Friday, October 24, 2014

The Endless Cup


In the spirit of Halloween, I will be posting some fun Friday short stories, and invite you to share yours as well. 

"The darkest souls are not those which choose to exist within the hell of the abyss, but those which choose to break free from the abyss and move silently among us."
~Dr. Samuel Loomis (Halloween)

“Could you show me your blackest black?”  He’d asked the question so innocently.  I knew I couldn’t really show him.  I couldn’t reveal the murky depths in which those coils spun.   

No one would understand just how painfully drab the mirth of my existence had become.  How could I explain how desperately I wished to shed my cloak of invisibility, “Miss, are you alright?”  He combed back his premature grey with a single flip of hand, his eyes filling with curiosity.

“You’ll have to follow me,” I untied my apron and placed it on the counter.  I watched his eyes wander across my bosom which was no longer hidden by the frock.  His eyes lingered momentarily, enjoying how tightly my breasts pushed against the cotton of my blouse.  A growling embitterment rose deep inside, daring me to show him the blackest black.    

He must have felt the tension of my thoughts and cleared his throat to burden my ears with idle chatter.  “I love the smell of coffee.”  My eyes drifted to the window, searching the bare streets for any sign of reprieve.  A single guest willing to offer amnesty, but it was a slow morning. The rain had kept most visitors in their cars, rushing through drive-thru windows, for reheated garbage passed off as coffee.   

“Do you ever get tired of it?”  Turning sharply in response to the question, my eyes sought his meaning.  Had he heard me?  Could he have known just how tired I was of the unevenly matched charades?  “The smell, I mean.”  His clarification only offered disappointment.  For a moment I’d been hopeful, but he was just another imprudent man.

“I don’t think I could ever get tired of it.” His smile was so sincere, I almost felt pitty.  A momentary desire for a time when I could have sat down and enjoyed a cup with him.  Maybe even get to know him to some degree, but he was just a simple man, and nothing more.  He’d come and go just like they all did; smelling my coffee, letting their lips touch the mugs I washed by hand every day.  They had no idea how much work I put into their morning enjoyment.  No appreciation for how long it takes to roast a damn bean before it has the proper acidity.

I waved my hand magically across the shelf which housed the individual bags.   Each sitting modestly on the ledge where I’d placed them.  A handpicked selection of distinct flavorful beans, ground daily and placed in artfully sewn sacks made of the finest cotton.  Each delicate label crafted with the very same hands, beamed warmly at the man as he reached for their unique calling, “Wow, it sure smells good.”

I sighed, unsure, glancing for one more opportunity before I gave in, but the rain still fell and the patrons still absent.  I forced my most enthusiastic charm forward, “Would you like to see?”

Instinctively his eyes floated across my bust, before he nodded.  Unknowing it was a glance which made my decision easier.  I turned the sign on the door, Be Back in a Few, Got to let the Coffee Brew, then turned the lock.  Leading him slowly and seductively to the back room, I felt his eyes begin to caress the curves of my body.  Playing coy, I looked over my shoulder, and smiled shyly, “This is the kitchen.” I was sure to force air through my words as I pronounced each “s” slowly. 

“It…it’s very nice,” his hesitation offered assurance. 

We’d come to the end of the kitchen and turned into the small space between the shelving and wall.  He nervously swept his hair back again, a sweet habit I would recall in days to come; I took the opportunity to inhale deeply allowing the peaks of my blouse to lightly graze his forearm.  I could feel the heat rise within him, confirming, what I already knew.  I continued to appear timid and innocent, “This just leads to the basement,” I whispered. 

His thoughts must’ve been too airy to allow him to speak.  His lips parted but no sound escaped, only the sweet smell of desire.  He continued to hold the bag of coffee grounds in one hand and his fingers lightly traced the door with the other, his eyebrows reaching up for a question that would not release itself from the clutches of his mind.

I took a step closer only allowing a fraction of space between us and opened the door.  A blast of aroma filled what little distance was left, wrapping us tightly and forcing the pressure of heat to join us.  It all seemed so coincidental, but life offers little surprise to those who can see through her malicious ways.

I could feel the impending weight of a kiss and stepped away, allowing his hunger to grow.  The hypnotic pull of need pushed him forward, allowing him to move deeper into the darkness of a room he’d never been.  “This is where the magic happens.”  My voice lilted across the room with appreciation and grandeur, simultaneously I pulled the overhead string lighting the room. 

His eyes widened at the pillows of beans which lay innocently against the wall and then he took me greedily into his arms.  His lips rushing in without invitation, devouring all hesitation that was left in me.  His hands roaming clumsily across my body, smothering any sympathy.  Our bodies fell to the bags meticulously laid out for my service.  I allowed him to revel in his passion, I accepted his lustful intrusion for moments upon moments, ensuring he was totally lost and committed.  A painful reminder echoed in my mind as he began to sweat with self-indulgence, “Show it to him.” He’d made his way down, his fingers fumbling with the button of my slacks, “Do you still want to see the blackest black?”  My breathy words filling his ear with tantalizing promise. 

“Yes! Oh yes!” he cried out. 

In one smooth motion I rolled him over into submission; pressing my thighs firmly against his sides.  “How bad do you want to see it?”  I teased.  

I watched his eyes beg for pleasure and satisfaction, just as they all do; selfishly thinking of what awaits them in the sweet gift of my body, never once thinking of what they could do to satisfy or offer a moment’s pleasure to me.  They have no idea how much work I put into their morning enjoyment. 

I leaned forward offering him a taste, a small sample of how worthy I was of being wanted, but the tickle of truth crept its way around us.  A jealous flourish robbing me of enjoyment, binding itself to him with just as much gluttony as he’d displayed just seconds before.  When his eyes closed awaiting ecstasy, the delicate vine of yearning laced itself around his wrists, legs and torso, slowly pulling him down into the abyss of longing.  When the thrill of delight was slowly replaced with nibbles of agony his eyes sprung open in terror.

The curse of my alluring beauty and the intoxicating aroma of my previous pursuers now held him captive.  The beans which rested quietly in the pillow-y bags below him now sprouted to life, feeding on the energy of his desire.  Each tender leaf beginning to fill the orifices of his body, claiming him for themselves, unwilling to let me have even a moment longer to reflect on his nervous habits or sincere smile. I watched as the vines slowly strangled him, sucking what little energy was left until he was nothing more than tomorrow’s brew.

Dusting myself off,  I straightened my clothes, turned off the light and returned to the store front.  Revolving the open sign as I had earlier that morning, I noticed the rain had stopped.  "Business will pick up again soon."  The room remained silent in reply but I could smell the warm aroma of excitement waft through the air. 
 
 

 

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