ben smith | platos cafe

Platos Cafe

Steve had been having headaches for over a week. Light had been making his eyes water and he had had a blistering red erection for the past 13 hours. It was like his whole body was stiff, even his brain was rigid and taut, tight and tender.

I could be wrong but I suspected nervously that it was a tumor pushing on his cingulate sulcus. He smelt like he had a tumor. He smelt like cheap amphetamines. But being Steve he still looked a million bucks. Expensive suit, shiny steel cufflinks, a porcelain tile smile; Steve had a certain style to his manner.

He stirred his coffee slowly with a plastic spork, dropping in two small lumps of brown sugar. It was early morning but as was his character, Steve had arrived 26 minutes early for his morning meeting. The client was a short Asian man with a comb over named Michael. Michael was suing his oldest brother over a failed business venture. If it wasn’t resolved soon Steve feared he would be fighting a murder case instead. He took this free time to relax, drink his coffee and nibble at a glazed danish. He was feeling content, besides the constant headache and stiff erection tucked in between his leather belt and sweaty belly button. He could feel it there, like a stretch of raw shoulder beef, thick and purple.

It was a hot day in Queensland, muggy and moist. Sporty women were running along the streets in tight skins with their sweaty little red faces and pink jiggling boobs. He watched them through the glass of the cafe, the Pacific Ocean behind them rolling in small white bubbles. Some families threw open rugs on the sand.

The cafe was quiet, only Steve and a handful of other customers: An elderly couple that looked fit, the kind of old bones you find on a cruise ship in Egypt or getting drunk in a cheap Vegas casino. They looked of rich cloth, her earrings shooting white diamond reflection stars over the roof and pale blue floors. They were talking loudly with their hands. The other man in the café, aside from the staff, was a tradesman in fluro orange coveralls. He was doing a crossword in the paper and playing with his mobile phone at the same time. He caught Steve watching him and cast him a sharp head nod hello. He was some kind of wog, Italian or Maltese, his thick skin was a creamy brown and his nose splattered all over his face. On his hand was a tattoo of a trident. The light above his head was malfunctioning and flickering on and off intermittently, but the ambient light of the rest of the room left its presence only slightly noticeable.

Biting into another warm mouthful of danish, Steve put his head into his hands for a short while and squeezed his eyes with his palms in an attempt to quell the hot and sharp pangs of his skull. Squeezing the soft tissue of his eyeballs behind the thin lid of skin, he made purple, red and rainbow colours with the dark light behind his eyes. He had done this many times as a child. He remembered that for a while and smiled through the pain. He thought of his dad and his smile faded. When he pulled his hands from his face it took some time for his sight to readjust. Everything swam in yellows and whites, like the middle of a candle flame or a drop of milk on polished wooden floorboards.

When the colour had came back to his face, and the double vision had again melted into one clean reception, he noticed another customer in the café. She was standing sternly at the counter ordering a small decaf cappuccino, her hand on her hip, her thick bust wrapped in a red maxi, a large pillow of hair on her head wrapped tightly in a thick bun. Steve let himself linger for a moment, his eyes moving up and down her body, staring hard and long at her fat ass and the material spread tightly over her two cheeks, the little pink asshole burning in the center like a bullseye. Her clean white skin was lighted warmly by the neon light egg and bacon roll toaster. She had class, but her thickness and measurements made her slutty. Steve noticed the tradesman sneak a photo of her ass on his phone, flashing Steve a quick grin as he put his phone in his pocket, packed up his paper and left two fifty cent coins on the white table. A skinny waitress with a perm snatched them up and squirreled them away in the front pocket of her plastic apron. A large and noisy truck had pulled up at the front of the cafe, filling the room with its shadow. Steve felt a little cold in the darkness. Going back to the counter to prepare the new customers’ cappuccino, the now one dollar richer waitress flicked on a spotlight as she passed the coffee machine and a beautiful warm yellow light cast across our new visitor’s body.

Steve leaned back into his chair. His eyes were not on the woman’s ass any more. His head was down, his brow was furrowed and his line of sight was pointed directly at the feet of the woman in red. From the soles of her heels, casting out maybe 5 feet, was the black puddle of her body, defined by the absence of light.

Her shadow lay on the floor like a drunken child, dead and quiet and as thick as the gristle on a roast pork. Steve immediately started to sweat. His hands massaged each other in furious movements. The hard cock in his pants like a burnt sausage, boiling hot with pumping blood, almost ready to burst from his pants in an explosion of meat and matted hair. Steve was drooling out of the side of his tightly closed mouth, leaning further over in his seat, bringing his eyes and head closer to the floor, closer to the woman’s shadow, closer towards the black blanket of the woman’s body, the dark menacing the light harshly on its edges, as crisp, sharp and perfect as a paper cut. Without consciously knowing it, Steve was out of his chair now and walking along on his knees towards the woman and her gumshoe partner. The old couple had stopped talking and were watching Steve with a concerned stare, the woman of the pair kicking her husband under the table. He was perplexed; you could see he didn’t want any trouble, not with a man in a thousand dollar suit sneaking across the floor.

Feeling the floor beneath him, Steve realized he was on the tiles, but it didn’t faze him, he was completely unabashed. He had meat in his teeth; this was a haunting. He fell to hands and crawled across the floor quietly to where the woman was standing, her bright red back and round mounds of ass just a temple to what Steve was really paralyzed by; her shadow. The shadow was three forms of circle and perfect. Her legs, flawed by the angle of the light and the degree of her stance, just a single short little parallel line running into the roundabout of her ass, a glorious black pit, bound by yellow, more form in its nothing than the meat from which it was born. A smell, a feeling, the shadow was alive with size and bubbling from its paper-thin existence. The hips had a curve to them that Steve had never seen before, a vase shape that singularly balanced the piece de resistance of this black oil painting; two simple circles. The chunky tits of the woman splashed across the floor, deep tight light condensed to the extent of its limit. The breasts, the nipples unneeded in the perfect circles at Steve’s fingers, the head and the bob of the woman, the finishing touches, the blood cherry on the chocolate ice cream. He fingered at the tiles, running his hands across the darkness, tracing his nail across the curl of the ass outline. Again, he thought of when he was a child. He thought of his mother and a smile cracked across his face.

Steve had been quiet enough in his approach that the woman had not noticed his presence. She was rocking on her heels and Steve could smell her perfume, cascading down from her neck and settling on her toes. The old couple were gathering their belongings and heading towards the front glass door. They had sensed this madness from the start but were too proud or afraid to intervene. Steve barely noticed them. The light the waitress had switched on was still flickering, sending the woman’s shadow into different shades of black and nothing; a hue of 00000 jumping slightly to a hue of 00001. It was tense; Steve’s cock was softly rubbing against the tiles of the floor, burning white-hot. As the light flicked, Steve bent down in a downward dog yoga pose and parting his lips, pushed his tongue from his mouth and in a long, serious lick, ran his wet slug across the floor that held the woman’s shadow on its surface. He did it again, between the light flicks, the on and off motion. Steve licked harder and harder, further and further. From the feet to the asshole, the vase hips to the tits, the head and the bun, he licked with the fury of a pit pull bobbing for apples. His body shook with pleasure. His teeth gritted between licks. His cock was SCREAMING inside his pants. Still unaware of her devoted lover, the woman took a step back, parting the single shaft of black of the leg shadow, exposing a brilliant white slither of light pointing like a beacon to the shadow’s cunt.

Steve, entranced and transfixed by the new form the shadow had taken, rubbed his cock across the new crack in the shadow. His belt buckle pressed hard and painfully into the soft tissue of his exposed knob, his foreskin running back and forth in hurried movements. His eyes wet and wild, his tongue still running across the flooring, butter and dropped food fat made his mouth and cheeks shine in the light, covered in a thin greasy layer. Fucking the blackness faster, Steve smashed his pelvis hard against the shadow, dick bleeding from the steel buckle, spots of red forming on his white briefs. Steve worked with gusto; each thrust sending deep glows into his soul. The feeling of falling into a pool and getting water up your nose, that’s how he felt. He was red hot, his headache a beautiful contrast to his growing orgasm, fucking the floor to the metronome of his pounding, throbbing brain.

Steve had started making noises and the woman, looking around at eye level, saw nothing. It wasn’t until Steve grabbed hold of the woman’s feet to steady his body as he smashed away at the ground that she noticed the flailing man, furiously masturbating at her feet. Startled, she threw her coffee in the air and grabbed her face in a tight ball, screaming bloody murder as she kicked at Steve with her pointy, glossy and latex high-heeled shoes.

In that moment, with her scream bouncing loudly around the walls, the kicks of her legs making and moving the shadow into spasms of light and darkness, solid and stark, the truck at the front of the store pulled away, washing the entire cafe with natural sunlight. The coffee came down, spilling across Steve’s white skin and white shirt as he unloaded a thick rope of cum onto his stomach. He writhed on the floor, spasming and twitching in a powerful orgasm that ran across his body like a hot ray of sunshine. He felt like a new born baby as he lay in the flickering light, covered in coffee, slight yellow bruises already growing as the woman continued to scream and lay kicks into poor Steve’s face.

The one-dollar richer waitress had called the police. They arrived in seconds and Steve just lay across the floor, his head cocked to the side, staring patiently though bloated broken eyelids at his shadow cast long ways across the cafe floor. There were bullet holes of coffee on his shirt, the light globe still clicking on and off to the up and down rhythm of his breathing. He felt warm, his headache hurt and his penis was limp and flaccid. He was wrapped up in a blanket and put in the back of a police van by two Negro officers. One was named Reg and the other Patrick. Both, coincidentally, had white wives.

Steve’s cell block was a small room in the Queensland main strip. It was comfortable as it was only a holding room. There were three other men in the cell and they seemed kind enough. As it was drawing night, the men had eaten and the screws had built a small fire that was burning right behind him, casting the shadows of the guards on the walls. He enjoyed them for a moment, his back pressing toughly against the cell wall.

Very carefully Steve reached into his pants and gently removed his penis. Slowly stroking, he watched the dark clouds move across the stone, wondering how he was going to explain to his father that he was now having homosexual tendencies. The other men slept.

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