Message-ID: <17247eli$9811170432@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: midas@aloha.net (Midas) Subject: The Girl In the Store (M/F, rom) -- repost/reformat Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: midas@aloha.net Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: (reposted with proper formatting) The Girl In the Store (M/F, rom, long) by Midas Don't read this if you shouldn't. You know who you are, so don't look at me like that. And even though I don't need to tell you, I reserve the copyright. No commercial use or reproduction without express permission, ever. This is a first post, so feedback is especially welcomed I still don't know why I decided to go with my folks to Turkey. Sure, I needed a vacation, and sure, I'd not seen them for a while, and sure I'd urged them often to go to that place I remembered as magical -- but still. However, I'd been licking my wounds in West London since the divorce, dating a few times without much success, and I thought, What the heck, even while I thought, But grown men don't vacation with their parents -- do they? The question was still occupying me right through the vacation, even puzzling me thirty feet below the Adriatic, in scuba gear above an eel field. Even late at night two days before we left, sitting working on my laptop -- yes, if you run your own small business, you take the laptop on vacation, and work on it. And maybe that question was what took my mind off what I was doing for long enough to do -- something, I never knew what, to the trackball. Whatever it was, the damn thing fell to bits right there and then. I've never got on well with trackpads, or any of that other gimmicky stuff they put on laptops instead of a real mouse, or even a trackball. So when that damn thing came apart in my hands, I cursed loudly. I knew it meant I'd have to replace it, the very next day -- the last full day of the vacation. So much for a final scuba dive. And if you've ever been to southwest Turkey, you'll understand that I knew I was in for a frustrating day. I didn't know just how right I was. So, the next day found me up early, leaving my folks to their own devices, but saying I'd probably be back for lunch. (I was always an optimist). This was not just a walk to the store. It was a short walk along the beach to the nearby fishing village; waiting around until the local bus/taxi felt like heading off; then a drive across the peninsula to Bodrum, the nearest place of any size, and incidentally full of tourists. And that was just the beginning. Ever tried to find, in a tourist town, a place that sold something non-touristy, when you don't speak the local language and they don't speak much of yours? Half the time you end up walking around just looking, hoping you'll stumble across something or someone helpful. This time I didn't -- not for a long time. Several fruitless tries at different stores left me hot and frustrated, and a couple of beers and a snack in a taverna did not help much. So it was only when I was leaving the taverna that my luck got better. Strangely for that neck of the woods, the joint had an electronic till. And taped to the wall next to it was a business card. Not that I could read a word of it, but -- oh bliss! -- it bore a picture of a computer. Well, I thought, it's somewhere to start. So in front of the puzzled girl taking the cash, I pulled from my shoulder-bag the remains of the trackball, put on my best quizzical/inquiring expression, and pointed to the trackball, then the business card, back and forth a couple of times. The till girl picked up fast. The light went on in her face, she smiled, said something in Turkish and pointed out of the door. No use relying on that, I thought, so out came my trusty notebook and a pencil, and I started to draw a map, starting with the door. Then I handed the pencil to her. Like I said, she picked up fast, and whipped off a street plan that showed me only a few blocks away from what I still only hoped was a computer store of some sort. I thanked her, tipped her too much (why do I do that?) and headed out the door. I swear I'd walked past the place already, and not spotted it for what it was. It was a storefront, yes, but with no displays. Maybe the Turkish lettering on the window said "COMPUTER TRACKBALLS SOLD HERE", but for all I knew it could have been anything from a stationers to a dirty book store. Apart from the lettering there was nothing else to see except the back of a bookcase. But inside it was familiar enough, in a third-world kind of way. At least it was, when I got round to seeing anything but the woman behind the desk, who looked up at me with those gorgeous brown eyes, and I fell right into them... OK, I admit it, I was hooked right away, and not for the first time. Turkey has some gorgeous women, in that particular Arabic style. They also have some patriarchal men, in _that_ particular Arabic style, who tend to disapprove strongly of your interest in their daughter or sister. So I'd been careful to keep my distance from the locals during the trip: which was a shame, because few of the tourists really appealed. This woman was especially lovely: apart from the eyes, the face was oval, she had creamy skin -- a little lighter than most of the locals -- and from what I could see above the desk, a great body: really A-class. 34DD was my guess, from past experience. But like I said, not a good idea taking too much interest. So I was busy keeping my mind off her, as far as I could, as I pulled the ruined trackball from the bag and before she could say a word I blurted out some neo-pidgin on the lines of, "Hello? I need. You have?" or something equally idiotic, pantomiming at the same time. To this day I wonder why I didn't let her speak first, even to greet me. But maybe if I hadn't been so damn rude, she might not have burst out laughing in answer to my deaf-and-dumb-show. Her smile and laughter were as broad and promising as her -- other assets. And when she did stop laughing long enough to speak, she shocked me rigid -- yes, that way too. In tones of pure North London, put to cello music, she said, "Can you do that again? I haven't laughed so much since I've been here!" And that was how it began... Natalia and I talked throughout the rest of that long afternoon. She was on her own, business was non-existent, and we were strangers in a strange land, and we told each other our stories and shared our dreams and fears. I told her about the vacation, and the parents, and the divorce, and how we'd wanted kids but she could not have them and how it broke us up and how it hurt and how I thought I'd never marry again. She told me she was just turned 20 and never knew her English father and her Turkish mother who brought her up on her own and fairly strictly had just died and having nothing else in London and nowhere to go she'd come back here to her uncle who owned this store and was helping him while she worked out what to do with her life and let the grief of her bereavement settle. It was heavy, intimate stuff, but we struck it off so fast that we were laughing and, I can see now, flirting outrageously throughout those hours. And if I'd been less self-absorbed and wary about local women and -- something, I don't know what, maybe aware of leaving the following day -- then maybe I'd have noticed her leaning a little closer, smiling just a little more, the pupils a little dilated. I was excited myself, god knows: I had to keep sitting down with the bag on my lap, somehow deluding myself that at least like that I wouldn't give my interest away. Fool. The day came to a sudden end when the door opened and in walked a older local guy like he owned the place. He looked at me in a way I didn't like, spoke briefly with Natalia in Turkish, then slipped the latch on the door and turned the hanging sign in the window so it showed a different set of Turkish letters. I guessed that this meant "Closed", and I didn't even have my trackball. Suddenly we were all business -- which was just as well because I saw her uncle (I worked out that's who he was) glancing back at us as he headed for a room in the back. Natalia stood up for the first time from behind the desk -- she was tall, about 5'9", wearing black trousers, and with an ass and legs as great as the rest of her -- looked around the shelves briefly then called something out to her uncle. In a few minutes he came out with a box, gave it to Natalia, looked suspiciously at me again and headed back. We completed our business at a safe distance, as I gave Natalia my business card and carefully typed up a receipt for me. Then Natalia came out from the counter to let me out of the store. And as she reached for the door, just out of sight of the door to the back, she shocked me. She grabbed me, hugged me close and whispered in my ear, "John Michael, look after yourself. You're a lovely man, and in other circumstances... I need to see some more of the world and of what men are about. But if that weren't so, and you asked me to marry you right now, I'd say yes without a second thought." The she tongued my ear and followed that up with a brief hug and a delicious, full kiss on the lips. As I stumbled in a daze out of that door and she closed it behind me, politely but firmly, I could still feel the warmth on my lips and the imprint of those breasts on me. I barely noticed that walk back across town to the taxi stands, and it's just as well it was a walk because it gave me chance to cool down and relax a little, as far as a man can who's walking with a shoulder-bag in front of his crotch. By the time I found a taxi it was dark and I could just about sit comfortably again. All the way back across the peninsula I thought of her... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------- Thanks Bronwen for this trick. Just to remind you, I reserve the copyright to this piece. No commercial use or reproduction without express permission, ever. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------- One of the problems with parents is that for however long you've lived apart, they still like to know what you've been doing -- especially if you have, in their eyes, "disappeared all day" as they put it. And how could I tell them about the 34DDs and the talking and that remarkable parting statement and the tongue in the ear and that blissfully uncomfortable walk back across town? I remember I gave them some anodyne story about looking around for a store, and then just looking around. And then we went to dinner. Yes, I thought about Natalia right through dinner, and very warmly. Twice the folks asked why I was so distracted. And I thought about Natalia even more after dinner, though not as kindly, when I opened up the new trackball and as I was fitting it onto the laptop, this one too fell to bits. My cursing even brought my folks in, concerned, to find me chasing a plastic ball and other bits of components across the tiled floor. And that could have been that: another useless purchase down to experience and maybe an insurance claim, if I was lucky. It was the folks, the ever-frugal and distrustful-of-foreign-shopkeepers folks, who persuaded me that I should not take this lying down: that if I got up early enough on the morrow, I could get into town, get my money back for the trackball, and be back in time for the coach to leave for the airport in the afternoon. Why did I not jump at the idea unprompted? you may ask. I have no idea. But I slept only fitfully that night, through dreams of being a crusading knight, duly armored and storming the Turkish bastions... Our travel rep went nuts as she caught me leaving the next morning. But I assured her, with the blind confidence of an Englishman dealing with a foreigner, that of course I'd be back in time, no problem. I just had a five-minute transaction to complete in town. And off I went. The store was easier to find this time, but I stood outside briefly before going in. Maybe seeing that lovely woman again was not a good idea, and would only spoil a great fantasy. Still, there was the broken trackball, so I took a breath and walked in, to be greeted by -- someone else entirely. A local girl with a vague resemblance to Natalia but who spoke to me in Turkish. I guess I was slightly relieved at not having to deal with my feelings for Natalia, but began to view my chances of getting my money back as pretty slim, given my inability to explain the situation. Anyway, taking a mental deep breath I embarked once again on my deaf-and-dumb-show, this time with the added prop of an incomprehensible receipt. To my great surprise this girl too dissolved in giggles. Maybe I should have learnt some of the words while I had the chance, I thought, just to be polite. Maybe I should have invited Natalia to dinner to teach me... Then the new girl stood up and called out in Turkish to the back room. Oh great, I thought, the avuncular uncle. Then the door opened and out she stepped -- 34DDs, huge smile, gorgeous brown eyes and all. "Oh, you're back!" she said warmly, with that North London cello. The other girl spoke a little to her in Turkish as Natalia walked to the front of the shop. Natalia responded and laughed lightly. "This is my cousin. I told her about you, and yesterday -- some of it. She says she recognized your pantomime. So what's the problem?" Briefly I explained, and said I just wanted a refund. "Oh." said Natalia. "Sorry, I can't do that. Only Uncle can, and he's out for the day. But I can give you another. And this time we can make sure everything works before you leave, OK?" If there was a double-entendre there, I missed it at the time. But when Natalia said, "We'll have to go in the back and find you one. Come on!", I did think that the glance and the little smile that passed between the two girls was odd. And I noticed that Natalia's explanation to the other girl, though I could not understand it, seemed to have a playful tone, and the other girl's response had a teasing edge to it... but as Natalia led the way to the back room, my attention was drawn instead to her lovely rear view, and I stopped puzzling for a while. Natalia opened the door and ushered me in to a stockroom/workroom that was larger than I expected. She pointed me towards the back of the room, behind high racks, but as I got there all I could see was a table spread with paperwork and advertising posters. Did I hear the latch click? Or was it something else that turned me round to start to say, "I don't see..." -- only to stop dead as I got an eyeful. Natalia fully-clothed was lovely enough. Now, holding her blouse and bra in the one hand, wearing just a long skirt, with those luscious breasts leading the way as she advanced amorously towards me, she was a vision that sent my cock to twitching. She dropped the clothes on the way and as I stood there like an idiot, she reached me, draped her arms around me and with her by-now-hard nipples digging into me, gave me a extended reprise of the previous day's parting kiss. To give myself credit, I made a good recovery, snaking one arm around to grab her beautiful ass and pull it against my crotch while the other went up to tweak a nipple. She moaned into my mouth. As she pulled away for a little breath and looked deep into my eyes, I started to say something about the girl outside, Uncle, coaches to airports, but my words stumbled and fell apart as she pressed me back against the table and we sprawled across it, sending papers flying. I was still having some difficulty taking this in, but was picking up fast. The skin on her back was satin under my fingers, and as we next broke our kiss, one or the other of us encouraged my lips down to those breasts, full and firm, heavy in my hands as I lifted them, filling my mouth as I sucked one of them in. I tried various things there, from licking to running my tongue around the nipple, scraping with my teeth, finally biting soft, then harder. It seemed she liked everything, to judge from the little gasps and purrs that came from those wet lips in that thrown-back head. At the same time she was riding my leg, already pleasuring herself while one of her hands crept up my thigh. stroking my still-soft cock through my shorts before lifting the leg for better access. I could feel through the skirt that she was not wearing panties, and I began with one free hand to pull the skirt up from behind. Then her head dropped forward and slightly to the side so she could see a little better where her hands were freeing me from my belt, and then my zipper. I don't know who else has this trouble, but I get very nervous with a new lover, the first time or few times. The pressure to perform is intense, and often I find myself unable to rise to the occasion, much as I want to. Which given the cause of my cramped walk through the town the previous night might seem strange, but there it was. That's ended one or two promising one-nighters right there, when the other party took it personally. Usually it's been older, more experienced women who are more understanding and know what to do. But Natalia, young Natalia, who herself had spoken of a fairly strict upbringing, responded perfectly. How ever did she know this stuff? I don't know. But first she held my cock gently in her hands, looking from it to me, stroking it gently, then looked me full in the face, smiled in a way that set me stirring, kissed me on the lips and slipped sideways on the table and down. Then taking me in her mouth she began one of the warmest, tenderest stimulations I've ever experienced. She took my cock in, she pulled it out, licked behind the heard, did everything just right, and as I relaxed into it -- and her wonderful mouth - so my cock took interest and hardened, finally bobbing proudly in her hands as she stroked it, looked me in the eyes and blew me a kiss then, still looking at me, went back down onto it. Now, I'm too much of a gentleman to let a lady remain untouched for too long. I'd retained enough presence of mind to reach out and slide my hand up her skirt and between her legs, but it was a stretch. Her sideways position put her right at the end of my reach. Still, I could feel her lovely soft curls between her legs, and although I couldn't get my fingers in far, I could reach her clit and rub it softly with my thumb. She was wet enough to lubricate that fairly well, and her hums of pleasure made what she was doing to me even more interesting. I wanted to go further, and tried to tug her towards my face, to return the favor of her own oral work on me. She looked at me, around my cock, and gently shook her head. I tried to let her know that with what she was doing, she'd be on her own soon on this particular pleasure quest. It had been a while, and the moist heat of that mouth, the breasts with those nipples rubbing on my leg, and the feel of her own pleasure button in my hands, were combining to take me to that point of big-deposit, no-return. All of a sudden her mouth was off my cock and she was astride me, her skirt spread around us. One hand supported her on my shoulder, the other slipped between her legs, positioned us both, then her weight eased down in little jumps and bounces and I was in her. Oh god, was I in her, and as I entered her I realized I must have been doing a better job with the arms-reach than I thought, because I felt those little flutterings inside there that said she was not far behind where I was. We'd said almost nothing since she'd pushed me back against that table, but we started now to say a little, though not very coherently. What might have been intended as "I'm going to come soon!" came out as, "Oh, uh, I, ga...." before it got lost in grunts and moans. She slowed only briefly before we really hit our peaks, but only to reach down and lift her skirt so she could hold it up with one hand while the other stroked her own clit as I held her hips and bucked away. As we looked down, I saw her pussy and its swollen lips for the first time, and the sight of me entering, plunging in and out, again and again, set us both going. Our rhythms changed pace, faster and faster. I'm slightly embarassed to say I came first, and the last I saw -- as my eyes closed and I almost passed out from the crotch outwards -- was her ecstatic face, the eyes rolled up, as she milked me from within. And as I came back from my own heaven, keeping going like the gentleman I am, rubbing my pubis on her clit as I pushed up into her, she speeded up herself and her breaths turned to gasps. Suddenly she stiffened and collapsed forward, moaning and shuddering, as I held her and with my hips pushed her further into her own pleasure and kept holding her until she relaxed. As we quieted down and our breathing slowed, in between little kisses and strokes, I gradually got a grip on what had happened. I'd met a woman not much more than half my age, in a country a long way from home, and knowing almost nothing of her had been seduced by her -- that was the only word -- in the back of a store while a family member kept watch and, probably, listened. We'd ignored all thoughts of safe-sex, all considerations of pregnancy or disease, and would probably never see each other again. It was a stupid, mindless thing to do at one level, and I would not have missed it. I could only hope she felt the same and would not now dive into guilt or remorse. But it was good: it was very good. All this, I thought, holding her in my arms and preparing sadly to separate from her, all this from having to buy, and then replace, a small piece of computer equipment on the last day I -- OH SHIT. As delicately as I could I lifted her away. Drowsy still from love-making she half-opened her eyes and mumbled, "Hmm? Wa? Don't..." I held down my panic as best I could. "Natalia. Darling." Yes, I called her that, quite spontaneously: it just slipped out. "I have to go. My coach -- the plane. My folks." As decorously as we could we dressed and re-arranged ourselves, trying not to rush, to cheapen this lovely moment, but knowing it was over. We barely spoke until we came out from the back room, still a little flushed. Her cousin smiled knowingly -- and, I thought and hoped, a little enviously -- as we emerged. Then, once again, it was all business -- except that Natalia blushed very prettily as she went back in to find the trackball that, supposedly, we had spent all that time hunting for. I stood in the store, avoiding the cousin's occasional amused glances, until Natalia emerged with a box for me. (Oddly enough, I never did get the chance to test or use that trackball. It was smashed coming through baggage at Heathrow. Oh well.) She took my old receipt and started to write another but I said no, no time. Then it was a brief, watched farewell at the door, and I was on the street, dazed again. I ran back to the taxi, relieved to find a phone booth by the taxi stand, from where I called my hotel, my frantic parents and an even more frantic tour rep. The coach was about to leave for the airport and my luggage was loaded. And it was my luck that it would have to pass close by, and as long as I could be there, they would pick me up. It was still a rush to get to the pick-up point. So it was only after mollifying the folks, talking them down from a peak of concern, that I was able to sit back and think about the previous couple of hours. And to remember that I had failed even to ask for, let alone to write down Natalia's phone number, address or last name. I mentally kicked myself for the entire journey back. And that was really that. I thought fondly and often about Natalia -- even masturbated to the memory on a few lonely nights. No replacement for her came along, and as autumn became winter, and lurched into a new year, I began to wonder if I could afford another Turkish vacation. Could I have tracked her down anyway? Maybe -- but this is a while ago, before the Internet really got up and running, so I let it slide. And the vacation stayed as an idea only. Then one spring day there was a knock on my office door, and it opened, and a head peeped around the door, and there she was -- as lovely as ever, perhaps a little rounder in the face. And I must have beamed at seeing her, and that must have been what she needed to see, because she stepped in and I saw that she was not just rounder in the face. I gasped to see the swollen middle she held so proudly in front of her, thinking how terrific she looked anyway, and starting to move to her, to embrace her and take up again with what we had. Then I stopped and thought for a moment, for once. And said, looking towards her middle: "Is that...?" She nodded her head, almost shyly. "I couldn't stay with Uncle any more." she explained. "But I always kept the card you gave us." And I took a deep breath, and willed away all the hurt from before, and said: "Er. Natalia. Will. I mean, will you...?" She stopped me with the most wonderful, luscious, loving kiss, and then hugged me to her, whispering softly in my ear, "I told you already I would.". Her next kiss pushed me back onto my worktable. We've been together ever since. Midas, November 1998.. -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----