THE GYPSY WAITER (1/3)

January 7, 2026:

I arrived at 1:15 pm at a bar on Toledo Street, to wait for Miguel, who works nearby and we meet here with some frequency. David served me a Rioja and, secretly, I took several photos of him again, disguising it with my mobile. It's not the first time. Any day now, I'll get a well-deserved slap for my audacity. I don't do it often, but when a guy turns me on so much, I confess it's not the first time.

After a few months, things with Miguel aren't going anywhere, at least for me. I hope we'll end up as good friends. Since he's a regular customer at this place, due to its proximity to his job, I've gotten to know David, one of the waiters.

David is a 42-year-old gypsy, a bit taller than me, dark-skinned, handsome, a bit paunchy, not very hairy, with big black eyes, dark and abundant hair. I find him so virile, masculine, and morbid, he turns me on so much, that I even forgive his bad haircuts, shaved at the nape and sides.

Miguel has also commented on how good-looking David is, but he has no idea about the filthy fantasies the gypsy provokes in me. I keep my submissive bitch desires hidden, depending on who I'm with. Miguel is a bit conservative for that. It's logical for a guy in his fifties, divorced, and with kids.

One day, while they were both chatting, I was able to take a good look at David: his square jaw, his gaze, his features, how his nipples showed under his shirt, his bulging package under his uniform pants, which were a bit tight. I also saw his sweaty armpits when he raised his arm. And, as he walked away, his ass, stuffed into his pants. Since I was sitting, I was able to hide my erection.

Miguel arrived. We were going to have a drink before lunch, but his phone rang.

"It's Laura, my colleague," he sighed as he hung up. "Damn! I have to go up because of a problem with a client. I might be a half hour or more. Will you wait for me and we can eat as planned?"

"Yes, don't worry. I'll finish this chapter," I said, pulling out a novel that had me hooked.

"I'm sorry, man. I really am, making you wait now..." he apologized, putting on his jacket.

"Don't worry, really, don't worry," I assured him.

As he left, I saw David looking at him too, while serving another table.