<span style="font-weight: bold">Samantha Belweather</span><br/><br/>The greeter is a pretty girl in a kimono… and, somehow, the traditional dress just<span style="font-style: italic">works</span>with the cool clean lines of the restaurant’s modern vibe. There’s no room for even the slighest bellyswell beneath the tight obi, but its equally clear that the sash could be undone in moments leaving her tum accessible for miscreants. She bows politely, but swiftly hands us off to a waiter… she’s here<span style="font-style: italic">mostly</span>to prevent vorishers diners making dinner of their dates and bailing on the check,<span style="font-style: italic">and</span>to keep out vorish interlopers who might consider the non-humane seating section a buffet in its own right.<br/><br/>“Certainly Sir,” the waiter replies, as Jules asks for our reservation. Then he coughs discreetly. “Where would Madam like to be seated?” He asks.<br/><br/>“Oh, the humane section, definitely,” I said. “Something secluded.” I didn’t know, yet, that I wanted to order a<span style="font-style: italic">live</span>meal, but I certainly wasn’t ready to foreclose the option just yet. Besides, dating a vorish girl meant watching a never-ending string of stockboys slide down her throat, and the sooner Jules came to terms with that the better off he’d be. The waiter led the way, and as we followed I leaned down. “Do you want to kiss a hungry vore on the doorstep tonight?” I whispered into his ear.<br/><br/>In the bright restaurant, there wasn’t a lot of<span style="font-style: italic">secluded</span>available, but at least it was against the wall. I waited to see if Jules would pull my chair out for me - first for politeness, and second, because he’d be safer with his back to the wall, albeit with a fine view of the humane section’s activities going on behind me.