Milkshakes at Carlos – Emery Ch. 01 by Wood..,
Well, here’s the first installment for my upcoming series / novel about Emery, a character I created, which you can see some artwork of on my page. I know it’ll probably seem a little soft to you, but I couldn’t make the first chapter go all the way to the hotter scenes. So, don’t worry, it’ll get there. Thanks for reading, and I’ll post the rest pretty soon.
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Okay. Let’s put you into context. Let’s tell the whole world where all of this started. After all, I need to lay down a simple but important foundation for this monument that erected itself into my life.
Hi. I’m Brian. I’m a full time cook at Carlos Roadside Diner. I’m also a full time dirty long-haired metalhead that’s got his mind on everything else but work, so how I got here, dedicating all my time, my sanity, to this dead-end job, is a whole other story.
For many years, Carlos’ Diner had grown into a staple as a tourist attraction in the back roads of Lambton county, Ontario. It’s a busy seasonal restaurant that all started with a man and his strange but unique dream to turn an old school bus into a kitchen.
You can’t deny that getting there is sort of a rough landing, as you can only park on the side of the regional parkway, but surprisingly, people seem to overlook that slight safety hazard. Then, you walk up to this other parking lot across the road, which is actually used as the actual eating area. Picnic tables are scattered all over this smooth, pitch black driveway that gets very hot under the sun; cute paper lanterns and flower pots are dangling off a bright yellow canopy. The sign itself is a real eye catcher for the hungry tourist: huge and bright with a vintage look of neons and blinking lights. An authentic swing soundtrack from the 60’s is playing in the background to complete the atmosphere. Really, the only thing that’d make you wonder if you traveled back in time would be if there were waitresses zooming around on roller skates with their orders.
Oh… So, don’t tell him I said that, but Carlos, the owner, with his name in bright shiny letters on the sign, is a big grumpy dummy. There, I said it! He’s got a thick mustache, a receding hairline and gold chains in a shaggy chest, who wears a crusty white wife beater and track pants as soon as the weather allows it. And his real name is actually Dennis, imagine that. I’m not too sure how and why he got that moniker. I’m sure it’s a pretty dumb story. When you think about it, the name Carlos is indeed catchier than Dennis for a business but his personality is far from being as catchy. The whole lively and attractive feel of the place is, surprisingly, not really reflecting what you might want to think of the owner.
Today is monday. Our hostess just quit last week for a better gig downtown. She had been here for quite a long time, longer than I have. It really caught us off guard at first, we were just opening up for the season. But, honestly, I really couldn’t blame her. Despite the relative success of the establishment, that proverbial grass must definitely be greener somewhere else.
Carlos briefly asked for my input on the resumes before calling the candidates for a brief streak of interviews. And before you knew it, we were already introduced to the new hostess.
I had seen her go by on interview day, but today, while the team was sort of listening to Carlos, I got to stand back and get a better look at her from the distance.
And her name was Emery.
Under a blue Blue Jays cap that she wore backwards, she had long blonde hair that she usually maintained knitted into two long braids. She was maybe 5’8″ tall, with a rather hefty looking build. Her purple makeup and eyebrow piercings really made her facial features pop out. Since Carlos didn’t really impose work attire, she didn’t hesitate in coming with her usual wardrobe, which mostly consisted of straight tank tops or plaid shirts with jeans or shorts. And whenever she wore the latter, you noticed that she had a tendency of wearing mismatched patterned knee socks. I thought this must be really off-putting for people’s OCD’s, but that was probably her intention.
She looked stern but determined, efficient. And even though her looks and fashion choices were giving her off as some kind of anti-social punk, she looked pretty sweet when she smiled and used what I thought must be her customer service voice. I’d almost say she looked boyish, but man, she was all woman.
Now, though, here’s the real flabbergast: this girl seemed to be sporting quite a hefty and impressive bust and she sure took no shortcuts in putting it out there.
At first, I didn’t give it more thought than necessary and it was most likely because she was dressed maybe a little more conservatively on hiring day. Carlos had asked for my opinion upon hiring her, so I wasn’t sure. But when I saw her in what seemed to be her regular work clothes, that was all I could notice about her. She really had those huge, natural-looking, breasts…
I knew Carlos hired her for completely different reasons. There was no way he would have put her physical attributes in the equation, whether it be to benefit his business, or for some…hidden, dirty pleasure! Ugh… And regardless, he was married to his very special lady named Youma. I had seen her a few times, and let me tell ya: he sure was not the boss of her!
So, no! Not even once, he ogled at Emery’s chest, and it wasn’t even like he’d become more excited than usual around her. He just wasn’t that kind of guy. Carlos only had eyes for his diner. All he must have seen in his new employee was that she looked like your typical determined and eager youngster that wanted to make easy tip money for, I don’t know, their studies or going to the movies with boys. That’s how much Carlos was detached from reality.
As for me, it turned out that big juicy tits is something, actually one of the only things, that I only have eyes for in life. Like, seriously, how big was she? Some double G’s? Or H, as in Holy Shit!
In either case, it seemed like Emery was a perfect fit for the business for both Carlos and I.
Win – win.
As we started working together, I had to keep an eye on her, see how she went about doing her duties. At the same time, I secretly treated myself by stealing little glances at her body from the corner of my eyes whenever I could. My thoughts started to run wild about her faster than I thought they would. For example, I told myself how her athletic build must really benefit her in carrying around all that weight from her breasts. I was floored!
It seemed like most of her clothing items were deliberately chosen one size smaller and that really didn’t help concealing her chest. Sometimes, the necklines on her tops were so low, it was enough to show bits of the lacey trims of what must be an industrial strength bra.
Yes, her tits were massive, round, large and – oh my God! – so tempting! But all of her features were so perfectly balanced. Even when she made her juicy cleavage blatantly showing out there, she’d still look naturally ravishing. When she interacted with customers, she knew how to make them lock their eyes into hers as she spoke and keep them from looking down her shirt. She was a mesmerizing force of nature.