I was in my mid-twenties and working away from home for the first time, staying in a hotel in London a few nights every week and travelling back up the country to my girlfriend at the weekend. It was hard going, and draining - I didn't really know any of the people I worked with, and there was very little to do outside of work hours. All I could do was go out to dinner by myself and read a book. Part of me felt that if I had too much fun on my own I would somehow be betraying my girl back home, who would doubtless be pining for me.
There was a restaurant around 10 minutes walk from my hotel that I liked - it was large and modern, and not too busy, so I could always find a quiet spot and while away time there without feeling like I was taking up space. Plus the front-of-house staffer stationed by the entrance seemed to know me by now after only 3 or 4 visits, so I was starting to feel quite welcome - he was one of the few friendly faces in an otherwise solitary existence.
In fact it was him who, on my fifth visit, came by my table while I was eating to check everything was okay. I was caught a little off guard actually, with my mouth full, and he stood there grinning while I hastily chewed and swallowed before managing a "fine, thank you".
"Well don't forget, if you need anything give me a nod and I'll sort you out" he said, and as he smiled and started to walk away he placed his hand over mine on the table for the briefest second - then he was gone. I felt as if I'd been electrified - it was a completely unexpected moment of physical contact. My mind was racing as I tried to figure out if it could have been an accidental brush, or simple friendliness or something flirtatious. Was he gay? Was he attracted to me? I didn't know anybody gay and I just didn't know how to react to this attention - if indeed it was attention at all!
After a couple of minutes I felt my heart settle down and I collected my thoughts enough to finish my meal and focus on my book. I stayed that way for maybe ten more minutes before I happened to glance up just as he was walking past a table at the other side of the room. He was looking my way and our eyes met for a brief second - then he smiled and started making his way over to me.
I felt myself panic, but I tried to remain outwardly calm and friendly - I needed to be sure I didn't give him the wrong impression either by accepting unwanted advances, or by overreacting to non-existent ones. This time he knelt down next to my table so he was below my eyeline and engaged me in conversation.
In fact, he was very friendly and conversation flowed easily - he asked why I was in here alone so often and I told him about my situation. It was easy and natural except - he kept touching my hand while he was talking. Sometimes it was a brief tap, and sometimes it was a linger, sometimes even further up my arm. And every time I felt confused and breathless, and I hoped he could not tell how flustered he was making me.
Then he placed his hand on mine and left it there while he talked, holding my gaze quite intently, and suddenly the room seemed to fade into silence and darkness around me. All I was aware of was the touch on my hand, his eyes looking into min and - now - the uncomfortable swelling of my cock.
Without thinking, I blurted out "where's the men's room?"
He looked puzzled. "You've been here half a dozen times, and you don't know where the toilets are?"