A couple of weeks later Debby called me at work.
"Hey handsome, is your dick still sore?" she began, letting me know she wasn't at work.
"I'm almost recovered," I said, "So are you coming out to make me sore again?"
"Actually, no," Debby said. "I'm calling to apologize."
"What did you do NOW!"
"Um, well, we had a girls'-night-out and I got drunk and told five of my co-workers the whole story of Mark and Debby and how lousy you are in bed."
"WHAT!"
"Calm down, silly, I told them the truth ... with lots of details ... followed by a question-and-answer session. The ladies were fascinated. I believe all six of us went home with wet panties."
"It only occurred to me the next day that it might be better to keep my mouth shut," Debby said contritely.
"I can't see any harm," I countered. "Those babes are three states away from me."
"You forgot we send admin staff to every Regional Directors' meeting, and those girls are in the rotation," she said. "So one of them might be waiting outside your building to rape you one dark night."
"You told them where I work!"
"Did I mention I was drunk?"
"Sheez," I said, but it was impossible to get mad at her. And the likelihood of her co-workers getting the hots for me seemed near zero. So I shrugged it off. Debby helped me forget by calling me on my cell phone while I was driving home and giving me great phone sex. She was lying naked on her bed, describing every movement of her fingers. I had to pull over at a park near home and jerk of to keep from crashing.
Weeks passed.
Then the phone rang one night as I was getting organized to leave work. A woman's voice introduced herself as Margie, a friend of Debby's from work. We chatted briefly about Debby, then Margie got to the point.
"I'm in town for the Regional Directors' meeting and wondered if you would like to get together for a drink and some conversation," she said. "Debby recommends you highly."
I hesitated. A drink and some lively talk would be nice, I thought, and a better alternative than my dark house and sleeping wife.
And Debby's female friends tended to be smart -- sometimes brilliant. Debby wouldn't tolerate people who were stupid, or pretended to be. She loved the sparks that flew when well-informed people were talking about books, movies, politics or her other passions. And Nancy wouldn't even notice if I came home late.
Then there was another possibility. Maybe she was just a lonely government worker looking for some friendly conversation in a strange city. Or maybe she was one of the five who knew the story of Debby and Mark. Maybe she had something more than talking in mind? I wondered if she knew about my encounter with Debby at the last Regional Directors' meeting.
"I'd like to have a drink with you," I said. "Where should we meet?"
"Why don't you come to my room," Margie said. "Debby told me what you like to drink and I have all the makings in the mini-bar. And that way I won't have to put on my suit again."
I was suddenly aware of my dick pressing against my leg, somewhere between limp and half-erect. It seemed at least possible that Margie wanted more than conversation.
'If she's awful,' I told myself. 'Then, all I have to do is play dumb, finish my drink and go home.'
I agreed to Margie's plan and she gave me her room number. Fifteen minutes later I was driving towards the Marriott, racking my brain to remember details Debby had told me about her co-workers. Was Margie the 20-something party girl, the 30-something black girl who lived with her mother, or the 40-something widow? Hell, she could be anybody in Debby's office including somebody she hadn't mentioned. I was a little nervous, a little aroused, and a little intrigued. My heart rate and breathing were definitely advanced.
Some of my questions were answered a few minutes later when I knocked on the door to Room 1126. The spyhole darkened briefly and the door swung wide.
"Mark?" she asked.
"Margie?" I replied.
"Come right in," she said and turned to walk down the tiny hall away from me. I already knew she wasn't old or ugly, although she was not young, either.
Margie was attractive, in her 40s, with thick, brunette hair cut in a mid-length style that nicely framed her pale, fine-boned face. She was wearing a calf-length robe of green satin that covered her completely, but was snug in the right spots. I hadn't had time to assess the front view, but the view from behind was just fine.
She led me to the small table beside the window and gestured me to one of the chairs. There were the usual signs of a business traveler's room, including a laptop on the desk. A king-size bed took up most of the space. The room's light came from the bedside lamp and the open bathroom door, and the view of the city lights was spectacular.
A plate of fruit and crackers sat on the table, along with my favorite drink already mixed.
"Let me know if that's too strong, Mark, and I'll try again," Margie said. "The company pays our mini-bar bills, within reason."
I took a sip and raised my glass to my hostess.
"That's perfect," I said, "What are you drinking?"
"Roger taught me how to mix vodka martinis, and I got addicted," she said briefly. "I even carry my own bottle of olives.
"Roger was my husband," she added, a little sadly. "He's been gone about three years now, but I often think of him."
We talked about her husband (sudden heart attack), her kids (staying with grandma), her job (responsible but not powerful), and her hobby (sailing). I talked a little about myself, but stayed off the family topic. After 20 minutes, I liked Margie, admired her fortitude in raising two kids alone, and badly wanted to jump her bones.
She had kind dark eyes with a few tiny wrinkles at the corners, a generous mouth and a keen wit. Her hands looked strong and she had short, practical nails covered by pale pink polish. Her breasts were not large, but they were big enough to sway slightly when she leaned forward, and her nipples must have been fully erect. They made obvious bumps in the green robe where they pointed slightly to each side. Her well-proportioned ass I had seen when she let me in the room.
The conversation came to one of those natural pauses, and Margie took a deep breath -- lifting her nice breasts.
"I'm glad you dropped by, Mark, I dread coming to these things because I don't know anybody in town and I'm too tired to do much after sitting in meetings all day."
I murmured something sympathetic.
"Now," she said, leaning forward and gazing directly in my eyes, "You could go over to the door, say 'Good night' and let yourself out ... with my thanks. Or ... you could go over and turn out the lights and see what happens."
I admired the way she had managed the evening. She had invited me to her room and checked me out in private, then decided what she wanted. She also gave me a choice and a gentle way to accept, or turn her down, with nothing explicit being said.