Warning: This story features graphic content that is not suitable for work, minors or those who have yet to discover The Way to Happiness.
If only the bus got off at the right stop. If only I stayed on the other side of the side walk. If only she didn’t make eye contact with me and if only I didn’t give it back. If only I didn’t live my life in the seemingly random assortment of instances I go about every day decision making. If only I chose and didn’t let the universe lead me to her. If only.
“Hi there! We’re showing a twenty five minute film about unconscious thinking, this pamphlet will get you in for free!”
“Thanks, I’m off to get some food but I might come back!”
“Okay then, be sure to come back and I’ll save you a spot.”
I wasn’t coming back anytime soon. In fact, the unconscious thinking I wanted was the chicken strip coma I was preparing my body for. As I was crossing the street I turned back and noticed the woman handing me pamphlets in front of the Church of Scientology was watching me walk away. Her flaming red hair and matronly oversized cardigan flowed lightly in the January wind, like a soccer mom at the mast of the Titanic. Was I the only person who gave her the time of day and treated her like a person instead of a cult shill? Or did sparks fly like a Taylor Swift song? Did I meet my soul mate and pass her up for another go round at the Chick-Fil-A?
Fuck, there’s no tables. Fucking school back in session, I’ll never give the chicken strips the attention they so preciously deserve. Through meticulous testing I have determined the correct way to eat a four count Chick-Fil-A chicken strip meal. Ask for four Chick-Fil-A sauces and three BBQ sauces. Be sure to be self deprecating with your sauce request so they don’t point out their ridiculous sauce control policy. Each sauce packet can yield enough sauce for half a strip and three fries. If balanced correctly, you will be left with one extra Chick-Fil-A sauce and BBQ sauce to save in you bag for later unforeseen chicken strip emergencies. Pair with a Coke Zero and this is the meal of kings and sultans. This plan requires a large amount of table surface, one cannot simply picnic this meal. I need a table.
Maybe they have tables at the Church of Scientology. It takes about twenty five minutes for me to eat a well paced CFA lunch. I can tuck away in their theater, which is probably just an office with a Vizio, eat my chicken strips, and bounce. I mean, I read Dianetics in high school. What more can I learn?
“I told you I’d come back! Is it okay if I eat in there?”
“Oh my goodness yes, I didn’t think you’d come back. No one comes back.”
“I’m different, I keep my promises.”
She flicked her eyebrows up, as if intimidated and slightly turned on by the lie I constructed to eat chicken strips.
I walked in the church, led by my ginger shepherd to a clinical office building with stacks of unread L. Ron Hubbard books littering the floor. Something lighter than Yanni twinkled through the speakers. What is Scientology liturgical music? Beck? Whatever it was, I didn’t get too long to listen to it before we arrived to the theater. I was right, an office with a Vizio. Not too glamorous, but I bet not much of Tom Cruise’s money makes it to Austin.
“Alright, well I’m going to pop in this DVD and I’ll see you in about 25 minutes. You can eat, it’s no problem, but be sure and pay attention to the movie– it’s very important.”
“Oh I will, I promise!”
“Don’t let this be the first promise you break.”
“How could I lie to little peach like yourself?”
I don’t know what came over me. Was it the smell of chlorine and fried chicken that turned me into the kind of guy that flirts so openly? This is a house of whatever God they believe in, I think. Will I go to Scientology hell for even saying that? How can I even watch My Name is Earl knowing I sinned in a holy place?
“No one has ever talked to me like that here. And it kind of turned me on. This might be Xenu talking but fuck this movie. I want you.”
It worked. My unconscious action to alpha male my way to a quickie actually worked. Maybe this was the lesson of the movie. Maybe there isn’t a movie. Maybe this is a test and I’m a Scientologist now.
She unbuttoned her blouse as she walked up to me and we locked lips. My hands in her hair, her hands unbuttoning my shirt. I could feel the paper cuts from the pamphlets in her fingerprints. Was I the first human contact she’s had in weeks? Has she been stuck in the limbo of passing out pamphlets and I’ve freed her from her slavery? It wasn’t important, she was the only thing that mattered right now. The dim glow of the input screen of the TV lit our passion, the grey glow washed out all color but her intense red locks. It was the only color I needed.
She ripped off her cardigan and my shirt and threw them on the ground. With one hand on my throbbing cock, she swept the table clear, preparing a makeshift California King bed for our lovemaking. Normally ruining a perfectly great lunch would instantly kill my boner but her expert hand stroked my shaft so perfectly that I was almost about to cum right then and there.
I pulled away, pulled off my pants and shoes, and down in the table, hands behind my back and my hard dick at full attention, waiting for my newfound queen to ride it.
“My cock won’t fuck itself.”
“If you don’t eat my pussy first, that dick is going to stay unfucked.”
Fuck yes, I knew she had a wild side. She got on her knees over my face. All I could see was a natural, perfect, behind pussy that needed to be feasted upon. I didn’t need to tap into my Chick-Fil-A sauce reserve, that wet cunt had all flavor it needed.
I worked my tongue deep inside her and she moaned and moaned like a banshee. Her arched back gave her tits the perfect amount of freedom for me to grab and work her nipples, which made her scream even harder. I was unleashing something by fucking her with my mouth.
She climbed off my face after what felt like hours and I breathed my first breath unfiltered by pussy and felt regular air wasn’t good enough anymore. She slid my raging hard cock inside her and I’ve never fucked something so perfect. It’s as if she was made to ride my cock. Every position felt better than the last, made my dick harder inside of her, every thrust and fuck harder than the last, until my full balls couldn’t hold it back.
“Do you want me to pull out? I’m so close, and it’s gonna be a fuck-ton.”
“Cum inside me, I want my reward.”
Holy shit she’s perfect.
My pulsing cock filled her up as she gave out the most intense moan of satisfaction I’ve ever heard. This wasn’t fake, she came as hard as I did. I climbed off of her, grabbed some napkins out of the discarded Chick-Fil-A bag and cleaned up.
“That was perfect. You’re perfect.”
“Stop it, you’re great.”
“We should do this more often. Can I come back later this week?”
“I’d love that. I do have a question for you though.”
“Anything for you.”
I lightly kissed her on the cheek, I just wanted to hear her voice, to feel her hair, to be with her.
“Have you ever had your thetan level professionally measured by an e-meter?”