Coffee Shop Mermaid

Coffee Shop Mermaid

It was Saturday. Bibi suggested we go to the city. I offered to drive, but Bibi wouldn't have it. "Champ, it's nearly an hour away, and you're still recovering."

This, I thought, was nonsense. I had left the hospital months ago. Bibi just wanted to be the first to drive the new Bentley. Sometimes she could be selfish.

We acted like tourists. We strolled around the quads of an elite universiy and took a tour of the original city, which was mostly underground. Bibi wanted lunch on the water, which seemed silly to me because our house edges up to the sound. She suggested Pike Place Market. After lunch, we saw the fishmongers yelling orders and throwing large fresh fish at one another.

"Why do they do it that way?" Bibi asked. "I went fishing once as a kid in the 4-H club. Fish are slippery. They could drop one."

"Why would that matter?

"The meat could get bruised, and the fish might get dirty."

"I'm sure it's not like dropping an apple or a banana, and as long as you cook the fish, you'd kill off all the germs."

"What if you want sushi?"

"They're whole fish. They still have the skins on them. You'd just peel off the skin."

"I've had rolls at a sushi place with the skin still on them."

"Me too, but it was the cooked stuff."

Bibi mulled this over for while and the nodded in agreement. What Bibi didn't understand, though, was that the yelling and the throwing of the fish was simply showmanship, a way to pick the interest of the visiting tourist. This trick worked quiet well on Bibi. She ended up paying a premium for a salmon that was way too big for just one meal. Bibi hated leftovers, and our cook would have to find a clever way to stop the soon to be severed head from stinking up our house.

Bibi was right, of course. I was still recovering. The salmon felt much heavier than it looked, and I felt pretty tired. Bibi suggested coffee at the original Starbucks to perk me up for the trip home.

Unlike it's overly numerous spin offs and franchises, the original Starbucks had a more local feel to it. The decor and furniture was different, and the lighting was dimmer. It seemed less corporate, which, to me, was a welcome change. Also, the mermaid decal on the window had no problems showing off her tits to the fishmongers nearby. Nothing was covered up with scales. You could see her areolas and nipples, everything really. Of course, Bibi's tits were nicer because they were real (and much larger). My wife, however, wasn't the type to flash the men who just sold her a big smelly fish.

We lounged around the coffee shop until the caffeine kicked in, and I got my second wind. I bullied Bibi into letting me drive home. I told her that I was fine and that a good wife would have more trust in her husband's abilities. Bibi was right though. By the time we got home I was thoroughly wiped.

It was hot in town, and our armpits stank. Bibi told me to shower and left to order the cook how to prepare the salmon. After I dried off, I lay in bed naked, on top of the covers, too tired to move. Bibi came up to bathe. The sound of the shower lulled me to sleep.

I dreamed that the Starbucks decal had come to life. She was young, blond, and perky and said my cock fit quite well between her titties. They were small but her nipples were long and puffy, which made me quite happy. She said my cock looked as tasty as a café breve, but the only way to know for certain was to put it in her mouth and take it down her throat. The buzzing noise from an electric razor woke me up. I had a raging boner.

Bibi stood awkwardly by the vanity, one foot on the floor and the other up by the sink. A tangle of dark course hairs littered the tile by her feet. Both feet back on the floor, she stood up straight and twisted, inspecting her crotch in the mirror from each side. Satisfied, she smiled and placed the razor back by the sink.

Her dark pussy hairs were short now; not too short to prickle painfully and not too long to obscure the curves and folds beneath.

"Look, Honey, I trimmed my bush. Do you like it?"

I still had my boner, which was the type of response she desired.

"You wanna try it out?" She asked, smiling.

"Sure." I replied.

"Scoot over!" She ordered.

I took my proper place at the end of the bed. Bibi had an aesthetically pleasing pussy. Her mons has a subtle, gradual curve and her inner lips wouldn't protrude unless she spread her legs really far apart. I pressed ever so lightly with my tongue into the small hairless hollow just inside her left thigh. Bibi moaned. I worked my tongue towards the middle, reaching the hedge line. Moving up slowly, the short-cropped ends of her hairs felt pokey against my soft tongue, but not unpleasantly so. The way down felt slick and smooth.

I moved even further toward the middle, taking in the taste of the slicker hairless pink bits. Bibi took a deep breath and held it. Moving up, I traced the edges of her inner lips until they met at the tiniest but most sensitive of pleasure buttons. It was barely a nubbin, and nearly invisible to the naked eye. I couldn't press it directly; this would create some sort of sensory overload my wife found unpleasant. Rather, Bibi had trained me to focus on the tissues nearby. Making circles with my tongue, pressing hard when she sighed and lightly when she moaned.

Bibi arched her back and pinched each of her short thick nipples between a thumb and forefinger. Bibi rarely vocalizes when she cums. She bucks around a bit, smiles and then says, "thank you."

Bibi pulled up on my shoulders, a signal for me to move up. Grabbing the head of my cock she eased me in. Her pussy hole was warm and slick and offered up no resistance.

"Let's try something different this time." She said. She swung her hips to the side and brought her knees in together. "I read about this in Cosmo. It will make you seem thicker."

I felt a bit of a squeeze, which was pleasing, but Bibi made me stop after a few thrusts as she found the position twisted her spine awkwardly. She rolled over onto hands and knees, which she had never done before. "They said this way also works. Here, make sure your legs are outside of mine." She reached back around and guided me back into her slick pink slit. When I was balls deep she squeezed her legs together.

"Oh yes, that's nice," she said, "you really fill me up that way."

I pushed Bibi back and forth while I thrust and withdrew. The rocking motion caused her large tits to swing slowly. Bibi ordered me to thrust faster, harder, and deeper. As we picked up the pace, her tits swung wildly, swinging outwards to the sides on the way down an inward on the upward recovery. At the top her, her two tits collided, making a rather gratifying slapping noise.

Bibi shuttered, lowered her tits to the bed, and buried her face in a pillow. She spread her legs a bit, reached back and started rubbing her pussy along the bottom of my agitated penis. And that's when I saw it: the most unholy of all holes; the stink pit; the poop chute; the backdoor. By titled her pelvis and rotating her ass cheeks, Bibi had revealed to me, for the first time, her best guarded secret: her tiny pink, tight, virgin asshole. Bibi was so prim and proper, that it was hard to believe she even had one. It was magnificent, a small tight ring traversed by radial bumps like the spokes of a bicycle. wheel How I wanted to touch it, lick it, violate it with my angry phallus! I back out slightly to get a better look, but my timing was poor. As Bibi came she rested forward onto her face and shoulders, and I slid out. And that's when her asshole seemed to wink at me, opening slightly and then clamping shut with force. Beckoning me, luring me, teasing me as if to say, "I know your wife would say no, but I wouldn't mind giving it a try." I painted Bibi's large muscular ass and trimmed pussy lips with hot thick sticky ropes of cum.

"Damn it Champ!" She said, when our breathing returned to normal. "I just showered."

The next morning I had salmon cakes eggs benedict. I didn't know that was even a thing, but the two foods went together really well. Our cook didn't even bother giving left over fish to Bibi. She had toast and fresh fruit with her eggs scrambled. Our cook brought out a pot of hot fresh coffee and returned to the kitchen to wash the dishes.

"What are you going to do this week?" Bibi asked.

"I have some job interviews lined up."

Bibi looked at me crossly.

"Why the stern look. Me looking for work is a good thing, isn't it? It shows I am getting better and making progress."

"Your employer told me they would take you back as soon as you're ready. Why bother to look for work elsewhere?"

"I'm tired of my old job. I want to do something different."

"Like what?"

"Coding COBOL."

"What's that?"

"It's a really old computer language. A lot of state and municipal governments and some older businesses still use it because they can't afford to update their systems. There are hardly any people around who still know how to code in COBOL."

"How is it that you know it? I don't remember you taking very many computer classes in college or in grad school?"

"I took a few, and when I was in the hospital we did a lot of mathematical coding as cognitive rehabilitation. I found I really liked it, so I taught myself COBOL. Knowing it is like having an ace in the hole. There will always be plenty of work for me."

"Yes, that sounds nice, but you had a senior level position."

"So? We have plenty of money, and, honestly, with the royalty payments, I don't really need to work at all."

"It's not really about the money. You were highly respected in your field. Besides, isn't genetic engineering like coding."

"It is, in a sense. I mean we have to decode genes to figure out how they work, but that's only a small part of what we do. Much is trying to move the gene into a different kinds of cell's genome and then get the cells to express adequate copies. Even more time is spent writing grants and proposals. If I get offered one of the coding jobs, all I would have to do is sit in a quite dark room and code all day."

"And you would like that sort of thing?"

"I wouldn't like it. I'd love it. It seems so peaceful to be alone with nothing but your thoughts and a type of puzzle to figure out."

Bibi huffed and folded her arms across her chest. I knew discussing the matter further would only irritate her. We sat in silence for a while. Eventually Bibi asked me to pass the coffee pot.

"Paola brews really good coffee," I said, filling up her cup.

"That reminds me," Bibi replied, "I think the barista at the Starbucks knows you."

"You mean the coffee girl?"

"They call them baristas."

"Which one, there were like three of four?"

"The cute little skinny one with the light brown hair and the button nose."

"I don't remember."

"I think you do. She had tiny little boobs. She was so flat you could take her down the steps to the water and use her as a paddle board."

"That's mean. Not all women are blessed with your endowment."

"How do you know her?"

"I'm not sure I do," I said, which was partially true.

"She seemed so uncomfortable around you. At first I thought it was because you kept talking about the boobs on the mermaid painting in the window."

"Yeah, that was pretty cool."

"Oh please don't get started on that again, you're not a teenager anymore."

"I liked it because Starbucks is normally so corporate, and--"

"Champ, please don't!"

"Okay, okay, sorry."

"Anyway, when we were seated she kept looking over at you, and I knew then that it wasn't because you were acting so immature. She had that look."

"What look? I don't remember her having a look."

"Oh she had a look, like a jilted ex-girl friend."

"We met freshman year in college during orientation." I replied. "I was such a dork in high school that I couldn't even get a date for prom. I had no girl friends before you, jilted or otherwise."

"And then you started writing on the cup. At first I thought you were writing down your phone number, but it was those weird symbols you always doodle. You know, the letter 'Y,' the dash, and the hungry alligator mouth."

"The alligator mouth?"

"You know, the '<' symbol." She said, tracing the air with a finger.

"It's called an angle bracket or a chevron. Why would you call it an alligator mouth?"

"I remember writing them in elementary school, in math, when we learned greater than and less than. The alligator mouth always opens to the greater number."

"Alligator mouth, that's funny."

"Don't make fun of me champ," Bibi huffed. "I'm not stupid!"

"I'm not making fun of you. I think it's cute."

"What are those symbols anyway?"

"Babylonian numerals. It's a cognitive rehabilitation exercise. All the patients had to learn them in the hospital. You see; it's a base 60 way of writing numbers. The 'Y' is like our--"

"Oh," Bibi said, cutting me off. She wasn't interested in Babylonian numerals. "I couldn't tell what you were writing, so I told you I wanted a sip of your coffee even though I didn't. That way I could inspect the cup."

"Even if I did write my phone number, it's not like she would pick it out of the trash, and know it was from me. They probably go through hundred of cups a day."

"Actually, she would. She asked for a name for the order, and I said 'Champ.' She wrote it on the cup."

"Oh."

"Even though I could tell it wasn't your phone number, I made sure to push hard on the cup with my lips to leave a big lipstick mark. That way she'd get the message."

"What message?"

"That this handsome devil belongs to me. I get to kiss him and you don't."

"I doubt she fished the cup out of the trash."

"I hope not."

We sat in silence for a while and sipped coffee. The cook came to clear the dirty dishes. When she returned to the kitchen Bibi said, "I was thinking maybe next month we should get some work done."

"On the house? Again? We just redid the patio and contracted to change up the garden. We even planted a new tree!"

"No, not on the house silly, on us."

"What do you mean, 'on us?'"

"You know, cosmetic surgery. All my friends are getting it done now that we're in our thirties."

"You look great dear, you don't need cosmetic surgery."

"It's really low risk, and these days, with all the new medications, there's hardly any pain at all. Just a light itch for a few days."

"I'm not afraid of pain. They split my skull open, remember?. That's it, isn't it? You hate my scar, don't you? I admit it's pretty ugly, but if I grow my hair a bit longer, nobody will be able to see it."

"No, that's not it. I was thinking of getting my breasts done."

"Your breasts are perfect. If you make them any bigger you'll fall over."

"I think they are sagging a bit, and I'm getting stretch marks. I don't want them any bigger. I just want them tightened up a bit."

"Stretch and sag is totally normal with age. Besides, the natural look is popular these days. People prefer real breasts that wobble to the fake ones that look like immobile geodesic domes." Bibi frowned. Apparently I hadn't said the right thing.

"On you," Bibi said, "we should work lower?"

"Oh the love handles? Once I get my energy back, I'll be able to exercise more and they'll just melt away."

"You don't have love handles dear. I want things thicker."

"You mean bigger glutes? We have the equipment, just get your trainer to show me how to do squats properly."

Bibi buried her face in her hand. After a few seconds of silence she looked back at me and said, rather frankly, "I think we should make your penis thicker."

It was like a knife in the gut. Over ten years of marriage and my wife just told me I haven't been cutting it man wise. "What!" I exclaimed.

"Oh don't be mad dear. We wouldn't change things too much, just add a little bit of girth so you'd fill me up better."

"I hear it's dangerous. If they don't do it right, my pecker could end up looking like a baked potato. If they really fuck up, then my dick could turn black and fall off. Then you'd have nothing to fill you up, unless you went out and bought a dildo!"

"Oh, that sort of thing hasn't happened in years. They have much better procedures now."

"I suppose all your friends make their husbands do this?"

"No, not all. Note the ones whose husbands have thick pansies."

I was hurt, and I couldn't contain my anger. "Why don't you just have an affair?" I snapped "He can fill you up with his giant cock, and you could let me get some sleep for a change.

Bibi's face turned red. I had said something really mean. We didn't speak or even make eye contact for what seemed like an hour. Alas, the doorbell rang. Bibi left to answer it. It was her personal trainer, whose body was as hard as rock. His brain was as thick as rock too. I could hear their shameless flirting in the doorway.

"Hey good looking, are you ready to sweat?" Asked a deep male voice.

"It takes quite a bit to make this old lady sweat."

"You're not an old lady, you're a little girl."

"This little girl could totally kick your ass."

"Well, we're just gunna have to go to the gym and see about that."

"After you."

"No, after you."

Normally I could just ignore it. But after my wife implied I was hung like a baby carrot I had to get up and leave. I retreated to the bedroom.

I fetched my laptop and sat on the bed next to Pumpkin our rotund orange cat. I tried to entertain the both of us by watching silly cat videos, but I just couldn't let the dick shaming go. I found an old study on the Internet, a meta-analysis where researchers compiled dick measurement from over 15,000 men. The average hard-on was 13.1 cm in length and 11.7 cm in girth. I found a video that demonstrated how to measure your dick. I got distracted though, because it was on a porn site, and the hot blonde that was doing all the measuring ended up sucking the guy off. In the end, they used the measuring tape to see how far his cum splattered.

Eventually I got back on task and dug out my wife's sewing kit from the back of the closet. It was a relic from her days in the 4-H club. It was hard to believe that my current wife used to milk cows, shoot rifles, and shovel horseshit. I opened the kit and found a measuring tape. It was well worn but quite functional. I beat off a bit to get myself hard and measured myself like in the porn video. I consulted the nomogram from the scientific study. At 16cm in length I was actually at the ninety-fifth percentile. I guess that's why my wife didn't want me any longer. At 12 cm in girth I was technically above average.

Where is this coming from, I wondered. Why would she want me bigger after all this time together? She had never been with anybody else, so she has no idea what a thicker cock would feel like. Maybe she brought a big dildo when I was in the hospital and had some sort of sexual awakening. Do all of her friends make their husbands get bigger cocks in exchange for boob jobs? Maybe her pussy is loosing elasticity with age. I should tell her that, I thought, and dig myself into an even bigger hole.

At some point I drifted off to sleep. Napping was probably my biggest pass time, which was one of many reasons why I needed to find a job. I dreamt I was at the original Starbucks. The place was empty except for the coffee girl and myself. The coffee girl was topless. She had no breast tissue at all, just these two giant brown areolas that seemed to cover her entire chest. In my dream, this seemed really hot. In real life, it would be a nightmare. I had my dick out and was jerking off. I was tiny and couldn't even reach the end of my hand. I was so thin too. The only way I could jerk off was to rub with the tips of my thumb and forefinger. The coffee girl seemed really disappointed and kept saying, "no, no, no, no, NO!"