Appetites Read online

  On the Saturday before the last class, Chef Samantha pulled me aside and asked if she could speak with me privately once class was over. I agreed and after “Salts and Spices Intensive Taste Lab” class came to an end, and everyone else had left the classroom, Chef Samantha called me to her with those exotic, aventurine-colored eyes.

  “I hope this isn’t out of line,” Chef Samantha said sheepishly, “but I’ve sensed a kind of connection between us and I’m also really impressed with how developed your palate is for a vegan, so I hope I’m not crossing any student/teacher boundaries or anything here by asking you this, but my friend Max is this incredible farm-to-table chef and from time to time he hosts these underground dinners. He’s doing an all-vegan one tonight, and if you don’t have anything else planned, I’d really love it if you’d be my date.”

  I blushed. I remembered that Saturday night is QueerButchCougar46's designated date night, so technically Saturday night is my date night, too, and tonight was Saturday. It was only dinner anyway and it sounded delicious. I accepted and agreed to pick her up at her house that evening. I hadn’t felt this giddy in years.

  I got home from class and started combing through my closet like a madwoman trying to find something cute to wear. I picked out this really classic, black cotton dress that does very nice things for my butt and hopped into the shower to shave myself everywhere—just in case—and have plenty of time for make up and hair and stuff.

  I was towel drying my hair as I heard Julianna come in from a softball game.

  “Hey sweetheart, my date cancelled on me tonight last minute. Do you want to go catch the new Jodie Foster movie with me tonight?”

  “Actually, babe, I can’t,” I told her. “I have a date tonight.”

  I could hear Julianna’s voice drop in disappointment. “Oh, ok. Tomorrow night then?”

  Julianna sat in a chair in the corner of the room brooding like a defeated toddler as she watched me get ready for my date. When she watched me put on my black lace push-up bra that made my barely B cups look like a solid C and black brocade panties, I could almost see her choking back the tears. She knew better than to say anything after all of the nights I had to sit back and watch her get ready for dates with other women.

  I had curled my hair, put on makeup and a pair of six inch “fuck me” stilettos that lengthened the look of my legs in my black magic “ass-enhancing” dress. My black, pleather moto jacket completed the outfit. I had a date with a very hot woman who I have been having prurient thoughts about. I knew she wanted me and I was dressed to fuck.

  “Have fun tonight,” Julianna said as I left. I knew that she did not mean a word of it.

  I was nervous and conflicted on the way to Chef Samantha’s house. She had this really cool loft in the industrial section of town and invited me in for a glass of wine. She looked incredible in a black button-down shirt and tight jeans with her signature combat boots. She was wearing lavender oil, which smelled amazing.

  I couldn’t stop smiling. She was transfixed on me and I on her. I still couldn’t believe that this was real and that I was here with this woman. I felt like someone in a parallel universe. The dinner was to die for, the conversation witty and engaging, the chemistry undeniable, and the woman beautiful. During the meal, Chef Samantha put her arm around me, stroked my hair, and held my hand. Her touch felt so good, so exciting. I was turned on by her nervousness, by how natural she tried to make it feel as she made moves on me while it was obvious that she was calculating and weighing every move in her mind. I felt blatantly desired and it felt incredible.

  As I drove my date home, she asked me if I wanted to come inside for another drink (wink, wink). As she was still my teacher and I was still her student, I told her that I had better not.

  I walked her to the door and she kissed me hard and slow. Her kiss was firm and deliberate. Her lips tasted even better than I thought that they would. Every part of me was wet and hard, wanting so much to be enveloped in her.

  She had been fucking me with her eyes all night, and if I only took two steps through her front door, the conclusion was inevitable. She was so incredibly sexy and I ached out of longing. Just two steps, two steps, two steps, and our naked bodies would intertwine. Two steps and I could finally hold those glorious tits in my hand. Two steps and I could taste the chef herself. Two steps until I could see what my beautiful date looked like when she came. Two steps and all of this pent up sexual energy would come charging out into reckless, carnal abandonment.

  Against the raging will of my libido, I pulled myself from her embrace. Agreements are agreements, and like a good girl, I reported home at a respectable 11:45 p.m. When I got home, Julianna was waiting by the door for me.

  It was windy out and my hair was tousled. She was looking at me with a deep sense of jealousy in her deep brown eyes. She was especially beautiful and vulnerable in her sadness, and I think that tonight, she spent the way feeling the way that I do when she goes out on her little “dates” with co-eds she met on the internet while I stay home alone. I could tell that she finally got it and was beginning to break down.

  “How was your date tonight, love?” she asked me.

  “Definitely not terrible,” I answered truthfully, trying not to grin or gloat, but probably doing so anyway.

  “You look absolutely incredible. That dress is stunning on you.”

  “Thanks. My feet are absolutely killing me though,” I replied, as I flung my stilettos across the room.

  I went upstairs and changed into flannel pajama pants and an old hole-filled t-shirt from our trip to Portugal many years ago.

  “How was your night?” I asked her.

  “I missed you, a lot.”

  “Hey, if you can, keep next Saturday night open. I want to throw a dinner party for Sharon and Nina. If you want to invite Ava and her girl of the moment, go ahead, just let me know a couple days in advance.”

  “Babe,” Jules reminded me, “you are probably the worst cook in the Western Hemisphere. The last time that you tried to cook a formal meal, I ended up in the emergency room.”

  “I promised Sharon that I would.” I assured her. “Don’t worry, it will be much better this time, and besides, it's important to me.”

  In the ensuing days, Chef Samantha and I texted back and forth a few times, and I thought about our kiss often. On a biological and emotional level, I wanted her. Rationally, going further might destroy my relationship. Ethically, Samantha was really and truly a wonderful woman and deserved to be told the truth. I thought it was best to lay my cards on the table in person, after the class was over.

  She had no idea that Julianna existed, that we were technically in an open relationship, or that she was only the second woman I had kissed in close to eight years. Chef Samantha was a really good person, kind, funny, intelligent, and sexy as all get out—an all-around catch. It was not fair to her to be anything less than honest. I respected her too much.

  Things were unusually tense at home. Julianna brought me flowers after work, which she never did unless she had upset me. She was attentive—too attentive—and would do things like frequently bring me water and open doors for me. Maybe QueerButchCougar46 was feeling a little remorse?

  ***

  Saturday’s class was great. Our final class was on pastry basics and we made delicate madeline cookies and macarons and apple tartlets—which I was planning to serve at my dinner party later that night. We got these little purple chef hats with the La Provence Culinary Institute logo on them and certificates of completion, and the class all posed for a group photo. I was proud of myself. I had actually become a reasonably good cook when all was said and done.

  After class, Chef Samantha and I had “the talk.” It was shitty and awkward and I knew in my heart that she deserved better. She told me outright that she was looking for a relationship and that she just couldn’t be second. Samantha told me that she appreciated my honesty and was impressed that I had been an adult about this rather than trying to mak
e her my mistress without her knowledge. She was generally not so into “friends with benefits” situations, but honestly she was really attracted to me and she would just need time to think about it.

  The idea of spending time together and caring for one another without an end-game of eventual relationship and cohabitation, just living in the moment, was something new for her. She needed to process the facts before her and decide if she could live that way. I respected her even more.

  The conversation was really emotional. I knew from her maudlin expression and the downcast glances from her beautiful green eyes that I had hurt her. I hugged her tightly, taking in the smell of warm apples that had infused itself in her hair. She hugged me just as tightly, reluctant to let go. Despite everything, I loved the way that her body felt against mine. I still wanted her. The hug took a long time. Our chemistry only seemed to intensify at the prospect of separation.

  Chef Samantha kissed me goodbye with a peck on the mouth, terse and methodical. Before our lips could pull away, she kissed me again, a little bit longer this time with her lips pressing over and under mine. I tried to pull my mouth away, but before I could, I was kissed once more, mouth open. This time our tongues became involved.

  All pretense of a tender goodbye was stripped away. Biology had taken hold. We had been lusting after one another for months now. The sexual tension had been building and building and both of us felt ripe to explode.

  Before I knew it, she had me pinned on the cutting board of the classroom demo island, my shirt unbuttoned. My hands gripped her exposed full soft breasts. Her nipples found their way into my mouth as I grinded my dripping cunt against her knee. I’m sure that even through my jeans and her pants that she could feel my wetness. She stroked my breasts, standing at full attention. At that moment, every part of my biology begged to be fucked.

  I had crossed that threshold of no return. I wanted this woman, needed this woman, and in that moment, the consequences were irrelevant. I felt her hot, wet pussy against my thigh as we wrangled over one another. I had to have it. My hands wandered to her baggy chef pants and grabbed the drawstring. I started to untie the string to access the pussy I have been dreaming about for so long. I could almost feel its warmth and wetness on my fingers as I began to struggle with the triple-knot she used to secure the pants. In seconds, it would all be real.

  Abruptly, she jumped off of me and gathered her top.

  “I told you, I need time to think about it. I’ll be in touch.” She walked out of the classroom.

  I buttoned my shirt up, gathered my composure, and set myself up to go home and prepare dinner for six.

  ***

  The fennel and endive salad in sherry apricot vinaigrette was a big hit. The field mushroom and seitan stew over spaghetti squash was loved by all, and the desserts I made in class were gobbled up. Sharon finally “outed” me as having survived Xtreme Kitchen Bootcamp.

  I think Jules was the most surprised of all. I think that was the first time that she ever complimented me on my cooking in all the time we had been together. After our friends left, Julianna offered to do the dishes and insisted that I take a long hot bubble bath. She also insisted on drawing the bath for me and I let her.

  Jules was right; I needed the bath to just relax and think. There was so much to process. I’d had a very full day. I’d both come close to having sex with another woman and successfully pulled off an edible three-course meal that was actually complimented by my very picky friends. I still had that residual pent up sexual energy from the encounter with Chef Samantha earlier that afternoon. I wondered if I actually could have gone through with it, and what it would have felt like.

  I was lost in my thoughts when the lights went out. Jules stood naked before me holding a lit pillar candle. I looked at her naked body, concurrently beautiful and familiar. I realized then, the way that I knew every curve of her body, that her body felt like home. I fixated on her nipples, on her neck, on the slight curvature of her spine, on her beautiful cheeks, and her gorgeous brown eyes. I fell in love with her all over again at that moment.

  Jules set the candle down and climbed into the tub with me. We began kissing, and touching, and eventually licking, and fucking one another bowlegged. We laid our lesbian bed death to rest that night, and its funeral was absolutely glorious.

  Hot Blood

  D. L. King

  There’s nothing I love more than the freedom of running through the woods out back behind the old mill on a bright moonlit night in the fall. I don’t mean to be so specific about it, really. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I like just being out there—day or night. I like running, walking, or just lying in the pine needles under that big old mamma up near the ridge. Yeah, propped up against that trunk, at sunset, you can see clear out to the big water. A person could get lost in her thoughts out there with the breeze and the smells and the sounds of all the little critters. Yeah. But still, there’s something about the freedom of racing along, the moon tracking you, the wind in your hair, the smell of the fallen leaves and pine needles, the feel of the ground springing up beneath your feet to push you along faster.

  Faster.

  When I come back to myself, that’s the only thought I remember: Faster. But now...I gotta go to work.

  I rolled out of bed and jumped in the shower. Why do people say that, “I jumped in the shower?” More like I plodded across the room, wishing I could crawl back under the covers, and crawled into the shower. But I slowly woke up under the water pulsing out of the showerhead. I don’t know why people like “gentle rain” showers. I need a good strong pounding to wake up, much less to feel like I’m getting clean. Before I knew it, I was out the door and kick starting my bike, then off down the mountain to civilization.

  “Hey, Van, I got a good one for ya,” Larry called as I walked around the side of the garage. I saw a powder-blue Porsche on the lift.

  “Okay. But first I’m going to the Bluebell for breakfast. I’m not all-the-way-awake yet. I’ll be back soon,” I called.

  “Oh, you think this is for you? Nah, this ain’t for you. This beauty is all mine.”

  “Whatever you say, Larry.” Larry could do anything with American metal but he hated what he called “all them foreign jobs.” That’s one of the reasons he hired me; that, and I am a kick-ass mechanic.

  I walked into the Bluebell and saw that my usual table was occupied. I took a seat at another two-top away from the windows. Too bad. I like being able to look out when I’m eating, but the cute little redhead who’d stolen my table almost made up for it.

  “Morning, Van.” Tory turned my cup over and poured the best coffee in Washington State into it. “Sorry about your table. Want your usual?”

  “Yeah, thanks. No worries. It’s not like my name’s on it or anything. ‘Sides, I’m kinda likin’ the view from here.”

  Tory chuckled and went off to place my order with the kitchen and I took a few more surreptitious glances at the redhead. Definitely from out of town. I knew all the locals and I would have remembered seeing her. I wondered what she was doing here. We’re off the beaten path and not really a tourist destination. Maybe she had relatives in the area.

  I cut into the beautiful, rare steak Tory placed on my table, and it bled into the hash browns and eggs just the way I like it. I’m a carnivore. Well, I suppose I’m an omnivore, to be absolutely correct. I eat other things, like vegetables and breads and fruits too, but I like meat, the bloodier the better. The redhead was eating dry toast and what looked like yogurt, fruit, and granola mix, along with one of those big cups that held the fancy coffees, like the lattes and such. Nope, I was a meat and black coffee woman. But she sure was cute.

  I laid waste to the plate and did everything but lick it clean in about fifteen minutes. I took my time to watch the view, but I had to get back to work and find out what was wrong with that pretty sports car. I left money on the table and called a goodbye to Tory and went back to the garage, fueled and ready to work.

  Turned
out the Porsche needed a fuel pump. Wouldn’t be a hard job, but I had to send to Seattle for the part. It was going to be two days before someone could schlep one out to us because—off the beaten path. I was changing the oil on a Toyota when I heard Larry talking to someone who sounded upset.

  “Hey, Van, can you come out here?” Larry called.

  I walked into the office, wiping my hands on a rag, to find the redhead there. She looked about to cry. “What’d you do, Larry?” I said.

  “What? Nothing. She’s just. . . Can you just tell her about her car?” I looked at him. “The Porsche.”

  “Oh, sure. Hi, I’m Van, uh, Vanessa. That’s a sweet car. It’s not too bad; just needs a new fuel pump. I called our supplier in Seattle and they’re sending one out. You visiting relatives? Got somewhere to stay for another couple of days?” Her mouth dropped open.

  “No. I was just passing through. I really need to get home today. Is there a car rental place in town?”

  “Sorry,” I said, “we’re not much more than a wide place in the road.” She looked at me and I thought she was going to cry. “But don’t you worry; I’m a top-notch master mechanic. I’ll do your baby right. Meanwhile, there’s a motel that’s not too bad, up near the freeway entrance. Larry could run you up there.” I looked at him, “Right Larry? I only have my bike with me, or I’d do it.”

  Larry said, “Sure.”

  She still looked really upset but she knew there wasn’t anything else to be done about it.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Oh, sorry,” she said. “It’s Katharine.” She reached out her hand and I grasped it. The lady had a strong grip—and something else I sensed. “Is it okay if I hang around town for a little while? Maybe even explore a little bit? I wasn’t planning on staying overnight.”