

The following work of fiction contains sexual activities between
consenting adults. If you are too young, too uptight, or your
local government is too oppressive, you should stop reading now.



This story is in the public domain. While you are legally free
to do anything you like with it, out of courtesy to the author,
I humbly request that you leave my name and contact information
with this story.


Nighthawks
By Poison Ivan



By Poison Ivan

_Warning! The following work of fiction contains 
sexual activities between consenting adults. You must be at least 18 
years old to read it._

“Hi,” he said.

Her head slumped to the side and she sighed. She looked for someone
else in her peripheral vision, but her eyes wouldn’t focus. She
sighed again and gave the guy a good look. Not that it made much
difference. The guy had a nice hat, at least, but why he hadn’t
checked it was beyond her. “Hello,” she said.

“I’m Ronald. I like your dress,” he said.

“Yeah, well, thanks.”

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“No. Thanks.”

She could see the muscles in his jaw work. He didn’t look her in
the eyes; he seemed to be looking just past her head at something
behind her.

“Then you want to go get some coffee? Or something?”

She inhaled and felt the smoky air in her throat. She swallowed
hard to keep from coughing. Oh, what the hell. At least the guy was
trying. “OK, sure.” And it would be nice to get some fresh air,
such as it was.

They got up together and left the bar. The street was mostly empty.
Even the lights in the apartments above the stores were dark;
everyone turns in early on a weeknight. She couldn’t think of
anything to say to him, and he seemed to be the quiet type, so they
walked along in silence. The street lamps cast dull shadows on the
sidewalks.

They came to a diner on the corner. A boy in white behind the
counter was washing dishes in a gray rubber tub. A man was slumped
over a cup of coffee on one stool. The place was otherwise empty.

She thought she’d been at the diner before, maybe when she first
came to the city. Or maybe not. She had a hard time telling diners
apart.

When she first came to the city, she used to cry all the time. She
cried alone in her room, and she cried in diners like this one. And
she’d cry at the oddest moments, sometimes when she was just
walking down the street. It didn’t cause her much embarrassment,
though; everyone avoids a woman crying in public.

She didn’t cry much any more. Only when she watched shows on
television, especially the shows where boys and girls fell in love.
She tried not to watch those shows, but sometimes you can’t tell in
advance and you get sucked into the story anyway. She would sit on
her bed with her arms and legs wrapped around her pillow and tears
would roll down her face until the movie was over or she fell
asleep, whichever came first.

They sat down on adjacent stools. “What’ll you have?” the boy
behind the counter said.

“Two coffees,” Ronald said.

“Anything else?” and he looked expectantly at the woman. The other
patron sitting on his stool sat like a stone statue. He looked
drunk.

“No. Coffee’s all.”

The boy scrunched his face up, which made his lip curl. He looked
like a mean dog. He set two coffee cups down in front of them.

She didn’t want to look at Ronald. She looked straight ahead at the
back of the diner. She knew Ronald wanted sex. They all did. And
she was all dressed up in a nice red dress, and to men, that meant
she wanted sex, too.

She hadn’t decided if she’d say yes yet. Maybe she would, maybe she
wouldn’t. She wouldn’t decide until the moment he asked. Sometimes
when she answered she surprised even herself.

“Is it OK if I kiss you?” Ronald said.

She sighed. Ronald was the direct type. Yes, she could kiss him.
She could kiss him, let him hike her up on the counter with her
thighs wide apart, a sweep of the arm knocking cups of hot coffee
to the floor. She could fuck him. She could fuck them all. This guy
Ronald pounding between her legs, and a dick in her mouth when the
boy behind the counter got involved. Come one, come all, take me,
everybody take me. You on the other stool, come on over here, I'll
take you on, too. You want my ass? Buddy, you can have my ass.

“You want kissing, it’ll cost you an extra twenty bucks,” she said.
And her body tensed up as soon as she said it. The boy behind the
counter stared right at them, his mouth hanging limply open.

“What?” Ronald said.

“Kissing is extra.”

“Oh. I see.” There was a long pause. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you
were ...”

“Yeah, sure,” she sighed. “How would you know?”

He thrust his hand in his pocket and pulled out a wad of crumpled
bills. “I have money, that’s OK.”

Her heart accelerated, and she couldn’t believe she was actually
doing this. “How much you got?”

“I got ... I got almost two hundred bucks.”

“For two hundred bucks, honey, you can kiss me.” It seemed like the
slutty thing to say. She had no idea what she’d do with the money.
She couldn’t imagine spending it. A shopkeeper would certainly be
able to tell where it came from.

Ronald rubbed his fingers together and his eyes lowered to the
counter. “How much for a blowjob?” he whispered.

What was she trying to prove? Was she trying to humiliate herself?
She pulled her elbows in close and looked at her fingernails. There
was a big chip in the polish of her middle finger.

“Put your money away,” she whispered.

“What?”

“I don’t want your money,” she said. Her voice seemed to echo in
the diner.

“But I thought ... I thought you were a ...”

“Yeah, well, I’m not.”

She stared at the nails of one hand, and she drummed her fingertips
of her other hand into the countertop. He touched her hand on the
counter, and it took every ounce of her will to keep from
recoiling.

“What are you looking at?” Ronald called out just a little too
loud. The boy behind the counter’s eyes shifted a tiny bit, and he
stared past them out into the empty street. “I’m not looking at
nothin,” he said.

She sighed and relaxed just a little. Maybe she would just go home
and see what was on the channel seven late night movie. She stood
up. “Thanks for the coffee, Ronald.”

Ronald jumped up after her. “Are you sure ... are you sure you
don’t want to do something?”

The shadow of his hat covered his eyes. She thought he was
squinting at her. “No, I’m not feeling well. I think I’ll just go
home.”

“You sure?”

She smiled. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

She pushed open the door and stepped alone out into the empty
street. And a tear trickled down her cheek.




              

Comments? Good or bad, I'd love to hear them. Email me at
poisoniv1@hotmail.com. Or you can find mor estories like this on
my website, http://bounce.to/poisoniv1.

