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Heels: A Siren's Song, part 1

A short story

By Tristan PalmerPublished 2 years ago 7 min read
Heels: A Siren's Song, part 1
Photo by Phil Aicken on Unsplash

Still being single at twenty-six might have bothered some people, but not me. Of course, yesterday wasn't really about me, was it? You might not ever see this, but it's the thought that counts.

Yesterday was the day I heard your heels clicking across the smooth re-tiled floor of the convenience store I was working at. It was getting late, but not so late that it was dark. It was getting there, the sun just setting over the tops of the trees that I could see if I leaned my head out to look at the glass front doors.

I was near the back, thinking of wether or not I needed to actually go back there to look for something. Then I heard them, and I heard you. The click click click of your heels across the floor.

I looked up, but only out of curiosity. I looked down the home goods aisle, toilet bowl brushes, house hold cleaners and the like, and there you were. You had long black hair that was pulled into a ponytail, and your face was decorated lightly with make up. Eyes accented, lips lushly colored with a light red; eyeliner to match at that.

You looked up left, not my way. Then you looked right, which was my way. I quickly looked away, hand on the back room door.

"Excuse me!" your voice was sweet.

It was electricity down my spine though, and I felt my face get hot. You were really fucking attractive, and I was confident enough to let you know.

Turning from the door I started walking left, my dirty black work boots covered with whatever I had stepped in a few days ago. They needed to be cleaned.

"Yes ma'am?" I asked.

"Do you have a hardware section here?" you asked.

"Yeah, it's just not that big," I pointed to the right then, "I can show you."

"Oh, thank you so much!" you said.

I turned to start walking, and you followed behind me. Your heels rapped across the floor, each click making my heart skip a beat. All I had to do was be friendly, and I could have chatted you up.

We passed the aisle for automotive stuff, then came to the hardware aisle.

"You looking for something specific?" I asked.

"Yes," you glanced up from your phone, smiling, "I needed a new spigot for my sink, I wasn't sure if you guys carried them here."

"Right here," I stepped backwards and pointed.

The spigots were indeed right there, and you looked back at your phone.

"Ok, I have to check and see what kind I needed."

"Right," I leaned naturally against the shelf that was opposite from you, patiently waiting. Your black pants hugged onto nice thighs and calves, stopping just before your heels. You had on a white fluffy jacket, sort of hiding the grey shirt underneath. You were very pretty, probably middle aged. Maybe old enough to be a MILF, but I could find that out if only I asked a few questions.

"Having trouble with your sink?" I asked, hoping it didn't sound weird.

"Ugh, yes!" you turned to look back at me, eyes saying: can you believe it?

"It just started trickling out water, and my roommate told me the spigot was too stopped up with crap!"

"That's the worst!" I nodded, matching your faux enthusiasm, "a spigot should fix it, as long as you get rid of all the mess that might be in the sink neck, ya know?"

"Oh, really?" you asked, "I didn't think about that."

"Yeah, it usually gets snagged inside the sink's neck, that gets stopped into the spigot or sink head," I nodded, "pretty common problem."

"Oh my gosh," you widened your eyes before finally looking at the sink parts we had hanging up on the wall, "Ok, let's see here..."

You started looking harder at the options available, and I stayed where I was. You had a very nice body, shaped well by your pants. Your jacket hung low enough to cover your ass, but I could tell by glancing that it was shapely and nice. I swallowed, looking away to make it seem like I wasn't being obvious. I couldn't take my eyes away from your frame, but I glanced away as I saw your head turn. I wondered if I was fast enough.

"Okay," you reached out, grabbing one of the spigots off the wall. Taking a look at it you turned it one way, then the other before saying, "okay, that's the one."

You looked back at me then, smiling. I could have called it mischievous, but I was letting my mind think what it wanted.

"So, do you like looking at my ass?" you asked me then.

My heart stopped. I'm sure the color drained from my face some, but you only stood there, smirking at me.

"I wasn't trying to," I said holding out a hand, "honestly."

You only continued to look at me, but took a step closer.

"Look," she said, "I'm sure you didn't mean anything by it. But if I wanted to I could go to your boss, or manager, and tell them what happened."

You were closer to me now, almost a foot apart. Your breath was warm, your were that close.

"I-I," I was stuttering, but let myself mutter out, "I'm always looking at one ass or the other."

You stood there a second longer, then said,

"Don't worry about it. I know guys like to look at me. It happens all the time, you know? They can't help it."

"Uh, ok," I nodded then.

I was pressing myself against the shelf by then, and you leaned a little closer to me, putting your lips next to my ear.

"If you want to," you whispered, "maybe you could come and help me work on this sink when you're off work here? to make sure this stays between us?"

Your questions weren't questions, but cleverly worded demands.

"Ok," I let myself whimper out a reply, "I can handle that."

You moved your head back some then, lips close to mine.

"Good," you said quietly, "I live in the neighborhood up the street. Fifteen Delmonti circle. You wanna stare at my ass, then least you could do is help make it up to me."

You moved further back, then said,

"Is there someone up front who can check me out?"

"Yeah," I nodded then swallowed hard.

"Great, thanks so much... Patrick!" you beamed at my name-tag.

Turning around you started to walk down the aisle. Your ass moved with each step you took, and you glanced back at me to see if I was looking. I was, and figured you did like when guys looked.

I looked away as you kept walking, but I had already looked again. You kept walking, then turned right to vanish from my view. I swear you smirked.

Staying where I was a second I took a breath, letting it out really hard. My cock was half way hard, pressing against my jeans. I hadn't even noticed it until now, and I swallowed again.

I turned left to head for the backroom, needing some air all of a sudden. I reached the back room door, almost jogging through it. It bounced off the wall as I kept walking, going to right to get out through the back door. I grabbed my grey coat right before I hit the door, and pulled it on as I embraced the cold air. My face was warm, and the slick ground outside wasn't welcoming as I all but stumbled outside.

Reaching inside my jacket I found a pack of cigarettes, and hauled one out. I found my lighter in the same pocket, and flicked the flame to life. I pressed my lips against the butt, taking a pull. The icy menthol taste didn't help me to warm up, but god was it good.

Now I had a very unofficial date after work. I had a sink to help fix, and you knew I had been starring at your ass. Maybe you wanted me too, but I couldn't know for sure. It was too late, and now I my heart was in my throat. I was excited in all honesty, and I wondered what you had planned for me. Was I just coming to fix your sink? Were you going to suck my cock? Let me bend you over in your bed? I had no idea.

I took another puff, then exhaled slowly. It was dark outside now, and I had three hours left to go. I was letting my mind run rampant with possibilities, but didn't need to get ahead of myself. I always did this with girls, jump in dick-head first and hope for the best. Sometimes it worked, and other times it didn't. It's chance really.

I suppose now the only thing left to do was wait.


About the Creator

Tristan Palmer

Hi all. All I am is a humble writer who works a full time job, just to afford to live so I can have time to write. I love science fiction with a passion, but all works and walks of writing are important to me.

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