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" Wanted: a restaurant with good food, dim lighting, a table in the back with a long tablecloth\u2026 and inattentive service so my boyfriend can attempt to give me a Big O without the waiter realizing it. But alas, when one searches for this on Google Maps, nothing comes up. So after pounding the pavement for one week straight, D. and I finally found a restaurant with so-so food, dim lighting, and a table in the back\u2026 unfortunately without a long tablecloth. It wasn&amp;#039;t perfect, but I had to complete the challenge. Who knew that of all the things Cosmo has tasked me with, this would be one of the most difficult? In preparation for the evening, I had put on a loose mini dress and gone commando. I had also packed something in my bag. A &amp;quot;cleansing&amp;quot; wipe. New York City heatwave + traipsing around said city sans skivvies = the need for a cleansing wipe.  After sitting down in a booth in the back, D. and I sussed out our surroundings. If we sat on the same side of the booth and he sort of leaned forward and lifted his legs a little, he could get a hand between my legs without anyone noticing (fingers crossed). I hit the bathroom, got myself in tip-top shape then walked back to the table, taking in the view. Yikes, people would see. Not necessarily my business. But that funny business was happening. I relayed this to D. &amp;quot;If there were no chance of being caught, it wouldn&amp;#039;t be interesting,&amp;quot; he said. &amp;quot;You&amp;#039;re finger blasting me in a crowded restaurant in Manhattan. I don&amp;#039;t think we need the entire clientele watching to make this interesting.&amp;quot; But he had a point. The idea was that we could get caught at any moment. That&amp;#039;s supposed to make it extra-hot, right? We ordered drinks, I chugged half of mine, and turned to D. &amp;quot;Let&amp;#039;s do this.&amp;quot; He let out a little squeal and I immediately chastised him for making a scene. D. promised to keep a straight face and even used his left hand to pick up his drink while his right hand reached for my thigh. As soon as he got under my skirt and was touching my upper thigh, I giggled. Loudly. The booth in front of us turned around. Whoooops. After I calmed myself down, D. tried again. I strategically placed my napkin over the area, he hiked my dress up and went for it. He jabbed his hand in the general right direction, but kept hitting the area above my clitoris. &amp;quot;Enough meetings on my mound,&amp;quot; I said. &amp;quot;Move an inch south.&amp;quot; I&amp;#039;m pretty sure the granny two tables away knew exactly what I was talking about. But she seemed to approve. D. contorted his hand and managed to get to the bullseye. And ladies, let me tell you, I got turned on right away. I didn&amp;#039;t expect to since I had been so nervous and wired. He rubbed my button using two fingers and since I couldn&amp;#039;t make a peep, I just put on this goofy grin while trying to look really busy with other things. Nothing going on here. Just taking a sip of my wine. Why, no, my boyfriend&amp;#039;s hand is not up my skirt, I&amp;#039;m simply eating a forkful of salad like one does at a restaurant. And then suddenly our lovely server was coming at us. &amp;quot;Stopstopstopstopserveriscomingserveriscomingserveriscoming,&amp;quot; I said, panicked. &amp;quot;Well, that wasn&amp;#039;t my goal. But I&amp;#039;m glad someone is.&amp;quot; D. slid his hand back to his own lap. I don&amp;#039;t think the server noticed. This happened, oh, four more times, and I became convinced\u2014conspiracy theory style\u2014that the entire restaurant staff knew what was going on. I swore the busboy was smirking at us, I was sure the chef who came out to talk to the hostess only did so to get a look at my spread knees, and I would have put money on the fact that our server was texting the rest of the people in the kitchen, &amp;quot;U have to come see this!&amp;quot; We decided to wait till our main course was served to avoid being caught red-handed again. Once our dishes were on the table, I leaned back in the booth and spread my legs slightly. D. came up with a totally new manual stimulation technique: his palm is facing down and he makes a loose fist so that his knuckles are aimed at me. He spreads the knuckles on his pointer and middle finger a fraction of an inch and places them around my clitoris. He rubs up and down and side to side. (I don&amp;#039;t know if you can imagine it, but the parts of those two fingers below the knuckle were laying flat against my labia as he worked my button.) Ah. Mah. Zing. It felt really different than when he uses the tips of his fingers, plus he also covered so much more ground.  Unfortch, our server was way too attentive for D. to bring me to climax. (If you try this challenge, go to a restaurant where the server will leave you alone for 20 minutes.) But as soon as D. and I got back to my apartment, he threw me down on the bed, lifted up my dress completely and went to town. I was so primed from all of that foreplay that I orgasmed in what might have been record time. I attribute it to him using his patented new move\u2014I&amp;#039;ve been referring to it as the Knuckle Ball, but that feels utterly unsexy. Any ideas for a better name? "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/advice/a5253/challenge-5-getting-off-in-a-crowded-restaurant/>