by J. Sherwood
(10/15/08)
I was sous chef, second in command to the sensual Chef Jalissa who some years earlier had left Jamaica and her bungalow in Montego Bay to come to Puerto Vallarta, a city of international tastes on Mexico's southern Pacific Coast. She opened on Isla Cuales a restaurant that became immediately and immensely popular: Jalissa's Jammin' Cuisine.
Jalissa liked me and promoted me to sous chef only six months after she hired me. I think she liked me mostly because I liked the music of Bob Marley and because I kept her supplied her with some fine Mexican Gold -- marijuana -- which she kept hidden in one leg of the iron cot along the back wall of her storeroom.
Those old iron cots, usually painted black, are common in the tropics. Jalissa had re-painted this one fuchsia. The firm mattress was always covered with clean blue sheets and a light blanket. A little white sign that stayed on the pillow said, "For Jalissa Only, Do Not Enter." Jalissa said this was where she always got her "best ideas."
I had a few "best ideas" of my own that I thought that cot could help me refine.
Jalissa, whose skin was the color of Jamaican ebony, was independent, beautiful, and dedicated to her offerings, which included "Coconut Snapper," "Curry Shrimp," "Jerked Chicken," "Bob Marley Red Pea Soup," and the popular desert was her "Hey Mon Mangoes Flambé."
But the menu item that ruined you for other restaurants in Vallarta was the "Jammin' Prime Rib au Jus Jalissa." Her prime rib was like no other prime rib in Vallarta. The meat, almost always served medium rare, was more tender, more tasty than the mind can imagine. It was like every woman you have ever loved. It arrived on your plate with its legs spread, so to speak, pink, soaking in its own exotic juices. It just might be the best meat ever eaten by man.
At thirty-eight, Jalissa was also prime.
She loved to study her menu descriptions, often bending over her counter writing new ones. She liked to test them on me.
"Peter, here's one for the 'Bob Marley Red Pea Soup': 'Made with red peas and onions, cooked in coconut milk, and seasoned with a pinch of hot pepper and a little thyme, this feeds both you and your creator."
"Peter, do you like it?"
"Jalissa, I like it so much I and my creator could eat it right now."
Jalissa gave me a strange look and told me we needed to get to work.
While Jalissa was preparing her prime rib and her au jus, I was going over the boxes of mangoes, picking out the very best, to begin making several dozen "Hey Mon Mango Flambés." I used only mangoes picked ripe, that might have dropped a day or two later. I sliced them up, sprinkled on the raw sugar, baked them, and just before we served them I poured on a delectable concoction of Myer's Dark Jamaican Rum, mixed with a little more raw sugar and some mango syrup.
Jalissa tossed her apron onto a counter and lit the flambés with a long match. I wore white pants, a white shirt with Jalissa's Jammin's Cuisine in classy red letters; but Jalissa, like her waitresses, nightly wore a short black dress and what she called a "pirate bustier," red and black and lacing up the front.
As we paraded into the dining room balancing the flaming deserts, Jalissa always sang the first few bars of the Curtis White hit recorded by Bob Marley, "People Get Ready." But Jalissa customized the words, "People get ready, there's flambé a-comin.'"
The waitresses, their young tits ready to burst out of their red and black pirate bustiers, were glowing in the light of the flaming mangoes. In Mexican accents they shouted "Hey Mon!" as they bent over deeply to set the deserts before each bedazzled customer.
Jalissa loved Bob Marley songs, and while we cleaned up she played old favorites like "No Woman, No Cry," "Jamming," "Redemption Song," and "I Shot the Sheriff." The one she said Bob Marley wrote for us was "Stir It Up."
I wanted to stir it up bad with Jalissa. "How do you the au jus?" I asked her.
"Some night I'll show you the secret."
"But tonight is 'some night,' I said to her as I lifted up a soup spoon and slid a bit of rum and mango juice between those slightly parted, permanently sultry lips.
"I like the way you hold that spoon," she said.
I leaned over and with just the tip of my tongue licked off a little juice that I had dribbled down one side of that mouth I had been longing to touch since I began working at Jalissa's Jammin' Cuisine.
"I like the way you hold that tongue," she said.
Ten minutes later, while still holding that spoon, I watched her stretch out on her cot. She picked up the sign and pointed to the word "Jalissa" and to the word "enter" and tossed it under the cot.
I sat beside her and unlaced that bustier, rubbing the soft satin against her tits until her nipples rose up out of her dark aureoles like black raspberries.
She arched her back and I slid down those black short shorts to come, at last, face to face with that shimmering pink cunt.
"This is the real Jalissa's Jammin' Cuisine," I whispered.
My tongue, covered with her juices, moved back and forth, in and out, occasionally curling up to touch her G-spot, to dance against the roof of her vagina. I rolled her labia against my tongue, finally cradling, then sucking her black pearl, that hard little lump of love. I felt Jalissa jerk, spasm, and then begin to shoot out more juice than I had ever seen come from a woman.
Jalissa screamed, continued to spasm, then gasped, "Save all you can in that spoon, Peter. That's the secret of my prime rib."
