Friday, February 06, 2004
Pizza with a twist
I had lunch with my Dale today at California Pizza Kitchen. Big, airy place, lots of huge windows to let the sunshine in. He ordered for us. I was at peace, feeling spoiled and taken care of, not having to make any decisions at all. Dale is a sub's dream.
I was wearing my low-cut blouse with the pretty light pink and green floral print, and my new bra which showed off my cleavage to full advantage. Needless, Dale couldn't keep his blue eyes off it. Neither could the waiters who didn't know which anatomical part of me they wanted to stare at: my breasts or my legs. I was wearing my denim mini-skirt.
We looked around at the women and wondered which one of them owned a vibrator. Dale was certain that that woman in her early 50s, Chinese-mestiza, and looking very smart, owned one. I just had to disagree. I haven't seen a 50-year-old pussy but I thought it would be too dry for a vibrator. She looked like she was menopausal. No offense to more mature women! I'm just stating an opinion. It might be uninformed and uncouth but just an opinion, nonetheless.
The foccacia came with a chickpea hummus dip, with tomatoes and powdered with chopped fresh basil. Yummy. Dale launched into this movie about Tiger Woods, and how his Thai mother made him wear a red shirt for a golf tournament which he won three times in a row. I forgot what it was, Something Open. I'm hopeless at sports. Tiger Woods, I've heard of, but -- well. That was why Dale was in a deep red shirt, as it was for strength and power. He had a meeting right before our lunch date.
"How'd your meeting go?" me, practicing ego-building skills.
"Oh, pretty well, I suppose. I'm selling this company to this guy, and we talked a lot of lawyer stuff. There was just one problem, though."
"What?" me, very concerned.
"I just found out yesterday that we don't own the company."
Aha. Turns out the deed of sale from the original owner to Dale's company was never signed, much less registered. Hence, the lawyer stuff. I got to show off my lawyering skills and asked him, hopefully, the right questions, you know, about SEC registration and taxes and stuff. He didn't have the answers because, as CEO, he doesn't really handle these everyday details. I stopped as I got the impression that I was badgering the witness. What was important to him was that the sale went through without a hitch. Now it was the lawyers' problem to straighten out the papers.
Pretty soon, we were giving this big black guy two tables away from us the eye. Dale spotted him first, and said that the guy was probably a basketball player. I had to agree. Big hunk of a fella.
"I bet he has a dick as huge as he is," Dale says, blue eyes dancing.
"Yeah," me, eyes widening at the thought. "I bet it's really huge..."
"Maybe I should write him a note, asking him if he's interested to fuck you..."
"Maybe I should just go over there and give him a lap dance," me, wryly. "Will you stop! This is a family restaurant! There're kids all over the place!"
"So? Oh, miss!" he calls the waitress over and asks her if "that big black guy is a basketball player?" The girl didn't know but would go and find out.
"Oh! But don't ask him, please--!" me, after her rapidly receding figure. They don't kid around at CPK about fast and full service, do they? Mercifully, she confers with the other waiters. When she comes back, she confirms Dale's theory, but the guy hasn't been signed up with a team yet.
"So, he's still a nobody!" Dale, blue eyes still twinkling. "You want I go over there and ask him?"
"Will you stop!" me, hissing and pulling him down to his seat. "You're a fucking horny bastard!"
Dale flops back and leans over with a very mischievous grin. "You think these people would notice if I pretend to drop my spoon, disapper under the table, and get under your skirt and between your legs?"
Such a naughty grin.
"Let me see...Hmmm..." me, hamming it up.
We laugh. I slide my bare leg against his. We laugh like high school kids. When the pizza came, we were just rolling in our seats. Laughing, just laughing!
I was wearing my low-cut blouse with the pretty light pink and green floral print, and my new bra which showed off my cleavage to full advantage. Needless, Dale couldn't keep his blue eyes off it. Neither could the waiters who didn't know which anatomical part of me they wanted to stare at: my breasts or my legs. I was wearing my denim mini-skirt.
We looked around at the women and wondered which one of them owned a vibrator. Dale was certain that that woman in her early 50s, Chinese-mestiza, and looking very smart, owned one. I just had to disagree. I haven't seen a 50-year-old pussy but I thought it would be too dry for a vibrator. She looked like she was menopausal. No offense to more mature women! I'm just stating an opinion. It might be uninformed and uncouth but just an opinion, nonetheless.
The foccacia came with a chickpea hummus dip, with tomatoes and powdered with chopped fresh basil. Yummy. Dale launched into this movie about Tiger Woods, and how his Thai mother made him wear a red shirt for a golf tournament which he won three times in a row. I forgot what it was, Something Open. I'm hopeless at sports. Tiger Woods, I've heard of, but -- well. That was why Dale was in a deep red shirt, as it was for strength and power. He had a meeting right before our lunch date.
"How'd your meeting go?" me, practicing ego-building skills.
"Oh, pretty well, I suppose. I'm selling this company to this guy, and we talked a lot of lawyer stuff. There was just one problem, though."
"What?" me, very concerned.
"I just found out yesterday that we don't own the company."
Aha. Turns out the deed of sale from the original owner to Dale's company was never signed, much less registered. Hence, the lawyer stuff. I got to show off my lawyering skills and asked him, hopefully, the right questions, you know, about SEC registration and taxes and stuff. He didn't have the answers because, as CEO, he doesn't really handle these everyday details. I stopped as I got the impression that I was badgering the witness. What was important to him was that the sale went through without a hitch. Now it was the lawyers' problem to straighten out the papers.
Pretty soon, we were giving this big black guy two tables away from us the eye. Dale spotted him first, and said that the guy was probably a basketball player. I had to agree. Big hunk of a fella.
"I bet he has a dick as huge as he is," Dale says, blue eyes dancing.
"Yeah," me, eyes widening at the thought. "I bet it's really huge..."
"Maybe I should write him a note, asking him if he's interested to fuck you..."
"Maybe I should just go over there and give him a lap dance," me, wryly. "Will you stop! This is a family restaurant! There're kids all over the place!"
"So? Oh, miss!" he calls the waitress over and asks her if "that big black guy is a basketball player?" The girl didn't know but would go and find out.
"Oh! But don't ask him, please--!" me, after her rapidly receding figure. They don't kid around at CPK about fast and full service, do they? Mercifully, she confers with the other waiters. When she comes back, she confirms Dale's theory, but the guy hasn't been signed up with a team yet.
"So, he's still a nobody!" Dale, blue eyes still twinkling. "You want I go over there and ask him?"
"Will you stop!" me, hissing and pulling him down to his seat. "You're a fucking horny bastard!"
Dale flops back and leans over with a very mischievous grin. "You think these people would notice if I pretend to drop my spoon, disapper under the table, and get under your skirt and between your legs?"
Such a naughty grin.
"Let me see...Hmmm..." me, hamming it up.
We laugh. I slide my bare leg against his. We laugh like high school kids. When the pizza came, we were just rolling in our seats. Laughing, just laughing!
