You know you’re disturbingly lonely when your main social interactions become the checkout people at stores. And yes, the Target employees all knew me. But this was different.

Costco guy made me feel things.

Sure, his clothes were entirely handmade, Renaissance garb, but that wasn’t the full appeal. His presence could be felt from an aisle away. He was tall, muscular, and had the face and body language of the actor Adam Driver. He didn’t walk; he strode. He didn’t laugh; he emanated sparks of sunshine. Maybe he was just a checkout guy, but he seemed powerful like he was a warrior gone undercover as a checkout guy. Either way, I was hyperventilating.

Next in line, I had to look at him and appear calm, normal. Breathe, Rebecca; breathe, you dumb slut.

We made eye contact and it’s like all the cells in my blood started buzzing.

“You know you can get another sleeve of bagels for free,” he said.

Is he trying to tell me something? I thought. Is this code for something?

“Really?”

“Indeed.” His voice was deep.

“Indubitably,” I offered. He seemed to like that by his smile.

“I like your uh…” I was staring at his chest, the name tag ‘Sean’ pinned to his dark green top.

“Tunic. It’s a tunic,” he said. But, even so, it seemed like he didn’t take himself too seriously.

“Well, I like it.”

“I like your dress,” he said and I thought it sounded sincere. It was an old, Free People number from ten years ago, practically threadbare. I’d tried to stitch the top part but kept busting out of it. I left, my head spinning. I was reeling in his attention like a nut case.

The better part of my brain thought, Obviously he's not into you. It's his job to be nice to people. You're having a very brief interaction with him, and he barely thinks about you. He doesn't think about you because you're insignificant and whatever you think you felt was a figment of your lonely imagination.

Even if he did think about me and wanted me in more than a passing way, it couldn’t work. I had two kids and was in too deep with my husband, the business, everything. I kept going to Costco. I’d always make sure I had a nice dress on and that my mascara was applied, just in case.

I’d go alone in hopes he was there, but he never was. I started to believe I’d imagined him. Months went by. I started asking around about him. One employee told me he wore chainmail, sometimes, and that he sewed all his own clothes. Some old ladies verified that he did, in fact, still work there.

I’d say to my friends, “Keep a lookout for Renaissance guy,” but they never saw him.

But then, one day, there he was. His line was long, so I went to the one next to him. It would be too weird to choose the obviously longer line. Or would it send the message that I’m interested? No, just go to the shorter line! He was talking with some tart, anyway. Her body was much more fit than mine and she had this easy, friendly way about her.

Fucking whore. I hated her.

“It’s just human connection, you know?” He said, motioning between the two of them. I thought I’d throw up. Thankfully, I made it out of the store with the contents of my stomach but still seething.

Throughout the days I’d wonder what Renaissance man was doing. My internet searches were anything but innocent. I searched his first name (it was all I knew) on social media and set the location. Nothing. I added Costco for employment. Still nothing. Of course, he wouldn’t have social media. ‘Renaissance man porn’ was the next search. A few tabs in, I found a video with a guy that looked just like him. Long dark hair, fucking two Renaissance women betwixt some stone structures. He even had the same boots! The video was only a minute-long compilation, but it was enough to get me going. If I squinted my eyes, the dark-haired girl looked like me. I’d look up at him just like that from under his massive cock. I’d let him fuck my ass like she did; I could take it.

Weeks went by. The next time I saw him, I was with both kids. I was anxiously going over what to say if I saw him. There was the option of sex and bulk grocery puns, but maybe that was too much. I could ask about his lifestyle and if he was only in it for the aesthetic or if he was a true Renaissance man. I was debating the two paths when he appeared, walking down the frozen food aisle. I probably looked like a deer in the headlights. He headed towards the self-checkout counter to help. It was his job.

But maybe he went because he wanted to talk to me.

“How’s your day going?” he asked as he started scanning my stuff. A normal question. Or was it?

“Better now,” I blurted, smiling like a fool. Shamelessly flirting in front of your own children? Despicable, but I couldn’t help it. My therapist would say that I could, in fact, help it, and that I should control my impulsivity but that’s neither here nor there.

He laughed, a reverberating laugh. Suddenly, I wanted to hear all his kinds of laughs: the shy laugh, the nervous laugh, the giddy laugh, and the satisfied laugh.

Then he looked at me, wordlessly smirking, and I thought he understood. But then the moment passed and he said how I shouldn’t look at the receipt then. You’re crazy, Rebecca. You’re mentally ill and there’s nothing going on here, I thought. ‘Better now’ for getting my bulk-dried mangoes? What did he think?

A thin trail of wetness trickled down my leg as I walked out.

Later that night, I let my mind drift to him as I was getting fucked. Maybe he was fucking his Renaissance Wife at that exact moment or his Renaissance Girlfriend. She was probably perfect for him, much more perfect than I could ever be for him.

“Perfect pussy,” my husband growled.

~~~

I hadn’t masturbated in weeks. The kids were always up, and there was always something to be done. The thought of him lurked like a phantom on the edges of my consciousness but I couldn’t indulge the thought, at least, not fully. One day, by the grace of the goddess, the kids were napping at the same time. My pussy was wet, and I rubbed my legs together and he came to mind.

The kids could be up, and my husband could be home at any second, so I had to act quickly. One vibrator wasn’t enough. I grabbed two and made a beeline for one of the only unoccupied rooms. The swivel chair worked wonderfully for leverage. I braced my legs against the wall and used the clit vibrator with a tenacity I hadn’t exhibited since pregnancy. Next came the internal one. I eased it in while keeping the clit suction going. Soon I was convulsing.

The next time I saw him was a Saturday late afternoon. My heart always raced when I entered the store just at the possibility of seeing him, but, when I saw him, it raced faster. I hurried to the checkout aisle so as not to lose my elusive lover. After finishing checking out I worked up the nerve to say it.

“I would like to get something… in bulk,” I blurted.

“Ok, What is it?” he asked.

I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

“Think about it. You’ll figure it out,” I said assuredly, though I wasn’t sure he would. I walked away quickly so as not to further embarrass myself.

But then, I heard the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps behind me. Those boots. I turned around. It was him, all seven swashbuckling feet of him. He got down on one knee.

“It would be my honor,” he said.

Then, right in front of all the people eating their two-dollar pizzas and churros at the picnic tables, he stood and lifted my chin to face him. We kissed deeply, his hand moving its way down my throat to rest there lightly. How did he know I liked that? A hush fell over the store, but, for all I cared, we could be in the forests of medieval Scotland. The fans overhead were not fans. They were the westerly winds. He scooped me and carried me out of that store, that godforsaken hellhole of abysmal consumerism. I didn’t even care that my groceries were left in our wake.

What kind of car does Costco Guy drive? Was a thought I’d debated many times. As it turns out, a motorcycle. Where was he going to take me? His home? Does he live in an apartment or a stone cottage?

He mounted the motorcycle swiftly.

“Climb on; hold on to me,” he instructed. I wrapped myself around him as I’d imagined doing so many times before. My legs gripped his hard thighs and my arms wrapped around his narrow waist, my chest against that broad back. Did I have to pick my children up from school? Did I need to be home? These were not thoughts that crossed my mind.

We took off. Part of me would have been happy to ride with him forever, just to be close to him, touching and breathing in his renaissance man smell. But another part of me craved more.

We rode through the Scottish highlands, I mean the highway, and along some side streets until we came to a large stone dwelling with impeccable landscaping. The opulence was astounding.

“If you’re rich, why do you work at Costco?” I asked.

“Community service,” he said casually. Though I had follow-up questions, I didn’t want to get into details. We went inside. The living room was nice but didn’t have a woman’s touch. It was all leather and dark prints, clean enough.

“Please, have a seat,” he said.

“I don’t want to have a seat. I want to sit on your face! What do you mean ‘have a seat?’ I didn’t come to discuss Renaissance history!” I exasperated.

I would have, though. I am a history nerd.

“May I take a guess at something? I may be wrong,” he said.

I nodded.

“You enjoy your life, you love being a mom, and you love your kids, your husband…” My kids. Fuck. What time was it? But I was under his spell. The thought faded.

“You’re content, happy even,” he went on, “but you crave something else. Someone else. Someone who can draw it out of you, someone who can make you feel truly desired, like the beautiful creature you are.”

Creature is right. As much as it infuriated me, it was true.

“Ok, you’re right! You summed me up,” I said to the floor, then lifted my eyes in what I hoped was a seductive glance but probably looked demonic.

“Then crawl to that room over there.”

I didn’t think I could want something this much. It’s as if my body ached to be touched by him. Being so close made me feel like I’d die if one of us didn’t do something right now.

You don’t have to listen to him; be strong! I thought. For a millisecond, I considered what brought me to this moment in my life and all the choices that led me here.

But I wanted to listen to him, so within two-and-a-half seconds, I was crawling. If I had a little more sense, I’d be embarrassed. The door was ajar, so I nudged it further open and continued crawling. I felt his eyes on me before he scooped me up and threw me on the bed with reckless abandon.

Maybe it was the mirthful gaze; maybe it was the cadence of his moans, but I’d never had so much fun in my life. It was as if this man lived to fuck. For all I knew, he just went to his job, came home, and banged local MILFS. The curiosity became too much.

“Do you do this often?”

“This?” he asked fake-innocently.

“Yeah, this. Seducing customers, sexing them up?”

“Yeah, I actually fuck a few moms from Costco. Lots of horny women there,” he admitted.

What the fuck dude? He thinks he’s all that and a leather satchel of chips.

“So does this not mean anything to you then?” I fought back tears.

“Quite the contrary. I’ve met many beautiful souls through my work. Many I’ve had the pleasure of entertaining.”

Shut up about the beautiful souls. Don’t ‘beautiful souls’ me, I thought. I started collecting my things when I realized we rode here together. I’d have to get an Uber.

“Please, allow me to escort you to your next destination.”

“You will do nothing of the sort! I’m canceling my Costco membership! Or better! I’m talking to your supervisor.”

“No! You wouldn’t.”

“I’m doing it.”

“Did I not provide excellent service?”

He did.

“You did. But that’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

“I want perks. Discounts. Free stuff.  I want the advanced membership, the all-inclusive trips.”

“I don’t have that kind of power!”

“Yes you do, Sean, yes you do! Last time I was told I couldn’t sit on the couches for the length of time I was! I want to sit on the couches!”

“Okay! Okay!”

“Now drive me back to my car.”

We rode back in companionable silence As I clutched his impossibly broad back, a devious smile crossed my face.