This Ain't Literature

For the six or seven readers out there who've been clamoring for a story spun off from A Quickie in the Commodore's Office, here's a cautionary tale featuring Cameron, future guitarist for the Kabuki Hikers, and his adventures just after he graduated from high school. It's weird writing a first-person narrator who's kind of an asshole, but I tried.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Dude." The voice was tinny in my ear. I badly needed a new phone. "I'm bored. I want to come over."

I glanced down into my lap, my bare legs spread wide to make room for the redhead I had maneuvered down there, where she had her cheek-hollowed mouth locked around my scrotum. "The timing's not great, man," I admitted.

"Shit, Cam," he moaned back. Aidan was a great guy and a really good friend. He and I had been inseparable since day one of junior high. "I'm just sitting around here with my sister."

"Oh?" I tried to keep my voice neutral as the redhead moved up, her fingers light on my thighs, to start on the root of my cock. She knew exactly what she was doing. I wondered how long I could decently wait before I pulled off her bra. "Kristin's back from college?" I hoped my dick didn't pulse a little in the redhead's mouth. I'd been trying to get into Kristin White's pants since... well, forever. Since I'd figured out what to do with my penis, after Gianna Clewer had demanded it in her pussy on my eighteenth birthday.

She'd been a nice girl, Gianna.

I certainly knew what to do with it now, my hand lifting the redhead's chin with insistent pressure, pulling her up. I wanted the whole thing in her mouth, and she was happy to oblige; she uncoiled her long body from where it had crouched at my balls and knelt tall and gorgeous before me to slide her lips down my pole. I let my head fall back onto the couch in ecstasy. "Yeah," Aidan was sighing in my ear, "spring break. She's back for a few days, then heading off to Punta Cana or some shit."

"Cool," I managed, my dick twitching in the girl's mouth; she suppressed a giggle as she wrapped her tongue around the veiny midsection, lashing me, those long auburn locks swishing over my groin. I wondered vaguely if I'd have time to head over to Aidan's house and make a play for his sister. "Tell her hi for me."

"I'm bored," he whined again. "Eva's busy too, she says, so she can't even go to dinner with me tonight."

"That sucks," and so did Eva; it was her mouth my cock was spasming inside. She'd been dating Aidan for about four months, and licking my penis (off and on) that whole time. Longer, actually; she'd fooled around with me a couple months before they'd even started going out, but only casually. A quick fuck after a party over at Gretchen Barry's house, if I remembered correctly, though there'd also been another couple of girls riding my dick that night.

Who could keep track?

"Look, bro, I'm going to have to let you go," I sighed as the redhead's lips tightened just below my head; jesus. the girl was an outstanding cocksucker. She was wasted on Aidan, and I was grateful that she apparently thought so too. My hips were bucking, pushing deeper into her mouth, and she was swallowing my head like a pro. "I've got to get to work."

"Fine, dude," Aidan frumped. "Call me later."

"You betcha." It would he a long, sad afternoon for my buddy Aidan, probably filled with shitty weed and videogames, but then my own few hours at the coffeeshop wouldn't be much better. Though at least I'd start off with empty balls, courtesy of his girlfriend. "See ya!"

I beeped off just as Eva started sucking in earnest, her fine-fingered hands on my balls now, and she responded perfectly when my hand pushed steadily on the back of her head. "That wasn't bullshit either, Eva," I told her mildly. "I do have to get to work." I'm experienced; I can usually hold off cumming when I want to, but Eva was abnormally good.

She slurped up off me in a welter of saliva, grinning cockily, her fingers clinical on my nutsack. She was an excellent judge of how far she needed to go. "No problem. I just need a couple more minutes," she husked, all sultry, with her hand jacking my dick, and she was exactly right.

* * *

I probably should have changed my underwear before work, but BFD; Andrea had me on the drive-thru anyway, so who was I trying to impress?

Ahab's was a newer chain of coffee shops, regionally franchised, and the locals still weren't sure whether they liked what we sold. Certainly, I hated it; I got my own coffee from Harborside Book and Tea, and Andrea always glared at my cup as I came in. But there was nothing she could do about it... except put me on drive-thru. Which she usually did anyway.

So there I was, like I was every other lazy afternoon in that long, hot summer after I graduated from high school. My job was a constant effort to stay awake and alert; very few people drive through for coffee on summer afternoons. I lacked any distraction other than secret glimpses of my cellphone under the counter, my world bounded by the winking lights and LEDs of the register on one side and by the square of daylight leading to the outside world on the other.

That square depressed me.

There was nothing out there but the silvery humid sky, a strip of dirty grass, and the blank stucco side of the building across the way. I'd memorized that building: the crack at the top left, running diagonally downward, jogging here and there where it telegraphed the old brickwork under it. That one window in the back, probably an office, all smoked glass and with the blinds always pulled. The little basement entrance up front where a set of mossy stairs led down to Mickey's Music, where I bought my strings.

You could, if you leaned out and peered around the corner, see the main drag out that way and the daycare center on the other side of Wilmot St, but there was no point. It was just cracked blacktop and more stucco, the strip-mall trademarks of 21^st century America. In the evenings the store signs threw garish light all around, the glow sickening as I waited for the last of the evening rush.

I was dying here. I was glad I had a light on the horizon, at least. That I wasn't Andrea, staring down a life sentence in shoddy retail coffee.

A car eased into view on the LED over the register, a silver Toyota I didn't recognize. The grainy monitor showed big sunglasses and lots of coily hair. I keyed the mic. "Welcome to Ahab's. How can I help you today?" I asked listlessly.

"Hi." The voice sounded familiar, but the buffers in the digital system meant that was often the case. The other day, I thought I'd heard my mom come through. It had turned out to be a guy in a pickup truck. You never know. "Can I get, like, a Caffe Americano? Do you guys do that?" She sounded hopeful.

"Absolutely, ma'am." I bit back my sarcasm; this was a coffee place. Americanos are easy. What was she worried about? "Best one in town," I lied. "Want a large?"

"Oh, hell yes." Again, that nagging familiarity.

"Extra shot?"

"Yes please. I'm in need today."

Banging rapidly on the keypad, I decided she didn't require a reply. Long experience had already pegged her in my mind: she'd pay with a credit card, not debit. She'd need to dig for it, too; why these people don't have their shit ready before they hit the window will be something that always puzzles me. She'd pull it out of one of those oversized quilted wallets with bright flowers all over it, sort of like a mini-purse.

There'd be a carseat behind her, I guessed. I cleared my throat. "That's $4.36, ma'am. Come on around."

"Thank you!" It was a high, trailing cry, buoyant, vivacious, her earlier timidity forgotten now that the order was in. I could hear my boss stirring back in the prep area, and a quick glance at the board showed me that the Toyota's was the only order pending; great. Andrea could make it.

I sighed and leaned against the windowsill, my stool creaking gently as the Toyota worked its way around. The glare off the windshield made me squint as it pulled up, and then I was looking dispassionately down into the open driver's side window. "Four thirty-six," I said automatically, and then I went speechless.

The boobs caught me first, as they always had, huge and round and firm with the seatbelt drawing her red t-shirt tight as it plunged between them. Fuck. I'd seen those fine fat titties for the past year, and they'd never failed to make my dick hard. "Ms Brett?" I blurted.

She peered up at me, her eyes widening behind the dusky lenses, her sexy little mouth wide open above a chin just a little too sharp. "Wait. What?" She looked harder. "Oh! Cameron?"

"Nice seeing you." Goddamn! Those tits! Her nickname in the high school was Ms Breast in lieu of Ms Brett, and there were two excellent reasons for that. My cock was yelling at me, despite the emptiness Eva had left me with. I smiled, back in control, doing my best not to stare. "I haven't seen you here before."

"I usually go to the B&T." As predicted, she was rummaging in an oversized wallet. Her smile was genuine; it always had been. Ms Brett had been the kind of teacher who always wore her heart on her sleeve. She was fumbling randomly through her credit cards, and since she was looking down I was staring remorselessly. Eagerly. Her shirt was thin and tight enough that I could follow the line of her brastrap over her shoulder. The neckhole of her shirt was stretched just slightly, but it was enough to show the beginnings of her cleavage, the slight flush at the top of her chest... "Uh, here." She thrust out her credit card blindly, and I was the picture of innocence as I took it.

"Thanks, Ms B." I ran the card quickly, checking to make sure there weren't any other cars waiting. The monitor was empty; good.

I felt like flirting.

Andrea would have her drink ready soon, I knew, but Ms Brett didn't need to know that. I glanced down at her, making sure to meet her eyes. "Let me go check on your coffee," I grinned, easily, naturally. I'd always gotten a strong sense she liked me. "I'll be right back."

She nodded with a hint of teeth between those full lips. "Thank you!" Again, that high and trilling call, the one we mocked in the hallways. Ms Brett was known for it, and for her friendliness. Her lack of observation, too; Aidan and I had spent the last semester vaping, right there in the back of her class while she wrote on the board, and she'd never figured it out. But I thought I knew the truth: that even if she'd caught us, I'd have been able to talk her out of doing us any real damage.

I'd always gotten that sense from her. She was a good teacher, very smart about AP English, and of course she was easy to look at. But I'd always sensed a sort of innocence, maybe even naivete, streaming off of her. Like she was always looking to make people like her. A pleaser.

Women like that attract me like a glue trap draws a mouse. Actually, no. Even more reliably.

I took her drink from a wordless Andrea, who'd already gone back to her scheduling spreadsheet. I hauled at the front of my jeans as I turned away from her, casually, like always: I'm a pretty sexual guy, so I spend a lot of time adjusting my penis. Sometimes women catch me. I don't really care much; life's too short, and so what if a woman knows I'm hard?

Not that Andrea was causing it. She wasn't my type, even despite the undeniable thrill of fucking the boss. I put Ms Brett's coffee on the steel counter near the toaster oven, just out of sight from my station by the window, and grinned again as I settled back into my stool. "It'll be just a quick sec, Ms B."

"No problem." I glanced toward a backseat littered with stuffed animals, kids' books, and empty potato chip bags... but no carseat. I felt a pang of disappointment; there's not a lot to do on my job, and guessing what kind of customers I have coming is one of the rare perks. I jerked my head toward the trash back there.

"Left the kid at home, Ms Brett?" I smiled widely, disarmingly, with my cock stirring lugubriously beneath the window. It still had a dull ache to it from the violence with which I'd cum into Eva's mouth just a couple hours earlier. My velocity had been impressive, but of course she'd taken it all. She was so good.

She smiled back, warm and genuine, her whole face an invitation. My penis lurched. I'd forgotten how gorgeous she was. I debated glancing down to see what she was wearing down below, but no; I wasn't wearing sunglasses. She'd always been a slacks-and-conservative-skirts sort of teacher, and I didn't need her to see me perving. "I'm off to pick them up now," she sighed, nodding across Wilmot at the daycare. "Auntie Petunia's Playplace."

I tsked. "Too bad, Ms B. I'll bet you've been enjoying a free day?" I glanced over my shoulder as though I was checking on her drink. "Just a couple minutes, I think."

"I'm in no rush." She was sitting easily in the seat, no tension that I could see; she was comfortable talking to me then. It's always a thrill when you know a woman wants you to talk to her. Especially when it's your old English teacher with the huge tits. "They just started there this week." She yawned.

"You shouldn't be tired then," I chuckled. "You should have taken a nap." She looked at me curiously then, and I decided I should probably get her going or Andrea would be on my ass. So I turned, stepped away to get her Americano, and held it out along with her credit card. "Here you go."

My plan worked; she stretched out both her arms to get the cup and the card, treating me to the head-on view of the deep cleavage I'd been expecting. Fuck. Those things were massive! "Thanks, Cameron," she gushed. She'd always used students' full names. I liked it from her.

"Come on back soon, Ms Brett," I urged, my voice a model of sincerity. "Next time, I'll give you one of our loyalty cards."

"Sounds good!" She looked once more at me, over her glasses this time, her hazel eyes wrinkled at the edges. She was pretty much always smiling, between a deeply carved set of dimples. "See you then, I guess."

"Be safe and enjoy your coffee!" I called after her, and then the Toyota was motoring carefully off toward the street. I watched it go, and after that there was nothing but the cracked wall of Mickey's Music.

Fuck. Those titties!

* * *

I convinced Andrea to put me behind the counter next day. "It's a fucking sweatbox in that drive-thru station," I groused. "I can wear the headset and boogie over there if anyone pulls up. Besides," I shrugged, "you know the sales are coming from the counter." I was right; Ms Brett and precisely two other cars had come through during the two hours I'd been at the drive-thru.

Andrea eyed me, curdling slowly. "When did you say you were leaving, again?" she asked, straight out, not even hiding her dislike.

"Mid-September," I snapped, and she nodded; she remembered why she'd hired me. I'd be able to bridge that vital period between the departure of the high-school hires and the arrival of the year's crop of college kids. She sighed.

"Whatever." She sniffed. "I'll be in the office if you need me," she added, already halfway back there, and that's how I found myself in command of Ahab's Coffee Roastery when the door slipped open around two in the afternoon. I was texting just underneath the register (Becky Lissner, a graphic designer with whom I occasionally hooked up to exchange bodily fluids), so I didn't look up right away.

Too bad, too.

She was almost at the counter before I even noticed it was Ms Brett, in a loose pink v-neck and a pair of jeans that fitted her perfectly. I swallowed when my gaze passed over her thighs, big and strong as she leaned into the counter. Her face was already lit up when I looked up and blinked at her. She perched her big sunglasses high in her dark corkscrew hair.

"Hi!" she breezed, her smile infectious; I was returning it before I even realized it, my mind snapping back to a day in class just a few months ago... her in just this kind of outfit, but with her hair down on her shoulders... "Fancy seeing you here again, Cameron."

I slid right into character. "Shouldn't be a surprise, after the drive-thru yesterday." I flopped my hair back off my forehead. I debated winking, but decided I didn't need to. She was already grinning at me, her dimples chiseled deeply into her sun-chapped face. I leaned on my elbows on the counter, bringing my face below hers, keenly aware of her jutting tits just inches away from my head. I looked up at her. "What's your poison, Ms B?"

She arched an eyebrow. "This is supposed to be a really good coffee place," she laughed. "You should remember my order."

Instantly my balls lurched up, my cock quirking against my briefs, the familiar warning signs as my hormones at their full 19-year-old flood tide realized she was interested in me. Not as a former teacher is interested in a former student, still less as a customer is interested in the guy about to make her coffee; she was a woman, interested in me as a man.

Or so I told myself. But I hadn't often been wrong about that kind of thing.

"I remember this one time," I replied slowly, my smirk growing slowly across my face, "when my AP English teacher got so excited discussing Their Eyes Were Watching God, that Ms Brett messed up and dropped an F-bomb in class."

She flushed with scary speed, as though her body had just been waiting for an excuse to do it, the pinkness falling down her throat to her chest and into her shirt. "That's evil!" she protested. "That was a pure accident!" It had been, too, her mouth falling open the moment she'd let it slip. She'd been in the middle of a tirade about how none of us seemed to understand the way other people saw Teacake. He's smart and he's respectful! He's sexy! she'd cried bluntly. Women want to fuck him! And then she'd gone silent like a golem with its letter erased, while the class just stared at her.

Like I did now. Smiling slowly.

She shook her head after a few seconds, glaring at me in mock fury. "Look, mister," she said at last, trying to sound stern, "you know very well that I just got carried away there."

I smiled up at her, a full grin, all my teeth. I've been told I've got a really nice smile, and I used it often. "Caffe Americano, to go," I said, my voice low. "Want a large? I'll only charge you for a medium, if you want. To show there's no hard feelings?"

"You should charge me for a medium because I only want a medium." She was digging in her purse. "And I know there's no hard feelings, Cameron."

This was a lie, of course; I felt a semi pushing out at my underwear as I nodded and turned to make her drink. Very hard feelings, coming soon. She wouldn't have noticed my bulge at the counter, I told myself, but there was a reckless side of me that decided it didn't care if she did. I busied myself at the machine, taking my time so that she could check out my ass; I'd be staring at hers as she left, and I figured fair was fair. "Picking up your kids again, Ms B?"

"Kid. Singular." She sighed. "The other's his cousin."

"How old?" I glanced partway around so that she could hear me over the machine.

"Finn? He's eight." She paused. "He's loud. He likes to play music a little too much."

"Ain't no such thing, Ms Brett." The reply was automatic. Playing music was one of the few things I that really brought me joy, other than fucking. I thought a moment, my mind's eye picturing a grinning kid with dimples pounding endlessly on a drum or something. No wonder she'd given up and stuck him in daycare. I was nodding as I finished her coffee. "Just making noise, huh?"

"Actually," she was musing, sorting through her credit cards, "he's pretty good." She glanced up a little shyly. "Guitar. Just one of the cheap plastic ones."