Penthouse A: Seeing and Being Seen

It really started with the phone call.

I was on another business trip and called at the end of the evening. With the time difference you had just finished your dinner when we began our conversation. I was already in bed after a long day followed by a client dinner and a movie in the hotel room.

"It's late there," you began. "London's five hours ahead. You must be exhausted."

"That I am," I answered. "I'll sleep in a little bit, but I'm glad we can catch up, even for a while tonight. That last ... time together was incredible. Quite a different take on 'twenty questions.' I don't think I quite expected 'gentle or rough' to be one of them! That was amazing!"

"Well, I learned about you, and that's the point, isn't it? To know someone and what they like."

"It IS," I answered. The thing that makes it all interesting is figuring that out and then playing with it in unexpected ways. You sure did that!"

"We're just getting started," you answered.

"And I wonder just as many things about you." I responded. "I've ... watched you pleasure yourself, and I think I've memorized everything you showed me, but, as you say we're just beginning to explore and reveal ourselves. Maybe we're both just voyeurs and exhibitionists of the mind with endless things to discover."

That brought a big smile to your voice as you said, "Now THAT's an interesting way to put it! I have to say, I did like watching you as I was giving you pleasure was crazy hot."

"Seeing and being seen."

"Something like that."

Hmmm, I was just thinking, I get in late on Friday, and I'll sleep late the next morning. Are you free on Saturday afternoon? There's an Irish pub I'd like to take you to, but it will have to be earlier than the dinner sitting. The place fills up and gets loud. I'd rather have some quiet space with you."

"That would be ... a new experience. I don't think I know the pub, but, sure, I'd love to. What time and how do I dress? It sounds casual, right?"

"Yes, I answered. How about if you arrive at, say, 4 in the afternoon. Lululemon leggings and a slightly sheer blouse would be nice," I answered with a smile in my voice.

"You're incorrigible," you said.

"I'll text you the address."

When you arrived at the pub on Saturday afternoon, I was already waiting at our table. There were only few people scattered evenly throughout the restaurant, so it was thankfully quiet, and I had chosen a corner away from the general seating area but with a direct view to the bar in case I needed to call the waitress.

"You wore the leggings," I said as I stood up from the table to hug you and give you kiss. You still had your jacket on, but I could see a thin, white, silky blouse hiding beneath it.

"And the rest of your request can be revealed in due time," you answered. "I believe you wanted something sheer."

"Always a good choice," I commented quietly with a smirk. "The hope of things not yet seen."

"Well, not yet seen today," you quipped as I pulled the chair away from the table to seat you. I took the seat with my back to the tables behind us.

"Always the gentleman...who taught you to pull the chair, open the door, and all the rest that you seem to do without thinking."

"That would be my mother," I answered. She paid attention to those things from my youngest years. The right fork, the proper way to hold a cup, and, yes, the doors and chairs. I suppose she didn't want to have raised a barbarian. She would say, 'Always take the long look,' meaning craft your future in the present moment.

"Good advice. Well, In the short term, what's good here at this new-for-me Irish pub?

"The traditional things like shepherd's pie, corned beef and the like. The burgers are incredible, they do amazing things with a simple baked potato, and the salads are surprisingly good. There are some wonderful beers here too: some powerful stouts, and surprisingly subtle pale ales."

"You must come here often."

"It's a hideaway for me, and I do come here with friends on occasion. You and I have my favorite waitress today, Katherine. She's lovely."

As if on cue, the waitress appeared, and your eyes took her in, clearly agreeing. Katherine's red hair is striking, and she has an infectious smile.

Greeting me by name, she asked, "Shall we begin with something to drink?"

After we ordered, you commented, "Well, I finally have your name, thanks to Katherine."

I looked down smiling as I said, "Busted. Nice to meet you."

"Oh, you've met me! You've so much more than met me!" you said with a wide smile.

"Which brings us today," I said. "I have something in mind."

"I wondered what was up your sleeve with this Irish pub date. So, what's on the menu?" you asked.

"Seeing and being seen."

You raised your eyebrows. "Listen, I can do all kinds of things with you, flash you and watch you and even come for you through a window across a courtyard, but I don't have any intention of dancing naked on a table and ending up on the 5 o'clock news."

"No dancing on the table. Remember my mom raised a gentleman."

"But...what did you have in mind then?"

Suddenly Katherine interrupted our conversation, bringing our drinks and taking our food order. All the while your question hung in the air.

"Let's just enjoy the food and we'll see what comes up," I suggested with a slight smile on my face.

The next three-quarters of an hour were made up of light conversation, a second beer for each of us, and a very tasty meal.

"May I suggest that you go and freshen up? We'll be here a bit longer, and perhaps you want a moment to wash your hands."

When you returned from the restroom, I asked, "Did you wash your hands? You'll need them."

Only then did I answer your question. "Before the meal, you asked me what I had in mind."

"Yes, and I had butterflies in my stomach throughout dinner. I have no idea where this is going."

"Put your left hand on the table," I said. "Reach out toward me like a lover." You did so silently.

"You have beautiful hands," I said, "and really lovely fingers." With that, I very lightly caressed the skin of your hand, and then, with my other hand, I cupped your palm in mine. "I'm going to touch you now, and no one will think anything of it, right? Just two lovers in a restaurant being sweet to each other."

I noticed that your eyes lowered themselves to watch my fingertip moving across your own fingers, outlining each one, randomly traveling over your skin, ever so lightly.

"You're barely touching me, but it feels so good," you said.

"I think it's about attention. You hand is the only thing I'm thinking about. All forms of love begin with focused attention."

You closed your eyes, mentally following my fingertips caressing your hand without needing to look.

"Would you leave your eyes closed for me? Just listen to my voice and follow my thoughts."

"Yes, I can do that."

What if these fingers were your legs?" I asked.

"And?" you asked, still with your eyes closed.

"And what If I opened those legs?" With that question, I gently separated your first two fingers with my own.

"And there you are, with your legs spread apart. And yet, you are sitting in a little corner of an Irish pub, with your eyes closed while I'm caressing the inside of your fingers. To anyone watching they see me touching your hand, but the way I'm touching you it is as if these fingers, right here, were your thighs." As I said the last sentence my finger moved upward, along the inside of your index finger.

"Jesus," you said.

"...until I arrive here at the beautiful, warm, wet meeting place between your legs. Can you imagine that?"

My finger had traveled only a half an inch higher and was now lodged at the intersection of your two open fingers. I pressed you there, just as I would have had my hand been on your body.

"I can imagine that. Fuck this is hot!" I heard the smallest breath intake from you and knew your mind was creating a vision of my hand on your mons. I began to pulse on your hand imperceptibly and, as you found the parallel place in your mind, your hips involuntarily moved forward as if to meet me.

"Imagine that I'm touching you there; just see that in your mind."

"Fuck!" you whispered under your breath. "You bring me here and serve a meal and turn me on and I can't do a thing about it."

"That's not quite true."

"What can I possibly do right now?"

"Listen to me carefully," I answered. "You have another hand and there is a napkin on your lap."

You opened your eyes. "No fucking way."

I smiled at your voice. It was both desperate and resolute.

"I'm not about to get myself off in a public restaurant."

"Now you know why you're wearing those leggings. You can reach under that napkin and touch the outside of the leggings."

"What if someone...."

"Sees?" I interrupted. "How could they. It's under a table, under a napkin. Hardly anyone is here. Go on... Reach down and put your hand on yourself. No one is going to notice. Just place your right hand there on those leggings."

You looked me directly in the eyes. "And you'll continue to touch my other hand on top of the table?"

"Yes, and you'll match the motions of my touch with YOUR hand under the table."

"My god," you said. "Am I really about to do this?"

"You are," I answered.

I caressed your hand on the table, and held your gaze, our eyes locked in sync. We started slowly and gently, and gradually I undulated the pressure of my fingertips on your hand. You, in turn, moved your own hand under the napkin beneath the table. Minutes passed in complete silence, as the two of us improvised this dance of fingertips and mirroring.

As the time passed, it was clear you were losing yourself in the pleasure, but the surroundings were holding you back.

"I don't know if I can ... finish," you said. "I've never ... done this, and I'm a little nervous, but I really want to ... bring this off. It's fucking hot, I'm just a bit uncertain of how to do this without drawing attention to myself."

"Well, I thought you might need some inspiration." Look at the table behind me. You might remember there was a couple there when we came in.

"Yes, they're still there."

"And what are they doing?" I asked.

"They're ... holy shit, they're looking at me. Actually, he's looking at me. She's looking at your hand."

"So, they're watching us?"

"Yes. How did you know that?"

"I called in a favor and invited them as an audience for you. You could call it 'seeing and being seen.' They're friends and very open minded, and they know I'm crazy about this new woman in my life. I promise you that they won't acknowledge us in any way, but they are here to watch you do this. When you finish, they are going to get up and leave. I'm paying for their meal. This is just a moment for you to ... enjoy yourself being seen like this while still not, as you say, making the evening news. I want you to have this experience as a memory to draw upon when I'm out of town. You could call this the orgasm that keeps on giving."

"So, he's going to watch me? And she's going to watch your hand?"

"That's the plan. It's just you and me and two people to ... inspire you to go over the waterfall. Shall we bring this to a climax? Can you look into my eyes now and just concentrate on my finger and mirror its motions on your own body?"

"I can. This is fucking crazy, but I want to..."

"You want to what? Say it."

"To come. I want to come. Like this. Here - in this place."

"Show me... and show them. Show us what you want to do."

I moved my index finger a little higher and pressed against your knuckle and drew a small circle on the bump there, knowing you were doing the same thing on your clit through your leggings under the napkin and beneath the restaurant table.

We followed each other motion for motion. An eternity passed in just a few minutes as we gradually intensified the pressure.

"Seeing and being seen," said. "That's what we're doing. Look over at the couple watching you,"

You reluctantly released my gaze, and I saw you look into the face of the man at the table behind me. Your eyes met and instantly I heard your breath change. Until this moment the miniscule movements of your hand had been imperceptible, but suddenly you moved enough for him to see your arm motion.

"Go on," I said quietly. "Go on, finish yourself."

You looked back at me, and your face was a mix of agony and pleasure. Your breath suddenly quickened, and you closed your eyes as your motions intensified even more. In the very next moment you crested. The beers on table shook as your body experienced a first wave of pleasure. Then another, and, after a brief pause, a third convulsion passed through you. Your eyes opened rolled back as your mouth inhaled in and expelled a final breath. I saw your shoulders begin to droop as you let go of everything.

"My god," you said looking down at your left hand which was still held in mine.

"That was incredible," you said. Half a minute passed in silence as your breathing returned to normal.

"Seeing and being seen," I said. "Check one off the bucket list."

We both smiled at each other knowingly, and then, once again out of nowhere, Katherine returned to our table. It was as if she knew just how long to wait and just what to say. "Would you like anything else?" She asked. "Can I offer you some dessert?"

"Oh, I think we're quite finished," I answered loud enough to be heard by my friends at the table behind me. "Just the check please, for our table and also, if you don't mind, for that lovely couple over there." As I said this, they smiled at me and silently stood to take their leave.

"Oh, that's kind of you," Katherine said. "I bet they enjoyed their meal even more with someone else picking up the tab."

"I certainly hope so," I responded. "We enjoyed them too."

As Katherine returned, she said something that surely meant much more than she could have possibly intended.

"It was a delight to have you today. Thank you for coming."

"It was our pleasure," I answered dryly as I looked at your hand.

"Well come again," she said.

"Oh, we will, Katherine. I'm sure of that."