"She's not coming..." Steve spoke to himself as he looked at his phone, noting that it was now nearly 15 minutes past the time they'd arranged. No text.
He sighed. Cold feet, he thought to himself. And he couldn't blame her. He'd very nearly cried off himself at the last minute as he dallied in the hotel lobby, wondering if he could really go through with this. He'd told himself that she wouldn't turn up anyway, that she'd come to her senses and realise that she could do so much better than him. Or maybe she'd be stricken with guilt, the excitement of their first encounter swamped in a wave of remorse.
But he'd rallied, thinking back to their many email and IM exchanges, how they'd just seemed to click on so many levels, not just sexually. Both of them had looked forward to this first "real" meeting, the culmination of months of furtive online sessions, their long, steamy IM sessions, the exchange of pictures and even voice messages. So he'd taken a deep breath, strode purposefully up to the reception desk and checked in.
Once in the room, he'd unpacked the overnight bag he'd brought, hanging up the clothes he'd spent so long choosing, hoping to make that all-important good first impression. He hung up the collarless linen shirt and dark blue jeans so they lost their creases, and unpacked his wash bag. He took a shower, his mind flashing back to that picture Chloe had sent him, a small black and white shot of her breast, slathered with soap suds, obviously taken in the shower (how had she managed that without trashing her phone?), her erect nipple just visible through its soapy covering. His cock stiffened at the memory, and he soaped it absently, pulling the foreskin back and running his forefinger and thumb over the swollen plum of the head, partly just making sure it was clean, but also liking the feel of his hand on the sensitive skin. He broke off his reverie, aware that it would be far too easy to cum right there and then. He rinsed off, climbed out of the shower and dried himself.
Moving back into the main room, he'd dressed in his new clothes, examining himself critically in the mirror. Again, doubts surfaced in his mind. He was carrying too many pounds, and even his carefully chosen wardrobe couldn't hide that fact. He sighed, sat on the bed and looked at his phone. Half an hour until their arranged meeting time. They'd exchanged mobile numbers the previous week, just before Chloe had flown to the UK to stay with her relatives. In the days that followed, they'd swapped increasingly excited emails, planning, arranging, working out their respective cover stories, both of them helping the other to formulate as water-tight a plan as they could. Finally, he'd texted her from the hotel reception area, just a brief message: "Room 457. I can't wait... xxx"
He'd received an equally brief reply. Her texts had necessarily had to be brief, as her family were keeping her busy during her stay. "Me too. So excited. See you soon! xoxox"
Since then, he'd paced the room, trying unsuccessfully to distract himself from the growing sensation of butterflies in his stomach. Reading was out of the question, and he couldn't focus on the TV for more than a few minutes. In his mind, he played out every possible scenario in his head. She wouldn't show. She'd text to say something had gone awry, that she couldn't make it. Or she'd arrive at the room, take one look at him and make some excuse, unable or unwilling to carry it through. He felt a little sick.
One o'clock came and went, and still no word. He had a growing sense of deflation. All that preparation, the plans, the messages, and for nothing. In one sense, he almost felt relieved that nothing was going to happen. He'd return to his life, and tell himself that it was probably for the best. But a not inconsiderable part of him was bitterly disappointed. He'd so wanted to at least meet this bewitching creature, even if only this once. Their chance encounter on an erotic fiction forum had quickly blossomed into something much less casual than the brief online gratification he'd been looking for. They'd grown not only to enjoy the sexual element of their relationship, but also had discovered much in common, too. He felt a genuine sense of loss that they would never find out if they clicked in real life...
He picked up his phone again. Nearly half an hour late now. He called up her number, his thumb hovering over her name in his address book, ready to call her and say that it was probably for the best...
The knock at the door, for all it was soft and hesitant, was enough to make him jump and drop his phone. Cursing, he bent to pick it up, his heart hammering in his chest. He put it in his pocket, and moved to the door of the room. Taking a deep breath, he took the handle and opened the door.
Chloe stood there, a nervous smile on her face. Her eyes lit up as the door revealed him, looking slightly flushed from his shock. Steve stood there, dumbly, looking at her. She wore a simple print summer dress, cut at the knee. She was wearing the necklace he'd commented on, having seen it in one of her pictures, the plastic flowers framing her slim neck perfectly. Her long, brown hair was sleek and straight, and those eyes... God. He'd looked at those dark brown eyes many times in photos, but none of them did the real thing justice.
"Hi, Steve." Her voice was slightly husky, exactly as he remembered from one recording she'd made for him. The memory of it, her voice increasingly breathless as she'd made herself cum for him, made him stiffen slightly, despite his nervousness.
"Are we going to stand here all afternoon?"
Her question broke the spell he'd been under and he spoke, his voice thick with emotion.
