Chapter 3

Chris stirred softly under his blankets. He peeked out from under them to look at his alarm clock:

‘8:06’

He still had almost half an hour before he needed to get up, and after a long night of restless slumber, he could use a bit more sleep. He wrapped his head back up to block out the early morning light, and as he rolled over, he discovered, rather painfully, that he had morning wood.

“You again,” he complained to his own dick, “Didn’t you get enough last night?” he said, laughing to himself. He thought about last night; the ecstasy on Leslie’s face brought a smile to his own. He shimmied out of his pajama pants and boxers, still warm and cozy beneath the sheets, and took his own half-hard member in his hands. Closing his eyes, he relived the events still fresh in his mind; the curve of her body pressed to his, the smell of her perfume, and arousal.

“Chris, get up!” came the cheery voice of his mother barging through the door unannounced. Chris’ eyes flew open, and he immediately tried to hide the tent he was pitching, bending his dick in the most uncomfortable way possible in the process. “There are fresh pancakes and sausage downstairs!” she added, oblivious to or ignoring his predicament. She left as suddenly as he had appeared and shut the door behind herself. Chris grumbled, snapped from his reverie, and got out of bed. He grabbed his towel and went to the bathroom, still sporting his erection.

Locking the door behind him, Chris cranked the shower on and didn’t bother waiting for the water to warm up before stripping down and hopping in. The cold water shocked his body and helped to cool down his libido. The shower soon turned warm, and Chris washed away the smell of sex from his body. Chris hadn’t had sex in almost seven months. His first girlfriend, Nikki, was a prude. He had been going out with her for over a year before she gave it up. When the two finally did have sex, she would just lie there, in no positions other than missionary.

By contrast, his second girlfriend, Sadie, was a nymphomaniac. She wanted to fuck constantly. She would come over to his house while he was sleeping, climb up the tree outside his window, and tap on the glass until she was let in, where she would quickly pounce on him and ride him until she was satisfied. She loved giving blow-jobs, especially road head. She would suck him off anywhere and swallow all of his cum like a champ. He loved how adventurous she was. He never had to initiate any of their sexual rendezvous, and she loved being on top and in control. She would demand that he fuck her, and when he ‘refused,’ she’d spank him playfully until he gave in. It wasn’t the pain that got him horny but the beautiful women controlling his every move.

He could have spent many gratifying years in her company had her parents not moved. ‘The life of an Army brat,’ she used to say. She had gone to three different elementary schools, three different middle schools, and she was on high school number two when she was in school with Chris.

Chris pulled himself out of reminiscing about ‘Sadistic Sadie,’ as he affectionately called her, and finished his shower. He threw on a clean pair of boxers, black chef pants, and a white T-shirt and then ran downstairs to grab some pancakes before they got too cold. He served himself a couple and drowned them in syrup before eating them in only three bites. He thanked his mom and headed off to work in a hurry. He felt a bit run-down from last night’s escapades and was kind of miffed that he had to come in so early, but Sarah needed help with a carving station for a wedding.

He parked his car and went into the kitchen where everyone was running around, cooking some items and putting the final touches on others. Sarah was barking orders to a busboy who looked like he was on the verge of tears. The kid was fairly new here and had already done quite a few things to get on her shit list. Today she was especially stressed. Sarah hated weddings. She hated the stupid food requests like vegan meals. She hated having to make room in her walk-in refrigerator for cakes and flowers. She hated the bridezillas who would often come in the kitchen to bitch about the tiniest details to which she had to plaster a fake smile on her face and apologize for things she didn’t do. She relished in the fact that the divorce rate was so high in this country and that those bitches would probably be alone in five years.

“You look tired, Newbie,” Sarah said when she noticed Chris walking through the kitchen on the way to the time clock. He didn’t think he looked that bad, so he shrugged it off. “Here, take a sip of this,” she said, handing him a cup of fizzy yellow liquid.

He took a whiff of it and smelled the distinctive citrus odor of Red Bull. “No thanks, that stuff always gives me the jitters,” Chris replied, handing it back.

“I can’t drink it straight either, so I watered it down,” she said, pushing it back towards him. He shrugged and took three big gulps before he caught the aftertaste.

“You watered it down with vodka?!” he asked incredulously.

“It’s Mama’s happy juice,” she beamed. “It’s the only thing keeping me sane. The Red Bull perks me up and allows me to deal with this bullshit, and the Kettle One makes sure I don’t get too perky!”

Chris shook his head and handed her drink back. “So am I doing the carving station?” he asked as he put his chef coat and apron on.

“Yeah. Jose’s still out until tomorrow, and Mark’s not coming in until three,” she said, going over her prep list attached to a clipboard. “The reception brunch starts in thirty minutes. Can you just go out and make sure all the chafing dishes are hot and that the tables look nicely garnished? I told that Trevor kid to do it, but I’m not so sure he could find his ass with two hands.”

Chris nodded and did as he was told. When he arrived in the dining room, he saw everything. Trevor, the busboy she berated earlier, was buzzing around nervously, trying not to screw things up. Chris went over to him and patted him on the back, which caused him to almost jump out of his skin. “Hey dude, looks good out here,” Chris said, trying to reassure the kid.

“I just don’t want to piss Chef Sarah off,” he responded. “I heard that she once lit a dude on fire for asking her a dumb question!” the young kid said, genuinely scared.

“Well, it was one of the cooks, and his question was ‘Do you think we could light this Purell on fire?’ as he held a pile of it in his hand. So, she took a stick lighter and lit his hand on fire.” Trevor looked at Chris, horrified. “Look, we cooks do some stupid shit for laughs. The gel caught fire, but he put it out before it even got hot. She’s not this scary lady,” he continued as he straightened the corners of the table skirt. “She’s just a hard-ass who likes things done a certain way, and that’s because her way usually is the best way.”

Trevor nodded. “Is it true she once put a cobra in someone’s car for fucking up an order?” he queried.

“It wasn’t a cobra; it was her pet boa constrictor, and it wasn’t as some sort of punishment. She was just messing with a waiter who said he was afraid of snakes. The thing was still in its glass aquarium!”

“Why do people spread rumors about her being so bad-ass?” Trevor asked.

“I think Sarah starts a lot of the rumors; the rest are just exaggerations of things that really happened,” Chris surmised. “Your best bet is to just do your job to the best of your abilities, stay out of the kitchen unless you need to be there, and think before you act. It took me working here for three months before Sarah started treating me like I was worth a damn. And I work side by side with her every day,” Chris said bluntly. “She still gets on me, but I’ve learned not to take it personally.”