Journal 70
Gretchen 42
Chef
- Life
- A kitchen that is empty after service
- Temper
- Direct and warm
Kinks
- She leads because he asked
- Her hands decide
- Slow, before the day starts
I am Gretchen, forty-two. I run a kitchen. The white coat has nothing written on it that the night needs, and I like it that way. Matt is thirty-five. He cooks at another restaurant. He is my boyfriend. He is not on my line and he does not answer to my board. When the service is dead he wants my hands. In the morning he wants them again. He asked me to be the one who starts, and I like starting. Femdom, with us, is not a costume for the dining room. It is me deciding the pace at a wiped pass, or on my own counter, and him being glad I did. I will put his wrists where I want them if he asks. There is no audience. There is coffee, his mouth, and a please he means.
The blog
2 entries, newest first.
Morning
The coat hung open over a black tee. Coffee was in my hand. The clogs were by the door and my feet were bare on the tile. Matt sat on the counter in his shorts, hair ridiculous. He cooks somewhere else. He is my boyfriend, which means he knows when to stay out of my mise and when to put himself in my hands. Before I poured a second cup…
Read full postThe pass
Service was over. The pass was clean steel. I stood there in the plain white coat, nothing written on it, auburn pixie wrecked. Matt came through the alley door with his knife roll still bagged from his own restaurant. He is my boyfriend. He does not work my line. He set the bag down and looked at my hands. Lead me, he said. I want your hands. Tell me what…
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