Friday night at last!   Worked late but have the weekend off.  Instead of working out at the Y, I'll just head home.  No one there waiting, so I might as swing by that Thrifty Foods store downtown for a few things.  My cute, young neighbor (unfortunately married) said they have good produce and prices as low as anyone else.  Get off 29 here at the South end of Lynchburg and up 7th toward home. There it is -- the parking lot is not too full; not surprising for almost 8 PM.

Not bad in here - clean and organized.  I will not shop in dirty, smelly stores and won't go back to one that's junky or poorly arranged! This one has a lot of lights, shiny floors, neat and wide aisles.  Let's see - there's the Produce section.  Mmm, it all looks fresh; lift the top celery stalk to check the others....What?  Oh, just a spray of ice water on my hand!  That's probably what keeps it all fresh.  Ah, there's a guy in a green apron.  Looks like he's in his 20's or early 30's, with close-cut brown hair.  No, it's more auburn.  Well, I've always said 'I'm a Sucker for Redheads.'  Nice body, from what I can see -- slim, toned, nice butt.

"Hi, are you the Produce Manager?"

"No, Sir,  just the Night-time Assistant Manager.  May I help you?"

"Do you have any Vidalia onions, or are they in season?"

"No, Sir, they aren't in season for about a month, then we'll only have them for about a month. They don't keep well and are best fresh."

"OK.  And I like that policy. Only offer fresh, firm produce to the customer.  Wilted stuff turns me off."   I watch him to see if he picks up on my double entendré.

"Well, I only keep fresh produce on display.  Crisp if it's supposed to be, like carrots or celery, firm lettuce, onions or tomatoes, soft but tasty peaches, grapes and plums," he replies with a half smile and one slightly raised eyebrow.

"Thanks, I'll come by often to see what you have on display," -- glancing down at his crotch then back to his eyes.

"Hope I'll have something you'll like, each time," he says with a quick smile.  "Sorry I can't explain further, sir, but I have to go get some other stock out of the back."

"No problem. See you here next time, if you usually work Fridays."

"Oh, sorry I won't see you, then.  Next Wednesday  is my last night here.  My - ummm -- friend and I are leaving to move to Pasadena next Friday."

"That's too bad for me; I was hoping you could help me with my weekly selection of fruits and vegetables.   But I hope it's good for both of you."

"Thank you, sir. And be sure to ask for Greg as your bagger in the check out line.  He's the best."

"Well, I'll have to ask for him then, and see how good he is." {Aha!  This guy is gay and has just told me 'Sorry, I'm committed and leaving, but there is another hot guy who works here that you may enjoy.' Hmm.}

The rest of my shopping goes quickly.  Oh, I'd better grab a head of lettuce.  I'd become distracted with Tony. At least that's what his badge said. That's another thing I already like about this store. You can call the cuties by name.  I shop someplace once a week, mostly just milk and bread; I might as well shop here.   While musing, I reach the check-out lanes.  Hmm, a couple of cute guys are bagging, looking down, both with the right color hair.  I ask one checker,

"Pardon me, Miss, is that Greg doing your bagging?".

She looks up, smiling, "No, sir, that's Greg on the next check-out counter."

A nice looking -- no, a very nice looking young guy looks up, glances at her, then at me, and smiles. {Hoo, boy! Nice face: alert, intelligent glint in his brown eyes, nice lips and eyebrows,  light brown hair cut short, no facial hair, nice even white teeth.  The rest looks nice, too: broad shoulders and slender body from what I can see under his short apron, white shirt and dark slacks.}   I enjoy that glance and move over to "Greg's Register."   Easier to check him out.   I put my groceries on the belt and try to be cool about it.

"Paper or plastic, sir?"

"Paper, please."

Luckily there is a big poster on the wall behind him advertising this week's and next week's specials.  I gaze at the poster so I can check Greg out.  Nice. Very nice, indeed!  He is quick and bags all similar items together, as I learned to do when I was a bagboy.  I was twelve and worked in the last "Mom & Pop" grocery store on Castro Street in Mountain View.   Customers would hand me their grocery lists and I'd go get it all, making sure I got the sizes and brands they wanted, bag it all after Mom or Pop Johnson rang it up, then carry their groceries out to their cars.  I wonder if Greg helps customers out to their cars?   Sure hope so....

"Will that be all, Sir?" the cashier asks.

"Yes, thanks.  Who do I make the check payable to?" {I know it's supposed to be 'to whom do I make it.'  but I always sounds so stilted and affected, when I say it.}

"Thrify Foods, sir, and the total is $37.58. Greg, did you put this gentleman's cold things in a double bag?"

"Sure did, Marsha. Would you like help out to your car, Sir? Some of those bags are kind of awkward."

"Yes, I'd appreciate that.  Greg, is it?  I'm Bob, and Tony said I should ask for you as my Bagboy. Looks like he was right."

That last interchange we were close enough that I saw that his eyes aren't brown, they're hazel, like mine..
As I turned back to Marsha,  paid and got my receipt, my peripheral vision let me see that Greg was looking me up and down pretty thoroughly.  Glad I'd started swimming at the Y as soon as I got here.  Do a mile a day now, four days a week.  I've lost more than an inch in the waist - back down to a loose 32.  Lost five pounds, too - down to 170.   Swimming seems to be redistributing my muscle mass, too.  Arms and chest toned and bigger above a slimmer waist and butt.  Looks OK on my six foot frame.   Not buff but not bad.

I turned to look in his eyes again.  Greg wasn't at all embarrassed about checking me out.  Was he cruising me??  His smile seems to say it's OK to look, so I do.  Hmmm, he has so little hair on his arms that I wondered if he had any, until some light from behind him showed a faint corona on the pale blonde hairs there.   His arms were really well developed: nice biceps bulging out of his rolled up white shirt sleeves.  Oh, that always turned me on in High School, and he does it to me, too!  He's rolled his sleeves the same way, folding them up so a flat, three inch wide band around his biceps accentuates how buff they are.  A few tendons show up as he hoists my bags into the cart, as every muscle in his arms stands up at attention.  Nice! As he pushes the cart out the door I get my first good look at his butt -- MMMmm, looks like a perfect bubble butt!  Oh, oh, I'd better cool it or they'll call the cops for me carrying a barely concealed weapon!   He glances back and smiles, then raises an eyebrow in a silent question.

"My Bug is over at the side of the building, Greg. Seemed to be more space there."

"No problem, Sir. I like space to move around in, myself."

I wonder if he means in his pants, his home, or his life?   Some things to wonder about.

"Please call me Bob, Greg.   At least when we're out here.  Is this is a second job for you or are you a student at one of the colleges in town?"

"OK, Bob.  Good guess.  I live with my folks while I finish my degree at Liberty.  I didn't get it on my first try."

I chuckle, and reply, "Well, I didn't get mine in four, either.  You will this time!  Oh, put the glass things and cold stuff on the floor in front of the passenger seat, please.  A Bug doesn't have much pickup but these brakes are really good.  It steers well, too, so I can get out of the way of those monster semis or motor homes.  I don't take up much room - - neither does Wolfgang."

"Oh, you have a, mmm -- friend named Wolfgang - - or a dog?" On the first of that sentence he frowns slightly, brightening into a wistful smile as he adds 'or your dog.'   Was it his hope or wish?

"Nobody lives with me.  Wolfgang is the name of my Bug, my Beetle, this old VW.  I bought it new  ten years ago, back while I was married." {There, that cleared the air -- or did it? Damn, now he might think I'm straight!}

"Oh, I was married, too, but it didn't work out. That's why I'm back in school." His smile disappears again.  Bad memories, or bad vibes?  Hard to tell.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Sorry, Sir, I've got to get back in.  I can't afford to get fired."

"Sure, Greg. I didn't mean to intrude into your private life or take so much time. Thanks for your help and I really enjoyed chatting with you. I normally shop on Fridays."

"No problem, sir. I just have to sweep up as soon as we close at ten.  I work Wednesday through Saturday.  Maybe I'll see you here again?"

"You can count on it, Greg. Lookin' forward to seeing you next Friday."

He gives me a thousand watt smile as he pauses, foot on the grocery cart.   I grin all over as I smile back.

This begins the rewrite on my first three chapters.   When I began the story I thought it would only last three or four episodes with hot sex then end -- the way so many of my affairs did.   But with feedback from a lot of you readers and some experienced Nifty authors, I'm letting my characters move slowly -- the way Greg and I really did begin our friendship.   Yes, so far it's as true as I can recall it.   If you'd like to read it and all my other stories, come over to my website: http://communities.msn.com/GayVikings -- and join free.  Send comments to me, Bob Nelson, alias "Nails" at NailsB69@hotmail.com   Thanks!