When the loud speaker rudely blared, "Clean up, aisle 3," I instinctively turned the other direction. At aisle 7, jams and jellies, a couple in their twenties halfway down inspected the flavors and moved bottles off and on the shelf. She was a tall brunette, beautifully flowing hair and high, black stilettos but otherwise hidden under a tan trench coat. He was an ordinary sort in blue jeans and polo shirt, hair styled du jour - short on the sides and overly thick on top.
The woman opened the cap off a bottle she held, dipped a finger and tasted it. I was appalled.
I sauntered slowly at them, questioning how stern of a reprimand to deliver, but my approach did not dissuade them. She looked deliberately at me, lusciously large eyes with top lids tinted in a mysterious blue green hue and long, thick lashes. Her lowered chin created a seductive gaze. Dipping her finger in the jam again, she scooped a sample into her mouth and sucked on her fingertip, prolonging a lick with her tongue curled around the fingernail as it slipped from the red O of her lips.
As I reached them, she moved her finger to her boyfriend's mouth and he sucked on her finger in like fashion. He tasted the jam but his gesture was ambiguously bisexual. He puckered his cheeks like he was sucking a little dick. Grabbing her hand and holding the finger in his mouth, he stroked up the side of her hand. I don't think a man would stroke a woman's breast or leg that way as he licked her. I stopped there because I didn't want to engage him further.
"Thanks for standing there," she drawled at me. "Perfect to block the security camera."
I looked up and behind me at the dome camera suspended from the ceiling. When I looked back, the man was pawing at the lapel of her trench coat. He flung open her trench coat and pressed their bodies back against the shelf. Her butt hit hard on the metal rack and a couple of the bottles tipped over behind her without falling off the shelf.
Her red evening dress sported the shortest hemline possible, just below her crotch. It was an elegantly cut dress, brilliant ruby red that matched her lipstick and topped with sequins also red. Thin straps on the shoulders slashed to the waist barely covered her breasts and revealed a lot of flesh and provocative tan lines. She lifted one leg open that flashed the edge of her black thong. She had shaved any pubic hair that would be visible outside the thong, and from the tan lines, she used a bathing suit that barely covered her mound.
After kissing her deeply, the man nuzzled his nose in by her ear and then sunk his face in the naked split between her breasts. She held his head smooshed between her tits with one hand, the other hand holding in the air the open jar of raspberry jam. She looked to me through her enthralling eyelashes and purred in a sultry voice. "Do you want some? Do you want a taste?"
"I might just," I agreed. "But him. His role is a riddle. I'm not into guys."
I think she had her hand over his ear because he didn't respond. She said, "Too bad, he's all about sharing."
The man lifted her dress in back where I could see her little black thong completely and he shoved his hand between her legs. He rubbed his hand over her mound and slid his finger down the center of her panties to separate and clearly define her pussy lips.
She was panting and moaned to me, almost a whisper, "I want you." She pushed her lips into an O suggesting she was waiting for me.
The man aggressively poked his fingers around the elastic of her panties into her pussy. I mumbled in reply, "You seem occupied."
She drew a business card from her trench coat and handed it to me. She placed thumb and pinky by lips and ear and mouthed, "Call me."
She said to the man, "If you want to fuck, you better take me now."
Suddenly she pulled her trench coat closed and pushed the opened jar of raspberry jam back on the shelf. They trotted away. I saw her beautiful brunette hair flowing behind as the click click click of her heals tapped down the floor.
Her card said "Exotic adventures" and "Veronica Mars" along with a cartoon graphic of fashioned red lips overlaying palm trees and an out-of-state 314 area code. I tried to wait a proper interval before calling. By the afternoon I couldn't resist. Was it surprising to reach the St. Louis Zoo and no Veronica Mars there? Her ploy won't stop me from shopping that store more frequently, hoping to find her in jams and jellies.