Sunday Quickie: Mix Up at the Coffee House

The best part about going to a gourmet coffee house is not the five dollar cup. It’s the standing in line.

At least for me. I love people watching, and being close to people while I watch them is even better. And I like it even more when somebody watches me.

So I wear the shortest skirts. I push my boobs up and together, and wear skimpy shirts with the lowest possible cuts. I prefer knee-high boots, even out of season. I’m an attention whore, admittedly. Men are fun to tease, sometimes, because they’re cute when stupidly brave and get shut down so easily.

But I enjoy it more when the ladies notice me. They’re sneakier, like me, and like to observe from a distance. The women use their periphery vision more. But I’m good at noticing eye movement and body language.

Last year, I got some attention from a rather prudish looking lady. She was my age, there about. She wore sensible flats with black hosiery and a pinstripe grey suit, the skirt covering her knees. Her honey blond hair was pinned up into a loose bun. She held a leather attache in front of her in both hands.

She looked me up and down, a cute little smile on her pale lips. Then she glanced away, trying her best to ignore me, even when I turned to face her. Especially when I crossed my arms, pushing my breasts up.

She cleared her throat and stared at her feet.

To say I was in love is inaccurate. At least at the time. I just wanted to make a new friend, and maybe help loosen her up. I like a challenge.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Hey there,” she said.

“I’m Chelsey.”

“Marti.”

Marti kept avoiding eye contact. Kept giving me one word answers to questions “like how are you?” “where do you work?” and “what’s your favorite sex position?”

Admittedly, the last one was just me being frustrated with Marti. If she only looked me in the eye I wouldn’t have asked that. But nope. I certainly got her attention, and that of a blue haired old lady. Marti pretended to ignore me, so I turned around and politely waited my turn to order. The old lady scoffed at me, and maybe said a prayer for my soul or something.

I asked for my regular mocha. Marti ordered a latte.

The cup I got had “Chelsea” written on it in big, sloppy cursive. I think. Maybe. But I didn’t smell any chocolate, and whatever the fuck it was tasted awful.

Marti had a disgusted frown on her face after one sip from hers.

“Marti, baby,” I said, when we were both outside. “I think I got your coffee.”

“Maybe,” she said. I figured that’s all she was going to say, but then she smiled. “I don’t think the woman behind me was named Mirtle.”

She held up her cup for me, and in the same sloppy handwriting was written “Mirtle.”

“I’ll trade you cups,” I said. “Sorry I took one tiny little sip.”

“It’s okay,” Marti said, chuckling. “Damn, I thought my career swapping saliva was over with.”

“Huh? What?”

Her smile was tight, warming her face to a cute blush, but she was still distant. “To answer your questions. I’m actually having a wonderful day. I work as a video editor. And I like it when a woman sits on my face.”

This time, it was my turn to be speechless. At least Marti gave me one word answers. I gave her an astonished grunt. She handed me the “Mirtle” cup and reached into her attache. After some fumbling, she found a pink colored business card, which she stuck between my boobs. Then she took the “Chelsea” cup.

“Call me,” she said, winking. “Or go to that address and I can introduce you to some people, if you want a new career.”

Marti blew me a shy kiss and walked away. I pulled the card out from between my breasts. She worked at a place called Fantasy Theatre Productions. The logo was a silhouette of a woman with curvy hips dancing on a pole.

Needless to say, I was intrigued. And more than a bit surprised after my initial crappy opinion of Marti.

I thought it over for a night. Then I looked up Fantasy Theatre online, and was pleasantly surprised that it was a porno studio here in town, mostly featuring lesbian films but also other genres. What Marti said about being a video editor made a lot more sense.

I went to go see her at Fantasy Theatre. It turned out to be a non-descript warehouse in a non-descript part of town, not real far from the gourmet coffee house.

Long story short, I got an audition. Then I got a much needed career change. Marti is still cold and shy around me, but at least she has the excuse of trying to be professional around me. She still eyeballs me when she thinks I’m not noticing her. She’s cute and sneaky and not easily shut down. I’d love to sit on her face. One step at a time.

And now, I have it better than standing in line at the coffee house. I get to watch people do naughty things every day. And they get to watch me.

And even better, strangers I’ll never meet watch the DVDs and download the video clips.

Like I said, I’m an attention whore. Now I’m an attention whore in an international market.

***

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Author: D. Anthony Brown

Indie writer and publisher. Among other jack-of-all-trade skills...

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