"Jessa and I are going for a walk," Jenny told Rebecca the next night. The curvy woman was holding a folded up blanket, a flashlight, and a cooler. "Don't go out for a walk until we come back."
Rebecca looked up from her phone, then she put the phone next to her on the living room couch. "It's dark out. Are you guys going to be okay? And why don't you want me to leave?"
Jessa's grin was a bit too confident. "We do this all the time. Don't worry. Just stay here."
Rebecca stared at her. "Uhm, okay." Maybe they were worried about someone breaking in while they were gone?
And they left. Rebecca decided it probably wasn't any of her business anyway. She heard a lot of howling, though, and she was almost uncertain about it. Her first thought was that a wild dog was out there, but then she thought that it might be a wolf or a coyote, if coyotes even howled, and she wasn't sure about that.
Why was it so loud, though? It was almost like the animal wasn't more than a few feet away. Curious, she peeked out a few windows into the backyard, but she couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. The edge of the forest was nearby, but nothing crazy was going on there, unless the dark colors of the night were hiding something. She hoped the happy couple wasn't in any danger.
Her attention went back to her phone. She was idly looking up Lolita styled clothing. She used to wear that stuff a lot.
"You'd better fuck my Baby Doll's little pussy, nice and slow, there we are."
That voice again. The memory of it was jabbing her mind.
She had enjoyed the various kinds of Lolita styles because they were cute, and wearing the outfits made her feel like she was in a fantasy world. When she had shown her mother the outfits, the dear woman said, "It's sexy! It shows off your legs!" That had made Rebecca laugh. She was pretty sure the point of the Lolita aesthetic wasn't to be sexy at all, even if it did happen to share a name with an old novel about some sick and twisted creep.
When she had shown the fashion style to ... him ...
Rebecca took a breath. She pressed her thighs together. She was ashamed of herself. There was heat there, right there, right at her labia and into her clitoris.
And the taste of watermelon hard candies ... moist from his saliva, just ... shoved into her mouth as if she had no choice in the matter ... no ... NO! She had to stop these disgraceful thoughts! He turned out to be ... something ... she shouldn't think of him that way anymore!
She was trembling.
She was whining.
She was weeping.
It wasn't fair. As weird as he was, she had loved him so wonderfully, so openly, and he turned out to be ...
She didn't want to wear a Lolita outfit ever again, even if they were charming and fun, and oh my gosh this pair of Mary Jane style shoes were on sale! She impatiently slid her finger on her cell phone to see more information.
You know what? Rebecca decided that it wasn't good to let bad memories dictate what she did. She didn't have to think about him while wearing those outfits. All she had to think about was how cute she'd look. She still had a bit of savings anyway, and she pretty much had a job. She wasn't going to purchase an entire wardrobe, just enough for a single outfit. There was no need to panic. She needed to enjoy herself.
Hopefully, she'd end up feeling the same way about other things, like candy and cunnilingus.
***
It was early morning on her last day of training. She was glad to know she'd be official soon. It was practically guaranteed by the Boss, as he was often called during work hours by her roommates. Other times, he was just Cliff to them. To Rebecca, he was Mr. Miller, or Sir.
A fog was playing around with the summer morning air. She admired it from a window for just a moment as she listened to Mr. Tommy Tatum, the manager, explain something to her. She listened and nodded her head. Mr. Tatum was pretty chill, but he didn't like slackers. That thought was in her mind as she went to find a coffee jug. She went back to the dining area and scanned what few customers they had. It didn't get very busy this early.
She was pouring coffee into an old man's mug when the main entrance's bell sounded. Rebecca looked up, ready to greet the person, and she realized it wasn't a customer at all. It was Mr. Miller, looking like he had been born of the fog, cradled by it, and had risen from it like a placid ghost.
"Good morning, Mr. Miller," she said to him with her best perky tone, and she watched him nod and smile.
"Good morning," was his response. He poked around for a few minutes, asked the manager about something, and then he left. After the fog had faded away an hour or so later, he returned, wearing a jogging suit, a gym bag, and a thick film of sweat. He didn't even talk to anyone. He just went to the soda fountain and helped himself to a tall glass of water. Vaguely, Rebecca wondered if this was a health code violation, not that she would have complained to anyone if it was.
Rebecca happened to squeeze by him. She shouldn't have sniffed at him, but she did, and he smelled just as sweaty as he looked. It made one of her knees buckle just slightly. Luckily, she hadn't been carrying anything other than a pad and pen. She reminded herself to not freak out over the hotness that was her boss and swiped up a menu for the newest customer. It was getting a little busy. She needed to concentrate.
Even if he wasn't her boss, he probably had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, maybe even a spouse. She hadn't asked about him, and her roommates didn't go on about his life very much, so she didn't really know.
From a corner in her stupidly wandering eye, she noticed him go into the men's restroom, probably to clean himself up. Apparently, that gym bag had a fresh change of clothes in it, because when he emerged he was in a clean shirt and black pants. Even his shoes were different, fresh black sneakers instead of dingy white. He went into the kitchen; Rebecca assumed he was still checking on things. Then, he went into the dining room and asked a few customers if they needed anything. He even refilled someone's glass of sweet tea.
Rebecca saw him shake the hand of a very friendly toddler and introduce himself as if he was talking to someone very important, beaming all the while. The toddler's parents proudly cooed about him, telling Mr. Miller how old he was, how smart he was, and how well behaved he was for a boy his age. It was then that the toddler decided that we was going to reach up, make a fist into Mr. Miller's thick cloud of hair, and yank as hard as he could.
"Aaagh!" Mr. Miller's eyes shut so tightly that they might as well have been sealed. His hands floated at his side, trembling. He was probably doing his best to keep from touching the boy. While one instinct demanded self defense, a much stronger instinct also demanded precaution when dealing with the smallest of children.
Rebecca had to serve someone a large tray of food to a full table. By the time she had given everyone their plates, she saw that Mr. Miller was free, rubbing a sore spot on his scalp. His mouth was an open smile, and he was laughing. The little boy didn't seem to have any idea that anything inappropriate had happened, and he was blissfully looking at his mother's face. His father was apologizing, but he didn't really need to. Mr. Miller wasn't mad at all.
Once her shift was over, Mr. Miller called her into the office. It was an itty-bitty room full of papers and things. He sat down in the only seat, a desk chair. She left the door open by only a crack. Gosh, the man took up more space than the various office supplies ever could. There was barely a foot between her small feet and his great ones, and he still smelled like pine needles and steak cooked just the way she liked it. Damn it.
"You did good, Rebecca." He was already writing out a check, but he had to use his thick thigh to hold up the pad because there was no room on the desk. "I'm giving you your paycheck now, because you really need it, but that's the only special treatment you're getting around here, got that?"
Yes! Money! Money was good. She liked money. Her attitude rose to something truly cheerful, and not that fake sort of cheerful that she had to put on while working. She almost didn't feel tired anymore. "Yes Sir," she said, nodding. "Thank you very much, Sir." She used two hands to take her paycheck from him. She glanced at the amount and saw that it was exactly what she had expected to make. "I look forward to working here, Sir, if you'll have me."
"Yeah, yeah," he said, waving his hand at her like he was dismissing her, but she was pretty sure he wasn't. "Hey, you doing anything later tonight?"
Rebecca froze.
The man had the audacity to continue. "This has nothing to do with your job, okay? No special treatment allowed, but I was thinking you might like to go out sometime."
Her nostrils flared. Something like betrayal was gnawing at her brain. She had hoped that this wouldn't happen, hoped that he'd just see her as a hard worker. How ... the fuck ... dare he?! She slapped her check onto the floor. "I can't believe you!"
She didn't care if anyone in the cafe heard her. She didn't care if she was embarrassing him. "I've worked my ass off and all you wanted from me is a wet dick?! Fuck off!" She was so angry, so impulsive, that she didn't even bother to remember that she really needed this job. She turned and was about to leave both him and the paycheck behind, but his steadfast clamp of a hand latched onto her arm and kept her from proceeding.
Insanely, she held onto her fury. Her eyes shot imaginary flames at his strangely crestfallen face. "Let me go right now!"
The door opened a little more. Mr. Tatum peeked in. His voice was like cat litter on carpet. "What in the hell is going on here?" He noted the position the two were in. "Why you got her arm like that, Cliff? That ain't like you. What did she do, hoard tips?"
"It's all my fault, Tommy." She was shocked to hear him say that, and right at his employee, too. She looked back at him with a hanging jaw as he said, "I went and did something retarded."
