Kelp Cafe

	It was eleven at night, New Year's Eve. In spite of my intense desire to remain at home and drink to the new year, I found myself sipping overpriced coffee at a monstergirl cafe. It wasn't like I wasn't enjoying myself, or anything, I just wasn't expecting things to turn out like this.
	A waitress arrives with my order: A piping-hot cup of light-roast breakfast blend coffee and a tray of four biscotti. I don't usually like sweets, but they were only a dollar extra, so I thought, “Why not?”
	“Are you alone?” The waitress inquires with a particularly gloomy cadence.
	“Yeah.” I replied, nearly taking a sip of the burning-hot coffee, before awkwardly putting it back down. How could I be so foolish as to attempt to drink it while it was still so dangerously hot?
	“Me, too. I'm the only one who works here on new years.” She remarks with a tempo comparable to the flowing of molasses over a flat surface. “You seem deep in thought. Is something wrong?”
	On most days, I knew better than to stare a monstergirl in the eyes, especially in a cafe setting. One wrong gesture, one poorly constructed facial expression, one errant twitch of the brow, and suddenly you're sleeping in a stranger's house. Personally, I'm not fond of that kind of adventurous lifestyle. I'd rather be at home, playing video games, or speaking with my friends over the net. It was for this reason, that the monster had assumed that I was deep in thought, when I was merely trying to avoid catching her eye. “No, everything is good enough.”
	“Mind if I sit with you?”
	A question I had not even considered had so effortlessly been brought to my attention. I had no idea how to reply. My palms began to sweat profusely. My legs twitched with anticipation. I became painfully aware of how loud my clogged sinuses made my breathing sound. Anxious, I spat out the first reply that came to mind. “Sure.”
	The waitress took the seat across from me. Suddenly, I found myself in a predicament. I could either turn my head, thus immediately communicating my lack of desire to interact with her, and completely soil any chance at meaningful social interaction, or look her in the eye, and risk the immediate and tearful surrender of my precious, precious virginity.
	Frustrated, flustered, and filled with despair, I chose to look my table-guest in the eye. She was good-looking for sure, but still undoubtedly a monster. I did my best to remain as stoic as possible as I looked her over.
	First, she was a Flow Kelp, which was certainly a rare sight to see in a city so far inland. Second, her skin, and in fact her entire body, was tinged a deep crimson, with the kelp that served as both her hair and clothing being significantly darker. If I were a betting man, I'd assume that she had originated from a patch of Irish moss. However, her height would suggest that she had a bit more to her genetic lineage than that. Her chest, to some people, would leave a lot to be desired, but for me, is too perfect to deny. The elegant gauntness of her body perfectly compliments the frilly “clothes” she has fashioned from her kelp. “Gothic lolita...” I mutter as I faintly remember the name of the style.
	“Oh. So, you know this style?” She asks, lightly tugging at the frills of her outfit.
	“Only by coincidence. I'm not exactly an expert.” I quickly explain, taking a sip of the now moderately boiling coffee. It burns my throat as I gulp it down. In an effort to hide my pain, I push the conversation forward. “So, what made you decide to work on New Year's Eve?”
	“I didn't want to be home.”
	A reasonably well-executed throw-away answer with little to no elaboration. Potential reasons behind her desire to not come home could range anywhere from wanderlust to escaping an abusive roommate. I take another contemplative sip of liquid pain. “Well, I guess we're in the same boat, then.” I replied. This wasn't a lie. I had plenty of reasons to not want to be home, the most important of which being the fact that I despise fireworks. For that purpose, the cafe was the perfect hiding spot.
	“Are you alright?” She asks out of the blue.
	“Of course.” I say, continuing to pour small amounts of burn juice down my gullet, and cramming a stiff, over-toasted hunk of almond-flavored bread into my mouth.
	“It's just... you keep sipping your coffee while it's still piping-hot, and you aren't even dipping your biscotti. It's painful to watch.”
	It was probably as painful for me to perform as it was for her to watch. My clever guise of the savvy, distant cafe-goer was falling apart right before her eyes. I decided to throw off my mask, and expose my true self before her. “To be honest, I don't even like coffee that much. And these breadsticks, the biscotti, they're way too hard.”
	Her gloomy expression suddenly cracked into a girlish smile. “That's because you need to eat them like this.” She begins, grabbing one of the biscotti, dipping it into the coffee, and taking a quick bite out of the wet end. She then holds it up in front of my mouth. “Say, 'Aaaaahh'.”
	I wanted to ask why it was necessary that I take a bite of the same biscotti she had so viciously claimed in front of my face. I wanted to get up, and leave the table, and never come back. I wanted to return to my desk at home, boot up an internet browser, and carry on with my life like nothing ever happened. And yet, knowing the risk involved, knowing what could happen, I took a bite out of it anyway. Why? How could I be so careless. The soggy biscuit melted in my mouth into an aromatic, deliciously sweet lump. It was arguably the best thing I had eaten all month. Reluctantly, I spat out a compliment, and in response, the Flow Kelp's smile widened ever so slightly.
	“Do you have a girlfriend?”
	That was rather direct. I already knew where this was going, so I lied. “Yeah.”
	“Then why didn't you take her with you?”
	“Because she wasn't interested.”
	“Does she know you're sharing biscotti with a stranger, and burning your mouth with boiling hot coffee?”
	I spat out the swig of coffee I had thrown back into my mouth onto the table.
	“Caught you lying, did I?” The Flow Kelp laughed to herself.
	“S-sorry for the mess.”
	“Don't worry, I'll clean it up.”
	The Flow Kelp used her hair to mop up the mess of coffee on the table.
	“Alright, so I don't have a girlfriend. So what? Maybe I'm not looking for one.” I muttered angrily.
	“Is it possible that you left your home because you didn't want to be lonely?”
	It was possible that that was one of the many reasons. Not that I was willing to admit that. “I just don't like fireworks.”
	As if she saw right through me, she carried on. “I don't want to be lonely, either. But, I kind of knew nobody would show up to work. Well, nobody except for you.”
	Oh no, please, no.
	“So, if you want...”
	Please, God, don't do this.
	“...Maybe...”
	I beg you, just wake me up from this nightmare already.
	“...We could spend New Year's together?”
	“Are you sure about that?” I earnestly asked the poor, misguided lass.
	“I'm pretty sure. In fact, I think I like you a lot. Something tells me we'll have a lot in common.”
	I felt a sticky, wet tendril of kelp wind up my leg, tightly squeezing my thigh. “Sure, but I don't even know your name, and you don't know mine. Are you sure you've thought this through?”
	“Loire, and you?”
	The kelp had already reached my groin. “I'm sorry?”
	“Your name.”
	“A-Anon!”
	“So, Anon, would you be interested in spending New Year's with me?”
	The soft kelp coiled tightly around my cock, covering it in a thin layer of moisture. I clenched my fists, trying to maintain my composure.
	“I... uh... maybe we could?”
	“Is that a yes?”
	After firmly working me up, she formed a tight cone of kelp around my penis. She vigorously twisted it around me, stimulating every inch of my cock at once in an all-out assault, all while continuing to smile in her same, gloomy fashion above the table.
	Suddenly, someone walks into the cafe. “Hi, I'd like some coffee to go!”
	Loire immediately chimes in. “Sorry, we closed early.” She nonchalantly replies, not letting up on the action under the table.
	The customer immediately turns hostile. “Oh, really? What about that gentleman over there?”
	“He's my boyfriend, and also my ride home. I was just finishing closing up. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience.”
	“Wait, why does he get special treatment, huh?”
	As if she were taking her frustration out on me, she tightens up. I groan slightly, unable to take the stimulation. Loire takes that as her cue to speak up.
	“Oh, honey, don't worry! I can drive us home.”
	I'm not completely certain, but I feel like I caught the faintest spark of sadism burning in her red eyes. She stands up from the table, still tethered to me, but thankfully not in a way that would have been completely obvious to the customer. The twisting of the kelp cone around my cock speeds up again.
	“W-wait a second!” I plead, forcing my hand against my crotch in an attempt to her down.
	“Honey, we can't wait! I was supposed to close thirty minutes ago!”
	She continues to assault my cock with her kelp, the writhing mass of plant matter licking my lap all over, like a thousand tongues. Being inexperienced, I quickly began to lose myself in the stimulation.
	“Honey, are you coming or what?”
	“I'm coming!” I pant, feeling my groin swell up like a balloon. “I'm coming!”
	I pump the tangled mess of kelp full of semen, grunting as the orgasm robs me of breath. The dirtied kelp evacuates through the leg of my pants, completely unseen by the customer as it rolls back into her hair.
	“There's no need to push yourself so hard, darling! Come on, let me walk you out.” She feigns concern as she drags me out of the booth by the shoulders. The customer leaves without another word, and I, breathless, am left at the mercy of Loire.
	“So, why don't we count down the new year at my place?” Loire coaxingly suggests.
	“Sure... why not...” I pant submissively.
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HAPPY NEW YEAR'S! THANK YOU FOR PUTTING UP WITH MY BULLSHIT!