Free Butter Wouldn't Melt by Penny Birch Page A

not by much. He was not only short, but broad and badly stooped with age, also completely bald, with the dome of his head shining yellow in the glow of the basement lights. His skin was rough and discoloured, his face a collection of small features squashed around a large, crooked nose, while his eyes bulged disconcertingly as they travelled slowly down my body.
    â€˜And aren’t you a pretty one,’ he remarked.
    He gave a dirty chuckle, leaving me acutely aware that with the files in my arms there was nothing I could do to protect myself from a wandering hand. I tried to get past him as quickly as I could, but not fast enough as a gentle pat was applied to the seat of my skirt to urge me into the basement.
    â€˜If you could just slip those into the bottom shelf, over here,’ he instructed, shuffling deeper in among the stacks.
    I followed, between two high sets of shelves, to the corner of the basement, where the bottom three rowswere empty. As far as I could see, my files should have gone on the highest of the three, and I was sure he’d chosen the lowest in order to make me bend down or kneel on the floor. Sure enough, he took up a position behind me, and I could feel his eyes caressing the shape of my bottom beneath my skirt as I put the files into place. My skin was crawling for fear he would touch me again, or even try to pull my skirt up, but he left me alone, contenting himself with watching my legs as I climbed back up the stairs.
    He made me feel dirty, and I was very glad indeed that I wouldn’t be associating with him very much, while it was intensely embarrassing to remember how I’d considered giving him some sexual favour in order to win the betting on my surrender. There was not any doubt in my mind, though, that he’d have accepted my offer, probably having me sit on his knee so that he could fondle my bottom while I pulled on his dirty little cock.
    Not that it seemed all that little. When I came back down with the second set of files it was to find him seated on a chair which he’d used to prop the door open. His legs were set well apart with his nasty little pot belly hanging down between, but not far enough to hide a substantial bulge in the crotch of the threadbare suit of brown tweed he was wearing. I could even see the outline of his cock.
    â€˜Hurry along,’ he said as I reached the bottom of the stairs, and I quickly turned to protect my bottom.
    He gave another dirty chuckle, perhaps equally amused at my embarrassed evasion as at the little start I’d given previously. Once more he followed me, his eyes feasting on my rear view as I stacked the files, leaving me blushing pink and more conscious of my bottom than ever. I was only glad I was in a smart skirt instead of jeans, let alone a short skirt, whichwould have allowed him to look up it every time I climbed the stairs, maybe high enough to see my knickers.
    As I climbed back up for my third load of files I was wondering if I should tell him what I thought of his behaviour, but decided not to. After all, what could I do except complain to the partners, and he was an old and respected member of the firm, while I was a mere trainee. It would be his word against mine. He only needed to make up some story about how I’d been rude to him and he’d told me off for my complaint to look like a piece of spite.
    So I put up with it, doing my best to avoid his wandering hands and enduring his attention to my rear view. It was a lot of work too, and left me glad for all the long hours of gym and sports at school. I was still hot by the time I’d finished and straightened up from putting away the final set of files with considerable relief. Mr Prufrock was in his usual position, directly behind me, and I waited for him to start back between the shelves. Eleven times he’d gone first, but not the twelfth.
    â€˜Come along then,’ he said. ‘It’s time I locked up, and what would people