Wednesday, November 09, 2005
I open my mouth to protest, but bite my tongue. I have no idea what you'd come up with for a punishment for that. My ass is on fire, and with each step taking us closer to the door of the diner, I can feel my face beginning to burn as well. I glance up toward the windows, and notice that while most of the women are staring at their menus or plates, the men are peering out the window. The one woman who is pointedly looking at us is the lone waitress. And she isn't smiling.
We approach the door, your arm around my waist. As you drop your arm from around me to open the door, you let it brush against me, reminding me to be on my best behavior. You reach for my hand, and we enter the diner. The waitress approaches us, ignoring you and coming directly to me. She puts an arm around my shoulders and (as my face turns the color of merlot) whispers in my ear, "Honey, are you all right or should I call somebody?"
By this point I'm grasping your hand so hard I think I can feel the bones being crushed, but I tell her that everything is all right, and that we would like the table in the corner if that's okay with her.
She escorts us to the table, and as I am gingerly lowering myself into the chair she asks, "What the hell did you do to deserve that?" "I was dreaming, and I thought Master's pinch to wake me up was a mosquito. So I slapped his hand. Hard."
She raises one eyebrow and asks if we need menus or if we already know what we want. You smile up at her and ask her to bring us both coffee, and to bring me a dish of strawberry ice cream. After she leaves, I ask why you ordered the dessert for me, and you reply, "Because you said all the right things, little one. You knew just what I needed to hear, and just what would make her understand that you really are okay. So a small reward seemed in order."
"Thank you." You reach across the table and once again take my hand as we wait for our coffee. "Now will you tell me where we are?" "No. You'll figure it our soon enough."
We approach the door, your arm around my waist. As you drop your arm from around me to open the door, you let it brush against me, reminding me to be on my best behavior. You reach for my hand, and we enter the diner. The waitress approaches us, ignoring you and coming directly to me. She puts an arm around my shoulders and (as my face turns the color of merlot) whispers in my ear, "Honey, are you all right or should I call somebody?"
By this point I'm grasping your hand so hard I think I can feel the bones being crushed, but I tell her that everything is all right, and that we would like the table in the corner if that's okay with her.
She escorts us to the table, and as I am gingerly lowering myself into the chair she asks, "What the hell did you do to deserve that?" "I was dreaming, and I thought Master's pinch to wake me up was a mosquito. So I slapped his hand. Hard."
She raises one eyebrow and asks if we need menus or if we already know what we want. You smile up at her and ask her to bring us both coffee, and to bring me a dish of strawberry ice cream. After she leaves, I ask why you ordered the dessert for me, and you reply, "Because you said all the right things, little one. You knew just what I needed to hear, and just what would make her understand that you really are okay. So a small reward seemed in order."
"Thank you." You reach across the table and once again take my hand as we wait for our coffee. "Now will you tell me where we are?" "No. You'll figure it our soon enough."
