Cumming in the Restaurant

This one starts quite drily but, if you stick with it, it gets considerably less dry. Quite wet actually. Messy even.

It's written in the style of an 'A Life in the Day' article: it's about a man with a very unique job. And I wrote it to be part of the OnTheJob contest.

There's a very mild element of reluctance at one moment, so fair warning about that.

Otherwise, hope you have as much fun with it as I did when I was writing.

*******

Do you know what it feels like to walk into a crowded New York restaurant with your fully erect cock sticking out of your pants?

Probably not. But I do. It's part of my job.

I'd always been interested in the food and wine industry - that's why I'd moved to NYC after college - and it was just sheer luck that I fell into the orbit of the legendary chef Eddie Jacques. Not just a chef, of course, but also an art world personality, a raconteur, a bad boy boyfriend to models and actresses... all the classic clichés are correct, it's true, but he was also a phenomenal sniffer out of men and women who were original and provocative. He was a maker of scenes. And I desperately wanted to be part of his scene.

I walked into his eponymous E. Jacques restaurant one blustery day in April and I just happened to have exactly what they were looking for in that moment. It was one of those New York days that starts all Spring-like and sunny and then suddenly changes its mind and starts snowing. Which meant I walked in wearing just a white t-shirt, jeans and work boots. And snow in my hair. And - I was told later - visibly erect nipples. It was a look, I guess. I did my first shift two days later. It's been four years now but I still get huge satisfaction providing tableside cumshots at E. Jacques.

There isn't a more exciting 3000 square feet in the whole of the city. That's what I think. And that's what New York City thinks too. As The NY Post put it once, 'Jax doesn't have its finger on the pulse; it is the pulse'. The sign on the door says E. Jacques but almost everyone in the business calls it Jax.

We serve modern American cooking and our wine list, mostly European, is phenomenally deep. And of course we're known especially for our ejaculations. The place does a great job attracting the Sex And The City crowd of course: tables of young professional women, drawn to the city by the fashion and the arts and the men from Wall St. Competent, beautiful women with money to spend. It also brings in finance types and big wigs from the publishing and television worlds - nerds basically, taking a short walk on the wild side. Sometimes, you'll get a politician hoping to feed off the buzz. You get tennis stars at the start of September, here for the US Open, and then the fashion crowd a week after. Artists hang out the entire year. I love the place.

It has a perfect spot in the far West Village. On a corner. If it's raining, I'll take the 1 train two stops but most of the time I just walk home. After most shifts, you just feel like getting some fresh air.

I have light brown hair. It's tousled, with a few lighter streaks in it. I played lacrosse in high school and continued when I got to Northwestern - so that kept me athletic and tan. And I recently got into kayaking and that's given me shoulders, arms and a back. My manager at Jax told me I got the job because of my dimple; she liked that. And the fact that I was uncircumcised - not that common among American boys, she said - and because I can shoot my cum six feet in the air. That's what they'd been looking for that day in April apparently.

It was a stroke of fortune, if you'll excuse the pun, for me to get into the industry just as the vogue for 'natural' cocks was taking off. It's all a bit silly though: there's pros and cons to both. One isn't any better or worse than the other. Personally, I think I would have done just fine whether 'natural' was a thing or not.

Like any job in a high end New York restaurant, the hours are grueling and the commitment is absolute. I'm not allowed to ejaculate at home, no coffee ever, 8 hours of sleep every 24 hours, stay hydrated. Personal hygiene has to be impeccable. It's a service industry and you're making someone's evening: they don't want some surly dude with BO and a weak cumshot. You've got to provide the best. Something they don't get at home, you know.

The head spermelier at E. Jacques is Katie. She took her first steps in the industry out in San Francisco but she's actually from Nantes, France. I like calling her Catherine in a French accent. Cat-er-reen. She got her Master of Sperm qualification at the fabled Centro Internacional de Estudios sobre la Eyaculación in Seville. One day she'll go for the Meilleur Ouvrier de France. She's that good.

Every few months, she has to get a taste of my cumshot: she picks a table at random in the restaurant, takes a seat, and I have to shower her with cum from the other end of the table. You've got to admire the attention to detail: she's monitoring the height of each spurt, the number of spurts, its viscosity and volume, distance, taste of the precum, taste of the sperm itself, its color, nose, mouth feel.

You'd think it might be a bit nerve-wracking having to cum for a Master of Sperm but, with her, but it's really not. For a start, she so clearly loves the sight of a man masturbating. Basically, despite her professionalism, she's still an enthusiast at heart. She really respects the particularities of each man and his load. And, secondly, she's just a really great cum target: she's always smartly dressed, usually in a crisp collared shirt and a chic little neckerchief, and she's feminine, with that beautiful brunette hair that she often wears up and statement lipstick and olive skin. She puts her glasses on for the cumshot, which I find especially hot for some reason. She has that no-nonsense quality, if you know what I mean, but still conveys warmth and generosity. It's a real pleasure getting to unload on her.

As a professional, I'll cum on anyone or anything. Most of the time, people just want to see me spraying across the table - on their cutlery, across their plate of French breakfast radishes with smoked scallop roe, splashing their wine glasses and so on. Basically, just making a random, uncontrolled mess - cum falling wherever it may. Or of course, when it's a birthday party or a hen night or something, I'll be asked to shoot directly at the girl. Those two situations are the most common.

Less frequently, you'll get a man or a woman dining alone who just want to appreciate a good cumshot by themselves. I always do my best for those customers. Sometimes, for whatever reason, people just feel like treating themselves, you know; I get that, I respect it. You have no idea what's going on in people's lives.

But you do occasionally get a different request: a few months ago, a couple came in for an anniversary dinner and they sat side by side and asked me to cover them while they made out. That was pretty fun. You could tell they'd been saving up for that. And then of course you get very specific situations - like draping my cum on someone's hair as they're eating coconut yuzu sorbet, shooting only into a woman's handbag, or someone's jacket pocket, or depositing a couple of drops on each Island Creek oyster. You name it, I'll do it. The oyster one is surprisingly tricky, the handbag one is surprisingly sexy. I'll usually ejaculate into Katie's cupped hands by the table so she can place the sperm very precisely into each oyster. One prominent female politician from New York - I'll name no names - asks me to shout 'eat the rich!' with each spurt.

Needless to say, pretty much any time someone has a cake, one of the guys will be asked to frost it.

Anyway, the thrill of walking into a crowded restaurant with my erect cock jutting out will never wear off. It's so brazen. It really makes me feel alive. The way it wags stiffly from side to side as I walk across the room, I love that. It's indecent and surreal. Not surprisingly, we do a pretty good job with the music at Jax. Lively beat early on, more laid back during the final seating of the service. There's always an awesome mood in the room. It just elevates you. 'This is you at your best' is what the room is telling you. If you want grey carpets and clenched teeth then you can go to Jean-Georges, you don't come to us. I usually stop halfway across the restaurant and pull back my foreskin, just to get that feel of the room's air on my glans. That sensation makes it feel especially real. And the anticipation of walking over to the table who has ordered you, wondering what kind of people I'm going to be jerking off for and who I'll be cumming on, well, it's pretty special. They're usually very attractive people; they've got something about them. That's the crowd at Jax. I never get jaded by it.

So, let me walk you through a typical interaction.

After the waiter has taken a table's food order and brought over their drinks, they'll ask the customers if they're interested in a tableside cumshot. If they are, they'll send over the spermelier.

"So, what were you thinking - a heavy flop, a gusher, a sprinkler, a high flyer... circumcised, uncircumcised?" Katie will usually start out.

Once they've decided what type of cumshot they're looking for, Katie will run through the options that evening. I do flying cum - in industry terms, I'm a 'high flyer'. While my first spurt is unpredictable - sometimes it flops out heavily, sometimes it shoots dramatically across the room, depends on how long I've been masturbating up to that point - spurts two to seven are consistent: they always arc majestically through the air. And the final two spurts are almost like afterthoughts, not really spurts, more like limp little eruptions that make a mess of my cock.

If they want a high flyer, Katie will normally propose Guillaume or Marco or me.

"We have Guillaume," she'll say, "a really reliable pop - he's from the Loire. Nice salinity. Elegant. Some length. Good value if you're not looking to push the boat out. Alternatively, we have Marco from Piedmont - muscular but not without complexity. Silky finish. He's been edged every fifteen minutes for the last couple of hours."

They're decent guys. I love working with them. We're not competitive. We give each other tips and advice and help each other out. Everyone benefits.

"Or if you're looking for something really special," Katie will go on, "I would recommend Drew: excellent body, dry sense of humor, white Californian, hasn't ejaculated for three weeks. So, yeah, pretty special. I tried him a couple of months ago and he's spectacular, I can tell you. Nine spurts, good viscosity. You won't be disappointed."

That's me. I'm Drew.

After they've decided on who will be jerking off for them, they get down to the particulars. Sometimes they'll tweak a few things with me or emphasize some important nuance - like if they want me to groan in a certain way or go hands free when I start ejaculating - but you might be surprised that all the details are worked out with Katie first and then passed on to us.

She'll advise on placement and timing and so on. It's her job to understand what they're really looking for; most people have a sense of it without being able to articulate it well. They often think they want a big penis - and, don't get me wrong, a big penis certainly has its place - but they're actually happier with something else most of the time. People are unsure basically; they need a bit of guidance. That's the value of a good spermelier.

And she usually knows the boys better than they know themselves in fact.

Are we objectified? I'm asked that all the time. Well, sure. I guess we are. We're not kept back in the kitchen; we're encouraged to walk around the floor every now and then. It's a bit like the way restaurants and bars will display all their whiskies and tequilas on shelves behind the bar. It looks good, it entices people, puts ideas in their head. There's a reason liquor companies make an effort with their labeling, you know, and use colored glass. We look good too: well-tailored white shirts to emphasize the triangle of our torsos, dark chocolate ties in a fine wool, charcoal grey pants, shoes from Gaziano and Girling. We look smart, we feel sexy.

The color scheme is ivory, charcoal and brown. Quite often restaurants will have white tablecloths and colored walls. At E. Jacques we do the opposite: we have ivory walls - the color of cum, the Belgian designer Axel Vervoordt once pointed out - and the tablecloths are dark. Once you've splattered a table, that dark color shows off the sperm much better.

The other thing I'd say about objectification is that, actually, a man can't fake a cumshot. I really am having an intense orgasm in front of the customers. Most of them know that and appreciate the authenticity. That's what they value in fact. But even if they don't, which is rare, I make sure that I get something out of every one. I make it personal for me.

I prefer it when a table is attentive to me and my cock and my cum but I actually get something different when I'm kind of ignored or taken for granted. I just focus on them and their particulars: maybe they'll have characterful hands, hands that do pottery, say, and so I'll look carefully at those hands and imagine what they'd look like clinging to someone's back as they orgasm; or maybe they'll have light brown eyes with delicate crows-feet and I'll picture that haunted look you'd see in them just as that woman is wracked with her first convulsion; or I'll stare unapologetically at their breasts, trying to figure out if they're wearing a bra and wondering what their bare breasts look like, and how exactly those breasts might move if that woman had my cock in her hand and were jerking me off eagerly. And the combination of that particular detail and the deep warmth in my balls and my cock head as I get close to the edge just really excites me. Whatever the case, it's all real for me. You can find something special in everyone.

Anyway, once they've chosen one of us with Katie, she'll talk to them about the specifics. Where exactly: On the table? On someone in particular? On all of them? And then when: With an aperitif? Over their main courses? An extra with their desserts? Quite often people might get a bit boozy and only decide to have a cumshot at the end of the meal. A good spermelier will know to reappear casually when a table is contemplating the dessert menu and make a bit of chit chat.

Katie will then pass on the details to whoever's been selected. If it's me, I'll normally start rubbing my cock through my pants straight away, wherever I may be standing at the time.

Everyone is different but I don't like to see the table and the customers beforehand. I don't want to know who they are until I'm walking over to them with my cock out. I like that element of surprise. Katie knows not to tell me who they are beforehand.

She will give me a 5-minute warning before it's time to go over, I'll make sure I'm fully aroused, penis thick and long and stranding up in a stiff vertical, and then off we go.

Sometimes, if it's an important customer or a special occasion, Katie will lead me by my erection across the restaurant and over to the table.

"Hi I'm Drew, and I'll be jerking off on you this evening," I'll say.

Katie will introduce me and my erection to whichever customer at that table ordered the cumshot and they will double-check my cock is what they chose. At that point, I'll normally reach into my fly and pull out my balls so anyone interested can cup my ballsack.

I've learnt though that, when they're first looking at my erection, what they're really doing is getting a feel for my whole physique. So, while I obviously make sure my cock is at its most taut and my head nice and wet and shiny, I'm actually making the effort to straighten my back in that moment, throwing out a hip ever so subtly, making my shoulders look broad. They actually want to a get a sense of the whole man - and that's how they'll then feel about my cock.

People usually like to feel how heavy my balls are with cum, especially when they know I haven't ejaculated for two or three weeks. It's fun having my balls weighed like that. I like the feel of women's rings and nails and so on. While they're focusing on my balls, I take this moment to look deeply into their face. It's amazing what you can see in their eyes when they're holding your balls. My cock often stiffens noticeably when I do this. They think it's because they're touching my scrotum, and obviously that's part of it, but it's mostly because of what I'm seeing in their face as they fondle my balls. Just one of the tricks of the trade. Katie taught me that.

Katie will then offer them a taste of precum before I start masturbating. Now, some guys don't like to be touched; they won't let anyone finger their balls and they definitely don't like offering anyone any precum. But I don't mind at all. It gets them in the mood, it gets me in the mood. I feel it creates a bond, you know. After all, it's a pretty short interaction sometimes and with people you've only just met. So I'm happy to make a closer connection if I can, make it more memorable. If anyone wants a taste of precum I'll happily let them have a quick lick of my frenulum. Or I'll let them touch a finger to any precum that's oozed onto my glans. Of course, sometimes they'll get some on their hands anyway from holding my balls. I like to let my precum drip down my shaft and onto my balls. There's one regular customer - a woman in her late-fifties with straight blonde hair and secretary glasses - who likes me to touch my precum with my own finger and then put that finger in her mouth. I love stroking my cock with one hand and while she sucks the fingers of the other. And I love the way she's more than twice my age.

Anyway, Katie will then leave me with them. I'll double-check that everyone's on the same page about where I'll cum and then off we go. Time to start masturbating.

There's a few things to say about this next part obviously.

The first thing is that there's often a delicious bit of nervous tension at the beginning. Maybe a younger woman is embarrassed to have a man jerking off right in front of her in public. Maybe some man isn't really into it and is just doing it for his wife or daughter or mother-in-law. Maybe it's a group of women who are all into it but they're coy about being with others, being seen by their friends to be enjoying it, you know. They want to look at me and talk to me but they're also feeling some internal pressure to pretend I'm not there.

Some people assume it's my job to relax the mood at this moment but they'd be wrong. A real expert will riff on the mood, extend it, deepen it. If a young woman is embarrassed, for example, maybe I'll look a little more intently at her as I rub my cock. Or stand a little closer to her. If there's a bit of group nervousness, I might groan ostentatiously and speed up my stroke rate. See if a little precum flicks off in their direction.

Think about it: that young woman will remember that moment far more if I do that than if I let her think she's not really visible. Intensify the moment, don't diminish it.

Then, once we're past that initial moment, I try to take the time to absorb the whole situation. I have a good look around: I'll notice the middle-aged woman in a fuchsia coat waiting at the bar for her friend, I'll see which waitresses are working that night, I'll see a woman at a nearby table wearing a new outfit for the first time, friends hanging out with friends, the maitre d' greeting a young man in a smart suit as he walks through the door. And I'll also make sure to release my grip completely, just so the table can see my cock standing up all by itself. When I do that, it feels good to lift my head and put my hands behind my back and survey the room. I like looking around knowing that not only is my cock is fully exposed but that I'm also fully aroused and the table in front of me is taking that in.

One of the other moments I particularly like is when the table is just chatting, chatting about their latest haircut or where to stay in Tulum or whether the food is better at the Yankees or the Mets, and I'm standing there masturbating beside them. It's phenomenal to be chatting about that mundane stuff while also openly pleasuring myself and making my cock feel so good.

I'll do whatever feels good. While they'll be putting a forkful of Peekytoe crab risotto into their mouth, I'll pull back my foreskin and lick my fingers and run the saliva all over my head. I always like that. Or I'll slowly rub my frenulum with a slippery thumb. Or I'll jerk desperately. There's something especially hot about jerking myself off furiously like that, just abandoning myself - like there's no pretense at decorum at all - and showing them my balls bobbing up and down as my hand becomes a blur. I'll just do whatever makes my cock feel good in that moment.

Quite often, especially if you have a smaller table, just two or three, and they're women in their twenties, you'll get into a conversation about the job itself or how I'm masturbating myself in that moment. That's fine too. I'll be asked what feels good, tips for handling their own men, I'll be asked if I'm close to cumming, what my cock feels like, what it's like unloading in public and having everyone see me orgasm. All the questions you might expect. It never gets boring. It turns me on in fact.

One thing I don't really like is compliments, funnily enough. I'm not interested in being told I've got a nice thick cock or beautiful balls or whatever. And I don't really like it when a customer eggs me on either - 'That's right, stroke that cock for us. I bet you can't wait to shoot that load onto me', that sort of thing - it's tricky because the customer is usually saying that for themselves and they want me to be positively affected by it. It's a fine line. I just try to be authentic.

And another thing: I probably don't need to hear any more jokes about cocktails or dirty martinis either, you know what I mean.

If the customer has ordered a table cumshot, I'll often try to time my ejaculation very, very precisely. Let's say it's been agreed that I'll cum all over their main courses, I'll wait until the waitresses have placed the dishes on the table and have announced what each dish is but haven't yet walked away. That's the magic moment. That's when I try to let out an orgasm-announcing groan and release my first shot of sperm. You don't want to start shooting while the dishes are still being placed or when the waitresses are still talking. No one gets the full effect of the cumshot if it's competing with those distractions. That's a disaster, people get upset with that. But the opposite happens if you wait for that moment just after the waitresses have finished talking and just after they have taken their half-step backwards away from the table: there's a kind of stillness while the customers are taking everything in for the first time. That's the sweet spot. That's when I like to see my cum anoint the table. Gushing out initially onto the Montauk shrimp grilled with wild oregano, and then shooting out more forcefully, striking the side of a wine glass and ricocheting onto the butter, or landing in the salt, or on someone's sleeve when they're reaching for their wine.

You have to discuss it with the waitresses first though. Steph and Tina are the best. They'll catch my eye as they're walking across to the table with the dishes. I'll start to make sure my cock is ready to go off. I might grip my ballsack with the tips of my fingers for a moment, tug at it a few times, then rub some precum over my glans again. And I'll take a good look into the faces of the people at the table. As Steph and Tina approach the table I'll start stroking - but very controlled. I'll let them put the dishes down and then Tina will catch my eye again and start saying the names of the dishes and that's when I stroke my cock more vigorously, so that I'm starting to feel that gloriously intense heat in my cock head just as she finishes describing the last of the dishes. I will feel the heat flooding the rest of my loins, spreading down into my balls, so good it makes me emit a short, hard 'huh' sound - like a quarterback signaling for a snapback - and I'll make that sound at the exact same moment Tina and Steph finish taking their half-step away from the table. The customers get to admire the food for that brief moment - before my first shot of sperm releases itself proudly into the room, arcing over the table. I'm always amazed at how elegantly it does that. Someone normally screams 'oh my god' when they notice that first spurt of cum in the air.

It's an unbelievably glorious sensation. My cock feels so good in that moment. I can't help bucking if it's a really strong orgasm and emitting a deep masculine moan. It just happens. Remember, it's often weeks since I've ejaculated. And the sight of all that sperm - hot and white and pearly - flinging itself up and over the table is so beautiful. That's me at my best. Five, sex, seven spurts. My glans deep purple and rock solid. My whole body rigid. Me cumming in the middle of a crowded restaurant.

Some people are just mesmerized, their mouths hang open; some flinch and sit back with their eyes as wide as can be; others clap and cheer and whoop. Whatever they want, that's fine by me, it's their cumshot.

If Tina and Steph are there, I'll usually look into their eyes for the final two or three spurts. I like to make sure they're either taking in my sperm or looking at my face. They know what I've had to do to get to this moment. They know the life. It makes me proud that they still admire my cumshot after all this time.

Steph once told me that the girls sometimes argue about who gets to serve my table; apparently, I'm their favorite to watch cumming. It's very hot, she said, to see me blush and lose control and go all tense. That kind of made me blush to be honest.

Sometimes my friends ask me if I'll do it for them at home, or out somewhere. Not all of them know exactly what I do though. I don't hide it, not at all; if someone wants to know then I'll tell them. No problem. But lots of my friends think I'm just a waiter or a manager or something. Just a random restaurant person. Think about it: how much do you know about your friends at work and what they do exactly?

But, no, I don't do it outside of the restaurant. It's like asking, I don't know, an artist to just do a little doodle for you or something, as if it's nothing. Most of my friends couldn't afford me anyway. But I have done it once, just for a good friend in special circumstances. For my friend Pippa, who I first knew at university and who had been going through a really tough time with chemo and not getting any work after she moved to NYC. She was just a sweet girl in an unfair situation, and so when it was her birthday and she'd beaten her illness and was on the up, I offered to do it for her in private and she really appreciated that. It was in her tiny little kitchen in her tiny little apartment in Cobble Hill, about as far away from a Michelin-starred restaurant as you can get, and it was just the two of us. That's all there was room for in that kitchen. She sat on her stool in her kitchen and I came all over our bowls of pasta. Lots hit the side of her fridge, some even landed on the top of it. It's made Pippa and I much closer.

Anyway, after I've emptied my balls onto the table, the customers usually look at my face and then they inspect the table. It's funny, my cock becomes irrelevant almost immediately after I've ejaculated. They love pointing out where the cum has landed and there's usually loads of laughter if it's a table of younger women. I've learnt not to put my penis away though, just in case you get someone who likes to examine it afterwards. If it's been more than a few days then there's obviously quite a bit of sperm: you can see droplets in their water, you can see it pooling in the head of a spoon, and of course you can see the chaotic pattern of streaks and dashes all across the tablecloth. It's amazing how often someone leaves their phone on the table and it gets splashed. People always laugh at that. Unless it's something dark and solid though, like the Sao Tomé chocolate tart with bergamot cream and sel gris, it's pretty difficult to spot in the food.

And that's that. It's considered poor form to stick around for too long afterwards. It's their dinner and you're providing a service. You wouldn't ask a customer to endlessly discuss their glass of Coenobium 2013 after its been poured, and it's the same with the cumshot. I stay there long enough to get a sense that they're satisfied and offer them a final look at my cock, sort of standing there with my hands by my side so the view is unimpeded. Some people like to see the those final two spurts of cum dribbling down my shaft, smudging my tie, making a small mess around my fly and so on.

When I stop to think about it, I'm making some extraordinary memories. And I'm really lucky. I know that. I could be working on a trading floor or for some start up, my whole psyche frazzled by the stress and competitive spirit, or I might have moved back home because things didn't work out for me. Instead, I'm working in one of New York's best restaurants, a place of genuine excellence. Part of a team that just has this singular dedication to its craft. We're like an opera at the Met or a soccer team coached by Guardiola or a heya of sumo wrestlers. Human brilliance, basically. And it's a shared purpose; I love that.

Anyway, when I think about my favorite memories so far, there are two that stand out more than the rest. Strangely enough, they're at two totally different ends of the spectrum in terms of experience.

The first was when I did a simultaneous cumshot with Marco. It was early on in my career; I can't have been working for much more than about three months or so. It was a table of ten, five down each side. Raucous ladies in their late-thirties. All with straightened hair and manicures and bling dripping from their cell phones and with lusty voices calling out across the table to each other. The kind of group that orders a ridiculous amount of rosé. Anyway, it was lunch on Saturday and Marco was at one end, I was at the other. It was a birthday and they'd ordered a double cumshot, straight down the table. Now, that doesn't indicate a simultaneous cumshot but Marco and I decided we'd give them a show. When the cake arrived and they were singing happy birthday, Marco and I nodded to each other and we each took ourselves down the home straight. I remember, we both edged towards the table in awkward little baby steps. Sometimes you just can't help it. It was funny that we both did it together at that moment. Anyway, we timed it so that each of us started pumping cum into the air just as they finished singing 'Happy Birthday' and they were all cheering and the birthday girl bent forward to blow out her candles. Volley after volley of cum rose high into the restaurant from each end of the table. You could see it catching the sunlight. And sperm splattered everywhere. I remember the birthday girl, who was sitting in the middle of the table, got cum from both me and Marco on the back of her hair as she leaned forward over her cake. Back to the hairdresser for her, I guess! I remember also that it was particularly beautiful that Marco and I were just a second out of sync. His cum leapt across the table from his side, then my cum leapt out of my cock and across the table from my side. Back and forth. A rally of cumshots. Heavy top spin bringing each shot down onto the table before it cleared the end of it. The two of us men groaning deeply from each end while the crowd of ladies cheered. That was glorious, I have to say.

The second was totally different and far more intimate and probably the one that is the most meaningful for me personally. This is how it went...

There are two sisters, both pretty famous - again, no names - and they're young and pretty and very blonde and in the movies. They booked me a month in advance and blocked out the intervening weeks too. That means no one can order me in that period. It happens every now and then. We usually only do it for a few particularly supportive customers. This time, however, I'd never encountered either of them. Someone must have been pulling some strings for them or something. Who knows. Anyway, blocking out those weeks is expensive but it guarantees one thing: that my balls are super full of cum by the time of their reservation.

It was a table for two, in the middle of the restaurant. We have some tables that are tucked away, more private, more favored by shy celebrities, but this was right in the action. And they'd ordered a cumshot during their aperitif, so at the very beginning of their meal. Katie brought me over, leading me by my erection. After a full month of build-up, she knows it's best to hold me safely by the shaft.

Katie had told me they'd requested that I shoot all my cum on the face of the older sister, the one sitting on the banquette.

So Katie leads me over and I say "Hi, I'm Drew, I'll be cumming on your face this evening."

Katie turns me towards the younger sister to show off my cock; I guess she was the one who'd ordered me. She inspects me and nods. I've been building up to this moment for weeks and so, not surprisingly, I'm just incredibly hard and the precum is flowing freely. I can't stop it. I can see Katie's hand is sticky with it just from having held my shaft as we crossed the room.

The older sister is the more beautiful, if you ask me. She's got spectacularly clear pale skin and her lips are the lightest pink. She seems almost ethereal. And her hair is straight and blonde - not dirty blonde or strawberry blonde or bottle blonde - just blonde blonde. You can see why she's a movie star. In the pictures I've seen of her, she's normally wearing her hair long and parted in the middle but tonight she's pulled it back and tied it up in a loose-ish bun. She's wearing teardrop pearl earrings. Her neck is bare.

She's showing off almost: she clearly knows how beautiful she is by the way she's done herself up so simply - her skin, her face, her youthfulness need no embellishments. She's extraordinarily elegant. Her eyes are bright blue. Anyway, she looks up at me and smiles. She's sweet. And stunning.

"Hi," she says.

She seems a bit wary though, and not just in the way some famous people can be while they're in public. The younger sister is more confident, on the other hand, larky almost. She's wearing a designer cotton t-shirt, the collar is torn roughly, while her older sister is wearing a shimmering black top with spaghetti straps. That will look good with sperm on it, I think immediately. Neither seems to be wearing a bra. The older sister, the one I'll be cumming onto, has noticeably fuller breasts. They're both full and firm. And I like the way her top clings to the side of each breast. There's always something sexy about breasts straining against the fabric that holds them.

The idea that I'm going to blow my load on her face blows my mind actually. I've cum on a lot of people and I'm a professional but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't affected by certain customers. I could barely believe it when I saw who Katie was leading me towards.

I couldn't quite figure out what the situation was though. The older sister seemed both accepting and reluctant. She clearly wasn't looking forward to me ejaculating onto her but she also seemed ready for me to do it. Like it was just something she was going to have to do. Maybe her sister had persuaded her to try a facial for the first time? Maybe she'd lost a bet and this was the forfeit? Maybe she wanted the illicit thrill of having sperm on her face in public? Whatever the case, she was pretty nervous as I turned my penis towards her.

At a small table for two, I'm really close. It's remarkably 'in your face', if you'll excuse another pun. I can see the color of the customer's eyes, how they've applied their mascara, any small imperfections in their skin, and they can see every aspect of my penis, the veins, the hair on my balls and so on.

Her complexion seemed even more delicate against her black top. I wondered whether her nipples had the same light pink color as her lips. And I noticed there was a pinkish quality to her cheeks too - but you could only catch it out of the corner of your eye, when you weren't looking at it directly. As soon as you tried to focus on it, it disappeared.

The two girls were both sipping champagne - a Larmandier, if I remember correctly. And I remember also that the restaurant was full - though a place like E. Jacques is almost always full - and there was a nice hubbub to it. It was early summer, it was Friday evening and I was feeling really fresh and fit. I'd caught the sun in the previous days and I'd been sleeping well and not drinking any alcohol. You could see the evening light slanting in over the Hudson from the west and, outside, the cabs heading uptown from Houston.

I pulled my balls over my fly and fingered them gently. They were probably the most laden with cum they'd ever been; they were both heavy and delicate. I offered them to the girls.

"Would you like to feel the weight of the cum in my balls?" I asked.

The younger sister reached out and I felt her slender fingers lifting them. Her fingers were cool from holding her champagne. Then she took them in her palm to gauge their weight.

"Oh, yes!" was all she said and looked at her sister, still with my balls in her hand.

Her sister didn't respond to her. She just took a sip of champagne and looked off into the distance. She gave the tiniest, most subtle little smile though. Barely perceptible. It was the smile of someone who knows their opponent has just beaten them in a game. That the jig is up.

"You can jerk off onto her. She's ready," said the younger sister and she released my balls.

I pulled back my foreskin and then pushed my cock down into a horizontal. I licked the fingers of my other hand and slowly rubbed the head, like I always do. It was so livid and shiny and taut. I loved the way its deep purple contrasted with her pale skin and blonde hair. And, my word, it felt good to finally slide some fingers over that glans! My body was almost confused by the pleasure. A tiny ripple from my cock's head expanding out into deep swells of sensation. It had been so long. More precum appeared and soon dangled in a long clear drip from the tip. Before it fell into her lap, I gathered it with my fingers and wrapped it up and over my cock. She smiled at me again. And again I slowly rubbed my shiny head and kept the cock pointing horizontally at her. I'm not sure my penis had ever been this hard. It was inches from her face.

I didn't offer her any precum; it was clear that that would have been inappropriate.

I finally released my cock and it snapped back up forcefully. It was so proud of itself. So eager to do what it does so well. It left a little smear of precum on my tie. That's a hazard of the job, of course, but a good sign I've done my job of getting fully stiff. Katie sometimes checks for it. I briefly fondled my ballsack again: I really loved its heaviness in that moment. It's not often you go that long without releasing any cum. After that long, your balls feel kind of special, different. It's hard to describe. They seem more aware of even the slightest touch. Like they're heightened in some way. I wanted to savor these last few moments of sensitivity.

Finally, I pushed my foreskin back up and took my cock properly in hand and started to stroke it. After just five or six strokes, though, I had to release it again. It was just too good. I revealed my glans again instead and took two fingers and ran them up the underside of my shaft, pressing them into my frenulum as they ran over it, before I flicked them up and off the height of my erection. My cock then flexed itself immediately, straining desperately for more contact, stiffening as much as it could in front this young woman's beautiful face. I straightened myself up and put my hands behind my back to survey the room and let the girls feel the close presence of my erect penis.

The girls were chatting quietly about a mutual friend and about whether they were going to visit him the following weekend. And I thought about how I was going to make myself orgasm in front of them in the next few moments.

The anticipation gets me every time. It makes me so hard. When I'd looked around the room, I'd noticed that Katie and the rest of the girls were watching me in anticipation too, each getting the best views they could from their sections of the restaurant. They hadn't see me cum in over four weeks. I let myself gently run a finger around my glans one last time and then gripped my cock fully. I tried to take in the whole situation as I subjected myself to a quick, insistent stroke. My balls jangled up and down with a delicious sort of pain, as if the movement was suddenly too violent for their delicate state.

After four and a half long weeks, I had finally reached that special moment, that moment when you know you're about to ejaculate in public. There's no going back. There's no hiding it. No pretending. This is it. Everyone is watching you as you masturbate. They know you're about to lose control of yourself. That you won't be able to contain yourself - and that you'll just spunk everywhere. And they can't wait to see that happen.

I let out a heavy breath and felt my balls lift themselves tight against the base of my cock.

I tried to hold back, just to extend it, but I couldn't believe what I was feeling in that moment. It was the most intense feeling I had ever felt in my cock head. And the girl was so extraordinarily beautiful. It was a pure beauty, you know. Every choice she had made - her hair, her earrings, her make up, her shimmering black top floating over her breasts - had been made to accentuate that stunning natural beauty. Nothing was forced. We must have been the same age, I thought. And I was about to spray my cum all over her. The feeling in my cock built up and up to a pitch I'd never experienced before. And then my whole loins were suddenly flooded with that deep familiar heat. I let out a roar, a loud, guttural roar - it was almost angry, shocked, like I had been ambushed by the intensity of the feeling - a shamelessly loud announcement of my orgasm right in the middle of the restaurant, right on top of these two young women, my hand furiously jerking my cock, rubbing at it as desperately as I could, just inches from their faces - my cock demanding it more and more and me giving it what it wanted. And then it hit me. And I was thrown forcefully over the edge. What was happening to me, it was insane? My hips bucked forward uncontrollably. I released my grip at the last moment and let my cock go hands-free. I tried to stand tall as my cock spasmed hard and the first of my cum burst out abruptly onto her cheek. Oh, the relief! There it was! It was as if there was too much cum trying to get out all at once - that first eruption had two trajectories: one slightly higher, that hit her cheek, and another, slightly lower, that dropped down onto the side of her bare neck. Her sister let out a short laugh, more like a squeal, and clasped her hand over her mouth. And then I heard the usual words: "oh my god," she said.

And then I gripped my cock, pointed it towards her, and released jet after jet of hot white sperm into the young woman's face.

I stopped roaring and my face froze in open mouth shock. I was in dumb awe of my own cock. I went rigid. And my whole body shuddered. I couldn't help what was happening as the orgasm was ripped from deep within me.

She didn't look at me once. She just looked directly at her younger sister the whole time. It must have taken extraordinary control. I saw her nostrils flare after the first spurt hit her and then that pink blush reappeared in her cheeks. There was such indignation in her eyes as my cock launched stream after stream of heavy white cum into her face. It was indecent how much sperm my cock kept releasing - but she just took it. And she just stared at her sister as she did. Amazingly, right in the middle of it, she actually picked up her flute of champagne and took a sip. It was such a gloriously stylish and incongruous gesture. She was such a mess by that stage. Cum struck her hand just as she was taking that sip, splashing the glass and her mouth all at once too.

By the end, a huge amount of my cum lay thickly on her cheek. It was rich and pearlescent with sperm. She had it all over her lips of course and across the bridge of her nose. A huge globule hung from her chin. Her black top was dashed with droplets, especially on her right breast. "Oh my god, oh my god," repeated her sister, shaking her head in disbelief.

Her beauty in that moment was breathtaking. Her slender neck shining with sperm. Her teardrop earrings dangling just like the string of jism hanging off her chin. Her spaghetti straps pulling her top up tight over her breasts. Her eyes still bright blue.

Sometimes, if I apply the right kind of pressure to the head of penis at the end of my orgasm - like if I pull my foreskin half across it, so it's stretched across it, squeezing it when it's most engorged - there's a kind of aftershock of pleasure. Unexpected tremors in the tip of my cock that feel intensely good and make my body convulse once more. Make me useless again, just when I think it's done. My neck compresses and my hips judder and I can't help myself from humping the air pathetically. I enjoy the embarrassment of exposing them to that when I can. Like it's too personal to share with others, too intimate. But I'm showing it to them anyway.

If they look me in the eye in that moment, they'll see the shamelessness.

That's another little tip from Katie. Makes the customer feel they got a fully authentic experience.

Through its own weight, the cum on her cheek had pulled itself down and, like the globule swinging from her chin, now hung precariously from her jaw line. But she didn't touch it.

Instead, she took another sip of the Larmandier, her hand still coated in sperm, its stickiness getting between her fingers.

"There!" was all she said to her sister. And pulled a face as if to say 'fuck you!'.

But after that I saw that barely perceptible smile teasing the corners of her mouth once again.

I took a few gulps of air, as subtly as I could, breathing deeply through my mouth. Cum had dripped down my shaft and, as I looked down, I could see it getting tangled in the hair on my balls. I put my hands behind my back to allow them full view of my cock and balls. But the sisters could only look at each other in this moment.

Eventually, the older sister turned to me and looked me in the eye and very politely said "Thank you very much." And she sort of nodded her head at me, making the cum drop off her jaw and fall onto her right breast. Then she gave me a proper smile.

That was my signal. I put my penis back into my pants and pulled the zip up. "My pleasure," I said and returned the smile and then moved away. And that was that.

As I walked back to Katie, the two of us had to stifle our smiles. I could see the pride in her eyes. We'd done a phenomenal job. Later, after closing, we would have a drink to celebrate it together. You've got to mark these moments, you know. We're not robots.

And you know what, that girl spent the whole of the meal like that. Sitting in the middle of the restaurant, draped in my sperm, never wiping any of it up, a young woman at the absolute apex of her beauty and youth. She just let the cum hang and drip and do whatever it did while she ate her salad of caramelized sunchokes and Sicilian pistachios. She acted the same even as she stood up and walked out of the door at the end, my sperm a mess on her breasts and down her front. She was an actress, I guess, and this was another form of performance. Something exquisite. Something ephemeral. Bravo to her, I say. I'll never forget it.

In any case, that was maybe the best of my memories.

But there are many more. All weird and wonderful in their own way. Katie and I had a glass of Larmandier too that night and did our usual post-mortem on the shift. She particularly liked the roar I'd given; it's something that had often been a bit of a weakness of mine in the past. Management had been talking about charging a jerk-off fee to allow customers to masturbate with us and so we talked about that too. I wasn't so sure. It would bring in more cash and more customers but, I don't know, that would make it a different thing. I liked the purity of the performance. The art of it, you know that I mean? If they changed things and let customers do that then I might go to Japan. I've always wanted to go there. They have some phenomenal restaurants there, ones that rival E. Jacques, outperform it even. I hear they're taking the service to a whole new level and I might want to be a part of that. I love the idea of jerking off onto Japanese women; I love their lustrous black hair - my cum's got a decent whiteness to it, it would look fantastic on that hair. And the pay is way, way more significant. Maybe Katie will take me by my cock and lead me there. I'm still thinking about it.

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