When I heard the tires of Melissa's Lexus crunch in the gravel of the front drive I pulled the wine cooler - previously prepared just for her - from the refrigerator and went to the front door to meet her. She enjoys seeing me standing there naked, waiting for her when she arrives home. Based on a phone call from her that afternoon I knew she'd had a less than perfect day and was certain that a cold wine cooler in her hand as soon as she came through the door would help. When the door opened and she saw me standing there, wine cooler in hand, she sighed deeply, put her briefcase down, shut the door behind herself, and said, "Oh Jim, you've guessed right again. That's exactly what I need after today and I hope you've got a pitcher of these cooling."
"Yes Missy, I do," I answered. "I thought you might be in the mood for one when you got here."
"What's that I smell for dinner?" she asked.
"Beef stew. It's been simmering and I can steam the veggies whenever you're ready to eat, Missy," I replied.
"Would you mind terribly if we saved that for tomorrow night?"she asked, "I'm not in the mood for something heavy. How about some BLTs and chips instead? Would you mind?"
"No ma'am, that's no big deal," I replied. "I'll go take it off the stove right now. When would you like the BLTs?"
"Later, after I work on your pitcher of coolers for a while." I headed for the kitchen to take the beef stew off so it could cool down.
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I'm a cook, a professionally trained cook. After I graduated from an elite cooking school I went to work in a swanky restaurant. Starting out as a line cook, the pay wasn't that good and my wife and I had to really scrimp to get by. After eighteen months of sweating over stoves and grills on the line I was beginning to doubt the intelligence of being a chef. They didn't really tell you how hard it was to work your way up to decent money and less work. What I really wanted to do was be the owner, the boss, but it didn't look like I'd ever get there working as a line cook.
My break came when my mother-in-law, the old crone that she was, died and left Dana, my wife, a nice inheritance. It wasn't something to make us rich but it was enough for us to buy into a mid-level restaurant. The owner wanted to retire and we had enough cash to cover 75% of his asking price with us making monthly payments on the rest. His customer base was loyal and stuck with us as new owners and we were doing better than we probably had a right to expect. Dana worked part time as the hostess and we had retained the existing assistant manager so that we didn't have to be there every minute the place was open. Typically, I let the Kenny, the assistant manager, open in the morning and cover until right after lunch when I'd come in to make sure the kitchen was ready for the dinner hour. One Wednesday I planned to be a little later due to a doctor's appointment. No big deal.
No big deal, at least, until I came in and found Kenny fucking the hell out of Dana in my office. She was sitting on the edge of my desk, dress pushed up, legs wrapped around Kenny's waist urging him on as he stood there, in MY office, his pants down around his ankles, pouring it to Dana for all he was worth. When I blundered in, Dana saw me first and gasped loudly. Kenny kept humping her like a fucking dog with its front legs wrapped around an old lady's knee. All I could say was, "What the fuck?" Kenny tried to jump away from Dana so fast he almost jerked her off the desk. As he turned toward me, his mostly erect dick flopping around, I yelled, "Get the fuck outa' here!" as I advanced toward him. Moving quickly, more quickly than a guy with his pants down around his ankles should be able to move, he dodged around me and was trying to pull his pants up as I saw his white ass disappear through the doorway. Turning toward my loving wife, Dana, I asked again, "What the fuck?"
She was leaning over, pulling her panties on as she said, "Whatever. Just deal with it, Jim!"
What the hell does that mean? I found out when I got served with papers for a divorce. She had a lot better lawyer than me, and I think he was real friendly with the judge. Based on the fact that it was her inheritance that we'd invested in the restaurant and her stories, lies I mean, of my mentally abusing her, Dana got everything for the most part. I got one of our cars and $10,000 from the restaurant. That was it, I was out on the street. I managed to get a job managing, well assistant managing anyway, another restaurant in town, found an apartment, and tried to get on with my life while Kenny and Dana ran "their" restaurant into the ground. "Oh well. Too fucking bad for them," was all I could think about it. Working afternoons and evenings six days a weak left little time for a social life and I was reduced to making love to my right hand on a regular basis for some relief.
Our primary restaurant supplier had an open house on a Monday, the slowest day of the week for restaurants, with a lot of us closed on that day. It was the supplier's opportunity to smooze with restaurant owners and managers and feed us some wine and appetizers. I welcomed the diversion as I cruised around the banquet room, wine glass in hand, checking out everyone in attendance. I never realized that the distributor was owned by a woman until I was introduced to her. Standing near her with an empty glass in her hand was, to me, a striking looking woman. I'm forty-one and she looked to be in her late thirties or so. She's fairly tall - about 5'7" - and just a little on the heavy side. Just heavy enough that her waist was a little thick but compared to her chest, her waist looked pretty damn slim. Wearing a business suit, a dark maroon skirt with a matching jacket, she filled out that jacket, filled it out till it looked like the top button could pop right off at any time. The white blouse she wore under the jacket was open at the collar and low enough to show some cleavage, well actually, a lot of cleavage. As I was gazing at her she turned almost around to speak to somebody and I saw her ass. It was an ass perfectly in proportion with those tits. Full, round, and very nice looking in that tight skirt.
She turned back toward me and our eyes met briefly. She flashed a faint smile, walked over, and held out her glass to me as she asked, "Would you mind getting me another glass of the white zin?"
"Sure, I'd be glad to. That was the white zin, right?" I asked.
"Yes, uh, James, the white zin." She was looking at my stick-on "Hi, my name is James" badge.
I looked down at her tits, I mean her name tag. "OK, Melissa, white zin coming right up," I tried to say as I turned toward the bar. I'm not sure it came out that clearly as I think I may have fucked it up somewhere between my brain and my lips. When I returned with the glass of wine, Melissa had moved away from the distributor and was standing slightly apart from everybody. "Here you go, Melissa," I told her as I offered her the glass.
Taking it from me, she asked, "Are you one of the owners?"
"No, I manage the Blue Spruce," I replied. "Are you familiar with it?"
"I know where it is, but I've never been in it," she answered.
"Which restaurant are you with?" I inquired.
"Oh, I'm not with a restaurant though several of them are clients. I'm with the marketing group that works with Kline Distributing."
"Oh, I see. What does a marketing group do for a distributor like Kline?"