I love Fridays

Friday was madness. It's like a dream, the kind where wake up grinning stupidly and are unspeakably wet between your thighs, but you can't tell anyone what it was about. I love being a waitress. It's a skilled job, largely unappreciated, except perhaps by those favoured gentleman customers who come in for coffee and a bit of a flirt. There's always time for flirting - it begets bigger tips - and there's never a shortage of men to banter with. The number of times daily flirting has spawned into a phone number, or an after work drink...I can hardly remember them all. But it's when it sparks an after work something else that is amazing.

This guy had only been coming to our cafe for the last couple of months. I think he started with the accountancy agency down the road. At first it was only once a day with a bunch of other guys, just for morning coffee. Now he comes in for lunch and a couple of afternoon coffees as well. What he does with all that caffeine...

I love big dark haired and eyed, olive skinned men. Like Anthony LaPaglia but without his weird blending of Australian and American accents. I'll call him Anthony. He must be in his early fourties. He always wears suits without ties and the top button undone, which I generally hate, but was willing to accept for the visible abundance of curly black hair on the broad barrel chest.

Fridays are usually flat out, with loads of people in for a pre-weekend breakfast, and business people seem to love splashing out on a good late lunch on Fridays, replete with many bottles of wine. He was there of course, with a couple of office buddies, sharing a bottle of Barossa Shiraz.

They'd had several rounds of small tapas and I'd sneaked them a little bowl of marinated olives. Anthony gave me a long gaze as a placed it on the table in front of them. I 'accidentally' grazed his arm with my breast as I turned to serve another customer.

From there the afternoon passed busily and we sold out of food. I hadn't been able to stay attentive to their table, and someone else gave them the bill and cleared their plates. I was a little disappointed admittedly.

By 6 O'clock I'd dumped my apron and wasn't bothered to change out of my black skirt and t-shirt that made my impromptu uniform. I was ducked into the organic grocers to pick up something quick and healthy for dinner, but who should be in there idly browsing amongst the organic pasta. He spotted me before I could greet him and smiled.

'Look what's in my basket.' He said. There were roma tomatoes, basil, a tub of kalamata olives, a hunk of parmesan, a bottle of red wine, ice cream. He added a packet of pasta. I'm getting fluttery thinking about this. It can't be real but it was. Anthony just took my arm and hooked it around his and walked me up to the counter where he paid. He took me to his car, I got in, as though in a trance, yet at the same time knowing exactly what I was doing. I hardly remember the drive to his apartment but for looking at his large aquiline nose and large mouth and thinking how much I wanted to fuck him.

I don't remember what his place looked like. I know there was a large couch, which is where I ended up suddenly shoe-less. One of my absolute favourite things about older guys, is their willingness to do whatever it takes to make you feel good. The handful of boys my own age I've had, they always want you to suck them off first. They'll eat you out for five minutes before they decide you're wet enough to fuck, and another five minutes of grunting and shallow thrusting and they're done. An incredible waste. It's like hunger; why waste your appetite on a quick, fast food snack when you could have something lovingly prepared with quality ingredients?

My panties, embarrassingly soaked through the gusset were pulled off and spread-legged on the couch, Anthony ate me with ferocity. He has such a thick tongue, muscular and blunt, that laved at my folds and nudged at my clitoris enough to tingle but not over-sensitise. He wet a thick finger and slowly inserted it into my cunt as his large mouth surrounded my mons. I must have been yelling. I have trouble being quiet. He stopped suddenly and turned me over by my legs so I was now crouching over the couch. He started all over again, the point of his nose nudging my anus. I felt his teeth graze my clit and I came loudly and wetly on his face. As I was recovering he licked me clean, pulled my skirt back over my bum and took the groceries to the kitchen.

He cooked a simple and lovely pasta dish. We drank the wine. He cleared the plates and then stood me up and undressed me next to the table. I wouldn't be able to tell you where in the apartment his bedroom was if I tried. I was led by hand in a daze and shoved lightly onto the cool bed. Anthony undressed. He's dark all over with such a thick thatching of curly chest hair and a forest of pubic hair around a thick cock that skews a little to the right. A big hand stroked and fingered me, gentle and probing and I quickly wetted up again. He bent over me and sucked each nipple hard. I hate soft lapping, give me pinching, biting and hard sucking anytime. I felt so small beneath him. I reached for his erection and managed a long stroke before he slapped my hand away. He lifted me under my bottom and I felt the thick, blunt end of his cock against my entrance. I couldn't look into his eyes, I was confusingly shy. It was happening so fast. He thrust in hard and I was a little shocked. It hurt, stretching me fast, but I was wet enough. He fucked me slowly but insistently, clasping me to him by the cheeks of my bottom and I threw my arms around his neck biting his thick ear lobe and mouthing his neck as I tried to suppress my cries. He was so good, so big and absolutely sure of himself. The rubbing of his crotch brought me off again and I screamed. Suddenly he was thrusting harder and faster and I was being bounced back against the bed hard and he groaned into my hair.

We didn't use a condom; I know that's so bad. But there's something to be said for the feeling of hot sperm gushing inside you. I fell asleep a little. Later he woke me up and led me to the shower. I dressed in the jeans and t-shirt I had intended to wear after work and he drove me home. I kissed him for the first time as I said goodnight and excited the car.

I'm tingling all over from writing this and remembering that night. It was better than it sounds. This was definitely a good idea, writing this. I get to re-live as I write, and the little exhibitionist inside me loves the thought of someone else reading this and enjoying it. I know virtually nothing about Anthony, but I hope desperately that he calls or at least surprises me again. I'm leaving this week semi-free in anticipation.