The Waiter

It was my first night on holiday, the transfer was late and I was already tired as the heat and the excitement had caught up with me. I wandered around trying to find somewhere to eat – away from the gaudy neon signs, the tatty menus and German tourists. I stumbled on a steakhouse which could have been a US chain – it looked clean and inviting so I entered and took a table for one. 

As is probably always the case for a woman alone in a foreign country, the waiters took a shine to me, my Kindle, what I was reading, where I was from. One in particular asked if he could see me again and we could meet tomorrow after his shift ended. 

He was dark and handsome, looked a little different to the other guys. a good body, cheeky smile and excellent English. His hand touched my shoulder a few times and I shivered at the deliciousness of human contact. 

I was woozy from a little wine and little sleep. Flattered, I couldn’t stop giggling at him. 
I didn’t go back the next night. 

——–
Let’s fast forward to my last night. I was again wandering around trying to find decent food. The place I’d found on GoogleMaps didn’t seem to exist – I ended up back at the steakhouse again, nerves jangling. 

He didn’t see me at first. The other waiters seated me, gave me menus, water and took my order. And then he came up, touched me on the shoulder and asked how I was. He told me he had waited for me the other night. He seemed annoyed with me. I continued my meal, ordered wine. It was awkward. At around 10.30pm he told me he had to go and that I should wait half an hour for him. I ordered a cocktail and tried to look casual. 

An hour later I had ordered the bill, there was no sign of him. Suddenly he appeared in a bright fuschia polo top, changed out of his uniform. “We can go now” he ordered. 

“I need to pay the bill” I spluttered. 

He told me to walk down the road and he would follow me. It was an odd thing to ask but I obeyed and went to sit in one of the areas by the beach. 

At that point another guy propositioned me. Typical. 

My “date” appeared with a bottle of wine and we made our way down onto the beach, sitting on loungers near the sea. 

It was beautiful. A slight breeze blew but the air was still hot. The foamy waves highlighted in the darkness. 

He sat facing me and talked about his failed relationship- his partner was back in Norway with his young children. He looked sad. We drank the wine and and eventually he grabbed my breasts, tried to pull away the fabric of my pants to get inside. To my surprise I was wet, noisily so, as his fingers worked inside me I moved against his fingers. 

He asks if I took tablets to stop babies – I assured him I did. He told me to take my knickers off, and I produced a condom. The moment it was on he looked around guiltily and checked the beach was clear. He told me to lie back on the sun lounger. his lips dived down to my cunt which took me by surprise. he slurped and licked with as much gusto as he had kissed. I had no idea what I tasted like after a week of constantly swimming in the sea, but there were no complaints or protestations. 

At that point the sound of a saxophone: or what I thought was one filled the air. We both froze and sat up. 

There in front of us was a man playing an oboe, or some mournful reed instrument. He leered as I laughed until I cried – the form seemed to be to pay him and accept a rose which he handed to me. You couldn’t make it up. 

Then very quickly he was inside me. I grabbed his arse, his jeans were still on but I could feel a taut, muscular body on top of me. 

As quickly as he began he was grunting into my shoulder and I marvelled at the male body to be able to perform so speedily. 

“you have not come?” he said and began to massage my pussy again, moaning and fingering my clit. 

“no.” I said. 

after the disappointment of such a short fuck my pussy felt dry and his fingers were never going to raise an orgasm. I’d already shut down mentally. 

We made plans to see each other the following night and I swayed home with half a bottle of wine and a wilting red rose. 

——-
I never saw him again.

2 thoughts on “The Waiter”

  1. The oboe-ist. That’s hillarious. He’s got a racket, walking the beach at night and finding couples who thought they were alone and extracting some payment. LOL
    Was the Waiters aggressiveness or assertiveness to your liking?

    Like

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