DRAINING NOODLES By John Candu too_hot_in_bama@hotmail.com
I took a summer job as a dishwasher at Julio's Italian Restaurant to earn a few bucks for college. The place is in a new, richly decorated clubhouse/hotel at Silver Lakes Golf Course. I hated the work but it paid $6 an hour.
One day the manager, Hal, came over and said gruffly, "Joey!! Whatcha doin'!?"
"Draining noodles!" I yelled over my shoulder as I shook the steaming colander of fresh spaghetti over the sink. "Helping out the cook."
"Leave it! I need help out here! You ever been a waiter?"
"No!"
"Well, you're one now! We've got a party of 20 and I need you to pitch in!"
"I don't have a waiter's uniform," I said, trying to get out of the extra work. I was in short pants and a tee shirt.
"I've got some spare uniforms hanging in my office. Now get your butt out there fast and show some hustle!!"
I figured I could run through hell with gasoline britches as long as I knew it was temporary. I strolled into Hal's office and picked through the white, frilly shirts with black buttons until I found a size 15. I slipped on black, silk-lined pants with the cummerbund and clipped on the bow-tie. There were no shoes my size, but my sneakers were black.
When I hit the floor, Hal was going berserk trying to handle the regular customers and attend to the table of 20. With only three waitresses on duty, it was a funny sight.
Clasping my shoulder, Hal barked, "They're on salad now! All you do is pick up bowls when they get empty, see!?! If tea glasses or coffee cups get low, refill 'em! Easy!"
I grabbed a bus cart and began clearing the bowls. As I reached for the first one, the man said, "Excellent timing -- I finished just this instant!" I moved around the table two or three times, refilling drinks as I went. Through luck, I just happened to be back at the front of the table when the man put down his china cup of coffee. I freshened it up. He turned to me and said, "You're the most attentive waiter I've ever seen! This service is better than I've had in Chicago's finest!"
Hal whispered that the steaks were ready and that I should help. There was a ticket with each plate. Fortunately, the plates and tickets were lined up in order of the seating.
I carried out the heavy tray and placed it on an aluminum stand. I gave the man his extra-rare T-bone and continued until I ran out of plates and returned to the kitchen for more. The second load seemed even heavier and I wasn't going to chance dropping it trying to balance it on one hand. I noticed that Mr. Complimentary had taken a sip from his coffee. I grabbed the pot and poured a bit.
"Just to keep it fresh," I told him.
The man smiled and said to his friends, "This guy's something else!"
Whether anyone else shared his opinion of my service, I can't say. But throughout the meal, I made it my business to be at this customer's side each time he put down a cup or piece of silverware. At the very least, I thought, I might earn a good tip.
From the conversation at the table, I learned his name was Ambrose. Ambrose was tan, more than 6 feet tall and lanky. He was wearing horrendous red, blue and green plaid golfing pants with an expensive white Silver Lakes tee. He had a gold diamond-cluster pinkie ring and a gold chain that disappeared into a tuft of hair at his open collar.
Ambrose cut away the final bloody bite from the bone and pushed his plate aside. I was on top of it: I retrieved the plate and asked if he'd like dessert, a sorbet.
"Son, you could teach a course on Total Quality Management. You're absolutely the best waiter I've ever had."
I smiled, thanked him and blushed. Awhile later I was collecting the dessert cups and the men were getting up to leave. Ambrose whispered to me: "Come see me in the bar."
After all the tables were cleared, I asked Hal for a break.
"Sure Joey! Hey! GREAT fucking job! From now own, you're a waiter and I'm paying you $7.50 an hour!! Plus tips!! When you come in tomorrow, we'll have a uniform ready for ya!!"
Elated, I went to his office and changed back into my clothes, tight denim cut-offs and a red tee shirt. I didn't mind that my freshly-shaved legs raised eyebrows. Everyone knew I was gay. A lot of people ask if I do drag, but I tell them no -- I shave my legs because I enjoy the many compliments I get from "leg men."
I combed my hair and headed to the lounge. Ambrose was sitting alone on a bar stool.
"Hi," I said, feeling a little awkward.
His face brightened. "Well hello! Have a seat!" I hoped up onto the stool and he asked, "Will they allow you to have a drink on break?"
"No, but thanks!"
"Well, hell, let's at least get ya a cola. Bartender!"
Ambrose opened his wallet and took out a fifty. "This is for you, young man. I really like your attitude and enthusiasm."
I palmed the note and thanked him profusely.
"Hey, listen, uh... what time do you get off?" He was leaning over, speaking softly, resting his beefy hand on my thigh.
"Three," I said. My hand dropped on top of his and squeezed gently.
"Well, uh... Gee. Tell ya what. How'd ya like to earn another fifty?"
"Um, like, what would I have to do?"
"Just give me a massage in my room. Nothing fancy -- just work out some lumps from my golf game. How about it?" The hand slipped to my crotch and his knuckles grazed my cock.
I agreed to be at his room by 3:15 and thanked him. Break-time was almost over.
"Well, here, before ya leave let me give you this," he said, handing me another fifty.
"You're paying in advance?"
"Yeah, I trust you. And there might also be a good tip involved."
The rest of the shift went quickly. Hal informed me he had a new dishwasher coming in tomorrow and that I would begin my waiter-duties at lunch. I went back to the locker area and showered. I slipped on, without underwear, a pair of fresh, extremely-short red balloon-cloth jogging shorts and a pink half-tee. I slipped into sandals.
Right on time, I knocked at Ambrose's door. "The door's open, come on in, kid."
Ambrose was sitting in front of the TV watching ESPN with his feet crossed on an ottoman. He was wearing a white terrycloth rob and his hair was damp from showering.
"Damn! That's a hot-looking outfit ya got there!"
"Thanks -- for the compliment and for inviting me to give you a massage!"
"Hey, lemme ask ya a question: what was the hardest thing you did today?"
I thought a moment, then said, "Draining noodles. The steel colander is heavy and hot, and if you're not careful you can burn yourself and spill pasta into the sink and then Hal will --"
"No-no; not what I meant!" he interrupted. "The hardest work you can EVER do is to serve people with EXCELLENCE. And you proved that you can do that! I like guys like you around me, and I want to offer you a job!"
Ambrose said he owned a grain company and that he's a futures trader on the Chicago Board of Trade. He said he wanted me to serve as his office assistant. Thirty thousand a year to start.
As Ambrose gestured, his robe fell loose in front, exposing his semi-hard eight inches of meat. I stepped between the footstool and his knees and kneeled. I parted the robe all the way and sucked his manhood into my mouth and throat.
Ambrose sighed loudly and scrunched forward. His cock emerged from a black mound of hair and stood rock-hard like a sculpture. I bathed the head with my saliva and tongued the pee slit and sensitive joy-nerves beneath his head. I toyed with his balls, stopping to roll them in my mouth, and bathed his sack in my spit. I moaned with delight.
He began leaking pre-cum. He picked up the TV changer and turned off the set. He began bucking into my mouth. I had to put a fist around what I couldn't swallow to keep from choking.
Just as he drew near to cuming, he stood up. "Why don't ya get outa those clothes?" It took me just a moment to peel them off. My seven inches was throbbing and spilling pre-cum.
"Please, let me fuck you."
I got down on all fours on the plush white carpet. Ambrose must've had a tube of KY in his robe. I felt him put a thick glob around my hole and push a finger in me. I moved my hips provocatively and moaned in pleasure.
Ambrose placed his dick against my hole. I always thought of this part as a take-off, kinda like when an airplane enters that crucial stage of lifting off or crashing. I've had a few older guys who were just fine right up to this point; then they'd go soft and crash. Ambrose did just fine. And the impact of a man-pole cramming past my rosebud never got dull. Not only was Ambrose hard, he was like a rod of steel. My muscles gave way as he tore upward in my chute. I thrust back against him, meeting each blow of his love-meat. Ambrose fucked me for nearly half an hour. I used my hole's love-muscle to squeeze and milk his cock. He made circular movements, then ground side-to-side, then resumed hard-slamming thrusts, all the while gasping and sweating.
"Oh! Yeah! Drain-my-noodle! Baby, oh baby! Yeah!"
Plowing deep, Ambrose shot me so full of spunk I thought I could feel it bubbling up in my throat. He continued to slam into me for another minute or so. When his dick softened, he pushed me forward and lay on top as the last drops drained into my hole. Feeling his hairy, bear-chest against my back made me hotter. I began another series of back-thrusts, hoping his dick would revive.
Ambrose rolled over and his cock came out of my hole with a slick pop. "Turn it over, Joey babe." I flipped over, feeling his cum leak from my hole onto the carpet. Ambrose slid to my crotch and swallowed my dick. I didn't figure he was the type. But Ambrose was clearly experienced at cocksucking. He brought me to the edge, eased off, brought me back, eased off, then repeated it over and over, as if he had a sixth sense about what it would take to get me off. He swung my shapely shaved legs over his shoulders and supported my buttocks with his thick hands as he sucked my dick and balls and ate his own cum outa my hole with snorts and slurps. His sixth-sense kicked in again, and he ran a finger deep into my hole to my prostate as he churned on my mushroom head and shaft. I was so primed that I couldn't have held back if my life had depended on it. I fired into his mouth in six spurts that felt so good it hurt. Oh! what a climax!!
Ambrose pulled away. His lips and nose were smeared and glossy with my cum. I chuckled at the sight, sat up, and kissed him deeply, tasting our mixed cum as he tongued me.
We went to the bedroom and collapsed, cuddling and napping.
After awhile, Ambrose woke and I said, "Did I dream it or did you really offer me a job as your personal assistant?"
"Hey, you heard it right, Joey!! I don't want you draining nobody's noodle but my own!!"