Chapter 415: Restaurant Meltdowns

Molly sent me a message that the integrated Molly Speaks app read, “Desi. Do not take your green, blue, or two yellow pills until after you meet me at David’s house, but take all the others. I know what that will do to you and never would do that if you were not with David. Please don’t fight it when it comes on. Just let it happen. David trusts me enough to know that I have my reasons and that you are in no danger whatsoever. He has bottles in his trunk that he will carry with you everywhere you two go. If it gets bad enough, drink one of those, and it will temporarily provide the same effects as the meds you are not taking for now.”

“So, Desi, when was the last time you had a meltdown so bad that you didn’t even know where you were?” I asked. “I think Molly wants to find out how bad they can get.”

She smiled and said, “I promised my parents that I would work hard to let them know if something was coming on that was overwhelming me to the point that I had to go away from that area. The last time was two months ago, but I had been so sick for two weeks that I didn’t take any of my medicines. When mom took me to the doctor, finally, I had nothing in my system. It was bad. I woke up in the hospital with IVs and was sedated. If I don’t take the ones your friend said not to take, the others will keep it from getting that bad. I was supposed to take them right after we got on the plane, but I can’t do that before flying, or it will make me barf.”

I parked in the lot next to the restaurant, pre-paid the machine for six hours, and then walked to the clothing store with the bag I found waiting in my trunk.

“Mr. Jones, you can go change in the first dressing room on your left. It should provide you adequate space,” the woman told me as she turned the sign to closed, pulled the blinds down, and locked the door.

To Desi, she said, “Miss Desi, you smell un-ladylike. Please take off everything and go through the second door on the left. Please shower quickly, as we have a lot to get done in a short time. You will find a bottle of body wash and shampoo, which will make you smell more like the young lady you are instead of a teenaged girl needing to masturbate for the last five hours with nowhere to take care of things as you prefer if you can take care of that quickly while in the bathroom, please do so. A pad will ruin the look.”

Hmm. I haven’t felt that before. Whatever is causing it is heading toward me.

I saw a boy about Desi’s age rush past me, heading right toward where Desi was already half undressed. When he got to her, she raised her arms and let him get the rest of her clothes off. Desi had the boy’s clothes off in the blink of an eye. Both kids headed toward the bathroom at a full run. Since the door wasn’t closed, I heard everything.

Moans, groans, sounds of wet flesh slapping together as the two were fucking like rabbits. In a few minutes, both screamed out that they were getting off at the same time.

“ALBERT IRVING JOHANSON!” the woman at the front of the store yelled. “You get your clothes right now! I am not having you leaving them all over my store like you do your bedroom.”

When he came rushing out, his mostly hard dick was bouncing around with the cum-filled rubber keeping him from making a mess.

“Close the door this time! We don’t need to hear you two working through your pent-up sexual needs. You have ten minutes to have Desi out here smelling like roses, dry, and with nothing leaking out of her.

Once I had finished dressing, I headed out to where I picked up Desi’s discarded clothes to put them in my bag with my own.

The woman was getting Desi some new underwear, which I told her were the wrong sizes.

She told me, “I know. I am doing it on purpose. My instructions are to do all I can to frustrate her to get her primed for whatever your friend has planned. I must thank you for letting what just happened here happen. You can be happy to know that you aren’t the only person on Earth that affects Autistic people in the way you do. My son has had that gift since birth, even if we never understood what was going on. When he hit puberty, he started getting jumpy and trying to run all over town to calm whoever was past the point of frustration, trying to communicate what was going on and not being able to do it. About two hours ago, we got a package brought here by courier. The note said that it was for him to drink, and when you arrived, I would have all the answers I needed. He drank it and was barely able to keep his clothes on. I can only assume that the closer you got, the more it built inside him. We got him on some medicines that cause him to tune out what he senses by his own choice. The poor boy was exhausted from having sex nearly non-stop with girls that pick up on the vibes he sends out. It isn’t only Autistic girls. He just finished eighth grade, and the person that reached out to me said to tell you that he was overdue for something. I’m a bit psychic. I felt something last spring and kept him home from school that day, sedated, because he got so agitated.”

“Hello,” she said, answering a phone call that she said she couldn’t ignore.

After busting into the bathroom and turning on the cold water to stop the kids’ mid-rut, she came back out and listened to the person on the phone.

“Odd phone call. No one has that number except specific people,” she said, staring at her phone for a few seconds. “They told me that I could trust you. My son is immortal, or at least that is as close to as I can describe it. He was hit by a train and pushed under it when he was three. When the train managed to stop, they ran down the tracks looking for what remained of him. They found him sitting under one of the cars naked, but not a scratch on him, only dirt. Another time he was getting something out of the backseat while I ran into the store briefly. The car got hit by a drunk driver at over ninety miles an hour. Al went through the windshield. From witnesses, he flew at least twenty feet through the air before hitting the scaffolding loaded with bricks, and it all collapsed on top of him. By the time they managed to get to him, he was mad as hell. I had just gotten him his first cellphone. The battery was the only piece of any size he could find among the bricks. His clothes had glass and bits of brick ground into them, but when they cut his clothes off to check for injuries, he was embarrassed about people around the scene seeing his dick. He just started to grow and get some hair, penis. With a hand hiding it, he brushed the pieces of glass off him, including one completely embedded in his arm. As with all the other times, not a scratch on him.”

This sounds familiar.

I started to use the place in my head to check him out when the woman grabbed my arm and said, “Don’t. Not yet. He will sense it, and that will ruin what must happen today. I just realized that it wasn’t you two coming here that caused him to be agitated. Many things in motion will cloud my head if I don’t focus on what I must do. I don’t know what you were about to do, only that it would make things happen in a way other than they should, and people could get killed. I will give them another ten minutes before I go pop their butts to do what they were supposed to be doing and not what they are doing. Al needs to get out all the pent-up need to fuck caused by whatever will happen later. Desi needs her pussy fucked raw, so she won’t want to have anything in it until she needs a tampon.”

It was closer to twenty minutes because Al’s mom needed to get laid worse than her son. The alarm on her phone made us pull apart so that she could get Desi dressed in time for our reservation. She wouldn’t tell me what to expect was going to happen, but I would be carrying an exhausted Desi back over here to sleep and then taking Al somewhere.

When the two kids came out of the bathroom, Desi was wincing a bit as she walked. Al saw me look down to check him out, and he quickly covered up his dick. He blushed and ran off somewhere when Desi looked down at his hands.

“Al? You just had that in me for half of an hour, and now you blush when I look at it?” Desi teased.

The underwear was immediately getting Desi squirming uncomfortably. It fit her well enough not to have anything she could say wrong, and the fabric was one of those on her list that did not bug her. Still, it made sure to rub on her irritated nipples and go up in her crack to rub on her raw pussy. I saw Al’s mom was happy with what she was seeing. The dress she put on Desi had a similar effect. It mildly irritated her on a level just below the surface that she couldn’t quite identify to make it stop.

“Do her hair, David, and you two are all set. The reservation is under your name,” Al’s mom told us.

I expected the standard shit I had seen at Elena’s dad’s restaurant, but there was none. Two groups were told that shorts, t-shirts, jeans, sneakers, togs, flip-flops, sandals, and sundresses over bathing suits did not meet their dress code posted on the doors, outside, and beside the greeter stand.

When we checked in, the maître di had a young woman take us to a table. We were promptly seated and soon had our order in. Salads and appetizers came right out, and our drinks stayed filled.

Desi, on the other hand, was trying hard not to fidget and squirm.

“Miss, I must apologize, but there was an error in the preparation of your meal. The kitchen has to remake it. Is there anything we can bring to while you wait for it to be re-prepared?” the waiter asked.

She is not happy and doesn’t want something else to hold her over.

“Baked chicken only basted with butter and lightly sauteed cauliflower and fried butter squash,” the food runner said, putting the plate in front of me.

What the hell is this?

I had what looked like a chicken nugget without breading two slices of nearly charred squash the size of a dill pickle chip and some popcorn salt-colored piece of cauliflower.

Desi’s plate had something which looked vaguely like what she ordered but was covered in nuts and peppercorns, neither of which were part of the entrée she ordered.

“This meal isn’t made with nuts or peppercorn. Nuts make me sick!” Desi said, raising her voice a bit. “I can’t identify what else is on this plate, but it isn’t steamed spinach and broccoli.”

I let him know, “I don’t think I ordered the anorexic primary school beauty queen children’s meal.”

The waiter looked at the food, his notepad, checked the computer, and then told us there was a mistake in the kitchen. He would have the manager go back to see what was happening because this wasn’t even anything on the menu.

We could hear someone back in the kitchen, raising their voice.

The manager hurried over to our table to apologize, “I am so sorry that we are having problems with your orders. I will go make sure that they get prepared correctly this time.”

Mine was the biggest entrée they made here, so it was taking longer than Desi’s. I asked them to bring hers out when it was ready.

This time it looked like described, and Desi seemed happy with it, at first. Around the time my food came out, she had gotten to the vegetables. That got her winding up. There were finely ground pecans on the broccoli. The spinach wasn’t steamed but sautéed, with almonds and peanuts. Luckily, she saw them before taking a bite. She was so hungry now that she pushed them off onto the tablecloth and used her napkin to wipe off her plate. The edges of her entrée were cut off and dumped onto the table as well.

“Miss,” the waiter said, noticing the mess when he came to the table. “If you don’t like vegetables, you shouldn’t have ordered them.”

Here is the wind-up and the pitch. Strike one.

“I told you no nuts. There are pecans on the broccoli. You can see that peanuts and almonds were hidden inside the spinach,” Desi said just below a scream. “How dare you even tell me table manners! You try to make me ill and then come lecture me?”

The manager appeared and said, “Miss, those were made per your specifications. We don’t put pecans, almonds, or peanuts in our food unless you specifically request it.”

He checks the signal, draws back, and throws. Strike two.

“I CLEARLY SAID NO NUTS! THEY MAKE ME VERY ILL!” she yelled at him.

He did his best to try to calm her down. When he offered to have the vegetables replaced, she told him no. She didn’t want to give them another chance to poison her. Desi managed to calm herself down, at least a bit, and get back to trying to eat the rest of her meal.

The dried, burn parts of the chicken, on the hidden underside, Desi cut off and put on the pile with the vegetables.

As the chicken breast thickened up, she found only the outside edge got cooked, but the rest was raw. I had the same chicken breast on my platter, so she took mine and cut into it. Mine was cooked all the way through but was dry and rubbery. She couldn’t even chew up a small piece. She grabbed my platter and started cutting into the meat. I like it more toward rare, but the bottom of the tiny steak, hidden by the vegetables, was raw and cold. Only the tops of the scallops were cooked. When she got to cut into the piece of fish, also uncooked below the line of vegetables, parasites were squirming inside it.

I quickly took pictures of the food that I sent to Elena with a short description of what had happened. I let Desi have this one.

The manager and waiter both appeared to ask what the problem was now.

“Miss, you were provided with as ordered, twice, and now you are making a scene because you mischose your food and didn’t want to make your boyfriend pay for it,” the manager said with a bit of asshole in his voice.

“YOU FUCKING IMBECILE. THERE ARE LIVE PARASITES IN THE FISH,” she yelled.

Desi held up the piece of fish on her fork with a giant worm of some sort sticking out of the uncooked part of the fish.