Friday, May 21, 2010

Playing with the balls.

Oh, the things I do to keep my mind occupied.

In a bizarre trick of fate, lately I find myself helping a friend in his sports supply business. As he helps local youth soccer teams embrace World Cup enthusiasm, I've found myself getting some extra upper-body workouts in his warehouse as he deals with several major product orders. It's been a fun and relaxing source of extra income, and I actually get a kick out of it. (Ow. Sorry.)

But it's also given me a new venue lately to engage in a little friendly teasing. I've just finished emptying a truck when I text her in a blue-collar persona.

Me: Mm... Hey baby. Yo, you're cute!

Kara: :)

Me: Yeah, yeah. So, hey, lookit, whatya think about coming in the back with me, huh? There's a nice, secluded spot over there between the boxes... c'mon, no one will see...

Kara: Oh, sure! Cuz the smell of cardboard just makes me so wet! ;)

Me: Mmmm... yeah... that's right... bend over just like that for me...

Kara: You mean like this? *wiggle*

Helda, one of the women who works there, sees me texting with a smile on my face. She smirks and asks me what I'm up to. Do I tell her? After all, I hardly know the woman.

"Uh, just something naughty to my girlfriend," I shrug with a grin. But Helda's face tells me that details aren't unwelcome. I laugh and go on.

"I was teasing her about taking her into the back of the warehouse, and she poked me to say just how much the smell of cardboard turns her on." Helda's dark eyes smile as she nods and goes back to the shipment of British-style soccer uniforms that she was working on.

Helda and Holly are the women of the sports supply warehouse. They're co-workers (inasfar as I can say I'm 'working' there), and only co-workers, but they've also been a source of personal amusement for me as I go about doing this extra bit of effort lately.

Both are tall athletes, and impossibly rail-thin with adorably teeny titties. Helda is a mid20s longhaired German brunette with a strong, squarish jaw, dark eyeglasses and a background in competitive soccer. Both her accent and attitude are subtle.

Holly is an early20s, longhaired dirtyblonde Canadian who looks as though she had just walked out the pages of a child's bedtime fairytale. Her innocent-as-pie, cornfed good looks and charmingly polite demeanor are instantly dashed however when, in a moment of constraint, she utters her favourite expletive: "Oh, ballsack!"

Usually, these women are engaged in the business office while I'm tossing heavy boxes around in the back, but from time to time they can be found in my temporary, helpful domain. These moments often afford me pleasantly enjoyable moments of corner-of-the-eye voyeurism, and lately I've been especially amusing myself when (ass man that I am) I'm on a high scaffold and one or both of them are far below me, squatting or bending over somethingorother.

Now, truth be told, for all my rogueishness, I like to think that I'm completely pleasant, respectful, and appropriately distant in the workplace. I am not the dude who's leering at the woman nearby. Yet, on the other hand, even a fox in a Zenga suit remains a fox... and so, for me, ever subtly, taking personal note of their choice of panties for the day has become a silly bit of sport. Lately, it's certainly given me more reason to update my Twitter with my cell. After all, one can empty so many trucks and fill so many orders before the mind wanders...

Cornfed blonde Holly possesses a delectably heart-shaped derriere with just the nicest bubble, and seems to be an all g-string girl. I particularly enjoyed the brief view she lent today when she squatted near the silkscreening rotunda in her low-rise jeans and revealed a generous eyeful of youthfully tender ass seam. Nice.

Teutonic Helda, on the other hand, with her smallish, boyish, perpetually black-denim-covered butt seems to prefer comfy panties. And I must admit, as appealing and as fashionable as gstrings are these days, more often than not I do remain a loyal panties fan. Somehow, to me, the idea that More Is Yet To Come when I'm slowly lowering my lover's jeans from behind her just teases my mental cockhead all the more.

Helda and I haven't really been flirting as much as just being playfully adult on occasion. Asking what other tasks needed doing one day, for example, she sighed and looked me over before requesting a back massage... and then promptly suggested a more realistic thing that cold be done around the place. It was cute.

"I'm worn out," she said during a rough day of unloading a truck of soccer balls coming in from Pakistan.

"Nothing a shot of scotch and a hot tub wouldn't cure," says I. It's something I say a lot. She shot me a smirking glance.

"Ok! Over there?" she asked, pointing to a large space between stacks of boxd uniform jerseys. Instantly, I was reminded of the recent, teasing textmessage between Kara and me hat I had told her about.

"Uh, yeah," I caught up, just slightly surprised. "But this isn't necesarily the sort of ambience I would have sought for."

She winks and smiles. "And you're girlfriend might not like it, huh?"

Yeah. Leave it to her to reaffirm that I happily have a partner. Typical, no? But then, maybe she's never heard of polyamory...

No. I'm not seeking to pursue something with Helda the German soccer girl with the boyish butt, or with Holly the only-slightly-innocent, pertly-bummed gstring babe. But as I go through a few days of helping my friend out and pocketing some extra pre-summer cash, my eyes and scandalously beating heart remain nicely entertained.

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