My name is Medina. I’m 24, single, living with a couple of roommates in a little apartment in Boston. I work as a waitress, at a bar & grill in the seaport district. Most of my customers are tourists or convention-goers. They come and go, and I don’t remember them, usually, except for the nastier drunks who think I’m on the menu.
I had a couple come in tonight, though, who I know I’ll always remember. He was mid-sixties, I’d say. White hair cut short, but mostly bald. Glasses. Business casual. I’m guessing she was a bit younger, but she looked a lot younger. Brown wavy hair loose to her shoulders, navy blue jersey dress, beautiful expensive manicure, glasses as well.
I approached them, introduced myself, and took a cocktail order from each: G-and-T for her, Ketel One martini with a twist for him. From the first second they felt different to me… it’s crazy, but I felt like they had come to the restaurant to see me. Even when I said my name they were both looking right into my eyes, as if it was important to get to know me, and not to miss anything I said.
Usually, with couples, when I’m talking to the woman, I can tell that the man is checking me out. With these people, whenever I looked at her, he was looking at her, like he was super focused on her words and her mood and her face; whenever I looked at him, he met my eyes and held them. I don’t think I’ve ever had that sort of locked-together feeling with a friend, let alone a stranger.
I watched them from a distance. It would have been awkward for them to hold hands or touch across the table, but they had this sort of connectedness that made me think of them as touching each other in some way I don’t know about. After I took her order for dinner, and it was his turn, he said something to her about brussels sprouts that I didn’t quite catch. But that’s the side that comes with some of our entrees, so I mentioned that any of the dinners were available with any of the sides, not just the one described. He ordered a combination and I went to post the ticket.
When I came back with the wine, they were both watching me. I felt self-conscious, sort of because my work was intruding on them, but also because of that strange idea that they were there for me, not for a meal. He thanked me again for helping with the menu, and I said “oh no problem” or something like that, and he looked right at me and said “I appreciate that you paid attention, that you figured out what I needed, that you spoke up, and that you made sure I was satisfied. Thank you for your fine service.” All the time with eyes on eyes.
So I blushed and smiled and fussed with the wine and left. And I could feel wetness in my pussy… from his notice and his praise.
There’s plenty to see in the harbor, but they just looked at each other and talked quietly, ate their meals and sipped their wine. He always poured for her first. Whenever I came close to the table, they would stop and give me at least a smile if not a word. There was so much love radiating from that spot — like an aura, like invisible rays that flowed from them out to anyone who thought to pay attention. I wanted to sit with them, get to know them, go home with them, ask them questions. They had the contained joy I have seen in newlyweds, but if I had asked and they had said “Oh, we’ve been married a little over eight hundred years,” it would have made perfect sense. I was thinking that they loved so much, so completely, so naturally, that there was love spilling into me just by being near.
They sat at the table after everything was cleared. I gave them extra time. When he looked around for me, I hurried over and closed them out. I said something apologetic about thinking they wanted to sit rather than get the bill promptly, and she said that was exactly right, so I got to be thrilled that I had pleased both of them. They had some more kind things to say as they left. I’ve never had sex that was as satisfying as their praise.
I have to have a relationship like that. A life like that. An other who is also my self. At least, now I know it is possible in real life, not just in songs and stories. They taught me that it’s possible. Perhaps that is why they came to Boston to see me.
— Frenulum
