“ Make yourself presentable, honey, we’re going out for lunch.”
An endless half hour later you finally come down the stairs. My stomach cramps and my heart skips a beat. You look absolutely breathtaking and I forget instantly how hungry I am. With a mocking smile you throw a “Shall we ?” at me. I manage to regain my composure and smile back, saying “ Sure, I’ve been waiting for no one else but you. “
After a ten minute drive and a short walk, we arrive at our destination : One of those traditional cafés / bars where they sell cigarettes and lottery tickets but also have a few tables, scattered randomly across the sidewalk. We sit down at one of those round bistro tables, made of aluminium with a glass cover and that are so small they can hardly hold two plates and two glasses and that will always be shaky, no matter how many napkins you fold up and place under their three feet. I try nevertheless, making it last as long as I possibly can to enjoy the view of your legs. I know that you know this and I also know that you like the thought of me devouring your thighs with my eyes as you slightly part your knees. Of course I hit my head coming back up and my face reddens, certainly due also to the inverted blood flow from leaning down too long. You laugh out loud, confirming that I must look ridiculously stupid.
You lean back in your chair and pretend to be studying the menu – which is obviously a fake since the so-called menu only lists a few drinks and we have already received our two Mojitos. The only food here is the ‘plat du jour’, hand written on a slate plate next to the door. One of the two main courses is no longer available so we can choose between fresh Atlantic Truite and fresh Atlantic Truite. And fresh Atlantic Truite. Things could be worse.
While I try to make up my mind regarding dessert (mousse au chocolat versus tarte aux pommes), I hear a shoe falling to the ground. Something touches my left ankle. Your nylon covered toes slowly work their way into the leg of my jeans until you find a position to comfortably rest your heel on top of my foot. You know that this drives me insane and I’d kill to see the expression on the face you are hiding behind that fake menu. The other shoe drops to the ground, same procedure. As you begin to speak, I can literally hear the diabolic grin on your face.
“ My feet are a bit cold … I hope we can finally order our food ? I am starving. “
[ Not sure whether to scrap it or continue. Happy to receive potential readers’ feedback ! ]
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/pbaab5/slowly_but_surely