Lunches

*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

*****

'School Lunch' was painted on the side of the faded yellow school bus as Bailey Cooper approached.

Walking around, the eighteen year old girl was amazed to see the line of people waiting to step up into the open buss. The side had been modified so that it flipped up, opening the entire side of the bus and providing a canopy just out of the light rain. Inside of the bus was a long counter with a long line of stools, and about five or six old wooden desks. And there wasn't a blank space anywhere. At the very front of the bus, right behind the driver's seat, a smiling man, dressed in what appeared to be the khaki uniform of a high school student stood and served the customers their food orders. He scooped their food out of stainless steel trays, piling it onto a battered plastic tray, and as soon as someone would vacate a seat, another customer would grab the empty seat.

"School lunches suck; who would want to pay for that?" Bailey asked herself and continued her journey.

The next day, she again saw the 'School Lunch' bus as it pulled up to the side of the Oakleaf County Courthouse.

She watched as the man, dressed once again in a khaki school uniform, stepped out, fumbled with some clips on the side of the bus, then raised the canopy and also flipped down the steps.

"Hi; we'll be open in about twenty minutes," the man smiled at Bailey.

"Huh? Oh, oh no, had enough of them school lunches when I was in school," Bailey said.

The man laughed and jumped back into the bus. He lighted the propane burners and then unlocked a cabinet and hefted a massive cash register and put that onto the counter at the beginning of the long Formica counter.

"Yeah, it's school lunches, but it's not like the lunches you had in school," the man agreed when he saw that Bailey was still watching him.

"What you mean?" Bailey asked, stepping up into the bus.

"Well, remember them sloppy joes?" the man asked as he uncovered a stainless steel tray.

"Ew, yeah," Bailey agreed, wrinkling up her pretty little face.

"Well, these are sloppy Joses; it's a sloppy joe with a nice little kick to it," the man explained. "All fresh ingredients. Same with the Turkey Tetrazzini, and the beef stew, and..."

"Hey, going stand around yapping or you going start serving?" a man jovially asked as he stepped up into the bus.

"Well, was going start serving, but since it's you..." the man smiled and grabbed a tray.

"Keep telling myself I'm going get one of them sloppy Joses, but damn it, that stew's just too damned good," the customer smiled and the man quickly served up the meal.

"Seven forty one," both man and customer said as the man punched the cash register.

"Uh huh, then why you don't already have it out, huh?" the man laughed.

Nah," the customer said when the man held out his change. "Give it to that girl; about time you got you some help."

The man turned and looked at Bailey. She was short, probably no taller than five feet even, with long carrot orange hair, light complexion, at least what part wasn't covered by orange freckles, and warm brown eyes. She was slender even as her breasts stretched her tee shirt, and her buttocks were a small bubble in the back of her jeans.

"Yeah?" the man asked her. "You looking for work?"

Bailey shrugged, then nodded her head.

"Okay, here, sit there and fill this out," the man said, digging a pad of pre-printed employment applications out of a cabinet. "Front and back."

She did, and then watched as a line very quickly formed. Many of the customers seemed to be regular patrons, talking and joking with Joe, the man behind the glass partition.

"My school had this goulash; why you don't make that?" one man asked.

"I'll look into it," Joe promised.

By the end of the lunch shift, Bailey had been bumped up from standing and observing to actually scooping the apple sauce and Cole slaw onto the partitioned trays.

"Oh, but I don't want that," a woman complained.

"Hey, it's the same with or without the sauce and slaw," Joe said flatly.

Bailey noticed, as the woman was putting her tray into the large bin at the edge of the steps, there wasn't a bit of the apple sauce or Cole slaw left on her tray.

"All right," Joe said as he lowered the side of the bus and locked everything down.

Bailey watched as he unlocked a cabinet underneath the stainless steel trays, then locked the cash register in the cabinet.

Then he started up the bus and drove about five miles, to a strip of Oakleaf that was just before Sweet Oak, Texas. Bailey recognized the homeless shelter, saw the sign announcing 'St. Joseph's Diner.'

She'd been here once, when her school had asked the students to volunteer a Saturday helping out.

It had been hard, grueling work, and it had depressed Bailey, looking at the men, women, and children that shuffled through.

The next time the school asked for volunteers, Bailey had not signed up.

"Carter, my son, how are you?" a young priest asked, stepping up into the bus.

"Carter? I thought your name was Joe," Bailey commented.

"No, everyone just thinks it is," Carter smiled as he pointed to the patch on his school uniform that said 'St. Joseph's.'

"Father Greg, this is Bailey Cooper; she's my new employee," Carter said and Bailey shrank back as a few grubby men crowded onto the bus.

One grabbed the large bin of dirty trays and hustled that off the bus. Other men grabbed dish towels, then hefted the food trays out of the counter top.

Then Carter, with a very nervous Bailey, followed the men into the Diner.

Already, the Turkey Tetrazzini had been transferred to another bin. The beef stew bin was now being washed by a smiling, singing toothless man.

"Buzzy, why you don't sing a song any of us know?" another man complained and Buzzy laughed.

Twenty minutes after they had arrived at St. Joseph's Diner, the cleaned bins and cleaned trays were back onto the bus and Carter waved as he started the bus again.

"I assume you live, oh, yeah, here it is," Carter said. "Oh, that's right on my way; I'll just drop you off."

The next day, Bailey was about to start walking toward the courthouse when she heard a bus horn bleating outside of her home.

Alan, Bailey's new boyfriend, had been less than impressed with Bailey's new job. In fact, he'd made several jokes about it, even singing the Adam Sandler's 'Lunch Lady Land' song.

But Bailey's mother had been happy to hear that her daughter was actually showing some initiative.

"Up and at 'em, let's go," Carter smiled and then they roared off.

Sitting on the floor next to the driver's seat, Bailey looked up at the handsome man.

He had brown hair, which he kept cut short. Bailey could see some grey flecks in the brown. His eyes were brown as well, and his broad, handsome face was bronzed by much exposure to the sun.

He was muscular; his short sleeved khaki shirt did not hide his bulging biceps. And his khaki trousers did not hide his muscled legs.

He was tall; Bailey guessed he had to be almost a foot taller than her, maybe even taller.

She didn't have time to admire him for too long; they got busy the moment he pulled up to the courthouse.

Today, she did a little bit more than just scooping the sauce and law; she also served the beef stew.

The customers talked with her, joked with her about how hard it much be to work for 'Joe.'

"Joe?" Bailey would smile. "Yeah, he's mean. I better get to the next customer before he starts beating me again."

And her pockets bulged with the tips the customers gave her.

And again, they drove the bus to St. Joseph's Diner and again the bus was cleaned out by the volunteers that came out with Father Greg.

Alan called her, made a few crude jokes about her new job, even when she told him she'd received nearly twenty dollars in tips that day.

"Know what, Alan? Least I have a job," Bailey finally said and hung up.

He called back a few times, but she refused to answer, and he refused to leave a voice mail.

Then he sent her a text message asking her if it was her time of the month.

She had stolen Alan Hackett from Brichelle Adams, her former best friend. Bailey knew that she wasn't pretty like Brichelle, with her perfect blonde hair, perfect brown eyes, perfect skin and perfect teeth.

Although both Brichelle and Bailey had 34 E boobs, Brichelle also had an adorable little bubble butt to match her large chest, and Bailey had what Alan said was a 'Noassatall.'

In fact, Alan had reminded Bailey on more than one occasion that she was lucky to be with him.

Staring at his crude text message, though, Bailey was beginning to wonder if she really was lucky.

The next morning, Bailey saw that Alan had sent her a few more text messages, but none of them were apologies for his crass behavior. The faded school bus pulled to a stop and she got on.

"Why you wear that outfit?" Bailey asked Carter Cunningham as he drove them toward the courthouse.

"School lunches? I'm in a school uniform?" Carter smiled as she sat on the floor next to his seat.

"Oh, God," she smiled and rolled her eyes.

She had worn a snug blouse today, and had unbuttoned the top to just above her large breasts. Her blue jeans bulged with the tips she got from the male customers.

And again, they drove to the homeless shelter.

"Why you don't just make less?" she asked as they drove back to her home. "Then you wouldn't have so much leftovers."

"Then I wouldn't have as much to give to St. Joe's," Carter said.

"That's so stupid," Alan sneered when Bailey told him about the brief conversation.

"Why? Why is that stupid?" Bailey challenged.

"Aw, fuck you, Spot," Alan said, calling Bailey by her hated nickname.

"Take me home," Bailey demanded.

"Sure, sure, right after you finish..." Alan said and unzipped his blue jeans.

He worked his four inch erection out of his briefs and Bailey looked at it. Then she reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone.

"Hi, Mr. Carter?" she said.

"Uh, yes, uh, who's this?" Carter Cunningham asked.

"Hi, it's me, Bailey," she said as Alan stared at her, confused.

She unhooked her seat belt, then opened the car door.

"Oh, hey, Bailey, what's up?" Carter asked, his voice happy.

"Well, I asked my shithead boyfriend take me home, and he's refusing; you come get me?" Bailey asked as she stepped out into the hot Texas night.

"Fine, bitch, get in the fucking car," Alan yelled.

"Sure, where are you?" Carter asked.

Know where the Connelly Stadium is? We're on the east parking lot," Bailey said.

"Be right there," Carter promised.

"Just get in the fucking car, stupid bitch," Alan yelled.

Bailey slammed the door of his car shut just after she hit the 'Lock' button on the door.

"God damn it; you know that fucks it up!" Alan yelled.

There was a glitch in his locking mechanism; he had to shut the car off and wait five minutes, then start the car again before he could unlock the doors. It was worse if the car was already shut off; it would take a few times of starting, then killing then restarting the car.

"Fine, ugly ass bitch," Alan screamed, started the car and sped away, tires spitting up loose gravel and debris from the asphalt parking lot.

For the eight minutes that it took for Carter to arrive, Bailey kept her cell phone in her hand, prepared to call 911. She felt relief when she saw headlights pull into the parking lot, then felt apprehension. This was a small car, not a large school bus.

"Hey, Bailey; what's up?" Carter asked from the driver's seat of the candy apple red 1997 Mustang.

"Ooh, red's my favorite color!" Bailey joked, relief washing over her.

"Yeah? Mine too," Carter agreed, playfully tugging on a hank of her red hair.

"But where's the bus?" Bailey asked as she buckled up.

"Sitting at home," Carter said. "So, where to?"

"Uh, home, I guess," Bailey said.

Alan must have been waiting just beyond the stadium. He pulled alongside the Mustang, flipping both Carter and Bailey the finger.

"That's your boyfriend?" Carter asked, his disgust evident.

"You know what? Not anymore," Bailey agreed.

At a red light, Carter revved his motor. The powerful engine literally shook the entire car and the growl was audible, even over Alan's screamed insults.

The light turned green and Alan's tires screamed as he floored his accelerator. And the police car directly behind Alan flashed both lights and siren.

"Dumb ass," Carter laughed as he slowly drove past the now enraged Alan.

Bailey waved, laughing.

Alan's next text message to Bailey informed her that her boss owed him two hundred and eighty dollars for the tickets he'd been given.

"No he doesn't," Bailey responded. "You're the dumb shit was speeding."

The next day, Alan again insisted that Carter owed for his tickets, AND the increase to his insurance.

And again, Bailey insisted that Carter did not make Alan speed; he'd be getting nothing from either her boss, or her.

Then she blocked his phone number.

"So, how much I'm making anyway?" Bailey asked as she crouched down to light the propane burners under the trays.

"Eleven an hour," Carter said, fighting his groan.

Bailey had asked about wearing shorts; it was quite warm hovering over the hot trays of food. The bus had its windows down, and a box fan on either end blew air, but it was hot Texas air so it did little to cool down the interior of the food truck.

Carter had agreed that Bailey could wear shorts, not expecting that her shorts would be as short as they were.

In her crouched position, her pale ass cheeks stuck out, just begging to be squeezed.

"Joe, how you get them burgers so damned good?" a customer asked as Carter assembled a hamburger.

"Make my own buns, and that's half brisket and half chuck roast; grind the meat myself," Carter informed the man as he dropped the fresh patty onto the cast iron grill.

"He even makes the mayonnaise and all that other stuff himself," a woman customer said.

"You do?" Bailey asked, looking at Carter.

"Uh huh," Carter smiled and told the woman that, starting Monday, they would also have Hungarian Goulash on the menu.

"Oh, then I will definitely be here Monday!" the woman promised.

"Hungarian Goulash is going to be on the menu this Monday," Bailey told every customer as she rang up their purchases.

"Who cares?" a man asked. "Just as long as the sloppy joe's on there."

At the homeless shelter, Buzzy smiled at Bailey and she returned his smile.

"So, how long you and Carter been married?" he asked.

"Huh? We're not married," Bailey said, shocked.

"Oh? You two still just dating?" Buzzy asked, looking at Carter. "Better put a ring on it before one of us steals her away from you."

Buzzy, you forget take your medication today?" Carter asked and the group of men laughed.

"Trying help you out, Sweetie," Buzzy winked at Bailey. "Boy needs see he ain't only one noticed how pretty you are."

"That proves it," Bailey said. "You did forget take your medication today."

"Now, you really do make your own mayonnaise?" Bailey asked as they drove away from St. Joseph's Diner.

"Yeah; it's not as hard as people think," Carter shrugged.

"Well, I want to learn how make it," Bailey insisted.

"Fine; come by on Sunday, about one," Carter said, writing his address down on a piece of paper as Bailey prepared to step out of the bus.

"That Alan keeps calling here for you," Bailey's mother said, her displeasure quite evident.

"Tell him..." Bailey started.

"No ma'am, YOU tell him," her mother said. "I'm not dating him.

"Well I'm not either," Bailey said.

Which was what Bailey told the arrogant boy the next time he called.

"Fine, Spot, see if anyone else's willing fuck your fucking ugly ass," Alan snarled into the phone.

"Don't worry, I will," Bailey cheerfully agreed.

On Sunday, Bailey found her shortest shorts and a tee shirt that had been too snug last year. She pulled a larger tee shirt over that outfit as she left her bedroom.

Bailey walked a block, then stepped behind Mr. Kimmel's garage; the man was blind and quite hard of hearing. In a recess between house and garage, Bailey pulled off the two tee shirts, then took off her industrial strength bra. She then stuffed both bra and large tee shirt into her big purse, pulled the far too snug and far too short tee shirt back down over her large chest.

Then she walked the seven blocks from Mr. Kimmel's house to Carter Cunningham's house. It was easy to see which house was his; there was a large school bus parked right in front.

"Hey, right on..." Carter said, then froze at the sight of Bailey's outfit.

She put a little wiggle into her walk as she entered the modest home.

"Uh, kitchen's right over here," Carter said, cock growing hard at the sight of her freckled ass cheeks.

"Your mother let you leave the house dressed like that?" he wanted to ask, but didn't.

The smells were incredible and Bailey sniffed the air appreciatively.

"Yeah, I'm roasting the tomatoes for the ketchup; I'm also roasting the garlic," Carter agreed.

"You really do make your own ketchup?" Bailey asked, looking at him in awe.

"Uh huh," Carter agreed, unable to take his eyes off of her magnificent chest. "But you uh, you wanted to see how to make the mayo, right?"

"Yeah," Bailey agreed.

She leaned against him as he showed her how he separated the egg yolk from the egg white and had her do a dozen eggs.

He almost blew his load in his briefs as her breasts wiggled and jiggled and jostled as she tried to whisk together the egg whites and the olive oil.

"Uh, Bailey?" he finally said. "I usually use the mixer over here."

"Why you didn't say that?" Bailey laughed.

Then he had her grill the onions for the goulash and the sloppy joses while he pureed the tomatoes

The last step was grinding the chuck roast and the brisket, after trimming the excess fat away.

When Bailey looked up, it was six o'clock.

"And you do this every Sunday?" she asked him.

"And Monday, and Tuesday and..." Carter agreed. "Only days I don't do this? Fridays and Saturdays."

"And you do this for St. Joe's?" she asked, looking around at all they'd assembled.

"Yeah; least I could do after all St. Joe's did for me," Carter agreed.

"Like what?" Bailey asked, lazily shifting from one foot to the other.

"I uh, I was homeless," Carter said, blushing slightly.

"You?" Bailey asked, mouth open in shock.

"Yeah, I uh, I was into heroin, bad time into it," Carter said, pointing to a few dark spots on the inside of his arm.

"Carter!" she gasped, horrified.

"Almost died; guy stepped on his brown with a little rat poison," Carter admitted. "Father Greg's one found me; said I was turning blue."

"Carter!" Bailey gasped again.

"Anyway, helped me get off it; God that was rough!" Carter continued. "When I asked him what I owed him, Father Greg just said to give what I could."

Bailey saw that his eyes were shiny.

"So, that's what I do, Bailey. I give what I can," he concluded.

Then he served them both some of the turkey tetrazzini for their supper.

"Come by tomorrow, I'll show you how to make the slaw," Carter smiled.

"I'll be here," Bailey promised. "I use your bathroom?"

In the bathroom, she debated with herself about whether or not to strip completely and march out there and demand that Carter Cunningham take her, have his way with her.

Instead, she put her bra on, then pulled her long tee shirt on over her too small tee shirt.

"Now, come on; I am not letting you walk home looking as sexy as that," Carter said, grabbing his keys.

"So you did notice!" Bailey preened.

Carter didn't say anything, just opened the door to the house.