Crème Brulee

"I drive a Beamer."

"I drive a Lexus."

"I have a place in the Hamptons."

Okay, so I'm exaggerating a little bit. But that was basically how the
conversation was going.

The men seated around the table at the posh restaurant high above the city
skyline were all busy flashing the bling-bling.

They were all a little more subtle about it, of course. But not much.

I sighed and pushed my salad around on my plate. This was going to be a
long and excruciating meal. I excused myself from the table, but nobody
seemed to really notice. They were too busy reciting passages from the
Nieman Marcus catalog.

I went to the front and asked the maitre'd to point me in the direction of
the restroom. He was a dignified-looking black man with a neatly trimmed
small mustache and a light sprinkling of gray at the temples. Trim build.

He pointed me to the restroom.

I went into a stall and sat down. I didn't really need to use the
restroom. I just needed a break from the bores outside.

I sat there for a few minutes in quiet meditation, collected myself, and
returned to the table.

The meal dragged on, and the men at the table had segued to a competitive
flashing of their technical savvy. They were reciting passages from the
Sharper Image catalog.

The main course arrived. Relieved at having something to focus on besides
the verbal dullness and silly ostentation around me, I began eating, taking
care to savor each bite and make the food last as long as I could.

About halfway through the course, I excused myself a second time. Again,
nobody seemed to notice, as they were deeply engaged in a passionate
discussion about the merits of ionic air filters.

The maitre'd looked at me in mild surprise. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah," I said to him. "I just need a break from the dreadful company
at my table."

He chuckled softly, and I headed to the restroom for a second meditation
spell.

Back at the table, we finished our meals, and everyone ordered after dinner
drinks. They didn't want the evening to end; they were having too much fun
bantering about their Waterford crystal pieces and stereo systems.

I toyed with the thought of excusing myself a third time. I decided against
it. It might be too obvious, and at some point the evening would certainly
come to an end.

Then the conversation turned to spa treatments.

That did it. I excused myself again.

This time, though, there was a sign on the restroom door informing me that
the restroom was "out of order."

And this time, unfortunately, I actually needed to use the restroom.

I went to the maitre'd with my predicament. He informed me that there was
another restroom I could use and gave me the directions. He told me it was
a clean restroom, but not as fancy as the one normally used by customers.

After a little searching, I found it. It was tucked away from the main flow
of things and obviously intended for the employees instead of customers.

I went in and attended to things. Then I sat quietly for a few more minutes
to gather myself once again.

The door to the restroom opened and closed. I couldn't see it from the
stall where I was sitting. I thought a heard the faint click of a latch
being fastened on the door, but I didn't give it much thought.

"Are you okay?" It was the maitre'd.

"Yes, thank you," I said.

I could hear the maitre'd tending to his business at the urinal. I had been
in the restroom for a few minutes by now, so I readied myself to return to
the table.

The maitre'd was washing his hands at the sink, and I joined him there to
wash mine as well.

We dried our hands, and I thanked him for helping me find a working
restroom.

He smiled and said, "Don't mention it. That's why we're here."

"Well, I suppose I have to return to bling-fest," I sighed.

He chuckled and dropped the paper towel into the wastepaper basket. As he
turned from the basket, he hand lightly brushed against the front of his
pants and then came to rest at his side.

Nothing obvious. Nothing crass. Not a crotch massage or anything that would
suggest vulgarity. Just a light brush of the side of his hand against the
front of his pants in one smooth, subtle, easy-to-miss movement.

But I noticed. And I picked up on what might possibly be a cue.

"Fortunately, I think they're almost finished," I said. "At some point
surely they'll run out of merchandise to talk about." Then I allowed own
hand to brush lightly against the front of my pants.

A subtle hint of smile flickered ever-so-briefly across his face. "Well,"
he said. "Sometimes it's nice to take a break from things."

"Yes," I agreed. "Sometimes breaks are necessary."

This time, his hand passed lightly to the front of his pants, and he made a
minor adjustment to himself. "Breaks can be nice," he said.

"Yes," I said, also adjusting myself slightly. "Breaks are good."

"Want to take a break?" he asked.

"I'd like that," I said. I let my tongue flick lightly against my lips.

He nodded and smiled. We went to the stall. I sat down on the toilet and he
stood in front of me.

"What do you like?" he asked.

"I like desserts," I said. "My favorites are chocolate and creme brulee."

"You want some creme brulee?"

"Please. If it's not too much trouble."

He smiled, "It's no trouble at all."

He unzipped his pants, and I leaned forward, fondling and caressing his
cock in my hands. I kissed the head and gave it a little lick.

"You like that?" he asked.

"I like it," I said.

"Then help yourself to as much as you want."

I opened my mouth wide and helped myself to all of it. With a deep
swallowing motion, I drew his hardening cock down my throat. It continued
to grow and harden in my mouth and throat as I massaged it gently with my
throat muscles.

His cock grew and hardened some more. It was thick, cut, and about eight
inches long. I pulled back to look at it in its fully erect state. The head
was bulbous, beautifully formed, and shiny. The shaft was veiny and the
skin felt like velvet in my hand. A few drops of precum oozed out of the
piss-slit and gathered on the smooth surface of the head.

I returned to my work, gathering speed and sucking harder than before,
working my tongue under the underside of the shaft. He placed one hand on
the back of my head and began thrusting his hips as I worked him towards
his climax.

"This is good," he said. "Are you ready for your creme brulee?"

"Mmmm hmmmph," I replied.

"Dessert is served," he said, and shot an enormous thick load in my
mouth. His buttcheeks clenched in violent spasms as he pumped the rest of
his load into my mouth.

Happy and satisfied, we got ourselves arranged and left the restroom. As we
passed the regular customer restroom, I noticed that the "out of order"
sign was gone.

I looked at the maitre'd with mild puzzlement. He winked at me, smiled, and
pulled a small plastic sign from the inside pocket of his jacket, just
enough to let me see the corner of it. The restroom hadn't really been out
of order.

As I returned to the dining room, the men at the table were preparing to
leave. One of them looked at me in mild surprise. "Is anything wrong? You
were gone for a long time."

"I'm fine, thanks."

"We wondered where you were."

"I just had a few minor issues, that's all. But I'm okay now."

"Well, I'm glad you're okay. You missed dessert, though."

Not really. But I didn't say so.