To any outside observer, life had been nothing but a endless trial for Beverly Tibbits. At 52, due to the chronic health and dependency issues with her Husband over the past two decades, Beverly had long been the main breadwinner in the household.
From a rural Missouri town and without a high school degree, a result of getting pregnant when she was 15, Beverly had been forced to take work where she could find it, either in the 'mom and pop' retail outlets in the area and for awhile at a frozen food packaging factory until it went bankrupt and had to close its doors. For the past four years, Beverly had toiled as a waitress at a greasy spoon at the intersection of I-29 and Highway 36 along the Kansas/Missouri border in the little town of St. Josephs.
Even by the most modest of standards, Beverly's circumstances were far from ideal. Having come to the realization that her Husband's health was never going to improve enough to allow him to lessen the load of work on her as she aged, Bev could do nothing but face day after day of 8-10 hours shifts and small tips, with really no hope for anything more.
Through it all however, Bev always seemed to manage a friendly smile and warm word to the people she encountered. It had been how she was raised, to always appreciate what she did have and understand that others had it worse. Still, the dull and hopeless tension grew like a steadily creeping cancer inside Beverly and every night when she allowed herself the one guilty pleasure of soaking her sore and throbbing feet, she prayed that something better would eventually come along.
There were half a dozen other waitresses working at Bernie's Diner, all of them cut from the same cloth as Beverly. Small town Midwestern women, resting precariously in middle age, with a lifetime of bittersweet memories and uncertain futures.
All but one was married, but Beverly was in the strange position to have the only Husband of the bunch that could really be trusted. Partly due to his health issues and partly due to the fact that she was probably the only woman God had put on the Earth that would have tolerated him for the better part of 36 years. She had lost count of how many times the husbands of the women she worked with made either a subtle or not so subtle 'come on' to her and her fellow co-workers. That was just how men were wired she'd accepted a long time ago, to stray, and the smaller the town, the shallower the straying pool. In a way, Beverly relished the jealousy the other waitresses looked at her with knowing that Beverly knew where her Husband was at while she was at work, while many of them didn't.
When you don't have a lot to keep score with in life, Beverly took solace from whatever small victory she could.
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The Thursday night in early November couldn't have been more typical and routine for Beverly as she worked the 4-Midnight shift. While there had been the normal dinner rush, it had pretty much dissipated after 8pm, and by 10 all that remained was the occasional straggler off the highway and some of the local truckers who frequented Bernie's.
If Beverly hadn't made a ton of tips by the time the dinner rush was over, she pretty much knew her take home pay for the night would be slim pickings. Very few of the out of towners tipped well as the night went on, and many of the locals were content to sit around and nurse a couple cups of coffee, shooting the shit with their buddies and occasionally flirting with the girls who worked there.
Usually by 10, Bev had lost what little humor she had dealing with everything and often those final few hours of the shift just seemed to drag by. Still, Beverly consistently soldiered on, trying to keep her and her co-workers spirits up until she could go home and crash, knowing full well she'd face the same ordeal tomorrow.
By 10:30 that night, there were only two customers left in the restaurant, one a local towtruck driver who was getting ready to pay his bill, and a middle aged black man Beverly had never seen before, who had pulled into the parking lot in a rental car about 45 minutes earlier, and was now putting the final touches on a slice of apple pie he'd ordered for dessert.
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For the past eight years, Myron McLean had ate at more greasy spoons than he cared to admit. Still relatively spry and healthy for a man of 38, he knew his waistline had increased a few inches since taking the Midwest sales director job at a Pharmaceutical company based in his hometown of Birmingham, Alabama.
About once a month, Myron would take a northern trek from Alabama, up through Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska and Wyoming visiting several hospitals and doctors' offices along the way before following a southern route back home doing the same through Colorado, Oklahoma, and Arkansas before making the rounds through what was left of the Gulf Coast then returning back to Birmingham.
While the travel did keep him away more than he wanted from his wife and kids, Myron had gradually discovered some of the perks that came with being in a different town every night. Yes, the sales position did create a decent income in these times of obscenely bloated medical costs, but somewhere along the way, Myron found he had the ability to score more fresh pussy as he approached 40 than he ever dreamt of when he was younger.
A good percentage of the women he met on the road were at bars or clubs, but he also encountered a surprising amount of willing ladies at the restaurants or hotels he stopped at. Myron went into Bernie's Diner that night however with sex being the furthest thing from his mind. After oversleeping and getting a late start that morning, Myron had hustled but could never seem to quite catch up. He'd even skipped lunch and by the time he sat down and ordered dinner that night, all that mattered was putting some nourishment in his 240 pound body.
Scoping out his surroundings as he waited for his meal, Myron planned out a simple evening of eating, then going up the street to the hotel and turning in to get a fresh start tomorrow. Besides his need for sleep, there really wasn't a lot of sexual landscape in the Diner at that late hour. Myron quickly noticed wedding bands on all three waitresses, not that any of them even remotely looked to be the type for a meaningless one night encounter with a complete stranger in a hotel room.
He had sat down in Allison's section, and of the three with her long reddish brown hair and outgoing personality, seemed to be the most desirable of the trio. After giving his order to her, Myron watched as she disappeared into the kitchen only to have another waitress, one with Beverly embossed on her nametag finally bring his meal.
"Allison's in the back helping the cook clean up, I'll be up here if you need anything," She offered, the fatigue of a long shift clear in her polite but haggard voice.
Realizing he still had some room left for dessert, Myron ordered a slice of apple pie as the last of the other customers paid then filtered out. All alone now in the dining area with his hunger now satisfied, Myron was able to make occasional eye contact with Beverly as she made her rounds, getting the place cleaned up. He could clearly see from the slump of Bev's back and her awkward gait just how hard her job was on her. While there was a twinge of empathy in Myron, with the distraction of an empty belly out of the way, another unquenched hunger slowly re-emerged. It had been three days since Myron had fucked his wife before leaving on his business trip and as his dinner settled, he could feel a growing sensation gnaw at his groin.
"Just get back to the hotel, maybe get a movie on Spectra-vision, then get some sleep," his common sense told him.
"Would you like some coffee with your pie?" Bev interrupted his inner train of thought.
"Yes, please," Myron agreed against his better judgment, knowing the coffee would make it that much tougher to fall asleep.
Myron inhaled the light scent of Beverly's perfume as he sat there in the booth, watching her pour him a cup of coffee from the pot. His elbows resting on top of the table, he couldn't help stealing a glance or two to his left with the waitress' rather heavy bosom right at his eye level.
"Very well endowed," he grinned internally, knowing her breasts must have been quite a sight when she was younger and they were much firmer. Still, he couldn't resist imagining just how arousing they would look resting in his hands. This caused his dick to harden that much more under the table.
"Thank you," he said after Bev finished pouring his coffee. "I'll be out of here in a minute or two so you can finish cleaning up."
"No hurry," Beverly laughed. "The overnight crew comes in at Midnight..what we don't get to, they can finish up."
"I bet she's never even seen a black man naked," Myron found himself thinking as he watched her walk back to the counter. "Not too many blacks around here I'm guessing and she doesn't look like the internet porn type."
"She's probably been married to the same guy for over 30 years," he correctly guessed. "And from the looks of things, it got old a long, long time ago."
"I wouldn't even know how to start trying to get her back to the hotel," Myron wondered between sips of coffee. Most of the women he met and hooked up with on the road were relatively easy marks, pretty much being able to access their availability soon after making eye contact and a little small talk.
Beverly, along with the other two waitresses on shift gave out no such signals, but Myron was now almost to the point of being mesmerized with Bev as he finished his coffee, subtly watching the defeat in her posture and the unmistakable void in her eyes, wondering if it was something he could fill.
After a few moments of benign contemplation, Myron decided to just let it go.
As he sat there and finished the last bites of his pie however, Myron couldn't tear his gaze away from the way Beverly's heavy bosom bounced each time she took a step, straining the front of her apron. His manhood continued to inflate between his legs until it created a logshaped bulge along the inner thigh of his business slacks imagining how divine the waitress' titties would look like spilling free from her bra.
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All that filtered through Beverly's head at that late hour were thoughts of finishing her shift, going home and soaking her feet while having a few Bud Lights before going to sleep, just to start the daily grind all over again.
The dinner rush had gone smoothly and as the late evening stragglers gradually filtered away, Beverly looked up to see only one customer remaining. Her two co-workers, Cindy and Allison had gone back into the kitchen to help clean up and get a head start on the next day's prep leaving Bev to clean the counter and wait on anyone else who might trickle in.
Beverly could tell from the lone customer's out of state plates he was just passing through, not to mention the color of his skin as well. There were very few colored folk, as she called them, in the area. Many of her friends and family used much harsher terms, but Beverly herself wasn't prejudice. She always had a kind smile and loving place in her heart for everyone, but somewhere deep down on a primal level, from the environment and generation she'd been raised , Bev did feel different when she was in the presence of people not quite like herself.
The black gentleman eating in the diner didn't give off any bad vibes for Bev and he seemed friendly enough as they made occasional polite chatter. When she noticed him take the last sip of his coffee, and clean the plate of his pie, Bev quickly walked over with a pot of coffee in her left hand just to make sure he didn't want one more cup before he paid.
Walking towards him with a slight limp on her sore feet, Bev asked if he wanted a re-fill. Myron smiled and said no.
"Can I get your check then?" Beverly asked.
