Erotic Tales For Seasonal Retail Employees

sarah james
Dec 17, 2019 · 4 min read
Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

Our eyes met from across the denim table, and in that moment, everything seemed to move in slow motion. I reached for his hand, but I was too late — he was already grabbing the bottom of the pile. Internally I screamed, although I kept my smile plastered on. Hours of work folding Slim Cut Dark Wash FlexFit™ Jeans was about to be ruined.

But instead of knocking over the pile without a care in the world for the corporate-mandated popped crotch, his tough and sturdy hands lifted the stack effortlessly, grabbed the correct size from the bottom of the pile, then replaced the stack with a flourish.

I braced myself against the table, feeling my heart pound and my cheeks grow flushed. I could have watched him handle those Slim Cut Dark Wash FlexFit™ Jeans all night — and in my dreams, I did.


“Excuse me, miss?” His voice was low and gravelly, like a used car engine with a mysterious rattle. I turned to face him. He was holding the men’s Casual Classic Stretch Sport Coat in Brushed Camel, a clear marker of taste and sophistication. I batted my lashes and waited. “Do you have this in a Large?” he continued. “There weren’t any on the shelf, but maybe you have one in the back?”

My heart sank, although I kept my smile plastered on. “No, I’m sorry,” I said. “We don’t have any of those in the back.”

I knew he wasn’t going to believe me. They never do. I was gearing up for another pointless slog to the stock room when he said it, four little words that made my skin electric —

“Oh well. Thanks, anyway.”

My back arched and my mouth watered as he turned to go. I loved to watch him walk away, because he hung his unwanted Casual Classic Stretch Sport Coat in Brushed Camel in its correct spot.


She was next in a long, snaking line, right after the man who insisted I gift-wrap his Roomba despite the twenty or so other customers waiting behind him. As I rang up her OXO GoodGrips Immersion Blender, I couldn’t keep my eyes off her long, delicate fingers thumbing through her wallet. I knew it was wrong, but I ached to be a five dollar bill or a loose receipt, so those fingers could touch me.

But all fantasies come to an end. “Oh shit,” she muttered. “I had a 20% off coupon but I must have left it at home.”

I braced myself for incoming onslaught of begging, for me to just this once, pretty please, can you apply the coupon anyway, I know you could get fired for doing this but wouldn’t you like to do a favor of me, a literal stranger — although I kept my smile plastered on.

But the onslaught never came. She looked up, flashed me a lopsided smile. “I’m such a spaz,” she laughed. “I’ll bring the coupon next time. So what’s the total?”

I felt a surge of release so powerful, it was like the heavens opened and the angels were singing a Beyonce song, just for me.


She emerged from the dressing room cheery if not triumphant. “Find anything you like?” I asked, my smile plastered on as always.

“Not this time,” she replied. “Here’s my rejects.”

She placed a few garments up with the go-backs, and that’s when I saw it: she’d put her unwanted clothes… back on the hangers.

Waves of pleasure, each one more intense than the last, washed over me as I thumbed through garments: each dress was hung, each pant clipped in with both clips, each blouse fitted on a hanger with those annoying string things already taken care of. I was experiencing depths of sensations I didn’t know were possible.

Finally — I saw the sweater. She’d even re-folded the sweater.

I collapsed on the floor of the dressing room, utterly spent.


I’d clocked him when he first joined the customer service line, his salt-and-pepper hair tumbling effortlessly across his eyes. He had a return, he said, a really big one. I bit my lip and took his receipt.

As I scanned the barcode, I realized we had a problem, although I kept my smile plastered on. “Sir, this 4K Ultra 85-inch Smart TV was purchased six months ago. We can’t accept a return.”

I expected him to scream, demand to speak to the manager, and after half-an-hour of arguing, begrudgingly accept store credit. Instead, he nodded. “Should have got around to it sooner, I guess,” he said.

I melted. “Sorry about that.”

He shrugged. “Why? It’s not your fault.”

I fucked him in the break room.


Slackjaw

Thanks to Alex Baia

sarah james

Written by

sarah is an editor at slackjaw. her writing has appeared in reductress, splitsider, the toast, and more. thesarahjames.com

Slackjaw

Slackjaw

Medium humor. Large laughs.

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