Dead Girl Ch. 03

3

As Don pulled into the parking space in front of the restaurant, he suddenly realized that he shouldn't have taken her here. He had already known that her appearance, and their age difference would raise eyebrows inside the restaurant. He was too old and sad to care about that, but, this is where Nicole worked, and he wasn't sure what impression he'd make on her walking in with this bruised and battered teenage girl.

Don had been coming to this restaurant for years. He loved the food, but more than that, he came for Nicole. She'd worked there at least as long as he'd been coming in, and now he always asked to sit in her section. She was friendly and pretty, and she always made Don feel welcome. Maybe it was just her job, but he liked to think it was a bit more than that.

Nicole was probably younger than him, but not by much. She had nice legs, and he presumed, a nice ass under that burnt gold polyester uniform skirt. Her face was kind and bright, with beautiful green eyes framed in wavy auburn hair. And, while Don had never considered himself to be a "tits man", he did like to take surreptitious peeks at the stretched material and strained buttons of her uniform around her enormous breasts. He'd often fantasized about taking his hard cock out of her mouth, slick and dripping with her spit, and sliding it between her tits to fuck them.

Over the years, Don and Nicole had developed a friendly rapport. Sometimes, when it wasn't busy, she would sit with him for a few minutes at a time and talk with him. She'd made it clear to him more than once that she was single. And while Don tried to talk about his wife as little as possible, he knew she knew he was married. There was one conversation in particular that Don thought about quite a bit.

"How come you never come in with your wife?" Nicole had asked him, sitting in the booth across from him.

"I don't know," Don shrugged. "She's not interested."

Nicole looked at him quizzically. "Not interested in pancakes, not interested in going out, or not interested in you?"

"Yes," Don answered flatly.

"I don't understand why a woman with a good man wouldn't be interested in pancakes," she replied with a smile.

It was the most overtly she'd ever flirted with him. Don had wanted to respond in kind, but years of rust had seized up those gears in his brain. In the end he could only shrug and smile. He had played the incident over in his mind many times since. The flirting warmed him, but his response made him wince with almost physical pain. It seemed to him like a missed opportunity. More than that it felt like a setback. He feared his lack of response had told her he wasn't interested.

It was too late to leave and go to a different place now. Don would just have to take the girl in there and let the chips fall where they may. "Can you walk by yourself?"

"Yeah," she said. "I'm doing better."

As they walked towards the door, Don suggested that she go to the restroom to clean up a little. Even without the painful looking bruise and growing shiner, she was a frightful sight, with smeared makeup, disheveled hair, and bits of grass all over her. "It'll help you feel better," he suggested helpfully. As he opened the door for her, she pulled the hood far over her head and walked quickly off to find the bathroom.

"Hey," he called after her. "Do you drink coffee?"

"Yeah," she mumbled, barely turning to him as she kept walking.

The girl found Don about ten minutes later sitting in a booth. When she slid in on her side she found a cup of coffee and an orange juice already waiting for her.

Don thought she looked even prettier with her makeup washed off. She looked a bit older without it. Nevertheless, the cleaner look gave her an impression of innocence and possibility. With her makeup gone, Don could see the fading bruise on her neck

"Drink the juice first," Don suggested. "It'll get your blood sugar up. That'll help."

She pulled off the hoodie before drinking the glass of juice greedily in one long gulp. Don couldn't help but look at her as she drank. Her shirt was light blue, with two open buttons at the top. Around her neck and short sleeves was a fringe of white lace. The shirt was tight, and he could clearly see every movement of her small, perky, teardrop shaped breasts under it.

"I recommend the pancakes," Don said when she finished. "They have real maple syrup here. Get something else too."

"What's unreal maple syrup?"

"If you have to ask, then it's what you've had. Maple-flavored corn syrup. You're in for a treat." He smiled warmly.

When the waitress came she looked the girl up and down with suspicion. She came to a quick and bad opinion. Then she looked at Don, contemplating whether she needed to reevaluate her opinion of him too.

He was in luck that Nicole was off, but they ended up with Margot. She had the worst case of resting bitch face Don had ever seen, and a personality to match. He could never understand how someone who was so annoyed at being asked for things would become a waitress.

The girl ordered a full stack of pancakes, eggs, bacon, and hashbrowns. Don knew she'd eat it all. While ordering, Flora turned her face toward Margot, revealing her bruised, swollen cheek. Margot clicked her tongue and looked suspiciously at Don.

"Lacrosse accident," Flora explained quickly. "The girls got pretty rowdy at the last practice." She was speaking with some kind of affectation that Don took to be her impression of a rich suburban girl.

"Huh," Margot grunted before looking at Don again as she turned to leave.

"Thanks," Don said when Margot was out of earshot.

"She's kind of a bitch, huh?"

"Yeah," Don agreed. "So, I'm Don," he said expectantly.

"I remember," she said flatly. There was a long pause and Don thought he was going to have to ask her, when she finally added, "I'm Flora." She said it almost grudgingly.

"Flora," Don repeated with spirit. "That's a pretty name."

"Is it?" she asked before taking a sip of her black coffee.

Don let it drop. "So what's up with you, Flora?"

Flora took another sip. "What."

"I mean, what are you doing that's getting you knocked out and left in a field twice in one week?"

"I told you, Don," Flora answered, looking over her mug at him. "Fucking."

Don smiled defiantly in the face of her attempt to shock him. "Well, I've done plenty of fucking and I've never ended up like that. Are you sure you're doing it right?"

Flora scoffed. "Yeah, pretty sure. Everyone tells me I'm the best lay they've ever had."

"And you're proud of that?" Don asked.

"Yeah," Flora answered. "Wouldn't you be?"

Don thought for a second. "Yeah, I guess I would."

"Did it ever occur to you, Don, that you're not doing it right?"

"Hmmm," Don pondered. "I suppose that's a good question. I don't know. Maybe not, but I think even you can admit that that busted cheek and black eye of yours is not the right way."

"OK," she conceded. "But that was never the plan."

"What was the plan?" he asked.

"Get laid, get paid, get gone." Flora said mechanically.

Don sat back. Whoa. "So, you're a prostitute?" He whispered the last word.

"No!" Flora was indignant. "I'm not a whore!" She was way too loud.

Don looked around and met the disapproving glares of a few fellow diners.

"You take money for sex," Don said succinctly, with a lowered voice. "What do you call that?"

Flora looked down, not answering.

Don let it sit there for a while. He wanted it to sink in.

"It wasn't even my idea." Flora was quiet now. "It was that fucker Richie's. I would've fucked those guys anyway. Some of them I already did. He's the one that said we should take advantage of them. Make some money."

"So Richie's your pimp?" Don wanted to put things starkly for her. He didn't want to give her any room to make excuses.

"I guess that's the word for it. Motherfucker still owes me a hundred bucks." Flora seemed disappointed, but Don couldn't tell if it was shame or the money that was bothering her.

Don let that topic drop for now. "You like sex that much?"

"Oh my God, Don, yes. I fucking love it." This was as animated as Don had seen Flora get, without being mad.

"Why?"

"Have you ever had sex, Don?" Flora asked skeptically.

"Yes, I have. It's great, but I don't know if it's worth getting choked or punched in the face over."

"Again," Flora said flatly. "Not the plan."

"Right. Get laid, get paid," Don repeated. "The problem with that plan is that sex takes two people."

"Or more," Flora added, still trying to shock him.

"OK," Don agreed. "But that means there's always two, or more," he conceded, "plans. If you run around fucking anyone, you're going to get hurt. Well, hurt again. Maybe even worse."

"What are you suggesting, Don?"

He liked it when she used his name. It made him feel warm. "I don't know." He thought for a second as he took a sip of coffee. "First of all dump Richie, and no more sex for money. I guess I'd say, be discriminating. You're a beautiful, sexy young woman. You hold all the cards. You can pick and choose your partners. You don't have to throw that shit at everyone who wants it."

"You think I'm sexy, Don?"

"Of course," he said without reservation. He felt that frank honesty was important with Flora. He was sure she could smell bullshit from a mile away. The first time she smelled it coming from him would be the last time she listened to him.

He was enjoying this conversation. Frank honesty was something he hadn't had for years. Despite her claims, Don realized a long time ago that Sheila didn't want his honesty. She didn't even want his answers. She wanted her answers to come out of his mouth. Anything less would make her mad, and that would lead to a fight Don could never win. Giving Sheila what she wanted was the easiest path. After a while, it became the only path.

"Do you want to fuck me, Don?" Flora's voice became seductive. She looked up at him coyly, through her eyelashes.

"That's what I'm talking about right there," Don said with exasperation. "Thirty minutes ago you called me a perv. Now you're coming on to me."

"Maybe I've changed my mind about you. Maybe I like you, Don." Flora reached across the table and ran a finger along Don's arm. "What's your dick like?"

He pulled away. "I'm not telling you about my dick."

"Oh Don," Flora said poutily."The only men who don't want to talk about their dicks are the men who don't have dicks worth talking about."

He wasn't going to take the bait. He smiled. "Why won't you really tell me why you like sex so much?"

"Why won't you tell me about your dick?" she came back at him.

Don thought for a second. "OK. If I answer your question, will you answer mine?"

"Deal." Flora acted giddy, but Don suspected it was just that, an act. He wondered how much of this girl was act and how much was real.

"I'm seven inches," Don said.

"Oooh," Flora smiled. "Nice Don. That's very workable. How thick?"

It was the first time Don had seen her smile, or do anything other than frown. Her smile was bright. The upturned corners of her lips carved two deep elliptical creases into her cheeks. Outside of those were two dimples.

Don had to tear his eyes away from her smile. "Huh? I don't know." Don thought about how his hand wrapped around his hard cock when he stroked it. He held up his fingers in a circle. "Like this, I guess?"

"Oooh," she cooed again. That's very workable Don."

Margot arrived with their food, and Don quickly put his hand down. But Flora didn't drop it. "Curved, straight?"

Don cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Thanks," he said, smiling at Margot. "Can we get the real maple syrup?"

Margot rolled her eyes. "Yeah."

When she was out of ear shot, Don said, "Please don't do that." Flora smiled precociously. "Straight." He added, "And thicker at the top than the bottom."

"Very nice, Don. I can't wait to see it." Flora smiled coyly, turning it up to 11.

"Forget it," Don said flatly, gathering up his silverware.

"Hummph," Flora grunted.

"What?"

"I'm not used to being turned down," she explained. Flora continued to study him as he poured syrup on his pancakes.

"No?" he asked, handing her the syrup.

"No. I'm very sexy, Don." She poured a ton of syrup onto her pancakes. "You think I'm sexy, Don. How sexy am I? On a scale of 1 to 10."

This wasn't a question he wanted to answer. Not if he was going to continue to be honest. "Nuh-uh," he shook his head. "It's your turn to answer. But eat first. You have some time to think about it." He smiled.

Flora ate ravenously, leaving little room for conversation. Don watched her with a mix of awe and pity. How long had it been since this girl had eaten a real meal?

The only exception to the silence was when Flora took her first bite of pancake with real maple syrup.

"Holy shit. That tastes better than cock!"

Don rubbed his forehead with a sigh. He peaked under his arm and saw more disapproving glares. "Please don't do that," he whispered. "We're in public."

Flora looked around. "Oh yeah, huh." She shrugged uncaringly.

When she'd eaten every bite, Flora leaned back with satisfaction. Don was sipping his coffee, having already finished.

"I guess you liked it?"

"Yeah," she nodded.

"So, it's your turn now. You were going to tell me why you like having sex so much." He took another sip, looking at her over the rim of his cup.

"Yeah, right. I guess it's the control."

"What do you mean?" Don asked.

"When I'm fucking a guy, or girl," she winked at him. Don's face remained a picture of patient expectation. "That I want," she continued, "Then I'm in control. It's about the only time I feel that way in my life."

'That I want,' she'd said. Don wondered how many times she'd had sex when she didn't want to and with whom. There was a darker story there he'd have to delve into later. "What are you in control of?" Don asked.

"Of myself," Flora answered. "Of the guy."

"Or girl," Don chimed in.

"Or guys," Flora added. Don realized he'd never be able to out-shock Flora. "Everything. The things I do are my choice. And the things they do are my choice too."

"You use your body and your sexuality to get people to do what you want." Don clarified.

"Yeah," Flora agreed. "I can totally manipulate them, if that's what you're getting at. I'm very sexy, Don," Flora repeated.

"OK, I get that," he conceded. "That can be a very powerful feeling. Especially if you don't otherwise feel in control of anything." He put his cup down. "But there's an obvious flaw with that." He pointed at his own check and then throat, using himself as a mirror.

"Both of those happened after they came, Don." Margot suddenly appeared to clear the plates. Don thought he heard her audibly 'tsk'. Flora continued undaunted. "Before that, they were all mine."

Don waited for Margot to leave. "Well, they're guys, Flora. They're always going to cum. Your control is always fleeting."

"Of course it is," she shrugged. "All control is. But at least it's there, for a bit."

Don sat back. She was smart. He clearly wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know. He was impressed by her, which made her visible bruises all that much more frustrating. "Can't you get the same thing without putting yourself in danger?" he finally asked.

"You're assuming that I knew I was in danger. But anyway, a little danger always makes things more intense, doesn't it?" She looked expectantly at him.

Don sighed heavily in concession. This was not going to be easy, he realized.

"And I know you didn't accept this answer earlier, Don, but the orgasms really are great. When I'm cuming, hard, I feel better than I've ever felt. For that brief time I'm free."

He believed her. He didn't think this was something he should try to take away from her, even if he could, which wasn't likely. She had an answer to all his objections. But still, there had to be a better way, that didn't end up with her unconscious in a field.

"Plus, I could really use the money," Flora added.

Don didn't want to touch that subject again right now. "Do you think that you use your body to express your feelings?" he asked.

"Jesus, Don." Flora rolled her eyes. "Are you psycho-analyzing me? You're not a shrink are you?"

"No, no," Don waved. "I'm a web programmer." His job was actually more complicated than that, but he'd found it easier over the years to say that. People generally thought they knew what that meant, and weren't interested in knowing more.

"I don't know," Flora shrugged. "I try not to have feelings. They just cause problems."

"What kind of problems?"

"They make you vulnerable. I can't afford to be vulnerable."

Her answer was telling. It had fear behind it, and sadness. Both were feelings that she couldn't suppress entirely, no matter what she said. The same was true of all her emotions, they would come out, they had too. She may want to deny it. Maybe she wasn't even aware of it. But if her body was her only means of expressing herself, of finding momentary control and freedom, then she would have no other way of expressing her deeply neglected feelings.

Her answer also made Don realize that he didn't know anything else about her. He was never going to make headway with her if he didn't know more. Did he really think he could give her a lecture over breakfast and solve her problems? He had to get to know her if he wanted to help her.

"How old are you?" Don asked.

"Nope. It's your turn." Flora picked up her coffee and sipped at it while she waited for Don.

He sighed. He'd hoped she'd forget. "Well," Don mused thoughtfully. "There's different kinds of sexy. There's having a sexy body, dressing sexy, and most importantly a sexy attitude."

Flora laughed. "You're stalling. I'm all of those, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are," Don admitted. "On a scale of 1 to 10, you're a 9."

"That's pretty high. Do you want to fuck me, Don?" She turned her sultry voice and look all the way back up again, looking at him through her eyelashes, licking her lips, and squeezing her breasts between her arms.

Don sighed and looked down to avoid Flora's eyes. "Do I want to? Yes. But I won't." He looked back up at her again.

Flora pouted again, but it didn't diminish her sultriness in any way. "Oh Don, do you really believe that?"

"Absolutely."

They stared at each other. Flora tried to size Don up as Don tried to convince her, and himself, of the truth of his words.

"Hummph," Flora snorted.

"Do you believe me?" Don asked.

"I think so." She turned the sexiness off. "I don't get you, Don."

"Good," Don smiled. "If you did, I'd probably be in trouble." They both smiled.

"I'm 19," Flora told him. "I'll be 20 in three months."

"Really?" Don looked surprised. "You look younger."

"Yeah, my step-dad calls me 'jailbait'. I don't know if it's because he doesn't understand what that means, or he still thinks I'm 17."

"Do you still live at home?" Don asked innocently.

Flora put her coffee down. Her expression suddenly changed, becoming serious, but not angry. It was the first break he'd seen in her breezily confident demeanor. "I don't think I want to go there with you."

Don was surprised by her sudden defensiveness. He'd finally hit a nerve. But now it threatened to undo everything. "OK," Don retreated. "That's fine."

Margot brought the check, and it seemed, breakfast was over. Don was disappointed. He'd enjoyed having someone to talk to, someone smart and mature. And he enjoyed being with her--beautiful, sexy, and alluring. He enjoyed her flirting, even if he was determined not to succumb to it. It still excited him, and he could use some excitement. He hated to see it end, especially since he didn't know if it would ever happen again. But he also didn't want to push this past it's natural lifespan and make it awkward.