The hotel lounge is quiet, save for an occasional greeting or a low-ball glass meeting the surface of the bar. Even though it's a Friday night and I'm downtown, the surrounding clubs and restaurants attract the night life. Here, there is a stillness, and the absence of Atlanta's background noise is matched only by the tasteful darkness.
The edges of the plastic card are precise in my hand. A stark contrast from its smooth surface. As the card floats between my fingers and palm, I sink further into the soft leather-wrapped chair solitude finds me. Welcome. It's been one year.
Every October for the last four years, I would retreat from the bustle of obligations to meet Lauren here. She the same to meet me. We had a system and it worked well, but I credit our personalities and relationship skills which allow us be pretty much in synch. We have a system, an understanding of each other, and we follow-through because following-through in itself is vital.
Lauren and I have been uniquely acquainted for many years. We met eight years ago right here in Atlanta. I was attending a conference on data privacy right here in this very hotel. Each day was a mix of regulation, technology, and always a bit of prophecy. While predicting the future seems farfetched, I always tried to seek out a couple of key individuals whose perspectives I was interested in.
After each day, I would find myself in the hotel lounge decompressing from the sessions and being "on". I enjoyed the human interaction of all the conferences I would attend, but I REALLY enjoyed my down-time. Myself and my thoughts. After day three of four, I was sitting in the lounge as usual when Lauren, although I didn't know her at the time, sat at the small table next to me. She was alone, long dark hair, and carried herself confidently enough for me to know she, too, was finding reprieve from a long day. It was November at the time, and I remember she donned a curious bag that was a combination of brief case and satchel. It had a firm shell and cloth exterior, but was thrown over her shoulder with a long strap affixed to each side of the case. I didn't know what to make of it. Nonetheless, it piqued my curiosity.
Lauren pulled the menu closer to her and inadvertently shoved the rolled silverware off her table. It bounced just enough to be nearer to me than her. I reached down to grab it, realizing that she probably wouldn't want it from the floor. I put the half-wrapped silverware on my table instead.
"Thanks," she said, as she re-shuffled herself into the cushioned chair without looking up.
The bartender who was also serving the lounge noticed right away and brought a clean set. After an hour or so, I finished catching up on email and industry news from the day, and made my way back to my room. We had no further interaction.
The next day was particularly uneventful in terms of conference sessions and interesting topics. That's the way most of those conferences go - a big bang on day one followed by an attempt to keep everyone's attention. About 4PM I exited the last session, something about data breach notification requirements, and I was finally free. In line with the previous days, I made my way to the hotel lounge and began my decompression. I wasn't interested in the post-conference mingling. I did enough of that during the conference to get my fill. After all, I am passionate about the work.
The same table from last night was empty. I made my way to it and sat down. The bartender made his way over to me, recognized me from the previous days and asked, "Same"?
"You got it."
Not more than 10 minutes later, Lauren approached. Once again, she shook the day off into the table next to me. Same brief case in tow. I let a few minutes go by.
"I couldn't help but notice your briefcase."
This time, looking up, "It's for my work."
The most inviting brown eyes I've ever seen were in front of me, catching me off guard.
"What kind of work do you do?" I manage to ask.
"I work with books. Usually ones that are hard to find. I find them for people," she replies.
"Rare books?" I ask.
"You got it," she affirms.
I was immediately enthralled. As we chatted, I learned that Lauren not only had a sharpened talent for detective work, but she was living an experience that fed her soul. Rare book dealing was as much of an art as it was a science, and she was passionate about the hunt as much as she was the kill (mating books with clients). Fakes were becoming a problem with modern techniques and tools to recreate valuable books. But Lauren was smart, intuitive, relentless, and knew her shit. And it showed. She knew what to look for when catching fakes. She knew the characteristics of period-paper, bindings, typesets, engravings, and the list goes on. Perhaps more impressive, she had a clientele that most people could only dream of. From famous musicians to popular business moguls, she knew plenty of people who could afford to pursue rare books. But she was most interested in collectors who appreciated the literature more than the medium. The words were the treasure, and not necessarily because of the story they told, though sometimes powerful, but more-so because of who wrote them and why they wrote them. Lauren was fixated on the stories behind the stories. It was an all-consuming passion befitting someone with an insatiable appetite for knowing.
After chatting for a while, we knew we had a connection unlike we've experienced before. The problem was that we were both so involved with our work and had clear tracks and goals we intended on sticking with. And of course, we were both visiting Atlanta from out of town - Lauren from Illinois and I from Texas.
The night we met, we talked for hours, but that was the extent of our interaction. We did, however, exchange phone numbers to keep in touch. And that's how we began planning our annual rendezvous back to the same hotel where we met. It was only at our first reconnection did we anticipate what was going to happen. Something physical. Not only that, it was so good that we've expanded our visits to a "long" weekend and developed a take-turns approach to make sure we're both had the chance to explore our desires. See, we each have particular needs. On one hand, we both enjoy giving and receiving; while on the other, we each like to be deliberate to satisfy particular desires.
This year I've been focused on one thing more than anything else with Lauren, and she knows it. We've done it before, but I've had difficulty prying my mind from it for several months. Of course, I'm excited for everything else we'll be able to do with each other, as well, but, you know, you just get fixated on one thing sometimes.
I still the card in my hand and look up to check the clock behind the bar. It's 10PM, our agreed upon time to meet in the room. I lift myself from the comfort of the chair and pause, letting the moment become real. Lauren is already in the room waiting for me. I turn to walk toward the main hotel lobby and the bank of elevators that are adjacent to the host desk. I press the stainless steel call button, and in a moment, the bell rings my attention. The familiarity of the hotel's finishes is exhilarating as I make my way to the 14th floor and the elevator doors open. I turn right and head to the end of the hall where our room is for the weekend. I pull the card out of my pocket and insert it into the reader. A light blinks green.
The heavy door shuts behind me. As I pass through the entry way, I see Lauren sitting near the back of the room. She's wearing a lush white robe, facing me. Her long dark hair is down over her shoulders with large curls. It's Lauren's turn to be in the room first and let me get something out of my system - the thing I've been thinking about. Our eyes meet with an eager expression. She stands and begins walking toward me. The robe is synched tightly around her waist, revealing her hourglass figure and the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra. We embrace, knowing we each need a moment connect before we begin.
After several moments of full-on 'can't touch enough' clutching, I lean back to see her face - her round brown eyes both adoring and excited. Our mischievous smirks lead the way to our kiss. Her lips are just as soft as I remember. I begin undressing as our mouths stay met. I can feel that I'm rock hard already, my member hanging down my left leg visibly trying to escape the confines of my jeans. By this point I'm shirtless and shoeless, wearing just pants. I know the drill; I shimmy off my pants, but leave my boxer briefs to her. Grabbing the belt of the robe, I untie the knot and begin to push the collar open around her shoulders. The robe begins to fall but is stopped by her heaving breasts, and her arms which are holding my waist. I look down to soak in the moment - Lauren's curves teasing to be revealed, I can see the lines of her cleavage that the lapels no longer hide. The visual is extremely stimulating. Lauren drops her arms and I push the robe to the floor, revealing her breasts, nipples at attention. She's not wearing any underwear.
We walk to the side of the bed and I pull the covers back toward the foot of the bed. Lauren sits down, I face her. My cock is swelling to my left under my boxer briefs, my head visible through the light grey fabric. As I stand in front of Lauren, she pulls me closer and begins to kiss my stomach. I'm not a gym rat, but I'm fit and athletic, just like her. She nuzzles her nose into the hair on my stomach while she pulls down my briefs slowly. The waistband of my briefs needs attention to make it over my cock. Lauren gently glides her hands within my waistband to maneuver it over me. As my briefs fall to the floor, I feel the freeing sensation of being naked right in front of her. Not only that, my cock is nice - it's larger than average, trimmed, circumcised, and well-portioned with a thick straight shaft and large head.
