High Class Dinner

It was an ordinary afternoon for everyone else. Daylight slowly faded as the streetlights flickered on, announcing the arrival of night. Traffic thickened as office workers poured out into the streets, eager to leave the day behind.

And there I was, standing in front of a restaurant glowing with warm lights. Damn, I can’t stand warm lighting. People should understand the superiority of cold light. I had barely arrived and I was already in a bad mood.

Who am I? That’s not important. My name? I’ve been called many things. My goal? For now, just to enjoy a quiet dinner.

I approached the entrance—a large double wooden door with a mosaic of colored glass. It opened, and a hostess immediately welcomed me inside.

Wow, I thought. This place doesn’t look cheap.

“Good afternoon, sir. Do you have a reservation, or are you meeting someone?” the girl asked kindly.

She was petite, with pale skin and blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. She wore a white blouse with a ruffled neckline. When I glanced around, I noticed the other hostesses were wearing plain button-down shirts.

When my eyes returned to her, I guessed she had chosen that blouse for a reason—perhaps to disguise her lack of tits. Her tight black pants, however, emphasized the width of her hips.

“Good afternoon,” I replied politely. “I’d like a table for one by the window, please.”

I wasn’t going to let the restaurant’s terrible warm lighting ruin my evening, so I **** a soft smile back onto my face.

The girl raised her eyebrows and made a brief, restrained grimace—so quick most people would have missed it. I didn’t.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “We don’t have single tables available by the window, but I can offer you one near the buffet.”

One more thing to test my patience—but I agreed.

“Alright. Please seat me as close to the window as possible,” I said with a hint of resignation. This afternoon was becoming more irritating by the minute.

The girl looked at me again, her discomfort now more visible. She guided me through the maze of tables. The deeper we walked into the restaurant, the clearer it became that every table was occupied.

Finally, she stopped, turned around, and gestured toward a table.

I looked at the table. Then back at her.

“This is the table closest to the window?” I asked. “My God, I can’t even see the entrance.”

Just then, a door a few steps away swung open. A waiter stepped out carrying a tray stacked with several dishes on his shoulder. Through the doorway I could see the kitchen behind him.

“I apologize, sir. It’s Friday—usually our busiest da—”

I interrupted her.

I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Unbelievable. For one single day I try to control myself, be patient, not explode—and this girl manages to ruin it in less than five minutes.

With what little restraint I had left, I pointed toward another table.

“What about that one?” I asked.

It was a table for four. Only three people were sitting there.

She followed my gesture.

“Well, sir… that table is already occupied,” she replied with innocent logic.

That was it. I couldn’t take it anymore.

A mocking smile crept across my face. How naïve I had been to think this afternoon could be normal.

I sighed, a long breath of resignation, and finally let go.

“Look…”

My eyes dropped to her blouse, where a small tag was pinned to the fabric.

Emily.

“Emily,” I continued, lifting my gaze back to her, “clearly you don’t understand the situation. Since the moment I arrived, you’ve done nothing but deny every request I’ve made. And honestly… it’s been a long time since someone has had the opportunity to deny me something more than twice.”

“Sir—” she began, trying to defend herself.

“Enough.”

I raised my index finger, stopping her mid-sentence.

She glanced toward her colleagues, perhaps hoping for support, but I spoke again before she could call them.

“Emily.”

Her attention snapped back to me.

I looked directly into her eyes, holding her gaze. For a moment she seemed unable to look away.

“Emily,” I said calmly, “I want you to go to the back of the kitchen. The storage area where the food is kept and, listen carefully, go search for the longest and thickest cucumber you can find and shove it up your ass, no matter how much it costs you or how much it hurts…”

Her face remained strangely blank as she listened.

“And once you’re there,” I continued, “You will have to put your pants back on and continue with your work. I know, it will be uncomfortable, but it is what you have earned.”

Emily's face was pale with terror.

“You can take it out when you get home and then you will make yourself a delicious sandwich.”

I paused.

“Understood?”

“Yes…”

She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, something in her expression had changed. Without another word, she turned around and walked toward the kitchen.

A few seconds later she disappeared behind the door, and I lost sight of her.

“One day…” I muttered under my breath. “At least I can say I tried.”

I shrugged and turned back toward the table I had pointed at earlier—the one where three people were chatting over dinner.

I approached them slowly.

“Good afternoon,” I said politely. “Would you mind if I joined you?”