Coffee, made with love

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Babes

I remember three key details from when I first saw her: her hair; what she wore; and an overwhelming feeling that I would get to know her. I had no idea who she was, and though I could tell she was attractive, right then and there I didn’t feel an overwhelming physical attraction to her looks. What I did feel, however, was an attraction to her in a manner beyond explanation. I felt drawn to her.

~0~

“You just get along well with older people, don’t you?”

I agreed because it’s true. Some personal connections and friendships transcend age…

~0~

Coffee, made with love

© 2019 Thefireflies, exclusively for Literotica

~0~

A WEEK AGO…

“Café or pub?”

“Let see what comes first,” I answered as we walked around the corner, scanning the street ahead for suitable venues.

“You said cums first,” Sally giggled with immaturity, and then so did I.

Except we were no longer teens, but adults in our mid-thirties. But some things never change. Yet, part of me was glad when we came across a café. When I was younger I’d have straight up said pub, but nowadays I see them as gambling dens and sport’s bars, with banks of poker machines and wall to wall TVs showing rugby and cricket, horse racing and Keno.

Sally entered the café and I followed, noting with some amusement she still turned a few patron’s heads. Yep, some things never change. Sadly for her, from what she’s told me in recent times, her husband no longer takes much notice of her. I know we’ll spend much of this catch-up discussing her marital woes.

The pretty young waitress smiled at us, directing us to take a seat, then took our order of two flat white coffees, a chicken and avocado panini for Sally, and a pulled pork sandwich and chips for me.

“Weren’t you on a health kick?” Sally asked in a semi-surprised tone. “With all the fresh produce you’re growing.”

“Leave me alone. I have a whole week of meetings ahead of me so I need comfort food right now.”

She laughed. “Well, you look healthy, Todd. Must be the country air you’re getting now you’re a farmer.”

“Our place in the hinterland isn’t really the country and I’m definitely not a farmer. It’s only two hectares.”

“Might as well be the country,” she replied with a smile, then a sigh. “Compared to here, anyway. Brisbane feels more hectic than ever.”

Sally, my oldest friend in the world, has two kids, a workaholic and neglectful husband, plus her own career as a prosecution barrister, so I was fairly certain as to what caused her sigh. We’ve always had time for each other, a connection going way back to primary school, but we don’t catch up often anymore since I’ve moved away from Brisbane. But we’ve known each other since time began, or at least it feels like it anyway, and she was the only non-family I’d decided to tell I was in town on this week-long work trip.

Our conversation flowed back and forth, asking general questions about each other’s families, mutual friends, work, life. If all else failed, we could reminisce about some old shit we got up to, way back in the day, but there was no need for us to get overly sentimental. I knew she was avoiding the elephant in the room for as long as possible, her problems with her husband Harvey, because she likely feared the flood-gates of emotion would burst and she’d ruin our catch up. She’d get around to her problems in time, I was sure.

Thankfully we’d beaten the lunch crowd by moments, which built up soon after we’d made our orders, bringing back ancient memories for me, of working in a similar café in Brisbane’s West End, way back throughout my years at university. Land’s End was the name of the café I’d worked in, which was to become a significant part of my life.

When our coffees and food arrived we stopped our chit-chatting to eat. For a moment I could overhear snippets of conversation from two women sitting at the next table, perhaps in their late thirties or early forties. I hadn’t even noticed them sit next to us, but now I took interest in their conversation and could tell Sally did too, cocking her ear towards them.

“Yes, I read that!” The woman with the black hair said. “It’s a little creepy, right?”

The other woman, with light brown hair, responded, “I suppose when you’re a big-time Hollywood star, age doesn’t matter.”

“It’s not just actors. Did you hear about the sixty year-old dentist up the coast leaving his wife for his twenty-four year-old nurse? She was pregnant with his baby!”

The other woman made a tut-tut sound with her tongue. “And then there’s that politician who did something similar. These men are abusing their power. And you never hear of sixty-year old women dating twenty-year old men, even if they’re big-time actors.”

“Yeah, it’s completely sexist.”

“It totally is. Dirty old bastards.”

The woman with the black hair giggled. “Would I be a dirty old woman if I had a twenty-something year-old?”

Raising her eyebrows, her companion asked, “Is there something you haven’t told me, bahis firmaları Claire?”

Claire giggled. “No, unfortunately. I can only dream.”

“Can’t we all? Anyhow, you’re only thirty-nine, so you aren’t old.”

“Forty next month, remember.”

“Doesn’t life begin at forty?” Claire’s friend spoke with a hint of amusement. “Maybe you’ll get a twenty year-old for your fortieth? What about young James at work?”

“Oh, James, still my beating heart,” Claire replied with exaggerated swooning, the back of her hand against her forehead. “Yes please, I’ll abuse my position of power for a night with James.”

“Such a delicious position too.” Both women giggled.

Then Claire sighed. “Why would a handsome man James’ age want me anyway? Other than for something casual and short-term of course.”

“Would you want anything more than casual and short-term with a boy like James?” Claire’s friend asked.

“No, I guess not.” Claire replied with the tone and half-hearted smile of someone whose innermost desires didn’t match the words they spoke. “Young men are wasted on young women.”

“Totally wasted.”

The two women at the next table appeared completely oblivious to us listening in on their conversation, and Sally raised her eyebrows and grinned, then leant over the table and whispered to me, “Not all young men are wasted on young women. There was one young man I knew who had a thing with his older boss.”

“Oh, really?” Anyone overhearing us would think I was genuinely surprised. “I heard she was his ex-boss at the time.”

“Does it matter?” Then Sally grinned. “She totally went for his cock.”

“What? Hot older boss taking advantage of innocent, young recently ex-employee?”

Sally smirked. “Nah. I never said anything about anyone being innocent. Your story could give these ladies hope.”

“Yeah, nah,” I said, laughing loud enough for the two women to pause their conversation and look over to us. “My story’s no one else’s business but mine and Miranda’s.”

~0~

12 YEARS AGO…

How many glasses of beer had I downed before switching to Bourbon? Must’ve been more than four to make me merry enough to switch to the more expensive hard liquor. Five maybe? I looked across to Sally, and for no reason I said, “I can’t really afford to be buying Bourbon and Cokes.”

She smiled, but cautioned, “You better hit your shots this time or I’m going to find a new team mate.”

All I could do was smile, then shift my focus to Luke racking the balls up in the triangle down the other end of the green felt. We’d planned this night for some time, drinking since five in the afternoon, sharing endless games of pool, and now I was a bit more than slightly pissed. Sighting down my cue, lining up the cue ball with apex ball, running the long handle back and forth, testing my drunken aim, I still made a cracking break, potting four balls straight up, three of them bigs.

“Nice break, dude,” Luke said, humble to the end, then after I failed to sink another biggie on my second shot, the ball missing the centre-pocket by millimetres, he punished me, sinking most of his and Zoe’s smalls, leaving a single one of theirs plus the black eight ball and the rest of ours on the table.

Sally put up a fight, sinking three of ours in a row, then fouled her last, and Zoe went on to sink their last ball and then the eight with a cracking shot into a corner pocket. Zoe celebrated by heading to the pub’s beer garden for a smoke while Vince told another bullshit story from his trip to Europe, and Ollie chatted with Anke, Luke’s German housemate. She wasn’t having a bar of it since Ollie was very drunk, slurring as he talked nonsense. Just another night catching up with my old school buds.

Another bourbon and coke had me seriously slurring too, talking shit, and soon it was time to leave. On our way out, me and Sally staggered to the jukebox, leaning against each other and giggling as we selected the nine-minute long song November Rain by Guns N’ Roses a total of six times in a row, right before we left the pub.

Shits and giggles, just like the good old days, back in High School, but now with added alcohol and even better bullshit stories. Or at least we thought we lead interesting lives. After all, we were supposed to be adults with a bit of life experience under our belts by now, at twenty-two years of age.

And like old times, we found Zoe and Vince locking lips out front, and after our goodbyes they left together in a taxi. Meanwhile, Anke rebuffed Ollie’s drunken advances, disappearing into the night with Luke. Ollie was pissed as a fart, moaning how German girls are psychos, while Sally and I ensured he caught a cab safely and gave the cabbie Oliver’s address.

Spending the last of our money on drinks, pool and the jukebox, Sally and I were penniless and drunk, unable to afford a taxi. We walked for two hours, all the way from the city, across the river and then some, to the share-house where I lived.

I complained about spending my last few dollars on average bourbon kaçak iddaa and she complained the whole journey how her feet hurt, but we supported each other, once falling to the path in a giggling heap, both drunk but in good spirits.

Once at my house I’d half-heartedly hoped we’d sleep together, but we’d been there, done that a few times. Forgettable drunken sex between friends at post High School parties and then a short-term friends-with-benefits arrangement we’d quickly decided to take a step back from, both wanting to date other people and not wanting to ruin our friendship. Miraculously and thankfully we’d managed to stick to our bargain, remaining best of friends.

“I’m pretty fucken drunk, ay,” Sally slurred as we walked under the old Queenslander house I shared with three other university students. Her voice contradicted our attempts to be quiet while we tip-toed up the rear steps. “If I close my eyes I’m gonna be sick.”

“What a fucking night,” I sighed with a smile, flopping on the old weather-beaten leather couch on the rear veranda. Sally sat next to me, concentrating on the veranda rail, focusing on one point in space, maybe the protruding nail or a patch of flaked paint, to stop her head from spinning. I chuckled at her, asking in a sarcastic tone, “Your superpower of drunkenness, ay, Sal?”

“Shut up, I’m concentrating.” She sounded so serious.

“You must be out of form.” I’d always marvelled at Sally’s ability to drink most people under the table and indeed, she’d joked more than once it was her superpower.

“I’ll show you form. Bet you can’t make it to sunrise.”

“I’ll out-wake you any day or night.”

She giggled. “Out wank me?”

“You heard me. Out wake you.”

“You’re on.”

The air was warm with only the slightest breeze on this late spring very early o’clock in the morning. Once we were silent I became increasingly conscious of the night sounds of Brisbane’s suburbs: the ever-present hum of traffic from the freeway a couple of suburbs away, despite the early hour; the sound of a revving engine and the squeal of a burnout somewhere in the neighbourhood, and then a distant siren somewhere else; beating dance music wafting across the night from a passing car; a loud conversation from a group of young people walking up the adjacent street; a possum or a fruit-bat foraging in the neighbour’s tree; crickets chirping in the jungle-like tall grass of my un-mown share house backyard; a gecko loudly calling it’s familiar chuk-chuk-chuk-chuk-chuk-chuk from the house; and then my own voice eventually interrupting the ambience.

“Hey, Sal?”

“Hey, Todd?”

“I’ve got a question.”

“Do you now?” Her tone was facetious.

“I do.”

“Use your words then, Todd.” She spoke gently, as if I were a toddler. Sarcastic Sal, as usual.

“Would you ever date someone considerably older than you?”

“How old is con-considrably, um, hehe, considerably old?” she said, giggling as she stumbled over the word considerably. “Simon was twelve years older than me.”

“I forgot about Simon.”

“I wish I could forget him.”

“That bad, eh?”

“Nah, the exact opposite. Anyway, why do you ask?”

“Um, do you think you’d date someone more than twenty years older?”

She turned to me with a quizzical look and I could tell she was thinking. Or trying to think in her semi-intoxicated state, and she took her time before answering. “Yeah, I guess so. I wouldn’t rule it out if the right silver-fox came along. So why do you ask?”

“I sorta need advice.”

“Oh?”

“I like someone.” I said the words slowly, making sure I was speaking clearly as possible, conscious I still slurred.

“Really? Like, you must more than like this someone, since you’re asking me for advice? Who?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

She turned on the old couch to face me, tucking her legs beneath her, looked at me with a straight face, then spoke dead-pan, “I promise I won’t laugh.” Exactly like in Team America when the dude says to the chick, ‘I promise I’ll never die.’

“You’re gonna laugh.”

“I’m not going to laugh,” she said, her lips already breaking into a smirk at the corners, the laugh trying to escape by the means of a snort through her nose.

“Forget it.”

“Who is she?” Her eyes widening, threatening. In jest though, because she still battled against escaping laughter.

“Who said I’m talking about a she?”

“Okay, who is he then. Spill it!”

“It’s a she.”

“I know she’s a fucking she. Who?”

“Nope, not telling.”

“You’re infuriating!”

I grinned. “I know.”

“You can’t do this to me, Todd,” Sally changed tack, whining and batting her eyelids. “Please. Pretty please. With sugar on top.”

“Miranda.”

“Miranda?”

“Yeah.”

“As in, Miranda, your now former boss at the café?”

“The one and only Miranda at the café.”

“No. Fucking. Way.”

I sighed, relived I’d told someone. “Yes fucking way.”

“Are you and she…?” Sally left the question hanging.

“No.”

Sally kaçak bahis went silent, thinking for a moment before replying. “She’d be about forty, right?”

“Forty-three.”

“Cougar! Does she know you like her?”

“I think so.”

“But you don’t work there anymore. Are you still in touch with her?”

“Yes.”

Sally now pursed her lips together to the right side, as she tended to do when in thought. “Why Miranda?”

I looked down at my feet, trying to answer the question I’d already asked myself dozens of times or more. “I can’t quite explain it other than, why not? There’s something between us.”

“Something between you?”

“Yeah, something. I can’t put my finger on it. It’s been there since I first met her.”

“She was your boss for three years.”

“I know. I can’t explain it. She’s…amazing.”

“Hmmm.” Sally gave me a thoughtful look instead of ridiculing me as I’d expected.

“I know, it’s dumb.”

“Do you think she knows you like her? And do you think she likes you the same way too?”

I blew air between my lips, unintentionally whistling. “I think she might. I dunno. She’s always been super friendly to me for the three years I worked for her, but she’s friendly with everyone. It’s her nature, but I felt she’s different with me. We used to end up in deep conversations about things, you know, mostly after work when the other’s had left.”

“Deep conversations?”

“Yeah. Remember a few years ago soon after I started working there and I told you how she gave me a lift home because of a big storm, and we ended up chatting in her car for an hour out front of my house?”

“Yep, I remember you telling me.”

“Yeah, well, at the time it was worth mentioning because I’d never actually sat with an adult for so long, sharing deep and meaningfuls. We’ve had a few similar chats over the years, where she’s told me a whole bunch of personal stuff. Then a few months back when I told Miranda I was leaving for the techie job in the lab, she was excited for me, but then offered me some tickets to a comedy night at the Powerhouse. She said to think of the tickets as a gift. Turned out the tickets were supposed to be for her and a friend, but the friend pulled out. When she offered the tickets to me and I said I’d take them if she’d go with me, and she protested, but not much, then agreed and we ended up having a great night out.”

“Wow, you and Miranda out on the town together! And?”

“We had a great night, and that was it. Went to dinner before the show, drank a few drinks afterwards. And nothing more.”

“Nothing more?”

“We’ve texted each other and hung out once since.”

“Texted? Hung out? All since you stopped working for her?”

“Yeah, last weekend we ran into each other at the shops and she invited me over for dinner at her house.”

“She invited you over?” Then Sally smiled, unable to help herself. “Did you offer her your cream for dessert?”

I laughed. “I wanted to but didn’t ask.”

“You didn’t ask if she wanted little Todd?”

“Seriously. I wanted to ask, but something held me back.”

“What have you done with the real Todd that I know and love?”

“I was, um, conflicted. I totally wanted to fuck her, of course, but I wasn’t even sure if she wants to sleep with me and I thought it might ruin things. I like hanging out with her and I thought that maybe she simply enjoys my company but want’s nothing more. She’s certainly never given me any indication of wanting more.”

Sally rolled her eyes. “Come on, Todd. She invited you to dinner at her house. I’ll say it again for you, slowly this time. She. Invited. You. Over. For. Fucking. Dinner. At. Her. Fucking. House. A blind man could see clearly she wants your mustard!”

I sat there, smiling like a fool. “I don’t know. I’d not care about the implications if all I wanted from her was a fuck.”

“Implications? God, Todd, who are you even?”

Still smiling, I said, “The same guy who stopped sleeping with you when it was becoming detrimental for our friendship.”

“Ouch, Mr Todd. But touché.”

“You know I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Yes you did and it’s fine. We both agreed. Anyway, back to Miranda.”

“What else can I say? I like Miranda and if she were my own age I’d ask her out. But I don’t know if that’s what she wants.”

The look on Sally’s face was priceless. “So, you don’t know if Miranda’s randy for your cock, but she and you are hanging out, going for drinks and comedy shows and texting each other, and she’s cooking you dinner…at her house, may I remind you.”

I processed what Sally said, yet I was still unsure. “What do you think I should do?”

“Grow a pair and fuck her. Just get her out of your system!”

“Should I?”

She laughed. “No, you knob. But hey, you’ll never know if you don’t ask. Be upfront. Be honest. Be yourself. Be the young guy who rocks Miranda like an Earthquake, Todd!”

“What if I want more than a casual fuck?”

Sally was beside herself, potentially genuinely exasperated and speaking much louder than I felt comfortable at this hour. “More than a casual fuck? There’s something I never thought I’d hear you say! Fuck her, damn you. She needs it. You need it. The world needs it!”

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