The Chinese Restaurant

It is our first day together. We have spent the afternoon in our cabin, with a cozy fire, soft candles and pretty music. We have held hands and laughed and cried and giggled and looked deeply into each other's eyes, learning and knowing each other.

Our fingers have been intertwined all afternoon. This is all I had hoped for, that being together would be as wonderful as all our time on the phone and online had been. Now it is getting dark and we are hungry. We separate to dress for dinner. I wear a butter yellow silky dress, tiny white pearl buttons down the front, fitted to the waist and then a full, soft skirt. I feel so tiny and sheltered with you. As we drive into the small town, I am sitting near you, holding your hand and just watching you. We pass the town's main restaurant and, without asking, you keep going. We don't want crowds because this is our first date....our first date!

Down the street is a Chinese restaurant, House of Chee. It does not look crowded and we pull in there. We walk into a dim, quiet restaurant. There are couples talking to each other, the air perfumed with soy sauce, and the music playing is softly oriental. The waiter shows us to a nearby table, but you see the large circular booths in the back and lead me there. I slide in and you slip in beside me, our hips touching, our legs together. My feet dangle above the floor so I bring them up and sit Indian-style beside you. My left knee is resting on your right thigh. The waiter brings our menus and you order wine for us. We look over the menus, discussing what we like and enjoy.

When the waiter brings the wine, you pour for us and then order, while I just marvel at finally being with you, touching you, inhaling you. You have ordered wine and pour some when it arrives. We are sitting close together, our bodies touching, our breathing in unison. I sip the wine and I feel the tingle all over, but perhaps it is you, your nearness, rather than the alcohol. You place your hand on my knee and I feel the heat through my clothes, a perfect handprint of heat on my leg. I reach down to your hand, rubbing your fingers, just touching you as I have longed to do.

Then I move your hand under the fabric of my dress. as you gently and slowly start to rub my thigh. I start telling you the history of this dress, the shopping trip that led to the purchase. You, bless you, listen so attentively, I feel you deserve a reward. So I tell you about the whole trip, the visit to the lingerie store and the lovely garments I bought there. Then, oh my, I remember something! I lean close to you and tell you how embarrassed I am. How silly I am! You murmur all sorts of lovely reassuring things. I repeat that I am so silly.

You finally ask why. And I blushingly tell you, that although I bought the loveliest of underthings for you, I forgot to wear the panties tonight. I love the way your eyes twinkle as you realize what I am saying. And how, to your credit, you kept your hand right there, on my inner thigh, still rubbing gently. Our appetizers come, I am trying hard to be good, to sit still and look as if I still have an interest in dinner. You chat with our waiter while your fingers start to move slowly up my thigh, still making slow sensuous circles. I admire your ability to stay so cool and calm. I am on fire, your fingers burning a path on my skin. I am willing you to reach your goal.

It is slow in the restaurant, the waiter has extra time, and he likes us, so he stays. You discuss the town and the oddity of a good Chinese restaurant being here, complete with Chinese wait staff. All the while your fingers massage that soft, smooth skin, so sensitive to your warm touch. The back of your hand is barely touching my curlies. I am having trouble concentrating. You keep offering me bites of food, feeding me. I have no idea what I am eating. I am so completely centered on your fingers moving up my thigh. Your hand touching me, learning me and warming me.

I am sitting very still. If the waiter is noticing anything, he is keeping it to himself. Ah, now your hand is deliberately rubbing against my curlies. I know my face is flushed. I reach for my wine, hoping it will look alcohol-induced. Now just your finger is there, one finger, playing in my curlies, swirling them around your fingertip, touching my skin so lightly, so softly. I want to push against you but I want to play out this game too. You are learning me.

I am grateful for the long white cloth on the table. I am grateful you are so cool and calm because I could not speak a sentence if I had to right now. Ah, you are touching my curlies with your finger, so gently, barely moving them. Then you are slowly touching the delicate skin at the very top of my thighs. I will your finger to move deeper, touch more, but you have your own plan. You toy with my curlies while chatting with Chen, the waiter.

Then, finally, your finger starts to move, along that slit, all the way to the end, barely touching, moving through the thickness of my curls. Then, when you reach the end, you start the return trip, this time letting your finger dip deeper, feeling just the edge of my slit, as you slide along. We spent all afternoon alone and, yet, our first touch comes here, in a restaurant, with Chen nearby and watching and people all around. I don't care. I have been waiting for this, hoping for this for so long. You slowly remove your finger and place it against your lips, thoughtfully, and then, let it enter your mouth. You close your eyes and smile. Then you open your eyes and look directly into mine and I melt. I want you so much.

Chen returns with our meal and places dish after dish before us. You discuss the lovely presentation as he serves us. Your hand returns to my knee. I have lost all interest in this meal but you are talking about the variety and the delicious smells while moving your hand up my thigh. You cover my pussy with your warmth. You slide one finger inside and find my little clit, my shy little clit that is aching for your touch. It blossoms under your finger, becoming hard against you and so needy. You begin to rub, to touch so knowledgeably. I feel your finger circling and flicking that tiny cock. I feel my breath coming faster. I press against you so lightly. My eyes close, but not before seeing your lovely face, your warm smile.

You lean over to kiss my cheek and tell me it is all right, you have everything under control. You will keep me safe. Ah, the feelings are building and I am powerless to stop them. You continue to stroke me, while whispering in my ear that it is ok, no one will know. You want to make me happy. I can feel myself nearly there. You kiss my mouth, swallowing my moans, while my body pulses around your finger. You are so pleased with yourself. You move your finger deeper into me so I can caress it during my spasms.

You are grinning now, offering me a bite of something, a sip of wine.

As my throbbing finally slows and I can speak again, I kiss you and thank you for that surprise. Chen is coming toward us, asking if something is wrong with the meal, why aren't we eating, asking if I am ok. You ask him to box up our meal. We are not as hungry as we thought. Then you turn to me and ask me if I am ready to go home?