The Heart - Sex Stories

The Heart

... Walter writing intensely, curious about what he was writing. What a strange man she thought and felt her fascination growing, then she wondered about his operation. What was that about? To Emily, he looked so healthy, his twinkly blue eyes, his ruddy complexion, his mostly dark hair turning slightly gray. She remembered the spry way he hopped off his bicycle and entered the diner everyday. Though he was an older man, there was something youthful about him that she found appealing. When she came over to refill his coffee, she glanced down at his writing. “How’s the writing going?” she asked. “Oh, sorry to interrupt you.” He looked up at her, surprised to hear her words and looked like he had just come out of trance. “Fine, it’s hard. I think it’s going fine but I never know.” Looking at him, Emily thought he looked like he was coming back from someplace faraway, but there was something familiar in the way he spoke, the way their eyes met when he said, “I never know,” and suddenly, a strange, breathless feeling swelled up in her, a slight tingle that somehow thrilled her. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your work,” Emily said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” “No problem. I didn’t mind. I’m kind of glad you’re curious.” He smiled. “Oh thank you. I like watching how you concentrate on your writing. It’s interesting. It makes me wonder what you’re writing about.” “Well, maybe one day you’ll find out.” He glanced down at his journal then smiled back at Emily. “I’d like that,” she ...

... answered. “Well, back to the saltshakers.” “Right and I need to get back to this poem before I lose where I was.” Emily walked away while Walter continued writing. While she filled the salt and pepper shakers she thought about Walter and wanted to know more about him. She remembered how he suddenly showed up on his bicycle several months ago and started coming in every afternoon at the same time for his apple pie and coffee. She thought how quiet and shy he was until recently when they started having little conversations. She found it interesting that he started writing poetry and drawing after his operation. She remembered his saying it was new, something he had no interest in doing before, but now he loved it. The next day, Walter didn’t come in for his coffee and apple pie, and Emily kept looking at the door, surprised that she missed him and wondered if something was wrong. Maybe her probing bothered him; maybe he decided to leave town. It wasn’t unusual for Emily to be concerned about her customers. After so many years of serving the same people, she knew their stories. Sometimes, she would even sit down with them for a few minutes if she wasn’t busy, and they would confide in her. She prided herself in being a good listener, unlike her mother, and was careful not to give advice but to ask probing questions, helping them express what they were feeling and nodding as she listened. They always said, “You’re so easy to talk to.” I wonder what happened to Walter, she said to ...