After the diner

The diner was empty and the chairs were up. I am twenty-two. I had my own close-out and my own tips. Gordon waited outside because I had told him to, forty-nine, not my manager, not anyone who can cut my hours. I locked the door in the black apron and the white t-shirt, freckles, hair down, and I kissed him on the sidewalk like a woman who had decided.

I said your car, then my room, and I want to suck your cock because I have been thinking about fucking you since the lunch rush, and I want you to tell me I am good without making me small. He said yes to all of it. In the parked car at the edge of the lot I took the apron off and put it on the seat. Sneakers off in the footwell. I opened his belt and took his cock in my mouth, slow, hand at the base, eyes up so he could see I was choosing it. He said my name and that I was wonderful and that I did not have to. I pulled off long enough to say I want to. Then I took him back in my mouth until he warned me. I stayed. He came on my tongue and I swallowed his cum and kissed him after, proud of it.

He drove. At my door I made him wait while I put the apron in the hamper like a work thing that does not come to bed. Then I pulled him onto the mattress and told him it was my turn. His mouth on my cunt, my pace. He licked my clit until I came with my hand in his hair and my feet on his back, laughing, adult, glad, cunt still pulsing. I said stay. I did not ask him to fuck me yet. He stayed.