Sixty-Second Sexcapade -A Cup of Joe

A Cup of Joe

Six years ago, I wandered into a little café on the lower east side of Manhattan.  At the time, I was a grad student at NYU in the last year of a doctoral program in Cultural Anthropology.  I happened along a coffee shop purely by accident.  I was doing research for my thesis at a library that a professor had recommended.  An evening thunderstorm was forecasted –in a hurry to beat the rain, I headed for home and I accidentally got on the wrong train. When I realized my mistake, I got off and found refuge as well as a great cup of coffee at Joe’s Java Hut.

Soaked through and through from the rain, I remove every bit of outerwear I have on and take a seat at the counter in nothing more than a t-shirt, jeans –that are wet from where the bottom of my jacket reached, all the way down to my hiking boots.  The October air is cold, but not cold enough for snow, and every time the door to the café opens behind me, I can feel my nipples harden.

“May I take your order?”  A fifty-something year old women scratches down my request and yells back for Joe, who was standing farther back behind the counter and looks to be nearing eighty. I figured he was the proprietor of the establishment, because every one who entered after me greeted him –mostly in Italian.

The aging man, after a moment or two, shuffles out and brings me the double dipped chocolate biscotti and a cup of espresso.  I look into the little cup that was placed before me and notice that there is something missing. “Scusa ...” The little old man turns around inquisitively.  “Latte.”  I point into my cup.  There is no cream in my coffee, although I had clearly asked for it.

“No latte!  Espresso!”  He scolds.

“I know that, but I prefer to have –”

“Maxi! Maxi!” He cuts me off and calls for someone in the rear of the store.  A young man in his mid-twenties rushes out of a door from behind the counter and dries his hands on the apron wrapped around his waist.  While the two of them whisper, I check him out.  Wow!  He is obviously of Italian decent –dark hair and olive complexion, almost like Robert De Niro only a little more rugged.  Maxi nods his head several times then approaches me.

“My grandfather said that you want cream in your espresso.”

“Yes.”  I reply.

“You do know that people don’t usually put milk in espresso.”

“I know.  I’m a light weight.”  More patrons enter the store and I am chilled further.  My nipples protrude and catch his attention.  Maxi smiles then politely turns his head.

“A shipment just came in this morning…why don’t you follow me back.”  I leave my items near the stool, and walk around the counter, following Maxi to the storeroom.  He slips though boxes piled high on the floor and disappears.  When Maxi returns, he is carrying a crate of half and half and walks into the office adjacent to the room.  His arm brushes my nipples as he passes, and I follow him into the interior room and close the door.

Maxi places the crate down on the on the desk and faces me.  I saunter to him and untie his apron.  His pack is huge, and I rub my palm across it.  I unbutton his jeans and then start on his zipper.  “Half and half is not the cream I’m in the mood for.”  Maxi sits down in the desk chair, and I kneel between his legs.  I tug down his underwear and pull out his cock –it’s thick and of a perfect length –I don’t hesitate to put it in my mouth. 

As I bob my head up and down his shaft, I massage his balls in my hands.  He moans, and I take more of him in.  I decide to heighten his experience, so I rub my teeth gently along his dick.  I can’t wait any longer to taste him, and I plunge down on him faster until he bursts –and he squirts his cum into the back of my mouth.  I swallow twice in rapid succession then pull off of him. Jacking his cock a few more times to eject the last of his cum, I lick his hole with the tip of my tongue, digging for whatever I might have missed.  I look up at Maxi who has a stunned look on his face.  I gloat, “That was better than any cup of coffee...good to the last drop.”