A guy who knows and admires a girl without yet having an opportunity to get intimate has a problem. It's the same if roles are reversed. How do you show that your interest includes the erotic without scaring the other person off by being too aggressive? Our restaurant helped Cupid along that way by giving a couple who came there on a date an environment rich in opportunities for double meanings and plenty of erotic subtext. What a date ordered from our dessert menu could speak volumes, and how it was eaten or shared between a couple. Clarissa's desserts were delicious--that made a fine excuse. They were also damn sexy and suggestive.
I had a similar problem with Clarissa. We had a professional relationship that was warm and productive. I had my personal rule about not hitting on employees, and losing my pastry chef would have been a disaster for the restaurant. The truth is I lusted for her and dreamed of her body but could not see a way to learn if she had any erotic interest in me without risking disaster for my business. Maybe, I thought, that exploratory visit by the scouts from an erotic club for the super-wealthy could lead to a work date for Clarissa and me. Maybe working in someone else's kitchen would loosen constraints and let us see each other as more than boss and employee.
When an offer did come, there was no difficulty persuading me to accept. We would be guest chefs at the club for an erotic dinner party for 12 couples. There was a generous budget, and we would be very well paid. They wanted Clarissa for the desserts, and I would be responsible for the main course. Clarissa seemed to know a great deal more about the requirements of the job than I did, so I resolved to let her direct me.
We had to plan a menu. We could let the regular club staff do appetizers and drinks. They suggested oysters of two varieties, marine and mountain, for appetizers, and that was fine with us. We agreed her well-tested recipes for "Clarissa's Breasts" and Clarissa's Pussy" were just right for dessert at an event of that kind. We made a list of all the ingredients and tools that she would need in the club kitchen, such as the special silicone molds. A thought occurred to me. Where did you get the molds?
She looked at me, then without a word, she took hold of the bottom of her shirt and lifted it up over her head. "I made them myself," she said. She held the pose long enough for me to see the copies of her tits that she produced using the molds had size, shape, and color exactly right. I didn't dare test texture or taste, but I sure wanted to. The shirt came back down. "It's the same as making a mold from a clay model. I learned in sculpture classes. I was just a model there, but the artists liked to show me their workshops." That would have been nude modeling, I was sure, and no wonder the sculptors were friendly.
I was silent a moment, thinking. "And?" I said, looking at a tray of her pastry pussies.
"Yes, that too," she said. "But I'm not going to show you. We have work to do."
The main course was my job, but Clarissa was eager to help. "Shall we start with lobsters?" she said. "The tail is suggestive of a healthy male penis in shape, color, and texture. We'll cook and peel them just before serving. They'll need testicles; a pair of potato croquettes will do nicely, and red caviar for a tip."
"Do you need molds?" I asked, intensely curious what her response might be.
"It's sweet of you to offer," she said, "but no. For the dessert, we have high realism. The main course should be more abstract and symbolic. We'll use the lobster's body and claws too, symbolic of male bravado and power. Making a realistic penis coming out of a lobster shell would be gross. But if we set croquettes to the sides and a little pyramid of red caviar where we take the tail fin off, I think people will get the idea.
"Then there should be a steak too, because why not? Lord Lobster, with his suggestively shaped tail, would preside over a thick, sizzling mound of beef, hot from the grill. We decided to add a triangle of dark sautéed mushrooms, suggestive of a woman's pubic triangle, and cut a slit exposing a pink and juicy interior where the mushroom triangle directed. We would arrange a seaweed salad around the edge of the platter and maybe other side items the pampered guests would request.
There were a million other details, most of which I let Clarissa work out with John, the event manager at the club. He was headwaiter, ringmaster, and master of ceremonies all in one. Their kitchen was large and well-staffed. Everything seemed thoroughly organized and highly professional.
On the night of the party, John had a lot to orchestrate, and I had to keep focused on my part of things at least until the main course platters went out. I had seen the dining room, of course, which was decorated to allow a theatrical entrance from the kitchen. Draperies and cushions gave each table a little space for privacy without blocking a view of the full scene. There was nothing openly pornographic, but everything was sensual and inviting.
John had made another request, that we be prepared should there be any last-minute requests from patrons to decorate a particular serving with jewelry. Three of my lobsters went out with a slender gold chain and a sparkling gem of one sort or another dangling between the lobster's claws. Similarly, a few of the oysters hid genuine pearls. I think those were surprise gifts from "the house.". The waiters would have little jewelry boxes available for a guest who discovered a little memento for the evening in her appetizer. I was too busy tending to last-minute details to watch the couples being seated.
John wore a bosun's whistle on a chain around his neck. I looked up when I heard it blow. Six waiters dressed as sailors paraded out of the kitchen, each pair pushing a cart stacked with appetizers. They were all fit and muscular. Each wore a hat with black ribbons like those worn by British seamen in the days of sail and a pair of white canvas trousers. Shirtless and barefoot, they looked fabulous. A private club like that didn't have to worry about health department rules.
I had to return my attention to the preparation of the main course, and when the platters were ready, I saw that in addition to the lusty sailor-waiters, there were six mermaid-waitresses who had been selected just as carefully for physical perfection.
All that the girls wore was two translucent veils, one in front and one in back, running from slender bands low on their hips almost to the floor. The thin fabric had a metallic sheen so that it shimmered and floated around their legs, with several inches of bare leg showing on each side, and of course their entire upper body. The mermaids collected their platters, and again at the call of John's whistle, paraded out to deliver them to the tables.
A little later in the evening, one of the lady guests placed her hands on the shimmering fish tail as her attending mermaid bent to refill her glass. She gave an impertinent tug. The band slipped over the mermaid's slender hips, and the tail slid to the floor in a heap, leaving the waitress standing completely nude. She was as smooth as a trout in front, in keeping with the fishy theme.
Mermaid fraud exposed! She had the parts of a human female below the waist as well as above it. The doughty mermaid fainted not but continued to fill the lady's, then the gent's glasses. Then she walked around to stand behind her tormentor. She brought her hands around to the top button on the loosely fitting low-cut blouse, saying, "May I assist?". Then she unbuttoned the blouse from top to bottom and pulled the sides wide apart, showing the man across the table that his date had a body able to compete with any mermaid. She leaned over to plant a cheeky kiss on the girl.
Then she stepped back to her costume lying on the floor. Facing the girl, she bent from the waist to reach the fabric. She paused with her fingers on the floor, giving her male guest a glorious close-up view of her backside, nothing hidden. Finally she straightened, and with the garment over her hands, raised them high in the air so the shimmering cloth fell down over her arms and head. She shook it over her shoulders, then over each breast. It fell to her hips, where she centered the veils as originally intended, and once again a mermaid swam away. Mermaids sometimes show a bit of attitude.
You see, great waiters and waitresses understand psychology and anticipate the wants of their guests. That spoiled brat girl was jealous that her date's eyes had been following the mermaid when she wanted them on her. Pulling off the mermaid's tail was like a tantrum, seeking attention. The mermaid managed to give both sides of the table what they wanted without needing to be asked.
With my course served, I again had time to look around me. Clarissa's familiar desserts had been prepared in advance as always, and her assistant was wheeling carts of them into a nearby room where I knew they must be being assembled on a dessert cart. I was sure that that would be worth seeing, but they would be busy getting everything perfect, and I decided to wait to see the grand entrance along with everyone else. Meanwhile, there was plenty of cleanup to do. Once more I heard the bosun's whistle. I dropped what I was doing and hurried to a spot just inside the dining room where I could stand unobtrusively and watch the grand entrance.
A pair of mermaids swung the doors open, then stood to the sides as John "whistled the cart aboard" our ship. Four lusty sailors wheeled in a longboat, tilted up with the prow low and stern higher so that everyone could see inside. Clarissa's erotic desserts were arranged invitingly around both sides of the long boat. Their creator, Clarissa, reclined on cushions between the rows of plates, but she was not wearing her white pastry chef apparel. She was wearing nothing at all. What a marvelous sculpture, I thought, a masterpiece of culinary art with realism no one but she could manage.
But no, it was Clarissa herself. She lay almost motionless on display, allowing each guest to compare art to nature. It wasn't any fake nudity either, with skin-tone fabric. That was clear from the dark triangle of pubic hair visible between her legs. She lay on molded cushions covered with silk, like a jewel in a double-ended jewelry box. At the raised end was her head with her long hair, a light natural blond, spread against silk that matched the mermaid's veils in color. Hair flowed down over her shoulders, almost, but not quite, reaching her breasts, glowing matched pearls of soft flesh with the little rubies of her erect nipples at their centers. There was a double row of custard breasts on each side of her, set on hidden supports so that each plate rested at the same angle as her upper body, and her real breasts and the molded copies hung and moved alike under the influence of gravity and momentum.
The other end of the jewel box was as breathtaking. Her shapely legs were spread and raised slightly by cushions under her bent knees. From a viewpoint at the prow of the boat, her nude chest and smiling blue eyes would be the background, but a man's attention could not fail to move as directed by her silky triangle of pubic hair, down between two lovely thighs to Clarissa's pussy.
