The names, characters, places and events in this book are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. All characters are over the age of 18. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Hershel Myler pulled into the McDonald's just off W Perkins Ave, Sandusky. Stepping out of his battered Chevy Colorado truck with too many miles on the clock, the dense, almost tropical heat of an overcast Ohio summer day rolling in off Lake Erie hit him like a hammer making sweat break out on his forehead and under his arms. He untied his bandanna from around his neck and wiped his face. Cement and wallboard dust came away with his perspiration, leaving streaks on his face.
Hershel glanced around and saw the parking lot was mostly empty and, with only a few vehicles in line at the drive-thru window, he reckoned he wouldn't have to wait too long in the diner itself. He paused a moment, resting his hand on his truck, listening to the dull roar of traffic along W Perkins itself.
He crossed the lot to the low, grey building with the golden arches prominently displayed. A young family was leaving as he ducked into the deeper shade by the door so, as he waited for them to exit; he glanced at his reflection in the window. What he saw didn't displease him so he grinned at the mom shepherding her kids out and was pleased when she smiled back and flicked her blond hair.
Hershel saw a man, slightly taller than the average but narrowly missing the six foot mark. He wore a pair of worn black Dickies pants with tan brown shirt, both stained with cement and sawdust and also scuffed work boots. His only jewelry was a Casio watch and a narrow gold chain. Looking up, he saw a pleasant, rugged face with a square chin, not what women would call handsome, but rugged and tanned from working outdoors. He had short, sandy hair and what he called designer stubble although that was more not bothering to shave than any deliberate intent. Brown eyes with laughter lines. Not bad, he thought, but he was sorry that he was 'free and single' at the moment.
A rumble from his belly reminded him that he hadn't eaten since an early breakfast not long after five a.m. and now it was pushing eleven and since then he'd been hard at work gutting a house over on 48th Street before starting to refurbish it. A couple of sausage and egg muffins with coffee would see him through. He pushed open the door and stepped into the air-conditioned cool of the diner, savoring the feel of the chill against his sweaty arms.
Immediately, his stomach growled again as soon as the delightful aromas of fried food hit his nostrils. He started crossing to the order point where a teenage girl looked up helpfully but thought that he should at least wash his hands first. Maybe a quick wash and brush up would help him enjoy his meal more. Looking around, there weren't that many in the restaurant; it was that quieter gap between breakfast and the lunchtime rush, he thought. A few old guys at one table nursing their coffees, the remains of their breakfasts still littering the table, a young guy on his own staring out the window at passing traffic, a small group of teenage girls with their heads together giggling at something on their phones.
He changed direction and walked across the tiled floor to the restrooms. He noticed the disabled bathroom's door was standing half open so, just out of curiosity, he glanced inside. A woman was standing in front of the polished stainless steel mirror. She was dabbing her eyes with a tissue and he wondered if she had been crying. He was about to respect her privacy and carry on when she called out, "Hey, you'll do -- could you come here, please?"
Hershel stopped in mid stride. "Everything alright, ma'am?" he asked.
She was only about his age -- mid twenties -- and of average height. He reckoned she was carrying several extra pounds, and her oversized Cleveland Browns hoody only hinted at her body underneath; however it wasn't zippered up all the way so he could make see the swell of her cleavage. Hershel thought she went maybe 170 but he'd bet the farm that her license showed a smaller number. He felt his cock twitch upwards. Beneath, she wore black leggings and flip-flops showing her painted toenails. He took that in at a glance and, looking up, saw she had a pleasant oval face with full lips and brown eyes lined by fake eyelashes but now tear filled. Her slightly freckled face was a little plump with fuller cheeks. Her hair was brown and long with curly waves cascading down.
"No it's not -- please come in."
He looked around wondering whether he was being set up for something but he couldn't think of who would want to do that. Okay, he hadn't parted that amicably from his last girlfriend but he hadn't heard from her since they'd split so there was no reason why she would want to do anything now. And, while he'd built up a bit of savings now, he wasn't worth blackmailing. And it wasn't like he had any business enemies -- it wasn't like he was competing against the Mob for contracts.
The woman looked invitingly at him. Nobody else in McDonald's was taking any notice of him so he stepped into the disabled restroom. The smell of disinfectant as well as the woman's perfume masked the ubiquitous smells of fast food.
"What can I do for you?" he asked.
In response, she reached behind him and shut the door and then turned the latch, locking them both in.
She looked him direct in the eye.
"Fuck me. Fuck me now," she said.
