Then I heard a voice behind me... HER voice talking to the girl seated next to me. The girl introduced her and her boyfriend to the table saving me for last. "So we meet again" she says as she tells the group of the mix up at the bar. "I'm Samantha Conners and this is Mark. It's nice to formally meet you!" I shake both their hands and offer them a glass of wine. Luckily, Mark is the "bro" type of guy so he started babbling to the other guys about how great he is and blah blah blah. That gave Samantha time to squeeze a chair in behind me so she could sit and talk with her friend. However, she was hard at work in her skills of hooking her next cock as she was skillfully rubbing up against me with her back by "accident" of course. Then I felt her hand touch my lower back as if she was tapping me to take something in secret. I reach back and she places a napkin in my hand with her number on it all without saying a word or drawing suspicion. DAMN she's good!This was the time for everything. I began to cry. My face flushed with heat and humiliation. Lifting my knees up, I hugged them and buried my face in the sweat-soaked camouflage. I was racked with violent sobs, my shoulders bouncing uncontrollably. The gasp of a wet sniffle jolted me from my self-pity some time later. It was one of the Médecins Sans Frontières nurses standing at the entrance of the corridor a few metres away. I think her name was Tabitha. She was holding her hand over her mouth, the other supporting her wrist. Tears streamed from her eyes and rippled over her fingers. Quickly wiping the tears and snot from my face, I spluttered, “What’s wrong?” She shook her head and stifled another sob. Then composing herself, she lowered her hands and whined softly in a heavy French, or maybe Belgian accent, “I hate to see a man cry.” “I’m not a man,” I blurted out, the utter humiliation seizing me in undignified sorrow. I bawled into my knees, unable to keep myself from wailing like a banshee. I felt the moist.
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