THE PICNIC - Sex Stories

THE PICNIC

... &#034I don't care,&#034 she stated. &#034It's probably just what I need on a special evening like this. And please order dinner for me too. I'm placing myself totally in your hands tonight, big b*****r.&#034 &#034Okay,&#034 I said, looking up and down the menu and wondering what I should order to really make this night special for her. The drinks came and we both took sips from our stemmed glasses. &#034It's good,&#034 she said, making only a slightly bitter face, &#034kinda' lemony.&#034 &#034Just be careful,&#034 I cautioned her. &#034Careful of what?&#034 &#034Someone once wrote; 'I like to drink a martini. I like to drink two at the most. Three puts me under the table. And four puts me under my host.'&#034 She laughed, stirring her drink with the long, manicured nail of her slender index finger as she said, &#034I'll have to keep that in mind.&#034 Then she took another sip of her martini as the waiter returned. &#034Have you decided on your choices?&#034 he asked. &#034Escargot,&#034 I said, &#034for the both of us, to start. We'll then have the bisque. After that, salads with house strawberry-walnut vinaigrette and then two of your large, live Maine lobsters with the drawn butter and red skin potatoes.&#034 &#034Excellent,&#034 he said. &#034And the wine?&#034 &#034Oh, we must have champagne with this meal,&#034 I said, looking over at Ellen's excitedly happy smile. &#034Of course,&#034 he agreed. &#034May I recommend the California Korbel Brut or the Paul Cheneau ...

... Blanc?&#034 &#034Of course NOT!&#034 I stated, still looking at Ellen. &#034We must have the Dom Perignon.&#034 &#034Very good, Sir.&#034 &#034And make it the 1996.&#034 &#034Exceptional choice, Sir. I will be right back with your appetizer.&#034 As we sat now, expectantly awaiting our dinner, I was taken by the vision of Ellen, sitting across from me in all her feminine loveliness. It caused the memories of her and I, and what we did as teenagers, to come rushing back to my mind again and began to stir my body to react to her. I once had her, I remembered, as I looked across at my s****r. I once touched those breasts now hidden beneath all that soft, gossamer fabric. I once held her and kissed her in a very un-b*****r-like way. I once saw and possessed her body. She once let me explore her sexually and even go &#034all the way&#034 with her... more than once. Would she again? God, my cock was now as hard as a rock, below the table, as I stared at her and realized just how much I wanted her. Maybe it was Ellen. Or those memories of what I did with her. Or maybe it was the effect of the martini and the two beers but I suddenly so wanted to just reach across the table and take her hand in mine and hold it. I couldn't do that though, I told myself, trying to face reality. After all, I AM her b*****r! How would she react to me making an idiotic move, like that, on her? Still, I asked myself, how was I ever going to find out if she remembered our past sexual explorations together? How ...