Tim was so preoccupied with his methodical babbling he hadn't even begun to dress. He was pacing a line from the taupe door of his hotel room, past the full sized bed, to the large highway adjacent window and humming air-conditioning unit. The white terry cloth towel was flapping against his knees as his pale feet beat on the flat red carpet.
He growled with frustration and plopped onto the disarranged bed. He sat rubbing his strawberry-blond topped head amidst the mess of red-yellow-green-striped comforter and white cotton sheets. His brain felt tight as if it was swelling against the confines of his cranium. His heart beat an inconsistent worrisome pattern into his rib cage.
The picture of a boardroom filled with unfavorable looks was all he could see. A flop sweat was forming on his brow. He began trying to think of a way to calm himself and beat back his anxiety. His hands rubbed at his thighs dejectedly. Gradually, one slipped under his towel and began squeezing at his flaccid piece.
Slight pleasure ripples emanated from the pleasant yanks. His eyes closed behind his oval shaped glasses and he forced the image of the disagreeable meeting from his mind, concentrating instead on long-legged and shapely women with large breasts. His torrid ruminations coaxed warming blood to rush into the phallus. Tim felt it swelling to a slight tumescence and his hand could slide over the length of his shaft more easily.
His breath rushed from his nostril over his bare chest in long deliberate gusts. His terry cloth towel jostled with his manipulations. A turgid tent lifting in the plush cotton. The mechanical scratch of a card and snap of the electronic lock sounded. Tim's eyes popped and his head snapped in the direction of the opening door.
"Housekeeping!" The shrill voice proclaimed.
Her short body was backing into the room dragging her cart of cleaning products. Her black uniform dress teetered with her steps and the undulation of her large cheeks. The pear-shaped maid's white orthopedic nursing shoes softly padded against the carpet towards the shocked man in glasses clutching the towel around his waist.
"Hey! I'm still in here! Please, can you come back later?" The woman continued until the door shut after her cart and she went about wiping off the dresser in front of the bed with a rag. Tim was once again treated to the sight of her huge cheeks shaking. The backs of thick thighs and taut calves peering back at him from under the black dress' white hemline. He stared in disbelief.
"You leave. I clean." she spat tersely. Tim's face crinkled in confused anger. "What?!" The woman swung to face him. Her boy-cut short black hair framed her aged face in curls. Her wrinkled-cornered cinnamon eyes were glaring at Tim angrily.
Her form fitting dress bellowed modestly with her small breasts and a white name tag that read Marisol.
"OUT!" Her thin lips scolded.
Tim stood up defiantly, but his towel slipped from around his hips and he froze. Tim's face was mortified as he glanced down at his staff jutting out towards the white apron stitched on the front of the cleaning lady's uniform. Marisol simply viewed the member unaffected.
