“Your order, sir?”I started from my reverie. “Slicha.” I picked up the menu. “Fresh fruit, please. And a lime cordial.”“Of course.” A ...ause. “Sir, clothing in the restaurant is usually expected to be a little more ... formal.”I looked down and flushed. I was wearing the same jeans I had put on in Thorncliff.“I’m very sorry. I hadn’t realised.”“It’s alright.” The waitress grinned, looked sideways at the mostly deserted restaurant, and lowered her voice. “I’ll make an exception today.”“Thank. My own hand found her knee and I squeezed it to approve. “Mind if I check this out?” She enquired, even though she had the buttons open and her fingers going in. Her palm brushed the material of my cotton shorts, my dick flipped up to anticipate her touch, her fingers caress my shaft and head to my balls, she cups them and then whispers again. “I have to take it out!” I Blushed as she went over the skin of my cock shaft inside. I stared at the woman’s chest, her top was low and her breasts. Without a word I gripped their waistband and started to roll the skintight spandex down over my hips, my mother sat there and watched my every movement, I could see she was enjoying this, her cheeks were flushed and she was biting her lip in anticipation.I rolled the tights down slowly over my hips so she could see the waistband of my dancebelt and the tops of my thighs…down more so they sat around my thighs. I stood with my feet apart, feeling myself slowly growing inside the overly padded. Some say I look like a young version of George Harrison. But he wasn't the most popular Beatle, was he?Well, apparently neither was I ... the most popular, I thought, through the slight buzz of the many drinks I had consumed tonight.God, I wanted a girlfriend! I so NEEDED one to hold and kiss and ... let's face it ... fuck. But again I had struck out and was driving home alone.Straining my eyes into the darkness, I was aware of how desolate this stretch of road really was at this time of night..
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