Taken Out Back Behind The Dumpster
An erotic tale by RORA
The Saturday afternoon sun hung low over the highway, casting a soft golden glow throughout traffic. Mid-spring had settled in, and the smell of the first grass cuttings from earlier that day was wafting everywhere. It was dinner time, not as many people go out on Saturday as they do Friday and Saturday, but when one lives near the city, even a small city (or a large town, depending on who you ask) things are still kept open later than you would get anywhere else.
Yes, even on this highway, it was not bad...
Then came the
roar
of a motorcycle engine somewhere down the drag.
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-RRR-RRRRRRRRRRR-RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
The sound swelled, loud and unapologetic, shattering the Saturday energy as it reverberated off echos of the highway and rattled the nerves of anyone within earshot. Cars moved out of the way as the source of the noise barreled into view.
Tearing it down the highway was a man with a red motorcycle helmet covering his face, his average gorilla frame hunched forward as he guns the throttle.
His turn was coming up here soon, and he's on the other side of the highway.
"Ay I'm hungry, let's get some grub goin' here."
He thinks to himself.
He accelerates, threading his way through four lanes of traffic with reckless abandon, narrowly avoiding a collision, all to go onto the exit ramp for a diner called Kate's.
The man pulls up to a weathered building that has seen decades of Northeastern winters. Its exterior is clad in stainless steel panels, once gleaming but now dulled by time, with faint streaks of rust creeping along the edges where the metal meets the brick foundation. The big neon sign out front, simply reading "Wolfe's Cafe" in red script, flickers on and off from time to time. There's a glowing fake full moon on the sign. Underneath it is a small text that reads "Breakfast - all day!"
He could have chosen to park near the diner. But he's not all about that. He's going to park next to the dumpster. He steps off the bike and takes off his helmet.
He had the wild, scrappy look of a young man who'd spent more time dodging trouble than seeking it out. His hair was a greasy mop of dark blonde, slicked back haphazardly. He had long sideburns that he takes good care of. His face is long and pointy, with a healed broken nose and freckles on his face. His eyes though are covered by thick, black sunglasses, with a cool mountain dew green sheen. He wore a japanese text open shirt with a white tank top underneath that showed off wiry arms. His jeans were torn at the knees, not by design but by hard living.
He takes a hit from his custom vape box. Engraved on it is the name "GARY". It's 'fruity melon mintfuck' flavor. Fucking disgusting.
A man's gotta eat
, he says to himself, swaggering inside.
The diner's double doors creaked open, wafting a mix of breakfast, lunch, dinner, and all-day coffee into Gary's nose. The joint wasn't fancy, never had been, but it carried a worn-in charm with a whiff of something supernatural. Photos lining the walls told the story--years of visitors, even a famous foodie, had passed through.
Behind the register was even more knick knacks showing off strange glass art and baubles from Europe, with some bottles of standard liquors lining the wall, mixing into the art work.. Next to the register was a display case full of desserts, mainly pies and cakes.
The guy behind the register is a bland, forgettable host who might as well own the place--nods at Gary. He's as ancient as the creaky building itself. With a quick hello, he shuffles Gary to an empty booth to wait for the waitress.
A few minutes passed. Gary is at the table, rapidly tapping his fingers. He knows what he wants.
"Yo, is dere a waitress coming, or what?" He said aloud.
It wasn't quite magic since there was a 45 second pause between him saying that and him making a frustrated groan at the 30 second mark. He was about to stand up and ask the old fogey, "What gives", but he felt a cold chill down his spine.
He gets the reply from the kitchen, it's loud, husky, and feminine.
"I'm coming."
The kitchen's OUT door swings open with a loud, odd creak--less a typical creeeak and more a low awooo. The diner sign's flickering neon lights briefly outline a curvy shadow in the doorway before she steps out.
She saunters to the table, fiery red curls spilling over her shoulders, catching the neon glow from the window with every bounce. Her waitress uniform, a tight pastel-pink dress with an apron, hugs her figure, the short hem flirting with her thighs as she moves. Her green eyes spark with a wild, untamed glint, simmering just under her weary exterior.
Gary couldn't help but to gawk at her as she bends over the table slowly and carefully to serve Gary some coffee. He was clearly both unmatched and outranked, and maybe a little intimidated by her massive sex appeal. He felt massively unprepared for the situation, but deep inside, the pervert within is practically screaming, "GO FOR IT, RETARD."
There was an awkward pause, before she took out the pad and paper and looked at Gary. There was no flirtation behind those eyes, nor was she hostile to him. But he can tell he is being sized up. He can tell, she can tell, he was trouble.
"Mm. Sorry for the wait, sir...can I take your order?"
He pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts on how to approach the situation. Gary likes to think he's good at flirting, and maybe she has a funny side to her.
"Hey, are ya new around here? I have never seen ya work dis shift, Reds..."
"Maybe we've met, maybe we haven't. Now, please...can I take your order?"
"I would like the Grand Slam, ma'am." He asks with a playful chuckle. She writes it down, ignoring him. His stupid boy charms won't work here. But he's too stupid to figure that out.
"Sausage, Bacon, Ham okay?"
Gary gives a shrug, closing the menu and handing it back to her. "Yeah, dat sounds fine, all dat is fine, and cook da eggs sunny side up with the bacon in a smile."
She fixes her gaze on him, brow furrowing like he's a puzzle she can't crack. Behind his dumb sunglasses, their eyes lock anyway.
Two things hit him at once: she's older, and the way she is built up closer, she looks like she could mop the floor with him if he tries anything. She has muscle on her.
He swallows hard, right in her face. Her lips twitch, slowly curling up. Is she... smiling?
