Liam_1

I re-told David's fantasy to Liam. In his scenario, we would go to a fancy restaurant. He would order an elaborate steak dinner for himself and for me a piece of dry toast. I would sit through the meal in silence as he relished every bite of filet (medium-rare), washing each bite down with a fine red wine, my toast left untouched. After his meal, he would retreat to the men's room with a small dish. He would return, the dish now filled with a fair portion of his semen. With a spoon, I would take his cum, spread it on my toast and eat it. Meal complete.

David told me he would never think of acting this out. It was too degrading. I wondered, in this scenario, who would be degrading whom?

Liam and I agreed to meet for lunch two days later.

I sat at my desk, attempting to work, my fingers trembling over the keyboards. I glanced at the time, over and over, thinking I could e-mail him and cancel, making some excuse about a last minute meeting, knowing I wouldn't. When 12:30 finally came, I gathered my purse as calmly as possible, excusing myself from the usual debate about where and what to eat. I was going out. Just lunch with a friend. On my way out, I stopped in the kitchen and grabbed a demitasse, slipping it into my purse. We agreed it would be more polite not to use the restaurants dishes.

He picked a nice, little Italian place in the Flat Iron district. We decided to deviate from the original concept slightly so I had the ravioli rather than toast. I had no appetite, but I ate quicker that necessary, anticipating desert. We chatted about work and movies and all of the normal things men and woman talk about at lunch. After, the waiter came to clear the plates, Liam asked calmly for the cup. I slipped it to him under the table and he excused himself to the men's room. He had picked a table by the window and I watched the people go by, a knowing smile creeping on my face. I sipped my water slowly, cleansing my palate.

It did not take him long. He emerged from the back, calmly, his hand discreetly concealing the cup. He passed it to me under the table. There was not as much as I had hoped, but it was a rather small target. I took a moment to savor the smell. If it was a wine glass, I would have swirled it for a moment, held it up to the light to examine the color. I raised the cup up in a small toast and downed it like a shot. That leering grin I knew so well, crept on his lips and I think I caught a glimmer of admiration in his eye. The waiter came just in time with the check as I slipped the now empty cup back into my purse.

Back at work, I sighed contentedly, running my tongue over my teeth, savoring the remaining traces. I quickly rinsed out the demitasse and put it in the dishwasher with the rest of the coffee cups.