He was older than me, that I knew. And my superior which heightened my predatory need to conquest. The setting for this seduction? Hollister, a retail chain which marketed the Southern California surfer lifestyle to teenagers in the form of tee-shirts with sexually suggestive slogans such as “Winner of Wet Tee-Shirt contest”. It was a proper first job for me at age 18, offering little responsibility other than greeting guests and folding jeans. My Hollister store, consistent with their image, hired a bevy of tanned nubile teenage boys and girls with whom I would bond over bitchy customers and share store gossip.

For those who haven’t ever held a position in the service industry, retail stores and restaurants provide the ideal setting for a hotbed of drama: young men and women forced to interact with one another in pursuit of a paycheck for hours at a time with little distraction. They form insular communities, mini high school societies with its own cliques and more partner-swapping than swingers saw in the 1970’s.

Enough of the briefing, let’s get back to my mission. Fresh from a school year that had two senior boys who were best friends fighting for my affections, I was drunk on the power of my own sexuality and was ready to take it for a true test drive. When Adam, the new manager, was introduced I was immediately entranced by his flirtatious looks and his own arrogance at being the ringleader of a throng of blonde jailbait. It started innocently enough, us loping back playful insults over camisoles. Years of being the “friend” of the pretty girl had coerced me into developing an acerbic, and sarcastic sense of humor which to my delight, guys responded to and flirtations often consisted of this back-and-forth banter that occasionally culminated in a make-out session in a garage. As previously stated, Adam was older, 26 to be precise, and when he responded in kind to my subtle jabs I was thrilled but shocked when he asked me to meet him for ice cream the next day. Time and the alcohol abuse of my college years has erased much of what was said and exchanged during the date but I do remember hours later hooking up (no sex) in my white Jetta outside Target. I was all id, all desire, all want with him. I didn’t care about propriety, being lady, playing hard-to-get, I just wanted. I dropped him off at his car around 10:00 PM, jamming Led Zeppelin, screaming the lyrics at the top of my lungs because the want wanted to stretch me and take me alive. The next day at work, we were boiling over with the secrecy of our tryst, locking eyes knowingly, burning with the knowledge of each other.

Although I knew him, I didn’t really know him. Although our banter at work was witty and sharp, I slowly gathered from brief conversations that other than this strong need that yanked at my skin, Adam lacked the capacity to fascinate enough to foster true love and affection. At the time I was still entertaining the admirations of a number of other suitors so when our embraces faded off, I rarely thought of them until the grapevine informed me he had pursued another of my co-workers. Slightly bitter, I mocked him openly for his choice, who was known among retail circles for being promiscuous. I soon left for college and thought of him occasionally on a particular lonely night, longing for someone to inspire that same strength of desire. The want that consumed me.

Spring Break of my freshman year found me in my old stomping grounds. Fresh from a breakup that made me feel achingly vulnerable, I reunited with some Hollister colleagues and we decided to venture down to Santa Cruz, where Adam was now living, to surprise him. My guy friends began taking bets on how long it would take Adam to try and hit on me. As we walked into the Chili’s where he now worked, I saw him immediately, quaint and colloquial in his uniform but still pulsating with the same energy that stirred my long-starved want. Adam was pleasantly shocked, and we ended up back at his place taking shots to ease the tension of time passed. He lead me up to a little alcove in his expansive apartment and confessed his feelings for me which he suppressed because of my pending leave to college. I ate up his sweet, false words and we continued right where we had left off, the want expanding and growing inside of us. He took me to his bedroom, intent on finally having me. Our want became even more passionate as I fake-pleaded to go and return to my friends upstairs as his threw me against the wall and peeling my clothes off as easily as an orange. I never relented, never allowed him to obtain what I held. I eventually left him, drained and plagued with want for me, as I returned to my friends victorious and filled with the power that comes with a conquest. I haven’t seen him since.

I’ve tried for years to find someone that reawakens that feeling, that zing. Was it a product of my surging hormones? Or was it the result of the manifestation, the inundation of feelings of power and control? All I know is, sweet Adam, we’ll always have Hollister.