Checking Him Out (A Single Mothers Romance Novella) Read online

  Checking Him Out

  A Single Mothers’ Workplace Romance

  By: Chris Genovese

  Checking Him Out: A Single Mothers’ Workplace Romance

  2nd Edition

  Copyright © 2015 by Chris Genovese

  Published by Erotic Mayberry Publishing

  Written by Chris Genovese

  Cover created by Chris Genovese

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 1

  *The characters in this book are fictional and fully understand the need to use protection during sex. If it is not mentioned in this novella, it is only to prevent the slowing down of the story or interruption to the fantasy element. Have fun and be safe!*

  Tuesday mornings suck.

  The only thing worse than a mad rush, is a maddeningly slow day and I was struggling to keep my eyes open. I’d just finished working my regular shift, the graveyard, which was always slow.

  My night consisted of three types of customers: shift workers on break, cops, and drunks. Those are the only kinds of people who stop by a grocery store at two o’clock in the morning.

  I’d barely made it to my seven o’clock stop time when Pam pulled her usual shit. She waited until a few minutes before I was supposed to clock out to say she really needed me to work a double.

  I hated working doubles. My fingers were sore, my eyelids were heavy, and my brain felt like it was ready to explode.

  If I have to hear the store’s jingle one more time, “Shop at Savory Saves and make your savory savings shine,” I think I’ll walk over to the giant rock hard salamis and bash in my own forehead.

  But Pam knew I’d accept the extra shift. I always did. It’s what a single mother does, especially so close to the start of the school year. You should have seen the list of shit the first grade teacher was expecting my six-year-old to bring to school that year.

  Since when did three different sizes of Tupperware containers and a disposable camera become necessary school supplies? It was insane.

  So Jonathan would have to stay home with my mother AGAIN. She’d be fine with it, but I really missed my boy. He’s all I had since my husband left me for that nineteen year old twerp.

  How can I, at thirty-five years old, compete with a nineteen year old?

  It was the question that plagued my mind at least once during every work night. At the start of the evening, when the young blonde bombshells were shoving six packs of beer and bottles of rum into their boyfriends’ shopping carts, some of which were twice their age, it dragged me down so much I literally felt tears threatening to pour from my eyes.

  Then I reminded myself that I didn’t need a man like that. I didn’t need someone who was willing to abandon my child and me just for a new and hotter piece of pussy.

  That’s what it was you know. The sex. First it would have been the curiosity of it. My douchebag of a husband had seen her in his wine shop a few times, sauntering around in short shorts or super tight jeans and wondered how it would feel to shove his cock inside of her.

  He wondered what kind of sounds she would make and just how flexible those legs were. He wondered what it would feel like to have her lips moving up and down along his shaft.

  And that would all be before she actually said a word to him. Trust me, I work with enough males to know exactly how their minds work. Those fantasies of his would be nothing more than nasty thoughts…until she gave him the “all clear” signal, which would probably be something as simple as leaning forward at the cash register to show off her cleavage.

  Or maybe she’d passed him her phone number and asked him to call her whenever he got in something really good. You know…a bottle of wine she meant.

  Then she was suddenly riding his cock every single afternoon.

  That’s how it went down, I’m sure of it. And where was I during this time? I was picking our son up from kindergarten or maybe I was making him mac and cheese with hot dogs chopped up in it the way he likes it.

  What I wasn’t doing was finding my own young stud to fuck.

  That’s what I should have been doing, right? Well not me, I’m Gina the dependable.

  Gina the great mom.

  Gina the nice lady next door who always lends a cup of sugar.

  Gina who doesn’t mind that your music is a little too loud.

  Gina who will gladly accept a double shift.

  Never Gina the cock riding whore.

  Secretly, I wished that were me.

  As I started my double for the day, right at the seven o’clock hour, the store was still empty. It would be filling up soon with people rushing to buy gum, cigarettes, and lunch for their work day.

  I stood alone, my legs and back aching, checking myself out in a small mirror I kept on the side of my register. I was exhausted, but I didn’t look so bad. My eyes were slightly red but my reddish hair was still pulled back into a tight ponytail. My lipstick needed a little touch up on my next break.

  Beyond the stuff I could fix, I thought my face was pretty cute. My cheeks were a little bit chubby but I knew a lot of the guys at work thought I was attractive. One of the young baggers called me a MILF once when he thought I wasn’t listening.

  A MILF. A Mom I’d Like To Fuck. Nice. I’ll take that.

  Thinking about it made me kind of excited. I sat down on my swivel chair and thought about the kid. He wasn’t a kid really. Maybe eighteen. Okay, a kid but why is it okay for my husband to fuck a girl a year older than that and I can’t even fantasize about it?

  Exactly.

  He was a strong kid with a big powerful chest, short hair, and a wisecracking grin. He was the store clown but he was quite good looking.

  How would it happen? How would it be possible?

  To me, that’s the key to fantasy. Just imagining it is not enough. I have to envision how it would possibly happen. It can’t be the fake porn kind of scenario.

  You know, where the guy shows up to fix the girl’s sink and she says, “But I don’t even have a sink” and then lets him in anyway. Suddenly he’s giving her that gigantic plumber’s pipe.

  So how would Jimmy the bag boy make it work? Let’s say he offered to give me a ride home from work. Then, while in his car, he tells me that my shirt must’ve gotten dirty at work and offers to have his mom clean it for me back at his place…

  See? No, that’s where the fantasy has to stop. It’s not real. How could I imagine a guy bending me over his washing machine if he just mentioned he could have his mom, his MOM wash my shirt.

  These are the kind of internal arguments I have with myself all the time. In reality, Jimmy didn’t say any of this, but I’ve already ruled him out as a potential fuck.

  How do men do it? How do they set themselves up for a one-night-stand or just a quick lunchtime fuck at the office? I can’t even make it through a damned fantasy of my own.

  So there I was at my cash register, just kicking off the new shift, when I decided to make this fantasy thing work. I would have a successful fantasy session before the end of this long shift.

  And it started with a guy I call Mac. I don’t know his real name. He’s a cop, a big ogre of a man. Not bad looking, just huge, like one of those guys who fling
refrigerators and stuff on the TV strong man competitions. He had that military look too, the buzz haircut and everything.

  How would Mac make this work? Got it.

  So there I am standing at the cash register when Mac slaps down a gigantic turkey baster.

  Don’t ask.

  I don’t know why he’s buying a turkey baster. It’s not even close to Thanksgiving.

  But he buys that, and that alone. And of course, being a friendly customer service professional, I say to him, “Hi, welcome to Savory Save. You know what goes good with a turkey baster?”

  At that point, Mac would smile at me and pass me a wink. He’d say something like, “Oh I don’t plan to baste turkeys, but tell me, what do YOU think would go good with a turkey baster?”

  And then I’d lift my skirt, pull down my panties, and climb up onto the conveyor. I’d shove my pussy in his direction and I’d say, “This!”

  Ahahahaha. You see? I suck at this!

  Back to reality. What do you think Mac actually put down on the conveyor?

  I can tell you it wasn’t a turkey baster. It was a can of shaving cream, a tin of coffee, a package of bologna, a package of cheese, a loaf of bread, and tampons. The last item was a deal breaker.

  You can tell a lot about a man from the stuff he buys. It’s a game I play often when I’m super bored.

  The shaving cream was for him. His haircut and the fact that he was a cop meant he needed to stay well-groomed. That was a given. He was also a good ol’ boy. Once you heard him talk you’d know that from his southern drawl. But just seeing the bologna, cheese, and bread told me that he didn’t go for the fancier ham or roast beef or pastrami. He was a mama’s boy. A bologna kind of boy.

  And the tampons said that he was either married, had a serious girlfriend, had an older daughter, or was keeping a chick captive in his basement.

  I figured he was probably married.

  Nothing about my five-second fantasy with Mac turned me on. But I was determined to be turned on by the end of the shift. I was going to fantasy fuck someone right there amidst the chocolate bars, the gum, and the condoms.

  Once the eight o’clock rush kicked in I was way too busy to think about anyone in a sexual manner. Frustration set in instead and I was just looking forward to getting everyone out of my lane as quickly as possible. And then they did and thing slowed down to a crawl again.

  Pam waved goodbye on her way out the door. She’d come in towards the end of my graveyard shift and left a couple of hours into this one, meaning she probably worked less than six hours.

  Typical Manager Pam.

  And she considered herself our “lead by example” kind of manager. We’d had meetings about it.

  Finally, my chance at redemption strolled up to my lane. I called this one James. He was a thin but very muscular black man who worked next door at the gym. He always wore tank tops and sweatpants and he was super sexy.

  James.

  It wouldn’t be hard to find out his real name since he always used his frequent shopper card and his name would pop up on the screen but I didn’t want to know his name. This was fantasy time.

  So how would James do this? Easy. James would tell me that he liked my pecs.

  Ahahaha, no, not already. I have to give this one a go. Seriously. Time to concentrate, Gina. Think sexy thoughts.

  As James piled his items up in front of me, I suddenly slipped out of goofball mode. I closed my eyes for just a second and when I opened them again I was in the zone.

  James stood there in front of me looking tall, dark, and handsome. I started to pick up his first item, a box of cereal, and pass it over the scanner. But he stopped me with a hand on mine.

  “You know, I come in here a lot since I work next door. You’re my favorite cashier. The scenery in the store isn’t all that great, except in lane…”

  He looked up and checked the number hanging over our heads.

  “…twelve. The sun’s a lot brighter here in twelve. I have an idea. I’m giving private tours of the gym right at…when’s your break?”

  I told him it was at ten.

  “…at ten. If you were to stroll on over to the gym, I can show you all the things I can do…to…your…body.”

  I felt myself getting aroused just thinking about walking over to the gym at ten. Suddenly I was there.

  I walked through the doors and the place was completely empty. Only James was there and he was only wearing a white towel. His chest was wet. His face was perfect. His arms were so…big.

  I’ve never had sex with a black man but the rumor is they have huge cocks. I was a little bit scared but wanted to know more about the gym so I locked the door behind me and approached James.

  “I need to know everything about you…your gym,” I said. “Give me all the benefits.”

  James put his hands on my waist and looked down into my eyes.

  “I can show you the amenities.” He promised. “I was just in the pool and was about to hit the showers. Maybe I should show you those first.”

  “I’d like that,” I said, trying to sound as sexy as I can.

  I watched James walk in front of me, the rough white towel contrasting with his smooth black skin. He had a gorgeous ass. I loved the way the towel drifted down just a little like it was about to fall off but his ass, and I assumed his cock, were keeping it in place.

  We walked down a long hallway and found the door to the locker rooms.

  “The showers are in here,” he said.

  I looked at the door and realized we were headed into the men’s locker room. I guess it didn’t really matter in which room he planned to take me.

  As long as he took me.

  He walked ahead of me as we entered and then stopped, looking away from me, and started explaining the gym.

  His arms were ripped with muscle and his back bulged with strength. He was a statue chiseled from granite. My gut ached and my pussy dripped. I wanted him.

  “So this is where you’d have your locker. You’ll have your own private…”

  He stopped talking when I reached around him and slid my hand through the crease in the towel. I found his balls first. They were smooth and heavy in my palm. My own personal pouch of man.

  Oh God what it must feel like to have them bouncing against me as he buries his cock inside me.

  He gasped as I held them and opened his legs a little as if welcoming my touch and giving me permission to go further.

  I liked that. I cupped them and gave them a slight squeeze.

  “You like that?” I asked.

  He breathed deep but didn’t answer me. So I slid my hand up and found the base of his cock. He’d wasted no time getting hard. And the rumors were true.

  He was huge.

  My fingers couldn’t quite touch as they stretched around his cock and my entire fist wasn’t even half its length. I wondered how deep my pussy was and if it could even handle such a monstrosity.

  “Do you like that?” James asked.

  I did.

  A lot.

  I hadn’t been fucked in over a year and my pussy was dripping wet under my work slacks. I used my left hand to unbutton and unzip them and then tried to wiggle them down off my waist. They were stubborn. Not the pants but my thighs.

  “You ever fuck a black guy before?” James asked.

  I didn’t know if I should be honest. I decided he might want me more if I told the truth.

  “No,” I said.

  He turned to me, and as his body made its way around, the towel dropped.

  I was face to face with a completely naked, beautiful man. I looked in his eyes and got lost in their darkness. It was warm there and I needed warmth. I’d been alone and cold for so long.

  My gaze lowered and followed the form of his muscular body.

  His neck was thick and wide, his chest massive.

  His nipples dark and hard.

  Like a tree trunk, his muscles formed trenches, deep grooves at his stomach.

  G
olden bark that begged to be touched.

  Just below his washboard stomach was a thin line of dark hair that stretched from his belly button down to a well groomed patch above his cock.

  His cock.

  I noticed the head of it first.

  Immense.

  Sturdy.

  Luscious.

  I was entranced.