10 - Supporting the Troops
MMF / Hotwife / Encouraged Bisexuality / Crossdressing / Chastity
“Hey! Need a refill?”
Mike looked up from the newspaper and saw the pretty waitress looking down at him.
“Can I freshen that up for you?” she asked.
Mike checked her name tag, smiled, and slid his cup along the table.
“Sure, thanks, Stacey.”
“No problem,” she replied, as she poured steaming black coffee. “Can’t sleep, huh?”
Mike shrugged. It was kind of obvious. He was Leroy’s 24-Hour Diner at twelve minutes to midnight.
Just over an hour earlier, he had given up on sleep, gotten dressed, left his tiny rented apartment, and set out to walk to nowhere in particular.
In the small town of Grand Falls, that was not too difficult.
He soon ran out of streets and found himself at the truck stop diner on the edge of town, checking job ads while country music played low in the background.
“No,” he said. “I thought I’d get some air. Now I’m getting some caffeine. Go figure.”
Stacey nodded sympathetically. She seemed willing to linger. The place was nearly empty. Mike, who had struck out with two old girlfriends in the last few days, found himself imagining her full lips on his cock. He felt the beginning of an erection stir.
“You’re that guy, right?” she said, lowering her voice slightly. “The veteran? You were in the paper.”
Mike nodded, already feeling weary at the convo he expected to come.
His dick went limp; his mental defenses came up in its place.
He hated talking about Afghanistan with civilians, however well-meaning they were.
They could not understand the world he had spent so many months surviving.
But in a small town, with precisely one newly returned war vet, it was inevitable.
And most of ‘em probably think talking helps.
“Yeah,” he said. “Got home a couple weeks ago.”
“Can’t be easy,” she said. “Lot of people round here are so dumb, they don’t even know there is a war. But there are others -”
Then she glanced up as the door, smiled, and nodded to someone Mike could not see.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Be back soon!”
Damn, he thought. She seemed kind of sympathetic. And if I have to play the wounded hero to get a mercy fuck, well, I’ll take it.
He looked down at the local paper again.
There was something reassuring about how small it made the world seem.
There were no guerillas, no deserts, no bombs or bullets.
Just a row over groundwater pollution, complaints about kids crapping in some old guy’s garden, a ‘dynamic, young’ candidate for mayor.
Maybe I can fit in here again, he thought. If I could only make some kind of connection, feel that I’m part of this little world again.
“Mike? Mike Jamison?”
A young woman was looking down at him. She was petite, attractive, and her pert boobs were at Mike’s eye level. She seemed underdressed, even for a summer night, wearing only denim shorts and a crop-top.
“Sorry,” Mike said, raising his gaze to her face. “I was kind of daydreaming.”
“Daydreaming at night,” she said, sliding into the seat opposite. “You do that a lot?”
He grinned, despite the feebleness of the joke, wondering why this woman was talking to him.
Maybe she’s a hooker, he thought. Do I look that desperate? God, yeah, I probably do.
The world seemed to tilt on its axis for a moment as he recognized the newcomer. Hot stranger became high school sweetheart. And more.
“Lorna?” he exclaimed. “Lorna Braidon?”
“Large as life,” she replied, laughing. “Larger than I was, anyhow. Took you long enough, though. Jeez! Have I changed that much, Mike?”
“God, no!” he said. “It’s just – it’s been, what, nearly five years?”
“Since that prom night,” she reminded him.
Mike cock’s twitched again at the memory. Lorna had taken the lead that night, and amazed him with her athleticism and stamina. The things they had done in the backseat of his big brother’s beat-up Toyota had been mostly legal, he guessed.
“I see the memory’s flooding back, huh?” she purred. “I still think about it. I think about it a lot.”
“Christ, Lorna, I still dream about it - about you,” he admitted. He felt immense relief at being able to talk honestly to a girl about sex. “But how come you just walked in here? I mean, you must work late?”
“Swing shift at the casino,” she explained. “Kind of sleazy, but the tips are good.”
“I’ll bet.” He grinned. “So this is your regular coffee stop?”
Lorna shook her head.
“No, but a friend of mine told me you were here.”
She nodded at the counter, where Stacey was laughing at something the big guy had said.
“The waitress?” he said. “She called you?”
Lorna nodded.
“I saw you in church last Sunday,” she explained. “You were sitting right at the back, and you left before I could get to talk to you.”
He nodded. Sometimes he felt the need to be near people, hear some comforting words. He had prayed a lot more overseas than he had ever done at home. He tried to explain how he felt, stumbled on words, reddened and fell silent.
Lorna reached out and rested her fingers on the back of his hand. He did not pull away.
“You were wounded, right?”
“Back injury,” he said. “Carrying this guy. He had it worse than me.”
“A wounded comrade,” she said, eyes wide. “You are a goddam hero, Big Mike.”
He felt his face grow hotter, imagined himself blushing like a schoolboy. His nickname had always embarrassed him a little. It had been conferred before he had met Lorna, by a girl who had ‘accidentally on purpose’ seen him getting changed for football practice.
“Not really,” he mumbled, needing to change the subject. “So,” he asked, “how come you found me so quickly? Tonight?”
“Oh, that was easy,” Lorna replied. “I gave a few of my girls an old picture of you and me, told them to look out for the hunk. Explained that we’ve got unfinished business.”
Suddenly, he felt something touch his calf, then move slowly up his leg.
He remembered that a foot job had been one of Lorna’s specialties.
He looked up, glancing at the counter. The waitress was chatting with a big guy in a plaid shirt who probably blocked her view.
Unless anybody walked by and glanced down at just the right angle -
“Oh God,” he moaned quietly. “Careful.”
Already his cock was striving to become fully erect, reminding him of just how tight his denims were.
His balls were aching, now, as if complaining at going undrained for so long.
Lorna’s agile toes found their way to his groin, began to explore the bulge.
He felt his dick buck in response to her caress.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, eyes half closed in pleasure. “Lorna, I’ll come right here in the booth if you keep that up.”
She giggled, and the big guy at the counter stopped talking for a moment and glanced around. Lorna reached over and took Mike’s hand.
“And he looked like such a doofus in that stupid hat!” she said loudly, instantly taking the girlfriend role. “He had no idea!”
“I’ll bet,” Mike replied, straining to keep his voice casual. “Such a doof.”
The big guy resumed his conversation with Stacey. Lorna instantly resumed her foot massage of Mike’s cock. He reached down awkwardly to try and grab her ankle, but she pulled her foot away. As soon as he put his hand above the table again, her toes started probing his groin again.
“Uh-uh,” she said, waving a finger in mock reproof. She leaned over the table and whispered hungrily, “I want to make you come right here. All over the floor. All over my stinky feet.”
Mike remembered how much teen Lorna had liked risky sex, the more public the better.
She had given him a blowjob on a near-empty bus one night, so this scenario was mild by comparison.
He decided to go with it and unzipped his fly, then tried to get his cock out of his boxers.
He felt for sure the guy at the counter would realize what was going on, especially when Lorna started using both feet.
But they got away with it. They sat holding hands, staring into one another’s eyes, while she manipulated his dick under the table.
The door opened and the sound of traffic rose over the quiet background music. Someone else had come in.
“Hi there, Sheriff!” said Stacey, in a voice that could have been heard across the county line.
Mike sat upright, expecting Lorna to stop masturbating him. But instead she smiled wickedly and kept rubbing her soft, plump feet on and around his engorged cock. The sheriff, a swag-bellied, gray-haired man, walked ponderously by the booth, nodding to them.
“Hi, folks!” he said. “Cold enough for ya?”
Mike did not trust himself to speak, but grinned inanely.
“Sure is!” Lorna replied perkily.
The sheriff seemed satisfied and strolled over to the counter and started chatting to the big guy about some problem on the interstate.
Meanwhile, Lorna’s deft manipulations brought Mike to the point of ejaculation, and he grabbed a handful of napkins from the dispenser, shoving them under the table just in time.
A jet of spunk soaked his hands, the napkins, and – he felt sure – Lorna’s feet.
“Well, guess I’d better be gettin’ along,” said the big guy at the counter, putting a couple of notes down in front of Stacey. “My load ain’t gonna move itself.”
Mike and Lorna stifled their laughter until the door closed. The sheriff looked around and grinned at them.
“You lovebirds should get a room,” he said.
“He’s right,” Lorna said quietly, leaning over the table to wipe sticky jizz off Mike’s hands with yet more napkins. “Otherwise Stacey will be on my case. She fucking hates mopping floors.”
***
“Wow,” Mike said. “You live here?”
“Home sweet home,” she said, pulling into the driveway. “It’s small, but we like it.”
Lorna had driven him to a new, suburban neighborhood, with many homes still under construction. Mike had not imagined that someone working a casino job could have afforded the house in front of them. Then what Lorna had said registered.
“We?” he said. “You live with somebody? Like a roommate, kind of?”