First Served

             


It's not like me to fall for her.  So much so
that I sometimes felt abnormal.

Yes, abnormal.  She was far too good looking for
the likes of me to be able to meet, much less to
have and to hold, but...

It was the morning after our wedding.  We'd been
quite athletic the night before and it was up to
me to get us alive enough to pack up, check out,
and move on to the resort we'd booked a week at.

She was smoked, totally smoked, limp as a wet
washrag, but, then, _she_ had done a lot of the
"real" work last night.  After our wedding night
I *knew* how deep her love for me was.

Facing the room's meager coffee maker, I bent to
make two cups of coffee for us, being as careful
as possible to get it right.

Now let me tell you that I don't particularly
like to drink coffee, being more of a tea drinker,
but, hey, to fit in, I drank it.  I never was all
that enthusiastic about but my marriage had been
started over a cup of coffee.

Yes, I mean it, a cup of coffee.  A cup of coffee
that I poured for her.

Well, a mug full of coffee, but you know what I
mean, here, right?

_

It was strange, as she took her first sip, and
her eyes locked on to mine and she made noises of
pleasure.  I watched as her eyes melted into me
as she slowly drank down her cup of coffee.

I sure felt weird.  Then she got herself a second
cup, took a sip, and made a face of displeasure.
She poured this cup, still almost full, right
down the drain, handed me her mug, and asked me
to pour her a cup.

Again came the sounds of pleasure as she drank
this one down, slowly relishing each sip.

"You", she said, smiling, "are *so* mine!  Just
don't pour coffee for any other woman around
here, all right?"

I nodded, in shock.

"What's your name?" she asked.

It's funny how quickly we got married.

_

I brought her the cup I'd made with the in-room
kit and she awakened as soon as the aroma hit
her nose.

I was about to say "If I didn't know better..."
but I do, now, know better.  She responded to
the cup I'd given her by getting aroused yet
again.

When we kissed afterwards, cooling off before
taking a shower, she told me "I don't know how
you do it, dear, but your hands can make the
best coffee in the world, no matter how lousy
it is before you pour it.  You, dear, are all
mine, making water into... coffee."

I looked at her, askance.

"You've a super-power, husband.  Any coffee
you touch is *perfect*, and, sweetheart, I
want to be your best customer."