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From: (Hawk Richards)
Subject: New Story:  The Stammering Waiter (M/F)
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Standard Disclaimer: Don't read if under 18 years of age.  Don't read
if sexually explicit material is not your cup of tea.  E-mail or Post
your reaction or critique.  Flames will be ignored.   Enjoy!

Contact information:  Hawk Richards (

Note:  I enjoy hearing what you think.  Comments are very welcome!
You may not sell this story...


	I guess you call it one of those days.  I had my fuck you
attitude and a shit eating grin.  My Hair looked liked a mop, my mouth
tasted like the bottom of an ashtray and I was broke.  I started out
with a semi-rational mind filled with anger and malicious greed.  I
was an average, everyday, angry young adult, until she came into my

	Her hair flowed like a river in the wind and her smile could
tame the animal within.  Her bite was cruel and unjust.  The days
became bright when she winked her sparkling eyes at the sun.  She was
the one.  Her name was Samantha and out of my foggy self-denying world
of anger sprung a well of something I had not felt before.  When I
first saw her sitting at the cafe reading a book, Samantha had made
the cafe wake up and listen to her aura of love, but there was a tear
in her eye.  I strode over to her table like the gallant young knight
wanting to take away her sadness with the glint of a slightly rusted
	"Hello...may I get you anything?"  I said.  

	Yeah, that is right I was a waiter, a waiter at the Sidewalk
Café.  It paid the bills, of which I had many.  Like all waiters, I
had aspirations of something more.  No, I didn't want to be an actor.
I didn't want to speak other people's words.  That is right, a writer
was my aspiration and I had the right disposition for it.  I was an
angry voice screaming in the dark.  I wove tales of a disturbed world,
a world where you could play God and get away with it.  It just so
happened that she was reading a favorite book of mine and I had a come
on line ready.  Little did I know, yes very little.
Her youthful gaze fell away from the book and smiled at me.  She
didn't speak a word, while I stood there with a frown turned upside
for it was the only smile I had.  She looked into my eyes for what
seemed like eternity.  God knows what she saw there.  Did she see my
soul?  I hope not for my soul was dark and sour.  Then she spoke in
this soft, flowing voice of a goddess.  On the other hand, maybe it
was just the earwax build up in my ears that made her voice echo.
	"I said coffee.  Do you mind not staring?  Are you just going
to stand there all day?"  She said.  I stood in silence.  

	"HELLO?" She repeated. 
	Her voice was like an angel.  I didn't know how to talk to an
angel.  I just slipped away like a dog with his tail between his legs
just after he is caught shitting in the Living Room.  Insecurity
seethed into my soul.  I found myself insulting my stupidity under my
breath, as I brought out an order of fries to a sickening sweet couple
bearing smiles and sexual innuendoes.  It made me sick, perhaps even a
little jealous.  My angel had left the premises.  I needed a drink.
	I decided to go straight to the local bar before returning
home for the evening.  As I entered the shithole of a bar, where I had
found many a catch of imposter angels, I realized I fucked too much.
I couldn't remember the last time I had actually made love instead of
just fucking.  
	Drink after drink, shot after shot of fire, I sat there
feeling despair.  I realized it was time to leave the bar when I
started seeing double images.
	Like all stories, even this one has an innocent coincidence,
however this one is true.  I saw my angel again.  This time she was a
painted angel.  Her face was caked with make up and her smile bore a
resemblance to a Miss America contestant.  Yes, my little angel was a
prostitute.  My heart was in my throat as I stood in awe.  Even
through the cement like make up she wore, she had the face of....
Yes, that is right, an angel.  
	As I walked by she asked, "Are you looking for a date?"  
	I knew the game, "Yes, how much?"
	"Are you a cop?" She asked starring me down.
	"No."  She knew I wasn't.  She had to have remembered me from
the café.  Perhaps, I wasn't that memorable.  How often do you talk to
a stammering waiter?
	"150 dollars for full service."  She whispered.
	She led me to her hotel establishment; a seedy placed called
Main Street Hotel.  They rented rooms by the hour and even if the
whore had a room of her own, the john was supposed to pay for the hour
plus the services of his attendant.  
	It had been years since I had last paid for sex.  There must
have been the small hope that she would notice my charm, intelligence,
and sincerity.  Of course, I knew better than to think I could win the
love of a prostitute by paying for sex, yet I was desperate to be
close to this special woman.
	We quickly paid for the space to fuck and went up stairs.  The
steps were littered with debris and castaways of life.  The room was
unexpectedly clean.  The sheets looked as if they were just changed.
The bathroom had running water and a semi-clean toilet, yet I wasn't
there for the amenities.  I was there to seduce my painted lady.  
	After, placing my wallet in the drawer next to the bed, I
started to undress.  I watched her staring at me.  Her eyes glazed
over with jaded passion.  It was her job to become the seductress.
Her act was both endearing and painful to watch.  She started to
strip.  Her show kept my attention.  Slowly, she removed her top.  Her
breasts, which were magnificent, seemed to be one size too large for
her frame.  Her lacy lingerie seemed cheap and too showy, yet she
could make a Band-Aid look sexy.  
	She crawled up onto the bed like a cat.  She licked her lips
enticingly.  It wasn't hard for me to forget I was paying for this
tryst.  My body seemed to become alive with sensations as her hand
brushed my thigh.  She climbed up my torso as she licked my chest like
a kitten.  Her hand grasped my penis in a solid grip.  I knew she was
checking me for any sexual transmitted diseases like herpes,
gonorrhea, etc.  She studied my penis for a second, then with the ease
of a magician produced a condom.  
	I started to reach for it, so I could put it on, except she
pushed my hand away with her face.  She started licking my fingers as
if they were five cocks.  She sucked on my thumb as if she were giving
head to a miniature penis.  After opening the package to the condom,
she leaned down as if to perform fellatio upon me.  In a surprise
groan, I felt my penis engulfed by her mouth.  She had placed the
condom on the tip of my engorged cock and rolled it on with her mouth.
The feeling was sensational.  
	My hands wandered over her succulent flesh for the first time.
Her body was a masterpiece.  I immediately ran my hands down her back
to her firm bottom.  My hand traveled down her mossy crease between
her buttocks.  I encountered her puckered anus with my forefinger, as
she expertly slicked up my condom-covered penis with her hot saliva.  
	I was stunned at her reaction to my exploration.  Instead of
just allowing me to grope and feel her body, she encouraged it with
writhing, moaning, and mumbles of pleasure.  My hand traveled further
into her depths.  I traced a path over her moist slit, over her
clitoris, and into her soft forest of pubic hair.  
	Usually, a condom feels like a bathing suit, but tonight I
couldn't tell the difference.  Her mouth was hot.  She twirled her
tongue around my cock with enthusiasm.  It was all an act, but I
didn't think about it.  She was a good actress.  
	Soon, I felt the familiar stirring of an orgasm.  Molten hot
semen started forth.  She must have had psychic abilities because she
soon ceased her oral torture and sat astride my bucking hips.  With
practiced ease, she descended on my hardened shaft.  
	In a surprising turn of events, she started slamming her cunt
forcefully up and down my shaft.  She completely enveloped me with
each bucking gyration.  I felt the sweat from her actions drip down my
balls, tickling my soft flesh.  I kept my attention to the travel of
one lone drop of her moisture, as it dripped from hair to hair and
finally down the crevice of my own ass.  I wanted this to last
	Suddenly, she stopped all motion.  I could feel her inner
muscles milking my shaft.  My hands were groping her breasts in
handfuls.  I bit gently into her soft flesh.  Her eyes were wild,
whether it was passion or disgust I was not sure.  Slowly she
descended one last time and her I could feel her orgasm vibrate
through my soul.  I came.  I was sure the sheer force of my orgasm had
burst the condom.  
	She collapsed next to me.  I smiled, but when I started to
talk, she put her finger to my lips to silence me.  Our hour was up.
I collected my wallet out of the drawer and paid her.  She grabbed the
money, my rent money,  instantly and counted it.  The brief hour of
passion in her eyes had turned to a cold glassy stare.    

The end?

Hawk Richards
"In the virgin womb of the imagination the word was made
flesh."--James Joyce

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