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The Coffee House (Part 1) 1/3
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
THE COFFEE HOUSE (Part 1)
Niel couldn't understand it. Who comes out to California to experience
rain? Quickly he pulled a newspaper over his head and darted out from
under the bus stop, racing across the street in some kind of simple-minded
attempt to escape a waterlogging. Gray clouds crowded the sky, dropping
their moisture on the equally drab pavement below. Reaching the other
side of the street, Niel looks up to see the marquis of the big coffee
house, Zapp's, that passed as a culture center for this nowhere Northern
California college town.
Following an urge, Niel opens the door and enters the dry interior of the
place. The smell of freshly ground coffee overwhelms him, flavored by the
reek of pine, and the characteristic smell of tracked-in rain. In the
corner a Christmas tree, one of the small cheap kind, sat decorated with
stir sticks and other accoutrements of coffee land.
Sidling up to the bar, Niel orders himself a double espresso straight,
then sits at one of the micro-tables to try and read his drenched
newspaper; surrounded by people all with their own lives, their own
agendas, desires, and motivations. The coffee house is a cosmopolitan
gathering place.
ELAINE'S STORY
Sipping slowly at her $2.95 Cafe Mocha, Elaine was beginning to think
she'd made a mistake. She looked around, finding no one who fit the
description of what she had come here for. Her hair was dyed black, cut
short on the sides and around the nape of her neck; the top long and
combed to the side. A pale, unpainted face stared out, its outstanding
feature outrageously lined lips--redder than red, almost glowing in their
contrast.
The rest of her clothing was black or dark flannel plaid. Short argyle
socks were shoved into heavy boots. A little frightened, a lot nervous,
she'd come here to explore feelings she'd wrestled with for a long time.
Was she gay? It had taken no small amount of introspection before she
could even put the question to herself that way. It had taken even longer
before she'd contemplated doing this. Only sickos answered personal ads,
right?
But she had, and received the call early the evening before. Explaining
her doubt, her trepidation to the other woman, Elaine had expected her to
simply cut her off. But Denaria seemed nice. Pleasant. Her anticipation
had almost killed her last night. What would she look like? Will I find
her interesting?
Attractive?
Denaria had described herself over the phone as `slightly plump'. Her
height was 5'6"--almost exactly that of Elaine herself. Elaine wondered,
was Denaria fat? Did she care? Elaine didn't want to admit it, but had
also wondered about Denaria's race. Would it matter that she was black?
Elaine had fantasized last night about this encounter. Denaria said she
would be wearing a blue skirt.
Elaine had almost reached the end of her mocha when she walked through the
door. It had to be her. She could feel an exotic thrill of anticipation
as she looked Denaria up and down. Her blue skirt was sheer, the shape of
her plump legs accented by tight black leggings. A loose-fitting sweater
draped shapelessly over her upper body as Denaria's dark brown eyes
scanned the coffee house.
Embarrassed now about her deceit, Elaine decided to go through with it.
She'd left herself an out, telling Denaria over the phone to expect
someone in a red jacket--and then purposely not worn it, so she could look
at Denaria first and bug out if necessary.
Elaine got up and crossed the crowded coffee house, eyes fixed on
Denaria's face, not allowing herself to give in to the baser desires to
let her eyes linger over Denaria's large, full breasts or thick, soft body.
"I'm Elaine." she said. She felt awkward. Should she shake her hand.
What did one do?
"I'm Denaria." she replied and smiled, in the same low, husky voice Elaine
had fantasized about last night. Elaine now couldn't help but get lost in
Denaria's deep, liquid brown eyes. Denaria did take her hand, but simply
held it. Little electric thrills pased completely up and down Elaine's
body. "Let's sit down."
They both ordered a mocha, and took a seat, wedged by necessity close
together. They made small talk about movies, food, work. Each one
punctuated their nervous conversation with a sip from their drink, and
soon both were gone. It was Denaria who took the initiative and suggested
they go somewhere else. Somewhere more private.
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