I have previously posted several stories on Literotica under another pen name. For a year I have stopped writing and now feel the need to put some more words on paper, so to speak. Previously I explored certain fetishes and more 'edgy' topics that felt tantalizing and compelling at the time. This story, however, is less risqué, but is one of far more honestly than what I have written before. I hope you enjoy it, and always welcome critique and constructive criticism.
While based on actual, personal experience, this story is to be considered a work of fiction.
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I had barely sat down when she placed the drink in front of me, a diet-Pepsi with a slice of lemon, very little ice. Perfect. It was one of the reasons I frequented this restaurant for lunch: great service. Eating here 2 to 3 times a week meant the waitress knew my name, new my beverage preference, even knew what I was likely to order.
"Enchiladas today, right?" Cami asked as I sipped some of my drink.
"You know me, can't pass up the house special!" I replied.
I looked across the table at Mark, who rarely joined me for lunch but had come with today. He was looking over the menu but I decided to spare him the routine. "Bring him the same" I told Cami, and then promised Mark he would not be disappointed. He simply shrugged and handed Cami the menu and asked for a regular cola.
I notice him look Cami, our waitress, up and down as she noted our orders on her pad and then turn to walk away. He then looked at me with a mischievous grin as if to say 'what was that all about?'
"I eat here a lot... she knows what I like," I answered his unspoken question. He only smiled in return.
Cami returned quickly with Marks drink and put chips and salsa on the table for us to share. Two bowls of salsa, with one placed in front of each of us. "I know you don't like to share," she teased. Her smile was warm and honest and I smiled back. She walked back to the kitchen and again Mark watched her as she moved away.
"Not the cutest waitress in the world, but she sure has the 'hots' for you!" was Marks shallow remark.
I was caught off guard by his observation. Honestly dismayed initially by the idea that perhaps Cami was attracted to me, even interested in me. A pleasant rush of adrenaline made me flush inside at the thought of a romantic prospect, but was then replaced by a feeling of resentment that Mark thought she was 'not cute', in his judgment., but that meant not beautiful, or not sexy, or not perfect in the blonde-Barbi sense of the word 'perfect'. I was offended. I didn't say anything, but my mind started analyzing his verbalized opinion in contrast to what I saw when I looked at Cami.
She was certainly the actual, if unspoken reason, I spent so many lunch-hours at this particular restaurant, (that and the great Mexican food they served at such reasonable prices). Cami was young, I doubt much older than 20 or 21. She was warm, and friendly, and provided exceptional service as a waitress. No, she was not gorgeous in the traditional sense of the word, but she was beautiful. Not tall, she was probably around 5' 3" and while not model thin, she wasn't fat either. Her legs where strong and tan, not long and lean as seen on the cover of fashion magazines but they were toned and well defined... no one would call them fat or even chubby. Today they were very visible as she was wearing a lose skirt that fell a few inches above her knees. Her skirt was just short enough to tempt my eyes to linger longer than normal on her smooth skinned knees and sexy calves and ankles. Normally, my eyes would travel quickly up her legs so I could take in her sensuous bottom. Without a doubt, one of her most pleasing features was the roundness of her ass and the soft, inviting feminine curve that was highlighted by almost anything she was wearing.
Her hair was a sandy brown color, giving it an almost amber tint but not quiet red and certainly not a true brunet. Her breasts were small, a b-cup at best. Her neck was longer than it should have been, given her body type. Her hair was always pulled back into a simple pony or wrapped in a loose bun, so her neck was always exposed and her hair length always a mystery. She favored earrings that hung only an inch or two below her ear-lobes that seemed perfect for her face, neck, and hair-style. They were as casual and confident as the rest of Cami's appearance. But despite the sensual allure of her hair, neck, and jewelry, it was Cami's face that made the sale. Her eyes were wide and warm. Deeply brown pupils, long lashes, and only moderately plucked eye-brows, her eyes felt like home. There was life in her eyes, humor in her eyes, and most of all... confidence. Her smile was accentuated by a deep dimple on the right side of her mouth that only appeared when she smiled. But her smile was generous and genuine and so there was plenty of opportunity to observe it. Not only did her smile cause her dimple to manifest, but made her nose scrunch up in a playful sort of way that made her look younger than she was. It also made her eyes explode with energy and cheerfulness. You would never know she was working a tough job, on her feet for hours, making less than idea money as a waitress. To see her smile you would think she was on a beach with a drink and a good book, enjoying the sun and sand. There was a sense of escape and easiness in her voice and face and actions.
Mark was amused by my daydreaming, and being the typical male that he was, didn't let it slide.
"Hey, you can do better than that!" He said, followed by a self-congratulating laugh and shake of his head.
Maybe I could, I thought. My last girlfriend has been more stereotypical in terms of physical appearance. She has also been a spoiled pain in the ass, preoccupied with her looks, never confident enough to leave the house without make-up and perfect hair, and endlessly, but falsely, concerned about her self-appraised imperfections. No objective person to see her naked would have found fault in her flat stomach or large natural breasts or perfectly sculpted back, butt, and legs. Still, she made a show of covering herself when coming out of the shower or after sex to keep me from seeing a wrinkle here or an extra pound there. It was exhausting to deal with her obsessive need for attention and affirmation, day after day. And eventually it was the reason we broke up.
I was honest with her when we split, I simply told her I was tired of her. It probably sounded cold and was likely taken out of context, but no other phrase described how I felt. She left in a storm of obscenities, but it was over and I felt relieved. It was the very next day I made my first stop for enchiladas and the first time I saw Cami.
So, could I do better than Cami? I guess it depends on what one is measuring and whose standards are being used. Something about Cami had drawn me in over the past 6 weeks and made me obsess over the simplest details. I spent one lunch infatuated with her oddly short little toes that were visible through the end of her sandals, and the little toe ring that embellished her pinky toe. Another day I noticed the small pattern of moles on the back of her neck, three of them in an almost perfectly straight horizontal line just to the left of her spine. Hidden details like these moles, almost always hidden by her hair but occasionally revealed when she pulled her hair up, made me wonder what other treasures were to be found. I spent an entire afternoon following one of my lunch visits, trying to guess at what her last name might be. What was the perfect complimentary name for Cami? Smith? No, far too common. Christensen? Nah... that would be too obvious. Maybe Cami was not her formal name, maybe her real name was Camilla or Cameron or Camile.
I finished my lunch, half-listening to Mark talk about work and the big projects we were both working on. I take lunch to escape from work for a few minutes, so my participation in the conversation was sparse and my real interest was in Cami and her occasional visits to our table to check on us. At one point she cleared my plate and placed her hand on my back as she bent down to grab my empty cup. It was just enough pressure to feel the warmth of her palm through my shirt. It was like I was in high school again, flirting in the hall with some emerging teenage beauty. I was surprised at the reaction I was having to Cami, given the slight chance that she might actually be interested in me. Her body language was certainly reinforcing the idea, though.
Despite my weeks of superficial flirting with Cami, not until today had I considered actually asking her out. I was 33, likely 10 years or older than her, and unfortunately starting to show some of my age. The hair line was ever so slightly receding, and despite my best efforts to stay in shape and keep active, the body was becoming soft in places. My knees hurt from basketball and jogging, and such joint pain just makes you feel older. I kept reminding myself that 33 was NOT old, but everything is relative, and in contrast to Cami's young body and spirit, I felt old. Work was a stress factor as well, with recent projects keeping me in the office late into the evenings, and thus any exercise or social life cut into precious sleep time. Nothing like an average of 4 hours of sleep a night to make anyone look and feel older than they actually are.
I was still stinging inside from Marks comments about Cami's appearance. I was almost defensive in my thoughts and rationale as we had eaten our lunches. Mark was finishing his soda, and we would be leaving soon. I had another sudden shift in emotion as I started to panic that I would have to leave without seeing Cami again. I rose to my feet and excused myself to the men's room, not exactly sure what I was going to do, but proceeded in the general direction of the kitchen and wash rooms. I rounded a corner to make my way to this part of the restaurant, and thus Mark was well out of sight, but Cami was dead-ahead. My normal reserve and common sense seemed to disappear as I walked closer. She turned and asked if the meal was ok. Of course it was fantastic, and I told her so, but then paused to take a deep breath.
"Would you consider having dinner with me sometime, Cami?" I asked her. I was entirely regretting my boldness the second I finished my proposal, but her smile never faded and her eyes stayed intensely focused on mine. She only replied, "Of Course!" as if there could be no other answer.
I should have been more prepared, but my brain failed me as I considered her answer and then realized the ball was back in my court. She shifted her stance so that her body was square to me and fully at my attention. This gal had such poise and well trained mannerisms.
I fumbled for my wallet, pulled out a business card and offered her my work number. It was my normal way of picking up a girl... don't put the pressure on them for a phone number, let them decide if they truly want to call or not. She took the card and said she would call after her shift was over, and I told her I would be in the office at least until 6:00. Her smiled was constant and I felt myself starting to heat up to the point of perspiring, so I departed with a wave and some silly cliché' about being excited for her call.
