Cooking Classes

 by: Hankster

© 2023 by the author

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

hankster@tickiestories.us

My front door bell rang persistently.  It was Saturday morning.  I just wanted to sleep.  I didn’t have to go to work, and I wasn’t meeting friends until this evening at my favorite gay bar.  What fool had the nerve to disturb me so early?

“Go away,” I mumbled to myself, and turned over in my bed.

The ringing got even more persistent.  Whoever was trying to get into my apartment was leaning on the doorbell.  I was pissed.  I finally, jumped out of bed, grabbed my bathrobe, and ran to the front door.  I opened it with a belligerent look on my face, and there stood my mother.

“What are you doing here?” I asked insensitively.  I realized how awful that sounded, so I was compelled to add, “It sure is a pleasant surprise.”

My mother pushed passed me, and went right for the kitchen.

“I smelled my way into this room,” she said.  “Ugh.”

“What are you doing here so early in the morning?” I asked.

“Well,” Mom answered, “you’ve been in this apartment for five weeks, and you haven’t invited me or your father once to see it.  I just wanted to make sure that you were keeping it clean, and eating properly.  Boy, am I glad I came.  This place makes a pig pen look like a sterile operating room.”

“You really think so?” I mumbled, even though I knew she was right.

I looked around.  There wasn’t an inch of counter space that didn’t have used Styrofoam food boxes on it.  Worse yet, all the containers came from fast food restaurants.  Most of them had left over food in them, and were beginning to smell.

“It’s not always like this,” I lied.  “I had a party last night.”

“Nice try, Buster,” my mother said, “but you’re not fooling me.  Some of this food looks like it’s been sitting in your kitchen for days.  Don’t you smell it?”

What could I say or do?  She was right.  I just looked at her sheepishly.

“This place is going to make me barf,” she said.  “Shower, and get dressed.  I’m taking us out for brunch.”

At brunch, she couldn’t stop being my mother. 

“You’re still acting like a little child,” she said disdainfully, “so here’s what I’m going to do.  I’m going to engage a cleaning service to clean your place periodically.  You can afford it now that you have such a great job, and have become a big wage earner.  Then I’m going to hire someone to give you cooking lessons.  I know you’ll never go to her classes, so I’ll make sure the teacher comes here.”

That raised my shackles.  “Why cooking classes?” I asked.

“Lots of reasons,” she said.  “You’ve got to cook some healthy food occasionally, and stay away from all this greasy junk food.  It’s for your health and wellbeing.   When you learn to cook, you can invite some lovely young woman to dinner.  Don’t you want to entertain a woman in your own apartment, and impress her with your success?”

I didn’t answer her.  I wanted so much to tell her that I’d rather entertain a handsome young man in my home, but as usual, I didn’t have the nerve.  I don’t know why I was so reticent.  My older sister was married, and had twin boys who were a year old, so my folks were not missing out on being grandparents.  Notwithstanding all that, much as I wanted to, I could never get up the nerve to come out to my parents.

My mother left to go home directly from the restaurant.  The way she put it is, “I can’t go back to that pigsty without throwing up.  Besides, I need to take care of getting you a cleaning service and cooking lessons.”

*****

When I first moved into my apartment, I gave my parents a set of keys in case of an emergency.  Imagine my shock (and utter delight) when I came home from work on Monday, and found my apartment squeaky clean.  It was so shiny, it reminded me of a newly minted coin.  The best part was inhaling the fresh detergent smell.  It evoked a feeling of cleanliness.

There was nothing on the kitchen counter except one piece of paper.  It was an invoice from “Best Ever,” the cleaning company.  They had probably been given a key by my mother.  I wondered how many housekeepers were there, and how long they stayed.  I vowed to call them the next day, and set up the next appointment at my convenience.  I wanted to be home when they did their thing.

I barely had time to observe all this glamor, when my doorbell rang.  I went to answer it, opened the door, lost my breath, and then my heart.  Standing before me was the cutest guy I ever saw.  He was no more than 5’ 9” tall, three inches shorter than I, but he had the face of an angel, and the body of an athlete.

I got myself together and asked, “Can I help you?”

“No,” he said, “but I can help you.  Your mother hired me to give you a series of twelve cooking lessons.  I’m a chef and a caterer, and I’m very busy.  I can only teach you in the evening when you come home from work.  Is that okay with you?”

I had expected the teacher to be a woman, so I was too shocked to answer him.  I nodded inanely, and asked him to come in.  His first comment was to remark at how clean my kitchen was.  “I hate to work in a sloppy environment,” he said.

“May I ask your name?” I asked.

He gave me his business card, and stuck out his hand to shake mine.  As you can see from the card,” he said, “my name is Francois LaKay, but you can call me Frank Lake.  That’s my real name.  Francois is for business purposes only.”  He began to laugh, so I laughed with him.

“I guess you know that my name is Kyle McIntyre,” I said stupidly.  He nodded.

“As busy as I am,” he said, “I want your lessons to be at your convenience.  I don’t care how long it takes to complete the twelve lessons.  If you receive the required number, I will have honored my contract with your mother.  I don’t want to infringe on your life or your privacy, so before I leave tonight, we’ll agree on our next date.”

“He might have said “our next lesson,” but he said, “our next date.”  I liked the sound of it.  I wanted to tell him that it would be all right with me, if he stayed all night, but I froze.”

Instead, I asked, “How do we start?”

“Tonight, we are going to make a simple vegetable dish, a ratatouille. It’s healthy and delicious.  You can have it for dinner later.  I brought with me all the vegetables we need.  I figured you wouldn’t have any of them in your home.” 

He reached into his tote bag, and pulled out a computer-generated list.  “These foods are what’s needed for your next lesson,” he said.  “Please buy everything before I get here.”

I took the list and smiled sweetly at him.  “Sure thing,” I said.

After that, he instructed me in my first cooking lesson.  Guess what?  I was pretty good at it, and Frank kept complimenting me.  I asked him to stay and enjoy the ratatouille with me.  I figured he hadn’t eaten dinner yet.

“Why not?” he asked, “I have no family, and I’m not in a relationship right now.  My apartment is a lonely place to come home to.”  What was he trying to tell me?

“I’m sorry,” I said.  “Are your parents dead?”

“No, they disowned me when I came out.”

I knew he was gay from the moment he walked into my apartment, but I pretended innocence.  “You’re gay?” I asked.

“You know I am.  And if you pretend you didn’t know, I’ll have to pretend I didn’t know about you.  That would be a stupid thing for both of us to do.”

We both laughed, and we leaned into each other.  We gave each other our first tentative kiss.   As soon as we had dinner, and restored the kitchen to its recent state of sterilization, I grabbed Frank’s hand and led him into my bedroom.

“This is the best class I ever took,” I said, as I began to undress him.

I’m taller and huskier than Frank, so I’m a little better endowed in the groin area.  But that is not to say, that Frank’s assets are not formidable.  They certainly are.  He’s cut like me, and only slightly smaller.

We are both experienced homosexuals.  That night, we did it all; cock sucking, fucking, rimming, trips around the world, toe sucking, you name it.  We both hated to do it, but we used condoms.  After we exhausted each other, we showered together, and for a grand finale we gave each other golden showers.

After our shower, we got into bed, and cuddled for a bit, but finally, Frank said that he had to go home.  I begged him to stay.

“Next time, I’ll come better prepared,” he said.  “I’ll bring fresh clothes and toiletries with me for the next day. Then I can stay overnight.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” I assured him.  We both hated pulling apart.

Frank was busy the following evening.  He was catering a small birthday party for a wealthy client.  Small indeed, There were going to be twenty-four people at the party.  So, we made a date for the following evening after work, and I counted every second.  I was falling head over heels in love with my teacher, and I had every reason to believe he felt the same way about me.  Certainly, he had made love to me with authentic passion.

I thought I would die if Wednesday evening didn’t come sooner.  Thank God, I was diverted enough at work to help the time move along.  Time is very insistent on marching on, and finally it was Wednesday evening, and my doorbell was ringing.  As soon as Frank came through the door, he put his equipment down, and we embraced warmly.  I don’t know about him, but I didn’t want to let go.  Of course, I had to let go, eventually.  Frank was anxious to start the lesson and make our dinner, so we could advance to better things.  Who was I to argue?

“I’m going to try to keep all the meals we prepare very simple, so you won’t balk at preparing them when you’re alone,” he said.  “Tonight, we are making breaded veal cutlets, with a baked potato and sweet peas.  As a special treat; pie ala mode for dessert.  We won’t make the pie from scratch,” he smiled.  “I bought an apple pie and vanilla ice cream on my way over.”

I couldn’t resist.  “You sure know the way to a guy’s heart,” I grinned at him.

The remaining lessons continued one a night, but occasionally, when either of us was busy, we had to skip a night.  We made love, real love, after every lesson, and Frank slept over.  On the first Friday after I met Frank, we had a real date.  We went to a gay bar where we both ran into friends, and when Introductions were made, I could tell that they all thought we were starting something. I prayed they were right.

My prayers were answered.  On the night of our last lesson, Frank said to me, “I own a two-bedroom condo, and you’re renting.  I’d really love it if you moved in with me.  Never mind, love it.  It would give me great pleasure if you moved in with me, Kyle.”

I started to weep.  “I’m madly in love with you,” I declared.  “I never thought I’d ever say what I’m about to, to anyone, but here goes.  I want to live with you forever.  Of course, I’ll move in with you.”

“There’s more,” Frank said.  “I’d like us to get married someday.”

“I got very emotional.  I grabbed Frank in a bear hug, and this time, I wouldn’t let go.  I don’t know how long I stood there just holding him.  We didn’t kiss or fondle.  We just held each other tightly.  I never wanted to let go.

Then I had a thought.  “I’ll have to come out to my parents,” I said.

“I’ll be at your side.  I’ll help you,” he assured me.

“What if they accuse you of converting me?”

Frank started to laugh.  “I’ll tell them that you converted me.  I’ll tell them that when my back was turned, you added aphrodisiacs to the meals we were preparing.”

We both got hysterical with laughter, but still I was deeply worried about coming out to my parents, and I told Frank so.

“I’ll make you a bet,” he said.  “I’ll bet that if they don’t know already, they suspect.”

“We’ll see,” I said.  “I’m on a month-to-month lease.  I can be out of here in two months.  When shall we tell them?”

“You just had your final lesson, Frank said.  “Why don’t you make a small dinner party very soon.  You do all the cooking.  Just invite your parents and me.  Tell them you want to show them how well I taught you.”

I thought that was a great idea, and we set a date for the following Saturday night.  My parents accepted the invitation.

For dinner, I served a healthy salad with an assortment of dressings.  I followed that by putting out individual roasted Cornish hens.  I served the hens with a baked sweet potato and asparagus.  For dessert, we had my favorite; apple pie ala mode.

My parents oohed and aahed over everything.  They told me how proud they were of me, and kept complimenting Frank on his culinary and teaching skills.  After dinner, I told my guests to go into the living room and socialize while I cleaned up.  They all wanted to help, but I insisted.  When I got the kitchen looking like it did after a visit from my cleaning help, I joined them in the living room.

My parents were sitting on the sofa, and Frank was sitting on a side chair.  I have no idea what they were talking about, but they were all laughing.  I sat down on the other side chair.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“Frank here was telling us anecdotes of some of his culinary disasters.  He can laugh at them now, but they weren’t funny at the time,” my dad said.

“Mom, dad,” I said by way of getting their attention,” “Frank and I have one more tale for you.  It’s not a disaster tale, but it concerns both of us.”

I guess I looked scared, because my mother asked immediately, “Kyle, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.  I just need to tell you both something.  I’ve given notice to my landlord that I’m vacating this apartment.  I’m moving in with Frank as soon as possible.”

There was utter silence, and then Dad said.  “I think you two will make great roommates.”

It was Frank’s turn to speak.  “We’ll be more than roommates, Mr. McIntyre.  We’re lovers.  We’re both gay, and we’ll be getting married as soon as we can make plans.  For now, Kyle’s move has top priority.”

“The silence in the room became oppressive.  Finally, I said, “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

The room returned to utter silence for a few minutes, then my mother said, “You know, Kyle, your dad and I have discussed this possibility for a while now.  We suspected.  Whenever I mentioned something about entertaining a woman, you never said you would.  You never said you wouldn’t either.”

Frank looked at me as if to say, I told you so.

“Well,” Dad added.  “If it must be, it must be.  I’m glad you chose someone like Frank.  He’s a great guy, but best of all he’s a good influence on you.”

I jumped up, and engaged my folks in a group hug.  My dad motioned for Frank to join us.  Frank and I were crying, which strangely had the opposite effect on my father.  Our sobbing brought my dad to laughter.  When the hugging, crying, and laughter stopped, we all sat down again.  Frank and I filled my folks in on our near-term and long-term plans.

Finally, they left to go home, and Frank and I headed to the bedroom.  Our love making that night was extraordinary.  To begin with, Frank announced that since the trauma of coming out was over, and I had been so brave, he was going to give me a present.  He declared that he would do all the work tonight.  I didn’t argue.  It was just for tonight.  I’d have plenty of chances to take the helm in years to come, or share the task equally with Frank.

We started making love in the shower.  As promised, I did nothing, while Frank cleaned me up until I squeaked.  He fell to his knees and kept turning me around frequently so he could both suck and rim me.  All I could do was moan in ecstasy, especially when he inserted a finger into my ass, and searched for my prostate.  His search was successful.  I was no longer moaning.  I was purring like a kitten and sobbing.  All the while, I let him know how much I loved him.

“Let’s take this to a dry bed,” Frank said, and we did.

Oh, what a night.  Frank gave me, not one, not two, but three trips around the world.  As a grand finale, he soaked my cock and his ass with lubricant, straddled me, and sat on me until my prick was all the way up his ass.  We began to fuck.  After we both came, neither of us lost our erections, and we were able to achieve success again.

Finally, we fell asleep, totally exhausted.

Frank and I have been together now for fifteen years and married for twelve.  My parents attended the wedding and the reception, catered by Francois.  Frank and his parents are still estranged.  They retired about the time we became a couple, and he has no way of knowing where they moved to.  He doesn’t care to Google them.  He’d prefer to let sleeping dogs lie.  His attitude is, if they care to reconcile, they can Google him.

Our marriage is blissful.  Every so often, Frank and I will argue about something, but it’s not serious, and we never go to bed angry at one another.  Our bed is truly, the home of the goddess Venus.  Because Frank cooks all day (and often all night) for a living, believe it or not, I do all the cooking at home.  Frank taught me well, and I owe it to him to do my share. 

I also must give kudos to my once sloppy kitchen.  If I am being grateful for my life, I can’t exclude my overly concerned mother for hiring a cleaning service, and a cooking teacher.  If I hadn’t been a slob in the past, and if my mother didn’t care about me, I never would have met Frank, and my life would have been a disaster.

Posted: 03/31/2023