I have only had two passions in my life; food being the foremost. Therefore, it didn't come as a surprise to my friends and family when upon graduating high school, I immediately signed up for a catering course. It took a lot of convincing but I eventually got dad to set up an investment fund for me instead of getting that car he had promised if I made it through high school successfully.
My skills might not have been top of the class but what the others had in skill; I made up for in eagerness and a keen ability for learning. My love for the craft and my ability to be creative with ingredients eventually placed me at the top of the class, and as a result, the winner of the twenty thousand dollar prize for the most innovative student. With that and the trust money for my erstwhile car, I set up my own business. Almandine's, the gem for which I myself was named. At twenty-one years of age, I could boast of far more success than a great number of my peers, especially the ones who had taken up college admissions and were still hustling grade points while I watched my business grow.
Moreover, grow, it did. Because five years after, I’m at the airport, flying to France in order to discuss terms of business with a prospective partner for the establishment of Almandine’s right in the capital city of Paris.
Which brings me to the only other thing that fights for heart space with the gift of the gods known as food. Sex. I love to fuck. I have loved it since I first realized my vagina wasn't only made for passing waste fluids. I had struck gold one morning at the age of twelve while having a steamy bath and rocking to loud music. Suddenly, the music changed from the upbeat tempo to something slow and languid. My body immediately got the memo and quit its hurried movements to match pace with the song playing smoothly off my iPod. My hands caressed the rest of me on their own accord, smoothing lather all over my warm skin. Subconsciously, I knew the gooseflesh rising all over me had nothing to do with the water that was nearly scalding hot. I was obviously enjoying the feel of my hands on my own body. So much, it created a sweet itch somewhere between my legs. My hand made its way down low to soothe the itch but instead of abating, I only wanted to keep going, keep stroking, and keep twirling the piece of flesh at the place where my newly arrived pubic hairs stopped. Therefore, I stroked and stroked until the only music left playing was the sound of my own voice making feather-light sounds of immense pleasure. Stroking until my body was shuddering and I felt like I was collapsing on my own self. I must have closed my eyes sometime in-between because when I opened them again, the world was new and immensely beautiful. During dinner that evening, I was aware of stares being directed at me. It was as if they could sense some change in my demeanor (can't have been that hard as I was humming the entire time) but I couldn't care less. I wolfed down my food and hurried off to bed to a second round of sweet self-love.
The sky was a velvety dark color with sprinklings of starlight. I perched on a bench waiting for my meet. I took a moment to savor the dark beauty of the space above me. The twinkling stirred something deep below my waistline. Alternatively, maybe it was the thought of all the things that could happen under the glare of those cold eternal eyes.
The reverie was cut short by a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see a man standing in front of me. Unimpressive in every way, he was short and sported a beer belly. Perhaps the only lucky stroke was that he still had a full head of hair.
“Hello, I was expecting something…” my voice trailed off but my eyes continued to assess the man before me. When he spoke, his voice was a deep baritone. I was about to wonder how I missed that when I realized the truth. Of course, we had only ever corresponded via emails. No phone calls.
“…better,” the rich tone said, pulling me back to the present. “I get that a lot, so relax. Many people meeting me for the first time say I sound much different than I look. I know what they really want to say is that I’m ugly but I don’t mind. I made my peace with that a long, long time ago.”
I looked at him, an odd feeling already making hum within me. It was closely related to curiosity but something else I couldn't quite place at the moment. I was strong to reconcile the confident oratory with the body it belonged to but I was really coming up short.
"It's nice to meet you in person, Mr. Ranch," I said. I hoped that would make up for the uneasy silence I had allowed to develop right after his speech.
"Shall we?" He smiled easily and placed a palm on the small of my back as he led me towards the restaurant a few feet away. The touch did not feel as lousy as I had imagined they would be. The thought had barely formed when I froze, almost horrified by the idea that while this man stood there talking about the obvious fact that e was not what anyone would call handsome, I had been imagining what his touch would feel like. I shook my head clear of the thought as a door attendant got the door for us.
The smell of delicious meals slapped my nostrils immediately we stepped in. my companion pulled out a seat for me and I took it, settling into the warm ambiance of the place. If I didn't know better, I'd think it was Valentine's with so much red themed furnishing. And were those scented candles?
"This would be a nice spot for lovers to dine," I blurted out without thinking. This happened to me a lot. Because beneath all my enthusiasm for good food and amazing sex, I really was a shy person who battled with awkward speech spurts like the one that just happened.
"Perhaps we could arrange that some other time, Ms. Almandine but tonight we're here to talk about the expansion of your restaurant, yes?" He flashed me a smile again.
I kicked myself mentally. I had to focus on business instead of this weird attraction I was beginning to feel for this man. It had to be that or why else would I be so fixated on noticing his strong points? Like his well-manicured nails on surprisingly long fingers. I blocked an image of one of them sliding smoothly into my pussy. I could feel moisture gather presently at the guilty place. I squeezed my thighs tightly together and picked up a menu.
“So, Mr. Ranch,” I began as I waited for my meal to arrive.
“Call me Jake,” he interrupted.