Copyright© 2005

Dining Out

Thanks again to a great proofing job by Diane

The group went out to the Olive Garden to dine, and while awaiting the main entrée, Barbara teasingly asked Terry how she and Paul had met.

"You mean when we first met, or when we first got down and did the dirty deed?" Terry asked, between placing a forkful of antipasto into her lovely oval-shaped mouth.

"Tell 'em 'bout the dirty deed, honey," Paul said, putting down his nearly empty wine glass.

"Oh, yes," Gretchen exclaimed excitedly. "I love to hear about people's first times."

"Hear, hear," Trevor amended, and that sort of cemented things. Terry patted her mouth with a napkin and said, "All right, you guys win, here goes."

Barbara lightly squeezed her husband's thigh. Both Trevor and Paul had a hand between Gretchen's legs and Terry lightly ran a thumbnail over Barbara's pussy.

"I was immersed in a vile bout of horniness unendus," she winked at Barbara, and went on. "That's Latin for insatiably horny. I was in my sophomore year. I must confess, that I was insatiable my entire freshmen year. I fucked anyone and everything. I thought I had finished with that stage. I had," Terry paused to bestow a loving smile upon her husband, then resumed, with, "until I met Paul. We'd met a few days earlier. He had given me this wonderful massage..."

He certainly knew how to get you warmed up, didn't he?" Barbara said, lewdly.

"It wasn't like that at all," Terry said, and blushed. "Well, in retrospect, maybe it was, but not the first time. I had been thinking about him ever since. I had worn out the batteries in my vibrator, and fingered myself to a zillion orgasms. Yet I couldn't get this guy out of my mind. So I broke all the rules of the day, and called him."

Gretchen laughed and said, "Nowadays, a girl doesn't have to agonize over a stud like Paul. We just grab a cell and call him. Maybe show him a short video of our best side to stimulate his interest. It certainly works for me."

"Anything would work for you, darling," Trevor said and kissed her on the neck.

"Eewwe! I love it!" she shrieked.

"So," Terry said, continuing, "I still remember he answered on the fourth ring.

"Paul Hartstein."

"Paul, it's me, Terry Miller. We met last week. You massaged my neck?"

"Yeah, hi Terry, how's that neck?"

"Paul... I don't know quite how to begin..."

"Why not start from the beginning? Tell me what the problem is. There is a problem, isn't there?"

"Yes, there is most certainly a problem." Terry paused for dramatic effect on those sitting at the table, and then went on.

"My problem is... ever since you massaged my neck, I can't get you out of my mind."

"What!" Paul gasped, totally unprepared.

"Can... can you meet me someplace? Right away, I mean."

"Um, yeah... I guess so."

After a brief pause, Paul asked, "Where do you want me to meet you?"

I admitted that I hadn't thought it through; and said as much to him.

"My apartment?" I asked, with some uncertainty.

"Yeah, sure," he said, searching for something to write her address with. "Where is it?"

"Over on Elm. 2314 Elm, it's a three story, red brick..."

"I know it," he said, causing me to think he'd already used the place to screw someone else. My heart sank. I was totally dejected for the moment."

Paul interjected, telling those at the table, "That wasn't true at all. Freshmen year I delivered pizzas. I knew all the college apartments by heart."

"Two o-clock okay?" he asked.

I decided to push my luck, Terry said, "I was thinking about now," and bit my lip awaiting his response.

The telephone clicked, went silent for a few moments. She wanted to scream, but contented herself with chewing on her tongue until it started to bleed. Then, with another click, he was back.

"Okay, I'm leaving right now," he said and hung up.

"I'm glad I asked how the two of you met," Barbara said, pressing both men's hands firmly into her crotch. She completely ignored the server, a fine looking Italian brunette, who definitely took notice of Barbara's actions as she placed their dinners before them. Both she and a busboy had been eavesdropping on the group, and the eighteen-year-old server had grown wet while listening.

"I was holding... God knows why... but I was holding my vibrator in one hand when the doorbell rang. I screamed and tossed it into the air. Honestly, I never knew where it landed," Terry said to everyone at the table.

"Now that part I still don't believe," Paul said, emphatically waving his napkin in the air.

"Paul!" Terry protested vehemently, while the others smiled knowingly; having reached their own conclusions based on their own life experiences.

"Well," said Paul, "look at where it turned up. And when it turned up," he said, pointing dramatically at his wife.

Terry attempted an explanation to the others. "At the most awkward moment, the damn thing popped up between my legs. I mean, you couldn't have planned it more conveniently."

"See what I mean?" Paul threw in.

"Anyway," Terry said, we're getting ahead of ourselves."

"I agree, sweetie. Get us back on track, why don't you?" He signaled the server that they could use more wine, and she hurried over to fill everyone's glass.

"At any rate, I opened the door. I had no idea where the damn vibrator went, honestly," Terry protested.

Trevor nodded agreeably, and Gretchen smiled sympathetically, while Barbara was opening Paul's zipper with one talented hand.

"Here I am," he said, as if he were the answer to every girl's desire," Terry said, smirking proudly.

"He was the answer to your every desire, wasn't he?" Barbara said, taking a firm hold of Paul's rigid member and giving it a hearty squeeze.

Terry had the good graces to blush at Barbara's comment.

"He still is, Barb, he still is," Terry admitted with some pride.

"She's definitely a keeper, Paul," said Trevor, who then threw his hands up defensively and said, "I know, I know. I should let her tell the damn story and just shut up."

"Yes, let her tell the story, Trevor," Gretchen said, struggling to open Trevor's fly; and on succeeding, said to no one in particular, "Pardon me, I've got to see a horse about a man."

That said, the young blonde slid out of her chair, and went under the table, to suck upon Trevor's formidable erection.

The server and busboy looked on, fascinated.

"Is she doing..." the Algerian busboy began.

"Yes, she is." The brunette server replied. "Now, come with me," she growled and yanking him by the arm pulled him along until they reached a seldom used storeroom.

Barb turned to look at the TV behind her, and accidentally on purpose, knocked her purse onto the floor. She leaned over to pick it back up, and disappeared, joining Gretchen on the carpeted floor of the restaurant.

Paul heard giggling from under the table and something about "let's see 'em eat without us..." Then he felt hands pulling his knees apart. His startled expression told his wife Terry exactly what was happening.

"They wouldn't!" she exclaimed.

"I'm afraid they have," Trevor said, an embarrassed expression on his face.

A soft slurping sound could be heard from under the table. Terry's countenance bore a fleeting grimace of pain, but she decided to continue on with her story as if nothing unusual had occurred.

The Italian server, who's name was Anita, pinned the young busboy against a stack of Gallo wine cartons in the storeroom.

"What'd I do?" Isfair crowed defensively. He was only fifteen, and in the country illegally, having made use of his cousin's papers to obtain the job. He feared everyone and everything foreign to him.

"It's what you're gonna do," Anita growled, as her hormones ran amuck. Anita was a girl from a highly religious family. A family steeped in the Old Italian tradition. A young woman must retain her virginity at all costs, or the entire family is disgraced. This meant no dating until the family found a suitable young man. Then chaperones would follow them everywhere. For Anita, a girl with normal sexual urges, this was torture. She might have continued to do so, but for the actions of Gretchen and Barbara when they slid under the tablecloth to perform what Anita knew had to be fellatio on their men. 'If they were their men, ' she thought as she held Isfair pinioned against the wine cartons, feeling his young, taut body against hers.

"Huh?" the boy cried, still unaware of what the highly aroused girl — a full-grown woman to poor Isfair — wanted of him.

"Show it to me!" Anita growled again, careful not to raise her voice, for to be caught with Isfair would cause her to be fired, and to face dire consequences from her father and other family members.

"Do you really want to see it, Anita?" The boy was incredulous. Even in his wildest fantasies this had not occurred.

"Yes!" She hissed forcefully, as she relented in the pressure she was applying against him to allow him to do her bidding.

The young boy placed his hand on his fly, gave her a tentative look, beseeching her not to toy with him in this way.

"Show it to me, damn it!" Anita hissed again, and Isfair slowly opened the fly button and lowered the zipper, his jeans slid slowly down around his ankles. Isfair stood there, his hardon poking out against the stained material of his underwear.

"Would you like to pull it out yourself, or do you want me to do it?" he asked, weakly.

"You do it." she said, her legs were trembling in her excitement.

Terry looked at the two men sitting across from her and smiled pointedly. "The two of you are getting blowjobs, and my job is to keep talking as if nothing is going on down there, is that it?"

"Yes... oh, God, yes!" Trevor exclaimed, as Gretchen took him deep.

"And just who is blowing you, darling?" Terry asked Paul.

"I'm not sure... I think its Barbara, but..."

From under the table, Barbara took him from her mouth and whispered, "Tis I, the wanton slut from next door. Do you really mind if I borrow your husband's fine specimen for a while?"

"Not really," Terry responded. "But I do find the timing to be somewhat objectionable. I'm telling a story at your request. "

"I apologize, dear. I promise to spend at least thirty blissful minutes between your thighs later."

"Well, if you put it that way, I have no choice but to accept."

"Thank you, dear," Barbara said, and then went silent, save for the sucking sounds that occasionally wafted their way from beneath the table.

"With all the fucking we've done, it should take a while before your two cocksuckers get you off, you think?" Terry said, to both red-faced men. Chagrined, both men nodded at her. Terry smiled evilly and resumed her story as if nothing had happened.

"When Paul showed up, I confronted him, putting a hand on each of his shoulders. I can't get you out of my mind, I said."

"This seemed to be more information that he was ready to handle, so I helped him off with his coat, saying as I did, Paul, I'm going crazy... I need to feel your hands on me. And when he hesitated, I added, NOW!"

"We sat on the couch. I recall sitting with my knees curled under me. 'Touch me, ' I said, pleadingly."

"Are you sure?" he asked, "Is this some kind of prank, or something?" He looked at me, uncertain as to how to proceed.

"Paul, haven't you ever met a horny girl before?"

"Yes... no, I mean... damn it, I don't know what I mean!"

"Paul!" I shouted. My voice must have been filled with exasperation.

"All right," he replied hastily, "I'll rub your neck again."

"Do you think I'd be dressed like this," I said, "if all I wanted was my neck rubbed?"

For the first time, he seemed to notice I'm wearing a robe, and probably nothing under it.

"Well, let's start with your neck," he said, still not sure I mean what I'm saying. His eyes were darting everywhere. I am now certain he thinks I'm playing a trick of some sort on him. Like maybe a crowd of people are going to pour out of the closets, or other places, shouting 'Happy Birthday, ' or some other inane greeting at him.

"Lean back and relax," he says after a moment, and I did.

His hands, oh, those hands, were strong and soothing on my neck muscles.

"Better?" he asked me.

"Not yet," I answered languidly, already feeling much, much better.

Terry stopped, took a sip from her wine, and called out, "How're ya doing down there Gretchen?"

"Mmmmmff!" is the only reply. Suddenly the table began to shake, not so much as to attract unwanted attention from the other diners, but sufficiently enough for Terry to realize that one, or both of the women are fingering themselves.