Hoover

Hoover stared out the window. He was keyed up but tried not to show it, so he pretended to be watching something outside while his hands fidgeted with the silverware. It had been a long day: business meetings, webinars, and far too many powerpoint presentations. A woman named Anna smiled at him once but he didn't see her again while in that office. Other than that, it was business as usual.

Like a slow moving tide, the stirrings were great within Hoover - in his head, his breast and, of course, lower. So it was that he found himself thusly: occupying a window booth at Hooters. The girl seating him was certainly attractive and another, a curvy brunette, had caught his eye. He was hoping, almost desperately, that he was in her section. In an effort not to be terribly creepy he continued to stare at the nonexistent thing through the glass. On the outside he was cool, he thought, but on the inside he was wishing with great fervor.

"Hi, I'm Elsie, dear. What can I get for you?"

Hoover started. She had snuck up behind him and, while introducing herself, slid into the booth seat next to him. He dropped the fork he was toying with and moved over slightly so that he could turn to look at her fully. Elsie was a bleached blonde young thing with breasts a bit too big for her narrow frame. She looked downright skinny, Hoover thought, and her nose was slightly bent. Still, she was a damned sight better than his ex!

"Hi, Elsie. Everyone calls me Hoover. Can I get a beer? Whatever you have on tap is fine," Hoover replied.

"Sure, hon. Do you know what you'd like to eat or do you need more time?" and she smiled with teeth far too white.

"Uh, wings, I guess," Hoover panicked. Why did he say wings? Messy and he'll feel it the next morning, for sure. But he just blurted it out. Too late to change his order though, he was trying to act assured.

"You got it, dear. I'll get that order in right now and," she placed her hand on his shoulder, "if you need anything else, just come find me!"

Hoover stared after her as she left. She was shorter than he originally thought and was indeed very thin. Her hair, though unnatural in hue, did cascade a fair distance down her back, which was a plus in Hoover's book. And, peeking out just a bit from above her orange shorts was a tattoo. Hoover immediately assumed that Elsie MUST be very sexual and, perhaps, kinky to boot.

Which was very unlike his dumpy, frumpy, mousy ex-wife. His ex brought new meaning to the word 'frigid' and would only allow sex on special occasions. She claimed, of course, that it was Hoover's fault, that he had let himself go. Which, he supposed, was slightly true. It's hard to eat healthy on the road and so many meetings are built around breakfast, brunch, lunch, et cetera. On top of that is the requisite drinks at the bar afterward. Hoover was glad he ducked out of that responsibility tonight. Elsie seemed a much better option.

Hoover wondered what the rest of that tramp stamp looked like. He imagined her bare assed, on her hands and knees, while he fucked her from behind. He could almost see her looking over her shoulder at him. He also imagined his belly a bit flatter, his cock a bit stiffer and, while he was at it, Elsie actually enjoying it. The idea of illicit piercings captured his mind - after all, she has a tattoo, perhaps her nipples or clit is pierced as well. He couldn't wait to find out.

At that moment in his reverie, Elsie approached with his beer and wings, a basket of fries beside. "Heya, dear. The kitchen screwed up and had these extra fries ready. You looked hungry," and she smiled again, "so I thought I'd give 'em to you. No charge. I take care of my customers!"

"Thanks, Elsie, this is just great," Hoover replied. As she leaned forward to place the food on his table, he couldn't help but peer down her cleavage, as though there was something to be found in its depths. He took a pull of his beer and wondered what it'd be like to tit-fuck her. Heavenly, he decided.

His ex didn't like him to play with her breasts. Hers were small and almost hard but, still, he liked to suckle, pinch and play with them. It was probably five years ago or so when she moved out after he grabbed at them. He was drunk - too many beers on the 4th of July - and thought, perhaps, that today should have been a special occasion. Apparently it was not. His ex declared it the last straw, packed up her things and moved. Which wasn't hard as she only went up one flight of stairs to Billy Jackson's apartment. Technically, they were still married. Hoover supposed that he wasn't even worth going through the process of a divorce.

Billy Jackson. Just thinking about him pissed Hoover off. Bad enough that his ex moved in with him. But, for some reason, he has many more special occasions than Hoover did - he could hear them up above. So much so that he took to sleeping on the couch, just so he didn't hear them banging away: moaning, shouting and what not. The bastard. Hoover still had no idea what his nasty ex saw in the man - fucking musicians.

Downing the last of his beer, he waved at Elsie and lifted his mug. She nodded and went towards the bar. Hoover watched and decided that, perhaps, she wasn't really that skinny. In fact, he could clearly see some nice curves on her. He did not look away as she brought him his beer. His gaze was appraising and almost proprietary. He wondered what time she got off. He wondered what it would feel like for her to give him head. He wondered what she tasted like.

"Here you go, sugar. You're not driving tonight, are you?" asked Elsie.

"Nope, I'm staying right up there," and Hoover pointed at the hotel across the way, "Room 327, which is why I'm here. I could see the restaurant from my window." Smooth, Hoover thought, now she knows how to find me. He congratulated himself and sipped his beer.

"Wow, you got quite a view up there! You weren't peeking down at us, were you?" and with false modesty she held a hand over her breasts, smiling.

"Sadly, I left my binoculars at home, which is why I had to come down here to peek," Hoover tried a smile of his own on her. This was going well!

Elsie laughed and slapped him lightly on his arm. "Well good for you. Plenty to see here, isn't there?"

"Nah, not really, I only noticed you," Hoover lied.

"Aren't you a sweet thing? I gotta run, dear. I'll check back on you in a minute." It seemed to Hoover though that her butt swayed just a bit more, just for him, as she walked away.

Hoover stayed late, relishing every interaction with Elsie who was clearly spending more time with him than her other customers. He polished off all of his food and had probably two, maybe three, beers too many. So it was when Elsie dropped off his bill at closing time that he was quite fuzzy and fuddled. Slipping a $100 bill into the bill folder, he personally handed it to Elsie.

"Thanks, Elsie dear. You were great," he said sincerely.

"You're welcome, hon. You be careful getting back to your room. Remember where you're going?" she asked.

"327. Yup, I'm good. Thanks," he paused, hoping for more touch - a hug or some such - and he got it, a pat on the arm though. But she smiled at Hoover, looked at him directly, and wished him a good night. "Come back and see me," she said.

A bit over an hour later, Hoover saw Elsie leaving the restaurant through his own reflection in the glass. A ghost of Hoover was presented there: naked except for his boxers, double chin, double gut, receding hairline. His eyes were bleary from the beer and his skin almost clammy in appearance. The ghost did not mock him though, he still had hope. As such, he had positioned his chair so that he could see down to the restaurant better. Sure enough, Elsie exited and as she crossed the lot he did his best to will her to look up at him, to head towards his hotel, to come spend time with him.

Instead she was met by some guy on a motorcycle - a crotch rocket with barely enough room on the back for her. He imagined he could see that tattoo from where he sat, leering at him now as Elsie rode off into the night and out of his imagination. Muttering to himself over his own foolishness, Hoover turned out the light and went to bed, all alone.