Crema

[chrissy]

I’m a coffee guy. It’s part of my routine, and it’s part of my budget. I was going about my morning routine one morning and discovered there had hired somebody new at the local coffeeshop. The morning girl. These people were independent and didn’t need a ton of staff. They needed people who really knew their stuff. Staff turnover was an event at this place.

She was cute. Maybe 20 years of age, with straight, smooth auburn hair resting near the chin. She minded her own business. She had a little bit of padding, I guessed from work as a pastry chef. I knew they made everything from scratch here, and the morning person was responsible for it.

I usually kept to myself on the ritual coffee exchange, but I felt the need to stick around from time to time now. I had to get to know her.

[chrissy]

Here’s the thing. Every morning I came in, and she - her name was Claire - greeted me with her apron and a courteous smile. As I sat and pretended to mind my own business, I glanced up and watched her do her thing. But occaisionally, I noticed that even though there was one less pastry on the shelf, no one had come in. Maybe she was really good at sneaking them? And occaisionally, she was in the back, taking as much as three minutes before coming back out to greet a waiting customer. She was just unusually erratic for the usually high standards this place had on their staff, and I wondered what was up.

Eventually I grew bored of the same place and tried other coffee shops. One had frankly disgusting brew, and I found and excess of grounds at the bottom of my tumbler. One was a Starbucks - consistently mediocre (apologies to the apologists). There was the fair trade shop, which was nice but constantly full of people who think that’s where their offices are. I bounced around for a couple of months. Eventually I realized I needed to come home.

When I walked in the door I saw a little smile from Claire. A regular customer returning! I ordered the usual - Ethiopian Harrar. She turned around to the machine, and my heart skipped a beat.

While her apron covered her as well as ever, that same couldn’t be said for her back. The tshirt she wore rode up a little bit, exposing her back. And I saw a little hint of lovehandles on her sides. The pastries, I thought, must have been finally working their magic.

She turned around and I did my best to pretend all was well and normal. I gave her a broad smile, said it was good to be back, and made my way out to an appoitment I had scheduled shortly after.

And well, it was certainly good to be back. Encouraged by the heavenly sight I spied that morning, I made it a point to be a loyal regular from that point on.

Every week, I saw a palatable difference in the thickness of her sides, or the ampleness of her posterior. It was slow, but quite sure. I even thought I saw the beginnings of a real belly beneath her apron, but it was largely left to my imagination.

One morning,  fresh in from the auspices of the October air, I decided to check out the shop’s community board. Guitar lessons. Babysitting. Yoga, of course. And burlesque. Huh. And then a combination of words that seemed to have been spilt directly from my brain to the flyer. Was I reading this right?

“Featuring Veronica Voluptease, Pisa Cake and Crema Claire.”

Crema Claire. I didn’t want to confirm it with her right there because I knew I bore the real danger of tripping over my words. I just memorized the date and the place. This Friday, two days from today. At 9pm, at Sawyer’s Bistro. This Friday at 9pm, Sawyer’s Bistro.

As I strode to the front door, Claire called me out.

“See you soon!” She waved... and if I remember correctly, she winked.

There was no doubt at that point that I was going to attend this thing.

[BBW_Hunter]

Nice Story, just enough of everything

[strataadvance]

You're terrific. A New member of my top five authors-all legends. Amazing stories all! And you are extremely timely in keeping all your stories updated. thank You.

[chrissy]

Made my day. 

Now if I can get The Id posting again then I've done my job.  8)

[chrissy]

Before I knew it, I was at Sawyer’s, sitting with slight trepidation.

I cradled a Creemore in my right hand, the cold glass providing a cooling receptacle for my excitement. Would it really be Claire? There’s a lot of Claires in the city. The wink was probably just about the fact that I’m a regular customer. Right?... What was the nature of the act? I actually hadn’t been to a burlesque event before, but on the other hand, I don’t think I’ve known a burlesque performer personally - or at least on more than acquaintance terms. This was new territory.

I sat at a table near the left side of the stage, hoping that maybe she wouldn’t necessarily see me in the due to the stage lights. It was a late start. Finally, the announcer, a man in stereotypically fancy garb, took the stage.

“Welcome! It’s a late start so I will get right to it... our first performer is brand new to the scene! Crema Claire is the queen of caffeine! She knows how to pull a shot, if you know what I mean!” Polite laughter.

“Here she comes!”

The lights went down. And up.

She was there, in the same outfit as ever, in a gentle stride. Jazz music. I did a search on my phone. Black Coffee - Ella Fitzgerald. Huh.

About half a minute in, I realized she was the one singing it. I guess Shazaam’s algorithms were fooled too. She was incredible. A cup of - I’d assume it was coffee - sat on a side table on stage. She walked around the table. It was reminiscient of what I see nearly every morning. Except, no pants.

Claire was the proud owner of an incredible bottom. She picked up the cup of coffee daintily, cradling it with her hands, and took a few sips between the strains of her melodious, mellifluous voice. She started to slowly undo her apron. After a bit of teasing and pretending to kvetch the proposition of stripping, she pulled it off, and tossed it with a newfound verve. Her apron, the connective artifact of our relationship, sat a few feet from my table. Then I looked up.

Wow.

My months of suspicion and imaginings were fully confirmed at that moment. Claire’s belly moved hypnotically, the rare evidence of her predilection for pastries in full effect. She was actually even bigger than I thought; her face belied her chubbiness, the extent of which could only be hidden with an apron. Her paunch was very nearly pendulous, complemented by a lascivious décolletage residing in her strapped brassiere. There was a palpable sense of her sexually charged demeanor with every shimmy and shake she made, and she took full advantage of her overflowing curves, knowing the power she had over me.

“It’s driving me crazy, waiting for my baby.... to maybe come around,” she cooed, and shot a square glance at me. There was no denying it. I was on the precipice.

Then, after a forever in liminal experience, and yet somehow all too soon, she bounded off stage.

No one could compare to Claire in my mind. I got up from my table for a moment and retrieved the apron. I would return it to her tomorrow. It was clearly appropriate to divulge my feelings towards her at this point.

But I couldn’t keep up with Claire, as I discovered to be her wont. She unceremoniously appeared beside me perhaps a half hour later, in a simple skirt and jacket.

“Hey.” Her hand covered mine.

[strataadvance]

I have read thousands of stories over the last 15-18 years.When I tried my hand at writing I found that it's extremely difficult. You write like you've been at it forever! I love all your stories!