Welcome today’s short story. The rules: under 500 words and related to the picture prompt below. If you want to join in, post a link in the comments.
It had to happen one day.
I’d had enough of it. Always playing that stereotype. It wasn’t the real me.
The bad attitude started on the day of my job interview.
I walked into the room and faced those impassive faces with their straight backs pinned to their chairs. I took my seat, facing them and smiled.
The technical side went well. I knew my stuff. I answered the questions and they nodded back. No smiles.
Then I crossed my legs. I swung the left over the right and it must have given them a flash of something. Eyes popped wider with the exception of the solitary man at the end of the table. He clucked his tongue.
I’d committed a terrible faux-pas.
“Is there a dress code?” I asked, nonchalantly.
“Smart,” said the woman on the end.
“Hair neat,” add the other woman
“No short skirts.” The man with spiky dark hair folded his arms. “If you have to bend over to reach a book, it’s inappropriate.”
Really? I smothered a small smile because I’d a different idea of what bending over meant. For a second, I was certain he smiled too.
I got the job in the small town library, so different from the big city one I used to work in. The place lacked the excitement of my old workplace. No panicking college students doing their homework or corner reading circles chatting away. It was super hushed. I tip-toed around the stacks.
The place needed livening up. One morning, I picked high heels and a little black number. Something more suitable for an evening out. I tottered around and slotted the books back on the shelf.
His name was Jeff – the senior librarian and my boss. His jet-black hair shone under the lights.
“That skirt is way too short,” he said as I cruised around the counter, tidying up the newspapers and magazines.
“Is it?” I said with mock horror. I pulled the hem down and it nearly made it halfway to my knees.
“You know it is. Don’t wear it again. You’ll give the odd geezers a heart attack and I don’t want to do mouth to mouth.”
“And if I do?” I sidled closer to him. Divine. He smelt of gorgeous aftershave and freshly laundered clothes. My skin goose bumped.
He lowered his voice. “There’s always the back room and a spanking.”
I bit back a retort. My heart fluttered. Dare I tempt him?
The next day, I arrived for work in a thong and a super short skirt. Every time I picked a book off the bottom shelf, my bare arse cheeks rose high. I swaggered between the shelving, making sure he saw me.
After work, bent over the desk, he smacked my bare bottom at a ferocious pace while lecturing me about appearances. I drummed my heels on the floor, apologizing. Fuck, I was so damn wet, too.
So have I changed my attitude?
When he wants me to, and I know when he does.