Page 5 of The Fed Sex Man

I feigned innocence. “Huh?”

She gestured toward the empty street. “He was hung like a freaking mule.”

I desperately needed time to recover. My skin was on fire and my pussy was throbbing. The look he gave me pushed me over the edge of reality and right into a pool of lustful thoughts.

On the surface, I remained calm. On the inside, I was being pressed against the bookshelf and shoved full of the world’s newfound eighth wonder.

“I didn’t notice,” I lied.

“It looked like he had a can of Red Bull stuffed in the leg of his shorts,” she said excitedly.

I maintained my look of innocence. “A what?”

“His dick was the size of a can of freaking Red Bull.” She raised her hands and held them a foot from one another. “Not the little one that sells for a dollar ninety-nine, either. The big one. The five-dollar can.”

“Oh.” Still blushing from his remark, I turned toward my desk, hoping Jenny didn’t notice my level of embarrassment. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“I can’t believe he made that comment about your shirt. Look at what I’m wearing.” She brushed her hands over her ample chest and then tugged at the hem of her shirt. “I’ve got Chris fucking Stapleton and titties hanging out my non-existent sleeves. He didn’t even take a second glance.”

I sat down and fanned my face with the book. “Maybe he did, and you didn’t notice. Sounds like you were pretty busy checking out his energy drink.”

She tossed the boxes on the floor at my side. “Well, if he noticed, he sure as fuck didn’t say anything.”

After a moment, the blood drained from my face, leaving me disappointed that he’d managed to escape. I wondered when – or if – he’d ever return. Then, I realized I held his fate in my shaking hands.

Most of what was delivered to the store was through the US Postal Service’s media mail program. I had the freedom, however, of choosing the carrier for non-book related freight. As Jenny mumbled obscenities and tidied up the book shelves, I ordered a new pair of shoes from Zappos.

Next-day FedEx delivery with a signature required, of course.