I stopped for coffee. I never do that. I really never do that. I'm not a coffee person. As I sit here, with my brain buzzing and fingers vibrating at a slow hum, I know why I am not a coffee person. Yet, this morning I fell in love.
Reality:
"Hi, how are you this morning", brightly smiled inquiries always make nervous on Monday mornings.
"I seem to have woke up above ground", yes this my standard retort. Yes, it is charming. Yes, this is stolen from my dad.
"Hahahahahahahahah, that's cute. Well, it's better than the alternative, right?", oh to be young and positive. It's so endearing I want to crush it.
"That's what they tell me, but I still don't see it", I crush the fuck out of it.
"Hahahahaha, good point. So, what will you have?"
We slide into the typical consumer/retailer banter. Her mid-length red hair frames her chubby face perfectly. The freckles on her pale skin makes her smile glow, and make me smile even more. She's from Houston, which gives us a minute or two of conversation. She wants more tattoos, which gives us even more. She fixes my coffee so non-chalantly that I start to forget why I'm there. Her compadre, young and giggly, detracts my attention with a few seconds of interjection from glancing at my barista's soft curves. I can see a hint of cleavage, and round, soft hips that hug the tight work issued slacks. I am hooked. God damn it!
I pay, she serves...........
Fantasy:
She slides my iced coffee across the waist-high counter. I reach across, and as I grab it she brushes my hand and leans in.
"Women's restroom, one minute", a women twice her age isn't this sly.
I look up, disguising the excitement in my face, as I see her partner in crime give a smile that only goes with someone that knows a little too much about a situation. I turn my back, sip from my unusually delicious drink, and start the count in my head. I count fast. I do that, a lot.
I knock. I enter. The drink has disappeared from my hand. She faces me, leaning against the gleaming, white sink. Blouse unbuttoned, pants are the the same. I walk over to her and the smirk on my face turns quickly into the deep, hard kiss that makes her moan into my throat. Sliding my hands down both sides of her hips, I drop her pants down to her ankles. We both know it's early, we both know we have work to get done, and I oblige by turning her on her heels. She grips both sides of the sink. I move down onto my knees and spread her thighs open like a mean cop. Her ankle comes out of one of her pant legs, and I taste what has already been started. I can feel the twitch, the shiver, and I can taste the urge. As I stand up she can hear the rat-a-tat-tat of my button fly opening. I see her hands wince on the porcelain. Inside it's tight. Inside it's warm Inside, I can actually feel the vibration of her smiling. Each thrust gets harder. Her cute, freckled face beams at me from the mirror. It makes me harder. I grab the back of her head and push it against her reflection. To me, she is almost kissing herself. To her, I am fucking both of her. Then, it happens. I can feel it. She gets loud. I cover her mouth with my other hand and dive even deeper. Her hands become slightly relaxed, and her work is done. My work is right there. Seconds away. I tell her. She is surprisingly quick. Pushing me backwards, she drops to her knees and takes me in. All in. My back arches and I know she can hear my guttural brain move through her mouth. Her eyes widen as she stares up at me. I grab the hair at the nape of her head almost begging her to stop and keep going at the same time, like the ending paragraph in a Henry Miller chapter.................
And this is how I fall in love one hundred times a day.
*pictures are used without permission, but I hope that noone gives a shit since I ain't profiting one red cent off of them.
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