© 2002 by the author. All rights reserved.
A little fantasy tale involving mutual self-masturbation(M/F). Critiques and replies welcome.
* * * *
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 English courtesan who became the bedmate of King James l. 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!
