Thursday, January 18, 2018

Eating Out (fiction)

So, I've been super sick all week. It's definitely cut into my writing...and pretty much everything else in my life. I've been home, basically vegetating on the couch, reading, and sleeping. I'm back to work today, but not feeling 100%. I'll probably hit my yoga class, but otherwise, I'm taking it easy until next Monday.

The nice thing is...Throwback Thursday doesn't take much work from me, so here it is - a story from way back in 2010. It was inspired by an actual restaurant and its actual wait-staff. My husband and I both had a bit of a crush on a particular waitress and a particular bartender/waiter. They were lovely and young and a little on the drama-laden, crazy side. We used to go there and tease and fantasize about what we would do if we ever got them alone. So, here it is...

Eating Out

It was an ordinary night, dinner out at their favorite Italian restaurant.  They liked the place for lots of reasons, an excellent wine list, rich food, decadent desserts; the delicious wait staff was an added bonus.  She’d been frequenting the wine bar there since before they’d even met, eying the Botticelli boy behind the counter...the slicked back brunette ponytail, the chiseled jawline, the clean lines of his white shirt and black slacks.  Hazel green eyes, trained to flirt just the right amount with the customers, made me lick my lips, thighs tightening.  It was always where I went, for a voluptuous glass of zinfandel and an eyeful of sexual inspiration.
After my husband and I met, we continued going there, for the food, for the ambiance, for the beautiful waitress with the beautiful name and curvaceous behind.  I’m sure he couldn’t decided which was better, watching her walk toward us or watching her walk away.  The view was equally exquisite both ways.
While I’ve always found women in general beautiful...I’ve never considered myself bi-sexual.  Maybe curious, but not really “willing” to do much beyond fantasize or talk about my husband’s fantasies involving me and another woman.  But years of talking was leading us closer to a reality I wasn’t positive I was ready for.
On this ordinary night, we walked in through the front door.  At the bar, as usual, thank god, was my Italian eye-candy.  Dark brown hair, athletic physique, not too thin, but youthfully lithe, possibly 25 or so.  I picture him hairless, smooth, like a carefully hand-crafted sculpture, worthy of his own fountain in Venice.  Next to him, pouring a glass of wine, her hands gently cradling the neck of the bottle, was our “dream girl”.  Auburn, shoulder-length waves, intense green doll-like round eyes, framed in long, black, made-up lashes.  Alabaster white skin.  Both of them lit up to see us (we were regulars and always guaranteed a fat tip).  
“Hi, guys; how are you?”  Her slow voice, sweet as dripping honey,  welcomed us.
“Good, how about you?”  I replied.  “Just came in for a bite to eat; we’re starving for some great Italian food.”
“Well, right this way; let’s find you a place to sit down.”  Her full hips swayed back and forth, making the bottom of her dress sway around her shapely calves.  “How about a booth in the corner?”
“That’ll be fine.”  I went up the steps and followed her to the back of the restaurant, knowing that my husband’s eyes were jumping from ass to ass in front of him, two brunettes in black dresses, a fantasy unfolding his in mind.
“Do you know what you’d like to drink?”  Her lips spread across her teeth, forming a welcoming smile, her eyes sparkling and inviting.  It’s what made her good at her job, her easy way with people, her charm, her classic approach. 
“What do you suggest tonight?”  We counted on the wait staff’s opinions of the new wines...they helped us try new things and knew our tastes well enough to usually lead us straight the perfect pick.  “Tonight we have a gorgeous Cabernet from Yakima Valley...deep and full-bodied...would you like to try it?”
“Sounds great.”  She walked away, hips and dress dancing toward the bar at the front.
“I see you eying her behind.”  My husband was never very discreet about his desires.  Not that I minded.  I’m a secure woman who knows my man is happy and content just where he is. 
“Yeah, I’m imagining that sitting on your face.”  I rolled my eyes good-naturedly.  It was always the same, his girl-on-girl fantasies.  Far from making me uncomfortable, they usually just made me laugh.  I’d kissed my best friend in college once just to see how it felt...soft, slippery, not at all my thing.  Then later, I’d had my first honest crush on a fellow female grad student, fully knowing it’d never go anywhere, safely imagining things (and occasionally writing about them) in my mind.  This was the first time since then I’d come anywhere near thinking a woman was “enough of everything” to turn me on. 
My husband knew I found her attractive, which probably turned him on even more.  So there we sat, indulging our greatest pleasures:  eating rich, fattening food, drinking a bottle of sexy cab, and enjoying the service in so many ways.
We’d come late in the evening and stayed late, as was our custom, so by the time we were finishing our dessert and the last of the wine, we found we were the only customers left in the restaurant.  The “beautiful boy” came to take our plates and inquire to any final requests.  I was feeling warm and relaxed at this point, full and a bit hazy from the wine.
“Can I get you anything else?”  He smiled and looked directly at me.  I have no idea what made me feel it necessary to add, “You in a take-home container.”  I laughed, and blushed, wishing I could take it back...what on Earth pushed that juvenile pick-up line out of my more wine for me.  I looked straight at my husband, silently pleading with him to get me the hell out of there before I said something else to embarrass myself and make it impossible for us to ever return to our favorite dining establishment.  But he simply raised his eyebrows at me and smiled to wine did naughty things to me, for which he was grateful.  Cole, my young waiter,  simply smiled a somewhat devious smile and said, “You flatter me.”
He took our plates and left us to finish our wine.  As the wait staff finished cleaning up, I enjoyed my night cap of port and my husband sipped another glass of wine.  Our waitress, Harmony, returned with our check and an invitation, “A few of us are heading over to my place to hang out...I just wondered if maybe you’d like to join us?”  It really wasn’t that odd.  We’d been hanging out at this restaurant for years, and since we live in a small town, we ran into the wait staff regularly at other events and had mutual friends.  So, we decided it was a good idea to accept.  My husband, smiling like a fiend, asked her where she lived.  As she wrote down her address and drew a simple map for us to follow, her hair fell across her face and her dress draped loosely across her breasts, baring her ample cleavage.  Seeing my husband’s gaze, I kicked off one shoe and placed my bare foot between his thighs, pushing my toes gently into his dick, which was not quite hard, but certainly not flacid.  He breathed in a bit, and he quickly glanced over at me but gave away nothing as he continued his short discussion with her.

“We’ll just follow you, there,” he said.
And so we gathered our things and stepped out into the cold night air.  Once in our car, the conversation was as normal, my husband making openly sexual comments about his wish to see Harmony and I together and me dodging the topic with “whatever” and “keep dreaming”.
A few minutes later, we were walking up the stairs to her apartment.  Her door opened before we could even knock. 
“Hi you guys.”  Smile.  Sexy, disheveled...she’d just changed and had obviously not gotten to smoothing her hair back down after pulling her dress off and her t-shirt on...which was fine; it looked better messy anyway.  And it was hard not to notice that she hadn’t put a bra on either. She had on a pair of mens boxers, faded navy blue, probably stolen, or kept, from a former boyfriend.  On the couch, Cole and Dean and a few others from the restaurant were already pouring several glasses of wine.  Cole stood up, grabbed two of the glasses and brought them over to us.  Harmony took our coats and my purse and disappeared into another room with them.  My husband and I sat down together on the love seat.
The conversation was lovely...politics, religion, ran the gamut from intense to dirty to intellectual...all the things a great conversation should be.  Dean fell asleep on the floor in a pile of pillows, and several others trickled out the front door, leaving Cole and Harmony, my husband and I alone to finish the bottle of wine.
At this point in the evening, I was pretty much drunk, but not out of my mind.  I was completely capable of continuing the conversation and continuing to open my mouth and say stupid things, which I promptly did.
“So my husband has a crush on you.”  I looked at Harmony with a smile, so she knew it wasn’t the beginning of an accusation or a cat-fight.  I felt my husband shift a bit uncomfortably beside me.  I put my hand on his thigh to settle him, and he placed his hand on mine for better access at controlling what I might say next (a tight squeeze could easily translate as “shut the hell have gone too far”).
“Oh really?”  She didn’t seem to bothered.  On the contrary, she smiled a little more sexily...if that’s possible.  She was sitting on the floor, leaning on the coffee table in front of us, her bare legs propped to one side, looking every bit the curvy 50’s pin-up in shorts and a tight “T”.    Cole leaned forward a bit more.  He was interested.  But what man wouldn’t be?  The conversation was getting good.
In an effort to level the playing field, and maybe to get back at me a little, my husband let loose with, “And my wife has been enjoying more than just the food at the restaurant herself...been undressing you with her eyes for years, she has.”  I smacked him playfully on the knee and gasped in mock offense, “I can’t believe you just said that!”
Cole laughed, and my cheeks burned.  I was beginning to feel very uncomfortable.  My heart raced a bit as I wondered what course of action to take now.  How to get out of this conversation?  I was feeling a bit cornered.  Harmony to the rescue:  “Everyone wants a piece of Cole...we should just add him to the menu; it’s why half the women in this town come to the restaurant as much as they do.”
The conversation turned then, to other things I can’t remember.  I do know I mentioned something about my shoulders aching, however, because Harmony offered to rub them for me.  I bit my lip and glanced at my husband, eyebrows raised with a nervous smile.  “Okay.”  I said.  We all continued to talk, as I slipped down to the floor in front of her.  She got up onto her knees and brushed my hair over one shoulder.  Her hands slipped around my neck and down my shoulders, her thumbs pressing into the softer spot between the blades.  I let my neck fall forward and hummed a bit in pleasure.  I loved having my back rubbed, by pretty much anyone.  It was a weakness of mine.  My mind wandered from the talk as I focused soley on her palms and fingers and thumbs moving lightly and pressing firmly up and down my spine, down to my lower back.  To avoid interrupting the conversation, she whispered near my ear, “It’ll be easier to do this if you lay down on your stomach and pull off the top part of your dress.”  I considered what she said briefly and then decided I’d had enough wine to accept this as simply something I’d forget by the next morning.  So I unbuttoned the front of my dress and pulled my arms out of the sleeves.  The guys both gazed in our direction with interest.
“I’m just trying to get a better grip on her back, guys!  Quit looking at us like that!”  Harmony laughed off their glances as I laid on my stomach on the soft Persian rug.  I put my arms to my sides and tried to relax, as I felt her straddle me and sit on the back of my thighs.  She continued her massage of my lower back, pulling my dress further and further down with the circular motion of her thumbs.  She unhooked my bra and pushed the straps out of the way.
My attention left and entered the conversation between Cole and my husband, certain words catching me here and there.  It didn’t take long for them to lose focus altogether on their own discussion and hone in solely on the activity in front of them. 
“Now that is a beautiful thing...two sexy ladies, enjoying each other’s bodies,” remarked my husband.  Cole replied to him, “Yeah it is...kind of makes you want to join in.”  “Maybe we should,” ventured my husband.  And to my surprise, Harmony responded, “Maybe you should.”  Lying face down, back to all of them, I could hide the surprised look on my face, but not the fact that I’d stopped breathing beneath her warm, soft hands.  Her hands squeezed my hips, and I breathed in again.  No one said anything for a few minutes.  And then I felt another pair of hands on my shoulder and a body leaning over my head.  They were not my husband’s hands, and I felt my breath quicken with the knowledge that my “beautiful boy” was touching me.  I closed my eyes and determined that I would not let myself be freaked out by this.  It felt too good to be wrong.  I felt Harmony’s weight leave my thighs and her hands slipped down the sides of my legs, stopping at my knees and traveling back up the insides of my legs, my dress being pushed up over my ass.  Cole pulled my shoulders up and to the side to encourage me to roll over, which I face Harmony, who was right there, shimmying her way, on her knees, in between mine.  I sat up and pulled myself onto my knees, sitting on my feet.  Cole, behind me, continued to rub my shoulders, and I pulled Harmony’s t-shirt up and over her head.  Our lips met, sweet and soft; her tongue, warm, flicked over mine, and I sucked lightly on her bottom lip, the one with the swollen pout I always admired.  I looked up to see my husband standing over her.  I reached over her head to undo his belt and unbutton his fly, while she continued to lick and kiss my neck, so sensuously, slow, and subtle.  I pulled my husband’s jeans down far enough to access his already hard cock.  I pulled it out and slid my hands up and around it, cradling his balls.  I whispered in Harmony’s ear.
“Suck him off.  I want to watch you go down on him.”
She looked right into my eyes and licked her lips, then turned around and grabbed hold of my husband’s erect penis, slipping it into her mouth.  She ran her tongue up the underside and around the tip.  I leaned back against Cole’s chest.  He must have taken off his shirt while I was busy with Harmony.  He began teasing my nipples with his fingers and squeezing my breasts softly.  I kept my eyes on Harmony, her head bobbing softly and slowly, my husband’s cock pushing out the sides of her cheeks, glistening with her spit.  Occasionally, she’d glance back toward me.  Cole and I sat behind her.  I began to run my foot up and down the inside of her thigh, pushing my toes between her shorts and her skin.  She moaned a little.  And my husband moaned a little, which turned me on.  Cole pulled back my hair and began kissing the back of my neck and I put my right hand behind me, searching out the zipper of his pants.  Finding it, I unwrapped his package and slipped my hand around it, squeezing gently with a back and forth motion.  He let his breath out in my ear.  I felt the heat of it all the way down to my wet pussy.  
I turned to face him, biting my lip with desire.  I wanted nothing more than his face buried between my legs, licking and kissing and sucking while I watch Harmony fuck my husband with her mouth and lips.  My face must have been an open invitation, because that’s just what he began to do.  He pushed me down on to the floor, the view above me was Harmony’s backside, her head still bobbing slowly back and forth.  I could see right up the leg of her boxers, and I’m sure she could’ve felt my breath all the way up to her cunt.
My husband’s moans and grunts made my thighs quiver, and having Cole’s tongue slipping up and down the lips of my wet pussy, sucking on my clitoris was like fucking heaven.  I could see my husband’s face contorting with pleasure.  He was watching me watching him get off, and the closer he got to coming, the closer I followed.  Just before he let loose, Harmony turned and leaned over me, kissed me, kissed Cole, and kissed me again.  I could taste myself, salty and sweet, on her lips. 
It was my turn to enjoy my husband’s cock.  If he was going to come, I wanted it to be between my lips.  I looked up at him, smiled, and put my mouth around him, my hand at the base of his scrotum, squeezing lightly.  Right then, I felt fingers, whose I didn’t know, sift between my nether lips, rubbing against my clit and seeking entrance inside.  One finger slipped inside slowly, searching out my g-spot, with surprisingly quick success.  I groaned, vibrating my husband’s cock, making him moan.  He grabbed the back of my head, taking a handful of hair loosely in his fist, guiding my head back and forth, slowly.  I sucked and sucked, while the fingers in my pussy danced in and out and in and out, causing my own wetness to drip down the insides of my thighs.  I could feel my orgasm beginning, as my sucking became quick and forceful and frantic; my husband’s thighs began to quiver, and I knew he was about to come, so I backed off and slid my mouth down as far as I could, feeling his cock at the back of my throat, and back up to the very tip.  I wasn’t ready for anyone to come quite yet. 
I turned around to see Cole sitting on the floor, leaning up against the couch, with Harmony’s head between his legs, her shapely ass up in the air, knees spread for better balance.  On my knees, I reached my arms around her and placed my hands around her swaying breasts, which filled my palms and then some.   My husband got on his knees behind me.  Entering between my slippery lips, he slowly began to fuck me, his hands holding on to Harmony’s hips as I continued to massage her breasts and she sucked on Cole’s dick.  I slipped one hand between her voluptuous thighs, then one finger, then two, into her shaved cunt.  With the other hand, I kept my balance by grabbing hold of her ass.  Using my pinky finger, I stimulated her clit while I plunged my fingers deep inside of her again and again.  Everyone was moaning and writhing and sweating and breathing as one.  And all at once, like the crescendo of a complicated and passionate symphony, we came...we came and came and groaned and screamed out our intense relief at letting go so completely. 
We collapsed in a heap of breathing, sighing bodies.  Silently, we caressed and rubbed whatever skin lay beneath our hands.  Cole and my husband sandwiched Harmony and I, who faced one another.  We fell asleep like that.
In the morning...Dean, who’d passed out in a heap of pillows earlier in the evening, woke up to a pile of naked bodies.  I wonder what he thought.  Probably something to the effect of, “What the fuck?  Why didn’t anybody wake me up...I could’ve helped...I got skills...”
            Hmmmmm....maybe next time.

No comments: