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Trusting The Moment


It had all started with mutual double-takes. There I was in a swanky hotel hallway in downtown Chicago, fumbling to put my key card in the door, when SLAM! I snapped my head around. A very attractive woman had emerged from the room opposite mine and closed her door con brio. Her eyes had met mine, we had both resumed what we were doing for a moment, then looked back at each other in a classic double-take.

Recalling that day, I can say that some kind of magic had happened: there was something in the way our eyes met that second time, held each other’s gaze for a few moments more than really necessary, followed by each of us self-consciously looking away.

Recalling the events of that day still makes my willy stand up and salute, a full nine years later.

After those double-takes, I remember thinking, now what? I am often at a loss for words in such a situation and was just about to say, “Quite a solid door you’ve got there,” or something equally inane, when she giggled, “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you, luv,” in the most lilting British accent.

“No problem,” I said. “I’m just a bit frazzled after a too-long flight from Phoenix.”

“I can top that,” she said. “I just flew over the pole from London, and we had to circle O’Hare for 55 minutes. Talk about beat.”

Her words came out in some mildly upper class English diction. I would guess she was Oxbridge educated, had climbed some corporate or PR ladder, and was quite comfortable with herself, at what seemed to be her late 40s. That guess put her just a couple of years older than me.

“Where ya headed this evening?” I blurted out, immediately fearing my forwardness. I needn’t have worried.

“I need a stiff drink, though that bar off the lobby looked more like a laddy pub than a place to relax,” she said, with a distinct twinkle in her eye. Was this an invitation of sorts, or was I just imagining things? She had used the word “stiff.” A Freudian slip? Control yourself. It’s so easy to misinterpret what another person is feeling, particularly a stranger, but I somehow found the courage to continue the repartee in what I thought was the same very encouraging vein. If I was wrong, so be it. I would apologize, compliment her on her striking looks, and bid adieu.

Somehow the words came flowing off my tongue, surprising me: “You need a drink, I need a shower, how about coming in, ordering up some half-decent champagne, letting me jump in the shower, and by the time I’m finished, the bubbly will have arrived to soothe us both?” How I got all that out in one stutterless stream still baffles me.

She paused ever so briefly, pondering the offer, then said, “Why not, you look like an upstanding fellow, and I can switch on Oprah or some such Yank talk show, probably not first choice down in the bar. By the way, my name’s Mary.”

“I’m David,” I replied.

I pushed open the door, switched on the lights, let Mary precede me, then threw my bag on the stand. I couldn’t help but notice her almost too long legs, which the pants suit she was wearing emphasized all the more. There was also a subtle whiff of floral perfume as she walked. That alone is usually enough to start me up. Her mid-length black hair framed an exquisite face of alabaster skin, olive eyes and luscious lips clad in dark maroon lipstick. She had smallish breasts, but I swear I could see some delicious brown nipples poking through the sheer blouse under her very prim jacket. I’ll take sensitive, sexy nipples over huge breasts anytime.

“What kind of view do you have?” she asked, walking over to the windows and throwing open the curtains. A lot better than mine. I get to look at office blocks, up close and personal.” There was a calm Lake Michigan in the distance, with the Art Institute off to one side. “

I picked up the phone, hit the room service button and ordered up some Roderer
and munchies, then unzipped my suitcase, took out the essentials, and said “Give me 15 minutes,” and ducked in the bathroom.

I turned on the shower. Hot water came instantly, and I doffed my clothes and jumped in. I could just barely hear the familiar voice of Oprah from the TV set. I looked down and my cock was already at half mast: that perfume, and the expectations, the culprit. I was tempted to give it some extra lathering but decided not to. Even so, I must have spent more time than I had realized in the shower because suddenly there was a knock on the bathroom door. It was Mary: “David, room service needs your signature, mind if I come in?”

“No, not at all,” I said. Before I knew what was happening, a hand holding a pen and receipt book poked in one end of the shower. I signed the receipt and was about to stick my arm outside, when, with a whoosh, Mary threw the curtain to one side. She just stood there with that innocent giggle and said, “Forgive me David, I just couldn’t help myself. Not bad, not bad at all.” I handed her back the receipt book with a dumbfounded grin on my face, and she closed the bathroom door behind her. I heard some words exchanged and then silence. Minutes passed as I finished showering. I noticed that the TV had been turned off. Utter silence.

To say I had mixed feelings right then, even a big wave of foreboding, would be understatement: the shower had washed away the fatigue of the day, and certainly Mary’s gambit with the shower curtain had aroused me even more, but now what was happening? Was she some sort of scam artist who had just stolen my valuables and exited? No, no, she occupies the room right across from mine, and I could call down to the lobby and tell them what had happened.

I stepped out of the tub, cock now deflated, dried myself quickly, wrapped on a towel and slowly opened the bathroom door. A small shaft of light came through the window curtains, which had been drawn nearly closed.

It was then that I heard the first moan. I slowly peeked around the corner of the bathroom wall, and there on the bed, covers thrown back, was Mary, ever so gently touching herself with one hand and pinching one of her luscious nipples with the other. She seemed so blissfully lost in self-pleasuring. Would someone please pinch me, I thought to myself. This does not happen except in hack-written erotic stories. Although dear willy was now beginning once more to reach for the ceiling, I was still a bit paranoid. Was she a pro on tour? Would she ask for money after this was all over? Better banish those thoughts.

I had barely sat down on the bed beside her when she shoved fingers dripping with pussy juice in my mouth. I took her hand in both of mine and lovingly licked, as if in slow motion, to savor this very unexpected gift. A digression: Just the other day I caught a few minutes of a talk show, and the lady sex expert very matter of factly said to the audience of smiling women that men regard those juices as an aphrodisiac. What a civilized way to put it. Back to that hotel bed. Mary’s other hand went for my cock and gently tugged. I could take a hint, and assumed that classic soixante-neuf embrace. I was on top, resting my elbows on either side of her, and slipping my hands beneath her firm buns. She had taken my cock in hand and seemed to be concentrating on sucking just the head. Not one to go for the gold immediately, I let my tongue lap up and down a bit around the pearly target, exploring her lush bush with restraint. Somehow we fit very well together in this position, and I think I must have thought, once again, will someone pinch me. I tongued gently at first but then began to explore with more abandon, giving myself license to show her how very much I wanted to drink her in.

What a circle of energy. Mary obviously relished sucking and moaned as she did so, making me all the harder and wanting to treat her to the most royal attention I could muster. She must have wanted me to cum because there was no backing off with her ministrations. It was incredible how small the world became then. My cock, held at its base in her hands, was getting a very earnest, loving sucking, while I had lost myself in the wet folds of her gorgeousness: silky black hair, trimmed neatly, with overlarge labia, beautiful as butterfly wings. And how responsive she was. We seemed to take turns trying to feel our effects on the other, she sometimes tightening her lips on my cock and with a studied slowness taking me in to the hilt, and me, occasionally bringing the fingers of one hand into play, spreading the folds around her clit, gently massaging while I licked.

After probably 10 minutes of this scrumptious give and take, I began to moan in anticipation of shooting my wad, and she moaned all the louder. I couldn’t help but look at her pert little asshole as I lapped away, and wondered what delights awaited there. But maybe later, too much to concentrate on now. I could feel some trembling on her part, then a high-pitched cry of release. Needless to say, I exploded shortly thereafter. As I shot, she slowed her sucking again, as if extracting each last drop from my cock with relish. We were both glistening with perspiration as we aligned ourselves face to face, hugged each other and kissed deeply.

Slowly we regained our composure, and poured ourselves some champagne and washed down each others tastes. Teasingly, we fed each other the munchies. But it was dinner time, and we were starved and needed to get presentable. We showered together, lovingly soaping each other’s tender parts, and not intentionally, found ourselves craving each other once again. It all happened so quickly. Mary had been facing away from me beneath the shower head as I lathered up here here delicious crack. Her derriere was something to behold: two firmly sculpted cheeks atop slender legs, Tootsie-Pops.

I rubbed the smallish bar of hotel bath soap slowly up and down her wonderful crack, and then used my fingers to tease her puckered rosebud -- circling it, probing gently, at first, then more aggressively. I’d forgotten how silky smooth and tight an ass can be. Mary moaned with approval and pushed that wonderful tush ever so slightly closer to me. My cock was now ranging back and forth like some lost dog, but not for long. I’d been used to being “helped” around front but never around back. The next thing I knew, Mary had braced herself with one hand against the shower wall in front of her and reached back with other hand, grabbed my cock and tried to guide it home. There was still plenty of soap on my cock, but being the methodical nerd that I am, I felt it was not enough lubrication for those tight quarters. Mary made some sound of frustration as I reached for the little container of hair conditioner and emptied its contents along the length of my cock, then smoothed the goop out. Funny how it looked so much like cum. I then lined myself up on that tight little target, and ever so slowly let her swallow me up. I could hear Mary emit a short, clipped gasp, but she was also beginning to say, “Yes, yes, yes,” in the softest accent.

I haven’t queried a lot of people on the subject, but when someone so lovingly accepts, nay loves, your fucking them in the ass, it does make one humble. Enjoying a taboo together does create bonds. Mary’s “Yesses” soon turned into more husky voiced, “Harder, harder, harder.” Obviously, she had relaxed and wanted it a little rougher. I obliged, but quickly felt my own orgasm coming. Just when you think your cock can’t get any harder, it seems to grow a bit more.

What is it about ass fucking that is so primal? The tightness is incredible. That sphincter is one strong muscle. I felt I was being milked by some little fist. But how was Mary feeling? I’ve never felt anything but fullness back there when being probed with a strap-on. My hunch is that what is truly gratifying about being ass-fucked is simply its taboo status. If your lover accepts your ass, indeed revels in it, what else is there to hide. You are accepted. Last digression.

Just as I was beginning to make slapping noises against those buns of hers, Mary reached down and began to frig her pussy. I could feel her fingers occasionally brush against my cock as she vigorously fingered herself. Her breathing was more heavy as my thrusting and her fingering worked together. I feared the noise we would make when be both came, given that the wall of the shower abutted the hall wall, but what the hey. Mary came first, legs trembling, moans turning to guttural grunts. That was all too much for me as I shot off and let that tight ring squeeze every last drop of cum from me. I had to giggle a bit as her gorgeous ass spit me out. Mary moaned a bit, then turned around, kissed and hugged me as my knees wobbled ever so slightly.

So, we had feasted on each other’s tasty bits, engaged in some exquisite ass-fucking. What was left? Oh yes, the traditional mode. But it would have to wait until after a dinner that we now craved. Total time we had known each other? Less than two hours. British-American relations were never tighter. Would someone please pinch me.

NYCerM

End of Story