John liked his coffee like he liked his men, black. The best coffee that he has ever had was given to him at Bart's Bistro. Bart was an old man that really liked to make coffee so he started his own coffee shop. John thought it similar to 50 cent liking candy shops and then writing songs about them. It was at Bart's Bistro that John met the love of his life. There, working the counter was a very handsome man with brown hair and blue eyes like the sea. He had the appearance of someone who'd break into song at any moment. He had barbeque stains on his apron, but John thought it was cute that he was a messy eater. The man, Zac according to his nametag, served the best damn coffee that John had ever had. The coffee grounds at the bottom of his styrofoam cup added extra flavor. The warmth of the coffee cup embraced John's very soul. John had learned Zac's whole work schedule. He was beginning to wonder whether he'd fallen in love with the coffee or the man making it.
Zac wanted a restraining order. Or, he went to the courthouse to request one. Apparently you have to know the second party's name though. The guys comes in every day I'm working with his whole Jim Halpert look. I mean like seriously the guy looks exactly like Jim Halpert from the Office except with hair down to his shoulders, but otherwise everything else is the same. So anyways, he saunters into the bistro every time that I'm working. He orders the same thing every. Single. Time. I even put coffee grounds in his coffee to get him to back off but he seems to enjoy it. This guy gives off creepy vibes and I'm scared that I'll wake up half-naked in a ditch off the highway in the middle of the night. "You're a very harry nick." He said to me one day. Like WTF my name is Zach not nick. I told him so, which now thinking back on it was a stupid stupid mistake, and the mother fucker just shrugged it off and walked away with his damn Bean water.
My boyfriend is too perfect for me. I see him everyday at work. His eye stray to my testicales everytime he sees me. His hands are rough from lifting all of those cardboard boxes. Man is he so strong and macho. A ladies mans man, thats who my boyfriend is. He has such a great work ethic as well. I can tell by the way he always seems so focused on the tiny details that he's really passionate about his work. He's also very passionate about me. He calls me his little passionfruit. Because his passion just seems to grow whenever he's with me.
He walks over to me with a worried look. I hate it when my pookie is worried so I ask him what's wrong all the while staring straight at his crotch. I like my lips in anticipation. Unfortunately he isn't here to have a quickie in the women's handicap stall. He grabs my hand and looks into my eyes. How I know this, I don't know...as I'm still staring at his bulge. "Baby." He tells me. He only calls me that when he has something serious to talk about. "What is it? What's wrong?" "I...I'm.." He begins to cry softly and I pull him into my bosom. His tears begin to wet my shoulder and I cry too because I just had this shirt dry cleaned. He pulls away slowly not even looking into my retinas, no this jerk who doesn't even want to jerk me off right now is looking as my breasts. "I'm with child" he whispered seductively "Your child" he specifies. I look around us for a small child, but I see none. "Where are they" I ask. "Wait what do you mean where are they" he inquires. "Nothing, I'm joking obviously" I laugh nervously through my lie. He gives me a strange look and then quickly says "It's octuplets". "Oh my gosh we are going to have pups, I'm so blessed thank you Neil Patrick Harris" He sobs uncontrollably; half due to pregnancy hormones, half due to his limited knowledge of the gay overlord. I pray to him often so that we may have a happy, healthy life and plentiful sperm...and for a bigger dick...that one hasn't happened...yet. It doesn't help that it's really cold up here in Phoenix, Arizona.