by Elaria Ride
I spare one last, fleeting glance at the airport before we head off down the road… and maybe it's just a coincidence, but for the first time in a long time, I feel a little bubble of hope beginning to spring from somewhere in my chest.
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We pull up at some place called Gian's about ten minutes later. From the looks of it, it's an Italian joint, one I certainly don't remember from my childhood. I explain as much to my parents, but they just turn to each other with this weird, knowing expression and refuse to elaborate on.
I huff and roll my eyes as I step out of the car. That figures. They’re great at being sufficiently vague, when they want to be.
My dad works in a bakery, so we already talk on the phone pretty regularly, exchanging business tips and pastry advice. He’s been offering to get me a position forever, but I’m not quite ready to face the reality of working with my dad.
Still, the three of us manage to make small talk as we head towards the door. As someone far too familiar with this industry, I'm pleased to see that the location has good curbside appeal. The exterior is exactly what you'd expect from a small-town Italian place; I only hope the food delivers on that promise. I tend to have a discerning tongue.
My dad holds the door open for me, and I step inside. The warm air hits me in a rush, such a stark contrast from the low temperatures outside that I can't help but let out a relieved little sigh. Mom was right, even if I don't want to admit it; I do need winter clothes that actually fit… especially since I have no idea what might happen when I return to LA in a couple of weeks.
And I suppose I’m so caught up in those circulating thoughts, so determined to feel sorry for myself, that I don’t even notice who is standing at the podium about twenty feet from the entrance.
Ice-cold shock floods my veins as surprise sucks the air from my lungs.
It’s Harrison.
And if I'd thought he was hot before, I'd been wrong; it's nothing — absolutely nothing — compared to how he looks now.
I would’ve recognized him from a million miles away, of course…that sandy blonde hair, those twinkling gray eyes, that rugged, all-American smile framing a dimpled chin. Shit. The years have been kind to him.
Somehow, he’s even taller than when I’d known him in high school; now he towers close to 6’3”. My eyes rake shamelessly up his body before I even realize what I’m doing. His white button-down shirt is parted to reveal a smattering of hair on his chest, the same shirt that’s squeezed just tightly enough over his arms to show how well he’s maintained his built, athletic form.
Even from this distance, I can make out the jutting tendons on his forearms, the way his hips slim down into a perfect V shape. I let out a muffled groan, biting my lip. It’s been such a long time since I’ve allowed myself to consider being turned on — and it’s been even longer since I’ve actually had sex…
My eyes finally make it up to his face, and with a gasp, I realize something else: He's staring right at me.
And based on the dazed, dizzy look on his face, maybe — just maybe — he wants me as much as I want him…
Harrison
When Steve — my bread supplier — had casually mentioned that his daughter was coming back to town for Christmas, it had taken me a couple of minutes to make the connection.
But he’d mentioned it over and over again (and said it with such a weird insistence) that I’d finally figured it out about a week ago: His daughter happens to be Kara Crane.
I’d never said as much to him of course, but Steve must have heard through the small-town grapevine that I’d had quite the thing for her back in the day. Of course, back then I’d been awkward, shy, afraid of getting hurt, afraid of having my heart broken by the girl I’d been obsessed with since I’d hit puberty.
I’m not a total idiot, though; I wouldn’t have shared any of this with her dad, of all people. And I definitely wouldn’t have shared that even at age 16, I’d known I was in love with Kara Crane. Absolutely head over heels.
But back then? I wished she’d had some curves to complete the picture.
This wasn’t something I blamed her for, of course; I’ve learned enough from living on this mountain that body types aren’t exactly things we can control.
Still, this hadn't stopped me from masturbating to the thought of her as a size 18… a size 22… even a size 26. Truth be told, that's still something I masturbate to, although I’d never admit that to another living soul. After all, I have quite a sarcastic, tough-guy exterior to maintain.
But seriously, she'd been absolutely gorgeous. All pale skin and freckles and bright, flowing red hair — the type I'd love to thread my fingers through. If only I ever got the chance.
I'd been too shy to say anything in high school, which had been for the best; even then, I'd known that my feelings weren't the type of thing you should mention if you didn't want to scare a girl off. I'd been terrified that if I'd ever acted on my feelings, the truth would come rushing out more quickly than I could stop it. We'd maintained a casual, bantering friendship back then, the type that was always laden with sexual subtext… even if that subtext was never acted on in high school.
Still, ever since I'd made the connection that she'd be back in town, my brain had been working on overdrive, analyzing all possibilities. If she was single — which her dad had implied she might be — could it maybe, maybe be possible that she’d be interested in me?
Honestly, the timing of her visit couldn’t have been better, either. Even if she’s not interested in me (not like that anyway), I’m planning to expand my restaurant to include a bakery. The desserts we purchase in bulk from big box stores cover the ground, but they aren’t exactly up to par with the rest of the food. The locals haven’t complained, but as a restaurant manager, it’s something that bothers me.
I’m not sure if Steve had known about my plan to expand the business, but he hadn’t hesitated to mention (perhaps not so casually) that Kara’s LA bakery hasn’t been doing so well.
Well, what is it they say about God closing a door and opening a window?
As such, the last few weeks have been spent carefully planning exactly how I might… persuade her to join me at Gian's. Steve and I had worked together to arrange the visit (which will happen as soon as she comes into town), but I know I only really have one shot at making an impression.
If I blow it, it's over with her — and I've been through enough failed relationships in the past ten years to know that a connection like the one Kara and I had all those years ago is one that only passes through once in a lifetime… regardless of how she looks now.
You see, like the other men on my mountain, I’m into big girls; not a whole lot has changed in that regard. What has changed, though, is the way I look at life now. With every heartbreak and breakup I’ve gone through since graduating high school, my mind has always returned to her.
And now that I’m pushing 30, I think I’m finally ready to face the facts: Those teenaged feelings hadn’t been teenaged feelings, at all. I’m in love with Kara Crane. And I always will be.
No matter how many dates I’d been on over the years, I’ve never been able to recapture that sense of banter, that feeling of completeness, that desire to share my life with someone quite like I’d felt with her. And if she’s still skinny? So be it. It’s time for me to abandon those ridiculous superficial standards and accept that I want to be with her, even if she’s still thin.
If she’ll have me, of course. Which is a huge if.
Back in the day, we’d had an opposites-attract kind of vibe, but I’m not sure how that would play out now.
You see, Kara are I both work in the food service industry, but my background is a tad more complicated than it appears at first glimpse.
And yeah, I know what you’re thinking: buff dude, late 20s, more brawn than brain.
To some extent, you’re probably right — but I also happen to have one very specific skill: Telling people how to make food. And making money d
oing it.
This hobby started when I was just a kid. I’d begun cooking with my grandma when I was knee-high to a grasshopper, and from the way my grandmother tells it, you’d think a four year old actually had some semblance of culinary skills.
I don’t buy that part of the story, but it’s nonetheless true that I’m good at giving instructions — at least in the kitchen. By kindergarten, I was adept at giving my siblings (age-appropriate) directions to help with minor dinner preparations. This is no small task when you come from a family of 7 kids, each with appetites as big as the Pacific red cedar trees that grown on our property.
My dad was always the one who cooked in our house, which I guess is another reversal from what’s considered “normal.” For this reason, it was relatively easy for me to slip into a food preparation role without too much stigma attached. By the time I reached middle school, I was orchestrating all of my siblings around the kitchen in preparation of actual meals — we are Italian, after all. Under my direction, the seven Bosco kids would march around the kitchen, each working like individual cogs of a well-oiled machine to get chicken parm or chicken carbonara or penne Arrabiata out on the table.
Even in a family of seven kids, each of us has a slightly different personality. My sister, Sylvie (the only girl), is probably the most boisterous out of all of us, but my brothers and I know how to hold our own, too. As adults, the Bosco siblings span every possible career option from school principal to park ranger, so there’s never been much room for judgment or shame, at least not at home. On Biggal Mountain in general, the Bosco family name is known for being wide-spread. We’ve got a grip on almost every single business venture the mountain has to offer.
The breakdown of our family is as follows: Huck is the traditional lumberjack Bosco. Asher is the park ranger Bosco. Theo is the school principal Bosco. Emmett is the attorney Bosco. Finn and Sylvie (the twins) are the winery Boscos.
So partially because of this, I figured out pretty early on that I needed to cement who I was, too. To this day, I’m still not sure if I chose this career (or if this career chose me), but the choice was always obvious: I’d be the restaurant Bosco.
And things had transpired from there.
As such, it was a no-brainer that I’d take culinary classes in high school. My thing has always been big meal preparation, but more because I like the experience of working collaboratively. To me, the food is just a great bonus, although (of course) food matters, too. I’ve never had as much desire for the solitary nature of other culinary fields like pastry work or baking. Occasionally bakers work collaboratively, but it’s largely pretty isolated.
Which is a lot less enjoyable, in my experience.
By high school I’d more or less solidified that this was what I wanted to do, but culinary classes with Kara Crane made things even better. Our 12th grade internship around various locations of Biggal Mountain also helped me put things in perspective. I hadn’t known it at the time, but working with Kara is the single best food prep experience I’ve ever had. That’s one of those tragic things you don’t really notice til it’s gone, though; I’ve never been able to mimic the same level of coordination with anyone else I’ve worked with, even ten years later.
The internship also forced helped me realize that I need to work with someone who isn’t afraid to take direction, someone who is good at interpreting instructions. Initially, I’d been surprised that Kara had been so adept at following my lead. Based on her feisty, fiery personality, I’d expected more push-back. But she’d legitimately been very skilled at working in a collaborative environment, if she needed to— as long as I got the hell out of her way when it came to desserts!
Her culinary prowess is one of the many, many reasons I want her to work with me, regardless of what she looks like now. Over the years, I like to think I’ve matured. If Kara’s still thin (which she might be), I just need to get the hell over myself. Life is too short to care about appearances alone.
…But then the bell above the door chimes, signaling the arrival of a new dinner guest. I turn my head in the direction of the door, prepared to greet whoever arrives.
And my breath freezes in my chest.
Kara steps into the restaurant, her parents in tow, and I realize what a tremendous fool I’ve been.
Because she’s fat.
And gorgeous.
She's only wearing a hoodie and yoga pants, but somehow, she manages to seem elegant and poised, just like she always has. Her red hair is piled into a bun on her head, her cheeks are flushed from the cold, and her body… fuck. My cock twitches as I trace my eyes up and down her curvaceous form. Her breasts had appealed to me before, but now she’s downright voluptuous, even hidden beneath that bulky sweatshirt.
She's even hotter than I'd imagined… and trust me. I’d imagined. One glance is all it takes for me to imagine her bouncing on my cock as I grab hold of her ass, rocking us both to blissful oblivion.
Then I realize her parents are right there, and that I’ve worked myself into a raging cock-stand.
Brilliant.
I clear my throat and try my best to make amends, even though Kara’s eyes look hooded too, almost as if she feels the same spark.
Well, it’s now or never, as they say…
I stride towards her, doing my best not to sound too eager.
“Kara!” I extend my hand in greeting. “Been a long time!”
She accepts my handshake and quirks an eyebrow — an expression she'd perfected in high school, as I remember quite well. My eyes are immediately drawn to her face… it's filled out so beautifully over the past ten years.
I don’t even notice I’m staring until Steve clears his throat. His wife, Lisa, is giving me a knowing grin, and I feel myself flushing with embarrassment. So much for a smooth entrance…
A flush spreads across my face. "Uh. Sorry." I gesture behind me and grab some menus in an attempt to regain some of my cool. "Please come with me!"
They kindly trot along behind me without saying anything, but fuck, that was embarrassing… I've been in this industry forever.
How had I forgotten how to seat people?!
Leave it to Kara Crane to rob me of any semblance of decorum.
I find a table for them in the back of the restaurant, making sure to pull out chairs for Kara and her mother, Lisa. I manage to get through the specials of the day and the wine pairings with some semblance of professionalism — a facade that I'm able to maintain reasonably well, I think…until the hardest part of the interaction thus far.
I clear my throat and turn to the lady in question. Steve and I had planned this part, of course, but I’m not sure how much Kara knows. She stares at me curiously, and I proceed.
“Kara,” I start, doing my best to look detached. “I’d be honored if you’d join me in the kitchen after dinner. I think I have an offer that might interest you."
Kara cocks her head as a look of confusion crosses her face, but I don’t want to ruin the illusion by explaining; she’ll see, soon enough.
Steve grins from behind her and shoots me a thumbs-up. I have to say, his faith in me is somewhat encouraging; it's comforting to know that her father wants me in her life almost as badly as I'd like to be.
I change the subject quickly by taking their orders, and although Kara continues to give me a peculiar expression, she orders as if nothing is amiss.
I walk away several minutes later with a wry, satisfied grin. I can only hope Kara likes what I have in store.
But I have more important things to attend to.
Seeing her has awakened something dormant, something I hadn't expected… and I know, now, that I need to masturbate. Even if we don't end up doing anything at all, there's no way I'll be able to keep myself from total humiliation if I don't take care of things. I can't imagine she'd enjoy me humping her leg during the baking demonstration I'd planned for later.
I give some brief instructions to my maitre d’ and head to my office, where I make sure to lock (an
d deadbolt) the door. I don’t anticipate anyone walking in on me, but I don’t want to chance it, either. I prefer to keep everyone in the damn restaurant from knowing exactly how I feel about her, although I suspect most of them have a good idea.
Small towns are a blessing — and a curse.
I sigh and settle down into my chair. My cock is already at full attention, so I won’t need much encouragement in that regard. I unbuckle and remove myself, painfully aware that I won’t even need porn. Anything that tasteless would be a cheap imitation, especially when the fact that Kara is in the restaurant will be more than enough to push me over the edge.
I lean my head back and allow my cock to begin gradual sweeps up and down my full length. Yes. I've waited so long to see her again… and she's everything I've ever hoped for. Her body is even sexier and more perfect than it was before, even more beautiful than I'd expected, even in my dirtiest fantasies. I bring my other hand around to caress my balls, moaning from the back of my throat when I imagine Kara's perfect belly, all rolls and muffin top and perfect, rolling flesh…
In my mind's eye, I can see her settling down on top of me, sending me a saucy wink before she sheaths herself entirely on my dick. I begin to thrust hard, faster, using the pre-cum gathered on the tip to provide some delicious friction, to chase my release. I rub the gathered wetness around the head, smearing it as far as I can, and I pretend it’s Kara… just as I always have.
My eyes roll back in my head as my fantasy goes even deeper. Yes… I'd reach out and touch her clit as she continues thrusting up and down above me. Her belly would move with the most fascinating ripples, bouncing in time with the movement of her breasts. I wouldn't waste any time in sucking those tits into stiff peaks, into shoving as much of them into my mouth as I could.
