Part 1:
I took a moment to reflect on what brought me to this point. And by “this point”, I mean a 4 foot 11, dark brunette girl, with a pixie cut wearing only panties straddling my lap and grinding against my rigid cock like it was the first time she was getting any action in three years. It all goes back to ordering two coffees at the shop down the street. I never figured something like that would lead to my current situation.
***
I was standing in line at the local coffee shop wearing my best suit in a depressed daze. I’d just come from my best friend’s funeral. Jared died after a three year battle with leukemia right as he was told he had a good chance at full recovery. It wasn’t raining out, or even overcast, but I thought it should be. By the time I reached the front of the line, I’d decided to recreate our weekly tradition one last time. I ordered two cups of coffee from the barista who’d been working there longer than I’d been coming.
She asked me if I was meeting my friend like usual, but I couldn’t say that he was dead. Nodding glumly, I picked up the two mugs and started toward the corner table we’d used every week. It was the perfect spot, right near the bookshelf, close to the shop’s board games, and none of the chairs squeaked or tipped as you shifted weight. We’d loved this table ever since we rousted control of it from some local teens who always harassed the staff and never tipped. All of our coffee was on the house the first day we got them to clear out.
The shop was unusually empty today, but I didn’t really think much of it. Every time the bell above the door rang, I glanced up from the warm mug in my hand. Part of me hoped it would be Jared, dressed in the ratty old jacket he insisted made him look like a professor. It didn’t. It made him look like a hobo. Anyway, it wasn’t him or any of the familiar faces of the other usuals. The only face I recognized in the whole place was the barista, and I didn’t even know her name.
I wasn’t really the type to be forward and talk to girls. Every girl I’d dated or even hooked up with had been the machinations of Jared. He wasn’t the best looking dude and I’d been told repeatedly I was just above average. The thing that set us apart was the fact that Jared had this way about him where women just seemed to throw themselves at him. He set me up with the girls he couldn’t get involved with, but not in a condescending way, in a brotherly way.
The shop emptied out around 4pm, closing time was at 4:30 because it was a small, independent shop that really didn’t make enough money any more to be open 24 hours like it used to. I downed the cold dregs of my coffee and glanced at the untouched mug across the table from me. Part of me wanted it to stay there, part of me wanted to dump it out so I didn’t have to think about it any more. Just as I went to pick it up, I heard a voice.
“Hey Kevin, did Jared stand you up?” It was the short barista, cleaning the last of the mugs. “Kinda shitty of him. You two fighting or something?”
“You know our names?” I asked, a little shocked.
“You guys are the most regular customers in this shop, you read every open mic night, and I went on a couple of dates with Jared,” she said stepping out from behind the counter, “but he was a little too detached for my taste. Honestly, he spent the whole time talking about you.”
“Oh, sorry about that. We’ve known each other since we were kids,” I said, “And he probably knew I thought you were cute, but I can never talk to girls I think are cute.” For a moment there was an awkward silence, then I realized what I’d just said. “Sorry for just saying that unsolicited. I’m just in a weird mood.”
“Is it cuz your friend stood you up on your weekly tradition?”
“Actually, he died. Cancer and all that. His funeral just ended.”
“Oh, oh my gods,” she stammered, blushing bright red, “I’m so sorry. I was wondering what was up with the suit, but I didn’t want to ask. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said sitting back down. I didn’t want to leave just yet. The barista went back to cleaning up after watching me for a moment in silence. The tradition was over after this. I knew I’d be back, but I probably wouldn’t sit at the same table. Before I knew it, most of the lights were out and the girl was sitting across from me in front of Jared’s cold coffee. “I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Elicia,” she said smiling, “and I’m sorry, but I have to lock up now.”
“I understand, thanks for chatting.”
The bell clanged and the lock clicked. The sky had finally started to cloud up like I wanted to. Lost in my thoughts, I went to walk to my car when I heard a knock from behind me. Pressed up against the window was a note saying: Thought this might cheer you up! xxx-8354. Also pressed against the window was a pair of tiny titties, each one with a pierced nipple. Turning bright red, I stared at Elicia’s tits. After a minute that felt like an hour she tugged her shirt back down and winked at me, then turned back into the shop and continued closing up.
Dashing down the street to where my car was parked, I tried to stop thinking so much. My sad thoughts about Jared were interrupted periodically by thought’s about Elicia’s pierced nipples. These thoughts were fighting for the front of my consciousness and making it so I couldn’t concentrate. It was only when I was back in my car did I realize I forgot to write down her number. Mentally, I kicked myself before starting up my car and driving back to my apartment.
The next week passed by in an odd mix of time moving too quickly and time moving very slowly. My job was, as usual, drudgery. I wrote and reviewed grants for a charitable foundation. The drudgery was in the writing up reports on whether or not the grant should or shouldn’t be awarded. I wasn’t the final say, but my reports were taken into consideration at the board meetings. The English major I’d worked four years on was serving me well. I always got bummed when I had to write a straight up denial note based on various small technicalities. Upon occasion I doctored these up when I really felt strongly about an organization, but couldn’t do it too often or risk arousing suspicion.
The thing that kept me going was the memory of Elicia and trying to puzzle out her phone number from foggy memories. There were sheets and sheets of numbers lying around my apartment, but none of them looked familiar enough to try. The few days I’d gotten a chance to get to the coffee shop Elicia hadn’t been working, which was quite disappointing. The dating profile I had on some site had turned up a few dates, but none of them went well enough to get me to forget about Elicia.
***
The weekend arrived just in the nick of time.