A Love for Micah

Bbw Milf

New story I wrote specifically for Lit. Most of my stories are more romantic than erotic -although this one definitely has a little more scenes of a sexual nature in them- so if you’re looking for a love story, here you go. Thank you for all the feedback you have given me so far regarding my writing, it only makes me better. Special shout out to my proofreader who wishes to remain anonymous. I appreciate you.

Please continue to comment and vote, or message me if you want, and let me know how you feel about the characters and the story.



Chapter 1: Be Still My Beating Heart

Ugh, okay this is getting ridiculous. I have to say something. It was turning into that song by Alicia Keys, “You Don’t Know My Name,” where the frumpy waitress is ogling the handsome and quiet guy from afar? Yeah, except I’m the frumpy waitress.

I watched him take a small sip of his coffee, the way his thick brown lips formed over the white edge, as he held the newspaper with his other hand, looking down and reading. Even his movements were small and intentional. I wondered if his love making was too.

Ugh, stop it, Micah, I told myself. You don’t even know if he’s gay. He’s probably not. There aren’t a lot of gay people living in Haverford, Pennsylvania, unless you count the colleges all around. And I have to count the colleges, it’s the only way I get to meet hot guys around my age if I’m not going into the city.

But back to Mr. Martin. Yes, I know his name, I stalked his credit card. Joseph T. Martin. Tall, sexy brown skinned man with the thin beard and mustache that connects to his dark caesar haircut.

He started coming into my small cafe over a month ago and of course I made the worst first impression. As I was coming around the counter with a plate the door opened and I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was wearing a navy blue suit and tie with a light blue shirt and brown expensive looking shoes. I remembered every detail about him because I was staring so hard that I missed the end of someone’s chair and my skinny ass and the plate went flying, and I landed flat on my face.

If that wasn’t embarrassing enough, of course Mr. Sexy was the one to help me up. He came running over and got all the way down into a squat, then held his hand out. “Are you okay?” he asked in his baritone voice.

“Yes,” I answered in the completely opposite, almost falsetto voice. He grabbed my arm tightly, pulled me toward him, then reached around to right below my armpit with his other hand and lifted me up like I weighed nothing, and set me on my feet but right up against his hard body. His breath smelled like minty toothpaste.

He looked at me with his wide, dark brown eyes and gave me a small smile. “You’re sure?” he asked again.

I couldn’t talk, the words were caught in my throat, so I nodded instead, touching my face and my messy bun. He nodded back and let me go. He started to walk away but I found my voice and yelled, “You need a table!?” a little louder than what I intended.

He turned back and said, “Yeah, but it’s a bit crowded in here-“

I cut him off and said, “Wait!” I turned to Marisol and said, “Clean off the two seater by the window for Mr.-” I turned back to him.

“Just Jo,” he told me. “No ‘e'”

“Just Jo,” I repeated. I turned back to Marisol. “Please clear off the table near the window for Just Jo. And compliment his breakfast. He gets what he wants because he saved my life,” I said dramatically.

He chuckled. “Thank you.”

He followed Marisol to the table near the window, a quieter part of the small cafe, and she took his order: scrambled eggs, three slices of bacon, avocado on the side and medium roast Green Mountain coffee, one cream, two sugars. He pulled out his newspaper and started reading, staying for about 30 minutes before he left without a glance back at me.

That was six weeks ago. He’s been coming in every weekday, from 7:10 to 7:40, ordering the same thing, reading the paper, drinking coffee the same way and heading out. And because it’s Marisol’s table, we don’t speak except when I give my joyful good morning that I do to every patron and he says good morning back to me. But Marisol happens to be out today. So instead of giving the table to Shelly, I decided to take it.

“How can I help you today, Jo?” I put on my best smile.

He glanced at me, then glanced around me as if he expected his regular waitress to appear behind me, then looked back at me. He seemed a little at lost for words so I helped him out. “Scrambled eggs, three slices of bacon, avocado on the side, medium roast coffee, one cream, two sugars?”

He smiled widely at me. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie.” I turned to head to the counter but then I turned back and said, “You know, I never thanked you, officially, for, you know…saving my life.” I waved my hand in front of my face. Then I immediately stopped and tried not to be uncomfortable. Sometimes my flame burns a little too bright and illegal bahis I embarrass myself with my lack of masculinity.

But he didn’t seem to mind at all. He gave me another smile and said, “Anytime you need someone to pick you off the floor, I’ll be there for you.”

My mouth opened. “Did you just mock my complete and utter downfall, the most embarrassing day of my life?”

“I’m sure you’ve had others,” he said amusingly.

I gasped loudly and clutched my imaginary pearls. “Somebody wants pee in their coffee!” He laughed out loud at that, his voice deep and sultry, making me giggle. “I’ll go put your order in, Jo.” I casually touched his shoulder and felt the silky threads of his bluish-gray suit as I began to walk away.

He called to me, “Hey. What’s your name?”

Yes! I turned back and said, “Micah.”

“Micah,” he said, trying out my name on his lips, and boy did it sound like music to my ears. “Nice to meet you, Micah.”

“You met me six weeks ago, Jo,” I reminded him with a wink. I sashayed my round bottom to the counter and put his order. I could feel his eyes on me but by the time I looked up, they were back on his paper.

Every day after that I found a reason to talk to Jo. And not just talk, but flirt with him. He would walk in and I’d say, “Good morning handsome,” with a wink. And he would flash me those perfect white teeth and say good morning back to me. I would touch his shoulder as I passed by his table, serve him more coffee, make sure there were pens at his table in case he needed to jot down notes on his paper, and when he got up to leave I would call out, “Have a great day, Jo.” It was the best part of my day.

And I was starting to think I was his. His eyes lit up when I would pass by his table as if he expected some sarcastic quip or light touch, and I didn’t disappoint. One day I even got the nerve to get close and adjust his tie. He was heading out and passed me by and I saw it was a little crooked.

“Jo?” I called out. He turned around and I stood in front of him. He’s so tall my chin comes up to his shoulder, and I consider myself a tall guy at 5’10. I reached out and touched him gently. “Your tie is crooked.”

I loosened his tie a bit and he instinctively lifted his chin up, exposing his delicious Adam’s apple to me. Resisting the urge to lick it, I concentrated on putting his tie back together, adjusting his shirt collar and then patting his chest twice. I could feel how hard his pecs were and it instantly made me hard.

He looked down at me and said a quiet, “Thank you.”

“Anytime, handsome.” He looked into my light brown eyes with flecks of green in them, and his mouth curved upward very slightly, barely noticeable if I wasn’t standing so close to him. Then he turned around to walk out. “Have a great day, Jo,” I called out. He turned back and gave me a genuine smile and wave before the door closed behind him.

I stood there dreamily until Marisol passed me and said in my ear, “Ay dios mio, just let him fuck you already.”

She rolled her eyes as I smirked. I whispered, “Bitch, I’m working on it!”

Then the unthinkable happened. He came into my cafe one morning not in work clothes but in a casual dark blue sweater and jeans and a woman at his side. I didn’t call out his usual greeting and he didn’t look at me anyway, like he was avoiding any contact with me at all. I stayed at the counter taking To Go orders and tried not to look their way. They appeared to be in an intense conversation, then he reached out and held her hands across the table.

I had to go in the back and calm myself down, angry with myself. Of course he is straight. And of course he has a girlfriend. A beautiful bombshell, very light skinned, silky straight hair, perfectly manicured nails and makeup. She even dressed like she was dripping in money. He could never look at me the way he looked at her. I’m nothing but a skinny, medium brown skinned, flamboyant gay man, whose curly hair goes every which way instead of flowing down without water or gel, thanks to my Puerto Rican grandmother.

I sat on one of the boxes and touched my messy man bun, trying not to cry. By the time I made it back out there, they were both gone.

He didn’t come in that Tuesday but on Wednesday he was back on track, coming in wearing a charcoal gray suit, with his briefcase and paper. I gave a curt, “Morning, Jo,” on my way to assist another customer. The morning rush was always the busiest so it was easy to avoid him. I could tell he noticed, he kept glancing my way and I kept avoiding his eye contact. I avoided him so much I missed the customary, “Have a good day, Jo,” when he was heading out.

Thursday I told myself to put on my big boy panties and stop treating him like a leper. He did nothing wrong to me, I did it to myself creating all these fantasies about the hot muscular guy wanting the twink with a kink. Now that I know he’s straight, I can let it go. So when he came in I mustered my best smile. “Good morning illegal bahis siteleri Jo,” I practically sang.

The smile he gave me was epic, wide and showed all his teeth, and it made me smile just as hard. He said a quiet, “Good morning, Micah.”

I still kept myself busy and avoided his table, but I felt his eyes on me that whole morning. When he had risen to leave I gave him his exit greeting with the same enthusiasm, jovially. And surprisingly, he turned back and gave me that spectacular smile again, then said, “You too, Micah. You have a great day, too.”

Be still my beating heart. I stood there long after he left staring at a closed glass door when Marisol took me out of my delicious thoughts by whispering as she passed, “When you’re done mentally jerking off, can you grab the check for Table 4?”

So we settled back into our routine for another couple of weeks. I started dating this frat jock on the Villanova campus that was about three years younger than me at 21. And when I say dated, I really mean he snuck me into his room, fucked me and then kicked me out before the sun rose a couple of times a week so his roommates didn’t know he was sexing a dude. It was something to do, and it helped take my mind off Mr. Martin.


One Sunday as I was walking back from the campus in the earliest hours a black Mercedes Benz GLB rolled up beside me. The windows were tinted so I had no idea who it was. “I have mace, motherfucker!” I snarled in my most menacing voice, backing away from the curb.

He rolled the window down and smiled at me. “I don’t think you’ll need that.”

“Jo!” I exclaimed.

“Hey Micah. Want a ride?” he asked sincerely.

I know I looked a hot mess, with my curly hair falling around me like a small lion mane, bags under my eyes, mascara running and a five o’clock shadow. I also know I reeked of sex. There was no way I was getting into this perfect car sitting next to this perfect man.

“It’s okay. I can walk. It’s only another… two… miles….” I trailed off as he looked at me intently. I knew he was not really asking and he would not take no for an answer.

He quietly watched me, then said, “Get in.”

Sir, yes sir! I wordlessly bounced over to the passenger side and let myself in. I almost melted into the soft black leather, my skinny jeans feeling small in the big seat. I slid my hands under my thighs and kept looking straight ahead. I realized we hadn’t moved yet so I turned to him. He said, “You haven’t given me your address.”

“Oh,” I giggled. “32 Spring Ave, right off Ardmore Ave.”

He pulled out of space and said, “So you live in Ardmore, not Haverford, where the cafe is.”

I scoffed. “Only rich White people and college kids live in Haverford. I am a lowly cafe manager that lives in a studio apartment.”

He smiled while looking at the road. “I live in Haverford.”

I rolled my eyes. “Obviously!” I gestured with my hand the luxury car we were currently in, then slid it back under my thighs. I could tell it was getting warm under my bottom so he must have turned on the seat warmer, which was nice on a crisp September morning.

He laughed. Then he asked me, “How long have you been working at the Bright Box Cafe?”

“Practically my whole life,” I told him. “I started working there in high school and just never stopped. Going on 10 years. Fen is never there so I pretty much manage it.”

“Do you attend one of the colleges around here?”

“No. I would love to, but I can’t afford to,” I told him, slightly embarrassed.

He nodded, then asked, “No financial aid?”

I scoffed again. “You have to have parents to get financial aid. I don’t have those,” I said nonchalantly.

He nodded again, then said, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. They choose their religion over their son.” I shrugged. “I gave up being sorry a long time ago. Now I’m sorry for them. They will never know how awesome I am.” I smiled broadly.

He nodded a third time, then said, “You’re right. It’s their loss.”

That warmed my heart. Then I turned in my seat to face him, feeling more comfortable. “So what’s your story? You just showed up four months ago with your Italian suits and perfect skin wanting our runny scrambled eggs.”

He laughed out loud. “Well first of all, your eggs aren’t runny, they are actually pretty good. I tried out three different cafes before I found yours tucked away. And secondly, they aren’t all Italian,” he said smugly.

I laughed and touched his arm. “My bad. Didn’t mean to offend,” I said playfully.

He laughed again, then said, “I just moved back to PA. I’m originally from Harrisburg, but I’ve been living in the DC area since after college. My cousin is sick so I just wanted to be closer to him. He’s my best friend and brother since I don’t have any siblings.”

I touched his arm again. “I’m sorry to hear that. What is his illness if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Leukemia. He’s had it on and off canlı bahis siteleri since he was a kid and this is probably his fourth go round. I think he’s tired now. So I just wanted to be near him for however long he has.”

My eyes welled up before I could stop them and the tears fell out of my eyes. He looked over at me surprised and took my hand. “Hey, it’s okay. He’s lived a great life, traveled the world, and has a great partner. He has a son now, from his own DNA, so his legacy will live on.”

He squeezed my hand and I cupped it between my own two. “Listen, he has forbade us to cry about it. If I’m not allowed to cry and Jerry, his own partner of seven years is not allowed to cry, then you are definitely not allowed to cry, especially since you haven’t met him yet.”

“I know, but you’re losing your best friend too,” I whined. “It’s so sad and-” I just realized what he said. Yet. “Will I get to meet him?” I asked.

He laughed. “Sure, I’ll bring him by the cafe the next time they come out this way. He’s a brunch kind of person, so he’ll appreciate your selections since you only serve breakfast and lunch.”

I smiled as he pulled over in front of the duplex I live in. I realized he didn’t move his hand but to give him space I slowly let go of it and moved back into my seat. He looked me up and down and smirked. “So where were you coming from? Your boyfriend’s place?”

I smirked back. “First of all, I wouldn’t exactly call him my boyfriend.”

He smiled knowingly. “Got it.”

“And where were you headed at 6 o’clock in the morning? Your girlfriend’s house?”

He answered, “To the gym. It’s my church.”

I groaned. “Oh you’re a gym junkie.” I rolled my eyes and he laughed again. I just noticed he was in workout clothes, Nike nylon T-shirt, Nike basketball shorts and exercise tights underneath it.

“Not really. I only go on Sunday mornings, I work out at home other days.”

“Well maybe I should join you then.” I didn’t mean for it to come out flirty but it came out that way.

He looked at me like he wanted to be flirty back, but instead said, “We both know you’re not going to want to go to the gym, Micah.”

I giggled and said, “You’re right about that.” He laughed, but then I told him, “But I would try it at least once. With you.” I blinked my long eyelashes at him.

He quietly watched me for a moment. Then said, “Maybe one day. You let me know when you want to go. Right now I’m late for church.”

“Sorry,” I sang. I opened the car door and let myself out. I crossed in front of the car and his eyes were all on me. It made me swish a little harder in my skinny jeans, just knowing he was watching me. I turned back to his car and said, “Thanks for the ride.”

“Anytime. See you tomorrow.”

I continued to sashay my way up the stairs to the main door and let myself in. He waited until I closed the door before he drove off. I couldn’t help it, my dick was swollen in my jeans and I needed a release.

I ran upstairs, opened my apartment door and went straight to the bathroom. I stripped my clothes off and jumped in the shower. I grabbed my biggest dildo, 10 inches, black and thick, and suctioned it to the wall behind me. I lubed up my ass and slid backwards into it, already open from Ivan’s cock just an hour ago, and moaned against it. I closed my eyes and stroked myself as I moved back and forth on it. I purposely slid Manny, the name of my Mandingo cock, past my prostate repeatedly building myself up for the eruption that was bound to happen. I visualized it was Jo taking me from behind, gently at first, then roughly as I moved up and down against my dildo with speed.

I moaned louder, the shower cascading down my hair and back, one hand on the wall in front of me and the other hand jerking myself faster. This was Jo who held onto my waist and thrusted repeatedly, pounding into me, until I couldn’t take it anymore. He whispered my name with his deep voice in my ear and kissed my neck, ran his hand through my hair. I called out his name and white hot jizz flew out of my cock, hitting me in the chin and coated my chest, but the rain water was quickly erasing it away. I slid myself off of Manny and leaned on the wall in front of me with both hands.

If Jo is straight then he needs to stop throwing me these vibes that he wants me. Because right now all I want to do is have him fuck the shit out of me, then curl up in his meaty arms.


We continued to be friendly with each other all week as usual. But on Friday I knew I didn’t want to wait two full days before I saw him again. So when he got up to leave for work I bounced over to him. His tie was not crooked this time but I pretended it was. I pulled his tie down a bit and repositioned it on his neck. Not meeting his eyes I asked him quietly, “Can I go to church with you on Sunday?”

“Sure,” he said just as quietly. “Pick you up at 6?

I balked a bit. “Uuuugh… 8?” I asked hopefully. I’m up at 4am to open the cafe during the week so on the weekends I like to sleep in if I can help it.

He didn’t budge. “6am, sharp. Wear something loose and comfortable.”

I sighed dramatically. “Fiiiiine. I live at 32 Spring-“

“I know where you live,” he cut me off.

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