Breakfast Special

Stumbling along from one waitress job to another since high school, I seem destined to be stuck in the service of others. For the past two years of college, it’s been Libby’s Diner that’s been my purgatory. The money’s poor, but I do make a few extra bucks on the infrequent tips. The average tipper in Libby’s Diner sure as fuck had nothing to do with coining the phrase ‘It’s better to give than to receive’. That I know.

Libby’s is a small one room diner pigeon-holed between two, three story buildings in the older section of downtown. The developers either miscalculated on their measurements, there was a land dispute about an Indian burial ground, or perhaps someone just wanted a cork in the narrow alley between the larger buildings. Whatever the reason, this spit of property came to be home to the diner. Despite the rather dated and disheveled exterior, Libby’s is actually a bright and very respectable little eating establishment once you’re through the front door. Although my personal feelings toward the owner border on homicidal, the food’s good.

Lately our regulars have been the construction crew working on a high-rise refurbishment just across the street. They’re an archetypical construction crew that whistles and catcalls to every passing woman under the age of eighty, and of course they have no qualms at all about making lewd remarks about either my breasts or my ass. I don’t actually mind though, as I enjoy the company of a room-full of boisterous men. I’d never admit it to them though. Besides, with a little flirt here and there, mixed with a few appropriately timed wiggles, the tips roll in from this crowd. I’d give them some cleavage too, but I couldn’t muster that with both hands pressing with all my might. It’s ok though; the wiggles seem to work almost as well.

“Miriam would you quit daydreaming!” my boss Constantine hisses. “Try and earn your wages just for once!”

Constantine Capriaza, now he’s a true prick if one ever walked the earth. His short and rake-thin stature doesn’t seem capable of backing up his constantly sharp barbs, and I like to think his personality is the result of a ‘little dick’ complex. I pray I never have occasion to find out either. A little shiver of disgust ripples through me as a very disturbing visual of a greasy, and very naked, Constantine wheels though my thoughts.

I’m desperate for some sort of diversion from Constantine’s incessant nattering and the construction foreman’s blatant ogling of my ass, when in it walks, a diversion of monumental proportions. He’s the best looking guy to frequent this diner in ages.

“Today Miriam…today!” Constantine snaps as I glare at him and follow the handsome guy to table nine, the farthest from the door and the only one free. If I didn’t need money for college, I’d tell Constantine to shove this job straight up his ass and march right out the front door. Since I can’t afford that, I settle for simply swearing under my breath. I’m still cursing the ground Constantine walks on as I arrive at the table.

My mood suddenly brightens the moment I look into those dreamy hazel eyes. Catching myself before it appears I’m outright gawking, I say, “Morning sir, can I get you anything to start?” as I place a menu before him.

He’s wearing a slate-gray sports jacket, and a pale blue shirt lacking the almost perfunctory tie. I like his business-casual look, and also his smile. It’s been a while since any customer here has ever done anything but leer. This guys is looking me right in the eye, and without so much a quick peek anywhere below my chin. Given his dashing looks, I’m almost disappointed.

“Yes…coffee would be excellent, and I’ll have that breakfast special you have advertised, with bacon and scrambled eggs.”

“Umm…good choice on the scrambled eggs, but I recommend the ham,” I whisper to him as I lean closer. “The bacon is beyond crisp this morning, if you know what I mean.”

“Thanks for the tip,” he smiles back. “Sounds to me you should consider a better cook?”

“Our regular chef was a no-show this morning, so my boss is filling in, and he’s not all that great,” I giggle. “But since he’s my boss, don’t tell him I said so.”

“It’s our little secret Miriam,” he whispers back, reading my name tag fastened just below my collar.

“That coffee’s coming right up sir.”

I make a pass around the diner with the pot as I bring the guy at table nine his coffee. Thankfully most of the construction workers are almost late for work at the hi-rise, and they’re clearing out fast. At least I’ll have a few hours of peace and quiet until I’ll have to again wade through testosterone and innuendo when they flood the place for lunch. It’ll give me some time to concentrate on ogling the guy at table nine too. He’s gorgeous.

As I collect the bill from the last stragglers on the construction crew, Constantine barks, “Order up for nine!”

“Thank you Miriam,” the gentleman replies as I set the platter of ham and eggs in front of him and freshen his coffee.

I’m so mesmerized by those eyes and that smile I almost forget to thank him. I’m all aflutter inside, and I can’t think straight as I move away from the table. It’s been ages since a guy had such an immediate effect, and I like it.

I busy myself with clearing and cleaning the counter and tables. I pile the dishes in a bus cart and roll it into the tiny kitchen where another employee has just arrived. Ralph works part time as a dishwasher, and he’s a major distraction for Constantine. Being even lower on the food chain and far closer in proximity to Constantine, he’s the brunt of the wrath and frustrations that plague the kitchen this morning. Poor bastard.

I pour myself a coffee and amble down to the end of the counter and sit down at a stool just opposite table nine. I kind of lean and allow my butt to slightly hang over the seat of the stool, hoping the handsome stranger will notice. I’m on my third sip when I hear an “Excuse me”.

“Yes sir, can I get you anything?” I ask as I spin the stool to face him.

“No, I’m fine. I was just wondering if we’ve ever met before? You look very familiar.”

I know he hasn’t seen my ass before, so I take it as a simple pick-up line.

“Uh, I don’t think so, no,” I reply. “Not that I can recall.” I know damn well I’d remember this guy no matter how long ago it was.

“I’d swear I’ve seen you somewhere, the university perhaps?”

“Well I’m taking classes there in the afternoons and evenings, perhaps that’s where you’ve seen me. Are you a student?”

“Me, no. I work in the administration department. One of the infamous bean-counters that are forever trying to increase tuitions.”

“Oh so you’re one of those huh,” I laugh. “You’re not too popular with a lot of students’ right at the moment.”

“I know,” he grins. “But it’s the best we can do with the cost of everything is getting to be almost unmanageable.”

“Tell me about it,” I reply. “That’s what keeps me slugging it out here. I need the money.”

“Miriam. I need a hand here!” Constantine yells from the kitchen, not bothering to even stick his head out the small window where we pass through the orders, instead choosing to bellow at the top of his lungs. “And sometime today would be good!”

“Isn’t he a sweetheart?” I laugh as I walk slowly to the kitchen, knowing that every second that passes will enrage Constantine further, and I do love to yank his chain at every opportunity.

“They just delivered the meat for tomorrow’s specials, and I need you and Ralph to stack them in the cooler. Now get at it!”

Ralph meekly turns toward the door leading to the narrow delivery dock out back. I give Constantine a spiteful look before turning on my heels and following Ralph. Constantine hates it when I question anything about his authority.

I’m on my forth trip up to the cooler when Constantine rails, “The customer at nine wants to leave. Go get his bill!”

Fuming at the fact Constantine is ragging on me again, I slam my hand against the kitchen door and walk toward the cash register. The guy at table nine is just getting up, and I spot his smile all the way across the room.

“Everything ok Sir?”

“Perfect. Well except for the way your boss treats you. That bugs me.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean anything by it Sir. He’s just one of those types.”

He leans closer to me and whispers, “He’s an ass, and he doesn’t deserve your making excuses for his behavior.”

“He really is an ass, isn’t he,” I whisper back with a little twitter.

“Yes indeed Miriam. Yes indeed.”

“So will that be everything for you then?”

“Yes…well except for one other little thing I’d like.”

“Certainly…and what would that be?”

“A date. You and me going on a date. That’s what I’d like.”

I’m a little taken aback. It’s been a while since anyone but some grime-covered jackhammer jockey was quite as bold as this, and given the appeal of the guy making the offer, I’m speechless.

“Well…I don’t…”

“It’s ok. If you’re already involved I understand. I just thought…perhaps we could,” he replies, cutting me off in mid sentence.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just I don’t have any time really. I only get Sunday evening off between classes and this job.” I blurt out, not wanting the opportunity to slip away.

“So if I asked you out Sunday night you’d go out with me? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No that’s not…but…but I guess…”

“You guess what?” he grins, “Is that a yes?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Devlin, Devlin O’Leary, and now that you know my name does it help you to decide on a yes?”

“Yes it…”

“Perfect!” Devlin replies quickly, “Here’s a card of mine, and if you give me your number, I’ll call you later, say Wednesday night. We can finalize some plans.”

“I didn’t really say yes you know,” I reply, laughing at his cocky audacity. “And I’m not going to give you my number.”

“Well then, I guess I’ll just have to wait until Wednesday night and talk to you when you call me!”

“And what if I don’t?”

“You will,” he laughs as he tosses a ten on the counter and gives me a quick wave as he steps out the front door.

* * * * * *

The bathwater’s soothing away every thought of anything but Devlin as I stretch out in the tub. Our well-into-the-night phone conversation Wednesday night was the best gab I’ve had in months, and well worth the fact I nearly fell asleep in class the next afternoon. He was so sweet and understanding, and not to mention a bit of a joker. He had me laughing until my sides ached, and he had the smoothest way of arousing me.

Since I haven’t been intimate with a guy for ages, naturally I’m more than a little horny at the prospect of being around Devlin. It’s been a long time since a guy aroused me enough to spend two nights in a row thrashing around in bed masturbating my brains out.

My fingers trace the outer lips of my pussy, and I feel nothing but absolute smoothness and a silky texture. Perfect.

I’m almost ready to succumb to the temptation to let my fingers part my pussy lips and begin that slow windup to an intense orgasm as I think of the wonderfully delicious things I’ve been fantasizing Devlin doing to me. Can one man be such a lover?

Still giddy with inflamed desires, I force myself out of the sudsy bath and towel off.

As I stand there naked in front of the full length mirror, I wonder what Devlin would think should he see me naked. My mother always said I had an athletic build. That certainly is a lot more flattering than the truth; a willowy petite girl with miniscule tits. When the genes for boobs were blended, I definitely ended up with the runts of the litter. Then again perhaps Devlin’s the sort of guy that enjoys small perky breasts that meld into a flat belly and small hips. I twist and examine the small tight ass I think is my best feature. Maybe it’ll be the long legs that go on forever that will catch Devlin’s eye. Perhaps his eyes will simply look into the pooling dark of my own, and savor my fine delicate features and the new easy-care pixie I’m sporting these days.

I’ve about gotten myself worked into a sexual frenzy before I even manage to wiggle into the tight little denim skirt that displays my ass and legs so well. I tease and twist the few little spikes of my hair that accentuate my features. A final tuck of my filmy beige blouse, and I’m good to go.

I’ve been in the living room for all of ten seconds, and giving the place a final inspection when the doorbell rings. He’s right on time.

I try not to appear overeager and race for the door, but it takes all the resolve I can muster to not be there to open it before the second ring of the doorbell. Devlin looks so handsome as I open the door fully and invite him inside. He’s wearing an off-white polo shirt that fits to perfection, and a pair of tan Dockers that appear tailored for him. His broad muscular chest just shows through the thin knit of his shirt, and of course the tanned and powerful arms are impressive. His wide smile and the slightly tousled look of his hair gives him a casual flair that instantly relaxes me.

“Oh sweet Mary and Joseph, I’m looking upon an angel,” Devlin exclaims in the best Irish brogue I’ve ever heard a mid-westerner use.

“Umm, a handsome devil, quick with the flattery, and punctual too. What other little surprises does Devlin O’Leary have up his sleeve?”

“Ach, I’m right out of surprises I’m afraid. No sleeves!” and he momentarily lifts both of his bare arms. We both laugh.

“Come on in. I just have to grab my purse and I’m ready to go.”

I can’t help but notice that Devlin’s eyes never leave me, and he doesn’t pay the slightest attention to my apartment. I wonder why I bothered to clean so meticulously. I’ve got a good little wiggle going as we walk to the parking area, thanks to the strappy little heels I chose to wear.

We begin talking the moment we get rolling toward Devlin’s apartment. It’s like a continuation of our phone conversation from Wednesday night. We both reveal even more little snippets of ourselves, families and friends. I find myself opening up to him so easily; it’s like playing catch-up with a dear friend, only spicier. It’s a pleasant time, and I’m almost disappointed as we arrive at his apartment.

The look of the enormous brownstone is impressive as we walk up the front steps. There are carved pillars supporting a large overhang above the front door, and off to one side on a far corner I see a bronze-colored winged gargoyle looking down on the street, it’s mouth agape and displaying formidable canines. It adds a particular character to the already impressive building.

“I’m on the second floor, and it’s a walk-up,” Devlin remarks as he unlocks the glass paneled front door, holding it and ushering me inside.

The interior is half-plastered walls with the lower halves lathed with strips of oak planking. The patina of many hands shines on the banister of the stairwell leading up. I love the mood of old buildings, and this one impresses me.

The upper hallway is carpeted in a dark brown Berber, and I follow silently behind Devlin as we approach the last apartment on the extreme end of the building. It’s the apartment with the gargoyle directly above, and I wonder why that excites me.

“Welcome to my humble home,” Devlin grins as he opens the door for me again. His manners are impeccable.

I’m immediately struck by how unique and tastefully furnished the apartment is. There’s a large overstuffed sofa that dominates one wall, and adjacent to it is a love-seat of the same design. Opposite the sofa are a large screen television and an impressive sound system and stereo combination. There’s a smattering of renaissance style prints hanging on the walls, and a small armoire to one side. One door is slightly ajar and I can see its shelves are stacked with books. The living room has a very masculine quality, not unlike a gentleman’s smoking room or library. Even the earth-toned carpeting lends a sense of an easy and relaxed atmosphere. It’s far beyond my twenty inch television, dinky stereo, and two bean bag chairs.

“Sit down and relax while I have a peek at dinner and see how it’s doing,” Devlin says, indicating for me to take a seat on the sofa, “Would you like to listen to some music?”

“No, no music. Can I give you a hand in the kitchen?”

“Sure if you really want to, but it’s not necessary.”

“I’d like to.”

“Come on in and welcome to my kitchen,” Devlin laughs as he places his hand at my waist and playfully steers me toward the kitchen. His touch excites me.

The kitchen is a brightly lit and open room with a counter separating the cooking area from a small dining area. The dark wooden table is spread with a muslin lace tablecloth, with a raised Celtic motif centerpiece. There are two red candles in crystal holders that I’m certain are Waterford, and very elegant. The table has the appeal of one in a very classy restaurant, and I’m stunned that Devlin would go to such lengths for me.

“I’ve been wondering what that delicious aroma is since we entered the apartment. What on earth are you cooking? It smells absolutely wonderful.”

“Oh just a little dish my mother always referred to as a simple meal,” Devlin smiles, “My mother insisted my brothers and I knew how to cook. She said it wasn’t always a woman’s place to cook in a household, and besides, it sure beat starving once I moved away from home.”

We both laugh at his bit of humor as I quickly decide to not disclose it to him just now that I can’t manage to boil water without fucking it up somehow. If it’s not pre-packaged or out of a can, well it’s not on my menu.

“So what exactly is this simple meal you’re preparing?”

“It’s nothing but pork loin spiced with garlic and coriander. A simple dish really, but great tasting. The secret to it is marinating the meat in hard apple cider. That’s what brings out the true flavor. Well that and the roasted apple garnish.”

“So what can I do to help?”

“Lets see. You could set the table. All the dishes are here in the cupboard, and the utensils are in this drawer,” Devlin replies, pulling open a drawer on the cabinet closest to the oven.

“Ok, that I can handle,” I laugh.

“Would you like a glass of wine while we wait? I have a couple of bottles I’ve been waiting to share with someone special.”

“Sure, some wine would be nice thanks,” I reply, giddy with the thought he considers me special.

“Well let me see what I have in the cellar,” Devlin laughs as he opens the refrigerator door, “I have an excellent zinfandel, how about that?”

“Oh perfect. It’s my favorite actually.”

I begin setting the table as Devlin opens the wine and pours two tall stemmed glasses. We begin talking and he tells me of the hours he spent with his mother puttering in the kitchen and her teaching him about cooking, and really nurturing his love for it. I tell him how I’ve never been much of a cook, being more the studious type and spending a lot of my free time reading. I neglect to tell him about any of the tom-boy antics I was notorious for. We’re still talking and sipping wine when the oven alarm suddenly breaks the moment.

“Ahh…time for dinner,” Devlin remarks.

The meat smells heavenly as Devlin slices it into even portions and arranges it on a small platter. I notice how everything, even the vegetables, looks perfect. It’s as though a famous chef has prepared a private and very intimate meal for some lucky couple. I’ve never had a man prepare anything this elegant and special. Never.

The candlelight dinner is a delicious treat, and a wonderful interlude with a man that whets both appetite and hormones. Two glasses of wine has a tendency to loosen my inhibitions, and I’m working on my third. Between the wonderful conversation, soft lighting, and the sinfully delicious apple-crisp for desert, I’m fully aroused.

We continue to talk and sip at our wine, and I begin to wonder where I should let this evening end. Sudden thoughts of Devlin sweeping his arm across the table to clear it, and bending me over and wildly fucking me right between the candlesticks begin to drift through my thoughts. That’s got me to thinking one way about the evening; not wanting to move too fast has me thinking another. The warm stirring in my crotch has me leaning toward the fucking when Devlin suggests we move into the living room.