Confectioners Sugar

Ben had come to work the night shift at the bakery during the last semester of his junior year at college. He was a nice boy, intelligent, studying journalism. He was not what I would have called attractive, though I hardly looked at him that way. He was 20, practically half my age and I learned casually through co-worker gossip and scant little conversations that he had a girlfriend.

At that time I was recently divorced. The marriage had not been a good one and I was a bit stressed out with the idea of starting to date again at 41.

I'm not saying that I have a negative self image. But after almost 19 years with the same man, it's like starting over from scratch. To add to things I had three kids, a full-time job managing my father's bakery and well... you get the idea.

But this story is about Ben.

The bakery is a small place, so it's easy for us to run the place with just one or two people at a time. The night shift is the slowest, and also the most dangerous. Ben was a big guy, 6' 2", 230 lbs, broad shouldered and intimidating.

When he first started working, my daughter Kyra commented on how scary he would have looked if it were not for his big round jack-o-lantern face. Ben was a perpetual wearer of smiles and a bit of an odd ball. A goof ball, with goofy features, who told goofy stories and made all of us laugh whenever he came in to pick up his paychecks on the morning shift.

On Mondays, my father, who is also the baker, takes his day off to go fishing, and it falls to me to do the baking. This requires coming into the bakery at 11 p.m. Sunday nights and continuously working until past 8 the next morning. This has been my routine since my dad opened the bakery when I was 18. On these nights, I would arrive to find Ben counting down the register or wiping down tables, doing the busy janitorial work of the night shift.

One night, after Ben had been with the bakery for about a year I came in to find him looking rather sullen. It was jarring. The smiling happy class clown was gone and instead there was a troubled man in his place.

"Hey," I said, waving hopefully and smiling.

He nodded and mumbled a hello.

"Somebody die?"

"Nope. Got dumped."

He said it so matter-of-factly. I'd never officially met his girlfriend, though I had seen her once or twice waiting for him out front while he got his paycheck and a couple cups of coffee. "I'm sorry," I said.

It was all I could think to say. I went back to the office to ditch my bag and coat and then grabbed an apron from the back. When I came back up front Ben had the register open and was counting the bills diligently, his shoulders rounded and sagging as he tried to concentrate on his work.

Suddenly I realized I was witnessing a change. Ben had experienced a great loss, a lessening of himself. He'd probably fallen in love with the girl and she, being young, had simply tossed him away when she'd gotten board with him. Now, the smiling happy-go-lucky boy was gone, probably forever and seeing that it made me very sad. I'm not a shy person, very friendly, everyone I work with knows this, so when I walked up behind Ben and gave him a hug from behind it was a natural thing for me to do.

Ben tensed a little and then relaxed as I planted a small kiss on his shoulder—a peck.I lingered a bit, taking in the smell of him. I'd been practically celibate since the divorce was finalized and the smell of him was all together masculine. A little sweat, some aftershave, the bakery scent worn deep into his uniform shirt. I rubbed his shoulder as I finally pulled myself away. "It gets better, sweetie," I said, and went to work baking.

Nothing happened that night, nor do I think either of us wanted something to happen, but after that whenever I came in on Sunday nights, I'd find Ben stocking the drink cooler, or finishing up something and afterwards we would talk. We talked about all sorts of things. My kids, his family back east. I made him tell me everything about college life and his dreams. He confided in me that Journalism, though "a swell field of study", was not his dream.

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to be a satirist. You know, write a column about how funny life can be if you look at it from certain angles."

Ben would often have examples, and as he talked, his voice would get excited as he made wonderful little points and puns that elicited laughter. It was like every Sunday night for one hour I had my own stand-up comedian performing for me.

"You could be an actor," I said once, pointing out how well he impersonated people in his stories and how physical he was.

"I acted a little in high school. But it's a crap job. I want a family some day."

"So that's why you're doing the reporting thing?"

"It's a good job, lots of action."

By the end of his second year working at the bakery, Ben had completed his undergraduate degree and started his masters, also from our weekly "sessions" he and I had developed a strong friendship. I myself had started dating again, and Ben was very supportive, giving me his opinions and frank appraisals of my various dates as I went through them as I folded dough and he drank Diet Pepsi.

"So I went to his house—nice place—he's got a spread and horses."

"You always go for the farm boy types..."

"Well, anyway, we had a few beers on the porch and talked for a while. Then he says it's getting late and he's got an early day tomorrow."

"And that's the buzzer," Ben shook his head. "He's hung up on someone else."

"What?"

"When a man doesn't make a move it's because he's either hung up on someone else or you're not his type. It's a brush off."

"Then why did he invite me to sit for a beer?"

"Maybe he was trying to like you but in the end he just couldn't... take you in the back and give it to you."

"Men are weird."

"Yep. We are." He took a sip of his soda. "Of course there is a secret way of telling whether a guy definitely wants to sleep with you."

"Oh there is?"

"Yeah. If he take you back to his place, and it's reasonably clean, the bathroom is clean, the kitchen sink only has a few dishes--and most importantly—if the bed is made. He's after it."

"What if he always makes his bed?"

"Then he's anal. Ditch him."

I nodded. "You could work with Dr. Ruth."

"Of course, that's just a generalization. Some guys wash their cars, vacuum them out. Other guys munch mints... It all comes down to overcompensation. Putting up a front. Trying. When a guy is obviously trying, it means he's interested. Of course, the key word becomes obviously... Women tend to over analyze."

"That's a generalization."

"Well, I over analyzed..." His face darkened a bit and then he was back. "Funny. It's been what, eight months? I'm still not over her."

"You dated how long?"

"Two years."

"Wanted to marry her, did you?"

"Yep."

"You're a sweet guy, Ben. I'm sure you'll find someone."

I looked up to find been looking at me. Not staring, or leering, just looking casually. "I wonder what you'd have been like when you were my age."

"How old are you now? 23? Let's see I was pregnant."

He chuckled. "Yeah. No, I mean. I wish I could meet a girl like you. Someone I can talk to. Someone independent and sexy and funny and kind, whose there for me and who I can be there for..."

"You think I'm sexy?"

Ben straightened up a bit, shifting as if I'd caught him at something. "Well... yeah."

I blushed a bit, looking back down at the dough. It was rising steadily, almost ready to be cut into sections and kneaded into loafs. It was odd. I never would have thought in a million years that a guy half my age, would think me sexy. I looked up to find been staring at his shoes, drinking the last of his diet soda. His thick dark hair was stuffed up under a baseball cap, his uniform shirt was untucked and dirty from his long shift cleaning the bakery equipment and helping customers. For a second I found myself remembering our hug. I remembered kissing his shoulder, my breasts smashing up against his broad muscled back. I remembered the way he smelled, how it had been the first male scent I'd experienced since long before the divorce.

Ben looked up and caught me staring. His face made the question before he voiced it. "Need something?"

I skipped only half a beat before covering up. "Yeah, uh, a sack of confectioner's sugar."

"I put a full one under the table, like always." I looked under the table at the neatly ordered row of sacks in plastic tubs. They were all full, just like always. "Sorry, brain went to the Bahamas for a minute." I shook my head and looked up to see him smiling, almost slyly.

"Is that what they called it in your day? Confectioners sugar?"

I tried not to smirk. "Why Benjamin, I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"You sure you just want a sack? I mean, I can probably give you a damn truck-load." He ran a hand up to his hat and removed it, letting his hair spill out. It was not long, but unruly and abundant. "Eight months..." he said, shaking his head.

*****

It was about this time that we had to fire one of our workers, a girl who'd been very unreliable, showing up more than usually late more than half the time. This meant a change of schedule for everyone, but as Ben was now one of our senior employees he ended up taking most of the slack, working double shifts and picking up extra hours without overtime to help out until a replacement could be hired and trained.

Though this meant I saw a great deal more of Ben, it also meant he was working the morning and afternoon shifts, when customers were plentiful and more than one or two people were required to run the business.

Our conversations remained casual. Ben was popular with most of the newer workers and though we still carried his regular night shift, he became a regular fixture during the day as well.

One day, when he was moping up the back at the end of his morning shift, I passed by on my way back to the office and slipped. He caught me with one arm, letting the mop handle drop to the floor. The other hand had naturally come up to support me as I stood, and thought it was unintentional, we both realized in the same moment that he was cupping my ass.

We didn't say anything, as there were other people working with us, but as he righted me our eyes met for an instant and we both smiled at each other. I went up to the office to catch up on the delivery receipts and sneak a cigarette.

The way the office is situated, you cannot see the production floor or the bakery from it. You have to go through a storage room and hang right. This makes the office private, though it has no door.

After a few minutes Ben moved into the storage room with the mop bucket. He rung the mop and dumped the dirty water into a big basin sink before hanging the mop up to dry and turning toward the office. He nodded, took off his old ball cap and wiped some sweat from his brow. "Need anything else?" he asked. I leaned back in the office chair. I was wearing jeans and one of the uniform shirts, the kind that zipped up the front and had my name lightly embroidered above the left pocket. "No."

He nodded. "Then I guess I can punch out then?"

"Sure."

He came into the office and took his time card off the desk. He ran it through the old clock. The office is sort of a communal space in that we allow employees to leave there personal items in it. This prevents things from being easily stolen as well as prevents the build up of glaze on the items. Few people realize how messy a bakery can become when it's not cleaned thoroughly every day.

Ben turned from the time clock to gather up a bundle of street clothes, which he always brought to change into after work. It was his custom to change in the men's room and then go home, ditching his dirty smock in the laundry. When he turned back around our eyes met again.

"You don't have to change in the restroom if you don't want to."

He looked at the open door of the office. "Someone could walk in."

"I'll keep a lookout," I said. "Don't worry. Nobody will see."

I went into the mop room and stood in the doorway. With all the baking done the production floor was deserted, everyone working out front or at the counter. I glanced back into the office to see Ben had already kicked off his shoes and taken off his smock. He'd lost some weight since he'd first started working at the bakery, and all the manual labor he did cleaning and stocking had toned the muscles of his torso, back and shoulders. His chest was hairy, it was odd to see such a hairy chest on this relative boy, but it was exciting, too. He tossed the smock into the laundry and took out a nice button-up. He shook it out, putting one arm into a sleeve.

"No." I said.

He stopped and turned to look at me quizzically.

"Don't put the shirt on yet," I said.

Ben almost laughed, but caught himself, and too his arm out of the sleeve, letting the shirt drape over the back of the office chair. The coast was still clear as he unfastened the belt of his ratty old blue jeans and slowly unzipped them. The pulled loose the button and let them fall to the floor, stepping out of them. He was in his boxers now, they were plain blue, and in them I could see a distinctive bulge.

He stood, letting me look at him for a time. He was not flexing or showing off his body, but standing there, unashamed. Gripping the elastic waistband of his boxers with his fingers he paused, wanting me to look to see if anyone was coming. I shook my head, and waved him on. The coast was still clear, they were busy up front.

He pulled the shorts down then and stood completely naked. His body wasn't perfect but beautiful, with its workman's muscles and a nice thick cock nestled in a bed of dark brown pubic hair. I didn't move, or think as I watched him turn around to take up the shirt again. He held it up and I nodded, consenting to his putting it back on, then came a pair of dark boxers and socks, a pair of brown corduroy paints and finally the clean white shirt. He took out a pair of brown tennis shoes and put them on, completing the ensemble.

He bundled up the dirty clothes and stuffed them in the little duffle, tossing the whole thing over his arm. "Thanks," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

I glanced out the mop room door to see one of the counter girls coming back towards the office. I hurriedly moved into the room and kissed Ben firmly but quickly on the mouth before pulling away from him and sitting in the office chair just as the girl rounded the corner and came into the office.

"Nancy, can we... Oh, sorry Ben. I thought you'd left."

"I am, just. Nan wanted to talk about a delivery tomorrow night."

I smirked, "Yep, a truck-load of confectioner's sugar. You'll be fine staying late to help me unload it?"

"You bet." He tugged on his baseball cap and left me to deal with the girl from the counter.

*****

I arrived about an hour earlier than usual. Ben had anticipated this and all the heavy chores were done. The register was done, the chairs were up on the tables, the cases were cleaned, the place was pristine as usual.

I found him sitting on a stool by one of the production tables, reading a book. He was wearing a small pair of reading glasses perched on his nose and I couldn't help but laugh at them. "When did you get those?"

"Always had them. I just usually don't find time to read at work." He put the book down on the table and stood. He took the glasses of and put them in a little leather case on the table next to the book. It was a moment when I felt I wanted to say something but I couldn't think what.

We didn't seem able to meet each others eyes for a few moments but when I made to move past him to go back to the office he caught my arm in one of his big hands and that's when he kissed me. It was firm and passionate and in an instant my back was against the production table and my hands were in his dark unruly hair, pulling him down to me as I greedily sucked on his tongue.

We made out right there, on the table for a good ten minutes before he lifted me up off of it and carried me back to the office. The desk was cluttered, but the chair was free. He sat me down in it and knelt on the floor in front of me. I unzipped the smock and his hands moved up to my breasts caressing them through the white satin of my bra. His mouth was kissing along my abdomen and when his hands went back to unfasten the clasp on my bra he came up and kissed me firmly on the lips again.

"God, you're good at this." I said.

He didn't say anything. He let my bra fall away to reveal my small aroused nipples. He kissed his way down my neck to one of them and took it in his mouth, tonguing it, nibbling it and then his hands gripped my hips and slid my ass forward in the chair. He let his head rest on my thigh for a moment, rubbing his cheek along the denim of my jeans. He let a small moan escape his lips as his fingers undid the fly and pulled the jeans off briskly, roughly. It was amazing how rough he was being and yet how gentle. His motions were hurried but in each one he seemed to be savoring the sensations. His hands were warm against my bare legs and as he kissed his way up to my white satin panties, his breathing became heavier, deep inhales and exhales as he seemed to be savoring my scent.

"Rip them."

He did, tossing the remnants away as he feasted on my opening, kissing its outer lips, letting his tongue delve inside to brush and tickle along and over my clitoris. It was something new to me. My husband had never done this for me, nor had any man I'd been with since. And as Ben's fingers pressed up inside me and I felt my juices begin to flow, I closed my eyes and rode his face through my orgasm.

He let me rest a moment before standing up and pulling his shirt up over his head. My hands were already on his belt buckle and unzipping his fly. I didn't need anymore foreplay, I need his cock. To hold it, touch it, taste it, devour it, fuck it till it filled me up. And then it was in my hand, and I was stroking its length admiring its girth as I let my tongue stick out ant touch the tip, tasting the sweetly, salty, sticky pre cum. I looked up into his eyes. "How big?"

"Nine," he said. "Not that I measure or anything."

I giggled a bit, feeling very much like a young girl as I let the tip of his cock dance over my lips, playfully. "You like girls who tease?"

"Nan..."

I took him as far as I could, opening my throat until it was three quarters of the way down and then a came up for air and ran my hands up over the saliva making the shaft nice and wet so that it glistened in the darkened office. I stood from the chair, indicating that he should sit. He did and I took is place on the floor, letting my head bob between his legs, sucking his member to its near-boiling point. The frustration of impending orgasm shown in his face and I stopped short climbing up onto his lap and positioning myself over him. "Can you hang on for me?"

"Babe Ruth, first player to hit 60 home runs in a season in 1927..."

I laughed out loud as I sank down onto his thick member and he let out a long low moan. I sat still, letting myself adjust to the size. Ben's hands ran up over my ass, his palms warming my skin as he nuzzled my breasts with his nose, and sucked my nipples a bit more. When I began rocking slowly his hands clutched my waist, helping me to keep my balance and soon his grip was strong, his fingertips digging into my flesh as he lifted me up and down on his member like I was no heavier than a rag doll. I felt the climax coming inside me as his trusts became less regular but more ferocious and it exploded out of me as he pumped his fastest. I let out a long desperate scream of pleasure as I felt the hot spring of his jism shoot up inside me, coating my vaginal walls with exactly what he'd promised, exactly what he need to give me and what I need him to give, a truck-load of that grade A confectioners sugar.