The Bakery

Audio to follow. 

Please note, this story carries a red warning and is not for the faint-hearted. You have been warned. 

If there was a better-looking woman than Belinda Carlisle, I was yet to see her. For the early months of the summer of 1988, she seemed to be everywhere. Her pictures graced the pages of Smash Hits and Hits magazines, Circle in the Sand was on the radio all day and her face seemed to be imprinted on my brain. I was in love.  I was also falling in love with Megan my colleague in John’s Hot Bread Shop where I’d just started my summer job. Three years older than me, she was no Belinda, but she had a cheeky smile and big, buxom breasts for which she had no end of bread related names for. They were her cobs, her buns, her baps, her small farmhouse loaves.  

Despite the heat of the kitchen, I loved the job. I'd never felt anything as wonderful as the warm dough beneath my fingers, I loved the way it moved beneath my weight, the way the silky mass curled itself around my hands.  I watched Megan serving customers in the shop and imagined it wasn’t warm dough I was kneading.

“Oh, John said you were good with your hands,” she said as she came out the back for some pasties.  “You can knead my dough anytime.” she winked. I reddened at the thought that she was reading my mind.

Circle in the Sand sang Belinda from the radio. This was getting all too much for me sending blood to my epicentre. I couldn’t take it anymore, I needed relief or else I would do a Krakatoa. I looked at the dough. I scooped a piece of it off the counter and took it with me to the toilet. 

Oh wow. It was better than anything I'd ever done before and quite frankly ever done since. The dough added a certain warmth that I imagined might be like the real thing. It was me that was flushed when I left the cubicle not the toilet. I went back out to the counter and looked for a bin to throw the used dough into.
“What's going on?” John was stood behind me.
“Nothing boss,” I said.
“Well get on then.” I stared at my boss for a moment. What should I do with the dough?  Panicked, I threw it back in with the rest and started kneading away.
“Not, like that,” John said, pushing me out of the way and putting his hands into my seedy dough.