Keith and I go to the Blue Coyote Café for some Dragon Well green tea and chocolate raspberry biscotti. We take the table in the corner near the front window. Even with the curtain pulled, the afternoon sun blazes through. It's quiet and peaceful, the silence broken only by the crunch of Keith's biscotti and the clack of the waitress thumbing text into her cellphone. I page through the free magazine Keith had plucked from a rack near the door on the way in. Modern Interiors.

“What do you think of this couch?” I ask Keith, pointing to a glossy photo of a huge white sectional sofa with little bookcases built into the ends.

“Very white,” he says. “Nice."

"Why do you suppose the bookcases are bare? You’d think there’d at least be a magazine.”

“Like Car and Driver?” Keith says.

"Oh, sure. Or Road and Truck."

“Road and Track," Keith says. "Anyway, I can picture you lying on that couch." He fingers the far end of it. Caresses it. “On your tummy. You bare ass looks so beautiful. So inviting.”

"Bare ass, huh?"

“To go with the bare bookcases.”

I laugh.

“Okay, I'll let you have one book.”

“A good one, I hope. No car stuff.”

“How about Wisconsin Dairy Production, 1947?”

“Just what I always wanted to read. Wait. That’s just the cover. The actual book is something else.”

“It is?”

“Yup. Secrets of the Perfect Blow Job.”

“Ha!” Keith exclaims. His finger jabs the glossy picture of the white couch then returns to stroking. “What are the secrets?”

“I guess you'll have to read the book,” I say. “Hmmm, chapter six looks interesting.”

“What’s chapter six?”

“'When to Spit, When to Swallow.'” I glance at Keith to see if he has a reaction. He raises his eyebrows.

I move my head slowly side to side. “Is that all you can say?”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“So I noticed.”

We stare at each other. I’m not going to give in.

“Okay, I like the way it looks when my cum leaks out of your mouth,” he says. “But I like when you swallow, too.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It makes me feel like you like me. Like you like my cum.”

“I do like your cum,” I say.

“But do you like the taste of it?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I like the idea of having your cum in my tummy. I like the idea of having your cum in my cunt, too.”

“Mmmm,” Keith says.

“You’re getting hard, aren’t you?” I say.

“Mmmm.”

“Do you want me to make you come in your pants?”

Keith looks over at the waitress, who is still behind the counter working her cell phone. She is the only one in the Blue Coyote Café besides us.

“Do you think she’d notice?” I ask. “Do you think she’d care?”

Keith shrugs. His lips do a wrinkly thing.

"What do you think she's typing?" I ask.

"You tell me," Keith says. "You're the budding poet. I'm just a beleaguered med student learning how to deliver babies and bedpans."

“Probably she's telling her boyfriend how hot you are."

"Why would she do that?"

"To make him jealous. So when he comes to pick her up, his cock is practically bursting through his pants." I let my hand graze the front of Keith's jeans. Just the lightest touch, but I can feel his cock. So hard. So big.

She’s cute, isn’t she?” I say, my pinkie finger caressing the bulge of his cockhead. “You like those tall boots and short shorts. You like her perky breasts and pert butt. You’d like to fuck her, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Keith says. "You'd better stop that or I will mess my pants."

I fold my hands on the table in front of me like a good girl. "What if I make you come without actually touching you?”

“How would you do that?”

“I'm the budding poetess, remember? Now close your eyes.”

He looks at me and then he closes his eyes.

“Now imagine you’re lying on the white couch,” I whisper. “Just taking a little nap. Dreaming of that cute waitress. Suddenly you feel my lips on your cock. I’m kneeling between your legs, sucking you. Instantly your cute waitress dream evaporates. I'm sucking you very slowly, very carefully, spending a lot of time just teasing your slit. But sometimes I open my mouth wide, wide, wide, and go all the way down, all the way until your cock touches the back of my throat. And then slowly, slowly, slowly, I ease my mouth up, up, up sliding along the long length of your cock, until pop, it's free, and it’s all wet with my spit, glistening in the air, yearning for my mouth, but I refrain, and your poor stiff penis throbs with want. Oh, the poor darling. So big and proud and needy. At last I take pity, but only a pinch of pity. I flick my tongue against that little wedge where you’re so sensitive. Flick, flick, flick. Your penis lurches. I back off. Oh, you want me so bad. You want my lips, my mouth, my sweet hard sucking. But all you get is a kiss. A tender kiss on that adorable ruffle of skin below the sensitive wedge. I’m so naughty. I’m such a tease. I hold your cock in my mouth, but don’t move at all. I breathe in its beauty. Its fullness. Its flavor. I do want to feel you squirt. The thought of your cream jetting into my mouth excites me, but I’m not going to give in. Not yet. The longer we wait, the better it will be. Your cock throbs in my mouth. I can feel it expanding. But I won’t give in. No, no, no. Not yet. Even though my cunt is soaking and my clit is swollen and I could come myself with the barest touch.”

I have to stop because my cunt is soaking and my clit is swollen and my mouth is full of saliva and sex gasp. I squeeze myself, slowly, rhythmically, while I study Keith’s beautiful face, his innocently closed eyes, and when he opens his eyes to see what’s going on, what the sudden silence is all about, with a quick, sharp shudder, I come.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I say, after I’ve taken a few deep breaths and a sip of the lukewarm tea. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“I’m not sure I wanted messy pants, anyway,” Keith says. “But I’m glad to hear you like me.”

“I do like you. But I love your cock. It’s beautiful. It’s adorable.”

“Is it the best one you’ve ever had?”

“It is,” I pronounce.

“How many have you had?”

“Oh, that would be telling.”

“More than ten? More than a hundred?”

I don’t say anything. I just give him a naughty smile.

“You can tell me. I won’t mind. I just want to know.”

I don’t say anything. I just keep smiling.

“Okay, be that way. I’m not the one with cum in my pants.”

“That’s right. You should have fucked the waitress when you had the chance.”

“I did?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say. “While I was on the white couch reading dairy statistics from 1947, how many million pats of butter, how many billion wedges of Monterey Jack, how many gazillion gallons of heavy cream, our sweet little waitress was on the floor, on her hands and knees, her pert little butt raised up in the air, begging for your big cock to fuck her tight little fuck hole.”

“She was?”

“Uh huh. All you had to do was kneel behind her and push it in. She has the darlingest little buttercup of a cunt, with puffy pink petals and a pool of girl dew oozing up. Oh, what a sweet moan she would have made as your cock penetrated her juiciness. I wouldn’t have been able to resist coming over to take a closer look. I’d kneel next to her, observing the way your handsome prick strives to her succulent depths. I’d note the slick of girl-goo coating your penis-shaft as slowly it withdraws. I’d delight in the shy wink of her exposed anus as your cockhead burrows back into her greedy pussy. Oh, her little asshole trembles with each tantalizingly slow fuck-stroke. It’s as if it thirsts for something to open it, to fill it, the way your cock is filling her cunt with each strong, plundering thrust.

“'Spread yourself,' I tell her, and she does, one hand prying her bottom to the side, so I can move my face even closer, so I can blow gentle breaths upon her quivering asshole while you fuck her buttery cunt into a churn of sloppy squelch. But her lonely, dark star yearns for more, for action of its own; it needs my kiss, and so I do; I kiss her asshole; just the briefest nibble of a kiss; and the touch of my lips makes her asshole contract, a hard clench, almost as if she’s coming. The sweetness of that reward is too much for me: I plunge my tongue into the dark, secret tightness of her ass, and she comes, a rictus of ecstasy, the strength of which sucks you into an explosive orgasm, and you flood her, jolt upon wondrous jolt of delicious ejaculate.”

I would have continued, but at that moment the waitress comes over. “Anything else I can get for you guys?” she says. As one, Keith and I start to answer, “Yeah, we…” and we laugh, and the waitress laughs with us. When things get quiet, and the waitress looks at us expectantly, I let Keith ask the question.