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By Robert Buckley
Corner Booth
Dancing with the Banshee
Its Been Going Around
Julie's Ankles
Leah And The Eagle
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The Last Thing You ...
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The Love Song of...
The Nice Guy
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Corner Booth
© 2001 by Robert Buckley

8:30 a.m.  at Moe's Diner.  I'm in my usual booth, minding my own business when they walk in.  He's tall, gaunt, and pasty, with a smirk you'd like to smack off his face.

She's pretty.  Not tall.  A petite but curvy build clad in a tiny black dress that looks like it was poured on.  Dark blonde hair falls in soft curls around her shoulders framing a heart-shaped face with big brown eyes.

He scans each booth, appraising the customers as they shovel hash and beans into their maws.  Finally his eyes lock on me.  The smirk almost becomes a full-blown grin.

Without seeking an invitation he motions to her to slide into my booth.  He sidles in next to her.  Now they sit opposite me.  I don't say a thing.

For a moment he just smiles.  Then he says, "Good morning.  I hope you don't mind us joining you."

"It's a little too late for that," I say.

He laughs dryly. "Yes.  Well, I have a proposition for you, Sir."


"This is my wife, Marie Angela.  Isn't she lovely?"

I nod.  She looks down at her hands folded on the table.

"She's also a perfect little slut."

I notice the slightest shudder of her shoulders.  Her creamy cleavage rises and falls.

"Would you like to fuck her?" he asks, then answers himself. "Of course, you would."

I look at her.  Her eyes still cast down, she bites her lower lip.

"I'm quite serious," he continues. "Use her any way you will.  She is utterly compliant.  Why, you could bend her right over this table and fill her whorish ass with your cock.  Yes, right here in front of everyone."

"Okay," I say. "Just so we understand each other.  You want me to fuck your hot little wife?"


"In fact, you don't just want me to fuck her.  You want me to humiliate her.  That right?"

"She must be made to feel like a slut—exposed, vulnerable, helpless, and absolutely degraded."

"I see.  And what do you get out of this, exactly?"

"I get to watch, of course."

"And what's my incentive? Do tell."

He is absolutely amazed at this. "I would think the opportunity to violate my little slut would be enough.  But, I think some remuneration for your services could be negotiated."

"Hmm, sounds fair.  And, where are you staying?"

"The Madison Hotel."

"Fine.  Now I have a suggestion."

"Wonderful, please tell."

"I suggest you return to your hotel room.  In the meantime I will take Marie Angela on a tour of the neighborhood."

"But, I thought you understood.  I wish to watch."

"Hear me out," I say. "I know a squalid little place, Voodoo's Garage.  Dirty, greasy mechanics.  Human mongrels.  And don't think they'll turn up their hairy, snot-clogged noses at this little treat.  After they pass her around, I'll take her back to your room, where she gets to relate every detail about every fat, greasy cock she took, fore, aft and otherwise - all while I'm plowing her well-used cunt."

"Hmm, I do appreciate a depraved imagination.  It's settled then, Mr. ..."

"No need for names, Sir."

"Of course," he smirks, and hands me a large box of condoms.

"Thank you, no.  I carry my own, and take every precaution."

"Well, and done.  Shall I look forward to you returning my little whore at, oh, sevenish?"

"Done," I say.  He extends his hand.  I don't take it.  He pretends he doesn't notice and leaves.

Once he is gone I say to the girl, "Marie Angela.  That's a lovely name."

She keeps her eyes down and barely nods.

Over her shoulder I notice Joey Bukowski struggle his way to a counter seat.

"Marie Angela, I want you to turn around and take a look at the little guy in the cabbie's cap and the too-long coat sitting at the counter."

Slowly, tentatively, she turns and looks at Joey.

"That's Joey Bukowski.  He's a good kid.  Hasn't gotten many breaks in life.  He was born with a deformed foot and has trouble getting around.  Just because he moves kind of slow people think he's slow up here," I say, tapping my temple.

Marie Angela turns and looks at him again.

"What do you think? Not a bad-looking kid.  Well, is he?"

"No," she says softly.

"Uh-huh.  But he's never had a date in his life.  I don't think he's ever been kissed.  Well, maybe a little peck on the cheek."

She turns again and then looks at me.

"Now your husband, assuming he is your husband, has said you must do whatever I say, is that correct?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Well, I'd like you to spend the day with Joey.  I want you to teach him about kissing, hugging, fucking, and sucking.  I want you to leave him feeling like the king of the world, but ..."

I hold the pause until finally she asks, "but what?"

"But only if you want to."

She seems momentarily confounded at this.  Then the slightest of smiles creases her soft pink lips.  I call Joey over.

Joey slides in, it seems painfully, next to Marie Angela.

"Joey," I say, "This is my friend, Marie Angela.  She's only in town until tonight, but she's been watching you the past few days."

Joey gulps and his face reddens. "Huh?"

"Yeah, but she's really shy, so she asked me to break the ice for her.  Do you think you'd be able to keep her company today? I mean, if you aren't too busy."

"Well, gee, no - ah.  Hey, you aren't trying to pull a fast one on me are you?"

"Joey," I protest. "I would never ...  I thought you knew me better than that.  Remember when we talked about girls the other day?"

Joey's blushing again.  Marie Angela leans over and gives him the sweetest kiss.  I think Joey's a goner.  His jaw drops like a trap door.

"And Joey," I say. "She's really fond of classical jazz.  Maybe you want to take her to your place and let her hear your collection."

"Um - um - um, yeah, sure.  I'd love to.  I mean, if you want to," he says, finally looking straight into Marie Angela's face.  She nods and smiles.

She takes his arm as they stand away from the booth.  I tap her elbow and say, "Gentle, Sweetie.  Be gentle with him.  Don't scare him."

She giggles and walks him toward the door.  Joey looks like he's grown five inches.  I never saw him walk so straight and tall.

Moe steps over and pours me another cup of coffee. "Jesus, was that really Joey who left with that tight little skirt?"

"One and the same, Moe.  Joey's growing up."

"Hey," he says. "What're you running here, some kinda make-a-wish society? Cause if you are, I'd like to get my hands on that little German bra model, the one with the skinny legs and the big tits."

I laugh. "Better give me a couple of weeks, Moe.  Some miracles take more time."

 © 2001 by R.E.  Buckley.  Not to be reproduced with permission of the author.

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