The names, characters, places and events in this book are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. All characters are over the age of 18. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
*
Hershel Myler pulled into the McDonald's just off W Perkins Ave, Sandusky. Stepping out of his battered Chevy Colorado truck with too many miles on the clock, the dense, almost tropical heat of an overcast Ohio summer day rolling in off Lake Erie hit him like a hammer making sweat break out on his forehead and under his arms. He untied his bandanna from around his neck and wiped his face. Cement and wallboard dust came away with his perspiration, leaving streaks on his face.
Hershel glanced around and saw the parking lot was mostly empty and, with only a few vehicles in line at the drive-thru window, he reckoned he wouldn't have to wait too long in the diner itself. He paused a moment, resting his hand on his truck, listening to the dull roar of traffic along W Perkins itself.
He crossed the lot to the low, grey building with the golden arches prominently displayed. A young family was leaving as he ducked into the deeper shade by the door so, as he waited for them to exit; he glanced at his reflection in the window. What he saw didn't displease him so he grinned at the mom shepherding her kids out and was pleased when she smiled back and flicked her blond hair.
Hershel saw a man, slightly taller than the average but narrowly missing the six foot mark. He wore a pair of worn black Dickies pants with tan brown shirt, both stained with cement and sawdust and also scuffed work boots. His only jewelry was a Casio watch and a narrow gold chain. Looking up, he saw a pleasant, rugged face with a square chin, not what women would call handsome, but rugged and tanned from working outdoors. He had short, sandy hair and what he called designer stubble although that was more not bothering to shave than any deliberate intent. Brown eyes with laughter lines. Not bad, he thought, but he was sorry that he was 'free and single' at the moment.
A rumble from his belly reminded him that he hadn't eaten since an early breakfast not long after five a.m. and now it was pushing eleven and since then he'd been hard at work gutting a house over on 48th Street before starting to refurbish it. A couple of sausage and egg muffins with coffee would see him through. He pushed open the door and stepped into the air-conditioned cool of the diner, savoring the feel of the chill against his sweaty arms.
Immediately, his stomach growled again as soon as the delightful aromas of fried food hit his nostrils. He started crossing to the order point where a teenage girl looked up helpfully but thought that he should at least wash his hands first. Maybe a quick wash and brush up would help him enjoy his meal more. Looking around, there weren't that many in the restaurant; it was that quieter gap between breakfast and the lunchtime rush, he thought. A few old guys at one table nursing their coffees, the remains of their breakfasts still littering the table, a young guy on his own staring out the window at passing traffic, a small group of teenage girls with their heads together giggling at something on their phones.
He changed direction and walked across the tiled floor to the restrooms. He noticed the disabled bathroom's door was standing half open so, just out of curiosity, he glanced inside. A woman was standing in front of the polished stainless steel mirror. She was dabbing her eyes with a tissue and he wondered if she had been crying. He was about to respect her privacy and carry on when she called out, "Hey, you'll do -- could you come here, please?"
Hershel stopped in mid stride. "Everything alright, ma'am?" he asked.
She was only about his age -- mid twenties -- and of average height. He reckoned she was carrying several extra pounds, and her oversized Cleveland Browns hoody only hinted at her body underneath; however it wasn't zippered up all the way so he could make see the swell of her cleavage. Hershel thought she went maybe 170 but he'd bet the farm that her license showed a smaller number. He felt his cock twitch upwards. Beneath, she wore black leggings and flip-flops showing her painted toenails. He took that in at a glance and, looking up, saw she had a pleasant oval face with full lips and brown eyes lined by fake eyelashes but now tear filled. Her slightly freckled face was a little plump with fuller cheeks. Her hair was brown and long with curly waves cascading down.
"No it's not -- please come in."
He looked around wondering whether he was being set up for something but he couldn't think of who would want to do that. Okay, he hadn't parted that amicably from his last girlfriend but he hadn't heard from her since they'd split so there was no reason why she would want to do anything now. And, while he'd built up a bit of savings now, he wasn't worth blackmailing. And it wasn't like he had any business enemies -- it wasn't like he was competing against the Mob for contracts.
The woman looked invitingly at him. Nobody else in McDonald's was taking any notice of him so he stepped into the disabled restroom. The smell of disinfectant as well as the woman's perfume masked the ubiquitous smells of fast food.
"What can I do for you?" he asked.
In response, she reached behind him and shut the door and then turned the latch, locking them both in.
She looked him direct in the eye.
"Fuck me. Fuck me now," she said.
Hershel opened his mouth and closed it again. What the hell was going on here? He looked around the cubicle, looking for any hidden CCTV devices or concealed phones. Was he being set up for some weird reality show to be shown on some high-numbered cable channel? Something about getting men's reactions to odd situations? He took a step backwards towards the door.
The woman unzipped her hoody and, with a shrug of her shoulders, pulled it off. She wasn't wearing a bra and her large, heavy breasts, E at least, wobbled as she threw the garment onto the lowered baby-changing shelf next to her purse. Hershel stood there, transfixed. Her breasts were large, paler on the lower parts below the U of her tan lines which the sun's rays had never reached, lightly veined and hung down her chest. Her large circular brown areolae drew the eyes and, as the air-conditioned cool air struck them, her nipples stuck out proudly. He wanted to hold them, caress them, and suck on her engorged teats. With difficulty, Hershel looked up at her face.
"I mean it. I want you to fuck me," she repeated.
"Why?" he said thickly. He knew he wasn't too bad looking but Hollywood had never come calling for him. Also, he didn't think she was a hooker.
"You really wanna know? My fuckin' boyfriend cheated on me with some country bitch down in the pool hall. Some tart who fluttered her eyelashes at him, let him buy her a bunch of JD and cokes and then had him screw her out the back. It's not like it's the first time he's done this so I wanna get even. Show the bastard what it's like to be cheated on. But I don't want to do it with anyone we know." Her brown eyes swam with tears.
"For real?"
"For real. Now -- you gonna fuck me or shall I find someone else to do me? A real man."
Hershel thought for a moment but the sight of those magnificent tits got in the way of his thought processes. He hadn't been with a woman for a couple of months now -- more like getting on for three, he thought. After that downturn, work had been so busy lately and he had bills to pay. Also, he wanted to save up some money to buy a fixer-upper of his own, flip it, and make some real money. Maybe buy a newer truck as well. So he was working six days a week and, while he tried to keep the Sabbath day, that wasn't always possible. He tried to make church every Sunday morning otherwise his momma would be on his case, but that was about it for rest and relaxation unless you counted shopping for groceries.
He left his apartment early and often didn't get back until late and when he did, he was usually so dog-tired that he fell asleep. After a while of this, his girl told him that he was boring and no fun any more and, although she hadn't moved in, she collected her clothes, make-up and toothbrush and left. He texted her a few times but, deep down, wasn't too disappointed. Plenty of fish in the sea and all that -- but he hadn't time to go fishing for 'em.
