I'm sitting alone at a hotel bar, feeling kind of sad and maybe a little lonely and just minding my own business. You tap me on the shoulder and ask if you can sit next to me. "Sure," I say, and don't really think anything about it. I mean, the place isn't overly crowded, but there are only a couple of seats left at the bar proper... I certainly don't think you're looking for anything other than a place to sit.
I give you the once-over as you're getting comfortable. What can I say? I'm a guy and guys do that sort of thing. You're pretty, and it's not that fake pretty that you can buy in the cosmetics department; just a little bit of lipstick. Glasses, but that's cool... I can dig on a chick with glasses. Brunette hair with blond highlights, shoulder-length. Style of dress... call it "casually fabulous". By that I mean you're not all dressed-to-kill but you look pretty damn good, anyway; tight jeans and a pink sweater not cut too low. You're not trying to impress anyone, but you're making an impression all the same. It looks like you have a nice body... kind of tiny, but I dig on that, too. I figure you're just waiting for a friend, or maybe you've been out exploring the town and stopped in for a nightcap before you head back to your room.
You sit and order a glass of white zinfandel, and I turn my attention back to my drink... something called an oatmeal cookie. I know, it sounds like kind of a pussy drink but I like oatmeal cookies, dammit, and if I can drink something that tastes like an oatmeal cookie and get a buzz, too, that's like killing two birds with one stone. I glance at the t.v. Some game is on but I don't even know who's playing. I was just there wasting time, trying to put off going back to my room alone. Sometimes alone is good, but I've had a lot of alone in my life and right now I wasn't in the mood to just have myself for company.
I turn my attention back to you and I notice that your glass of wine is at about half-mast. My cookie is about gone. I have a little internal debate about whether or not to get another because I've already had a couple, and the cookie wins. I look around for the bartender and see that now your glass is empty, too. If not for the cookies that I'd already "eaten" I wouldn't even consider this, but I ask if I can get you another. I fully expect a "No, thanks," in reply and I'm mildly surprised when you respond in the affirmative.
I give the bartender the order and start sending little conversational "feelers" out to you. Where are you from? What do you do? This isn't normal behavior for me, especially around a pretty woman. Praise Allah for alcohol. What surprises me even more than the fact that I'm asking you these things is that you're answering and even asking me things about myself. An honest-to-God conversation with someone was certainly an unexpected turn of events.
We get another round of drinks and move to a booth where we can be more comfortable. Another round of drinks as we sit there looking at each other and I'm not sure what has me higher, the booze or gazing into your eyes. I realize that since we moved the conversation has turned a little more intimate... and then I realize with something akin to horror that I just said something about oral sex. Fuck! I'm trying to think... what did I just say? I had gotten so caught up in the moment that I let my tongue get away from my brain, and now I'd just fucked everything up beyond all recognition.
"Did you really just ask me if I like to have my pussy eaten?"
Jesus Christ!! It was way worse than I even thought.
"I... I guess I did. I'm sorry. I think maybe I've had too much to drink. I should probably head back to my room."
I look down in embarrassment and mumble a couple more things like how you're so pretty and I just wasn't thinking and yada, yada and decide that I should just probably shut the fuck up and hope you don't slap me or break your wine glass over my head before you leave. After a couple of seconds that feel like an eternity, I feel your hand on mine and you tell me it's OK. I cautiously look back up at you. You look a little flushed, but you've still got a bit of a smile on your face and I begin to think that it really is OK. You lean forward a little.
"Can I tell you something?" The blush on your cheeks begins to deepen as if you are the one that should be embarrassed about something. "I do happen to like that, and it's been far too long since I've enjoyed that particular pleasure."
My mind reels, looking for the appropriate response. I quickly rule out, "No shit?" You have to be smoother than that, dumb-ass. If you play your cards just right, you might end up getting some for the first time in God knows how long. The trouble is, I'm not exactly Cary Grant. As I begin to stammer a reply, it's my turn again to feel all blushy and stuff.
"Umm... well... if you want to come up to my room... I'd be happy to show you what it feels like again."
My heart is pounding and I feel like my whole head must look as red as a beet as I wait to see what you're going to say or do. You squeeze my hand tighter and begin to rise, then you lean over and whisper, "Let's go," into my ear.
The journey to my room is a blur. We nervously chatter away about anything and everything and your hand is still in mine. The old couple sharing the elevator watches us with a knowing look and I catch our reflection in the glass as the car shoots up into the night sky. It occurs to me that we look like newlyweds. Not a young married couple for sure, but two people who found each other a bit late and are still in the thrall of unexplored passion. That thought continues to play in my head... I find it calming somehow and by the time we get to my door I'm not nervous at all. Excited, yes, as the slight bulge in my pants gives testimony to, but nervous, no.
We enter the room and you're immediately drawn to the view. The curtains are open and the huge window looks out over the ocean. The moon lights your path through the room; you go over to gaze out at the night while I get things situated. Door locked, drinks, shoes off, radio on something soft and romantic. I start to turn the lights on but I decide that the moonlight will do just fine. I join you by the window and slip my arm around you, my hand grabbing yours on the other side. There's no one on the beach and the moon is so full and bright that it seems to be shining just for us.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
"Absolutely stunning," I reply, but I'm not looking out the window anymore. You turn towards me and you blush again at the realization that I was talking about you. I lean down and kiss you softly on the lips. I pull you close with both arms and our kiss grows more intense, lips teasing each other and tongues darting. I kiss you on the cheek and the neck, trailing kisses up to your ear. "Are you sure you want this?" I whisper, and by way of response you kiss me again, hard, your tongue probing into my mouth and against mine.
