To Finally Meet

At least ten times in the elevator on the way to the fourteenth floor, Donald checked the folded piece of paper where he'd written her suite number, though he'd memorized it the moment he'd shut his cell phone -- standing in the street until a taxi brushed him back to the sidewalk, eyes out of focus, chanting those four digits over and over again. "Fourteen thirty two, fourteen thirty two," he'd muttered, his breath clouding in the headlights and streetlamps, bouncing from one foot to the other while he waited for the 'WALK' sign to change. Even the man who walked by wearing nothing but a miniscule pair of running shorts and a frightening amount of body hair looked at him strangely and picked up the pace.

The hallway was deserted; of course, he reminded himself, hotel hallways always seem to be deserted. Every hotel he'd ever been inside felt more like a movie set than somewhere that living, breathing normal people might be found. He never heard voices from inside the rooms; he heard the sound of television. Every sign of supposed inhabitancy felt fake to him -- the artfully displayed "DO NOT DISTURB" signs, the plates left here and there beside doors, dinners half-eaten, salt shakers spilled as if someone's child had run by too quickly and toppled them. He wondered if this were all going to turn out to be a gag of some sort -- a show like Candid Camera or Just for Laughs. Look at the married man, off to meet a lover, folks! Ain't he a hoot? He thinks he can love them both without tempting the Fates!

For several moments he stood dumbstruck beneath the laminated wood sign reading,

1401-1428 <-- --> 1429-1456

uncertain if he should proceed. Darkly, he thought of far worse possibilities than a simple gag -- at least, far worse to his ego. What if she'd changed her mind? What if she'd felt guilty and called to cancel -- called his wife to cancel? He stood there for a full ten minutes, jiggling the keycard that had been waiting at the desk in one hand, the other braced faux-casually against the wallpaper, slowly slipping down again and again, each time almost causing him to fall before he remembered to move his hand back to its original position. Finally, one of the service staff (walk-on players) crossed in front of him carrying a stack of towels, each folded towel at least sixteen inches thick at the side, and gave him a look rating him somewhere between John Turturro in Barton Fink and Tim Roth in Four Rooms -- though actually, Roth had been a bellboy, so this employee probably would have been on his side -- and finally Donald steeled himself, checked the paper that was in his pocket one more time, and turned to the right, checking the numbers on the doors to each side as he went, nervously breathing into his cupped hand and then smelling it to see if his mouthwash had done its job.

There was no thin stripe of light showing from beneath; otherwise, Fourteen Thirty Two looked like every other door he'd passed. Maybe she'd simply gone home, either out of remorse or impatience; he'd had to put her off several times to later in the evening before he was able to get away. Certainly, if she were waiting there would be light, probably even voices from the television, or radio. He pressed his ear to the door, but felt foolish and worried that if there were a real person across the hall, they might look out their peep hole, seeing him through the fish eye lens as even more furtive and nervous, and report him as some sort of criminal.

Donald took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest, and ran the card through the reader. With a soft click, the door opened, and he stepped inside. After he'd closed the door behind him, he was certain he heard a live human voice from somewhere out in the hallway.

Once through the door, Donald waited a few moments, standing stock still and gathering his resolve. The hotel room wasn't pitch black, as he'd thought; there was a small pool of light in the room proper that he assumed was from a lamp, but didn't reach into the area where he was standing at all. In fact, almost the entire room was blocked from his vision by the bathroom door, which was propped open, the shag carpet clumped beneath it at the bottom. (Why are hotel bathrooms always right beside the front door, he wondered. Is it so you don't miss the knock from room service? Is it to anticipate that last pee and hand washing that always seem to be necessary when you're leaving?)

He could see the very corner of the queen sized bed in the pool of light, though, and he suddenly felt a lump in his throat when he realized, or thought he realized, he could see a foot. Maybe. A potential foot. Clad in potential black nylons, bent in a slight, potential curve, each toenail possibly polished a dark, deep carmine. A foot that, on its own, already inspired a certain measure of desire. Potentially, of course, because as soon as he'd (maybe) seen it he ducked back behind the bathroom door, trying to swallow a lump in his throat that felt the size of a cantaloupe and paying very close attention to the laminated sheet listing the rules of the hotel (which, of course, he could barely read in the reflected light from the implied lamp). Oh, really? The maximum occupancy of this room is ten people? The closest fire exit is at the end of this red line that traces through at least six different corridors and apparently down two flights of stairs?

He heard a feminine throat being cleared, and he peeked around the corner of the door again. Now there were two feet, and they were definitely there, and one was rubbing sensuously against the other, nylons whispering together, the toes of one foot curling blissfully into the bedspread. He realized he was suddenly erect, not only pressing against the zipper of his trousers, but pressing painfully against the corner of the door. He took a step back, tugging at the front of his pants to try to disguise his arousal, and when she cleared her throat again he took the few, tentative steps that brought him into full sight of her, and she of him.

She lay there on the fully made bed wearing a short, elegant black dress that fit perfectly to each curve of her body, the aforementioned nylons, and a row of diamond studs in each earlobe. She looked up at him and smiled, her hands smoothing out a furrow in the blanket, and waited for Donald to speak. Or at least, to take a step closer.

He knew this was what she waited for, but he found himself unable to do either; to do anything, in fact, except look at her for the first moment. She was even more beautiful than he'd expected, far lovelier than her photos had suggested, and he was absolutely captivated. The way her hair flowed across the pillow, seeming to become one with the shadows outside the lamp's tight circle ... the invitation of her lips, still tilted in a smile and ever so slightly pursed, as if awaiting the first kiss ... the depths of her eyes, dark and intelligent and tantalizing ... even the curve of her cheek, the slight flush of her skin, the elegant line of her throat drew his attention to the point where he was beyond speech or movement. And when his gaze descended from there, following the neckline of the dress to the rise of her breasts, the soft, overlapping shadows that deepened into her cleavage, and then following the line of her body down her belly, her hips, the shadow that was equally enticing where the hem of her skirt ended and he could see a few inches further up her inner thighs ...he swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly dry.

She said something then, her first words since he'd entered the room, but he missed the words through the pounding of his pulse in his ears. "Wh-what?" he managed to choke out, tugging at the collar of his shirt with one finger until he realized that might look like he was already undressing, and then letting his hand fall immediately, bumping against his thigh. Too close, in fact, to his still lingering erection, and most likely causing it to be prominently displayed again. He felt a trickle of sweat down between his shoulder blades beneath his shirt.

She laughed, not unkindly, and he fell in love immediately with her voice -- he'd heard her voice before, of course, but only through a phone or the speakers of his computer. The depths of tone, the infinitesimal nuances of emotion even before she said a full word were already far richer than he had ever imagined. And then she did say a word, his name, and in that word spoke far more than whole conversations they'd had online. In that one moment, she told him that everything they'd said was true, if anything was even more potent and vivid and powerful now that they'd met in person, that every emotion he was feeling was reflected in her, down to the longing to have their bodies pressed as close together as the laws of physics would allow, for the whole of this night to the morning and possibly the entirety of the next day as well. She spoke his name, somewhere between a whisper and a croon, and spoke all of these things ... and before he knew what had happened he'd taken that final step, replying as completely by murmuring her name in reply, and he was in her arms, and she in his, and it was all as if it had been destined since the very beginning of the evolution of the species.

As their arms entwined into an embrace, and their bodies met, their lips touched as well -- the first brushing together causing him to shiver, a delicious thrill trembling through his body. Her breath was warm on his cheek, and her eyes seemed enormous now, galaxies in their own right, whole fields of starlight caught within their liquid depths. They kissed again, soft half-vocalized sounds emerging when they pulled back, and then a third time, where he tilted his head slightly to the side, and when their lips met he teased hers apart with the very tip of his tongue, just beginning to grow bold -- and suddenly, another flash where his memory departed and suddenly they were kissing deeply, tongues entwined, and he had moved above her, his knee slipping back and forth between her stockinged thighs, his hands clasped with hers, fingers entwined, both of their bodies arching and pressing together as the flames of desire rose high within them. He pulled back from this kiss gasping, cheeks warm, lips seeming to buzz slightly as when he'd been convinced to lick the terminals of a nine-volt as a child ... he looked down at his beloved, licking her lips, shifting slightly beneath him to press her hips more strongly against his, and with fresh confidence he whispered, "So, it's good to finally meet you," and they laughed, rocking together, until their lips suddenly, hungrily met and they were kissing again.

He let go of one of her hands to better learn the curves of her body, sliding his palm down from her shoulder, along her side to her hip, fingers curving beneath to first grip the swell of her alluring bottom, then caressing along the side of her thigh, trying to stroke as well as he could through the fabric of the dress -- and suddenly, shockingly free when he reached the end of it and only the sheerest film of nylon covered her legs from there, almost as responsive, almost as warm and inviting as if he were touching bared skin. At her knee, he circumnavigated from above and moved his fingers, trembling slightly, along her inner thigh, which took far more daring. And in fact, as his fingers traveled inch by inch along that delectable length, he looked deep into her eyes again, as if to reassure himself that the desire was truly there, that even this slightest of intimate touches would be received warmly ...

And, reading his thoughts, she reached down to place her hand over his own, touching it lovingly for a moment, and then hiked the dress further up her thighs, wriggling delightfully beneath him at the same time. "Colleen," he whispered almost worshipfully, "oh, my darling, darling one," and as they dived into another kiss, this one fierce in its passion, he let his fingertips wander higher, certain he was beginning to feel her heat close to the back of his hand ... and without even realizing it, suddenly he was there at the apex of their quest, caressing her through the layer of fabric and feeling her respond, rolling her hips, kissing him more ardently, her tongue writhing against his own.

She pulled back and sat halfway up, her eyes locked on his, gaze wanton, lips slightly swollen from their kisses and whispered, "I'm yours, my love ... I'm all yours," and reached around behind to unzip her dress. Donald moved back then, the springs in the hotel bed squeaking audibly at the shifting of weight, not only so that he could undress himself somewhat further, but also to better his vantage point as Colleen's loveliness was revealed. As he unbuttoned his shirt, she was sliding the dress off her smooth, fair shoulders, her skin a study in contrasts with the dark fabric, like time-release photography of the sun rising, shadows being chased away.

He found himself breathless again. She stood to continue, bending over, her breasts revealed in a demi cup bra formed completely of black lace, and again her cleavage enticed him. She looked over and noticed that he had completely stopped moving at that moment, holding the shirt loosely in one hand that he'd been about to drop on the floor, and she smiled wickedly. She took a step closer to him, still slowly working the dress down over her belly, her hips, and leaned in until his face was almost buried between her half-revealed breasts.

Reverently, Donald let his lips move over the crest of each. Her fragrance rose to fill his nostrils; her skin slid along his cheek like a deliberate caress. It almost seemed he could feel her heart beating -- not hearing it but feeling the delicate vibration of her chest, in between the rise and fall of her breathing. He let his kisses slip further, teasing at the edge of her bra, almost pushing the fabric down enough to reveal her areola, but then Colleen rose again, chuckling. "Greedy boy," she said, stepping out of her dress and hanging it over the back of a chair. "Maybe you should concentrate on getting out of those clothes before you get too involved there." Slowly, she began to roll a black stocking down one thigh, knowingly tantalizing him.

He stood up as well then, his eyes riveted on what her hands were doing, and continued to undress. His trousers fell to the floor with a jangle of belt buckle, keys and spare change. His fully erect cock already protruded from the fly of his boxers, the curved head slick with a glistening droplet of fluid, and suddenly Colleen was the one who froze at the revelation. "Mmmmm," she half-moaned, and one hand drifted back up to the junction of her thighs. "Keep going ..."

Teasingly, he stroked the shaft a few times, causing it to swell in the circle of his hand, pulling back the foreskin from the base of the head, forcing the shape into fuller relief. "This?" he said, his voice a mix of amusement, love and pride. "Are you saying this is what you want, darlin'?" He moved his hand back further, rocking his hips forward at the same time lewdly, but laughing.

At least, he was laughing until Colleen stripped her second stocking off in one swift movement and then wrapped her hand around his cock as well. "Mine," she said succinctly, pulling him (gently) closer so she could press her lips again to his, kissing him deeply as she removed his hand -- and then, his boxers, letting them fall to the ground but maintaining a grip on his manhood, stroking it from base to tip with agonizing slowness again and again.

Donald felt his knees going weak, his whole body suffused with liquid warmth. "Love," he murmured, half-warningly, and after one more teasing stroke, she let go. She stood before him, almost nude, licking her fingertips, and for a moment it didn't even matter that she'd let go; he thought he was going to lose control anyway. And when she turned around, bending over to wriggle out of her panties, he had to move his hand down to the base of his achingly hard cock and grip hard, trying to hold himself in check.

Just as he sat down heavily on the bed again, she turned around, spreading her thighs apart ... and it was a good thing he'd already forced his erection to subside ever-so-slightly, because it raged again and he was barely able to contain himself. She had shaved completely bare for him, leaving every delectable fold and curve and crevice of her sex perfectly visible, like the petals and stamen of some incredibly beautiful, fragrant, exquisitely coloured blossom. She walked over to him again, and he couldn't help but reach out, palms cupped to her hips and sliding around behind, and allow his lips to trail delicately up one inner thigh and over her, lips sliding gently over her, touching softly as a breath of air, tongue tracing slickly, dipping slightly into her wetness and trailing it up to the hood of her clitoris, lifting it deftly and undulating against the nubbin of flesh beneath. She gasped, her whole body shivering, and buried her fingers in his hair. Teasingly, he repeated the motion, and she pulled back with a moan. "You ... you have to do that again, but not until I lie down."

He indicated the bed, grinning, pulling back the bedspread, and managed to be good while she made herself comfortable among the sheets. But as soon as she was lying back, head propped on several pillows so she could look down at him kneeling between her thighs ... he moved up slightly, lying on his belly, his cock trapped against the mattress, and he returned to his prior explorations. "My beautiful love," he whispered, not even certain she could hear him, and learned the contours of her sex in kisses again, accompanied by her gasps, moans, soft half-heard words as he slid his tongue more fully into her wetness, savouring the taste trickling past his lips. The bridge of his nose pressed up against her clit as he licked her from within, flickering his tongue against the sides, spreading it fully, curling it as a promise of further fulfillment ...

Colleen reached down again then, tangling one hand in his hair while with the other she cupped her own breast, kneading it, tugging at the nipple softly and slowly. When he looked up for a moment, her eyes were closed, her head thrust back, lips parted ... and he bent his head again, this time letting his tongue caress her clit, dancing circles around it, darting in to flutter daringly against it, and at the same time he slid his index finger into her wetness, curling it enough that he could stroke along the inside of her as she gripped it strongly, finding each place inside that caused her to shudder and rubbing lightly against them, one after another.

She moaned his name then, her voice filling the room and causing him to smile secretly against her. He closed his lips over her clit and vibrated his tongue directly against it, causing her hips to jerk upward violently, driving herself more deeply around the fingers (introducing a second, filling her completely) buried inside her pussy, her inner muscles rippling around them as bolts of pleasure shot through her body with each touch, each thrust. She gasped, writhing against the mattress beneath her, and clamping down on the fingers buried deep inside her. "God ... god ... so close ..." she warned him, but he only fucked her harder with his fingers, his tongue a blur against her clit.

Colleen started to buck her hips, her moans turning into cries of pleasure, and he felt her muscles spasm around his fingers as the first wave of the orgasm hit her. She had let go of his head long ago, and now her hands were tangled in the sheets, white-knuckled. Her whole body rose and fell as she came, back arching, breasts thrust upward capped with taut nipples -- every muscle in her body seemed to clench, then release; clench, then release, again and again. Finally, the repetitions began to dwindle, to move from shuddering to shivering with delight ... and when she finally lay there still, gasping, her heartbeat slowly moving back toward normal, he pushed himself back up from the bed and climbed into her arms, trailing slick kisses up her belly, over her breasts, along her throat before their lips met once more.