Monday morning. M got up around 10 and not to the best of starts. She shuffled downstairs to discover not a single piece of clean cutlery. Added to that, she noticed that none of her fucktard housemates had had the prescience of mind to get some dishwashing liquid from the supermarket around the corner before the old one ran out. By now they had all ducked out to work and so, yet again, it was up to M to save the kitchen from degenerating into a biohazard. A quick visit to the fridge revealed that she only had half a loaf of wholemeal in the fridge, and she wasn’t going to lower herself to making sandwiches on a DVD case like that slob Brian, so with a sigh she resigned herself to an early morning outing.
She threw on a tracksuit, struggled into her plimsols and grabbed her keys; she hadn’t planned on leaving the house that day. Thankfully it was only two minutes to the local mini-branch of a well-known corporate bohemoth supermarket (and another three minutes along to the next one). She passed through the sliding automatic door and grabbed herself a basket. Dishwashing liquid, sponges, fruits, veg, milk, cereal, a megapack of Cheesy Puffs… She was making her way to the till when she was struck; blinded by beauty.
At the middle of the three cash registers, passing items through the scanner, stood the most beautiful morsel of beefcake she had borne witness to in quite some time. The mere sight of him gave her pause. Tall and toned, wonderfully structured, and his face: the most perfect, almost androgynous, combination of soft female and chiseled male features coming together in a rapturous vision that would surely give sight to the blind.
She had only taken a couple of seconds to drink this in, but had stopped in her tracks long enough to draw curious glances from the waiting attendants at the registers either side of him. He glanced up at her and graced her with the shadow of a smile: electricity. She snapped back into the real world from her momentary love haze and stepped into the nearby aisle. She pretended to peruse the items in front of her, while she took a few deep breaths to compose herself. Jogging pants were not the attire for meeting the potential love of your life, but she felt drawn to him as if by tractor beam, and had to go over, if only to be near him for a few short, heavenly seconds.
She grabbed the nearest item from the shelf in front of her, dropped it on top of her other items, then head and shoulders back, minxed her way over to queue at his till. He was still serving a customer, whereas the two other attendants, their lanes free, looked on bemused. As she sidled up, he gave her a full blast of the pearly whites and bade her a husky “good morning”. She almost died, and struggled to find her voice (now hiding somewhere in the pit of her stomach) to wish him the same.She passed him the basket and he picked up the item on top of the pile: a Gillette Mach 7 razor with stainless steel blades (the best a man can get). He arched an eyebrow and they both laughed. At least this was an icebreaker, they had made a connection. He whizzed through scanning the rest of her items (and she noted the powerful grip with which he cupped her massive GM oranges and her cabbage), their fingers brushed ever so slightly as he handed her the receipt and then, before she knew it, she was back outside again, her heart racing.