The Heart - Sex Stories

The Heart

... containers topped off, and the knives, forks and spoons were wrapped in napkins ready to put on the tables when customers sat down. After seeing him come in every afternoon, Emily was curious about the stranger. He always wore a denim jacket and faded jeans. His long graying hair curled up at the collar, his blue eyes twinkled behind-wire rimmed glasses. Sometimes he shaved but most days, she could see the stubble on his cheeks and chin. He sometimes read the newspaper or a book, but most days he wrote in a black covered notebook and she wondered what he was writing about so intensely. He always had two or three cups of coffee while he wrote, shoving the empty apple pie plate aside. Emily chuckled when she noticed how he wiped the pie crumbs from his mouth with the back of his hand rather than a napkin and remembered how Jonathan did that. For some reason, she was delighted when he walked in and their eyes would greet each other with a nod and smile, then she would bring him his pie and coffee. After that she didn’t pay much attention to him as she worked busily to finish her setting up for the next day. He would write in his journal, eat his pie, sip his coffee, occasionally glance up at Emily and their eyes would meet, then both would go back to what they were doing. Though, at first, she wasn’t attracted to him physically, he must have been twenty or so years older than Emily, there was something about him she liked, something in the way he smiled when she said, “Hi ...

... Walter,” the warm twinkle in his eyes, how intensely he wrote, taking sips of coffee and running his hands through his long hair, how he looked up at her and smiled when she refilled his mug. There was something in the way he said, “Thank you, Emily,” that touched her, made her curious about him, but also reluctant to ask him any questions. She sensed by his quiet shyness that he would not want to share much about his life. Still, she wondered what he was writing so intensely about, rarely looking up, except for his occasional glances at her before going back to his writing. There was something strange in the way their eyes met, something she couldn’t articulate, but liked. She found herself thinking about Walter when she was walking home, or washing dishes in her small apartment and she wondered why she was so fascinated by him. One summer day, several months after Walter started coming to the diner, Emily poured him his second mug of coffee and he looked up at her and out of the blue said, “You seem sad. Even though you always smile, you seem sad.” Emily was stunned by the statement. They had never conversed, never said anything other than the trivial greetings, but his sudden words surprised her. She just looked at him and tried to swallow her surprise before responding. “What makes you think I’m sad? I’m not sad.” “I don’t know why I said that. I just feel your sadness.” Walter looked into Emily’s eyes. “Sorry, I guess I shouldn’t have said that. I mean, we never really speak ...