It was my first, and one of the most erotic experiences of my life. In fact, I still get a little excited thinking about it. I was working as a dishwasher at a little Italian restaurant that was owned by an acquaintance of my mom, and the place was about 5 miles from my folks' house where I lived. I can't remember how I got to and from work most of the time, but I do remember one night when I got a ride home from Tony, one of the cooks. He also gave one of our waitresses, I think her name was Rachel, a ride home that night. The thing was, Tony had a mini truck which only sat two people. Mini trucks were popular in the late 80's/early 90's, but if you haven't seen one, a mini truck was a small Mazda or Toyota pickup truck that was lowered, had the hydraulics like I low-rider (which Tony's didn't have because he was broke), and the obnoxious subwoofer that pumped out a garbled mess of super low bass that rattled the hell out of everything in a two-block radius.
But enough about Tony and his ridiculous truck. Rachel, the only waitress that night, was a fucking goddess. When I think of her, I have a hard time not picturing Raquel Darrian, the pornstar from the same era because she looked so much like her. She was probably in her early 20's and just had an amazing body: long dark hair, angelic face with luscious lips that were always shiny with lip gloss, big dark eyes, and amazing legs. I'm not a huge leg guy-I like nice legs-but hers were the kind of legs that would make you a leg guy whether you wanted to be or not. She always wore a short but tasteful skirt to work that was tight enough to show off a beautifully shaped ass, but it was long enough to not be scandalous. She always wore shoes that had a bit of a heal, not shoes that would be terrible to work in, but shoes that made her an inch or two taller and caused her calves to flex as she walked.
From my station at the dishwashing area, I would watch her walk through the swinging saloon-style doors into the kitchen, turn right and go to the little fridge in the front to get the dinner salads that were already prepped. It was the kind of fridge that was about 8 feet long, had glass doors, and a counter on top of it. I would watch her bend over to get the salads from the fridge and would silently pray for her skirt to rise just a little bit higher, but of course it never did. As is typical for a young man, a gentle breeze was enough to make me hard, so this little show was killing me-and of course I loved it. I'd like to say she knew what she was doing to me, but I'm sure she was oblivious to the young guy in back spraying sauce off the plates. Sometimes, I'd get lucky, and I'd be kneeling down, putting salad plates or something in the fridge, when she'd come up and grab something out of the fridge next to me and then stand there getting dressing ready. She'd be close enough that I could smell her perfume. I've since smelled the same perfume that she wore, and it has literally turned my head so many years later. I've honestly stopped what I was doing at a grocery store just to follow the scent trail of that same perfume.
One evening, she got her salads while I was loading the fridge. While she was getting the dressing ready, she spilled a few drops of ranch dressing which landed on my arm, the floor, and a small drop on her stocking-covered leg. I heard her say, "Shit!" and when I looked up at her she had a salad plate in each hand already. Without thinking I just said, "Here," and wiped the drop from my arm with my finger and popped it in my mouth, then wiped the drop from her leg with my finger. But as I was about to pop the finger in my mouth a horrified feeling washed over me, but not before I popped that finger in my mouth. I couldn't believe I just licked my finger then wiped the dressing off her leg- and then licked my finger again! I looked back up at her, afraid of the disgust and shock I was sure would be on her face, but instead was greeted by a funny little smile. "Thanks," is all she said. But there was something about the way she said it that stirred my cock for the hundredth time that night. She wasn't mad at all, as I had feared. I went back to my dishes, and she went about her job like nothing had happened. Honestly, unless you are a horned-up young male, nothing had happened. But my head was swimming.
The end of the night came, and as we all were completing our closing duties, only Tony, Racheal, and I were left in the restaurant. I overheard her talking to Tony about getting a ride and when I asked him about it, he confirmed that he was going to give her a ride home. When I reminded him that he said he'd give me a ride home he just said, "Whatever dude, we'll figure it out," and went back to finishing up. Maybe Tony drove a different car to work today, I thought?
Nope. Rachel and I stood at the passenger door while Tony walked out to his mini truck. "I guess I can ride in back," I said, surveying the bed of the truck, "I can just lie down so the cops don't see."
Racheal interjected before Tony could respond with, "Nah, we can all fit in front."
Tony popped the doors, and we could both see that there were only two bucket seats in the front. I looked at Rachel and she just said, "You sit, and I'll ride on your legs. I think we can fit."
"Uh, okay," I said. I sat down and then watched in slow motion as that amazing booty came at me. She swung her legs inside and we both repositioned ourselves so that our legs could fit while she was sort of hunched over holding her purse.
