The Shopping List

We'd been "dating" for two weeks, and I told John that I wanted to make dinner for him. I was eager to demonstrate what a good girlfriend I could be. The problem was that I wasn't much of a gourmet, and I didn't think my usual fare of pizza bagels and soup from a can would impress him. It's not that I couldn't cook, but I'd been so busy the last few months with studying and exams that I could only justify a break for eating if doing so didn't require taking my eyes off of my books.

But I was going to put real effort into making our dinner tomorrow night, I determined as I rolled over and slowly awakened from my nap. My red hair was clumped unflatteringly to the side of my head and I indelicately tugged the blue cotton shorts from my butt crack as I stood up from the bed. I looked at the clock on my bedside table and rubbed my bleary eyes in disbelief. My "quick" post-lunch nap had stretched to more than four hours, and now it was already after five as I emerged from my musty nest. I didn't trust the way I longingly eyed the rumpled sheets, and I neatly made my bed to discourage a relapse.

I brushed my hair as I walked into the living room to my open laptop. When I'd formulated my plan to convince John I was "Julia Child who gives killer head," I'd found a recipe online, and now I jotted down the ingredients on a scrap of notebook paper. I walked back to the bedroom, pulling the black tanktop over my head and pushing my shorts down my legs. Naked in the AC, my D-cup breasts stood proudly from my slim ribcage and gave only a slight wobble as I walked.

I opened the top drawer of the dresser and pushed my discarded nap-garments into a ball to the side. "See you soon, pajamas!" I giggled as I pulled a purple lace thong and matching bra from the drawer. I was enjoying my downtime after final exams and expected to be back in my slacker attire before primetime TV started.

I stepped into the purple thong and tugged it to my hips, then tucked my breasts into the lace cups of the bra and fastened the rear clasp. Straightening the straps, I ducked me head and arms into a simple black polo and pulled on my jeans. I stepped into my ugly brown flip-flops, took a quick look in the mirror, looped my hair into a high ponytail, and was out the door with my shopping bag and list.

John had introduced himself to me on a hot Monday afternoon while I was out running. It was the day before an exam, and I was trying to burn off nervous energy (and some perceived extra pounds from stress-snacking). A cooperative stoplight was helping me catch my breath in the mid-day heat without doubling over in panting, sweaty agony, when he struck up a conversation by offering me his bottle of water. John worked as a marketing analyst three blocks from my apartment, and he walked with me the rest of the way to my door. I don't know whether it was my out-of-breath conversation skills or my overburdened sports bra that compelled John to ask me to dinner that Wednesday, but I accepted his invitation with a smile and gave him my number.

Wednesday night we dined at a charming neighborhood place, a small hole in the wall restaurant that was one of his favorites. Over candlelit scallops and a bottle of white wine, we laughed and connected, and he divulged that he'd lived in my building only two months before I moved in. When the check came, I was disappointed that the night might end and was elated when John suggested we "walk off our meals." The course he picked took us on a barely indirect route to the door of my building, and John eagerly accepted my invitation for a nightcap.

I slept with John on our first date that night, as well as the three subsequent dates over the next two weeks. While doing so wasn't completely out of the ordinary for me, I liked John a lot and wanted to ensure that we had similar "tracks" in mind for the relationship. That was why I wanted to impress him with dinner: to make certain he saw me more as a girlfriend than as a pair of readily available moist holes.

As always, as I walked into the small neighborhood grocery store, I nodded to Clark, the checkout boy, who responded with a friendly smile and a focused peek at my rack. I was used to his ogling after a few months of shopping there, and ignored his stare as I grabbed a basket and pulled the shopping list from my pocket.

Looking over my list as I walked, I glanced up and caught sight of the brightly colored sign: "CLEARANCE WINE 75% OFF". What would a nice dinner be without a bottle of wine or two? I tucked the list into my rear pocket and started intently scanning the shelves. The selection seemed to be a little picked over, but I spied a decent label - both reds and whites - marked down to $4.99 on the bottom shelf. I squatted to better see and reach the lowest rack, and exclaimed "Jackpot!" as I started loading my basket. I lost track of my surroundings, loading six bottles, until I realized that a large form had arrived behind me. I half-peered over my shoulder and muttered a vacant "Oh, am I in your way?"

A deep baritone behind me responded "No, I'm not in a hurry, miss. And purple is becoming on you."

I realized with horror that my jeans had flared out and down in the rear, exposing the "T" back of my thong to the aisle. I hurriedly shot up, pulling at the back of my shirt as I spun around mortified, coming face-to-chest with a muscular, well-dressed black man of about thirty five. His eyes twinkled as he assessed my intensifying blush.

"Hello. It's nice to put a face to the rest of you. I'm Mr. Dalton. And you are?" He gave me another thorough once-over, head-to-toe, pausing for a second as his eyes reached my chest, and I felt my complexion deepen from Rosé to Merlot. "So you're the one hogging all the good stuff, huh?" He assessed my basket with a wide smile and cocked eyebrow. "That can't all be for just one pretty little girl. Are you having a party?"

"Um, I'm Karen... Yeah. I'm having a party... tonight." The lie escaped my mouth involuntarily from the embarrassment of my whale-tail introduction to this stranger, not to mention the greedy quantity of cheap alcohol I was purchasing.

"And am I invited to this party?"

"Yeah... Yes, you can come. Of course!" I stammered. It would be rude not to invite someone to a party after telling them about it.

"Well, that's really nice of you." He smiled again. "I'm going to finish up my shopping. When we're done, you can tell me more about tonight's festivities." With that he broke his intensely friendly gaze and walked down the aisle.

I picked up my basket, straining to carry the weight of the bottles. I didn't want to appear to rush out of the market to avoid another interaction with Mr. Dalton, so I made a cursory attempt to continue shopping. My shopping list called for lasagna ingredients, but I decided that a frozen entree would be sufficiently domestic for John's dinner. I grabbed the box out of the freezer, along with a carton of ice cream, and then a few boxes of crackers in another aisle, and made my way to the check-out line. Looking around, there was no sign of Mr. Dalton's large form as I settled in line to wait for the register.

"Got everything you needed?"

I looked up to respond to Clark, but realized he was still helping another customer. I turned to find Mr. Dalton standing behind me.

"Oh! Haha, yeah, I got it all." I laughed nervously in response, wondering where he had been to have appeared so suddenly behind me. "What about you?"

"Yeah, I picked up everything I came for." He said, indicating the pack of gum in his massive hand. "So what time is your party starting?" My mind went blank as I could not come up with any answer, let alone a convincing lie. I bit my plump lower lip nervously.

"Is it a dinner party? That's great! I can help you carry all those heavy wine bottles home!" I stood in stunned silence, gazing up at Mr. Dalton and wondering how I had been backed into this corner so easily.

"Hey! Sarah! Can I help you?" Clark was calling me from the register and using my real name. I hurried forward, placing my heavy basket on the counter and reaching into my pocket for my credit card.

"This is all together." Mr. Dalton pushed away my small hand as I tried to present the card, and placed his gum in my basket while handing Clark a hundred dollar bill. Clark gave me a confused look over the top of his glasses as he rang up our purchases. He handed back the change, and Mr. Dalton hoisted the heavy grocery bags from the counter, and we headed to the exit together.

"Have a nice day, Sarah... and sir..." Clark called after us, his voice heavy with bewilderment. We walked out of the store and Mr. Dalton stopped a few feet beyond the door, turning to fix his gaze downward at me.

"Sarah, I need to ask you a very serious and personal question. And I need to know the answer right here, right now." The joyful glimmer in his eyes had darkened into an icy, intimidating glare. I was shaken and stammered out a halting reply as my mind raced for an explanation of why I'd given him a fake name.

"Um... ok?"

A fresh grin exploded across his face, extending into his eyes and washing away the steely intensity of his gaze. "Would you like a stick of gum?" I was dumbfounded, my pouty lips hung apart stupidly as I vacantly nodded and took the gum in my small fingers. "So, where are we headed? I might not be as tiny as you, but that doesn't make all this wine you bought any lighter!"

I sighed inwardly and considered my position. Mr. Dalton was friendly and, while a bit eccentric and forward - not to mention huge - seemed harmless. His blazer and shirt were of an expensive cut, and his demeanor and language demonstrated his education and manners.

Then a dark, embarrassing thought entered my mind: was I being unfairly suspicious because he was black? Why had I lied when he asked my name? Would I be this cautious if a white man flirted with me and offered to carry my groceries? I knew I wasn't a racist, and I certainly didn't want to be thought of as one! Besides, I didn't want to carry my six bottles of wine (and other heavy groceries) the five blocks back to my apartment. Mr. Dalton was being helpful, and all it would cost me was some friendly conversation, perhaps a bottle of wine, and if necessary, a bathroom-text to a friend to call with an "emergency" if I wanted to get us out of there.

"I'm five blocks up on 27th." I replied. "Do you want me to carry any of that?"

"Now, what sort of gentleman would I be if I let you do any of the work?" He smiled down at me and winked. "So what's the occasion? Why are we having this party?"

"I... Oh, just Monday night, haha. You know... living it up, post exams."

"Oh, so you're a student?" Our discussion grew more comfortable as we walked and I told him about my studies, my school, moving to a new city, and struggling to meet new people. He steered the conversation clear of any questions about boys; similarly, I steered our route clear of John's parking garage. Explaining my new "friend" to John would be all I needed.

We reached my building and I hastily unlocked the door and ushered Mr. Dalton through the lobby to the small elevator. He was so tall he had to duck to get inside, and once the door closed, our bodies were nearly pressed together. I reached past him to hit "5", then sucked in my breath to try to take up less room for the duration of the ride. Exiting the elevator, we turned right and entered my apartment, the last door on the hall.

Once inside, I took the heavy bags of groceries from Mr. Dalton, thanking him again for carrying them from the store. He opened my hall closet, making himself right at home in my apartment as he took off his jacket and put it on a hanger. "How long does he think he's staying here?" I muttered to myself as I walked to the kitchen.

I put the four bottles of white wine in the fridge, and John's frozen lasagna in the freezer, then set about putting the other items away. I left out one bottle of red to drink with Mr. Dalton, and opened the high cabinet door above my sink to stow the other bottle. To reach the high shelf, I rose to my tiptoes, straining and stretching my barely-five-foot frame to place the bottle on the ledge. I felt Mr. Dalton's large body arrive behind me, pressing firmly against me and pinning me against the marble counter. His form enveloped me, seeming to wrap around me on all sides. His giant hand cupped my shoulder as the other traced the length of my outstretched arm to steady the glass vessel and place it safely on the shelf.

"Thanks." I said, as he lingered, pressed against my back. I swallowed deeply and consciously quieted my breathing. "I usually use a step ladder for the high stuff." I turned, but he stood in place, his thick arms firmly anchored on the edge of the counter at my sides. "How about I pour us some wine?" I managed to blurt out as I escaped his hold and brought out two glasses and an opener from another cabinet.

He took the glass as I handed it to him, swirling and sniffing the wine with the air of a man accustomed to more expensive offerings. He took a small sip, casting a self-conscious glance at me over the rim of the glass as he did so. "You know, this isn't half-bad for being so cheap."

"Yeah, it's perfect for the discerning drunk on a budget." I swallowed a huge gulp of my own wine and saw him looking at me with humor in his eyes. "And as you can see, I run a classy operation." I mockingly extended my pinky.

"How about a tour of your place?" He replied, pouring more wine into my glass until it risked overflowing. "So far, I've been shown the hall closet and the kitchen." Mr. Dalton was already walking into the living room as I hurried after him.

"I like the high ceilings. Big windows, lots of natural light. What's across the street?" He walked to the window and peered through the blinds. "Ohhh the MPP Building! You know not all the offices there are for the utility. My lawyers are in there, actually. Fourth floor. Haha, they would probably have a pretty good view into your place. You ever forget to close the blinds when you're getting changed?" He turned and winked.

"I've forgotten once or twice." I said sheepishly and folded my arms across my breasts. "Don't know if anyone saw anything."

"Well, that's a shame. If I tell them I know you, maybe they'll give me a break on my bill, haha!" I scrunched my face into an expression of distaste, and Mr. Dalton laughed again and walked from the window towards the hallway leading to my bedroom and bathroom, pausing to check out my bookshelf and DVD collection.

"Do you want to watch something?" I asked. "I've been binging Sherlock on Netflix."

Mr. Dalton stopped his progress towards the more private end of my apartment and turned back towards the couch.

"This better not do to Conan Doyle what those Narnia movies did to Lewis." His voice carried a tone of half-mock grouchiness, but he did seem slightly annoyed that the tour hadn't reached the bedroom.

"Well, it's a modern interpretation and twist on the characters, so if you like fast-speaking British people solving crimes you'll be able to suffer through." I winked at him and patted the seat cushion next to me as I downed the last of my wine.

"You look like you could use some more." He said, as he walked to the kitchen, and fetched a fresh bottle and two glasses. "You can't mix white and red in the same glass." He said as he poured me a full glass of white.

"That makes sense." I said as I took the glass from him and leaned back on the sofa. "So, I've told you all about me, but I know nothing about you. Where do you work?"

Over the course of many more glasses of wine, Mr. Dalton told me about his decision years ago to leave the banking industry, the chain of sporting goods stores that he now owned, and the frustration of trying to deal with suppliers, franchise managers, and vendors. When I jokingly asked about a friendly discount, he smiled and told me if I came to one of his stores and mentioned I was his good friend, he'd make certain I got a deal. We also had our first argument.

"What do you mean, Benedict Cumberbatch isn't attractive?" I stammered in disbelief.

"What do you mean you think he is?" Mr. Dalton faked a scowl while pouring the last of our third bottle of wine into my glass.

"He's beautiful! He has such delicate features!" I retorted as I inhaled another mouthful.

"He looks like an alien!" Mr. Dalton placed his hands at the sides of his face and pulled his cheeks toward his ears to stretch his facial features. "I come to your panties in peace. Take me to your vulva." His perverted alien voice almost caused me to spill my glass as I laughed and tipped.

"Fine! Then he's the most attractive man on Mars! Happy?" I giggled as I tried to regain my balance and steadied myself by resting a hand on Mr. Dalton's well-muscled chest.

"Ok. So would you rather sleep with 'the most attractive man on Mars' or Idris Elba?" Mr. Dalton grinned down at me as I blushed at his naughty question.

"Well, obviously Idris but-"

"So you're into black guys?"

"I didn't say that! He's just more atttrac-"

"Uh huh, so you're curious about black guys, but you've just never let one of us try you out!"

I stared, half-dazed with my mouth agape for a second before I responded. "Well, yes I've been curious what it would be like with a black guy." Mr. Dalton rested his arm on the back of the couch so that his hand lightly brushed against my shoulder.

"What were you curious about, little kitty?" he casually tugged the collar of my shirt between his massive thumb and forefinger, pulling the shirt slightly to expose the lightly freckled skin of my shoulder and the purple lace of my bra strap. I shifted on the couch; my stomach stirred with his words and contact.

"Just curious... if, you know... if the rumors were true..." I was beyond blushing; at this point my face felt it had taken on a permanent bright red hue.

Mr. Dalton smiled and leaned in as it dawned on me what I had just said. It finally struck me as his lips met mine and his large hand cupped my breast through my shirt. The air escaped my lungs as he leaned over atop me on the couch. I struggled away from his mouth for an instant and gasped out a short protest.

"Mr. Dalton, we can't! This isn't why I invited you up!"

"Then why did you, baby?" Mr. Dalton persisted while he pressed his lips against mine again.

"I just wanted..." I didn't have a response. He forced his mouth back upon mine, and I opened my lips, accepting his tongue. His body pushed down on top of me, pressing my back against the arm of the sofa as his left hand pried my thighs apart.

Mr. Dalton's other hand slid under my polo, riding up my ribs as I shuddered at his fingers' touch. His hand continued up my side, finding the lace of my bra, then slipping along the band to my back. His fingers never fumbled as he undid the rear clasp of my bra.

Meanwhile, Mr. Dalton's left hand slid up the front of my shirt, stroking lightly across my stomach, then unfastening the button of my jeans. He pushed his hand down the front of my pants, the zipper popped open with his movement, and found the soaked fabric of my panties as his fingers probed the outer folds of my pussy. I gasped as he pressed two fingers between the lips of my vagina, penetrating into my moist hole as I moaned and ground my crotch against his large hand.

My hand went to his lap, massaging the growing bulge that extended almost to his knee. I reached to his waist and unbuckled his belt and undid the button and fly of his slacks. Yanking back the folds of his pants, I unleashed a giant cock that sprang upwards, as though gasping for air. My left hand struggled to encircle its girth, leaving daylight between my thumb and forefinger.