After a nap and some pre-dinner sex back in the UCTMW branch office, we headed to dinner at a new restaurant up in the hills a few miles from here, tucked into an old adobe building along a creek that a young couple had recently renovated. It's past tourist season here, so when we arrived we discovered only another table of diners in this cozy dinging room. They appeared to be an older lady (maybe in her mid-60's), her somewhat older husband, their daughter and another man, who may or may not have been the son-in-law.
Now oddly enough I had gotten an email I perused from Zagat.com earlier in the day setting out some obvious rules on "dining etiquette" when out at a "fine dining" restaurant. Here is a link.
One of the "rules" had something to do with table talk:
"With restaurants packing people together like sardines, it's inevitable that diners are going to overhear snippets of conversations from neighboring tables, so when you're rubbing elbows with the table next to you, keep it clean!" The advice was to avoid subjects like medical procedures and potty training....
So maybe my antenna were a little too highly tuned. But it was a small room, and maybe voices carried against the hard adobe walls and rock floors. Or maybe Mistress and Slave are just too nosy, but....
We ordered and were digging into the tasty smoked trout appetizer when we overheard the older lady launch into a story from her husband's days as a high school basketball coach:
"There was this one player.... well he was really 'well endowed' if you get me, and one day, during a game all that equipment just .... popped out..... you should have seen all the jaws drop."
At about that point, both of our jaws dropped.
But the subject did not then change to who won the big game. No, the focus remained on what grammy kept describing as this player's "enormous dong."
She repeatedly came back to the underutilized resource angle here: what a waste it was that this man, as he grew older, lived with his mother.
"I mean why keep that thing to yourself....."
At that point Mistress whispered to me: "Well, at least the WC did not withhold his special occasion cock from the world like this sap. "
One of the men, using a softer tone, must have said something about not really paying attention to such things, but she would have none of it.
"Oh, I've heard you guys say there's some sort of 'code' where you don't look at each others cocks in the locker room, or when you take a pee, but I don't believe it, don't you want to know what the competition has going for it?"
Apparently to prove this point, she launched into a story about a girl in her high school class who, compared to her "dinky" breasts, had some ginormous "tits". There was a description of a shower sequence where our raconteur could not take her eyes of those "glistening boobs."
Dinner was lovely, and Mistress and Slave attempted to have a quiet and less provocative conversation, but it was hard not to listen in to the randy older lady next to us. At some point Mistress's ears picked up when she went on to describe the perils of a botched circumcision to a young man's love life.
"Ohhh.... do you think she's Jewish, Slave....."
"Not necessarily, Mistress."
As dinner concluded over some lovely home made blueberry ice cream, the conversation switched to politics, something Slave feels a bit more comfortable talking about in public. After I paid the check and Mistress slid off to the Loo, I stood to stretch my legs, and stepped over to share an opinion, affirming a bit of what I had heard as they laid into Mitt and his frat boy running mate.
The lady seemed a little concerned at first.
"Oh, good.... I was afraid you were going to give us some abuse and call us a bunch of crazy socialists."
"No.... "I said, as Mistress and I stepped away, " but we did find all those penis stories pretty amusing...."
But she was unrepentant.
"Oh dear.... did we spend too much time on dongs?"
Who are we to judge. Maybe I need a "Mick Collins / UCTMW" business card to share on such occasions.
