Author's Note: This is my story, I wrote it, stealing is lame. If you don't like it, don't read it. Feel free to comment with any errors you find, I will feel free to delete them and call you an asshole out loud. Thanks for any votes, feedback, or favorites; Hope you enjoy:
*
It was coffee time. Early morning coffee time. Cold early morning coffee time.
It might have been Monday, maybe Wednesday, as the cold young man was still a quart low before correct thinking, unclear and easily still ready for more bed. Emanuel Waters knew the draw of liquid caffeine, similar to low rent housing and crack addicts. The thought of embracing a burning cup in his fingers, freshly frozen from the window scraper, only spurned on the mostly frosty utility pick-up and its driver.
The trip from his apartment to the coffee shop was just long enough to not let his vehicle warm-up; from the coffee shop to his job was just long enough for him to warm-up before stepping back out into the cold for the rest of the day.
He laughed to himself at the thought: "Job, just over broke, and seldom from money." It didn't last as warm relaxing caffeine clarity addiction requirements, or coffee lust, pushed forward.
He pulled safely, blinker involved, into the small family bakery where he bought his first cup, every day. Cream no sugar, weekends and holidays included. Some people meditate, he coffee'd daily to center his life, even if the time was always different.
This day, whichever it was, was currently too early for normal people. It was still dark out, no sun, but with the early morning feel, as pre-dawn would appear like hours away.
Forriguidos's had the freshest coffee around, Emanuel would know; as a personal taste connoisseur for himself, he had tried them all. Not to mention the pastries, though the man of thirty years never partook in their glory. He only purchased such things to make his crew of technicians and laborers happy to start the day. Emmanuel was not a fan of the cheap thrills of sugar.
Every morning with the crew was the same, but the joke was always different.
"You know these things will kill you, right?" Emmanuel said this Dennis, the older craftsman he employed, every day. "One of these days I'm going to bring in carrot sticks for you guys, you'll work better." Emanuel knew the rules of labor crews: Show no weakness and taunt as often as possible.
"We'll fucking strike. Don't make me quit this shitty job and take these jerk-offs with me. We'll sue your ass too," Dennis had included the rest of the crew in the joke that day. It was better than the variation on the usual "You sound like my wife," as if Emanuel would know about wives beyond observation.
Dennis had recently stopped using the wife jokes, as Emanuel would often point out, "well she
is
right, Karen's not always wrong, Den."
The pair had worked together since before Emanuel went out on his own enterprise. They were good friends, and almost partners, as Dennis ran the crews, and would until he chose to retire. Emanuel did the rest, doing some specialty work here or there and anything involving paper or contract bids. Dennis had trained Emanuel since his apprenticeship, and he now trained the crew members just as well.
What started as the foul mouthed wisdom filled foreman and the hard working snot nosed F.N.G. had become wealth and friendship for both, and a legacy for Emanuel early in his life.
Today for once, Emanuel was skipping the desk all day - Dennis wasn't the desk type to begin with, as he was quite crude at times. Dennis was too old and too close to retiring for today's repair, it was a dangerous one, on top of being a doosy. Today's repair, whatever day it was, was hundreds of feet up on a chemical tower, and there was welding involved. It was really unnecessary for his friend of many years to do the job, and it was just out of skill range for his best technicians.
Emanuel had volunteered in Dennis's stead when he decided to take the contract, preferring to have his friend's wisdom on the ground for safety. Dennis could still do the job, both knew it, but Emanuel could as well with more ease and less effort.
Coffee ripped his mind from thoughts of death's door as he pulled into the space, leaving the truck to idle while he stepped out. Somehow, he closed the door to his truck in unison to one of those sleek luxury automobiles pulling into a space next to the door.
Emanuel had forgotten to put his fuzzy hat on; his ears were cold as he studied the car, clearly kept in a garage, completely clean and frost free in the early morning haze. At least he remembered his cover-alls and thermal underwear, he couldn't leave those on the seat of his rumbling work truck, or he would be naked.
***
Madeline Morrison was seldom awake at this hour. Early cross town meeting? Sure, that's early. This hour though, was a whole different meaning to early. This was a deposition, across the state,
and
first thing in the morning early. Had she not been willing herself awake with forced open eyes staring at the clock, she would have thought it was still the night before.
"Screw this noise..." she said aloud smacking randomly at the top of the resounding alarm. Amazingly, Madeline, in her hitting, smacked a button that stopped the noise; which one specifically remained a mystery. Somehow, she was sitting up in her short, laced edge, nightgown; it's sheen reflected from the streetlight spilling into her bedroom through the gap in the long curtains. Instinctively, Madeline rubbed the sleep from her face and body, absently tweaking her hardened nipples as she went.
She must have been dreaming about sex, most assuredly dreaming, since no man had shared the king-sized bed since her husband left. The thought of the day he left brought sudden passing sadness. "I just want out, Maddy, I don't love you anymore. You can have the house."
She had not spoken to him since, actually hiring another lawyer instead of taking it herself. Her husband just left, not even leaving her for someone else, he just left. The fifteen year marriage had never brought children, though they were happy. She thought they were happy - she knew she was. Now, without him, her home felt empty.
Madeline might have gone crazy had it not been for overworking at her firm and the home gym her now ex-husband had installed previously to her chagrin; a gym she swore, and a job she swore, that she would never obsess over. Another thought was poking the three years of loneliness out of her head. It was coffee. Coffee lust did not care that she was forty-five and lonely.
"I need coffee..." She grumbled as she padded down the steps in her slippers, she didn't remember putting them on. A separate hand was rubbing each, both her plump behind and stunning face, as she walked to the coffee maker and sink in her home. The heavy unbound breasts tightly swung back and forth on her chest as she settled; Madeline thumped to a stop - nipples still poking and hair adrift - in front of the kitchen faucet, instantly reaching over to the machine a few feet away from her place at the fixture.
Madeline, looking sexy in a daze, washed her hands before placing the empty glass pot under the faucet to fill as she continued on. She grabbed a filter from the cabinet - bare hard ass and a hint of panties peeking as she stretched -- and placed it in the basket, soon making her way to the fridge for the pre-packaged pre-ground commercial grounds.
The sound of the rattling scoop in the empty container made her understand withdrawal.
Panic flooded her face as the glass pot overflowed in the sink. Madeline stood straight, and the fridge closed, putting the shopping list at the top of the door directly in front of her face. The word "coffee" was written, and underlined twice, at the very bottom of the list. The alarm upstairs began to bellow again, she had hit the 'snooze' button.
"oo....Cshit." Madeline's craving was shot as she walked to the sink and turned off the water, draining the pot and placing it back on the machine after she made sure there were not at least enough grounds for one cup. Madeline was boned; there would be no coffee here.
Her addiction lust, rebounding with its own strength, reminded her of the 24-hour bakery just short of the highway, surely it was open at this hour. Madeline was running up the steps full speed to the bedroom of her empty home only moments later to shut off the alarm and head for the shower.
***
"Wise beyond your years, even if you still look like a teenager."
Dennis was always saying that to him. This smartly dressed business woman was proof positive of why he did. Emanuel knew the difference between a girl his own age or slightly younger, and an older woman. He was born as prey for the cougars, hoping to be devoured by them, but as yet to be separated from the herd. Sure, he had dated peers many times, but he fantasized of greater ages since he knew he could.
This woman was one such fantasy. He had been single long enough, it could not have been at a better time. Tall, just a few inches short of his six plus feet in her heels; slim, naturally blonde, and not wearing stockings. It was like he had dressed her, and formed her, himself: To his own tastes. The texture of the visible skin on her legs and face was splotchy pink from the cold. Emanuel held the door, his ears freezing.
"Ladies first..." he spoke through a tooth chatter while he motioned into the warmth and delicious scents with his hands, holding the door with his foot.
"Why thank you, young man," the queen goddess said as she hopped into comfort. She took a few steps before she stopped, and turned - just as Emanuel walked in - in front of the closing door.
"I love the hair, by the way. I keep telling my friends how I love the men with long hair. They keep telling me I'm crazy, but I like it." She was smiling at him, slight lines from years of practice accenting the gesture. Her eyes were green, she reminded Emanuel of a more beautiful Sharon Stone without the sense of foreboding evil.
"Uh, really? Um, thank you," he said touching the bundle of hair on his head under the tie and motioning towards the coffee pot with the same hand as he primarily did for entry. He had been thinking of cutting it short, it was the one thing he just never did; his mind was changed if only for her, Samson would not cut his hair. "Ladies first."
"You want the usual, Manny?" Tommy - the cashier, assistant baker, and box filler - called over to his favorite customer as he walked in back of the woman neither one had ever seen before. Emanuel always tipped,
