"I like cum."
The restaurant is bright and noisy, which means no one can hear me if I speak softly, but I'm enjoying the wine (an Argentinian red) and the pizza (Pollo Fiesta) and, of course, the company (my sexy bff Fiona) too much.
"Tell me something I don't know," Fiona says, glancing around reflexively to see who might be eavesdropping.
She doesn't see the sinuous movement in the shadows beneath the tables, and I choose not to mention it myself. "Okay," I say, "how about this. Today marks ten years since my first two Literotica stories were published."
"Huh," she says, looking suitably impressed. "Time's a funny thing. I remember you and Ben coming back to the flat and more-or-less insisting the three of us get together."
"Same night, later story. No, I'm thinking specifically of Ben and me at the restaurant exchanging lists of ten fantasies we wanted to fulfil as part of our relationship."
"Ohh. The list."
"Yes."
"Can you remember what was on it?"
"Steel trap," I say, tapping my head. "Oral sex, for starters."
Fiona grins. "I'm surprised that's not on the menu here." It most definitely isn't, but calamari might be. I've glimpsed more than one diner checking anxiously beneath their table.
Oral sex was first. I wanted lots, both ways, and Ben wanted deep throat, and we checked that off the list before we even got home. "Anal," I say next, again giving and receiving, "and having Ben as my slave for a day."
"That was hot," Fiona says, smiling in fond remembrance. "Seeing you with a strap-on made me realise I could never marry a man who was afraid of a dominant woman." Indeed, she's far more the domme these days than I've ever been.
"And vice versa for Number Four, of course. Number Five was to be called a bad girl and spanked."
"Hmm," Fiona says ominously. "I thought I was the only one who got to do that."
"You are, Mistress," I say loyally. "You are." I've tried occasionally being a submissive for others, but Fiona's the only lover I've ever been able to trust completely.
There's a sudden, sharp scream and much scraping of chairs on the wooden floor, and conversation ceases for a minute as everyone stares. A party of four young women, dressed for clubbing, back away from their table. An anxious waiter approaches them, clearly asking what the matter is, but instead of answering they snatch up their handbags and run to the door, racing out into the dark night.
Fiona gives me a perplexed look, but I just shrug.
"Six: Public sex." And not just sex outdoors, but sex somewhere there was real danger of discovery.
