The Diner

I work at the Diner off Shelby St., you probably know the one. It’s sandwiched between Grant and 1st Avenue. It's a little hard to find, but we're one of the few 24-hour operations in the area, so we're never hurting for business. I mostly work the night shifts. It’s easier for me to sleep in the day. I don’t know why.

After about two a.m. we start to get a lot of people who don’t have anywhere else to be. Grad students from some of the nearby schools tapping away on their laptops, working on their dissertations while fueled by coffee and anxiety. A number of lonely regulars who wander out of their apartments in a half-daze and come by mostly for the conversation. On the weekends we get the burnt out club kids and exhausted revelers looking to ease the come down with a plate of our greasiest.

It was a Wednesday night when these two guys came in. I pegged them for club goers at first. They had this look on their faces, as if their night was unfinished, as if there was more trouble to be made. Their clothes were wrong though. They sat next to each other in the back corner of the restaurant, the one on the inside of the booth was wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt while the other one wore a button-down and jeans.

I went over and introduced myself, asked if they wanted coffee. The guy in jeans had a smile like a fox and ordered for both of them. The other guy had this lazy grin. He was the larger of the two, built like a linebacker with a rock solid chest, but his presence wasn’t very intimidating. You could tell right away he was a big softie. His friend though had roving eyes and started sizing me up the moment he caught sight of me, even as I walked away to go fill their order I could feel his eyes on my ass.

I didn’t think much of it. I had a few tables, but it was a quiet night. These two were far out of my section so I had to make a conscious effort to go check on them. For a few minutes they were left to their own devices. When I came back I could see on the big guy’s face that something was up. He was blushing hard even though his friend was cool and calm. I poured them some more coffee and chatted. I was about to walk away when I realized that the fox looking guy had his hand up the leg of his friend’s gym shorts. They were the long, loose kind— seemingly made for easy access. His hand was moving slowly under there, but his eyes were on me and his smile was pure conspiracy. I didn’t call him out. I was glad that there was an apron cinched to my waist that hid my instant hard-on.

The next time I came over it was with their food and by now they were barely even concealing things. The big guy was slouched down in his seat and as I approached the booth I caught sight of his meaty dick poking through the leg of his shorts. I set their food down on the table and asked if everything was to their liking. That got a big grin out of the both of them.

“So far so good,” the fox shot back.

With their food delivered there was no reason for me to hang around, but I took a step back and stood watching them for a moment. I was too close to see exactly what was going on under the table without bending down, but I could still hear the big guy breathing hard and see the fox’s arm moving. My mind filled in the blanks.

“Is there anything else I can grab for you?”

The fox looked me in the eyes and knocked a fork off the table. “Clumsy. Sorry. Can you get that for me?”

I crouched and grabbed the fork. Of course, I looked up. The big guy’s cock had been pulled free now. It was thick and veiny. Precum ran down it in a thin line. My cock was deliriously hard by now and not just a little wet, but I couldn’t do anything. I just watched as a few expert strokes brought the big guy over the edge, and he started draining his balls with a hiss. He blasted his load up onto the underside of the table and a few shots reached the booth across from him. It was spectacular and explosive. I stayed crouched for just a moment and watched the last of it dribble from his red, swollen head.

When I stood up, the fox’s grin had split into a huge, self-satisfied smile. My hard on was now clearly visible. Even the apron couldn't hide it throbbing down my leg.

“You know, suddenly I’m thinking we should take this to go. A couple boxes and the check, please,” the fox said then.

“Of course,” I replied.

I left to take care of some other things and to let my cock soften with frustrating slowness. But by the time I returned with the boxes and check, the smell of jizz and maleness was so strong in that corner of the restaurant that my erection instantly returned.

I helped them box up the food and gave them their receipt with a message scrawled on the back:

Thanks for coming tonight. Hope to see you again soon. Your server, Mike.

They thanked me and left. I cleaned up the booth and spent the rest of the night counting the minutes until I could rush home and replay the whole scene in my head. My shift couldn’t end fast enough.

Later, as I teased my nipples and worked my cock in bed, I closed my eyes and recalled the image of the two of them playing in the booth. It didn't take long for me to spray my load all over myself.

The next Wednesday I wasn't on the schedule at work, but when someone called in sick, I was the first person asked to come in. I didn't have plans anyway, so I headed uptown to cover the shift. The early part of the evening was uneventful. There was a drunk slumped over on table 26, but the manager decided it was best to let him sleep it off.

It was close to 1 a.m. when the one other night server told me that there was a request for me. She winked, and added, "cute guys, too. I'm jealous."

I started firming up before I even walked over.

At a table in the back section sat a slender guy in basketball shorts and a t-shirt, and a bigger guy, a wrestler type wearing jeans, boots, and a big lazy grin.

"Our favorite server," the fox said as I approached.

"Welcome back, gentlemen. What are you in the mood for?" I asked, feeling a little bold. And horny, if I'm honest.

"Oh, a little of this and a little of that," the fox replied. "My friend here thought it'd be nice if we switched things up a bit. The same meal gets boring after a while, you know? Even if you really love the taste."

As he spoke, his eyelids fluttered and the big guy's thick right arm worked below the tabletop in a fairly obvious way. I knew this number.

Then the big guy spoke: "I think we'll need a minute to decide. My friend here usually takes a long time to… make up his mind."

It was the first time I'd heard him speak more than a word or two and his voice was quiet, mellow, but deep. If I wasn't already stiff, his voice would have pushed me firmly into erection territory.

"Take all the time you need," I said, and stood around for a bit while they played. The big guy's arm moved slowly and diligently under the table. It wasn't easy to see what was going on under there, hence the reason they'd chosen an out of the way back booth, but a couple steps back and I caught a glimpse of the fox's cock hanging out of his shorts and the big guy's hand working up and down its length. It was bigger and thicker than I would have ever guessed for such a slender dude, but that's the way of it sometimes, isn't it?

I fucked off to go see to my other tables, but nobody needed anything serious. At that time of night it's usually just endless coffee refills for the freelancers and desserts for the strung out and desolate. Eventually, I found my way to the back section where the fox was now lying back in the booth with his legs spread wide. His shorts, I could see, were down around his knees and he was still being stroked. The big guy's fist was as steady and unyielding as a metronome.

"Almost ready to order?" I asked.

"Order? Ah, yeah. Just bring us whatever. Something…" The fox grunted. "Hot."

So I ordered them a stack of pancake and two coffees. When I returned with the food in hand, the fox was clearly in a state. He didn't have much of a poker face, all things considered: he was red-faced and making little noises. His left arm gripped the big guy's shoulder hard. If he wasn't enjoying himself, then he was a damn good actor.

I set the pancakes down, filled up their coffee cups and stood there. In one hand I held the pot of coffee and the other was busy in my pocket, fondled the head of my swollen cock. I rubbed it through my pants, savoring the delicious feelings of the semi-public stimulation, having fun even knowing I'd never be able to push myself far enough to cum.

The fox, on the other hand, didn't have that problem. He looked up at me and then looked down at his lap pointedly. I didn't need to be coached further. I set the coffee pot down on the table and bent down, gesturing at lacing my already laced sneakers.

The big guy's hand changed its tempo all at once. He went from slow and steady to ferocious and fast. His fist was a blur up and down the fox's long, thick slab of cock. The fox at last lifted his bare ass up off of the bench and shot what was easily the biggest load I've ever seen. Hard jets of cum spewed out of his fat head and splashed all over the other side of the booth and the underside of the table. Even after the first three or four blasts, neither the force nor quantity of his ejaculations seemed reduced. I stared with my mouth hanging half-open as the fox made an absolute mess of the booth, ending with a few weak spurts that dribbled down onto the floor in front of him.

"Fuck," I whispered.

The big guy slowed down after that, but kept jerking the fox off in slow, measured strokes until he'd milked every drop. I watched until all the cum had leaked out. It took longer than you'd think.

"Smells like you made a mess," the big guy said to the fox. Then he looked at me. "Want him to help you clean up? I can make him do it with his tongue."

The big guy's meaty hand was still in the fox's lap, lying over his cock. Every now and again he'd squeeze and the fox would squirm.

"I don't… uh, I think I can take care of it," I replied. A little tongue-tied and light-headed. I was already thinking that I probably would have to excuse myself to the bathroom before the shift was over to make a mess of my own.

The big guy shrugged. "Maybe next time then. By the way, I'm Jimmy and this is Patrick. Are you here every Wednesday?"

"Every other week, usually. I'm mostly in on Friday through Tuesday. Nights."

Jimmy grinned and I suddenly realized just how handsome he was. It made me knees a little wobbly.

"Well then, Mike. I hope you don't mind if we visit again. This is fast becoming our favorite places to eat," Jimmy said. "Isn't that right, Patrick?"

Jimmy squeezed Patrick's cock again and Patrick took a sharp breath before replying. "Absolutely. Can't get enough."

"Well, maybe it's time we got the check?"

It was my turn to grin. "Let's say it's on the house this time."

Jimmy made a contemplative noise and then reached for his wallet, counted out a few fifties, and set them down on the table. It was an amount that could have probably paid for every meal currently being eaten in the entire restaurant.

"Then consider that a tip. For the cleanup," Jimmy said. And then Patrick stuffed his huge cock back into his shorts and the two of them climbed out of the booth. My dick, barely softened by this point, got rock hard again when I noticed a few wet spots where Patrick's shorts had been caught in the crossfire of his orgasm. And that's to say nothing of the enormous bulge in the front of his basketball shorts. It was positively lewd.

Once they'd gone, I took a clean rag from the kitchen and set about wiped up Patrick's massive load with it. It took a while, but I certainly didn't mind the work.

Later, when things quieted down, I asked the other server to cover me while I used to restroom. I sat down in an empty stall, put the rag—every inch of it covered in Patrick's pungent cum—up to my nose and jerked off using the slowly steady strokes that the big guy had used on the fox.

Before long I had a mess of my own to clean up.

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