A Little Something for Santa-2
754 Words
In the back storeroom there was an old, thirteen-inch TV hidden behind industrial-sized cans of green beans. I noticed it when I went back for a sack of potatoes—the blank screen caught the light from the bare overhead bulb and threw the room back at me in reflection. “Hey,” I called out, half talking to myself. Chris stood by the grill. He probably couldn’t hear me over the sizzling burgers. Forgetting about the potatoes, I moved the beans aside to get to the TV. “There’s a TV back here.”
Chris glanced up as I came back into the kitchen. “It’s Dawn’s,” he told me. Dawn was the daytime manager, a mythical being I had never met since I worked nights. Chris flipped two burgers on the grill, pressing them flat with his spatula to make the grease spit. “I think she said it doesn’t work.”
Undeterred, I unplugged the meat slicer and plugged in the TV. It was fairly new, and without cable hooked up, the screen went from black to a pretty shade of blue when I turned it on. I flipped through the channels—they were all the same. “Damn,” I muttered.
With a laugh, Chris said, “Told you.”
I turned off the TV but didn’t bother to unplug it. “Guess we’re back to entertaining ourselves.” Leaning against the counter, I raised a leg and nudged Chris’s hip with my foot. “I do a mean strip tease. Wanna see?”
Chris jumped back, terrified. “No,” he scowled, but the way his gaze darted to my crotch made me laugh. He wanted me, I could practically taste the curiosity and need wafting off of him like the stale smell of grease that clung to us both when we clocked out at the end of our shift. But I had no intention of getting with him, and my relentless teasing kept him at bay and on guard. He was the type to try and wheedle me into a handjob in the walk-in freezer, or maybe a quick d**k-licking in the back storeroom. Anything to get him off and satisfy his as-yet-unrelieved libido. But, as long as I made the moves, I could keep him off-balance and flustered. Any s****l innuendo from me was instantly shot down, thank God. It was fun to watch him get all bent out of shape when I flirted with him. And hey—it was something to do.
Turning back to the TV, I pushed the buttons along the bottom and sighed. “Too bad there’s no VCR. I have some great Bel Ami porn tapes I could bring in. Those European boys are hot.”
“I’m not—” he started.
Suddenly a thin tray slid out from underneath the TV and I cut him off. “It’s a DVD combo.” I laughed and pushed the release button again to close the tray. Over my shoulder, I winked at Chris. “What do you think of that?”
“Do you have any porn on DVD?” he asked, a little too eagerly.
“I’m sure I can come up with some,” I replied. A look of horror crossed his face at my pun, but I added anyway, “Get it? I can come—”
“I got it.” Chris turned back to the safety of the grill, where his burgers were slowly charring from inattention, but his gaze kept straying towards my butt. “I wasn’t asking,” he tried to clarify. “I mean, I don’t want you to bring them in or anything. I was just saying…”
The way he blundered on made me laugh again. “I know what you mean.” He sighed in relief and I said, “You want to take them home to watch. I understand. I’ll see what I can do.”
“No—”
“What kind of guys do you like?” I pressed on. Chris shook his head, his mouth moving without making a sound. “I’ve got mostly blondes because I like twinks myself. But seriously—what do you look for in a guy?”
Chris found his voice. “I don’t—”
I wouldn’t let him finish. “Young? Old? I have some about this guy, Lukas? You might like him. He looks a little like me. Tall, blue eyes, brown hair. My d**k’s bigger, though. You want a porn star that looks like me?”
The spatula flew out of Chris’s hands and struck between my shoulders before falling to the floor. “Shut up!” Chris hollered—his standby response whenever I pushed him too far.
Despite the greasy smear that stuck my T-shirt to my back, I laughed as I picked up the spatula. Chris’s face had turned a dangerous shade of red, his breath hard and fast as if he’d just run a marathon. I tried to wipe the smile off my face and held the spatula out like a peace offering. When he took it, I couldn’t resist a final jab. “You might want to wash that off before you use it again.”
“f**k you,” Chris replied.
I grinned. “So you admit you want to?”
I had to duck around the sandwich counter to avoid the spatula a second time.
- Writer
