Lipsticks

I sexily walk into the store. My eyes dart to the opposite side where I plan my exit when I’m done here. I roam my blue-green eyes around the store as I put my sunglasses over my head like a headband. The store is quite big with a number of customers busy choosing what they want to buy. And it is big enough where anything can be found from grocery to sanitary napkins to beauty products to geeky and cool devices.

So, here I am checking out some things in the grocery section. I look at some canned goods, reading their ingredients and checking out their prices. I put them back on their shelves and move on to another. I notice there are a lot of customers starting to come more and more into the store at this hour, which could make me invisible to the undercover security guards or loss prevention (LP) employees who are probably profiling shoplifters by now.

Anyway, I’m usually smooth as June but I also usually plan my outfit a little better. Today, I’m just wearing a tight black T-shirt with a pair of sexy shorts and high heels. So, obviously, I’m an attention magnet—though I still hope that the number of these customers makes me invisible enough as I’ve already mentioned.

Sometimes I just can’t help it, you know? When something catches my eye, I tend to just take it away, especially the ones in the beauty products section, where small items are not very much detectable. I have shoplifted many times before—since I was sixteen, in fact—and I have never been caught. I’m fucking awesome, right? Shit. I didn’t say that. I know it’s not a good thing, stealing. But I have a reason.

I remember the first time when I shoplifted—a well-known brand lipstick of red color—for my Mom. It’s actually her favorite color. I decided at the time to give her a present but I had no money, although my family is a bit well-off. All my allowance has gone to some dresses and shoes I fancied. It’s been quite an exhilarating experience at the time, being my first and all.

My mom had been surprised to receive such a gift from me then. I can’t even believe I’ve been so proud of myself to make my mom happy and proud at the time. But she never had any idea where the lipstick came from or that I stole it from somewhere.

That first time has been followed by another same crime. It’s been merely for the attraction of the item, which has made my hands itch. The third one has followed not long after due to the rush. And then the next and the next. It went on and on that I have even lost count, and I can’t wait to have some fun after shoplifting something today.

My twentieth birthday is coming up. I guess I have to treat myself to something pretty and cool. I smile a little to myself, just thinking about this.

I move to the next aisle. I simply survey the cameras by pretending to look at the higher parts of the shelves, checking out some things here and there. Then I see a couple of other customers checking out some makeup and perfume.

I carefully move to the makeup section when one of the women went around to check on some of the other items on the other shelf. And then, I am finally alone on that aisle. I look carefully at the line of lipsticks of different shades, from blush to black and from pale to bright colors.

Shit! My adrenaline is starting to rush right now. I feel so excited just by looking at these neat lipsticks. And then, I am thinking of these fucking companies that have enough money already. They don’t need more of mine for some piece of shit little plastic tube of lipstick. What the hell is lipstick anyway?

A silver magic lipstick catches my eye suddenly. It’s like it’s twinkling deliberately to get my attention. It costs below ten dollars. I move my hand to get it when another one steals my attention. It’s bright pink, which would look so sexy on me. I bite my lower lip and remove it as well from where it is lying on the shelf.

As I walk slowly, pretending to check other items, I pull out my cell phone from my front pocket and at the same time I shove the two tubes of lipsticks in. I check the time and my message inbox. I pretend to dial a number and talk to no one but myself as I head toward the exit. Calmly.

I flip my curly dark brown hair when I noticed a tall lean man barring my exit. He has short dirty blond hair. He wears a pair of rugged black jeans and a white T-shirt that shows off his well-toned biceps, chest, body and thighs. He is tanned and good-looking, though I give him a shrewd look.

I try to step around him but another one has come up from behind me. This one has dark hair and looks like a Latino. He looks sexy as well in his cargo trousers of gray color paired with a navy blue T-shirt. They’re both in their mid or late twenties.

“I’m gonna call you back, Jill,” I pretend to end the conversation on my phone.