I've always been a restaurant guy. Its what I'm good at. I'm a hell of a chef and I honestly don't give a damn if I sound cocky when I say it. I love everything about the restaurant business. I love working nights, I love the fact that working in a kitchen is much less formal than an office setting, and I love that its not considered unprofessional to sleep with your co-workers.
In the summer of 2006, I found myself in a new restaurant at a large resort that I had been working at for about six months. This new place was much more fast paced, demanding and the hours were longer. As a young 23 year old up-and-comer, it was exactly what I was looking for professionally and the predominantly female wait staff was exactly what I was looking for personally.
I've never been misperceived as quiet or reserved. I love being social and I love meeting new people. Right after this move to the steakhouse, I met Allison because she was a tall, leggy brunette and I made it a point for her to notice me. She had beautifully tanned skin, which I would later find came from her Dominican heritage, and right after our first conversation, I knew she and I would get along. We shared the same perverted sense of humor, liked a lot of the same music, and were both capable of finding a moment to be jovial in the middle of the nightly crunch that came around 7pm.
It was about two weeks into my new gig when I was invited out by my new coworkers for an after work cocktail at a joint that stayed open late night across the street practically from where we worked. Who was I to say no? I was 23, exhausted from a 12 hour day, and in dire need of some liquid refreshment. Just after accepting the invitation, I made a beeline to the dish area where I knew I would find Allison polishing wine glasses and silverware as was her nightly routine.
"So rumor has it there is going to be gathering of thirsty white coats across the street," she said to me as I approached, referring to myself and the kitchen crew who always wore the classic white chef coats to work.
"The rumors are true. After the ass kicking I took on the line tonight, I think I might attempt to actually drink my weight in beer," I replied with my standard sarcasm added. "Do you want to come with?"
"Well, it might be tricky to get the timing right, but if you pull my hair and slap my ass, I'm pretty sure we can finish at the same time." She obviously decided to interpret my invitation in a different manner. Like I said, I liked her right away.
"I agree, but only if I can call you a whore too. What's hair tugging and ass slapping without a little degradation?" Her laugh meant things could be getting even more interesting tonight if I could get a few drinks in her. "So what do you say? Care to join us for a drink?"
"Well, I don't drink anymore, but I'll stop by just to be social."
This instantly struck me as odd. You see, everyone who works in a restaurant has a vice. Its necessary for survival. Its a demanding business and very stressful. You have to have a way to blow off steam and unwind at the end of the night. Far and away, the two most popular ways of doing this are alcohol and tobacco. Almost EVERYONE in a restaurant drinks, and each restaurant has at least a select few of people who are textbook functional alcoholics. Allison said she doesn't drink, and I know she doesn't smoke. That meant to me she either had to be A) a pothead, B) a cokehead, C) a Chernobyl-style meltdown waiting to happen, or what I hoped she would be, D) a sexual demon. What better way to rid yourself of the stress of a long day than with a blistering orgasm? I was hoping for the best, or at least my libido was, but I went into this situation knowing its entirely possible Allison was just a tightly-wound ball of permanent anxiety hiding behind a facade of normality. If this was the case, she wouldnt be the first person in this business that fit such a description.
Upon reaching the bar, I ordered myself a tall glass of Yuengling and a shot of Jameson. Nothing washes away a long day better...with the notable exception of a slow and sloppy blowjob. Allison showed up moments later but her button-up uniform shirt didn't make the trip out of the car. That left her in a form fitting white spaghetti strap tank top that displayed ample cleavage. The uniforms the wait staff was forced to wear were far from provocative and this was my first time seeing Allison without her uniform on. I was previously unaware God had blessed her with such great breasts and as she walked over to me, she noticed me admiring them.
"What, is this the first time you've seen a pair of titties?" she sarcastically questioned.
"No, just the first time I've seen yours," I replied as I took advantage of the moment and introduced myself to them. "Good evening, ladies, my name is Aidan, and I'll be the drunk guy staring at you all night."
Allison, in a moment of perfect timing, decided to stand on her toes just as I was saying this, pushed her breasts together with her upper arms, and shook them right in my face. "Sexual demon, for sure," I thought to myself.
The next hour or so comprised mainly of myself and my line mates drinking copious amounts of alcohol and relentlessly breaking each other's balls with raucous amounts of laughter. Over time, our numbers began to dwindle and eventually Allison grew tired of sipping on her ice water and stood to say good-bye. It was make or break time. I followed her to her car, receiving encouragement from my co-workers as I did ("Yea, dude, get you some pussy!" Foul mouthed fucking line cooks, I knew I would fit in perfectly with these guys).
We walked to her car silently. It wasn't because I was feeling awkward or didn't know what to say, its just because I was drunk. As we got to her car, she pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled on it before handing it to me.
