Thursday started overcast and remarkably cool. I was happy to wrap up in Jeans and my cardigan. I confess that I had slept remarkably well and despite the change in the weather, I started the day feeling refreshed and remarkably alive. Somehow I knew this was going to be a very good day.
I was so glad that Tom had fallen asleep when I arrived back to the room; I had been convinced that he would know what I had been doing just by looking at me, or worse still, smell sex. I had been convinced that every man in the hotel had known what I had been doing, but somehow that just contributed to the warm glow that had developed inside me; I had become a woman that was desired and wanted. I felt special.
Tom had set an early alarm. As we sat and enjoyed breakfast together, he brought me up to date with work. I have always taken an interest in the job he did, and always made sure I was there to listen to ideas and grumbles whenever they arose, particularly if he needed to just vent. I was genuinely concerned that this round of talks had not gone well, but when he told me that he had to go to Rome, I found it hard not to cry out with joy.
I would have a whole day alone. A whole day to do whatever I chose without having to face the reality of what I was; a faithful married woman. I know that I should have been questioning my judgment, reminding myself of the vows we had made when we got married, but if those thoughts were there in my head, they did not linger. I wanted to enjoy myself. I wanted to experience new things. I wanted to experience sex in new ways. I wanted to be fucked by someone I did not know.
Tom had organized a rental car with the hotel, and told me that he would drive back this evening if the meetings finished early, otherwise he would stay over and return in the morning. I sincerely wished him luck. I genuinely wanted things to go well for him, but secretly hoped he would have to stay.
The woman from reception came to tell Tom that his car was ready and waiting for him. When he ran back to the room to pack an overnight bag and collect his papers, she handed me an envelope, simply saying 'a message for you, Mrs. De Carlo.'
I puzzled at first who might leave a message for me. Tom had been sitting next to me until a few seconds ago, and any family or friends would have called his cell. Then I realized. This was from whoever was making out with me on the terrace.
I looked round the room thinking that whoever it was must be watching me. The restaurant was busy with people taking breakfast. A few people seemed to notice that I was looking, and acknowledged me with a smile. The other guests, the waiters, there were any number of possible candidates, but none gave any hint that they had enjoyed licking and finger fucking me last night.
I opened the envelope. It was standard hotel key folder with a room number, and a time. Inside the key folder was a key card. I glanced at my watch. It was just after 8.00am. I had six hours to wait.
After Tom left, I tried to distract myself by reading, but thoughts of the things that had happened, and imagining the things that might happen, made it impossible. I read the same couple of pages several times over without grasping a single sentence. I tried flicking through a magazine, but the articles dwelling on the excesses of celebrities, and glossy images of women in sexy underwear, just made it worse. It was going to be six hours of agony.
I went for a walk. I stopped for coffee and a pastry and then made my way to the boutique where I had bought the dress. I had made up my mind that if I was going to be seen in my underwear by a stranger, then it was going to be the sexiest underwear I could manage. I did not want to use my bank card, that would alert Tom to what I was doing, but I hoped I had enough cash.
The sales girl remembered me. I had thought that my limited knowledge of Italian, and her broken English were going to cause problems, but it soon became clear that she thought I was planning a surprise for the husband that bought the dress, and translated my thoughts perfectly, even if the man was not my husband.
I ended up with lilac satin panties and bra, trimmed with black lace. They perfectly matched the dress that I thought of wearing. And as I had been encouraged to step into the changing rooms, undress, be properly measured, and try them on, I could attest that they fitted perfectly, and looked adorable.
By 2.00pm, I had showered, dressed, and spent forever with make up and hair. I wanted to look perfect. I wore a knee length, sleeveless purple dress, and black high heels. I tried hard to hold on to the thought that I looked classy, but being dressed up in the middle of the day made me extremely self conscious. Thankfully the room was towards the back of the hotel and I passed no-one.
I arrived exactly on time, feeling nervous and very, very horny. I knocked, but after a few moments of nothing, let myself in. The room was a smallish twin, but furnished in much the same style as the suite that Tom and I occupied. The window opened onto a small, rather dusty courtyard, so the room appeared quite dark, but someone had left fresh flowers on one table which gave it a friendly, homey sort of feel.
On a second table stood an ice bucket, a bottle of Prosecco, and some glasses. On the bed a black scarf. In the few minutes I had alone, I opened the bottle, downed a full glass of wine, and tied the scarf tightly over my eyes. The wine was Dutch courage. I felt less certain why I wanted to be blindfold, but somewhere in my head I thought, if I did not know who was fucking me, I would not be embarrassed after.
I heard the door. I stood by the end of the bed and soon felt the presence of someone standing very close to me. Lips kissed me gently on the mouth. I recognized them; their feel, their taste. I knew it was the same person that had kissed me the past three nights. I felt strangely safe and loved.
Hands started to fondle my breasts, very gently and very slowly. Each time they brushed over a nipple, a tremor traveled down my body to my already aching groin. I felt the zip of my dress being pulled down, and allowed it to slide off my shoulders. As my dress landed in a heap at my ankles I tried clumsily to step out of it, and two hands took mine to help steady me. It was then that I realized there was still a hand on my back. Three hands. I gasped and stiffened.
Something was said in Italian which I did not understand, and then the voice spoke to me. 'I am so sorry, we did not mean to frighten you.' The voice was female. I felt so confused. The hands holding mine gently guided me so I could sit on the edge of the bed.
'If you wish us to leave, we will do so immediately, but please accept that I am sorry, I did not mean to upset you.'
'I thought you were ...' I started.
'A man? Please, believe me that right this very moment, I wish that I were. I am very attracted to you, and I thought from our little exchanges, that you felt the same.'
My mind raced. Those moments on the terrace were with a woman? Of course it made sense, the softness of those hands, the kiss, the tenderness. But I had deluded myself that it was a man. I had so desperately wanted to be fucked by this person, that I had not even considered the possibility that it was anything but a man.
