We sat in a bistro for a fancy dinner, my future husband (since this is from when we were on our first date) still trying to impress me. He was dressed handsome in a cotton button-down, and I was likewise dressed to impress, in a mid-thigh length white skirt, yellow blouse, and tasteful heels. I wouldn’t ordinarily describe the table setting, but in this case it matters, since the plates were set on place-mats with butterfly embroidery. It matters because the tables were antique wood and the restaurant clearly wanted to show them off by using place-mats instead of tablecloths, so as to not cover up the quaint details of the wood. We were sitting side-by-side with our backs to a wall, together facing out into the restaurant. At first we were both distracted with the large menus in front of our eyes, but after we ordered, and we were just sipping drinks, my then casual date pointed out quite subtly, ”See that guy across from us? He keeps looking over here.” Casually I glanced over so as to not be obvious. I did notice his gaze, but I had to glance several times to be sure, trying to make it look like I was just glancing around while I shared an animated anecdote. I relayed my intel back to my companion, that indeed he seemed to be fixed over here. “Do you know him?” I inquired. “No, but he’s not looking at us in general. He’s specifically looking at you.” I brushed it off. It is rude to stare, true, but was it worth making a scene about? I encouraged my date to let it go, and let’s just enjoy our dinner when it comes.

After salad, my date got up to go to the bathroom, and on his return he slid in close to me to share something quietly between us, “When I was coming back from the bathroom, I noticed these tables are so high, and with no table cloth, I could see entirely up your skirt!” I was as shocked as he was, “You can?” “Yes, I could even see you are wearing white panties.”

“Well, naturally they are white, I’m wearing a white skirt.”

“That, and the way you are sitting with your legs crossed at the ankles, your thighs are just slightly parted enough to see.”

“Should I cross an ankle over a knee?” I teased, as I slid my right ankle up to rest on my left knee, entirely splaying my thighs apart.

“No, Oh my God, that’s worse.” he admonished, pushing my foot off my knee so it would drop back down to the floor.

“What’s the big concern here?”

“You can totally look right up your skirt and see your panties!”

“So that’s the big concern, that the other gentleman can see my panties?”

He knitted his eyebrows puzzled at my clarification, “Of course! He’s staring right now as we speak, and no doubt saw your panties in full view when you did that.” He didn’t share this bit of information, but the view he got was sufficient enough to see a full dark black triangle of pubic hair through the white fabric of my panties. At this we both casually shot an eye across to our voyeur and sure enough, despite acting casual as if reading some card, he was looking over his card directly under the table at my still slightly parted knees. At this realization, I let them subtly part just an inch or two more.

My gaze left our stranger and met eyes with my date, who was looking at me intently, trying to understand my mind. I let my gaze return to the voyeur, who glanced up from his peep show long enough to lock eyes with me, before looking back down at my crotch under the table. I parted my knees another inch. His eyes fingering me under the table was having an arousing affect on me.

“Well, if we don’t want him seeing my panties, that’s easy enough to prevent,” and at this I hiked my skirt up higher where I could reach up under to grab a hold of the waistband of my panties, and I began pulling them down. I got them only as far as my knees when my date’s hand caught mine, “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting rid of my panties so nobody can see them,” and at that they dropped to my ankles under the table. My date’s mouth hung open in disbelief as I slid one foot out of my heels, and withdrew that foot from the panties.

At this, a waitress appeared to deliver our dinner. My date and I sat solemn and quiet, as if nothing could be more ordinary, while she sat our plates in front of us, rearranged our silverware, and our voyeur friend continued his visual defiling of my now entirely exposed vagina. I could feel the breeze of moving air between my legs as our waitress stirred up gentle eddies of current with her arrival. As our waitress finished her niceties and inquiries as to the presentation of our dinner, when she turned to walk away, I then crossed the remaining ankle again up over my other knee where I could grasp the panties now dangling from one ankle, where I pulled them off over my other heel. With my panties now balled up in my hand, I worked on stuffing them into an empty glass on the table. White as they were, they could have just been a napkin folded in the glass as some restaurants do. Leaving my left ankle resting on my right knee, my thighs again splayed wide with my skirt still bunched up high, I was displaying my purposefully full but neatly shaped triangular bush of thick black hair. The hair came to its perfectly groomed triangular point just above my clitoris, contrasting dramatically with the barren area around my genitalia, which was perfectly smooth and clean. The hairless areas of my genitalia accentuated the slightly darker tone of skin on my outer vagina which itself encircles my pink and now slightly moist inner lips, which were visibly pouting for our voyeur. Our guest was staring right into this, while casually eating his bread as if all was right and ordinary in his world.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“No, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“You’re letting that man see your pussy! You should put your clothes back on” and almost as if on cue, a busboy passed, casually collecting two bread plates and my panty-glass. We both watched my modesty be carried away into the kitchen, likely to be unceremoniously dumped into a trash by a dishwasher with too many dishes to clean to care about what he scrapes off of plates or shakes out of glasses.

“Are you jealous that a stranger saw my pussy before you did?”

“I’m jealous that he can see it at all.”

“Then cover me,” where with he immediately snapped a napkin from it’s folded state and moved to cover my exposed crotch, “But not like that. Use your hand.” He hesitated, unsure of himself, as we were clearly outside the boundaries of his expectations for this first date. Eventually he realized his course of action and he placed his palm over my crotch, covering but not quite pressing on my vagina. Our eyes met again. I prompted him, “What does it feel like?”

“There’s warmth there.”

“There’s more than warmth. Press in a little more.” and at this this his hand pressed into a gentle caress of my labia. His fingers were able to glide easily between and beside my lips, being as slick as they already were. I picked up my fork and started to casually eat, just another patron eating a mundane meal at a restaurant. Our voyeur friend did the same, taking way too long to read what ever small amount of information there could possibly be on that card he held so conspicuously out to be in line-of-sight of my labia under the table. With my date’s hand occupied, I took it upon myself to feed him as well, lovingly cutting bites of food and moving them up into mouth on my fork. With time, he became more comfortable with our situation, and more bold. Better he became with his subtle yet effective massage of my body, carefully and electrically encircling and pressing upon my firming clitoris. His fingers and our guest’s eyes enticing me to higher planes of arousal.

It was a delicious meal. My hungers both being fed simultaneously, my lips both above and below devouring and consuming, one being satiated slowly one bite at a time, and the other saving it all up for one big crashing crescendo at the end. I came for my date, and for our guest, and for me. I was a hot mess in my chair, wet, swollen, and flushed. There was almost no point in preserving any modesty at this point, but I would, still, have to stand erect and walk out of the restaurant. I wiggled my skirt back down to mid-thigh where it belonged, and clasped my knees together. I was full, and ready to go. I had no doubt my skirt would display evidence of our deeds when the time came to walk out. “You’ll have to walk closely behind me, my skirt is wet.”

“That works for me, my pants are bulging,” and we both took note of his tented pants, and passed each other a knowing glance.

We drove me home with very little small talk to pass the time. Like a gentleman, he walked me to me to my door, leaning in passionately, pulling me into a tight embrace. I spoke first, “I had a wonderful time, and I hope we can do it again soon."

“You don’t think I could come in?”

“No. I enjoyed your company very much, but this is just our first date. This is where you kiss me goodnight,” and he did.