"Great!" you say upon closer inspection, "I've found the drill, but the batteries aren't here."
Normally I wouldn't care about such things - I had never even used the thing's battery power - but this gave us an excuse to keep searching and talking, which the girl readily accepted. We both kept idly poking around, chatting about our lives. Her name, it turned out, was Tara. Through a steady stream of glances and giggles, she told me that she was studying photography at the local college.
Having done a bit of photography myself, I jumped at the topic, and we were soon talking about lenses and composition and, best of all, models. She soon had hopped onto the stool that leaned against the wall, and started giving me the sultriest, more exaggerated glances she could. We both laughed but I could feel the sexual tensions there, and the excellent view of her ass as she stood there did my erection no good.
Suddenly, Tara shouted "I found it!" and reached up to a shelf above her head, towards a thick black power cord that hung over the side. In a flash she pulled, and brought out not only a battery pack but an old, poorly sealed can of orange paint, which, in bouncing off the table, splattered us both in bright orange.
Flushing red with embarrassment, Tara started apologizing and trying uselessly to brush the paint off of my clothes. Stepping off of the ladder to get closer, she started losing her footing on the paint-covered floor and fell into me as I caught her.
Holding Tara there, we stared into each others eyes and then both burst out laughing. |