Honeymoon Pt. 03

"Really? What did you do here?"

"Almost everything. I washed dishes, made salads, waited tables. After I had been here five years the position of maitre de was offered me on the condition that I commit to another five years, but I knew I didn't want my life's work to be here."

"Any regrets?"

"I would have made more money had I stayed here. But I would not have met you—unless, of course, you came in on the arm of some prominent politician or other. And I would have been smitten, of course—"

"Of course."

"—but forbidden to make any flirtatious advances."

"Did that ever happen? Did you fall in love at first sight with someone unattainable?"

"Look around you. Beautiful women everywhere. Most of them at least partially undressed. I lusted after many customers, but only, as St. Paul says, in my heart."

"Your heart?"

"Actually my cock, dearest. As I lust after you even now. Fortunately, hard-ons were not forbidden. Most women, if they noticed them, considered them compliments."

I had a sudden urge to expose myself completely to our waiter when he appeared with the dessert tray, but I restrained myself, checking instead to see if his crotch was suitably bulging. It was, and I chose to believe it was my feminine form with which he was so enamored, rather than the three or four younger women whose tables he was serving.

"So," I said, pressing the side of my fork through a flaky strawberry torte, "were you in a constant state of erection? Wasn't it incredibly frustrating?

"The male waitstaff had a pet name for the place: we called it the Blue Balls Café. On the plus side, I never needed to spend money on pornography. If I needed to get myself off, all I had to do was cast my memory back over the last few hours on the job."

"Did you have a girlfriend during that time?"

"I had several; but every one of them got jealous of my job. They wanted me to bring them here for dinner, and it was completely against the rules."

"Am I the first lover you've brought here?"

"No. But you are the first woman I've brought here with whom I was in love."

"Fair enough." I picked up a shrimp and began to suck on it like a tiny penis, remembering a scene from some sexy movie or other. Charlie smiled in appreciation, but continued with his meal.

As the waiter cleared away our dishes, I saw Charlie whisper to him and pass him a small wad of bills. As we stood to leave, rearranging and refastening our clothing as we did so, the orchestra began to play "As Time Goes By," and my husband led me to the dance floor as "our song" was played.

We were glued to each other, not worrying about appropriate dance steps but just concentrating on as much physical contact as possible. I had to resist grinding my crotch against his thigh (I really didn't want an orgasm right here), and I just enjoyed the way my breasts flattened against him, the way his hard cock leaned into my belly, the way my juices were flowing warmly down my inner thighs. At one point we stopped dancing to kiss—we had had so much wine we probably couldn't have done both at the same time—and it was an exquisite kiss, wet and hungry, our tongues burrowing into each other as our arms wrapped tight and squeezed.

Yes, a kiss is still a kiss.

And a restaurant is just a restaurant, however free and libidinous its patrons might be. Without consulting with one another, we both headed for the exit, where Charlie paid the bill (and, I am sure, overtipped everyone involved) and we both straightened our clothes, hair, etc., in order to make ourselves presentable to the outside world. The cooler air of the evening was pleasant, as was our wine buzz, and we leaned on each other as we walked down the street doing some window shopping, since neither of us was in any condition to drive.

Most of the shops were closing, but one place declared its openness with garish fluorescent lighting and bright flashing neon. The establishment was called "Adult World," and as we looked in the window I realized that it was exactly what I thought it was: a sex shop. Not that there was anything in the display I actually recognized, except for a vibrator which a scantily clad mannequin was holding in a suggestive location.

We were just drunk enough to think it might be a fun place to visit. There wasn't really anything there we needed, I thought; our bodies were our sex toys, our imaginations were our videos, and Charlie had professed many times that I looked sexy in anything I wore.

Still, it was fun to wander the aisles of the little store, touching each other in soft suggestive ways and sharing our thoughts about certain displays.

"Ever use one of these?" Charlie asked as we looked at an impressive collection of vibrators in various shapes and sizes.

"No, I never thought I needed one. And I certainly don't need one now," I added, stroking the hard swelling in his pants.

"How about costumes?" There were several sexy outfits displayed, some of them simply revealing underwear and nighties, many others geared to specific fetishes: police and military uniforms, nurses, school girls, cheerleaders, etc.

"I already have some of these at home, you know."

"You do?"

"I was a cheerleader once, and I still have my uniform. And, yes, I can still get into it. Barely."

"Barely is nice."

"I even have an old wedding dress—hardly ever used—if you think you might want to deflower a virgin bride someday."

"I did that just the other day, didn't I?" He was fondling my rear. "No? I wasn't the first?"

"Not quite." I turned to him and pressed my body against his. I enjoyed the smiles we were getting from the other customers. "You were the best, of course."

"Of course." We kissed, and now it wasn't the alcohol fueling our desire, it was the same love and lust that had led us to this honeymoon in the first place. We were melting into each other—well, I was melting, he was turning to stone—and we both knew we were sober enough to go back to the car, to the Kuntry Kabin, and to bed.

But not, of course, to sleep. We tore off our clothes and wallowed together on the bed, savoring each touch of warm skin on skin, of mouth on mouth, of sex on sex. I mounted my husband, sliding down his pole smoothly and swiftly and grinding my clit against his pubic hair, feeling his hot hardness filling me so tightly I could only want to be filled more. We rolled over into a missionary position, and he pummeled me harder and faster, so that I moaned and gasped and swore and raked his back with my nails, and just as I was about to achieve orgasm, he pulled out and rolled me over; he pulled my ass up so that I was on my knees, my dripping cunt open to him, and he plunged in again all the way, gripping my hips and my tits and my thighs, massaging my sopping pussy, flicking my hard clit between his fingers, pinching my nipples, sliding a thumb in and out of my asshole, until he came, grunting and spurting, deep inside me, and as I felt his throbbing, pulsating cock blasting its whitehot load into my depths, I came too, screaming and spasming and convulsing in ecstasy, writhing and kicking, gripping the sheets with such force they came loose from the mattress, unable to do anything but grunt and groan and gasp and whimper, coming again and again as Charlie's sweet cock was forced from my fuckhole and our thick juices flowed down my legs and onto the bedclothes.

Exhausted, we both collapsed, actually enjoying the fragrant wetness in which we were lying, cuddling and stroking for a few heavenly minutes until we slipped inevitably into a heavenly slumber.

I already knew what the next day would bring: gentle lovemaking in the morning, either before, after, or during a cleansing shower; a long drive home with creative fun along the way; and the beginning of a new life together. I happily dreamed of dressing up as a cheerleader, as a bride, as a secretary, as a nurse; I imagined my Charlie in costume as soldier, sailor, policeman, pirate; but always we were naked to each other, body and soul, our minds and our bodies working in tandem, united, as one, happily ever after.