I'm Dave. Actually, I'm Dawei, but like most second-gen Chinese Americans I find it's helpful to have an Anglo name. I'm from the Bay Area, working in high-tech targeted mostly at intelligence scenarios.
So tonight, like many nights, I'm at the bar of a chain hotel in a town in Maryland, just outside Washington DC. The town consists mainly of low-slung buildings housing secretive government agencies and the military-industrial companies who supply them, along with hotels like this, and an occasional strip mall.
It's winter, dark and cold. There are no restaurants within a reasonable walking distance or good enough to be worth a drive, especially if you intend to have a drink. So, I'm here at the small bar—it's bright, the barman is friendly, the food is surprisingly good, and the drink selection is fine. It's an L-shape, with a total of about 8 chairs, I'm in the left corner at the end of the smaller L section.
I'm having dinner and drinks with Rob whom I'd met earlier this week in the hotel's small gym. We chatted briefly as we exercised and hit it off, so it's nice to have some good company over dinner for a change. Rob is Scottish, a former Royal Navy sailor. He's somewhere in his early forties, a few years older than me. He seems faintly military, except for his hair, which he wears in a long red ponytail. His accent is soft, but he has turns of phrase which sometimes leave me going "Huh?" until he explains "in American" as he says with a grin. We talked earlier about our jobs, but all he gave out was that he was a British liaison to an (unnamed) government agency. When I asked him what that meant in practice, he chuckled and said, "I liaise - in the overall context of the Special Relationship." I thought it best to not push for more info.
On the long side of the bar, there's a group of about 10 mostly 30-ish-to-middle-aged guys, with a single younger woman. The men are all in the business casual that is the dress code around here, polo shirts, slacks or chinos, casual shoes. The young woman is more formally dressed, a tailored navy skirt with pleats in an A-line, just short enough to be sexy but OK for the client's office; a white blouse (not-quite-see-through, but you can clearly see the outline of her lacy white bra); and black patent shoes with almost-stiletto heels. She and one of the guys are flirting.
"She's a real ride," said Rob appreciatively, then seeing my slightly puzzled expression, he grinned, "That's British English for hot or slut or both, depending on the context."
The group's talk is mainly about their companies, the technologies they sell, and the agency staff members they sell to or support. There's a kind of innocent enthusiasm for their products, and a slight contempt for the clients. As time goes on, the conversation gets louder, looser, less coherent.
"Pipe it down a little, guys, please," Rob says at one stage when the talk got loud, and the swearing ratcheted up. Everyone immediately complies. It's clear that he commands respect -- it's not his behavior, nor his language, just a kind of aura of quiet authority.
The group gets smaller as people drift away. The young woman and the guy leave together and head to the elevators, he drapes his arm around her shoulder, and she hooks her arm around his waist. I'm feeling envious of him and the likely end to their evening, upstairs.
Now there's only me and Rob at the bar. "OK then," he says, and reaches for the tab.
"Are you calling it a night, Rob?"
"Aye, but I could be persuaded to another if the company was good."
I motion to the barman. "Eduardo, can you get me another Chardonnay, and whatever Rob's having."
"Navy rum with ginger beer, Eduardo, please," says Rob.
"That sounds good, Eduardo can you switch mine to the same," I say.
We chat about nothing in particular while we sip the drinks, finally Rob drains the last of his and says, "I'm off to my room now."
"Turning in?" I say.
"Well maybe some videos to relax, then an early night. I'm going back through Westworld, I missed a lot of detail first time through."
"I loved Westworld!" I say.
"Want to join me?" says Rob, "I've got an HDMI hookup to the room TV, beats squinting at a laptop."
"That would be nice," I say. "I've got to hit the toilet first."
"Well, come on over when you're ready, it will take me a minute or two to set up the cable. Room 359."
We walk to the elevator, and I realize I have a bit of a buzz on, probably mixing the wine and the rum causing that. No biggie.
Back in my room, I pee. Then for some reason I take a washcloth, add some warm water and liquid soap, and thoroughly clean my knob. I accidentally drip some water on my slacks, so I quickly put on another pair of light khakis and decide to change my underwear as well while I'm at it. Ready. I take my room key and head to Rob's room.
"Come in," he says, as I knock.
I look around, it's an "Executive" room, two queen beds, an armchair, a desk, and an office chair, plus a large-screen TV, a minibar, and a full-length mirror on the wall outside the bathroom.
"Perfect timing -- would you like a drink? The minibar is well stocked."
"I'm OK for now," I say. "maybe in a while."
"Fair enough."
"OK," he says. "Westworld lined up. You can take the chair if you like, I prefer to prop myself up with come pillows on the bed, your choice."
I lower myself into the chair, Rob goes to the desk, clicks the laptop touchpad a few times, then plumps up two pillows on the bed next to me, and climbs on.
The episode begins. In the wild west town, the humans indulge in gunplay, bar fights, and sex with the theme park's robots. Then we're behind the scenes for robot maintenance. There are dozens of males and females completely naked as the technicians do their work. The robots (androids? -- I'm never certain) look and act completely human until the techs deactivate them.
Rob says "Actors, you've got to hand it to them, the men bollock-naked and the women showing their fannies to the world. I wouldn't be brave enough".
"Yep, agreed," I chuckle. Looking at them, I feel a slight arousal and my penis gives a couple of small twitches.
"More than their fannies, too," I say.
