Arsenic and Esmeralda

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Ahegao

I was 23, just out of culinary school and out of the closet. I fell in love with a woman and we were together for six glorious months until I found out she was cheating on me. This heartbreak motivated my move back to Cincinnati where to my surprise things had changed quite a bit in the five years or so I’d been gone. The nightlife was great, the local music scene inspiring, new art galleries were opening all over the place. Not much for lesbians it’s true but I was doing the online dating thing and met some cool girls as well as the requisite kooks. I was free and independent and could feel myself becoming the woman I wanted to be. It felt good.I soon got a job as a sous chef at a high-end place on the Banks development right next to the Reds stadium. I was passionate about food then. The business hadn’t taken its toll on me yet. My boss, the executive chef, really took me under his wing. If our owner decided to expand into new markets and I did my job well, I might hope to be in charge of my own place in a year or two. The dream was to eventually own and run my own spot. But one foot in front of the other, first things first.I started making friends and soon had a busy social life going. A chefs’ schedule is always hectic and crazy. Maybe that’s why so many of us get into drugs and alcohol. You tend to need a lot of stress relief. I tend to stick to booze and weed but if someone offered me an E or shrooms I wouldn’t say no.Probably my closest friend there was a bartender named Sara. She was a beautiful shapely strawberry blonde, my age and newly married. Her husband Gary was one of our floor managers, a really friendly, down-to-earth sort of guy. They were outgoing and I started hanging out with them and their friends quite a bit. Like me they were really into indie-rock so we were always going to MOTR, Northside Tavern, Mayday…seeing cool new bands and of course getting fucked up. We were heavy partiers. I would come to work early, do my invoices, make out the prep list, call in orders and maybe work on the daily special or the soup du jour, feeling like I’d been cleaned out on the inside with bleach and a scouring pad. Dying to sleep but pushing through. As a female chef with mostly male staff I couldn’t let those boys see any weakness. I had to be a warrior.Our food was good. Reviews were positive in the local press. People were coming in the door. My owner and my chef were pleased. We were making money.As I said, our place sits right next to Great American kaçak iddaa Ball Park, so game days were always busy for us. We had glass partition walls separating the inner dining room from our seating outside. We would lift those walls, opening us up to the outside on nice days. All the servers would get to wear their casual baseball gear. We’d take large coolers filled with ice and beer and sell to the passers by, enticing them to stop in for sushi or a burger. This was when the straight boys and I really got to see some girl candy. We had several hotties among our serving staff and they all knew that looking good for the drunken sports fans meant big tips. Sara always wore her little Reds t-shirt with her push-up bra, her breasts bulging from it. It was hard not to stare. She would wear jeans that seemed painted on, like three sizes too small. It was the same with her skirts when she worked the host desk. Her ass was delicious, round, and full, perfect in fact. She was so sweet too.I could hardly even allow myself to fantasize about Sara though, thats how straight she was. Like straight straight…ex-cheerleader, boy crazy, super femme. Even if she wasn’t attached I could never imagine her being interested in me. Maybe if Gary wanted a threesome she might kiss me a little but ick no, not my scene.I’ve been told I’m beautiful, not to make too big a deal of it, but I’m raven-haired, dark-eyed and pale-skinned. I stay in shape. I’ve got a nice body. I was getting asked out a lot by men, both guests and staff and since I don’t lie about who I am, directly or by omission, word got out soon enough.Now dating co-workers is always dangerous. It can bring a lot of drama and awkwardness into your life, especially with young girls who want to “experiment.” All gay women know the awful feeling of losing your heart to someone who isn’t serious or who isn’t comfortable with her sexuality. So with these hotties at work who loved to “party” I was resolved to be very circumspect.We made plans, Sara, Gary and I to see a friend of his from out of town, a famous hypnotist. An entertainer, not a hypno-therapist. He’d worked in carnivals and freak shows but did gigs at comedy clubs, bars or wherever he could get people interested. He was going to be in town Saturday night to play the Rhumba Room, one of our preferred hangouts. None of their other friends could go or wanted to. They twisted my arm and I agreed to tag along.We got pizza and beer at a little gourmet bistro in Over-the-Rhine kaçak bahis then walked the two blocks to the club. Franco the Magnificent. One night only. People were out. Nice looking girls everywhere and I was getting some second looks. I recently had my hair cut Miley/pixie style partly because it’s just a cute cut but also because being single and femme I was tired of girls mistaking me for straight. I was even mixing in rainbow jewelry just to make sure I got the point across.We paid at the door and entered the dark, noisy and crowded club. We took a table. A gorgeous Asian girl took our drink orders. I decided on gin and tonic as my poison for the night. The happy couple took shots of whiskey chased with beer. I looked around the room. A mixed crowd, college kids, yuppies, older academic types and a few rockers.The lights dimmed. Some shouts and applause. A great disc of light illuminated the stage. Franco the Magnificent, plumber of the depths of the human heart, seeker of the minds’ darkest, most hidden desires, came on stage. He was blonde, well-groomed, meticulously shaven. A born performer, he moved his arms in great theatrical gestures like a mime. He could throw his voice like a ventriloquist, aiming it like a missile across the crowded room. I didn’t believe for an instant he could really hypnotize people. I assumed there were a few plants in the audience who would act out for us, all in good fun.He used one of those spinners and spoke to his victims in a soothing voice, even massaging the temples of a particular gentleman, to put them into trance. It was impressive.The first man to go up was made to do animal noises. He barked, meowed, cock-a-doodle-dooed and oinked while his friends clapped and laughed. His wife sat there beet-red almost doubled over. The second was a middle-aged woman whom Franco first convinced was a very elderly man. She limped across the stage, holding her hip, speaking in an imitation of the gruff quaver of a male senior citizen. Next he told her she was Robert Plant and she began to belt out Stairway to Heaven in an off-key falsetto. It was hilarious. The drinks were flowing fast and the whole audience was having a great time.Afterwards Franco came to our table. He was popular and even signed a few autographs. He and Gary embraced and Sara and I were introduced. He was charismatic and strange. His steely blue eyes kept a fixed and penetrating expression. It made me shy. One almost wished to draw a curtain over one’s face illegal bahis lest he peer too deep.The four of us took a cab back to Gary and Sara’s place, stopping for beer on the way. Sara put her Pandora station on while Gary broke up weed on the sleeve of a Ramones LP, preparatory to rolling a fattie. Franco was the sober raconteur, telling us about his travels and adventures. He took himself very seriously, considering his hypnotism to be a form of high art. We passed the blunt.Gary had overdone it. His eyes were red and swollen and he started to nod off. Sara left Franco and I alone for a few minutes while she helped him prepare for bed. I was going to sleep in the guest room and Franco on the living room couch.I was feeling mischievous and decided to deflate the Magnificent Franco somewhat.“I see through you you know?” I asked, dragging deep, coughing and passing.His eyes grew wide and he smiled slightly. “What does that mean?” He took the blunt but ignored it and it burned in his hand.“Those people were plants. You put them there. There is no way that silly spinner thing could put people that deep in trance. I don’t believe it.”“Ah I see…a challenge….how can I prove it to you? Shall I hypnotize you? Right now? We’d best wait for Sara to get back before I make you oink like a pig. She can record it on her phone and you’ll have your proof.”“No. Do her. Sara is no actress. If you manage to hypnotize her, I’ll believe it. If she agrees of course.”“Very well. What shall we make her do? What thoughts shall we place in her head? Or rather what secret desire of hers shall we bring into the light of day?”Looking back I am inclined to think that Franco knew what I wanted and led me there with that phrase. Please remember I was not only skeptical but very drunk. It was as a joke that I leaned across and whispered in his ear, “I want you to turn her into a lesbian.” I chortled, delighted at having given him a challenge as naughty as it was impossible. He leaned back, his face beaming self-satisfaction. “Done.”Soon Sara sat in a chair directly opposite Franco. I sat a little farther apart out of sight so as not to disturb their concentration. He had an old-fashioned pocket watch on a chain. He moved it like a pendulum in front of her face, telling her in soft words that her body was relaxing, that her mind was becoming open, that all of her inhibitions were dissolving and she was becoming sleepy. Her eyes closed.He asked basic things of her, her name, the name of her husband, where she worked, where she lived, where she had gone to school. He made her speak of her childhood memories, her dreams, her first loves.And then he slowly began to introduce the subject of women.

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Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32