Of Waiters and Romantic Dinners

The square table was bedecked with a dark red cloth, and one end of the tablecloth shamelessly displayed a gravy stain. The ends of the tablecloth were frayed from over-washing, and even the red dye was beginning to discolour. The candle stood in its stand at the centre of the table, burning defiantly as the wax melted down and down. The candlelight threw odd shadow patterns on the tablecloth. Very interesting patterns. The stainless steel cutlery clinked against the plates, and the candle flame flickered occasionally, and the tough roast leg of lamb resisted regular stabs from the knife, despite added attempts to soften the meat by drenching it in gravy and mint sauce.

Caleb thought he would go crazy with boredom.

He had examined the infinitesimal gravy stains and blemishes on the red tablecloth with pinpoint precision, and had fingered the grooves on the wax candle obsessively, and had crushed each roasted pea with his knife in a genuine interest to discover how pea juice looked like. And he had been continually spooning mint sauce into his mouth, having given up on the tough-to-chew roast leg of fucking lamb.

And two complete hours had shuffled by, and Caleb was now ready to kill Sarah and Valentine's Day altogether.

"You know what I think about philosophy, like, in general? I think it's a branch of knowledge created by completely lazy guys who want nothing better than a good excuse to lounge around and think while others do the real work," Sarah was saying animatedly, waving her fork at Caleb. "And that's why Kate wants to major in philosophy." And Sarah emitted a semi-affected laugh.

Caleb nodded vaguely and stared at Sarah's glossed lips, thinking that there was nothing worse in this world than a helium-headed pretty-girl trying to make smart and witty conversation. He swallowed another spoonful of mint sauce.

Sarah leant forward and let one strap of her lilac-coloured silk dress fall from her shoulder in feigned carelessness. She was not wearing a bra of any sort, and Caleb's eyes traveled wearily over her bare shoulder, nearly-exposed breast and just-out-of-sight cleavage. I suppose this is my cue for a fucking raging hard-on, huh? Well it's not working, darling bitch.

Sarah smiled mischievously and looked into Caleb's eyes. "Caleb, I know I've said it already but you look damn hot in that suit. It's like prom night again isn't it?" And the heels of Sarah's slippers clicked on the marble floor.

Caleb stared blankly ahead, then the cogs and gears in his brain sprung into animation as he made to respond. "Yeah, you look beautiful too, Sarah." And Caleb spooned more mint sauce into his mouth and watched Sarah rouged cheeks blush even redder and thought that yes, there was something worse than a helium-headed girl acting smart, and it was a helium-headed girl who gives praise for the sake of receiving praise in return.

Helium. Let's see, helium is a noble gas. Noble gas . . . right, that would be Group 18 of the Periodic fucking Table of fucking Elements. Fucking examples of noble gases are fucking neon, fucking argon, fucking krypton and fucking mint sauce. Gotta have some more of that mint sauce.

Caleb adjusted his suit, and moved around in his leather-padded chair, which was already burning up with two freaking hours of sitting down to a Valentine's dinner with Sarah. The sweet and minty tang of mint sauce tasted wonderful in his mouth. Caleb gave an unwarranted inward groan when Sarah let the other strap of her gown fall carelessly while talking, leaving her bare-shouldered. Not when I'm eating, Sarah.

"You haven't eaten much of your roast lamb," uttered Sarah, finally taking time off her self-absorbed chattering to pay notice to Caleb.

"Not really up to it. Dessert?"

Say yes, Sarah. Say yes to dessert and I can dump you back at your dorm the minute this dinner is fucking over.

Sarah, who clearly thought there was something so sweetly and clichély romantic about dessert, said yes while looking deeply and meaningfully and lustily into Caleb's eyes.

The waiters were garbed in white-cotton buttoned shirts with black waistcoats over them. And on the top of their black trousers they draped a clean, white apron. Aesthetically pleasing in blacks and whites. The waitresses wore similar uniforms, but with black knee-length skirts instead of trousers. Caleb had been watching every aspect of the waiters and waitresses for the first half-hour, while Sarah had jabbered away on some random subject.

A waiter approached their table, carrying two plates of almost-identical chocolate cake slices, and Caleb felt like killing him for not walking faster. Caleb felt like killing the chocolate cake, too.

And Caleb, amidst his sleepy and irritated haze of boredom, was plunged into surprise when he recognised the waiter as Tyler. It was like ice-cold liquid had run down his spine. Caleb sat up, erect in his seat, and his breath tightened. Tyler?

"Our specialty, mud cake," said Tyler in a distant and professional voice as he plonked both plates of fucking chocolate cake down on each side of the table. Caleb stopped breathing.

Tyler looked near-perfect in his waiter's outfit. Caleb's eyes traced Tyler's business-like and hot profile – how the black waistcoat sloped down Tyler's built chest to his waist, where the straps of the waistcoat tightened, showing off Tyler's V-shaped torso. The white cotton apron round Tyler's waist drove Caleb's mind into frenzied excitation, for it could not hide the muscular curve of Tyler's butt. Blood rose to Caleb's cheeks, and Caleb mouthed a soft, breathless "Thanks" as the plate of Gloucester Steak House Mud Cake Valentine's Day Special was set in front of him. Fucking hot waiter.

And Tyler walked off.

Sarah began eating her chocolate cake daintily, sending lusty signals at Caleb with her high-heels, breasts, shoulders, blond hair, threaded eyebrows, and goodness knows what else. She was oblivious to the fact that Tyler had just appeared to them as a hunky waiter-god and served them cake. She had not spared any recognition for Tyler – she was too absorbed in her fantasies of having good old sex with Caleb to notice waiters.

Caleb licked his mint-sauce-tasting lips. Chocolate cake? Nope.

And Caleb's boredom was vanquished, and what lay beneath was a chilling need, a pressing purpose.

He wanted Tyler tonight. Tonight, on fucking Valentine's Day.

"Where're you going?" asked Sarah, apprehension nagging at her as Caleb got up from his seat and began leaving the table, leaving his Gloucester Steak House Mud Cake Valentine's Day Special untouched. Caleb was casting stares round the fancy restaurant, as if he was looking for something. It was unnerving her a little. She had wanted to feed Caleb some chocolate cake in that cute romantic-couple way so much.

"Going to the washroom for a while," Caleb mumbled, setting off.

Caleb pushed open the heavy ornate door and entered the Gents. What a fancy place this was. The Gents was nicely decorated, with adequate air-conditioning and music playing somewhere from the ceiling. His boxers were tight, too tight. He was impressively hard that it made walking uncomfortable.

Caleb washed his hands without any real reason to do so. His thoughts were on something else . . .

And as Caleb made to leave, the door of the Gents opened and a fucking hot-looking waiter entered.

Caleb watched Tyler amusedly as the waiter stood at a urinal and emptied his bowels. Even Tyler's hair was exciting him, driving him to a frenzy – Tyler had run a little gel through his black hair and now it was glossy, and messy, and fucking tantalising. Caleb wanted so much to run his hands through that crown of black hair, and he was fighting to keep his lust underway, under control.

"How long are you going to keep pretending I'm not here, baby boy?"

Tyler zipped up his pants (Caleb groaned inwardly with lust at that) and adjusted his waiter's apron. "I'm on my shift, Caleb," said Tyler softly, innocently, giving Caleb a sideways smile that made the older Son want to go freaking berserk with horniness. "Go eat your mud cake."

And that was the last straw for Caleb.

Caleb reached out and grabbed Tyler, pushing the waiter against the tiled wall. Tyler gave a breathy grunt as he was crushed between the hard wall and a steaming Caleb. Caleb gave in to his pent-up desire, running his hands firmly over Tyler's lithe and muscular form, adorned in a butler's blacks and whites, feeling the tone of muscles which lay disguised beneath thin cotton. Caleb breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of Tyler's gelled-up hair and his aftershave. Tyler made to withdraw from Caleb but the older Son caught Tyler's hands within his own, and Tyler was wearing a silver ring on the middle finger of one of his hands, and Caleb thought the would burst in his pants just looking at all these ornaments which made the waiter all the more sexier to him.

"I don't like mud cake, Ty," whispered Caleb dangerously into Tyler's ear.

Caleb kissed Tyler with fierce intent, and practically dragged the poor assaulted waiter into a cubicle, latching the door after them.

Caleb unbuttoned Tyler's black waistcoat . . .

Sarah drummed her manicured fingers on the table, and shifted chocolate-coloured crumbs on her plate with her spoon. She looked at Caleb's untouched mud cake and wondered if Caleb would mind if she ate his share, too. After all, Caleb was taking awfully long at the washroom. And he had hardly even touched his roast lamb. Sarah adjusted the straps of her gown and went on drumming her fingers.

Tyler's waiter garb lay in a heap on the floor of the Gents, and Caleb's formal attire was thrown alongside it. Caleb kissed Tyler's bare chest, and rubbed his chin on it, and Tyler suppressed a whimper as the stubble of Caleb's chin grazed the skin of his chest erotically. Caleb went on dragging his stubbled chin along Tyler's chest - sexual torture for the poor young waiter.

Sarah took another lady-like sip of her wine and thought, what the hell, might as well finish Caleb's mud cake. And so Sarah tucked in heartily. Who could resist mud cake?

Tyler broke away from Caleb's kiss, licked his lips, swallowed, and said, "Mint sauce?"

Caleb emitted a breathless and embarrassed chuckle. "Yeah."

"We've got a whole tub of this stuff in the kitchens."

Caleb kissed Tyler again, a fierce kiss mingled strongly with mint sauce, and Tyler struggled to breathe. But the mint sauce tasted good, especially coming from Caleb's lips and mouth.

Caleb plunged deep into Tyler, and Tyler stifled a moan as his prostate was stimulated. Before they both came, Caleb leant over and put his lips close to Tyler's ear. "Happy Valentine's Day, baby boy."

Dedicated to all those of you who hate Valentine's Day and the people who have the nerve to even celebrate it.

(Yes, I am terrible at sex scenes. That wasn't even a proper sex scene. Or maybe I'm just not brave enough to type really raunchy stuff. I mean, I'm typing this in a public place, you know. I don't want some stranger to look at my screen and . . . . never mind.)

Hope you enjoyed reading this.