My Fall and Rise Ch. 11

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Melissa adjusts to life in her new home.
4.1k words
4.84
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Part 11 of the 13 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 07/09/2017
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MelissaBaby
MelissaBaby
894 Followers

Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch

I was surprised to find out that I liked being a waitress, and after a few days of fumbling trays and screwing up orders, I got to be pretty good at it.

My new place of employment was a large motel, restaurant and banquet complex named The Colonial Inn. It didn't seem very colonial through a New Englander's eyes, but it was a nice place.

My grandmother had worked there for fifteen years as a hostess in the restaurant, and had become a sort of stand in mother figure for a lot of the employees. She was still friends with many of them, and as her granddaughter, I was warmly greeted by everyone.

My grandmother and I bonded immediately. One of the first things she said to me was that she had done just about every drug there was back in the sixties so I shouldn't think I was "something special". It was a great relief to get that subject out of the way so easily.

She taught me how to play pinochle, how to eat with chopsticks and how to make a White Russian. She taught me a lot of things.

She taught me about my father.

One evening, a few weeks after my arrival, she plopped down next to me on the couch. She had a large cardboard box, which she set down on the coffee table. I opened it and saw a collection of my father's belongings. There was a well worn baseball glove and a stuffed tiger. There were a few school notebooks and a Luke Skywalker action figure. I opened a tattered Birder's Guide and saw that he had checked off all the species he had seen, and a Spiderman lunchbox that was filled with toy dinosaurs.

Grandma opened a scrapbook across our laps. We looked at every report card, and at every tiny piece of memorabilia; a circus ticket, a child's valentine, a letter home from Boy Scout camp. We looked at every picture. I saw a laughing toddler. A skinny little boy, cupping a bullfrog in his hands. A proud athlete in a varsity jacket. A smiling groom standing with his bride. I saw a papa gazing with love at a baby swaddled in a pink blanket.

I looked at Grandma and saw silent tears running down her cheeks.

"Oh, Grandma," I said, as my own tears welled in my eyes, "This is all you have left of him."

"No, kiddo," she said, squeezing my hand, "You are what I have left of him."

I had not cried for my absent father since I was a small child. But Grandma taught me that he was not a phantom, but a man. That night, my bitterness melted, and for the first time in my life, I mourned him.

Acclimating to life in a huge metropolis was both thrilling and disorienting. I struggled to get used to the wide, busy avenues, with their almost unimaginable volume of traffic. Even on our residential street, I did not sleep well at night for the level of noise.

But I loved the variety of experiences available, and I spent much of my spare time just exploring. I was thrilled at the number of stores and restaurants I saw everywhere. But most of all, I relished the ability to be a part of the crowd, just another girl walking down the street without the fear of being pointed at, scowled at, treated with scorn. Grandma would warn me to be careful, that I was not in the country now, but I felt safer than I had in years.

At work, I was beginning to feel like I belonged. The other employees were treating me as a friend. One day, one of the waitresses dragged me with her on a shopping trip after work. The restaurant crew had a team in a bowling league, and I joined the group that went to cheer them on. I was doing the everyday things that I had, in the past, looked down upon.

One of the bartenders had asked me for a date on my second day of work, but I politely declined. I was reticent to start dating again, and I didn't feel much need to do so. I told myself that I needed to keep my focus on building a new life, and not allow myself to be distracted by a man.

But the heart has no interest in where the mind wants to focus. I did become interested in a man, and in a most unexpected man.

His name was Dwight. He was the Colonial's head banquet chef. He was not like any other man I had ever been interested in. My taste had always run to slender, athletic men. To the wild rebellious boys. Dwight was none of that. He was big, over six feet tall, and barrel shaped. His hands were huge, but capable of the softest touch and the most delicate work. I told him once that I thought his skin was the color of walnuts, but he indignantly corrected me, explaining that it was the color of pecans.

It was not his appearance that drew my interest, it was his bearing, his demeanor. Everything about him seemed touched with grace. He exuded an aura of dignity and nobility without ever being pompous or arrogant. He had the eyes of a wise elder and the smile of a mischievous boy.

The banquet kitchen was his personal kingdom. It branched off of the main kitchen, and I would walk by it often during the day, on my way to the bathroom or to get supplies for my station from the storeroom. Dwight would be there, behind his work table, chopping, mixing, creating. He played old Motown and soul music from his laptop all day as he worked. Everyone was eventually assigned a musical theme that he would play, and sometimes sing to them in his gruff voice when they passed his kitchen. For my theme he chose the Four Top's "I Can't Help Myself". I would walk by with an armful of ketchup bottles or a case of paper napkins, and he'd sing out "Sugar pie, honey bunch." Honeybunch soon became his nickname for me. Many people groaned or joked with him over their songs and nicknames, but I found it charming.

Soon, I made a point of stopping and chatting with him when I passed. He always rewarded me with his big toothy smile, and often with a tasty sample of something he was working on. One day I complimented him on his music and the next time I saw him, he presented me with a homemade CD. I took it home and listened to it. Marvin Gaye. Al Green. Barry White. When he asked me how I'd liked it, I told him that I loved it, but pointed that all the songs seemed to be about sex.

"Every great song is about sex, Honeybunch," he grinned.

I was coming out of the employee bathroom one day, when he called out, "Honeybunch, come here!"

I walked over to the kitchen door and he came around from behind his work table, cupping something in his hand. He leaned in close to me, said "Open up," and raised his hand in front of my face.

I froze for a moment, remembering a warm summer night, standing by a pond, when a beautiful young man offered me something he told me would be wonderful. But when I looked up into Dwight's soft eyes, I felt an utter sense of trust. I opened my mouth and he dropped something on my tongue.

It was sweet and tart and delicious, and I moaned with pleasure.

"Everybody does chocolate dipped strawberries. I'm doing raspberries."

"It's fantastic."

He raised his arms above his head in a gesture of triumph. I laughed and turned to walk away.

"Wait, Honeybunch, hold up."

I turned back towards him.

"Listen, I was wondering, I'm having a party Saturday. It's not often I get a free Saturday, you know? Got to make the most of it."

I felt a tingle of excitement while I waited for him to continue.

"So, I was wondering, would you like to come?"

"Sure," I said, "I'd love to. What time?"

He broke into a broad smile. "Eight o'clock, or any time afterwards. I'll provide wine, anything else BYOB. I've got some great hors d'oeuvres I'm going to do, too."

"So, on your day off from cooking for other people's parties, you cook for your own party?"

He shrugged and laughed. "It's in the blood, Honeybunch. The man does what the man does."

I was getting dressed for the party when my grandmother walked in on me.

"What the hell are you wearing," she asked. "Are you going to a party or working a corner?"

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"You look like a teenager's idea of sexy. Jesus Christ, I didn't know they even made fishnets any more."

So my Grandma dressed me for what was, really, my first grown up party. She went to her room and came back with a simple black dress and had me try it on. I was almost eight inches inches taller that her, so the hem fell more than halfway up my thighs. I pulled it off and she took it back to her room.

"Black tights, no goddamn fishnets," she called over her shoulder. "And pick out your sexiest shoes. Plain dress, sexy shoes. You can't go wrong."

Sexy shoes, I could do. I heard her sewing machine whirring while I touched up my makeup. I was brushing my hair when she came back in.

"Keep it a little messy. An elegant dress and messy hair makes a man think about sex."

"Grandma! I'm not going on a date."

"Well, if I was your age and going to a party, I'd be ready, that all I'm saying. You got condoms?"

I gave her an exasperated look, but nodded. I put the dress back on. It didn't fit perfectly, but it was close enough. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked elegant. I looked classy. I almost didn't recognize myself.

"Looks good," Grandma said. "One more thing." She reached in her pocket, took out a beautiful double string of pearls and raised it to my neck.

"Grandma, no I can't..."

"Of course you can," she said as she clasped it. "They aren't doing any good hanging on my dresser."

I kissed her on the cheek and thanked her.

I went to the front hall and was putting on my jacket. I heard her behind me.

"Melissa?"

I turned and she was leaning in the doorway, lighting the cigarette that was hanging from the corner of her mouth.

"Call me if you need me. If you need to talk about, well, anything. I'll be here."

"Thank you, Grandma, I will."

"Ok kiddo. Have fun. I'll see you when I see you."

I hesitated outside the door of Dwight's townhouse. I had not been to a party since before I went to prison, and I almost changed my mind about his invitation. I was terrified that before the evening ended, someone was going to pull out a bag of pills or lay out a few lines of coke, and I did not want to test my resolve to resist. But I knew that, sooner or later, it would be tested. I was still lonely much of the time. I wanted to make friends. And most of all, I wanted to spend time with Dwight. To do so, I would have to take the chance.

I could hear music from inside. It was muffled by the door but it sounded like Prince. I knocked and no one answered. I figured that they probably couldn't hear me over the music, so I opened the door and stepped inside.

My first thought was that I had never been in a single man's place that was so nicely decorated or so well cared for. I draped my jacket over the top of an already full coat rack and stepped into the living room. There were a few people sitting on a couch and in a pair of easy chairs. I did not know any of them, but they all smiled and said hello. To my left, there was a dining room, and I saw Dwight standing over a table full of hors d'oeuvres. He looked up and saw me, and rounded the table with a big grin.

"Honeybunch!" He called, hugging me. "Let me introduce you to folks."

Dwight's friends were an amazingly diverse group. In addition to those in the living room there were several more browsing the buffet and, as at any party, a group hanging out in the kitchen. Most were white, but several were black. There was an Asian woman, who i learned later was a newspaper reporter and a rotund Hispanic man who was a poet. I met a lesbian couple, one of whom was a doctor and the other an artist. A few others were artists as well, and Dwight pointed out some of their work hanging on his walls. Just as I began to feel like I was well out of my league, he introduced me to a friend who was an auto mechanic and another who was a welder. There were two people I knew from work; Carl, Dwight's sous chef, and Anita, one of the desk clerks at the hotel. Still, I felt self conscious and mostly hovered around the buffet, nodding and smiling at people as they browsed the food or poured a drink. Most of the conversation was about books I had not read, films I had not seen, people I did not know.

Over and over, Dwight would awkwardly try to strike up a conversation with me, asking if I had tried a bite of this or that, or complimenting me on my dress. But before we could speak more than a few words, he would have to introduce a new guest or give his opinion on some disputed topic. I enjoyed watching him, and listening to him interact with his friends. I was impressed with the range of subjects on which he was obviously well informed and on the esteem in which everyone clearly held him.

As the evening went on, the crowd gradually thinned. I sat on the couch, listening to the music and making a little small talk now and then. At one point Dwight sat next to me and casually draped his arm over my shoulders.

"I hope you're having a good time," he said.

"I'm having a fine time."

"Good, I know you don't know many people."

"It's okay, I'm enjoying listening. You have a lot of interesting friends."

He smiled. "You're pretty interesting yourself, Honeybunch."

I kept the smile on my face, but I could not help thinking that the things his guests would probably find most interesting about me were not topics I was going to broach.

Eventually, it came down to just me and Dwight and two other couples. He got up and began clearing the dishes from the dining room, and I rose to help him. I went to the kitchen and began washing serving plates as he brought them in. He came up behind me, put his hands on my waist and watched over my shoulder.

"You're pretty good at that," he said, "maybe we ought to put you on dishes at work."

"Oh, I've got plenty of experience as a dishwasher," I said, smiling to myself.

I dried off the last plate and turned around. He looked down at me as he gestured towards the living room.

"I guess I ought to send them on their way," he said. He looked nervous. "But, I was wondering, Honey, uh Melissa. Would you like to stay a while?"

I raised my arms to his shoulders. "Yes, Dwight, I'd like that very much."

"All right, then, I'll go shoo them out." He started to turn away but I held on.

"Not quite yet," I said. I pulled his face down to mine and kissed him. His lips were full and soft. He wrapped his arms around me and held me tight. Our tongues met and then parted.

"Go tell your friends it's time to go home," I whispered.

He gave me one more quick kiss, then left the kitchen. I finished tidying up, then entered the living room just as he was saying goodbye to the last guests at the door.

He turned and, for a moment, just stood in the hallway looking at me. I cocked my head to one side and looked at him quizzically. He shrugged. "Just wondering how I got so lucky," he said.

"Luck had nothing to do with it."

He came to me and took me in his arms.

"By the way, all the food was wonderful," I told him.

"Oh, Honeybunch, you know how to sweet talk me," he said. He kissed me and then led me up the stairs.

His bedroom was as tidy as the rest of the house. I wondered if he kept it so neat all the time, or if he had made a special effort to straighten it out in hopes that I would see it.

We embraced by the side of the bed. His hands ran up my back. He slipped the clasp on my grandmother's pearls and gently laid them on the nightstand. I marveled that such big hands could manage such a delicate operation so easily. With the same ease, he unzipped my dress. I stepped back from him and shrugged my shoulders, letting the dress drop off of me. He reached for me, but I held him back.

"Sit down, sweetie, " I told him.

He sat on the edge of the bed. Without breaking eye contact, I raised each foot and took off my shoes, then wiggled out of my tights. He watched, a broad grin on his face while I slipped off my bra. I cupped my breasts and showed him a little hip movement, just a small taste of my old warm up lap dance routine. He just said "Damn!"

I dropped to my knees in front of him and unbuttoned his shirt. Unlike his hands, mine were quivering. I was surprised to realize I was so nervous. He helped me with his shirt, and then he unbuckled his belt. He raised up off the bed and slid his pants and underwear down below his knees. I tugged them free,one leg at a time, then turned my face up to his. He cupped my head in his hands and we kissed. My hands slid up his thighs. I gently held his balls in one hand and took hold of his cock with the other, stroking it while his tongue explored my mouth. He could have kissed me like that all night, but at that moment the one thing I wanted more than his kisses was to give him pleasure. I lowered my head as he leaned back on his elbows, and wrapped my lips around the head of his cock. He moaned and ran his fingers through my hair as I took him in my mouth. We made eye contact and held it as I bobbed my head up and down on his cock. When he threw his head back, I knew that I needed to take things down a bit or the encounter would end too soon. I lifted my head and kissed his belly. It was big but firm. I lightly teased his cock and balls with my fingernails while kissing my way up his torso.

He reached for a condom in the nightstand drawer. I took it from him and slipped it on to his cock. He reached under my arms and, almost effortlessly, raised me to lie on top of him. We kissed some more, and then he lowered his face to my breasts and gently sucked on my nipples. I fumbled my panties off and straddled him. He reached down, caressing my ass. I felt the head of his cock gliding against my labia, and I shifted my hips until it poked inside of me. I moved back on it and felt him fill me. I rose to a sitting position. He held my hips and gave a long, stuttering moan as I rode him.

"Oh, that's nice," he muttered.

"Yeah, you like that, baby?" I asked, "Feels good?"

"Oh yeah, but Honeybunch, you doing all the work."

He wrapped his arms around my waist and rolled over, carrying me with him. I was on my back and his big body was looming over me. He guided his cock back into my pussy and lowered himself down. He was on his knees and elbows, but I could feel his weight pressing on me. I felt enveloped by him as he fucked me, slowly at first, then with increasing tempo and force. It was as if I were surrounded by him, and I felt small and vulnerable, but at the same time, absolutely secure and safe. While he was on me, and in me, the whole world was blocked, held at bay. I felt myself drift into a state of complete ease, and with it, incredible pleasure. I came, over and over again. He was huffing and puffing and I knew he would not last much longer. I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on tight while he finished.

He rolled on to his side without ever letting go of me. We hugged each other and exchanged little kisses, on our faces, our necks, our shoulders. After he had caught his breath, he asked me, "Was that good, Honeybunch?"

"It was better than good, baby."

"All right, wanted to be sure."

"You had doubts?"

"Well," he hesitated, "It's just, white girls, you know, sometimes they have sort of high expectations."

"Oh, sweetheart, you've got nothing to worry about."

I snuggled deeper into his arms and dozed for a while. When I woke up he was still holding me, and stroking my hair.

"How long was I asleep?" I asked him.

"Only about fifteen, twenty minutes."

"What time is it?"

He lifted his head and looked at his alarm clock. "Almost two," he said.

I sat up. "I have to be at work at ten. I better get home."

I gathered up my clothes and went into the bathroom to clean up and get dressed. When I came out, he was standing in the living room, wearing a full-length purple satin robe.

"What are you, a boxer?" I asked.

"Used to be," he shrugged. I thought, thank god he didn't damage those incredible hands.

MelissaBaby
MelissaBaby
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