My husband was reading a magazine in an armchair while waiting for me to get ready. He didn't hear me come down the stairs. I leaned against the door frame with one hand extended upward and the other on my hip. My shimmering blue gown showed off my classic curves. "I'd go out tonight," I said in a breathy voice, "but I haven't a thing to wear."
Phil glanced toward me. "You look great!" he said looking me up and down. His gave a wolf whistle that was ironic, but also sincere.
I'm not vain, but I must admit my thirties have treated me well. I've grown into my beauty. As a teenager, I was too thin, even scrawny, but time and a pregnancy has filled me out and softened my somewhat angular facial features. With my formfitting dress, I was going for the look of a bombshell movie actress from the forties, and I wore the dangling sapphire earrings Phil had given me that morning as an anniversary present. I took care not to overdo my makeup, but I had applied my blush heavier than normal. I once read somewhere that the underlying purpose of blush is to mimic the flush of sexual excitement. It makes men aroused, and I really wanted Phil to give me a proper dicking tonight.
Tonight wasn't just any anniversary; it was our tenth. To celebrate, we'd made reservations at an upscale hotel steakhouse and booked our regular babysitter, Cory, to watch our daughter for us. While Phil had been waiting for me, Cory played with our girl on the floor, but I knew the whole time she'd been stealing glances at Phil.
She and Phil had a thing going on, but then again, all women were attracted to Phil. Once when we were first dating, on a brisk and bright afternoon I kissed him goodbye before I went in to meet a friend at a coffee shop. My friend, who was sitting at a window table, had seen us.
"Is that guy your new boyfriend?" she asked when I sat down.
"I think so," I said, then smiled. "I certainly hope so."
"He looks like a boyfriend," she said, more to herself than to me, as she craned her neck to watch him walk away.
That characterization of Phil always stuck with me. He looks like a boyfriend. But what did that mean? I suppose my friend was referring to his friendly and open face, handsome without being too perfect, cute while still being manly. He looked like someone who laughed easily, who'd be comfortable meeting your friends male and female. His body was athletic but cuddly. Sexually, he seemed open-minded and available. Any girl could tell he'd be fun in bed. I personally knew that to be the case. I loved fucking him, and just as much, I loved waking to find him next to me in the morning. All these years later, he was my husband of a decade, but he still looked like a boyfriend to me.
As the hostess checked for our reservation, I looked over at him and thought he looked quite dapper with his classic-cut suit and his grandfather's cufflinks gleaming at his wrists. If I was an actress from the bygone days of Hollywood, he was my male co-star. He'd just shaved his beard and his haircut was growing out, giving him a tousled, rakish look. He was irresistible to me.
We were led in front of a little jazz combo—brushed drumming, a muted trumpet, and a lady with a rose in her hair crooning a bluesy number. Typically, I don't hearing live music when I dine, but right now it set a perfectly romantic mood. Our booth even had privacy curtains. After the waitress brought us our cocktails, I pulled the curtains shut and snuggled up close to my husband.
I kissed him on the lips, but gingerly. I didn't want to mess up my make-up. Maybe I should have indulged in the passion I was feeling, but I wanted to look pretty for him.
We looked at our menus and talked over our options. My hand absent-mindedly stroked Phil's thigh. I needed to do more, so I reached my hand down to his crotch. I was so attracted to him; I couldn't help it. I gave him another kiss, this time with more ardor, make-up be damned. I caressed his package through his slacks as I rested my head on his shoulder. My hand gripped his girth which lay on his left thigh and made an appealing outline through the material. I rubbed it with a soft hand. I felt such an urge for him, my heart fluttered.
"Do you want a little lipstick on your dipstick?" I asked.
Phil laughed. "What if the waitress comes back?"
"C'mon. I know you love the thrill of public sex, the risk of it."
"It's true. I do," he shrugged. "Go quick." He unzipped his pants and freed his member through his fly. Contrasted with his civilized clothing in this refined setting, his arching, veiny cock protruded like a lustful interloper, a visitor from our animal natures.
I scooted my body down on the banquette and wrapped my lips around Phil's penis. Covered by background murmur and clinking silverware, my sucking sounds only reached my ears. I warmed up with the head of the penis, then let my mouth travel farther down the shaft. Maybe Phil was gasping and moaning, or maybe not. Maybe he was pretending to read the menu as I blew him. I had no idea and in a way didn't really care. At this time, it was just me and this penis. This was one becoming of those blowjobs in which for me the male organ was its own entity, and the man it was attached to was pretty much secondary. I kissed it and suckled it and made love to it.
But I couldn't give this handsome penis the full treatment it deserved. It was just a teaser for later. To be frank, I was indeed nervous about getting caught. Here I am, I thought, a university professor in an upscale restaurant. I shouldn't be giving a blowjob under the table to a man, even if that man is my husband. That tension between what was natural and what was civilized was wetting my pussy. I knew I should stop soon but I just wanted one more lick, and then just one more. Down here on the floor of this plush restaurant, this penis and I were in our own little world. I didn't want to leave it. I knew I should. Why then did I take the whole thing in my mouth and devoured it? My arousal and my confusion were getting to be a bit too much. I gave the dick one final slurp and picked up my head.
Saliva rolled down my chin. My lipstick was smeared and my hair in disarray. Both my husband and I wore strained expressions of unfulfilled lust, and we touched hands as we recovered and breathed deeply. Just then the waitress parted the curtain. Phil quickly flapped the tablecloth over his nakedness.
"Are you ready to order?" the waitress asked as she put down our cocktails.
"Um..., I think we still need a few more moments to decide," Phil said. I brought a napkin up to my mouth to cover and dry it.
"Sure, take your time," the woman said without seeming to have noticed anything. She closed the curtain. My husband and I exhaled, then shared a long, long laugh. I gripped his cock through the draped tablecloth and gave it a playful squeeze.
"We're going to have a fun night tonight," he said. "I love you."
