Dining Alone

It was a hard rain. The type of rain that soaks you through, soaks you even though you're wearing an overcoat. I had never felt so wet before.

I managed to make it through the door to the restaurant and stood there in the foyer, dripping. The water poured off my hat onto my collar, down my overcoat, and on to my already drenched feet. I shook the water off and best I could and stared out the front window. This rain wasn't going to let up soon.

It was 9 o'clock and I hadn't really had anything to eat since that late lunch with my clients. God, I hate business trips.

The podium was empty, but soon a middle-aged woman in a dark dress walked over to it and asked how many were in my party.

"Just one," I replied, trying to look dry.

"Follow me," she said and picked up a menu and began walking away.

I followed her. The restaurant was dimly lit, probably in a fashion the owner thought would represent romance and intrigue. There were not many patrons in the place, quite understandable considering the weather.

The woman seated me in a little alcove on the side of the restaurant. There was only one other table where another lone man sat. A window looked out toward the parking lot, but all that could be reasonably seen was the sheet of rain.

The woman left and shortly a waiter appeared. I order a steak, rare, but not bloody, a baked potato and some coffee.

The waiter scurried off. I looked at the wine list.

I noticed that the man at the other table looked up to greet a woman coming back to the table. The woman was wearing an incredibly short skirt and a very low-cut blouse. So, the man wasn't alone like me. She must have been in the powder room.

I again started to look at the wine list, but heard some low giggles coming from the other table. The alcove was fairly isolated from the rest of the restaurant, an ideal place for some sordid little affair, I thought. They were finishing there meal and tinkling wine glasses. I tried to ignore them. What can be worse than being alone and not 15 feet away from a couple having a good time.

The waiter returned with my meal and I began to add extra butter over my potato, the way I like it, oozing in thick gobs down the sides of the potato.

I grabbed two of those little cups of cream to add to my coffee, I looked over at the other table. The woman's skirt was hiked up high and she spread her legs, flashing me. She wasn't wearing any panties. I squeezed the cream cup and it spurted all over the table cloth. I diverted my glance, embarrassed, both at what I saw and at the mess I had made. I tried dabbing up the cream with my napkin.

The woman seemed oblivious to the fact that I was 5 yards away. She giggled and nuzzled the man's neck. I tried to concentrate on cutting my steak, but I cast furtive peeks at the woman who continued to show off her smoothly shaved prize.

The man had moved his hand down to her thigh and had begun gently carressing it. It was as if I were hypnotized. I couldn't take my eyes off them, and they didn't seem to know or care that I was in the room with them. I quickly turned to the main room to see if anyone else was watching. The few people seated out there were in their own little worlds.

This was my own private show.

The man's hand moved up her thigh and he began fingering her. Her giggles turned to low moans and she opened her legs even wider to accommodate his fondling. Her upper thighs seemed to be glistening.

Now my own physiology sprang into action. My senses became heightened so that it seemed that I could feel the slightest pressures on my own body, the napkin in my lap, the fabric of my pants, the damp from the rain.

I sat there, transfixed, trying to be invisible.

Her hand moved to his crotch and soon he was unzipped and unfurled. Her strokes matched his probes. Then it happened.

She turned and looked directly into my eyes. I was startled by her brazen stare. She had a coy little smile as if she was proud of another conquest. My eyes were rivited to hers. Her man was pecking at her neck and had not acknowledged me. I was no longer invisible.

She closed her eyes and let out a deep moan, low but loud enough that I almost expected everyone in the place to come rushing to our alcove to see who was in pain. I glanced back to the main room. No one was paying us any mind at all.

The man spurted into her hand. Still looking me dead in the eyes, she took her napkin and daintily wiped it off.

She glanced up as the waiter came to remove their plates. I tried to look like I was busy eating my meal, but my heart was pounding, and sweat was pouring from my forehead.

After the waiter had left, the woman got up and slowly strolled over to my table.

"Hello," she sweetly said. "I couldn't help noticing that you're dining alone." She put her hands on my table and leaned forward, giving me complete view of her ample cleavage.

I was thunderstruck. Words stuck in my throat. I nodded dumbly.

"My name is Kat," she purred, "and my husband and I would like to invite you to our table for desert."

I managed to stammer, "Wh-What's for desert?"

"Cream pie," she cooed.

Now it was my turn to moan as my body could no longer stand the torture. It was a good thing that my pants were already wet.