Travelling for work always sounded so glamorous. I'd never been to New York City before. It was damp and stinky. At least that was my first impression. The ride into the city was terrifying. The taxi driver was superb but the lack of lines on the road from Newark Airport to the city was unimaginable to me.
My heart was racing the entire time. My senses were overloaded by the loud honking, aggressive people shouting, and the stop-and-jolt of traffic. I just wanted to get to the hotel and lay down in a comfy bed.
We were right by Time Square in what looked like a pretty nice hotel. The lobby was beautiful and intimidating with all the golds, reds, and greens. When I got to my room, I finally felt safe despite the cob-web, dust bunny colonies in the corners of the room. I locked the door with both the deadbolt and the latch, relieved myself in the brightly lit bathroom, and then plopped onto one of the two beds. I curled up into the fetal position and thought, "I want to go home."
My coworker and hotel-roommate showed up later that evening with a shave-and-a-haircut knock on the door. She had just flown in from France and deeply regretted returning to work directly from her vacation. I didn't know how she was doing it. She seemed like she had a lot of energy despite the jet lag.
Before unzipping her suitcase, she asked if it was alright if she undressed in front of me. I consented with a small nod. She pulled out a red dress and stripped right front of me. Not hurriedly, nor leisurely. She seemed truly comfortable in her skin and possibly enjoying the discomfort I was likely displaying--or maybe my attraction beam was showing.
She always smiled and her eyes were large and brown as if Disney artists drew her into life. She was always nice to me and made my awkwardness feel normal. Even while her small breasts dangled from her chest as she bent over, she looked me in the eye and spoke of all the fabulous restaurants she ate at in Paris. Sliding her pink cotton panties over her long, strong legs, she mentioned something about snails and garlic. Admittedly, disappointment crept in as she covered her portly belly with something small and red.
I must have dozed off for a bit while she was talking because I woke up on top of my covers, still in my day clothes. I looked at the clock and it read 9:00pm. She wasn't in the room. I was worried at first. Maybe she got hurt or mugged out there! Then I was jealous. Maybe she's at a club or bar with the others from the office and I wasn't invited.
I changed into my sleeping shorts and tank top without an audience. I crawled under the sheets and turned on the TV. One of those LifeTime movies was on--something about discovering sexuality and getting bullied about it. I found my fingers fondling my lower lips during the discovery scenes of awkward make outs and hidden handholds. Electricity shot through my bundle of nerve endings. My mind wandered as I started to fall asleep writing fanfiction in my head about the bully joining the lesbian couple and discovering her own expanded sexuality.
My eyes flew open when I felt something brush against my arm. She was on the bed sitting next to me. Laying on my back, the sheets were down to my navel. Her face was quite close to mine and her finger was running down along the strap of my tank top from my shoulder, tugging the ribbed fabric across my hardening nipple.
In an instant, I deduced that my breast had been out while in slumber, and she was adjusting my top for me--whether to preserve my decency or satisfy her curiosity was unclear. I took in a shuttered breath and raised myself onto my elbows.
