Sharon had always dreamed of something more…something beyond the small town in which she lived. She had seen plenty of American movies where the heroine starts off as a waitress in a little place somewhere, and meets the hero as she pours coffee for him….It was why she had got a job at Gnocchi’s restaurant.
The months had passed though and although she had altered her uniform to make it shorter and tighter, leaned further and further over the customers as she served them, no heros had appeared. She had been quite optimistic about one young man who, for several months had been a regular. He had sat in a corner with his laptop for hours at a time, ordering snacks and coffees in a distracted fashion as he worked away. Sharon thought he might be an author working a novel (maybe she could be his muse?) or an intellectual finalising his doctorate. Whenever she brought something to his table she walked with her special wiggle, and leaned as far forward as she could manage, a feat which often helpfully caused her top button to pop undone – (“Ooh goodness me! Look what’s happened!”)but she produced no response other than a clutching of the laptop to his rather buff chest. It was depressing to think that a girl could blot out the light with her sumptuous norks and get no reaction….
Eventually she decided that she had to act: Summoning her courage she approached him with an espresso and a plate of little biscotti.
“I love to nibble on these….don’t you?”
The man looked up, the sunlight through the open doorway fell on his strong jawline, injuring it slightly.
“I’m sorry?” he replied
On impulse she sat on the edge of his table. “I like a nibble”
The table rocked precariously: his previous cup and saucer slid to the floor with a crash. The young man grabbed his laptop. Other customers and the staff to turn and stare. Sharon didn’t care! She wobbled back onto the table, hitching her short, tight skirt up and leaning further towards the young man.
“What are you working on?” she asked him. he looked embarrassed – though whether at the question or the sight of Sharon’s ample bangers bursting out of her uniform is hard to say. Leaning a little to the side she caught a glimpse of the laptop screen.
It was a dating site. He had been internet dating all the time whilst she had been serving him with her goodies. It was a bitter blow. She slipped off the table (not entirely intentionally) straightened her skirt and walked (still trying to do the wiggle)back to the kitchen, struggling to control her emotions.
She had been so wrapped up in her fantasy about the handsome young man that she had been oblivious to Carlos Gnocchi the chef and proprietor….
For weeks Carlos has been watching Sharon’s uniform shrink until it gripped her luscious form like the skin of a salami. He had watched her gradually developing wiggle, the top button of her uniform spontaneously popping open and her rapturous bazookas erupting out of it. The last few moments had been torture for him…seeing her leaning forward over the young man’s table, her already miniature skirt almost vanishing. She was offering him nibbles! It was too much.
Sharon burst through the swing doors into the kitchen and stood, sobbing and oblivious, before him. Before he could reach her, the heavy doors swung back and hit her full in the face. She crumpled, but before she quite hit the floor, Carlos was there. The hero in chef’s whites, his apron tied tightly, – fortunately – barely concealing his desire for her.
She fell into his arms, seeking solace and comfort. He gathered her to him, seeking something moister. Would their two desires ever blend and combine? How about their bodily secretions? For the moment it was enough that he was holding her in his arms.
After a few more moments Carlos realised that it was actually too much. She was a curvaceous girl, and starting to feel quite heavy. But she was still crying loudly and damply on his chest.
He eased them both to the corner of the kitchen where he could sit down to take the weight.
In that position he could feel her heaving bosom pressed against him.
“Sharon!” he cried
For a few moments she just cried
Then she looked up, wiping her slightly snotty nose on his whites. “Nobody will ever love me, Carlos. I will be stuck here forever”
Carlos lifted her chin with his hand, looking into her bloodshot eyes. “Sharon my beloved, I have nothing to offer you but Gnocchi’s. Will you take Gnocchi’s for your knockers?”
She opened her eyes wide, suddenly seeing Carlos in a fresh light. He was not just the chef, he was so much more.
She remembered how he kneaded the pizza dough, his hands caressing the warm squidgy mixture like a lover. She remembered his muscular arms stirring pans of sauce, and him pausing whilst chopping herbs to flick back a lock of black curly hair….he should have had his trousers done up whilst cooking, that’s true. But she could overlook that.
Maybe she didn’t want to be taken away from here. Maybe she wanted to be taken. Here.
By her hero in an apron……