Sex and the Summer Job Ch. 01

Part I: Late Night Liaison (FF)

"I'm sorry Jay," I said to the young line cook with genuine regret. "I really like you, you're a really good looking guy, and you're sweet and everything, but I'm gay." I knew, even before I said it, that he wouldn't believe me. I'm slim, leggy, blonde and, in the words of several friends, drop-dead gorgeous. After the initial shock, he'd think the same thing all the guys I turned down with the same line thought: I'm just saying I'm gay to take the sting off the rejection. They never believe me, even though I am one hundred percent lesbian.

Before the latest young rejectee could do more than mumble a response, Abbie, my roommate, sometimes bedmate, inadvertently rescued me. Abbie was another blonde beauty, and every bit as gay as me. I often wondered what our testosterone-laden male co-workers would do if they knew the two hottest waitresses in the place were complete dykes? Abbie, ignoring the flustered young line cook, sidled up to me and secretly pinched my ass. "Hey, I'm going to the club after I leave here. You coming?"

I smiled at Jay and excused myself. "I don't know," I said to Abbie. "I might later on. It depends."

"Suit yourself. I'm hooking up with a little hottie from one of my parties. A real touristy type, but hot."

"Good for you. I hope you get laid."

"I plan on it."

"Well, if you bring her home and I'm asleep, please try to keep it down to muffled roar."

Abbie laughed. "I thought you might want to join in. I don't think you've been laid all week."

"Funny," I smirked, even though it was true. I was, however, hoping for something far more interesting than a one-night stand with an anonymous slut from the club.

"You're no fun," Abbie pouted. "If we were a team, we could have whoever we wanted, whenever we wanted. You sure you don't wanna go?"

"We'll see how I feel later. I know where to find you if I decide to go."

"Suit yourself," Abbie shrugged, and she sashayed away with an inviting swish of her lovely ass.

I slipped behind the bar and started to cash out and sort my tips. It had been surprisingly busy for a Wednesday night. It was almost ten o'clock and the last of the customers were only now leaving. The kitchen crew was cleaning up, hurrying to get out before the bars closed. I looked down at the end of the bar and saw Karen, the owner of Periwinkle's, sitting on a stool and going through receipts. My skin immediately prickled into goosebumps.

Karen stirred me beyond all reason from the moment I met her at the job interview. Maybe it was because she looked a lot like my first real crush, my dance instructor back when I was 13, or maybe because I've always been most attracted to older women. Whatever it was, she struck a chord in me. She was 30ish and very pretty. By the end of the day, her shoulder-length auburn hair, normally on the curly side and done up with care, always seemed to hang around her pretty face in a slightly disheveled way, making her look like a woman being pulled in five directions at once. She wasn't slim, but neither was she fat – instead, she was voluptuous in a Marilyn Monroe sort of way, with firm, ample breasts, and a full, well-shaped ass.

At the time, I didn't know for certain whether Karen was even gay or not – she wasn't the type of person to casually mix her private life with her work life – but all the signs pointed that way. I had been coming on to her, subtly at first, then more flagrantly the last week or so. It was easy enough to see that my flirtatiousness piqued Karen's interest, but it also easy to see that it puzzled and flustered her. Given her life's circumstances at the time, why wouldn't it make her nervous and uncomfortable? I knew Karen was fairly recently divorced. She and her ex-husband had run Periwinkles together until their divorce, but she ran it alone ever since. Now it seemed like one of her summer employees, a gorgeous blonde girl hardly out of high school was coming on to her. Of course Karen would be careful about exposing herself to embarrassment or worse. There was no way she was going to make the first move. If I really wanted her, it was up to me to make it happen and tonight was the night I was going to try.

I looked at her, trying not to be obvious about it. She had a reputation among the long-term employees as an excellent boss. She was easy to get along with – not a Type A asshole like so many of the local restaurant owners – she tolerated her staff's idiosyncrasies, and she managed to get everyone to work with a minimum of backstabbing and infighting. Her only hard rules were, show up for work on time, in clean clothes, capable of doing your job, and doing it every minute to the best of your ability (rumor had it she'd bailed more than one employee out of jail after partying too hard after work). She worked harder than any of us, always pitching in wherever help was needed. She did it all in the course of a week: hostess, bartender, manager, table busser, waitress, prep cook, line cook, sous chef, dishwasher, or whatever else needed doing. She was generous and she liked to treat her employees to something special when the chance arose. Every year she had an end-of-summer-season lobster bake on the beach for all the employees and their families or significant others. In turn, Periwinkle employees were loyal to her, something rare in this business. Some had been around from the beginning. Richard, the head chef – a big, bald, black man from the Caribbean – was her first hire. As easy going as Karen was, Richard was that much of a hard-ass. It was no secret he wanted to buy the business from Karen someday. I balanced my receipts, put them aside and moved down to Karen. "Busy night tonight," I said casually.

Karen looked up and smiled. "It sure was. We could use a few more nights like this."

"Could you use some help closing up tonight?"

Karen looked up from the pile of papers. "What? Are you offering?"

"Sure."

"A gorgeous thing like you and you have nothing better to do than hang around here helping me close up?"

"Nothing I'd rather do," I said, leaning on the bar and trying to look casual.

Karen looked at me as though trying to discern what my offer really meant. "I can always use the help," she said at last. "And the company."

"Great. Tell me what you want me to do."

"Well, for starters..."

****

It took nearly an hour before we were finished and Karen activated the security system. "Wow," I said. "That was a lot of work. I never had any idea it was such an involved process. Do you do that every night?"

"Yup, but it takes longer doing it alone. I rarely get out of here before one."

"And you come back when?"

"Usually around noon."

"Amazing! How do you do it?"

"Easy, once I gave up trying to have a life."

"That's not fair."

"It goes with the territory," Karen shrugged. "I try to take my pleasures where I find them, like right now. I'm going to have a glass of wine. Want to have one with me?"

I smiled. Karen was well aware I was only 19, so the drink offer was a very good sign. "Sure, I'd love one," I said. Karen put an ashtray and a pack of Marlboro Lights on the bar before cracking the wine open. "I hate to scrounge," I said, "but can I have one of your cigarettes? I left mine in my purse out back."

Karen, pouring the wine, arched an eyebrow in mild surprise. "Sure, go ahead. I have a hard time seeing you as a smoker. You don't look the type."

"Looks can be deceiving," I smiled as I lit up. "Brittany Spears smokes."

"Well, you're definitely in her league," Karen said as she came around to the front of the bar. She pulled up a stool and sat facing me, and lit her own cigarette. She heaved a sigh of relief. "I really appreciate you sticking around to help me. In all the years I've been here, no one has ever offered to help me close. I can understand that. It's such tedious work, and everyone's tired and wants to get the hell out at the end of the day. But it sure was nice to have some help."

I traced the tip of my finger around the rim of my wine glass and gave Karen my best coquettish little smile. "Well, you're always here when I come in, and you're still here when I leave. It just seemed like the decent thing to do."

Karen dropped her gaze and absently toyed with her glass of wine. "I really appreciate it, especially when you could – maybe even should – be out raising hell with Abbie."

"Abbie?"

"Yeah, I always assumed you two were thicker than thieves."

"We're good friends and roommates, but my life doesn't revolve around her," I said. It was time to toss a little firecracker and see what kind of a reaction I got. "We could never be a serious couple, we get along much better if we keep things casual. Neither of us is much into monogamy, but she's just a little too wild for me on a regular basis. I swear, she'd go with anyone as long as they were female, breathing and willing. I like going to the clubs and raising hell every now and then, but I'd be happy to get into a steady relationship with the right woman, someone a little older and more mature." I looked closely at Karen. It was the first time I explicitly mentioned anything about my sexuality to her.

Karen was caught off guard and crossed up, but she got her bearings quickly. Her face flushed, and she looked away, tossing her hair back and running her hand though it in unconsciously receptive bit of body language. When she looked at me, her eyes were dark and heavy. She took a sip of wine. "I understand about friendships not necessarily leading to serious relationships. I've been there, done that, believe me."

So far so good, I thought. At least I didn't scare her off. "How long have you been divorced?"

"Let's see. Just about a year and a half now."

"I don't mean to be nosy, but haven't you met anyone since your divorce?"

There was an edge of bitterness to Karen's laugh. "Who has time for meeting someone? This place is my life."

"No way! You mean you haven't been with anyone in all that time? A woman as sexy and gorgeous as you and no one's grabbed you yet?"

Karen looked down, smiling yet embarrassed by my compliments. "Nope, I'm still available," she murmured. "Never mind how this place hardly allows me a social life, it's even more difficult than it would be for most others in the same situation."

"Why?" I said. "Because you're gay?"

Karen looked into her wine glass and didn't answer at first. I had a moment of panic, thinking I'd said the wrong thing. Then, without looking up, she said, "Yes. You know, I spent pretty much my whole life trying to convince myself I wasn't gay, and I was miserable. Once I finally admitted it to myself and got divorced, I thought everything would suddenly be perfect. But things don't work that way in real life." She looked up at me with a pained expression. "It's funny, but I did such a good job pretending I was straight that I had no idea how to be a lesbian. I had no idea how to meet other women socially, so I just buried myself in this business." I understood how profound her admission was, especially since she was usually so private. I could recall a single time since I'd worked at Periwinkles that anyone made a remark about her sexuality, and that was the time Leonard, a gay waiter, came away from a frustrating meeting with her muttering, "She is such a dyke." Admitting to me, a young, new, openly lesbian employee who seemed to be coming on to her meant only one thing.

"I can't imagine how hard it must have been to feel like you had to hide that part of yourself," I said

"It was rough, that's for sure. The world at large was only just beginning to deal with gays as 'normal' when I hit puberty. When I was a teenager, being a lesbian was most definitely not something to brag about, plus I was confused. I really didn't think I was gay; I mean, I didn't look like a lesbian, you know what I mean?"

I nodded and said, "I understand what you mean."

"I didn't then and I don't now have a butch bone in my body, and I thought all lesbians were naturally butch. Silly, wasn't it? On top of that, my family's very traditional and not very accepting of gays, then or now. It was almost like I didn't have a choice, so I tried to pretend otherwise."

"I guess I'm lucky," I said. "I had my confused time, but for the most part it was never that big a deal. I've never felt the need to hide it, but on the other hand, I don't wear it like a neon sign. When I meet people, I don't go, 'Hi, I'm Amy and I'm a lesbian.' The people who need to know already know, and beyond that, it's nobody else's business, any more than whether I'm a natural or a dyed blonde."

She chuckled and took a swallow of wine. "What about your parents?"

I laughed. "They're much more disappointed that I decided to wait a while before going to college, or that I smoke. My Mom and Dad are tree-hugging artsy types, and having a lesbian daughter is like some kind of status symbol in their social circle. It allows them to go, like, 'We have a gay daughter, see how trendy and tolerant we are?' They're right into the whole P-FLAG thing."

Karen chuckled. "Be glad they are. The alternative is a lonely life."

"You know, it's just wrong that a woman as smart, beautiful and kind as you should be alone," I said. "Life should be fun." I wore my hair up when I worked, and now I casually reached back, took off the clip, and shook it out, sending it cascading passed my shoulders in a silky mass. I arched my neck, and then looked directly into Karen's eyes. I could see a swirl of emotions in her eyes, but the one that stood out like a beacon was raw desire. Without looking away, I reached over and ran my fingers through Karen's hair, delighted at how soft it felt. "You're a very beautiful woman," I said softly. I gently pulled her close, and she looked at me with searching eyes. At last, I leaned in and kissed her.

Karen moaned softly deep in her throat, and for an instant, she seemed to freeze. I gathered her into a gentle embrace, and as I did, I rolled my tongue into her mouth. The instant my tongue glided up to hers, something seemed to let go in Karen. She suddenly kissed me back with an urgency that took me by surprise. She was almost frantic, like someone starving suddenly turned loose at a holiday feast. Torrents of pent up passion flowed from her. As our tongues clashed in a torrid dance, Karen's throaty moans grew almost into sobs. She pressed against me and the way she trembled and writhed it seemed she was having an orgasm. The intensity of her response was totally unexpected, and it ignited me. I'd never been kissed with such fervent and raw passion. I took her face in my hands and slathered her with kisses, smearing our faces with her lipstick and mine. I could feel my loins surge and cunt swell. I rammed my tongue back into her mouth, amazed at how close I was to cumming myself – and that just from a kiss! The only time in my life kissing made me cum was my very first time, and I was a barely pubescent girl just recently aware of my sexual hunger.

I pulled my mouth away and held her, looking into her eyes while we both panted. Her eyes were pleading, desperate. Little moans escaped her with every breath. I wanted her and I could only just control my desire. "I can't believe this is really happening," she whimpered.

Much as I wanted her, it seemed wrong to do her here in the dim corner of the bar. Had I been in this situation with, say, Abbie, I would have helped her up onto the bar and gone down on her right then and there. On the other hand, we were at the peak of passion, and I didn't want to do anything to break the spell. Looking in her eyes, I knew she deserved better than we could do here, and I could see there was no way her fire was going out any time soon. "Let's go somewhere," I said my voice low and urgent. "Anywhere we can do this right."

"My house," she said almost in a whisper. "It's just up the road."

I kissed her one more time, a deep, languid kiss, my tongue exploring the surface of her teeth. She whimpered again and arched up to me, taking my face in her hands. I moved my hands down her sides and thought how easy it would be to have her now. All I had to do was unbutton her jeans and slide my hand under the clinging fabric. I knew exactly what I'd find. Shuddering, I pulled back. She chased after me with her mouth, and we kissed again, quick, wet, sloppy kisses. "Come on, let's get out of here," I murmured at last.

We disentangled reluctantly. Karen took a deep breath and ran her hands over her sides as though smoothing out her clothes. She stepped behind the bar and grabbed her purse, and then I took her hand and lead her to the small room out back that served as the employee break room on rainy days. There was a small bank of lockers, none of which any of us bothered to lock, against one wall, and I grabbed my purse from mine. We slipped out the back door, and I saw Karen's hands were shaking as she keyed in the security code.

It was a beautiful night, warm and a little humid. Periwinkle's was located right in the heart of the touristy harborside, along with several other restaurants, bars, and clubs. Families and middle-aged couples filled the area during the day, but at night, it got a little edgy. I could hear laughter and the incessant thump of a bass riff flowing from a nearby pub. Last call was still an hour away. Karen's Lexus was the only car in the gravel parking lot.

We slid into the car and closed the doors, shutting out the night sounds of the harborside. Karen's hands were still shaking as she fumbled to get the keys in the ignition. She finally managed to get the car started, and she paused, staring at the dash. "I'm sorry for getting so carried away in there..."

"Listen!" I cut her off. I grabbed her by the arm and made her look at me. "Don't you dare apologize! There was nothing wrong with what happened. It was wonderful." I pulled her to me, hard though it was thanks to the seatbelts, and kissed her. She again let out a trembly, sighing moan. I kissed the corners of her mouth and she arched her neck.

"I just can't help it," she cried. "You're...you're like a dream come true."

My heart surged, and I knew I was right to not do it in the restaurant. This was much more than a quick fuck with a pretty girl for her. It all mattered to her on a deeper level. Sensing her vulnerability sent a surge over me that was just a few steps away from love, and I wanted her more than ever. "Let's get out of here," I said, releasing her and sitting back.

I lit one of my own cigarettes and took a deep drag as she backed the car out and headed down the narrow waterfront streets she knew as well as she knew the floor of the restaurant. I handed her the cigarette. She was still shaking. She took two deep drags in quick succession and she seemed to visibly relax. The night became quiet as we drove away from the waterfront. In no time, she crossed the main north-south coastal highway and we were driving down tree-lined residential streets. The neat colonial houses here bespoke comfortable, though not truly wealthy, lives. We shared the cigarette in silence, and at last, she turned down another quiet street, and then nosed the car into her driveway. Her house was a simple split-level cape. The driveway snaked around the house and dropped down to where the garage was set in the basement level of the house. "Here we are," she said softly, not looking at me.

I looked at her in the dim light and realized just how delicate and fine her features were. I reached over and caressed her cheek with the back of my finger. "Are you going to show me in?" I said with a small smile.

She looked at me with a shy smile. "I'm sorry. See what you do to me?"

I couldn't resist saying, "It's nothing compared with what I'm going to do to you as soon as we get inside."