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My butch-crush Levy worked in a cage downstairs—down in the deep, dark, scary basement underneath the big, bright, shiny department store. She had the kind of job most people have never heard of: she fixed merchandise customers broke or returned, and she shipped manufacturers products that were still under warrantee. Anything she couldn’t fix or get repaired, she wrote off.
Levy was supposed to ditch the busted goods, but she went against corporate regulations and kept them for parts. Management probably knew, but they were too scared to scold her. Levy always said that’s why they had her working in a cage—they could lock her in there like a rabid dog if she ever got out of control. You wouldn’t know it to look at her, but Levy had a great sense of humour. Nobody knew the real her. That’s because she scared everyone shitless.
But not me. I wasn’t afraid. Or, if I was, the fear was tempered so much by attraction that it only pumped up my desire to seek out the dyke downstairs and rattle her cage. I daydreamed about Levy constantly. I looked for any excuse to go down there.
Me? I worked the sales floor, part-time because management claimed nothing else was available. Not that I believed a word they said. I knew better than to trust “the man,” even when the man was a group of nattering women, and even if that group brought in less than thirty thousand each for managing the hellhole they called a department store.
Management assigned me to the sports department even though I knew less than nothing about hockey sticks and tennis rackets. Evening shifts were the worst. I had to work them alone, which was daunting until I realized “alone” didn’t just mean without other staff members, it meant without any customers either. People had better things to do at nine thirty on a Wednesday night than buy badminton birdies. Shuttlecocks. Levy taught me that word last week. I’d covered my lips and let them have their naughty smile.
I was daydreaming about Levy stripping me bare and testing out one of the “neck massagers” from health and beauty on my naked body when a customer with a big bouffant hairdo approached me. She was way too well dressed to be shopping in a dump like this but, hey, it took all kinds.
The woman glanced down at my name tag and said, “Excuse me...Asian?”
“Ashlin,” I corrected her.
The woman gave me a confused sort of smile and pointed to a fishing rod inside the Plexiglas case. She started asking questions, but it was all Greek to me. I didn’t know anything about fishing.
So, I figured this was as good a time as any to hit up Levy for sports information. I told the woman with the big hairdo that I’d have to check with an associate. She didn’t seem too pleased about that, but I was pleased—pleased I’d be seeing my crush in thirty seconds flat.
Tearing my uniform smock over my head, I ran through the store and swung open the staff-only door. One of the forklift guys in delivery made some comment about my skirt, which was rule-defiantly short. Any other day I might have cared, but I was about to see Levy. Stupid guys could say whatever they damn well pleased.
I rushed into the back staircase and popped two buttons on my blouse. Nobody else worked in the basement. Just Levy. No one else would see.
In my wedge heels, I had to be careful walking down those slatted metal stairs. It really was scary in the basement. Everything was either concrete or metal, and the only sign of life came from Levy’s blaring headphones. She obviously hadn’t noticed me yet, and I gripped the metal railing, just watching her work.
There was something about dykes who looked like truck drivers that really turned me on. That was Levy’s style—dark blue pants like mechanics wore, and an unbuttoned short-sleeve shirt over a tank top. Her sandy hair was about shoulder length, but she always wore it back in a ponytail, with a baseball cap that said MACK and had a bulldog on it.
Just the sight of her made my pussy pulse. I was so wet she could probably fist me in one go, if she wanted to.
And that was the kicker: so far, she hadn’t expressed any interest in me. None. At all. Every shift, I dressed a little more femme—brighter lipstick, shorter skirt, higher heels. Anything to grab her attention.
It took about a minute and a half to work up the courage to call her from the bottom of the stairs, but she didn’t hear me. I crept toward her cage until I was close enough to weave my fingers through and shake it. Levy jumped almost a foot off the ground, turning simultaneously and tearing off her headphones.
She was obviously scared, but she covered it up, yelling, “What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?”
I apologized coyly while she turned off her music, then posed the big-haired customer’s question. Levy came up with an answer, easy as pie. When I didn’t leave, just peered through the cage like a lost puppy, she stared at me, hard, unyielding, and finally said, “The customer’s waiting.”
What did I care? I just shrugged and kept staring, smiling like an idiot. I was really good at saying stupid things to girls I liked. With Levy, I usually complimented her hat or her top or her rainbow bootlaces, but none of that had worked so far. When I asked if I could come into her cage, I didn’t expect her to say yes. In fact, when she did, I thought I’d heard her wrong.
The door had a latch on it like the one on the gate to my parents’ backyard. She flipped it, opened the cage and yanked me in. Her eyes kept asking me what I wanted, but she didn’t say a word. That’s when I saw them: two different models of “neck massagers” from the sales floor. They were right on top of Levy’s big shop-teacher desk, just waiting to be played with.
I picked one up, and Levy shot me a look like she didn’t want me touching her stuff. I didn’t mind those looks. She gave them to me all the time. I didn’t even care if she didn’t like me yet, because I knew she would, in time. Most people didn’t like me at first. It took a little while, but I won them over with subtle charm.
Waving the smaller massager at Levy, I asked, “What’s the deal with this thing? Did a customer return it?”
“No,” Levy scoffed. “We don’t accept returns on stuff like that. Didn’t you read the employee manual?”
I shrugged again, hiding my smile. She was so mean to me and I loved it, because it was the meanness of an eight-year-old pulling a little girl’s pigtails. Levy liked me and didn’t want to admit it, not even to herself. When I put the massager back on her desk, she told me the products were for her own “personal interest.”
I couldn’t have asked for better fodder for teasing. “Oh, so that’s why you work such long hours, huh? Management thinks you’re so industrious, but really you’re just sitting down here with your pants around your ankles.”
“Shut up,” she said, turning her back on me. She fished through her cubbyholes full of screws and packing materials until she found what she was looking for. When she turned to face me, Levy had a packet of cable ties in hand.
I’d broken her. She would top me. I’d finally won.
“Stand against the cage if you’re so clever,” Levy said. “Feet apart, arms in the air. Like a snow angel.”
I felt giddy as I got into position, spreading my legs for her. When she came close to me, I could smell the basement on her clothing. Damp and concrete dust. It made me want to sneeze, but I held it in. Levy probably didn’t want my spit and snot all over her.
