Stephen Merchant

It had been a while since you'd walked off. He'd watched you leave from the corner of his eye, his gaze never leaving you or your body for a second. Stephen could tell that you didn't really care for the company at the table right now, and this restaurant was crowded and noisy and not the most pleasant place to dine. He found himself bored now that you were gone, even though it had only been a handful of minutes since you took your trip to the bathroom. Regardless, he eagerly awaited your return -- not that he would let you have you or anyone else know for that matter. The fact that he was only here with this uninteresting group of people was because of you is something he could not let you catch wind of, because it'd surely give you a leg up in this seemingly endless game the two of you seemed to be locked in with each other in which exchanging rude jests and pretending you hated one another was the main objective.

But as he sat there, his knees pressed uncomfortably underneath this table that was too low and on this chair that was too small for his long stature, he couldn't help but stare at the bathroom door, his mind wandering to images of you, and how you had looked standing up, how the fabric of your clothes fell organically around your silhouette, and how he wished you would just emerge from that damned lavatory. With each thought of you and each moment that passed and only drew out his increasing lethargy at your absence, his imagination entertained him the best way it knew how; providing him with imagery of you. You close to him, you looking at him, your lips parting and how the heat of your body would feel so near to his own. As time passed, it grew more explicit, until the only thought occupying him entirely was your lips wrapped around his cock.

When Stephen felt his pants tighten, he was somewhat brought back to reality, attempting to grab at and adjust the fabric straining against his crotch under the table. He couldn't be here right now, he had to go somewhere private where he could get this out of his system. So, grabbing his jacket, he not-so-inconspicuously covered himself and excused himself as he shuffled towards the bathroom. But once he reached the men's room, he found it closed off with an "out of order" sign taped to the door. He groaned, growing more and more uncomfortable with each passing second. He stopped a waiter, asking them if there was any other bathroom he could use. The waiter simply told him that for the night, the ladies room was unisex and he'd have to go there. So, desperate for that release he so urgently needed, Stephen waddled towards the women's bathroom. It was quiet, and to his relief, it seemed almost all of the stalls were unoccupied. But just as he was about to slink towards one, the only occupied stall door opened, only for you to step out. A chill ran up his spine when his gaze locked with yours, and for a long moment, he just stood there, flushed and clammy and agitated, all his stupid, pervy thoughts about you.