In September 2017, I had just turned 30 and begun frequenting a bakery at the local mall. I would order all sorts of sweets and pastries to take home to my apartment for lunch. They were delicious, but really, they were not the reason I stopped by so much. It was a boy, a boy who began working there that summer, called José, going by his nameplate. 

He was shorter than me and looked Spanish or Portuguese. A bit pudgy with a sweet, cherubic face. The thing was that he was always so polite, respectful, and... self-assured when he served me. I'll admit that I'd go in there and order something just to hear him call me "miss," "lady," or "sweetheart." 

"One cinnamon bun for you, sweetheart!"

"Strawberry cupcake coming up, miss!"

"Have a lovely day, young lady!"

I got a kick out of being called a young lady, even though he was much younger than me. The way he packaged my orders and handed them to me made me feel special and just the way he looked and talked? He seemed so soft and comfortable to me, like he'd cuddle me all day. Those short, well-kept curls and that kind smile? It really got me going and I'd developed a new habit because of it. I would take that feeling with me all the way home and strip completely the moment I locked the door. I'd take my time closing the windows and curtains, on the off chance someone would see me. I turned my phone, my computer, and every light off, except the one right above the couch. I wanted to see myself.

Then, I would lay down on the couch and take a bite out of whatever pastry I'd bought from him and picture José hugging me, caressing me. I'd moan to myself as I ate, and crumbs, fillings, creams and glazings fell on my face and chest. He seemed like the type of guy who'd care about me in bed. I just got that vibe from him. He seemed kind, and so I always ended up masturbating while I finished the pastries. When I was done, I'd hop on my computer and get back to working on a commission or project. Often, I'd be working in just my shorts with the mess from the pastries all over me.

I knew I was turning into a nasty cavewoman, but I cared less and less over the weeks. Eventually, buying something from him at lunch, then getting myself off when I got home, became a daily ritual. I knew it was wrong; he just worked there. I felt bad about it, especially when I met my girlfriends and their partners on the weekends. The worst was when they invariably ended up talking about children, houses, careers, the future. I knew I was supposed to be there with them, at my age. I wasn't supposed to be this 30-year-old sleazebag gremlin who kept toys, lube and cleaning kits ready by the goddamn couch. But I liked it so much. I liked it so, so much. And I wanted José so bad. I needed those lunchtime sessions. 

I knew I couldn't take it much longer the night Abigail had all the girls over at her new house for a long weekend. I was her bridesmaid when she married Matt. And still. Still, I ended up masturbating in their new, king-size bed. 

Why? Well, the girls were baking, and the sweet, dense smells of syrup and white dough had my panties wet in minutes. I excused myself and found their bedroom. I'd be lying if I said I felt bad about it in the moment. I was one greedy, careless bitch when I followed my urges, and I knew it. I sorted myself out quickly, cleaned my pussy in their bathroom and went downstairs. I blamed my absence on my period, and no one was the wiser.

Matt drove me home on Sunday; we kept the small talk going, but I felt like such a treacherous, selfish whore. Doing that in their bedroom. Jesus. I was her bridesmaid. Then again... that was a long time ago. Sigh. 

But here's the thing. The doubt, shame, and regret simply evaporated when I was back at the bakery and got to see José again. I was in my private, judgment-free bubble when I rubbed one out on the couch at lunch. There was just want.  Nothing but want and I loved it. But I had to do something. I wanted him and I had to face it. I had to quit being such a chickenshit about it.

So, I set my camera up and took a picture of myself standing in my underwear. Then a braless one. Then a pantyless one. I took pics on the floor with my legs spread wide open. I took pics from behind, on my knees, ready to get fucked raw like a dog. I made sure to wear three dumb, big rings in the pictures. One green, one yellow, one purple. They were ridiculously garish and loud, you could see them from across the street. 

I edited my face out and printed the pictures on Baryta paper with my Epson. A4. No messing about. As usual, I was annoyed at how small my boobs looked in pictures. Also, there's no way my bush is that thick? Oh well, legs and ass to die for, at least. It'd have to do. 

I put them in cello bags and packed it all up in a white, hardback envelope. I got my marker out.

"To José, Jamieson Baked Goods"

No, this is crazy. What am I doing? This must be illegal. I can't do this. But who says I can't? When he moves on to a new job or to study elsewhere, then what? I may never see him again. Fuck it, we're all just animals in the end. I don't give a fuck. Screw my friends' cute houses, family planning, relationship drama. I want something else. And I'm allowed to want. 

The next day, I got up early, before the bakery even opened. I picked a Monday, when that sweet old lady, Michelle, worked the morning shift with José. He seemed to work every morning regardless, industrious young man that he was. Michelle had worked there for over a decade, I knew she wouldn't pry and check the envelope. Still, I felt stupid as fuck, to be honest. At 6.30 in the September AM, the whole thing didn't feel as sexy as it did when I straight-up took studio-quality pussy shots the night before. I was scared, I wondered if I was a lunatic or something worse. But I had to try. I had to see. I needed to, and I'd had enough of only daydreaming about what I needed.

Sure enough, a man came and dropped a small stack of newspapers in front of the closed bakery. He went on his way and did the same in front of the jeweller's, the toy store, the sports outlet, on and on till he was out of sight. I hid the envelope between the newspapers and walked home feeling like I'd just planted a bomb. 

Truth be told, I was nauseous with adrenaline when I got home, I laid under the blankets, almost in a state of shock for hours. But done is done. Done is done. 

I felt like a dumb slut when I woke up the next morning. There's no way he'd find that sexy. No way. What if I'd scared him? What if I'd made him feel unsafe at work, and he would quit? I sobbed. 

I needed time to recover and accept that I'd actually done what I'd done and that nothing would come of it. In 20 years time, José would still be wondering who the crazy bitch was that dropped off a stash of artisanally printed, homemade porn for him.

It took a few days, but I'd made peace with myself. It was a one-time thing, I was delusional and frustrated. That's what I told myself. I didn't wake up feeling weird anymore. I stayed in and worked those days. 

I didn't masturbate for like, seven or eight days after that. When I did so again, well... it was a relief, but I missed the smell of pastries and the taste of sugar and the crumbs on my face and the jam in my mouth. All the fantasies I harboured about José came flooding back. Dirtier and more visceral than ever. God, the things I wanted to do to that boy, none of my holes were off-limits...  I couldn't deny it, it felt so damn good just to think about. A haven.

Deep down, I knew myself. I just tried to pretend I didn't when shame got the better of me. Once my clothes were off and I obeyed my desires, I knew what the truth was. I wanted to have sex with José. I didn't give a shit if it was his job, and it was wrong. I couldn't care less. I wanted what I wanted, and that was that. I felt like I could kill a bitch. 

That night, I sat naked in the big windowsill with my legs high up on the frame, in full view of the street below. I lit a rare cigarette. I doubt anyone saw me in the dark. Nobody really bothered to look up. Their loss. 

I didn't spend much time thinking or doubting the next morning. I put the garish, silly rings on and headed for the bakery at lunch. I knew it would be awkward and nothing would come of it, but I kinda didn't care anymore. I had set this in motion and would see it through. You may think I was nervous, but I'd churned through all that in the previous days. I was done processing and had no more use for feeling this, feeling that, or feeling anything.

I made it to the bakery; José worked the counter as always. I ordered two brioches to go. He looked adorable, as always. Lovely dimples when he smiled.

"Two brioches. Sure thing, miss."

I waited till he was plotting the prices in the register. I put my fist to my mouth and coughed. Twice. He looked at me quickly to see if something was wrong. After a couple of seconds, he did a double take and glared like hell at my rings. He studied them and looked at me as if he had to check I was really there. I knew I wore a smug, self-satisfied expression. He printed the receipt and scribbled on the back of it.

"Here you go, miss, and your receipt."

"7:30 PM, service entrance? - If yes: don't shave."

Gosh. Gosh. What was this? Wait, actually?? Shit! Surely not?!

I just nodded at him. He smiled that cute, chubby smile again.

"Have a great day, young lady!"

"Thank you, José."

Fairly sure I had the dumbest grin anyone had seen in a whole year when I walked out. I was electric. I went home and waited.

A few hours later, I headed for the mall's service entrance. I realised how profoundly unsexy I was, dressed in an oversized grey sweater and run-of-the-mill jeans. My hair was up in a sloppy ponytail. It was surreal. I was dressed like a bum, looking for the entrance between parked trailers and containers. I passed a couple of truckers on a smoke break and knew they were checking me out. 

Finally, I found a black metal door labeled SERVICE at the corner of the building. I knocked.

"Hey, miss!"

José still wore his uniform from the bakery.

"Hey José. I'm here."

"Come on in, if you will. It's cold outside."

If I will?

I followed him into a cavernous, concrete hall. Yellow stripes marked the loading zones and bright, white lights tried their best to illuminate the hall. At the far end, a crew loaded barrels onto a forklift. Pathways and corridors seemed to divert into an unknowable maze of tunnels, catwalks and backrooms.

I followed José down a narrow hallway lined with pipes and carts full of soap, spray bottles, buckets and mops. The floors were damp, the air humid. The concrete floors and walls had cracked and chipped in places. It was warmer here, and what could only be an array of laundry machines rumbled ominously through the walls.

José led me in a green door, identical to all the other doors in this part of the mall.

It was a cramped, narrow space that seemed to serve no purpose except to house piping, valves and assorted items that didn't belong anywhere else. It had that sickly, pale green light you tend to find in such places. 

Jesus, what had gotten into me? I was alone with a 20-year-old boy in a dirty, cold concrete tomb. He turned to face me. He was... calming. Reassuring in a stately, manly kind of way. Strange for someone who'd have to get up on his toes to kiss me.

"Miss, I am so glad you could make it. Don't worry a minute, my shift is over."

What was I supposed to say?

"Yeah, uh. You smell nice. Like the bakery. Cinnamon."

"You like cinnamon. You always buy the rolls."

"What, you noticed?"

"Of course, you tend to pay attention when a beautiful young lady stops by."

Gosh, really? Was he taking me for a ride? I wanted to believe him.

"So...uh, you didn't want me to shave?" 

"I enjoyed what I saw, miss. I really appreciate natural beauty."

"Oh wow, did you... did you jerk off to them? Did you come while you looked at me?"

I felt like a moronic horndog, stumbling my way to a lay.

"Well, you certainly are direct, miss. Yes, and I've done so every night for the last two weeks, while wondering who this gorgeous woman is."

Christ, who talks like that?

"You're blushing," he said.

"Oh. I'm uhm, I'm sorry. I should have put on something nicer."

"Would you taste any better in a skirt?"

"Excuse me?" I said, as if it wasn't ME who had left him an envelope full of homemade porn.

"Miss. Please, now. No games. I said: would you taste any better in a skirt? Or a dress?"

I had two questions on my mind.

The first: Who the fuck is this kid to talk to me like that?

The second: Why do I like it?

"I... I don't know.. shit!"

It was as if my brain had been knocked silly.

"It's not the clothes, miss. It's not the clothes. If you want me to, I'll eat you right now. I've wanted to for the last fourteen days."

Just like that? No questions asked? Where do they make these guys?

"I... yeah, I want you to. Yeah."

"I need something to... ah, there we are."

He grabbed a stool and sat down right in front of me. I leaned on the wall and let him take charge. José undid my jeans and pulled them down. The lights made my thighs look chalk-white and every vein visible, like a road map. Next to go were my panties.

I was embarrassed at how obviously wet I'd gotten. To be fair, I'd been pining for the last few hours.

"I've...it's just that I've been thinking about you since you gave me that note."

"Oh no. You look lovely, just like the pictures. I will enjoy this. Lean back and relax, please."

I swear to God, I've never felt like such a dumb, horny airhead. I did as he asked. I would have done anything he'd asked of me in that room.

I gasped when my bare ass met the concrete wall. It was so cold! José's angelic, fat face disappeared between my legs, and his curls brushed against my stomach. His lips were impeccably soft and comfortable.

He moved around my folds and seams with kisses and little, lapping licks. I felt like a treat. The wet smacks and licks bounced off the walls, incredibly loud, wet and slimy. I'd been wet on and off since he gave me the receipt. I'd saved myself all day. I'd earned it.

Fuck it, if someone walks in now, we're screwed anyway. Might as well. I pulled my sweater off and threw it on the floor. I was bra-less and knew I was flushed like crazy, I felt it. Every flaw and blemish of mine was exposed under the sickly lights. Nothing on me looked smooth, photogenic or elegant in here. I looked raw.

I swore under my breath and squeezed my boobs and thrust. José focused up, more deliberate in the way he ate me. I squeezed, pinched and whimpered while I rocked into his face. I got reminded of how cute and sweet he'd seemed at work, and that was when the urge came over me to push him towards the wall. I had to take José.

I rubbed my pussy all over his face. I held his hair and thrust, so my ass hurt. I let him feel the bush he wanted so bad. I had only my sneakers on. I might as well have been in a zoo, and I loved it. I felt ten feet tall. Like I was built for this. I had him. I had him.

"You're a sweet boy. Fuck. God. Fuck yeah. You're a sweet boy."

It was a trip. Little did I know that José took my facefucking as a challenge.

Suddenly, he grabbed my legs and overpowered me. He used his weight to pull me down slowly, and I scooted clumsily down til I was on my back on the cold concrete. Just like that, I was gone. Gone.

I lay naked and spread-eagled in that cramped room, I even had one foot on each wall and José... Well, he feasted. He was ravenous. I had no idea how that tiny boy manhandled me like that. How he just pulled me into his face like a vice. He would not let go. At all. He handled my body so firmly, but his mouth on my pussy, oh my God... I swear, the softest, most loving tongue and lips. So caring. 

His clit work was... Jesus, it was so methodical, such a steady rhythm. He didn't switch up and ruin it. I hadn't had my clit kissed and sucked like that ever. Ever.

My thighs and calves ached like hell, they were flexed tight to support my feet up on the walls. I remember I looked at my sneakers when I finally came. It's just etched into my mind, that dizzy, euphoric rush and my once white sneakers on the flaking concrete. Oh, my thighs shook. My legs cramped. Believe it.

I needed a minute to recover after my orgasm. If I could bottle the feeling of laying wet and fucked on concrete like a whore, I would.

"Did you like that, miss?"

"I loved it. Christ, you're good."

José lay on top of me, and I caressed him. I wrapped my naked body around him. It must have looked absurd. My pale, long legs wrapped around his chubby frame in that uniform. I stroked his back, his head. I wondered if spiders felt this way. The laundry machines still rumbled somewhere.

I was satisfied, yet I almost wanted to cry. What if my friends knew? They'd never understand. But I knew I'd wanted it. I had him in my arms, my pussy juices right there on his face. And the smell... There was no denying that. I vacillated between pride at my conquest, and shame at the way I'd gone about it.

"Wait, what about you? Did you like it?"

"Yes, miss."

"I'm sorry. I... maybe I shouldn't... I came to your work, and I'm like ten years older than you and..."

"What? No no no no. You did nothing wrong. Nothing wrong, miss. Don't feel bad."

"Ok... are you sure?"

We got up.

"Absolutely sure. Don't worry." 

"You're cute," I said and blushed a bit. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt like telling a boy that. 

"No, I think you're cute, miss. Here."

He bent down and picked my clothes up off the floor. I dressed myself.

"Why do you talk like that, anyway?"

"What do you mean?"

"Miss, lady, why do you say those things? It's like you're from the 1800s."

"My mother and grandmother always told me to address women correctly, especially if I do not know them yet. I listen to them, miss, they are usually right."

Well, shit, I could have blown him right then and there for saying that.

"Your mothers are smart. Keep doing that, José."

We were back at the exit, and I was about to head for home. I hesitated before walking. Because I'd thought about it. I really thought about it. Fuck it. I want to. I rifled through my purse and gave him my business card.

"Graphic designer, miss? You are a creative girl."

"I'm a wom... nevermind. Just keep it. My number's there."

"Thank you. You can expect to hear from me, Miss Catherine."

"It says Kate, what are you... you know what?! Miss Catherine is fine."

He kissed me goodbye on the cheeks, and I went home.

I still went to the bakery, just not every day. José was polite and professional as always. Not once did I feel unsafe buying pastries from him after we'd had sex. I was worried at first he'd flirt or act in a way that would embarrass me and betray our affair. But no. Never. I felt so safe and valued because of that, I really thought it was so sweet of him to just treat me like he always had. 

At noon, on the Monday two weeks after our encounter, José texted me.

"Hello Miss Catherine. Are you free this Friday evening?"

I wasn't free. My girlfriends had invited me to a bring-your-boyfriend kind of dinner at some unbearably hip red-brick restaurant.

"I am. My place?" I texted back.

"I suggest that you pick a movie you like, I'll bring wine. Don't worry, I have condoms." 

Really, was I that transparent? Actually, when I think about that envelope? Yeah, I guess I kinda made myself transparent. But I liked that he knew. He got it.

"I'm on the pill it's 2017 lol."

"Ok then. Deal."

"It's a date, not a deal, Miss Catherine."

"You're right. It's a date, Mr. José."

I lay down and touched my boobs while I reread our convo. He was charming, direct, and comfortable. It was such an odd cocktail, and it drove me crazy, if only he knew the filthy things that had been brewing in my mind the last few months...

He took some extra minutes to answer that one.

"You're learning now, good. I'll see you on Friday."

Ouff. Suddenly, four days seemed like a very long time. I couldn't just sit with my whore thoughts for that long.

So, I did my whole routine again, I undressed and shut the world out from my apartment. This time, I retrieved a fat dildo I hadn't used in a while and cleaned it. I didn't have lube, but screw it. In the darkness, I spent some time fitting it in my ass. It was a bit of a struggle. I had to ease my hole into taking it. But when it finally did? I thought about José giving me anal and rubbed myself to orgasm as I fixated on him.

After coming, I just lay there with it inside me and bit my fingers for a good while. I was relieved again. I pulled the dildo out inch by inch and felt so, so dirty and used when I realised how much I'd been able to take and felt the vacuum it left. Christ, my asshole must have been gaping. I loved feeling that way. Feeling open, ravaged, exposed, filthy, savage. I seriously moaned in excitement at the thought of José seeing me like this and having his way with me. I kept spreading my cheeks just to feel what I'd done to myself, like I'd just taken the world's biggest shit. I was sore, spent, aching, and I loved every second of it. I'm a whore. Fuck everyone else, I'll be a slut if I want to.  

Friday morning, I texted Abigail to let her know I'd fallen sick and wouldn't be able to make the dinner.

"It never hurts to take extra precautions, miss Catherine. You can never be too safe."