Croutons

Waitresses in movies
appear so agreeably nice
neat and pretty with home spun curls
ever eager to please
always happy to push out an extra piece of pie.

But today's sweetheart flaunts no such frills,
with too much make up covering shadows under her eyes
a chin that might look square in the wrong light
and a curious scar above her left eyelid
that seems to follow my finger
lazily down the menu.

She stands blankly with pen poised
content to stare
through the boredom of chipped nails
hovering in space and time
with not even a 'What'll it be' or a 'Hi'.

"I'll bet your baby ass-hole
is tighter than a Chinese drum,” I say
"Any tattoos floating in your soup?"

“What's that.... what did you just say....?

“Croutons” I whisper
"If you don't know, maybe you could enquire
...does the soup
come with croutons?”

“Oh, Ok, I'll see”
and she spins away quickly
a hint of blushing cheeks
and a winking pantie line
ruffling the fabric of her short black skirt

I wasn't sure at first
but even on a bad day
that ass sucked too much sugar to ignore
so while she's gone
I have her stripped
and spread over the counter
burying my face in pussy juice aperitif

Skipping the starter
as I only have an hour
I go for a slow main course
riding on the spin
an inch of cock at a time
inserted slowly for maximum effect
pure pleasure lingering on
through a honey blur of thighs
while she squirms and gushes
before the moans pour out of control
and we end up grinding on the floor

I spit on her tattoo
the blue ivy I was certain would be there
and as we're working up a frenzy
to savor dessert
it seems at the tables nearby
my fellow diners have fallen silent
their forks raised solemnly in the air

She is coming again...

“ I'm afraid we are all out of croutons," she sighs,
   patting down the wrinkles from her skirt
“...but the soup here always tastes delicious.”