33 Forks Lesbian Story

Taste

Chapter 1: Taste 2:00PM. 2:00PM. 2:00PM.

Jordan rolled over mechanically and swung her arm in a full arc to stop the incessant alarm clock. A fleeting feeling of regret washed through her along with the memory of falling down a 'rabbit hole' watching ameature cooking hacks on her cell phone instead of going to bed early that morning.

She immediately shifted her hips, rolled, and placed her feet on the cool hardwood floors. Jordan wasn't super excited at waking from a dreamless slumber. But, she knew that if she hesitated even for a moment, she was doomed. She would lie in bed, fall in and out of a semi-conscious sleep, and ultimately be late for work.

Over the years, Jordan had learned that routine was her friend. Her chaotic and erratic life needed some concrete anchors. Even small things like "feet on the floor" helped her to maintain some control and balance. Jordan moved methodically through her small studio apartment. She could have done this in absolute darkness; there was comfort and safety in consistency.

When Jordan stepped into her shower and she began moving the hot water and soap over her lean body. She didn't need another shower to get clean, she needed it to reset for her day. The heat felt good and her muscles warmed and relaxed as she reflected on her recent move to Chicago.

Jordan loved the hum of a city. She spent formative years in New York and learned to love the heartbeat of urban life, the cultural offerings, the anonymity. Jordan graduated at the top of her class from NYC's Institute of Culinary Education eight months ago and chose to move to Chicago to start paying her culinary "dues."

Chicago offered her everything that she was looking for in a big city. History, art, architecture, athletics, the ethnic diversity, and small, proud neighborhoods. She hoped to someday own a small eatery and fresh market, but her professional vision was still undeveloped. Jordan was young, disciplined, career-oriented, and she knew she had time. She knew she needed experience more than anything else. As a sous chef at a steakhouse just off the Magnificent Mile, she survived her first Chicago winter and quickly moved up the ranks in the kitchen as one of the most trusted cooks.

Jordan fed and smiled at Bob, the betta fish who made the trip with her from New York. She smirked at the fish who in no way bobbed in the tiny vessel. She really had no idea what it would be like to be the proud owner of a pet betta fish. It turned out they were nothing like goldfish and that she was quite good at it, caring for a fish that needed little to no care.

"Have a great day, Bob. I'll miss you." Jordan liked her relationship with the emotionless fish. It was uncomplicated, and Bob was never a burden on Jordan's sometimes over-taxed mind.

Within 45 minutes, Jordan sat for a short ride on the "El." The elevated train was her favorite way to navigate the city. She found that she could barely afford a car and more importantly didn't need one. The fact that both traffic and parking was unbearable made her decision all the easier. Jordan was a woman of the city, no car needed.

She sat on the "El," concentrating on drawing herself in, trying not to "taste" the waves of emotions of the other passengers as they resonated in her space. Sometimes the waves of energy were sharp invasions, sometimes subtle, almost always unsettling and unwanted. On this day the ride began as expected, she put in her earbuds, turned up her Spotify playlist, and watched the city pass by.

Jordan rocked gently on the train, she stared out the window and tried to focus on everything and nothing in her visual field all at once. Unexpectedly, through the wash of energy, her senses flooded with the light taste of curiosity and layered flavor of desire. When the layered tastes intensified, she glanced up and saw a woman in her mid-20s a few seats down looking over her phone at her. She smiled softly at Jordan, raising an eyebrow.