Futanari Notebook Ch. 48

"Here you go!" Stacy chirped and set the steaming cup in front of her latest admirer. He said his thanks, eyes ogling her chest, then her rear as she walked on. Everyone did it. She didn't blame them, after all she had more curves than her co-workers, though Mel wasn't anything to sneeze at. Maybe ask her out sometime, Stacy thought, but pushed it down in an acidic pit. No dating co-workers. It'd just remind her of everything.

But she never forgot. Everyday, she regretted taking that deal, stared at her phone for minutes at a time pining for a call or a text saying she was free, yet it never came. Nothing did. Those suits hadn't contacted her in weeks either, not that they cared. Who did?

"Everything alright?" Mel asked.

"Yeah, fine. Why?"

"You're frowning."

"Oh, sorry," Stacy said and made a show of wiping her face, the scowl coming off on her hand, "All better."

Mel chuckled and rolled her eyes, "You're allowed to frown once in a while. We're waitresses, our job sucks. No one expects a smile 24/7."

"Thanks, but that's how I do things. Service with a smile can improve someone's day."

"Or they snap at you for it."

"Hmm..." Stacy knew who she referred to. It was that awful blonde girl that frequented the café, always scantly clad, with big, rotund boobs faker than her hair and an attitude like highly-condensed saccharin mixed with cobra venom. There was no better description for the appearance that, from afar, Stacy otherwise enjoyed, juxtaposed by a personality so bratty that she was tempted to slap her. She never slapped anyone! Even the bullies way back in school that would take her lunch, or rip her clothes and make her do jumping jacks because her belly jiggled. Some people were just worse.

This girl didn't have any better case. There was something about the way she looked at Stacy, like she knew everything in her personal life and took glee from its dismal mediocrity. Of course, the fact that even the slightest imperfection in her order was met by poison, including a remark about Stacy using her breast milk for the coffee. She didn't deserve it, not one drop.

Not that Stacy did much with it anymore. The last time she mixed her own milk into an order was simultaneously her brightest day in weeks, and the rebirth of a dark cloud in her mind. That was when Carmen showed up, accompanied by a cute redhead. Watching her drink her milk again, even if from afar, renewed all her memories. All those evenings working side by side, then the nights, few as they were, spent feeling the love of another.

Which just made her new life all the lonelier. She had Mel to talk with, the others weren't bad either, yet none of them made work seem like a hobby anymore. At Sooth the Soul, she didn't glance at the clock - too busy stealing looks at Carmen's figure - and those breaks were so precious - because of Carmen - that she cherished it all.

"You're frowning again," Mel said.

Stacy didn't try clearing it up. Her body felt heavy, "I'm taking my break, is that okay?"

"Sure. We're not that busy right now."

It was worse than yesterday, but this reoccurred without fail. Something, the smallest reminder, and all she thought of was Carmen. Carmen, Carmen, Carmen... then resentment toward those people that forced them apart filtered in. The hardest part was the arousal. It made identifying feelings harder when thinking of her ex-girlfriend made her horny.

Not to mention the constant urge to masturbate while at work. That wasn't the reason for taking her break, since it was futile anyway. Nothing since that night made her cum. Maybe that explained her frequent binges. She had good money from the insurance, enough that with her job she could live comfortably for many, many years, which meant extra food budget. Without her own shop, there was nothing to captivate her. So she ate.

And that showed. Stacy pulled on her bra straps, which bit deep into her shoulders, its cups too small and under prepared for her leakage. Fortunately, half her weight gain bypassed her stomach in favour of her hips and bust. She'd gone up four cup sizes since the fire and none of her old pants fit. She could try a skirt, but none covered much past her butt cheeks, and she only wore them for special occasions. They were more for a partner's sake, easy access. She wore one to work and, when it slowed down enough, Carmen snuck a finger underneath. The door to the break room opened and startled her.

Moisture spread from her nipples. Less obvious to observers, but just as prevalent to her, a musky dampness pooled between her thighs. Frustration didn't begin to comprehend her needs. This was her life now.

She reheated leftovers from last night and grabbed a muffin, burying her desires in calories. Good thing her scales broke last month, she'd already gained ten pounds by then and her habits were only worsening. There was still so long left in the day, or it felt that way, despite only being a couple more hours for her shift. As she ate, she wiped at her top until the stains were unnoticeable.

"I gotta get it together," Stacy sighed. It was obvious Carmen had moved on, but that was youth, they had new relationships every other week. Not that Carmen was like that at all. If not for that fire, they'd have gone to that cabin, performed sapphic rituals only for their enjoyment and continued even when they returned. No, if she kept thinking of what could've been, she'd cry. Tears of frustration and loss hurt more than she cared to admit.

Her break finished and she returned to work. That unruly girl with the fake boobs was back, her expression sour, and none of the other servers ventured anywhere near her. Stacy breathed deep and forced a smile, a practice she'd grown used to lately.

"Hello, has your order been taken?"

"You took your fucking time, fat ass. Get me a latte, extra foam, and a cranberry muffin. A good one, not that shit from last time."

"Okay," Stacy said, jotting it down in her little pad, "Anything else?"

"No, I would've said if there was, stupid cunt. Fuck, why'd I even bother getting that place burned down?"

Stacy flinched. Was this girl an arsonist? Should she call the police? No, couldn't be, it was just a video game or something. Teens got so obsessed sometimes.

"I mean, you're still smiling like everything's all sunshine and fucking rainbows. Should've locked you inside. That would've shown her."

There was no phone or earpiece in sight. She was talking to Stacy, as if she knew about the fire. As if she caused it.

"What do you mean?" Stacy asked, smile faltering.

The blonde smirked, "Guess you've got fat for brains too. Figure it out, fatty."

"Did you burn my shop down?" It was the only question on her mind and it slipped out. She didn't want to accuse someone, especially when they were clearly confused about what they wanted in life. It took a special person to get implants so young.

"Not personally. But maybe I should've. Carmen would've punched me instead, then I'd never have to see her again. And what the fuck happened to the others? Fucking cunts all started munching that bitch's carpet. Can you believe that? Some people, am I right?"

"And those guys in suits?"

"Hmm? Don't know what you're talking about. I just wanted to teach her a lesson. What? Did they make you guys break up? Hah! Oh that... that's perfect!" The blonde chortled.

"I could've died."

"So?"

"I..." Stacy backed away. That urge to attack this sociopath coursed through her muscles and mind, envisioning that surgically perfect face bloodied and bruised.

"Fuck, you're so worthless. Get me my order, cow tits."

Stacy hurried back to the counter, away from the potential murder scene. It was her! 'How' didn't even cross her mind, only that it was undoubtedly because of this blonde... this bitch that Carmen was forced from her. That she was forced to ignore the calls and messages, to run away at the slightest glimpse in public, that she couldn't even say more than a few words when she came in not long ago. Not only that, but Stacy's business, her years of work... up in smoke.

"You okay?" Mel asked, "Stacy?"

"I'm fine," Stacy mumbled, "I'm leaving early. Sorry."

"No worries. Get some rest, alright?"

Stacy nodded and went to change. If she stayed, then she might kill someone. Instead, she returned home and laid on her bed, numb after the revelation, unsure if she wanted to cry or break something or suffocate the feelings in food. In the end, her appetite won out and she followed every nineties' rom-com cliché, shovelling ice cream down her throat until it froze her very thoughts. Once out, she finally cried herself to sleep.

The following days were better. The blonde didn't show up and Stacy proceeded about her day on auto-pilot, unthinking, unfeeling, just smiling and talking. Summer was in full force, but the heat didn't bother her. The chill in her blood was still there, perpetually cooling her from within. So it went for weeks. Less teenagers appeared as schools resumed and business slowed enough for small talk between waitresses. Stacy didn't participate much.

A few weeks crept by in that monotonous pace that she numbly disdained, until a new wave of misery washed over her. Hell itself had finally invaded Earth, though it was only in the form of a sight she would gladly erase from her memory if given the chance. That despicable girl walked along, confident and unbidden by society's dress code as ever, but someone accompanied her this time, just as underdressed and even more familiar; Carmen. Did things not work with the cute redhead? Was she into the fake look of the blonde?

Why was she with someone like that?

"God, they should cover up," Mel said.

"Yeah," Stacy murmured and cleared a vacant table, her expression just as empty. Carmen didn't know. She couldn't, otherwise there'd be no chance she'd even glance at the blonde with anything more than disgust. God, she was gorgeous though. Carmen never dressed so provocatively before, but now it showed off all that noble skin and pushed her beautiful curves to the forefront. Even the bulge between her legs was pronounced.

Bulge? Carmen didn't... no, that's right. Carmen had confided in her when they got together that she was also unusual, a futanari, born with both genitals. It was part of why they bonded so well, each different and wonderful.

Now she showed it off for all to see. That didn't irk Stacy, but the idea of that blonde slut even feeling her love's former secret had steam rising from her skin. A glass shattered in her hand, cold fluid trickled down it. She looked and found streams of blood gushing from her palm, embedded with shards.

"Oh my god, Stacy, are you alright? Come on, let's get that looked at."

"It's fine," Stacy said. It didn't hurt. Or maybe it did and she was too caught up in her own mind to process it?

"Matt, clean up the mess for me. Thanks." Mel guided the emotionally destitute woman into the back and pulled each shard out. Luckily, there were no small pieces, so it went smoothly. She wiped at the blood, disinfected the wound and bandaged it.

"You're good at that," Stacy noted.

"Yeah, well, I was trying to be a doctor, but didn't have the money. A few more years and I'll be set," Mel said.

"Isn't it a little late?"

"Hey, thirty's the new twenty-eight."

"I know someone like you," Stacy reminisced, the sting from her hand finally came to light, "She used to work for me. Brilliant girl, but she didn't have much money. Saved my business more than once."

"She sounds nice."

Stacy looked at her co-worker. Mel didn't have the raw sensuality Carmen did, but her plump body had plenty of curve to it, and her freckles were cute, especially on her round cheeks. In thirty years time, she'd have the perfect, kindly grandmother appearance, the sort that had cookies baked right before family showed up.

"Hey," Stacy said, getting her attention, "Are you... um... would you be up for getting a drink tonight? Together?"

Mel blushed, "Yeah, sure."

It went well. Stacy hadn't drunk alcohol in years, not since she started using her milk for her coffee blends, but that wasn't an issue now. As the buzz got in her head, she rejoiced in blissful ignorance of all her problems and focused on Mel, who joined her back home after the bar closed. They had more drinks and things turned hazy, but Stacy didn't need a clear memory to know what happened when she woke up the next morning.

"Hi," Mel groaned, sitting up. Her hair was a tangled mess of curls, and dried splashes covered her face. No doubt, things had escalated last night, though she didn't seem put off by it. As for Stacy, she still tasted pussy on her tongue, along with a bittersweet, but creamy flavour, "You're incredible."

"I don't even remember it," Stacy groaned, rubbing at her head, which throbbed from its first hangover in nearly a decade.

"Yeah, you got drunk pretty quick," Mel chuckled and stretched, then collapsed back on the bed, "Maybe I overdid it too."

"Wanna call in sick?"

"Yes please."

If Carmen could move onto someone like that girl, then Stacy should too. Of course, Mel was nothing like the blonde. Courteous, thoughtful, and her sometimes foul mouth was often preoccupied with other things. The milk didn't perturb her, in fact, like Carmen, she enjoyed it greatly. As the days turned to weeks, Stacy woke in bed with her co-worker more and more. Sometimes with a hangover, other times just the simple frustration of failing to cum again. She faked it for Mel's sake, and she was wet enough to get away with it, but that was just obfuscating the issue; no relationship could be built on lies.

She'd come clean eventually. For now, she craved the distraction, which Mel provided in droves. Stacy hadn't seen Carmen or that bitch either, which made it easy to put them from her mind most days, others not so much as all she could think of were how much better she was for Carmen. There was no way that blonde skank gave her the same satisfaction.

It always came back to Carmen. Even on a break with Mel in the restroom, her new lover drinking her dry to avoid anymore leaks, all Stacy thought of was how much better Carmen was. There was just something about her tongue, her lips, her hands, her... it was embarrassing to think that, at her age, Stacy was hopelessly enamoured with the one thing she couldn't have. Like a celebrity crush, except one that she had once fulfilled.

Some nights she just stared at her phone in hopes of a call. That night saw her doing so, naked and waiting for her bath to reach its perfect temperature before she went out with Mel, phone in hand and Carmen's contact staring her in the face. Still no contact from the people keeping them apart. Was the condition lifted? Did they think she'd slip up and they could take back all the hush money?

Ridiculous. Everything since then seemed that way. From the shadows keeping them from reuniting, to the fact a stupid teenage brat was the cause, and worsened only by Carmen being with said brat. Why couldn't she just forget and move on? Carmen did. Twice now.

"Act your age," Stacy said to her phone, focusing on her reflection in its screen, "You're the adult. Carmen's still young. She's figuring stuff out. You know who you are and what you want."

The affirmations did nothing. She tossed it aside, intent on bathing the troubles away, then drowning them in wine and food later. Nothing killed them, just slowed them down. There was only one thing that would bury them so deep they never returned, but she didn't dare, lest Carmen be endangered. Misery was her burden to bear.

Her ringtone rang out as her toe touched the water, "Hello?!" Stacy shouted, not even checking the ID.

"Hi, Stacy. Can I come over? We need to talk."