This was Cabana, my favorite restaurant. The place smelled like roses and spice, and was tastefully decorated in a New York City dive bar meets upscale European bistro style... it sounds a little bit schizophrenic, but it was actually highly interesting and somehow comforting to me, in a way that few things were. I spent most of my life being worried about something or other, and it wasn't as if that weren't true here as well, but here it was an excited kind of worried... closer to impatiently expectant, perhaps.
It was of the utmost importance that I keep my cool, however, and let none of this internal agitation become externally visible, as seated across from me was my date for the evening, a lovely, slender, dark-skinned young thing with almost perfectly symmetrical facial features who professed to be an exchange student from Haiti. She was telling me about her father's estate at home, and the things she liked to do in her spare time. She was also telling me what she was studying while she was here in the United States. She was doing both of these things because I had asked, and I was leaning my chin on my hand and looking into her eyes with an air of intense interest, hoping she wouldn't notice that my leading comments and questions would, if one were observant, belie the fact that I was actually paying no attention whatsoever.
My favorite waitress was on tonight, and she came over to ask for our drinks. I ordered a bottle of wine for the two of us, and then asked our waitress where the lavatory was, though I knew the answer perfectly well. She inclined her head slightly to one side, and I blinked absentmindedly and rubbed the right side of my nose briefly as if I had a momentary itch. She cocked her head back the other way just so, and pointed the way, politely, calling me sir. I excused myself, telling my exchange student that I would return shortly, and walked towards the back of the restaurant, around a corner, down the hallway to the bathrooms, where, after checking the hallway for occupancy, which was a negative, I ducked into a small, unlit hallway just to the left of the Men's bathroom, and opened the third door on the left, an unmarked, unlocked door, and stepped into a very dimly lit room, locking the door behind me.
I sat in my customary chair against the far wall, and shifted uncomfortably at the fullness of my bladder — that had not been a sham, though much of the rest of my act was. I didn't have long to wait. The lights went out entirely, and I heard the other door to the room open, a rustling indicative of human entrance, and then the soft click of the bolt returning home. I imagined her walking softly across the floor and kneeling in front of me, and this may have been accurate, as I soon felt hands undoing my belt, then my button, then my fly, and a soft voice asking me in which ways I would like to be relieved today. I made my answer succinctly, and her mouth closed over my phallus as I released my bladder down her throat.