Another Cup of Coffee

Copyright © October 2017 by CiaoSteve

CiaoSteve reserves the right to be identified as the author of this work.

This story cannot be published, as a whole or in part, without the express agreement of the author other than the use of brief extracts as part of a story review.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

Author's Notes

Foreword #1 : All sexually active characters in this series are over 18

Foreword #2 : This is a story and intended as such. I do not condone some of the actions in the story.

Foreword #3 : Please do not complain about what sex there is in this chapter. It is intentional to set the undercurrents for the story to come.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The morning rush ended and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. There'd be a few hours of respite before it all started up again. God knows how many coffees I'd poured, you sort of go on auto pilot and just get on with it. I poured one more, a skinny cappa for myself and, taking advantage of the lull in trade, decided to take a well earned break.

"Hey, Susie," I called. "Man the counter. I'm off for a quick cuppa. Be back in fifteen."

"Sure thing Kat," a voice replied from behind. "Be there in a sec."

Picking up my coffee, I slipped out of the back of the stand and sauntered off through the station concourse. Outside was a patch of parkland and it was a nice day so why not take in a bit of fresh air before I got going again. I was lucky, there was just one bench left unoccupied and it just happened to be in the sun. Sitting down, I took the top off the cup and stared at the contents. It had become all too common that I pondered in this way, staring across the top of yet another cup of coffee, wondering how life had ended up like this. It was a long story and not the one I had set out to complete. Today was no different, once again I sat and stared, watching the world go by through the froth of a cappuccino.

How had it come to this? I often asked myself that question. All the high expectations I set myself had come to this. Twenty seven, a failed marriage and a career selling coffees on a railway station concourse. Not really how I had planned to fulfil my life. That said, there were many in worse positions but it didn't stop me pondering, wondering just what could have been. What if I hadn't done that? What if this had happened? How could I have avoided the other? Most days I pondered the same as I watched the world go by. It was amazing how everyone seemed to have an interesting tale to tell if you only took the time to peer beneath the surface, and these days I seemed to have plenty of time. I was still pondering the same when my trance was broken.

"Kathryn? Kathryn Reynolds?"

I was so deep in thought that I didn't really recognise somebody calling my name.

"It is, isn't it? Kathryn."

I looked up to see a smartly dressed woman looking down at me. She smiled.

"I thought it was you. We went to school together."

Quickly I racked my brains trying to put a name to a face before it became too embarrassing.

"Oh yes," I smiled back "It's Emma, isn't it?" I paused for a minute hoping not to be shot down.

"Great, you do remember. We were in the same year, but different classes. It's been a long time Kathryn. How is life treating you?"

Ah, that question again. So do I come clean and say something like "Oh yes, it's great with a pile of shit of an ex-husband and a future selling hot drinks to office workers like you" or do I play the political hand and give the impression all is OK without actually saying anything. As usual, I plumped for the latter.

"Oh, you know," yes, that was it, pass the ball back into her court "life's good. And how about you?"

That was a mistake. Five minutes later I'd finished listening to her story of climbing up the ladder at Megacorp.com, how she was happily married and planning a family soon. Why was it that everybody else seemed to live happy, interesting lives?

"Are you working?" enquired Emma "Oh, silly me, I can see your name badge."

"Oh that," I quickly rebuffed "I'm just helping out a friend for a while. She was a bit stuck and I had time on my hands. Anyway, it was great to see you again Emma but I must get back."

I stood up, a quick handshake, and walked off back in the direction of the station, nearly full cup of coffee still in hand. Why did that always happen? Why did everyone seem to be having a more successful life than I was and why did everyone feel the need to tell me about it?

The rest of the day was non-eventful. After rush hour the morning was normally quiet, picked up a bit at lunch time, quiet in the afternoon and then picked up again for the evening rush. We worked from six to seven. It was a long day but not too physical as we shared the work between the four of us. Madge was the manager, she was mid-forties and a bit of a mother hen to the rest of us. Then there was July, she was a quiet one working only to get a little cash to go off to Uni. Finally, Susie was around my age, married with kids which is what she always wanted. Susie was the one I found I could confide in, share a secret and know if would be kept. She was the one who kept me focused. Life was not all about possessions and riches, happiness with what you had was much more important.

The day was just about over, and we cleaned up ready for the next one.

"So Kat, what does the evening have in store for you? Wild parties all round?" she joked, knowing full well that neither of us had that kind of lifestyle.

"Oh you know," I replied "the usual. Plenty of housework and a bit of shut eye before we're back here again." I laughed, but it was true, this very much was life these days.

Wake, work, chores, sleep

. . . . and so it continued.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Back again, another day another queue. It's funny how some things become the routine. So here I was pouring coffees once more, trying to keep the queue moving as quick as I could. Nothing much changed, even the customers were predictable. Quite often I would daydream, trying to take a peek into their world, stare at their lives over the rim of

their

cup of coffee. Today was no different.

There was Captain Mainwaring, or at least that's the name I'd given him. He looked the part. Middle aged spread holding his suit jacket open, actually I wasn't sure it would ever close, briefcase in hand. Probably totally wrong but I really imagined he was a bank manager or the like. His would be a white Americano, although he always asked for a coffee with milk, none of this modern stuff for our Captain Mainwaring.

Mr and Mrs Peppermint Tea were the next of the regulars. She'd always have the same peppermint tea, insisting it was made with freshly brewed water from a kettle and not the urn. He never took anything. You only had to watch their expressions to know that he wanted to be somewhere else but she wore the trousers. You had to wonder if they even slept in the same room let alone thought of holding hands, kissing or "wash my mouth out" copulating.

Oh, I nearly forgot the hypochondriac. Soya milk coffee, better for the stomach she would comment. Always seemed to be carrying a hankie and moaning about some ailment or other. Never missed a day though.

Mr Penny for Them, now he was an interesting character, always in a world of his own, distant, thoughtful, but never really so cheery. I often wandered what went on inside. His was always a skinny cappa but I didn't really see him as a coffee lover. It seemed that he was just doing the done thing, buy a coffee, catch a train . . . regular as clockwork.

Finally, Ms 21 going on 50. She must have been pressing fifty but still dressed as if she was just of out college. Short skirts, skimpy tops, plenty of flesh on display. You almost felt like telling her to dress to her age, but she was always happy, so happy that she must be getting plenty. Hers was a vanilla chai latte, to keep her sweet I thought to myself.

They were always there, the regulars. You got to know them a little better than the rest of the crowd. A few minutes of the day passed with idle conversation, except from Mr Penny for Them, off in his own world. Yes, it did make for a more pleasant day but realistically it was always the same.

Finally, the rush once again almost over, my eye was taken by a stranger and I started pondering his life story. He was six foot, if not a bit more. Dark suit, smart shirt unbuttoned at the neck and no tie. Must have worked out as he was fit in appearance and certainly kept himself well spruced. I guessed mid to late thirties, no rings so probably single, definitely management material. I loved to try and second guess their orders. Now let's see, he must have been a Double French, long, strong and packs a punch. I listened carefully as he placed his order.

Yes

, I almost celebrated inside, he'd gone for a double espresso. There was something about the way he ordered, smooth, sophisticated with just a touch of the European in his accent. From now on he would be known as Double French in celebration of guessing the correct drink. He took his coffee and wandered off into the distance. I couldn't help but watch as he walked away, wondering just what his day would become.

"Eh, Kat!!!" it was Madge "That's two skinny cappas to go. Stop your gawping my girl, we've got customers to serve."

So that was it, the typical day, the usual suspects. What could be more normal? The day passed, again uneventfully and once more we packed up ready for tomorrow. As usual it was Susie and me who were last to leave.

"So what's the plan tonight Kat? Party animal again? After all it's your one year anniversary, isn't it?"

"Not tonight," I replied "need to wash my hair. Got to look your best, you know. And yes, it is one year, not that I'm celebrating."

Susie knew the score. Of all the girls she was the one I confided in. She was the one who knew about my anniversary. The first anniversary of the day I dumped that little shit.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

We'd been married a couple of years and, with hindsight, it was the biggest mistake of my life. You know, Mother told me it wouldn't last and god how much it hurts to know she was right. But when you're young you know better.

Jack was the subject of those wasted years. I'd finished Uni and gotten myself a decent job in a local publishing company. Jack had been one of the sales guys. He was charming, totally swept me off my feet, flashing a bit of cash and showing a girl a good time. What was there not to love about him? At the time nothing, but over the years I'd soon change my tune. For sure he'd show a girl a good time but he'd show himself a better one. He never knew where the boundaries were. Whether it be money, drink or other women he did it all. We were married for just about two years and they were two years I'd rather put behind me.

The final straw was still deeply etched in my mind, close my eyes and I could see it vividly. It was Jack's night out with the mates and I knew what that meant . . . drink and sex. Jack was so predictable. One two many and a sudden urge to have sex, not make love, just have sex. If I was lucky I'd get away without being hurt too much, physically I mean . . . the emotional hurt was always there.

That night he'd been out as usual and returned a couple of hours later. As predicted he had been drinking and yes he'd had one too many. That was just the catalyst. All of a sudden he was god's gift to women. His breath stank of stale beer and cigarettes, a turn off in it's own right, but that didn't stop him. He was like a man possessed, with one thing on his mind . . . . sex. He was going to get it and get it the way he wanted. Yes I used that word again . . . sex. Love gives the idea of two willing partners looking to enjoy each other. Sex though is something quite different.

It hadn't always been like that. In the first few months of marriage we did have a loving relationship, it just drifted away. I suspected he was seeing others but had no proof. In the end I had gotten used to the torment. He wouldn't be interested week after week until the night he went drinking after which anything would be fair game. I guess I'd sort of gotten used to it, become submissive, just trying to avoid being hurt any more than necessary. He wasn't exactly violent but after a few beers did become quite clumsy. Every time the same, and every time I let him back into my life, forgiving him on a promise that he would change.

He didn't though, he just kept going and that night he went just too far, stepped over a line which shouldn't have been crossed. He walked into the flat stinking of beer once more. I tried to convince him to sleep it off but, as I expected, he had other ideas. He grabbed me round the waist and pulled me into him. I turned away when he tried to kiss me, repulsed by that stale breath. Maybe that was the trigger as clumsiness turned into anger. Whatever it took he was going to get his way and now he was even more determined that it would be on his terms. When he got like this there was little I could do. He was much stronger than me.

Usually I'd manage to get into the bedroom and at least imagine I was being made love to. This night though was different. He forced me back against the living room wall, leaving me nowhere to go. There was nothing gentle as he pinned me down with his upper torso, leaving his hands free to lift my skirt up and rip my knickers down. I screamed at him to stop but it fell on death ears. In a flash he had his trousers and boxers down around his ankles, a stiff boner released from its confines.

He tried to push my legs apart and I hesitated. Big mistake. Frustrated that I wasn't submitting to his attention he pulled me away from the wall and practically threw me across the back of the nearest armchair. Before I could react he was behind, a strong arm across my back, holding me face down whilst his other hand poked around between my legs. He nudged, actually kicked, my ankle and reluctantly I spread my legs to allow access. It wasn't worth fighting, get it over with and move on was now priority number one.

I froze at the feeling of his finger poking around the wrong hole. There was no way on earth I was letting this happen. I shook my arse violently, dislodging his finger from my rosebud. He must have gotten the message as within seconds that same digit was working it's way in between my pussy lips and deep inside. He didn't even have the courtesy to wait until I was wet, just forced his way in. It was his cock which followed soon after, that hard rod of meat equally forcing it's way in as I bit my lips with the discomfort. Once in, he became an instant jackhammer, banging me as hard as he could with just one objective . . . to cum and cum quickly.

It only took five minutes, but seemed a lifetime, before he thrust one last time moaned out loud and spewed his sticky seed inside my pussy. Almost immediately he pulled out, watching his deposit trickle out of my open pussy and down my crack. Finally satisfied, he disappeared leaving me still bent over the chair.

I stayed there, not moving, worried he may come back. A good fifteen or twenty minutes passed and it was only the faint sound of snoring which told me it was safe. Dressing again I sat in the chair, head in hands, crying. Finally he'd gone too far, using me like a piece of meat, and I wasn't going to put up with it any more. Something had to be done and one year ago I did it.

I left the little shit

.

It wasn't easy and I won't say that I haven't since wondered if there was another way, but it was the right thing, actually the only thing to do. That night cost me a lot as I had to make a clean break and move out of reach. I left the little shit, the marital home, what few friends I had made and finally my job itself, just to get away. Luckily one close friend did remain and helped me out. She had a small flat for rent which wasn't occupied and she offered it to me at a cheap price. I accepted gratefully and moved, of course without leaving any forwarding address. So suddenly I found myself alone again, living in the outskirts of London not too far from where I was brought up.

A new address, a new life and a new me was the idea. It hadn't quite worked out but I guess two out of three wasn't bad as somebody famous once sang. I had the new address and the new life, but did I really have the new me? I'd swapped a promising career in publishing for a lifetime serving coffees. Was this really the

new me

that I was looking for? That said, at least I was the mistress of my own desires now. That shit was out of my life and I no longer had to endure anything further.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

So here I was, at home in my tiny one bed flat, celebrating my first anniversary. Was celebrating the word? My feelings were mixed, strained. Yes I needed to celebrate my courage to put an end to the hurt and misery. Yet at the same time I had to admit that living alone did have its downs as well. There were times, Christmas for one, Birthday's for another, where you longed for just a little company. No, not night's out with friends, or evenings with family, but something just a little more personal.

This was the new me which hadn't quite materialised and partly this was of my own making. For all I wanted something, I just didn't know what it was. A new man? That was the obvious choice but by now I had my doubts. Were they all the same? Did they all want one thing and one thing only? A woman? Whilst great as friends that was all it would be. I had no interest at all, even in this liberal day and age, of looking for a girlfriend. Susie was great as a close friend and confidant, but she would be no more than that.

So for now it was little young me battling my way through life, intent on pouring just another cup of coffee and not so worried about what the future may bring. At least for now my destiny was back in my own hands.

And so life went on. Five days a week I manned up to work that little coffee counter. Five days a week the same old routine, give the customer just what he wants with a smile on your face. Your job, simply just to help get them through the day with a smile to wish them on their way.

Yes there were the regulars, those few who, as loyal as you were, turned up the same time every day. Then there were many irregulars, you saw them once or twice but no more.

Then there was Double French. He was rapidly becoming a regular but there was something more. Was it the looks? Was it the Mediterranean accent? Was it his style? I couldn't place my finger on it, but Double French had me captivated. He'd appear at the back of the queue, quiet as ever and I'd find myself watching his every move as he ordered, waited, then collected a double espresso.

Every day the same so what could be so interesting in somebody ordering a coffee? Maybe it was in the eyes, those deep meaningful eyes. I'd stare into the depths of those eyes just trying to see what secrets they hid. If he'd noticed he didn't say anything. The odd hello and maybe even a little smile was about it, but deep down there

was

something about him. Even Susie noticed, teasing me one closing time.

"So my dear little Kat," she started, winking as she went "looks like you're a lady in love."

"Shut it Susie," I snapped. It was obvious though that she had touched a nerve.

"Those eyes, those puppy eyes when he appears. Watching his every move."

"No way," I replied "he's just another customer."

I was blushing somewhat.

"Me not think so," continued Susie "me thinks you like him. Look, you're even blushing."