Food Court 2

This is proposed as a sequel to the item entitled “Food court” by hornyhubby74, dated 2-11-11, which is an exceptional piece of writing and which is a real joy to read. The storyline, the characters and the foundation are inspired by his work alone, and if what appears below is worthwhile, the credit all goes to him. If, on the other hand, what appears below is garbage, the fault is all mine. A big “Thank you” to hornyhubby74, along with an “I’m sorry”, depending on how this bird lands. (I’ve drafted Parts 3 and 4 of this story line, as well, and will post them if there’s interest . . . and absent objection from hornyhubby74.)

Food Court 2

Robert held the memory of the young girl from the food court in his mind for the entire next week, barely able to focus on work or think of anything else at all. Pregnant! SHIT!! His 15-year-old daughter Megan had pointed at the girl standing out in front of school and told him that she’d gotten pregnant by “some old guy” at the mall. Robert was that “old guy”, and he felt as though he was standing in quicksand and quickly going down.

He’d met her at the mall food court where she worked one of the stands, they’d slipped away on a mutual whim and sneaked into one of the empty stores, made wild love in a dressing room and produced five or more orgasms for her, and one gigantic orgasm for him . . . which he’d deposited into her incredible pussy. He hadn’t asked about birth control before exploding into her, and she hadn’t told, though she had said after, “I’ve never let anyone do that before”. What that meant, it seemed clear now, was that she’d never had unprotected intercourse to discharge. It also meant that there was a 16-year-old girl in the world carrying his child, and that neither of them knew the other’s name.

After wrestling with the moralities, the ethics, the realities and the practicalities all day, every day, for seven days — and seven nights — he arrived at a plan. It was a plan that would make no one happy, but was the least evil of all the possible available evils, and which would put the bulk of any burden on him alone. He would go talk to the girl, identify himself, explain that he’d looked for her after that extraordinary afternoon in the empty store at her mall, and offer to help her get an abortion or put the child up for adoption, or whatever she wanted to do. He knew he was risking jail time (the girl was obviously well under-age), losing his wife and family, and being ostracized by his employer: he’d been working at that mall to close down one of their retail outlets hit by the declining economy. His hope, and prayer, was that the girl would be forgiving and that they could keep the events just between themselves, without involving the authorities, her parents, or his family. He thought his wife might forgive him, after a long period of pain, but the four kids — of which Megan was oldest at 15 — wouldn’t. Ever.

He stalked the food court, going by in the mornings on his way to work, and on the way home at night. No sign of her at all. This lasted for two weeks or more. He’d subsequently learned from Megan, by way of studiously casual questioning, that the girl’s name was Desirae, and he kept thinking how he’d have no trouble remembering it because “desire” was what he’d felt for her that day — in no small part because he knew she was young — and every day for the four weeks thereafter that he’d looked for her and not found her, hoping then for a repeat performance of that initial afternoon’s tryst. The girl was an unbelievably gifted lover, was capable of multiple orgasms, had a fabulous pussy, was hyper-aggressive and was unnaturally enthusiastic. None of that was ever true of his wife, and it certainly wasn’t true now. Likewise, “desire” was what had gotten him into this mess. No, he’d have no trouble remembering the girl’s name. He was conflicted about what he’d felt that afternoon and what he felt now, but he knew he couldn’t do nothing: he had to act. He had to be responsible. Be adult. Take his medicine. Find the girl, do what was right, and hope for the best. Hope not to go to jail or be killed by her parents.

Finally, one Friday, he decided to alter his routine and go to the mall mid-afternoon, thinking that she might be catching shifts right after school got out and only working for a few hours. His fear was that she’d moved on to another job, and he’d have to involve Megan in finding and contacting her. He walked through the mall doors, turned toward the court and felt his heart racing: he’d been nervous every time he’d come by before, but this was different somehow. He felt optimistic that he’d find her. He had never walked up to the counter to ask “Is Desirae here?”, or “When does Desirae come in?”, not wanting to alert her indirectly to his search.

He passed the pizza-by-the-slice joint and came up to what he now thought of as “her store”, a taco-burrito stand that also served sandwich wraps. She wasn’t there. Again. He didn’t know if he should feel relieved or disappointed, so he settled on feeling a little of both. He wanted to see her, to get the initial shock behind them, but he was still pumping high-test fear through his veins. He turned to walk back and wait at his usual perch, a steel column rising up to the sky-light, when from the corner of his eye, he saw a shape passing into the walkway leading behind the stands. He couldn’t see the face, because it was turned away from him, but he could see the torso.