Chapter 2

A moment later, she placed their platters in front of them. She smiled as Moisette complimented the crowded sangria. Moisette claimed that the salsa was quite refreshing as well.

“I’ll tell Fernando you liked it,” Paris smiled.

She fought down her laughter as she watched Bradley Simpson’s face become red, moist with sweat. Checking on the other tables, Paris then returned to the kitchen and told Fernando that Moisette had complimented his salsa. The man gave Paris his customary lop-sided grin.

“How is everything?” Paris asked a few moments later, noticing that most of Bradley’s sangria was gone, as well as all of his water.

“The enchiladas are wonderful,” Moisette declared, her delightful French Canadian accent making each syllable dance. “And this drink is perfect; I will have to make my own.”

“Sir? More water?” Paris offered.

“Yes, yes, he is being the big baby,” Moisette tittered, her amusement very evident. “He says his burrito is very spicy.”

“Here, you try it,” Bradley demanded, shoving his plate toward Moisette.

Paris grabbed his goblet before it toppled onto Moisette’s lap. Deftly, she also grabbed his water glass.

“Yeah, and get me another one of them sangrias,” Bradley demanded of Paris.

“Right away, sir,” Paris agreed.

“Erm, yes, yes, oh, this is spicy,” Moisette agreed, shewing her mouthful of Burrito El Carnita. “I, I like your burrito.”

Kenny had prepared a sangria and nodded when Paris thanked him. He turned and shoved another rack of dishes into the dishwasher and playfully slapped Fernando on his buttocks when Fernando turned his attention to the pot of rice. Paris laughed as Fernando yelped.

“His burrito, I like it. I like the enchilada, but there is something delicious about his burrito,” Moisette happily declared when Paris put Bradley’s sangria and glass of water onto the table.

Even with Moisette’s assistance, Bradley left one third of his burrito. He managed to drink both goblets of sangria and most of his water and Moisette’s water. Moisette amused Paris when she casually used her fork to spear the chunks of fruit in the bottom of the goblet.

Paris put the check on the table, close to Bradley. Tammy was finished with her meal and her break and took the cashier’s duties when Moisette brought the check to the counter.

“That girl gave you a ten dollar tip,” Tammy informed Paris as Paris prepared to leave the restaurant.

Buoyed by her day’s earnings, Paris pedaled home to the trailer her and her boyfriend and two other couples shared. Upon arriving home, Paris was immediately pressed into helping her boyfriend Tommy prepare the evening meal.

After dinner, Shannon and Craig cleaned up. Truthfully, Shannon cleaned up and Craig pretended to help. While they cleaned up, Paris ordered her boyfriend to shower; he smelled of sweat and diesel oil. He reminded her that she smelled of sweat and guacamole; perhaps she too needed to shower.

“No,” she giggled. “You’re just trying to get me in there with you.”

“Can you blame me?” Tommy smiled.

“Tell you what, Baby; you go get cleaned up, then I’ll get cleaned up. And after? We’ll see about getting all dirty again, okay?” Paris bargained.

Standing in the master bedroom, Paris took a moment to admire her reflection. Her straight dark orange hair reached just below her bra straps. Her round face was pale, dotted by numerous freckles that extended down over her throat and chest and pale arms. Her eyes were a warm brown in color, large and expressive. Her nose, Paris always thought her nose was too big, but Shannon said Paris was being ridiculous. Her lips were full, pouting lips.

Paris frowned as she looked at her lips. Tommy, and Craig and Jeremy, the other man living in their trailer called them ‘DSL’ or ‘dick sucking lips.’ Shannon had slapped Craig and shrilled that Paris had ‘kissable’ lips. Anna, Jeremy’s fiancé said nothing.

The tops of Paris’s breasts were dotted with freckles as well. True, there were fewer freckles on her chest and belly, hips and buttocks than on other parts of her body, but the cursed splotches were there. Her areolae were large, red circles surrounding her fat nipples. Just looking at her nipples caused them to perk up and stiffen.

Paris had a slender waist; riding her bicycle had certainly helped keep her love of chocolate from attacking her waistline. Her 31 hips tapered outward from her 26 inch waist and led into her muscled thighs and calves. Her plump pubic mound was obscured by a scrub of straight orange pubic hair.

Hours of cycling had toned her legs, firmed up her backside. Paris turned and admired her firm, round buttocks, admired the sweet little dimples, one in each cheek.

Once, Shannon had caught Paris looking at her well-formed buttocks in her mirror. Shannon had knocked, and before Paris could call out ‘just a minute,’ Shannon had opened the door. The attractive blonde had stared at the highly embarrassed Paris for a long moment then said she’d look too, if she had a body as perfect as Paris’s body.

Thinking about the beautiful blonde did cause a stirring in Paris’s belly. Once, lying in bed after making love, Tommy had casually asked Paris if she ever fantasized about making love with another woman. Paris had admitted that she did fantasize about it, from time to time. She did not specifically name any names, though.

And even though Paris was sure that Tommy and Shannon often hooked up whenever they could, Paris did fantasize about being with the beautiful, warm, affectionate girl.

After her own shower, after shaving legs and underarms, Paris crawled into bed and crawled on top of Tommy. She kissed him hungrily; he was a handsome man with broad shoulders and well-formed chest from his numerous menial jobs. At present, he was working at one of the four depots, working as an assistant to the seven diesel mechanics employed by be depot. His shaggy blond hair needed a haircut and his square face had a brooding quality to it. Paris did not like his long beard; lately it was the fashion or fad for men to sport full beards that extended three, four, five inches in length.

Ignoring his bristly, bushy beard, Paris sucked hisses from Tommy’s pouting lips. Her hand travelled over his muscled chest and tight abdomen, seeking out his five inches of hard meat.

Paris gave Tommy’s cock a few strokes with her hand, then wiggled down to take him into her mouth. She shuddered slightly as her nipples rasped along the threadbare comforter; her nipples were always so sensitive.

God damn, that, that ass is just so damned perfect,” Tommy praised, reaching and squeezing Paris’s buttocks in his calloused hand.

“Then why do you keep after Shannon?” Paris wanted to ask, but instead just wiggled her buttocks, encouraging him to keep squeezing and lightly slapping her buttocks.

“Mm, oh, oh yes,” Paris hissed as Tommy jammed a thick finger into her wetness.

“Mm, oh, mm,” Paris cooed as Tommy fingered her.

“Baby, I, I’m getting close,” Tommy warned, already hunching up into her mouth.

Paris held him toward the back of her mouth; she hated the taste and texture of his semen. She squealed around his slender cock when he jammed his index finger into her unprepared rectum. Tommy gasped, gurgled and groaned as he pumped his semen into Paris’s throat. When he caught his breath, he and Paris shared a kiss. Then she straddled his renewed erection and slid his cock into her. More for the benefit of their housemates than for any actual enjoyment of their coupling, Paris was a loud and energetic participant. Tommy chuckled; he was aware of what Paris was doing and why. When they’d first started dating, Paris had grunted, cooed and squealed as they fucked in the back seat of his mother’s car. She certainly had never screamed, grunted and groaned loudly in the dark, cramped confines of the car. She had never screamed for him to fuck her, fill her up.

After they finished, Paris used her mouth to clean Tommy’s sticky cock of their juices. Then with a passionate kiss to Tommy’s lips, Paris pulled on her threadbare Whittle’s college tee shirt, her father’s alma mater.

Returning to Rio Del Sol for the evening shift the following day, Paris found out that Mr. Frank did believe money to be thicker than blood; he’d fired his niece. The task of training Becky’s replacement fell to Paris and Tammy. Both Kenny and Fernando did suggest that Becky’s replacement should be cute, with big boobs and few reservations. They burned through three potential hires before Paris thought to ask her housemate Shannon if she’d be interested in the job.

“Are you kidding? I swear, if one more trucker asks me how much for a blow job, I will kill them,” Shannon enthused.

“So, how much do you charge for a blow job?” Craig joked.

“Not as much as you do,” Shannon growled, no levity in her voice. “Of course, I’m not as good as you.”

“Damn, Craig. Uh, I do believe you just got burned,” Tommy chuckled.

“I swear, he is so sick,” Shannon confided to Paris and Anna. “Get this, get this; he? He wants me to tell him all about every time I get hit on. It’s almost like he gets off on that shit.”

Shannon was an excellent waitress and Mr. Frank gave Paris a fifty dollar bill for bringing Shannon into the restaurant for the job interview. Fernando and Kenny, and Howard Fineman and even Mr. Frank vied for the blonde’s attention. Howard Fineman was the evening shift busboy/dishwasher and Paulie was the evening prep cook. Paulie was decidedly homosexual, but did declare, were he straight, he would be madly in love with Shannon.

“Girl? She’s almost as pretty as you,” Paulie said to Paris.

“Oh, shut up!” Paris laughed, squeezing the effeminate man in a one-armed hug. “She’s a hundred times prettier than me.”

“Oh no I am not,” Shannon emphatically declared, hustling past with her order for table number nine.

“So there,” Paulie declared, giving a dramatic snap of his fingers. “‘Nuff said.”

“Whatever, Paulie, whatever,” Paris laughed and took her order out to table fourteen.

“Twenty minutes before closing, Moisette entered the restaurant and glanced around. Her green eyes opened in delight when she saw Paris and approached Paris at a brisk pace.

“Hello my dear Paris,” Moisette said and embraced the young woman. “Where is your section? You will be my server.”

“Here, here’s a clean table,” Paris said, guiding Moisette to table nineteen.

“And I already know I want the, whatever it is was that Bradley had and that sangria drink I had last time,” Moisette said when Paris put the bowl of chips and salsa onto the table.

“Yes ma’am,” Paris said. “Oh! The, he had the burrito el carnita; do you want it spicy?”

“I want it like he had it,” Moisette insisted, smiling, then beckoned Paris to come closer. “Paris, it is Moisette. It is I. Do not call me ‘ma’am;’ that makes me so old.”

“Yes ma…Moisette,” Paris said, smiling.

“Better, that is much better,” Moisette laughed happily.

Paris went into the kitchen and let Paulie know that Moisette wanted the Burrito el Carnita, with habanero puree. With a shrug, he carefully ladled a small amount onto the shredded pork while Paris made the sangria drink.

“I am having a small housewarming party next Saturday; they have finally finished the house,” Moisette announced to Paris as Paris put the drink in front of Moisette.

“Oh? Well, how wonderful,” Paris said, glancing over at another table that looked as if they were ready to leave.

“You must come. I insist. Please?” Moisette demanded, cutting a section of her burrito.

“I, next Saturday? What time?” Paris said, briskly stepping over to table twenty three, check in hand.

“What time do you get off of work? Do you work Saturday? We will start the party when you come,” Moisette informed Paris when Paris managed to step to Moisette’s table again.

“Next Saturday? I, usually I get the late shift,” Paris mused aloud. “So, I’ll be getting out of here, probably a little after nine.”

“Then we will start the party a little after nine,” Moisette declared. “Here. My address is on the back of this.”

Paris took the business card and saw the swirling logo of ‘Ayshire Mobile Homes, LLC’ in the upper left corner of the business card. In the center of the card, in crisp slack lettering was ‘Moisette R. Seraque.’ Paris did not read the woman’s job title before flipping the card over and reading that Moisette’s new house was in Geaytchel, on Quebec Street.

“I, that, Moisette, that, that’s that new house they been working on?” Paris asked, mouth open in shock. “That real big house?”

“Yes,” Moisette said, finishing her burrito, then swallowing the last dregs of her wine.

Just as she had done before, Moisette began to eat the chunks of fruit from the bottom of the goblet.

“Oh! I bet, I bet that is so good,” Shannon commented as she watched Moisette eat the fruit.

“Would you like to share?” Moisette asked, even tilting the goblet toward the blonde.

“No, no, thank you ma’am,” Shannon smiled and paused in her sweeping the dining area’s floor.

“I, you are closed? Already? But it is, oh! It is almost nine thirty! Paris, why did you just let me…here, here, I will pay now so you may leave,” Moisette said and briskly approached Frank Richardson, digging in her designer bag for her credit card. “I am so sorry; I, I just always assume everyone is on the same schedule as I am.”