Tandem

This is a quick fantasy, written for a distant friend. Places and architectural quirks are NOT fictional; this could happen.

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You've come to San Francisco. Julie and I are showing you and Carl around town. We go to Gaspari's, a family-owned Italian restaurant, Julie's favorite.

You and I are sitting across from one another. The table is no match for my long legs, the calves of which are resting against your ankle. We regard one another directly amid the light dinner chat. I am flirting shamelessly to justify the flush which is emerging in your cheeks.

I hear the distinct sound of a pair of shoes hitting the floor beneath the table. You corner me into telling a long story and I feel your feet against my calves, sliding slowly up. I desperately try to remain light and calm, relating some lame story as I feel a nimble foot moving past my knees. In my mind I am watching a prettily stockinged foot edging sensually toward the danger zone, and I struggle to maintain the thread and cadence of my anecdote.

As you reach the top of my thighs I thrust imperceptibly forward to meet your foot. The effect of this little game is clearly evident, and I can feel your little painted toes curling around my rigid cock, causing it to swell painfully.

I try to avoid looking at your glittering eyes or devilish smirk and prattle on, barely coherent. I am shifting uncomfortably but every move I make, every squirm, just gives you a better grip on my aching crotch.

Your foot drops away and I hear you slip on your shoes to excuse yourself for a trip to the bathroom. My erection fails to subside and after a while I excuse myself as well. In the men's room I head for the last stall. I sit quietly, looking up at a high sort of transom window separating the men's and women's rooms. I hear soft, muffled moans, so soft and discreet, and a hurried rustling. I wait for a while, hanging on every little sound, until I can stand it no more.

"I hear you, Anne."

A little gasp and a squeak. "You do not!"

"I do, Anne. Of course, I know what to listen for." A beat. "I can hear you blushing now."

Flustered sounds, an awkward moment...

"Would you like me to join you?" This is met with another alarmed squeak. "From here, I mean." A gasp and a sigh.

I unzip noisily and slide my hand into my pants. Within, my cock lays like a damp log, and it leaps to attention. A sighing grunt involuntarily escapes my lips, and I hear the soft wet sounds resume on the other side of the wall.

With my back against the shared wall I slide my fist up and down my cock, already slippery with anticipation. My other hand drops down the front, gently stroking my balls, causing my cock to ooze. I slide my hand wetly over the taut head of my cock, swirling smoothly around it and tickling the sensitive underside, and my balls jump in my other hand. The noise of my breathing has become more pronounced and I pray no one comes in the bathroom. As I press my thumb across the slick surface of the head I groan and gasp, and I hear the sounds on the other side of the wall getting more urgent.

You are whimpering now, a pressured, stifled sound. I imagine you there, back to back with me, you hand moving furiously through the drenched folds of your pussy while you gently stroke your breasts, your face contorted in ecstasy. The tension is building and you are on tiptoe, calf muscles taut, thighs straining against the lingerie. As you begin to moan long and low, then suddenly hurried, I feel my balls pull in, high and tight, my scrotum thick and the hairs standing on end. I venture the release of those distinctive moans that tell you my climax is near, and you respond in kind, culminating in a mighty, shuddering orgasm. My hips are bucking and I explode into my hand, the spurts coming again and again. My hand is slick with my come, it's spilling over the side and coating my knuckles. We stand, panting, back to back, and wipe the bulk of the messes off with a tissue, then reassemble our clothing.

When I hear your stall door open I hiss at you not to wash your hands. You come out of the bathroom, past the men's room door on your way back to the table. I pop the door open and haul you in. We look at one another for a long moment, and then I look at your hands. You proffer your still-damp hand, and I take it into my mouth, inhaling deeply and licking up whatever remnants of your passion that I can find. I find that you are doing the same for me. After that, we wash up and head back to the table.