Barb's Burger Joint

A Novel by J.K. Ermon (jokermon)

Chapter 1 - Welcome to Red Bank, Motherfucker

This is a work of erotic fantasy fiction for the entertainment of adults only. Everything in it is imaginary and none of it represents any real-life people, events or medical conditions. Regardless of age depicted, all characters in sexual situations are 18+. It contains explicit futanari (hermaphrodite) content. If that's not your bag, don't read it. If reading this type of material is illegal where you reside due to your age or whatever, don't read it. Do not repost without permission. This story is copyright the author©2015

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Author's note: set in the Comet Seahag Universe.

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When I was in high school, I worked at a local grill called Barb's Burger Joint. Corny name, I know, but it holds a special place in my heart. If you lived in Red Bank, New Jersey back in the seventies, chances are you either ate there or scored weed there. With a name like the 'Burger Joint', it was inevitable the place would become a waypoint of the local pot culture.

That's how I got my job. One afternoon in '74 I went to buy an eighth from a friend of mine in the back parking lot. He never showed up, but the owner did, and she and I got to talking. It started out with me explaining why I'd been loitering out back for over an hour and ended with me agreeing to come in for training the next day. I guess she took to me.

The person who ran it was, in fact, named Barb. Barbara Sofia Rafaela Gustavo. She was a short, chunky, amiable third-generation Jersey-bred Italian-American lady to her toes. She always sported a purple kerchief over her unmanageable black mane, a clean white apron and an unlit cigarillo in the corner of her mouth. That stub said a lot about Barb. I never saw her blaze it up once in all the years I worked for her. When I asked her about it, she answered succinctly, "Grease fires." That was Barb Gustavo in a nutshell: she looked like a typical Jersey goombette, but there was more going on than met the eye.

And not just in terms of her personality. The day she hired me, she sat me down in her little office and told me straight out that she was what they calledHag-bredback then.

~~~

You don't hear much about Acquired Xenogenic Andromorphism these days. Even by the mid-seventies, the Soft Plague had just about faded from public consciousness, like an old sitcom you hardly see in reruns anymore.

Comet Seahag was discovered by the Lovell Observatory in the late thirties. The astronomer Edwin Hubble named it, saying its greenish body and long white trail looked like the flying head of some monstrous witch. It was supposed to pass Earth on a close trajectory, but still miss us by a more-than-safe margin.

Well, it did miss us, but by much less than the eggheads predicted. A heady cocktail of crystallized protein chains and other bizarre space stuff peeled off its tail into Earth's atmosphere--right above the central continental United States.

That space stuff played merry hell with the DNA of a lot of young girls. One of them was Barbara Gustavo. She and about two million other girls contracted Seahag Syndrome, or AXA, between 1939 and 1973, when the last recorded case, oremergenceoccurred. Teenage girls would go to sleep normal and wake up with big male parts in addition to their regular female ones. They weren't shy about using them, either--their condition tended to make them uninhibited sexual powerhouses--but you can look up all that stuff online. Suffice it to say, Seahag Syndrome had a huge social and cultural impact on mid-twentieth century America. Marshall McLuhan called it the Soft Plague and the moniker stuck. Before Barb, I'd never met one of the emergent (orHag-bred,Hag-bornordickgirlsas they were less politely called), but I'd certainly heard of them.

It was rare in New Jersey. When Comet Seahag did its fly-by, the Midwest and Great Plains states got most of it. The Atlantic and Pacific coasts were almost untouched. Barb won the booby prize. She was the only girl in Red Bank's history to wake up with a cock and balls.

~~~

She told me all of this during that first meeting. "I need to know this is not going to be a problem for you," she said. I told her I was fine with it. I meant it too. I couldn't have cared less what Barb Gustavo had in her pants. I only had eyes for girls my own age. I later learned everyone who worked there got the same talk when they were hired. That, and her one-strike-and-you're-out policy regarding stealing.

For some reason, Barb liked me. Four months in, she made me a shift boss for the cooks. That promotion came with a nice raise as well as tons of useful experience in the day-to-day running of a small business. I learned some of my most important life lessons at Barb's Burger Joint.

~~~

Like most kids in their teens, I had no real concept of age. When you're that young, all grown-ups are ancient and ridiculous. My co-workers often made fun of Barb behind her back. Her condition made her an easy target; the guys would waggle uncooked hot dog wieners from their crotches whenever she turned her back. Plus, she proudly drove an AMC Gremlin, perhaps the dorkiest automobile ever invented. She buffed that ridiculous little bucket to a high sparkle. She kept framed pictures of her cats on the walls. She wore potato-sack dresses under her apron with well-worn army boots. She had all the makings of a classic eccentric spinster.

At first, I found her comical too. Then I noticed something. Despite their mockery, whenever Barb gave an order, my co-workers jumped to it. She never had to tell anyone to do something twice. Her tone, her manner, her presence all carried a kind of latent authority. I only ever heard her raise her voice once, and that was on the phone to a supplier who'd fucked up for the third time in a month. After she slammed down the handset, she actually apologized to the cook staff. We'd been standing there staring at her aghast. There had been something truly unnerving about herstrega-like fury.

Most telling, perhaps, was that despite all the snickering behind her back, not even the mouthiest and unruliest of my co-workersevermocked Barb Gustavo to her face. I don't think they could have told you why.

The thing was, Barb really wasn't that old. She was in her thirties when I started, and despite her appearance and apparent lack of a social life, the more I learned about her, the more I came to respect her. She was a self-made woman who didn't care what anyone thought of her. She wasn't afraid to roll up her sleeves and get flipping alongside the rest of us when the orders piled up. She was a conscientious business owner who did toy drives and food drives every year, and veterans were always treated like royalty at her place. Every November eleventh, they ate for free.

More than that, she was fair to her employees and protective as well; in an age where food service workers routinely smoked on the job, Barb had a strict ban on cigarettes in the kitchens. We all had to step outside for smoke breaks. When one of us would complain, once again, Barb would just say, "Grease fires."

Most importantly, she made her living doing something she genuinely loved: serving delicious, two-fisted burgers to the working men and women of our neighborhood. I actually wound up admiring her. I still do.

From my sophomore year all the way to graduation, I worked at Barb's place, doing everything from flipping patties to counting floats to signing for deliveries. I worked evenings and Saturdays during the school year, switching to full-time during the summer break. Usually me and three or four other guys worked in the back, while a bevy of pretty teenage girls worked the registers out front.

Barb only ever hired attractive, large-breasted young girls as cashiers. As a business strategy, I have to say it worked. She made money hand over fist. After I got promoted and began handling the tills, I was amazed how much she raked in every week. She was a savant at keeping her costs low without compromising the quality of her food or service. I did some math and was stunned to realize my chubby, unassuming boss was clearing somewhere in the high six figures a year. Nobody would have guessed. Nothing about her was flashy or ostentatious.

Barb had a back office where she did paperwork and had private talks with employees. It had a tiny adjoining washroom with the world's smallest shower compartment. A joke sign on her bathroom door readExecutive Crapper. Her office had plush pink carpeting, her sole extravagance, and she kept it very clean. Alongside the pictures of her cats, there were always pin-ups of both naked women and men in there. This was another of her eccentricities.

This was long before computers and the internet made porn commonplace, so any kind of smutty stuff was real exciting to a horny teenager like me. If the door was open, I always found an excuse to stroll by and steal a peek.

Barb liked shots of models taken from behind, bent over and big-assed with their buttocks pointed right into the camera. The naked girls gave me a nice boner; the naked dudes made me feel weird. Some of them were even spreading their cheeks. If it wasn't busy, you could often find Barb sitting there staring at her pin-ups with a dreamy look on her face.

There was also a twelve-inch portable color TV sitting on a filing cabinet. It had forked steel antennae that we called 'rabbit ears' back then. It was never turned on and no one had ever seen Barb watch it. It wasn't until much later that I discovered its real purpose.

~~~

It was the summer before my senior year when I first saw Barb naked.

It was an accident. It was late and everyone else had gone home. I had stayed late to clean up some godawful mess that I never told Barb about because it was my fault. I'd dropped an open plastic bucket of cooking oil while refilling one of the frialators. I was exhausted, pissed off and even considering quitting. At least when I was a paperboy I never had to mop up any gross gooey shit.

I guess Barb thought she had the place to herself. I walked by and saw her door was open a crack, so by pure prurient reflex, I peeked.

My jaw fell open and the wordsHoly...shit,blazed across the marquee of my mind.

There she was, sitting bare-naked in her well-padded office chair on her well-padded butt. She was sitting in profile to me, but her full attention was on her pin-up wall. She was staring at it with her usual faraway face, only now she was masturbating.

The first thing I noticed was her skin. I'd never seen so much of it exposed, and it was beautiful. Barb was smooth, olive-complected perfection all over. Her hair was wet and she was beaded with water, so I guessed she'd just come out of her shower.

Other, odd little things revealed themselves to me. I'd never noticed how slender her neck was, or how dainty her shoulders were when they weren't padded by layers of clothing.

Then, of course, I noticed her breasts. They were impossible to miss, like watermelons. They pointed straight forward, spearheaded by tan nipples set in wide areolas.

Then, before my brain had fully recovered from her boobs, her penis registered.

I was utterly taken aback. I knew she had one, of course, we all did, but the actual sight of it there, throbbing and oozing away in the flesh was something else entirely.

Barb's cock washuge.

I don't know if I can properly describe the sense of unreality I felt the first time I saw it. It was so big there was almost asmugquality about it. To my stunned eyes, it looked as thick as a can of shaving cream. I caught other small details as my brain struggled. She was uncircumcised. She had pulled her foreskin back and it bunched below her helmet. That fat mauve knob towered above her desk blotter. She could have bent forward without straining her surprisingly modest belly and kissed it. The ball-park franks my co-workers waved around hadnothingon Barb's actual wang.

Ireallyhadn't expected to see a prize-winning bull-cock like that growing from a petite lady like her. Seeing it rearing up below those sumptuous, unquestionably female tits made my head spin. I was dumbfounded, envious and weirdly turned on all at once.

She was stroking it slow and easy with a well-oiled fist. From time to time she would lick her palm to keep things nice and slippery. Her other hand was either pulling on her nipples or down in her lap handling a pair of balls the size of lemons. From time to time she would delve underneath her sac and rub herself there in time with the strokes on her cock.

She's masturbating her pussy, I thought. I knew she had one of those, too, all women with AXA did, and I wished I could see it. I could see her pubes, but instead of an unruly black bush like I expected, Barb kept her sable triangle neatly trimmed.

Her balls were the same light olive tone as the rest of her. They rolled and bobbled atop her fingers as she rubbed her clit. Her nuts were hairless and so smooth they shone. I couldn't tell if she shaved them or if they just naturally grew that way.

The sight of Barb's nude body just plain boggled my mind. Her breasts were like something out of a Russ Meyer film and her cock was like something out of a triple-X porno flick (or maybe a science-fiction thriller). I couldn't help but stare. At that age, I'd only ever seen one X-rated movie, a Johnny Wadd film (some friends and I snuck into the Imperial, which showed them late nights on weekends), and Barb's bratwurst looked every bit as long and fat as John Holmes' legendary member.

As a side note: I felt pretty damn worldly for having seen that one skin flick. I know that sounds absurd by today's standards. Kids today have seen more and weirder smut by the age of eighteen than the most depraved raincoater ever did back in the day. Lucky little bastards.

Barb's desk was set in an alcove and she was looking up at one of the recessed walls, so I couldn't see which pin-ups were holding her attention. I could surely see her reaction to them, however: her nipples fattened and lengthened as she stared. Her breasts rose and fell quicker as her hands moved faster. Her titties shook when she started really pounding herself. I was breathing just as fast and my pulse raced ahead at an excited gallop.

I saw her dick swell up, and Barb let out a sweet gasp as she started to shoot. Once again, I was astounded. The volume of sperm she put out was incredible. Thick coils arced over her breasts and tummy. They puddled and ran every which way over her lovely skin. Her jizz kept flying and I had the bizarre observation thatIhad never cum that much, and I was supposedly at my sexual peak.

I could smell it, too; it was so unlike the scent of my own sperm, at first I didn't know what I was smelling. Then, as more cum shot out and the aroma became more pervasive, I realized what it was. Her jism wassweet. It almost smelled like the frosting my mom put on her hot apple-cinnamon rolls. I watched the last of it ooze out and drop into her close-cropped pubic hair and I licked my lips.

I had a stone-hard erection and it twitched as she lapped the cum from her fingers. I was struck by how sensual and contented she looked. Barb waspretty, I realized. That discovery was almost as profound and surprising as her penis. She had a dimpled smile. Her mouth, when it wasn't clamped around a cigarillo, was full and sensuous. Her cheekbones made me think of Elizabeth Taylor inGiant, except Barb's eyes were a soft coffee-brown. My boss was actually a gorgeous woman.

She hefted one of her big soft breasts and licked up one of the globs clinging to it. She smacked her lips and made a pleased littlemmmmsound. I bit my lip. The sight was so sexy I was sorely tempted to yank down my zipper and break my personal best speed-wanking record.

She stood up, stretched, and then cleaned herself up with a fluffy hand towel. She bent over to pick up her clothes and finally gave me a view of that vagina I'd been so eager to see. It was beautiful. Her vulva was wet and pink and ringed by tiny black hairs. In that bent-over posture, her butt was plumped up like an oversized valentine. It was like she'd become one of her beloved pin-ups, even if the incongruous note of her hanging ball-sack made me a little dizzy. She stepped into her panties and I suddenly felt weird spying on my boss. I also reckoned she might notice me now that she was less occupied. I ducked out of there.

I was so hot, on the way home I had to park my car in an alley to beat off. I came almost as much as Barb did. It was a good thing I had plenty of napkins from work lying around.

I jacked off again that night at home in bed. I couldn't believe how turned on Barb had gotten me. I couldn't figure it out; I was around naked dudes in locker rooms every day and all those swinging dicks had never once given me a boner. Something about Barb's curvy body coupled with that rampant monster really lit a fire in me. I drifted off into a contented, if somewhat confused sleep. One thing I was sure of: no matter how hard I had to work at Barb's Burger Joint, I wouldn't be quitting anytime soon.

~~~

When I showed up for my next shift, I was somehow able to act normal around Barb. I was proud of myself. By the end of the week it was no longer an act. I'd adjusted to it. True, I had been shocked by Barb's naked voluptuous body and the size of her equipment, but the fact that she was whacking off in her office wasn't really that big a deal. She wasn't the only one masturbating at the Burger Joint by a long shot.

I'll put this in perspective: my male co-workers and I jerked off at workall the time. Boys masturbate, plain and simple. I would often lather one up in the showers if no one else was there. Mostly we did it in the toilet stalls. Not to mention the countless times in the boys' changing room when one of us would have a semi-discreet whackaroo into a locker while our shift mates changed around us.

I'm not proud to admit I plastered the back of my locker with dozens of loads over the course of my employment there. I'd gotten caught doing that a bunch of times too, twice by Barb herself. She just chuckled, told me she wasn't paying me to beat off, and to get my ass back to work.

I don't know if the girls who worked the cash registers out front ever got up to anything in their changing areas, but me and my fellow spatula jockeys sure liked to imagine it. We'd trade fantasies about hot lesbian group-sex scenarios. I'm certain nothing like that ever happened, but we'd never know. The girls were strictly segregated and Barb discouraged fraternization. Despite that, the boys were forever hitting on them and the cashiers were forever disdainful. They were only interested in guys with money, and who didn't stink of cooking grease.

Looking over what I've written, it sounds like I worked in some kind of weird sexual zoo. It really wasn't. In spite of all the wankery and horseplay, a sense of boring normalcy typified much of my time at Barb's place. In retrospect, it seems amazing how much we shrugged off back then.

Such a different age, and yet to me, it was yesterday.

End of Chapter 1

Barb's Burger Joint Ch. 01

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