Post by goldenmyst on Jun 19, 2021 21:26:02 GMT -6
Barista Guy & The Forgotten Coffee
“It slipped my mind,” says John.
His lady boss says, “He forgot your coffee and was petulant for your refill. Such impolite behavior deserves recompense. John, go in the coffee room and drop your pants.”
“Athletic supporter too, boss?”
“Yes, you know the drill.”
His eyes are like a deer caught in headlights. He clears his throat, “Ummah, will do boss.”
The boss says, “Ma’am, you may use your hand on his fanny.”
Sarah, the neglected patron, replies, “Sir, you testosterone poisoned men have karmic debt strong enough to infect a whole species with bad genes. Let me help you pay it back with my firm hand. Where do you store your bad karma?”
“If you must know in my derriere.”
“Then, please, for the sake of your health let me tap out a rhythm on you. Make this consensual.”
“Since I can’t afford acupuncture I acquiesce.”
“Step into the coffee grinding room and let me make you a new man.”
He skivvies out of his 401s and slips out of his jockstrap like a locust out of the shell. Then he genuflects to her to receive his therapy.
She plays patty cakes on him and says, “Your reparation for your sins is a saucy religion of steamy revelations.”
She transfigures his buns into an Apostolic vision until he cries and exclaims, “My weeping is from guilt. Your sting only brings out what is already there.”
Her handprints become petals scattered on the canvas of his pink carnation. They form a collage with pieces of a guy’s dreams coaxed into fruition for art’s sake.
She says, “Just wait for the rapture when your penance is complete.”
John says, “Once the heat penetrates where my secrets are gathered my congregation of nexuses will be a sign from heaven.”
He is posed as a penitent angel whose sacrament of absolution is received upon his upturned bottom. “My repentance is an act of contrition.”
“I am your female intercessor to the deity.”
His dream unfolds into a wail like a muezzin on a minaret announcing prayer time.
She pouts and says, “Lock us up by ourselves in this room so we can go all the way.”
“If only my boss didn’t have a key.”
“Of course she has a key. She is your boss. What was I thinking? If she found us in flagrante delicto you’d be out of a job and my citizenship in this coffee club would be revoked. But she let me swat you.”
“Discipline is a job-related duty. Coitus plays no part in employee correction.”
“What about as a reward for good customer service?”
“What you speak of is more intimate than corporeal discipline. Volunteers would be scarce. And the few that did throw their hat in the ring would be choosy which would lead to jealousy among the baristas.”
“Then my lad, meet me at my pad.”
“There is an elephant in the room.”
“Surprised we didn’t see it until just now.”
“It slipped my mind,” says John.
His lady boss says, “He forgot your coffee and was petulant for your refill. Such impolite behavior deserves recompense. John, go in the coffee room and drop your pants.”
“Athletic supporter too, boss?”
“Yes, you know the drill.”
His eyes are like a deer caught in headlights. He clears his throat, “Ummah, will do boss.”
The boss says, “Ma’am, you may use your hand on his fanny.”
Sarah, the neglected patron, replies, “Sir, you testosterone poisoned men have karmic debt strong enough to infect a whole species with bad genes. Let me help you pay it back with my firm hand. Where do you store your bad karma?”
“If you must know in my derriere.”
“Then, please, for the sake of your health let me tap out a rhythm on you. Make this consensual.”
“Since I can’t afford acupuncture I acquiesce.”
“Step into the coffee grinding room and let me make you a new man.”
He skivvies out of his 401s and slips out of his jockstrap like a locust out of the shell. Then he genuflects to her to receive his therapy.
She plays patty cakes on him and says, “Your reparation for your sins is a saucy religion of steamy revelations.”
She transfigures his buns into an Apostolic vision until he cries and exclaims, “My weeping is from guilt. Your sting only brings out what is already there.”
Her handprints become petals scattered on the canvas of his pink carnation. They form a collage with pieces of a guy’s dreams coaxed into fruition for art’s sake.
She says, “Just wait for the rapture when your penance is complete.”
John says, “Once the heat penetrates where my secrets are gathered my congregation of nexuses will be a sign from heaven.”
He is posed as a penitent angel whose sacrament of absolution is received upon his upturned bottom. “My repentance is an act of contrition.”
“I am your female intercessor to the deity.”
His dream unfolds into a wail like a muezzin on a minaret announcing prayer time.
She pouts and says, “Lock us up by ourselves in this room so we can go all the way.”
“If only my boss didn’t have a key.”
“Of course she has a key. She is your boss. What was I thinking? If she found us in flagrante delicto you’d be out of a job and my citizenship in this coffee club would be revoked. But she let me swat you.”
“Discipline is a job-related duty. Coitus plays no part in employee correction.”
“What about as a reward for good customer service?”
“What you speak of is more intimate than corporeal discipline. Volunteers would be scarce. And the few that did throw their hat in the ring would be choosy which would lead to jealousy among the baristas.”
“Then my lad, meet me at my pad.”
“There is an elephant in the room.”
“Surprised we didn’t see it until just now.”
