"Not at all, why would we want that?" she remarks winking, her foot rubbing my thigh, her heel discarded on the floor."Good, last thing we need is a repeat" I say recalling the last time her folks got pissed off, mine being just as mad, I think we nearly died as we joked. "Fuck yeah" she says as her foot sneaks upward, ever closer to my crotch, her intentions clear "what about yours?" no way, I’d be dead if they knew" I say, losing my train of thought momentarily as I felt the pressure of her foot press into my crotch, her toes wiggling and kneading my cock through my pants, causing it to rapidly swell under her ministrations .We sit, eating dinner as Sue’s feet caress my crotch, her toes wrapped around the outline of my shaft as she strokes me, enjoying the lust filling my eyes as I look at her.After a while sue casually comments "I need to go to the bathroom" she says, her foot leaving my crotch as she stands, bending to do her heel up she saunters to the bathroom her ass wiggling. My New England manners went over well with the customers but something always seemed to go wrong. My memory was too horrible to remember which customer had ordered what dish and I'd get an entrée wrong, or else the steak wouldn't be cooked right, and often the plate would arrive at the table cold. I was never any good at carrying multiple plates and orders all at the same time. I improved (slightly) with practice but I was not the most graceful steer in the herd, and routinely pulled in the lowest amount of tips the six months I worked the floor.If I thought waiting tables was bad, I spent most of the next six months back in the kitchen area learning that part of the business also from the very bottom. Soon I was peeling potatoes and doing the other prep work of chopping scallions, onions, peppers, garlic and anything else that the chefs might need. Frankly, I'd rather have been washing the dishes instead. I do like working with my hands, but this was all minute detail oriented work.
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