I Got Laid at Trader Joe's

I love me some Trader Joe’s. Who doesn’t, right? The chain may not offer up as many choices as Whole Paycheck, but you don’t leave feeling you bought the farm, either. Plus, there’s always something new and cool. Something you just have to try.

After a long hiatus, My hubby and I headed to our local TJ’s the other day to stock up on some of their seasonal fare. You know: Pumpkin everything. I also wanted to replenish my collection of chemical-free, cleaning products.

Because it takes me a while to peruse every product in every aisle, my husband went into the store with me, tossed what he wanted into our cart, and then let me loose to shop on my own while he waited in the car, Kindle at the ready.

Everything looked so good and so fresh! I was lingering over the cauliflower pizza crusts in the frozen foods aisle — you do know that’s a thing, right? — when one of the Joes caught my attention as he helped another shopper find the Bamba Peanut Snacks.

It was his voice that got to me first. Loud enough so I could hear what he was saying, but not obnoxiously so. Kind of hoarse and raspy. I’ve always found that to be sexy as hell.

He and the shopper were just a few feet away from me so I watched him, while I pretended to be engrossed in the freezing cold pizza crust box in my hand.

The guy was tallish. Well-built. Age, indeterminate. Forty, or so. Wavy, salt and pepper hair. Richard Gere hair.

As the shopper bounded off, said Peanut Snacks in hand, the guy caught me eyeing him. Always a sucker for a Hawaiian shirt, I thought his fit him particularly well.

Joe was good-looking, but now what you’d call a “knock out.” That said, there was something very hot about him.

“Can I help you miss?” he asked. Damn! He got me at “miss!”

He nodded toward the dew-covered box in my now sweaty hands. “That’s really good. Ever tried it?”

I shook my head. Then I tossed the box in my cart. What the hell.

Stupidly, I couldn’t find my voice. He gave me a curious look. “Alright then,” he said. “Anything else?”

As I stood there like a stump, he flashed me a lopsided grin and turned to go.

“Wait!” I bleated. “There is something else.”

He hustled back over to me. “Yes?”

I looked around the room, my brain buzzing. The coffee grinding station!

The guy, whose name was Brian — I’d finally seen his cute name tag — took a step back.

I forced an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to shout. I just mean…can you help me find a good, fair trade dark roast?”

Brian looked relieved. He was back in his element. “Sure,” he said. “Over here.”

I trailed him to the coffee aisle. As I looked at the various roasts and countries of origin, I felt his eyes on me. There was a subtle change in his expression. Suddenly, I was glad I’d worn my favorite red lipstick.

I picked up a bag of coffee from Ecuador and gave it a little shake. “What do you think of this one?”

Brian took the bag from me and our fingers touched. There was a discernible spark. All of a sudden, the world shifted.

“That’s not for you,” Brian said. “Not dark enough.”

Suddenly, I felt a rush of heat that I was certain turned my cheeks as crimson as my lips. The room receded and all I could hear was the coffee grinder behind me.

I felt Brian’s hands on me. One on each shoulder. “You ok? You need some water?”

Shaking my head, I took one of his hands in mine and led him toward the restrooms, which ran alongside the coffee grinding station.

“I’ll show you what I need,” I breathed. He had no time to react other than to go along with me.

I pulled him into the ladies’ room which was thankfully, unlocked and vacant. As I yanked him inside and locked the door, I had a fleeting thought for my husband, who, by this time, had probably finished his book and started on another one.

Brian, caught off guard but finally getting with the program, tugged my jacket off. Before he pulled me into a deep, tongue-heavy kiss, he muttered, “I’d heard about this kind of thing but this is my first…”

As we stopped for air, he added “Fuckin’ love this job…”

I ran my hands under his shirt, the tropical hues nearly blinding in the bright, bathroom light.

His chest was hard and muscled. With just the right amount of coarse, man-hair.

Brian tugged my top over my head. I wasn’t wearing a bra, as usual. He bent his head and suckled my nipples, which were already hard as pebbles. They looked like pink, jelly beans. I’d always been proud of them.

Our movements were hurried and frenzied, lest some bothersome female shopper needed to take a pee.

He straightened up and I nuzzled his neck. He smelled like Peppermint Bark. Mmmmmm.

“Take off your pants,” I said. No sooner were the words out of my mouth than his belt was off, his pants down and his erection in full view. I practically ripped his briefs from his body.

Oh my everlovin’ God. He was hard as a fucking rock. And just the right size. Big.

I pushed him down on the toilet seat as I pulled off my yoga pants. Easy peasy. My undies followed. Cotton. One-hundred percent.

Not once did I hesitate or think about what I was doing. I wanted this and I was going to have it.

Brian sucked on his middle finger and inserted it inside me. My hips moved involuntarily, the feeling was so exquisite. I arched my back, a moan escaping my lips.

He looked up at me, his now wet finger to his lips. “Shhhhh,” he whispered. “We have to be quiet.”

I took his engorged cock in both my hands and fondled it. The heat of it took my breath away. He was close; I could tell. It was time. And I was as wet as I was ever going to be.

I lowered myself onto that hot, hot rod and, as it slid inside, with an ease that surprised even me, I stifled a scream.

Back and forth, up and down we moved, our pace quickening…and just as we exploded, in delicious unison, there was a knock at the door…

Are you actually buying this cock and bull story? Good! I knew you were smarter than that.

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. She is currently pitching her newest screenplay, “The Month We Fell Apart,” a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story, as well as “DEAD TIRED,” a female-driven, ass-kicking thriller.