Secret Menu

{Secret Menu}

~{*****}~

Retail sucks. Having a phone makes it a little better, but also a little worse, because then I'm on my phone. I can practically feel my mind rotting as I scroll through social media, looking at people's inane posts, looking at their vapid vacation photos and their dumb pets.

"Hey, Sawyer." I hear.

That's me. I'm Sawyer. Getting that out of the way.

"Do you...think you could take a bear in a fight?"

The person asking me that question is Kim, or Kimberly, one of my two co-workers. One major difference between Kim and the people I usually see on social media is that she knows when she's being stupid. I don't know if we're friends exactly, but we get along pretty well, despite our differences.

One major one is that Kim's definitely prettier than me, something I struggle not to be bitter about. Her brown skin always looks like it's glowing, whereas I'm lucky if my pale, pasty ass gives off a dull glimmer. She has long, beautiful black dreads with a few red ones mixed in, with a couple beads and plastic bits for highlights. I, on the other hand, have limp, wispy blond hair that never grows past my neck. She has kind eyes and a pretty smile and always seems to be brimming with energy. I have a face that looks like I'm always bored, tired, or both. Kim is slim and fit, with a little bit of muscle definition. Strong, slender arms, cute, decent sized tits, and visible hips to boot. She both runs on weekends and goes to the gym a couple days a week, so it makes sense. Meanwhile I'm short and kinda fat, with a figure like one of those infuriating wobbly clown things kids like to beat the shit out of. The best thing I have going for me--and the only thing I have on Kim--are my boobs, but even still.

"...Probably not?" I reply when my brain finally catches up to the absurd question it's been asked, putting my phone away. "I think I'd probably die."

So then Kim proceeds to both explain her position and simultaneously justify her reason for asking the question in the first place, holding back laughter all the while.

"Well--hhhmm--I think I would try to confuse him. Hhhmm--I'd get real low to the ground, and I'd juke back and forth, and then I'd smack him in the face with a tree branch and run under his legs!"

"Where would you get the tree branch?"

"I don't know, it's a forest. I'd find one."

"You really think that would work?"

"Probably not, but you gotta try something!"

"So...you're not actually talking about beating the bear in a fight, or killing it," I say patiently. "You're just...running away?"

"Yeah!" She replies. "Hey, if you find yourself face to face with a bear in the wild, and you get away alive, I'd consider that a victory."

She's got me there.

This is the point where Hanna, our other co-worker, walks in from the kitchen, hauling two large garbage bags over her back. She had been in the back, cleaning out the grease traps. While me and Kim often work under the policy of "do as little work as we can possibly get away with", Hanna often goes around to see what jobs still need to be done and does them. I try to tell her it's not worth it for what they pay us, but she does it anyway.

"Damn, Hanna, are you sure you don't need any help with that?" Kim asks.

Hanna just shakes her head. "It's okay, I need the exercise."

Hanna's large and imposing--a little bit overweight but taller than either of us. She's also old enough to be either of our moms. I think she's in her fifties? She's Polish-American--she doesn't have an accent but her grandmother was born there and apparently just made it out of the country before the Germans invaded. Wild shit. Anyway, she's great. Sometimes we just sit around and listen to her stories about visiting her grandmother, who apparently went back to Poland after the war was over and her daughter was fully grown. Hanna herself kinda acts like a mom, offering us advice, checking in on us and keeping us safe while we handle our other business.

We all work at President Burger, a fast food restaurant of extremely middling success that is not even nearly as much of a household name as a Burger King or a Mickey D's. Maybe you've seen our cheaply produced, weirdly jingoistic commercials on TV. "You don't want a burger monarch. You don't want a burger Czar. You want President Burger, where your vote counts." When you step up to the counter (you, not me) you see all the ingredients laid out behind the glass and you get to watch us build you a burger of your own design, from "scratch" as it were.

For a gloriously patriotic minimum wage, me, Kim, and Hanna get to smile politely--well, I don't smile, I just don't say any of the dozen expletives running through my mind out loud, which is good enough for our manager--while customers whisper about our tits no more than five feet from the counter, scream angrily and fling spittle from their bulging, sweaty, vein-popping faces because we got their order wrong--whether or not we actually did--and leave all their garbage on their tables until it's spilling out onto the floor. And then one of us gets to clean it up because we don't have a designated janitor. But it's not all bad. If someone is particularly shitty to us, or if someone's the normal amount of shit on a bad day, it does feel pretty good to spit in their coffee. Or worse, depending on just how much of a shit they are. To be clear, Kim is just a bit too nice to do those things. I'm not.

Brian, our manager, comes out of his office smiling and jingling his keys. He's actually younger than all of us, still in college like I am, but despite the perplexing nature of his job superiority, he's actually an okay guy. He's sympathetic when customers treat us like crap, even if he rarely sides with us. He's just kind of a stiff and has a bit too much faith in the corporate process, you know what I mean? He's had a bit of the Kool-Aid, if people even still say that.

"Hey guys, seems like a slow day, so I'm gonna head out for the night. You guys okay here on your own?"

He's right. It's a Sunday evening and we've had maybe 2 customers for the whole day.

"Yeah, no problems here, Brian," I say. "Have a good night."

Kim and I wave as he heads out the door. Brian's nice enough, but we haven't told him everything that goes on here. I don't think he'd take it well.

Hanna comes back in from taking out the trash and stands in front of the counter, looking back and forth between the two of us and smiling. "So how are you girls doing today?"

"Doing okay, Hanna, thanks for asking," Kim answers. "I just hit a thousand subs on my channel, so feeling pretty good about that. How about yourself?"

Kim was a...a content creator, I guess you'd call it? She has a YouTube channel and streams every so often on Twitch. She uses one of those vtuber things that I'm convinced are gonna enslave the human race one of these days. On YouTube she does music reviews, skits and reaction videos, and despite how that sounds most of the non-music videos I've seen are actually pretty good. On Twitch she alternates between gaming and "Just talking", which means she just kinda hangs out for a while? Amazing the things you can do for money these days. Her animated avatar is some kind of bat-girl with green hair that I'm pretty sure someone's horny for, but Kim likes the anonymity of it. On top of all that she also has a workout podcast that hasn't quite gotten any traction yet. I've told her it might be a better idea to just stick to one or two things, but I think she has too many passions to choose.

"I can't complain," Hanna replies. "I'm alive and healthy." Man, that's kind of a low bar.

"Well it's good to hear you're alive," I say. "I wouldn't have noticed otherwise." Hanna takes it in stride, her good-natured-ness shining through my cynicism like it usually does.

"What about you, Sawyer, how have you been?"

I shrug. "Same old, same old. I'm making it work."

I've been in college for the past four years after starting late, and I work part time. I know I'm gonna be up to my ass in debt after I graduate, so I'm making what I can here to see if I can make my life a little easier. As it is, most of the time I'm either studying, in school or at work. I don't have much of a social life outside of that. Kim on the other hand never went to college, despite having gotten offers. I guess she thought the prospect of crippling debt well into her thirties was maybe not all that thrilling. Seeing as I'm already swimming in loans at this point she probably had the right idea.

Hanna looks like she wants to ask me something else but just then the bell that hangs above the door jingles as it opens and two young looking men step inside, both about Kim's height. One of them is wearing a lime green hoodie and a yellow beanie over curly brown hair, a Sublime shirt and sweatpants beneath that. Dude must've been roasting in the middle of summer. The other guy has darker, tannish skin and a beard, dressed in a white collared shirt and jeans. He could be Hispanic or middle eastern, as far as I can tell.

The two of them seem a bit nervous as they enter, the white guy looking back over his shoulder. Pretty sure I know why. They step up next to the counter and Hanna steps back to give them some room.

"Hey, welcome to President Burger," I say in my practiced monotone into the mic. "Can I help you?"

The white guy looks nervously back at his friend, or at least the person I assume is. "Hi, yeah." He pauses to chuckle nervously. "Do you think I could get a number eleven?"

I shoot a quick, business-like glance at Kim, who sends me one in turn. There's another similar exchange between me and Hanna from across the room. The menu hanging above our heads has ten items to choose from. The salary I get from President Burger is hot garbage. But that doesn't mean I don't make decent money here.

"Sir, we don't have a number eleven on our menu," I say, staring the increasingly uncomfortable looking young man right in the eyes. "Are you sure you know what you're asking for?"

He nods firmly several times. "Yes, I'm sure."

"And you?" I ask, turning towards his friend.

"Yeah," He nods, his face solemn. "I'm with him."

Yup, figured as much. "Can I see some ID?"

This part's pretty important. They both nod and I receive two driver's licenses to inspect. Both seem legit and both check out. DOB says they're not teenagers.

"Alright sir," I say, handing them back their IDs. "You and your friend can follow me and Kim here, and we'll show you exactly where to go to get your order." I glance over at Hanna once more. "Hanna, will you be okay at the front counter here?"

"Of course," She nods back. "There haven't been any customers all day, so I shouldn't need any help."

"Alright, well you have us on mic," I answer back, smirking. "So give us a call if you need anything, okay?" President Burger gives us these little headsets, kinda like what you see people using to shout slurs at each other on online gaming platforms. It's supposed to help us communicate easier on the job and work together, and I mean, I guess that's what we're still doing.

Hanna smiles back and nods. "Will do."

With that settled me and Kim step out from behind the counter and lead the two men around to the back exit of the restaurant. "After you," I say, opening the door and gesturing with my arm.

Just before they go through Hanna calls back to them and waves, a smile spread across her lips with just the slightest of edges to it. "Behave yourselves," She says.

***

The four of us step out into the alley behind the restaurant, all of us knowing why we're there. It's later in the day but it's still relatively light out, with the sun and--to be fair to the guy in the sweatpants--a decent amount of heat being blocked behind a bunch of clouds. This particular alley did not open out into a sidewalk, being bordered by at least one no-longer-in-use building, so it was nice and isolated.

At some point while working here, I started thinking about a better, more reliable way to make money. I studied first of course, learning how other people did this kind of thing, and having majored in business and minoring in math helped a lot too. It took a bit of convincing to get Kim involved, but she was eventually as excited to try it as she is with most other things. And Hanna? Well...Hanna just makes sure we don't get caught.

"So let's see the money," I say, ensuring we take care of the most important part first.

The dark skinned guy nods and fishes his wallet out of his pocket. When he holds it open I can see that there are a few hundred dollar bills in there. Perfect.

"Okay, here's the run-down," I say matter-of-factly. "100 for hands. 200 for mouths. 400 for pussy. For each of you. Payment up front, of course." We used to have a more expensive option for anal, but even with lube dudes wound up being too big and too rough, and more than willing to pay.

"Damn," The white guy mutters. "That's a big jump at the end there."

"Yeah, well," I reply. "There's a pretty big difference between getting a stranger off and getting fucked by a stranger. If you really want it, you can pay a little extra."

"Okay, okay," He says, holding his hands up defensively. "No offense meant."

I shrug aloofly. "No offense taken." I think sometimes people find it hard to tell whether I'm mad or not. To be fair, my expression and tone of voice don't really help.

"I guess I'm gonna go with, uh, mouth?" The guy with the money says. "As for my friend...?" He turns expectantly.

"Uhhhhhh...I guess I'll go with pussy," Says Mr. hoodie. "Assuming my friend's okay with that."

"Who's going with who?" I ask. "That's gonna affect payment. I'd say that the one paying gets first pick, but you work it out among yourselves."

"Nah, that sounds fine to me," The white guy rubs the back of his neck, grinning nervously. "Marco here is treating me, so it's his call."

I'm half-paying attention. I know they're gonna pick me last, it's what I'm used to. It doesn't bother me but I expect it. After all, me standing next to Kim? Kim's hot. I'd even go as far as to say she's beautiful.

"Hey, I think I'd like to go with you?" The dark-skinned guy says, his intonation making it sound more like a question than a statement.

"Me?" I ask, blinking. I am genuinely surprised.

"Yeah, you seem cool," He says. "I like your voice."

Ah. So that's what it is.

"But it's not just that," He adds, shaking his head. "You're cute, too."

Huh. Go figure.

He hands each of us our pay, two hundreds for me, and four for Kim. I stuff the money in my pocket and lead him over to one of the alley walls, Kim doing the same with her guy. It almost feels like we're boxers going to our respective corners, except we're on a team?

My guy leans back against the hard brick wall and looks down at me. He's not tall, but he's taller than me. I study his face. He's trying to seem composed but I can tell he's nervous. I haven't seen him here before so I assume he doesn't usually do things like this.

I mentioned earlier that I made up for all my rejections in high school when I was in college. One time at a party, I pulled a dude aside, took him into a bathroom and went down on him. Amazingly, when he realized what I wanted to do, he gladly accepted it. It was the first time anybody had ever wanted me like that, so I did it a few more times. Eventually, word spread--at least behind closed doors--and the more I did it, the better I got. Suffice it to say, that experience comes in pretty handy in my current line of work. And I don't mean the burgers.

As I grab the guy's belt, he pipes up again, chuckling anxiously. "So, um, how old are you girls again, exactly?"

I snort and shake my head a little. He's asking this now? "I'm 23," I say. "Kim is a little older. I wanna say...27? I guess I should know this. Sorry Kim," I say, turning back towards her.

"28," She replies over her shoulder. "Just turned 28 this April. Really fun party! And no worries, Sawyer, after 21 the years start to blur together. I don't know how old I am half the time!"

"Satisfied?" I ask, turning back to the guy. He nods. Credit where credit's due, not everyone asks.

So. I undo the buckle of his belt and pull it through the loops, then I unbutton his jeans. I don't tease, I don't waste his time. I'm giving him what he paid for. I sink to the hard blacktop on my knees, my work uniform still on. Thankfully the pants are thick enough to provide a semi-decent barrier between my knees and the rough gravel. I push the flexible microphone of my headset away from my face to get it out of the way and I turn the hat with the President Burger logo on it backwards. I pull his zipper down, then when his pants are loose enough, those come next. I pull them carefully over the hardened lump in his boxers--if I had to guess, I'd say he's probably had an erection since we came out here, if not longer.

"You wanna keep these on, or off?" I ask.

"Ummmmm..." He hesitates. "Off?"

I nod. Then I take his waistband in both hands and stretch it back, out and over his hard-on, then down with the rest of his clothes, letting it settle over the heap of his jeans. I look up at him to gauge his reaction for a moment, then I take the brown bulb of his cock past my lips.

I hear him exhale when I do it, his breath shivering along with the rest of him. I notice his hands lingering uncertainly near my head but I don't offer him any help making that decision. He's circumcised, so it makes my job a little easier. I bob softly a few times, letting him get used to it, then I lean forward, resting my hands flat against the solid, slightly damp wall behind us.

I go all the way until my face hits his hairy crotch, letting his mushroom tip sink back into my narrow throat. I don't gag, having long since learned how to control that reflex. I certainly did plenty when I was starting out, but that's the thing about any skill, you know? His hands are still awkwardly twitching and flexing at his sides, his fingers clutching at air. I roll my eyes and take one of my hands from the wall and pat the back of my head, looking up at him. When he still hesitates I nod impatiently, or at least as much as I can. He nods back in understanding and shakily thanks me.

He puts his hands on my head but doesn't push, resting them there over my red cap. I pull back slowly, letting my excess spit lube him up a bit, then I sink back down to his bush. It doesn't take long for me to get going, and my client lets out a low, gratified moan. Behind me I hear the sounds of both that first, wet, tentative penetration, and Kim and her client gasping with the same, early shock to their systems that my guy already went through. I come up off his dick for a second and glance back over my shoulder. Kim has her hands up on the bricks and her legs spread apart, knees slightly bent. Her ass is mostly obscured by one pale, thrusting, pimpled ass, the guy's sweatpants down around his sneakers. Part of me just wants to watch Kim get railed for the next couple of minutes, but I have a job to do.

"Sorry," I say, turning back to my own client. "Got distracted for a second."

I dive back down on the guy's crotch, my hands on his darkly tanned thighs. I speed up, while making sure to go all the way down and all the way back up every time. The guy has about 8 to 9 inches on him, so it's not that easy to calm my gag reflex, but his shaft is pretty skinny, so it's also not that hard. He lets out another long, agonized moan and I can feel his hands shaking and twitching against the back of my hat. I don't go easy on him though. As I hear wet slapping sounds echoing off the wall behind us and hear Kim's short little grunting gasps, I redouble my efforts. Now I only come all the way up on every sixth or seventh bob or something like that; mostly I'm just hammering my lips and cheeks into his crotch, letting my throat work the higher, more sensitive parts of his penis without having to focus on it.