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I actually make more than minimum wage, I’m a salesperson at an electronics store, but “Minimum Wage, Maximum Benefits” makes for a better title than “Slightly Above Minimum Wage (With Commissions), Maximum Benefits”.

That being said, I get it: A guy in his mid 20s who works in an electronics store doesn’t seem like much of a “go getter.” (Well… be honest: late 20s.) I understand that. But what you have to understand is that some of us don’t adhere to society’s rigid rules for what does and does not constitute “normal” or “acceptable” behaviour. No, I didn’t finish college, or get married and start fathering babies when some of my friends did, but I live my life the way I want to live it, stress-free and happy-go-lucky. Really, I’m more forward-thinking than you might expect: with the mechanization and computerization of its workforce, North America is moving toward a service-based economy, where jobs like mine will be the primary way North Americans work in the near future. I’m just slightly ahead of the curve.

Of course, most of what I just said is bullshit. I dropped out of college because I’m lazy, not because I’m an anarchist; I work at an electronics store because it’s all I can get, not because it’s stress-free; and despite what I said about avoiding stress, the job isn’t even all that stress-free, there are all kinds of weird stresses they put on us in the retail world. But I’m trying to work on my shtick for those awkward conversations with my mom. And, even though there are stresses, when I leave the store at 6 or 7, I leave all of those stresses behind (until the next morning). I don’t get calls or emails during the night, I don’t have “emergencies” to deal with, I don’t have to provide monthly reports to anyone. The stresses are contained.

Not to mention that you’d be surprised how one can find little ways to relieve those daily stresses at work. Which brings me to my colleagues. Not all of them, most of my colleagues aren’t important to this story – or to the world in general – but three are:

Kristen: She works cash. She’s white, with blonde hair, has a perfect body, and is almost always laughing or smiling.

Naomi: She works cash. She’s black, a little taller than the others, has a perfect body, and is almost always giggling or smiling.

Mia: She works cash. She’s Korean, a little shorter than the others, has a perfect body, and is usually smiling a knowing, quiet smile, like she knows exactly what’s going on in your mind.

Visually, these girls are different from each other, but mentally and spiritually they’re identical. Each of them could just as easily be named Becky – or Barbie. They’re the kind of hot, 20-something girls who coast through life, having boyfriends and not really thinking about much else. Knowing that they don’t have to work too hard – at anything – because they’ll eventually be marrying guys with good jobs who’ll take care of them. Their futures are mapped out: living in Barbie Dream Houses; driving pink, convertible Barbie cars; having babies and becoming doting moms. The whole package.

The reality is that they’ll probably marry jocks (assuming that success in the college social scene will lead to success in life), become lower-middle-class dumpy moms, and spend “book club” every Friday afternoon drinking wine and reliving how hot they used to be.

I know, it sounds cynicle. But it’s not all bad news, because in the meantime, those types of girls are extremely fuckable. Not because they’re good at it – a lot of them aren’t – but they just look so good that it’s a great experience regardless. (Ever see an “oh face” on a hot, 20-something girl? Putting that look on a girl’s face makes you feel like the king of the world!) If you can get a girl like that into bed, do it. And if you can get three of them… Then you should write it all down, like I’m doing now, so that you can get high fives well into your 40s for what a stud you used to be.

So this is the story of how these three girls became my… well… “harem” is probably not the right word. We’ll just say “fuck buddies.”

And it all started when I played hard to get…

The Prelude: Playing Hard to Get

It wasn’t something I did on purpose. I can only tell this part of the story with the benefit of hindsight, because at the time I was clueless.

It started with a girl who came in to buy a tablet. Based on her accent, I think she was Pakistani, but whatever her race, she was the kind of girl it’s hard to take your eyes off. Long, dark hair cascading off her shoulders; smoky eyes; perfectly done lipstick and sculpted eyebrows. She was wearing jeans and a button-down shirt, and the causal ensemble just emphasized how incredible her body was.

By all rights I should have been falling all over myself to please her, and normally I would have been. (Nobody’s claiming I’m a smooth operator.) The thing is, I’d just gotten a call that my mom was in the hospital, balgat escort so I was distracted. Don’t worry, everything turned out fine! This isn’t that kind of story. But it distracted me at the time, so I wasn’t paying much attention to this girl or her looks.

The thing is, it’s true what they say about playing hard to get: it really does make you more attractive. So while I was off in my own little world, more focused on helping this girl pick out a tablet than I was on her cleavage – did I mention her amazing, beautiful, wondrous cleavage? (They should have sent a poet…) – she was getting more and more interested in this average-looking guy who wasn’t awed by her hot body the way most guys are.

The other thing about playing hard to get: it works best if you’re not actually playing, but really are hard to get. In the beginning, this girl was all business, she just wanted a tablet. But then, when she didn’t get her usual reaction from a guy like me, she started with a bit of light flirting. And when there was still no reaction, she started flipping her hair, trying to catch my eye. At one point she put her hand on my arm, a clear sign of interest from any girl, and I just brushed past her to show her a different tablet.

So she started to get even bolder. She hinted that one of the reasons she wanted a tablet was to get some “me time,” in her lonely bed at night, until she could find someone else to join her there. So I showed her a tablet that was a little more expensive than the others, true, but had great colour, so she’d be able to experience every detail.

Remember that cleavage I was mentioning? At some point in our conversation, she actually undid one or two more buttons on her shirt, to give me a better view. Meanwhile I was extolling the virtues of our bullshit extended warranty program.

By the time she picked out a tablet, and I was walking her to the cash, she wanted me, and I was completely oblivious. But the girls at the cash weren’t, they noticed right away.

“If I have any issues, can I get hold of you?” she asked, while Kristen rung her up.

“Oh yeah,” I responded, “I’m here most days.”

“But what if I need more… personal service?” she asked, with meaning that was evident to everyone except me, in my distracted state.

“Oh, no problem!” I responded, and I reached around Kristen to grab one of the store’s generic business cards. “The store’s number is on here, and they can always page me. But anyone else in our computer department could also help you.”

All the while I was only thinking about my mother in the hospital. A huge missed opportunity, one might think: I could have gone home with that girl right there and then, and she probably would have pleasured me for the rest of the afternoon.

But when God closes a door, He opens a window. Or three.


Like I say, I didn’t notice that girl hitting on me, but the girls at cash sure did. Especially Kristen, since she rung her up, so she could see first hand how the girl was slobbering all over me. The whole time we were at cash this girl was practically throwing herself at me, while I simply refused to catch. Kristen knew I didn’t have a girlfriend and that I wasn’t gay, so she came to the only conclusion she could: this girl must not have been good enough for me.

And that brings me to the third thing about playing hard to get: It even works second-hand!

As far as I know, Kristen had never given me a second thought, I was just another salesman. I don’t think she’d even seen me in normal clothes, she’d only ever seen me wearing the same tan slacks and branded polo shirt that everyone else wore. But she was now seeing me in a whole new light: If that goddess of a girl hadn’t been worth my time, who would be? What kind of girl would I want to flirt with? And, more importantly, how could Kristen get onto that exclusive list?

Overnight her attitude toward me changed, and her interest was just as evident as the other girl’s had been. The thing is, I’d had another conversation with my parents the previous evening, and found out that everything was fine with my mom. Some tests had turned up something pretty nasty, but she wasn’t showing the right symptoms, so they ran the tests again, and it turned out that the first tests were wrong, so everything was fine. It happens sometimes; it’s very worrying while you’re waiting for the second set of results, but it’s also a huge relief when it turns out everything is normal.

So I came into the store the next day a new man. Well… not really a new man, I was my usual self: Just trying to get to the end of the day without throwing a customer through a wall or screaming at the store manager out of frustration. But at least I wasn’t distracted. So when Kristen started putting it out there, I immediately noticed. And I may not have finished college, but I’m not an idiot either: when a girl goes from batıkent escort lack of interest to throwing herself at you in the span of 12 hours, you start to wonder why.

So I thought back, and the only interaction I’d even had with her the day before was when she was ringing up the girl who had been buying the tablet… and, now that I think of it, that girl was pretty hot, wasn’t she… and, is it my imagination, or was she hitting on me… fucking amazing cleavage, too…

My brain worked its way through the problem, and then my amateur level knowledge of the psychology of picking up chicks kicked in, and I put it all together: I’d accidentally played hard to get with that girl, it had “worked,” and some of the magic of that event had rubbed off on Kristen (who now wanted to “rub off” on me).

Luckily, I was smart enough to keep it up. When Kristen started coming on to me, I pretended like I didn’t notice, and just treated her normally. And damned if it didn’t continue to work: the more I ignored her flirting, the more she wanted me. (And then the dominoes started to fall, and before long I noticed I was getting looks from Naomi and Mia, too – but we’ll get to that later.)

The watershed event for Kristen took place behind the store. Out back, by the loading docks, there was a picnic table that the employees would sometimes use for lunches or breaks. When the weather was nice, it was great to get out of the artificial lighting and into the sunshine. I was out there for my afternoon break, scrolling through Facebook on my phone, when she came out the back door. She was done for the day, and must have been heading to the gym, because she’d changed out of her uniform and into workout gear: a set of spandex leggings that left nothing to the imagination, and one of those skimpy spandex tops that can only legally be worn by girls at the gym or superheroines.

But then she saw me, and, because I was facing the door, I had the exquisite pleasure of watching her walk toward me. She came around to my side of the picnic table, and asked, “What’re you doin?”

“Just checking Facebook,” I replied.

“Oh. I’m done for the day. Off to the gym!”

“Have fun – if you can. I hate the gym.”

“Me too. But I like the results. Feel my leg! Look at how toned it is!”

As she said that, she put her foot up on the picnic table’s bench, so that her thigh was right beside my face. It was her boldest move yet, so I figured it should be rewarded.

I casually reached up to feel the muscle of her thigh, which was already overly intimate, but I reached for the inside of her thigh, and much higher than she was expecting. So high that my index finger was nestled right against the lips of her pussy. She gasped at the sudden, unexpected intimacy, but I pretended not to notice.

“Oh yeah!” I responded, though still looking at my phone. “You’re right! No fat at all! What do you do? Spin class? Boxercise?” As I asked this, I started gently moving my finger back and forth; the light material of her leggings allowed the finger to nestle itself right between her labia, as my fingertip brushed gently back and forth over her clit.

“I do… um… spin class… mostly,” she managed to stammer out.

“Well it’s working,” I responded, still gently rubbing. “You don’t just look good, you feel good.”

I finally looked up from my phone, intending to catch her eye, but I couldn’t because they were closed. She was mesmerized by the pleasure she was receiving.

Which is the thing about 20-something girls: the typical girl at that age has never really been pleasured by a man. They spend all their time giving blowjobs and handjobs (and getting fucked, of course), but never being eaten or fingered themselves, always giving pleasure and never receiving, and they start to think that’s what sex is. So the first time they get a guy actively focusing on their pleasure – even if it’s nothing special, like the finger job I was giving her – it’s kind of mind-expanding. Couple that with the fact that she had been chasing me for a couple of days now, and was finally getting some attention from me, and I think poor little Kristen was in heaven at that moment.

I was too, actually. Remember what I said about seeing a girl’s “oh face”? I was watching the approach of one now, and it was fascinating. Kristen kept her eyes closed the whole time, focusing all of her mental energy on the pleasure radiating from her clit, letting it build, enjoying the build, until I finally felt her body shudder. She didn’t cry out, or scream, but there was a beatific smile on her face and she blushed as her orgasm washed over her.

She finally opened her eyes, after she came down, and looked down at me. Then she leaned over to kiss me; she didn’t say the words “thank you,” but I think it was implied. But then she went back to what she was good at, based on her limited knowledge of sex: After beşevler escort kissing me, she got under the picnic table, freed my cock from my pants, and started giving me a loving, leisurely blowjob. I couldn’t see her under the table, but I’m sure she probably had her eyes closed while she did it, as if she were kissing a lover. She was pretty good at it, too, I must say.

Just as she started going, Mia came out the door, looked around, and saw me. “Have you seen Kristen?” she asked. I realized that the angle she was at must have hidden Kristen from her view (or else her reaction would have been quite different!), so I played it cool.

“No, why?” I asked.

“She forgot something. Not important, I guess,” she responded, and then went back inside.

Kristen, meanwhile, hadn’t stopped what she was doing. I heard a tiny giggle, when Mia asked about her, but that was it. I don’t know if she was confident that she was hidden, or if she just didn’t care, but either way, she didn’t stop sucking, even when she was in danger of getting caught. But as soon as the door closed, she redoubled her efforts; she started throating me, and I could hear the sounds of her slurping increase.

And, if anything, I’d gotten harder, too. Talking to Mia while Kristen sucked my cock was kind of a turn-on.

“Come here,” I said to Kristen. “Let’s do this right.”

So I got up from the picnic table, and she followed me over beside a dumpster, which would block us from view of the door. As she got out from under the table, I noticed that she’d rolled up her top, exposing her tits. One of her nipples looked a little more red than the other; I assume she was tweaking it, while she was going down on me.

I took her hand and led her toward the wall, then turned her around. She knew what was coming, and put her hands up on the bricks, while I pulled down her tights. I slid a hand around to her front, so I could grab a breast, and used the other hand to guide myself into her. With only a couple of thrusts, I was balls-deep into her, and before long I was fucking her hard.

“Oh god,” she gasped. “Fuck me!”

I removed my hand from her boob, and grabbed both of her hips: I wasn’t going to take my time with her, not out in public, and especially not with how turned on I was. I just fucked her as hard and as fast as I could, and before long I was unloading inside of her.

I gave myself a few moments to catch my breath, before pulling out.

“Well that was nice,” I said, at a loss for anything more witty to say. I gave her ass a light, friendly slap, which caused a drop of cum to dislodge itself from her pussy and drop down somewhere into her tights. I hoped she was going to change before heading to the gym, or else she was going to be wet and squishy on the exercycle. Not to mention smelling like semen.

She pulled her tights back up, wriggling a little bit to get them into place, and the sight was almost enough to make me want to rip them back down and fuck her again, but I had to get back inside before someone came looking for me.

Once she was adjusted she turned back around and stood on her toes to kiss me again.

“When do you get off work today?” she whispered.

I ran a finger tenderly along her jaw, and answered, “6:30.”

“I’ll see you at your place at 8!” she responded, and then walked away. I could practically hear her purring as she went.


I went back into the store, thoughts of Kristen still in my mind, and got back to work. I actually had a pretty good afternoon, too. I don’t know if being so loose and mellow makes you a better salesman, or if God was just smiling on me that day, but I’d fucked a hot blonde girl on my break, and then topped it off by selling a ton of merchandise that afternoon.

But it was my day to close the store, and Naomi’s turn to help, which is how it tended to work: one of the trusted salesmen would be responsible for closing, one of the girls from cash would be responsible for closing off the tills, and we’d both sort of oversee each other, to make sure nobody was stealing.

After getting the last customer out of the store, and locking the door, we took care of cash first. Naomi did her thing while I metaphorically looked over her shoulder, even though I knew it wasn’t necessary. Naomi would no more steal than I would. Once she was done, she wandered along the store with me, talking a mile a minute, while I did my closing activities.

We ended up in the back room. She sat on one of the sturdier boxes and chattered away while I did a quick inventory of some of the stock, that we hadn’t been able to keep up to date throughout the day, to make sure the numbers added up. Luckily they did, because otherwise we would have had to be there even longer.

I wasn’t paying attention to her, at first, I was just letting the flow of words wash over me like background noise. But then she started talking about boyfriends, and my ears perked up a bit. She was complaining that boys her age seemed so immature. She was saying that she liked older guys – and as she said “older guys,” she was looking at me in a way that was more than the way colleagues at an electronics store look at each other.

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