THE CHEF

I wore my pink and black mini-skirt with the zippers and my black, high-heeled boots. We went to our favorite local dive, the Powerhouse, which we refer to as “the office”. At one point he was going down on me under the table in one of the booths, which are directly across from the long bar and also which everyone has to walk by. I was dying. Trying to drink and act as if. After five or so minutes, I tapped his back and said we should go to the smoking area out back. We were laughing, and he kissed me deliciously. As we stood up, the bartender called us to the end of the bar to do some shots. He said he’d watch our booth while we were gone. Outside, Cash undid his zipper and slid himself inside me against the building in a dark pool out of the floodlight. Perhaps people knew, but it’s the kind of bar where folks stay out of your way. He came and I went to the bathroom to wash up. An hour later, it was last call, and he was rearing to go again. On our walk back to his place, we fucked in a parking lot against a chain-linked fence—his back to it and me holding myself up with my hands grasping the fence above him and my feet on either side of his body. It was really fuckin hot. I think that visual will actually stay in my cashe. I seriously need to fuck him sober though, it’s so hard for me to come if I’m that fucked up. But we’re never sober together! Mornings, I guess. But I’m always hungover. We fool around, regardless. I wake up with his big boner against me, which turns me on to no end. It’s rushed though, because he has to get to work. I usually give him head, we have sex and then I drive the half-mile to my house where I lay in my dark bedroom for the day, trying to recover. Which includes masterbating and vomiting. The whole thing repeats when his restaurant closes.