He’s pushed her too far. But of course nobody cares. He’s right. Nobody’s looking at the woman staring at the table, with her left hand on a small box, and her right hand holding an even smaller square of white paper. She can barely talk- someone must have seen- it’s a fucking butt plug. ‘Nobody’s watching. ‘No? A clasp closes it with a single brass button. Decide. Fucking. What could be so fucking shameful that she’d need to make this kind of decision, now? Not long as far as history’s greatest romances go, but there’d been something about the back and forth of the exchange which had piqued her interest. They’re all wrapped up in their own lives to look at a pretty woman, opening a box. Waiters desperately ignore patronising conversation from idiotic men trying to show they know something about wine to their disinterested dates. He looks calm. The box is leather, dark blue.
