Chef's Special

This is my first erotic story. Please let me know what you think, what works for you and what doesn't.

*

I was about twenty nine years old when I saw her, standing outside the diner where I was celebrating my anniversary dinner with my wife. This Mexican woman was wearing a simple red dress and appeared to stare longingly in my direction with her big auburn eyes, though I rationalized that she was only reading the menu taped onto the glass pane directly above my wife's seat. She read the menu out loud, her lips moving visibly with exaggerated, sensuous motion. Though a practiced lip reader, I could not make out what she was saying.

I wanted to understand her, however, and when I did catch her glance she let shine a calculated smile, her Mexican features brightening and conducting all the summer sun's heat into the beat of my heart. Sincere or not, time stood still until the moment I noticed her walk in through the door. My heart started racing and pounding when she chose to sit in the table directly behind me, where my wife could see her while I couldn't - though at least I could smell her calming lilac perfume.

"And that's when I realized that uncle Pedro could never understand love." My wife, Lea, said to me abruptly. No, I remember she had been speaking to me the whole time I had watched this girl from inside the restaurant.

I searched for a reply, but all I could think about was whether or not to turn around and say something to the girl behind me. I wanted to say something that would impress her. I'm sure she was listening to me, I swear it - she was interested in who I was.

"Nobody understands love." I stammered out.

"Jackson -- let's not get into this now."

"That's not what I meant..."

The girl behind me tittered. My heart raced and I felt sick. I excused myself to go to the bathroom.

***

I was directed to a single stall bathroom in the way back of the dinner. I let myself in, locked the door and sat down on the toilet. My thoughts returned to the Mexican woman at the table behind me. I remembered the details of her body that I had been able to catch through the window pane -- the weight of her breasts, the way her brown wet hair clung on to her ass and the curve it made as it connected to her torso, all hidden behind the thin red fabric that swayed and clung to her form in the wind. I watched her read out loud again, only this time I could hear my own fantasies in her dark red lips -- I imagined them wrapped around my dick.

For the first time I noticed a stirring down there and a weight in my stomach dragged me towards the center of the earth. I looked down and was shocked and betrayed by the bare lust of my growing penis. I felt it with the tip of my finger -- her fingers would be so soft, she could run them down the shaft as if sizing me up from behind her brown eyes before letting me sink it into her pussy, wet and hairy and gorgeous. I stroked my cock with greater enthusiasm.

There was a sudden knock on the door and my heart started racing.

What if they had caught me masturbating?

I thought. "Busy!" I tried to call out, but my voice cracked. I was fumbling with my hands, looking for something to cover my ever expanding pubic region, when the door slid open and the Mexican woman slipped in without a noise.

Time stopped. Again. The world greyed. I felt my thoughts fall out of my reach and my penis grow flaccid. I was aware of my heartbeat, though I had no pulse. She still looked breathtaking, even in grayscale, and I took careful note of her soft cleavage and long hair and sweet nose and dark button eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mister." Her innocent voice brought me back to reality and my penis snapped back to attention. She swiftly took note of it and locked eyes with mine. I couldn't think of anything to say, though I remember her smile. I felt like it was asking me a million things, all of which could be answered with one word that it was too early to say, though I wanted so badly to give it to her.

"I-i-it's okay." I stammered. I wanted to say something to impress her, but I could't order the thoughts and images that sprung into my head:

Shouldn't I tell her I want privacy? Is she looking at my penis? Is it smaller than the ones she's used to? Larger? Does she want to squeeze it into her pussy and squeeze its hot spunk into her brightening future, her future with me in it: walks in the park, a moment by the swings, hot chocolate dates and her absolute attention fixed on me for all eternity.

"I saw you outside the restaurant." I slobbered out instead between rapid breaths. I remember thinking:

How did I get here? What happened? Why did I say that? I need to tell her to get out, I need to tell her to forget about me, even if she really just wants to fuck me and only me and forever and ever and love -

I tell her to fuck off, but she doesn't say anything in response. Instead, she closes the door behind her. We truly had a connection: she knew what I really wanted, which was her and only her.

"In order to lock this door, you must really jam it in before you turn the key - now we are truly alone." My heart was racing. She put a finger to her lips. "Who is that girl out there?"

"My wife." I answer her without hesitation.

"Wife? Do you have a ring?"

I kept it in the usual place on my ring finger, and I indicated that. She grabbed it from my helpless trembling hand with smug satisfaction and slammed it on the toilet seat. There was a moment when her eyes flashed with anger and I felt I wave of cold air wash over me. I wanted to tell her something profound, but I couldn't think of anything but her presence, her soft breasts and dark nipples, her long eyelashes and dark eyes that betrayed a deep and unfathomable consciousness.

Her commanding eyes flicked down to my penis, which grew hard and held again firmly in her direction. Then she lowered her head and began to lick it sensuously, full red lips enveloping my shaft and tip, my world swirling along with each whirl of her tongue. I could barely think. I could barely remember where I was, but I even then knew that I'd never be able to forget the moment I released my load into her mouth, nor the look she gave me when she swallowed my cum, insatiable for more, ready to devour me.

She looked up from my cock and licked my cheek, leaving a mix of cum and saliva there -- and blood - "I bite a little". Of course she did. I still want her to, if she craved the taste of my blood. Then she spoke to me in a voice that was simultaneously inviting and poisonous, honest and full of mystery.

"Come to this addresses later tonight. You don't need to bring anything with you. My name is Sylvia. Remember it, I won't tell you again."

And she handed me a card along with my ring, which I slipped back on my finger sometime between the bathroom and the table where my wife was waiting for me, playing with her pony-tail and chatting idly with the waiter.

***

I left my house that night after dinner under the pretense that I had more work to finish in the office. Instead, I took a taxi to the address of the woman I met in the dinner - Sylvia. A tall apartment building in a rundown neighborhood. I scanned for her name on the door bell and experienced an intoxicating burst of adrenaline when I found it -- Sylvia. Sylvia. Sylvia sylvia sylvia. I couldn't stop repeating her name in my head as I ascended the staircase to her apartment, where she was waiting for me in the same red dress that I saw her in earlier that day.

"Sylvia." My throat felt dry and I remember noticing a wetness on the tip of my cock. It might have been hard the whole way up. I felt ashamed of it and I tried to hide it behind my hands, but it was too easy at that point to start to stroke it - then more vigorously until I finally pulled it out of my pants and offered it to her, begging her to take it.

"Sylvia, please..."

She giggled as she pulled me into her dark, cool apartment, where I could smell a faint musk of sex, weed, sweat, beans and flower air freshener -- her perfume -- her smell -- everything - "You smell wonderful, Sylvia."

Even now, back home, saying her name gives me a rush a pleasure. I feel faint, like I'm being squeezed from the inside out. I want to drop on my knees and ask her to marry me. I want to give everything that I am to her, for being her, for looking at me, for allowing me to breath with her, for letting me say her name in her presence. Sylvia. It spun over and over again in my mind as she squeezed my body between her cold, thin arms, closed then door and pushed me roughly against it. I felt her hand around my belt buckle and then her cool lips around my cock and then I'm coming and coming and then -- I'm home again, dropping my keys in the bucket by the door and slipping into bed soundlessly next to my wife, who wakes up and propositions me, but I couldn't possibly betray the night, it belonged to her -- Sylvia, my goddess, Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia.

I fell asleep to the sound of her name as it echoed in my mind.

***

I woke up the next morning sick with guilt and I took a long look at my wife Lea, a beautiful brunette girl I met in Toledo while on vacation disguised as a businessman. We had been married two years at that time. Presently, she opened her eyes and smiled at me.

"How's it going, honey. You okay?" She asks me. Can she tell? "You seem strange today... I didn't hear you come in last night."

I tensed - I couldn't tell her what happened. She snuck her hand under the covers like she did every morning and started to play with my dick. No response -- I would normally jump at her touch, but I felt nothing then and she expressed concern.

"Are you feeling okay?"

She can't know about her. She can't know that somethings are different. I need to get an erection, but all I could think about is Sylvia. I spoke her name silently--

Sylvia -

and I felt a stir. My penis hardened. And I did it again.

Sylvia sylvia sylvia.

"That's better." My wife says in my frozen memory of her.

Sylvia.

Lea squeezes harder and glances up at me, catching my eye briefly.

Sylvia sylvia.

I closed my eyes and imagined Sylvia outside the restaurant, in the bathroom, in her home, her lips around my cock, right breast hanging out of her dress, moaning and slurping and all sounds - and then just her name, her perfect name,

Sylvia Sylvia Sylvia Sylvia

until I cum in my wife's mouth and pass out out again, dreaming just of her and of her ceaseless rhythm.

Sylvia sylvia sylvia.

When I woke up again my wife was at work, so I dressed quickly and left for Sylvia's apartment. I didn't bring my keys with me that time.

***

When I arrived at the apartment I saw that the door was ajar. I let myself in, already trembling in sexual anticipation. My knees felt weak and I had to hold on to the wall as I searched for the light. The floor creaked under my weight and my heart exploded. I shouted into the darkness but I didn't hear anything in response, and nothing followed any of my other cries. I was terrified about what might have happened to her. My heart stills pounds when I think about that moment and it's as if I'm back there and I still need her. I do need her!

I run downstairs. I run outside. I scream her name until my throat cracks and until I'm delirious and tired and falling asleep in a cardboard box near a dumpster in an alley. Just thinking about her, wanting her, whispering to her, rubbing my cock and spraying seed everywhere because I know she'll come to it, even if it's been years and years since she tasted it and the depth of the time and distance makes me cry and sputter and cough but still I want her and I'm cumming and cumming and cumming - and I want to her to like me again like she liked me when she touched me in the bathroom in the restaurant where I had my anniversary with her, just like always, and the waitress said her name every time he brought us a dish, and the chef named the special after her and television said "Sylvia" and the newspaper said SYLVIA and I said her name: Sylvia.