Cap’s Diner ‘54

True to their word Whitey and Hermann pull away from the curb at precisely 12:30. I assume they're taking the demo car back to the Cadillac dealer on Van Ness.

I search around on the floor for Cynthia's dress but someone has walked off with it. I steel myself and push my way through the door boldly. What a sight. Cynthia, clad only in one black leather pump, is draped lengthwise on her belly over the freestanding sink. Her feet can't quite touch the floor. In front of her a skinny little man is up on his tip toes jamming his cock down her throat. Behind her, one mean son of a bitch is slamming a huge cock into her ass. Jesus, I haven't even fucked her in the ass yet. A queue of 3 or 4 guys, some already working their cocks manually, wait impatiently behind each of these two.

I run across the room slipping in a puddle of what I hope is more spittle and almost land on my back.

"Hey, assholes!" I shout, "Leave her alone!"

The few of them present in the diner when this whole thing started know who I am and how pissed off I should be. They start backing up towards the door.

I reach out to pull assfucker away from her but he is ready for me. A switchblade suddenly appears in his hand but he doesn't threaten me with it. Without missing a stroke he traces a word on the small of Cynthia's back. Four large letters spell the word "Slut" in her own sweat. I move behind him, out of his sight, to the stall. I pull the heavy porcelain cap off the toilet tank and go back into the room. The sight of me heavily armed is enough to start the exodus from the room. I walk up behind assfucker whose pace has built to frenzy and wind up to hit him flat across the back. He peers back and pulls out suddenly, cum still spurting from his cock. The sight of me holding the toilet tank lid like a baseball bat is enough to send him and everybody who is left scurrying for the door.

"Are they gone yet?" Cynthia asks breathlessly when the door closes behind them.

"Uh huh." I say as I lock it and turn back to her.

Cynthia is naked and used. Her whole upper body is blemished red and sweat is dripping from every pore. She's lying across the porcelain alter, her arms and legs moving slowly like a high centered turtle. She can't hold back any longer and empties her bladder onto the floor. The liquids arc out and splashes heavily on the floor.

I go to Cynthia and tenderly lift her off the sink. She tries standing but her legs shake like a newborn colt. I set her down with her back to the wall; long legs apart but drawn to her chest. She is wearing only one earring. I spot the mate on the floor beside the urinal and retrieve it for her.

I dampen my handkerchief in the sink and start wiping her face.

"Where's the necklace?" I ask softly.

She stares down at the floor and the forming cherub's halo of milky liquid that she is sitting in. I realize it isn't the floor she is looking at.

"May I?" I ask.

She nods sadly and turns her head away. I squat down between her legs. She's red and raw. Using my thumb and forefinger I gingerly search her pussy for the missing pearls. She is sopping and hot inside. I feel around until I find the end of the strand, pulling it out, pearl by pearl. Globs of sticky fluid come with the necklace. I stand and go over to the sink to rinse it off.

She gazes up at me with those big doe eyes. "What was the question you wanted to ask me?"

I'm surprised she even remembers. "You already answered it," I say quietly. "in spades."

She's confused so I move a little closer. "But I do have another question for you." I say, producing the red satin box from my jacket pocket. Her eyebrows arch.

I snap open the lid as I pop the question. "Cynthia... will you marry me?"

Her face beams. "Yes." she gushes. "Yes of course I will."

I take the diamond speckled band and slide it over her ring finger. I have never seen her so happy. Boy, someday this is going to be a story to tell the grandkids... or maybe not...

She lets me finish cleaning her before I cover her with my jacket. A Mona Lisa smile is still on her face. She stands awkwardly and I follow her to the door before I realize, I can't take any more.

"Cynthia?" I undo the zipper of my trousers and wait for her to turn around. "Can you help me with him?" I plead.

She turns back and agreeably drops to her knees. Chester starts bobbing enthusiastically. She wraps her lips around him like he's a $40.00 cigar. I feel the pressure of her lips, her tongue, and her throat. Whitey was right; she's a lot like a circus ride. Someday I'd tell her about Whitey and me in Iwa Jima. Someday I'll even let her know Mr. "C" is actually Chester, but not today.

Even with all the excitement Chester is taking his time to get off. I swear Cynthia's sparkling hazel eyes are smiling. She actually giggles. The effect on Chester is profound and he finally releases, still fully lodged in her throat.

I lean down to kiss her and her breath hits me hard. I fish around in my pocket until I find her a mint and place it on her tongue.

We walk back through the diner, oblivious to the attention we get. Myrna is at the till thrusting out a slip of paper. I can't be sure if it's the bill or her phone number. It doesn't matter. It just matters we get across the street and up the steps of the Federal building to where we can get married.