Chefs and cooks are legendary for their fiery tempers and lack of political correctness; when I used to work in kitchens I was no exception to the rule! I started training when I was 17. From hiding in the toilets in tears because I had been shouted at, I progressed to realise the only way I could survive in a very male dominated environment was to swear constantly and talk the talk with the rest of the team. I have to say nothing is off limits to chat about in the kitchen - chefs will talk about anything and one of the main topics of conversation in any kitchen will be sex. More specifically, who is homosexual and might bumming or licking each other out?
Years ago I worked with a woman chef who I got on very well with. We could talk about anything and our conversations were so lewd, we could make any male colleague's jaw drop within a minute or two and used to enjoy doing so. Our girl on girl chats mainly centred on Kate (I'll call her that) and the things she liked doing in the bedroom. She would send even the hardest male chef running for cover with her tales of her S & M experiences which included spanking her girlfriends, tying them up and her particular fetish -- watersports! She also spoke of her preference for women with large labia, and I can still remember the shocked silence in the kitchen when she asked what my private parts looked like saying she hoped that I had something in my knickers for her to play with should I ever give her the opportunity.
One day while preparing desserts together for a special lunch which Princess Anne would be attending, we finally went too far when my colleague began paddling my arse with a rolling pin for a joke. This was a very important day and not surprisingly the head chef was furious -- he chucked a bucket of water over us and sent us into different sections of the kitchen so we were out of shouting range. The fact that we were no longer allowed to make pastry together was the talk of the catering staff, who ribbed us mercilessly for the remainder of the time we both worked at this particular catering establishment.
But what I didn't understand was while that I was joking, my colleague could not have been more serious.
So it was that one night we all went out on the booze after work as one of the team was leaving. I found I'd missed my last bus home and Kate said that I could crash at hers, so off we went back to her flat.
When we got in Kate offered to wash my clothes so I'd have something clean to wear in the morning when I left. I went into the bathroom and stripped off before handing them to her through a crack in the door. As I turned on the shower I suddenly remembered I'd got some toiletries in with my work stuff, so went out with a towel around me to get them. Kate was in the kitchen sorting out some washing to put in with mine to make a full load and she didn't hear me come back in.
As I found my wash bag, something made me look up. Kate was standing in the kitchen with her face buried in the panties I'd just worn for a 14 hour straight shift in a hot kitchen.
I was transfixed with shock, but deep down I wasn't surprised. Without saying anything I crept back into the shower and as I washed my hair wondered what to do. When I came out a few minutes later Kate went in to take a shower herself, saying she wouldn't be long. I sat watching TV, knowing there was no way I could leave as I didn't have enough money for a cab, so I thought I'd just have to be assertive if she tried anything on.
When Kate finally emerged from the shower she opened a bottle of wine and rolled up a joint and for a while we just sat smoking and talking. I'd just worked 14 hours without a break or much to eat so it wasn't long before I was out of control and flopping around on the couch in the big top she'd loaned me.
One of my very large breasts peeped out and she complimented me on it saying that I had got her share of the tits and went on to say I had a great big arse which she found very sexy. We carried on smoking, chatting and listening to music. After a while, I dimly became aware that Kate had slid her hand under the long top she'd loaned me and had begun stroking my thigh.
I asked her to stop. She apologised and did so. We resumed smoking and drinking red wine, and talking about people we had been with. What we liked doing with them was also discussed in great detail. This woman had made no secret of the fact she was gay in working hours and as I already said I knew exactly what she liked to get up from our chats in the kitchen.
And I trembled at the thought of what she might want to do if I gave her the chance.
There is nothing I enjoy better that a good shagging. At the time I couldn't see how things would be remotely interesting without a fit guy with a big, hard cock ready and willing to give me one. So I countered Kate's stories with tales of some of my exploits with boyfriends, which included fast, rough sex with a waiter in the walk in fridge at work, and giving another boyfriend a blow job in the back of a London black cab.
Again Kate started stroking my thigh as she told me for the umpteenth time that a cock is not essential to have a good time in bed, or indeed whatever location I fancied sex in. In my pot filled haze I dimly thought about what people at work would think about this, but I didn't try to stop her as she pulled my top off so that I sprawled totally naked with my legs flopped open.