Mason's moonlight special

chapter 1- a man in a diner orders dessert

The man walked into the diner with a tingle of the bell that announced the coming of all new patrons. It was late; he was driving to Las Vegas for a race. He was a sports journalist you see, he had been driving all day, and now it was dark, and he was tired. He pulled into a bed and breakfast that was attached to a diner. He turned off his car, a red convertible. His newspaper set him up in style. He took his seat at the bar. Due to the late hour there were only about ten patrons there. “Having something to drink Hun?” a dark-skinned woman stood in front of him. He looked her up and down. She was good looking in a cute sort of way, a little chubby but that was no crime for a food service employee, besides a little cushion never hurt. The truly exceptional thing about her was her breasts which were plush and full like giant milk balls. Her deep cleavage visible due to the top two buttons of her uniform being open; to allow her to breathe. the canyon of flesh jiggled as she spoke.
“Huh?” he said, so lost in the valley of her dark cleavage. She grinned at him eyeing her. She wasn’t what you called, loose but she enjoyed his gaze, plus it might lead to an above-average tip.
“Something to drink?”
“Coffee, say can I smoke in here?”
“Sure, thing sugar no one ‘round here gonna complain”.
He pulled out his overly large cigarette holder and a cigarette. Lighting it and putting it into the holder, he popped the other end into his mouth, where it waggled dangerously every time he spoke. Then he got down to looking at the menu.
Most of the menu was typical diner fare: greasy burgers, greasy
fries, and greasy grease. No wonder all the waitresses seemed a little chubby. One item on the menu intrigues him, if only because he had absolutely no idea what it was. “Mason’s Moonlight Special: available eight to close. Small: $19.99 Medium: $50 Large: $75 extra-large: $150
“Scuse me, the waitress. What is this?
His waitress walked over, her breast jiggling, teasing as she did. She looked and what he was pointing at.
“Oh that!” she looked amused “that is a special created by our very own Mason.”
She pointed to a waitress serving a table in the corner. This girl was chubby as well, but in a very different way than his top-heavy server. This girl was most certainly a pear. She had the roundest ass, and widest hips he had ever seen. So large, it stuck out from her frame; that she could almost rest a second serving tray on it. The twin orbs of her ass cheeks were so round that seemed almost unreal, but as he could see with every step she took them most certainly were. She wore a skirt; as all the other waitresses did. But on her was a mere formality, rather than an article of clothing. There was no way for something as simple as a cloth to contain such a sharply derriere, and yet he thought it would be a crime against humanity to do so.

“… A mighty fine bit of cheesecake, if you know what I mean. Order that as a dessert if you are interested. Go big or go home right?” his waitress finished.
He ordered a burger and the moonlight special. A large! He had gotten “a large cash advance from my paper, so I could afford to blow some money on it, but it better is worth it.”
“Oh trust me sugar, it is.” his waitress assured him.

As he waited for his burger, he grabbed his coffee cup and turned his chair around so that his back was facing the bar. His eye followed the fat-assed beauty, trying to discern what exactly his was in for. Reporters had to do this from time to time you see. Size a person up; see what they were made of. So what was this girl; who made a seventy-five dollar cheesecake, made of? From her physical form, all he could discern was she was young, pretty in a chubby way, similar to his own server, and that she had a large heart-shaped rear. Her uniform gave nothing away, and she wore no baubles that would give a hint to who she was. She could be a lizard for all he knew. A writer’s imagination was having a field day with this complete lack of concrete information. He was making up stories to satisfy his own curiosity at who she was. What was a woman; who made a dessert that was worth a quarter of an average day’s pay, doing in the middle of nowhere. The more he watched that ass shake the more anxious he became.
Soon his burger arrived. He ate it not really tasting it; it was a diner cheeseburger, like hundreds of diner cheeseburgers across the world; unless around the world, dinner cheeseburgers were different. How was he to know? He would ask someone later. Right now, the mystery of fat-assed Mason’s Moonlight Special was a far more pressing problem. All he had been able to glean from his watching was that she took frequent breaks. Disappearing for lengths of time only to suddenly appear in another part of the diner. The sheer weight of her ass meant that she couldn’t move that quick. So where was she going? The length of time of her disappearances varied as well. Eventually he saw a pattern, a correlation between her disappearances and where she would reappear. Most frequently she would be gone about fifteen minutes and would appear near the back, close to the restrooms. It always seemed to him that she would get stuck in the crevice if she got much wider. If she was gone thirty min she would be either near the front door setting the bell off with her butt as she entered, or near the kitchen door. Which he assumed had an exterior
door behind it. He hadn’t yet found a dominant location though between the two. If she was gone longer which only happened once, he had assumed her shift had ended and had gone home. At that point she reappeared at the steps that lead to the bed and breakfast where he had rented a room.
He finished his burger and began picking at his fries. His mind racing in anticipation of solving the mystery of Mason but found he was enjoying the mystery so much that he conceived canceling his order so he might never know. He shook his head in disgust. That was not the thought of harden reporters like himself. That was for the dreamy-eyed author, of fantasy to hint and tease, but never give solid fact. No. the author never gave facts. That was the man’s job, report the facts. Because he was after all a reporter.
After a few minutes his waitress appeared to clear away his dishes and refill his coffee, she looked at him still mesmerized by her heaving cleavage and smiled as she spoke “your dessert will be out shortly” she said refilling his coffee with a wink.