Life Is Short Have An Affair Pt 01

I'm sitting on a wooden bench in the concourse level of the hotel. I check my phone for the 25th time in a minute. It's still 7:55.

We're supposed to meet in the lobby at 8, under the big clock there. I don't want to be early - I don't want anyone else to see me - but I really don't want to be late. I get a text from you and my heart jumps. You say you'll be another few minutes because of traffic.

I'm relieved to have the extra time to prepare.

I sit there, dressed to perfection. For weeks we've been texting back and forth, and in that time I've come to understand what you like physically. I'm wearing a white linen strapless dress (to show off my tan, like I promised, and for you to raise in the elevator. Like you promised.), nude patent heels that look like sex itself, black Ray Bans, red lips, and my hair is piled in a bun atop my head. Just how you requested it to get at my neck and ears more easily.

I look again at my phone and see it's 8:03. I fear that if I sit here any longer I may lose my nerve and leave. This is crazy! Is this crazy?

I'm here to meet a man to whom I have no connection personally. I have no idea if you're going to fuck me or kill me. Will you look like you do in your picture? Will you be awful? Will you be boring?

Will you be wonderful?

Will someone see us together? Will they tell my husband? What will I tell them? What will I tell him?

Will I even care?

There's only one way to find out.

I can't take it anymore, this mental hurricane. I stand up, smooth out my dress, take a breath and relax my shoulders. I walk slowly to the grand staircase, in part because I think that's the sexiest gait for you...and in part because I'm so goddamn nervous I have to walk slow so that I don't fall over.

I'm shaking as I walk up the stairs towards the clock. And as I ascend the last few steps, I see you coming up the other side of the staircase.

I know instantly that this is going to be fun.

You are so disarmingly handsome I almost can't look. Your hair is dark but lightly salt and peppered that reflects a perfect age gap between us. You are trim, and fit, and you carry yourself well. Your skin is just as you described, Colombian with a Mediterranean look. You are wearing a navy jacket with suede patched elbows, a light blue checked shirt, paprika coloured pants, and dark leather loafers.

You've done this before. You look perfect.

It hits me in a flash that I am actually about to have an affair with a tall, dark, and handsome latin stranger. And I'm ecstatic. I have to lower my gaze because I'm smiling so much, but I can see from my periphery that you are smiling too. And that you like what you see.

I get to the top of the stairs and you take my face in your hands, firmly but also gently, demonstrating tenderness and control, and kiss me. Deep. Now I actually can't breathe. I try to get my breath back, which means now I can barely talk. I am overcome with lust.

I've been wet for days dreaming about this, planning it out, wondering if there will be an attraction in person. There is. You say something in your sexy Spanish accent, something to the effect that you're happy with what you see, and ask if I'd like to get a drink.

I would.

You keep your hand on my lower back but walk just behind me, and it feels so sure, so assured, so confident, that I feel completely safe. This immediate sense of trust scares me a little, because it gives me permission to let my guard down more. You smile so confidently, ask me if I'm excited, and lead me to the dimly lit hotel bar, in its own separate area. I tell you I'm very excited, and can't hold back that I am nervous, and would very much like a drink. Like, right this very second.

I can't believe this is happening. (Oh shit, I think I may have said that out loud.)

You laugh and we are lead to a table in the bar. We sit beside each other and order two margaritas. That ought to help. You lean in towards me and put on hand on mine, the other on my leg. I am so drunk on lust alone that I barely know what we are talking about. But I know that we are getting along, really well, and I am loosening up as I accept the fact that you are the most beautiful man I have ever been out with, and start to sink into my own sensuality again.

Between conversations you lean over to kiss me. Rub my hand. Trace my leg. Touch my cheek. We are laughing. Talking. Flirting. Charming. Kissing.

Ready for the next step.

You ask me with lowered eyes in a lowered voice if I'd like to get a room.

I would.

I wait at our table while you suss it out at the front desk. You're back moments later with that magical key card in hand, then you take mine as I stand up and allow you to lead me by my waist to the elevator.

This is happening.

There is no guilt. Only joy. And pure, unadulterated excitement (that is about to get ADULTerated).

We wait a moment in front of the big, brass doors, only a few other people around. You lower your hand a little and lean closer to my ear. As you index finger gets closer to my ass, you quietly say "I feel a thong." I nod, slowly, and silently. "Let me guess," you whisper. "Lacy and black?" I look right into your eyes, and nod slower, with almost no movement.

The doors open and we step in, waiting with a four inch space between us. As they close in front of us and you lean in and kiss me hard and passionately, and run your hand up just inside the bottom of my short hemline.

Our room is only on the second floor, but it's enough to send the message, foreshadow what's about to happen, and for me to need to wipe my lipstick off your face.

The doors open, and we walk hand in hand towards the night that lies ahead.