Even though he was nearly five years my junior, Ken was still my boss. That's why I didn't object when the motel he selected for the two of us to spend the night on our sales trip to Indianapolis wasn't exactly what the truckers call a "flop box" but hardly five star accommodations either.
It was a Super Eight in Plainfield, Indiana. After the sales conference let out at about five-thirty, we were both too beat to think about a restaurant. Ken suggested why don't we change into our bathing trunks and soak in the indoor pool, so we headed back to the motel.
In the room I remembered I hadn't asked my wife Janet to pack my trunks so Ken offered me the use of one of his; turns out he had an extra. I remember asking him if he planned all this from the start. He gave me a funny look that made me wonder what he was thinking.
"Your wife takes better care of you than mine does of me," I joked, trying to ease the tension.
His only reply was, "You'd think so, wouldn't you?" He thereupon stripped down to nothing, oblivious of my presence. He had an impressively long cock and a set of low-hangers that belonged on an animal.
Ken was one of those guys who's not shy about exposing his body in the presence of other men. Not being one of those guys myself, when we were changing up in the room I asked, "Mind turning your back, Ken? I have this thing about, you know."
"No, actually I don't know, Gary. After all, we're two happily married men sharing accommodations on a business trip. Right?"
Since he wouldn't turn his back, I stripped down to my briefs, then lowered my eyes and peeled those down, exposing my cock. It was average-sized but not the porn king dimensions of Ken's. Nevertheless, he gave a low whistle.
"What's that all about?" I asked, finally mustering the courage to look him in the eye with my cock hanging out for his approbation.
"Janet's a lucky woman. That's all I meant. What did you think I meant, Gar?"
"Brenda's an even luckier woman, then," I offered, uncomfortable about complimenting another man on his endowment when we were alone together naked.
"Is she?" was all Ken said. "Is she?"
We had stocked the in-room fridge with Michelob bottles the night we checked in. Ken opened two for us and we headed down to the pool area. The hot tub was not in use, so we eased into it sitting next to each other. Ken rose up at first, claiming the water was too hot, then sat even closer. We sipped our brews and relaxed, neither of us saying anything except sighs of pleasure and relaxation, until an officious desk clerk barged in and informed us there was no alcohol allowed in the public areas of the motel, and no glass bottles in the pool enclosure. I started to object, but Ken touched my elbow and shook his head.
Dripping wet and shivering on the elevator back up to the room, we both seemed to happen on the same idea. Ken articulated that idea for both of us when he said, "How about let's check out the cable porn in this joint, maybe order in later?"
"Why do I think you're not talking about pizza?"
"Nah," Ken said, "hookers are a turn-off for me. I prefer sex with a partner I know, one who does it with tender loving care."
