Dinner sounded like just what they needed. A night out, a few drinks, a nice meal might help to ease all the tension they had felt lately. While they were still a young couple, the flame had been flickering lately. His desire for her was as strong as ever, he loved his wife. She unfortunately had given in to the pressures of reality. The place in her mind used in the past for sensuality and desire now was occupied with things from the office, the mortgage, the kids. She just worried everything to death, they had no real problems. They both had good jobs, no one was coming to repossess anything, the kids were healthy and happy. But for some reason the wanton woman her husband had fell in love with slipped away.
So here they sat, the husband trying to numb his throbbing libido. There were three empty rocks glasses on the table, and he was working on emptying a fourth. He listened to his wife drone on about ineffectual things, all hopes of any romance with her this evening was gone now. Her figure still appealed to him, but to her, things didn't fit the way they should, the way they used to. Even after he had explained that years pass, things change, including they way they both looked, his words fell on deaf ears. She had went through her usual ritual that evening before they had left home, trying on a thousand different things, complaining about her aging form. She had aroused him, walking around in her undergarments like that, tearing off one thing, buttoning up another. Each time he reached for her, she slipped away, promising later. He knew later would never come, it never did. She would beg off, telling him she just didn't feel desirable. He would try to convince her, try to prove to her she was, but always to no avail.
The thing his wife failed to understand always kept ringing in the back of his mind. To him, the most arousing and alluring thing about any woman was confidence. The way she looked came after that, but really didn't have much bearing on her sensuality. A woman confident in her appearance, however slightly flawed, was much more arousing than some slut in spandex. You could tell women like this from their eyes. the way they held your gaze. While in many cases the gaze was the extent of contact, knowing the fires burning within was always exciting.
Cocktail number four was history now, and his wife was still droning on. Without showing his disinterest in her conversation, his eyes wandered the crowded restaurant. The lighting was somewhat dim, like most establishments with prices on the menu such as this. You still could see your fellow patrons, or at least the ones close by.
From behind his gin clouded eyes, he first saw her. She was sitting with a man somewhat older than she, at the table just adjacent to theirs. As always, he noticed her eyes first. She appeared disinterested in her companion. She never really looked him in the eye. He didn't appear to notice though, he seemed to be more interested in listening to himself talk. And talk he did, on and on, from what you could hear from the next table, about himself. She was busying herself with her meal, glancing around, trying to find something, anything to hold her attention.
As he glanced up from his wife again, he finally caught her eyes. She had finally found someone in this restaurant who appeared to be as bored as she was. Her eyes met his quickly, smiling slightly, and quickly returned to her companion. He however, didn't look away as fast. As quickly as he could without alerting his wife to his wandering eye, he drank in her charms. She was petite, but for some reason, her legs appeared miles long. Maybe it was the short skirt, or perhaps the silk stockings, they seemed to caress each other each time she crossed her legs. The silk slid against itself, generating heat across the narrow aisle, heat he felt burning, growing.
Her hair framed a gorgeous face, pouty, full lips framed blood red. He watched her eating and his imagination started to run away from him. Each time her lips closed around another bite, he felt the same lips closing around his member. Each time her legs uncrossed and crossed, he felt her silken thighs wrapped around his waist. With every breath she took, as her chest rose and fell, he could feel her breasts in his hands. He had gone too far now, slipped into a fantasy that excited him to the point of arousal. His erection pressed against the inside of his pants, and he shifted uncomfortably.
She was aware of his stare now, and her discomfort coupled with something confusing. She detested being stared at like a tart. She dressed this way because it made her feel good. It also made her companion happy. Sometimes men would stare, they could hardly help it, she usually dismissed them with a flip of her hair. But this man seemed to be looking through her, into her soul. His burning gaze wandered up and down her body, and she was beginning to feel something. What it was she couldn't tell, but she liked the fact that he was looking. His dinner companion was a beautiful woman, she was almost complimented that he found her so alluring. She sat up straighter now, thrusting her breasts against her lacy bra and silk blouse. She rubbed her thighs together a bit more than she needed to when she crossed her legs. She didn't know why, perhaps it was the boredom, perhaps it was all the wine she had drank. But this man seemed interested in her, unlike her companion. He babbled on about himself, his business, talking constantly but saying nothing.
