I was lying in a hotel bed with my arms spread to either side, pinned by my two sleeping children. Preschool age, both of them, and they'd just fallen asleep, which meant I needed to lie still for another fifteen minutes before I tried to extricate myself -- otherwise our four-year-old, who
swears
she's too old for naps, would wake up.
She needed the rest -- we'd traveled to a conference for my spouse, all of us, since we were heading off to visit my parents afterward, and kids struggle with anything that disrupts their routine. This conference was being held in a part of the city that isn't very walkable for small children. The only exercise our kids were getting was in the hotel pool. And careening through the halls. Not ideal. And we definitely weren't acclimated to the time zone -- their normal wake-up was before five, local time.
They needed a nap.
Which meant I was stuck there, trying to meditate. Not what I would have chosen. I'd rather have had the chance to get out of bed, sit at the little desk, and type. Catch up on some of the work I was letting slide to take care of our kids. Or, if I
had
to lie in bed to keep the kids asleep, it would have been nice to read a book. But the book I'd brought was out of reach, and I had no interest in re-reading the naptime classic
A Kiss for Little Bear
on my own. So my options were either to lie there and ruminate, or else close my eyes and pretend that I'd planned to use the time for a bit of self-care.
Breathe in, breathe out, and just wait until the kids fell into a sufficiently deep sleep that I could get up.
But then my spouse softly knocked and let herself in the room. She walked over, peaked around the corner, and whispered, "Are the kids asleep?"
I nodded.
"Good. I needed to grab a few things for the next session. And is it okay that my friend Maggie came? She really wanted to meet you."
I nodded again, but said,
sotto voce
, "We'll have to whisper. The kids aren't super well asleep yet."
My spouse shrugged, then waved Maggie inside. She was cute, with waves of black hair that tumbled past her shoulders, framing her rose-touched face. And she was wearing DNA-strand earrings. Other than that, Maggie was dressed in conventional conference attire, dark slacks and a white blouse. Not especially revealing, although the blouse was tight enough to hint at what she might have to reveal.
And she smiled at me -- bright eyes crinkling, cheeks dimpling. Her front teeth were ever so slightly separated at their bottoms, a tiny deviation from perfection that made her smile seem that much warmer. Genuine and inviting.
"You can talk a little," my spouse told her, "while I get my stuff. But you'll have to whisper, so you'll want to get close. Maybe climb onto the bed?"
Maggie gave my spouse a look, to which my spouse nodded, and then Maggie shrugged. She climbed onto the bed ... and settled her weight over me, straddling my legs. In a way that belied the nonchalance of her words.
"Hi," she said, "I'm Maggie. I'd offer to shake hands, but looks like you can't. Anyway, your wife has been telling me about you."
"My pleasure," I whispered back, and blushed. I realized that I was getting an erection. I was wearing jeans, but she still might be able to tell, since she was perched so close and I couldn't shift my weight to compensate.
I tried to banter. "Shaking hands is always nice. Greeting someone with most of your brain. Have you seen those models of the sensory homunculus? What our bodies might look like if parts matched how much space they take up in our brains?"
"Oh, the tiny aliens," Maggie whispered back, smiling again. She smiled with her whole face, thin lines whiskering alongside her eyes. Each of her smiles brought another burst of ardor blooming through me.
"I have seen those," she said. "Our brains are all tongue and hand, the way an elephant is all trunk."
"Oh, right, a prehensile nose! So agile they can lift food, or even paint. I have no idea how they do it."
"Like this," she whispered gleefully, and twitched her nose like a chipmunk.
I swallowed a laugh. I didn't want to wake the kids. Still, it was quite impressive. And what a treat. Maggie's warmth was spreading over my legs, and her smile made me feel less tired. I gave up trying to hide the attraction evinced by the contours of my jeans.
"See," whispered my grinning spouse, "I thought you two would like each other."
Maggie turned her head toward my spouse -- from the curve of her cheeks, Maggie seemed to be smiling at her, too. With, I assumed, the same sunshine expression she'd graced me with.
But then it was time for them to leave. Maggie extricated herself, trying not to jostle the children awake. My spouse gave my foot a squeeze.
A little wave, and they were out the door.
I felt all riled up. At that point, attempting to meditate didn't even help. I listened to my children breathing, snoring softly in their sleep.
#
The kids and I made it through the day. They ate many snacks. I read books aloud. We played a memory game in which I somehow kept turning over cards that
didn't
have the same picture. The kids were gleeful at how many more pairs they found than I did. And we set out from the hotel a few times for extremely small, manageable adventures.
We ate a bland dinner. I took them swimming, again. Gave them a bath. Finally it was time for bed.
After the kids fell asleep, I lay in bed reading. My spouse was at a drinks and schmoozing event for her conference, and she'd said it might last a while. But that seemed fine -- I like reading.
It was late when she came quietly into the room. I set my book aside, stood up, and hugged her.
"Are the kids asleep?" she asked. It seems we ask this pretty often.
I nodded yes, and she kissed me on the lips.
"Are you awake enough to stay up a little longer?" she asked, starting to unbutton her shirt.
"I could be coerced into a few more minutes' wakefulness," I said, and went over to push our bed toward the windows. Then I piled some blankets at the near edge, to create a sight-blocking mountain of fluff between us and the sleeping children. My spouse and I stripped out of our clothes. Hotel rooms breed haste, especially when the goal is to get your loved one off before the kids stir.
We spooned, inches from the glass. I know -- totally marks us as small-town tourists, eager to cavort next to our twenty-fourth floor view. Our room was fairly dim, with only the bathroom bulb left on, but there was an exhibitionist thrill, rubbing against each other while watching the world below. Pedestrians were traversing the sidewalks even at that time of night, and we could see people moving in the lit apartments across from us: tidying up after dinner, watching TV, laughing over drinks. No make outs that we noticed, but the long-term denizens of a downtown apartment are probably less eager to flaunt themselves than visitors.
We could imagine, though. The idea of watching them, and being watched. With my free hand, I gingerly circled my spouse's nipples: they were pertly attentive. She reached back to slick my cock with saliva and guide it to her. She was quite wet already -- after the second little push, I was in.
"Mmm," she said, "I like that." And also -- we're the sort who chat during sex, especially because sometimes, what with the kids, there'd be no other time to chat -- she said, "Maggie enjoyed meeting you today."
"I liked her too," I said, punctuated by a breath halfway between a grunt and a laugh.
"Yeah, she could tell."
"Hmmph," I said.
"You don't have to 'hmmph,' I like that you get hard."
"Suppose that's true."
"But ..." my spouse said, "... don't you want to ask about
