#Chapter36
My fucking traitor body had. It had gone into full-blown pitch-a-tent mode, but I kind of managed to dismiss that. I was nineteen. Hormones were crazy. Hell, I had gotten a stiffie just from watching dog collar commercial. I think I had even gotten one just from the woman smiling in the toothpaste ad, once, too.
The work he had me do was piss easy, too. He didn't want me interacting with costumers, which was a definite bonus, so he had handed me a brush and told me to sweep the place out, and a duster and told me to attack the shelves.
