So the Countergirl sat at her counter, answering phone calls and tending to the whining needs of the children in the park that day. She preferred tending to the wet children to answering the phones today, because she just didn't want to have to deal with the Busboy today. He would call and there would be silence, waiting in his annoying way for her to talk. He said he liked her voice. Yeah right. He was such a liar, that boy, and terribly indecisive. The sky was looking cloudy, maybe it would rain soon and the brats would go home. But then the damned Busboy would probably show up. He showed up more often than he called. He would just show up and expect her to drop everything and tend to him like a needy baby. But now, now she could actually use him as she came to think of it. Sometimes she would send him out to get her lunch, promising that she would repay him. She never did though, heh. What a sap. In that regard at least, she liked him. He was pussy whipped easily. She had basically just let him feel a little tit over the past two months she had known him and then there he was, at her disposal. Hmn. The clouds were getting darker. She wished the GoKartGuy still worked there. Her and the Busboy had both decided he was quite a handsome piece, actually. So yes, maybe the Busboy would come around tonight. She could go for a milkshake. Maybe an Eddies Burger. Yessir. Eddies burger and a vanilla milkshake. She fought through and ignored the cries of a four year old looking for its mother and picked up the phone herself, turning her back on such things other than her. She dialed the Busboy's digits, knowing he'd be home waiting for her. Pathetic. It did look like rain. Thunderstorm maybe. The phone rang twice and the Busboys sister picked up the phone. She asked for him and the sister wandered off elongating his name as she called it out. It took some time, but he answered the phone. "Hello?" he said in his dead tone. She wondered if he lived all his life half asleep. She feigned happiness at hearing his voice and made a little small talk about their respective days and weeks before asking ever-so-sweetly if he could bring her a little food because her day was so long and tiring. Yeah right, she sat behind a desk? How tiring could that be, Busboy? He must never think at all. Looking desperately for an excuse to hang up now that her purpose was played, she noticed that someone had left an inner tube out in the main pool. There was no one swimming now, it had started to spit slightly and had become very dark since she dialed the company phone. She told the Busboy that she had to go retrieve the tube from the pool or her boss would get mad. Actually her boss had left an hour ago. The Countergirl and Busboy exchanged good-byes and she thought one word as she put down the receiver: prick. She went outside and sure enough it was spitting slightly, so she closed the door behind her rather than have more to mop later. It closed heavily with an accompanying delicate, yet definitive click behind her. She trotted out to the pool and snagged the black rubber company tube out of the water, after some heavy reaching efforts. The spitting heavens decided that maybe spitting wasn't enough, and after a loud clap of thunder, it began to pour. Countergirl hurried back with her overly feminine gait which almost seemed fake to the door leading to her desk, her precious desk. She pushed on the metal handle... but it didn't budge. Duh... it was a pull! So she pulled... and again it stood adamant in front of her, moving about as much as a true punk does in moral value. Well shit, she thought. The heavens were getting angrier and angrier. The park had a high metal link fence to keep out the unsavories who wouldn't pay, and keep the ones who would in. It was usually just white trash in here anyhow. There was another rumbling from above, and that was when the hail started. Countergirl stared up at the sky dumbly. So with hail now coming down, roughly in the form of marbles, Countergirl was locked out. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck!! She reefed on the door some more in a more than futile effort, thinking that maybe the door would open and call out, ‘just joking!' or some such drivel. No dice. No freaking dice. The overhang of the roof helped a little, but she was still being pelted in the back, reminding her of the joke, "How do you give a queer an orgasm? Spit on his back!". Ahh, she loved fag humor. But now, with the pounding on the door not really helping, she ventured out into the rec yard, heading for the latched chain door on the other end of the park so she could go around and come in the front. She would have tried the jumping the fence, but she was in bare feet, shoes dry and unassaulted by chunks of ice in their cozy spot under her precious desk. So she sprinted as best she could is her terrible girly stride out to the end of the fence. She stumbled over one of the miniature golf greens that was in the path between her and the door and fell forward but caught herself as she hit the ground. Fuck!, she thought again. She got up to reveal a skinned knee to herself and shook her head in disgusted dismay. Enough of this crap. She walked over now to the giant-miniature windmill that concealed the door. Countergirl fiddled with the wet bolt on the door clasp, getting smacked in the back of her hands with the tiny bolts of ice all the while. Fuck, she thought to herself yet again as her fingers wrestled with the cold metal. After a few seconds that seemed like minutes, she was able to open the gate. She streaked across the front yard in her shoeless feet, carefully watching for more stumbling blocks and dove in the front door. She shook her clothes out, dropping pellets of melting ice on the smooth floor. Jayyyysus!, she thought, and went back behind her desk. Ahh, her beloved desk. Where the hell was the Busboy with her-- oh shit, here he comes. She saw him pull by in his shitty old Jetta. Eddies, thank God. He was good for something. After doing what was probably a fairly shitty parking job he strutted in like he was God's gift to everything. He always thought he was some kind of poet or something. If it would get him to do her bidding, then she'd back him up on it too. Not that any of his work was any good. He sure thought he was something important. But he was just bringing her her fucking lunch, for Gods sake. She wouldn't even have bothered if GoKartGuy was here. Mmm, GoKartGuy... she could just live on the sight of his abs. Well, at least he had the food. So she smiled her best plastic smile for him and took the food. He was dumb, he didn't know she wasn't really that happy to see him. Any joy she felt was for the food, she was starving. He asked why she looked haggard and she told him the story about getting locked out. He nodded here and there. Countergirl was able to snatch the beloved food from him and wrapped her lips around the straw. Mm, it was pretty damn good, actually. So, she continued her small talk, hoping he would just maybe... leave. But the Busboy just stared at her with his mouth half open. God, he better not be thinking about his dick as the straw. That would be pretty damn cheesy... and unrealistic to boot. Althought his dink was probably about as thin. Not gonna happen, Busboy, give it up. But he really seemed out of it this time. He just sort of nodded and grunted to everything she said, so finally she just said, "Well, I have to go back to work". The dazed idiot just sort of turned around and walked off without really saying much of a goodbye. God he was pathetic. Once he was out the door, she had a good laugh at that. Pathetic indeed. But at least he was good for something.

The Busboy was at home, half waiting for a phone call, half hoping it would never come. He had worked all week, late shifts, and had not heard from her in that time. And before that, the only time he heard from her was when he called her. He understood that she had to work, but not why she had to be so fucking professional about it. She was a damned Countergirl! He didn't understand why she took it so seriously, there ARE other things to life than the almighty dollar. But of course, work equalled money, which equalled schooling which equalled a future. He supposed the fact that she had over $20,000 worth of stocks had slipped her mind. She didn't have to work so much. And she certainly didn't have to go right home when she was done work at 10:30. He had proved himself that her work could not have been THAT tiring this week. She sat behind a desk. The Busboy hauled his weight in clothesstuffs going back and forth, back and forth, and bending his poor back. And you know what? His shift was from 4 in the afternoon to midnight... and he STILL wanted to go out every night. He was awake until four in the morning some nights, with nothing to do but hack away at his computer or catch up on his reading. So there he had it. There was no way she could have been as tired as she said she was. She simply had little interest in him anymore. She fantasized about other more handsome yet far stupider males. Bitch. Working at a pool will do that to you. He disliked how she used to go on about the GoKartGuy who worked there. At least he didn't work there anymore. When he brought up the idea that maybe she dug him a little more than him, she simply told him, "He's not interested in me." Not, "I'm not interested in him", but "He's not interested in me". Well isn't that a fucking relief, he thought, as he sipped on iced tea and stared out his bedroom window. Looked like rain. The two had been seeing each other for about two months, the Countergirl and the Busboy, but she wouldn't call him anything other than her ‘friend'. They made out enough, or at least they used to... it cooled down for some reason lately, but she wouldn't call herself his girlfriend or him her boyfriend. Peachy, thought the Busboy. Just then the phone rang and he thought for a minute it might be her. No, of course not. But then he heard his troglodyte sister calling his name, and bastardizing it as she did. Ugh. So he answered the phone and without any enthusiasm he said his Hello. If it was maybe Special K, or another of his friends he would have heard the voice and been excited. But no. It was her. He faked enthusiasm after recognizing it was her. She asked like a sweet little scag if maybe he could come by tonight and bring her some food. She was tired of eating hotdogs from the food counter. You can eat dick, he thought to himself and smiled safely on the other end of the phone. He had an idea stirring in his twisted little underappreciated head since Thursday. It was Saturday now, so the idea had time to percolate and go sour. Rather despicably sour. Yes, this was an idea indeed. So, he accepted her royal offer to bring her food and told her it might take a little while. She said fine and said something about retrieving an inner tube from out in the pool, so she had to go. They exchanged good-byes, he put down the receiver and thought one word: ‘priss'. He got his car keys and slipped on his slippers. It did look like rain. He bolted out to his lease-to-own Jetta (it was an old one) and whipped out of his driveway. No time to lose if his plan was to go right, to go just right. He took off down the street to Eddies, a haven for cheap meat n' milkshakes. The drive through was barren and dead like JFK Jr., and he was able to get through it rather quickly.
Once he had left, the Tellergirl in the Eddies window shuddered for a great long time. She told her boss that the smile on the last customer was more than creepy, it was just plain evil, like malevolence personified. She had a little trouble sleeping that night to boot.
The Busboy drove back to his house now through a very light rain, and took the milkshakes (he had bought one for himself) inside with him. He poured half of one of them out into the kitchen sink and ran some warm water over it to wash it down the drain. It was a waste of a fine Eddies shake, but oh well. It would pay off. He put the other shake in the freezer, his plan now might take a little while, he never really knew. The Busboy took the shake into his room and rummaged around in the top drawer of his Busboy nightstand. There it was. The girls of Baywatch issue of Playboy. A timeless classic to be treasured through the ages, most definitely. He got it from a fat friend that didn't need it anymore for some reason. The Busboy slapped it open and laid it out on his trashed bed which housed him through his sleepless nights. He flipped through the pages, so many pages of just talk talk talk, words words words. The Busboy had no use for words. But then there they were. Mmm, boobies. Now the time was right. He felt it. He felt it in his newly tightened pants. So what to do? He reached to the single button and dropped them to his ankles. His cow spotted boxer shorts followed in fashion, falling to the floor. He stepped out of them, leaned up against the wall with his forehead and reached for the half full shake. He couldn't help it anymore and laughed. He didn't chuckle, didn't giggle, he laughed himself stupid. Fuck, he thought as his fingers wrestled around with his crotch. And of course, after a few minutes that seemed like seconds, the smiles and boobies of the Baywatch girls helped him make a long planned deposit in the Eddies cup. It was glorious, much better than any masturbatory activities earlier in the week. It was pure ecstacy, because he knew that this particular release meant something. This... this was an immaculate ejaculation, more purposeful than anything else he had done in the last couple of months. With an immense grin, he shook the last drops into the cup and placed the lid back on the shake momentarily. He stepped back into his shorts and pants and hitched them back up, satisfied with the world once more in a way that he hadn't been in quite some time. Yes, life was good. Orgasm shakes, fresh from the tap. He went to the freezer and poured half the good shake into the contaminated one and stirred it around, giggling like a big gay lush all the while. He rushed into his Jetta which was becoming his pride more and more each day. He drove out to the park, maintaining legal speeds although his body and his evil mind told him to floor the shit out of it. As he pulled in he saw her run into the front door... what the hell? Well, no matter. He parked haphazardly and strutted in like someone in a disco movie, not minding the dying rain at all, the rest of the day might turn out still. Eddies in hand, he greeted her at the counter. Wide smile, the Busboy thought, Too bad it wasn't nearly as real as his. They pitter-pattered small talk, she thanked him graciously and pressed her delicate, yet cold sore laden lips... she pressed her lips... her lips... to the straw. Her cheeks went in at the sides and her mouth filled with the vile mixture he had concocted. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly and she pulled the cup away. For a moment the Busboy felt panic inside him. Somehow, somehow... she knew. It was all over, she was going to scream and hit him and sue him and --
"Did yours taste like this?" she asked.
"Gg... Uh... Yeah. Sort of weird, eh?" he managed. Dont try to get me to taste it, he thought.
"Well, in a good way. I like it." she said, and slurped happily.
Her cheeks again dimpled in as she hoovered that thick n' tainted dink drink down. She spoke some more, and more, and more. But he didn't hear. He didn't hear anything, things just sort of stood still as his eyes grew larger and larger. She babbled happily and drank even more happily, drank until it was gone. The one thing he did actually hear was when she asked if there was any left in the container that he held in his hand, and it was all he could do to shake his head with his mouth drooped open. Stunned, positively stunned, he could take no more and told her he'd ‘see her later'. The Busboy walked out of the place in a daze, the Countergirl diving back behind her desk to answer the phone. He had done it. He had actually done it. She never called him, she took him for granted, she was mean to him, she wouldn't call him her boyfriend... but now, now it was all alright. It was all worth it now. All of it. Everything would be okay... if only he could stop laughing in his car and get back home without dying now. He might puke from laughing... but you know... the wretching pain, the stench in the heat... it would be worth it. It would all be worth it. Heh, he guessed maybe he was good for something.

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