Surprise revelations

I have been sort of in love with this chef from about the moment I met him on my second day of work at the cafe. He's 40, short shorn salt and pepper hair, messy scruffy facial hair and he's wonderfully tall but wiry. But of course he'd never shown any interest in me; handsome, mature, professional pay attention to a young, flippant somewhat promiscuous kid like me? Unlikely. So I've harboured this crush for ages. When I pick up meals from the kitchen, I sometimes dare to make eye contact with him across the pass, but always have to look away, flushing. His gaze is just too intense, and also too frightening. He has that manic, serious chef look about him, like he might thrash me if I bring back a cold plate from a missing customer or if I pass on any patron complaints. Terrifying but intensely desirable. It's not just me, the other girls half fancy him too, but perhaps not as much as me. But we'd never seen him with any women, and on questioning the other chefs, they said they'd never heard him mention any kind of relationship. So being stupid girls, pride hurt by complete lack of interest in any of us despite many (other) girl's efforts to get his attentions, we put it down to his likely being gay. A stupid thing to do.

I was called up to the coffee station to deliver a latte upstairs to said chef, who was in the office attempting to do some paperwork while he nursed a hangover. I knocked but he must not have heard. He was seated behind the desk, in front of the computer, one hand wrapped around a very rigid, purplish cock as he watched some noisy, girl-on-girl porn playing across the screen.

And one of those girls was me!