The Café Pt. 01

Chris Newman stepped onto the pavement from the front door of his office building. He had been into work early and now it seemed just the right time for a coffee, a good cup of coffee not instant or from the office machine. Freshly roasted Arabica was what he hoped to seek out.

He had seen the little café whilst walking through Soho, not far from his office, and had liked the appearance of its green painted exterior. There was nothing 'chain' looking about it, just a little independent sort of café. Not Starbucks, Café Nero or Costa but a little 'genuine' place, or so he hoped. He was not to be disappointed. Indeed, he was not going to be at all disappointed in the little café; though he had no idea as he strolled towards it in the winter sunshine just how important it would prove to him.

Chris was a moderately successful executive. Moderately successful at most things even his marriage which had gone fairly well until a few years before. Still, it had not been a terribly acrimonious break up. She and he could perhaps still be described as 'friends' and the divorce had not greatly upset the children - one of each - already at university. He was also moderately successful at golf and moderately successful in his private finances. Early fifties and with a good enough physique even if his hair had prematurely greyed; but even that was moderately successful - it had not thinned at all.

The 'ting' of the bell as he entered the café pleased him. It had a reassuringly old-fashioned sound, it was indeed a real bell, and the chairs, table, décor and counter of the place gave the same appearance. It was not at all newly fitted out and Chris took to it immediately. Behind the counter a young woman was serving a customer. Chris looked at young women when he could, trying to do it without looking like he was looking at women. He liked what he saw, and he liked her Eastern European accent when she replied to his request for coffee.

He sat at one of the few small tables, marble topped, drinking his coffee. It was just what he had sought. His intention had been to return straightway to the office and drink there, but the place pleased him and so did the young woman. Chris did not particularly have a preference in women's hair but he took to her fair hair in short pigtails. It was an unusual look, fitting with the rather unusual appearance of the cafe. Not pretentious.

The coffee was good, and he came again the next day. A little bit of a queue, so he watched the young woman dealing with her customers. A ready smile and a readiness to talk. Behind her, working away at preparing any requested sandwiches, a young man, dark haired and seemingly rather tired.

Not just that day but Chris soon found himself a regular, taking a morning coffee there and, often as not, buying his sandwiches there at lunchtime and sometimes sitting there at one of the tables eating and perhaps even exchanging the odd word with the girl or the man if they were not busy with customers. They usually were at lunchtimes; the place had become rather popular.

It is good to be a 'regular,' good because the couple who ran the café - and he soon established Milka and Toma were indeed a couple, a married couple working as a team - greeted him by name.

"Ah, good morning, Chris, how is you? Busy? Your usual?"

He got more of a smile from Milka than Toma. Toma working in the background always looked so tired. Chris found himself attracted to the young woman. It amused him to realise he had something of a 'crush' on her. How school boyish and so not right for a fifty-year old man. But was he the only one? He rather doubted that. There were plenty of other men, particularly at lunchtime, seemingly anxious to share a few words and hear her lovely accent and sometimes amusing English phrasing.

It was better, Chris found, to go there in the morning though that did not stop his lunchtime visits. Milka and Toma had customers in the morning, but sometimes he would be the only one for quite a few minutes. It was particularly good then to sit, sip his coffee, his cappuccino, and chat a little with Milka, whilst Toma worked away on the sandwiches, his shoulders perhaps a little hunched and with definite dark rings around his eyes.

There was something about Milka's eyes, something about the mouth and its hint of a lop-sided grin, something about those cheekbones, something about the way she raised one eyebrow on a question, something about... One day a red tee-shirt and pleasingly tight light blue jeans; another a plum coloured skirt with black tights.

One morning Chris was sitting halfway through a cappuccino when a couple came in for a takeaway. The girl's outfit was not 'unpleasing to the eye' certainly the male eye. A short tartan skirt all pleated, Royal Stewart tartan in fact, and a white tee shirt with most definitely no brassiere - the girl's nipples were clearly outlined. Chris could but watch over his coffee cup. He liked what he saw very much!

It was clear, though, that Milka disapproved. The bell was still sonorous when she said to the mostly empty café, "I like the sexes as much as the next woman..."

There was an audible comment from Toma but not in English.

"Okays, maybe more, but..." a shrug of the shoulders and a disparaging sound. "Not - how you say - retrospectable..."

"Respectable," put in Chris.

"Yes. You likes?"

Chris shrugged his shoulders with his palms rising upwards. He saw Toma do much the same. But what was this about 'maybe more' in regard to the 'sexes.' She meant sex no doubt. That was just what she meant and from occasional comments over time Chris got the distinct impression Milka really liked sex.

"You have lady friend, Chris? You married? Children?"

Lovely to see her leaning over the counter, her tee shirt of the day a little lower cut than usual and the swell of her breasts particularly visible with her hanging breasts emphasising her cleavage; she, though, had a brassiere, her eyes upon him as she listened with interest to his résumé.

"Oh dear, Chris, no lady. Toma he have me. All the time." She looked at him. "Perhaps too much of the time, no?"

Her smile was a delight, one side just a little higher than the other. Was she really implying she wanted sex more often than he did?

"We don't wants children yet. You have to be careful, no? We take pre..." Milka paused.

"Precautions?" ventured Chris delighted to be talking about such personal things. Personal things to do with Milka - to do with sex.

"Yes, precautions. Expensive no?"

That puzzled Chris. The next morning as a customer left and Toma was, for once not there, perhaps he was upstairs in what Chris assumed was their flat. He plucked up courage and asked Milka.

"Surely the Pill is free?"

"The Pill? Oh yes, you means what we talks about yesterday. No, I won't take that. We, in our country... not right. Precautions not really right, but... we a bit, no one needs know. We use um, you know little packet of..." she paused seeking the right word, "condemns?"

"Um, expensive, I see, but surely no difference to the Pill, really. Contraception in both cases." Wonderful to be talking to Milka about sexual intercourse, even in a most serious way. And it came out the more as they talked. She had a strong cultural prohibition on contraception, so would not permit Toma's semen in 'there.'

Durex was seemingly OK because it was as Milka said, "No different from wanks or blow-job. Stuff doesn't go in there. You knows!" Her eyes briefly looked downwards. The implication such a thrill to Chris. The thought of what she was alluding to. She sighed, "One day we have children and Toma do it. Do it lots. I looks forward..." She looked around a little furtively, even up the wooden stairs at the back leading to what Chris presumed was their flat. "I likes cum - that's what you call it, no?" She made a very definite quick lick of her tongue which almost gave Chris an apoplexy. She giggled, "I slurps it down. Yum, yum! Not like medicine! Too much for Toma. He get too tired!"

It was all remarkably revealing and private. Chris was both astounded and delighted to hear Milka's words. Quite something to have disclosed by the young woman to him in conversation.

The reappearance down the steps of Toma put paid to their talk and Chris had, in any case, finished his coffee and needed to get back to what he was paid to do - work, not drink coffee and talk to a young woman. He walked slowly back, his mind so focused on what he had heard. Milka talking about sex. Really talking about sex. Shaking his head in disbelief, he walked back into his office building: 'I slurps it down,' what a phrase indeed!

The very next day, at his morning coffee when, as Chris had hoped, Toma went upstairs to get something leaving him alone with Milka, he directed the conversation back again. He could not help it, he wanted to hear the lovely Milka say something more. Of course, it gave him a thrill, talking about sex to a young and attractive woman. He managed to steer it back only for Toma to come down the stairs as Milka said:

"I hates the condemns, the Durex. I hates the smell of roobber and hows they look after the sex."

Chris nodded. They had never been his thing either. The need to unwrap and then roll them on at the very worst moment - the very right moment of course - and sometimes rolling them the wrong way. He had never been with a girl who did that rolling down thing holding the condom between her lips and making a sex toy (almost) of it. A pity, of course.

"A man does not look good standing with a roobber johnny. It makes Toma look stupid." She smiled at her partner, but he looked uncomfortable as a man does when a woman alludes to his genitalia with another man. He was clearly surprised, too, by what Milka was talking about.

It rather embarrassed Chris as well, the allusion to Toma standing naked, erect and with a 'roobber johnny' rolled or being rolled onto his cock. "I'm sure it does not..." he said, and then, lest Toma think he liked the image of Toma naked and rubber clad, he said, "I don't use one - no need."

The reason was twofold. One, he did not have a girl and secondly because of the vasectomy. Something he had done, perhaps now with regret, before the break-up.

"Whys you not?"

"I've had the 'Snip,' you see?" There was puzzlement on her features. It was evident she did not see. He had to explain. Embarrassing really, especially with Toma listening.

Milka nodded vigorously. It made her breasts move, "Ah, yes, I sees. Sensible. A good thing for a man to do."

Toma, though, had almost a look of scorn on his face. Leastways that was Chris's thought. As if he saw Chris now as only a half man. He was sure he saw Toma's shoulders go back, a subconscious, perhaps, feeling of superiority - of manliness. It made Chris defensive.

"I've still got my balls. It all still works, only I cannot get a girl pregnant. No need for a condom or anything."

He watched the lovely Milka's eyes flash at Toma. The look seemed to have meaning, coupled with a quizzical smile. He could not discern what that all meant, nor the words in their tongue. Chris sat sipping his coffee as Milka and Toma talked away, him looking at some work papers - a semblance of still working whilst having his morning coffee. Their conversation was ended by the arrival of another two customers.

His coffee finished, Chris walked out to the accompaniment of the jangling bell, he turned to say goodbye and had a lovely smile from Milka though Toma seemed to be staring hard and frowning, "See you tomorrow," she called.

Milka would indeed: Chris liked seeing her, was enjoying his little crush on her. He would be back tomorrow. She was very sweet; exotic even. A pleasure to a middle-aged man. And to be talking about sex with her... he had even mentioned his balls!

In Chris's mind again and again, even in his dreams, Milka's words, 'I slurps it down' came back to him. Had she, it seemed too good to be true - too fantasy, too male fantasy - did she really has a craving for cum (as all good women should, but often did not!). He liked the thought of her so keen to have Toma without the condom, wanting to have him cum inside her yet denying him and herself. Did she want to feel it there as she sucked him - 'slurped' indeed - not just in her mouth but in her vagina?

"I was wondering, Milka, if you don't use a rubber johnny much, what do you do?" It was out, a very personal question in the quiet of the café in the morning. Chris picked up his coffee cup. How would Milka react - had he gone too far?

"Of course, we do proper sex thing, Toma and me. But not often. We do not likes the roobber johnnies. Mostly I sucks Toma. You know, like this..." Was it because she thought he did not understand or was it to see him redden with embarrassment or, perhaps, something else? With her fingers she made a very clear in and out of her mouth movement. Chris knew exactly what that was meant to represent.

"And Toma?"

"Oh, he very good. He have long tongue!" A big flashing smile from Milka. "He use it lot."

Chris smiled back and nodded. "That's good!" What else was he to say?

She looked a little furtive, glancing towards the door to the street. "We have plastic cock too. Toma he..."

Another customer came in, halting Milka mid flow. The woman stood as she was served and then went out with her coffee. Milka busied herself behind the counter.

"You know, Chris, I've not had the sex thing without the roobber. Toma he always wear it even on wedding night. I so wants to without." She shrugged her shoulders, "One day..."

She went on with her work behind the counter. It was only when he got up to leave that Milka spoke again, "I likes our chats. Good to talk with you, experienced man, like uncle!" She nodded, "yes, good."

It had always been that Chris looked forward to the weekends but now it meant he did not have his coffee on Saturday and Sunday. Yes, he had coffee but not at the café, no chat with Milka for two whole days. Two whole long days. He had never been so pleased to go to work on a Monday before! His view had changed.

The little bell dinged as he walked through the green painted wood and glass door. There was Toma behind the counter, wiping it down; Milka busy at the sandwiches behind. A big smile from her, a nod from Toma but no smile. Did he look tired. Haggard even. When Toma went out past the now seated Chris into the street, saying something to Milka as he left, Chris asked about him. Where was he going, was Toma unwell? A tinkling laugh from Milka,

"No! He go out to get more salami." A giggle. "We need more salami. I need more salami," another giggle, "poor Toma, I uses his salami all up." She leant forward conspiratorially, her cleavage showing, "his balls all empty, his penis it no rise. The weekend - two roobber johnnies all used up and lots of sucks. This morning I wakes and knows it, how you say, my egg drop, I feel really throaty..."

That threw Chris. "Fruity?" he ventured.

"Oh yes, ha ha, and throaty! I sucks and he uses plastic penis we have. He come but can't get it up again and I wants more. It my best time. I likes to come again and again. Plastic penis not fun on own." She shrugged, correcting herself, "Not so much fun on own. Bilbo OK but..."

Chris sat there, not quite open mouthed, but certainly with an erection in his trousers. Milka leant further over the counter and Chris was sure she was tugging below the counter on her tee shirt to make her cleavage show the more.

"You like my breasts?"

"Yes, of course, Milka, how could I not?"

"You have erection?"

Chris gulped and his reply came out more as a croak, "err, yes."

"Toma he say you not real man, but I thinks what you have in trousers real enough."

Could she see the bulge? It was at that moment Toma came back through the door, a large salami in his hand. Milka said something to him, her eyes indicating Chris, perhaps even his trousers. Toma turned and looked at him.

"Toma he say it not sex. He say not a real man if cum not furtive..."

"Fertile?"

"... fertile. So, I says it's OK to have sex with you then, as it's not sex! Try your salami."

A bombshell. Was she joking, had he heard aright, was she really implying, suggesting, offering...? The way she held the salami rather implied...

Chris was not sure that was really how Toma saw it. His face did not look that happy about the prospect.

"It give Toma a rest. Ha ha, not really! We be in bed tonight and..."

"Come!" Her hand reached out towards him. "Toma look after café, he make you another cup of coffee when you come down; you look after me. Me very fertile - you not."

In a dream Chris stood, his coffee forgotten. Was this real? Was he meant to go behind the counter? Was he meant to go upstairs? And, yes, he was. Chris found himself being led upstairs by Milka. Almost at the top he looked back down. Toma was watching but that was all it seemed he could do. He had to mind the café.

The wooden stairs creaked and then Milka shut the door at the top of the stairs and he was alone with her in the flat above the café. He was upstairs alone with Milka.

"You don't mind?" She was looking at him. Through an open door he could see the bedroom. A double bed - Toma and Milka's bed. "We get undressed - yes?"

He watched as Milka pulled the white tee shirt over her head as she walked into the bedroom. More than the coming upstairs, this did really indicate she was serious.

"You undo my bra?" She turned away from him and he saw the clasp. It had been more than a few years since he had undone one of those. A missed pleasure. Milka turned back with the brassiere half hanging. It was warm where he put his hands over the soft material of the cups as he lifted the brassiere away. Her breasts were as fine as he had hoped. Full, rounded and firm. Pink, almost red nipples, and areolae. The nipples hard, of course, the areolae puffed and cone like. They were lovely. Chris reached and fondled. They were gorgeous. Warm, soft and so feminine. Two handfuls of delight. In his hands. Downstairs did Toma already know he would be feeling his wife's breasts?

Why were breasts so good to feel, to have full in his hands? He had missed holding a woman's breasts.

"You, Chris, takes clothes off and then we gets into big bed and fuck. I'm so wet. You want to feels? Me nothing under skirt today."

To say that Chris had thought before about putting his hand up Milka's skirt would be more than a little true. He had thought of stroking nylon clad thighs and maybe tucking a finger into knickers but the thought of Milka having nothing on under her plum coloured skirt filled him with lust. Her hands were upon his tie, loosening it.

Was it all a set up? Would Toma appear with a camera as soon as he was undressed. Some sort of blackmail set up. But blackmailing who? Chris might not like the idea of his colleagues seeing him naked and erect with a half-naked young woman, but he was no longer married. It was not much of a hold. Almost 'publish and be damned.' But if he was about to find the whole scene cruelly ending, he was going to have a proper feel first. Chris' hand dropped and his fingers touched the hem of Milka's skirt and crept under. Her thighs were so soft and as his hand rose up between them, up at the exciting narrowing of a woman's thighs, a narrowing to what was hidden at the apex, Chris found they were not dry - what that implied for the wetness of her sex, indeed! The young woman was very clearly sexually excited. Not at all the likely position if this was a stitch up. Her excitement was real.

"I don't like the shaving. I leave myself in nature. You mind?"

Chris shook his head. "I prefer..." His hand touched hair, curly rather soaked hair.

"You hairy Chris? You have hairy balls like Toma?" Her hand was suddenly upon him, holding him through his trousers. Fondling him. "Big balls with lots of spank, real spank - is that right? But no sperms, for Milka."