The day of my visit arrived, and you left your flat far too early to come and meet me. You'd been kicking your heels all morning and had convinced yourself that the journey into central London would take you an hour but thirty minutes later you were in the lobby of my hotel.
"I'm here early," your text message said, "come down when you're ready".
I smiled when I saw it: I like that you're keen. "I'll be a while. Come on up. Room 432." You read the reply and feel butterflies in your stomach.
It's a warm summer's day outside so rather than arriving hot from climbing the stairs you take the elevator to the fourth floor. You stand outside room 432 trying to summon the courage to knock. We haven't been able to talk since the Skype call last week, beyond arranging to meet today. I'd promised to explain how my husband fitted into the picture. You wondered if that meant that everything had to change.
Another thirty seconds before you bring yourself to knock on the door.
"Just a second," I called out. A moment later I'm standing in the open doorway wrapped in a hotel dressing gown. As expected, you're wearing a t-shirt and jeans, virtually the same as you were on the call. I have a feeling it's what you always wear to save you having to think about it.
I smile, half nervously but genuinely excited. You may wonder if everything has changed but I don't. I nearly jump at you and wrap my arms around your neck. I can't help but lift my head and press my lips to yours, my eyes remaining open to see how you'll react. The answer is with surprise as you freeze, although at least you accept the kiss.
I step back. "Come in, come in," I say. It feels kind of formal, which is odd since the last time I saw you was as you stood naked in front of a camera.
You still haven't spoken as you follow me into the hotel room. The door closes behind you. There's no escape for either of us now.
"Sorry I'm so early," you say. I don't mind at all, although I still need to get ready before we go out. I don't know what you have planned for us for the afternoon, but it's your city so I'll follow your lead.
"No worries," I say, "You'll just have to give me twenty minutes. Here, have a chair."
I take your hand and lead you to the wooden chair by the bed. I can't believe, after seeing how confident you were at the start of our Skype call, just how nervous you are now. I guess that your experience with women is perhaps less than I'd assumed, although admittedly we weren't doing anything the normal way.
You sit down and look at me, obviously nervous but trying to project enthusiasm. Once you settle down you know you'll be fine, although any thoughts of settling are quickly gone as you realise you're in a hotel room with a woman in a dressing gown; a woman who, twice now, has persuaded you to strip naked for her.
It seems odd that, now I'm wearing less than you for the first time, it has upset your mind entirely. You were able to think relatively clearly when the situation was reversed, albeit we weren't physically together. I come over and sit sideways across your lap and drape my arms over your shoulders. "Hey," I say, "Just relax. And work out what we're going to do for the day."
You put your hands around my waist and we both enjoy the feeling. "Oh, I don't know," you reply, "Maybe we could just stay here..." Your hands start to slide up my sides and then I feel you pull at the cord of my gown. You turned from nervous to bold very quickly, but your lack of experience shows.
"Oh no you don't, mister!" I say, batting your hands and standing up whilst tightening the cord. "I'm getting dressed and then you're showing me around the town."
I haven't really thought what to wear for the afternoon, but there's a limited choice from whatever fitted in my suitcase. Then I remember something else I have.
"Oooh," I say, "I got you something." I go to the wardrobe and take out a short-sleeved shirt. "I knew you'd be wearing a t-shirt, so I thought I'd smarten you up."
You laugh. Is this how changing a man starts?
I carry the shirt over, still on its hanger, and sit on your lap again, holding it out in front of us.
"And you want me to wear it today?" you ask. I nod. "Okay, I'll get changed in the bathroom."
I smile. "After all I've seen already?" I like to goad you, to remind you of our past encounters. I toss the shirt onto the bed. "C'mon," I say, and grab hold of the bottom of your t-shirt and start to lift it. Your brain can't think fast enough to decide if this is a bad idea or not so you lift your arms so I can pull it over your head. Getting that off you was even easier than it had been on the phone, or over Skype.
I let the t-shirt drop to the floor. I can't help but stroke your bare shoulders with my palms. I run my hands down your chest before draping my arms back around your neck. My wrists rest on your bare shoulders and I realise my eyes are having trouble focussing. I wonder if there's anything stirring inside your briefs yet. Your mind realises that a woman in a dressing gown has just taken your t-shirt off and the stirring starts.
I lean over and kiss you again. Unlike the kiss in the doorway, this time you're carried away in the moment. I feel your hands on my waist again. They're sure and controlled and stronger than they look. As our lips move I start to lose myself as I go giddy. I can feel your hands moving on my body and part of me doesn't want them to stop.
Suddenly I lean back and look down and wok out what your hands have been doing: all the while you've been pulling at the waist cord of my gown. It's untied and almost free of the two loops that hold it in place, but the gown is still closed across me. I stand up quickly and hold it shut with my arms.
"Ooh, I'll get you for trying that," I say. I'm half serious: this has to be on my terms or it won't happen at all.
"Kelly told me to be careful," I say as I walk behind you, "So, hands behind your back."
"What for?" you ask.
"Just do it." You comply, putting your arms behind the back of the chair. You feel my hands on your wrists, and then something else around them. You realise what's going on finally as I tie both your wrists to the chair back with the cord you pulled out of my bath robe.
I walk around to face you again, crossing my arms to hold the robe closed.
"That's what you get for breaking the rules," I tell you. You don't know what to say. Sitting in a chair with your t-shirt off isn't entirely unexpected, given our recent history, but you never imagined you'd be bound at the wrists as well.
"I thought we were going out today," you say.
"We are," I reply, "But I'm going to get ready first and I don't trust you to keep your hands to yourself."
You realise that things haven't worked out too badly so far anyway: there's a chance you'll be watching me get ready, and you start to hope I'll give up on holding the gown shut soon. The first stirrings of your erection are given another boost and you realise that those jeans, in that chair, may not be all that comfortable for much longer.
"Okay. Well, don't let me stop you," you say with a smile, indicating my gown with your eyes.
My heart melts at your smile again. Maybe I could just climb on top of you now? Would sex be the worst way to start the afternoon?
