He found the door to the restaurant around the back, just like he had heard. A train whistle blew; he remembered crossing the tracks about half a mile before.
He walked in and slid into one of the turquoise leather-clad barstools. Everything in the diner looked like it had been dropped straight out of 1967. Even the woman behind the bar had one of those beehive hairstyles and a heavy dusting of pastel makeup.
“Hey, hon. What’ll it be?” She smiled blandly.
He had come all this way. He had to find out if the rumors were true. “Can I really get anything I want?”
Her smile broadened, and she looked at the floor. When she looked up at him again, there was a flush that had spread over her cheeks. “Well, that is the chorus.”
“Can I get a cup of coffee?”
“Sure thing,” she drawled.
“Pancakes?”
“Mmm hmm,” she said, still smiling at him. “Anything else you need?”
He looked at her expectant expression. It was now or never. “A nice, long, sloppy blowjob. I want to cum all over that pretty face of yours.”
She grinned and nodded, her blush deepening. “Let me get those pancakes started first, okay hon?”
Photo by Dayanara Nacion on Unsplash