A RECIPE FOR LOVE (October 1, 1999)

It all started when my little sister decided to get married. She was only eighteen, but all of her life she always got whatever she wanted. The best clothes, the cutest guys, hell dad even gave her a red convertible; I drive a used rusty Volvo. So of course my parents would spare no expense on this celebration. I was already in culinary college at the time and determined to peruse a career in culinary arts. I always loved cooking, and have developed quite a sophisticated palate for fine dinning and knowledge of wine. To me cooking is the ultimate art form. It can be created, eaten and enjoyed by the senses. 

My sister on the other hand, fresh out of high school and getting married only wants to be waited on hand and foot. I think my future brother-in-law has a surprise in store for him. I wanted to help in the catering for the reception, but mom had other plans for me. She hired some hotshot chef from the Bay area that everyone is talking about. I figured he would be a stuck-up mean tempered Frenchman with a lousy American accent, so I wasn't really interested in helping anyway. I was surprised when I received a call a few days before the wedding from his catering company. "Hello is this Terry?" "My name is Hank Gibson, I'm the chef doing your sisters wedding." "Your mom tells me you're in culinary school, and I thought you might want to come down and lend a hand tomorrow afternoon." "Some of my students will be helping as well, maybe you can learn a few pointers." I answered him with "you don't sound French?" "No ma'm I'm from Austin Texas!" he told me matter of fact in a boyish southern drawl. "Well in that case I would love to." 

I arrived at the warehouse kitchen, wearing my best whites. Looking around the enormous kitchen I saw activity everywhere and began to look for a place to fit in. As I worked at dicing vegetables I saw a small crowd in the center of the room. Curious I made my way over to watch with the others. Then I could here his southern voice giving explanations as he demonstrated how to dress the game hens. I looked over a shoulder and there he stood, six foot, tan and sandy ruffled hair. He looked like he would be more at home on a ball field. The other students were silent and worshipped his every move, his every word. He had one of the guys try to dress the hen for the class, but the embarrassed student fumbled it terribly. Then he looked at me as our eyes met and he offered a smile "You must be Terry." "Would you like to show our class how to dress this bird?" I moved center stage, and as he offered me a knife I reached for a Chinese cleaver instead. I then proceed to bone, stuff and stitch the hen in less than 2 minutes. Hank clapped" Bravo, you have a great deal of talent to go with your beauty." I blushed as he told me to follow him. He made his rounds in the kitchen, with me following along like a puppy. 

I couldn't get enough of him. He was so gentle and kind showing the students how to do everything. As I watched his hands, every move was perfect. He was a true master. He kept smiling at me like I was his special protégé. I felt more inspired than I ever have in my life. At one point he put his arm around me and hugged me as he said, "that is how you make a salmon mousse!" I was drooling, but not over the mousse. Latter as the students left and I was washing up to leave he said, "Let the others go. I have something special to show you." The kitchen was now silent and empty as Hank stuck his head out of the walk-in freezer. "Terry come in here I want you to see what I created for your sister." After my eyes adjusted I stood there shaking next to Hank, and saw a five-foot ice sculpture of a unicorn. "Oh it is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen" I said. It was so cold in the freezer he offered his arm to keep me warm. "No" he said, " you are the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen." 

Our mouths were like magnets pulled together. We kissed long and hard. Finally we ran out of the freezer shaking, and grabbed each other for warmth, and kissed some more. He invited me to his house for some wine and Chinese take-out. I did not resist or decline as I jumped in his car with him. I knew that I was going to be just another of his wide-eyed groupies but I didn't care. I was already in love with this man. It was about time I got what I wanted this time. As we rolled into his drive at his home in the hills above the bay, we chugged off of the bottle of Burgundy. I already had one hand on his inner leg, and I could tell he was raring to go. He may be a star chef, but to me he was just a country boy with a nice ass in a pair of jeans, that needed a good ole - fashioned roll in the hay. 

His house was lush but sophisticated, filled with modern art, yet over his bed there was a giant pair of longhorn steer horns, to remind him of home. I could tell by one look at his exposed boxers that he was ready for some serious cooking and I was to be the entrée. This boy didn't need a recipe. In fact he skipped the appetizers and started right in on me. He didn't miss an inch, as he licked my entire body from head to toe. In fact he even sucked on my toes. I've never had anyone do that, but it made me feel so delectable. I sprawled out and let him feast on me. I don't what they teach those boys in Texas, but he was performing post-graduate work on me. He must have a master's degree in the art of sin, because his magic hands never stopped giving me pleasure. I got up on my hands and knees to give him a ride. I now felt like an animal, nostrils flared, and running with the herd. I needed to be domesticated, broken, and ridden by a man that was in control. Sensitive yet firm he pulled back on my reins, and rode high on my saddle. He was really cookin' now! Like a luxurious dinning experience at a five star restaurant I was not going to leave, until I was stuffed. The grand meal ended with a smashing finish, complete with the seductive dessert of this master chef's finale into my willing smile. A taste so sweet, that ended the concert on a perfect note. 

My cell phone would not stop ringing. I looked at the clock it was 8:30 in the morning. It was my mom "where are you? We need you here to help dress your sister." Oh my god the wedding, I over slept. Hank was not in bed. He must have left early to cater the reception.

There was a note: 

Dear Terry, Thanks for the wonderful meal you made of me, I will call that the recipe for lovin' you ala Terry. The keys are in my Lexus. See you at the wedding. -----Love Hank