What started out as a wardrobe complement, gets really steamy.
It's been almost a year now but I can still remember the encounter as if it were yesterday.
My name is Glen, and as a 55 year old IT professional and my job has me doing a lot of traveling, trouble shooting the software my company has sold to other companies. This usually means I'll be on-site for weeks at a time and an extended stay accommodation is a big plus for coming back to in the evening.
It was one of those late December times in the upper Midwest where I'd spent a week at the client site fixing the glitches in the client's system. The accommodations were nice, like an efficiency apartment but a lot nicer. The unit had a really nice kitchenette with full size stove and fridge. The unit even had a small fireplace to relax in front of during the nighttime down time.
It was late Saturday morning and I was at the checkout desk, wrapping up the stay, and taking care of the usual couple minutes of getting a receipt and noting a couple of minor maintenance items.
There was cute 50 year old gal off to the side, apparently needing a couple of kitchen items that were missing from her unit when she checked in. While I wasn't looking to hook up, she did rate a positive assessment of her nicely proportioned 5' 5" curves. While I didn't have tape measure to get an accurate measurement, I guessed she had a firm 35C rack. I also assumed she'd been using the workout room more than a few times a week, given the trim waist and firm butt.
I was half way into the checkout process when I a voice to the side of say "I like that shirt you're wearing". Now, let me tell you, I had on a pair of nice jeans and a red plaid flannel shirt. I thought maybe she was commenting on how it would look on one of her relatives as a gift. I politely thanked her and turned to back to the checkout desk. Thirty seconds later I heard the same voice say "I like that shirt you're wearing". This time I thought she was being nice, commenting on how the flannel shirt fit on my 160lb, 5'6" solid frame. While this second time did get me thinking a little, I still had to finish the checkout process.
Another 30 seconds went by and I heard her say "I REALLY like that shirt you're wearing". This time, I knew she was hitting on me. After 5 more seconds, the checkout was complete and I turned to her, gently took had arm and led her into the breakfast area where we could talk without being easily being overheard.
I asked her if she liked it better buttoned up or a few buttons undone. She replied she liked the shirt with a few or more unbuttoned. I told her the breakfast area was not the place to explore that option so I suggested we go back to her room to see how many buttons she preferred to be unbuttoned.
As we walked back to her room, making tracks in the couple inches of snow that had fallen the night before, we got to know each other a little. I found out Angie's situation was a little like me, having to do a lot of traveling around the country, checking up on a large retail store's franchises.
It didn't take long to walk the couple of hundred feet to Angie's unit.
This particular extended stay hotel is somewhat unique. It's composed of about 8 separate buildings, with 8 units per building. I find that it's a little more 'homey', not just walking down a long hotel like hallway to get to your unit. Each unit has an outside entrance. Some are a two level suite with a king sized bed on the first floor and a queen sized bed on the upper floor. The kitchenette has a bar stool counter that serves as a food prep and eating table.
I had barely got my coat off and thrown it on the couch when Angie backed me up against the kitchenette counter and said "Now let's see how that shirt looks with few buttons undone".
I watched, as her fingers deftly unbuttoned one button at a time, seeming to assess how it looked as each button slowly made its way through the button hole. Her eyes were mostly glued to what she was doing but occasionally she'd look up into my eyes, as if to get re-assurance that I was completely on-board with what she was doing.
When she was one button away from my belt, she stopped undoing the buttons of my shirt, lifting her hands up to let her finger tips lightly graze my chest while seductively gazing into my eyes.
While her fingers were tracing across my chest, mine slowly undid the buttons on the front of her blouse. When I finished the last one, I pulled the two silky halves apart and slipped it off her shoulders, exposing a near transparent lacy bra that encased two very firm mounds.
I then unbuckled my belt and the waistband snap on my jeans, pulling the zipper part way down.