The majority of this story was written before Hurricane Katrina devastated the Big Easy. Even having seen pictures, I cannot imagine the destruction a storm of that magnitude could cause. The hotel in the story was one of New Orleans’ finest. . . I do not know if it was damaged in the hurricane or not.
* * * * *
He said his name was Garrett. She had never seen him "in real life" or IRL, as it was called in chat. She had seen pictures of him, the ones he sent her by e-mail and webcam shots while they were on instant messenger together. At least, she had seen parts of him, but not as someone might expect to see pictures of a person one had been talking, or rather chatting to, for over a year. The parts of him that she had seen were quite impressive. She knew he had dark hair, and he had told her he had a beard. But Lisenne had never seen a headshot of him. He had even granted her wish to watch him cum for her on the cam, and knew she wanted to feel his cock pounding her pussy, cumming deep inside her. He knew some of her most private fantasies. But he steadfastly refused to let her see him above his waist.
She had never heard his voice either. She had only "heard" the words he had written. They were quite impressive, too. The words he wrote made her nipples hard and her pussy juices run. They had been engaged in an erotic correspondence for most of the time they had been chatting. It was he who suggested meeting IRL.
They lived far enough apart to consider meeting halfway. At least, he had told her he lived in St. Louis and she had no real reason to believe that wasn't true. She lived in Dallas. She had several things to consider about an in person meeting. Most important was safety. She had been online for years, chatting with people and had heard the horror stories, but thankfully, had never experienced one. But then, given the number of people she had chatted with online, she had met relatively few in person. She had always taken the necessary precautions – she had her own transportation, her own cell phone and her own money. Someone, usually her closest girlfriend, knew where she was going.
This meeting, if she decided to go, would be different. What he proposed was meeting in a city close enough for each of them to comfortably drive. They would stay at a luxury hotel, in separate rooms. He had offered to pay for both rooms, as well as meals for the weekend – a thoughtful and gallant offer, she granted, but not one she would accept if she went. She always paid her own way.
Then, there was always chemistry. She was well aware that the sexual attraction they had online might evaporate when they met face to face. Some people were less inhibited online than in real life. She had met two – one male and the other female – who seemed like mere shells of their online personae in person.
He didn't know what she looked like either – well, at least how she would look in public. She had asked him about that in an e-mail. . . how would they recognize each other when they met in the bar before dinner the first night? Did he want to trade pictures? He said no, which came as a surprise to her, since he had been quite eager to see pics and webcam shots of her for several months, telling her in erotic e-mails how he masturbated to her pics and relating details about the ways he wanted to fuck her. He wanted instead for her to wear a flower in her hair. He would approach her in the hotel bar. She wasn't sure she wanted to give him that much control.
There was no other man for her to consider when making the decision, and he had assured her he was not married or living with someone. She had tried to make it clear in her initial hesitation to meet that she did not want to complicate her life. He replied that he understood completely, and she could be assured there would be no nasty confrontations during or after their meeting. She knew she needed to give him an answer soon.
She rose from the computer chair and opened the door to the patio. The day was beautiful – sunny, with a slight breeze that brought the fragrance of the antique roses she grew wafting into the room. She stepped out onto the patio and picked up her pruners. There was only a momentary pause before she made her choice from the climber at the end of the patio. The cerise pink of the Zephirine Drouhin tucked behind her ear would look striking against her dark hair, she mused as she clipped a bloom from a draping branch. Lisenne's bemused smile gave way to a wicked grin. _______________________________________________ In the end, she had chosen their destination city. The landing was a smooth one, the wheels on the landing gear making the customary squeaks on the runway that signaled the end of a safe journey. She looked out her window, and saw the heat shimmering up from the tarmac. New Orleans in late June was hot, humid and oppressive by day, and deliciously decadent by night.
She deplaned and headed straight for the rental car booth. She had decided to fly to save time, and rent a car for ground transportation. The car was ready and full of fuel. Since she hadn't checked baggage, it took less than a half an hour before she was headed to the hotel.
The Maison Dupuy was one of the French Quarter's finest old hotels, just two blocks from Bourbon Street. Although it had been a while since she had stayed there, she had been a guest frequently enough to earn some extra courtesy and consideration from the hotel staff. Check in was brief and efficient, and she went to her room to settle in.
Lisenne had requested a king room with a balcony, and was delighted with the room. The scent of the potted rose she had ordered rushed in at her as she flung the doors to the balcony open and stepped into the relative privacy afforded by the tops of the courtyard trees which overhung the balcony rail. Seated at the small table, she could hear the cascade of water in the courtyard fountain, and idly caressed her stiffening nipples through her silk blouse as she closed her eyes to imagine that sound coming in through open doors while she slowly fucked her new lover.
She reluctantly got up and went to the wardrobe to see if her other deliveries had arrived. Ah yes, Chantelle had come through again – the long black dress (Chantelle had called it a gown) was hanging on a padded hanger, and her shoes, strappy little sandals with three inch heels, were there, as was a red silk kimono and the outfit she'd wear to fly back to Dallas. Just as promised. She'd have ample room to pack the few items of clothing in her satchel, and avoid baggage claim on her return flight.
Lisenne was equally sure her swimsuit would be in one of the bureau drawers. Looking at the clock on the nightstand by the bed, she saw that she'd have time to get in a few laps and a long hot bath before it was time to meet Garrett. A delicious shiver ran down her spine as she stripped her clothes off, leaving them in a pile on the floor by the bed. ________________________________________________ Lisenne never deliberately made an entrance into a room – it just happened. Many of her friends, men and women, had told her she had an exotic look. Her straight dark hair and high cheekbones spoke of her Native American great grandmother. Her smoky eyes and sensual voice came from her Creole blood. The result was a woman who flowed into a room, and heads turned when she did.
Now, heads turned when she entered the bar in the hotel. She wore a long black dress and nothing else, save the pink rose tucked into her long dark hair, and held in place with a small silver comb, and her shoes. The black gown clung to every curve of her voluptuous body, and her evening bag was only slightly larger than her hand. Her scent for the evening came from the rose, and as she passed the other patrons on her way to a table in semi-seclusion, she left a delicately sweet aroma in her wake.
She was a few minutes early on purpose. Part of it was just her nature – she arrived early for every assignation. Part of it was playing a game with herself. . . she wanted to see if she would spot him first. She had chosen a small table for two, at the back of the bar, not far from the French doors that opened out onto the courtyard. They were closed now, to keep out the sultry humidity of the still oppressively hot night. The bar was dim, and cool enough to cause her nipples to harden into stiff peaks, adding to the sexual tension she'd been feeling since the plane touched down on the runway. As she sat down at the table, her dark eyes lazily scanned the bar, even though she hadn't a clue if Garrett was already there. None of the three unaccompanied men returned her gaze. She hoped he would be on time – they had agreed on 8:00 p.m. when they had chatted on IM a couple of hours ago.
It seemed odd that even at this stage, he had not wanted to talk on the phone to make their date. She shrugged to herself – perhaps it was just another way he had of staying in control. The server approached, a peach faced young blond woman, probably in her twenties. Maybe a college student, making extra money. The Big Easy was an expensive city for a struggling student, and Lisenne made a mental note to herself to give the girl a generous tip as the young woman took her order for a glass of wine.
Twenty minutes later, she was getting edgy – there was still no sign of Garrett. Her glass was empty, but she didn't want to order another. She had not eaten and she knew more wine would make her lightheaded. Where the hell was he? She waited another fifteen minutes, and when she was asked if she wanted another glass of wine, she said no.
