Chapter 2
Murray’s Diner
by knight_b_4@hotmail.com
Story codes: Mff, hum, les, rom, preg
Author’s Note:  This story involves sexual activity between a variety of people, some of whom are underage. If it is illegal in your jurisdiction to read about such things, please delete this story immediately. (And know that you have my sympathies for living in such a repressive atmosphere.) This story is entirely a work of fiction; none of the events described herein actually took place (at least not to the author’s knowledge). The author does not condone sexual activity with minors, although he does recommend most of the following if done with a consenting adult.
This story may be posted with no changes or deletions on a free site, or the free area of a commercial site. The work is copyright 2012 by the author, and all rights are reserved.
Since I live alone, I tend to eat out a lot. I’m actually a pretty good cook, but I don’t often feel like going to the effort for just me. I’d thought about offering to take Christie home and cook her one of my special meals, but decided she might be a little freaked about that. I wasn’t sure what was going on in her head (hell, I wasn’t sure what was going on in mine), but I got the distinct feeling if I wanted to see her again (and I definitely did), I’d have to tread carefully and not come off like some lonely jerk who was so desperate for company that he wanted a 12-year-old girl to be his new best friend. So OK, I was a lonely jerk who was so desperate for company that I wanted a 12-year-old girl (at least, this 12-year-old girl) to be my new best friend, but I didn’t think it would be a good idea to let her know that.
On the way, while part of my mind was chatting with Christie, another part tried to clear my head a bit and figure out what the hell I’d gotten myself into, and why I was trying to get into it deeper. I mean, I was 46 years old (almost 47) and I was heading out to dinner with an underage girl (admittedly, a very cute and intelligent underage girl) that I’d just fucked and was hoping desperately that I could fuck again (although I doubted I’d revive enough to be able to do that today).
It wasn’t just the sex, although that was damned good, some of the best I’d ever had (and I’ve had a good amount of it over the years). Sure, it’d been almost five years since the last time I got laid (long story), but I really felt there was more there, if I could just figure out what. Loneliness? Yeah, I wasn’t a very social guy these days, not since I’d lost my wife ten years ago and moved to this town, but that didn’t feel right either. I’d made a few friends, and most of them would be happy if I spent more time with them, so it wasn’t just that I was looking for someone to talk to. (Not that we’d done a lot of talking so far.)
So what was it? I couldn’t be falling in love with this girl, could I? Impossible. We barely knew each other, she wasn’t even old enough to date yet (although she’s old enough to fuck? asked an inner voice- I told it to shut up). You just don’t meet someone and fall in love in two hours. (You don’t just meet someone and fuck them in two hours, either.) (I told you to shut up.)
Whatever was going on inside my head (besides that argumentative little voice) would have to wait for later; we’d arrived at Murray’s.
It really did look like a dump from the outside. It was small, the “Open” sign was partially burned out (it said “pen”), the last time it had been painted was probably two or three presidents ago, and the railing along the steps and handicap ramp looked like it had hosted a woodpecker banquet- a decade ago. But it was one of my favorite places, and I wanted to share it with Christie. (Why? Why do you care if she likes one of your hangouts?) (Shut up.)
There were only two other cars there, so we parked right next to the door. As I shut off the engine, Christie reached for the door handle.
“Uh-uh,” I said. “Wait a minute.”
I opened my own door, went around to her side and opened her door with a small flourish. “A gentleman always opens a car door for a lady.”
She laughed at that. “You might be a gentleman, Harry, but haven’t you figured out I’m no lady?” I laughed too.
“Well, you are at least through dinner, so get used to it.” I glanced down and noticed her nipples were poking up again. “Those things ever go down?” She looked confused, then looked down at her chest and laughed again.
“Nope. Not when someone’s treating me like a lady, anyway.” She mockingly tilted her head and fluttered her eyelashes at me. “Gentlemen turn me on, you know.”
“Hell, Christie, I think sunlight turns you on. And moonlight, and starlight, and a flashlight, and…” She laughed again and slipped her arm through mine.
“Take me inside, sir, so you can feed me and then have your way with me.”
“I already had my way with you, remember? Next time, I want to have your way with you. Bet it’s something interesting.”
Grinning like two silly fools, we walked up to the door. I opened the screen then reached in and pushed the main door open. Stepping back, I held the screen for Christie and motioned her inside. She bowed her head slightly and entered.
The inside of Murray’s is more promising than the outside. It’d been painted less than a year ago (I know, ‘cause I helped; got a couple weeks of free meals for it) and Murray kept the place spotlessly clean. The tables (all six of them) and the booths (both of them, one in each corner near the front windows) were worn, but in generally good repair.
Murray had strange taste in decorations, though. There was a stuffed owl behind the register, looking a bit moldy. (No, it didn’t look a thing like Hedwig.) The wall to the right of the door was covered in Chinese prints, mainly nature scenes. The wall to the left of the door was covered in French impressionist prints, with a handful of Jackson Pollack splatter-paint pictures. On the wall behind the counter (six stools) were photos and paintings of old trains (including one of the Hogwarts Express, which I’d bought and donated on a whim). And on the narrow frame around the door were taped photos of Murray’s waitresses of the past, as well as some of Murray’s favorite customers, all pictures shot in the diner itself. Some of those pictures had been there so long the color was faded.
Christie glanced at the pictures as she turned around and waited for me to enter, then frowned slightly and leaned closer to one. “Hey, is that you?”
I didn’t even have to look, as I knew the picture she meant. About two years ago, one of the clients I’d been working for at the time had entered a float in the town’s Founder’s Day parade. One of their employees, who happened to be almost exactly my height and weight, had been hurt in a car crash the night before the parade. The client called me (at 6:30 in the morning) and begged me to take his place on the float, offering me an extra $100 if I would. Grumpy as I am at 6:30 in the morning, I’d agreed. After the parade, I’d come to Murray’s for lunch, still dressed in costume. So there I was in all my frontier glory, with a fringed buckskin coat, deerskin leggings and a rather ratty-looking coonskin cap. Murray thought I looked so funny, he insisted on the picture.
I grimaced, and nodded. “Yep, that’s me. I’ll tell you the story once we sit down.”
Joanne, the afternoon/evening waitress, called out from behind the counter, “Hi, Harry. Grab a seat and I’ll be right there.”
“Thanks, Flower Girl.” I pointed at Christie. “Flower Girl, this is Christie. Christie, that ornery old lady over there is Joanne. Watch out for her; her bite is worse than her bark, and she barks pretty loud.” Joanne stuck her tongue out at me.
“Don’t listen to this old geezer, Christie. He’s just jealous ‘cause I’m a better poker player than he is. What you want to drink, honey?”
Looking a bit puzzled, Christie said, “Um… Coke?”
“You got it. Coffee as usual, Harry?”
“I think iced tea, Jo, and lots of it. I’m kinda thirsty today.” I wanted to wink at Christie at that, but I knew Jo was a sharp lady and would probably catch it and wonder. I didn’t want her leaping to any conclusions, especially when they were the right conclusions and could land me in jail. Jo and I had known each other a long time, but I didn’t think that would stop her from turning me in as a child rapist. (Rape, Harry? If that was rape, are you sure who raped who?) (You’re starting to bug me, inner voice, now just shut up.)
I led Christie to the booth furthest from the road, and we sat on opposite benches, me with my back to the door. I’d been kind of hoping she’d sit next to me, but kind of fearing it too, since that would be kind of obvious. (And you’re getting kind of worried now, aren’t you, Harry? Now that your dick’s deflated, and you’re kind of second guessing what you did.) (Why don’t you kind of go away?) (Nowhere to go, Harry. I’m all yours. And all you.)
“Why did you call her ‘Flower Girl’?” Christie asked. I grinned and leaned over to talk quietly.
“Because Joanne is her middle name. I found out her first name is really Tulip, and she hates it. So I can’t resist teasing her about it.”
“You and Joanne like each other, don’t you, Harry? Have you ever dated her?” Christie asked, somewhat offhand.
“Me and Jo? Naw, it would never work. She’s worked here since before I started coming to this place, and we’ve just gotten to be friends, that’s all. She’d either laugh in my face or pour a glass of ice water in my lap if I ever asked her out. She’s good people and I like her, but we’d make a lousy couple.”
Christie smiled.
“So what’s with you and that picture?” Christie asked. I told her the story, and was just finishing when Joanne brought a tray with our drinks, two glasses of water, and a pair of menus. She also brought a pitcher of iced tea.
“Figured you’d try to make me work hard by running back and forth for refills all the time, Harry, so you can just pour your own whenever you want,” she said.
“You always were a lazy wench,” I replied. “I don’t know why Murray keeps you around.”
“He can’t find anyone else who’ll work for what he’s willing to pay, that’s why. And no one else will put up with cheap customers like you who never leave a decent tip for the excellent service they get.”
“Hey, if I ever get excellent service, I’d be glad to leave a decent tip. In fact, here’s a decent tip now- find a new hairdresser, your roots are showing again.” 
We could’ve gone on like that for a while, and usually did, but just then the door opened. Joanne looked up, then said, “Let me go take care of those two and I’ll be back for your orders- and your abuse- in a minute.” 
As she walked away, Christie looked at me with a mingled expression of amusement and disbelief. “You two always like that?”
“Sometimes we’re worse. I told you, we’re friends. Don’t you and Lily ever kid around like that?”
“Yeah,” she admitted. “But you two sounded serious.”
“Wouldn’t be as much fun if we didn’t. But I told you, I like Jo. She’s good people.”
“Must be, if she puts up with a cheap tipper like you.” And she stuck her tongue out at me. I laughed. I was finding I seemed to laugh a lot when I was with Christie. She opened the menu and started looking through the offerings. “What’s good here?”
“Just about anything,” I said, opening my own menu, although I really had it all but memorized. We looked things over in silence for a few minutes. “I think I feel like some chicken strips. Or maybe a reuben. Haven’t had a reuben in a while, and Murray uses really lean corned beef.”
“What’s a reuben?”
I pointed to it on the menu, and she read the description. “Sauerkraut on a sandwich? Yuck. I don’t like sauerkraut.”
“I don’t really like it either, but a reuben’s the one thing I’ll eat it on. If you want, I’ll get the reuben and you can try a bite.”
“You are being a gentleman, aren’t you? Get whatever you want, Harry, but thanks for the offer.”
Joanne came back about then and asked if we were ready. I ordered the chicken strip dinner with rice and a salad with Ranch dressing. Christie looked at me, unsure. “Whatever you want,” I said. “Get something big, you and Junior need to stay healthy.”
“Could I have the steak?” she asked hesitantly.
“Of course, you can, honey,” Joanne answered for me. “This cheapskate’s got more money than is good for him, so go ahead and spend a big chunk of it for him.” Christie still looked at me, waiting for my answer.
“Whatever you want, I said. And dessert too, if you’re hungry enough. Get a kid’s meal for Junior there, too. He looks about big enough to have one of his own.” She grinned at that and ordered a rare steak, baked potato and salad (with French dressing; can’t stand French dressing myself). Joanne took the order back to the window and as she handed it to Murray, said loud enough for us to hear, “Order up. The chicken strips are for Harry, so just use the ones you dropped on the floor earlier.”
From inside the kitchen, we could hear Murray ask, “With or without the rat poison?”
“With,” Joanne answered. “But use the slow-acting stuff, he has a guest he has to drive home.” Murray looked out the window at us, waved to Christie, and disappeared.
Christie laughed at that, then looked a little wistful. “You have nice friends, Harry.”
“Well, you do, too, don’t you? Lily seemed pretty nice, and so did Rose.”
“Lily’s my best friend, and partner in… crime, too. But she’s about it. Most of my other friends are OK, but we could never kid around like that. And Rose is OK, too, but she’s really just one of Lily’s fu… er, buddies.”
We started talking then, about friends, and school, and life in general. This was our “getting to know you” conversation, the kind you generally have on a first date, and often continue on the second (or third).
Christie’s parents were divorced, and her father lived out of state. Her mother worked the afternoon and evening shift in a small store, which gave Christie a lot of freedom after she got out of school at 2:30. She was actually 13 (not 12 as I thought), in 8th grade (had I really spent the afternoon fucking an 8th grader? My God, what kind of perv
Junior’s father was a boy a few years older than her, a high school junior whose sister was Christie’s friend. He knew she was pregnant, but didn’t know he was the father, and she wasn’t going to tell him. After they’d fucked a few times, she’d decided he was a real jerk and didn’t want him in her or her baby’s lives. Christie’s mother had been very upset about the pregnancy at first, but had finally quit insisting she either have an abortion or give it up for adoption and promised to help Christie raise it. She’d even redone the spare bedroom in their house as a nursery.
I told her how my wife had died 10 years earlier, and I just hadn’t been much interested in dating since then. I lived by myself in a small house, with a skittish tuxedo cat named Traveler Underfoot. (I’d had Traveler a long time. She got her name because she was the first one of her litter to get out of the box and start exploring.) Christie asked what I did for a living. I told her I was a free-lance writer and desktop publisher, doing magazine articles, in-house journals for companies, brochures, annual reports, that kind of thing. It didn’t bring in a ton of money, but it was enough for me to live comfortably.
It was a typical first-date, getting-to-know-you conversation. In other words, we both shaded the truth and lied our asses off to look good for the other.
It continued on through Joanne bringing our order, and on through dinner, and on through dessert afterward, as we started talking about things other than ourselves. She turned out to be a Terry Pratchett and Robert Heinlein fan, like me, and I got to introduce her to Spider Robinson and Callahan’s, while she introduced me to Esther Freisner and David Eddings; we promised to swap books next time we got together. (And my heart sang at that promise of a next time.) Not surprisingly, neither one of us had heard of most of the bands the other listened to, although we did share a love of the Beatles, the Doors and Pink Floyd.
After she cleared the table, Joanne brought a big slice of chocolate cake and ice cream for Christie. “Murray said this was on him, honey, ‘cause anyone who has to spend a couple hours listening to Harry babble deserves a treat.” Christie thanked her and dove in. I didn’t see how she could do it with all she’d just eaten, but reminded myself she was a kid, and a pregnant one at that, and kids could pack away a lot of food. I just asked for an after-dinner coffee, and a small slice of cheesecake. (There’s a special place in Heaven reserved for people who can make a cheesecake as good as Murray’s. Or at least there ought to be.)
Finally sated (with food this time), we leaned back in our seats. Joanne brought a refill on Christie’s Coke. She downed the last of her previous one so she could give Joanne the glass, then let out a belch that was loud enough and long enough to make a longshoreman proud. She looked startled.
“Excuse me. I didn’t see that one coming.” Christie blushed, while both Joanne and I laughed.
“It’s OK, honey,” I said. “Just shows how much you liked the swill.” (Honey? Did you just call her honey?) (Joanne’s been calling her that; it was just a slip of the tongue.) (Really believe that, do you, Harry?)
Christie got kind of a funny “uh-oh” look on her face then, and excused herself to go use the bathroom. Joanne poured herself a cup of coffee, came over and sat down in Christie’s place.
“So, is that your bun in Christie’s oven, Harry?” she asked, taking a sip and staring hard at me over the rim of the cup. I must’ve looked startled, scared or both, because she laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, honey, I’m not trying to bust you.” She set the cup down, looked deep into its depths for a few seconds, then looked up. “I’ve told you about my eldest, Bill. What I never told you was that I got pregnant with him when I was just a little older than Christie, from a guy who was just a little younger than you. When he found out about Bill, he dumped me. Not only left me flat, but left the state, and I never saw him again. I know what Christie’s going through, Harry, and I just want to make sure you’re going to stick around for her, and for the kid.”
“It’s not mine, Jo. Christie and I just met this afternoon.”
“And you’re screwing her already? Who’s the hustler here, you or her?” I must’ve looked startled again, because she smiled. “It’s obvious in the way you two look at each other, and the way you talk. When you first walked in earlier, you both radiated that ‘I’ve just had great sex’ look. And, to be frank, when I get close, I can smell it on you; you both smell like one of the beat-off booths at the Pussycat Theater. That’s why I’ve been steering customers to the other side, so no one would notice and hassle you.”
With my back to the door and Christie in front of me, I hadn’t really paid much attention to the rest of the place. I looked over my shoulder now, and saw that the few other people were all clustered over on the other side, and this side was empty except for us.
“Thanks. I didn’t realize we were that obvious.”
“Most people probably wouldn’t notice. Too wrapped up in their own selves to pay attention, although some of the guys- hell, most of the guys- have been checking Christie out. But I’ve been a waitress a long time, Harry, and a good waitress has to know how to read people. And I’ve known you long enough to read you like a book.” She took another sip of coffee. “So, where you going to go with this, Harry?”
“I don’t know, Jo,” I answered, shrugging. I stared into my own cup for a few minutes, then looked up. “I have no clue what ‘this’ is, or where I want it to go, or if she’ll even let me go anywhere with it.” I sighed. “Too much, too soon, too fast.”
Joanne continued looking at me- no, too mild; she continued boring into my brain with her eyes- while she sipped. Finally, she nodded and set the cup down. “You’ll do the right thing, Harry. Just as soon as you decide what the right thing is.”
“Got any suggestions on that?”
“Nope. This one’s all up to you, Harry.” She stood up and picked up her cup. “I’ll tell you this, though. You’ve been coming in here for what, five or six years now? I’ve never seen you smile this much before. Not just happy smile; I’ve seen that from you often enough. Contented smile. First time for that, I think.” She walked away.
Contented smile? Who wouldn’t be contented after their first sex in years, and really great sex, too. (Is that all it is, Harry? You got laid and now the world’s a brighter, happier place?) This time, I had no answer.
Christie came back to the table a few minutes later, and plopped down opposite me. She leaned over and said quietly, “That was close. I felt my pussy relaxing and all your cum started gushing out. Just barely made it in time to keep from staining my shorts. It’s still leaking a little; I had to stuff toilet paper down there to absorb it.” She grinned at me. “You squirt a lot, Harry.”
I grinned back at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever squirted that much before. Must be the company I keep.” She blushed a little, then set her purse on her lap and started rummaging through it. She came up with something clenched tightly in her fist. “Hold out your hand, and don’t let anyone see this.”
I reached out and she put something in my palm; I closed my first around it too quickly to see what it was. I put my hand in my lap and opened it just a little, enough to see a flash of green and catch a pungent odor. Christie’d given me her panties.
“Just a little something to remember me by, Harry,” she said. I felt stricken but tried to keep it off my face. Apparently, I didn’t completely succeed. “Oh, don’t panic, I’m not done with you yet. It’s just to remember me by until next time.” Relieved, I stuffed the panties into my pocket. Christie was burrowing through her purse again and came up with a pen and a scrap of paper. “What’s your number, Harry? I don’t think it’d be a good idea to give you mine, in case Mom answers.”
I gave her my cell phone, my home phone and my email addy. I wanted this girl to be able to get hold of me, and the more options the better. She scribbled it down and stuffed pen and paper back in her purse.
“I think it’s my turn for the bathroom,” I said, standing up. I wanted to kiss her, but that probably wouldn’t be a good idea, so I just blew her one instead.
When I came out of the bathroom, Joanne was sitting in my place. She had her cup of coffee, and Christie had a thoughtful look on her face. She said something, and Jo shook her head and replied. Figuring it might be a bad idea to interrupt, I stepped behind the counter, stuck my head in the order window and started chatting with Murray.
A few minutes later, a hand tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned to find Joanne and Christie standing behind me. Christie had an… odd… expression on her face that I couldn’t read at all.
“About time to get this girl home before her mother starts worrying,” Joanne said. She had our bill in her hand and stepped over to the register to ring us up. I paid, slipped her a $20 and followed Christie, who was through the door and outside before I got a chance to open it for her.
She was already standing by my car when I got outside, still with that funny look on her face. As I opened the door for her, I asked if anything was wrong. She shook her head and slid inside. By the time I got to the other side and sat down, Christie was smiling again.
“You’d better drop me off a few blocks from the house, so Mom and the neighbors don’t see us together.” She named a street corner in one of the nicer sections of town, and I started the car and took off.
With one hand, I fumbled at the catch in the center console and rummaged around until I located my CD wallet. I handed it to Christie, and told her to pick out whatever she wanted to listen to. She zipped it open and flipped through it slowly, finally picking one out and sliding it into the player. I was surprised as Miles Davis’s Kind of Blue started playing.
“I thought you didn’t like jazz?”
“I’ve just never heard it, Harry. You said this guy was good, so I thought I’d give him a try.”
“Good choice. Maybe I can teach you about good music yet.”
“Maybe. But next time, I’m going to put on ICP, so maybe you can learn something about good music, too.”
We drove in silence for a while, letting the cool sounds of one of the best trumpet players ever wash over and through us. While stopped at a light, I glanced over at her. She was looking out the window, deep in thought. I decided not to interrupt.
As the piano introduction started on the third track, I felt Christie’s hand come to rest on my leg. There was too much traffic for more than a quick glance, but she was looking at me with a serious, thoughtful look on her face. I picked up her hand and brought it to my lips, kissing her fingertips before I laced my fingers through hers and set it back down on my leg. There wasn’t anything the least bit sexual about it, but oh was it sensuous.
We still didn’t talk, but there wasn’t anything even slightly awkward about it. It was a comfortable and- Joanne was right- contented silence. Nothing needed to be said, and idle chatter would’ve just spoiled the mood. Even my inner voice was silent. Every now and then, Christie would squeeze my hand, or I’d squeeze hers.
Soon, far too soon, we reached her designated corner, the light turning red just as I pulled up. I figured I’d turn the corner and park so we could say goodbye, but Christie didn’t wait. She pulled her hand from mine and opened the door, then leaned over to kiss me on the cheek.
“Gotta go, Harry. I’ll call you.” She got out of the car, started to close the door, then leaned back in, that odd look back on her face. “Harry, I’m glad we met, really glad. But don’t ask too much, OK?” And with that, she shut the door and hurried off down the street, almost running. I watched her go, adoring the way her butt wiggled, already missing her intensely, sorry she had to leave. An angry honk told me the light had turned green and I came back to myself. I drove off, and went back to my little house, and my cat, and my lonely life.
I’d thought I was done for the day as far as sex was concerned, but as I lay in bed that night, thinking about this strange and wonderful day, staring at Christie’s cum-crinkly thong clenched in my hand, my cock slowly stiffened and I could almost feel her presence as I slowly jacked myself to my third cum of the day. As I rubbed the thong over my cock and belly to wipe it up, I thought, absurdly, “Where’s Lily when you need her?”
I felt myself smiling as I drifted off to a peaceful, contented, dreamless sleep.