Harry brightened up a little.
"That's true. I could always take you to the Log Jam tomorrow night. Hmm, yes, and then on for a curry at that Tandoori place I've been meaning to try. You game?"
A familiar glint had entered my friend's eyes and I remembered his gleeful description of the Log Jam pub where some astute local entrepreneur had obviously hired the waitresses with sleaze-appeal at the forefront of his mind.
"You should see the tits on one of them…"
"I'd like to, very much. Now stop it, you're making me horny and I'm bloody ravenous. Feed me!"
"Yes dear. I hope you like mushrooms."
"I like everything, sweetie."
"Bad girl."
The Log Jam was a common or garden kind of place, booths for couples and groups of friends, a motley selection of post-work guys at the bar. The TV was turned to the sports channel, discussion revolved around the respective merits of the local ice hockey teams. Harry picked one of those small tall tables with high chairs to give his little lady a bird's eye view. I eased myself up with as much grace as I could muster, having left my climbing equipment at home. The vista was both broad and breathtaking.
"Well!"
"Told you."
There were five girls working the shift that evening, each offered a different variation on a theme. The overall gestalt was definitely "tarty" but tarty came in various flavors, from ebony with waist-length braided hair to bleached blonde and busty. Tight, mid-thigh skirts were the order of the day and skimpy, boob-enhancing tops. My silky panties began to moisten but I couldn't resist a giggle too. Harry grinned.
"Quite blatant, isn't it? There was one the other day in a blue plastic mini-skirt. I thought I'd never see straight again."
"Alert! Alert! The blonde's coming our way."
I attempted to compose my lust-drenched features to a pastiche of respectable thirty-something-about-town. It's not that easy being a rampant bi-sexual, even in these more enlightened times. A pair of round brown breasts, thoughtfully gift-wrapped in a sky blue T-shirt with neckline plunging halfway to heaven, inquired what they could get for us. Harry ordered wine as I concentrated hard on the delectable hooters, positively bereft when they jiggled off to fetch our drinks. An artfully placed badge on her bosom said "Caron" but she looked like a Norma to me. I could see her as a naughty nurse, twin mounds of firm tan tit-flesh bursting triumphantly from a mini overall, straining buttons popping as she leaned solicitously over her ward.
"I want her. Will you get her for me, please?"
My request was playful, issued in jest, but I rarely say anything I do not mean. Harry groaned.
"You'll get us arrested one of these days. OK then, lover-girl, try scribbling our phone number when she brings the check."
"Nah, cheesy. She'll think we're trying to kidnap her for our cult or something."
"Chance'd be a fine thing!"
"Two glasses of Mountain Vale. Can I get you anything else?"
The flesh had returned, bearing a tray. I fixed the waitress with my best intense-sex-goddess-come-hither-I-want-to-eat-you gaze.
"Yes, Norma, you can. We would like you to come home with us. Would that be a problem for you?"
The deafening sound of Harry's jaw dropping to the table top almost distracted me from my mission but I pressed on, certain that every ear in the room was straining to hear my pervy wiles. My panties were soaking; my eyes were level with her tits. I asked them nicely.
"You'd make us very happy. Both of you. I mean all of you. I mean…"
The waitress threw back her head and laughed, eliciting a boob-quake of epic proportions. I sensed Harry's jaw leave the table and a faint panting sound replaced the incredulous silence.
"Right. Well, I don't finish up here 'til midnight so you're going to have to wait. Give me your address and I'll see what I can do. I'm not making any promises, 'kay? Enjoy your wine."
With a victory roll of her well-padded hips, she stomped off to serve another customer, throwing an amused glance back at our salivating forms. Harry took a large gulp of Merlot and made fish-eyes at me through the bowl of the wine glass. I stuck my tongue out at him in defiance. My friend retrieved his wallet and examined his supermarket discount card thoughtfully.
"Well, do you think she's a real tart? Is she going to make us pay for it?"
"I don't know. Do you have any condoms?"
"Of course. They might be past their sell-by date, though."
"Poor darling. Does this place have a late-night drugstore?"
"Let's go for that curry and then see what happens. Take things as they come. As it were."
"I know what happens when I have a curry!"
"Dirty beast!"
Jay got halfway to the Tandoori restaurant before she started complaining.
"No, they're not new shoes! I just haven't worn them for a while. If it's much further I'll take them off and charge you for new tights."
"Well, I'm not carrying you. I remember the last time I tried to sweep you off your feet."
I was waiting for the handbag swing and it missed by a mile.
"Temper, temper! Not far now."
The Tandoori house was new to me, but we had found an advert for it in a tourist brochure (tourists in this burg?) and it had a web site. Must be all right. More to the point, we had a ten percent off voucher from the brochure.
The frontage was unprepossessing at first sight, then one noticed the life-size picture of two smiling chefs and smelled an enticing aroma. We marched in.
"Do you have a reservation sir?"
I put on my best all-maitre-d's-are-my-best-friends smile and admitted to not having thought so far ahead. Jay tapped her foot. I hate it when she does that. Anyway, the boss found a table for us near the music and handed us over to a sari-clad usher.
The place was big – two hundred covers at least. The atmosphere was dark, the music live – sitar and percussion from two gentlemen sitting cross-legged on a small stage.
Water appeared, followed by a waiter. I groaned. Jay had her lust-filled look on again, this time the hetero variety (not that I can tell the difference).
The waiter was young, dark-haired, slim to the point of underweight, and servile. He wore a badge that read 'lraC'. 'lraC'? Oh, I see. An upside-down badge.
Jay hauled her tongue back in her mouth long enough to order chai, and I settled for more red wine. I often do that – I hate to see a poor vintner.
The waiter led us through the menu, necessary in my case because the darkness rendered the small print unreadable. I settled for chicken dopiaza and some poppadums and sauces to take the edge off the appetite.
Jay would have ordered jerk goat if the waiter had recommended it. Her menu flopped around as she read it, and I realized one hand was out of sight. I leaned slightly to the waiter's side of the table and saw the Lawrence claw stealthily approach the waiter's trousers. I kicked her and she glared at me, rubbing her shin with the lascivious hand. Dinner first, hanky panky after, in my book. She ordered lamb curry and we added naan bread and rice. A goodly mixture.
When the waiter had retreated, backwards for the first two steps, Jay spoke.
"My knickers are soaking!"
"You should have gone before we left the Log Jam," I replied practically. A spoon rapped me on the knuckle.
"That earns you a paddling when we get back," I said. The spoon rapped again and Jay grinned. I know how to get round her.
I glanced down at the table and we both started. Poppadums and three varieties of spicy sauce had appeared as if by magic. Not even Jay had noticed the waiter put them there. We tucked in, Jay with a dreamy look on her face.
Twenty minutes later lraC materialized again with the main course. It was excellent. I would have paid for it even without the ten percent off coupon. We concentrated on the food, and I also concentrated on eating it in the gloom without making too much of a mess on the tablecloth.