‘Don’t you?’ He has his hand on the back of my neck, preparing to move in for the killer kiss, but he pauses for a moment, pouting at me. ‘You mean you’d leave me here with my lonely bachelor basket and go back to your trolley? What’s he got that I haven’t?’
I aim a gentle kick to his shin, but I’m fooling nobody. I want him so badly he must be able to smell it on me.
‘A four-pack of plums.’
‘Ah, if it’s plums you want …’
I give up. Doctor or not, nobody would be able to misdiagnose the shocking case of lust that has me in its grip.
Our mouths come together again and we cling to each other like spider monkeys. I am crushed up against the partition, feeding on him, when the external door opens. I stiffen and try to push him off but he holds me very still, locking me into the kiss.
‘Yeah, can you believe she said that?’
The sound of bags being unzipped, lipsticks uncapped, hairspray sprayed.
Serge puts a hand on my hip and starts rucking my skirt up, slowly, gently.
‘Fucking bitch. As if she never slacks off. Did you see her yesterday, all over the bakery manager when she was supposed to be on the tills?’
The skirt is high on my thigh, Serge’s fingers collecting the fabric until he holds a great fistful.
‘Ugh, he’s such a creep too. Silly cow. She thinks she’s above the rest of us. I want to slap her one.’
Serge’s other hand creeps around to my bottom, rubbing it through the satiny fabric of my knickers.
‘Eh up.’ The woman’s voice hushes to a whisper. ‘That toilet’s engaged. Better watch what you say.’
He moves lower, stroking the bare part of my thighs above the stocking tops, fingers fluttering lightly around to the sensitive inner skin. I quiver and try not to pant.
‘Hello,’ says the second voice stridently. ‘Who’s there?’
I am caught in a bodily dilemma, on alert and yet
unable to resist Serge’s continuing campaign of seduction. The confusion bats me from one extreme to the other – tension, sex, fear, lust.
Luckily the stalls aren’t the kind you can peer into.
The women continue to make gruff overtures to us, while Serge plunges his hand inside my knickers and moves cunning fingertips over my fat wet clit.
‘I reckon someone’s shagging in there,’ says one of them suddenly. ‘Come on, let’s go out and see who’s missing. Hey, what if it’s Sheila?’
They cackle hysterically and then the door bangs shut.
Serge spears a couple of fingers inside me and pumps them back and forth with efficient rhythm. The kiss has wrecked our lips by now and he breaks it momentarily to whisper, ‘You’re a bad girl, aren’t you, getting fingered in a lavatory.’
‘You’re the bad one,’ I gasp. ‘What if they come back?’
‘They won’t. It’s home time. They’ve got bigger fish to fry. Give it five minutes and the staff room’ll be safe.’
‘Why the staff room? Why not here?’
‘I can’t get me cherries out in a public restroom. It’s not hygienic!’
‘Is what you’re doing now hygienic then? Oh God.’ His fingers speed up, pronging me with deadly accuracy while his palm slaps against my clit. I widen my stance, pushing down, urging him on until the sweet faraway tingle hits my groin and begins to spread and build, heading for the inevitable conclusion.
‘I’m going to come,’ I jerk out. ‘I’m going to come getting fingered by a strange man in a supermarket toilet, oh yes, yes.’
I crumple against him. I’ve never felt so dirty, never felt so excited.