Petrol station blues
Martin Kane
A lonely cashier meets an intriguing customer


Author's note:

Anyone wishing to contact me may do so via the DtV messageboard for 
Readers & Writers.  I invite anyone to send any comments, good or 
bad, should they wish to.  I'm always interested in what others think
of my little tales.

Copyright is mine.  I'd be flattered if anyone wanted to use this 
tale elsewhere, but please seek permission first.

I'll abstain from the adult content warning, if you've got this far, 
you're certain to know what kind of thing to expect anyway.  


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Incredibly, Lee didn't realise she was muscular when he first met her, 
despite having an attuned eye for such things.  She had struck him as yet 
another customer in an endless stream of them.  Admittedly, she was 
prettier than most, being young and vital, bobbed hair bouncing in a 
pleasant symmetry.  She was however shorter than he liked, barely five-
five, but had a strong and confident stance that seemed to add inches in 
the mind's eye.  What began to stand her out from the crowd as she returned 
to the shop from time to time, was her manner.  She didn't look down on him 
as just a sales clerk in a petrol station; she was as polite and open with 
him as she doubtless was with everyone else.

It was unusual, given that most customers were ignorant as fuck.  It was 
Lee's first experience of the General Public as a being en mass, and it had 
truly shocked him how screwed up they were.  The arrogance, the contempt, 
the inconsideration, the self-importance.  He had never known just how much 
an endless stream of dumb, clumsy, pointless yet self-centred individuals 
could chip away at his resolve.  Individual?  That was an oxymoron in 
itself.  They were no more individual than lumps of horse shit in a compost 
pile.  He understood for the first time in his life why people climbed to 
the top of clock towers with a high-powered sniper rifle.  That particular 
phenomenon would, in short years to come, be termed "Going Postal" in 
deference to American postal workers.  A fact that he would have found 
deeply amusing.  

But he didn't dwell upon it, to do so would only drive him crazy.  Instead, 
he did the job mindlessly, acting on auto-pilot.  He read his book when it 
was quiet, tuned the world out when it was busy.  It wasn't a difficult job 
and he could perform without needing to think.  That's not to say it wasn't 
a hard job.  In fact, he often wondered what the business suits and city 
commuters would do if they actually had to swap with him for a day.  See 
how well they took shit from assholes with a smile on their face, see how 
well they coped with pressure.  OK, so big bankers were under stress.  Fuck 
that, so was he.  Having a line of cars backing up the pumps, a queue of 
ignorant tossers down the length of the shop, each with their own petty 
problems to lay on him.  And that was on the few occasions when everything 
was running smoothly.

Still, enough bemoaning his fate.  Lee wasn't about blame others for his 
shortcomings.  After all, he was the one who had dropped out without 
qualifications; he was the one that needed the paltry paycheque for food 
and a roof.  It was his bed, and he was the one that had to pay rent on it.

Truth be told, if he honestly believed he would be stuck here for the rest 
of his life, he would go Postal.  He'd probably do it the English method, 
rather than the American - a stomach full of barbiturates or jump in front 
of a train.  (That one appealed to him, piss off all the big city commuters 
who insisted on ruining his morning every day.)

But he was studying.  He was doing college courses in his spare time, 
whenever he could scrape together the cash.  True, as a low wage earner he 
got state discounts, but he still had to scrimp and save for every penny 
gained.

It was his get-out, his salvation, his redemption.  Without it, he would 
truly break.  He'd squandered his intellect, wasted his education but that 
didn't stop him from clawing it back again.  If it meant serving his 
penance in this hell than so be it.

The guy who'd trained him had warned him it was a shit job.  'But there are 
some benefits.  The eye candy is fucking great.'  However, Lee had found 
the eye candy to be just more fucking customers and he hated fucking 
customers.  They may be better looking than the others but they were still, 
on the whole, arrogant, ignorant and annoying.  He'd still rather they shop 
somewhere else, no matter how pleasant they were on the eyes.

'I'm telling you man, wait 'til summer.  Your eyes'll be popping out your 
head.'

Maybe so, but he doubted it.

But then there was her.  There was his ray of sunshine.  There was Ms N 
Baker.

He'd seen her a few times and she'd stood herself out from the crowd, so 
much so that he was actually glad when she came in.  A visit from her would 
lift his spirits for the whole shift.

At first, he'd been too indifferent to engage her in conversation, though 
on their initial meetings he'd been genuinely struck by her pleasant and 
friendly nature.  And then he was simply too nervous, being wowed by this 
extraordinarily beautiful woman.  (His heart having being caught and thus 
her status had been upped from particularly pretty.)

She'd noticed the book he was reading on one early occasion and startled 
him.  'Oh wow, J G Ballard.  You're into his work?'

'Yeah,' he replied, taken aback by her enthusiasm.  'I only came across one 
of his books recently, totally blew me away.  Now I'm just speeding through 
them.  I can't get enough.'

'Probably a good way to read them.  They all follow the same thought 
patterns.  It's like Fellini's movies - variation on a theme.  I doubt even 
he can recall which is which.'

He lifted an eyebrow.  Not quite sure how to reply.  She took it as an 
astute comment however.

'Oh, I'm not detracting from his genius at all, I only mean that he has a 
very clear view of the world, and isn't about to be persuaded otherwise.'

'It's certainly a unique voice.  The scary thing is you're totally 
convinced by it.'

'Oh definitely.  He'll change your view of the world.  A turn for the 
cynical.  You read "High Rise" yet?'

He shook his head.

'That's my favourite.'  (Though she later changed that viewpoint to "Super 
Cannes".)

She'd left the shop, leaving him a little breathless and utterly smitten.  
As simply as that, she'd gone from being just another fucking customer to 
the love of his life.

The next time she came in he'd learnt her name.

'Thank you Ms N Baker.'

She'd laughed as she took back her bankcard.  'Nicole, please.'

'Nicole,' he agreed.  'Lee.'

'Please to meet you,' she gave him a half curtsy and from that point 
onwards, she'd take the time and trouble to exchange a few words whenever 
she came in.  (Remarking with flattered amusement that the next novel he 
read was indeed "High Rise".)

And then, his lust had been fired into overdrive.

It was February and full winter, the eye candy his colleague had mentioned 
so fondly was generally covered up in fur and wool, concealing any possible 
views of alluring flesh.

Nicole had come into the shop, having pulled up her car right besides the 
door, not buying any petrol on that occasion.

She'd come into the shop wearing a jacket over a leotard.  He'd looked up 
in time to see her walk to the counter, catching a subliminal glimpse of 
legs.  His heart always raced when he saw her now, but this time it was 
going hyper.

She smiled.  'Hi, can I just grab some batteries?'

'For you, anything.'

The jacket was zipped halfway up, exposing the top of her leotard, red 
stretch fabric, and the top of her sternum.  The swell of breasts was 
covered by the high-cut material but still clearly discernible though it.  
She was voluptuous in an understated kind of way.  Her nipples were hard 
and large; they jammed out at him.

Lee struggled not to ogle her, and managed, somehow, not to stare in 
delighted lust at the gift of such a view.  He blushed at the sight, 
however, his thought patterns splayed all over his blood-saturated face.

If she noticed his discomfort, caught between arousal and horrible 
embarrassment, she was sweet enough not to mention it.

She smiled thanks.  'Couldn't live without my disc-man,' she told him, 
paying.

He muttered something and managed a smile, blushing even deeper.
Then she turned and walked out.  Exposing this time, two toned buttocks, 
round and moving in gorgeous harmony.

His blushed deepened again, even as his dick hardened.  It was amazing 
there was enough blood in his body for both excesses.  Maybe that was why 
he suddenly felt so light-headed and giddy.

Needless to say, that image stayed with him for many a lonely night.  But 
it was nothing compared to what was exposed to him once spring shone 
through the grey clouds of discontent.

Lee was due to finish his courses, finally achieving a qualification that 
could get him a nine-to-five job, get out of this fucking job and become 
one of the daily commuters he loathed.  (He had made a mental note never to 
become one of the asshole customers he currently held on his mental death-
wish list.)

He had also made a mental promise to himself that before he left, he'd 
ensure to speak to Nicole, to finally ask her out, or at least get her 
phone number.  He chickened out every time he saw her.  But he kept telling 
himself that he had plenty of time.  It would be a couple of months before 
he finally left.  However, he could never guarantee seeing her.  He was 
reliant entirely on when she happened to come in and whether he happened to 
be working then.  As his studying intensified, he'd cut down on the hours 
he worked accordingly.  Sometimes weeks would pass between her visits and 
each time, as she walked away, he'd curse himself for not saying anything.  
Each time he would be left with a crushing fear that perhaps that had been 
his last chance and now he'd never see her again.

Then there was the day that swept the leotard memory into insignificance.

Spring had taken over the reigns and the days were getting warmer, enough 
for the occasional flash of flesh.  Lee realised that this was the eye-
candy that had been referred to and had to admit, it made the job 
marginally more pleasurable.

They were still asshole customers but they were asshole customers with legs 
and breasts.  It was curious, he had less compunction about ogling someone 
he had no regard or respect for.  He was happy to discreetly stare at some 
flash of exposed thigh or cleavage when the woman in question was an 
annoyingly dumb bimbo who insisted on making his already stressful day 
harder.  (If you'll pardon the pun.)

Though he'd been caught doing so on a couple of occasions, and blushed 
deeply, looking aside.  He'd endured the frosty looks of offended women, 
folding their arms in an indignant huff, trying in vain to conceal their 
scantily clad figures from prying eyes.

But when Nicole came into the shop, on that breezy afternoon, all scales of 
the erotic were reset.  He'd felt the giddy high of sexual excitement on a 
few occasions, actually more through the few female bodybuilding magazines 
he'd managed to get his hands on than the very occasional women he'd dated.

Even the few occasions he'd finally achieved that dream of all young men, 
and scored, it hadn't fulfilled him as much as had the one time a TV 
documentary had featured the "strange new cult of the female muscle 
builders".  The memory of that had kept him going through many a long 
and lonely night.  Needless to say, his lack of VCR had been sorely felt on 
that particular night.  Female bodybuilders were rare enough on television, 
such a film was treat indeed - a true oasis in a desert.

But Nicole had come in, dressed in a summer dress.  Legs visible from the 
peaked calf downwards.  But it wasn't that which caught his impressed 
attention.  It wasn't even the subtle glimpse of cleavage that turned the 
semi-hard she always inspired in him into a raging horn.

The sleeves were short, cut halfway up her upper arm.  They were loose and 
open.  At least they were supposed to be.  On any other woman, the sleeves 
would be loose.  On her however, they threatened to tear, such was the 
extent of her muscularity.  He'd seen arms like that before but only in 
magazines, and then only on his most favoured, the most accomplished 
bodybuilders.

Lee was shocked, rooted to the spot.  His heart hammering harder than it 
ever had, his dick threatening to rip free it was so swollen and rigid.

Her hair was down to her shoulders by now, long and silky smooth.  She 
brushed a lock of it back behind her ear.  The motion of her arm made her 
awesome bicep explode with power and size.

His heart stammered maniacally, surely on the verge of combustion.  She 
breezed out again, a friendly wave, sending another cascade of ripples 
along the massively built arm.

Nicole, Nicole.  Just saying her name aloud to himself caused his heart to 
ache and his loins to strain wantonly.  His hope - his despair.  He was 
sick with desire, or was it merely the fact that he'd jerked himself dry 
since that sight of her.

He was unable to get up the next day, his very heart weak at the thought of 
her.  This was love sickness, pure and simple.

He would be ready the next time he saw her though.

And so it was, and so it came to pass, the moment of truth, the point of no 
return, the last dance of the innocent the last chance for the weak willed 
- the evening when once again she came into the shop while Lee was on 
shift.  And somehow he knew that this was it, that this was the moment of 
truth.

He picked his book up from the shelf below the counter and placed it open, 
flat down, as though in the middle of reading it.  Truth was, he'd already 
read it, as soon and he'd bought it, which had been as soon as it came out.  
A biography of the legendary cult figure and feminist spokeswoman, Rebecca 
Wright.

Nicole floated up to him.  She was wearing the same red T-shirt as he 
remembered from that day, but now it was scoop necked.  Instead of the high 
cut neck-line she generally favoured, it gave a round window view down 
between her substantial breasts.  (Memory?  Fantasy?  Reality?)  He didn't 
question at this point.  Go with it.

The sight was vivid.  Short sleeves which, in truth, she rarely wore.  But 
they were short, all the better to show off those amazing arms.  Huge and 
pumped up biceps, veins throbbing, the muscles swelling and relaxing 
slightly with the rhythm of her walk.

But he was cooler this time, more collected, less thunderstruck by her 
presence.  Less to forgive.  Though forgiving his distraction at the sight 
of her was something she'd always granted with a wry smile and a 
flirtatious remark.

'Rebecca Wright?  Are you a fan?'

'Yeah, totally.  God, I'm impressed.  Most people have never heard of her.'

'I know, it's totally criminal.  She's my idol.  I actually followed her 
since before she was in movies.'

'Really?  I must admit, I only heard of her because of "Dessert Wolves".'

'Shit movie, but a great role,' she said.

'Oh yeah, completely crap.  If not for her it'd be a worthless film, but 
the director knew what he was doing, I've never seen such athleticism 
filmed so well.'

'Well no one had ever done it then, not on that scale.  It says in the 
book, he filmed her as though he was shooting a man, glorifying her muscles 
rather than apologising for them.  Have you got that far?'

Had he got that far?  He'd read and re-read the book over and over.  And as 
for the pictures in the centre pages...

'Yes.  But what she went through, I had no idea.  All that she's done in 
her life, to come from that kind of background and yet still achieve so 
much.  She really is amazing.  I mean, I was in love with her the first 
time I saw her, but now, having read this, she's my hero.'

Nicole smiled at this, agreeing with the sentiment.  But there was more.

'The first time you saw her?  And the film was the first you'd ever heard 
of her?'

He returned the knowing smile, as though sharing a private joke.

'Yeah,' he agreed, 'that was the moment.'

A scene in which a woman is stalked down an alleyway.  Nothing of 
particular significance or surprise in modern movies, it is after all a 
frequent enough occurrence.  The difference here however was the way she 
ducked into an enclave and jumped out on her attacker, wrapping an arm 
around his throat.  An arm that we see for the first time swell with a size 
and power which woman don't normally have in film or in real life.  That 
one moment was referred to by some as turning point - a moment when the 
victim became the assailant, the weak became the powerful, the hero became 
a heroine.  It announced to all who were willing to listen, and there were 
a few, that women could also play the role of the macho, conquering and 
indeed muscular action hero.

Rebecca Wright.  Bodybuilder turned actress; actress turned Producer and 
aficionado; turned writer and feminist critic.

'Did you say you followed her since before she was in movies?'

'Yes, back when she was a championship bodybuilder,'

It's how the conversation had turned, how he'd innocently brought up the 
fact, 'you know, last time you came in,' and, 'couldn't help noticing... 
but...'

And with very little prompting, she'd rolled up the sleeve of her sweater, 
showed him what his heart desired, showing him what he'd fantasised over 
since the last time they'd met.

But this time however, it played out differently, because despite the 
conversation he knew and had practised, memorising witty lines, looking 
back at himself in the mirror, always breaking off after a while as the 
memories and desire of her became too much and he'd need to release his 
aching loins with another frenzied session of self-gratification.

But the occasion was the same - the most memorable time, the significant 
time, the final time.  Only now she was in the leotard.  Red stretch 
fabric, very much like the over-tight T, which he adored, only even more 
revealing.  And now she didn't have on that pesky jacket, her gorgeous arms 
were displayed.

She came in and instead of walking straight up to him she wandered slowly 
to the freezer section, opening the door to stand and browse through the 
pots of ice-cream and frozen meals.

In reality the shelves would obscure his view but this time he saw her in 
profile, her shapely figure, accentuated as it was by her delicious 
muscularity.

She'd glanced across meaningfully, suggestively.

When she stepped up to the counter, the cold had turned her large nipples 
to diamonds.

She stood, as tall as he, even though she was barefoot, dressed only in the 
leotard, cut high on each hip, her flared thighs swollen with muscularity, 
her vulva all but visible, pressing against the ribbon strap of her posing 
costume.

Because that's what it was now, not a leotard but a spangled swimsuit - a 
posing suit.  The belly was cut out, all the better to flash the rippling 
abdominals, the back all but absent, exposing rolling shoulder - power and 
size.

And now, the flirtatious suggestion, that coquettish smile and meaningful 
glance, was replaced by wanton lust.

She reached across the counter, two arms as thick as tree-roots grabbing at 
his lapels and dragging him forward roughly, dragging him into her kiss.

He was pinned roughly to the counter, his shoulders pressed back against 
the hard wood.  She was on top of him, her muscular weight feeling 
wonderful against his excited body.

The car outside were piling up, the pumps all taken.  People were honking 
to attract his attention.  He heard muffled shouts, annoyed punters.

Various people were gesticulating wildly at the pumps, while others were 
staring blank and confused, simply wondering why the pumps weren't working.

The lovers looked at each other and smiled, sharing a joke.  Their kissing was 
interrupted by a dull thud on the glass, someone getting angry now.

'Turn on the pumps,' he shouted at them but they ignored him, too engrossed 
in each other.

No one came into the shop, no one interrupted their little haven, only 
watched, muted and helpless through the window.

Neither Lee nor Nicole minded being on display.  In fact, they were barely 
aware of the audience.  It was as though they were lost in world of their 
own, too enraptured by each other's bodies to notice anything else.

Lee woke gently, the dream still rich and potent in his head.  He was sorry 
he'd not got the chance to go any further before waking but the erotic 
thrill of it still consumed him.

'Hey.  What were you dreaming about?  Me I hope.'

She turned over, still half asleep.  She gave his raging erection a playful 
flick.

He shuddered a spasmic warning, and she backed off, already having other 
plans for him.

'Always,' he assured her.  'It was weird.  I was back in the petrol 
garage.'

'Sounds more like a nightmare,' she remarked, rolling over.  She lay an arm 
over his chest - an arm heavy with muscle.  'Except meeting me of course.'

'You heaved me onto the counter and started ravishing me then and there.  
All the customers outside banging on the window and demanding I turn the 
damn pumps on.'

She laughed.  'You're strange,' she said affectionately.  'Is this an 
exhibitionist streak coming out in you?'

'I hope not.  I think one exhibitionist is enough for any relationship.'

Nicole grinned.  'Exhibitionist, Moi?' she mouthed.  She climbed on top of 
him, careful not to over-stimulate his already excited cock.  Hugely 
muscled thighs eclipsed him.

'I take it we didn't get to finish.'  She kissed him.  'Guess we're going 
to have to make up for it now.'

'I guess so,' he agreed.

And they made love, Lee and the girl of his dreams.