"AAAAAHHH!"
Crash!
I stormed into my hotel room in a whirlwind and kicked off one spiky black stiletto heel, narrowly missing the French door panel in the doors separating my sitting room from my bathroom. Yet I still managed to hit the small Victorian style lamp perched on one of the many extraneous side tables throughout my suite. Wincing at the crash, I reached down with one carefully manicured hand to slip the other heel off my aching foot, allowing it to gently fall to the floor and avoid ALL contact with household objects other than the plush carpet underneath. I took a deep breath and curled my painted, hosed toes into the plush, allowing a stretch after having those toes buried in tight, smothering heels for eight hours. A heady scent of musky sweat, stale perfume, and cigar smoke enveloped my nostrils.
"God, I need a shower...but, FUCK, I need a glass of wine more." I sighed, and my shoulders slumped suddenly, remembering that the small bottles of chardonnay probably had not been replaced yet in the mini-fridge. I had left the "Do Not Disturb" sign hanging off my doorknob without thinking, and I had noticed during my whole stiletto vs. lamp moment that my bed remained unmade, though it was nearing dinner time already. Obviously, housekeeping was true to their word and had not made the rounds of my suite earlier that day.
"Goddammit!" I growled under my breath and walked over towards the phone, tripping over the stiletto I had left on the floor. So much for me not launching it, much like a punted football, so that it might join its mate's casualty of the day across the room.
"Thank you for calling Room Service at the Grand, your wish is our command!"
The sing-song, cheerful voice on the other end caused me to choke on the sip of water I'd swigged while the phone was ringing.
"Are you fuckin' kidding me? You people RHYME?" The voice on the other end sputtered for a second (what, room service doesn't get cursed out regularly? Yeah fuckin' right) before responding with an appropriate Yes, ma'am, we sure do! What can I get for you today?
"Jesus, I'm sorry..I didn't mean to come off like that. I've had the worst day ever." Smile, nod, smile, nod, yes, ma'am; of course, ma'am; no problem, ma'am.
"I'm dying for a drink -- could you bring me a bottle of Australian chardonnay and a fresh wine glass? Great. Umm...yeah, food would be good...how about whatever fresh fruit you have floating around in the kitchen, whipped cream, some of those fantastic Belgian waffles you make, and as much whipped cream that you can fit on them. Can you do still do breakfast? You can? Fantastic! You just TOTALLY made my evening...Shit, you know what? I was planning on getting in the shower...if I leave the door open, could you just let yourself in with the food? I'll leave the tip on the sitting room side table...the one with the lamp on the floor beside it...oh, and the stilettos. What? Oh, no, like I said...long day of meetings...don't ask.."
After an enthusiastic thank you, I hung up the phone, walked over to the door and unlatched it, and I grabbed a few dollars from my blazer's pocket to leave on the side table. With a quick look around, confident that all was in order, and I could proceed with my "detoxification", the suite's marble-tiled bathroom was my next stop. It was probably the nicest bathroom I'd ever landed in a hotel suite, with huge mirrors everywhere, a walk-in-shower with four different heads, and the crowning glory, a Jacuzzi tub large enough to comfortably accommodate two adults, and beautifully situated next to a huge window overlooking the city below. I paused to look out the window...the sun was just beginning to set behind the skyscrapers, sending beams of light bouncing off of their windows like captured prisms. Some people prefer the country, but damn, if I'm just a city girl through and through.
"Oh, fuck it. I deserve a bath...and anybody who thinks otherwise can just kiss my ass." It occurred to me that perhaps carrying on livid conversations with no one but one's self present was a genuine sign of needing the ultimate "detox". That Jacuzzi had my name written ALL over it, and oh, my god, if they had bubble bath stashed in the bathroom, I'd be in heaven. I rummaged around for a moment and found lavender bath salts and oh! Could that be it? Yes, sandalwood bubble bath. They must have read my mind.
With the water running hot and the bubbles rising in the tub, I began to undress. I was still wearing my velvet blazer, and that was the first item to go. As I slid the jacket off my shoulders, I paused a moment to run my hands over my stiff neck, squeezing my sore shoulder muscles gently. A sharp intake of breath made me realize just how stressed I had become over the past few days of non-stop marketing meetings and seminars.
Slipping one hand underneath my knee-length black satin skirt, my fingers lingered a moment on the lace tops of my nude thigh high before grabbing the edge of the lace and beginning the slide down the length of my rounded thigh, smooth knee, and softly curved calf. I paused to gently massage the arch of my foot before removing the thigh high completely. I repeated the entire process with my other leg, relishing the cool air and the steam from the water as it hit my formerly confined skin. While God did not bless me with a rail-thin runway body, the advantage was being able to wear stay-up thigh highs without the extra clothing item of a garter belt. My freedom was precious to me, and left to my own devices, clothing consisted of the absolute minimum necessary. It never ceased to depress and amuse me that I found myself in a position of marketing power that required me looking like the First Lady during every single work day.
Leaving both thigh highs in an undignified pile on the bathroom floor, I reached around behind me and began unbuttoning my satin skirt. I loved this skirt because of that one fashion point -- the buttons. They were old fashioned and covered in black velvet. I'm all about the texture, and the combination of velvet and satin drove me wild. My fingers played with the buttons for a second, running the velvet over the pads of my fingertips and sending thrills of sensual pleasure up my forearms. Yes, definitely all about the texture. The satin of the skirt felt wet and slippery across my legs as I stepped out of it. I carefully draped the skirt over the wrought iron chair next to the tub and began the tedious work of unfastening the hook and eye latches of my white blouse. It was low-cut, eliminating that many more potential latches, but my fingers fumbled at the tiny hooks. I resisted the frustrated urge that pushed me to just pull and rip, reminding myself that the crisp white linen blouse had cost me the better portion of a paycheck , and remember how much you loved it when you saw it hanging in the boutique window? My conscience whispered rationalities to me. Finally, all the latches were undone, and I shimmied my arms out, laying the blouse on top of the skirt. I walked over to the window in my black satin bra and low cut panties, feeling the cool marble tile on the soles of my feet. As I listened to the sound of the water filling the tub, inhaled the earthy scent of sandalwood that filled the bathroom, and I looked at the red reflection of the sunset on the copper colored windows of the high rise next door, I took a deep breath and felt the first twinge of relaxation begin in the center of my chest. I undo the bra, slip off the panties, and pad my way over to the full tub to turn off the water and sink myself in.
I had completely forgotten about the fact that I had ordered room service until I heard the soft knock on the door, followed by the metal rasp of the doorknob being turned.
"Good evening, ma'am, room service!" A deep masculine voice intruded upon me in the bathroom, arousing me from the drowsy world the warm water had embraced me with.
