It was just a normal day. Well, for someone, somewhere I’m sure it was. For me however I have an aversion to that word, that dirty little boring word that seems to mean so much to people.

“Why can’t you just be normal?” I’ve heard those words so many times in my life, from being a tiny little girl. I can’t help it, I’m not normal. I was a tom boy as a kid, never wore skirts and hair bows, always had scuffed up knees and I was the toughest boy in my class even if I was a girl!

I lost a bit of the all boy stuff when I got to high school, I discovered hormones or they discovered me and I found I wanted to look attractive. So I took to dying my hair bright red and wearing short skirts and ripped t-shirts. My mum went mental, screamed “Why can’t you just be normal?” A million times at me but I couldn’t just be normal, that wasn’t me.

At university I branched out. I kissed my first woman, enjoyed it and became a lesbian for a while. I don’t mean to offend anyone by being so flippant but at the time I truly thought I was sexually attracted to girls and that was it. I had a lovely long relationship with a sweetheart named Caroline. Blonde and perky, bubbly and all kinds of clean cut. She could pass for normal, well, until she met me and then she was accompanied by myself and my neon pink Mohawk and it got more difficult for her to blend in.

A year later we broke up because I discovered that I still liked boys. I liked them a lot. So even there I couldn’t be normal. I couldn’t pick one sex or the other, I wanted both.

Normal hit me like a ton of bricks when I left uni. I had a degree, shiny, new and ready to use but I couldn’t find anything in my field. So I ended up working in a supermarket to pass the time. I had to lose the weird hairdos, I even had to tone down the colour so I went for dirge black, to suit my mood. I wear horrid polyester trousers, a puke coloured shirt and a tie that looks like it’s been painted by a radioactive monkey.

I hate it. I hated being on the tills, so I was put on shelf stacking, I hated that all the more so I was put on the bakery, they hated me so now I am left with the fish. I don’t mind the fish. They’re brightly coloured, my corner is cool and it’s quiet most of the time. I get to cut things up, lay things out in pretty patterns and I’m left alone, or I was. Then Charlie started.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s nice enough, I mean eye candy wise I’m not going to kick him out of my line of sight. Gorgeous looking guy he is but he’s a bit of a shit, truth be told and he’s constantly trying to get me into trouble when I’m here trying hard to blend in and be normal.

“Will you stop doing that! I can’t concentrate when you’re -”

“But you like it,Jan,” he interrupted, running his hands over my hips.

“We’re supposed to be working, Charlie, serving customers not each other.”

“But you know it drives me wild being near you. I can’t help myself.” His hands cup my buttocks, I moan with satisfaction inside and just moan on the out.

“Charlie, behave.”

“No,” he responded and pulled down my trousers. No one would know from the front but behind, well now my bare behind (I don’t do knickers, they’re too normal) is on display to the world.

“Stop it,” I hissed, “what if we’re on CCTV?”

“Then the boring sods in security are about to have the thrill of their life” he said, “Oh, silly me, I just dropped a knife.”

And the next thing I know my legs are being parted and I have Charlie’s mouth on my cunt.

“Oh, God, no, no, no, stop it.” I panicked. I tried to look normal and pleasant on the outside but my insides were boiling and rolling and demanding more.

He didn’t stop it. I struggled to keep my breathing normal. I struggled to stand still. I really struggled when an elderly gentleman wandered over wanting a fresh cod fillet.

I weighed it, stickered it and severely undercharged him. Surprisingly, he didn’t mind, even waved at me politely as he went. My cheeks were red, my cunt was on fire and as soon as the guy’s back was turned I came. Hard,fast and gushing. I held onto the fish display before me to stop my knees from buckling then pretended to rearrange things, just to look, you know, normal.

He pulled my pants back up and fastened them for me then stood beside me licking his lips.

“You’re evil,” I snapped.

“Yeah, but you love it.” He replied with an annoying smirk.

He was right. I did.

© Victoria Blisse