All dressed up and ready to go

You head home and take a nice hot shower, lathering up your pert breasts and scrubbing your most sensitive spots very thoroughly. You towel off and admire your body in the mirror, singing to yourself as you do a sexy dance that you think might turn on Mr. Wood.

When it comes time to pick an outfit you decide that the fine line between modesty and indecency needs to be walked very carefully. Vito's Steakhouse probably isn't hip with you walking in wearing a pair of boyshorts and a halter top. Instead, you choose a flowing blue floral summer dress that goes down to your mid-thigh. It shows off your long legs and in the right light it's almost transparent, but in a dark restaurant it will look as modest as a church dress.

You choose a pair of white cotton panties to wear beneath it, but decide to go without a bra. Your tits don't sag and the neckline of the dress shouldn't cause any problems. Besides, you like the feel of the soft fabric against your nipples.

You put on some very low key makeup, just a hint of red lipstick and some foundation. You finish your look with a practiced mussing of your hair and a spritz from your hair spray. As a nod to an earlier generation you give yourself a spray of your mom's perfume.

When you ring Mr. Wood's doorbell he answers immediately. The white-haired man is dressed up in a suit and tie like he's going to a wedding. You giggle and kiss him on his cheek, prompting a blush.

"You look absolutely beautiful, Joy," he remarks taking your hands and stepping back to admire you.

"Thanks, stud," you stick your tongue out at him. "Let's go!"

Mr. Wood's pickup truck is old and ugly, but you snuggle next to him on the bench seat and smile as you back out of the driveway. You catch him peeking at your smooth legs while he's driving and you laugh and give him another kiss.

Vito's is dark and filled with retirees and a few middleaged office diners. Vito Calagari himself greets you, a whale of a man with a hilarious oiled mustache and a white tuxedo vest that looks as if it's about to burst.

"Your usual table, Mr. Wood," he asks.

"Thank you, Vito," the portly owner leads you to a table for four with a lovely view of a lake.

After a few minutes of casual conversation you place your order with a bored-acting waiter and enjoy a glass of wine. Your too young for that, but nobody bothers to card Mr. Wood's beautiful niece.

"You look really sexy," Mr. Wood confesses when the waiter departs with your menus.

"Mmmm," you accept the compliment. "I was just thinking about earlier."

The older man reddens and you giggle. Your conversation grows increasingly intimate when suddenly Mr. Wood sits upright in his chair.

"What?" You ask.

"Someone I know," he replies.

You look over and see a couple approaching the table. In the lead is a snappily dressed man who looks to be about Mr. Wood's age. He has a full head of buzzcut white hair and the bronze complexion of someone who regularly tans. He's dressed in an elegant suit and has a half dozen gold rings spread across his ten fingers.

At his side is a woman, younger than him, with the look of a former beauty queen turned to plastic surgery in recent years. She is probably only 40, but she is equally tan and has the tight face and large lips of a woman on a first name basis with her doctor. She's wearing a skin tight dress with a plunging neckline that shows off her huge breast implants.

"Hugh Crassle," Mr. Wood whispers. "I've known him for over 40 years and he's always been a jerk."

"Wellllll," Mr. Crassle says, "long time no see, Ernie."

"Hello, Hugh," Mr. Wood shakes the man's hand. "Cynthia."

The woman kisses Mr. Wood's cheek.

"And who is this fine young lady?" Mr. Crassle asks as he ogles you.

"That's my ni-"

"Joy," You interrupt, "I'm Ernie's girlfriend."

Mr. Crassle's eyes widen and he laughs.

"Robbing the cradle?" Before Mr. Wood can answer the tanned man continues. "Do you mind if Cynthia and I join you?"

Without waiting for the answer he and his wife sit down across from you and Mr. Wood. The tanned man quickly dominates the conversation. Bragging about his construction business, his wealth, and using any opportunity to make digs at Mr. Wood. You listen for several minutes before you feel the tightness in your bladder that signals a trip to the bathroom.

You excuse yourself from the table with a lingering kiss on Mr. Wood's cheek and can't help but feel Mr. Crassle's eyes boring into your butt as you walk towards the back of the restaurant.

You adjust your makeup in the mirror of the women's bathroom and then retreat to one of the stalls. You sit down on the cold plastic seat and relieve yourself, unaware that someone is waiting for you just beyond the bolted door.