Yann and Sean were at the table with us.Juan had taken Sean shopping for these occasions because his prior wardrobe consisted of two pairs of jeans an... twenty-six t-shirts. Today, he was wearing a dress shirt and vest that with that faint British accent made him kind of elegant. Yann, on the other hand, had worn a silk tee, a sport coat and another pair of his circulation-stopping pants. Sean tried to have some decorum and behaved like a gentleman for the most part. He did his best to keep Yann. When I had said that before men had always happily obliged, I was horny as hell and needed fucked, what did he want?“Fuck me, please.” I begged. My body was sore from yesterday, yet aching for more of the same. How was I going to get this man to fuck me?“I said that was too broad of a statement. I need to know where you want fucked: throat, pussy, or ass? How do you want fucked: slow, gentle, fast, or rough? Now, are you going to tell me what you want or are you going to rub your clit right. Until today, that is. Whilst waiting in line at a coffee shop, it occurred to me that the woman in front of me was hauntingly familiar. When she gave her order, I was able to place her; the backside I'd been covertly appreciating was the one attached to the frame I still occasionally fantasised about. When all other sexual daydreams failed to get me ready for action, she always won through.As she moved across to wait for her order, I hurriedly supplied the barista with my own, moving to. “God, no. Of course I haven’t.”Relief flooded through me.“Anyway,” Mrs Spencer continued. “I’ve been thinking about everything. You know, what happened and the way I reacted.” She paused and offered a gentle smile. “I wanted to apologise for running off that way. I know it must have upset you…”Mrs Spencer held up a hand to stop me talking when I opened my mouth.“No, let me finish,” she said.I nodded. “I’m sorry…”She seemed shy as she looked at me. “You didn’t get in ‘til late,” Mrs Spencer said.