We're having dinner in a little café at a table in the corner with a long tablecloth. You're telling me some story about your work, and while it's interesting and engaging, I can't take my mind off the fact that the long tablecloth would hide anything I'd care to do under the table. I slip one of my shoes off, slide my chair closer, and gently put it between your legs and start rubbing it up and down. You stop talking, look down, raise one eyebrow and look at me smiling. I tell you to "go on," and you start to continue. I can feel you start to get aroused under my foot, and I rub a little harder, taking longer strokes up and down. You're trying to concentrate on your story, but eventually you just close your eyes and put your hand over one side of your face so only I can see it. You lick your lips, I watch you slowly move with me, ever so slightly, although no one realizes it but us.
Suddenly the waitress comes by with our coffee, and you pull back and blush, but you don't give yourself completely away - She thinks she just caught you telling me a racy joke or something, never suspecting that you're rock hard just inches away from her. I start to rub you again, with her standing right there, and you can't back away. She asks some innocuous question, and for a minute, I think your voice is going to crack as you try to answer it, but you regain what tenuous hold you have left on your composure and tell her we need the check.