It's not often that I spot attractive women at my place of work. Approximately 90% of my customers are male, and for that 1 in 100 that are of the opposite sex very few appeal to me. That's why it was such a pleasant surprise to see a beautiful young redhead flirt with me.
She pulled up on a faulty diesel pump in her jet black Volkswagen and managed to pump less than two gallons before she realized it wasn't going to work for her. She came in to find out about the problem was.
I was taken by her immediately. She had cute face, shapely body and a dynamite smile. She was wearing a very attractive flower print dress that complimented her nice legs. It was a bright, sunny day and she gave the sun a run for its money in terms of sheer radiance. I was animated with her, anticipating her questions and helping her in the most polite and gentlemanly way I could. I was really attracted to her, but there was none of the hesitation or the anxiety I usually encounter when feeling attraction to a woman.
She went back out to pull her car around to the proper pump and finished topping off her tank. Meanwhile, I engaged my co-workers in witty banter of a non-specific nature. Then one of the highlights of our encounter was when she bent forward from the waist over her passenger seat to find her purse. I had a pure, unobstructed view of this beautiful woman's proffered rear. Normally in these situations I get called away to pay attention to someone wanting to pay for gas or groceries, but not this time. No, she took her time looking for her purse and I savored every last second of it. I would like to think she did it on purpose, but only she knows for sure.
Finally she got her pocketbook and came inside. I made sure I opened the door for her. Trust me when I say I NEVER open the door at work for anyone, EVER. As she paid with a credit card we chatted about nonsensical things such as how sticky diesel fuel can be. She seemed flustered. Ah, now we're getting somewhere. She kept making gestures with her hands, as if the fuel on her hands could be scrubbed off by the air. "The ladies room is down the hall," I said, before she could ask. She flashed her million candlepower smile and left to wash up.
Now, there are a lot of things I could've done when she came back. I could've stopped her in a casual way and asked for her phone and/or email address. I could've slapped a GPS locator on her car and tracked her via a Java applet on the web. I also could've poured flourescent orange paint on myself and begged for her love on my knees.
Alas, all I did was smile and hold the door open once more as she passed me by, into her car where she drove back into her life and out of mine. Sigh. . .
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