Oh Hell, Now What?

     I was sitting here this week, writing away, while in the back of my mind I was stressing over what I was going to blog about this week. Last week it was rather emotional and not exactly what I would call ‘up-lifting’, and I wanted to change that. Nothing drab, please. Enough is enough, after all. 

     I thought I had an idea and then completely forgot what it was. It’s funny how I can remember things from over thirty years ago and can’t remember a single idea from just a day or so ago. It is rather frustrating. 

     So…here I sit, rambling on as usual, about nothing in particular. Then I see a picture on FB that brings back a distant memory from years past. Then another, and then another. You see, for those who don’t know, I worked in the food industry for many, many years. There isn't enough time for me left on this earth to tell every story of my experiences while in the kitchen. Ask anyone who has ever worked in food service and they will also have more than a few stories to tell, I’m sure. 

     I've decided to concentrate my ramblings specifically on the holiday. Let me tell you, there isn't a busier time in the hospitality industry than the holidays. There is usually party after party after party. I worked in both hotels and country clubs, and man, they never seemed to stop. From the day after Thanksgiving, I knew I was going to be busy and have plenty of overtime available. Not too bad for the wallet! 

     Now, this one hotel I worked for had a customer that always had their big parties and important functions there. They also put up all their VIPs there, so I’m sure they were pretty tight with the sales department. They were a major boating company, known worldwide, and quite the big spenders. They have a massive work force and each year they would have their company Christmas party at the hotel. I looked forward to this party more than any other. Why, you ask? HA! They had the biggest, butchest, blue collar men around working for them, that’s why. You think I’m crazy? Well… don’t answer that. 

     So when they would ask for volunteers to do a carving station or something on the buffet line, you can damned well be sure my hand was the first one up! I looked forward to that party every year I worked there. Now it was no big secret why I always volunteered for these parties, and I was used to the ribbing and the laughing that went on when I volunteered. Back then, like now, I never hid who I was or what I liked. If someone didn't like it, fuck ‘em. Let them turn fruit into tropical flowers. Ha. Basically I had skills that were not very common and I made sure to use them. 

Not mine, but you get the idea. Yeah, I did this kind of work.

     Anyway, I digress. I mentioned that this boat company had blue collar workers right? Well, they weren't just your average blue collar workers. These men were skilled craftsmen. Not your everyday run of the mill redneck contract labor. No, these guys were a high quality type of blue collar guys. Educated, for the most part, polite, well behaved but still with that edge to them that I found irresistible. 

      Side note: There was another company who also had their big Holiday party at the same hotel. A huge mobile home manufacturer and they also had a large employee base. They also had a lot of blue collar types. The big difference was theirs were total rednecks. Let me just say that the tooth to tattoo ratio was a bit skewed. They had way more tattoos than teeth. Never volunteered for those parties, nor did anyone else. They were just awful. 

     I forget what year it was, but I’m sure it was pre 9/11. Anyway, I was given the carving station for the roast beef, the best station I could have gotten. I think part of the reason I got it was that I had, and still do actually, a Shun carving knife. If you know anything about knives, you’ll know that this is like the Rolls Royce of knives. Now you may ask why that particular job would be so desirable to me. Well, duh! Men like meat. They like red meat. Those hot men were always lined up in front of that big ol’hunk o’meat! Are you kidding? I ain't no dummy. 

     So here is where I need to tell you that this boat company was a major employer in the area. They treated their employees right. Rarely did you hear of a job opening or of anyone leaving unless they were retiring. They pulled out all the stops for these people, but they also understood these guys. They didn't insist on everyone getting all gussied up. All they asked is that they dress nicely. In other words, leave them jeans with holes in ’em at home. I have to admit, most everyone did wear jeans, but they were good jeans, and they wore collared shirts. They all cleaned up pretty good, if I do say so myself. 

     There I was, the night of their big Christmas party, carving that huge piece of beef, chatting with the guys, and yes, even their wives when they showed up, having a grand ol’ time. Then I looked up to the next in line and my eyes were met with the bluest eyes I think I’d ever seen. A big bright smile, surrounded by a short, clipped, dark brown beard, completed my idea of what a perfect man should look like. He also had on a big fluffy red Santa hat trimmed out in white fur. I know my heart skipped a beat right about then. 

     I asked him how he liked his meat, as I swallowed hard. He said he liked it rare with some au jus and some horseradish, which of course I had. I sliced him a few pieces, not daring to speak. I just knew I’d squeak if I opened my mouth. I gave him his plate of beef and smiled. He took the plate and winked at me. I just about pissed myself. I watched him walk off and take his seat. 

     He was sitting close to the back of the room, not far from where the buffet line was located, so I could watch him throughout the evening. He came back twice more, each time knocking me over with that killer smile. The last time he handed me a rolled up bill. He thanked me with that deep rumbling voice of his. You know, the type that vibrated through his chest each time he spoke. He had that deep Southern drawl which I thought might be from Alabama. I took the bill somewhat dumbfounded. No one else had offered a tip, and to be quite honest, I nor anyone else expected one. Well, with the exception of the bartenders. I stuck the bill in my pocket. Before long it was time to break down the buffet so I didn't give it a second thought. In my mind I said goodbye to the big hottie, satisfied with the knowledge that I had some serious fantasy material to work with later, if you know what I mean. 

     Later when I got home I emptied my pockets and there was the rolled up bill. I unrolled it—it turned out to be a five, by the way—and there was a slip of paper. I remember my hands shaking a bit. On that paper was his name and phone number and a message, ‘give me a call sometime’. I didn't know whether to jump up and down or pass out from shock. His name was Johnny. 

     If any of you have read my blog before you know I talk quite candidly about sex, and have even alluded to my own sexual exploits. Right here. Right now, I’m going to say…Johnny and I dated for several months and during those months, there wasn't much we didn't try. As I call it, ‘flip-flopped and fly’. We both seemed to enjoy everything equally so there was never any ‘I’m only a top’ kinda crap. There are plenty of sex scenes in my books that could quite easily describe some of my very own…experiences with Johnny, let’s say. I’m even going to go as far as to say there are several things that Johnny and I got into that are NOT in any of my books. Doesn't mean that they might not make an appearance sometime down the road, but…some things are just too personal. Or maybe not. 

     Johnny moved back to Alabama, where he was indeed from, when his father was diagnosed with cancer to help out. He was the youngest of seven, it turned out, and the only one who wasn't married (big surprise there) and didn't have a bunch of kids. So it fell on him to go and help his mother and father out. 

     We tried to stay in touch. I even drove down there once, staying in a motel that had seen better days, just to see him. Eventually we lost contact. I often think of Johnny when writing some scenes and I smile, thinking, ‘damn, that sure was fun’. 

     Now…for some of those doubters out there who say some of the things I write about just aren’t possible or true, I call foul. Well, actually I’m a little more colorful than that but you get the general idea. To those, mostly women I’ve noticed, I say…when you grow a fucking dick, you just let me know, okay? Then we’ll talk. 

     I hope you liked my little jaunt down memory lane. I have a fantastic Thanksgiving story that I’m saving for just the right book. I’ll let you know when I put that one in a book. A word of warning though…make sure you've used the bathroom first. If not, I’m sure you’re gonna piss yourself laughing. And yep, it’s all true. 

     'Tis the season right? Do me a small favor, please. Do something nice for someone else. Doesn't have to be much. Remember, a simple smile can make someone’s day.    

     Till next week… 

     Max ;-)

Gio Dell. One of the most positive people I know. A constant inspiration to me.