Breakfast at McDonald's

The names, characters, places and events in this book are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. All characters are over the age of 18. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

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Hershel Myler pulled into the McDonald's just off W Perkins Ave, Sandusky. Stepping out of his battered Chevy Colorado truck with too many miles on the clock, the dense, almost tropical heat of an overcast Ohio summer day rolling in off Lake Erie hit him like a hammer making sweat break out on his forehead and under his arms. He untied his bandanna from around his neck and wiped his face. Cement and wallboard dust came away with his perspiration, leaving streaks on his face.

Hershel glanced around and saw the parking lot was mostly empty and, with only a few vehicles in line at the drive-thru window, he reckoned he wouldn't have to wait too long in the diner itself. He paused a moment, resting his hand on his truck, listening to the dull roar of traffic along W Perkins itself.

He crossed the lot to the low, grey building with the golden arches prominently displayed. A young family was leaving as he ducked into the deeper shade by the door so, as he waited for them to exit; he glanced at his reflection in the window. What he saw didn't displease him so he grinned at the mom shepherding her kids out and was pleased when she smiled back and flicked her blond hair.

Hershel saw a man, slightly taller than the average but narrowly missing the six foot mark. He wore a pair of worn black Dickies pants with tan brown shirt, both stained with cement and sawdust and also scuffed work boots. His only jewelry was a Casio watch and a narrow gold chain. Looking up, he saw a pleasant, rugged face with a square chin, not what women would call handsome, but rugged and tanned from working outdoors. He had short, sandy hair and what he called designer stubble although that was more not bothering to shave than any deliberate intent. Brown eyes with laughter lines. Not bad, he thought, but he was sorry that he was 'free and single' at the moment.

A rumble from his belly reminded him that he hadn't eaten since an early breakfast not long after five a.m. and now it was pushing eleven and since then he'd been hard at work gutting a house over on 48th Street before starting to refurbish it. A couple of sausage and egg muffins with coffee would see him through. He pushed open the door and stepped into the air-conditioned cool of the diner, savoring the feel of the chill against his sweaty arms.

Immediately, his stomach growled again as soon as the delightful aromas of fried food hit his nostrils. He started crossing to the order point where a teenage girl looked up helpfully but thought that he should at least wash his hands first. Maybe a quick wash and brush up would help him enjoy his meal more. Looking around, there weren't that many in the restaurant; it was that quieter gap between breakfast and the lunchtime rush, he thought. A few old guys at one table nursing their coffees, the remains of their breakfasts still littering the table, a young guy on his own staring out the window at passing traffic, a small group of teenage girls with their heads together giggling at something on their phones.

He changed direction and walked across the tiled floor to the restrooms. He noticed the disabled bathroom's door was standing half open so, just out of curiosity, he glanced inside. A woman was standing in front of the polished stainless steel mirror. She was dabbing her eyes with a tissue and he wondered if she had been crying. He was about to respect her privacy and carry on when she called out, "Hey, you'll do -- could you come here, please?"

Hershel stopped in mid stride. "Everything alright, ma'am?" he asked.

She was only about his age -- mid twenties -- and of average height. He reckoned she was carrying several extra pounds, and her oversized Cleveland Browns hoody only hinted at her body underneath; however it wasn't zippered up all the way so he could make see the swell of her cleavage. Hershel thought she went maybe 170 but he'd bet the farm that her license showed a smaller number. He felt his cock twitch upwards. Beneath, she wore black leggings and flip-flops showing her painted toenails. He took that in at a glance and, looking up, saw she had a pleasant oval face with full lips and brown eyes lined by fake eyelashes but now tear filled. Her slightly freckled face was a little plump with fuller cheeks. Her hair was brown and long with curly waves cascading down.

"No it's not -- please come in."

He looked around wondering whether he was being set up for something but he couldn't think of who would want to do that. Okay, he hadn't parted that amicably from his last girlfriend but he hadn't heard from her since they'd split so there was no reason why she would want to do anything now. And, while he'd built up a bit of savings now, he wasn't worth blackmailing. And it wasn't like he had any business enemies -- it wasn't like he was competing against the Mob for contracts.

The woman looked invitingly at him. Nobody else in McDonald's was taking any notice of him so he stepped into the disabled restroom. The smell of disinfectant as well as the woman's perfume masked the ubiquitous smells of fast food.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

In response, she reached behind him and shut the door and then turned the latch, locking them both in.

She looked him direct in the eye.

"Fuck me. Fuck me now," she said.

Hershel opened his mouth and closed it again. What the hell was going on here? He looked around the cubicle, looking for any hidden CCTV devices or concealed phones. Was he being set up for some weird reality show to be shown on some high-numbered cable channel? Something about getting men's reactions to odd situations? He took a step backwards towards the door.

The woman unzipped her hoody and, with a shrug of her shoulders, pulled it off. She wasn't wearing a bra and her large, heavy breasts, E at least, wobbled as she threw the garment onto the lowered baby-changing shelf next to her purse. Hershel stood there, transfixed. Her breasts were large, paler on the lower parts below the U of her tan lines which the sun's rays had never reached, lightly veined and hung down her chest. Her large circular brown areolae drew the eyes and, as the air-conditioned cool air struck them, her nipples stuck out proudly. He wanted to hold them, caress them, and suck on her engorged teats. With difficulty, Hershel looked up at her face.

"I mean it. I want you to fuck me," she repeated.

"Why?" he said thickly. He knew he wasn't too bad looking but Hollywood had never come calling for him. Also, he didn't think she was a hooker.

"You really wanna know? My fuckin' boyfriend cheated on me with some country bitch down in the pool hall. Some tart who fluttered her eyelashes at him, let him buy her a bunch of JD and cokes and then had him screw her out the back. It's not like it's the first time he's done this so I wanna get even. Show the bastard what it's like to be cheated on. But I don't want to do it with anyone we know." Her brown eyes swam with tears.

"For real?"

"For real. Now -- you gonna fuck me or shall I find someone else to do me? A real man."

Hershel thought for a moment but the sight of those magnificent tits got in the way of his thought processes. He hadn't been with a woman for a couple of months now -- more like getting on for three, he thought. After that downturn, work had been so busy lately and he had bills to pay. Also, he wanted to save up some money to buy a fixer-upper of his own, flip it, and make some real money. Maybe buy a newer truck as well. So he was working six days a week and, while he tried to keep the Sabbath day, that wasn't always possible. He tried to make church every Sunday morning otherwise his momma would be on his case, but that was about it for rest and relaxation unless you counted shopping for groceries.

He left his apartment early and often didn't get back until late and when he did, he was usually so dog-tired that he fell asleep. After a while of this, his girl told him that he was boring and no fun any more and, although she hadn't moved in, she collected her clothes, make-up and toothbrush and left. He texted her a few times but, deep down, wasn't too disappointed. Plenty of fish in the sea and all that -- but he hadn't time to go fishing for 'em.

And now this woman was offering it up for free. What the hell, it was her life. Her choice.

"You sure about this?" he asked with a slight frown.

She cupped her hands under her breasts lifting up her splendid orbs of soft flesh and rubbed her stiff, reddened nips with her thumbs causing them to poke out even further. She nodded.

He grinned. "Yeah, let's fuck."

The young woman smiled to herself. She kicked off her flip-flops, her breasts jiggling and wobbling enticingly, and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her leggings and panties. She tugged them down her chubby thighs, over her knees and bent over to lower them down her calves before stepping out of them. Her breasts fell forward enticingly as she did so, swaying delightfully as she tossed them next to her hoody. After they landed on the shelf he caught a glimpse of a white smear from her love juices in the crotch of her black cotton panties.

She stood upright facing him, showing Hershel her body. She raised her arms and held them behind her head lifting her breasts. She arched her back, thrusting out her massive, squeezable tits, her reddish nipples jutting out alluringly. He looked down over the shadowed swell of her belly which was paler and soft and the darker dimple of her belly-button. Further down to her fat pubic mound, bisected by the slit of her pussy. He saw that she had shaved recently as her sex was hairless. Her labia majora completely hid her inner lips and were a slightly darker pink than the rest of her skin. Her pussy was plump and looked so welcoming and his cock stiffened some more, pushing hard against his pants. His breath came in harder gasps now. Still down and she spread her thighs, giving him a better view of the moist cleft between her legs.

"Like what you see?"

Completely naked to his stare, she turned around and bent over the changing table resting her forearms on the white plastic surface. There was a tattoo on her lower back -- some kind of Celtic design -- and a blue dolphin on her left shoulder and initials done in Olde English script -- R.J. -- on her right. She spread her legs and raised her ass, showing off her rounded vulval lips. Although her ass and upper thighs were dimpled with cellulite, that didn't bother Hershel at all, in fact the view of her ass-crack and pussy made his cock throb with desire. He unbuckled his belt, unzippered his fly and lowered his pants. Freed from the restraints of the material, his pork sword sprang fully to attention. He wasn't ashamed of his manhood; while he was never going to be a porn legend, he had a meaty six inches.

His breathing was getting heavier and heavier but he slipped a hand into his pocket and drew out his wallet. Fumbling in the back, he found a Trojan. He broke the wrapper and with one hand rolled the rubber down over his cock of steel. The woman glanced at him over her shoulder and nodded with approval, causing her breasts to jiggle again.

Hershel stepped forward until he stood behind her, the woman's ass filling his view. He gently kicked her ankles further apart, lowering her body but raising and spreading her wide ass still further. He glanced down and saw a darker patch of skin surrounding the brown starfish of her puckered asshole.

"I'm really wet," she murmured.

With that, Hershel leaned down slightly and spread her shaved, fleshy outer lips, revealing her narrower, wrinkled inner lips and the beautiful entrance of her vagina itself. Her pink pussy felt so hot and glistened with lubrication. He caught a hint of her natural, female scent. Point of no return, he thought.

With that, he gripped the soft flesh of her hips, then rammed his rigid manhood deep into the welcoming folds of her sex, thrusting his torpedo in and out. Her tight vaginal walls gripped his cock as he powered in and out with no subtlety, only wanting to give her the hard fucking she said she wanted. Beneath him, he heard her gasp.

"Fuck me, fuck me," she groaned, keeping her voice low, both aware that they were in a restroom and that anyone passing by outside might hear them and call the manager.

His hips banging against hers, he heard his balls slap, slap, slapping against her fleshy thighs. He powered into her, grunting with his own lustfulness as he did so. Again and again he slammed into her, his wood penetrating her soft, moist, feminine depths. Taking his hands off her hips, he leaned forwards across her back and slid his hands between the plastic of the changing table and her breasts. He cupped the soft, warm, squeezable flesh of her tits, searching out the hard nubs of her nips and pinching them.

She cried out a bit louder this time, "Oh yes, yes, yes."

All the time he was pistoning in and out, screwing her hard, giving her the fuck she yearned for.

Until he felt the familiar sensation of his own climax approaching. That feeling like a pent-up dam in his groin about to burst. He tried to hold it back for a few more strokes but then his needs overwhelmed him and the dam wall broke releasing a torrent of his semen out and into the rubber's tip. He experienced that one brief moment of utter ecstasy when all thought vanished but then feelings returned. He lay for a moment across her back enjoying the human warmth before he sadly withdrew from her vagina and stood up.

His wood was already shrinking and he unrolled the rubber and threw it into the toilet bowl before flushing it as there was no way he wanted her to get her hands on his DNA. He zippered up his Dickies and belted up.

By now, the woman was standing and facing him, her face flushed and her areole pinker than before with her nipples still prominent. With her right hand, she stroked her pubic mound.

"Thanks for fucking me. Now my loser boyfriend will know what it's like to be cheated on. But that's it, never again, so please go now and we'll never see each other."

Hershel opened his mouth to say something even if only to check she was okay with what had happened but closed it again. Really, there was little to say.

"Take care," he said finally before unlocking the restroom door and letting himself out. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of her shrugging back into her hoody.

He walked down the short, tiled corridor to the men's restroom, pissed like a horse and then washed his hands and face. As he dried his hands, he looked up into the polished steel mirror. Why him, he wondered, why him? He knew that this was something he'd never tell anyone. He could never tell any future girlfriend and none of his friends would believe this story. One of those unusual unplanned things that sometimes happen in a life.

A few minutes later, he left the room and back down the corridor to the diner. Glancing into the disabled restroom, he saw that it was now empty with no trace of their recent activities. He sighed. As he got in line to order some food, he wondered about that girl and hoped and prayed that she would be alright. She was on his mind for the next few days but he never saw her again.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This story takes place some weeks before 'At Lake Erie Bluffs', before Hershel met Heather Dooley. At this time, he had not had a girlfriend for a couple of months.