I hate grocery shopping. Okay, I realize that it is a necessary chore, we need to eat and all that, but I hate it. It is the single most time consuming and infuriatingly redundant task. Think about it. First, you make a list (well, I don’t, but my wife does…and don’t you even dare say a word about coupons). You browse through the refrigerator, the pantry, laundry room, even the garage to compile a list of the things that you are missing or low on, so that you know what you will need and you write them down. Next, you drive to the store and grab a cart (always the one with the screwed up, rattling wheel) and you enter the cavernous store with your fucked up wheel announcing your arrival well in advance.

You take the items off the shelves, load them into the cart and then take them from the cart, placing them on the conveyer belt at the register. Then you or the bagger take them from the counter, load them into bags, put them back into the cart, take the cart to your car, remove the bags from the cart, load them into your car, drive home, unload the bags from your car, carrying them into the house. From here you must unload the items and place them into your refrigerator, pantry, garage or wherever. You handle each item no less than six times!

My wife loves to go grocery shopping, so she does. It keeps me from having to go, except if she needs something on my way home or if I occasionally stop in for something simple that I can find within five minutes. It works well for us. She shops. I don’t.

I am sharing these facts about our life for a reason, don’t worry. I am having a bad week. I worked overtime all weekend and by Tuesday, I’m running on fumes, my nerves frayed. I’ll let you in on the secret. I’m making enough extra money to take my sweetheart on a cruise for our anniversary. It’s a surprise, so she doesn’t understand why I haven’t been home before eight o’clock at night for more than two weeks. I know she’s only upset because she misses me and I miss her too, especially since I’m too tired to have sex at night and we normally have a very active sex life. But when she gets on that ship full of women bound for the Mexican Riviera, it will all be worth it.

So, she picks me up from work on Tuesday at 8:15, and all I want to do is go home, eat, shower and fall into bed. I lean over to place a kiss on her lips when I get in the truck and I can tell by the feel of her mouth that she is tense.

“What’s wrong baby?”

“How long is this overtime thing gonna last?” She asks as she pulls away from the curb. “You’ve been working twelve hours a day for almost three weeks. We never see each other unless I drive you to work.”

Reaching across the center console to take her hand in mine, I nod, “I know, babe. I promise only one more week.” I rub my thumb across the back of her hand.

She removes her right hand from mine and cups it along my thigh, her fingers lightly touching my crotch. “That’s what you said last week.” Her cute little pout always gets to me.
“I know, honey, but…”

She shakes her head in response, indicating she is not interested in my explanation. “I’m starting to worry a little bit. If I didn’t know better, I might think you were avoiding me. Are you going to fall asleep again tonight?”

I sigh heavily and lean on the passenger door, my head resting on my palm. What the hell? Here I am working my ass off to pay for this trip for her and I’m getting shit? She can’t really believe that I am losing interest. For fuck’s sake. I’m tired, horny and now I’m irritated because she’s upset and I can’t even explain to make it better or it will ruin my surprise. Just great. Well, at least we will be home in ten minutes.

Only, now we aren’t going toward our house. I puzzle over the direction we are going for a few minutes. Just as I’m about to ask, she puts on her blinker in front of the grocery store. No fucking way. Knowing she’s already upset I summon all my control to remain silent, vowing to make this as quick and painless as possible.

“We need things for lunches tomorrow and I didn’t have time to go today,” she says in explanation.

We approach the deli counter and I suggest that she wait in line while I get a head start getting what we needed. She rattles off several items from her list and I am off down the aisle. I locate the items fairly quickly and rush back to the cart. Again, she gives me more items to find. Now, I’m no Einstein, but on the third trip I was in the same aisle, getting something different. Why didn’t she just tell me everything she needed in this aisle? Now I was really getting irritated. She was doing this on purpose.

Stalking back to the cart, I drop the items in and glare at her. The girl behind the deli counter smirks at me as though they have shared a laugh at my expense. I look at my partner, who is also trying to suppress a grin. That did it. I reach out to grab the list from her hand. As I am doing so, she says, “No, don’t…” but I am way past listening. I snatch that list from her hand, jerking it toward me, sending the stack of coupons that were inside flying into the air and landing all over the floor. Now everyone at the deli counter is looking at me as if to say, “Jackass.” Knowing that they are right, I was being less than a loving, understanding partner; I silently bend down and begin to pick up the coupons.

Now, don’t think I don’t know how lucky I am. Most of you would have been in serious trouble over that little maneuver, right? Coupons flying, people staring, how many arguments have started over less? But, my honey bends down close to me and murmurs, “I’m sorry baby. I know you’re tired. I shouldn’t have messed with you. I’m going to show you that grocery shopping can be fun.”

“S’okay,” is all I can manage as she reaches between my squatting legs to retrieve a coupon I missed and in doing so presses into the apex of my legs. Her eyes flicker with playful desire when she sees that she has gotten my attention. She knows she can wreck me with just a look, so adding that contact to my very sensitive crotch area in the middle of the deli line is definitely not playing fair.

In the frozen food aisle, the chill of the air prickles her skin and more. My eyes are drawn appreciatively to the hard tips of her nipples protruding beneath the black tank top she is wearing as she reaches into the first case to grab a couple bags of vegetables. When my eyes move back to her face as she drops them into the cart, I know I have been caught staring. The grin that tugs on those full lips lets me know she doesn’t mind the attention and I smile in return.

She points to an item on the top shelf of the next case, “Honey, can you reach that for me?” After fulfilling the request, I am startled as I turn back to the cart. She has stepped next to me in the door of the cooler. Her arm slides across my chest teasing my nipples beneath the thin cotton t-shirt. The combination of the cold freezer air and the contact from her arm tighten the points almost painfully. Her hip nudges my crotch and I feel wetness pool between my legs. I nearly drop the bag of dinner rolls I’m holding.

By the time we reach the checkout counter she has me ready to fly out of my skin. When I bend down to lift the case of water from the bottom rack of the cart, she steps up and rubs her leg between mine. One smooth languid stroke that lasts just long enough to ensure I know it was intentional. I gasp. The case of water slips out of my hand, landing on the metal rack with a loud bang.

“Do you need help with that?” The bagger asks as she moves casually to the register, all innocence.

“Uh…no.” When I look up at the kid, he is blushing at what he witnessed. Now I’m blushing too.

Unloading at home is torture. With each load I bring in she stops me to say thank you and places wet kisses on my lips and neck. Every so often she playfully grabs my backside as I head back out for the next bags. Finally, the last bag is in. I kick the door closed behind me and advance across the kitchen toward her, intent on devouring her right then and there.

It takes all of my willpower to stand on the other side of the open refrigerator door waiting for it to close. When it does our eyes meet with raw and undisguised hunger. In two steps I have scooped her up with my hands cupping her ass and her legs wrapped around my waist. Her hands drive into my hair as our mouths crush together, tongues dueling, battling for control. I continue my forward motion until we reach the countertop at the far side of the kitchen.

She pulls the t-shirt out of my jeans and over my head in one fluid motion as I set her onto the edge of the counter. With my hips pressed into her center she continues to grind against my torso. I slide my hands up under her shirt, my palms moving higher up the soft skin of her sides until my thumbs reach her nipples to begin rhythmically flicking them, matching the motion of our tongues. Soon, I can feel her need soaking her shorts to coat the skin on my stomach. I am apparently not the only who has gotten turned on during this little shopping trip. Molten desire sears through my veins making my head spin at the thought of her pulsing wet heat welcoming me in.

I push my hands down to the waistband of her shorts where the buttons are quickly unfastened in a practiced maneuver that I pride myself in executing fluidly. My hand works inside to dip a finger into the slick folds and she bucks against my palm at the contact. I hear a moan that I think is me. I start to move my hand, wanting to take off the shorts, but she stops me with a firm grip on my wrist that pushes my fingers tighter against her flesh.

“Don’t go.” Her eyes are flickering amber flames consuming me with their intense heat. She is rocking against me insistently as my fingers slide along her slit and circle the source of her desire. I can feel her opening more fully as she swells and her desire flows and fills my palm. Her mouth finds mine as I enter her swiftly. My tongue and my fingers are driving simultaneously, fucking her so very completely with everything I am. Her contractions pull me in deeper. Tighter. Sucking on my fingers hungrily and the sensation rips through me, shattering any control the way her love always does; stripping me bare, down to the animalistic need to fuse my soul together with hers. I could die at this moment and be happy to go.

Two weeks later as I’m leaving work my cell phone rings. I smile as I pluck it from my belt, knowing it is my love by the ringtone. “Hello beautiful.”

Her rich laughter washes over me. “Hello yourself gorgeous.”

I am grinning stupidly as I walk to my car at the back of the station. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“I have to go to the grocery store and I wanted to let you know in case I’m not back by the time you get home.” She informs me.

“Can’t you wait until I get home? I’m leaving now.” Already I am pulling out of the lot toward the interstate.

“Well, I know how much you hate the grocery store, so I thought—“

“Me? Hate the grocery store? Whatever gave you that idea?” She’s laughing her throaty laugh that makes my insides tingle.

“I don’t know,” she says still smiling, “Are you saying you want to go to the grocery store with me? Stand in the deli line? Push that cart around for me?”

With each teasing statement the erotic memories from the last shopping trip flip through my mind like x rated flash cards. My pulse kicks up a notch as the visceral memories start an insistent pulse pounding between my legs. “Of course, baby.”

“And all this time, I thought you hated shopping.” She mused.
Now it was my turn to smile. “Well, let’s just say I have recently had an unforgettable lesson about how much fun grocery shopping can be.”

“Will we be able to get everything on my list?” She asks playfully.

My voice is pitched low with desire, “I will personally see that you get everything that you want, whether it’s on the list or not.”

Who knew grocery shopping could be so much fun?
 

 The End