Cream Filled

Many thanks to Kumani for editorial assistance.

*

Two years ago when I first became a full-time student at the state university's city campus I was fortunate enough to find a part-time job, one that I still have to this day. Twenty hours a week I work in a small family run pastry shop called the Donut King. While the amount of money I earn there is modest, it is a much needed supplement to my student loan and savings.

"We'll do what we can, Jason," my dad had reassured me, taking me aside as he and my mom dropped me and my meager possessions off at school. "But you might want to try and find a job if you can."

We'd talked about it many times before so my dad really didn't need to bring it up again. My folks didn't make enough to pay for my tuition, books, room and board outright but they made too much for me to qualify for sufficient grant money. I'd taken out a loan but we all knew I'd have to come up with some money on my own if I was to make it through four years at the university.

Still it wasn't something I was going to lose any sleep over, at least not right away. Instead I was excited to be on my own and away from home for the first time and intent on exploring my new environment. So after my parents had wished me well and had gone back home I spent most of my time in the days before classes, wandering about the campus and the city.

My hometown was small and back there my senses had early on been imprinted with the native greens, browns and blues. Along with the smell of freshly cut grass, turned earth and rain-sweetened air they are cherished comforts, but also by then had become far too familiar. So in those first few days in the city I eagerly found myself basking in the new sights, sounds, scents and textures surrounding me.

It was the very next day after my arrival in fact that while exploring the area near campus on foot I found the Donut King. Truthfully, I first caught whiff of two of my favorite aromas: donuts and coffee, from a couple of blocks away then was lured unfailingly by them straight to the front door. By the time I had reached the little shop I had developed quite a craving and at that point my only thought was to get a fresh donut and a cup of coffee if there was enough change left in my pocket to buy them.

A Help Wanted sign in the window caught my eye as I pulled the door handle and stepped inside. The bell overhead clanged loudly for several seconds prompting the waitress behind the counter who'd had her back to me to cast a casual glance over her shoulder toward the source of the sound. It was then that I beheld Stephanie for the first time and like powdered sugar to dark clothing I was instantly drawn to her.

Casting a quick glance about I could see the shop was small but tidy and well lit. On the walls were framed pictures, prints and travel posters of the Greek isles, of whitewashed houses clustered about steep hillsides overlooking the unmistakable blue of the Mediterranean. There were also photos of the Acropolis, pictured both by day and by night in all its centuries' old silent magnificence, along with notices not to loiter and a requirement to have a shirt and shoes on to receive service.

The combined redolence of fresh donuts, pastries and coffee suffusing the air teased my achingly empty stomach unrelentingly. Gleaming cases of glass and chrome behind the counter displayed a tempting variety of donuts, oversized and overfilled pastries and a wickedly enticing plethora of fine baked goods.

But after a brief glance at the contents of the display cases, what caught and fixed my attention was the girl behind the counter. She certainly didn't look like any of the girls from my hometown. Whereas the ones I grew up with were blondes, brunettes or redheads, this girl's hair was the deepest and darkest ebony I'd ever seen. Her eyes were so deep a brown as they glittered beneath her sable eyebrows that they might have easily been mistaken for black. Her skin was as exotic to me as her hair. It wasn't white, black or brown but more of a silken olive. Truthfully there has never been a word in my vocabulary that could accurately describe the alluring tone.

Still as singular as she appeared to me there was something that seemed recognizable about her at the same time. Given the unified theme of the wall posters and the rich hues of her skin I concluded that she was most likely of Greek descent. Then it dawned on me. The dull waitress uniform aside, this girl might have looked at home atop Mount Olympus among the gods and goddesses straight out of an illustration from the Western Civilization textbook I'd bought that morning.

Since it was almost noon and most people had already made their coffee and donut runs for the day the shop was nearly empty. There were ample seating options but I sat on a stool at the counter, the better to observe this comely demigoddess closely. She seemed to be about my age and was leaning on an elbow sort of sideways against the stainless steel back counter next to where the coffee pots and stacks of cups were set. After having taken a casual glance in my direction, she'd gone back to giving sass through the service window in the wall to an unseen someone in the kitchen.

Leaning as she was caused the girl's lithe body to stretch so that her already snug fitting uniform tauntingly emphasized each of her savory contours. My eyes had made it down to her sleekly muscled tawny legs, when her vocal tone softened from the one she'd been using to harangue the unfortunate and unseen someone in the kitchen.

"See something you like?"

Her question sounded innocent enough until I looked up and saw her sly smile and an ink dark eyebrow arched in my direction. She'd caught me scoping her out. With most girls I probably would have just laughed and made a hasty joke but with her I felt myself begin to blush. Mentally grasping, I noticed a sign on the wall behind her, proclaiming that the best cream filled donuts in the city could be found right there at the Donut King.

"Yes, I was wondering," I stammered some as I tried to recover, "if you might have any cream filled donuts?"

"Well," she paused as if to give my question serious thought, "since this is a donut shop and cream filled donuts are the house specialty, I think we just might be able to find you one."

The girl smiled broadly then, her crimson glossed lips parting to reveal brightly white teeth. It was plainly evident she was enjoying watching me squirm.

"May I have one please?"

"Yes, you may," she chuckled. "Would you like some coffee with that?"

"Yes, please."

"Such nice manners," the girl remarked, still toying with me as she placed the donut and a coffee cup in front of me.

She stepped closer until only the stippled width of the well worn Formica countertop separated us. Her eyes focused on the porcelain cup as she poured the coffee while adding a final dig at me.

"Your Mom must have trained you well."

There wasn't time to think of a retort as now I was hit by something far more powerful than her verbal barbs. It was an intoxicating mix of scents that flowed over me, urging me to take deep and savoring breaths. Vanilla, mint and a suggestion of something sweet and fruit-like were all discernable. Plus a hotter, more spiced aroma that I assumed had to be her perfume. They quickly replaced coffee and donuts at the top of my list of favorite scents.

She set the coffee pot on the counter and I looked for her name tag.

"Thank you, Stephanie," I managed to say, drawing another deep breath, thankful for more than just the coffee and donut.

"Anything else I can get for you?"

Despite the slightest hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth, I couldn't decide if she'd intended more than one meaning behind her question but I decided to act as if she had. Needing a job anyway, I decided there and then to apply for whatever position they had open. Regardless of what the pay was, there was certainly one obvious benefit if I got it and that was to get to know Stephanie better. And if I was going to work there, addictive scents or not, I decided I needed to assert myself and let her know I was no puppy on a leash, "trained" or otherwise.

"Actually, there is."

As I took a long pause to sip my coffee and let her ponder the possibilities, I studied Stephanie. Her ebony eyebrows elevated slightly and she smiled in anticipation, no doubt in mental preparation to verbally skewer me. Was she thinking I was going to hit on her? That was certainly what I wanted her to think so that when I only asked for an application she'd learn she no longer had the upper hand.

"I noticed the help wanted sign in the window," I continued when I felt I'd paused long enough "and I'd like to place an application."

Stephanie's grin returned and I'm pretty sure she saw through my ploy but she stepped over by the cash register and reached under the counter. Her close fitting uniform stretched across an ass so divine that it would have made any goddess jealous. In a moment she was back with an application and a pen that she'd pulled out of her apron then handed them both to me. Once more I thanked Stephanie, eliciting another wide smile from her.

Taking a sip of coffee I took up the pen and began earnestly filling in the form. Pausing after completing the top part with the name and address information, I took a bite of the donut. As my teeth sank into the soft, sugar coated exterior my mouth was instantly flooded with a deliciously rich, sweet gob of freshly whipped cream that could only be described as heavenly.

The application would have to wait a few minutes. This was the best damn donut I'd ever had.

So intent was I on savoring it that I didn't notice that powdered sugar from the donut was falling everywhere. Once I did, I wiped my hands and the application off with a paper napkin and then continued filling out the form. When I'd finished, I motioned Stephanie over and she picked up the application and casually scrutinized it.

"So, Jason Sayers," she began with a pensively furrowed brow as she readied herself to interrogate me. "Do you have any experience with making donuts?"

"Yes, I do," I lied.

"Could you elaborate, please?"

"Sure, at the donut shop in my home town."

"Does this donut shop have a name?"

"That is the name," I answered quickly, trying to mentally catch up so I could anticipate her questions and give better answers. "It's called... the Donut Shop."

"What kinds of donuts did you make there?" Stephanie continued her smile broadening.

Like Socrates she was inexorably questioning her way to the truth.

"Both kinds," I blurted.

"Both kinds...?" Stephanie's left eyebrow arched higher.

"Yes, both the kind with holes and the kind without," I answered, regretting the words the moment I spoke them.

Stephanie laughed heartily causing her breasts to jiggle delightfully beneath her dull but wonderfully tight waitress uniform.

"Why didn't you add that to your work history?"

"I would have but they went out of business," I replied then hastily added, "so it's not like anyone could call them to verify anything."

"Donuts both with holes and without and still they went out of business? What ever happened?"

"Oh, I guess after I left things kind of went downhill for them."

Stephanie laughed again and I tried not to stare at her breasts while blushing with embarrassment at the feeling that I'd blown it with both her and the job. Then to add to my humbling she made a quick circle in the air around her lips with a finger to indicate I needed to wipe my mouth, which I quickly did after grabbing another napkin.

"I'll be right back," she said and headed into the kitchen probably to alert the rest of the staff to the idiot out front who wanted a job.

In a moment Stephanie was back but without the application no doubt having round-filed it, I glumly assumed.

"My mom will be out in just a minute to talk to you about the position," Stephanie informed me. "Oh," she added, "let me get that for you."

Stephanie pulled another paper napkin from the dispenser on the counter and leaned towards me. Her black hair was pulled back in a pony tail but it still showed how lustrous and full it was as it seemed to flow in a soft, sable wave behind her head. With Stephanie's heavenly face now just inches from mine, once more my lungs filled with her heady blend of scents. Transfixed, I watched as she parted her glossed lips and delicately touched the napkin to her wet pink tongue.

She carefully wiped up the powdered sugar that had fallen on my shirt. As she did my eyes were drawn to the shining silver cross Stephanie wore on a delicate chain about her neck. It seemed to be pointing to the hollow between the rich olive toned rise of her scrumptious breasts and my eyes quickly followed the directive.

When she'd finished wiping my shirt I looked up into Stephanie's dark eyes, her face still just inches from mine.

"I thought you might want to make a good impression," she explained casually.

Stephanie's eyes, looking like two pieces of brilliantly polished obsidian, sparkled with warmth and at once I was elated to think all was not lost. Before I could respond though, a woman came out through the double doors from the kitchen.

The familial resemblance to Stephanie was unmistakable. She introduced herself as Athena and began asking me questions. As future experience would show me, while Stephanie was around it was difficult to concentrate on anything else but I tried to give answers to Athena's questions while casting hungry glances Stephanie's way each chance I could.

Stephanie acted oblivious to our presence as she seemingly went about her business. If she looked my way at all, I didn't catch it. After a few minutes, Athena excused herself and asked me to wait so that her husband could speak to me. Swiveling on the stool, I whiled away the time watching Stephanie wipe off tabletops that already appeared to be quite clean. At times she'd need to bend over and stretch just that little bit extra to reach the far side of a table or one of the chair seats, stretching her uniform taut across her wondrous ass.

"How are you?" a masculine voice near my shoulder asked at just such a time, startling me so that I nearly jumped from my seat.

"What? Oh, I'm fine, thank you," I answered turning toward the voice.

The man introduced himself and offered his hand to me.

"Nice to meet you Mr..."

His first name was Nick that much I'd caught for certain, but the multi-syllabic last name eluded me. He'd given it so quickly that I couldn't exactly be sure what he'd said. The man laughed as he shook my hand and in my peripheral view I could see that Stephanie was thoroughly enjoying my being humbled once more. First the man catches me ogling his daughter then I can't even attempt to pronounce his name.

"Now you see why everyone calls me Nick or Mr. Nick. Just pick whichever you like and use that."

If he'd been at all offended he didn't show it.

"I'm Jason Sayers, Mr. Nick it's nice to meet you."

"So, Jason Sayers, you want to make donuts?" Mr. Nick asked as he read my application.

"I want to work sir, whatever the duties might be."

We talked for a few minutes and I explained about my going to school and needing money and he explained that he needed someone he could depend on to show up and work hard. The hours were early in the morning for the most part and that I would need to be on time as they were busy, so they had to keep making the donuts to meet the morning rush. He'd tried out several people and they hadn't worked out for one reason or the other.

The hours and effort wouldn't be a problem, I assured him.

He shook my hand again and went back into the kitchen leaving Stephanie and me alone. It was quiet enough that seated at the counter I could hear Mr. Nick and Athena in the back conversing in what I took to be Greek. Naturally, not speaking the language I couldn't be sure what they were saying, other than I heard "Jason" now and then.

It was obvious that Stephanie was eavesdropping as she positioned herself near the service window, leaning against the back counter and facing me while cocking her head towards the opening in the wall.

"Stephanie!" Mr. Nick called through the window.

"Yes, dad?" she answered with a coy smile.

"What do you think of this boy?" he whispered loudly. "You think I should hire him?"

"Sure, dad he seems nice."

"OK."

Stephanie gave me a broad smile and in a moment Mr. Nick came back out and asked me when I could start. After he said good bye and went back into the kitchen, I stood up and asked Stephanie what I owed her for the donut and coffee.

"No, no, it's my treat," she answered with a negative shake of her head.

"Thank you. I appreciate your kindness."

"You're welcome."

"So I guess I'll be seeing you soon," I added.

"I guess you will."

Starting to turn towards the door, I stopped myself as a question formed in my mind.

"Do you always get the last word?" I asked her.

"Pretty much..."

Our eyes locked a moment then we both laughed. That was my introduction to Stephanie and her bewitching presence, her sense of humor and her competitiveness.

The next morning, which was to be my first day on the job, I made sure that I was early by arriving fifteen minutes ahead of my start time of four a.m. Mr. Nick greeted me enthusiastically. It didn't take long to realize that he and his wife, Athena, are good people who are honest, hard working and frugal. They're the kind of people you really have to respect for their efforts.

Unfortunately it also didn't take long for me to find out that Stephanie had a boyfriend. Thankfully no one seemed to notice as my heart hit the floor and bounced a few times then rolled under the counter like a stale donut. It's probably for the best I tried to tell myself once I'd loosened the knot of disappointment in my gut. Otherwise it would be too much of a distraction to work with her.

That first morning, her dad showed me how to perform one of my main duties, taking freshly made donuts, the kind without holes, and filling them with cream from a pastry bag and then powdering them with confectioner's sugar. Mr. Nick told me that they're known across the city and people go out of their way to buy them. That's one of the two reasons we can't seem to make them fast enough to meet demand some days. The other is that I've found despite our platonic status I have a hard time concentrating on my work whenever Stephanie is around and she's around most of the time.

Each morning at some point she'll invariably pass close by me and I just can't help but stop and let my eyes linger on her. Stephanie's unique bouquet of scents abides in her wake and I always use the opportunity to take several deep filling breaths. My eyes and mind quickly stray from donut batter and whipping cream to fasten onto her for the rest of the day.

Since that first day Stephanie and I have engaged in the sexually charged banter that is as much a staple of working in the food service industry as grease and sweat. For the most part if not completely meaningless it's a generally harmless pastime but I swear there have been many days when just a glance from her dark eyes aroused such an aching desire in me that the hours until my shift ended became one tortuous long sexual fantasy. Early on I concluded that Stephanie has always been very aware of the effect she has on me and that she finds ratcheting up my level of sexual torment day after day an amusing game to play.

It's Stephanie's responsibility to run the cash register and serve the customers that sit at the long counter up front or at the small tables by the windows. From watching her count her tips at the end of a shift it's obvious she is good at what she does. Some days the stack of bills and the pile of change she collects is quite impressive.