Ferall Shorts: Mr. Flynn Ch. 02

Author's Note:

Hello my loves! First thing's first, thank you all for the love on the first chapter. I really do appreciate it! You give me the motivation to perfect my craft. Though I've been preoccupied with my larger works I do find these Mr. Flynn flash writes to be extremely fun!

I took a leap of faith with this one and decided to experiment a bit. I want to practice developing my male leads in my larger works. So in this installment I wrote from Mr. Flynn's perspective. What makes these things hot for me is the depth and inner struggles of my characters and I wanted to expand on my male fantasies a little bit! As previously stated, Literotica is a place for me to muse and inspire myself. Through these stories I develop a stronger bond with my leading characters. With that said I took a huge risk writing from Mr. Flynn's perspective as I've never done that before! Any constructive criticism is welcome as I aim to please. Tell me gentlemen, as a man, is Mr. Flynn relatable? Ladies, is he a leading man you can't help but to rub yourself to? Let me know! And thank you again.

With Love & Lust,

Ms. Ferall

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She doesn't remember me. I thought to myself. It took a great deal of courage on my part to even approach her whilst she had lunch with her co-workers. The first few days I made sure to keep my distance in case she may recognize me. Remember me as the awkward boy who, despite being the heir to my father's wealthy throne, couldn't catch a woman's attention if it could save my life. Or even worse, I feared she'd remember me as the scrawny boy who couldn't throw a fist if my life depended on it. Though the thought did excite me, admittedly. I had hoped that maybe our reunion would be one of those moments I read about in my favorite comic books as a young lad. How the physically challenged protagonist undergone some great transformation and the leading lady would swoon in awe and offer herself without question. Fear seized my heart when I first laid eyes on her. What if she remembers? Will she scoff? Will she see pass my transformation and only see me as that scrawny pretty boy? All these fears buzzed inside my mind for the better part of the construction until I found some courage and finally stepped into my yard and approached them. Holding my breath until she finally looked up and muttered.

"And so the Prince decides to grace us with his presence." She doesn't recognize me at all. And why should she? Years of my reinventing myself coupled with the very brief moment in our lives where we knew one another was enough to make me forgettable. Of course, you're forgettable, fool, you're only as good as your given name. I shake the nasty thoughts from mind even though they held a certain weight of truth to them. No one sticks around long enough to remember me as anything more than just my father's wretched son. But I remembered her instantly. At first first I played it off as if we were strangers, pretending I didn't know her name. Even flirting a bit though this didn't elicit the reaction I had hope. Yet, I could tell there was a twinge of attraction from the way she'd squirm under my gaze. This thrilled me.

She too had undergone her own changes, however. She seemed more jaded and more withdrawn from last I met her. Sarcasm, though I remember being a fluent language of hers, seemed sharper and colder. Less playful more resentful. Years of what I can only tell was harsh conditions and strenuous labor only added to the resentment I knew was already evident nearly a decade ago. Ten years, and she still looks amazing even in dirty coveralls and wild frizzle coils. In fact, it somehow added to her charm. A rugged sort of beauty, if you will. I watched her from my balcony with curious eyes the first few days. Seeing her work and grind just as hard as the rest of them. If not more so. Every so often, however, when she thought no one was looking a pained grimace would smear across her face. Her hands would squeeze at the small of her back and she'd roll her shoulders to ease whatever ache assaulted her body. Poor little thing, no one that pretty should be so stressed. Everyday she'd show up thirty minutes earlier than her co-workers, clothed in beige coveralls that were two sizes too big. I suppose that was her feeble attempt at hiding her curves, which she failed miserably at doing. Despite the icy wit and cold disposition, she seemed warm towards her blue-collar brethren. From afar I'd see her make what I could tell was a snide remark that left some of the men writhing and falling over in laughter. I want to know the joke, too.

Desiree Jones, years ago when we were both in our early twenties worked as a waitress at an old mom and pop shop that once went by the name of Ricky's. In those years, I was a rail thin kid with even longer unkept hair, but a can-do attitude that I swore I had inherited from my own father. However, between the divorce and his newly obtained wealth, my father had changed into someone I did not recognize. Something I wasn't sure I liked. The 'pull yourself up by your boot straps' loving husband and father turned into overtly narcissistic sleaze with all the delusions of grandeur that came with the image. Two months into my new job and my father had called me into his office for one of the few occasions he would actually talk to me. Taking a gander at my loose-fitting dress shirt, slacks and vest he scoffed and bellowed in a mocking tone,

"What is this, boy?"

"What's what?" I replied. As if unsure of what to do with his hands he just gestures at me as if the answer were obvious.

"The get up. You slumming it at Ricky's I hear."

"It's just a part time job. Something to-"

"Waste your damn time and make me look bad. What's this job? What are you doing?"

"Bar tending." I droned. He repeats what I said in a condescending manner that angers me beyond measure. He had that same look on his face whenever I attempted to do, well, anything. A look that is somehow more off putting than how a person looks at a small dying bug. My fists clench.

"Is this something of a hobby? Why do you feel the need to wallow with these people knowing I give you everything? Do you not have enough, boy?"

"I just want to learn to make it on my own is all. Like you did when you met mom-"

"So, this is about a girl?"

"Not real-"

"Why didn't you say so! Listen, girls are easy. Is it Mr. Pellucci's daughter the one that works at his restaurant? If you have a thing for her I can arrange something. He's been trying to link up with me for quite some time now." He says with a wink. Admittedly I did have a thing for Mr. Pellucci's daughter. I had been admiring her from afar ever since I saw her at a frat party I crashed. Now that I look back on it, I can't recall anything on her part that truly stuck out. Apart from perky tits and a perky attitude. My young mind back then wasn't too interested in substance or depth though I did enjoy those things when present. I had hoped to, in a sense, live out the love story I grew up hearing before my parents split. How they met at the start of their journey to the top. How my father also admired my mother from afar until he built himself up enough to ask her out. For whatever foolish reason I had this same dream and it involved Mr. Pellucci's daughter. Looking back on it now, I'm certain I was thinking with the smaller head on that one.

"I really don't want to do things that way..." He cuts me off and goes on a speech about how my efforts and intentions are for nothing. Mere musings of an idiotic boy as he put it. That I need not waste my time on what he called 'frivolous ambitions'. That his good name alone is all I need and some other things that left me feeling foolish and small in that moment.

"You're not like me, boy. You're soft. I'm just trying to set you on the right path is all." He rasped as he leaned back in his leather chair.

"I think I might surprise you, dad." I had hoped my voice came off stronger and more confident but it clearly didn't when the sound of his laughter made a mockery of my statement. I think I hate my own father.

"Trust me, I know you better than you know yourself. You take on after your mother, unfortunately. Head in the clouds and shit. Don't waste your ti-"

"I'll see you after work." I made an abrupt exit as to avoid sticking around long enough for him to see my emotions. Something I failed, quite miserably really, at hiding in those days. Ignoring him calling me back to his study, I see myself through the front door and through our lavish front lawn. There one of our chauffeurs' yells to my back,

"Little Flynn do you need a ride?"

I simply blow him off with a wave of my hand and make my way to the bus stop. He always does this! I hear my inner thoughts rage. He can never just give me a chance to prove I'm worth a damn! I think to myself, among other more angry self-deprecating thoughts. I angrily shove my headphones in my ears and turn the volume up. Screeching vocals and aggressive guitar solos fill my head and ease my anxiety. The commute to my job didn't take long and I got there twenty minutes early. Through the back entrance is where I liked to enter in order to avoid exactly what happened the moment I stepped through the back door.

"Connor!" Mr. Pellucci beamed. Fuck.

"Hello Mr. Pellucci." I greet with a half-hearted smile. He's learned my anti-social routine. Mr. Pellucci conveniently happened to linger in the kitchen area just minutes before my shift. In all my time working here he hardly shows up to manage his own establishment. The few times he is here, he never leaves his office. Until he learned my little secret routine to avoid human interaction. The olive skin man with his beefy build rests a heavy meaty hand on my shoulder.

"Jesus kid, look at yuh! All skin and bones. As rich as your pop is you'd think you get some grown man weight by now!" He bellows. I too give a convincing laugh whilst thinking to myself, Fuck you, you inflated meatball.

"Listen, kid, do you think you can have a chat with you daddy about having a business chat with me? I know he specialize in property rentals and I've been looking to expand. If you could do this for me, I promise to take good care of you around here." I squirm under his clear lack of respect for personal space. I can smell the whiskey on his breath and I nearly gag. When I got this job, I had hoped to just sharpen my skills as an adult. Everything else had been so easy for me and my mother had always taught me character means more than anything. She told me that if I believed that then success will follow. Yet here I stood amongst men who lacked character and seemed to have it all. Was my father right all along? I took a step to the side to subtly remove myself from the weight of his heavy meaty hand and sighed.

"I'll see what I can do, boss."

Mr. Pellucci didn't seem very happy with this answer but he wouldn't let it show. Best not to anger the son of his possible meal ticket. I felt my anger build again. He nodded and patted me on the back, leaving me to prepare for my shift.

"Hey Connor, don't worry about working too hard tonight. In fact, you can leave an hour early if you like. And let your old man know I took care of yuh, okay?"

"Sure." I say with a forced smile. That's when she stepped in. I knew he had hired a new girl but I was rather shocked by the new addition to our team. She wasn't at all like the other women he had employed. Our shifts hadn't crossed until now and I found myself a bit intrigued by the short yet curvaceous thing that walked through the back door. Guess she wants to avoid people just like I do. I thought. Headphones also blasting loud and angry metal songs I knew all too well. Upward reaching coils pinned into a mohawk sort of style, left her face in full view. And what cute little face did she have. Big doe eyes adorned with long lashes. A round nose that dotted her face with pouty lips that were full and lush. Her skin even, smooth and glowing with a deep sensual mahogany color. A cute beauty mark decorated the corner of her left eye. She certainly wasn't from around here. I could tell just from the way she carried herself. While others seemed more preoccupied with keeping up with the Joneses, she appeared aloof and unbothered by anything outside of what held her attention within her own thoughts.

"Uhg, this fucking girl..." Mr. Pelluci muttered. "Ms. Jones, didn't I talk to you about this!?" He scolded her. She pulled her headphones from her head.

"What? I didn't catch that." She said with raised brows.

"How you're dressed!" This started a brief back and forth between them that ended in Desiree making it clear why Mr. Pellucci really didn't approve of her attire which was well within the code.

"Listen if you want more titties popping around here then maybe you should show off those goddamn moobs of yours!" For the first time in I don't know how long, I actually cackled. So hard in fact my face turned red and my side began to hurt. "Ah, see this guy gets it." She grinned. Mr. Pellucci stomped off cursing and muttering about how she's lucky he respects veterans, leaving us in peace. Finally. Her eyes leer over to me. "You new?" I shake my head, no.

"Been here a couple months so far. You?"

"I started last week. I'm Desiree. But my friends call me D.J." She stepped over to shake my hand and oddly enough I felt no anxiety in her presence. Pretty girls in those times always filled me with dread and fear but this one, I felt something else. Like a refreshing breeze on a hot summer day. I gave her a firm handshake and a toothy smiled spread across that face with its flawless russet skin. Something sweet and warm radiated from her and I found myself smirking to myself. She's really cute. I thought. Which shocked me because she was the polar opposite of my infatuation, Michelle. Yet I found myself instantly smitten. She bit her bottom lip and all I could think was how badly I wanted to experience what it was like to kiss those lips. Both of them.

"I'm Connor. What time do you start your shift?"

"I got about ten minutes. You?" I tell her the same and she takes a peek at the work schedule.

"Aw fuck me, Michelle's working tonight? Welp there goes my chance of having an easy work load. She does abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Not that she has to being daddy's princess and all. God-fucking-damn it." She seemed really creative with the word 'fuck' and this made me grin like a stupid school boy.

"If you like I could try and get Mr. Pellucci to let you assist me at the bar. I honestly could use the extra help." I really wanted to have her within my vicinity so I could watch the sway of those fanned out hips. Or watch those full breasts fight desperately to be freed from the oversized blouse she tried to hide them under. Or just admire the hourglass figure perfectly packed into such a short frame. Then there's that bountiful ass. Not that I thought I had a shot with her, I just, at the very least, wanted to enjoy the view. But beneath that I also knew that if Michelle would be the only other waitress on foot, Desiree would definitely be left picking up the slack. Sure, I had my little obsession with her, but it was no secret that Michelle had no interest in actually pulling her weight. She had been working there on and off under the guise of her father extending some form of discipline. Every month she seemed to anger or embarrass him in some shape or form. And every month he'd send her there as a punishment. Only issue was, the rest of the staff were truly the ones being punished cleaning up after her, as she wasn't use to the job. Or any form a labor honestly. Desiree's brows furrowed as she pondered on my offer. Despite my offering her the favor she seemed apprehensive about accepting. Which caused me great confusion because I couldn't recall anyone resisting any olive branch extended by the son of Isaac Flynn.

"I also get off an hour early so if you're helping me, maybe he'll let you off early too?" I added. Please say yes.

"I don't want to burden you though..."

"You won't." I sounded way too eager but this went over her head. I began to question if this woman could tell when a man likes her.

"I do have a paper to write so getting off early would be great..." After what felt like ages she agrees and I go about buttering up Mr. Pellucci with talk of my father and putting in a good word before asking he have Desiree help me behind the bar. He easily complied which was expected. People rarely ever tell me 'no' in hopes to get in my father's good favor. I hate it but if it helps someone else as well as aid me in admiring a woman I was certain I'd never get to touch, then it was a win-win for me. The first hour goes well enough with Desiree at my side helping out. It was a slow night luckily and we spent most of our time talking and cracking jokes. In that time, I learned she was a veteran having served six years and was putting herself through school. Impressed, I said,

"Wow, well thank you for your service. I can't imagine doing any of that."

"Why not? If my chubby ass could, you can too. Be all you can be, pretty boy." She winked. The way she called me pretty boy didn't come off malicious but more like her weird way of giving me a compliment. Does she like me, too?

"You're not chubby. And I doubt I'm uh... you know, strong enough for that." I instantly regretted saying that. My father always told me to never show a woman your weakness and here I was doing exactly that within an hour of knowing this woman. Expecting her to be turned off by my statement, I found myself surprised when she said,

"You'd be surprised the person you're forced to become when survival is all you got. You end up doing shit and becoming something, you never thought you'd do or be. The real mind fuck is, it's not a matter of whether you're strong enough to endure, but are you strong enough to live with the monster you grow into... Or that everyone sees you as." A glint of sadness filtered through and I felt an eagerness to know what it was rooted in. The words she spoke touched something in me I didn't quite understand then. All I knew was that beneath the careless swagger and the hard work ethic was something vulnerable. As if that monster she spoke of, the one she might have been forced to become, was a tiring role for her. Yet here I was in need to be exactly that to feel free. But there was always something, or better yet, someone, getting in my way. The moment was cut short when a few frat boys sat at the bar already drunk and rowdy. This will not end well. I thought. Trailing behind them was Michelle who also had a few to drink.

"Hey, D.J. Hey Connor." She slurred.

"And so the fuckery begins." Desiree mumbled. "Didn't your shift start over an hour ago, Michelle?"

"I had things to do. I told daddy I'd be late." Michelle answered Desiree before sashaying away to clock in, leaving her fraternity friends to order drinks. I forgot exactly how things went south but it started with one of Michelle's friends asking me was I really Isaac Flynn's son. I simply nodded and kept working.

"You sure? You look nothing like him, dude."

"He looks more like a she." Another sneered.

They all laughed. That all too familiar rage mixed with humiliation build up and my jaw flex under the skin. Michelle returned to the bar completely ignoring whatever table she was supposed to wait on. She didn't hide her amusement as her friends made more snide remarks at my expense.