Memoirs
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Memoirs Of A Strip Club Chef free porn video
A long time ago, I had the dubious honor of working as a cook at Sugar’s. The club was billed as a gentlemen's cabaret, although even back when the neighborhood was more prosperous the joint was always a bit seedy. Any building without windows and smoking allowed inside can’t help but turn into a den of ill repute.
The kind of place you’d see a midget cock slapped in the face by a giant lemon horse dick.
I myself was just another face back in the kitchen, where I started as a dishwasher and slowly learned how to cook everything the club had to offer. For the most part we were faceless, beneath the notice of most of the strippers and cocktail girls especially. They punched orders into a machine, and food showed up under the heat lamps on the bar shortly thereafter.
Which is perhaps why we had such a crude tradition of hazing the new waitresses. At some point in the distant past, the head cook had obtained through foul means no doubt a silicone mold. And it wasn’t just any silicone mold, oh no. It wasn’t a bundt cake, or even a butt cake. I’m pretty sure it was a mold of a Shetland Pony.
His penis to be exact.
It was a flaccid green work of art, lovingly capturing every bulging vein and obscene lump of the equine copulative machinery. It was also huge. I distinctly recall the shaft being thick as my forearm. If that was normal for a stallion, I shudder to think what a novelty penis mold would look like for one of their bachelor parties.
This flaccid green silicone skin would be filled with water, and then suspended upside down in a carefully constructed nest of bagged frozen veggies. The silicone was too thin to support the weight of so much fluid inside it, and on more than one occasion we’d arrive in the morning to find that some corn had shifted overnight.
The inevitable result was everything in the nest and everything on the shelf below it frozen together into a single mass, sometimes still connected to the mold. The first time I saw this I laughed, and called it a bukake. And then had to spend the rest of the afternoon explaining to the Spanish speaking kitchen staff what it meant.
Now, the tradition was simple. The first time a new waitress put in an order, we’d break out the same silvery platters we used for the deluxe shrimp cocktail. On to this we’d build a tasteful garnish of kale leaves, lemon wedges, and parsley. And in the middle of the platter we’d place the ice sculpture of a cock that the mold produced.
It was majestic in an alpine sort of way. It wasn’t hard to imagine gentle pasture land below the lofty heights of some an ancient glacier when you looked at the full presentation. And when it went out into the pickup area it positively shined in the reflected lights of the heat lamps and the odd stray beam from the disco balls and lasers on the stage.
Truly, it was an obscene work of art.
And one day it nearly put this poor midget girls eye out.
Of course we never called her a midget to her face. Even if legally she was a dwarf. She could have joined the little people of America with a good inch to spare. But she was actually really well put together for being only 4’ 9”. Perhaps her tiny size but sizable bust explained her short attitude with anyone she thought failed to show her the proper respect.
She was a hitter, which came off as being adorable because it was rather like love taps from a kitten. When she had a bit of drink in her things changed, however, and she turned into a brutal brawler. She once missed several days work while she sorted out an assault charge in Louisiana; after bumrushing a state trooper in the groin.
For the sake of privacy, and to preserve the stripper tradition, we’ll call her Apple. Apple was good friends with Candy, a tall and slender emo goth girl who wore too much eyeliner and hit the party favors a bit too hard. Candy had tried her hand as a stripper first, found it to be unsuited to her temperament, and instead began work as a cocktail waitress.
So of course on Candy’s first day we plated up the old pony poker, and were more than a little disappointed when Candy simply sent it back with the note that her order had clearly been for medium rare, while this was still frozen. This was actually the first time someone had called us out on the little trick, at least in my limited experience.
Bitch thought she was so smart…
Had I been thinking more clearly, and perhaps not soaked in arousal hormones and stripper sweat, I may have considered the consequences of the first plan that came to mind.
We had lemon jello left over from the last annual Juggies Jello Jam wrestling tournament. I had industrial sized bags of lemon jello powder. I had an empty penis mold. I had a walk in fridge. The possibilities rapidly unfolded before me, stretching out into infinite penis shaped possibilities like a tropical sunrise over the beach.
God help me I did it. I used 5 pounds of jello powder to one part penis. The resulting syrup was the brilliant yellow of a safety helmet, and glowed like liquid gold as I poured it into the mold. This was gonna be goooood. With rising anticipation I made a nest of old longneck sixpack caddies for my precious dong to chill in.
I let it set for three days, the girth of the member was THAT wide. I didn’t want there to be ANY chance that the core might still be liquid. Getting it out of the mold proved tricky. I had to freeze it solid to have any chance of getting the sticky gelatin out of the mold intact. I was giddy when the day to unsheath the monster finally came.
Which, probably tells you something about how any job can get boring.
The next night I spent extra time setting everything up. The giant yellow schlong seemed to demand greater attention than those mere ice models. So I went all out with my garnishing knife, and carved up some lemon rinds into enough curls to give it a nice pubic bush. With the finishing touches of a little whip cream drip down the tip…
It was PERFECT!
Again, it was placed on a silver platter and sent out for pick up the next time Candy made an order. This time, it worked perfectly. This time, she was speechless. In fact, so was everyone who saw it. The bartender was awed, and nearly dropped a bottle of champagne when she rounded the bar corner and saw it.
Under the red heat lamps the yellow color took on a flaming orange hue, and glowed like a burning love log on the platter. And that was when one subtle but distinct difference between ice and lemon jiggler made itself known. After a few minutes under the heat lamps even the beefiest dickcicle would melt down to nothing. But after 10 minutes under the heat lamps the Jello was literally just warming up.
It started to sway like some sort of friendly invertebrate sea creature. The slightest air current nearby would set it sinuously swaying, the glans of the penis waving a greeting to the startled guy restocking the beer cooler. It would bow to the cocktail waitresses, the blunt tip trying to seduce them into taking a lemony lick.
In short, my masterpiece was causing a scene. Girls became reluctant to pick up their orders because of the platter protecting pony poker, and the plates started to build up. It got to the point where even I was forced to admit it was time for ‘ol Lemon to be put to pasture. I went up behind the bar, where I could see the cock vibrating in time to the bass line from the stage.
And that is when I saw it. Well, saw Apple’s hand reaching up to feel around for a plate. You see, the poor thing was so short she couldn’t see what was on the counters. We literally could not see her half the time, just perhaps the top of her brunette bob, and any hair clips she happened to be wearing.
Have you ever existed between heart beats? In that moment before the bullet hits the bone? When thoughts cascade through your mind with blinding speed and perfect clarity. I realized what she was doing. She couldn’t see what was on the plates, so she’d grab the lip and tilt them up until the angle reached one she COULD see.
And as I watched her reach for the silver platter, I realized what would happen next. And I will forever castigate myself for being a horrible person for only grinning and watching. Because the next plate she was reaching for was the silver platter with my not so little pony mounted on it, and she had no idea what she was in for.
The horse dick had been sweating all afternoon, beads of condensation forming on it’s cool surface and rolling down it, thinning out the whip cream into a slick wet mess all around it’s bass throbbing testicles. I could see it’s base start to slide under even just the minor act of Apple tugging the platter to the edge of the counter.
For the rest of my life I will cherish the look of horror and shock on her face as she tilted the platter up, just in time to see the veined balls rushing at her chin and the crown of the b**st leaning in towards her face. It struck her cleanly across her face, rebounding back onto the platter with a “SPLAT” that I could clearly hear over the main stage.
It was a perfect moment. The residue on her face shone like a stripe of sunshine against the gloom of the club, and her hair had lovingly molded to the tip of her of so brief jello gentleman. I couldn’t resist. I started laughing so hard I cried. I doubled over, wheezing and gasping for air as every fresh glance set me off on more giggles.
If the bartender hadn’t called out a warning, I probably would have been brained by the cocktail tray she hurled at me. But her moment’s pause to grab a champagne bottle gave me all the head start I needed to race back into the safety of the beer cooler. For having such tiny lungs there was nothing petite about the bloody threats and dire v******e she promised in screams through the door.
And as I rested atop a pallet of Miller Light, I reflected on my actions. There would be consequences, and I was right in that they were no where near as enjoyable. I got a minor talking to from the kitchen manager when he returned, one he could not deliver with a straight face and without little chuckles.
Mainly though, I had to make amends to Apple to prevent the psycho pygmy from slashing up my bike and making me ride it with a similar sized dildo replacing the seat. Eventually, we settled on an agreement. I had made that monster, and so… I had to eat it. In one sitting. In less than 30 minutes.
Now I knew how Cool Hand Luke felt. It tasted horrible, like a quart of lemon cough drop. I ate it all, and then spent twice as long vomiting and retching it all back up. But I came out alright in the end. Candy and Apple turned out to be good friends, and I earned a reputation for avant garde cookery that’s stood me well through the years.
Including that following Easter.
The kind of place you’d see a midget cock slapped in the face by a giant lemon horse dick.
I myself was just another face back in the kitchen, where I started as a dishwasher and slowly learned how to cook everything the club had to offer. For the most part we were faceless, beneath the notice of most of the strippers and cocktail girls especially. They punched orders into a machine, and food showed up under the heat lamps on the bar shortly thereafter.
Which is perhaps why we had such a crude tradition of hazing the new waitresses. At some point in the distant past, the head cook had obtained through foul means no doubt a silicone mold. And it wasn’t just any silicone mold, oh no. It wasn’t a bundt cake, or even a butt cake. I’m pretty sure it was a mold of a Shetland Pony.
His penis to be exact.
It was a flaccid green work of art, lovingly capturing every bulging vein and obscene lump of the equine copulative machinery. It was also huge. I distinctly recall the shaft being thick as my forearm. If that was normal for a stallion, I shudder to think what a novelty penis mold would look like for one of their bachelor parties.
This flaccid green silicone skin would be filled with water, and then suspended upside down in a carefully constructed nest of bagged frozen veggies. The silicone was too thin to support the weight of so much fluid inside it, and on more than one occasion we’d arrive in the morning to find that some corn had shifted overnight.
The inevitable result was everything in the nest and everything on the shelf below it frozen together into a single mass, sometimes still connected to the mold. The first time I saw this I laughed, and called it a bukake. And then had to spend the rest of the afternoon explaining to the Spanish speaking kitchen staff what it meant.
Now, the tradition was simple. The first time a new waitress put in an order, we’d break out the same silvery platters we used for the deluxe shrimp cocktail. On to this we’d build a tasteful garnish of kale leaves, lemon wedges, and parsley. And in the middle of the platter we’d place the ice sculpture of a cock that the mold produced.
It was majestic in an alpine sort of way. It wasn’t hard to imagine gentle pasture land below the lofty heights of some an ancient glacier when you looked at the full presentation. And when it went out into the pickup area it positively shined in the reflected lights of the heat lamps and the odd stray beam from the disco balls and lasers on the stage.
Truly, it was an obscene work of art.
And one day it nearly put this poor midget girls eye out.
Of course we never called her a midget to her face. Even if legally she was a dwarf. She could have joined the little people of America with a good inch to spare. But she was actually really well put together for being only 4’ 9”. Perhaps her tiny size but sizable bust explained her short attitude with anyone she thought failed to show her the proper respect.
She was a hitter, which came off as being adorable because it was rather like love taps from a kitten. When she had a bit of drink in her things changed, however, and she turned into a brutal brawler. She once missed several days work while she sorted out an assault charge in Louisiana; after bumrushing a state trooper in the groin.
For the sake of privacy, and to preserve the stripper tradition, we’ll call her Apple. Apple was good friends with Candy, a tall and slender emo goth girl who wore too much eyeliner and hit the party favors a bit too hard. Candy had tried her hand as a stripper first, found it to be unsuited to her temperament, and instead began work as a cocktail waitress.
So of course on Candy’s first day we plated up the old pony poker, and were more than a little disappointed when Candy simply sent it back with the note that her order had clearly been for medium rare, while this was still frozen. This was actually the first time someone had called us out on the little trick, at least in my limited experience.
Bitch thought she was so smart…
Had I been thinking more clearly, and perhaps not soaked in arousal hormones and stripper sweat, I may have considered the consequences of the first plan that came to mind.
We had lemon jello left over from the last annual Juggies Jello Jam wrestling tournament. I had industrial sized bags of lemon jello powder. I had an empty penis mold. I had a walk in fridge. The possibilities rapidly unfolded before me, stretching out into infinite penis shaped possibilities like a tropical sunrise over the beach.
God help me I did it. I used 5 pounds of jello powder to one part penis. The resulting syrup was the brilliant yellow of a safety helmet, and glowed like liquid gold as I poured it into the mold. This was gonna be goooood. With rising anticipation I made a nest of old longneck sixpack caddies for my precious dong to chill in.
I let it set for three days, the girth of the member was THAT wide. I didn’t want there to be ANY chance that the core might still be liquid. Getting it out of the mold proved tricky. I had to freeze it solid to have any chance of getting the sticky gelatin out of the mold intact. I was giddy when the day to unsheath the monster finally came.
Which, probably tells you something about how any job can get boring.
The next night I spent extra time setting everything up. The giant yellow schlong seemed to demand greater attention than those mere ice models. So I went all out with my garnishing knife, and carved up some lemon rinds into enough curls to give it a nice pubic bush. With the finishing touches of a little whip cream drip down the tip…
It was PERFECT!
Again, it was placed on a silver platter and sent out for pick up the next time Candy made an order. This time, it worked perfectly. This time, she was speechless. In fact, so was everyone who saw it. The bartender was awed, and nearly dropped a bottle of champagne when she rounded the bar corner and saw it.
Under the red heat lamps the yellow color took on a flaming orange hue, and glowed like a burning love log on the platter. And that was when one subtle but distinct difference between ice and lemon jiggler made itself known. After a few minutes under the heat lamps even the beefiest dickcicle would melt down to nothing. But after 10 minutes under the heat lamps the Jello was literally just warming up.
It started to sway like some sort of friendly invertebrate sea creature. The slightest air current nearby would set it sinuously swaying, the glans of the penis waving a greeting to the startled guy restocking the beer cooler. It would bow to the cocktail waitresses, the blunt tip trying to seduce them into taking a lemony lick.
In short, my masterpiece was causing a scene. Girls became reluctant to pick up their orders because of the platter protecting pony poker, and the plates started to build up. It got to the point where even I was forced to admit it was time for ‘ol Lemon to be put to pasture. I went up behind the bar, where I could see the cock vibrating in time to the bass line from the stage.
And that is when I saw it. Well, saw Apple’s hand reaching up to feel around for a plate. You see, the poor thing was so short she couldn’t see what was on the counters. We literally could not see her half the time, just perhaps the top of her brunette bob, and any hair clips she happened to be wearing.
Have you ever existed between heart beats? In that moment before the bullet hits the bone? When thoughts cascade through your mind with blinding speed and perfect clarity. I realized what she was doing. She couldn’t see what was on the plates, so she’d grab the lip and tilt them up until the angle reached one she COULD see.
And as I watched her reach for the silver platter, I realized what would happen next. And I will forever castigate myself for being a horrible person for only grinning and watching. Because the next plate she was reaching for was the silver platter with my not so little pony mounted on it, and she had no idea what she was in for.
The horse dick had been sweating all afternoon, beads of condensation forming on it’s cool surface and rolling down it, thinning out the whip cream into a slick wet mess all around it’s bass throbbing testicles. I could see it’s base start to slide under even just the minor act of Apple tugging the platter to the edge of the counter.
For the rest of my life I will cherish the look of horror and shock on her face as she tilted the platter up, just in time to see the veined balls rushing at her chin and the crown of the b**st leaning in towards her face. It struck her cleanly across her face, rebounding back onto the platter with a “SPLAT” that I could clearly hear over the main stage.
It was a perfect moment. The residue on her face shone like a stripe of sunshine against the gloom of the club, and her hair had lovingly molded to the tip of her of so brief jello gentleman. I couldn’t resist. I started laughing so hard I cried. I doubled over, wheezing and gasping for air as every fresh glance set me off on more giggles.
If the bartender hadn’t called out a warning, I probably would have been brained by the cocktail tray she hurled at me. But her moment’s pause to grab a champagne bottle gave me all the head start I needed to race back into the safety of the beer cooler. For having such tiny lungs there was nothing petite about the bloody threats and dire v******e she promised in screams through the door.
And as I rested atop a pallet of Miller Light, I reflected on my actions. There would be consequences, and I was right in that they were no where near as enjoyable. I got a minor talking to from the kitchen manager when he returned, one he could not deliver with a straight face and without little chuckles.
Mainly though, I had to make amends to Apple to prevent the psycho pygmy from slashing up my bike and making me ride it with a similar sized dildo replacing the seat. Eventually, we settled on an agreement. I had made that monster, and so… I had to eat it. In one sitting. In less than 30 minutes.
Now I knew how Cool Hand Luke felt. It tasted horrible, like a quart of lemon cough drop. I ate it all, and then spent twice as long vomiting and retching it all back up. But I came out alright in the end. Candy and Apple turned out to be good friends, and I earned a reputation for avant garde cookery that’s stood me well through the years.
Including that following Easter.
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