I returned to Prague, booking the room we once shared in the old hotel. Nothing much changed even after so long, only one small bureau was replaced, the one you would perch upon as we talked in the mornings over coffee. You might remember that bureau, elegant but fragile looking, how curious that you could sit on it without breaking it. A modern cabinet with grey veneer now stands in its place.
The antique bed remains, at least the frame, the one that takes up most of the room. My relief was immediate when I saw it. Returning here again would mean nothing without this bed waiting below those strikingly tall, dusty windows that make up much of the opposing wall. Here is where you rested in the sunlight that wandered in through the open panes along with the sounds of the cathedral. That light - do you remember how it glowed like honey and cognac? No other light has suited you so well. I remember every detail of how it bathed your skin. Perhaps that is why I came back.
I am little surprised how easy it was to entice the young cleaning woman from the lobby to come up here with me. She is a nubile and clumsy thing, not possessed with your elegance. Yet, she passes in resemblance. She is bewitching enough to stand in for you, willowy and exquisite, with large breasts that were provoking furtive, hungry glances from the other men down in the lobby, as you used to do when you worked here, when we first met.
I need patience while I am instructing this young woman. I want her to be exactly as you were all those years ago when you came up with me to this room. Regrettably, she does not have your quickness and sense of drama. In her place, you would have responded splendidly to this whim of mine, being paid the crumpled, unfamiliar currency I pressed in her open palm down in the lobby. She tucked the money in her pocket with a sense of diffidence. You would have taken it with a sense of intrigue. The idea would have turned you on, being purchased like this, being paid to give an aging man back a few cherished moments.
It was in this room that I first saw how perfect you are. This is one of the moments I came here for, to remember that first time I saw you undress. I have thought of this moment often in the last few years.
She does not undress like you. She is flushed and excited with the idea of exhibiting herself to an aging stranger. Her clumsy excitement is a bit interesting. It stirs me little, but it is not really what I wanted.
I wanted her to slip her blouse from her shoulder exactly the way you once did, banishing all my distractions, making me rapt at the sight of your skin, your breathtakingly soft, always fragrant skin. I remember being overpowered with the need to touch you, to reach out and pull you to the bed. You made me wait. With a perfect knack for seduction, you drew just near enough to my face that I could sense the heat of your bare shoulder, grazing me just slightly with your breast. Then you retreated.
This stranger fumbles with her sleeves. Damn. I was silly to have thought of doing this. She will be naked too quickly. She has no sense of art. Like her generation, everything is so fast, so stark and bold. But then, admittedly, her breasts are perfect. They are full and astounding as she lets her bra drop. The rest of her is something to look at too, tapered and lithe, with the gentle articulations of an athlete. She even has a few small beauty marks just below her ribcage like you. I did not expect this. Now, I am beginning to want her.
Her excitement appears to be growing along with mine. She breathes heavily already though I have not touched her. I am trying to make her slow down, constraining her from fumbling too quickly into sex. At least she seems to understand that I do not wish her to just go through the motions. This leaves her inquisitive and a bit more sensual. Something deeper is beginning to show in her eyes.
Just before she removes the final article, her despicably plain panties, I ask her stand over by the window. You did this. You once stood in that light, as if you were gathering more sensuality and passion from it. She does this part well, suddenly a young goddess considering the world outside. For a moment, I am right back where I wanted to be. You are there again, glorified in front of me.
The spell is broken when she turns suddenly and starts making for the obvious erection I have developed under my pants. So bloody fast all the time these young people...what can't they sustain a mood? She was supposed to stay there in that glow, tilt her head back slightly and laugh as, apparently, only you can do. You stayed over there to ease down your lacy white lingerie. Over there in the exquisite light, you first allowed me to see the secret of your womanhood. The majestic pose was natural for you, exposing your soft, warm, beautiful mound where I would give and take so much love over the years.
The young woman is tugging at my zipper already, kneeling already. Her motions are crass, not at all like yours. Then, I suppose being crass has a certain appeal. I am gratified when, as she takes me out, she gasps and appears a bit shocked. My vanity still counts for something I suppose. Though older now, I am still a man she will need to reckon with. My size at least makes her more eager. In response, I feel like hoisting her up, throwing her on the bed and attacking her lithe form, ravishing her with my cock, spending all the energy and passion I have been building up all at once.
I restrain myself, and I am rewarded as she begins to use her mouth. Christ, the immediate heat is wonderful, but then she starts bobbing with a jerky rhythm. She treats my cock as if it is some sort of exercise equipment. I do not want this awkward porno sucking, not here in this room of memories.
The difference is extraordinary between your deep, honest want to do this, the loving caress of your mouth swallowing me as an act of love, and this human pump. The pumping is arousing in a technical way, but empty and impersonal. The strangeness of this contrast is alone is faintly sexy, seems to be making me bit harder. Eventually, she will make me explode and drain me, if she does not rub me raw first, now assisting her mouth with a frantically pumping hand.
I make her stop, to be still and just hold me cradled in her mouth. This, I learned from you. You did this so brilliantly. Her eyes are wide and stare up at me with questioning. She does not know about pausing, how erotic pausing is, to stop and feel everything that is going on. At first she struggles, just trying not to gag, trying to stop the saliva from drooling at the edges of her mouth. Then she seems to get it, how remarkable this is, just gently holding my engorged cock like this, the sensual trail of drool painting her breast like dew, falling in small rivulets down to her legs and ugly panties, soaking them even more. Every slight change, every motion becomes subtle and deeply felt now. She relaxes, looking somewhat grateful for not having to work so hard on me. Yes, there is something deeper in her eyes again. Good.
I become harder as we just wait like this. Once in a while, I feel her swallow, not easy to do in this position. The velvet of her mouth and the slight pressure of her tongue give me sense of exotic pleasure as I take in the beauty of her body, her steadfast gaze.
