The Diner

By Ben


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I work at the Diner off Shelby St., you probably know the one. It’s between Grant and 1st Avenue. We’re a 24 hour operation and 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 schools near by 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 eggs.

It was a Wednesday night when these two guys came in. I pegged them for club goers. 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 softy. 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 and 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, but 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 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 of the table. “Clumsy. Sorry. Can you get that for me?”

I crouched down and grabbed the fork. Of course I looked over. The big guy’s cock had been pulled free now. It was thick and long and veiny. Precum ran down it in a thin line. My own cock was deliriously hard by now, 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 all over 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. The apron couldn’t do enough to hide it.

“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. By the time I returned though with the boxes and the 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 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.

A week later on another Wednesday that was somehow slower than the week before two guys came in and requested a table in the back section: 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.