Mat and Laura’s Restaurant Revue

The Dog Ate my Napkin Story

We’ll, not really. Laura and I were at this new restaurant, Danny’s Breakfast Café, and while we were sharing an order of buttermilk pancakes and a veggie omelet, I mentioned that Esquire was doing this series of stories by famous writers in which the stories were all written on napkins. “What a cute idea,” Laura said. “Write me a napkin story.”

“Here?” I looked around. The place was empty. Even the waitress was no where to be seen. “Now?”

Laura slid her napkin across the table. Not a fancy Esquire napkin. The flimsy Danny’s Breakfast Café napkin didn’t even have a logo. “Go for it, honey boy,” she said.

I thought for a while. “But I don’t have a pen,” I said.

Laura dug into purse. “Here,” she said, sliding the pen across the table. It was one of those semi-marker sort of pens.

“What if it blotches?”

“Write,” she said. “Write me a sexy sex story, and make it hot.”

I shook my head, but I started writing. Laura put her foot up between my legs. “How’s it coming?” she said. “Need any inspiration? Mmm, it feels like you must be getting to the good part.”

I finished the story as best I could, trying hard not to blotch. “Okay, it’s done.” I pushed the napkin back across the table.

While Laura was reading it, I wanted to take off my shoe and do to her what she’d done to me, but I didn’t, I’m not sure why. If only I could be brave about things like that. While Laura was reading my story, I imagined my foot caressing her front.

“Good story,” Laura said. “Let’s go.” She got up and grabbed my hand, and I just had time to throw two twenties on the table.

“Maybe you should leave the napkin as a tip,” Laura suggested. “The waitress might really like it. It might be the best tip she gets all week.”

“Um,” I said.

“You’re right,” she said. “We might want to come here again. Those pancakes were really good. The eggies, too.” She picked up the napkin, and we hurried out to the car.

It’s only about six blocks to our house, but even before we were out of the Danny’s Breakfast Café parking lot, Laura had me unzipped. I would have come all over everything—luckily Laura had my napkin story.

Which is nothing but a mess now. Sorry.

ä

Fall Back

One extra hour free and clear, that’s what fall offers us every year when daylight savings turns to regular time. This year, my lovely Laura and I planned to make the most of it. We visited a little wine bar that opened in our neighborhood not long ago.

The place was packed—earlier, apparently, there had been a combination poetry reading and art show. Bright paintings of exploding animals covered two of the walls, and the upbeat blare and jangle of ska pumped softly from hidden speakers.

Patrons, mostly couples, occupied all the tables and comfy couches. But then Laura spotted an empty table near the middle of the room, and we sat ourselves and smiled at each other across the map of Italy painted on the table’s surface. After a minute or two, a waitress welcomed us with menus. We opened the heavy leather binders and studied the choices. I don’t really know anything about wine, but I prefer red to white. I opted for a Malbec from Argentina. Laura selected a Conti Contini from Italy, homage, perhaps, to the map on our table as well as the book she’d just finished reading—The Italian Lover, a novel about book binding and movie making in Florence. We also ordered a basket of artisan bread to share.

The Malbec proved to be rich and mellow and darkly fruity without being the least bit sharp—all that I could ask for in a wine. A few sips and my head felt pleasantly fuzzy. Laura liked her Conti. Between contemplative swallows, she shared her views of The Italian Lover and the way it proved words can shape reality. I nodded and smiled and munched the bread. By the time the basket was finished—three excellent little loaves along with several kinds of piquant olives—Laura had to use the bathroom.

“It’s delightful,” she reported back. “There’s a French chair in there. You can buy it for two hundred dollars.”

“What would we do with a French chair?” I wanted to know.

“Sit in it?” Laura said with a smile. Her latest sip of wine left her lips glistening and her eyes bright.

I smiled, and I didn’t tell her that I’d spent the minutes of her absence missing her while at the same time admiring the legs of the pretty blonde sitting on a couch over in the corner. While the blonde listened idly to her boyfriend going on and on about oil and Iraq, she dangled her legs over the armrest of the couch in a way I was pretty sure allowed her boyfriend to see all the way up her skirt.

The waitress came, and we each ordered a second glass of wine. “It’s unisex,” Laura said, “so you can see for yourself.” For a moment I didn’t know what she was talking about. “The bathroom,” she said, evidently grasping my lack of understanding. “The French chair.”

“Oh, right,” I said, and a moment later I excused myself.

“Well?” Laura asked upon my return. “What did you think?”

“Okay, I guess. Things seemed a little backwards.”

“Backwards? What do you mean? Like third world? Like an outhouse under a crescent moon, and hoot owls hooting all around?”

I laughed. “No, the flush handle. It was on the wrong side.”

Laura contemplated this information. “You’re right,” she decided. “What does that mean? It’s too bad there wasn’t a bathtub. We could check which way the water drained after our bath.”

I nodded seriously, and realized my nods were timed to the swing of the blonde girl’s legs.

Laura smiled at me. “Silly boy. While you were peeing I wrote you a napkin story.” She nudged the napkin across the table.

In the excitement of the poetry reading, they have no problems slipping unnoticed into the bathroom. The pretty lady braces her hands against the sink. The handsome guy fucks her from behind. She comes so hard she almost can’t stand up. After her orgasm, she must sit on the toilet. She smiles at her guy and together they listen to her tinkle. He’s still hard. She motions him over. She takes him in her mouth. He comes so hard he almost can’t stand up.

After a few moments, he regains his strength and pulls her to her feet. They dance slowly about the small bathroom, turning and swaying and pressing together, their nakedness alarmingly beautiful in the mirror.

“Also,” Laura said, “I got the check.” She nudged a second slip of paper across the table until it touched her napkin story. “Do you know how wet I am?”

I paid the bill with cash, not wanting to waste a moment getting home. By the time we got through the living room to the dining room, most of Laura’s clothes were off. “I need to taste you so bad,” I said, pulling out a dining room chair, pushing her back onto it, kneeling between her legs, and ravishing her.

Laura’s cunt is better than any wine. She rested one leg on the dining room table, the other over my shoulder, and she held herself open so I could push my tongue into her as far as possible. I fucked her with my tongue while pinching her clitoris. She panted and cried and came quickly—juicy convulsions full and sweet. Not wanting her to come down, I fluttered my fingers above her mound while caressing the skin between her asshole and cunt. She strained towards her second climax. “That’s it, that’s it, that’s it,” I chanted, and then I pushed my thumb a scant inch into her asshole and sucked her stiff little clit wholly into my mouth. Her cunt opened against my chin. I wallowed in her gush. She came hard, howling her hollow ohs. I worked her gently with my fingers, harder with my palm, stretching out the aftershocks. She whimpered between clenches. “That’s a baby,” I said. “You come so good, my little come bunny. So good, so good, so good!” I stood up, keeping my palm on her mound, and kissed her, forcing her to taste her flavors. Greedily she kissed me back. I lifted her up, and carried her to the back couch, kissing her all the while. I laid her down and placed my cock against her lips. She smiled and sucked me in. I fucked her mouth as slowly as possible, making time disappear. Sometimes I pulled all the way out, and she followed my cock until she recaptured it between her lips and nursed gently on its head, using sweet slow sucks which made my whole body feel fuzzy. Sometimes I pushed in deeper, filling her mouth completely with my cock, measuring her trust with each millimeter of motion. And then I entered her cunt, burying myself all the way, but remaining only long enough to wet my whole length with her love sap, and then back to her mouth. She knows what a turn on it is for me to watch her suck my cock after it’s been in her cunt. For some time we kept this up, cock in cunt, cock in mouth, cock in cunt, until out of nowhere she started coming again, her cunt clamping hard against my cock, her body bucking against mine, her head back, her mouth and nostrils wide, her eyes shut tight, the world nothing but her orgasm.