Disclaimer: The following is a piece of fiction. Fiction (in case you don't know) means it's made up, not real, a bunch of lies. The characters in the story are all fictional too, meaning they don't exist. While non-existent, if they existed and had an age they would be over 18.
Furthermore, since the characters aren't real they can't possibly be harmed by the stuff they do or that happens to them in the story. This would not be true in reality, meaning you should not think you can do the same things safely, legally, or ethically in real life. Just because bullets bounce off Superman (he's fictional) that doesn't mean they're going to bounce off you, got it? If you believe that the things fictional characters do in a pornographic story are a valid guide to behavior in the real world, then you have much bigger psychological problems than a story could ever cause and you should stop reading this and seek medical help immediately.
His first flight got delayed until he missed his connection. The next available flight to his destination was many hours later. The airport was under construction, too noisy and crowded for him to get any rest during the long layover. The second flight was overcrowded and full of wailing children, try though he might he couldn't sleep on board.
When the taxi finally dumped him at the place the company had booked for him it was midnight and Don was dead on his feet. He dully noticed that it was a "grand old hotel" with lots of columns and an antiquated but fancy lobby, which from past experience probably meant the rooms would be small and lack modern amenities. He just hoped the mattress wasn't as old as the hotel.
"All right, here's your key," bustled the night manager. "Our kitchen is already closed, but if you need anything else ..."
"No, I'm sure it will be fine," Don sighed.
The woman cleared her throat. "There is one more thing I ought to, uh, mention. We had some walk-ins and we weren't sure you were still coming, so you're getting the last room we have available. Room 628."
Don was puzzled by her odd demeanor. "So?"
"Room 628 is supposedly haunted," she explained sheepishly. "A lot of people know us due to that, we're somewhat famous for it. Not that there's anything really there, of course, but we're supposed to let guests know when they check in. Just in case they want a different room."
"But you just said you don't have another room," Don pointed out.
"Well, no, we don't. I'm still supposed to inform you," the young woman said, giving him a bright and purely professional smile.
Don shrugged. "I'm sure it will be fine," he repeated, and took the key.
"Need any help with your luggage?" the manager chirped, relentlessly cheerful.
Don didn't really like people handling his suitcase at any time. "No, not really."
"Then have a good night, Mr. Summer."
Don flinched, sure there was a smirk on her face as she said it. Pretty much all his life he'd been the target of mockery through no fault of his own. He certainly didn't make his parents name him Donald when their last name was Summer. Nor did he have any control over the fact that a like-named female singer had become the "Queen of Disco" while he was in grade school.
"Donna" became a taunt so routine that it was used almost more often than his real name during his childhood and early teen years. Even now, decades later as a grown man and sales manager, he had to fake a laugh whenever a client decided to make a joke about his name.
The irony of it was that in his heart of hearts Don wouldn't have minded being Donna.
He'd grown up in a medium-sized town in the center of the country, where merely being a Unitarian was considered tantamount to perversity. He'd married his high-school sweetheart and produced three offspring mostly because both their families expected it of him. He was a regular at their church, out of habit and convention. He'd never, ever done anything even slightly homosexual (at least, nothing that involved another person). For one thing he was far too afraid of someone he knew finding out if he did. And his features weren't feminine in the slightest.
But that didn't stop Don's dreams. In those he was Donna and a beautiful woman, a woman that men desired. He'd been having those kind of fantasies as long as he could remember. But they were without any outlet whatsoever until he got his first sales job.
Being a salesman for a large company meant travel. Travel to big, anonymous cities, and staying alone in hotel rooms while you were there. His colleagues would often brag about taking advantage of the situation to party all night, to visit strip clubs, even to hire hookers or otherwise cheat on their wives. Those particular things didn't appeal to Don, but their libertine tales clued him in to the freedom one had when on a sales trip.
Don began visiting lingerie shops when he traveled, always claiming to the staff that he wanted to buy some "pretty" things to surprise his wife. In fact he was the one who wore them, but only in the privacy of his hotel room. There he could finally act out some of his fantasies, at least by dressing up in the clothing of a beautiful woman.
