she couldn't hear anything besides the music from the all-treble, no-bass store speakers.

She thumbed a belt loop and felt how much looser it had become.

If no one's around...

Humming, she stacked the next row of cans and replaced thoughts of her leaving Levi's with thoughts like whether corn was a grain or not.

She was thinking about how peanuts are actually legumes and not nuts at all when she heard a gasp behind her.

Olivia turned and smiled at the man in a hat and brown sports coat.

He looked down the aisle, then smiled at Olivia.

"How can I help you, sir?" she said, shimmering with cheer.

"I was looking for, what do you call them, juice boxes I guess? For kids?" the man said, his eyes darting to her waist as he spoke.

Olivia raised a finger to her chin. "Oh, I'm not sure where those are! Today is my first day," she said with an apologetic laugh.

He chuckled with her.

"I think I saw something like that over here, though. Care to follow me?"

"Please!"

He coughed.

"Thank you," he said.

Their shoes slapped the linoleum in tandem as he stayed tight on her rear, surely eager to get that juice.

When they arrived, Olivia bent at the waist to inspect the shelf where she thought the juice would be, but alas, it was only tomato juice.

"I don't see it," she said, sliding things around for a better look.

"Take your time," came his tremulous voice.

After a minute of fruitless searching, she stood up and faced him.

"Sorry, it must be somewhere else."

"Are you absolutely sure?" the man asked.

Eager to not disappoint, Olivia spent another minute thoroughly checking the shelf. When it became clear there was no juice box to be found, the man suggested she try another aisle.

"Hmmm... maybe over here?" she said, leading him again.

He cleared his throat.

"Aren't you, uh, cold like that?"

"Oh, I never get cold," she said cheerily.

"Really? I-I'm kind of c-cold myself. This store is k-kind of ch-chilly."

"I'm sorry sir! I can ask my boss to ease up on the AC."

"It's fine, I'll only be here as long as it takes to get that juice box."

Olivia looked at the poor shivering man. His sports coat seemed well-worn, but not threadbare.

Everyone runs at different temperatures, Olivia thought with a shrug.

"Feel free to stand close to me if you want. I'm always warm," she said, bending to search a new shelf.

Suddenly, she lurched into the shelf with a yelp. She leaned back and heard the man let out a sigh of relief.

"Sir, oh--" Olivia said as she was pushed into the shelf again, "I understand you're cold, but please don't--ack!--I can't look for the juice if you keep pushing me over!"

The man just groaned in reply and she bobbed forward again.

He must have been really cold! Olivia thought, doing her best to search the shelf without hitting her face on it.

"John, what's taking so long--John!" came a shrill voice down the way.

Olivia looked to see a woman close in age to her customer--John apparently.

"Hi, ma'am, can I help you?" Olivia asked.

"You can fuck off!" the woman said.

Olivia heard jangling behind her and turned to see John adjusting his pants.

"I was just getting warm," John said with a sheepish grin.

The woman grabbed John's ear and yanked it to her mouth.

"When I'm done with you, you'll beg for cold."

She turned to Olivia.

"Pull up your pants, whore."

Then she dragged John out by the ear.

Olivia moved her apron and saw the waist of her pants biting into the flesh of her thighs. It was too bad John was gone--Olivia's cheeks were so hot now she could have warmed him in seconds. She pulled up her pants and tried to forget her embarrassment by diving into her next task.

***

Mr. Lecher saw everything, of course.

If that man's wife hadn't come in, he was sure Olivia could have sold him a personal set of bra and panties if she'd wanted. Now there would be no sale at all!

He shifted in his seat and felt pressure as his erection pressed the bottom of his desk.

I should stop this. Send her home and damn whatever discrimination lawsuit she comes back with.

But on the monitor Lecher recognized some hulking men in tank tops walking in. There was a gym a few buildings down and these meatheads often stopped by on their way home from a workout session.

On the screen, Olivia greeted them with a smile. They loomed over her like Greek gods about to make her famous for all the wrong reasons.

Maybe... one more chance, he thought, settling back into his chair and wiping his sweaty scalp with Olivia's one-paragraph resume.

***

"You want to feel 'em?" said the friendly guy with a buzz cut, lifting his swollen arm. "My gym pump is mad, right now is peak grabbing time, babe."

Olivia's eyes glimmered like a pinball machine as she stared at his bulging arm. "It looks like you're smuggling a softball and a football in your skin at the same time!"

"A softball?" the guy said. "But it's super hard."

"Softballs are hard. They're just... bigger than baseballs," Olivia said as she tried and failed to wrap her arms around his bicep.

"Oh, far out," the guy said, jutting his chin and nodding to his friends.

"Wow, you guys look like superheroes!" she giggled.

"Captain America is my inspiration!" said the smaller-but-still-huge friend.

"Shut up, Tiny," buzz cut laughed.

"I love Captain America!" Olivia said, turning to "Tiny."

Buzz glared like a bull as Tiny went full comic-con mode about why "Cap" was the coolest. Tiny soon lost interest when it became apparent that Olivia had meant she loved Chris Evans--she'd only seen the movies.

She kept chatting as she rang up their protein bars and myriad energy drinks. The guys smiled and waved as they walked out the door that Tiny held open for them.

"Yo, you coming?" Tiny said when everyone but Buzz had gone through.

Buzz squinted at Tiny, then looked at Olivia--who was grinning so hard her dimples could have held water.

"Nah, I might want to pick something else up."

"Later," Tiny said. The door chimed behind him.

"Let me know if I can help you find anything!" Olivia offered.

"Just thought I might hang out."

"Oh, no work or anything?"

"I always take a late lunch after my workout," he said, checking his watch. "Maybe you can help me find a quick bite around here."

"I'm sure I can!" Olivia said, holding both of her fists in front of her like the world's worst boxer. "Let's try over here!"

"So, you got a name?" Buzz asked as they walked.

"Everyone has a name, silly. Frozen dinner? How about beef and mashed potatoes?"

"Ehhh, no thanks."

"We'll find something!" she promised, leading him to a new aisle.

"Right. So what is your name?"

"Deli meat?" she said, holding a packaged tray of assorted red meat.

"Delly Meet? I know I've heard that name."

"Well, yeah, it's the best smelling part of every store! Except maybe the coffee bean aisle... wait, I haven't seen one of those in forever! Did they stop doing that?"

"Babe, what's your name?"

"Huh? Oh! I'm Olivia!" she said, puffing her chest proudly to show off her nametag.

Buzz must have needed glasses--he took a very long time to read it.

"Olivia, nice to officially meet you. I'm--"

"Oh, how about a sandwich?" she said, handing him an Italian sub.

"No..." he inspected it, then moved his eyes to her. "Actually, yeah, this is perfect. Now we can--"

"Just let me know when you want me to ring you up!" she said with a bounce.

He followed her name tag with his eyes.

"Well, I might... look around," he said, raising his enormous arms in one slow flap.

"Okay! Let me know if you need anything," she said.

Inwardly she sighed. Her cheeks and calves were getting tired from all the smiling and bouncing. Then again, a customer as friendly as... this guy deserved friendly service in return.

She went to the back and returned with a dolly loaded with fresh produce. Buzz lumbered behind her as she inched toward the produce section--left wheel, right wheel.

"Need help? It's kind of my thing," he said from behind her.

"I have to... get used to it. It's my job... not yours. Thanks."

She let the dolly slap flat on the floor two yards shy of the banana pyramid. She gauged the distance left to cover.

"Close enough, right?"

Buzz shrugged.

Olivia turned to the top box, wedged her fingers under it, wiggled her butt, and heaved.

"So... heavy!"

"What are these?" Buzz asked, taking a red ball from the box. "Shaped like a butt pl..." he eyed her, then smiled lopsidedly.

"Beets!" she grunted, taking a step toward the roots and tubers.

"Yeah, beats me, too," he said, tossing it back on the left side of the box.

Olivia veered left in huge, clomping steps, overcorrected, then crab walked to the right until she started tilting backwards.

She was just about to fall when... she didn't. She looked up to see Buzz's square head haloed by the fluorescent light above them.

"Sure you don't want a hand?" he asked.

The weight in her arms disappeared.

She bit her lip, still looking at him.

"I guess it makes sense to have a little help, it being my first day and all."

"Yeah! Any good trainer will tell you to ease into a new routine--you don't want to risk injury or burnout."

"Do you want to get in front of me?"

Buzz screwed his face as he considered her question. "Well, you still need to get into this new routine. I'm not really helping you, more like spotting you."

"Oh, okay! That way it's more like I'm still doing my own work, anyway."

Buzz beamed. "Exactly!"

With Olivia holding the box and Buzz holding her, they waddled through the rows of fruits and vegetables until they got to the barren beet shelf.

The entrance chimed when they were only a few steps away. A group of girls in workout clothes walked in. One of them, a short Latina with the biggest butt Olivia had ever seen, looked straight at the duck-footed duo.

"Ugh," she said, rolling her eyes and walking out of the store. The other girls followed, until only one thin girl with dyed green hair was left staring.

She made duck lips and nodded before she dipped out the door, too.

Afraid that her ass was out again, Olivia focused on her body. No, all her clothes were in place. Why did those girls act like that?

Feeling still intact, she and Buzz took another step. As things wobbled from the impact, she realized what the girls must have seen.

"Buzz, you're holding my boobs, not the box."

"Well, the box is on top of your boobs, so I've got both."

A quick sensory-check on her chest proved he was right. Her boobs were being pancaked between the beets and his broad mitts.

"Sorry," Buzz said, "It just kind of happened when I caught you. Besides, you felt me up, it's just fair."

That was true. And his muscles were way hotter than a pair of dumb old boobs.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel bad! It's just... I think it made those girls uncomfortable."

"Ignore them. Those bi... ee-yoo-tee-ful ladies are always at the gym looking down on everyone. Especially that fat ass chick."

"Oh, good. For a second I thought they left because of us."

"Nah, we're good."

They moved the last few boxes like this--Buzz spotting her from behind as they walked from the dolly to the shelves like a couple of sore cowboys.

Even though Buzz had said those girls were just snooty, she couldn't get over the idea that maybe they had left because of her. What was wrong with her? Or maybe they didn't like Buzz? But Buzz was nice. Maybe the store just wasn't their style? Style... was she sure she wasn't making people uncomfortable with her body again?

Her thoughts continued to loop like that, each new thought leading back to her insecurities. The anxiety kept her checking her senses more often than usual--which is why she felt it the moment Buzz became more "hands-on" with his training. As they walked, his hands squashed and kneaded her breasts from under her apron.

By the last box Olivia's constant train of thought was dead in its tracks--all she could do was focus on moving forward and the sensation on her tits. She staggered as she walked, until a full stumble made her let go of the box completely.

It didn't fall.

The cardboard box only held five packs of raspberries in it--raspberries that bounced all over as the box danced on top of Olivia's groped boobies.

Arms at her sides, Olivia took a step forward. She was determined to fight through the overwhelming sensation, the sort of thing she normally didn't notice even if she tried! Her trainer was doing all the heavy lifting at this point--she couldn't let him down.

The next step made the box tilt, so Buzz did the logical thing--he grabbed Olivia's nipples through her shirt and pulled up on them like they were bridles. This turned Olivia's tatas into a true rack for the red fruits.

The sudden sensation made Olivia's knees buckle, and she almost dropped the box. She tried to keep her quick breathing silent, but couldn't suppress the occasional whimper. With a drawn out moan, she finally put the raspberries in place and turned to her trainer.

Buzz smiled, revealing a row of undersized teeth. "How was that?"

"It was... a workout. I think I need a break."

"Yeah, you must be tired from hauling those melons everywhere."

Olivia looked at one of the boxes they'd just moved. "Those're squash."

He stared at her.

"Look," he said, "you've been giving really mixed signals, so I'm just gonna cut the dancing. Can we do more of this sometime?"

"Thanks, but I can't afford a trainer right now."

"No! I mean... ah, fuck it."

He walked to the door.

"Wait, you forgot your--"

Jing!

"... sandwich."

***

Lecher squirmed in his seat as he watched the meathead leave the store without having bought anything--not even the protein bars he'd grabbed in the beginning.

"Not a total loss, she handled the other guys just fine..." he mumbled. And that guy had obviously been a creep, groping her like that.

Why hadn't Olivia stopped him?

He rationalized back and forth, trying to figure out why she'd let the lunk go as far as he had without either trying to stop him or encourage him to do more. She just let it happen indifferently.

What if... she's simply disconnected?

It would make sense. If she wasn't always tuned into her body, she might not be as protective of it. Maybe it was a defense mechanism--after all, she could get groped any time and not realize it, so it would be easier mentally to just let it go. Or maybe the fact that she couldn't tell the difference made it truly not matter to her?

Either way, this girl was no Bella Zuleika. Bella would report an incident that didn't happen, whereas Olivia was apparently indifferent to anything that actually happened.

Lecher grabbed a bulging folder from his desk.

Taxes, 2014.

Too recent.

He reached for another.

Taxes, 1997.

Yeah, he could spare that one.

He gutted the folder, stuffing papers in his armpits and slapping others flat against his head.

The sweat continued to pour, even though he was so cold his nipples had shriveled to Milk Duds under the frigid AC. With a grunt of frustration, he stood, peeled his slacks off, then let his swarthy thighs stick to the pleather of his swivel chair.

His eyes drifted back to the screen. Moving his arm like a tower crane, he jabbed the keyboard until Olivia reappeared. She was staring hard through the large front window onto the street. The late afternoon light made her look oddly majestic.

She was a good worker, he had to give her that. But even if she wasn't going to raise a fuss about unruly customers, that didn't mean customers might not report her--and by extension, him.

That wife from earlier, or the gym girls--anyone could put him through a second reputation shredder if they didn't like Olivia.

But an honest, earnest worker was hard to find. Plus, the protrusion in his tighty-whities didn't lie--he enjoyed watching her work.

But it wasn't worth the risk.

With a sigh he stood to replace his pants. As he bent, he caught something on the screen that made his eyes bug.

He dropped into the swivel chair, leaving his pants around his ankles.

"Three strikes is fair, not two..." he muttered, eyes glued to the screen.

***

Olivia trailed a finger along the store window, marking how much dust and grime came off with it. She wiped the dirty finger on her apron.

This was obviously why no one came in!

The window was so filthy, no one could see any of the pretty displays or richly colored produce. People didn't come in because there was no draw, no appeal.

Well, that was going to change right away! Once people saw what this store had to offer, Mr. Lecher would have to turn the business into a chain.

"Although, Lecher's Local doesn't really work for a chain... he'll need a new name."

She brainstormed new brand names as she gathered a bucket of water, dish soap, glass cleaner, a mop, a step stool, and as many rags as she could find. This window would be absolutely invisible before her trial shift was over.

She squirted some soap into the bucket, swished the mop in the solution, then stood on the stool and smeared the mop across the top of the window. It came clean in murky streaks, but she had expected that. Big cleaning jobs always seemed to get dirtier until the very end.

The grime was proving tenacious, so Olivia stopped wringing her mop before lifting it over her head. The excess soap and water carried the loose muck with it, letting in more and more of the citrus sunlight. Water splashed and dropped onto her torso and legs with every lift, but Olivia didn't care. Her shift would end before she began to chafe, and she couldn't feel it anyway.

With no reason to hold back, Olivia really put elbow grease into it, leaning against the window, smearing, rubbing, and wiping with her entire upper body. Her dark apron handled the labor well, but her flimsy top beneath it was made for daintier activities. The white material was ringed with dirt and soap, the right shoulder strap snapped, and the pale moon of her cleavage slowly emerged as the sunlight dimmed.

"Great Grocery! Mm, bland. Something harkening to better times? Nostalgia is all the rage. Maybe Local Roots? No, that sounds like we only provide vegetables...."

She progressed from the top of the window slowly down. The store was quiet and empty, so she didn't bother checking her body anymore.

Olivia finished wiping away a particularly stubborn streak to find a grinning face behind it.

She screamed and had to thrust her pelvis back and forth wildly to stay on the stool.

Balance corrected, she took in the face.

No, faces.

A small crowd had gathered outside the window and they were staring in like they'd never seen the store before.

And there's a good chance they haven't, with how dirty this window was! Olivia thought proudly.

It didn't occur to her that the outsiders still couldn't see the store: only the top half of the window was clean so far.

As more people gathered and stared, Olivia felt a tingle of excitement run from her ass to her skull.

It's working!

People smiled at her, waved, winked, did anything they could to catch her attention. Was this how rock stars felt on stage? She could almost believe she was a celebrity as the crowd grew.

She saw some of the old men from earlier. Oh, and there was Tiny! And the thin gym girl was there in a cute tube top, open mouthed and clapping. And there were a dozen new faces for every face she recognized.

From grocery store to grocery star!

She scrubbed harder than before, throwing herself into each thrust of the mop, each swipe of a rag, using her natural pair of pendulums to add to the force. Encouraged by the onlookers' presence, she did the bottom half of the window twice as quickly as the top half.

"Whew!" she breathed, turning her back to the crowd and leaning against the frame.

"Ow!" she said, jiggling to attention when a sharp zap of static electricity shot from the metal window frame and bit into her butt.

My butt?

Body check.

Oh no...

Her apron had stayed dutifully in place, but everything else had failed miserably. Her pants were more off the cheek than on, and her top was doing its best impression of a thong--it had become a tiny string tucked between her huge hangers.

She whirled around to see the people outside. None of them looked uncomfortable.

No, they were jazzed!

They probably think it's a new store. It sure looks like one.

But no one came in.

Maybe they think we're still setting up?

Forgetting her undress, she strode to the front door and called, "We're open everyone, come on in!"

She rushed behind the counter as the wave of people pushed in. These people wanted groceries now, and she would be ready to help them, by golly.

***

If Lecher had any hair to spare, he'd have been ripping it out.

The store was so completely full that he couldn't get a clear visual on anyone! This was a safety risk! A fire hazard! And worse--

A profit risk!

If people wanted to pocket things and leave, he wasn't even sure his precious cameras would be able to catch who did it because the crowd was packed so tightly.

"She's gone. She's out. Finished, bye bye!" he muttered, eye twitching.

He wanted to go out there right now and tell them all, including her--especially her--to get the fuck out of his store.

The material of his chair ripped at his back and legs as he tried to stand.

Right, in my underwear in my office like some kind of pervert!

It would take too long to get dressed--the pants and shirt would fight all the way over his damp skin.

"Just... watch. Catch as many on the camera as you can. Can't undo the damage, just gotta do damage control."

He put his palms to his eyes.

"Oh my god, why didn't I kick her out already?"

***

The crowd just stood there, staring at Olivia.

"Right, um..."

She rocked on her heels and looked around at all her new patrons.

"Produce is over there, and... oh, chips and snacks are over there!" she said, pointing to the respective aisles. "Just grab what you need and I'll help you right here," she said, leaning to pat the counter before her.

One guy pushed to the front. "I'd like this," he said, confidently slapping a five-stick pack of gum on the counter.

"Oh, that will be... 35 cents."

The man never took his eyes off her as he fished two quarters from his pocket.

"Olivia," he read, staring at her tag. "Lovely."

Olivia giggled. "Thanks! I'm kind of attached to it."

"To both of them... I mean, yeah, haha." He put the quarters down, read her name one more time, then walked away saying, "Keep the change as a tit!"

He obviously meant to say "tip," but she didn't want to be rude by correcting him. Anyway, he was out the door before it mattered.

"My first tip!" she said, eyes shining as she held up the quarter. She tucked the quarter in her pocket, then put her own dime in the register with the other quarter.

The next guy wanted gum, too.

And the woman after him.

Over and over again, strangers--people she might never see again--whispered her name like she was a holy saint as they checked out. The rush of it made Olivia need to lean on the counter for support--which only seemed to encourage the reverent chanting.

This is definitely how celebrities feel.

Soon all the small gum packs had been purchased, so people moved on to bigger packs, candy bars, chips, then even bigger items.

Olivia was a demon at the register, swiping people through in a rush while maintaining eye contact and friendly chatter. People nodded appreciatively at her work ethic.

***

Lecher's bloodshot eyes nearly touched the screen as he bobbed his head around, searching for potential thieves.

That guy's hand is in his pocket! He's stealing chapstick!

But no, it was soon clear that it wasn't chapstick--the guy was just happy to see Olivia.

There were a dozen false alarms like this as men played pocket pool and women performed palm-in-pants percolation.

Was nobody stealing at all?

No! They all needed to buy something to get a better view of Olivia--stealing would be counterproductive.

"Dear god," he breathed.

He turned to the hub of his beloved camera system.

"You've been replaced, my dear," he whispered, unplugging the machine.

He tried to dry his legs with a health code violation.

Then he plugged his camera system back in because unplugging it was stupid as fuck.

***

The door jing ushered in cool evening air as the last customer waved goodbye and stepped through.

"Whoo, that was intense!"

Olivia collapsed onto the stool behind the counter.

"You're a fucking legend, girl."

Olivia hopped back to attention.

"Sorry, I thought I was alone!"

"We are," said the green-haired girl.

"Hey, you were in earlier!" Olivia said.

"Not long enough," the other girl said with a smile. "I'd ask your name, but I think the whole block knows by now."

Olivia puffed her chest. "They really liked the display, huh?"

"Yeah, it's one hell of a business strategy," the girl said.

"What's your name?" Olivia asked.

"Katherine Doffer, but everyone calls me Kit."

Kit looked Olivia up and down.

"So, you aren't embarrassed at all?"

Olivia looked down. She had completely forgotten to straighten up after cleaning!

Or had she? Maybe it just fell out again?

She put everything away, then looked at Kit nervously.

"Sorry if it bothers you," Olivia said quietly.

Kit laughed. "Hell no, I wish I had your guts. In fact..."

She looked around, then lifted her tube top to reveal her own modest breasts.

"Woo!" she said, shimmying her tits.

Olivia's eyebrows shot up and her jaw dropped. Then she started laughing, blown away that this girl was showing off on purpose!

"Kit, you're crazy!" Olivia laughed, even as her eyes trembled in sync with Kit's plush nipples.

Smiling, Kit put her top back in place.

"Did you hear, like, a groan or something?" Kit asked.

"Mmmm, nope!" Olivia said.

Kit went behind the counter and the girls talked. Now and then, Kit would get a sneaky look on her face and liberate either her own tit or Olivia's with a feline swipe of her hand. Kit obviously found it amusing, or even fun, so Olivia played along.

They didn't talk long, but by the time the first star was out Olivia felt like she had known Kit for forever.

"Welp, I best get goin'" Kit said, arching her back as she stood.

"Wait!" Olivia said, grabbing Kit's wrist.

Olivia pulled her hand back.

"Sorry, I know people are weird about being touched."

Kit just smiled and grabbed Olivia's hand. "It's cool. What's up?"

"Do you... want to hang out sometime?"

Kit smiled, showing a row of perfect teeth. "Hell yeah. Give me your number."

Olivia recited it, then felt a buzz in her pocket.

"Texted you!" Kit said, pocketing her phone. "I really gotta get going, I've got a thing. But hey..." she leaned in, "dare me to leave topless?"

Olivia felt something between her legs that had nothing to do with touch.

"Do it!" Olivia grinned.

Mouth open like a goofy wolf, Kit ripped her top off and ran into the night.

***

He should have been mad about the other girl getting behind the counter, but it was hard to stay mad when the girl kept playing peek-a-boob with both girls' honkers.

Lecher felt like he was in a trance. Was he dehydrated? Probably--he'd perspired through about a decade of tax files throughout the day.

The fog lifted when the other girl ran off and Olivia started wandering around the store.

Shit shit shit! She's looking for me!

His shirt was on but his pants were only halfway up one leg when Olivia entered the office.

She looked him up and down, then cocked her head sympathetically. "Oh, sir, you too?"

He sucked at the air a moment before he found his words.

"Give me a minute."

"Of course! Not everyone's as comfortable as me and Kit."

Finally dressed and back in command, Lecher marched through the store with Olivia in tow.

So many shelves were empty.

He showed Olivia the way to check inventory, and the way he calculated how many items he would need to keep stocked.

"But if we have more days like this, I might have to adjust my formula."

Olivia giggled beside him.

"What?" he asked.

"You said 'we'!"

He snorted. "Let's finish counting these beans before we make any decisions."

"Oh, I definitely sold all the pinto."

***

"Okay, all the items missing should come up to--"

"Four thousand three hundred and eighty-seven dollars," Olivia interrupted.

He gaped at her. "That's right! You going into mathematics?"

She smiled and shook her head. "No, sir, Creative Writing! I didn't add the numbers, that's how much I know we earned today."

He rushed to the register and looked over the hundreds of tiny purchases.

"Holy Toledo, you're right! That's almost triple the usual."

"So...?" Olivia said, wiggling her hips and her eyebrows.

"Ahhh... promise to wear underwear, and you can start tomorrow!"

"Yes!" she pumped a fist.

Then she gave him a serious look.

"But no underwear. Here's a doctor's note."