Snow had been predicted all week, the forecasts more dire with each passing day: A Spring blizzard would come roaring out of the Rockies, Donner-Party style, and paralyze the City.
My flight out of Denver was early enough, and I figured I'd get out OK.
First it was delayed by an hour - then another, and then a third. The cancellations started right about then, and at 3pm they closed the airport. Clearly I wasn't getting back to New York City for a couple of days.
I found a hotel near the airport, jumped on a short-bus shuttle, and was soon checked in and headed to the bar to get something to eat and watch whatever game was on the television.
The bar was nearly empty. All the smart people had left town the day before, and with incoming flights cancelled, nobody was arriving. I found a seat at the end of the bar, propped up my tablet, and ordered a beer and a sandwich.
I was finishing up when another stranded traveler came into the bar; he looked around, and ambled over to where I was sitting.
"Mind if I join you? Looks like we're the only ones here."
I keep to myself when travelling. My consulting work is intense, and there's nothing worse than getting cornered by a chatty stranger after a long, tough day of meetings.
Tonight it was different. I wasn't going anywhere, work was over, and there was nothing pressing to take care of.
"Sure, no problem."
He pulled out a bar stool, leaving an empty seat between us, put his iPad on the bar, and settled in. He looked like another version of me -- older guy on the road on one more business trip with that slightly weary, clean-but-wrinkled business-casual look.
We sat in silence, each swiping at our respective tablets, the football game silently unfolding over the bar.
A few minutes later he broke the silence. "You get snowed in too?" Not really a question, more of an ice-breaker.
"Yeah, crazy, huh? I knew it was going to snow, but didn't think the airport would shut down completely. Denver's supposed to be able to handle snow."
"I hear ya'. Same here."
We sat in silence for a few minutes, until he asked me to keep an eye on his stuff.
"Hey, would you mind watching my tablet while I hit the head?"
"There's nobody here to steal it but me -- but sure."
"Ha, OK, thanks." He got up and went off to the restroom. I glanced over -- he had been looking at a news feed, and the screen held the usual jumble of headlines and video stills, mostly about the snowfall.
I had turned my attention back to the game and my beer when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw his tablet flicker as the screen saver came on with the image of a woman about his age dressed in a bright red camisole.
I was looking at her picture when I heard his voice behind me. "Thanks for keeping an eye on it. And for keeping an eye on my wife, too!" He laughed, nervously, I thought.
"You caught me. Sorry, I didn't mean to be nosy. Nice picture."
"No problem -- thanks. Actually, I put her on my screen saver because I like to look at her, too."
" 'Too?' What do you mean, 'too'?"
"I don't mind other guys admiring her. I tell her all the time that she still has her looks. Makes me kinda proud when we are out and I see guys checking her out. I tell her -- you know, 'hey, I think that guy over there is looking at you.' She always says 'No he's not, stop it' but I can tell the idea flatters her, and even excites her sometimes. The truth is -- hope this doesn't sound too strange -- I'd love to see another guy hit on her. You think that's weird?"
"Hey, at my age I'm pretty open-minded. People should do what they want, whatever they feel comfortable with. Life is short, you know? Remember Dr. Ruth? That's what she said."
"Dr. Ruth? Who's she?"
"Nobody. Never mind. Anyway, you ever talk to her about it?"
"A few times -- when we were in a bar, I would tell her -- "that guy is checking you out, I could move down the bar so he could hit on you'. I even told her once that I'd like to see her with another guy. You know..."
"You mean in bed? Having sex with another guy?"
"Yeah."
"And did she go for it?"
"Well, it's funny. In the beginning she say 'no, no, stop it saying that' and then we would have the craziest sex, like she's maybe thinking about it at the same time we are having sex. After a while I noticed that when we'd talk like that she would get really vocal and cum hard, if you know what I mean, and then she began to talk about it and tease me. But she always says she'd never actually go for it."
"Well, I guess that's good that she will talk about it. So you'd like to 'see it'? See your wife with another man?"
"Yeah, I would. I mean, just look at her. Most guys would love a chance to be with her."
He swiped across the tablet, dropped into a file folder, and tapped into a picture.
Just like in the screen saver she was wearing a blood red camisole, but in this picture she was holding her breasts, as if she were offering them. "Nice, huh?" he asked.
"Oh yeah."
He looked down the bar. The bartender had disappeared into the kitchen. He scanned the seating area, making sure we were alone, and swiped again. Same camisole, but this time she had her breasts out, holding them and looking right at the camera, her lips slightly pursed.
He swiped again. Another picture, probably taken right after the prior one, as she was pinching a nipple. Then another -- the aftermath -- her nipple hard, jutting from her pinch. Another picture, as she was lifting a heavy breast to her mouth and about to take her own hardened nipple into her own mouth and suck it.
"She seems to like the camera" I said, "the way she is posing and looking right at the lens."
"She loves it -- the attention, and acting, too."
"Acting?"
"I guess you could call it that. In the videos. I shoot clips of her on a high def camcorder."
