Short skirts

I was just eighteen at the time, working nine to five for a real estate firm. It was a small business, just the boss and three agents, with me as the only office girl. My predecessor in the job, whom I met on my first day, was scathing about the boss, saying that he was a complete sleaze and the reason why she was leaving. It didn’t take me long to find out that this was true; after a few days he told me that he expected me to wear very short skirts, and to “tart myself up a bit.” I later on heard them laughing and the boss saying that “a slut in the office brings in the male clients.”
It was my first job, and I was keen to do well, so at home, I cut a good amount from two of my skirts, and then resewed the hems. Trying them on afterwards, I began to think that I’d gone a bit overboard and taken far too much off , they really were extremely short now. Anyway, when I wore one of them to work, and also wore more make-up, the boss was very approving and commented that I “looked great.”
I was happy with my life at that stage, and everything was fine, but then I found that my boy-friend of some months had been two-timing me, and that was the end of the relationship.
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I was feeling a bit miserable, and was thinking over, for the umpteenth time, all of my personal problems as I stood waiting for the bus. Formerly I’d taken the train, but there was no way that I wanted to bump into Eddie and the new girlfriend.
“Hello, I heard a cheery voice. Looking up I saw an older guy probably in about his late forties, maybe even a touch older. I barely gave him more than just a fleeting smile, and was ready to lapse once more into my moody state, but the guy started chatting away as if we were friends. I now and then gave an answer, but was only half listening to what he was saying, and really I didn’t want to talk with this unknown man.
“I suppose that you have a boyfriend,” the pest was saying. “No,” I muttered. “No!” he exclaimed, “I’d have thought that a hot little thing like you would have at least one.
I glanced at him sharply in annoyance. It might be nice to have someone my own age to tell me that I was hot, but this guy had to be at least as old as my dad. He didn’t seem to notice my disapproval, and asked, “or is it that you prefer girls?”
“I had a boyfriend,” I almost snapped, “but we’ve just broken up.
The bus arrived just then and I got on, and even though there were empty seats, I sat next to a woman so that the guy couldn’t sit next to me, but when I looked around I found that he hadn’t boarded the bus, and I saw him walking off along the pavement.
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The guy smiled as he walked off, “just broken up with the boyfriend eh, that’s good, she might be just right for picking – she certainly looks like she wants it, wearing a skirt like that, you can all but see her ass.”
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It was only a couple of days later, when having walked to the bus stop, the same guy came along smiling at me amiably. “Hello Sexy,” he said.
I decided to ignore him, and I said nothing. He wasn’t put off though. “I love that little skirt,” he continued, “you look so hot.”
Feeling that I had to say something to get rid of this pest, I said to him coldly, “just because I wear a short skirt doesn’t mean that you can talk like that.”
“Well you wear a skirt like that for one reason only,” he said suggestively.
I tried to hide my embarrassment by rifling about in my handbag, pretending to look for something, and peering into it so as not to encounter his look.
Thankfully the bus was coming. The guy then thrust a large envelope at me, “here’s something you’ll like,” he said. I was so surprised, and the envelope was thrust at me so suddenly, that I took a hold of it. The guy then turned on his heel and walked off rapidly.
On the bus, I slid out the flap of the envelope and peered in, immediately recognizing the contents as a porno magazine. I could hardly contain my eagerness to look, but, although there was no one in the seat next to me, there were people opposite as well as behind. I contented myself with peering into the envelope and pushing on the sides so that the pages sprung apart slightly, just giving me a teasing glimpse at the contents.
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“Well that went ok,” the guy thought to himself as he walked off. “I’ll just need to be careful in case she’s not the slut that she appears to be, and tells her father or someone. The next time will tell. If she takes the next lot of porn, she’s mine for the taking.”
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I knew that I’d nearly die of shame if that guy should once more visit the bus stop while I was waiting, and initially I was half inclined to revert to taking the train home.
Anyway I decided on the bus, and no sooner had I arrived at the stop, than the guy came along.