My email Date  

rm_willydick2 64M
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2/8/2006 3:08 pm

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

My email Date

My Email Date in Hong Kong
By Willy_scanlonatyahoodotcom

There was a beep from my computers speakers. A sound like the tab of a beer can being popped, .
I grinned and clicked on the mail icon in my browser.
It was around eleven in the morning on my day off from work. I was comfy; relaxing in a t-shirt and shorts, lounging on my couch with my feet propped up on the coffee table, my laptop balanced on my thighs and bumming around on a singles site when I got the message. I clicked it open and scanned the attached note.
It was from a woman who called herself sweetHK sexplayer . I didn’t know her real name. Her profile had been one of the first to show up when I’d joined the site. She was an younger woman than me ‒ which turned me on ‒ easing into her late 30’s or 40’s’s. In her photo she was tall and slim, but she had a great big rack and nice taste in lingerie, so I thought, what the hell?
I sent her a tentative proposition, just for fun. I didn’t think she’d even reply, since I hadn’t uploaded a picture of myself, and my profile really didn’t seem to match what she was looking for. She said that was attached, with a couple kids already, and she was doing this for some extra fun.. She wanted to meet someone to share erotic emails, maybe meet a man to develop a short-term ‒ and discreet ‒ relationship. But her picture made in that satin pink teddy and thong made me horny. In my first email to her, I sent her some dumb story I made up about meeting her at a hotel, with lots of kissing and caressing, candles and wine ‒ everything I could come up with. I made it as eroic as I could being the writer that I am. Actually that’s my way of begging a woman for a date.
To my me surprise she emailed me back. She continued with my story, writing about how she wanted to kneel before me and handle my banana, swallowing me whole until , sucking on it until I couldn’t wait any longer, and then she’d pull me down on top of her hot, naked body and…my blood pressure rose 80 degrees at that point. I was sweating and it was only 15*C outside.
It went on and on like that. The story got me so hot I came in my shorts . like a a flood. I looked down and thought, “who spilled the milk?” After I cleaned up, I emailed her right back with another story, this one spiced up a little more, and not quite so romantic.
Next day at noon, she emailed me back with a picture, a chest shot of her in the shower, her nicely shaped breasts all soapy and wet. First time I saw her face, too, just in profile. She was smiling over her shoulder at me, soap running down her back and over her small nicely rounded , dimpled ass, using her hands to cup her breasts. She was …cute to say the least.
. I sent her a reply and included another story. I also told her I was jealous of her bar of soap. Then I got busy and couldn’t check my mail for a few days. When I finally did, she’d left me not one, not two, but three replies, all with pictures and stories. Her last email asked me to send her a photo of myself.
So I did, just my face, and emailed it to her. Literally ten minutes later, she sent me a reply, saying she was at work and really horny, and asked if I’d like to meet her for ‘lunch’. That’s just how she wrote it, too, with the quotations ‒ ‘lunch’. She gave me a place and a time and said that she’d meet me there.How could I refuse? I gussied myself up a little ‒ threw on some black jeans that weren’t full of holes, a clean black shirt, some comfortable leather shoes and my leather jacket. I ran my hand through my hair and grabbed my car keys, the drove like a bat out of hell the mile and a half over to Causeway District of Hong Kong a trendy area of town that was chock-full of upscale bistros and over-priced restaurants. I drove and hunted until I found a parking spot only a block or two from the restaurant, then I locked my car and hoofed it along with the rest of the lunch crowd. The restaurant was pretty nice, only a few months old, and I hadn’t been there. It was a little out of my price range ‒ well, okay, a lot ‒ but you know, you only live once. I was a few minutes early, but opened the door and slipped into the waiting area.
I entered to the sound of soft, piped in piano music, hushed conversation and fine silverware tinkling on expensive china plates. The dining room was bright and wide open with lots of big, picture windows, and there was a full bar set up in the back of the restaurant. The piano seemed to loose a beat when I stepped inside. The chatter and clatter hushed, and a lot of perfectly coiffed heads turned my way. Everyone seemed to be wearing expensive, tailored business suits, the only difference between the sexes being that I didn’t see any of the men wearing short power skirts. Well next time I will know to dress better.
But since I am no slave to modern trends and fashion I just winged it as always. I wasn’t up for rubbing elbows with Corporate CEO’s. Or trying out for that Apprentice Show operated by Donald Trump. The hostess gave me a sly once-over. I grinned at her while I ignored the stares and the whispers from the other patrons in the waiting area. “Can I help you?” she asked, and flipped through a reservation book laid out on the polished wooden stand in front of her. She was strikingly attractive, tall and lean with long, straight hair so dark it was almost black. She cocked her head off to one side and leaned arrogantly on the pedestal stand, kept up with her silent appraisal of me. I tried not to notice the way her breasts strained against the buttons of her blouse. She was all about money and one look at me and she knew, money was not my issue. She hadn’t had me thrown out yet. I supposed that was something, so I tried to make nice. “Um,” I said. “I was supposed to meet someone for lunch…?”
She stared at me some more, until I got uncomfortable. “Was there a name?”
Was there? I thought about the email she sent.... “I think…the message I said something about a private booth…?”
That sly smile crept back over her lips. She cocked her head to one side and reappraised me. After a moment, she said, “Follow me.”
I did. In a corner behind the bar, was a booth sandwiched behind two gleaming walnut partitions. The table was set for one, sparkling silverware and crystal on a pure white cotton tablecloth. The hostess stood off to one side, her grin fixed in place.
She had a dimple at the side of her lips. I hadn’t noticed it before. It was cute. And she looked strangely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place her rightnow, butI had seen that dimple before.
“Have a seat, sir,” she said, and indicated the booth.
I slid into the booth. The seat was soft brown leather ‒ real leather! ‒ that crinkled under my butt as I settled in. “Um, excuse me,” I asked, “but have we met?”
The hostess just smiled and shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“That sounded like a line, I know, but…I could swear…”
She shook her head again. I liked how her dark hair tumbled around her slim shoulders. “No. Enjoy your meal sir. Your server will bring it right out.”
“My what? Hey…” I began as she turned and started to walk away. I looked down at my plate and realized that I was still alone. “Excuse me? I was waiting for someone else to arrive…”
“I know.” The hostess glanced back over her shoulder. Her eyes twinkled. Her dimple dimpled.
With another flip of her hair, she was gone, leaving me alone with my reflection staring back at me out of my empty plate and my head full of questions. I looked around trying to see where she skipped off to. I could see glimpses of the people dining around me, and found that I could catch snatches of conversation from their tables, but I was tucked nicely away in a blind spot. Probably so I wouldn’t interrupt the rich folks’ digestion. While I was twisting in my seat, a slick, bow-tied waiter and a busboy came. The busboy filled my water glass with ice water, and the waiter brought me an appetizer plate. They smiled and backed away without saying a word.

What ,I hadn’t ordered anything yet. I stared at the plateful of golden fried onion rings and other assorted little tidbits, and waited until my stomach growled loud enough for the people at the other tables to notice. It was ten minutes after I was supposed to meet my date. I figured that she was either running really late, or she fucking stood me up.

Or set me up, I wasn’t sure which yet.
Either way, my stomach growled again. So I tried a bite of the onion rings.
Mm. Tasty. Another growl ripped from my stomach. It didn’t need to bother. I dug in with a vengeance.
For a brief second, I wondered why I hadn’t seen a menu yet. And then my waiter was back, with a busgirl this time. She looked like she was right out of high school; much cuter than the dumpy busboy from before. They whisked away my empty appetizer plate and replaced it with a sizzling sirloin steak with all the trimmings.
“The waiter the said; “Enjoy. If I can be of further service, please just call.”“ Okay, but…” I looked up. They were already gone, just a light scent of the busgirls perfume to let me know they were even there, leaving me alone with my meal.

“Well, hell,” I sighed and picked up my fork and a steak knife. I dug in, hoping I’d brought enough money with me to pay for this. I took a bite of the steak. It was so tender; it literally melted in my mouth. “Oh my God…”

A friend of mine once said she thought food was better than sex. I don’t know about that, but I chewed happily, thinking that even if I did get stood up, things weren’t all that bad. I cut another bite of steak, tried it with a chunk of sautéed mushroom, and sampled the baked potato. Another contented sigh escaped my lips.

And then I almost jumped out of my skin. There was something under the table.

“Holy Shit!” I gasped.
I jerked backwards, bumping the table with my knees. Dishes rattled. A pair of hands locked around my thighs, pinning me to the seat.
“Shhh.” A whisper, from under the table. “Calm down. It’s me. Just keep eating.”

I looked around. Nobody around me seemed to care what was going on. No one came running to see what all the commotion was about.

“Shit, you scared me!” I hissed.
I heard a quiet, feminine laugh, and the hands shifted away from my thighs and began gently petting my crotch.

“What are you…” I bent at the waist and tried to raise the tablecloth, but my hands were slapped away.

“Don’t do that. You just enjoy your lunch, baby.”

She was tugging open my belt, unbuttoning my jeans. When my fly was open, I felt a warm hands reach into my underpants and pull me free down to my ankles. I was uncomfortably hard already, and a yummy sound drifted out from underneath the table.
My legs were pushed open wider. They curved around a soft body that squeezed closer to my crotch. Then something warm and soft and moist completely engulfed me. I jerked again as the woman under the table swallowed me. Her lips slowly slid down the shaft of my cock.

“Oh shit!”

I grabbed the sides of the table hard, and smacked the back of my skull against the wall behind me. I held on for dear life as she began slurping my banana lie a straw in a soda , slowly working her mouth up and down my cock. Her hands shifted again. They circled my waist and slipped into the back of my jeans. She tickled the top of my ass with her fingernails, then shoved her hands down into my ass and cupped my butt-cheeks.

She bobbed her head and squeezed my ass. She was squished, pinned between my thighs, and my cock was long enough that she couldn’t just bob her head up and lift her mouth off my penis. I could hear her gulp for air. Unless she moved ‒ and I didn’t think there was enough room under the table to lift her head that far ‒ she had to keep her mouth clamped around me and breathe through her nose.

God, that turned me on. Just the though of her down there, barely able to move…It was heavenly.

Little slurping noises drifted up, and I closed my eyes. A strange, random thought filtered through my head ‒ how the hell did she expect me to eat while while she went down on me or keep a smiling straight face for that matter.? There was no way. I couldn’t even pry my hands away from the table. I was as stuck in one place as she was.
She worked me nice and slow, pulling me along, bringing me right to the point of release. But every time I’d stiffen up, wanting to let go and cum, she’d back off a little, just enough to keep me going. It was during one of those little mini-orgasms that my waiter decided to see how I was doing.
He poked his head around the partition and noticed my full plate of cooling food.

“Sir? Is something wrong? How is your meal?” How do you explain getting a blowjob in the middle of lunch?
I managed a grin that I hoped didn’t look to weird. “Everything’s ‒ unh! ‒ fine.” Deep breath, squirm in my seat. Another deep breath. “Thanks…hey, uh, wait a minute , Maybe a bag…”

“Very good sir.” His eyebrow shot up and he gave me an odd look, but he nodded and his head disappeared.

I heard a chuckle from under the table. The woman under the table was resting her head on my thigh. Her hair tickled. One of her hands was cupping my balls, and her other hand was still buried in my underpants. She alternated between licking the tip of my cock with her wet tongue and then going down hard on me, deep-thrusting my dick until her lips were pressed against my belly.
She kept me like that, running her tongue back and forth along the underside of my shaft, letting the muscles in her neck squeeze me, just moving enough to keep up the friction.
I felt the orgasm start in my toes. It built and built until I couldn’t breathe. I squeezed the table, digging my fingers in hard enough to leave marks. My ass started to twitch and I blew my load right down her throat. I was coming so hard I gasped, right when the waiter dropped off my fucking doggy bag. My hand shot to my forehead, covering my eyes while I tried to keep my body from twitching spastically.
“Um,” He plopped the Styrofoam container on the table and stared at me. “Can I get you anything else…sir? Dessert, perhaps?”

“Um,”…no, thanks.” I managed to squeak. “I’m,” mmm. “…good. Just the” . “check. Please.”!
The waiter blinked at me a couple times, then: “Very good sir. But your meal has already been paid for.”
I managed to look up. “What…?”

“The lady who ordered your meal already paid for your check.”
I felt the wet tongue lazily circle my cock, slowly cleaning me up. A hand gently patted my thigh.

“Oh.” I said.

“Have a good afternoon, sir.”

He backed away again. Warm hands tucked my cock away, slipped it carefully back into my underpants, and then zipped me up. I heard a light jingle as my belt was hooked back into place, and then my crotch got another light pat.

“Bye, sweetie.” A whisper from under the table. “Lunch was great. Write me soon.”
“Oh,” I said again. “Okay.”

I grabbed my leather jacket and slid carefully out of the booth. Heads turned again as I stood up, and I felt myself flush. I slipped the jacket on in a pathetic effort to hide my burning cheeks, even though I don’t think anyone realized what had just happened.

The hostess winked and gave me her little grin before I walked outside. Right there, I knew that she knew. She leaned on her pedestal, showing me a nice round ass and tiny waist; oozing her sultry, come-hither vibe. She flicked her hair over a slim shoulder, wrapped her arms under her breasts, batted her eyes and waved, wiggling her fingers. I shoved open the door and found myself back on the sidewalk, smack dab in the hustle and bustle of lunch hour traffic. The wind was cold, so I turned up the collar of my jacket and started off towards my car. I’m not sure why, but just as I got to the corner, I glanced back through the picture windows into the restaurant.
Crawling out from under my table was the woman from my emails. She was dressed in a dark navy power suit, just like all the other business people there enjoying their lunch. She ran a finger across her lips, patted her long black hair and smoothed down her skirt. Then she headed for the door, like nothing had happened. She walked away like it was no big deal that she’d just crawled out from under a table, in a restaurant full of staring rich folk.

She waved to the hostess, who gave her that patented little sly grin back, and she calmly walked out. That’s when I realized why the hostess had seemed so familiar to me. The two women were spitting images of each other ‒ give or take twenty years or so.
Mother and daughter? Must be. Had to be. The resemblance was just to close not to be.
Did they plan this together? Nice.
Very sneaky, I thought, and wondered, what else do they do together?
I grinned to myself and watched the lady as she moved off down the sidewalk, heading away from the spot I was standing, her big ass swishing from side to side with each step. I watched until she turned the corner and disappeared. Then I decided it was time to go myself.

When I turned to leave, I caught the hostess staring at me through the window.

She was laughing, quietly, to herself. A private moment.

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