Keywords: Squelch,

I had always maintained that fate had played a huge part the night I met Ted for the first time. I had only been acting as waitress for that one night as a favour to a friend that needed the night off and couldn't find anyone else to cover the shift for her. Stupidly, maybe, I had offered without a second thought; it had never occurred to me that being a waitress was pretty exhausting work. In my own mind, all I had to do was to look presentable and match the right meals to the right people.

Three hours into the shift I regretted my laid back attitude; my feet ached, my head was pounding and it was with a pasted on smile that I greeted each new customer. The last booking of the evening was for a table of six businessmen, and just going off the noise they were making at the large table they occupied at the back of the restaurant, they had something to celebrate.

After I had grabbed my order-pad from the pocket of my black trousers, I drew a deep breath and made my way slowly to where they sat, to take their drinks order. The man sitting at the head of the table had obviously appointed himself spokesperson and gestured with his fingers to let me know just how many bottles of champagne they required. There was still no indication of what they were celebrating, but there was a fair amount of backslapping going on. I made my way quickly through to the kitchen where the restaurant boss was rushing to and fro frantically behind the hotplates, asking him to take three bottles out of the walk in chill. One of the other waitresses filled the ice buckets but left it to me to take them back over to the table. Once the buckets were settled, the head of the table called for hush all round and gestured for me to pass one of the bottles across to him, he would open it himself.

My eyes widened slightly as he shook the bottle a few times before pulling the wire free and I knew once the cork was popped that there would be a fair bit to mop up. I was right. The cork shot off past my ear and my face bore the brunt of the spray, some of it doing directly into my mouth as my jaw fell open in surprise. The men round the table who had been silent, cracked up with laughter, well, all but one, who pushed his chair back and came round the side of the table towards me with an apologetic look on his face. I took the service towel that I had draped over my arm and raised it to mop my face but it was gently taken out of my hands as the man in question brought his face close to mine.

I would have sworn he was sober; his eyes looked steadily at me, and in that moment I was hooked, as if the whole world had stopped moving, leaving just the both of us. As he began to kiss the drops of champagne from my face the whole restaurant ground to a halt, that much I was aware of. The chatter of the diners had quietened and even the laughter of the men sitting around the table. With the first touch of his lips on my eyelids I felt electricity, and I knew he must have felt something too because his hands tightened around mine; perhaps he thought I would pull away.

The blood began to pound in my veins as he moved lower, letting the tip of his tongue dart out over my lips but he made no move to kiss me. I fought hard to keep my mouth closed, in my mind I could imagine his mouth covering mine. It felt as though I had been standing there with him for hours, but it was probably closer to a minute and all too soon it was over and his hands were releasing me. I was still standing there dumbfounded when he backed away, and as soon as he sat back down, everyone that had been enjoying the display started chatting away as if nothing had happened. I was too shocked to blush but as I stole one last look at him, I could see a spark of something in his eyes and a lazy grin, as he looked right back at me.

After that happening I knew there was no way that I could finish the shift, I was shy for the first time in my life. My friend's boss was still cooking in the kitchen, none the wiser about what had taken place but he accepted my apologies and my rushed excuse for leaving the restaurant early.

The next evening my friend rang me to say that a huge bouquet of flowers had been delivered to the restaurant for the 'champagne girl' and my mystery man had neatly printed his telephone number at the bottom of the card that accompanied them. It took me a week to pluck up the courage to call him; nearly seven nights of having his face as the last image in my head before I fell asleep each night was bad enough, but thoughts of him during the days were harder to control and it was starting to affect my work. That had been the start of our relationship, now fifteen years later it felt as though our souls had travelled many lifetimes together.

- - Chapter 2 - - -

Our kitchen was almost stark in its simplicity; saved from being labelled characterless by the scattered post-it notes that were stuck on the front of the fridge and a large plastic blue and yellow paddling pool draped over the kitchen table just waiting to be inflated. Sometimes it felt as though our marriage was lived through these notes, each new one would be acknowledged and a response placed alongside it; always there was a little smiley at the bottom of his messages, and on mine, more often than not, the smiley would be crying because yet again we had missed each other. There were no scribbled 'I love you' notes, but I did, more than words could say.

We managed to pass each other, sharing only our bed at night and stolen kisses as we raced off each morning to our respective jobs. Often we would both work long hours and Ted would sometimes be deeply asleep before I managed to crawl in beside him, but as manageress in a popular hotel, my days were split and there was no way I could leave until the last of the diners had left the hotel restaurant, and the last clients had been booked in for the evening. The effort of maintaining a bright smile all evening usually meant that by the time I was able to slip my shoes off at the end of the night, my face was aching nearly as much as my poor feet.

It had taken much pleading and begging on my part to get a Friday off work, but after promising to forego days off the following week, my boss Allan had reluctantly agreed to let me have one of the busiest nights of the week off. It was a special occasion, Ted's fortieth birthday, a milestone; one that I knew he didn't want to celebrate in any great fashion. Even although he was turning forty, he still looked to me the same way he had when I had met him for the first time fifteen years earlier. He carried his six-foot plus frame with not even the slightest of stoops, his thick dark curls remained free of grey and his firm stomach still showed no signs of middle age spread. With all that I had heard of things shrinking with age, I had to smile, thinking of his thick cock; fingers crossed that age wouldn't affect him in that particular department.

It was the middle of the day, I had spent the morning shopping; unusually for me, I hadn't gone into any clothes shops, all my attentions on the special treat I had in store for my husband when he came home from work. In the supermarket I had headed straight for the aisles where the naughty food was displayed; all the goodies that screamed 'eat me and repent at leisure', but good sense warned against. If it contained chocolate, cream or looked in any way squelchy, then I threw it into the shopping cart, much to the amusement of some of the other shoppers; but I spared them no more than an enigmatic smile and left them to their thoughts of eating disorders.

I had three hours before Ted would be home, enough time for me to take a luxurious bath and mentally prepare myself. Of all the presents I could have chosen for him, he would definitely not be expecting the one I had planned, and it was all because I had stumbled across a hidden magazine. I had been turning the mattress of our bed; something I usually did three or four times a year. The glossy magazine had flopped onto the floor and with me being me, I couldn't resist investigating further; my jaw fell steadily further and further down as pages full of cream and paint splattered naked women in suggestive poses beckoned me in.

Never once had he let me know that he liked this kind of thing and far from disgusting me, it had aroused my curiosity to such an extent that I was willing to give him a taste for his birthday of something he had only ever been able to look at in the pages of magazines. I gave silent thanks that it had only been mess and goo that he was into; if it had been bondage or domination then I would have had to admit defeat.

The kitchen was the only room in our house that I would be able to let fly with the chocolate and cream, being completely tiled it would be easy enough to clean and I would be able to arrange everything on the worktops. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach and for the first time I began to entertain second thoughts about how he would react on coming home to find his secret exposed, hopefully he wouldn't think about that and just enjoy himself, a whole evening in each other's company was a rare event anyway.

I left the kitchen and went upstairs to run myself a bath, making sure the water was hot but not hot enough to scald me; the scent of vanilla lay heavy in the air. There was only one thing I had to do before getting into the bath. The thought of having gooey stuff matting up my pubic hair kind of turned my stomach, so I'd already decided to shave. I retrieved a flannel from the shelf above the hand basin, throwing it into the hot water of the bath to soak while I stripped. After shaving my legs and armpits I lifted the sopping flannel out of the bathwater and wrung it lightly, pressing it against my mound, soaking my little curls and softening my skin. This was the first time that I would be shaving myself completely, normally I just kept my bikini line done and Ted had given no indication that he preferred my pussy any other way.

Keywords: Squelch,

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