Personal Chef

I wasn't sure what to expect when I put an ad on the Internet for a personal chef.

I knew this: my cooking skills weren't cutting it. I loved good food, well cooked and prepared, but the secrets of culinary success eluded me. No matter how hard I tried, the results never tasted right. Finally, I resolved to get help.

I could afford it. I was a successful writer, working mostly out of my home.

Joni Burns showed up at my front door three days after I placed the ad.

I did a double-take when I opened the door. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't this: a woman with a down-to-Earth, understated beauty, in mid-life, with a long mane of dark-brown hair, pale, clear skin, piercing blue eyes, and a terrific figure squeezed into a form-fitting, knee-length blue dress. She carried a large canvas bag at her side.

"Mr. Fielding?" she asked.

"Call me 'Sam,' I replied, offering my hand. She shook it. "Ms. Burns?"

"Call me 'Joni.'"

"Come on in, Joni."

I led Joni to the kitchen. Although I lived alone, I favored space, and I also liked to entertain once in a while, so I owned a large house with a roomy, well-supplied kitchen: it featured a gas stove with eight burners, two ovens, polished granite counters, an expansive island in the middle, an enormous stainless-steel refrigerator, and a well-stocked pantry. Joni seemed impressed and inspected everything carefully.

"Your CV didn't say whether you'd been a personal chef before," I said. "Have you?"

"No," she said, closing the refrigerator door and facing me. "I have a lot of experience cooking, but not professionally. I can do the job, though."

I tried to hide my skepticism out of politeness. I was particular about my tastes in food. I wanted someone who knew what they were doing, not an amateur.

As though sensing my attitude, Joni held up her bag.

"I'll tell you what. Let me make you something. I brought some supplies for a demonstration."

That sounded good to me. I was impressed that she was prepared. And--I have to admit--she was very easy on the eyes. I wasn't hiring a chef to look good, but if she were otherwise qualified it would be a nice perk. I liked the way the dress hugged her body. The rise of her nipples was visible under the fabric, and I guessed that she wore no bra, which was interesting. I tried to guess her age. She was plainly middle-aged, with a few gray streaks in her otherwise dark hair, but her skin was supple and soft, and I guessed that she was older than she looked and preserved an air of youthfulness with a good diet and fitness regimen. I could stand to upgrade the healthfulness of my own diet and I wondered whether, if she were my chef, she might make some helpful suggestions.

"Very well," I said. "I have some chores to do in my office upstairs. How about if I come back in one hour and see what you have cooking? You have the run of the kitchen until then."

Joni smiled with a pleasant but reserved and somewhat inscrutable air.

"You won't be disappointed," she said.

With no expectations, I left the kitchen and went upstairs. I paid two bills online, exchanged a few messages with my agent, and tried, with mixed results, to write my way through a segment of a new story that was giving me some trouble.

When the clock on my computer showed that an hour had elapsed, I stood up and went downstairs. A warm, pleasant fragrance of baking cheese and other savory scents hit my nose when I reached the first floor.

When I entered the kitchen, I saw Joni turned away from me, toward the oven.

My jaw dropped open.

She wore a heavy-duty, professional chef's apron--and nothing else. She was otherwise naked, head to toe. Her bare ass was exposed to me, and with a surge of arousal I noticed just what a nice ass it was. Round and soft, with luminous pale skin, a few freckles here and there, but nicely sculpted, too. Joni obviously spent time in the gym.

"Um--" I began.

Joni turned to me, naked save for her apron and black-rimmed glasses. She didn't seem as embarrassed as I would have thought she'd be.

"We're almost ready!" she said with a smile.

"Ms. Burns," I said.

"Joni."

"Joni, then. Joni, you're, um, naked."

She gave herself a quick once-over glance.

"Yes," she said. "I always cook naked."

I was rarely at a loss for words, but I was now.

"You... um... why?"

"First," she said, in a matter-of-fact way, "I can avoid getting my clothes dirty from food stains or grease. Second, I cook better when I'm naked."

"What?" I replied. "That doesn't make any sense."

"I know it sounds weird, but it's true. I started cooking this way about a year ago, after reading a book by a psychologist who talked about the advantages of being naked. He wrote that nudity stimulates a person's mind and senses. It connects us with our world. It brings out the best in us. So, I tried it, and he was right! I cooked much better when I was naked. It's very stimulating, and I feel like I'm sharper and more aware when I'm naked."

I was certainly stimulated by Joni's condition, but what she said sounded like quackery to me.

"Joni--" I began again. She interrupted me.

"Sam. Judge me by results. Try what I've cooked."

She had been cooking for an hour. I couldn't very well say 'no' after the effort she had made for me.

"OK."

Joni turned and bent over and pulled something out of the oven. As she bent over, the smooth expanse of her delicious ass came into view again, and more than that--I saw a glimpse of her vulva in the shadowy gap between her legs, and a hint of a tantalizing gap between her labia.

I felt almost dizzy. I was expecting a food demonstration, not a porn show. I felt a bulge in my pants. I didn't want to create a scene. But, then, Joni already had created one.

She pulled a few trays out of the oven and set them on trivets on the granite counter. Steam filled the air, as did the magnificent blend of smells coming from the fresh, hot dishes. Joni had prepared a variety of bite-sized morsels for me to try. She scooped them onto a China plate and handed me a fork and a napkin to taste them.

Then she surprised me again. She untied the apron, pulled it over her head, and laid it on a counter to the side. She stood in front of me, fully nude.

It was like being struck by a thunderbolt. I was briefly paralyzed with a feeling of shock and desire. It was as though Aphrodite had spontaneously appeared in my kitchen--a woman whose naked figure stirred every juice and rang every bell in my body. From the thinness of her waist and definition in her abdomen I discerned that she must have spent time at the gym, but the gym-work did nothing to diminish the florid, womanly curviness of her figure: full, firm breasts, an hour-glass figure, deliciously flared hips. Her skin was smooth and pale and luminous. Pale pink nipples jutted forth from wide, lightly pebbled areola.

A tiny metal jewel decorated her navel, to my surprise. I wasn't accustomed to seeing navel piercings in women near my age. Somehow, it heightened the eroticism of her naked display.

And yes, her pussy was exposed to me--utterly bare, the smooth parallel dunes of her outer labia framing the dimpled recess of her vulva.

My cock stirred with agitation.

Despite its magnificence, Joni's exposed anatomy wasn't what aroused me the most; it was her demeanor. The brazenness of her display was tempered by the reserve in her face. I tried to read her expression, but I couldn't--not entirely. I saw confidence mixed with vulnerability, an understated smile playing across a face that didn't know how much it wanted to reveal to me, a stark contrast to the bold exhibition of her naked body. There was something about that contrast that made my insides turn over.

"Joni," I said, once again finding myself unable to complete a thought.

"Sam, I'm sorry," she said, not wholly successfully raising a hand to shield one of her breasts. "I should have asked you before taking off my apron. I'll get dressed if you want me to." She reached for her apron.

"You don't have to do that," I said, perhaps too quickly. Joni paused, stared at me, and waited.

"This is just... different," I said. I didn't know whether to look at her or not, so I looked at the food on the counter instead.

"Stay the way you are if you want to. Let me try these."

"Good idea," she said.

I turned my attention with some effort away from Joni's nude figure to the food she had cooked. I looked at the morsels nearest me.

"Are those gougères?" I asked, pointing to a sampling of yellowish puff balls.

"They are," Joni said.

I had tried cooking gougères several times, always without success. When I made them, they always turned out too thick and doughy. But Joni's cheese ball fit between my fingers like a fragrant cheesy piece of air. I bit into it, flaky and still hot, the taste of gruyere cheese tickling my lips. It was exquisite, the best I'd ever had. Crisp, light as a feather, and with a perfect nutty, Swiss cheese flavor.

"Wow, that's good," I said, looking up and trying hard not to stare at Joni's pale rosy nipples just a few feet away.

"Try this one," she said, pointing to another dish, full of Mexican taquitos. I picked one up and bit into it. The crispy rolled corn tortilla crackled and a burst of extra hot chipotle pepper and spices filled my mouth. I had written in my ad that I liked Mexican food, as well as hot and spicy food, and Joni's little dish expertly satisfied my tastes.

Joni stood and watched silently as I sampled her food, shoulders back, full breasts pointed at me and occasionally swaying gently whenever she shifted position. I tried not to stare, and to focus on the food.

Next up was a perfectly cooked flaky piece of spanakopita, stuffed full of a delicious mix of spinach and feta cheese. The tasting finished with a cinnamon-sweet morsel of baklava.

It was all perfect--just the right balance of spices and flavors and perfectly textured, too.

"That was delicious," I said. Joni beamed.

"I'm so glad you liked it."

It was so difficult not to stare at her breasts. I did my best.

"Let's, um, talk business," I said. "Maybe you could put the dress back on for this part."

She slipped her dress on and joined me at the dining room table.

I explained what I wanted--someone to be at the house often to cook meals. The job would pay well. Joni seemed to perk up at that. She sat up straight in her chair, attentive to everything I said.

"Joni, I have no doubt, based on what you made, that you can cook well. But I like to get references for people I work with as well. Do you have any?"

A shadow of concern passed over her face.

"That's a problem, I'll be honest. I worked in business administration at one company for many years." She mentioned the name of her employer, and I had heard of it. "But I had a supervisor who started harassing me. Sexually harassing me. It was unbearable, and I complained to management. They decided he was too valuable to the company for them to get rid of him. So, they let me go instead. They forced me to sign a severance package as a settlement, hushed the whole thing up, and I left."

Her eyes teared up a little.

"I haven't had steady work since. Since my experience I've been reluctant to get back into the corporate world. I'm 56. It's not easy getting a new job at my age."

I was surprised to hear her age. I would have guessed she was younger.

"I can understand that," I said. "I want you to know something, Joni. If you work with me, you don't ever have to worry about anything like that. I set clear boundaries and I stick to them."

Secretly, I wondered how difficult it would be to stick by my boundaries if Joni were running around naked in my house. But I didn't say so.

"I get that feeling," she said. "I feel safe with you."

"You will always be safe."

"Please give me a try, Sam. I need the money. I won't lie. I really need the money. I don't want you to hire me out of pity, but I want to let you know I am extremely motivated to do a good job for you."

"I believe you, Joni. I have a good vibe about you, too. I'm willing to give it a try."

Another idea occurred to me.

"As you can see, I have a big house. I need help cleaning it. I've had a service coming in every week to help me with it, but I'm not satisfied with their performance. If you like you can do the cleaning as well as the cooking, and I'll pay you more."

Joni's face lit up.

"That would be wonderful! Thank you. I'd love to."

"Another thing," I said, "is that if you're going to be cooking and cleaning you are going to be spending a lot of time here. I have a guest room on the other side of the house, with an attached bathroom with a full bath and shower. You're welcome to stay there overnight if you need to. How far away do you live?"

"About an hour. The room would be great. Thanks so much."

In my mind, I was trying to convince myself that I was acting only for practical and honorable reasons, but the prospect of Joni spending more time at the house, especially if she was often nude, was enticing.

"I guess it's a deal, then. When can you start?"

"Tomorrow!" she cried, clapping her hands together.

* * * *

Joni showed up the next morning, ready to begin. She brought a small suitcase with her and put it in the guest bedroom, which delighted her. I left her to get settled in.

A few minutes later I sat at the kitchen counter and saw her enter, barefoot and naked save for her apron, again carrying a small bag. She stepped to the stove and got to work, and for the second time I savored the pleasure of staring at Joni's beautifully formed ass. Just the right plumpness, and surprisingly without sag for a woman her age. My eyes strayed to the delightful cleft between her ass cheeks and the shadow below that concealed her pussy--for the time being.

It almost seemed too good to be true.

The sight of Joni's nude behind was pure erotic pleasure, and I wanted to ogle her without guilt or shame, but out of respect for her and her recent past I knew I would have to behave myself. She worked for me, and boundaries were essential.

Joni made a simple meal of eggs scrambled with onions and spices, a bowl of fresh sliced fruit, and a fruit-yogurt smoothie. She set the plate in front of me.

"Do you mind if I eat with you?" she asked.

"Be my guest," I said. "You don't ever have to ask again."

"Thank you," she said, stripping off her apron and sitting down nude at the counter with her food.

My god, it was difficult to behave. Her breasts were full and round and her nipples were so deliciously large. I wanted to stare, but I restrained myself enough that I allowed only a few quick sneaky glances at her when I thought she wouldn't notice. I was aware enough, however, to know that women usually DID notice, and my furtive glances would not likely escape her attention.

Breakfast was as delicious as the meal sampler from the day before. Joni obviously had the skill to bring out the best flavors in simple fresh ingredients.

When Joni was done, she stood up, put her dishes in the dishwasher, and walked to the window looking out to the backyard. Light coming through the window made the fringes of her hair glow.

"Would you like to see the yard?" I asked.

"Yes!" she said with enthusiasm. She turned to me and scrunched up the expression on her face.

"I'm not going to freak out your neighbors, am I?"

"No chance of that," I said. "I place an extreme value on privacy, and the yard is carefully landscaped so none of my neighbors can see into my backyard."

I escorted Joni out the back door. It was mid-June, and the sun already stood high enough in the sky to warm the air. I had designed much of the yard myself, and I was proud of it. A pool, its water shimmering in the late-morning light, lay surrounded by a stone patio. Beyond that lay a grass yard, flower gardens, shrubs, and trees that formed my own private oasis.

"It's beautiful," Joni said.

"You're beautiful," I said to myself.

She was. If anything, she was even more beautiful lit by the sun. I derived an odd erotic satisfaction from knowing that I was fully dressed, in black pants and a white button-down shirt, while Joni stood at my side fully nude, seemingly casual and comfortable in her state.

As if sensing my thoughts, Joni cleared her throat and spoke.

"Sam, I know this is a little strange. I barely know you and I'm standing naked next to you in your backyard."

I nodded. "It's... unusual. I'm quickly getting used to it, though. I can't say I mind. I hope that doesn't sound wrong."

"It doesn't. Listen. I don't want you to get the wrong idea about me. I have never done this before. I'm not ashamed of my body but I've always been pretty reserved about showing myself off. I'm not a nudist. At least, not until recently."

"You don't have to explain."

"But I want to," she said. "I don't know if this is a weird phase, or what this is. I have no regular job, until now. My daughter has grown up and left the house. I'm in a new stage of my life. I'm trying new things. I feel comfortable in my skin in a way that I never have. And I feel safe working for you. I couldn't do this if I didn't."

"I'm glad you feel that way. You will always be safe here."

"Thanks," she said. "I believe you."

"And one other thing," I said. "Please make yourself at home here. You're free to use the pool any time you want. I have a small home gym in a room off the garage that you can use as well."

"Thanks so much, Sam. I think this will work out. I'll do everything I can to make sure it does."

She offered me her hand, and I shook it. I could not recall ever having shaken hands with a naked woman before. My eyes strayed briefly to the bare cleft below, between her legs. My glance shifted to her eyes, and Joni smiled at me.

"And Sam--"

"Yes?"

"It's OK to look. I don't mind."

"I don't want to creep you out."

"You won't. Really. You're a man. You're polite, and you have impressive self-control. But you're a man. It's OK."

I nodded in appreciation and took Joni on a tour of the backyard. Then we went back in the house, where Joni had some nude cleaning to do before beginning to work on lunch.

* * * *

Over the next week, Joni settled into a routine. She cooked and cleaned for me, and she spent a few nights during the week in my guestroom while going back to her own house the other nights. While she was inside my house, she was nude almost constantly, putting clothes on only when she left the house to buy groceries or other supplies. I let her borrow my SUV to run errands. It was easier to manage than I expected. I had few if any unexpected visitors. I carried on my work with editors and publishers online or via Web-based videoconferences in my office. It had been over half a year since I'd had a girlfriend, so I had nobody in my life that might object to my having a nude woman in my house.

Joni and I developed an understanding of sorts. There was a kind of invisible barrier between us, formed by mutual respect and an acknowledgment of our different roles. I sensed that Joni felt comfortable with me, behind that barrier. But with that barrier, I also sensed a certain willingness on her part to shed inhibitions and be free with her body, and at times I felt she was showing off for me, enjoying my eyes on her body. For my part, I loved it. I couldn't get enough of Joni. Every inch of her was an erotic delight: her delicious ass, the flair of her hips, the curve of her waist, the swell of her full breasts. And her wonderful, bare pussy. She was completely hairless down there, and I thought it was an interesting grooming choice for a woman her age. I wondered if she shaved or waxed. I didn't ask her. But her pussy was such a delight to see that I was glad that no hair obscured it.