Everyone having sex is at least 18. This is fiction, I made it all up. Warning: this is a self-edited story. I do use Grammarly to help reduce my ability to murder the English language. Special thanks to goducks1 for his help.
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Chapter 1 -- Lunch
I am in class listening to a boring art history lecture when I get an instant message from my older sister Carla, "Come have lunch with me at my place." This is most unusual. I am a 20-year-old self-absorbed full-time student who each day must pick which of my girlfriends I want to bless with my time. I need to allocate lunch and the obligatory after lunch fucking, dinner and fucking, and then who spends the night with me. I know, tough life.
Both of my parents were models, I do it to in my spare time. However, I don't see that as my long-term plan, business management is. I saw from my parents, modeling is a young person's business. Sure, they still work, but they're living off the money they made in their teens and early twenties. I want something I can do until I drop dead.
My older sister is a free spirit and a chef. Recently she opened "Carla's Bistro". I am surprised she wants to spend time with me, especially at her busiest time of day. She really is a good cook. She has always been a chef, I typically saw her on Thanksgiving and Christmas when many restaurants close. She is doing a Bistro focused on lunch, so she can date and have fun in the evenings. We live in a large town with a college. It sounded like a good idea to me. Her food is awesome.
If she wants to see me it must be important, I text back, "See you at 11:30." I go back to taking notes on something I could less about. I am bored so my thoughts drift back to Christmas, Carla in a thin white blouse with a few buttons open to show off her awesome cleavage. My guess is she is 6' tall and 38D-32-34. Light brown hair that is shoulder length and curls in on the ends. She has perfect posture making it seem like she is thrusting out those huge melons of hers. She has dark green eyes and the family's million-dollar smile when she shows it. She is hot, although, she is my sister. High school is hard when the hottest looking woman is your sister.
After class, I put on my backpack. It is a nice late spring day so instead of driving, I will get some more exercise in. Her place is only a mile away, I jog over. Walking to my car, then driving in traffic, it would have taken longer. I walk in about 11:15 AM. The hostess seats me and says that Carla will be out in a few minutes. How did she know who I am? Cute girl, college age, name tag says Kim. This is my first time inside. I look around. It looks like the set of a Hallmark movie. Everything is tastefully done to make it look cozy, like a woman's bedroom. A light green pastel paint on the walls and many craft items round out the place.
There are three pairs of women having lunch and talking. They seem to be enjoying the place, yet I feel out of place. It's too girly for me. Girl's bedroom is about right, I have seen enough of them to know. Just need the white walls and popcorn ceiling. Women love to go cowgirl on me, so I see lots of ceilings. I see Kim checking me out. She tries not to, but she can't help it. She distracts herself with getting coffee, tea, and checks for the customers. As two customers leave a few more come in. Steady traffic but not enough. Of course, this is a Tuesday, not a busy day.
Acting casual, I notice that each of the women steals glances at me. They drop a fork, ask for their waitress, or just look at the décor and glance my direction. I find it amusing. Kim stops by with a serving tray holding four lunches and puts them on my table. With each item, she bends down to open her cleavage even more, smiles and places the plate on the customer's table. She leaves.
I am used to women looking at me. Like my dad we have a ruggedly handsome look, big shoulders, dark short hair and bright clear skin. I have lots of muscle which makes me almost irresistible to girls, moms, and teachers. It gets old after a while though. They like me because I look cute. HEY, I have a brain and a personality too! Nobody cares, I just need to look cute.
Carla comes back, a plate in each hand and sets the plates on my table. She bends down to kiss me on the cheek and hugs me. Her first attempt at a hug ended as a breast hits me in the face, she giggles, adjusts and hugs me before sitting down across from me. She is my sister but that is still nice. The question I have, did she do that on purpose, because I think she did. Why? What does she gain? She can't date me.
Carla smiles at me, "Sorry about the concussion. I am glad you came by."
I am still in shock at her blatant battery, "I will survive although if I eat all this food I may burst."
Now Carla is serious, "I need an honest opinion, mom and dad were no help. I know you love me because I am family, but I want you to think of me as that mean sister that tormented you all those times I caught you jacking off at home."
Those are memories I really didn't need. Those days are gone by.
Carla seems pained, "I want you to try all of my main menu items and tell me as a guy, a guy that was embarrassed by his sister, what do you really think of my food? No sugar coating, I NEED the truth. 100% honesty, eat before it gets cold. I will help you, so it doesn't go to waste."
I am hungry, I just ran a mile, I dig in. Carla ate some but soon finishes, she doesn't eat much. I ate about a quarter of each. Then went back again, and again, and again so that I finished it all off. Now before you go thinking I am a pig, I am not. I am a big guy, 6' 5", 235 pounds of pure muscle that stays in shape, so I can model. The problem is the meals are small, dainty, like what a college girl might eat in front of another woman. Carla is staring at me in disbelief.
I smile at her, and then answer her obvious questions, "The problem isn't the food. As you can see, it's wonderful. I saw your menu, and I know those square things were tofu. To me, tofu is white dirt with water. Your version is amazing, I can't believe THAT was tofu. What you really want to know is why is your business failing, right?"
Carla looks bashful, but I can tell I hit the mark. Nobody is in the place. She thinks it's her food. It isn't.
Carla is sad with a tear in her eye, "I thought it was my cooking, that I wasn't good enough. My former boss told me I was stupid for leaving him and that I would fail. I wasn't good enough to own my own restaurant." That made me angry. "Maybe he was right. Maybe I am a failure and should just be a sous chef."
With a bit of anger and determination, I looked her square in the eye, "You my dear sister, are not a failure. You are a wonderful, nice, and a beautiful woman. Your cooking is terrific, but your marketing, menu, and theme could use some work. I am no artist but one of my girlfriends, Bev, is and she is very talented." That made Carla smile a bit. "How about I come up with some ideas and we can talk about it. Today is Wednesday, come by the house on Saturday about 2:00 or so, and I will show you some samples and suggestions. I will get some inspiration from a senior I am dating. She does homework with me and she is sharp. This could be something she can show on a resume, real consulting experience. That will help her get a job."
Carla asks brazenly, "How many girlfriends do you have?"
