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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2009. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your
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Sidewalk Cafe
By Bill Westerman (1990)
***
A waiter and waitress begin an affair. She takes him
home for a nice session. (MF, work)
***
The air was hot and muggy, and even though the sun had
begun to set a while back the passing cars and concrete
sidewalk kept everything unbearable. Even the customers
sitting and eating dinner under the Cinzano umbrellas
were continually mopping up sweat with little square
cocktail napkins.
The cold air from the kitchen was my only salvation and
I would linger in the oasis until I could sense the
customers beginning to question my whereabouts,
appearing for a cursory refilling of glasses only to
retreat again. The streetlights all clicked on at once
with a buzzing sound, casting their amber-white light
across the tables and cigarette smoke.
As the night progressed the high school kids took their
Camaros and Mustangs and headed off to the movies or
the late-night softball games as the neighborhood
slowly regained its composure. Older couples strolled
the area, stopping off at one cafe or another and
ordering their coffee, decaffeinated, with half and
half. The two that always took the table nearest the
street wearily got up and ambled off towards their
apartment, leaving the habitual full ashtray covering a
healthy tip. The peacefulness was briefly interrupted
as an ambulance blew by full-tilt, heading off into the
distance sirens wailing.
Eventually the sky lost all hints of sunlight and the
sidewalk tables emptied one by one, allowing me to rest
for a moment as my single remaining table full of
Spaniards engaged itself in an animated conversation,
arms flailing and gesticulating wildly, beer sitting
sweating and getting warm.
I looked across the street to the Cafe Italia, with the
"I" in "Italia" blinking on and off as the neon tube
went bad, when I caught a glimpse of a new waitress
standing wearily behind the counter slowly counting her
tips, the neon reflected in the display cases of the
cafe.
She would exit to the sidewalk every few minutes and
check her customers, filling a cup of coffee or taking
away a plate, only to stand in the doorway for a moment
and look off down the street before disappearing back
into the cafe. Her medium-length wavy bleached-blond
hair moved strangely, witness to damage from repeated
styling. Even her clothes looked rough, her knee-length
jeans fighting her as she walked, her white t-shirt
half untucked and hanging crooked, but all the elements
brought her a certain exotic air, made her look strong-
willed and confident.
The cooler night air began to appear, rustling through
the trees as it wandered down the street and through
the cafe. After the Spaniards went onward, we brought
in the sidewalk furniture and turned off the exterior
lights, closing shop for another day.
I was still wide awake - and the now refreshing air -
begged me to stay outdoors for a while more, to go over
to the Italia and chat with the owner, sit at one of
those black marble tables and drink a strong
cappuccino. The waitress was clearing her last sidewalk
table as I went inside, carefully balancing plates and
glasses on a big gray Rubbermaid tray as she glanced at
me out of the corner of her eye.
After a brief exchange of dialog with "Grande," as I
called him, I sat down at the corner table of the now
empty cafe, facing the window so I could watch the
street as the new waitress put away the last dishes and
wiped off the tables. She looked like someone who was
in a losing battle with life after too many bad
experiences, but willing to continue the fight.
Grande locked the door and shut down most of the
lights, pointing to the new waitress and saying, "Hey,
meet Ellen, she's a-starting tonight; she's a new in
town," as he disappeared into the kitchen to help his
wife finish up the cleaning. The espresso machine
complained loudly as it dripped out the last cup of the
night.
Ellen came over to my table, setting down her coffee,
cigarettes, and a couple of left-over pastries. For
some reason I had expected her face to be different,
soft in contrast to her harsh persona, but it also
looked rebellious.
She offered me one of the pastries and we chatted
together as we ate; for some strange reason she
attracted me greatly, she was gutsy and brash but at
the same time coquettishly feminine. Grande had
finished up in the back and from habit I knew it was
time to take off. The crisp air was a sharp contrast to
that of the cafe as Ellen and I walked out to the now
deserted sidewalk.
When I found out that she lived in the old district
about a mile east I offered to give her a ride home,
realizing that she probably wouldn't take me up on it
as I gestured towards my motorcycle, but she accepted
anyway. I rocked the bike off its foot peg and started
it up, listening to the motor complain after sitting
for ten hours in the sun.
Ellen got on and grabbed me around the waist with her
left hand, holding her cigarette out of the wind the
right and pressing up against my back as we raced away.
The city streets were devoid of anything at this hour,
only cardboard boxes and empty cups blowing around in
strange little whirlpools of wind and empty buses
wandering through their routes.
Her apartment was old and small, up on the third floor,
all the windows open and the breeze blowing through the
broken screens. She went off to the kitchen for the
beer she had promised me as I settled down into the
couch, feeling the decades of life that the apartment
had seen, the stains on the wall from previous
occupants and the scars in the hardwood floor from long
ago.
Ellen turned on the TV and sat down next to me, a six-
pack in hand, kicking off her shoes and leaning to my
shoulder. Some old serial was playing on the tube,
black and white images reflecting off the few things
she had in the room, as her hair moved with the summer
wind.
I put an arm around her as she pushed up even closer to
me, holding her tightly and feeling her body move with
every breath. She was watching the television half-
heartedly; her legs curled up under her like a small
child. After a few minutes of silence she looked up at
me and for the first time I noticed her intense blue
eyes. She glanced down to her cigarette and after
taking a long drag put it out and looked up at me, her
pouty lips betraying her inner emotions.
I reached down for her leg and felt her quiver with my
touch, move even closer to me as we kissed, at first
tentatively and quickly with force. I pushed her back
and she grabbed me, running her hands up and down my
back as we rubbed our bodies together.
A quick motion and she removed my shirt, leaving my
work-tired chest bare to the room, kissing me down my
neck and then holding me tight. Her blond hair fell
against the cushion behind her, spreading out broadly
and contrasting with the darkness of the room.
With her help we removed her shirt and tank-top bra,
leaving two small round breasts for my attentions. She
too had worked most of the afternoon and night, and our
worn bodies ached for release, for an excuse to be
tired and dirty. I alternately kissed her and ran my
fingers across her stomach, teasing toward her breasts
until finally catching them with my mouth, one by one,
adoring and worshiping her with every motion.
Our pants huddled together in one little mass at the
foot of the sofa, liberating our bodies and letting the
sexual tension build higher. She rolled me over onto my
back and moved to the floor, deftly taking me into her
mouth and edging me slowly on, the black and white
images of the TV reflecting on the ceiling and across
her smooth back.
I wanted her, wanted her next to me, holding me,
pushing me, being tough and charming. She was strong,
in control of the situation and I was being controlled
by her desires, her breasts heaving with her
respiration and her legs slowly beginning to shake from
excitement.
We rolled off the couch onto the floor, pushing the
makeshift coffee table out of the way and laughing as
the beer cans rolled across the room, rocking our
bodies together in unison, her breasts in my hands and
her hands searching my back, my arms, my chest.
A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance as the wind
picked up, signs of an upcoming storm. I writhed with
her, feeling the warmth of her clit as she rocked
against my fingers, the tiredness of her face overcome
with pleasure, a smile appearing on sad lips. Ellen
grabbed me and pulled me close, insistent upon
immediate satisfaction, begging me with her eyes and
pushing her hips against mine.
I could feel her warmth slide around me, at first
uncertain of the long-awaited intrusion but then
opening eagerly to my faster strokes. The sound of us,
of our bodies, mixed with the rain now beginning to
fall outside, the thunder every moment coming closer.
I could feel her begin to lose control of her emotions,
to open herself to pure pleasure, and my intensity
increased as the same time, rocking harder and
breathing deeply as she rode up and down me, tightening
her inner muscles as I retracted and loosening as I re-
entered each time.
Finally the outside world became immaterial, the TV,
the apartment, the rain, and we exploded together there
on the living room floor, abruptly lessening the pace
and returning to stillness.
"Hold on a second, I gotta close the windows," she
said.
END
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 64