The Somalis were bug-eyed by then. He was back to kneading my breasts and I was watching something trying to poke through his apron. At one point he ...eaned over and put his head between my titties and his whiskers tickled my skin. “Lean over the table,” he said. I did, with my ass sticking up, and then he was kneading my ass cheeks and giving them little bites and telling me they looked good enough to eat. I knew he had something good enough to eat and I wanted to see it. Instead of seeing. Others, like myself were sitting quietly, waiting, throwing glances, some of which connected and there were waves of movement throughout the evening. I danced and flirted, but none of my partners particularly appealed to me just then, nor I to anyone especially.Finishing my second glass of wine, I saw a hand on the table, a woman’s left hand, there was the dull flash of gold on the ring finger.“May I sit here?” a solid voice asked.It is not that unusual for married women to come here, though. More

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