Midnight at the Peacock Cafe

Midnight at the Peacock Café

By Thomas Blaine
(thomasblaine@yahoo.com)

I’m not exactly sure where exactly the café was. Perhaps it was in Utah, but probably it was somewhere in Nevada. I was driving along US-50 late one night on my way to Reno for a teacher’s convention but I ended up making a wrong turn. The road I found myself on had virtually no signs and the painted center-stripes down the road had faded into nothing many years ago from the harsh desert sun beating down on it. Of course, at two in the morning, the sun wasn’t much of a problem.

I had planned on driving all night long and hoped to make Reno by morning, but I realized that wasn’t going to happen. Using my map was pointless for I hadn’t a clue where I was, so I just drove on. By three a.m., I spotted a light in the far distance off to the side of the road. As I drove closer, I discovered it was a truck stop. The parking lot was empty but red neon letters on the sign broadcast to all within eyesight that the café was open. If nothing else, I could at least get directions for the shortest route to Reno.

As I parked, I saw through the window only one person inside, a woman standing behind the counter reading a paperback book. I grabbed my jacket and went inside.

"Hello there, stranger, what can I get you?" the woman said in a polite but sharp voice.

"Directions," I said, walking up to the counter. "I’m trying to get to Reno."

"I don’t give information without a purchase," the woman said. "Can I interest you in a slice of pie."

"What kind?" I said with a smile. I was slightly hungry anyway.

"Apple, pumpkin, cherry, or rhubarb," she said, stepping aside so I could see the refrigerated display case behind her.

"I haven’t had a good rhubarb pie in a long time," I said. "I’ll have a slice of that and a cup of coffee."

"Sure thing, sugar, just take a seat and I’ll have it in a second" the woman said. She filled a white mug with coffee, removed a slice of rhubarb pie from the refrigerator, and brought it over to me.

I took a bite of pie. It was exquisite; just like my mother used to make when I was a boy in Missouri.

"I take it you like the pie," the woman said.

"Very much," I replied. "I haven’t had pie this good since I was a kid.

"It’s the best pie in the area," she said.

"Speaking of the area," I said, leading to a question. "Where exactly am I?"

"The Peacock Café," the woman said.

"I mean where’s the Peacock Café, what’s the nearest town?"

"There isn’t a nearest town," she said. "You’re out in the middle of nowhere. Nothing here but desert and sagebrush."

"That doesn’t help me much," I said. "How do I get to Reno."

"First you finish your pie," the woman said. "Then I’ll tell you all you want to know."

She turned around and disappeared through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. Through the round windows, I saw her leaning on a counter, cleaning something. She was a shapely woman, possibly in her late thirties or early forties. Her face looked worn, like someone who had spent too much time in the desert, and her brown hair was frayed and a few loose strands stuck out here or there. Her pink dress and white apron didn’t reveal the shape of her body, except to show that she had a thin waist, medium hips, and moderate sized breasts.

I finished my pie and leaned back in the chair at the counter to sip my coffee. Just then, the woman returned.

"Finished?" she asked, noting the empty plate. "Would you like another slice?"

"No, thank you," I said. "I want to make Reno by morning and if I have any more I’ll probably fall asleep at the wheel."

"What are you heading to Reno for?" the woman asked.

"A teacher’s convention," I answered. "New concepts in teaching history to seventh and eighth graders."

"I assume you’re a teacher then," she stated.

"I am," I answered. "In Rock Springs, Wyoming."

"And you’re driving to Reno?" she asked.

I nodded. "I had a few days vacation coming so I decided to take a road trip."

"So are you going to do a little gambling while you’re there?" the woman asked.

"I don’t gamble," I replied. "I have better things to do with my money. The odds are all on the house so the chances of me coming out with more than I went in with are slim."

"You’re a wise man," she said. "But what are you going to do when you’re not in the convention?"

"There’s lots of other things to do in Reno," I answered. "I’ve been there before. I can go to Circus Circus, for example."

"I’ve never been there," she said.

"To Circus Circus or to Reno?"

"Both," she answered. "I don’t get away from here much."

"Then where do you live?" I asked.

"I have a few rooms at the back of the building," she answered. "That’s enough for me. I have the TV and my books to keep me company."

"Do you live here alone?" I asked.

"Yep," she nodded. "All by myself."

"Does anyone come in and help you run this place?"

"Nope," she said. "I can manage it by myself."

"Aren’t you lonely?" I asked.

She shook her head. "I don’t like being around people too much. The occasional person like yourself is all I really need."

"Well, if that’s what makes you happy, more power to you."

"Thank you," she said with a slight nod. "Can I refill you’re coffee for you?"

"Sure," I said, handing her my cup. "By the way, my name’s Jim, Jim Bunkley."

"I’m Carol," she said, setting a fresh cup of coffee down on the counter in front of me.

"So are you married?" Carol asked me.

"I was once," I said. "We got married during college, it last about a year before we divorced."

"I’m sorry," Carol said. "I guess some things aren’t meant to be."

"That’s okay," I replied. "It happened a while ago, I’ve had time to get over it. What about you? Are you married?"

"Nope," Carol said. "Never have been and probably never will be. I like being single, especially around here."

"But sometimes you must want some male companionship," I stated.

"Not really," Carol answered. "I’ve found relationships are more hassle then they are worth. Way too much emotional baggage for my tastes."

"Very true," I said. "But with pie like that I’m sure you could land a good man very easily."

"It takes more than pie to have a relationship," Carol said as if she didn’t realize I was joking. "It’s like sex. A lot of people think that if two people can have good sex together they would make a good couple."

"But shouldn’t sex come after there’s a good relationship?" I asked.

"I can tell you’re not from around here," Carol said. "Around here, if I waited for a good relationship, I would have died a virgin."

"So who do you sleep with?" I asked.

"I have the occasional affair with the truckers who come through here. Most of them are lost anyway and never come back this way again so I don’t worry about getting caught in a relationship."

Somewhere in the back of my head, the little devil that liked to sleep through Sunday school was pointing out that Carol was easy and I should go for it, but the little angel was louder and I kept myself restrained.

"So how often do you have these affairs?" I asked her.

"It depends, sometimes every night, sometimes once a month," Carol depends. "It really depends on how often people stop in."

"So you have sex with most of the people who stop by?" I asked.

Carol nodded. "It’s a way to pass the time."

I chuckled. "And interesting way, I’ll say."

"Well, like you said earlier, if that’s what make’s me happy," Carol said. "In fact, I look at you and I see a handsome stud who could use a good time before hitting the road again."

I shook my head and said, "Sorry."

"Come on," Carol said, half-pleading. She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse. "I’ll make you a deal, I’ll tell you exactly how to get to Reno and in return, sex. Just sex. No attachments. No nothing."

The teacher in me wanted to point out that she was using a double negative but my manhood was sending me another message. It was telling me to agree.

Carol walked around the counter and sat down in the seat next to me. She unbuttoned the next two buttons to show off some cleavage.

"We can do it right here on the counter, or on the floor, or on a table, or head back to my rooms and use my bed or my shower. Wherever you want."

"I’m not sure," I said.

Carol placed a hand on my leg and said, "Come on, I’m clean. I haven’t has sex since I last got tested. I’ve got a bunch of condoms and I’m on the pill. Plus I can’t have kids."

"You can’t?" I asked.

"Nope," Carol said, slightly detached, as she stroked the inside of my thighs. "I was born missing a few genes."

Carol spread her legs and hiked up her skirt, revealing a pair of red panties.

"What have you got to loose?" she asked. "We have sex without commitments and I’ll give you directions."

I thought it over for what seemed like an eternity in my head but could only have been a couple of seconds in reality. Why not? I asked myself. What have I got to loose?

"Okay," I said. "It’s a deal."

Carol smiled and removed her apron.

"Where do you want to do it?"

I looked around the room.

"Right here is fine," I said, patting the counter.

Carol pushed the dishes aside and sat on the counter in front of me, her legs spread apart. She reached out for my shirt and pulled it off.

"You work out," she said, tracing her finger along my abdomens.

"Every morning," I said, pushing up her skirt and pressing my fingers against her panties. They were warm and moist against my touch. I wrapped my hands around them and pulled them down her legs, revealing a neatly trimmed patch of hair surrounding the pink flesh of her womanhood. I ran my index fingers up and down the moist strip between her labia and pressed it against the hood covering her clitoris.

A few moments later, I inserted my index finger into her vagina and moved it around in small circles, pressing against the inner walls of her body. I slid my middle finger in next to it and pressed them against the upper wall, searching for the different texture signifying her G-spot. When I found it, Carol gasped in pleasure.

With two fingers pressing against her G-Spot, I pressed my thumb against her clitoris and moved my hand forward and back, stimulating both regions simultaneously. Heidi, my ex-wife, loved to have her clitoris stroked, but it became so sensitive after a few minutes it began to hurt. But Carol didn’t seem to mind. If it did cause her any displeasure, she didn’t show it.

A few moments later I slid a third finger inside her to join the other two and, eventually, my little finger as well. I brought Carol to the verge of orgasm and then backed off to let her cool down a bit. In the mean time, I put my thumb inside her so now all five of my fingers were in her vagina.

Slowly I pressed my hand deeper into her body. Carol’s body began to gyrate when my hand was in up to the knuckles and I almost had to hold her down when my entire fist was inside. I moved my fingers around, flexing and stretching my fist and pressing against all sides of her body.

Suddenly, Carol let out a scream and came all over my hand. The juices spilled out onto the countertop and dripped onto the floor. My hand was covered with a thick layer of it when I slowly removed it, which almost gave her a second orgasm.

"You’re good at that," Carol said after she caught her breath.

"I’ve had practice," I replied with a smirk.

"Now it’s my turn to pleasure you," Carol said.

She removed her dress and bra quickly and showed me her tanned body that wasn’t as desert-worn as her face. Her perky breasts were just larger than my hands and her nipples poked out of them, like two dark eyes staring at me.

"Come up here," Carol said.

Without thinking about it, I obeyed and climbed up onto the counter to sit next to her. Carol unzipped the fly of my jeans and reached into my boxers to grab my manhood. She stroked if for a few seconds before pulling my jeans and boxers off and dropping them on the floor. She took my penis in her hands and stroked it slowly and firmly, rubbing a finger across the tip where beads of pre-ejaculate were already appearing.

She bent her head down and as her hair fell onto my abdomen I felt her hot breath against my manhood. As she moved her head closer to my penis, she pressed her derrière into the air. Carol moved her tongue along my penis from the base of the shaft to the tip and licked up the juices at the tip. She wrapped her lips halfway around it from the side, like she was playing the harmonica, and moved her head back and forth.

Quickly, she took the penis into her mouth and circled her tongue around it. She took it all of the way until I felt the tip of it press against the back of her throat and her lips against the base of the shaft. Then she slowly pulled it out, keeping her lips closed tight as she removed it.

Carol repeated this movement several times, licking it, closing her lips halfway around it, and taking it all of the way into her mouth. Each time she brought me closer and closer to orgasm and I thought each second that in the next I would fill her mouth with my juices.

I didn’t even notice when she stopped to reach behind the counter for a box of condoms. She must have done this so often that she kept a box right up front. She removed one of the condoms from the wrapper and unrolled it to cover my penis. She knelt over me and directed the tip to the entrance of her vagina.

I pushed my hips up and suddenly I was inside of her, her warm body wrapped around my shaft. Carol sat up, which pulled the penis perpendicular to my body and pressed it deeper into her. She rocked her hips forwards then back while I pushed mine up and down as my hands reached for her clitoris. Carol arched her back and covered her breasts with the palms of her hands.

I came first and it was the largest orgasm I’d had in a while. I stopped moving my hips, but Carol reached down to vigorously rub her clitoris to bring herself to orgasm a few seconds later.

We remained there on the counter for a few more minutes, breathing heavily and enjoying the feeling of our two bodies being connected. Finally, she crawled off of me and we got down off the counter.

"You’re pretty good at that, lover," Carol said. "You can stop back here anytime."

I smiled as I reached for a napkin to clean myself up with. Carol and I got dressed and she went back behind the counter.

"Still want directions to Reno?" she asked.

"I do," I said, putting my shoes back on.

"Keep going the way you were heading. About a mile along there will be another highway. You can’t miss it. Turn left and it will take you back to US-50. Then you can follow that all the way to Reno. It’s quicker than backtracking."

"Thank you," I said, reaching into my pocket for some change. "How much do I owe you for the pie and coffee?"

"No charge," said Carol. "Someone who knows how to treat a lady like you do gets to eat for free here."

I smiled and said, "I might have to come back this way again."

"I’m always here," Carol said.

By now, the first rays of sunlight were beginning to light up the sky, although sunrise was still over an hour away. I said goodbye to Carol, grabbed my jacket, and went out to my car. The directions Carol gave we were correct and I was in Reno by noon.

I spent the next four days sitting through boring meeting after boring meeting at the convention. All the time I was thinking about sex with Carol instead of the presentation being made at the front of the room. By the time I was ready to leave, I looked on a map and tried to figure out how to get back to the Peacock Café.

I turned off of US-50 where I had come back on it that night and followed the highway back the way I’d come. But I must have made a wrong turn somewhere or missed whatever road I needed to take.

I thought I was on the right road for a while, but when I reached the place where the Peacock Café should have been, there was only an old, abandoned restaurant. The windows were gone and the walls were falling apart. It looked like it had been abandoned for forty or fifty years, perhaps longer.

It was just as well; the Peacock Café was one of those places that needed to have a mysterious quality about it. Out in the middle of nowhere where one doesn’t come across it without being lost. I suppose my experience there was no different than any of a countless number of travelers who strayed off the beaten path.

However, I can’t help but think of Carol sometimes. Her’s was a lonely life, but it seemed to suit her. She said she was happy, but I hope she could find companionship someday.

Someday, I will try to find the Peacock Café again.

This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to living persons or actual events is entirely coincidental. This story may not be redistributed without permission from the author.