What I'm about to tell you cannot leave this forum. I'm writing anonymously mostly to protect myself but also the business I work for; I still want to have a job after this after all. Sometimes though something happens to you, something amazing or incredible, and you have to share it with someone. Anyone would do really, just no one who actually knows me. I don't regret what happened, and it will become clear why the further you read on, but if I was to tell anyone I know about this, the fact they might not understand would be the least of my worries. Sorry for the long preamble, I'm both nervous and excited to actually write this down.
For the sake of privacy, let's say my name is Samantha, or Sam if you like. I am in my mid to late thirties and like a lot of women I've spread out slightly with age. Not necessarily in a bad way, at least not in hindsight I suppose, but I'm not the relatively skinny little thing I used to be in my early twenties. Back then I was reasonably endowed in my boobs, a 36C if I remember correctly, but the rest of me was slim with a hint of an hourglass figure, the exception being my slightly chunkier thighs. The years have added inches to me in more places than one; I started using a contraceptive implant that as a side effect caused my existing assets to swell out and there they have stayed. I now use a 38E bra (think of it as going from a grapefruit to a cantaloupe melon if you're not familiar with bra sizes) and would struggle to get any jeans or fitted trousers I wore back then past my knees as my thighs have nearly doubled in size and taken my butt and hips along with them. My once hourglass is now distinctly more pear shaped, but I guess I just accepted that this is what happens as you mature.
It was hard at times to move past it, however. I felt I had a certain allure to me in my twenties that meant I was at least desirable enough to be approached fairly regularly by guys if I was on a night out with friends. Nothing ever really caught, a few flings and one night stands here and there, but never anything long term. Once the changes caused by my contraceptives fully kicked in, things seemed to dry up pretty quickly. Granted it was harder to find clothes that both fitted my style and my ever-expanding assets so that wouldn't have helped, but still the creek ran pretty dry. I've tried a slew of dating sites since then but no joy, not even the occasional quickie. I have been tempted to try the kind of sites that are literally just designed to connect you with people who only want to meet and fuck, but I couldn't shake the feeling that would be like prostituting myself only without the benefit of being paid.
Anyway, that's the background on me covered, or at least on my body and my personal life. As I mentioned at the start, I work for quite a reputable business, a chain of hotels that typically cater to young aspiring businessmen and the occasional couple on a romantic retreat. I work as a member of the housekeeping staff, going room to room and preparing the space for the next customer. I have always been told that a good hotel room should appear as if the customer is the first person ever to have used it. Our customers know, of course, that isn't the case and never really could be but it's all part of selling the illusion that ultimately makes people more comfortable than knowing exactly who has been in the bed they're sleeping in (and what they've done in it for that matter).
The chain's slogan is 'Five Star Service Guaranteed or Your Money Back!'. A bit of a mouthful but it gets the message across. I am proud to say that in my years of doing this job, I feel that is what I have always provided, if in an indirect way. Many people would look down on me and what I do, but those same people have probably slept soundly in a bed prepared by me or one of my many colleagues in the industry and have been kept warm, dry and safe thanks to our efforts. Plus, and this isn't a brag just a point, the benefit of having worked there for a few years and it being a well renowned chain is that the pay is actually pretty good. Chances are I earn more than most of the people who would criticise the job, which makes the occasional uppity glare or snobbish remark a far sweeter pill to swallow.
Occasionally, I also deliver food or packages as art of the hotel's room service. Typically, this will be the odd bottle of champagne or an important letter dropped by a courier for one of our business clients. I don't mind taking these to the rooms because on occasion the customer will be grateful enough to tip. Not that I need it to survive, but any tips I get are my own and feel like little sporadic bonuses to my wage. It was on one of these errands that the thing I want to share with you happened.
I had almost finished my shift with nothing left to do but change out of my work tunic and trousers and check out. The receptionist, a small ditsy woman who was perfect for greeting people and not much else, called me over before I had a chance to duck into the staff changing area.
"We've had a call from the gentleman in room 217 asking for more towels," she told me in her sing-song customer services voice.
"I would, but I've just about finished..." I began.
"It shouldn't take long and Denise hasn't turned up yet or I'd ask her," she cut me off.
Fucking Denise. I always hated being on the shift before hers. She was a lovely person, but good god she would've been late for her own funeral. It was amazing she had managed to keep her job at the hotel for so long when this was something that happened so often, but I got the feeling that management just didn't have the heart to let her go.
"Ok, fine," I sighed, thinking of the potential tip. "Which room was it again?"
"217, thanks," she beamed back, taking a phone call before I could change my mind.
I sighed again as I turned and made my way back to the laundry room to pick up the extra towels. The request itself wasn't entirely unusual, particularly for guests who had been staying at the hotel for a little while, but as I recalled I'd only turned that particular room over last night so there should have been plenty. It was possible the resident of the room might be a dirty old man who just wanted someone to walk in and see his shrivelled nutsack and was using 'more towels' as an excuse. Regrettably that has happened to me on more than one occasion. What has been seen can never be unseen. There was also every chance of course that this was just a simple request that would involve nothing more than a knock on the door and a handover of the towels. I hoped that would be all it was so I could get home.
Towels in hand, I took the elevator up to the second floor of the hotel. I wondered what I might do tonight after work, I had no real plans just anything that wasn't work would be fine. Maybe I should catch up on that TV series everyone says I should watch? Or finally sort all of my old clothes out of my wardrobe, particularly the ones I knew were never going to fit me again. What was I holding onto them for anyway?
I was basically daydreaming as I knocked on the door of 217 and proclaimed the usual 'room service' call. I waited about half a minute and then knocked again. Still no answer. I could have just left the towels on the floor outside the door. It really wasn't my fault or my problem that the person in this room either didn't hear me or didn't want to acknowledge me. But then again that wouldn't've been 'Five Star Service' now would it? With a sigh, and partially preparing myself for old man wang, I knocked again and announced I was coming in to deliver the towels. After I still didn't get a response, I used my master key card and let myself in.
The room itself was still very neat, with the only real change to it being a travel bag placed on the seat in the corner of the room. There seemed to be a little steam coming from the bathroom and I could hear the shower blasting away. That at least explained why he hadn't heard me and it also meant I could just drop the towels on the bed and be on my way. I walked over to the bed, not noticing the sound of the shower stopping, and went to place the towels on the end.
"Pass me one of those will you?"
I almost jumped out of my skin as I turned towards the voice I had just heard. Standing naked and dripping wet before me in the doorway to the bathroom was a frankly stunning model of a man. He was ruggedly handsome, at least six feet tall or thereabouts, with short, dark hair. His body, whilst not exactly like a body builder, was toned and nicely muscular. What I was almost immediately drawn to, however, was what was hanging between his legs. I wouldn't have been able to guess at the time, but in hindsight what I saw before me was a cock almost five inches in length soft. I had never seen one that big before.
My face must have told the story of what I was thinking, because he suddenly gave a polite cough and asked again. I quickly apologised and averted my eyes, handing him the towel as he asked and doing everything I could to avoid looking at his bare cock. He swiftly wrapped the towel around himself and covered up his manhood. I was finally able to look him in the eyes, if only to apologise once again.
"No problem, my fault really, I had a little situation with the towels before I got in the shower. Forgot they were hanging over the side as I got in, the whole bunch were soaked in seconds."
I laughed nervously as I acknowledged what he had said.
"You wouldn't mind taking them away with you would you? I'm guessing they'll dry faster in a tumble dryer or whatever you use here than they will on the floor there."
"O-of course," I stammered, still not fully over what I had seen.
He smiled and moved to the side as I shuffled past him and bent to pick up the damp towels. They say we have a sixth sense as human beings to be able to tell that we're being watched. If that's true, mine was practically screaming at me. I felt his eyes boring a hole into me as I collected the towels. I was used to being stared at whilst I was just trying to do my job, but I felt particularly vulnerable in the position I was in. I decided the best thing I could do was just to grab the towels up as quickly as I could and leave.
I turned back around and made my way towards the door to move past him, avoiding eye contact as before. I felt something brush against my side as I moved past him and assumed he'd tried to grab my waist. Another minus of the job I had unfortunately experienced before. I moved my body away from him and turned to look, hopefully convincingly angry enough to get him to back off, but saw his hands behind his back, propping himself up against the wall. Looking further down I gasped again as I saw his massive erection tenting the towel around his waist.
He followed my shocked gaze down to his crotch and looked shocked himself as if he was noticing it for the first time. He moved his hands to try and cover himself, although it was entirely pointless as he couldn't have hoped to cover it all.
"I must apologise," he began, "I was clearly enjoying the view a lot more than I thought..."
