Room for Cream - Cover

Room for Cream

by Mat Twassel

Copyright© 2023 by Mat Twassel

Erotica Sex Story: The Blue Coyote Café has the best coffee and the sexiest barista. Illustrated.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Mult   Consensual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Illustrated   .

What with the early dark coming on fast now that the time’s changed, and with my windshield wipers not working, when the rain started coming down hard I got off the Interstate, thinking I’d find a place to hole up for the night. The GPS almost took me right into a bulldozer. Roadwork right in the middle of town. Barricades and rusty pipes everywhere.

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I found a place to park and scurried into a café. The Blue Coyote, according to the awning.

The place was almost empty. A young couple, maybe teens, sitting at a table, a pretty barista behind the counter.

“What can I get you?” the barista asked.

“Coffee, I guess,” I said. “I almost crashed into that whatever it is going on outside.”

“Yeah, the road’s been blocked off for two weeks now, and not much going on,” the barista said. “Supposedly they’ll be finished in another three weeks, but I wouldn’t bet on it. Very inconvenient. Room for cream?”

“Black’s fine,” I said, and she handed me a cup. “On the house,” she said.

I found a comfy looking chair in the corner. There was a can of Coke sitting on the little table next to the chair, and I was going to ask the teens if anyone was sitting there, but they seemed pretty involved with each other. I took a sip of the coffee. Really good. As good a coffee as I’d ever had.

A man came into The Blue Coyote. Well-trimmed beard. “Hey Nils, what’s happening?” the barista called out.

“The hardware store seems to be closed,” he said.

“Right. I think they’ve started taking Sundays off.”

“Rats,” said the guy. Nils. Then he laughed. “Mice, actually. I was hoping to buy a mousetrap.”

“Oh no,” the barista sympathized. “How ‘bout a free cup of coffee?”

“I’m not sure I have time,” Nils said. “But if you twist my arm.”

“Consider it twisted,” the barista said, and she fixed him a cup. “So you have a mouse problem?” she asked.

He stood at the counter, sipping his coffee and conversing with the barista. But my attention turned to the teenage couple. They’d been shelling and eating pistachios, and the girl had mounded the empty shells on a napkin.

“What’s that all about?” the boy asked.

“Nothin’” the girl said. “But they look like little cunts don’t they?”

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I’m sure it was her saying “cunts” that got my attention.

“Wouldn’t cunts be more pink?” the boy said.

“Like mine,” the girl said in a laughing tone. “There’s an uneaten one somewhere in here. A virgin.” She laughed.

“Like you,” the boy said.

“No thanks to you,” the girl said.

The man at the counter, Nils, said, “Thanks for the coffee,” and he left. The teens followed him out the door.

“We’re closing up pretty soon,” the barista said. She was at the teens’ table, bundling up the shell-filled napkin. After taking it to the trash can she sat down on the comfy chair next to mine and stretched.

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“Whew,” she breathed, then she asked me if I’d wanted the shells. “To find the virgin,” she said, with that laughing tone much like the girl’s.

 
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