You never know where or when things are going to happen to you so you should always be ready for the unexpected.
Our local Home Improvement Store sits hidden in a valley at the end of a curvy access road down from the main drag, it was a Tuesday in the middle of February, I had the day off. I was running a few errands but wasn’t looking forward to this one, having to return something without a receipt and what I had to return, boxes of untouched rat poison, well I wasn’t exactly proud of having rats or of my reason for returning the poison: The rats didn’t like it.
When you have no receipt, you want the return people to see you enter with your stuff so they don’t think you’re scamming the store. So I went in through the automatic door real slow and there she was, isolated inside her return island, staring right at me as if she had conjured me up in a fantasy, a young beautiful blonde with achingly high cheekbones and her mouth painted a red that doesn’t occur in nature but should. Russian, I thought, definitely Russian.
She was slouching on her elbows on the counter behind her. She smiled like she was lonely not for people with returns in general but lonely for me in particular. She took me in whole and then stood up to show how elegantly tall and well built she was, thin, angular, but filled out with robust flesh. She hit some switch and her sign saying ‘Returns’ lit up and it was funny, the timing of it, and I laughed and she laughed and in that instant, I became as bold about my return as I had been shy about it before.
“Hello, Sir. Welcome to my world,” she said with a Russian accent and a Russian world-weariness which announced she was bored and thus ready for anything.
“Daria,” I said. It was on the nameplate above where her ample chest began to swell into her black t-shirt.
“That’s nice.”
“Thanks, man.” First, Sir, then, Man, what next?
“How can I help you?”
“I don’t have a receipt for these things.”
I pushed my boxes across the counter but she paid them no mind.
“I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.”
“What does matter?”
“Depends on the person. For me, love and fun and quitting this nowhere job and starting my modeling career.”
“Career. I could listen to you roll those R’s all night.”
“I roll them during the day too.”
“I’m sure you do. It’s freezing in here. How can you wear only a t-shirt?”
“I run hot. My last boyfriend said so, I run hot.”
Three feet away and a counter between us, I was hard and throbbing and crazy most likely from all blood my cock had stolen from my brain. That must have been it, brain drainage, the only explanation for what I did next. I took one of her hands in both of mine and it was active and alive and very hot. Her long fingernails were painted black.
“Yes, you are.”
“We are, how you say, flirting? Company doesn’t like that,” she said but didn’t take her hand away. She dug those black fingernails into my palm. “They could fire me for this, Sir.”
“Flirting,” I repeated, a bad imitation. I let her hand go, confident it would come back.
“You should catch them alive and bring them to me. I have four snakes.”
“Excuse me.”
“The rats. You should catch them in live traps and give them to me. I have four snakes.”
Daria went on to explain about her boas and pythons and how they ate live food and how awesome they were when they sprung and wrapped themselves around a live rat or hamster or gerbil. Oh, those rolling R’s. I watched her full red lips and imagined myself sinking into them for hours.
“Come with me,” I said, taking her hand and guiding her out the opening in her counter. The moments, they just added up to a boldness I never had before.
A manager of hers, Anthony on his nameplate, stood between us and the door, and when it came right down to it, not knowing who I was to her, on a cruddy Tuesday afternoon in February, with hardly any customers in the store, Anthony stepped aside without a word.
We didn’t know what to do first as we made our way down the parking lot. She grabbed my cock like the tiller of a boat but she didn’t know where she was sailing. I kissed her, our tongues swabbing each other, hungrily, with minds of their own, as we tumbled down the lot, toward then away from my car. The wind blew. The dirty hardened piles of snow were easy to avoid. We tumbled like drunks, tearing at clothes, into a car. It was mine. I pressed against her, kissing, feeling her swelling breasts as they cried out to be felt, yanking her bra aside, so that her breasts filled my hands and her hardened nipples ached against my aching fingers. I lifted her short skirt, ripped her panties down and then I pushed easily into that strange swollen wet refuge, filling her completely. We were quickly expanding into all that there was inside and out.
“No, wait,” she said. “This is what I have been waiting for all day.”
I had never been so hard or deep into someone. It seemed that I would break through her body into the greater universe.
Daria somehow separated us and then led me by the hand into the woods bordering the parking lot.
In defiance of February, because she ran Russian hot, Daria tore her t-shirt off and her bra and her skirt and stood defiant against a large tree. Her body was lithe and vulnerable with desire. She slid down on to the snow, her legs raised to the branches, black Chuck Taylor’s on her feet, her cunt red, wet and welcoming. I had torn my clothes off, even those I didn’t have to tear off, my winter coat, my shirt and undershirt and, her body wide open to me, plunged in so deep I felt I had skewered the earth too. She gave out a cry and came immediately because something had to give, some energy release and explode. I kept plunging long and deep, swelling larger and larger into her surrendering insides until she came again and again. Cries tore through the parking lot, cries Anthony could hear, cries of escape and a new life. And then she came again with righteous, pleading screams, the roots of the tree we found out later scraping her back and she said ‘Stop, it hurts me to come anymore. It’s just too sensitive and I can’t stand it’. She pushed up against me and I obeyed, getting off her, and then I lay back on the raw freezing earth while she sucked on me until I shot into her mouth with such force her body shuddered along with mine and the tree, or so it seemed, and we lay in the snow, hot enough not to care, in ecstatic exhaustion.
This is the woman, Daria, who sleeps beside me every night now, in holy accident. Sometimes, it happens that way. You never know where or on what side of heaven you will meet your true love. And it turned out to be true, Daria had four snakes.
