"Suddenly, I'm in the mood for finger food." [ ... hmmm, let me back up to the beginning of 'lunch'.]
The mingy, fine-grained blacktopped parking expanse was nearly esurient. To be expected, considering the adjuratory rain had just ceased. Now, the freshly-paved fragrance of the warming asphalt violated my nasal cilia. An assiduous sun sent an increasing number of highly charged photonic javelins thru the reluctantly scattering cloud cover. After momentarily admiring the effect from my open motorcar portal and remarking the deluged row of spaces to my sinistral, I recollected the strangely inexorable admonition to exploit space F2. Since it was nearly centered before the diner's principal entrance, and dry, I proceeded to it.
[Who the hell wrote THAT crap? What am I doing using elitist romance novel gibberish? Maybe I got caught up in the French theme. Or, AHHAA, maybe it was my muse, Lois, screwing with me. Let me start again in plain speak. MY speak. Lois, guide me or back off!]
The small, smoothly blacktopped parking lot was almost empty. I should have expected that since the insistent rain had just stopped. The freshly-paved fragrance of the warming asphalt assaulted my nose. The persistent Sun sent more and more rays blasting thru the sky still dense with porous clouds. I stared at the flooded rows of spaces and remembered an oddly firm warning to park in space F2. I had to wonder how she knew. That space was nearest the main entry and, better yet, it was dry. I sped into it.
Since I am an admitted pizza snob, this was my first time stooping to a diner-pizza-cafeteria. Though not optimistic, I've had great pizza in tiny, unpromising dives before, so I was willing to experiment here too. As soon as I entered, I mapped the diner. As I zig-zagged thru the moderate crowd, large for the poor weather, I was pleasantly surprised by the superbly clean accouterments. Instead of open floor or thick 'velvet' rope guides for the waiting lines, there were permanently bolted, brushed stainless poles and guide rails. In stark contrast to the clean and modern rails and counters was the sparse, slate, ad hoc menu board hung over the food prep areas. I liked the contradiction! But would I like the pizza?
A beautiful, very young blonde worked behind the counter, under the precarious menu slate. She faced customers so we could watch her knead and beat the floury dough balls, but did not interact with us. I stepped away from the rails and the sexual gravity field drawing me to this goddess. Despite her golden hair, light blue eyes and curvaceous form, she looked sullen and unapproachable. As I studied the menu, others passed and jostled me to get their pre-ordered meals.
While lost in examining the sparse, yet interesting menu, a tall (6'2'), thin, not very curvy, 35ish, pale, chin-length dirty-blonde approached. "Bonjour Andre. Ca va?"
Who was this? She seemed to know me and knew I spoke French. Not many ... whoa... "Mlle. Thibaut! Que fais t ... faites vous ici?"
"I have to eat too. So, Me voici!"
"Hmmm, yes, but I figured my French teacher would at least hunt down French pizza ... if such a thing exists. You pre-ordered?"
"Yes, a salad and egg dish made here exactly as I like it." She pointed to a large oval dish only 1/4 full of a plain looking "mixed salad, eggs and tomato with a pesto/yogurt dressing topped with Roquefort. I had to teach them that one and they named the dish after me."
"Not something I'd have thought to order, but I may have to try it. I ordered a 1/2 anchovy pizza. Plain, and simple to gauge this place as a pizza shop. The plain side lets me judge the sauce and cheese, and the anchovy side tells me more about attitude and service than the fish."
"Anchovy! That's so rare today. I thought I was the LAST to enjoy them."
"Really? I love the prickly and salty flavor. Are you here alone?" She seemed younger than when she taught my French 5 class seven years ago. It was more than the obvious weight loss.
"Yes, but I'd like some good company."
"Well, I hate to disappoint, but I'm here alone too so if you'll settle for me..." Let's see if she's still flirty.
"Of course I meant you, silly. I'll be over there. Waiting..." She bumped me with her slimmed and sexy hip. This enticing woman magnetically attracted me since the first day I saw her in class. Try as I might, I couldn't help but flirt conspicuously, usually in fluent French. Her demeanor was professorially distant yet, knowing the class would not understand us, she flirted back. The glint in her eyes was disarming. One day, when we were the last to leave the room, she challenged me.
I pressed the door-wide release lever down and held the door open for her. Instead of exiting cleanly, she turned and pressed the lever with her sexy ass - trapping my hand between it and her plush warmth. I panicked for a split second and began to pull my hand away. Barely aware of the slippery texture of her sand colored, lightly woven dress, I felt a divine softness caress my hand with surprisingly intense and moist warmth. Her well cushioned, muscular cheeks softly slid apart. Her puckered valley surrounded my knuckle and reminded me how close I was to her treasured womanhood. My knees weakened and I felt my cheeks flush from her blatant DARE. She slid her sweet, beguiling ass over my hand, letting me feel her cheeks spread and admitting me into her rear cleavage. Neither of us spoke for that eternal second that her pillowy buttocks lingered on my hand. My mouth moved to speak, but when it didn't, time resumed its mad rush and she continued as if NOTHING happened.
Since then, I've often regretted my paralyzed shock and the lost opportunity. In dreams, I remembered the smallest details of her body on my hand. The slightly coarse and sheer top layer of her dress slid smoothly on the sexy, silky plies beneath. I imagined what we'd have done if I hadn't been so disgustingly shy. I forced my mind back to the present. My pizza and I joined her and her meager salad. "Mlle. Thibaut, are you still teaching French?"
"D'abord, vous pouvez me tu-toyier, et je m'apelle Mireille."
"Merci bien, MIREILLE. Toi aussi, en Francais et Anglais. Too bad there isn't really an obvious formal/informal mode in English. It adds to the coy nature of flirting." I hoped I wasn't being too subtle...
"Is THAT what we're doing? ... again? Yes, I still teach."
"Again? Whatever do you mean? Do you think we flirted before?" This could be fun. "Could you possibly mean when I gave my class talk on 'ma deuxsieme joie de vivre, la TR-3', and you teased me about what was my 'PREMIERE joie'?' Weren't we cheeky to banter so blatantly in front of the class? I'm sure my cheeks reddened then. Yours did, despite your attempts to be blase."
"How could you possibly remember so many years back?"
"How could I forget? You are as sexy as ever. I've kicked myself many times since then for being painfully shy. But I'm done with THAT!"
Quickly changing the subject, "Ummm, ahh, why do you like anchovies? Is there anything subliminal in it, maybe?"
Here we go! "Well, there's always the shape of two anchovies touching tips and crossing the opposite ends. They form the shape of a generic fish, or maybe ... your lips. Is that what you mean?"
"Are you saying my lips are grey, prickly and salty?"
"They don't look that way. But I'd have to taste them to learn the rest. Bring them here and I'll let you know."
"Are you flirting NOW?"
"Just offering to share information. Why, are YOU flirting with me?"
"Mmmm, do you think a woman smells like anchovy?" Wow! What an ice breaker. I wonder where this can go if I step it up.
"Usually not at all. Yet SOMEtimes, when conditions are right, you can take on the delicious and lightly similar scent that drives mature men wild. Did I dodge the bullet? Seriously, THAT wondrous scent of an aroused woman is the most potent aphrodisiac that exists, in my view ... and in my nose. Still, I can't be telling you anything you don't already know. I suppose if we rotate these two crossed anchovies a quarter turn they STILL look like your lips, though I haven't seen THOSE lips ... yet? Suddenly I'm in the mood for finger food."
Wow! He is inviting a dare. "Isn't that getting a little too blatant for a public spot? Or is it? This IS a pizza place, and full of finger food. Are you into public displays? Just how do you think I would know about how an aroused woman smells?"
"So many questions! I figure you'll correct me if I'm wrong, but even if you've never been WITH another woman, you must know what you smell like when aroused. When you masturbate, don't you smell your invading fingers, taste them even? I would."
"Shhhh! Not so loud. I haven't seen you in years and you're asking me in public if I taste myself? I can tell you that I think I smell myself right here and now." She blushed three roving crimson shades.
"As do I. You seemed daring in class and still a little wild today, so I 'dare' you to slide your finger inside you here and now then share your fragrance with me."
With widely bulging eyes, she furtively scanned the diner. "Right! You're serious? Even if I considered doing that, we're next to the window and there are no tablecloths to hide me from anyone in here. Though I AM feeling daring and, ummmm, moist. Hmm, move to my side of the table."
"You naughty girl! How do you say that en Francais? I HATE Franglais, yet it's sometimes funny."
"Screw that. Unbutton my tight skirt and zipper behind me ... quickly before I change my mind." My heart raced at the prospects.
"You don't have to tell me twice. Mmm, white cotton bikinis. Is your gusset wet already, ma chere?"
.... There is more of this story ...