DINNER AT ANTOINES



When he met her that night, he didn't realize that there was more, and less, to

her than first meets the eye.



By Nathaniel Peters





I don't consider myself a snob, but I've worked hard to earn my perks, so I was

more than a little annoyed to see that someone was seated at my table at

Antoine's. It had been a long, hard four months of negotiations; and after

finally hammering out an agreement in principle at this morning's meeting, I

wanted to celebrate a little. Our attorney, Marianne Greer, had just left for

the airport, taking the contracts back to New York, and I'd be going back too -

tomorrow night, once the letter of credit from Laidlaw, Inc.'s bank was ready.

For now, I just wanted to celebrate quietly, and be pointed out to the

restaurant patrons as the rising star of Lee and Nieboff, the youngest member

of their board of directors. And here was someone seated at my reserved table!

My gesture to Paul, the maitre d', was probably more peremptory than necessary,

since he already was hurrying toward me with a look of concern on his face. I

just continued to stare at the top of the head I could see over the high

banquette. My banquette.

"I am mortified, m'sieu!" he told me. "The young lady began her dinner nearly

two hours ago. It has been a busy night, and we were sure she would be finished

by the time you arrived, so we seated her there in the small banquette. I will

move her for her dessert, sir. I am so embarrassed." He started toward the

table.

A young lady. Alone. Still to have her dessert. And at my reserved table. Maybe

I wouldn't miss Marianne after all. I followed Paul to the table, where he was

speaking quietly to the woman at the table, and gesturing in my direction.

".... and Mr. Bradleigh is a very important customer," he was saying as I

arrived at the banquette.

"There's no reason for the young lady to leave," I said in my most gallant

manner. "particularly if she'll have her dessert with me"

"I do not wish to be of any trouble," I heard the woman say. She had hair the

color of a new penny, and hazel eyes with some mascara streaked just a little.

Her cheeks were fiery with her embarrassment.

"It would be my pleasure," I said.

Instantly, a waiter appeared (I wondered idly how Paul did that) with fresh

table linen to set me a place across from my new dinner companion. A few

seconds later the sommelier appeared, bearing a bottle of Mumms.

"Please accept this complimentary champagne, sir, along with my apologies."

I accepted the proffered menu, told the waiter I'd order shortly, then turned

to really look, for the first time, at the woman across from me.

The red hair and hazel eyes I'd first noticed were attached to a pretty, but

not beautiful, face. Her complexion was the pale alabaster of many redheads,

but unlike many redheads, she had no freckles. Her lips were full and, like the

rest of her face, only lightly touched with makeup.

"I'm Samuel Bradleigh. I'd be pleased if you'd call me Brad," I told her.

"My name is Giselle Dunlop, Mr. ... Brad." Her voice was soft and low, with a

hint of the Continent. "I had no idea that I was intruding. They just seated me

here and... I see that I have been a long time."

"It's really my good luck to find a dinner partner," I told her. And, although

it sounded like a line, it was the truth. I had by now noticed her shoulders,

wide without the help of those ridiculous pads, and the gorgeous swell of her

full bust, over a tiny waist. I couldn't see her behind, of course. But I

mentally wagered it would be nicely rounded. Giselle was not one of those

anorexic women, though she was hardly plump. I could feel a stirring in my

crotch at the thought of...

"Look! It is the first star of the night. You must make a wish, Brad," she

said, interrupting my musing.

The first star had, indeed, just appeared in the sky. It was going to be a

beautiful night. I moved closer to Giselle as I looked at the star. She didn't

object.

I poured the champagne, and pressed the glass into her hand. Her hand was warm,

dry, soft, and perfectly manicured. She didn't let her hand linger in mine, but

she didn't snatch it away either.

"I oughtn't drink champagne," Giselle told me. "It makes me feel sensuous and

sad at the same time." She sipped her drink. After a little while her eyes

misted over. She wore no eye shadow, but her mascara was showing signs of

distress. In only a few seconds more, the tears were flowing freely, and she

stifled a sob. Then, almost as suddenly as they had come, the tears ceased.

Embarrassed, Giselle touched her eyes with her napkin.

"I must go make repairs." She gave me a rueful smile. I nodded.

When she got to the edge of the banquette, Giselle reached under the table and

picked up a polished wood cane I hadn't noticed before. She used the edge of

table and the cane to help her stand, then headed for the ladies' room with a

peculiar, stiff gait. It was startling, but I wasn't so surprised that I failed

to note that I had won my bet with myself about her behind. Her butt was full

and rounded - breeding hips my father had called them - but not fat. The soft

gray wool of her skirt flowed around her like a thick cloud. She wore black,

seamed stockings with butterflies appliqued on them. Her long, slender legs

would look better in high heels than in the low-heeled pumps she was wearing.

My cock stirred again. I sipped some more champagne.

"A penny for your thoughts," I heard someone say.

I hadn't seen Giselle return. With the help of her cane she was carefully

lowering herself into the banquette.

"I must give you an explanation for that scene just now. Usually I am not like

that.

"I have been.. crippled for nearly five years, Brad. I have learned, fairly,

well, to deal with the stares and the 'Isn t it too bad about Giselle?'

comments. There are many people who do not know how to deal with it, though.

That is what set me off just now. The man I have been dating knew that I am

crippled, of course. But until today he did not know how badly. I could not

stand his pity, or his deference. And he did not really want a girlfriend

like.. this! We parted for good a few hours ago."

Her voice was getting shaky, and there were the beginnings of puddles in her

eyes again. I took her hand.

Giselle obviously was determined not to cry again. She squeezed my hand, and

listened to me tell her what a lovely, sexy, desirable woman she was. After

awhile I discovered I was telling her the truth. The notion of dinner was

getting further from my mind with every squeeze of her hand.

"Even if you are just being kind, I like hearing it," she said. The tears had

dried, and there was color in her cheeks. Suddenly, I became aware of her

nipples pushing against the creamy silk of her blouse.

Then the waiter came by. Giselle insisted that I have dinner while she had her

dessert. I watched her full lips caress the spoon as she ate her mousse. We

talked, getting to know each other.

Giselle was 28. Originally from Switzerland, her accent wasn't so much in her

pronunciation, as in her word choice. She had come here eight years ago to work

as a buyer at an exclusive department store just a mile or so away. She lived

with her two cats in the house her parents had left when they were killed in

the same auto accident that had crippled her. We liked the same kind of music,

although it was difficult for her to dance. Doug, the guy she'd just broken up

with, had been her only "serious" male friend in the five years since her

accident.

She caught me staring at her nipples, so prominent as they strained under her

blouse

"I know we have only just met, but you really do seem to like me, even with my

cane," she said. She blushed a little under my now-unabashed stare, and her

nipples hardened still more. I reached across the table and brushed the left

one with the back of my finger.

Rather than the start and squeal I expected, Giselle closed her eyes and sighed

gently. Then she cupped her breasts in her hands briefly and murmured, "You

have finished your dinner. You must take me home now. I will give you dessert."

She let me help her up, then took her cane and hobbled toward the exit.

I'd turned in the rental car already, planning to take a cab to the airport

tomorrow. She read my mind.

"I arrived in a taxi, Brad. I... do not drive."

So we left in a taxi.



Giselle Dunlop's house was larger than I'd expected, with a wide lawn and a

well kept flower bed framing the front door. She winced a little as I helped

her out of the cab in the driveway. She took my arm, and used her cane as well,

as we walked the few steps to the door. Giselle read the look of concern on my

face

"I'm fine. It's just that I don't usually walk so much in one day."

I took her keys and let us into a large living room that was beautifully

furnished with a feminine flair. Two grey Persian cats regarded me balefully

from the loveseat in the living room. The parquet floors were as highly

polished as the oak dining table that I could see through the opening dining

room door. It was a beautiful house. I told her so.

"I have invested the insurance money, Brad. It has left me well provided for. I

have everything I need... everything except..."

Her words were cut off when my lips met hers. Her tongue was a probing, seeking

thing, exploring every nook of my mouth. My hands slipped forward to cress

those full, rich breasts I had been admiring since we met. Under her blouse,

her nipples were again prominent, even through the lace of her bra cup.

Her cane clattered to the floor as I kissed her neck.

My hands moved slowly down her back, stopping - for awhile - to savor the firm,

curving flesh of her ass. Just as I started to move lower, Giselle gently

pushed me away.

"No, Brad. Not yet!" She was a little breathless as she stood there, swaying a

bit without the support of her cane.

"I'll be back in just a bit." She smiled briefly at me, then gently patted my

swollen crotch. Leaving her cane where it had fallen, she used the furniture to

help her reach what I assumed to be the bedroom door.

Changing into "something more comfortable," I thought sourly, as I took a seat

on the big sofa. But I was wrong.

When Giselle returned, she was still wearing the grey wool skirt, and the

creamy silk blouse. But the long slender legs in black nylons no longer emerged

from under her skirt as she propelled the wheelchair into the room. My face

must have registered some of my surprise.

"I have told you that I am crippled," she reminded me. "Now you know that I am

an amputee. A 'bilateral above-the-knee amputee.' If you wish to leave now, as

Doug did, it is OK, I shall understand. Really. The time we spent together was

lovely." She leaned down and picked her cane up from where it had fallen, and

placed it on the table by the sofa.

I didn't answer. I simply got up, moved the two steps to her wheelchair, lifted

and carried her back to the sofa, and returned to kissing her neck and

caressing her breasts.

She seemed startled by my reaction to her leglessness, but it wasn't long

before her lips were returning my kisses, and her nipples were again peaks of

rigidity on the pillow-like softness of her swollen breasts.

I lowered myself onto my back and pulled her on top of me. This time, when my

hands moved below the flaring curves of her ass, she didn't protest. I felt the

end of her leg under the soft skirt.

"You are the first person to touch my stumps since... in five years," she

whispered. I felt her fumbling with my zipper.

"And this is the first penis I have held in five long years!"

Free of its confinement, my prick filled her hand with a resplendent hard-on.

Giselle stroked it gently. In only a few moments of intense pleasure, a drop of

pre-cum appeared at the tip. She licked it off.

"I don't want to come yet," I told her.

Giselle ignored me. Before I'd finished talking, the head of my cock

disappeared between her lips. She reached behind me to toss three or four throw

pillows onto the floor. Then she slipped off the sofa.

Standing on the pillows with her stumps, Giselle paused in sucking my rigid

cock only long enough to pull down my trousers and shorts. When my dick

returned to her mouth, she took it all down her throat.

There aren't words to describe how incredible this blow job was. Just as I

would reach the edge of coming, Giselle would take my cock out of her mouth,

and instead kiss and suck my balls. But, expert cocksucker though she was, my

orgasm soon could be delayed no longer.

"I'm coming, Giselle! Now!"

The spasms of my prick shot hot cum against the back of her mouth. She

swallowed every drop, sucking me dry. Then she tried to crawl back onto the

sofa. Without legs, she had to use mostly her arms. I bent over and lifted her

onto my lap. My fingers reached for the zipper on the back of her skirt. I

unveiled her stumps.

The stump of her right leg was two or three inches longer than her left. Near

the ends of her stumps, the thin, smooth, pale lines of the scars were barely

visible in the shadowy lamplight. I bent over to kiss her stumps, while she

shrugged out of her blouse.

"You are not disgusted by my stumps?" Giselle asked incredulously. "You do not

find them impossibly ugly?"

My answer was to slip off the sofa with my head in her lap. I kissed the ends

of her stumps, alternately kissing one and fondling the other. Inevitably, my

kisses reached the top of her stumps. Her panties were soaked with her desire.

I pulled them down over her stumps in one quick motion. I could feel her

drooling slit tighten as I licked her clit.

"Oooooh yes, Brad! Kiss me down there! Please, eat my pussy!"

Somewhat clumsily, as compared to her expertise at giving head, I licked and

sucked and kissed her cunt and thighs until she was on the verge of orgasm.

Then I left her pubic mound for the twin mounds of her chest.

Her cream-colored lace bra barely contained her bountiful breasts. When I

slipped it off, I finally got a look at those wonderful nipples I had been

noticing all evening.

I'd noted that this redhead had no freckles on her face. Her tits, though, were

dusted lightly with them. Her areolae were only slightly darker than the rest

of her breasts. Her nipples were rock hard with desire. Almost the size of my

thumbnail, they stood at attention atop the mountains of her breasts. I put one

in my mouth.

"Alors! Mon Dieu!" She lapsed into her native French, then returned to English

with a start.

"I am coming, Brad! Ooooh, you're wonderful! It's happening... now!"

One of my hands was fondling her tit, my lips were locked on her other breast,

and my finger had invaded her vagina. I felt her orgasm as it rolled over her.

"Five years! Five years without a man who would make me feel like a woman.

Until now. It was soooo good, Brad!" she finally told me when she was again

able to speak.

"What we do next will be even better!" I assured her.

I slipped a pillow under her ass. Her cunt looked so delicious perched up there

that I couldn't resist giving it another kiss. As long as I was there, I

figured I'd kiss her stumps some more, too. Giselle moaned, and thrashed about.

"Don't tease me, Brad! Fuck me! Please fuck me now!"

I was already inside her, pounding her pussy with every inch of my manhood. Our

synchronized thrusting increased as my dick slipped in and out of her cunt.

"I'm... going.. to have... another orgasm!" she managed to say breathlessly.

I had mine a heartbeat ahead of her. It was the feeling of my coming inside her

that set Giselle off. We thrashed about like animals in heat as our mutual

orgasms exploded.

I never did get dessert.



That was two years ago. After writing each other from our separate cities, then

meeting and dating for awhile, Giselle and I were married last summer. I had no

objection to her keeping her job at the department store, and the company

needed somebody here to oversee the Laidlaw, Inc. account, so we are a very

happy couple.

Giselle objects to my insistence that she use her wheelchair, now that her

pregnancy is starting to show. But I don't want her falling with her artificial

legs, and hurting herself or the baby. The sight of her swollen belly over the

stumps of her legs keeps me horny from sun-up to sundown.

From time to time, we revisit Antoine's. We sit at the table where we met - the

table where her old boyfriend had left her when he found out her legs had been

amputated. And, just to remind her how much I lust for her, I insist she go in

her wheelchair, so I can fondle her stumps under the table.