The fact is I was in bed with her when I saw him naked, and she (I happen to know) was thinking of her own him. In her thoughts he was naked, too. So it was that we were drunk on tequila and oxtail, two girls in bed with two (maybe three? who can keep track?) naked men, laughing at and devouring our own obsessions. This sounds decidedly more perverse on paper than it was in the sheets, but that's no reason to edit.
At the table:
It came to me now as I filled my cup to the brim that the world stands naïve and naked quite often between us. Simplistic as we are in our pretenses (we sit and eat in silence) and ridiculous in our attempts to seem complicated (we sip, wipe, chew, political smile, pass the salt, swallow). We’re all very proper in our thoughts where I’m sure we’re all dressed in business suits.
On my plate and in my head:
And just as he smiled (naked again, this time on my chair!), the woman in black at the nearby table laughed so hard I nearly came (as in returned to myself, of course). And the propers gasped on cue, her laugh so blissfully obscene that they were properly offended, and we, naturally, were instantly more delighted than we had ever been with our broccoli.