I was nineteen and new in town.

After a few weeks with my primary social encounters being my sister, her old man, and their two
kids, I was half numb and afraid I’d forgotten how to have fun. Everyday was the same: babies,
diapers, tantrums, cleaning, and at the end of the day, sitting down at the dinner table to get an
earful about finding a job from her old man, who worked construction. I wanted to get into
trouble, any kind of trouble. Making out with a boy seemed like a fun idea, but then so did
smashing windows at that point.

Since I was too young to get served in a bar and I didn’t have a car, I had two choices for places
to go out and possibly meet people: an arcade and a mom and pop style diner reminiscent of Denny’sor
maybe it would be more appropriate to say Denny’s was reminiscent of this kind of diner. It was called Spoonside, which struck me as a funny name, because what goes beside
your spoon is coffee, right? So why not call the place Coffee Shop? Too easy, I guess.

On Saturday night after the babies were in bed and my sister and her old man were tucked into
the couch for their Netflix ritual, I sexified myself up a bit. I slipped into black skinny jeans, black
tank top, and a silver chain around my neck. I put my long black hair in a ponytail, misted on
some body spray, and did my eyes up with a little make up, which I hadn’t worn since moving in
with my sister. I looked in the mirror. I looked clean in a dirty sort of way, and I felt excited, like I
was about to fight crime. Yes, I was going out to fight the crime of boredom. May the powers of
Having Something To Do conquer its natural foes of Bored and Ain’t Doing Nothing.

First I went to the arcade. The crowd there was overall very young, high school aged, maybe
even middle school aged. So I jetted out, didn’t even play a game. The diner was on the other
side of a strip mall parking lot, barely a block away, and I went there next.

The place was packed. I got a booth by the window, ordered a coffee, took out a pen, and
started drawing and writing notes on napkins. In the booth across from me a man was nodding
off, his arms crossed over his chest and his head bent down and bobbing lower and lower. I
drew him.

Just as I was finishing up the portrait of the man sleeping in Spoonside, two guys about my age
walked in. They looked like young versions of Leonardo DiCaprio and Robert Downey Jr.
Leonardo caught my eye, smirked a bit, and nudged his friend. The sleeping fellow in the booth
across from me woke up, stretched, and stood. I watched him walk away towards the
bathrooms. Leonardo and Robert chatted. There were five or six people ahead of them waiting
for a table. The snoozer came back and sat at his table, took a sip of coffee, crossed his arms
over his chest, and proceeded to snooze some more. I took another napkin from the dispenser
and started drawing the line of people waiting for tables.

I heard a voice above me say, “Hi.”

I looked up. It was Leonardo. “Hi,” I said.

“So uh my friend and I are waiting for a table, and we were wondering if you might like a little
company,” he said.

“Be my guests,” I said and smirked.

He smirked back and waved at Robert. I slid over in the seat and motioned for Leonardo to sit
next to me, which he did. Robert sat across from us. We exchanged names real names but I still continued thinking of them as Leonardo and Robert. We drank coffee and talked about
work, and people, and drama. Mostly I asked questions and listened, since I had neither work
nor social life.

Then they started talking about a slut they had both banged, and how she was banging other
people now, and I felt inspired.

“Have you ever had sex in public?” I said.

They laughed. Leonardo said, “I don’t know, what counts as public?”

“Like here,” I said. “Like have you ever had sex in Spoonside?”

Robert was drinking coffee and nearly choked. “In a diner full of people? How would that work?”
he said.

“That’s crazy,” said Leonardo.

“Maybe it’s crazy enough to work,” I said.

We looked at each other and didn’t say anything, then we looked away, each of us lost in our
own thoughts. I looked back at Leonardo and he was looking at me. I felt a fire burning inside
me. I leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Would you like a handjob?”

His body convulsed. He said, “Ha!” and spit on the table.

“Well maybe your friend wants one,” I said and eyed Robert. The way he looked at me, I could
tell he wanted it, whatever it was, so long as I was the one offering. Just to be sure, I asked him,
“Would you like a handjob?”

“Here?” he said.

“Here,” I said.

“Can we go somewhere else?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “It has to be here.”

“How?” he said.

Leonardo stood up and slammed his palms flat down on the table. Robert and I jumped out of
our sexy reverie. “Here here,” said Leonardo. He punched his fist in the air. “I’ll make this easy
for you. I’ll leave. Good night, perverts.” He walked out of the diner.

Robert and I eyed each other.

“Is your friend going to be okay?” I asked.

“Forget about him,” Robert said.

“Move over,” I said and stood up. He moved over and I sat next to him. “Here, zip up your coat
part way.”

He zipped up his coat and I pulled the bottom over his crotch. I kissed his cheek, then his neck,
all the while stroking his thighs, moving my hand up his legs. I kissed him on the mouth and
stroked his cock, which felt firmer and larger with every stroke. When he was good and hard, I
stopped kissed him, unzipped his fly, put my hand inside his pants and started jerking him off.

It seemed impossible to do, with the place being full of people and the constant stroking motion
being so necessary, but I took it slow, and drank coffee with my free hand, and kissed his neck
every so often. I whispered dirty things to him, and that got him excited.

“You dirty boy,” I said. “You like getting your dirty cock yanked in front of all these people.”

I kept talking and kissing his neck and stroking his cock until he came. He made noise and sort
of thrust his hips a couple times, hard, in the booth, and I giggled. I had a handful of cum. I took
a fresh napkin and cleaned myself off. I still felt sticky though so I said, “I’m going to clean up. I’ll
be right back.”

He kissed me. “You hot thing,” he said.

I licked his mouth, stood up, and went to the bathroom. I peed, washed my hands, and realized
my mistake, too late I feared, and as I walked out of the bathroom and toward the empty table,
was confirmed. He was gone, and didn’t leave a number, which was a bummer because we
could have had a lot more sexy times. I was bored and didn’t have much else to do except get
hot and bothered with sexy strangers. I went back to the bathroom, masturbated, came out, paid
the bill for three coffees, and went home, back to my sister, her babies, and her old man, asking
me if I’d found a job yet.

nineteen-and-new-in-town

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