Sometimes Alan simply imagined that when he went out to lunch at that quaint downtown restaurant which had been converted from the old train station, his short-skirted waitress might lead him to a secluded booth in the back of the top level of the balcony and then kneel beneath his table. There, overlooking the many diners below from his perch just under the ancient lithographs and stuffed bear and buffalo heads, he would squirm in delight as she unzipped his pants and stroked him shyly into erectness.
The waitress would smile up at him, prettily, coquettishly, as she opened up her silky blouse and fondled the cool flesh of her breasts all about his hot aching rod of rigid meat. She would tease him like that for a moment, fingering the stiffened tips of her n*****s absently as she worked
