I took my panties off with the appetizers. The silky black fabric whispered down my thighs to fall in a ripple on the floor.

Not a head turned in my direction. No one let out a shocked gasp. This is because all the guests in the room were wearing blindfolds. Nearby, I heard Chester say, “At twelve o’clock, you’ll find your peas.”

People in search of romance come up with the most unusual ways to find love. Being set up by your buddies doesn’t qualify as hip enough anymore. You must enter the online maze, or embark upon a champagne cruise, or sign up for a speed-dating service where you meet a possible new mate every 300 seconds.

“Six o’clock is mashed purple potatoes.”

But even those high-intensity, ultra-amped-up situations can’t compete with the latest scheme: dating in the dark. Strangers pay exorbitant fees to dine in total blackness, hoping to find that perfect someone, that love ever after, in a midnight-hued restaurant on the hipper side of town.

I don’t judge.

I only serve.

“Nine o’clock is our famous buttermilk fried chicken.”

I’m a waitress at a hot spot known for gourmet dinners served in an inky dining room. Everything in the room is black. The plates, the linens, the flatware, even the roses in the black vases. None of this attention to detail actually matters. The aesthetic is all smoke and mirrors, because as soon as the diners enter the restaurant, blindfolds are slipped into place. The guests are led to their tables. The waitstaff wears night-vision goggles. We provide the delicious food. The rest — call it chemistry, the sparks of desire, flames of lust — is up to the participants.

Night-vision goggles offer a strange view of your clientele. People are drenched in a green glow, and with the added kink of the blindfolds, there is something otherworldly yet dungeon-esque about the diners. Alien meets 9 1/2 Weeks.

Each Friday and Saturday night, I set the meals before customers. I explain what is on the plates with additional directions most restaurants don’t require: “In the very center of the plate, you’ll find a delicious celery-root salad.” The chef doesn’t need to make the plates pretty, only easy to follow.

Every weekend, it’s the same strangeness. At least, it was until tonight.

Tonight I took off my underwear with the appetizers. My panties — black, like every other item of my clothing — were made of fine silk and trimmed in lace. I’d chosen these ones specially, and they were already damp. I’d been wet since I’d first arrived at work. I left the panties in the corner, knowing that no one at my tables would be the wiser. I was still Stella, the waitress, handing over fresh cutlery, helping diners locate their wine glasses, mopping up the inevitable spills. Reminding the clientele where the bread basket lay. (Ten o’clock, in case you’re wondering.)

Going commando under my skirt gave me a decadent thrill. I heard the breathy tone in my voice, although I didn’t believe my customers would notice. They were too busy chasing wayward peas around their plates, trying to eat without making too much mess. Laughing at their own giddiness.

With the first course, I removed my skirt. A zip. A slip. The knee-length pencil skirt joined my panties in a puddle of black on black. Now I experienced a true shiver of lust, the type that starts at the base of your spine and flickers upward through every nerve ending. I had on my blouse, my bra, gossamer-light stockings and heels, but my pussy was exposed. Would anyone breathe me in? Could the aroma of my sensual scent compete with the gourmet courses?

The chefs cook in the upstairs kitchen. A runner brings the food to the antechamber. We make sure all the transactions take place in the dark. The only one who would notice what I was doing was Chester, and Chester was the reason I was undressing at work.

Chester was, in my opinion, a demigod. Tall with dark hair and eyes the color of the sky before snow, he exuded a vibe of powerful sexuality that rocked me to my core. He had a droll, sarcastic way of talking, as if he’d seen everything, and sometimes I thought he had. Chester favored extreme sports. He searched for the edge in every situation.

We’d kissed one time at a holiday function — mistletoe was involved, as well as the cheering of the kitchen staff. I was sheepish now that I hadn’t acted on the initial attraction. There was flirtation, innuendo, but no moves in the bedroom direction.

Sometimes the two of us met for drinks at the bar down the street, telling tales of our diners, bonding over the bizarre quality of our jobs. I’d said I respected the customers’ courage, going into the pit and speaking with strangers. He’d agreed, but said that working here had robbed him of a bit of his adventurous side as far as dating was concerned. What could compare? He occasionally met women in mundane manners. At the Laundromat. At the gym. But the situations never sparked his interest.

“You’re jaded,” I’d teased him.

“And you aren’t?”

Was he right? Maybe I was, too. I hadn’t been out with anyone since my last relationship had imploded. And watching strangers try to feed themselves in the dark had definitely put a damper on my desire for romance.

Which is why I’d decided to get nude … in the dark … where only Chester would know.

So far, he hadn’t cottoned on to what I was doing. He’d been faced away from me, or off to grab another course. He hadn’t taken in my change in appearance.

With the second course, I removed my blouse. That’s when Chester looked over at my section and figured out in a flash what was going on. There we were in the dark, both of us wearing night-vision goggles. I felt him watching me. I undid my bra. I was nearly nude now, and even though my heart was racing at triple speed, I was completely at ease with what I was doing.

“Miss? A fork?” I hurried to the table and handed over a fresh utensil.

“Miss? A moment?” That was Chester. I didn’t move quite as quickly to his side. He grabbed my hand and pulled me to the antechamber.

“What the fuck, Stella?”

“You said you were tired of the mundane.”

He was green and shimmery. And he smiled.

I returned to the dining room, assisting where I could, ignoring what I had to. Nobody would find watching people eat in the dark sexy once they’d seen them from my point of view. But I didn’t focus on anything except the way Chester watched me. Whenever I moved, he clocked me with those goggles. Whenever I bent, he was right there, observing every motion. Then, to my delight, he did something I hadn’t expected. The next time I looked in his direction I saw that he had no shirt on.

I paused, mid-pour, in refilling a customer’s glass. Chester grinned at me and then he kicked off his shoes and took off his pants. His body was spectacular — I’d never had an opportunity to peruse his abs, to drink in his biceps. He was built for speed, and I felt myself growing ever more aroused as the dinner service continued. For the rest of the evening, he served in his boxers. I could see his erection straining against the black fabric.

I had just set out my last dessert place when he approached me once more.

“How quiet can you be?” he asked in a hushed tone.

“So quiet,” I whispered back.

Chester pushed me up against the wall. I felt his cock pressing at me through the shiny fabric barrier. His cock drove the satin of his boxers against my naked pussy until my knees went weak. I took matters into my own hands and shoved his boxers down. I felt myself relax when I held his cock in my hand. He was decidedly well-hung. Thank fucking god. In silence, I let my palm work him, slowly, teasing him with my fingers wrapped around his delicious girth. I used his pre-come as lube, slickening up the ride I gave him in my fist. Chester stared at me and shook his head. No time for foreplay now. He spread my nether lips wide and then he was in me, holding me up against the wall, his cock thrusting.

I recalled a fetish movie I’d seen where an audience surrounded a blindfolded vixen. This was the polar opposite. Twenty diners in close proximity were enjoying their desserts. Chester and I were getting our own, as well. He pinned my hands on either side of my head and rutted against me, and I had to bite down on a moan. We didn’t want anyone to know what we were up to.

The pleasure filled me up. I’d been waiting for this for so long. Too long. I closed my eyes and basked in the sensation of being fucked by Chester. My pussy tightened around him. I moaned and then held totally still. What if someone noticed? What if someone heard?

Thankfully, the diners continued obliviously, and he and I moved onto our next course. Chester turned me around, so I was pressed against the smooth black wallpaper of the dining room. He tugged off my goggles and set them on the ground. I heard his follow. We were truly in the dark, totally naked, when he began to fuck me from behind.

I could not believe how turned-on I was. I felt as if I might set off the fire alarm overhead, my whole body tingling with electric shimmers. Chester got one hand in front of me and began to rub his knuckles up and down my split. I bit my bottom lip to keep from accidentally making noise again.

He pushed his hand firmly against my pussy. I rocked my hips forward, then ground them in a slow, sensuous circle. I could taste the pleasure, feel the heat lighting me up inside. I didn’t need much more to get there. Chester seemed to understand.

“Miss?” a customer called out.

“Excuse me, sir?” another voice called.

Chester spiraled his fingertips against my clit. He was fucking me hard and fast, with the ease and silence of a well-oiled machine.

“Oh, miss!” one of the diners said in an annoyed tone.

Suddenly, Chester pinched my clit between his thumb and pointer. “I’m coming!” I said, and I meant it. The orgasm overwhelmed me, robbing me of my ability to speak, to breathe, to comprehend. I came in a flash on Chester’s glorious cock, my pussy tightening and releasing again and again around his wicked girth.

He climaxed a second later, and stayed inside me. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest, could hear him struggling not to pant, not to let on what we were doing — how dirty and dangerous we were acting only feet away from our customers. In an effort to recover, we stood there for a moment, catching our breath, stunned by what we’d done.

“Be right with you,” I said to the room, and I scooped up my clothes and headed to the antechamber to redress before darting into the ladies’ room to wash my hands and check my reflection in light that wasn’t watery green. I looked fulfilled and calm, even though my heart still raced and my cheeks were rose-tinted.

When I returned to the room, Chester handed me back my goggles. He was dressed once more, and utterly handsome — if slightly mussed — even in the night-vision glow. The diners seemed taken care of, satisfied with their experience. We were nearly to the moment of truth, the reveal when we would turn on the houselights and introduce the customers to one another without their blindfolds on.

“Ready?” Chester asked.

“Ready,” I replied.

As he turned on the switch, Chester kissed me.

In light and in dark, it looked as if I’d finally found my match.