A Table for One

He had never felt quite like this before. Since waking up from a troubled sleep a vaguely defined image of someone – female – kept flashing through his mind. He could tell little about her beyond the fact that she turned him on in a way he had never experienced before. She was attractive, around 30 or so (his own age), and had shoulder length dark hair worn in a gentle upsweep. He was filled with both longing and lust, a gentle but persistent ache for her such that he coasted through his day in a kind of erotic fugue state.

In a daze he drove uptown for dinner that evening and quickly found himself in a strange neighborhood. He looked around at the quaint turn-of the-century brick and masonry buildings and knew he was lost – utterly. Not a thing was familiar except the English language on signs and buildings. The streets were cobblestoned and narrow, the street lighting ornate with wrought-iron swirls. An attractive neighborhood to be sure, but one he never knew existed in his city before. And this scared him badly and added considerably to his horny, otherworldly angst.

He drove slowly along hoping against hope to find something familiar. Then, amidst the clutter of small shops and offices along the street, he spied the flashing red and blue neon of a restaurant sign just ahead. The name looked vaguely Italian but ‘Restaurant’ was spelled out clearly. This would do fine. Conveniently, a parking spot was open just 2 cars down. With trembling hands he parallel parked into the spot and got out of his car.

Where am I, he thought, looking around on the edge of panic. His head turned frantically in all directions seeking some sort, ANY sort, of reference point. On the verge of running madly away the restaurant sign again caught his attention. Staring at its blinking, gaudy visage he felt an odd sort of peace settle over him. His breathing slowed and deepened and his panic and fear slowly left him as he drew closer to the eating establishment. In its place though came that disjointed, almost surreal feeling of aching lust that had had possession of him all day. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

Just to reassure himself he walked up to the nearest building and touched it. Feeling it’s rough stony surface with his fingertips told him that this building at least was real. He quickened his pace and reached the restaurant entrance. He reached out and grasped the brass doorknob in front of him and felt oddly comforted by its cold, gentle smoothness, its normality. Swinging open a heavy wooden door he entered.

In the foyer was a dark wooden podium with a reservation book open upon it. The walls were a dark, creamy color decorated with an 18th century portrait of Nell Gwynn, the famous courtesan who became the bedmate of King Charles ll during the English Restoration. An odd selection for a restaurant he thought. Mind you it’s a stunning portrait of a beautiful young woman, he conceded. But this went only to fire his strange lust even further. Much to his chagrin he felt himself growing hard staring at Nell Gwynn’s décolletage.

“May I be of assistance?” a voice called to him.

Embarrassed at the state he was in he kept a hand in front of his pants. A short middle-aged concierge was looking up at him smiling.

“Y-yes you can” he stammered “Do you have room for me? I haven’t a reservation.”

“Of course sir. This way” the little man offered, extending his arm.

He followed him through a darkened interior lit mostly by candles. The tables and chairs were all made of wood and stained the same dark walnut color as the podium in the foyer. The walls similarly were the same dark creamy tone.

The restaurant seemed half full but the diners themselves were hard to distinguish in the low lighting. He sensed rather than heard the low murmur of their conversation and made out the quiet laughter of one group at a nearby table. Though he could not see much of their food it smelled delicious.

Nearing the back of the room the concierge made a sweeping gesture to a table on his right. It was a small round affair with a semi-circular bench seat made of leather stained the same dark color as the furniture, all tucked cozily into the back corner of the room. At this point the room narrowed into a kind of wide alcove leaving him a mere 20 feet away from the opposite corner. He glanced over and saw that the mirror-image table and bench opposite was empty. He nodded his acceptance and sat down as the concierge gracefully lit the candle in the center of his table, dropped off a menu and wine list and, with a small bow, he turned and left.

He opened the menu and gazed down on it without really seeing anything. His mind was again possessed by vague images of the dark haired, sensuous woman who had invaded his dreams and who was now controlling his waking thoughts. I am so turned on, he thought, my cock is getting hard just sitting here. He was grateful to be seated in this alcove as no one could catch a glimpse of his erection except for anyone seated at the opposite table, and that was empty.

A few minutes later he had to correct himself - WAS empty! Oh God, here comes that little man again with another single in tow, and it’s a – a woman! Oh great!

He quickly placed a napkin in his lap to hide his embarrassing tumescence from this new arrival. When he looked up from that chore he noticed the concierge blocking his view of her. He handed the menus over to her with his characteristic swirl, then stepped away and departed. His breathing stopped completely, his jaw dropped wide open. It was HER! The woman from his dream!

He was about to say something to her, anything to make some connection, but he held himself back. She was studying the wine list and paying no attention to him. I’m just gonna make an ass of myself at this point he reasoned. I’ll let her get settled in first. His heart was beating rapidly now and he could feel his desire rising by the second. He pondered this bizarre coincidence. This couldn’t be happening, he thought to himself. How could SHE be HERE? Wherever HERE was, he added.

Bewildered, he sat still and studied her cautiously, trying not to draw her attention. Yes, the same dark eyes and upswept hair, pale complexion and red pouting lips as his phantom lover. She was about his age, slim and dressed in a black cocktail dress which clung suggestively to her womanly curves. Spaghetti straps on the dress left her shoulders delightfully bare and led his eyes to explore and admire the firm swell of her breasts as they filled the bodice of her satiny black outfit. I’m losing my mind, he thought desperately. Who the hell is she?

* * * *

Oh my God! She thought, it’s HIM. She tried to avoid looking at him seated opposite her by burying her face in the wine list but she could feel his eyes on her. She burned at his gaze and ripples of unwanted pleasure flowed through her body. This is not possible, she told herself. This is the man who has been driving me nuts for the last 24 hours. He has the same wavy dark hair and eyes, the same trim, athletic look to him and tall - even sitting down she could tell he was tall - just like HIM!

She closed her eyes. This is not happening she said to herself. Last night’s sleep was a ragged, passionate, exhausting experience. She’d be awake, or thinking she was. She was never sure. Then asleep, then into some kind of twilight sleep while the phantasmal image of HIM caressed her body, kissed her in every conceivable place and then brought her time and again to the brink of orgasm only to fade away completely at the very moment she needed his touch the most. She awoke drained and confused. She had tried to masturbate while lying in bed but she was unsuccessful. In spite of her burning desire she could not climax.

She had spent the day in a hazy fog of desire and paid little attention to her surroundings or other people. To top all of this off she had gotten herself lost driving out to get some air. She had been scared not knowing where she was but she was new to the city and felt she could ask for directions. She spotted the red and blue neon sign of this restaurant and was strangely put at ease by the hypnotic friendliness of the flashing tubes of light that beckoned her inside. The food smelled great too, she noticed, as she had stepped inside the cozy old foyer. Then there HE was.

Taking a quick peek she could see his long legs under the table, admired the tight fitting black slacks he wore and regretted that a napkin hid his groin from her. The thin black short-sleeved cotton top he wore emphasized his lean, wiry physique. His face was long and angular, handsome and full of character, she decided, just the sort of looks that made her weak in the knees and wet in other places. She felt her nipples harden and idly noticed how they now pointedly stood out against the sheer fabric of her dress. As if to stuff these strong unbidden sexual feelings she pressed her palms hard into her lap, which ironically caused her to shiver with pleasure as her pussy responded to this unintended attention.

I’m a wreck, she decided, then noticed that he had quickly removed the napkin from his lap. Yes! She was sure she could see his cock hard and upright beneath his pants. What’s gotten into me, she screamed inside her head. Nothing! That’s the problem, she giggled to herself.

As she watched he stared intently at his menu but his hand had gone down between his legs. She sat mesmerized as he slowly started stroking himself through his slacks, rubbing his hand gently up and down his bulging shaft. The blood rushed to her face then suffused her body with an excruciatingly erotic hot flash. Her throat went dry and her heart pounded in her chest as he continued his sensual stroking. She’d never witnessed anything so blatantly and inappropriately sexual and she was in the grip of a lust so hot she felt she might come just from watching this spectacle. At this point she daren’t even touch herself, she thought. Good grief oh my, he’s actually starting to masturbate! A small groan escaped her.