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Friday, March 31, 2006

I try to hand you the napkin from underneath the table, but you take my hand and pull me up next to you at the table. "Just hold me. Our lunch will be here soon. I hope you can eat well with your left hand."

"I don't have much of an appetite. I would rather be doing other things." "I ordered you a decent meal and you will eat it, do you understand me?" "Yes, Master, I understand. I will eat my lunch and hold and caress you under the tablecloth."

The waiter comes by with out drinks, and you've ordered me iced tea. And coffee for yourslf. I wonder why the difference, until you lean over and whisper "I may just give you what you want for dessert. And I don't like the idea of scalding coffee sharing your mouth with me."

We sit there and chat while I hold you, your skin so soft, your flesh hardening under my touch. I'm finding it very difficult not to deliberately drop my napkin under the table. In fact, I'm just about to do so when our orders arrive.

Lasagne for you and a lovely mushroom risoto for me. You think of everything, including ordering me something easily eaten with one hand. I take a drink of my tea, and we both begin to eat.

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