I was flying from down south to the national capital on a work assignment by an evening flight. It was a cold winter evening, not so cold in my home city, but raining, as it so often does in that city. The forecast was for very cold weather in the national capital, with rain. Altogether a depressing prospect, and to make things worse, the flight was late. I sat nursing a drink in the lounge so thoughtfully provided by my bank for its card holders. Near where I sat, a lady dressed in a black pant suit was talking in a low voice into her cell phone. She seemed to be somewhat agitated, and after sometime, with an air of failed finality, she got off her phone, beckoned the waiter and ordered a drink, which she gulped down immediately. She looked around for the waiter, who had vanished into the innards of the room. Our eyes met. I smiled sympathetically and said:
"Just when you want a waiter, he seems to vanish into thin air."
"Most irritating, and I do so desperately need a drink."
"May I help you to get a drink?" – I asked.
"Please. But don't get the impression that I'm in the habit of knocking down alcoholic drinks out of fear of flying. It's just that I'm facing a predicament created by someone else."
"Tell me about it after I get you that drink. I've found that it helps to release tension when you share your problem with someone else."
I got up, unearthed the waiter taking what was no doubt a well deserved break in a corner where there were no customers to disturb him, ordered two drinks and got back to my chair. The lady motioned me to sit at her table. The drinks came; she took a sip and then proceeded to unburden her soul.
"This weakling cousin of mine, just because his wife doesn't like me, because she thinks I'll steal that twerp away from her, was on the phone to tell me that it would be inconvenient for me to stay with him, and this at the last moment when I'm already in the airport, and knowing fully well that I hate staying on my own in a hotel."
"May I suggest that you stay in the hotel where I'm booked? It's a small boutique hotel, cozy and comfortable, far away from the madding crowd, though very centrally located."
The flight was eventually announced. I charmed a flight attendant into letting us sit together. We made small talk and partook of the light dinner provided by the airline. We landed at our destination, collected our baggage and found a cab to take us to the hotel.
While I was checking in, she stood near me, and the clerk asked me if we were together. I was going to say 'no' but before I could open my mouth, she said 'yes', and that, I can tell you disconcerted me no end. In the elevator taking us to our room, she kept demurely quiet in front of the bellboy. Once alone inside the room, she raised her hands as if to silence me and said:
"Please don't mind the imposition. I just can't stay alone in a hotel room. You seem a decent sort, and I'd rather stay with you than stay alone. Please understand my situation. It's just for one night and I won't be any trouble, I promise you. I'll even pay for the room."
I took stock of the situation. Here I was, just turning 30, a happy bachelor with no complications in life, and this woman, about 15 years my senior, was so desperate to occupy a hotel room with me rather than stay alone. She was tall and slim, with a sharp aquiline face, and from what I could make out, had a decent enough figure under that pant suit. Another problem: the room had a double bed, very suitable for an amorous couple, but certainly not meant for two strangers who had just met. We didn't even know each others name. It was a surrealistic experience, I can tell you.
Well, it was pretty late, and the only thing to do was to order a couple of drinks and some food from room service. Those rituals finished, we prepared for bed. I asked her whether she was sure she wanted to share the room with me or whether I should try for another room. The answer was an emphatic no. She went into the bathroom to change. I heard the shower running, and then she came out, wearing a bathrobe over whatever she was wearing underneath.
She suggested that I do likewise, and here we were, two strangers in the night, clad in bathrobes and little else, facing each other in the intimacy of a hotel room. She put out the lights on her side of the bed and signaled me to put out the lights on my side of the bed. In the darkness of the night, we lay side by side, but decently far enough, not touching.
I murmured: "I say, aren't you taking a frightful risk?"
She replied: "I'm experienced enough to know that a decent young man like you won't even touch me without my consent, and I know nothing will happen between us without my permission."
"You have that assurance" – I replied.
But it was difficult to go to sleep. The scent she wore kept on troubling me. It was an exotic perfume, inviting enough arouse even a monk sworn to celibacy. I turned and tossed, carefully avoiding my bed mate. After some time, she couldn't take my shifting, tossing and turning any longer. She put her hand on me and told me to relax. She started to massage my temple, and in the process, our bodies touched. My cock sprang to attention and its hardness bored into her body. She felt the hardness and said:
"My, aren't you all tensed up? Let me help you to release your stress."
