13 Ağustos 2022

Life Lessons

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Dear Reader,

I want to thank you for all of the responses and feedback that I’ve received in regards to my first two stories. From the start, it has been my goal to write true and genuine stories that provide an honest look into some of my life experiences as well as my sexual experiences. Life, in general, can be hard to deal with. Some days are easy, other days are downright dreadful, which is why I’ve learned to cherish and value both love and humour. We all experience dark times throughout our lives and ultimately we are faced with two choices. The first choice is to handle it ourselves and go it alone. The second choice is to ask for help and to speak out to anyone who is willing to listen. Overall I’ve tried my best at balancing both the positivity and negativity that life can bring and I wanted to touch on some of these moments in my third story. I thank you again for reading my stories. Any spelling and grammatical errors are solely on me. All characters are 18 years of age or older.

Name: Emma Chalmers

Country: Canada/USA

Occupation: Highschool Graduate

Gender: Female

Age: 18 (Aquarius)

Body Type: Petite/Toned, 5’0″, 145 lbs

Hair / Eyes: Red / Green

Relationship Status: Single

Children: None

Heritage: Irish, Scottish, Welsh

Sexual Preference: Undecided

Measurements: 32B-25-34

Friday, Week

Left side, right side and then finally on to my back, I tossed and turned in bed trying to get comfortable enough to sleep. My mind raced and my stomach churned as a result of my body slowly trying to unwind from the physical and mental stress from the past few weeks. It is a long story, so I’d better get started.

It had been a month since my first real sexual encounter with another person, who just happened to be my former best friend’s mother. It was an unexpected, yet rewarding sexual experience that I looked forward to exploring more in the future. Since then the past month has been full of work around the household as well as my introduction into the workforce and becoming a productive member of society.

I started two part-time jobs, one that paid and one that didn’t. The job that paid was working as a barista at a local coffeehouse that was partially owned by one of my mother’s friends. The job that didn’t pay was working alongside my stepdad at the various construction sites that his residential contracting business had in progress.

The work at home consisted of helping my mom design and put together my new sibling’s room because her due date was only a month away. I did most of the labour (pun intended) because there was no way I was letting my 8 months pregnant mother hurt herself and she was at home with the idea of bossing me around. (Well more than she usually does.) The other work around the house was putting the finishing touches on my bedroom. All of the work at home was done during the downtime that I had between my part-time jobs, which seemed like very little time.

My stepdad and I agreed that I would work 5-hour shifts with him for the first couple of weeks to get used to the job, but the hours would eventually increase. The job would be Monday through Friday from 9 am to 2 pm and it would be unpaid.

The first reason for the job being unpaid was that my stepdad couldn’t have an unskilled teenage girl taking work and money away from skilled unionized workers, so he worked with his employees to design a position for me that would guarantee that my job wouldn’t interfere with their work and paychecks. The second reason for my job being unpaid was that I would eventually get paid in the form of Don covering the entire tuition for the first year of the college program of my choice, which I was still undecided on.

My job was to shadow Don as well as the other members of the construction crews, I would get some hands-on tasks, but ultimately I was to observe and see if any of the trades piqued my interest. Some of the hands-on tasks that I was assigned were taking notes for measurements and looking/walking around the construction site for minor hazards and keeping work zones clean. At the beginning and at the end of each shift, I picked up screws, nails and other items that might pose hazards to hands and feet.

I was also put in charge of making sure that the construction workers were adequately hydrated. I coined the term “bottled water bitch”, a term that my stepdad immediately shot down. He sat me down and gave me a lecture about the importance of hydration and how when it came to a construction site dehydration was the main cause of mental mistakes which leads not only to personal injury but the potential of making mistakes that may hurt others. That lecture immediately changed my view and I became aware of the signs of dehydration and made myself a valuable member of the job site.

I only had five shifts at the coffeehouse over the course of bursa escort the first two weeks, all five shifts involved training at the three main positions: the front counter, the baking/kitchen area and the drive-thru. I’m not a people person, so I loved my time in the baking/kitchen area and I requested to have as many shifts as possible at that position, which unfortunately didn’t happen often.

My mindset going into the barista job was that there were only two main prerequisites, one was a love of coffee and two was being able to communicate properly. It turns out that there is another prerequisite and that is the ability to have patience with all situations that might arise. I learned this the hard way during my first shift. It turns out that being able to make yourself a coffee is completely different than taking an order and then serving someone else a coffee.

I have no issues when it comes to making and serving regular orders like coffee and tea with the basics like cream, milk, soy milk, lactose-free milk, sugar, sugar substitute, etc. However, I have a difficult time when customers order a coffee or tea with 5 to 10 or more extra added items. For example, when a customer orders a coffee with cream, milk, foamed milk, sugar, caramel, mint, whipped cream, cinnamon, shaved chocolate pieces, tapioca balls, with a shot of another type of flavoured coffee mixed with an expresso. (Is it even considered coffee anymore?)

The third week started off good and then a wrench got thrown into my plans, I started receiving shifts at the coffeehouse that overlapped some of my shifts at the construction sites. I didn’t want to lose valuable experience at the construction site, so I tried switching shifts with the other baristas. I was successful in getting some of the shifts switched, but ended up having to work a lot of midday shifts at the front counter. By the end of the third week, my hours at the coffeehouse were almost equal to my hours worked at the construction site, what I didn’t know at the time was that the fourth week was going to be even worse.

Due to call-ins and vacations at the coffeehouse, I wasn’t able to work a shift at the construction site. To make matters worse, I got called into the office early into my shift on Monday morning and I was reprimanded by my supervisor for switching so many shifts the week before. I was told that switching shifts as a new employee are frowned upon and that I had to basically toil away and earn the right to switch shifts. I was also given extra shifts because management didn’t have the foresight to make sure that vacations were covered. I viewed it as punishment because I now had to work both the morning and evening rush hours at the drive-thru due to the business being understaffed for the week.

From Monday thru Friday, my morning shifts were from 8:00 am to 12:00 pm and my afternoon/evening shifts were from 4:00 pm to 8:00 pm. I don’t have a car, so I ended up either rollerblading or riding my bike back and forth between work and home. I dreaded hearing the alarm clock each morning and the lack of good sleep was taking its toll on me. The summer heat also didn’t help.

Over the course of the week, I lost track of the number of times that I fucked up someone’s order, as well as the number of times that I received sexual innuendoes said to me over the drive-thru headset. At the end of each shift, I made sure to let my supervisor know about how working the drive-thru made me feel and if a position change could be made. I told them that I was tired of being treated like a piece of meat and made them aware of some of the comments that were said to me, but each time I was told that it was part of the job and that I needed to grow a thicker skin.

The mental stress and physical exhaustion finally broke me during my break in the morning shift on Friday. I spent half of my morning break in the staff washroom alternating between crying and throwing up, the other half of my break I made the foolish decision of trying to smoke a cigarette that I’d taken from one of my co-workers who was finishing their break. (Bad idea, really bad idea.)

I freshened up as best as I could, but when I looked in the mirror, I still looked green around the gills. I somehow managed to finish my morning shift and during my bike ride home I decided that I wouldn’t be returning for the evening shift. About halfway into my bike ride home, I had to stop and throw up again. Unfortunately, it was in front of a group of really attractive guys that were about to enter one of the local gyms. It was not my brightest moment and it was not the most ladylike of things to have done, but it was better than throwing up on my shirt and I didn’t want to have it sticking to me on the hot and sweltering ride home.

I stopped by the nearest pharmacy to get a bottle of ginger ale and some anti-nausea medication. I found a bench outside of the pharmacy and sat down to slowly sip away bursa escort bayan at my beverage. I don’t drink a lot of soda pop, but I do enjoy a ginger ale once and awhile. The goal was to cleanse the remnants of the vomit taste from my mouth, but also to use the ginger to help settle my rolling stomach.

I decided to leave the anti-nausea medication for when I got home, mostly because the main side effect is drowsiness and with my already depleted energy, the last thing that I needed was to dull the senses that were required for me to get home safely. I put the partially full bottle of ginger ale in the beverage holder section of my backpack and reach for my earbuds. I flipped through my music playlists and selected one that would keep me focused on the ride home. I fastened my helmet and got back onto my bike and headed towards home.

The goal was to avoid encountering either of my parents at home in my current condition because my unpresentable appearance would raise a concerned and a long-drawn-out conversation that I wanted to avoid at least for now. My pale complexion and puffy looking eyes would definitely be a talking point, I wanted to at least get the opportunity to freshen up and get some rest before talking to anyone at this point. I turned the last corner before my house and immediately hit the brakes, it turns out that luck was not in my corner today. My mom’s car was in the driveway. (Well shit, this should be interesting.)

I locked up my bike outside of the garage and headed inside hoping to avoid my mom, but both the front door and back door are visible from most of the rooms on our main floor. It was time to enter stealth mode. I slowly used my key to unlock the front door and quietly shut it. I barely made it into the main hallway and I heard my mom’s voice. “Emma, I made you a grilled cheese sandwich and some soup” (How the fuck did she know it was me? Stealth mode has suffered a failure, please reboot.)

“I’m not hungry, mom”. I quickly replied and headed towards the stairways leading down to the basement and my bedroom.

“Get your little butt back here, I know that you’ve worked up an appetite from all of the hard work this morning.” My mom spat back. (I guess that there is no way out of this one.)

I hung my backpack up and walked into the kitchen to face the music. I looked towards the stove and saw that my mother had indeed made a pot of soup and was in the process of making a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches. With her back toward me, she continued the conversation.

“You’ve been crying, I can hear it in your voice. Care to explain or do I have to turn around and make you look me in the eyes.” She said as she reached up to grab the plates and bowls for lunch. I walked over and tried to help her with the plates and bowls, but she slapped my hands away. “I’m pregnant, Emma, but I can still handle the simple task of getting the dishware. Now take a seat and tell your momma what is wrong.”

(Damn, she used the m-word.) I can ignore a lot of things, but when my mom threatens me with having to look her directly in the eyes and then uses the m-word, my armour cracks and my shields are down. The word “momma” slices through everything.

I sat down and I was about to speak, but she put her hand up and then placed my lunch in front of me. She did the same for herself and then sat down. “Now you may begin.” She said with a motherly nod of her head.

In between bites of my sandwich and spoonfuls of my soup, I explained everything, well almost everything. The thing about my mom is that she wants each and every detail when it comes to a story or event and she has this sense of knowing that you are omitting something. I told her about the events that had led up to this morning, everything that had happened this morning and everything that had happened since up until my arrival at home. I spared her the details of the verbal harassment that I’d been subjected to over the drive-thru headset. Which she would eventually call me out on.

There was a very awkward silence between us as we finished eating our lunch. Once I was finished, she quietly got up from her seat at the table and then gathered the empty dishes. She returned to the table with a carafe of coffee and two mugs. She placed them onto the table and then walked over to me. She came up from behind me and gave me the biggest mom hug possible. The hugs that only come out when someone has hurt her baby. I tried to fight it, but the warmth and love broke through. I lost complete control of my emotions and just bawled my eyes out into my mother’s chest. If I said any words I couldn’t remember them and they were probably all incoherent anyway. I cried for what seemed like an eternity and damn is my mom a trooper, she stood there and held me the entire time.

She let go of me and then sat back down across from me. “I know that you’re tired and you want to take a nap, but you’re not leaving escort bursa this table until you tell me what you’ve decided not to share with your mother, I know that you’re hiding something from me. I realized that working some of the positions at the coffeehouse isn’t your cup of tea, but I also know that it takes a lot to get you into an emotional wreck.” I knew by the tone of her voice that she would do everything in her power to prevent me from leaving the table.

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hands and attempted to compose myself. I raised my head and tried to avoid direct eye contact. “You’re right mom, there are some positions at work that I enjoy doing more than others and that is because I’m not good at being social with strangers. I enjoy working in the kitchen and baking section, and I don’t mind covering the front counter for short periods of time because you get to see your customers face to face, but I absolutely hate working the drive-thru.”

I stopped for a minute to pour some coffee into my mug. I took a sip and allowed the hot bitter liquid to zap me back into focus and then I continued my story.

“Before I go any further, please don’t get mad at me for the words and phrases that I’m about to utter, I know how much our family tries to keep all of the negativity and hurtful language out of our household.” I said in the most serious voice that I could muster. (My mom is a stickler when it comes to bad and foul language in her household and believe me, I’ve felt her wrath many times.)

My mom nodded, the look on her face told me that she would allow me some leeway, but I had to tread carefully.

“Most of the words that were said and aimed at me were things that you hear when someone is degrading a woman. Words such as bitch, slut, whore, and cunt. I wasn’t shocked by those words because I’ve heard all of those words thrown around by people at school, but the difference is that I’ve never heard those words directed towards me.” My mom’s expression changed from one of calmness to an expression that was a mixture of concern and irritation, but she let me continue.

“I won’t tell you everything that was said to me because I would need the rest of the afternoon to tell you everything, but I will tell you some of the worst things that were said to be over the drive-thru headset.” I took a few more sips of my coffee, my body needing a little bit of liquid courage. My mom reached across the table with her hands open, I responded in kind by placing my hands on top of her open palms and I felt the lightest of squeezes from her hands. It was a welcome comfort.

“I didn’t get a lot of sexual comments during my day shifts, but the worst ones seemed to happen when I was by myself during the evening shifts. During the day shifts, I would get comments about customers wanting to touch my buns or fondle my breasts or your voice sounds sweet, I bet your pussy tastes sweeter.” I bit my lip saying the last comment, cringing at the fact that I’d said the word pussy in front of my mother, but that wasn’t the worst that I was about to tell her.

I was about to continue, but my mom cut me off. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing Emma, my friend Karen said that you would feel safe at this job, that is why I recommended you for the job.” My mom was about to continue, but it was my turn to cut her off.

“Mom, it gets worse than that. Earlier this week I had a customer ask me if we sold yogurt, I said no, they said that’s too bad, and then they offered to give me some of their throat yogurt. The most recent comment was yesterday. I was tired and a little irritable and I came across as a little rude during the last order. I apologized to the customer, but they responded by telling me that they wanted to come into the store and force me against the counter until they filled me like a creamed donut.”

My mom had a confused look on her face. She understood some of what I had said, but it looked like she needed some clarification.

“Emma, I’m not up-to-date with the current lingo, you will have to explain the term throat yogurt and a creamed donut.” She said with a puzzled look on her face. (Oh crap, I’d hoped that I didn’t have to explain further, way to go dumbass, you should have used simpler terms.)

“Ok mom, but this is awkward. One customer wanted to stick his penis in my mouth and ejaculate down my throat, the other customer wanted to force me against the counter and fuck me until he ejaculated inside of my vagina.” My lips trembled as I said the last word.

My cheeks suddenly felt really hot, my vision started to blur and the rest of my body felt numb. I didn’t think that I would feel such an emotional surge, but my exhausted mind finally came to terms with the words that I’d said. When you’re tired and stressed out you don’t think clearly and you don’t get a chance to contemplate words that are said or events that happen you just want to get out of the stressful situation as quickly as possible. When you keep things to yourself and in your head, things don’t seem as bad, but when you talk to someone, you actually realize how bad things really were. This was one of those moments for me.

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