Today even the cherry blossoms are jealous of her Memoirs of a Geisha/ Arthur Golden
A balmy summer evening in a big German city. I park on the street in front of the hotel, slip on my heels and hand over my car keys into the hands of the smiling doorman.
It’s a very special tingling sensation when you meet someone not for the first time, but for the repeated time. Excitement coupled with anticipation. The hope of not becoming bored with the great calm of familiarity. I really enjoy these dates with special people.
In the sunshine we fall into each other’s arms and walk hand in hand to the check-in. Half out of breath because there is so much to tell, we exchange the most important news, are greeted with champagne like old acquaintances and just arrive.
But we don’t have much time at all – today an experience awaits us that I’ve been dreaming about ever since I heard about it…
I jump into my long, flowing summer dress, under which I have hidden a little surprise. It is felt by expert hands, but I delay the unveiling. There has to be a bit of fun.
The evening drives us into the centre of the city. Tall office towers rise into the sky beside us as we descend the steps to the restaurant. A Far Eastern environment welcomes us. Dim lighting, quiet conversations dominate the room. A very charming lady leads us to the other end of the hall, we step through a door and reach the destination of the evening – our own little secluded paradise just for us. Private dining in the truest sense of the word. A table, a sofa, a chair. Sensual pictures on the walls. The service’s promise not to enter uninvited. My imagination starts to race.
A cocktail accompanies us as we choose our menu, the decision is not easy, too much on the menu calls me to try. Our wine arrives, the first course delights me. I love the various Asian cuisines and here it is simply fun to eat.
The service takes its time. We refill our glasses and move closer, exchanging increasingly hot kisses. We can’t…?
I grab my companion’s hand and let her ride up my long, smooth legs. Let her feel the suspenders that stretch across my thighs. I stand up and feel the hand on my bottom. A knowing, demanding grip.
Surely we can’t…?
I just hope the second course will take a while and sink to my knees. Even if someone were to enter now, the white tablecloth would give me protection and so I take what well-behaved girls in a restaurant usually take in their mouths rather rarely.
The tension and the atmosphere intoxicate me. I find it hard to restrain myself from making my counterpart very happy right away. But I also want to have some of the fun.
I stop and am well aware of the agony I am causing. With a decisive arm movement, I send the object of my desire to the sofa.
Surely we can’t…?
Yes, we can.
I lift my dress and lower myself. The fact that I’m in a crowded restaurant having sex, that the wine and plates from the last course are on the table and at the same time I feel two firm hands gripping my hips turns me on incredibly. I drive us further towards ecstasy and can hardly contain myself.
And then it happens.
As always, when the smokers light a cigarette and the food arrives, there is a knock at the door. The second course asks to be let in.
I don’t believe it!
Hectically we try to straighten up and not let on, which works more badly than well. Do I see a smug grin on the waiter’s face? I bet he’s not surprised, at least I wouldn’t be.
My heart is still beating fast, the blood is racing through my veins and I have to concentrate hard to notice the plate in front of me.
I’m glad I can do it, because the food is excellent and I already know that this won’t be the last time I’m here.
As passionately as we just fell over each other, we now admire the culinary delights in front of us. A dinner together is simply an unbelievable pleasure. …even if my thoughts keep wandering to our small, private intermediate course.
We treat ourselves to another dessert, finish our wine and then move on. On to the hotel, where I finally relieve my companion of the agony of waiting and enduring.