Eddie Gina And Me

I swear to God: Never, ever have I had the slightest romantic interest or felt a physical attraction to a guy in my entire life. My carnal interests were purely heterosexual.

Women are shapely and soft; smell nice and are smooth to the touch. Men are rude, crude, and socially unacceptable.

Men belch and fart in public without shame; they make inappropriate comments, and laugh too loud at their own dirty jokes. They treat women like objects, not human beings, and constantly boast of their sexual conquests.

That was me in a nutshell. I was a loud, and proud, card-carrying member of the pussy-chasing male gender.

Life was good. When I rolled out of bed at noon, I'd fix lunch, take a shower then play golf. When I got home I'd shower again then sit beside the pool and ogle the nearly naked women. At night I'd hit two-three nice bars, try to pick up women, drive home while I was still capable then drink enough JD until I passed-out.

I spent money like I actually had it: playing nice golf courses with high greens-fees then buying drinks for pretty women at night.

For some reason, the women never came home with me. I would ply them with liquor then they'd leave the bar with taller, more manly-type guys.

I am 5'7" and weigh 140 pounds with light, brown hair. I'm not fat; I'm not muscular either; I'm average.

Many women (and some men) have said I was 'good-looking' or 'pretty'. I didn't much like it when someone said, "You're a very pretty boy."

Sure, I looked younger than my 21 years, and I was carded in every bar I went, but if I was so damned 'pretty', why wouldn't women go home with me?

One day after golf, as I entered my apartment building, I stopped to get my mail. I was a procrastinator at things, and hadn't gotten my mail in a week.

There seemed to be more bills than normal. When I opened my bank statement I nearly pissed myself.

Good grief, I thought as I looked at my balance. How is this possible? I barely had enough money to pay the bills and the rent, which was due in four days.

That was my 'wake-up call'. It was time to go back to work.

I'd worked in a factory for three years until the owners closed it and shipped all our jobs to China. Men and women who'd worked there 10-20-30 years were shocked and horrified at having to find new jobs, especially at their ages, but I had saved a boatload of money and looked forward to being 'retired' for a while.

I couldn't believe I'd blown thru all that money in such a short time.

"The party's over," I said to myself. "It's time to go to work."

I soon discovered that was easier said than done.

I hadn't looked at the 'want-ads' in the newspaper for a long time.

Holy crap, I thought when I saw how few jobs were listed. How is this possible in a city this size?

I scanned the listings and saw I wasn't qualified for any of the decent paying jobs. I began working in the factory right out of high school so I never went to college and the best paying jobs listed required a college degree.

There were quite a few restaurant jobs: bartenders, servers, server assistants, dishwashers, etc. The kinds of jobs other people did; jobs that, while I didn't look down on the people who performed them, I just didn't consider them 'meaningful work'.

I grew frustrated and said, "To hell with it!" and took a shower and put on my bathing suit and dark glasses and went to the pool.

I saw Gina sitting poolside by her herself; we'd met a couple weeks earlier. She was a pretty girl with a hot body, about my age, and we'd had nice conversations. I thought she was too pretty to go out with me so I never asked.

"Mind if I sit here?" I asked, pointing at the pool chair next to her. Her bikini didn't leave much to the imagination as I stared at her ample cleavage. When my eyes roamed downward, I could see a couple jet-black pubic hairs poking out from the crotch of her bottoms.

"Oh, hi, cutie," she said, looking up over the rim of her sunglasses. "No, please, sit down before Merv the Perv makes his dick-walk thru here."

I laughed and sat down.

'Merv the 'Perv' was the buildings maintenance man. His actual name was Mervin. The girls had given him the nickname because every afternoon he would walk around the pool and silently, but openly stare at each girl's attributes. As he made his walk, his prick would slowly grow harder and harder in his slacks creating a bulge everyone could see, thus the terms 'Merv the Perv' and 'dick-walk'.

It was easy to talk with Gina. I felt completely at ease with her. Maybe that's why I'd developed a crush on her after knowing her such a short time.

""Johnny, you go out a lot, have you been to the new club on Riverside Drive?" she asked. "They've got these huge, sparkling chandeliers hanging over the biggest dance floor I've ever seen."

"No," I said. "I've driven by it -- I've been meaning to go but haven't yet."

She smiled then said, "A bunch of us from work are going there tonight -- want to meet us there?"

Without thinking, I asked, "Are the drinks expensive?"

"Yeah, it's kind of 'spendy'," she said, "but nothing that a guy like you can't afford."

Okay, so maybe I exaggerated some about my finances. I mean, if you like a girl you can't tell her you're nearly broke, can you?

"Well, yeah...maybe I'll see you there," I lied. I had no intention of going.

We both laid back and soaked in the sunshine.

The chairs around the pool were slowly filling up with people. As usual, there were far more guys than girls. From time-to-time a beautiful face or fine body walked by and I studied their movements and admired their features.

I'm not ashamed to admit I'm able to admire guys, as well as women. Okay, maybe 'admire' is the wrong word. I was more envious than anything.

Women always seemed to be attracted to bigger, more muscular guys than me, and when I saw men like that, I was jealous of their physiques, and the attention they received from girls.

We heard the rusty gate at the other side of the pool open, the gate no one else used.

"Oh God," muttered Gina, "...here he comes...."

Sure enough, it was Merv the Perv. There was scattered laughter, and most conversations stopped in mid-sentence. Everyone wore sunglasses but you knew their eyes were trained on him.

The man was in good shape, and wasn't hideous to look at. He seemed to be a perfectly normal guy, except, of course, his 'dick-walk' creeped-out all the girls at the pool.

They had complained to management, but Merv always said, "I'm just doing my job making sure everything is okay."

Since I'd been a daily visitor to the pool, I knew what to expect.

Even though he wore sunglasses you could tell he was eyeing all the girls sitting around the pool as he walked by. The movement of his head was a complete give-away.

As Merv slowly made his walk, I knew exactly what everyone was staring at, or should I say 'where' everyone was looking. And Merv never failed to entertain.

Sure enough, I watched with fascination as the bulge in his slacks slowly grew. Anyone thirty-feet away could see it.

By the time he walked by Gina and myself, it appeared as though a snake was trying to burst-out from the crotch of his slacks. It was unnerving that a guy could be that well-endowed.

When Merv finally left the pool area everyone spoke in muted voices.

"My goodness," Gina said after exhaling, "...he's a total jerk but I sure would like a closer look at that bad-boy between his legs...how about you, Johnny?"

I froze. I felt my face redden. I was speechless for a moment.

"Huh? What?" I stammered as I searched for words. "No-no, 'that' does not interest me...."

She laughed and said, "Uh-huh, sure...."

I felt two-feet tall when I left the pool and returned to my apartment; Gina had emasculated and disheartened me whether she meant to or not.

Why would she say something like that? Does she really think I'm gay?

I flopped down on the couch and stared straight ahead. My head was spinning as my life flashed before my eyes.

Sure, I thought, I'm inexperienced with girls, and yes, I've only had sex with one girl, but that doesn't make me queer. I'm shy -- I don't know how to approach girls; I don't know what to say to them. I'd gladly have sex with any girl who wanted me.

I heard some noise. When I shook my head back to reality I realized someone was knocking on my door.

When I opened the door I was surprised to see Gina. She wasn't wearing sunglasses; it was the first time I'd seen her eyes. She had the most beautiful brown eyes I'd ever seen. My face reddened again. I wondered how she knew where I lived.

"Are...are you alright?" she asked. "You left so quickly I thought something was wrong...I'm really sorry -- I didn't mean to embarrass you."

I didn't know what to say. I guess I did overreact to her words, but now she knew a sensitive area of my life. An area I was uncomfortable discussing with anyone.

I was lost for words.

"Can I come in? Can we talk?" she said with all sincerity.

"Uh, yeah, sure," I mumbled and opened the door wider so she could enter the apartment.

"Wow," she said as she looked around the living room. "You're a great housekeeper -- I wish I could keep my place this clean."

I still didn't know what to say. Why is she here? I wondered.

"Oh," she said with mild surprise, "...are you looking for a job?"

The newspaper was open to the want ads, and my laptop still had the job search site I'd been reading earlier.

"I, ah, yeah..." I said, finally feeling more relaxed. "I'm afraid my retirement days are over...I need to find work."

Her beautiful eyes lit up and she said, "You know, we're looking for a server assistant where I work...I mean, I'm sure you're looking for something more meaningful, but for now, you'd at least be bringing home some money...you'd be working nights, you could still look for a job in your field during the day."

She's beautiful AND smart, I thought.

She was a server at the 'Olive Loaf', one of the most popular Italian restaurants in town. In our conversations she hinted she made good money there.

"It ain't brain surgery," she'd said, "but I can sure buy myself a lot of pretty things with my tips."

She was right. I needed to earn money, and bussing tables wouldn't be so bad until I found something else.

"It sounds fine, but I don't have any experience," I said. "Isn't the owner looking for someone more qualified?"

"Leave the owner to me. I can guarantee he'll hire you," she boasted.

"How can you be so sure?" I asked.

"My daddy owns the restaurant," she said with a wink of an eye.

The next day I went there at 8am. The restaurant didn't open for business until eleven so I went around back to the delivery dock like Gina had told me.

I was surprised by all the activity. Guys were busy unloading trucks full of fresh vegetables, produce and meat.

I saw a man with two clipboards inspecting each box as they came off the trucks. From her description, it had to be Gina's father. I didn't want to interrupt him so I stood about ten-feet away and watched.

Not only did he look inside all the boxes and check them off his order list, he had something to say about the contents of every box.

"The peppers look good -- those tomatoes are soft -- I ordered two cases of veal—where's the second box?"

"HEY KID -- WHAT DO YOU WANT?" I heard him yell.

I looked at him with some confusion. Was he talking to me? I didn't think he knew I was there.

"Yeah—YOU," he said, giving me a quick glance. "GET OVER HERE."

I felt myself trembling when I stood beside him. I didn't speak up fast enough.

"Well—what is it, kid?" he said, never taking his eyes off the crates and boxes.

"Uh, I, ah—I can wait for a better time, Mr. DeAngelo," I stammered.

"There is no better time, kid—what is it?"

"Well, uh, I want to apply for the server assistant job," I said quickly.

"HEY MORON," he shouted; making me jump and wonder if he was talking to me.

"Take this wilted shit back to Mario and tell him if he tries to unload his brown lettuce on me again I'll come over and shove it up his ass!"

He swiveled his head from the clipboard and looked me up and down.

"You Gina's friend?"

"Yes, sir."

"What's your name?"

"Ah, John, sir."

"Your last name, boy!"

"Oh, ah, Olson, sir."

'Swede, huh?"

"Well, my great-grandparent's were from Sweden...I mean, yes, sir."

"Swede's are good workers...go see the woman in my office—she'll give you the paperwork and shirts—be here at five o'clock and ready to work."

"Yes sir—thank you, sir!"

I'd been to plenty of restaurants in my life and thought I knew what bussers did: they remove dirty dishes from tables and they pour water for the guests. It looked simple enough. Boy, was I naïve.

The restaurant closed at ten, and by the time I finished my 'sidework' at eleven, my head was spinning and I was exhausted.

A girl named Angela trained me. She said we had the smallest section with the fewest tables so I'd be able to learn what was expected. We worked for two servers, whose names I forgot immediately, who each had four tables.

From six o'clock until closing, those tables were either occupied, or waiting for us to clean and set up again.

"Speed is everything," Angela said. "The faster you can turn a table -- the more guests a server will have -- which means more money for the servers, and a bigger 'tip-out' for you at the end of the night."

I went straight home to sleep after work.

I dreamt of bus tubs full of heavy dishes and goblets; of hauling buckets of ice; of sticking hands and fingers in gooey butter and sauces; of proper placement of silverware and plates; of forcing a constant smile; of the occasional guest treating me like a second class citizen, and the forty dollars Angela gave me after the shift.

FORTY-DOLLARS! REALLY? Hardly seemed worth it.

The next night was more of the same, but I was better prepared, and knew what I should be doing and what was expected.

Both nights I saw Gina sparingly, and had time for only a smile and a nod.

On the third night Gina greeted me with a huge smile.

"Daddy thinks you're doing great! From now on you'll be working Section 2 with me and Eddie."

I smiled back and said, "Good!"

I assumed Eddie was another busser and I'd be helping him. I was wrong.

"Eddie's a great server," she said. "He really has a special way with people. He makes the most money of all the servers here."

When she walked away I went to look at the Section chart.

Good grief! I thought.

I saw that Section 2 was the biggest section. Gina and Eddie each had six tables. That would mean instead of working eight tables with another busser, I'd be working twelve tables by myself.

Calm down, I told myself, you can do this; just remember what Angela taught you and you'll be fine.

I went about my work of stocking ice, filling water pitchers and rolling silverware in cloth napkins. I was feeling better about working by myself.

I was rolling the last of the silverware when I recognized Gina's voice coming from the server's salad station, around a corner from me.

She called out "Hi, Eddie" then I heard this booming, rich baritone voice, ask her, "Hey sexy, did you get lucky last night?"

Gina giggled and said, "I think you were more his style than me -- he just doesn't know it yet...no matter what I did he couldn't get it up...he kept asking me questions about you, and when I told him I'd introduce you two he said, 'Don't be silly -- I'm not gay'...uh-huh, sure...."

I heard Eddie's deep laughter, and melodic voice. He sounded like a real man's-man.

"Yeah, I wish you would have...that kid I took out to the car couldn't keep himself from biting my dick...it was the worst blowjob I've ever received."

"Oh, poor baby," Gina giggled again.

"Maybe after work you can blow me for old time's sake?" Eddie asked playfully.

Gina chuckled and said, "I tried converting you once. I'm not making that mistake again...oh, by the way, Johnny's going to be our busser, I don't want you playing grab-ass with him and scaring him off."

There was that laugh again. What a beautiful laugh.

"Are you still mad about Marko?" he asked. "I can't help it that when they get a taste of my fine, Italian sausage they're ruined for life."

"Marko was a good busser up until you took him to the Cayman's...my God, when you guys got back he couldn't walk straight for a week and he began dropping plates and glasses...in five days, you changed him from a laughing, confident man to a bumbling sissy-boy."

"Honey," Eddie replied, "I don't 'change' anyone. I just bring out what is already there...."

I was learning more about Eddie than I cared or wanted. Since I was going to work with him, though, I decided to meet him. I cleared my throat before I walked around the corner.

I was prepared to see a big, brute of a man who belonged to that booming voice, but I received the shock of my life when I saw him. He stood about 5'4" and was probably 130 pounds. I was confused; I looked around for another guy.

Gina's face lit up when she saw me.

"Johnny, this is Eddie...." she said.

We shook hands. His grip hurt me but I didn't show it.

"Hey, babe, you're right -- he really is a cutie-pie!" Eddie said with a smile on his handsome face.

I blushed and Gina exclaimed, "Eddie, you're incorrigible!"

"You're probably a little nervous with this being the first night on your own," he said. "Don't worry about a thing...Gina and I will help you through it."

His smile and calm demeanor soothed my nerves. His authoritative style and voice reassured me, too. He may have been a few inches shorter than me, but he carried himself with confidence. I was immediately impressed by his outlook and attitude.

I worked hard throughout the night. I had to -- Eddie always seemed one step ahead of me. He not only did his job, but did what he could to make mine easier.

When I saw a water glass that needed to be refilled, he was there before me. On his way to and from the kitchen, he never failed to pick up a dirty plate, or replace an empty basket of breadsticks.

I was new to the business, but it was clear to me he was an outstanding worker. He never made any wasted movements; he always knew which table needed something, and when he wasn't busy helping me, or bringing out huge trays of food, he carried on six different conversations with his tables.

He kept his guests laughing and smiling; all the while delivering their food promptly, and with a smile on his face. He was amazing.

I studied his motions, and tried to emulate them. Everything he did had a smooth and casual, effortless flow. He was truly providing his guests with a dining experience they'd remember for a long time.

Throughout the night, when a table needed something and he was busy, he'd say to me, "Cutie, table nine needs a new fork, or Sweetie, table ten needs to be watered."

At one point he said to me, "Johnny, I hope you're not offended by me calling you these names -- you're not a homophobe, are you?"

"Good grief, no, Eddie," I replied.

He wrinkled his nose and with a mischievous grin said, "Good -- because you are a 'cutie' -- hell, you're one of the prettiest boys I've ever seen!"

Then he patted my ass and said, "And I just love your tight, little tushy!"

I blushed, but he was gone before I could say anything.

Strangely enough, his attention made me feel good. I couldn't explain it, but I wanted his approval. When he smiled at me I smiled back. When he winked at me, I felt a warm glow. I liked him, and wanted him to like me.

I was sure he was just trying to put me at ease; helping me to relax in a fast-paced and sometimes hectic environment. I was certain there was nothing sexual in his conduct, and besides, how could you get mad at someone who thought you were cute and had a nice 'tushy'?