I excused myself from the table and my insufferably boring date and went to the restroom to clear my head.
I wove my way through tightly packed tables full of the beautiful people, all dining on tiny portions of tasteless but chic food that costs more per plate than the gross national product of several third world countries.
Escaping the crush of delicately eating humanity, I strode quickly to the restroom and sat on the luxuriously appointed couch. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and did my best to gain some serenity.
It was one of those awkward, silent dates with a friend of a friend. Therese, our mis-matchmaker, had probably suggested Geoffrey-with-a-G because she thought he would ground me. He had no sense of humor, no personality! He was attractive enough, but that just didn't do it for me.
I slid my heels off and curled my legs next to me on the couch, trying to bolster myself for the next few hours of stilted pleasantries. There had to be some way for me to salvage this evening. My hose were riding up my ass, and the crowd in the dining area made the room uncomfortably warm.
Inspiration!
I stood, grabbing my shoes, and walked through the empty restroom into the last stall. I slid my hose off my legs, put my green heels back on my feet, and stuffed my hose in the trashcan on the wall of the stall.
At the mirror, I examined my face. Everything was still where I expected it to be - blue-gray eyes, pale skin, short brown hair. I pursed my lips and applied a fresh coat of gloss to the bottom, then rubbed my top lip against it to evenly distribute the pale color. My green dress hugged my breasts, tightly embracing my torso, and flared out above the knee.
I tried my most fascinated expression in the mirror. Not bad. I could pay attention to everyone else while appearing immersed in Geoffrey-with-a-G's opinion of Neil Diamond. (A real legend!)
One last deep breath and I was back to pushing through the mass of tables. No one seemed to notice the missing hose. A waiter breezed past me, his tray full of mostly empty plates. I couldn't tell whether or not the plates had made the obligatory stop at a table or not.
Glancing at the table, I noticed that my own entree had arrived in my absence. A sliver of chicken, drizzled with a frisson of white sauce, and two slices of an unidentifiable (though surely exotic) vegetable took up residence on a dinner plate larger than my head.
Geoffrey-with-a-G pointedly looked at his Rolex as I seated myself.
"Why women must spend ages, simply ages, in the ladies room is utterly beyond me," he intoned. I think he was trying to be witty. I also think the reason he was used to women spending eons in the restroom is because he was duller than dishwater.
I smiled apologetically and set to work dismantling my meal. Geoffrey went on and on about something else and I looked around to see if anyone was watching me.
There was! Diagonal from my own seat, a fairly attractive man sat alone. He didn't appear to be enjoying his meal at all, either. I nodded my head at an appropriate time in my date's litany of his favorite brands of toilet paper, smiled and ate tiny bites of my meal.
I purposely dropped my napkin to the floor, and leaned over to pick it up, displaying my cleavage to the gentleman who was watching me. My napkin returned to my lap, I sipped my overpriced Chilean wine and nodded again at Geoffrey-with-a-G. Thankfully, he hadn't asked a direct question all night, so I got by with nods and smiles.
I kicked my shoes off under the table, and used my toes on my left foot to scratch the back of my right calf. My movements made the skirt of my dress ride up to the middle of my thighs. Was my fellow diner still watching? I glanced to him, and his eyes seemed glued to my lap. My lips curled up in satisfaction for a moment, and then I returned to my fascinated look for Geoffrey-with-a-G's pretentious ramblings (on the future of fossil fuels).
My right hand moved into my lap, and I stroked my own thigh, feeling tight muscle, tensed from the stress of the evening. I pressed at my thigh, relieving some tension, and pulled my skirt up a little more. My pale ivory panties were clearly visible to the man diagonal from me - I could tell he was watching since a flush started at his neck and moved up to his ears.
My fingers crept up my thigh, almost touching my panties, and stopped. I glanced at the man, and saw him looking in my eyes. He'd caught on to my game!
I don't mind admitting it - I have no shame. My fingers moved up to my panties and pressed against my pussy. My own excitement seeped through my panties and made my fingers moist. I casually removed my fingers from my lap and up to my mouth, lightly sucking my own juices, filtered by my panties, from my index and middle fingers.
The blush hadn't dissipated on the fellow watching me. I returned my fingers to my lap again, and lightly licked my upper lip. I looked in his eyes for a moment, and put my fingers into my panties from the top. No holds barred, I flicked my clit with my index finger and shuddered. Geoffrey-with-a-G didn't notice anything, so wrapped up in his story about wood shop in high school.
I flicked my clit again, biting my lip to keep silent, and watched my watcher. Under his own table, I could see a bulge on his thigh. His own hand under the table stroked along his (considerable!) length from his crotch toward his knee.
